Isn’t it disgusting the way the press is bitching me out already, barely a month after elections? They should know that all my decisions are informed by the highest ideals and guided by soothsayers, tarot card readers, tealeaf readers, crystal ball gazers, Her Holiness and other technocrats. For instance, did you know that it was a terrible omen, that it didn’t rain on August 14, Pakistan’s 71st Independence Day? And that a whole negative cycle was set off by the lack of rain? This has resulted in so much adverse energy circulating in the stratosphere that it is now apparent that I cannot attend the United Nations General Assembly meeting in mid-September. I am sending Shah Mahmud Qureshi in a helicopter and you’ll be glad to know that the Islamabad-New York-Islamabad round trip is going to cost the exchequer a total of Rs 55. This is all due to my sacrifices at the alter of Caspar The Friendly Ghost.
I now have so much knowledge of the Occult that my next book is going to be called, “Statecraft and Witchcraft” with a forward by Her Holiness. This is going to be my third book and I will be known as a Man of Lettuce.
Despite all these herculean efforts of mine, there’s no pleasing some people. There’s not an iota of sympathy for what I have to go through. Imagine having to get up at the crack of dawn (10 am) and heave myself off to an unutterably boring meeting of losers and loserettes, all of whom would be nowhere without my ticket and charisma. Then having to listen to all that mind-numbing stuff, which floats like a miasma in the cabinet meeting room, and shapes and reshapes itself in the form of djinns, ghosts, leprechauns and gremlins. It gives me SUCH a headache and I long for the comfort of Bunny Gala and my own space and time and a full body mask of boiled black lentils.
At times like these, I wonder if it was all worth it.
Im the King