Democracies mean business
February 18, 2003
Whatever happened to the Axis of Evil? It was dramatic. It was
Manichean, and catchy like "Al-Qaida folk": I suppose,
technically, even scum are folk.
The Axis powers should have included a fourth member, Libya,
run by Colonel Cattledung, a former biology student, and - don't
you know - fan of Juliet Andrews.
She sang, "Hey Dictator Where's Your Pooper?" in the musical
Crime and Punishment.
I read in the paper years ago that the colonel had asked the
British booksellers Waterstones to provide him with a comprehensive
library, with all the great
works of English literature, including, he stressed, the adventures of Sherlock
This bit is true.
The colonel recently handed in his weapons of mass destruction.
This, clearly, has nothing to do with the decisive interventions
of Anglo-American armies
in Afghanistan and Iraq, pulverizing two fascist regimes. ("Hello, Is Mr.
Mullah-Omar there?" - "Khalo, waddaya want I'm busy've
gaddanaxe in my khand" - "It's Thelma.. Thelma Blitzkrieg..
No, this did not send out the message that democracies mean
business, they have a tolerance threshold, you push them so far,
they'll push you right
out. No, the simple truth is: Bush is bad and worse than that is his
(Oooh.. and that Rita Rumsfeld?) for the United Stations and international
What likely happened is that Colonel Grothole recently cracked
under the pressure of United Nations hand wringing and "critical
can't take all dis kiriticise and kiriticise.. shaddap Koftiannan you
bitch", a secret recording has him saying to his wife, Safiya. "Pass
me da irradiated
salt, big boy", she answers, tossing some "Brezhnev meatballs",
a recipe from Brezhnev's mother, Irina Katyusha.) (Just to say -- in
another, hilarious, aside - that the comrade-servants at the Kremlin,
the mean ones, would secretly laugh at her and call her "Brezhnev in
Well she was his mother, I say to them now, what should she have looked
like, Betty Garbage?)
The colonel may look and act tough, what with the desert stallions
and folk-dress, but like you and I, he's just a big baby who wants
good and to be
loved ("I want the madness to stop, Safi. I want us to be like Norway,
with songs, laughter and tax.")
Before he toppled Prince Idris (now a rap star), the Libyas were
a happy couple. They would cook together and sing, according to
two dissidents, three dissidents, four -- BANG -- five dissidents,
was a favourite). Now Colonel Cackface is always busy ("I made
them meatballs you like, big boy", she says -- "I'm trying to build
a prison here,
This much is clear: the Americans never did anyone any good,
unlike the French, hence French, not liberty fries.
A few months
I asked a
London for "liberty fries". "There's no need to be so polemical,
sir," he replied, momentarily forgetting his inferior station.
(You're right, I thought, KISS MY ASS, howzat for polemical?).
I have nothing against the French of course, aside a couple
of outstanding issues, like doing dirty business with dirty
individuals -- like
Iranians, for example -- appallingly at embassies, consulates,
police stations, petrol stations, giving the worst waiter
service on earth,
the Vichy regime, the Dreyfus affair, regicide, "revolutionary"
they've only recently fitted showers and bidets, the dirty
But why pick on them, not the Russians or
Germans, or the Swiss (who seem, like Canada, to be to be an
French think they represent something elevated (and I'm
not referring to the rising stench of institutional corruption),
of freedom, equality, and, don't laugh, fraternity.
nothing (edde'aa nadaaran, miduni?), how could they,
especially Russia: a
big shit-hole run by a secret policeman and overrun
by the mafia. Russia ceased to be of interest to civilised society
But should France, home of Lafayette and Voltaire not
choose democracy over "international legality" and
its cash tills?
Oh, who cares,
they're in freefall
anyway (right?). Frankly I wouldn't piss on Bonaparte's
grave if the French parliament begged me.
I shall devote
Third World: I'm
preparing a batch of my articles to be sent to the
Libyan presidential library ("Khey Safi, rid dis.. iss funny"),
and another batch
to Haiti; Haitians
can enjoy them once they've stopped starving and
rioting against President Aristide Brilliant, who does an awfully
of a monkey.
It takes great effort to write such frivolity, but
I do it with the help of my backstage team: my
unt all ze children, zey vil be heppy unt laff
local tough guy Vinny ("Say.. you're five months
and Myrna, the secretary ("Professor, my cartridge
is blocked; can you bang it open?").
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