I live in the ‘Pearl of the Orient’, or Guadalajara as it’s officially called. The city and its metropolitan area has burdgeoned over the 20-odd years that I’ve lived here. It has very distinct seasons, with the blast of summer coming in April and May, and then the more humid and rainy season from June to September. The rain tends to be short-lived in its daily duration – strangely, it virtually always rains in the early evening or at night – is short but intense, with the blocked drains doing sweet f### all to help reduce the rainwater as it sloshes up over the pavements (‘sidewalks’ to our US readers). You want to drive through a tunnel after it has rained? Choose a different route.

So, you might think that there’s an abundance of water? Lake Chapala, to the south of the city, fills up but other parts of the state of Jalisco suffer drought conditions, with there being little rain from October to May.

You would think, therefore, that the state authorities and the public water company, SIAPA, would make every effort to maintain the water system, unblock the goddamed drains and provide reasonably clean water for the population. Oh yes, you cannot drink the water from a tap here (‘faucet’); it may leave the filtration plant clean but it picks up all kinds of crap as it makes its way through the archaic pipes. It’s rather ironic that the Aztecs and other indigenous peoples of Mexico had very efficient water and irrigation systems

This year, we have seen a steady deterioration in the cleanliness of the water, with many areas of the city seeing it come out of the tap the colour (‘color’) of mud, steadily getting darker to the point that you’d think that black coffee was being piped into our homes. This all came to a head last week, with protests taking place in the city, with one ending up outside the state governor’s residence. His name is Pablo Lemus. And it was a pretty vociferous protest, culminating in the police getting heavy-handed with the protestors.

Now, how do you think that the police tried to disperse the rioters/protestors? Think about it for a moment…

Carlos is an employee of the CJNG. He works in the restaurant that the cartel runs in prison. A restaurant? Yes, a restaurant. Ok, we’ve all read about how money buys privileges in prisons all over the world. A report about a Mexican prison many years ago told the story of a raid in the prison; what was found? Apart from the regular stuff like big screen TVs, stills producing alcohol, weapons, umpteen cell phones, etc., they also found prostitutes actually living in the prison and (this is what tickled me) several fighting cocks. Mexicans can live without their wives and girlfriends but not without a good, old cockfight.

Carlos is now in prison, awating his trial. That may conjure up an image in our mind of two lawyers presenting their cases to a jury. Nah. No juries here. Furthermore, when someone is accused of committing a crime, they are whisked off to the clink on the flimsiest of evidence; or a mere accusation will do nicely. In Mexico, the onus is on the defendant to prove his/her innocence. None of that-innocent-until-proven-guilty liberal, airy-fairly nonsense. You’re going down sonny, unless you can pay for a good lawyer to take up your case.

But why, you may ask, would the Mexican authorities want to shove innocent people into prison? After all, inmates cost money and, unlike the USA, where the inmates are essentially customers in privately-owned prisons, the prison system in Mexico is state-run.

We love Mexico, don’t we? All the football supporters who came to Mexico for the World Cup were taken aback at the sumptuous welcome that they received, so much so that they voted them the Friendliest People in the World.

But we all know that there is a darker and frustratingly corrupt side to, well, some of the people. And the following story exemplifies that.

There is a young man, we’ll call him Carlos, who grew up difficult circumstances. It wasn’t abject poverty but everything was on a shoestring. His father was an alcoholic and his mother had to recover from a horrible experience. The classic tale of tough times; too tough for many. They are both dead now, prematurely.

Life is tough; all lives are difficult, even though some people appear to have things oh so easy compared to others. But that’s the veneer. Guilt can be crushing.

Carlos drifted into drug use. Mexico is synomymous with weed: “I smoke that Michoacan…I smoke that Acapulco Gold.” Carlos is now in prison, accused but not yet convicted, of a crime he plainly did not commit, and facing 4 to 5 years behind bars. But that does not matter. Because this is Mexico and he does not matter. The prison that is now his home is run by members of the Cartel Jalisco Nueva Generación (CJNG), currently the dominant cartel in the country.

Before we continue with Carlos’ story, what actually is a cartel? You’ve probably seen ‘Narcos: México’; if so, you’ll know that the Cartel de Guadalajara was co-founded by Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo in the 1980s, uniting the various organised crime factions into one, bickering, black-hearted body, eventually fragmenting into smaller cartels. That is the point, though; a cartel is a conglomerate, such as OPEC (the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries), the body responsible for the hike in oil prices in 1973 as a result of the Yom Kippur War, and that changed the world completely.

