"Don't make me look pathetic, okay," insists the Mayor. "Or gay. I don't wanna look gay. Even though the LGBT community love me. But not in a gay way."
"I'd never do that to you," says the Painter. "You're going to make Trumpton great again."
"Yes, I am," replies the Mayor. "This town has become a joke in the eyes of the world, and I've got a foolproof plan to change that. It's a very quick plan. A good plan. It cannot fail.
"We're gonna win. We're gonna have so much winning going on it'll make you throw up. I'm gonna fix everything. All the things."
"And what is it exactly, this plan of yours?" asks the Painter.
"How will you make Trumpton great again? What are the specifics of your economic policy, for example?"
"Get out of my office!" shouts the Mayor, abruptly, flinging a taco bowl at the Painter.
"I love Hispanics," he says to nobody in particular.
"The Trumpton Gazette has published your poll figures, Mr Mayor," says the advisor. "They're saying you're down twelve points."
"No I'm not," replies the Mayor. "Why do they keep lying about me? Pathetic. Sad. It's tragic, really. Honestly, I pity them. I do."
"Well, you are down, sir," replies the advisor. "Your popularity has dropped ever since you said the judge in your upcoming fraud trial was a disgusting pig of a human being who looked like a slutty and bloated menstruating embryo in a wheelchair."
"I never said that," says the Mayor.
"No, but you Tweeted it," replies the advisor.
"The interesting thing is a lot of people agree with that statement. Everyone agrees with it. Not some people. Everyone. Some people are saying she's not even a real judge. I'm not saying that, but I hear from a lot of people who say so, so who knows? I'll let people work that out for themselves. Sad.
"I got lots of support. Everyone loves me. Everyone agrees with me. An extremely credible source says I'm not down in the polls. Mark my words. When the truth comes out it's gonna be huge. Enormous. Everyone will know I was right.
"I love slutty and bloated menstruating disabled embryos, and they love me. There's one over there right now."
The mayor points to an empty corner of the room, and gives it a thumbs up.
"Happy Cinco de Mayo!" shouts the Mayor, for some reason.
BANG! BANG! BANG! Suddenly, the Mayor and his advisor are interrupted by a loud noise.
"I'm sorry," says the carpenter. "We're just fixing the loose floorboard, like you hired us to do."
"Wait," says the Mayor. "Why are you wearing that funny hat? What is that hat?"
"It's a taqiya," says the carpenter. "I'm Muslim."
"Muslim..." says the Mayor, smirking. "Where you from?"
"I'm from Chigley," says the Carpenter.
"Well, I was born in Camberwick Green," says the Carpenter. "I moved to Chigley when I was six."
"Before that," asks the Mayor.
"Nowhere," says the Carpenter, with a shrug.
The Carpenter has given the Mayor an idea.
The Mayor picks up the phone, and dials the number for the Trumpton Gazette.
"Hello," says the Mayor. "Is that the Trumpton Gazette?"
"Yes," replies the voice on the phone. "This is the editor speaking."
"Why did you write that my poll figures are down, you piece of dirt?"
"Is that you again, Mayor?" sighs the Editor.
"No," says the Mayor, putting on a funny voice. "This is, er, the Mayor's press liaison... John... er... John... John-john. Johnno."
"Look," huffs the Editor. "We said your figures are down because they are down."
"You're pathetic. Very bad. A failing newspaper. I'm - I mean, the Mayor - is revoking your press credentials. You aren't allowed to attend my press conference. The Mayor's press conference."
And then the Mayor hangs up.
The Mayor and his advisor step out onto the balcony of the Trumpton Tower, and wave at the people of Trumpton.
There's a huge round of applause from the entirely white crowd. One man fires a gun into the air, and whoops. Another bursts into tears, sobbing that the Mayor is going to "Take back our town".
The Mayor is so overcome by the support of his people that he stops to lick a shield showing the Trumpton coat of arms.
"This was going to be a speech outlining my economic policy, but we have a more important issue to address. Our town is becoming overrun with radical Islamic carpenters. Only today, I had the floor in my office destroyed by one of these very bad maniacs.
"That would never have happened if we had not allowed his parents to move into the area. Never would have happened."
The crowd cheers and stamps their feet in approval, relieved that - at last - somebody is addressing their fears, their threatened sense of identity, the concerns about the influx of radical Islamic carpenters, which they didn't realise was such a problem until the Mayor started banging on about it.
"We need to stop people from Chigley coming here," says the Mayor. "They wear funny hats, and look a bit different to us. Their hats are contrary to our values.
"They're ripping up our floors, and damaging them with hammers. Chigley isn't sending us their best. They're sending us their hammer guys and floor-rippers. Men who hate our way of flooring, who know how to construct a workable dovetail joint. And are not afraid to use it."
"Maybe we could ban hammers..." comes a shout from the crowd.
"Stupid. It's insane to try and take our hammers away. If I'd had a hammer I could've stopped my floor being smashed up. I could've smashed his head in. Hammers are our right. The National Hammer Association have endorsed me, because they know I'm the only one who can protect us.
"Trumptonites needs to be able to defend themselves from these maniacs. If the monster who damaged my office floor hadn't had a hammer, it could've been much worse. He could've had a circular saw. He could've cut a big hole in my floor.
"If we don't stop them, our town is gonna be full of holes."
"We're gonna put a travel ban on anyone coming to our town from Chigley or Camberwick Green. It's not permanent. It's just until we figure out what's going on. Nobody knows what's going on. I know what's going on better than anyone, but even I don't know what's going on."
"So I'm gonna build a wall. It's gonna be a big beautiful wall between here and Chigley, and the Chigleans are gonna pay for it. Mark my words."
"Let's make Trumpton great again," shouts the Mayor, to the roar of the crowd.