Let’s burn the infernal witch

If Franco Debono hadn’t been such an interesting person I don’t know what some, or most of us, would be writing about. For example did anyone realise that in Malta we’re now officially part of some arctic bloc—or is it just me freezing away? And maybe Dr Debono could enlighten me: can we form part of a block of ice or are we still neutered according to our sacred constitution? Or is the unnatural cold nature’s way of spewing out its anger at us Maltese for being such errant kids? It could be Nature saying “suffer, ye little mortals cos you’ve had it a bit too good for your own sakes.”

If it weren’t because of Franco’s quirky parliamentary behaviour—or at least threatened behaviour—we’d be seeing many photos in newspapers and websites of people’s clothes left in wardrobes and coming out wetter than they would from the washing machine. We’d be discussing our chances of winning the Eurovision song festival, the Champions League, Miss World and the World Cup. And we would be lamenting Arriva’s late or non-arrival. So let’s all be grateful for our parliament—it gives us most fodder for our sorest eyes and blasted ears. Carry on with your ways and silly shallowness—all is forgiven because you give us a bit of fun and clowning in these drab, grey days.

What with Franco, Joseph, Lawrence, Beppe and various other varied and wearisome politicos our life is ever so colourful. In fact here on this fair isle the season of Panto never seems to cease.

It’s true we, or the politicians and their defenders and detractors, hardly seem to care that in Panto everyone is exhorted to be nice to each other—yes we should be nice even to the lawyers and other such heinous baddies and opponents. Even the Prime Minister said we should be nice to each other and not find fault with opponents like Dr Debono—see he too is straight out of Panto. He, the Prime Minister, for now at least, told us he has loads and loads of text and email messages coming from Dr Debono at all strange hours of the day and night. Maybe the errant MP had a secret crush and now, thwarted, he has turned it into a need to crush the Nationalists singlehandedly? The mind, as they say, boggles.

To hear Franco, and his new found Labour friends and Saviours, who back him and talk of him as Malta’s latest and best, unsung hero to solve and save our motherland, we are surrounded by evil and evil-mongers waiting desperately to get us all fried and flayed and fired into the deepest pits of hell.

One particular blogger—not me thank god I’m pure, virginal and hardly matter—is called worse things than evil. She, whose-name-I-dare-not-utter, because some monstrous curse will come down upon me, is the evil one; the witch; the sorceress causing all sorts of horrors.

All labour-backers and Gonzi-rubbishers seem to be in agreement that the Prime Minister should gag “her”. This, I imagine, in the name of the now-defunct censorship board, the Ayatollah and the Taleban. Are we in some backward country, by any chance, where gagging is easy, fine and sanctioned by the top echelons of society? If we live in the land of the free then why and how stop her?

Mind you, if, as variously and vicariously claimed, she is a definite no-holds-barred, fully-confessed witch, I’d imagine it’s more the remit of our Archbishop to have her banned and exorcised. His holiness, in his infinite grace, should have her quartered; or dipped, first into the ice-cold sea for a further confessional and then straight away to be burnt at the stake.

The head of our local Catholic church would see his stakes rise ever so sharply if he does as I bid him and crucifies or burns the bitch of Bidnija (as you see I give you no name or else I’m cursed).

A witch in our midst and the usually quite vociferous bishop of Gozo lies dumb at such satanic grossness? Burning her in some great, monstrous bonfire could also give us some added spectacle to our oh so boring lives, and would also keep us warm for a few hours.

We could ask John Dalli, Sargas or some other energy saving magician to stoke the fire for the burning of the witch and her followers, fellow-witches, admirers and readers. Her burning could see us through this infernally cold spell. And at last the witch queen could be doing the nation a great service. Maybe she could then garner a few awards like some medal for serving the republic. “For getting rid of yourself, we the people, award you a full list of medals.” I seriously doubt whether anyone would want to pin any medals or pendants on her charred remains. So maybe she had better not arrive at the palace on her broom.

Such horrors are not for kids or even for adults’ ears—so her name is never ever mentioned in public or in writing. She is “she”; the legendary horror—the gorgon of our times.

So if for nothing else I hope the electorate will choose wisely and opt for Dr Joseph’s amazing technicolour team to lead us into serenity and lack of strife both in and outside Parliament. And this will rid us, once and for all, of the wicked witch’s waylaid ways.

At last the Catholic Church, and the Labour party, will be united as one and the nation will be truly blessed.