The Second Coming


I won, he muttered to himself, in a moment of reflection sitting at his desk in the Oval Office.

This was not happening, I won on the night, fair and square. The election was rigged. Fake votes, fake news. To lose was unthinkable, to lose to Sleepy Joe, no way. Seventy million voted for me. They follow me, they love me. I am The President. I will show that I won. I won! I won! I won!

Don’t they realise I saved Americans from the China Flu? I have given them the cure. (Anyway, I had China Flu and it was no big deal). And I’m Making America Great Again, I deserve a second chance and I…


“That is me, My Son”

Standing in front of him was a swarthy, tall man with shoulder-length black hair dressed in long white robes. He wore leather sandals on his feet and held a long, slender piece of wood that was curled at the top.

“Security,” The President yelped. “Help, Security.”

 “There is no reason to fear me, My Son. I come in peace.”

“Imposter, Bin Laden, armed terrorist…”

The President fumbled under his desk for the button. “Oops, not that one, that’s for Kim. Here it is, the security button.” He pressed it, nothing happened, no alarms, no security staff rushing in. In a lather he then sprang to his feet and rushed to the office door knocking over an American flag on the way. The door was locked. He banged on the door, “Help. Security”. But there was no response.

The President was isolated. He turned to the imposter who was impassively following his movements. He then thought of a gun and searched feverishly for a weapon. A gun, there has to be a gun, all Americans have guns, but no gun.

Sweating profusely, his face florid, The President then picked up a paper weight from his desk and confronted the imposter.

“Who are you? What do you want? How did you disable my security?” The President held the paper weight above his head threatening the impostor. “You will be killed for this.”

“I am Jesus Christ.”

“Oh, sure you are – and I’m Donald Duck.”

“My Father, the Lord God has sent me to save Mankind.”

Slightly placated, The President cautiously placed the paper weight back on his desk. He was still concerned about the long piece of wood held by the so-called Christ, but it did resemble a shepherd’s staff, not a dangerous weapon. The imposter looked harmless enough, and even had some type of circular light hovering over his head which gave off a peaceful aura.

The guy might just be a loony, The President thought, and there were plenty of those in America. He might even be one of those crackpot Democrats!

“Look, Jesus or whatever you name is, I promise I won’t have you killed. We have plenty of aid programs for the mentally disturbed. I’ll personally have you committed to a mental institution and you’ll get plenty of help.”

“I wish to talk with you about God’s Kingdom.”

Must be one of those climate activists upset about my withdrawal from the Paris Accord.

“Look climate change is fake news, fake news. Coal is good…”

The Christ guy looked at him with a slight smile but did not comment.

That didn’t seem to work. Maybe he was here to protest about something else like racial abuse or the plight of the poor.

“If you are here about black people or the homeless. Look, I can see you’re poor and kinda black. I can help you get a job, I’ve got an empire you know”.

“I have returned to save all Mankind. For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”

A Bible-basher, has to be. Better not upset this guy as he might be one of my God-fearing followers, The President mused, now sitting at his desk.

“OK, I think we are done here. You’ve got your 15 minutes of fame, for whatever you believe in. I’m extra busy trying to prove that I should have a Second Term. Now it’s time to reverse the magic trick and allow the security system to work again. I’ll let you go without conviction.”

“The Lord is my Shepherd…”

“I’m getting mad again. If you’re the real Jesus Christ and you’re back, then show me a miracle to prove it. Something like turning stone to bread, feeding the five thousand…”

“I have encased your world in silence so we can talk about the future of the world.”

The President pondered. Wait on, this guy might be legitimate. Who could disengage the security system of the greatest country on Earth? This was a miracle, not magic. It could very well be the second coming of Christ.

“Alright, I’m starting to warm to you as Christ, starting to believe. Look, I need some help to win the election I did win. Like you, it should be my second coming. I can take a selfie of us and post it on Twitter. ‘Jesus Christ endorses The President for another term.’ It’ll go viral. That’ll trump everything.”

Christ looked bewildered.

The President then rubbed his eyes. He was under his desk in the foetal position. Christ was gone.

“Hell!” he yelled.



– Snake! Snake! Snake!

The dog raised an ear with the noise, then went back to sleep. He was a watch dog.

– Snake! Snake! Snake!