It’s easy to think of a cartel being simply one organisation, with a commander-in-chief and a chain of command, like an army. But it’s not as straightforward as that. Of course, there are ‘capos’ who are in charge of a ‘plaza’ that varies in size according to its ‘yield’, and their subordinates – the chain of command. But there are other affiliated groups which specialise in certain types of crime: the theft of fuel from pipes, extorsion, kidnapping, the traffic of people or arms, etc. They operate under a license, as it were.

So how does this affect our hero, Carlos. Well, he is, essentially, now an employee of the CJNG.

It’s Top of the Flops!

Didn’t matter what day it was; the polls were low…oh…oh
His premiership has been a tale of woe…oh…oh
Angela was dodging tax, so it was “Gotta go,” he said
His Cabinet had a revolving door…oor…oor
Gave Zelensky billions but he wanted more…ore…ore
That weren’t no Storm Shadow, but a drone attack for sure

There’s a Starmer, it’s been a long goodbye
He’d like to stay as PM
But he thinks we’d hang him high
There’s a Starmer eating humble pie
Had a landslide but he blew it
Now he’s finally resigned
He told us: “Let Nasty Nigel ruin it
Let the Remainers bruise it
Let’s do the Burnham Boogie”

He had to blame someone, so he picked on you…oo…oo
Oh Traitor Pete, you got Epsteined too, oo, oo
Turn off the TV, it’s just propaganda, through and through
Look out the window and the cat’s not there…er…er
Like all the ministers, he’s buggered off somewhere…er…er
Gave the Froggies millions, the boats still go to Angleterre

There’s a Starmer, it’s been a long goodbye
He’d like to rejoin the EU
What do you say, Jonathan Pie?
There’s a Starmer, he’s trying not to cry
He stood up to Don n’ JD
But Healey hung him out to dry
He told us: “Let the nation rue it
Let Elon Trillion screw us
Let’s do the Burnham Boogie

My advice to the flatpack UK PM – sack your effin’ speech writer!!! Can you imagine if the UK were at war – the PM’s ‘rousing’ speech would make us decide to surrender on the spot out of pure apathy,

Jeez, if ever there was a PM completely lacking in charisma and a sense of humour, it has to be Sir Keir Rodney Starmer. “He’s a decent, honest man” is what has been said about him by just about everybody, but that is about as much use as a punctured dinghy to an asylum seeker.

The Sword of Nigelocles is hanging over his head and, even it he makes it through this 80-Labour MP Revolt, what will his legacy be (everyone needs a legacy nowadays; even an influencer with 68 followers)? Starmer advocated a second referendum on Brexit so my suggestion to you, Mr. PM, is to have some friggin’ balls and call for one! Go on, man, don’t pussyfoot around, you know you want it…so do it! Aside from some hedge fund managers, we all know that the UK was better off in the EU and, being an EU member, those small boaters that we all want to see sent back to France will actually be able to be sent back to the Froggies to deal with. Small businesses will be able to thrive once again with the availability of cheap labour, the NHS will benefit from having enough skilled and experienced staff and the black hole in the economy that the Tories bequeathed to the Labour governent will be land-filled. And, the UK economy will get a injection of adrenalin from the trade deals that the EU recently cemented with India and Mexico, along with all the other 468 deals that the UK had to renounce when it left the EU.

Did you all enjoy that ‘sovereignty’ that we got back? What did you spend yours on?

Trump encouraged the UK to leave the EU, saying that a trade deal would be in the offing…then slapped tariffs on the Sceptred Isle even though it enjoyed a trade SURPLUS with the Brits. That went well, didn’t it? The UK is in danger of being cast adrift from the rest – where does it stand? What is its role in the world? We want to be involved in everything, as if the country were still a world power, but that’s unrealistic and, frankly, rather pathetic. Sending a single destroyer to the Strait of Hormuz sums up the UK perfectly – what is the bloody point? Pick a side, for gawd’s sake. You can’t please all the people all of the time. The ‘special relationship’ is dead in the water, even if the next US president is a Democrat or Marco Rubio.

Labout is hemorrhaging support to just about every other party, apart from the Tories, so why not just do what you REALLY think it best for the country and go for another referendum? If the UK electorate says NO WAY JOSÉ, then fine, you tried. Then just let Reform win, screw everything up (as it surely will) and win another landslide victory when support for Reform vapes into the ether.

Pete ‘Faster Pussycat, Kill! Kill!’ Hegseth is, once again, addressing the press:

I stand before you today…with my hair recently ironed…in my 11-year old son’s suit…it’s a little snug…to inform you all…of the wisdom of the Great Donald J. Trump…J being for Jesus…it’s no longer John…President Trump is the Wonderfullest Leader in the History of the Greatest Nation on Earth.

