You know how a man pretending to be someone else may betray himself with just one wrong word? That’s what happened to my friend President Trump.
One ill-phrased tweet, and it dawned on me (even if it didn’t dawn on anyone else) that the comedian Sacha Baron Cohen based his Ali G character not on a black gangsta but on ‘me main man Donald’.
See if you can spot the tell-tale word in Donald’s message urbi et orbi:
“I meet and talk to ‘foreign governments’ every day. I just met with the Queen of England (U.K.), the Prince of Whales…”
The quotation commas bookending ‘foreign governments’ indicate those bodies are neither foreign nor really governments, but many people misuse that punctuation (although admittedly not many of those whose education cost a six-digit sum).
True, specifying Her Majesty’s title as “the Queen of England (U.K)” betokens a most lamentable ignorance, but that solecism still doesn’t reveal the true provenance of Ali G. So what does?
I’ll give you a clue: one of Ali G’s early sketches was about Wales. He started it by saying: “When you ear da word Wales, you probably fink of da fish with da biggest dick in da ocean. But it’s also da name of da country dat’s only 200 miles from Britain…”
Do you get it now? Trump’s reference to HRH as “the Prince of Whales” (sic) is a dead give-away: no one but Ali G thinks of marine creatures when speaking of Wales, HRH’s principality.
Having realised what’s what, I immediately phoned my friend Donald, telling him he had been found out. This is what he replied, dropping the mask he had had to wear for such a long time:
‘Boyakasha, Al! Is yous wicked? But wot is yous bangin on about? Me leader of Washington posse, me and ma bitch Melania goes to see da Queen, da prince and his bitch Camilla, innit?
‘Melania is well fit, me always wants to grab’er by da muff, but Camilla is well mingin, wouldn’t dig her to get jiggy wiv me biggy, you feelin me? But me didn’t want to dis’er, so I says wassup, Cam, wanna do some erbal remedies wiv me?
‘And dis geezer Whales says in dis batty boy accent “Actually, my wife has no pressing need for any medication. She is rather fit, as a matter of fact.” She ain’t fit me finks, but me doesn’t get da rest of it. To be polite me says aye, for real, finkin me main man prince he don’t understand me was talkin about a spliff of gundja, not medical stuff.
‘Den da main bitch asks me “How do you find London, Mr Trump?” And me says me finds it well wicked, a wicked place to chill. Eastside! (East Side is me turf, not West Side, me main man Sacha he got that wrong, innit?)
‘But da main bitch she says “I rather think London is unseasonably warm at the moment, but it can indeed be rather wicked at times.” She ain’t feelin me, me not feelin her, and me crew has to translate all da time. Main bitch may fink me a bit fick.
‘Me says word in da street be da Tory posse be fightin to elect da main man, innit? Me likes Boris, he do erbal remedies but quiet, not like dat geezer Gove. But da main bitch she say “Yes, it is rather tense at the moment.”
‘Me finks ain’t nuthin like gundja to take da tension off but me doesn’t say dat thinkin she don’t understand English.
‘Den we gets some posh grub and chill. Da wine cost a lot of mula, 2,000 squid, but me doesn’t drink, me likes erbal remedies, but dere was none dere. Dere was no bruvers neither, nuthin but a well posh posse, but me doesn’t mind, innit. Me has nuff bruvers on me turf in Washington.
‘Dat’s it, Al, stay cool and keep it real! Eastside!’
My friend Donald hung up, leaving me happy about the unmistakable sense of relief in his voice. A mask coming off must feel like a load off his mind, and God know he has plenty of other loads there.
Glad to have been of help. Boyakasha and keep it real, as my friend Donald likes to say.