By Darryl Litteton
Dear British Government,
Hello Mates! My name is Darryl and I’m a stand-up
comedian / writer.
For the past 9-months I have
been very critical of the newly elected American
president, Donald J. Trump. I’ve told jokes about him
on stage and written a scathing graphic novel about
his more salacious escapades. Thus, I’m currently in
hiding and seeking sanctuary in the UK.
I’m aware
you have your own recent problems, but hear me out.
Word on the cobblestone is that you don’t care for
him either.
You feel he is a boorish lout and
intolerable idiot; a buffoon with no business being
addressed as anything, but that. I agree. When his
name was first brought up as a serious candidate your
reporters and pundits laughed. So did we, but as
each day passed we realized it wasn’t as far-fetched
as we all thought for him to be elected. Many of our
citizens are cut from equal gibe. The rest of us just
had no idea how many.
There was a time when a man of Trump’s lack of
knowledge would’ve been scoffed at.
He’d had
washed out early on and his bid a trivia question at
best, but we no longer wear powdered wigs over
here. I’d leave right now, but I’m afraid I’d be re-
classified as an under-cover Muslim and not able to
return for my belongings. So, I felt it best to secure a
sympathetic
country
before
burning
rubber
(departing).
Though I am not Mexican, Trump and his goons would
still try to deport me.
At very least they would label
me a Mexican sympathizer and send me south of the
border. True, I’ve been to Mexico before and love
the tequila, but I always considered it a nice place to
visit. That doesn’t mean I want to saddle up a burro
and live there. For one I do not speak Spanish and
for two I like an occasional glass of water without
expelling bodily fluids from every orifice.
I’ll be candid with you, my first choice was Africa,
but they turned me down flat after tracing the
ancestry of my last name. Something about slave
runners, but I digress. I want to come home to you
for that very reason - my last name which is Littleton.
It hails from your bonnie banks. Well, actually it was
the name of my family’s original landlord, but that’s
beside the point. You’ve got to take me! It’s pure
anarchy over here. This bloke is a madman and I
have it on good authority that he buggers his own
daughter.
He does everything I detest.
He
changes the name of passages in the Bible. Not the
words – the numbers. He sings off-key and sways to
gospel hymns in Black churches off-sway. The man
wears tight fitting golf shirts on his obviously loose-
fitting golf body.
Please consider my citizenship qualifications. I’m
certain that had I been around back in the day my
loyalty would’ve extended to the crown and not the
colonial upstarts. I’ve always said 1776 was a huge
mistake. Also factor in my potential usefulness to
Merry Olde England. I’m funny and I understand
you folks like to laugh. I might be one of the only
Yanks who like your food. (Milk. Umm, yummy.) I
have bad teeth. I talk fast and most of the chaps
over here can’t understand a word I mutter. Plus, I
respect the Queen and her entire royal family. That
last one ought to be enough to get me up for
knighthood.
Look, I’ve visited your country several times and find
it invigorating; especially the fact I can cross the
street diagonally.
That alone makes you mor e
civilized that my present habitat. So please, please,
please just let me come back to the land of pip pip
cherrio, monocles, Astin Martins, Austin Powers and
all that sort of rot.
Signed,
Your Want-To-Be-Out-of America First Cousin
PS – I don’t want to be anybody’s comrade.