Here are my latest…staccato ramblings…on Operation Epic Fuc…I mean Fury

Firstly…let me make this perfectly clear…we respect the freedom of our press…as long as it is patriotic, patronizing and patently supportive of this magnificent administration. Should it not be…we shall make every effort…to criminalize and collectivize it…starting with every so-called journalist at CNN…being sent to Iran…to cover our glorious and complete and total victory…without Kevlar vests and helmets…just as I did when I did my duty as a warrior for this Great Country…by killing as many ragheads…as I possibly could…from behind the front line…just like the Brits.

Once our victory is assured…and it is definitely assured…President Trump has assured us of this…so it is most definitely assured…we will move on… to the new enemy…what could be more fitting than…in this 250th anniversary of the founding of…the Greatest Country in the History of the Universe…to liberate the people…of an itsy-bitsy, little nation that we once called a friend…a special friend…an ally… but…an ally no more…the United Kingdom. I see a look of surprise on your faces…there should not be…there should be no surprise…not any…none. The United Kingdom has failed to support our Great Leader in all his decisions…and that…is inexcusable. Without the United States…the British people would not be speaking that great language…that the United States invented…English…that is a fact. The Prime Minister…whatever that means…is a communist through and through. He has based his foreign policy on Love Actually and that…as I do not need to explain…is an affront to President Trump…who wisely and generously…only placed 10% tariffs on the treacherous, backstabbing country. Furthermore, they have not…in direct contradiction to the wisdom of President Trump….gotten rid of their windmills. This…cannot be allowed…to continue. It starts with windmills…and ends with jihadist anarchy. It’s time…to re-defeat the Redcoats! [pumps both fists in the air]

Therefore, as soon as Iran is brought to its knees…and it is…I can assure you all…already on its knees….contrary to what the cowardly traitors at CNN say…we will begin operations against the UK….unless Prime Minister Keira Knightly removes himself from office….and hands over the prime ministership to [consults his notes] someone called Nigel Barrage…who will immediately sign over…the ownership of all the golf courses…in the country…to the President’s sons…Don and…the other one. He will also order…the execution of that radical, ISIS-loving Moslem extremist…Mayor of London. The execution will be…by stoning.

Once the UK is subdued…and that will take no more…than a day…the might of the US military industrial complex…will be directed at…the other Great Enemy of the President…France. Our Supreme Entity likes the French president…he likes him a lot…he has boyish good looks and charm…our Magnificently Beautiful and Elegant First Lady wants to…sleep with him…the President…wants to sleep with him…I…want to sleep with him….but Macron is far too French…and he must go…along with his husband. The French are responsible for the mayhem…and anarchy…in Iran. The French gave sanctuary to the Ayatollah Khomeini…and now…they must pay…for this heinous crime.

Und…after ze Brits und ze Froggies…are eliminated…ve vill conquer ze rest of Europe…Zieg Heil!

Pete Hegseth is having his hair ironed and the collar of his shirt tightened.

Assistant: Can you still squeak,,,I mean speak, Mr. Secretary of Death and Destruction?

Pete ‘Happy Hour Starts Anytime of the Day’ Hegseth: Hell, I could speak with my vocal chords torn out. I was in combat. I’ve got Bronze Stars. Now, let me get onto that stage. Where’s my bottle of soda?

Assistant: This one with the clear, flat liquid?

Hegseth takes a large swig of the ‘soda’ and strides out into the glare of the lights: Aarigh, aarigh, AARIGH!! Gimme a U, gimme an S, gimme an A…whaddya got?! Just the rootinest, tootinest, most goddamed powerful country that the Dear Lord ever created, led by the guy that God made in His own image; the Best President in the History of our Country and Nobel Peace Prize Winner, His Supreme Magnificence, Donald J. for Jesus Trump!

Pete fist pumps the air and makes dog noises.

I’m here today to tell you that we are giving in the Iranians the worst beating of their miserable, idol-worshipping lives. They are defeated, depleted, deflated and deranged. We are in complete control of the skies and, when I say ‘complete control’, I mean that we are in complete control; total control; we are absolutely in control.

We’re bombing them in the daytime. We’re bombing them at night. We’re bombing them 24 hours a day. If there were more hours in a day, we’d bomb them then as well. We’re the best bombers in history. No-one bombs like us, and President Trump has bombed more than anyone in history.

We are accelerating. And when I say ‘accelerating’, I mean that we are not decelerating. We are getting faster. Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill!

