Walking-Dead Diaries

Satiricus was a staunch admirer of PadRick Yarte. Any man who could remain at the head of a union way beyond the retirement age of all its members, who shelled out their money for his well-appointed upkeep, had to be admired. More so since PadRick hadn’t earned a single salary increase for his members since 1999. Satiricus figured that it was PadRick’s incredibly slow way of speaking that kept him in his position: opponents invariably fell asleep during debates with him!
Satiricus wondered whether PadRick had written the diary entry he was about to read, as slowly as he spoke.

Dear Diary,
My grandmother used to tell me that one leaning post will certainly fall but two leaning posts can support each other. Well, dear diary, as you know, this leaning post used to worry quite a lot about his position. That blasted Jagdesh pull out all my teeth since 1999. Even those office messengers in the union beginning to ask what I do for them lately!
They blasted forget what I did back in 1999? But what I gon tell you. Nobody remember their history. Anyhow back to the leaning post business. My grandmother will be pleased to know (not to mention my wife and child mothers) that I find another leaning post to brace me.  Link-Con Lois. You remember Link-Con, don’t you dear diary? The tall chap with the big mouth?
(Excuse me, dear diary. I had to take some brandy. You know how I can’t stand that man. The things I got to swallow to survive.)
I learn that brandy business from Forbes. I can even swirl the brandy in a snifter. Yes! That’s the name of the big glass you drink brandy from. Forbes told me. Can you believe when I offered Link-Con some brandy while we were planning to brace each other, the man had the nerve to put Pepsi into the brandy? The man is such a country bumpkin. Brute force and ignorance.
Anyhow, dear diary, I know that you know that Link-Con hate me. But he knocking from pillar to post. His organisation the TVC can’t even pay its dues so he need me more than I need him. So we sign a ‘communiqué’. That is just a fancy name for our announcement that we gon work together.
We didn’t say that we gon work for we survival – we may be old but we not senile. We said we working for the workers!
(I had to take some more brandy, dear diary. Every time I hear the word “work” – even when I write it – I break out into a sweat.)
So dear diary, I got to go. I got to go over to the club. Never mind the workers can’t get the 30 per cent I promised them. The show must go on and the show is always going on at the club near Bourda!