The noise was closer, so the dog thought he’d better give a yelp, better stand on all fours, better inform his masters of the noise.

– Why ya yelpin’, dog? Woke us up, ya did.

And then the two on the veranda heard the noise.

– Why isn’t that ya cousin Elmer a hollerin’? the older one said.

– That’s Elmer all right. I can see him a runnin’ down the hill, replied the younger one. Yellin’ something about a snake. Fastest I’ve ever seen him run.

The wizened Elmer finally reached the rundown ranch. Nearly out of breath, he kept uttering Snake! Snake!

– Now what’s this all about, Elmer? Another one of them tall tales of yours? the older one started.

– Ya spend all that time by yourself, Elmer. Ya don’t know the dream world from the real world, the younger one added.

The dog went back to sleep. His work was done.

Elmer collected himself and stopped his panting.

– Uncle Jed, Cousin Jethro. It’s the doggone biggest snake in the world! he proclaimed.

– What you on about, son? We only got some of them rattlers. And all of them varmints can’t get a livin’ here, just like us, Jed replied.

– Now cuz, you need some excitement or some lovin’. A woman or one of them blow up dolls, Jethro added (he always added).

– Ya all joshin’ with me agin, Elmer kicked the ground in frustration.  I’m a tellin’ ya this thing is huge. He’s a paddock long, a car high, and ya can’t even see his head. It’s stuck in the sand.

Jed spoke first – he always did.

– So boy, ya tellin’ us that ya seen some serpent on ya farm the size we ain’t never seen before?

– Uh-huh, come see for ya selves, Elmer replied.

– Elmer, so this ain’t one of them wild goose chases? If we git off this porch we had better be doin’ it for good reason, Jethro added.

– I was out a huntin’ critters in the back paddock and there in front of my eyes was the biggest snake in the world. I rubbed my eyes and it was still there. And then I git real scared and panicky, and I ran over here.

– OK son, just remember ya ain’t got no back paddock – only one paddock.

– And ya ain’t on none of that weird moonshine, or them plant concoctions?

Finally Jed said, Git ya gun, Jethro. We’ll see what’s stirrin’ up Elmer.

I’ll take over the story now. I’m the hotel owner in the neighboring town. The preceding is what Jethro, Jed and Elmer told me about how it all started, after they bust through my bar room door yelling Snake! Snake! The Largest Snake in the World!

All the locals in the bar barely raised an eyebrow when the relatives raised the snake alarm. See, anyone who named their boy after the Beverley Hillbillies TV character, but never found Texas Tea, has got to be odd, or maybe has a strong hold on reality. Jed’s wife had long gone off with a traveling salesman, to look for a better life, leaving Jed and the addition Jethro to fend for themselves. In Beverley Hillbillies terms they kept themselves in ‘vittles’ by doing odd jobs around town.

As for Elmer, he was the black sheep of the family. Middle-aged – somewhere between forty and sixty – Elmer was obviously closely related to Jed. Jed’s sister left town quickly many years ago, according to the old-timers. Did she have a dalliance with a local … or a traveling salesman? Rumor is that it was Jed, but that’s small town gossip. Whatever, we knew little of what went on out on their places – they kept to themselves pretty well.

Elmer, as noted previously, was a bachelor. No woman ever looked at his gaunt, worn, unshaven exterior, and with few words, he couldn’t engage them with flirty banter or woo them with his mediocre intelligence. He offered them nothing – no money, no sex appeal, nothing. And he had no phone out there to even ring the two local hookers for service.

So it was rare to see Elmer and his relatives in town, let alone seeing them so animated in my bar.

I was the only to respond to them – the locals went back to what they usually do: drinking and tale-telling and watching sports on TV.

– What you hoopin’ and hollerin’ ‘bout Jed, Jethro and Elmer? Not another snake story? The boys have told plenty of them, I said.

– Ya all gotta come fast. It’s the biggest snake ever! As long as a football field and thicker than a man!

– Oh yeah, some of the patrons groaned.

But I thought these boys don’t come into town much and they’re not up for real gossiping, like most of the townsfolk. So I thought I might pass over the reins to my wife, and follow the boys out to Elmer’s place. At least it would get me away from the humdrum of our small town.

And so I was the fourth person to see The Snake.

