Satiricus wasn’t in a good mood. In fact, he was in a very foul mood. Since he usually had the deepest pocket at the back table at the Back Street Bar he habituated with his buddies day in, day out, they were, understandably, quite concerned.
“Suh who t’ief yuh mumma white fowl, Sato?” asked Bungi in his inimitable undiplomatic manner, as Hari kicked him under the table.
“I can’t understand why some Guyanese badminded so!” fumed Satiricus. “Including my editor, of all people.”
“What did he do this time, Sato?” asked Hari solicitously, as he signalled the waitress for a round of beer. “Sending you out of town, again?”
“Nah!” answered Satiricus with a growl. “Imagine he’s doubting the word of Prezzie!”
“Nooooo!” grinned Bungi in mock alarm. “Really??”
“OK, Sato,” said Hari. “Let’s hear the story.”
“Well, you fellas must’ve seen where my editor said Prezzie allow Minister Bull Cant to DICTATE to the Chronic?” said the still agitated Satiricus. “Press interference he said!”
“But na da wha’ Bull Cant do?” asked Bungi in a surprised voice. “’E tell dem whe’ fuh put HE story!”
“Not so!” said Satiricus firmly. “Prezzie said a Minister is just like any reader who is free to make a SUGGESTION!”
“Which world you live in, Sato?” asked Hari indignantly. He was willing to risk his supply of beer. “A Minister telling a GOVERNMENT FLUNKEY in the Chronic where to put a story has the weight of any other reader??”
“Well, Prezzie talkin’ abut Bull Cant, yuh know!” said Bungi in an effort to salvage the flow of beer. “Yuh know he like wan Chrismuss blow-blow!”
“You’re right, Bungi,” said Hari, realising he had to look at the big picture. “Look how the Town Clerk who wukking for Bull Cant, tell him to buss off!”
“I’m happy you fellas agree a fella like Bull Cant will never DICTATE to anybody,” said Satiricus as he signalled for more beers. “He CAN’T even dictate to a fly!”
