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From Sketteldom - with malice towards some Print E-mail
( 3 Votes )
Written by Administrator   
Thursday, 15 July 2010 00:00

We promised we would not utter another word about the rekindled love affair that has been playing out on the sweet steps of Bitter Vibes between The Hammer and The Nail. That was our side of the bargain, and we’ve been keeping it. Their side of the bargain, if we might recap, was to get a bed. Someone has since reminded us that the proper command should be, “Get a room!”  OK, we stand corrected. So, for goodness sake, Mister

Hammer and Miss Nail, get a room—with a bed in it, of course.

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Well, not only have those two neglected to keep their end of the bargain, having elected to continue conducting their domestic affairs on the ‘sweets steps’ of Bitter Vibes, effectively taking up residence there, without paying a penny in rent. Hammer Host has also dared to start throwing stones this week at some unnamed persons in the UDP who, according to him, are building houses for their ‘sweethearts’.

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And guess who, of all persons, has dared to enter the domestic fray along with Hammer Host? None other than Weed-head Vaughan, the once gun-toting skettel agent, who has had such a stormy domestic affair, he should be the last to think of entering such an arena. In his case (unlike Hammer Host), it is poor Vaughan (all shirt, no flesh nor muscle; hence the nickname, Shuttie) who has been taking a beating from his woman. For convenience, we’ll just refer to those two as Lottie and Shuttie.

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Lottie, to Shuttie, is no sweetheart; his heart, indeed, though not at all sweet. She herself is also not too much flesh, but apparently much more muscle. Only Shuttie, of course, would know the full extent of her muscularity. It’s as they say, he who feels it knows it. How does it feel, Shuttie, to be on the receiving end of an abusive relationship? Please tell it to your Bitter-Vibes colleague, Hammer Host, and explain to him why you should never beat the one you love, or claim to love.
              
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Remember now, as a matter of principle, we have always tried to keep the private affairs of political skettels out of our analysis of political developments inside Sketteldom. We believe it’s the proper and responsible thing to do. We also believe, however, that it is the responsibility of those who know they reside in some of the most fragile glass houses, to restrain themselves and resist the skettellian urge to throw stones. 

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But since you insist on throwing stones, Hammer Host, how is this for a reprisal? While you accuse others of building homes for the ones they love, the one you claim to have loved, or still love (the Nail) has been all over the place telling anyone who would listen that you are not half the man you claim to be because, rather than investing a little time and money to build her and your children a decent home on the house-lot given to you by your former political boss (the Land Hog), you instead chose to squander away ten long years and all the unearned salary income you collected during that period (plus other corrupt hustling proceeds) on nothing but drinking and womanizing. Now all you have to hold on to is a two-wheeled, bar-hopping chariot and a ton-load of bitterness.

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Don’t go blaming the UDP now for your personal woes, Hammer Host, and for the fact that your lease had to be cancelled because you failed to build. Man up and face the truth! You are a miserable failure, Hammer Host. And so was the skettel government you supported. Three Billion (with a B) squandered, and nothing to show for it! You and the PUP deserve each other!  
  
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As to you, Shuttie, we understand Lottie has been saying pretty much the same thing about you; that she has to be sheltering and feeding you these days because, after being a gun-toting bag-man from the days of Joaquin in Cayo South, parading around in a fancy green Prado with thousands of dollars trying to bribe voters, you (like a true ‘Shuttie’) have nothing now but the ‘shirt’ on your back. We don’t normally support domestic violence of any kind, but with that kind of irresponsible, unmanly behaviour on your part, we are tempted to conclude that you, Shuttie, deserve every beating from Lottie.
 
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In all ‘fairness’ to Lottie, she is not the only member of the ‘fairer’ sex who has been provoked into administering Shuttie some good old woman fum-fum. Ask Mayor Z about the famous chain-saw incident. We will not mention the other ‘trashings’ and ‘slappings’ Shuttie has also received at the hands of real men like Brother Burns from Caribbean Shores. Nor will we recount the episode in which Rusty Rufus had to shield and shelter him from the righteous wrath of protesting unionists in the days of civil disobedience, lest we be accused of promoting violence against wimps and skettels, both of which he (or she) is.

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It’s a territory we don’t like to venture into, but since we‘ve been dragged, against our will, into the realm of skettellian domestic affairs, we note that there was an odd incident recently reported in the news, which leaves us wondering whether the nature of the matter is criminal or domestic, civilian or skettellian; and if skettellian, which skettel is the real perpetrator, which skettel is the real victim, and which skettel is the real accomplice. We hope we’re not confusing you, for that certainly is not the intention. So, let’s wheel and come and again.

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The story involves guns and ammunition. But it is also, apparently, about a love triangle. It’s definitely about an old skettel; it’s also perhaps about a new or independent skettel (take your pick); and, according to the streets (he or she that is without sin, cast the first stone), it’s as well about a skettel-skettel, in the most literal sense. Still confused? Here we go again.  

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OK. The old skettel we speak of is one of two party loyalists who were the first to be called ‘old political skettels’, he being as stalwart as a ‘Renaissance Tower’ in Sketteldom (also known as Lucas the Koncas). The one who branded him an ‘old political skettel’ is, of course, none other than he who is now known as Saintly Skettel or St. Mark. Now, the new skettel, or independent skettel (as he would surely contend to be), is the unelected brother-in-law of Saintly Skettel, the one who loves to ‘Wake Up Belize’ and take to his sanctimonious pulpit on the airwaves every weekday morning, although he often acknowledges being no saint, having once confessed on national radio that he is in fact a “weed-smoker” and “womanizer”. His words, not ours! Let’s call him Junior X. You can run but you can’t Hyde, not even behind a ‘zinc fence’. And the skettel-skettel, let’s just call her Gina; we did NOT say Tillett!
 
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So, now that we’ve gotten the identities straight, let’s proceed to relate the story. According to reports, the home of the new (or independent) Zinc- Fence Skettel, also known as Junior X, was allegedly broken into. Stolen from his residence, among other items, were guns and ammunition belonging to that Skettel Skettel (we call her Gina; we did NOT say Tillett). But, you ask, isn’t she the well-known sweetheart of that old skettel with the stature of a Renaissance Tower (also known as Lucas the Koncas)? Yes, so we’re told. She is also president of women skettels; women who are skettels not because they are women, just because they are skettels (which is to say PUP). She is from El Cayo, we understand, and apparently refused to follow the advice in that old song by Kenny Rogers, “Don’t take your love to Town”. In this case, Lucas the Koncas could also have sung, as Johnny Cash once did, “Don’t take your guns to Town, (girl), leave your guns at home”. (Town, in both instances, of course, would refer, not to San Ignacio, but to the Old Capital). 

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Other than the act of crime itself (the breaking and entering and burglarizing), this triangular affair is none of our business. We will, therefore, say no more; except to issue a word of caution to the Old ‘Renaissance Tower’ Skettel. We know you’re no Saint, Luke, but if you can’t be faithful, then be very careful with whom you ‘pillow talk’. And we’re not talking about the kind of ‘pillow talk’ that your owner, Lord Predator, specializes in. That kind is suggestive; this one is literal. You never know, Skettel Koncas, who else your pillow-mate might be pillow-talking with, perhaps sharing the intimate details about your political secrets and schemes with the very brother-in-law of your arch-enemy, the same Saintly Skettel who first called you an “old political skettel”. In other words, Lucas, don’t just watch your belly, also watch your back!

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Till next week, as they say on WUB, “We gaan!”