Statesman meet and air the salt laundry and their dysfunctional, toxic open special relationship to the world in efforts to negotiate trade policy and white papers more existentially tedious than Jacob Rees Mogg reading aloud his historical
erotica. Quivering at Ashenkol, Prime Minister Keir Starmer took to the skies, followed by his lovely dog, and landed at Mara Largo directly into a Diet Coke filled Jacuzzi whereon President Donald the Trump schmoozed him with tutti frutti Uzi of those Bushes.
This the first time in these two men of destiny have 4 gathered a Dutch tourist attending remark that it was Earl Grey meets Oranjibu. The PM blithely chided Trump for playing international silly buggers, to which the poet has ejaculated that Starmer had the passage of an amiable cofiered frog. They got a milkshake and Timbers cooled. Discussions on the transatlantic axis between hair Trump and Dershtama took place on a whistle stop tour of all American antics.
First they adjourned to hot dog eating contest in Washington, which the former lawyer won by prosecuting his advantage as a bang as a mash addict. Trump called him a wolf in pigs blankets. The grayly faced assassin retorted that the commander in chief 300% tariffs on the Easter Islands on importing their statues. Much of the notion of saving Yankee bacon Stony faced The tycoon oinked rashly and chomped on his diplomatic gift of a
child war. Burton's carpet humor's crackling The intensely dissimilar baby kisses took off to a Las Vegas stock show, which the gilded defecator had his security sweep vainly for any sign of hungry, hungry Haitians. Trump's temper sired further when PM's best friend won best in show Starmer quipping that if the president had spent so much time training his Bloodhound to sniff out Muslims, it would have fared better in the agility costs.
Trump's security detail tranquilize all participants with darts he had it in, stated that his pooch took the prize and declared that despite anti immigrant rhetoric, he can't be a racist as Drake is his number one sauna buddy.
At a Texan golf course, Stammer protested at being given a cricket bat to wield, which the leader of the free world ignored, completing the field with A50 handicap as Elon Musk and his silica Stafford delivered Roman salutes at the clubhouse, the PM held aloft the Sabre of Willow, declaring that Uncle Sam playing favorites with its nieces and nephews just
wasn't cricket. Trump bailed A Yorker claiming the game only played by terrorist countries, which Stammer reverse swept by being the president's favoring of Putin in the Ukraine conflict. Don Chadman gave short shrift to that tracksuit wearing bomb Zelensky, to which missus straight bat defended. I like track suits stops, tension peaking deadlines and conniptions approaching.
Vin Diesel stepped into umpire. These figures of fate embarked onto Trump's private monster truck Biden Slayer, and negotiations began. What was decided upon in their three hour conversation can only be a matter for conjecture, which we at Pathetic News are pathologically allergic to. Here, the speculations of 1. Mr. Alex Jones of 6 6 rabbit hole giant before talks relight on trade deals The peaked Trump threatened to shoot Starmer and nuke Lester unless he performed
A humiliation ritual. The toolmaker's son sang Happy birthday Mr. President dressed as Marilyn Monroe over a Manhattan subway grating. The chief UK to US exports to be tariffed are construction materials and cheddar cheese. Starmer found a workaround by offering construction materials made of cheddar. Trump stated that if the buildings were to suffer acts of arson, the survivors get to eat grilled fromage amongst the debris to cheese their sorrels.
The Labour man accepted increased prices for the main US to UK exports, Coca-Cola and pronouns. He also offered the Republican an invitation to King Charles's garden party. We have one, drinks a Jelly foam of a Jenna crow and bids on a child flight auction in aid of Greenpeace. We can't possibly know the full facts of the powwow, but Stammer left the vehicle with a lip in only MAGA underpants, feverishly clutching a Twiggy Bar statecraft, his soap opera writ large.
The difference being that the narcissistic cretins playing the characters actually affect us, the watching world. From the public path to criminalizing pasties. After another milkshake, Sama is on his way home, a wiser if not happier man. There we can take comfort in averting atomization of his country. It's worth the sacrifice of 1's own dignity. Buttocks unclench as the sovereignty of two great nations
is Cordelia for cul. Little Jenny from Twickenham sleeps soundly, oblivious to the geopolitical degradation the Premier undertook for the continued supply of Jelly beans. Trump, eating a burger in space, looks down on Albion and sings softly. You and me could write a bad romance, Gaga. Oh La La pathetic news verum medachum.