Aer Lingus Rebrands Itself Aer CunniLingus as Staff Dispute Intensifies

Dublin – The recent Aer Lingus staff dispute over rosters has now intensified as CEO Christoph Müller announced a new plan to strategically rebrand the airline and compete successfully in the international market by changing its name to Aer CunniLingus.

Müller said the new brand name had already stimulated a desire to fly Aer Cunnilingus.

Müller said the new brand name had already stimulated a desire to fly Aer Cunnilingus.

Announcing the intended brand change, Müller said: “Every company in the vorld must haff a key advantage over its competitors. Before today, Aer Lingus vas only associated with negatif images – Ireland, corruption, incompetence, und so weiter.”

“As a German und proud European, I vould like to show the Irish people how their European partners intend to help them through this crisis. Ve vill not destroy your heritage, but build on it and make it something better.”

“From Aer Lingus to Aer CunniLingus, with love from your European cousins,” concluded Müller proudly.

The new advertising campaign does not attempt to sell the traditional hackneyed images of Ireland. Instead, it is running two separate campaigns to stimulate both domestic and foreign demand.

The Irish advertisement shows clips of Brian Cowen, Bertie Ahern, Sean Fitzpatrick, David Drumm, Mary Harney, and Jedward before cutting to a shot of an airplane flying towards the blue horizon with the tagline – “Aer Cunnilingus – Escape from a land of world-class cunts.”

The international advertisement shows seductively smiling airhostesses in Aer CunniLingus’ new pink mini-skirt uniforms greeting beaming international businessmen, all excitedly waiting to board the plane. “Don’t lick your own lips in anticipation. Lick someone else’s – on Aer Cunnilingus,” says the tagline.

Many Aer (Cunni)Lingus staff immediately objected to this latest provocation from management.

Aer Lingus staff respond as they are told their new duties.

Aer Lingus staff respond as they are told their new duties.

“I thought the rosters thing was bad,” said Noreen Varney (25), a slim attractive redhead with a look of utter disbelief in her eyes. “I mean, wanting us to work more flights for no more pay is a disgrace, but this is something…” Her voice trailed off as she searched for words to describe it.

“Yesterday on a flight to Düsseldorf I pushed the trolley down the aisle, asking people if they wanted something to eat, and a fat German businessmen with a huge handlebar moustache leered at me and said: ‘You bet, Liebling. Just hitch your skirt up and sit up on that trolley.’”

“The worst thing was that everyone else on the plane just took their cameras out.”

“There are red lines that I won’t allow them to cross – my red lace panty lines,” she said defiantly.

Not all staff agreed with Ms. Varney, however. “Jesus, I’ll work as much overtime as they want now!” guffawed Ellen Feeney (34), slumping exhaustedly on a sofa in the cabin crew lounge after another satisfying flight.

Ellen Feeney reflects on another satisfying day at work.

Ellen Feeney reflects on another satisfying day at work.

“God almighty, we flew an Italian rugby team from Rome to Dublin this evening – I sent a note to the pilot asking him to circle around until the fuel almost ran out.”

“To be honest, we could have crashed and I would barely have noticed,” she said, lighting up a cigarette with a blissful smile on her weary face.

Christoph Müller said he understood some of the staff concerns and was willing to change the new slogans back to just “Aer CunniLingus – Enjoy Your Flight,” but the name change and the pink miniskirts would stay.

Ihre Fotzen gehört uns!” said Müller irritatedly. “Deutschland hat €85 Milliarde für die bezahlt und jetzt können wir mit ihre Fotzen wie wir wollen spielen!”

Looking at the row of blank faces on the Irish reporters in front of him, he sighed and scratched his head. “Look, if you want to understand what’s happening to the Irish economy, you’re just going to have to learn some German,” he said, and left the press conference to see if he could still catch a quickie to Cork.

Mubarak Explains Democracy to Increasingly Despondent Protesters

Cairo – Annoyed by senseless demands for greater democracy and citizen participation in government, Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak faced the protesters today to ask them to think seriously about taking the country down such a reckless and destructive path.

