Boris and the Art of the Deal

This is the fifteenth entry in the satirical series at https://www.abctales.com/collection/pandemic-tales-bojo-and-co

 

Boris and the Art of the Deal

Five years had passed since the start of the Covid Pandemic. So many souls lost. The ignominy was not lost on a solitary cowled figure as it sat quietly watching a bank of television monitors. So much tragedy, so many gone. To an outside observer, it might have been like watching a scene from an Ingmar Bergman movie – the Grim Reaper replete with scythe staring out facelessly at a pastiche of the world. Anyone watching closely may have discerned that underneath the robe were millions of microscopic particles, ebbing and flowing within its hessian confines – the personification of pestilence. Many billions of its mutations now circulated freely around the Globe filling hospitals with sick patients and bringing an end to the lives of the frailest.

Endless screens brought live feeds from every country, intrigue that prevented the shrouded spectre from terminal stupor. Its favourites were potentates, people of utmost importance, the movers and shakers that revelled in narcissism. Of all the presidents, Prime Ministers and general Overlords, the one most notable was the rotund Parliamentarian with the blond thatch. It had come for him once but, somehow, he had lived; survived against all odds, for his beloved nation. King Arthur, Henry V, Winston Churchill. The embodiment of British resolve.

Wuhan traffic rumbled overhead, wet markets busy at this time of day. People needed their meat. Underneath the ground in a lair of sorts, far from the madding crowd, images poured forth from screens, a torrent of activity assaulting the senses. A pensive man, fingers steepled under his chin, hunched over a long table in the Kremlin, a serious expression on a senior leader’s face in Beijing, a watchful, animated expression of an excitable demi-God watching rocket tests in Pyongyang, a spiritual leader pouring over watch lists in Tehran. The silent sickness watched them and waited. It had been speculated that this was the setting for its gestation and birth. Nothing could ever be proved in terms of origin but China was as good a place as any when it came to a place to rest its weary powers of infection. You could have too much of a good thing.  

A beeping broke the silence, attention drawn to monitor 133. A red light flashed in the bottom corner of the screen. The burly blond one was up to something. As the camera zoomed in, it became apparent that the one called Boris was about to go on a video call. Dressed in a white open-necked shirt and black trousers with razor-sharp creases, it looked like an informal online meeting was forthcoming. The portly man shook his head and sawdust rained down.

“Ah…oh….hello, Donald. Can you hear see and hear me?” The accent was crusty old-Etonian, the intonation bumbling.

“I can see you, Boris! How the devil are you?” The man on screen was quite orange, his hair appeared to be a fly-away rug.

“I’m quite well, sir. Ummmm….thank you for entertaining me. I know how busy you are.”

“And I am busy, Boris. Busy making America great again.” A red baseball cap was wafted in the air, those last four words spoken printed in white.  MAGA.

In the background, three ornate square-leaded windows were draped in curtains the colour of gold, the Stars and Stripes and the President’s flag over either shoulder of the one called Donald. A large black phone demanded respect on the wooden desk, a leather chair cradling the leader of the Free World. Wearing a dark blue suit replete with a metal pin of the US flag on lapel, white shirt with cufflinks and a red tie, the President was in full business attire.

“I can see you dressed up for us today, Boris.” The tone was ironic making the Brit wince.  A ripple of laughter went around the Oval Office. The former PM drew in a breath.

“Donald…what’s all this….umm….tosh about tariffs?” Tension filled the airwaves. “I have a book to sell over there y’know.” A tome was held up sporting the author’s smiling face, its title in dramatic block capitals at the bottom of the cover – UNLEASHED.

“No one knows more about tariffs than I do. No one. Tariffs are a beautiful thing. Just bee-you-tee-ful baby” Each sentence uttered drawn out and faded towards the end for effect.

Boris blustered. “Can we talk about this, D? 10% import tax will affect my sales.” Again studied silence as the listening retinue waited for additional context. “I’m closing in on double figures at the moment. I need your American markets.”

A pause left a vacuum of uncertainty as both men pondered the plea.

“I can add you into the queue, Boris. There are already 75 countries willing to kiss my ass. I’m telling you, these countries are calling us up, kissing my ass. They are. They are dying to make a deal. ‘Please, please, sir, make a deal. I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything, sir!’”

More giggling from unseen aides.

The face of the vice-President JD Vance appeared, his face surrounded by expansive sideburns and beard hair, his suit exactly matching that of his boss. They could have been dressed by the same person.

“Have you said thank you once? During this entire meeting?” This challenge has been used with another (a Head of State) only recently. JDV liked confrontation, that’s what being right wing was all about. Breaking balls and cracking skulls.

Boris thought about this, his forehead wrinkling, his eyes screwing smaller.

“The meeting’s only been going a minute, JD.” Another pregnant pause. “If it helps, I would like to extend my eternal gratitude for everything the US has done for Britain over the years. We are both on the right side of history, the side of right and good. We are the dashing brave and honourable ones. Ours is a special relationship, two great nat…”

“OK, OK, I’ll take that.” JD Vance cut the fledgling oration short realising that he may have triggered an audition of the contents of Unleashed.