Well, believe me, The Snake wound like a river across Elmer’s paddock and had dropped its head into one of the sand hills. It was well camouflaged: a motley light orange like the surrounding rocks and dunes. It had green flecks across its girth, although there was little plant life on Elmer’s patch to blend with.

We all stood, mouths agape, a distance from the giant serpent.

– Watch out, Elmer uttered. If we go closer it might lift its head outta that sand and eat us all up. It’d be hungry out here, like us.

I suggested to the three that they move close to the front of the snake (as bait, unbeknown to them), whilst I go to its tail to feel if it’s real. They bought this, and so I was the first to feel The Snake.

I can confirm that The Snake felt snaky. I tugged at its tail, but The Snake did not move.

Back with the three, I reported on what I had found and then suggested I take a selfie using my smartphone of the four of us in front of The Snake. This would show all that we were the finders of The Snake and we owned it. A little like staking your claim in the gold rush days, I stressed to the boys. I was keen to post the snap on Facebook.

Odd, I took the selfie, and re-took the selfie, but there was no snake, only the background hills and dunes. Was The Snake an illusion? A figment of our imagination?

Undaunted, one by one we persuaded townsfolk to visit Elmer’s place to view The Snake, even though we had no photographic evidence of its existence.

Then the story took off. Those in the bar were talking The Snake, and talking it up big time. The town, always doing it tough, was buzzing.

I quickly became the trio’s manager, with Jed guiding townsfolk to The Snake, and Jethro adding help. Elmer stood protecting The Snake, ensuring that no photographs were taken (based on our previous experience).

Even as the summer midday sun beat down, townsfolk flocked to see The Snake.

The Snake, unmoved, basked in the heat, still with its head in the sand.

And then I said to the three, charge people an entrance fee. And so they put up a hessian fence around The Snake, with Jed now collecting the entrance fee, and Jethro helping. Elmer started to gain confidence and provided a brief commentary on how he found The Snake. I banked the money, taking an appropriate cut for my role of manager.

We continued to make sure that no one took photographs, announcing that if they did they could startle The Snake, and it being a wild animal, we had to think of public safety.

News spread outside our town and outsiders started to roll in. I quickly added to the accommodation at the hotel by bringing in some temporary trailers. I bought all the vacant land in town, providing it as camping facilities (at a fair fee).

The country was now abuzz. News of The Snake even made it to the White House. The President proclaimed that The Snake would make America Great Again. He was proud that The Snake came from Middle America, where all his supporters were. He would build a wall around The Snake to keep all unwanted vermin out. He would visit The Snake next winter, after he sorted out some matters.

The Snake was big! Some planes crisscrossing the nation apparently diverted a little to let people get a glimpse of The Snake. Again, although many air travelers said they saw it, there was no photographic evidence.

Our town had trebled in population and started to resemble Las Vegas with casinos, nightclubs, plenty of hookers, and so on. We started a theme park – SnakeWorld – close to The Snake.

As manager, I suggested to the three relatives that they become ‘hands-off’, and employ young people to do the work, like at McDonald’s. I was only looking out for the three, I stressed.

A huge international herpetological convention was held in town. Each of these snake experts inspected The Snake, wanting to classify it, to name it (probably after themselves). They argued, and went away still arguing.

And then it happened. All bubbles must burst. To start with, the young employees had not been vigilant. They had left an entrance door unlocked when the left at night. Next morning, when we did our rounds of inspecting The Snake’s condition and our infrastructure, we were horrified to find The Snake with numerous small incisions in its flesh. The Snake had been vandalized.

A few days later, I learnt via social media, that Chinese scientists had found that The Snake’s flesh gave men virility that they had never known before. Chinese businessmen immediately made me offers to buy The Snake and ship it back to China.

As I was weighing up offers, another catastrophe occurred.  One of the big city papers had a front page headline: ‘The Snake is Fake’. Apparently, one of the paper’s reporters had not been frisked properly by the young employees and had used her phone to photograph The Snake, with as before, no result. The paper asserted that The Snake was some sort of visual trickery, that the owners (us) were magicians – even if this was so, it would be still worth paying to see the trick.

The press descended on The Snake site, trying to get their part of what they now dubbed ‘Snakegate’. The President quickly distanced himself from the controversy, saying that in the true meaning of democracy and the American Way, people could decide for themselves about The Snake.

