Good morning once more, despots!
It’s Day Two in my Underground Lair and already the prospect of spending another day playing Despotic Scrabble with Saif and Mohammed is beginning to pall.
For those of you who don’t know, Despotic Scrabble is much like the ordinary game, but with a lot more Qs. Plus, I can challenge any word for any reason and I am always right. Yesterday, for instance, Saif played DEFEAT on a triple word square for 36 points. Facing the business end of an AK47, he soon realised that this is a word that does not exist in the Official Gaddafi Despotic Scrabble Words Dictionary.
“But, papa,” he whined, “did we not defeat the people of Misrata during the four month siege?” That kid is a pain in the despotic arse, I can tell you.
“We starved the people of Misrata, we hunted down their wounded and we slaughtered them until the blue sea ran red,” I said, “but we did not defeat them.”
Saif looked mutinous, but said nothing. Mohammed opened his mouth as if to argue, but then he saw the steely glint in my eye and thought better of it.
“My turn,” I said, and laid the word QIBALIQ across the triple letter and triple word squares for a score of 141. “Might as well round it up to 200,” I said, decisively. “That’s 675 points so far to me and minus 200 to each of you due to unsuccessful challenges. Who is the daddy?”
“What is a qibaliq?” yipped Mohammed.
“It is a ceremonial sword of the type we use to slit the entrails of traitors,” I answered airily.
He looked at me suspiciously. “I have never seen one,” he muttered.
“You have never seen your own arsehole,” I told him. “And yet you wipe it daily.”
He nodded. My logic was, as ever, irrefutable.
“And that’s another hundred points off your score for your unsuccessful challenge,” I pointed out. “And you miss a go.”
“Time for your radio broadcast,” said Saif.
I sighed. A despot’s work is never done.
Until the next time!
وداعا ونتمنى لك التوفيق