We wrap every year up at its end with tinsel, and meaningless pleasantries about the next. But let’s not mince words this time, certainly not mince-pie (aka sugarcoat) ’em. Politesse changes nothing and what we need is change. This year’s skullduggery, for example, will impact us for decades. The murderous madmen we elect, and the lethal canards they, and other evil folk spread, will result in democracy’s end and the onset of another Dark Age. That’s why it’s not a wrap this year-end, but a warp. Warped means dangerously twisted and this world is plenty that. But what if, like a trick mirror at a fun fair, we can warp reality to our advantage, for a laugh if nothing else? When all the lifesaving vaccines are banned by Trump’s new antivaxxing ministry, laughter will be the only medicine we have left. The year-end also brings loot by the limoloads, with which tiny cliques of privileged people reward each other for scratching their backs well. Always afraid that the rest of us plebs might snatch their bootee (not to be confused with booty, up next!), they frostily batten down the hatches. Why not, therefore, discombobulate them, by giving them more of what they crave? Awards more fitting, I promise you, than the outrageous annual payments they gift themselves (do I smell a Muskrat or is that $56bn in ill-gotten gains?), or the made-much-of awards that are handed out like party favours amongst the One Per Cent. These poor little rich prats might have cornered the world’s resources, but have they got what they truly deserve? NO, but I’m not that bitch Karma, sadly, so I can’t deliver just desserts. Yet, ask yourself, what do you give someone who has EVERYTHING? Here are six prizes so perfect for avaricious fat cats and ruthless despots that they’ve never even considered them (but, goodness, aren’t they worthy): The Fattest Bear of The Year usually goes to the Alaskan bear that’s piled on the most pounds before ambling into hibernation. They’ve wolfed all the salmon for the right reasons — survival — but this year, it should go to a beary, beary bad human. Many politicians would be serious contenders, bloated with greed and lust for power, yet, our accolade isn’t for body shape but fatheadedness, and must go to Bobby Bear. Named thus for illegally killing a beautiful bear, who was hurting no-one, Bob Kennedy Jr, Trump’s health tsar, on the other hand, will hurt all of humanity by outlawing the lifesaving vaccines and vital medicines that have made our planet safe for us. All because his desire for power and mental capacity are inversely proportional. The Ugliest Dog Contest was bagged by so-ugly-she’s-stunning Peggy this year, going on to star as Dogpool in the Hollywood blockbuster of a similar name, but should really have been scooped up by goggle-eyed, prune-faced Nigel Farage, who gives kuttas a bad name. His pug-ugly mug may not matter but his mangy soul is a problem. When not getting his fangs into immigrants and Musk-money, deadly misinformation is his currency. Cravenly running to Trump every time he whistles, Farage is no British bulldog. The World Moustache Championship should have been won by Adolf Hitler time and again, instead of the lands he brutalised, and so should the prize for genocide (though the British in India should share in this gory — did I miss an L? No siree). Yet, in Netanyahu, currently, there’s a new contender for his crown. 46,000 civilian deaths and counting, this villain doesn’t even need a silly moustache.The Darwin Award is won every year by a poor fool who’s literally shot himself in the foot (or done one better and “removed themselves from the gene pool”). This one must go to British PM Keir Starmer in 2024, who came to power on the back of a landslide and then proceeded to muck it up in the short span of a few spattered months. Now his approval rating is lower than Rishi Sunak’s and he ain’t even brown (which, keeping Kamala in mind, is the least popular colour in the Western political spectrum)The Caber Tossing Championship in Scotland is generally snagged by brawny, kilt-wearing Scots stalwarts, but even the petite, late Queen Elizabeth II is said to have tried her hand at it, so why not our own dearest Narendra? Involving tossing a log an impressive distance, it would give our manly Prime Minister a chance to flex his muscles, far from home where little damage can be done (except to highland cows whom, I’m sure, he wouldn’t harm a hair on), while showing off the girth of his calves — 56-inches again, na?Rear of The Year is presented anally…oops, annually…to the celebrity with the cutest butt. What if we awarded it, not for the hottest derriere, but for being the world’s worst a-h*l*? This honour can only be conferred on the person who’s done the most to condemn the earth to calamity and devastation. Not many can poison more than their own patch, and so, we must give it to either the world’s biggest fart, Donald Trump, or his malodorous henchman, Elon Musk. Both of whom infect everything in their path with their maleficence. You decide. Now then, don’t you feel better? Having handed your ‘superiors’ largesse to which they aren’t entitled, just like at every election? And why not? This festive time of year is about giving, after all!
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