You’ve got to hand it to Farage (not the ambassadorship in question, we’ll get onto that abhorrent proposal in a bit), the man is undeniably persistent. Others with a little bit more shame and awareness (you know, able to take a hint regarding whether or not they’re wanted) would have given up after the third or fourth failed bid to be elected an MP.
I mean, I gave up after one year of not winning enough votes from my peers to make it to the student council. Farage would brand me an epic failure for conceding to public opinion like that. He’s also surprisingly resourceful. When you take into account the depths of his hatred for the entire European establishment, it’s even more amazing that he deigned to become an MEP in the first place. And then cosying up to the big kids on the playground is a logical step on your quest for power even though no one can bear the thought of you having any.
At night Nigel cries into his pillow that he wasn’t born an American. Had he been, he might already be celebrating a brand new appointment to something glamorous in Trump’s makeshift cabinet. As it is, he’s secured a ringing endorsement entirely absent of any strings related to wind farms or that. Was it because ambassador was the only job he could think of? International bootlicker doesn’t have quite such an exciting salary after all.
Luckily, and in spite of the fears most people would naturally have felt upon hearing such an announcement, the British establishment is having none of it. They’re not crazy for replacing an experienced, seasoned diplomat with a raging *insert word of your choice here because I really don’t think insult flinging actually accomplishes anything any more* Nigel just because an expensive orange told them to. Three cheers for the government. I definitely didn’t expect those words to come out of me in the immediate future.