Cuss-bud

Satiricus had just seen the new Bond flick, “Skyfall”. He felt like he was “M” with “assets” in the opposition as he glanced at the diary in his hands. His wife’s niece (five times removed) Leelawatee worked as a maid for them and had filched the latest diary from the Naga Man. She had to return the diary by the morning, so old Satiricus read hurriedly…

Dear Diary,
I got to be brief, Dear Diary. You know I ain’t getting any younger. But I just got to tell you what happen in Parliament today. I feel like I was back in Wham, when I was a boy selling fish in the market with me Unclee Henree. I didn’t only tell them to “shut yuh-so-an-so-mout”; I described several parts of their mother’s anatomy! I shame to write out the words now.
(Excuse me, Dear Diary, I had to take a rest. I ain’t getting any younger, you know; and, all right, I took a lil’ drink to steady me hands.)
But you shoulda seen me fellow Wham man, the Bush Doctor. He used to feel strange in Parliament because, you know he can’t talk good English like me. But today, was freedom day for he: he could cuss and shout just like he does when he give out he bush medicine! But the star for the day was me friend Ram Jhaat. I didn’t know them rice-field chaps could cuss so! He must have some fisher blood in he! Is a real cuss-bud!
I see the newspapers pick up that he tell the Old Comrades “we gon knock alyou off, one by one”. But they didn’t pick up the end of the sentence: “and we gon tek over alyou wuk!” That boy Ram Jhaat really ambitious. But he too hasty. He got to learn patience, like me. But he so bitter against the Old Comrades, he didn’t notice that he getting squeezed out.
(Okay, Dear Diary. Was just another rest and a drink.)
Where was I? Ah, yes. Ram Jhaat can’t see what’s right in front of him. NoGel and me done strike a bargain. Trot Man and he are yesterday news. Trot Man teeing off people from every side by trying to please them. And the Jhaat cussing down right, left, and centre.
Is NoGel and me at the next elections, Dear Diary. But don’t worry about that idiot Kiss Soon. I gon be the presidential candidate! Is history repeating itself. Chetti and Jamet never give me a chance. I had to make up story that they pick me. But you know the real story, right, Dear Diary. They say I used to drink too much.
They said it used to steady my hands but also loosen me mouth. But I gon show them. I’ll bring more people from Berbice to the next Congress. Oops!! I mean Convention, Dear Diary. They gon make me the presidential candidate.
I’ll give Ram Jhaat AG, though. I know he hate Wanil too bad. Wanil better looking and he can drink even and straight with he.
(That’s it for tonight. Sorry for the shaky handwriting. I’m off to finish the bottle.)