Mubarak explained real democracy to a dwindling set of pro-democracy activists.

Mubarak explained real democracy to a dwindling set of pro-democracy activists.

“My fellow Egyptians,” began Mubarak sternly. “I have heard your calls for more democratic government by freely elected representatives of the people. All I have to say to you is this – have you lost your fucking minds?”

Mubarak was speaking on the sixth night of widespread protests against his autocratic rule, as angry demonstrators refused to leave Tahrir Square. Mubarak was originally in favour of the ‘Tiananmen solution’ using his army’s shiny new American tanks, but has been warned by the US that this would provide bad publicity for the American arms industry when it is trying to keep a low profile after the Arizona shootings.

Irritated with being forced to use peaceful methods by lunatic gun-waving American fanatics, Mubarak has reluctantly decided to reason with the protesters.

“Stop chanting for a moment and think about what you’re asking for,” said Mubarak. “You want to choose locally elected representatives to sit in a parliament that then runs the country, and you think this would be a good idea?”

“Let me present Exhibit A: Ireland,” said Mubarak, putting up an image of Brian Cowen on screen. The chanting died off quite quickly as the people of Egypt saw the face of democracy.

Exhibit A: The face of democracy.

Exhibit A: The face of democracy.

“Locally elected representatives?” asked Mubarak. “You would end up voting for the man who promised you a free sheep. He may not know how to run the country, but he can get you a free sheep. That’s how it works in Ireland, and we all know what they do to sheep there.”

“Then your parliament consists of nothing but sheep merchants!” he said. “What do you think will happen next? They will collude with bankers and textile manufacturers to raise the price of wool. Soon, they will be rich and you won’t even have a scratchy wool shirt on your back.

“That’s what happened in Ireland,” concluded Mubarak. “Do you want Egypt to be Ireland, is that what you want?”

The crowd muttered angrily among itself and a few people at the edges drifted away disconsolately. The remainder, however, after a few minutes of heated argument, began chanting, “Obama! Obama!”

Many protesters were happy to accept a free sheep in lieu of democracy.

Many protesters were happy to accept a free sheep in lieu of democracy.

Mubarak rolled his eyes and appealed for silence. “Listen to yourselves!” he exclaimed passionately. “The USA is a country that voted in Obama to raise taxes on the super-rich and spend it on reviving the national economy, then voted in a Republican Congress to cut spending on the national economy and raise the wealth of the super-rich.”

“That’s because the average citizen doesn’t have a fucking clue what he wants, and changes his mind the second he gets the thing he thought he wanted before he had it.”

“And in a democracy the system of checks and balances means that anyone who actually has sensible ideas on governance is equally opposed by a gibbering vegetable – that way everyone has a say in whether or not to press the accelerator or brake as the nation heads for the cliff edge.”

“So what has your precious Obama done for America? What has actually gotten better since he came to power? Can you tell me that?” challenged Mubarak.

Watching the speech on TV, an isolated and dejected Obama concludes that Mubarak has a real point.

Watching the speech on TV, an isolated and dejected Obama concludes that Mubarak has a real point.

“You people are as naïve as the Nobel Peace Prize Committee,” he sneered.

The crowd began arguing among itself again as people began leaving to loot a few supermarkets. Even the hardcore protesters eventually shrugged and admitted that Mubarak had a point.

“You know, I’d never really thought about it,” said Mohammed bin-Khaloud (32) as he made his way home. “But this democracy thing really sounds like a lot more work than I’m willing to do. I mean, I’d have to keep a close eye on the government’s national policies, evaluate their effectiveness, and also evaluate the politicians’ willingness and ability to keep us informed on national issues.”

“Honestly, I just want to pay someone else to do the job so I don’t have to think too much about the price of wool,” he concluded with a weary sigh.

Sinn Féin Announces Economic Recovery Plan: “Import Protestants.”