The VP ducked back out of shot leaving President Trump to take over once more.

 “Don’t be a Panican, Boris. Don’t be weak and stupid. Be strong and courageous and GREATNESS will be the result.”

The ex-mandarin looked confused, he had no idea what a Panican was.

“Well look….can I at least be ahead of the Marshall Islands in the queue? I like to think I am more important to the world than uninhabited land full of penguins.”

The orange one smiled, his chin jutted out making him look like a bull frog. Boris jerked back in alarm.

“Those penguins will be GREAT again!” The tangerine entrepreneur was sliding into full megalomania. “The Panama Canal will be great again. Greenland will be great again. Canada will be great again. The big ole beautiful US of A will be feared and respected across the globe once again. Starting with our black and white waddling bird friends on the islands, for sure.”

Millions of microscopic particles trailed around inside the cowl of the watching leviathan. They buzzed like the tiniest of bees, agitated by what they were seeing and hearing. On a control panel below the monitors, a circular red button flashed. On it were the words PRESS TO END WORLD. The exchange between the two men was providing nihilistic temptation. Just hang on a bit longer it told itself. Some sanity will prevail soon. Surely. It remembered the time when the orange one had advocated injecting disinfectant or going out in sunlight as a treatment for Covid. Maybe sanity wouldn’t prevail after all.

“Remind me ummmm…..remind me what tariffs are all about then, D. I tried reading up last night in Economics for Dummies by L Truss & K Kwarteng but it just didn’t make sense.”

More muffled sniggering from the White House.

“It’s quite simple, Boris. Over the years, many many countries have treated the USA horribly. We’re going to correct that and correct it quickly. Those countries with which we have a financial deficit will be expected to correct that imbalance. Corporations will relocate to America, more jobs will be created. Tariff are a beautiful thing, Boris. Big beautiful tariffs.”

“But…but…haven’t global tariffs been discredited in just about every economics textbook ever written?” The former PM quietly sighed in relief that he had read the statement out without making a mistake. His aspiring wife (known in polite society as Carrie Antoinette) had written it down for him earlier on a piece of paper in case he got stuck during the conversation. It was also intended to make her husband look intelligent. This was no mean feat.   

The atmosphere shifted noticeably, a grimace appearing on the US leader’s face.

“I remind you, I know more about economics than anyone. I know more about tariffs than just about anyone. Make America great again. Make Britain great again. Make Europe great again.” Donald’s head was bobbing in all directions, his finger eventually wagging at the screen like a chastising nun. “Be cool, BoJo.”

The big red flashing doomsday button in Wuhan continued to tease.

An advisor whispered in the President’s ear. It was an update on the market turmoil.

To add to the chaos, it seemed that the US bond market was now also in distress. A rise in the US base rate would mean higher interest rates and disaffected Republican voters. This was unconscionable for those in the room.

“I’ll tell you what, Boris. I have decided to pause tariffs for 90 days. Well….except for China which will be raised to….ONE MILLION PERCENT!”

The same advisor whispered in his ear again.

“Which will be raised to…145%!” There was an audible murmur of relief close by.

“I tell you what my British friend, I’ll cut you a deal. I will leave the UK rate at 10% which will now be the baseline and lowest on offer anywhere. I could have increased the tariff, I really could have you know. Whilst you and others have not responded responsibly I’ll be kind. We are kind here in the USA.”

Boris felt dejected.

“My advice to you is invest in US markets right now.” As the tangerine torment sounded his latest wisdom, simultaneously a post was being compiled to go out to his faithful followers on X. It ended: “THIS IS A GREAT TIME TO BUY!!!”

“Incidentally…do you still talk to that small guy that pulled all the strings for Brexit? You know, the one who denied everything in your Rose Garden? Looks a bit like a weasel.”

Boris pondered the description, cogs turning slowly before realising who the person in question was.

“From what I know, he’s um….been working closely with Elon for a while. There’s talk of him starting his own party over here don’tcha know. Can’t see it meself although Dom probably can as he has his eyes tested regularly.”

At that, the screen went blank, the meeting over. A screensaver of Dominic Cummings driving outside Barnard Castle flickered back into life again. Those were the days Boris thought to himself; when politics was just one big party after another. Tapping on keys, bank account details were called up for his joint account with Carrie. Glaring at a long list of withdrawals, he wilted at the sight of the current balance.

“Ummmmm……Carrie. Carrie darling! About our expenditure….”

Thousands of miles away, a mysterious figure moved it gaze away from monitor 133.

Closer to home, a balding former advisor to the Tory party ceased his Machiavellian sneering having been watching the exchange between the two men. He still thought of Boris as a blustering buffoon. He even had eyes on the sinister figure dressed in a cowl across the continents in Asia. Voyeurism wasn’t for the faint-hearted. He turned to his laptop ready to bash out his latest subscription-only blog entry. Dom was omnipresent after all. Like a virus waiting to be let loose.  

….On an uninhabited island in the North-western Pacific Ocean, an army of angry penguins brandishing pitchforks readied themselves for the fight against tariffs…

 

Image free to use via WikiCommons at: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:2025-April-02-Reciprocal_tariffs...

 

This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents
are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a
fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental