That's the Boy

It says much for American resourcefulness that the nation has so often managed to harness nominative determinism in the service of administrative efficiency. Connoisseurs still remember the appointment of an official spokesbeing named Larry Speakes in deference to the mental capacities of Ronald Reagan, although the system was not noticeably utilised under the Bush chimpanzee in deference to that worthy's command of the English language. Now that the chief executive is a hollow orange receptacle controlled by the radioactive defecations of a rabid mutant head-tribble, the task of running the country has naturally fallen upon sleazy upstarts and squalling manbabies; hence the perfect choice of one David Brat as ambassador to Australia. Not only is he a fan of Ayn Rand who preached that capitalism and Christianity should drop the pretence of not being shacked up together, but his surname is about as adult and diplomatic as any Trumpsterite could wish; and also, for the Putin conspiracy theorists, happens to be Russian for brother. His first name, meanwhile, is that of a notorious adulterer elevated to his throne by the arbitrary favour of a whimsical super-tyrant, who subsequently caused the realm to be divided and conquered on the king's account. No wonder they took eighteen months to appoint him: so absolute a match between form and function is no simple matter to find.