As manager, now a very wealthy one, I was very perturbed about the possible impact of the scandal to the revenue of my conglomerate, Snake Enterprises Inc. Elmer, as our spokesperson, fronted the media at SnakeWorld, confidently deflecting questions about the reality of The Snake. He even allowed one of the leading journalists to touch The Snake’s tail, as I did at the start of summer. The journalist confirmed that The Snake felt snaky and thus appeared real.

Just as Snakegate was abating and the first cool winds of fall swept across the landscape, one morning on our rounds, to our shock The Snake was gone, with not a trace, not even a curvy path in the sand.

I quickly called an emergency meeting with the three relatives. We need to close all The Snake facilities now, until further notice. Lay off the young employees. You three and I need to leave the country. Our bank accounts are safe in Switzerland. Leave a sign in front of the entrance saying ‘The Snake has temporarily left the house’.


It is ten years since The Snake came and went that summer.

I’m told Elmer lives a Hugh Heffner-like lifestyle on a remote Caribbean island, with scantily-clad women at his beck and call.

I’m not sure where Jed ended up or even if he’s still alive, but I’m sure Jethro followed him wherever.

As for me, I now live in China helping Chinese businessmen search worldwide for The Snake, so that they can get a piece of the action. I do this at a very healthy consultant’s fee.

As for the President, he only lasted one term in office. In the end, like The Snake, almost no one believed in him. We Chinese became great again, particularly after Russia ditched America.

And what became of SnakeWorld and our town? My wife, before she took up with a traveling salesman, messaged my secret email address to say that SnakeWorld is in ruins and the start of the President’s wall has been destroyed by anguished locals that have gone back to struggling after The Snake left. The town has dwindled back to its former self, women have left, men have returned to boozing, and The Snake’s site is now consumed by sand drifts.

Only a small group of The Snake believers hang on and have bought Elmer’s property. They have constructed a small effigy of The Snake and worship it. They say The Snake will return … one day.



Recently retired: Col’s Blog


Old man on bench

My name is Colin Hodges, recent retiree, and this is the first post in my blog called ‘Col’s Blog’. A ‘post’, well who would have thought when I started work some forty years ago that you would have posted words electronically. We only had letters back then which we would hand write and send by ‘snail mail’, as the young ones call letters.

And the word ’blog’ – I thought it was ‘bog’ to start with. Yes, I’m a little hard of hearing. Just imagine ‘Col’s Bog’ – that would have been a good one to tell the wife! By the way, the wife is Jen and I’ve been married to her for coming up forty years. Jen’s not here now, she’s at work. I’m not sure why she returned to work a few weeks after I retired, but I’m sure she’s got her reasons. Not that we need the money of course. And we’ve got two kids – Ben and Heidi – although we don’t see them much these days, all grown up and living away from home. See Jen and I are ‘empty nesters’: the little birds are now big birds and have flown away. No grand kids; you never know Jen might retire like me if she had grand children to care for.

As you can work out already, I’m one for the words. I always enjoyed doing the crossword on the train to work.

But I’m rambling a little and when I googled and found ‘How to Write Drop Dead Great Posts’ I was told not to digress, to write punchy posts that would interest the many millions of readers I would attract. ‘If you’re not succinct, you’ll be extinct,’ it said. A wonderful gem of wisdom! And it said you can get more wisdom for a small fee (I of course subscribed).

Anyway, I thought readers wouldn’t be interested in a diary-style approach to covering my first three months of retirement. Nor will I try the essay-style approach. So I thought I would use the anecdote-style approach providing some little stories about the early stages of my retirement.

Back to Work

How odd you might think? Col went back to work and so I did, for a couple of hours. It was Barry Jordan’s farewell. See Big Baz was also retiring. Which reminds me: I should have told you that I had retired as Assistant Accounts Officer at the local council. Baz was my boss and he was having a similar send off to me down at the local Rissole (RSL).

But before the farewell function, yes, I went back to see my work colleagues, I mean my ex-colleagues. And to my chagrin someone was sitting in my seat, the seat that I had occupied for close on forty years. And to make matters worse, gone was my sign ‘Colin Hodges. Assistant Accounts Officer’. And the young girl had taken my place in a little over a week! Outrageous.

