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Kia Ora Mate, Trumpisms and May's Marvellous Medicine

AS THIS Reporter has long suspected, all the world's ills can be traced back to Coca Cola. (Other fizzy drinks are available but none so potent.) Not just rotting to the teeth, but rotting to the mind, a vending machine in New Zealand has finally spelt it out in black and white.

"Kia Ora Mate" or "Hello Death", the slogan reads. The media, upon being copiously bribed, has run the story this is a 'lost in translation' moment. A bid to combine the Maori language with English falling flat (mate meaning death in Maori being the stumbler). But This Reporter states, this is a panicked cover-up. The vending machine speaks the unpalatable truth.

Just look at Coca Cola's poster boy, Donald Trump, spouting about climate change this week. Finally climbing down from his preposterous stance that climate change was a hoax devised by China, the American President was still unable to approach the subject with any semblance of rationality. Declaring there was no point putting any major financial investment into it, as it would "change back again" of its own accord. As you can see, Mr Trump has had one Coca Cola too many.

Meanwhile, as is also common knowledge amidst exclusive circles - of one - Boris and his bogey squad have been pouring neat Coca Cola into Prime Minister Theresa May's morning coffee pot for years because as we know, ingest it incorrectly and it can deliver the same results as inverted Kryptonite.

What other explanation can there possibly be for Mrs May's anti-climatic speech in the Commons on Monday? Really we should all have learnt by now that when Mrs May announces she is going to deliver a speech following a huge Brexit-related cock-up, she always acts like things were meant to look this bad.

Against all our better judgement however, and following Brexit talks reaching a complete impasse over the backstop to the backstop to the front stop to the full stop yesterday (Monday), the words: "This is the time for cool, calm heads to prevail and it's the time for a clear-eyed focus on the few remaining but critical issues that are still to be agreed" were still not what we expected to hear - unless Mrs May's simply trying to secure sponsorship from Optrex.

Correct This Reporter if she is wrong, but what we wanted was Mrs May to finally blow her top and declare: "Quite frankly folks we're buggered. You're all buggered, I'm buggered, the whole country's f-ing buggered. We're up to our eyeballs (wink to the camera, this ones for you Optrex) in it and I don't know how to get us out. You lot are as useful to me as a box of rusty spanners, and I've had it. I'm throwing in the towel. I resign".

With one defiant last swig at her Starbucks coffee, Mrs May would begin to flounce out. But what's this? She's rooted to the spot and hang on a minute, is she growing? Yes she is. Higher and higher, she's making contact with the ceiling and still going. Crash, through the plaster work and before we know it her feet are still planted in Westminster but her head's looking out across the Thames.

There are two possible conclusions to this, by no means unrealistic, story. Either Mrs May's legendary status as the world's tallest Prime Minister generates a whole new wave of interest in our country, and as knock on effect, boost to our economy and thus we all are saved.

Or the Brexiteers begin brewing up vats of Mrs May's, evidently mutated, Marvellous Medicine Potion #3 and transform themselves into a political monster race. Thrusting Brexit upon countries across the whole world, even if they were never part of the EU in the first place. Only time will tell...Bottoms up.

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