'Morning, Holmes', said Dr Watson, looking up from his copy of the Washington Ghost, and 'Evening, Watson', that detective replied, picking up The Times, and glancing through the headlines in it.
'Another case has landed on our doorstep, Watson.' 'Misdelivered by our Polish dyslexic postie again, was it?' 'No, Watson, take a look at this', and the sleuth passed the doctor his copy of The Times.
''English fail to win at any sports again'?' 'No, look down a bit. ''Americans never win wars'?' 'Beside that.' 'American President disappears, Americans cheer and give a massive sigh of relief at getting rid of that ridiculous ham actor - again'?' 'Elementigible, Watson, we must act now before the Yard takes the credit for solving this case.'
'But -' 'It all falls into a pattern', Holmes continued, 'a token President who is unwanted in his own country, and who is doomed to spend four years mouthing off cliched, meaningless nonsense to the dumbest people in the world, dumb enough to believe that they are the mightiest people in the world. And so, Watson, to the Leah Bracknell jet!' 'The wh -' 'I mean - to the mean streets of London, Watson, there is work to be done.'
'Wh - ' '.' '?' '!', and so the pair left their home in Baker Street, and walked across central London to the Old Billingsgate Fish and Rhyming Pigs' Entrail Shoppe.
'Afternoon, squire', the shop's manager greeted them, 'are you after a hammer and firkin, or maybe some seagulls' nests? Or I've got some newly captured goats and wall hangers, if you care for that sort of bubble and rhinocerous.'
'Enough Mockney patois, sir', Sherlock Holmes replied, 'or patios, we are here to find the hissing mystery President, the one and only Barry Alabama, the right, honorable, nay honourable King of America, the dark-skinned fake of Hawaii, the ham-acting actor with about as much power as a broken lightbulb.'
'You mean - ?' 'The man who makes Bill Clinton seem like a trustworthy and sincere American leader, and Ronald Reagan seem like an intelligent human being. Yes, sir, we are looking for the Missing President.'
At that the shoppe owner looked a little embarrassed, saying 'This is London, mate, you know ... I mean, we do have SOME standards 'ere. Hooked-handed Muslim maniacs, yes, drunken Scottish football hooligans, maybe, even Labour MPs are just about tolerated.'
'But an idiotic American President, that makes a fool of himself by flying round the world endlessly like a failed film star? Sorry, ain't allowed in the Smoke, pal. That'll be two sovs and a tanner for me time, please', and pausing merely to crush the shop owner's skull with his walking stick, leaving him with eight subdural haematomas and a rather sore head, Sherlock Holmes left the shoppe with Dr Watson.
'Take that 'p' and 'e' from the shoppe, Watson, we have no time to spare', and the doctor did so, handing them over to a street beggar with red hair and Bleary eyes, 'call me a cab!' Resisting the temptation to make the obvious ancient joke, Dr Watson hailed a Hansom cab, and soon the two were riding round in circles in Westminster, to fill up the article.
'Dashed expensive, this article-filling, Holmes', said the medic, 'and rather tedious, what?' 'What?' 'What d'you mean 'What?'' 'What do you mean, 'What do you mean, 'What?''', and the next hour was spent by them arguing about lexicology and apostrophe's and hyenas, until the cab finally pulled up at the House of Commons.
'The President is in here!', Holmes said, and as they walked into the Abandon Hope lobby it was evidently true, as standing in the corner and talking to himself was none other than the President of the United States of America, Barry Alabama.
'We have come this far, far away from America', he was muttering quietly, 'to whatever European country Dick Cheney has now sent me to. Jeez, why am I now a feeble parody of John F. 'I am a donut' Kennedy? He was about as powerful and useful to America as I am, no wonder I spend all my time in dumps like Germany and England.'
'Stop, sir!', Holmes shouted at Alabama, 'just because nobody cares what you waffle endless pish about, or even cares what the USA does any more, doesn't mean you can come over here and rabbit that pish in public, even if you've got more rabbit than Sainsbury's!'
'I hereby arrest you on the charge of being an annoying, token git, that makes America look like the feeblest country in the world! Seize him, Watson!', but that doctor was in the Expenses Office, claiming money there for his collection of bonsai trees and bow-and-arrow targets, with pictures of Uncle Sap on them, so the article fizzled out like Americans attempting to win a war against a Third World country.
'Well, at least we can make, I think we can safely say, a movie, if not a film, even a televisual feast out of this', Barrack Alabama said, in that long-winded and childish way he speaks, and Sherlock Holmes merely coughed like a sheep with a touch of the vapours, and strode out of the building and into the nearest Scientology centre.
'I am an American President', the sleuth lied to the people there, 'and I believe everything I'm told.' 'Sign up here!', came the answer, and the people of Germany, Britain, France and Spain - the ones that really rule the world - burst out laughing at such a feeble end to this story, and went back to writing crap for The Daily Moron.
Less is more, more or less, and more is less than more than more of a lesser, yet more, even less than more or less - or more - a lessitivity, that can appear more of a lessness to more, or perhaps less, of the crap that issues from the ridiculous President of the USA's mouth. No wonder he keeps getting booted out of America, even Yanks have had enough of his neverending bullshit.
And when the ever-tolerant British start laughing at him, you just know you've elected a clown. Again.