Flying over Tehran, flying over Iran, flying over their capital…whatever it’s called, flying over the IRGC…whatever that is, Iranian leaders, who are all dead, looking up and seeing only us and Israeli air power every minute of every day, until we decide it’s over. But we’re only just getting started. Iran will be able to do nothing about it, except die. We have total control of the skies. Even the birds are staying in their nests.

President-for-Life Trump has given his holy, Maximum Authority for our brave men and… others in uniform to wreak the máximum death and destruction on the Iranian people. But only the bad ones. Our advanced, intelligent, anti-gravity, goodness-seeking missiles and bombs only kill bad guys. They don’t kill women and children, except if they are members of the Ayatollah’s family or if they are in a school. Being in a school means they are learning to make suicide vests and so they must die! All the Millers…I mean Mullahs and their raghead spawn must die!! Uuph…phew. (Pete has mild orgasm).

We have an inexu…an inexhor…we will never run out of bombs and missiles. They will go on forever. They will never run out. There will be death, more death and even more death. It’s a fight to their death. It’s not a fair fight. We’re the Chosen of God. We’re Crusaders on a divine mission. They are infidels who must die. We’re kicking them when they’re down. We’re bending their fingers back. We’re pulling off the women’s veils and ruffling their hair. We are unstoppable, unbeatable and undefenseable.

And, we’re just getting started. The Iranies had possession of the ball at the start, but they have no plays. We have all the plays and QB All-Star American Donald Jesus Trump is the master play-caller. We’ll score touchdown after touchdown. We’ll never stop winning. We’re the World Champions.

Ok, now I’ll take your questions, but only patriotic ones. Right, you, person of non-white skin.

Reporter: How can you explain that one Kuwaiti pilot managed to take out three F-15s?

Hegseth: I said only patriotic questions! Get the hell outta here. Next question.

British reporter: When you were on active service in Afghanistan, did you see British troops staying back from the front line?

Hegseth: Goddamit, we whupped your Redcoat asses! Get the hell outta here. Next question…

Mette Frederiksen (PM of Denmark): So, what’s the plan Jens?

Jens-Frederik Nielsen (PM of Greenland): Simple; we declare war on the USA.

Mette: Whaddaya nutz?!

Jens: No, far from it.

Mette: Where the hell did you get that dumb idea from?

Jens: Peter Sellers…well, the film that he starred in.

Mette: We’re trying to keep NATO together and you want to go to war with the US?

Jens: No, silly. I don’t want to go to war with the US; merely to declare war on the US of A.

Mette: The difference being?

Jens: For one thing, it keeps NATO intact as Greenland will officially be the aggressor.

Mette: Ye…es. But what do you hope to achieve?

Jens: Well, it will get you and Denmark out of a bind.

Mette: Will it? As part of Denmark, we’d be legally bound to come to Greenland’s defence.

Jens: Not if we are doing the attacking.

Mette: What are you going to attack the US with; some SEALS? Ha ha, you get it…seals?

Jens: Very droll. Look, watch ‘The Mouse That Roared’. By declaring war on the USA, the itsy-bitsy little kingdom got taken over by the US and got all the benefits. Y’know, all the investment n’ stuff.

Mette: But that’s what we’re trying to prevent?

Jens: But you can’t, can you? Who can stand up to the yanks? Maybe China and that’s it. Trump is dead set on getting his mitts on Greenland and there’s nothing that can be done to stop him. If he takes over militarily, NATO will be obliged to come to your, well our, defence, and that would be a catastrophe. NATO would collapse, and the whole house of cards would tumble.

Mette: Hmmm, there is a certain logic…

Jens: Of course there is. The Greenlanders would be lauded for standing up to the bully, Denmark would be absolved from getting a task force together and maybe we’d finally have a decent ice hockey team.

Mette: You know that I couldn’t officially sanction this…I can’t believe I’m saying it…declaration of war. How do you mean to go about it?

Jens: I was thinking of inviting Don Junior back and engineering an incident.

Mette: An “incident”? Not a Sarajevo Archduke-type of incident?

Jens: No, nothing so extreme. I was thinking along the lines of insults and snowballs. Tell him what a dickhead his father is. Insinuate that his real dad was Jeffrey Epstein. I dunno; I’m just making it up as we go. Challenge him to a duel.

Mette: With what?

Jens: Errm, lead-filled snowshoes maybe.

Mette: You are nutz.

PM Sir Keir Stammerer: Rachel, darling, have you seen what John Major has been saying about re-joining the EU? Billions we’re losing, billions.

Rachel ‘Border’ Reever: Ah’ve binn saying same bloody thing fa’ years now.