Anyway, a few of my old work mates looked up and acknowledged my presence, even uttering my nicknames: one I don’t like, and one that’s OK. The nickname I’m not enamoured with is ‘Colon’ – to relate my name to a skinny, unsavoury part of the anatomy is grossly unfair, albeit I’m a little on the skinny side. The other nickname is ‘Cracker’ which I received many years ago. You might think it relates to my ability to crack jokes (I’m sure you’ll note my humour in this post). But to be honest the name was coined at the start of my career when the staff wags dangled a fire cracker over the toilet cubicle door, and it exploded, and I quickly departed the men’s toilet without my pants.

I had a little chit-chat with the guys and a little at the farewell, and left early. It wasn’t the same. 

The Cruise

Jen had wanted to go on a cruise for several years. But as we were both salary-sacrificing our superannuation, we had little funds available for such excess. I finally reneged and we dug into our super savings. So a few weeks after Baz’s Bash and the office return debacle, we sailed for tropical Noumea. To entice me on the cruise, Jen suggested some romance (‘wink, wink’) and that I might find some other new retirees to befriend.

Well, cruise boos. Everything went wrong. We hit the tail-end of a tropical cyclone just out of Sydney and many passengers, including Jen, were seasick as the ship lurched in the large swell. Thus, no romance of any type, and most passengers retreated to their cabins (to be sick), so no new friends. When we finally reached the tropical isle, few even went ashore.

The cruise was over in the first leg of the journey.

In the Park

I try to keep myself busy every day. For example, I do the washing and put it out, go down town and pick up the paper, potter around the garden. But I read that ‘retirement is the chance slow down to really observe life and ponder our very existence’.

So each day I go down to the local park and sit on a bench to read, reflect, gaze and may be just doze. It’s a place with plenty of activity, so people-watching is another activity.

A few days ago when I was down at the park, may be people-watching, may be gazing, I was shocked out of my reverie by an angry lady’s voice.

You dirty old man, she yelled. I know your type – a paedophile, stalking children.

Shocked I replied, but madam…

I saw you perving on my kids.

But all I do is come down to the park and…

Watch kids to get your jollies.

No, I’m not perverted, not interested in children in that way.

Oh yeah. Well, what are you doing here?

I … I had better go.

I didn’t return to the local park.

Helping with crime

As I walk around the shops and the streets I notice little crimes that I never observed during my busy working life. I see a driver not giving way, a person shoplifting, a youth being served alcohol. Yes, petty crime all. But my adage is ‘many crimes, many fines’. All crimes should be reported to the police and people pay for their misdemeanours. And so I see myself as the eyes and ears of the constabulary.

The police know me well and appreciate my vigilance at the local cop shop. There’s young Constable Porter, the evergreen Sergeant Panadopolis … I could rattle them all off.

Only yesterday, I noticed a covered pram near the lake’s edge. I think the owner had pushed the infant into the lake and we’ve a murder on our hands. However, when I went to the station to report this shocking crime, I’m sure I heard scuffles, giggles, but there were no officers at the counter. Where were they when I needed them?

I’ll go back today to make sure this crime is investigated.

In search of a sport

When I first retired, Jen said, Colin you’ve got to find a sport to keep yourself active. And so I’ve gone as a guest to sample suitable sports. I’ve tried tennis (can’t hit a ball), swimming (half a lap is my maximum), running (sore knees), and cycling (sore knees).

Until I came to the sport of lawn bowls. Here was a sport for the retired, judging by the number of older people playing it during work hours. So the friendly Club Secretary of the local bowls club invited me to try out the game under his tutelage. For my first bowl I put the bias on the wrong side and my bowl rocketed through a neighbouring competition knocking a few of its bowls from their positions. Judging from the frowns and expletives coming from the competitors, I thought I had better stop the bowls, although the Secretary pleaded with me to bowl again.

I’m still searching for a sport. May be I’ll try the Men’s Shed instead.

So there you go, my first blog. I hope I haven’t broken any rules of ‘How to Write Drop Dead Great Posts’. I’ll be back again, may be with a post on ‘Men’s Sheds’, again with some wise words.

And I’ll leave you with my new saying: RETIREMENT IS REFIREMENT.