The Diaries of a Sozzled Scribbler #23
Transcribed by DMETRI KAKMI
The other night I watched a 1970s British horror film called Frightmare. It should have been called My Psycho Mama Was A Badly Dressed Tranny because Sheila Keith, the thespian playing the cannibal mom, resembled a man in an unflattering wig and an off-the-rack number from Kmart.
I feel the same about Joe Bidden.
I look at him and think something is wrong. What is it? So I thought I’d interview him to get to the bottom of this great and abiding mystery. But he’s playing hard to get. As luck would have it, US Vice President Carmilla Harrison-Ford was in Canberra, talking to Prime Dickhead, Scott Moronson, about nuking Communist China.
KH: My names is Kamala actually.
SS: Kamala Actually. That’s a funny name for an Injan.
KH: The correct name is Kamala Harris. The first name is Kamala. Not Carmilla.
SS: Let’s get one thing straight.
SS: Then why is your name Carmilla, the lesbian bloodsucker?
KH: I told you, the name is Kamala, Kamala…
SS: There’s no need to shout. You’re obviously a feminazi who confuses aggression with assertiveness. You will have to take anger management classes before you become assistant POTASS, or whatever it’s called. Which brings me to the next question.
SS: Are you going to change the name of the White House?
SS: Because black is the new black.
KH: We are not changing the name of The White House. That venerable building represents all Americans, irrespective of race, creed, sex or religion.
SS: Tell that to the Trump supporters who stormed congress. I understand you’re from Inja.
KH: I was born in Oakland, California.
SS: That, my dear, is nothing to boast about.
KH: I’m very proud of the community in which—
SS: Boring. Your maman is from Inja.
KH: My mother is Indian and my father Jamaican.
SS: No one is interested in your sob-story about uneducated peasants doing well in the new country. We’ve heard it before. Ad nauseam.
KH: My parents are not uneducated. My mother is a biologist and my father is emeritus professor of economics at Stanford University.
SS: How sweet, aspirational BIPOC, which means you are pathologically driven to succeed.
KH: That’s an insulting acronym and—
SS: Can you make Palak Paneer?
SS: How about Lachcha Paratha?
KH: Is this a cooking show? I thought we were talking politics.
SS: No one is interested in politics any more, darling. Guilt-ridden white liberal progressives only care about color, gender and using the wrong toilets.
SS: Now, let’s see, you are a failure as an Injan, but you make an attractive trans woman.
SS: Then why do you look like a man in a bad wig?
KH: Why do you look like the mutant hillbilly from The Hills Have Eyes?
SS: Miaow! Here comes another hard-hitting question.
SS: Is it true Nancy Pelosi has Trump’s head mounted on the wall of her office?
KH: No, she doesn’t. She has his balls nailed to her desk.
SS: Ouch! Hard-hitting question number two coming up.
SS: You and Joe Biden were Time magazine’s person of the year.
SS: How can two people be person of the year? ‘Person’ is a singular noun.
KH: He’s the President, I’m the Vice President. We are a team. We work as one, like two-headed Janus.
SS: Two-headed anus! That’s disgusting.
KH: Janus, Janus. The Roman god.
SS: All right, don’t yell.
KH: You need a hearing aid, old man.
SS: Carmilla Harrison-Ford, lesbian vampire elect, love child of a grumpy old actor, I put it to you that you and Joe Biden are one and the same person.
KH: By the four arms of Vishnu, how did you find out?
KH: [breaks down and cries] Yes, yes, it’s true. It’s all true. Joe Biden is me and I am Joe Biden. Oh, I’m ruined, ruined, I tell you!
SS: Cut the waterworks, lady. I know you’re tough as nails.
KH: [stops crying and lights a cigarillo and crosses legs suggestively] All right, who told your saggy lily white ass?
SS: No one told me. One look at Joe Biden and I knew he was a black woman in white face.
SS: Tell me why you deceived America, the entire world.
KH: What choice do I have? I’m black and a woman. No one is going to make me President of the United States. So I invented Joe Bidden, an innocuous old white man and voila! We’re in power. Why did you have to go and ruin it?
SS: Keep your tits on. I’m not going to reveal your dastardly secret.
SS: But I want something in return.
SS: I come to your secret love pad one night and—
KH: …do the beast with four backs.
SS: It’s the beast with two backs, numb skull. What kind of weird kinky shit are you into anyway? And no, I don’t want to have sexual congress with you. Trump supporters can fuck congress better than I can.
KH: Then what do you want?
SS: You will cook Palak Paneer and Lachcha Paratha—
SS: I haven’t finished yet.
SS: You will cook Palak Paneer and Lachcha Paratha and rub it all over my naked body.
SS: Give me a mango lassi enema and you have my eternal devotion.
KH: Ugh! You are a sicko.
SS: Now go out there and school ‘em, sister-girl!
KH: I told you, I’m not transgender.
SS: Everyone is trans nowadays. Blame gay fashion designers. They put something in clothes to make the wearer Victor/Victoria and bring on the end of civilization.
KH: That makes absolutely no sense.
SS: My truth is as vapid as yours, honey.
À bientôt, mes amies.
The Sozzled Scribbler was born in the shadow of the Erechtheion in Athens, Greece, to an Egyptian street walker and a Greek bear wrestler. He is currently stateless and lives on gin and cigarettes.
Dmetri Kakmi is the author of Mother Land (shortlisted for the New South Wales Premier’s Literary Awards in Australia), and the editor of When We Were Young. His latest book is The Door and Other Uncanny Tales. He does not endorse the Sozzled Scribbler’s views.
The Drunken Odyssey 