Sir Keir: Why are you speaking in a Yorkshire accent? You’re a Londoner.

Reever: Aye lad, but ah’m member o’ parliament fa’ Leeds West n’ Poodsey, thy knows.

Sir Keir: Ah, I see. Pudsey…yes, I thought that was in London, by the Thames. Any road up, lass, what do you think?

Peter Kyle: I’m up for it.

Reever: We know tha’ lad, boot what d’ya think aboot the E bloody U?

Kyle: As Secretary of State for Business and Trade, I can only see benefits for the country and my business.

Sir Keir: Yes, ok but what about all the Farage supporters? They’d lynch us if we tried to re-join.

David Lame Me: Call a referendum, PM. The polls say that the people would vote in favour. But, just in case, this time we manipulate them.

Reever: If we get back in, yer can blame all t’problems on the bloody oonelected Eurocraats, lad.

Kyle: We might have to adopt the Euro, Sir PM.

Lame Me: We could call it the ‘Europound’.

Sir Keir: Hmm, yes, I like that.

Reever: The way t’ economy is going, the chuffin’ pound will soon be worth same as the euro anyway.

Sir Keir: Good point, Rachel. We still need to get rid of Nigel, though. Any thoughts?

Lame Me: Simple pimple, Sir K. We AI the hell out of Facebook with Farquar Farage and Putin in bed with each other.

Sir Keir: They’re gay?

Lame Me: No, not like that…well, maybe…no, I mean corruption, taking kickbacks when he was an MEP, undermining Ukraine, the house purchase thing, member of the Hitler Youth, you know, that sort of stuff.

Reever: A Reform grooming gang!

Sir Keir: Perfecto! Tell Shabananarama to get on it right away. I’ll be lauded for making Britain great again.

Pat My Fadden: Small business will need sla…cheap labour so we can get the illegal migrants to do that.

Lame Me: But they’re not allowed to work.

My Fadden: We give ’em the choice; work or you’re back to where you came from.

Lame Me: But that’s illegal.

Mt Fadden: They’re illegal! 2 illegals make a legal.

Sir Keir: Hang on, I’m a lawyer…err, yeah that sounds about right. Tell Shabananarama to get on it right away. Oh happy days are here again, the skies above are clear again…

MacTrump: Hey Pete, what’s this about an Exploding Sandwich that penetrates Body Armor? We need it and we need it Fast before the Chinks get Their grubby little Mitts on it.

Pete ‘Happy Hour Starts at 10am’ Hegseth (it’s now 11am and his hands are beginning to tremble): I…I can’t really tell you anything…forgive me, Mr. Wonderful, an exploding sandwich?

MacTrump: You don’t Watch the News? If the Russkis get their Handskis on it, they’ll Make it into A Supersonic Sandwich in Two Shakes of a Bear’s tail.

Pete (thinking) Do bears have tails? (Speaking): I’ll get on it right away, Supreme Commander. You say it penetrates body armor? That’s…err, a little dificult to believe…

Stephen ‘Nosferatu’ Miller: If His Magnificence says that it pentrates body armor, then you can be sure that it does. By the way, Exalted Leader, congratulations on breaking the course record the other day. Wonderful stuff.

Mac Trump (thinking and saying at the same time): Did I play golf the other day?

Miller: Yes, when you were in Japan.

MacTrump: Was I in Japan? I Remember a lot of Short, Slitty-eyed people. I Broke the Course Record? Well, I Guess I must’ve Done. I usually Do. Actually, I’m thinking of Joining the Seniors Circuit when I’m Done ending Wars and Making the World Great Again.

JD Vance (his eyes lighting up); Does that mean Your Highness doesn’t intend to run again?

Miller: Oh please, Prophet of the One True God, says it ain’t so. The Universe needs you.

MacTrump: I Didn’t say that, did I? I’ll Have to Hang up my Sharpie one Day but…

Marco ‘Polo’ Rubio: There is the…err…little matter of the Constitution, sir…

Miller: How dare you interrupt His Gloriness!

Rubio visibly shrinks under the scowling glare of the President.

Rubio: I didn’t mean to cut you short, Mr. President. I was merely…

MacTrump: I know What you were Doing, Marco.

JD Vance sniggers inwardly, thinking: That’s one rival out of the race.

At the same moment, all the cell phones in the room start pinging.

Pete: Oh my God! Pelosi’s going!

MacTrump: Nancy? That Sweet Piece of Witchy Ass is going where?

JD Vance: She’s quitting. She’s leaving Congress

MacTrump: If only She was Seventy Years Younger. Ah, Nancy with the Laughing Face.

All look at each other, waiting for someone else to say something.