Dublin – Speaking today at a press conference in Dublin, Sinn Féin leader Gerry Adams outlined a bold new economic recovery plan that will restore Ireland’s stricken economy by encouraging the mass migration of Protestants.

Gerry Adams outlined a new Protestant vision for Ireland in his speech.

Gerry Adams outlined a new Protestant vision for Ireland in his speech.

Said Adams: “It’s clear to me and to many other Irish people that the roots of the current crisis lie not in global financial markets but in poor decisions made by corrupt elites in our failed political system.”

“And our failed political system is a product of our traditional Catholic culture, which encourages deference to authority, tight trousers for altar boys, and a self-righteous attitude to materialism.”

“That’s why the only route back for Ireland is to move beyond Catholicism by massively importing Protestants to take charge of the country’s political, economic, religious, and social institutions.”

Adams called the press conference in response to criticisms that he was completely “ignorant of economics,” after he mistakenly called Ireland’s largest bank Allied Irish Bank “IIB” and said Sinn Féin’s economic policy was to reject the vital €85 billion EU/IMF bailout and organise the national economy around the production of blackberry jam using hamster-powered electric motors.

Determined to illustrate that he knew a great deal about economics, Adams spent much of the press conference waving a dog-eared copy of Max Weber’s The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism.

“It’s all explained in this book,” said Adams, with the zeal of a recently converted disciple. “Protestant societies are built around a coherent work ethic that values life-long efforts to build home and community while Catholic societies are full of shiftless, corrupt individuals hoping a quick Hail Mary will excuse their laziness and relentless fornication.”

The joy of the Protestant work ethic was captured in Grant Wood's 'American Gothic'.

The joy of the Protestant work ethic was captured in Grant Wood's 'American Gothic'.

“Just look at the EU countries suffering serious financial crises: three Catholic countries – Ireland, Spain, and Portugal – and one Orthodox, Greece. Protestant countries like Germany and Australia just sailed through thanks to their strong Calvinist teachings.”

Adams then explained that we could see the consequences of national religious spirit right here on our own little isle.

“Just look at the difference between the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland!” exclaimed Adams. “Do you see Northern Ireland going cap in hand to the IMF? No you do not! That’s because of our strong Protestant work ethic.”

“Nor do we have the same level of corruption!” continued Adams fiercely. “I tell you, Ian Paisley may have been a bigoted fascist demagogue, but he was no Bertie Ahern.”

“He was as honest and straightforward with the public finances as he was with his religious intolerance.”

“Nor have Northern voters ever been tempted by that slavering whore for power – Fianna Fáil,” said Adams. “Any good Protestant could see through that shower of Papist gombeen men a mile away, whereas the Catholics in the Republic were too busy having unprotected sex.”

Adams said the Plantation of Ulster was the only successful attempt at reform in Irish history.

Adams said the Plantation of Ulster was the only successful attempt at reform in Irish history.

Sinn Féin hopes to attract millions of Protestant immigrants by seizing land from wasteful Catholics and giving it freely to productive new Calvinists.

The dispossessed Catholics will be encouraged to move to Connacht, where they may enjoy a rich nettle-based vegetable diet amid the barren lands of the stony west.

“What we’re calling for is a New Plantation,” said Adams with visionary enthusiasm. “Really, the only people to try and bring common sense and rational government to this country were great leaders like Queen Elizabeth I and Oliver Cromwell. They knew the secret – get rid of Irish Catholics and replace them with genuinely useful human beings.”

Public response to the proposal was largely positive, on the grounds that at least it was a strategy for dealing with the crisis, which is more than any of the other parties have offered.

Mystery of Pierce Brosnan’s Irishness Deepens

Navan – As hapless politicians bluster unconvincingly about ‘hard choices,’ and the media devotes hours to political commentators discussing what would be the best option for Fianna Fáil now, as the country disappears into an economic black hole, one question has risen to the forefront of national debate: can Pierce Brosnan really be Irish?

