A century isn't bad going. Especially when the average life expectancy of a male born in Georgia, USA, in 1924 was 59. Just shows to go you what a life of wealth, privilege, being a president of America and doing good deeds will do for you.
As presidents go, Jimmy Carter was ok. (granted, the competition for goodblokepresident is limited) Even mr ishmael rated him. Here's his encomium:
"I have a soft spot for Jimmy Carter. In many ways he was probably better than most of them, the odious Clintons, the race-card poseur, Obama, the bought and paid for Reagan and his mad witch, Nancy, and the unspeakable Bushes. Although the inept Jimmy Carter, Mr President, even in retirement, was sent off abroad grinning like a loony, on business for the current President, he mostly spent and spends his retirement doing genuinely good works.
Always a bogus illusion foisted by elites upon greedy, gullible morons, the US political system has yet to produce a president of any merit and it never will, now; crooks and cheats and worse, most of them, and if one shows a hint of Decency, say, Jimmy Carter, he is rubbished by his colleagues, knee-capped by the press and a proper dummy installed, in that case the fuckwit, Reagan, and his star-gazing Mummy-Wife, Nancy.
Imagine, Jimmy Carter in the White House when Manhattan sky-scrapers fall inexplicably to the ground in their own footprints, and there’s a ban on US air travel, apart from Saudi Arabians fleeing homeward; imagine that relatives of the dead are beaten by lawnforcement for disputing the facts; imagine that the very steel from the most blatantly deceptive building collapse is immediately shipped to India for re-cycling; imagine that the Constitution is ripped up and the state empowered to read your every written word, to listen to your every conversation; imagine that Torture and Sadism are sanctified at home and abroad by the White House; they’d have ripped poor Jimmy’s guts out.
George Dubya Chimp, however, stupid and compliant as a penniless, drunken whore, was licensed to commit kleptomaniacal genocide and nobody said Boo!
I dunno about you but if I was on an aircraft hijacked by a handful of screeching, hysterical Muslim nancyboys, armed only with tiny little blades, I'd fucking kill the bastards. Even if they held Kalashnikovs, I would stab the fuckers in the eye with anything that came to hand - pen, spoon, rolled-up magazine, anything; you can make a sharp, eye-penetrating splinter from a plastic coffee cup - I'd grab them by the bollocks and twist as hard as I could, that'd make them cry-out and pray to Allah in their hour of need, alright, peace and blessings be upon His name, as we should now all say, lest we offend those who want to kill us, out of respect; I'd kick them, punch them, strangle them, I'd bite their fucking faces off. But no, even though they outnumbered the unarmed arabs by ten or twenty or thirty to one, September 11's Americans sat still, doing as they were told, probably expecting Superman to fly alongside, or Bruce Willis to emerge, bloody and in his vest, from the baggage hold; tossers, too stupid even to fight for their lives, too cowed; too fucking special."
It has never been suggested that Decent Jimmy had worms.
"Worms?
The Hell you say?
What, worms in ole Spunky Bill's shit?
An' we journalists're still falling over ourselves to lick his asshole clean, like he was still president?
How'd he get worms in his doo-doos?
Them critters crawl up his asshole, or what?
No, Joe,
it's widely rumoured that he has some horrible disease,
and that he,
well, he just sort of manufactures the worms,
inside of himself.
Inside of himself?
Just like that?
What?
Like he was a walkin'-talkin' wormery?
Some kinda two-legged compost heap?
And what, they eatin' his ass up, from inside?
That's some heavy shit, that.
It's like somethin' from the Old fuckin' Testament.
Is it all down to his lifetime of fornicating with every woman he meets, 'n'every girl, too, from what I hear?
Is that what it is?
Like syphillis, some shit like that?
I betcha that's what it is.
Worms eatin' ya up from inside, an' you ain't even dead yet.
That's fuckin' mediaeval, that, Jonboy.
Just as well he ain't President no more,
or even First Gennulman.
Imagine that shit.
