OK people, listen up. I put that old goat Evarist Bartolo in his place this morning, but I feel like I need to say this to like half the island (well, less than half, lemon lemon lemon), so I’mma go ahead and say it: leave my boo Keith alone..
Like seriously, quit hating. Y’all are just jealous of his success, and my other boo Joseph’s success as well.
Y’all are calling him names like criminal, corrupt, even murderer. When I visit him every night at his villa in Mellieha, I always find him crying into his satin bed sheets. “Why do people hate me so much?” he sobs. “What did I do to them?”
And every night I sit on the side of his bed, cup his chin in my hand, bring his face close to mine, wipe his tears away and say, “Keith, my boo thang, I keep telling you – they hate you because you’re rich, powerful and handsome. They hate you because you get to be near Joseph Muscat every day.”
And then we spoon until we fall asleep.
You see, haters, here’s the thing. Me, Keith and Joseph, we’re inseparable. We’re a team. We’re tight. And there’s nothing you can do or say that will bring us down.
I’ve known Joseph since we were at St Aloysius together. Even then, when we were taking showers together after football practice, we knew we were destined for greatness. As we scrubbed each other’s soapy backs, we talked about how he would be Malta’s greatest ever prime minister, how I’d always be by his side, and how some people would hate us.
But it was when we found Keith, my boo, that we really knew we’d conquer the island.
And then Joseph did become not just Malta’s greatest leader, but Malta’s greatest human being. A god among men. And a lot of people did end up hating us. They even accused us of corruption. Imagine, calling souls as pure as Joseph’s and Keith’s corrupt!
Sure, Joseph’s resigning now, but he’s doing it in his own time because he doesn’t give a fuck about y’all.
You handful of bitter little shits can protest and shout till you lose your voices. We’ve done whatever we like for the past six years, and will carry on doing just that.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to Libya again. Not that it’s any of your business what a government employee whose lucrative salary is paid with your taxes gets up to.
Actually, before that, I might go and coincidentally stalk another journalist the day before she gets blown up, while eating a plate of Rummo. Laters, haters.
