Septic Bladder shows up for the THIEFA Presidential Elections, a plastic grin never leaving his face. His aged face creases as he maintains his perpetual crocodile smile.
A journalist approaches him at the doors to the voting chamber
“Mr Bladder” asks the journo “What with the recent allegations and arrests relating to corruption within THIEFA, do you really think it’s prudent to continue with this election?”
Bladder gives a chuckle
“Heh Heh, of course it’s prudent. What THIEFA needs at this point is strong leadership!”
“So you’re not considering resigning at all?”
“Heh Heh, of course not. Why would I do such a thing?”
The journo looks at Bladder incredulously
“Well, considering that almost 20 years of barefaced corruption looks to have taken part on your watch, do you really think it’s appropriate for you to serve another term as president?”
Bladder gives another nervous chuckle and wipes a bead of sweat from his brow
“Heh Heh, that is for the assorted members of THIEFA to decide!”
Bladder looks over to a collection of heads of small FA’s, who all immediately hide brand new shiny pennies in their back pockets. He gives them a sly wink before making his excuses and entering the chamber, his coronation all but secured.
Meanwhile, over in Tartare, more migrant workers lose their lives for a tournament nobody outside of a small group of already very rich men want to see.
Football is broken
Peace Out
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