Given his legendary suave confidence and charm, Pierce Brosnan's Irishness seems increasingly improbable.

Given his legendary suave confidence and charm, Pierce Brosnan's Irishness seems increasingly improbable.

“I mean, really Irish?” asked Róisín Burrows (24) with furrowed brow, looking at a picture of the debonair Pierce Brosnan gracing the red carpet at a Hollywood movie premiere. “He’s from Navan?”

“But, sure, that would be like finding out Elvis was from Dundalk,” she continued in bewilderment. “We just don’t produce those kinds of men.”

Nodding up at the TV, where Brian Cowen was speaking with some overweight red-faced Fianna Fáil TDs bursting out of their polyester suits, she said: “That’s the kind of man Ireland produces.”

Her friends at the table glumly acknowledged this as the truth, before turning back to the picture of Pierce Brosnan smiling with calm assurance before the glare of the world’s media.

“He is just so fucking suave,” said Nora Ryan (24), with an air of disbelief. “I mean, look at the fat dickturds who bankrupted the country. I wouldn’t mind if they were criminal masterminds, but they’re only a bunch of ould farts – and they’re the best we could find.”

“D’ye think if we asked him to become Taoiseach, he might do it?” she asked hopefully. “I mean, if no one knows how to run the country anyway, what harm would it do? I bet Angela Merkel would throw her knickers on top of a €50 billion loan if Pierce Brosnan asked her.”

Merkel said she would be a lot more generous to Ireland if Pierce Brosnan were Taoiseach.

Merkel said she would be a lot more generous to Ireland if Pierce Brosnan were Taoiseach.

“She’s hardly likely to do that for Brian Cowen or Enda Kenny.”

“I’m still not sure he’s Irish, though,” said Maeve Walsh (25) doubtfully. “I mean, when was the last time you saw a man like Pierce Brosnan in Ireland?”

“Well, in the interview he says: ‘My Irishness is in everything I do. It’s the spirit of who I am, as a man, an actor, a father. It’s where I come from,’” read Nora.

“That’s not very Irish to have pride in your country,” replied Maeve skeptically. “If he was really Irish he would have called it like it is. I’d say he was raised in the US or England or somewhere like that.” She tore her eyes away from Brosnan’s sleek, well-groomed hair to look at the interview and said, “Oh no, wait, look at this.”

Speaking of his schooldays at a Christian Brothers school, Brosnan said: “I grew up being taught by the Christian Brothers, who were dreadful, dreadful human beings. Just the whole hypocrisy. And the cruelness of their ways toward children. They were very sexually repressed. Bitter. Cowards, really. I have nothing good to say about them and will have nothing good to say about them. It was ugly. Very ugly. Dreadful. I learnt nothing from the Christian Brothers except shame.”

“Well, that settles it so,” said Maeve with a note of finality. “He really is Irish.”

Sadly, the kind of man Ireland actually produces.

Sadly, the kind of man Ireland actually produces.

The others nodded in agreement, recognising that only someone who’d lived through it could describe a Christian Brothers education so precisely.

“Jesus, where did he get that accent, then?” asked Aisling Doherty (23). “I tell ya, he could melt the chastity belt of a ninety year-old nun with that voice of his.”

As Biffo droned on in his soulless gruff monotone on the TV, she turned irritatedly and yelled, “Would you turn that shite off?!”

“Oh, and his fucking clothes!” exclaimed Róisín to enthusiastic nodding. “I’m torn between wantin’ to tear them off and just leavin’ them on so I can look at him wearin’ them.”

Their discussion was interrupted by an unwashed local man in stained overalls butting in: “How’r ye, girls, any chance of a roide, wha? Nah?! Fucking lesboes,” he muttered, before turning around and farting at them.

With a resigned sigh, the girls realised that this was about as good as it would get in Navan on a Saturday night, and put the magazine away so the worldly charm of Pierce Brosnan would no longer mock them with images of an Ireland that does not exist.

Tennis Photographers Groan as Maria Sharapova Exits Australian Open

Melbourne – To the bitterly disappointed groans of professional photographers, Maria Sharapova once again exited a major tournament before the quarterfinal stage yesterday at the Australian Open.

Photographers scramble for one last photo of Maria before she leaves Australia.

Photographers scramble for one last photo of Maria before she leaves Australia.

“It’s such a shame, really,” said Bryan Wilson (45), a career tennis photographer who follows the circuit photographing Sharapova’s slender legs and willowy body from a variety of angles. “I mean, I’m just such a big tennis fan and I think a player of Maria’s talent deserves to be in the big tournaments all the way to the end.”

“I really feel for her,” he added, rummaging in his pockets for a tissue.

Sharapova has previously won three Grand Slam events, but a shoulder injury in 2008 has seriously hampered her game, meaning that she now struggles to make it to the second week of any major tournament, much to the chagrin of press photographers who are such fans of her tennis technique.

“It’s just the quality of her groundstrokes,” said Shane Vickery (39), a professional tennis photographer for Sports Illustrated. “I am so impressed by the way she plants her long tanned legs in a wide open stance for extra power with her forehand. I just really want to capture that grace and athleticism for sports fans.”

Unfortunately, Sharapova's forehand technique also induces tendonitis in imitators.

Unfortunately, Sharapova's forehand technique also induces tendonitis in imitators.

“Studying her play has really helped me with my forehand as well,” he said, to general nods of agreement around the table that studying photos of Maria’s technique can really help one’s eye-hand coordination.

“What particularly impresses me is how deeply she bends over when preparing to return serve,” said Kenneth Algernott (61), the doyen of tennis photographers, while the others listened in respectful deference to his wisdom.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but for a tall girl Ms. Sharapova really does bend over most impressively when waiting for her opponent’s serve.”

“It’s a crucial element of one’s tennis technique,” he added by way of explanation. “From a lower perspective one can see right up the alley of the coming serve, observe the point where it comes together and see if there are any cracks in one’s opponent’s game.”

“And she does sway her buttocks from side to side quite impressively, too, to make sure her weight is evenly distributed. I’ve tried to capture this in my photographs, but I can never seem to get it right. Ah, well, I guess I’ll just have to keep trying,” he said with a heavy sigh.

Sharapova burst onto the scene at the tender age of 17 when she won the Wimbledon title in 2004. At the photographers’ table in the press lounge, many old hands warmed at the memory of the 17 year-old blonde bombshell in her tiny white miniskirt.

"This shot really captures Maria's incredible atheleticism," said Algernott appreciatively.

"This shot really captures Maria's incredible atheleticism," said Algernott appreciatively.

“Well, that was just an amazing two weeks,” said Rob Livery (36). “I’d only just started as a tennis photographer and was wondering how much of a career I could make out of it. Then Maria appeared, and I knew that I could make a really long career out of it.”

“I don’t know as much about tennis as Kenneth or some of the others here,” he said. “So I don’t mind saying that, what really struck me about Maria, was how different she was from the grumpy old lesbians who had previously dominated the sport.”

“She just had such a sunny personality! Her presence is just so infectiously uplifting. Certainly I always experience an uplift whenever I’m in her presence,” he said, looking around at the others who agreed unreservedly that Maria was a charming delight.

“I’ve really tried to capture that aspect of her in my photography, and I think now it comes out best in a full-frontal body shot with her miniskirt billowing around her hips like a flimsy piece of cloth that could simply fly away at any moment,” he said, reviewing some of his favourite pictures of her.

All agreed it was a shame Maria would not be around for the second week of the Open, then suddenly became emotional and dashed off to the toilets for some privacy and tissue paper.

Local ‘BusOrg’ Teacher Suffering Existential Crisis

Ennis – As Ireland’s economic crisis filters through to all levels of society, local secondary school Business Organisation teacher Janet Heffernan (31) says that the national economic crisis has become a personal existential crisis as she begins to doubt that her life has any purpose whatsoever.

