Hahahahaaa…

I am loving this.

Excellent piece Baxxter. However I have a feeling that if Labour are elected to government, you’d be among the first people to get out of the country.

And best selling British book ever? Not by a long shot. Just from my own favourites I can think of Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy…

Just did a quick Google search and A Tale of Two Cities appears to share the top spot as the best selling book in any language ever with Le Petit Prince, with around 200 million copies sold.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_best-selling_books

I think the word you were looking for is “smut”.

I’ll post the end of the first chapter tomorrow. The story will contain all the elements of all successful airport novels put together: romance, erotica, action, conspiracy, you name it. This summer’s blockbuster is happening here and now. On Daphne’s Blog.

A typical Laburist.

Imisshom jghadduha ligi li nies bhalek jintbaghtu jghixu f’pajjiz civilizzat qalb nies mohhom miftuh, imqar ghal sentejn, forsi timmaturaw ftit u titghallmu x’inhi id-differenza bejn vulgarita, hammallagni, intern ahdar u sens tajjeb ta’ umorizmu u l-liberta tal-espressjoni.

Tal-ghageb kif fil-gzejjer Maltin, fis-sena 2012 nofs il-popolazzjoni, jew aktar, ghandha mentalita tixtiebah ferm ma dik tal-Korea ta’ fuq. Inkredibli.

Hekka progressivi wkoll!

Oh, I said bang.

————————————

Byson smiled. He was expecting a soft, delicate voice, a schoolboy’s almost, but this was strong and steady. Not the voice of an intern. Here was a future leader. It almost made him blush.

“I was just wondering what you were doing here, Quintyon. Oh, and by the way, I’m Byson, the Chief Strategist.”

“Just updating the campaign website. We’re designing some new billboards and posting them on various social media.”

“Social media.” Byson loved how he said that. His Adam’s apple moved up and down with each syllable, and the tendons in his neck stood out like the rigging on a mast.

“Quintyon, I think you may call it a day. You don’t want to overwork yourself. You’re just an intern, remember?”

Quintyon gazed at him with a steely look. Then he stood up, his fists clenched, his monobrow contracted like a black recurved bow.

“I may be just an intern, but intend to work every hour god gives me to make sure we win this goddamn election!”

Byson almost melted. That voice! And those muscles on those forearms as he clenched his fists. Those broad shoulders! He felt about to explode.

“Take it easy,” he blurted out, “I was just teasing. But you really should get some sleep now. I was just leaving myself.”

This was a lie of course. The Leader was still in his office, waiting for Byson. Byson was torn between loyalty to his leader and the magnetic attraction of this new intern.

Leader be buggered!

“D’you want a lift or anything, Quintyon?”

“I…” For the first time, Quintyon hesitated. He looked bashful, like a young choirboy, hesitant and shy.

“Why, yes, thanks a lot. I spent an hour waiting in line last time I tried Arriva!”

A giggle ran through the two of them, Quintyon’s pectoral muscles rising and falling with the spasms of his masculine mirth, and Byson’s own high-pitched laugh, like the chirping of a thousand woodpeckers resonating around the empty office.

“Come along then, turn off that laptop and I’ll drive you home.”

TO BE CONTINUED