These rubbish journalists, who do they think they are? Hauling me and my right hand men over the coals, when they should only be grilling Nawaz and Shahbaz (medium to well done)! And they call themselves journalists! I know what true journalism is. I’ve been best friends with the world’s greatest living journalist of his time. Of course he was British, like all the world’s classy people. I remember when I was interviewed on “Breakfast with Frosties” Sir David asked me some easy questions, by uh prior arrangement. Rest In Peace, Sir David Frosties – the world’s great living journo of his time. And let me tell you that I don’t consider ANY Paki johnny on TV to be great or a journalist or indeed living.

These johnnies have been camped outside my Bani Gala estate for days. It’s as if I were on trial instead of Nawaz Sharif. Excuse me, I said, I am the Conscience Of The Nation and I don’t take kindly to being lectured or questioned. I am the one who will lecture and question. No one else. Geddit?

Anyway, I decided that I would have to escape their dragnet by disguising myself while leaving Bani Gala. So first I dressed up as Big Ethel, and no one noticed. I slipped past the press’ barricades. Then I went back in. Then I came out again dressed as Aafia Siddiqui but Shah Mahmood Qureshi sent me back to dress up as someone else. “She’s 5 feet nothing and you’re 6 feet tall. Why don’t you dress up as Superman, ie yourself?” he said eminently sensibly.

I ran into the US ambassador the other day and told him that “it would all be over soon” wink wink, smirk smirk. He pretended not to understand. “It’s okay” I said, “we’re not the only people disqualifying politicians, wink wink. You too have disqualifications for becoming President. You have to be at least 35, and a natural born citizen. What about all those born by C-Section?” His Excellency was rendered speechless by my wisdom.


Im the Dim