The State of the Union

 The tall Englishwoman appears to be in need of guidance. I am, as always, available to dispense words of wisdom and solace to my fellow countrymen, of which I believe she is one in spite of her purple hair and aggravating accent, but unaccountably she does not seek it. She appears to spend an inordinate amount of time either fingering a small shiny object which she holds in her hands, tapping furiously on a flat typewriter positioned in front of a small kinema screen or staring out of the window in what appears to be existential despair. It seems that she is excised by some sort of constitutional crisis in our great Nation, following the election to my Presidency of a large and vulgar man with an orange face last November. 

The orange man is wide and loud, and has the strangest little hands, with which he plays an imaginary concertina. He is what my father would call a blowhard, a huckster, a snake oil salesman, and sadly it appears that just enough of my people voted for him that he trumpets (ah! That is his name, I recall. Trumpet. Or maybe Strumpet?) that he has a mandate and that all that he does is adored, although he appears to actually do very little other than trumpet, loudly and erratically. The doing seems to be being done by a team of inappropriate young tyros led by a puffy-faced and charmless Afrikaner who has apparently made a fortune creating dirigibles and some sort of ethereal postcard delivery system. This man, whose name I believe is Ellen Mask, has not been elected to any position, but has been appointed Wrecking Ball in Chief by the Strumpster. (Or is it Dumpster?)

It is possible that the purple-haired Englishwoman is correct in her concerns. I find it sad that this great country of mine, born out of the thirst of man for Freedom and Liberty and moolah, which has been steered through the most turbulent of waters, the likes of which no other nation has known, by men such as Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln and of course my humble self, is now captained by a Tangerine Trumpet and an Inelegant Ellen. I fear that this great Beacon of Light is careering towards the Maelstrom of Malevolence.