BusOrg teacher Janet Heffernan comes to terms with the meaninglessness of her profession.

BusOrg teacher Janet Heffernan comes to terms with the meaninglessness of her profession.

“I used to really enjoy teaching,” said Ms. Heffernan after her first class of the day, as she stood outside the school gates dragging deeply from a cigarette she’d confiscated from some students.

“Well, actually, I wouldn’t say enjoy – listening to schoolgirls jabber on about Jedward makes me want to give a thistle a blowjob – but I thought I was at least doing something worthwhile, you know, preparing airhead young twits for an active role in Ireland’s social life as entrepreneurs and business executives.”

“There just doesn’t seem to be any point to it any more,” she said with a sigh before taking a drink from her hip flask.

Ms. Heffernan used to spend hours thinking up innovative new class plans and student projects to help prepare her students at St. Mary’s understand the dynamics of business, but now realises that it’s all as pointless as winning a Fianna Fáil leadership contest.

“I spent hours walking them through the formation of corporations, designing a business strategy, management efficiency, labour laws, and all that bullshit,” said Ms. Heffernan.

“But this is Ireland, for fuck’s sake! What’s the point in filling their heads with such drivel? How will knowledge of best accountancy practices and corporate management structures help them here?”

In class with her Leaving Cert students, Miss Heffernan suddenly erupted out of her drunken stupor to explain the harsh realities.

"It's the logo we came up with for a new Irish business," said Heffernan.

"It's the logo we came up with for a new Irish business," said Heffernan.

“Oh, fuck what the fucking textbook says!” she snapped exasperatedly, throwing the book across the room.

“Look at people like Denis O’Brien, for fuck’s sake! How do you think he got the state to illegally grant his company a mobile phone license? Because of his superior business strategy plan? Like fuck, it was.”

“And just look at the fucking bank guarantee!” she exploded. “The Department of Finance even said in Feb. 2008: ‘As a matter of public policy to protect the interests of taxpayers any requirement to provide open-ended/legally binding State guarantees which would expose the Exchequer to the risk of very significant costs are not regarded as part of the toolkit for successful crisis management and resolution.’”

“Did that stop them doing it? No! And do you know why?”

She stubbed her cigarette out in her whisky glass and then gulped the lot down.

“Go ‘way and practice your short game down at the fucking pitch and putt,” she said. “Go on, stop reading this bullshit in your textbooks. Go fucking practice your golf.”

“There’s an election coming up,” she said. “If you want to learn about successful business strategy in Ireland, then let’s raise some money by whoring our arses around Europe. Then we’ll ‘donate’ the profits to the major political parties.”

“That way whichever prick gets in, we’ll have his balls in our handbags.”

Students said practicing Paris Hilton poses on their desks was the most useful thing they learned in school.

Students said practicing Paris Hilton poses on their desks was the most useful thing they learned in school.

Flinging away a used-up lighter in disgust, she said, “Ah what’s the use? We’re all women – we’ll never be let into the Old Boy’s Club anyway.”

She slumped despondently onto the floor beside the radiator and glowered up at the students, who were busily noting down the first useful pieces of adult advice to ever come their way.

“Ye’re best hope is to get on a reality TV show in England and become celebrities,” she said, to more frantic scribbling. “Here, take these scissors and cut about 5 inches of those skirts.”

“For yer homework I want you to write a summary of yer one-night stands with Cristiano Ronaldo.”

“Then tomorrow we’ll practice how to get your tits out for the cameras,” she concluded, before passing out under her desk.

Baby Doc Duvalier “Just Chillin’ Out” in Gobsmacked Haiti

Port-au-Prince – “Who wouldn’t want to spend more time in Haiti?” asked Jean-Claude ‘Baby Doc’ Duvalier in surprise as he stepped carefully through the rubble of this earthquake and violence-struck island in his shorts and sandals, breathing in the salty air with a satisfied grin.