Imagine President Trousers, in her mad, scarlet pants suit and her brain-tumour faintin' fits, needing to be held-up by a secret service man and her plastic surgery bruises hidin' under her dark glasses, looking like she's escaped from some old lady funny farm and First Genullman Spunky Bill, all whey-faced, like he was having a heart attack, and them both gibberin an' fuckin' droolin' as they're welcoming some foreign fuckin' dig-nit-erry to the White House and a bucket of fucking worms comes cascading down outa his trouser legs an' starts wrigglin' and writhin' all over the fuckin' carpet.
Hundreds of the slimy bastards,
all glistening with former presidential shit an' blood
an' that oitment, wossitcalled, Anusol, is that it, the stuff they give folks with piles?
You're bound to have piles, aincha, passing hundreds of fucking worms every half hour?
If you don't get piles in a poxed-up asshole infested with an unlimited supply of worms, when the more worms you shit, the more worms you grow inside of you, then you ain't never gonna have piles, not ever.
That's some heavy shit.
Ya cooden make that shit up, Jon.
Not even in Time magazine.
I tell ya what, boy, you'n'me, we better think twice,
'fore we eat any more PROTUS doo-doo,
ain't that the trooth, boy?
And, pardon me, isn't it, look you, for intruding; I know this isn't my bulletin, but just a thought,
thinking out-loud, as it were, isn't it,
but it wouldn't do Wall Street and the Stock Exchange much good, would it? The First Gentleman being worm-incontinent, as the broadsheets would put it, or Spunky Bill Shits Worms in White House! as some of Mr Kelvin McFilth's colleagues might headline it.
I should think the dollar would hit an all time low, probably never come back up again,
I shouldn't wonder;
be a bit of a laughing stock, look you, America, wouldn't it, having elected a pair of gibbering, geriatric, poxed-up, worm-shitting lunatics to the highest office in the world, eh, isn't it?"
...........................................................
Dramatis Personae:
Former President (1993–2001): Bill Clinton, aged 78, was admitted to the MedStar Georgetown University Hospital in December 2024, where he underwent testing and observation after developing a fever. He was released the following day in a stable condition.
President Trousers: the President that never was: Hilary Rodham Clinton, aged 77 - what can I say? Multiply-cuckolded by hubby Spunky Bill, she set the stage for her future career when as a teenager she lost the election for class president for her senior year against two boys, one of whom told her that "you are really stupid if you think a girl can be elected president". Starring in the Whitewater controversy, Travelgate, Filegate, Hillary Clinton cattle futures controversy, the removal of furniture from the White House when Spunky Bill was not re-elected - and don't forget the deletion of 30,000 Government -related emails.
English media executive and former editor of trash newspaper The Sun (1981- 1994): Kelvin McFilth: aged 78, entirely fictitious recurring character in the Chronicles of Ishmael.
Channel 4 presenter (1989-2021): Jon Socks, aged 77, entirely fictitious recurring character in the Chronicles of Ishmael.
BBC news presenter (2003-2023): Huw Welshman, aged 63, unfortunately not fictitious, a recurring character in the Chronicles of Ishmael. A disgraced sex offender, Welshman was paid £550,000–£599,999 per annum by the BBC for several years, dropping to £520,000–£529,999 in July 2018, due to the scandal of gender inequality pay within the BBC, further reduced to £465,000 as of May 2019, and had to rub along on £435,000–£439,999 in July 2023, but pricked up by £40,000 between April 2023 and April 2024, when he resigned from the BBC "on medical advice". He is currently serving a sentence of imprisonment of 6 months imposed on the 16th September 2024, suspended for two years on the condition that he does not commit any more offences until September 2026. He has been entered onto the sex offenders' register for seven years, is required to attend a sex offender treatment programme and pay £3,128 costs and victim surcharge. The BBC has been editing him out of its archived programmes. No longer will you hear his hushed "Huw Welshman yere" on the late Queen's funeral gig or King Brian's coronation. A mural of him in his hometown of Llangennech has been painted over and his plaque removed from Cardiff Castle.
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