“I grew up here, you know, I have very fond memories of this place,” he explained, looking nostalgically at the shanty dwellings of his people.

A relaxed Baby Doc waves to some of the people he let live during his reign of terror.

A relaxed Baby Doc waves to some of the people he let live during his reign of terror.

“My God, this place hasn’t changed a bit,” he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief as he saw the recently destroyed remains of a house he had once burned down himself back in the 1980s.

Duvalier, the son of feared Haitian dictator Francois ‘Papa Doc’ Duvalier, came to power in Haiti at the age of just 19 when his father died in 1971. Recognising that he had big shoes to fill, Duvalier tried his best to emulate his legendary father’s record of mass killings, corruption, and embezzlement by killing tens of thousands of people and then fleeing the impoverished country in 1986 with over $300 million in State funds.

Duvalier suddenly returned to Haiti last week, with no explanation as to why.

“I’m just chillin’ with my homeboys,” said Duvalier simply as he waved to neighbours staring at him with gaping, open-mouthed astonishment.

"Just like it used to be when I ran this town," recalled Baby Doc nostalgically.

"Just like it used to be when I ran this town," recalled Baby Doc nostalgically.

“Hey, y’all, how you doin’? What’s happenin’?” he asked casually, reaching out to clasp the hand of a man with one leg who just stared back at him in slack-jawed bewilderment.

“Yes, sir, it is a fine day today!” enthused Baby Doc to some gobsmacked locals who had simply stopped in the middle of scavenging a local rubbish dump and looked dumbfounded at their former dictator suddenly once more in their midst.

“The slum dwellers were never very bright,” whispered Duvalier confidentially. “It’s the malnutrition, I think. It always took them ages to do what I said back in the 1970s.”

“Of course, back then I had my Tonton Macoutes to prod them into action,” he added. “Now those were a bunch of men who knew how to get things done.”

“Any time of day or night, if I wanted to throw a big orgy in my palace with some beautiful women, those boys would go out and come back with a dozen girls who were willing to do anything,” said Duvalier with a raucous laugh.

"Of course, I was voted world's best looking playboy dictator in 1978," said Baby Doc proudly.

"Of course, I was voted world's best looking playboy dictator in 1978," said Baby Doc proudly.

“I don’t know how they were able to persuade them all so quickly, but then Haiti is a very friendly and obliging place.”

As he walked through the streets of his old hometown, with a growing mob of Haitians following him while weaving some kind of circular design out of old pieces of rope, Baby Doc became more and more nostalgic.

“I really should try to get back here more often,” he said, a tear in his eye as he heard the distant sound of explosions. “You know, just to chill out a bit, see the slums, smell the cholera-riddled air, hear the guns chattering in the early morning hours, catch up with the people I once terrorised, you know?”

Passing a woman with four children, Baby Doc suddenly broke into a huge grin. “Juliette, is that you? Woah, girl, how you been?” he asked, as the woman turned pale and staggered backwards like she’d been hit in the stomach. “It’s me, baby! You remember the wild times we had together up in the palace, when my boys would bring you and your sisters round and we’d play ‘Who’s Baby Doc’s favourite tonight?’”

“So you got kids, now? You married? Hey, if not, give me a call. I’m staying at the hotel,” said Baby Doc, scribbling his number on a piece of paper and handing it to the woman, who had curled into a foetal ball and lay with shaking shoulders in the dust.

Haitians rush to greet the unprotected former tyrannical dictator.

Haitians rush to greet the unprotected former tyrannical dictator.

“Man, I wouldn’t mind hitting that again,” said Baby Doc with a low whistle.

While the trailing mob finished its rope design, a long cord with a ring at the end, and began to move purposefully after the former dictator, Baby Doc sighed happily as he looked down on the ruins of his homeland.

“God, I love this place and its people,” he exclaimed, waving a hand at the shattered city sprawled before him.

“It’s the homecoming I always dreamed of but never dared hope for,” he said with a tear as he turned to welcome the mob charging joyfully towards him.

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