Dear Diary,
I’m still dusting the sand off my clothes after my whirlwind tour of the Mideast. The travel was chaotic, the lines were long, the seats have no legroom and they don’t let you carry on your own baggage anymore. At least that’s what I heard were the grumblings of the media scum who followed me while I relaxed in my sky high jacuzzi aboard Air Force Two. Heh heh heh.
First stop was Israel ‘cuz ya gotta placate those Jewish voters. Surprisingly, I couldn’t find a decent corned beef sandwich anywhere (one of my aids went scouting for it while the esteemed Dr. Arturo Stine was busy buying up cheap meds). I did enjoy seeing some of those Israeli babes on the beach in Tel Aviv. Hubba Hubba! They looked just like American gals. Go figure.
Crazy Joe Lieberman gave me a handwritten note of some kind of prayer or wish list to place on the Wailing Wall. Instead, I used it to get rid of my gum before I met with the Prime Minister. What Crazy Joe doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
We had a clandestine meeting with the Palestinians for about an hour. I couldn’t help noticing the huge amount of hair growing out of their spokesman’s ears so I didn’t really follow the conversation. I just grumbled some gibberish and mentioned the word “Homeland” and they seemed pleased. There’s really nothing to this job.
Back to Israel where the Ol’ Ball and Chain was passed out in the hotel suite. She drank all the Manischewitz from the hotel mini bar and her blood sugar went thru the roof. That stuff is swill, I tell ya. Dr. Steine took care of her, which gave me a few hours to wander the cobblestone streets and take in the history that is the Holy Land. Not! I had a scotch and watched the Jewish version of “Wheel Of Fortune” in my underwear.
On to Saudi Arabia! Lots of old friends, lots of money and lots of sand. My buddy Prince Bandar took me to watch the camel races from his private box at Filthy Rich Downs. Quite entertaining. I place a few million on his camel “One Hump Or Two” and it came in first. At 30 to one, I made 90 million. Not too shabby. We went down to the winner’s circle and met the five-year-old jockey who was crying because he missed his Mommy and wanted to be returned to the home he was kidnapped from. One of the Prince’s trainers whipped the little fella till he bled and he cowboyed up real quick.
The royal family gave me another gift, a solid gold food processor. Of course it was way too heavy for me to lift, but it’s the thought that counts. I’ll melt it down next week. Then we all took a bath in a large tub of oil and laughed a lot.
Time for my secret trip to Iraq. The Blackwater Boys fired thousands of rounds near the airport to dissuade anyone from shooting my plane down as we landed. I took a ten-minute tour of the green zone surrounded by three battalions of America’s finest and thirty Blackhawk helicopters. My motorcade zipped into town and accidentally ran over a couple of kids playing with a can along the road. Then a few of IED’s went off and about fifty Iraqis were killed. After that, some idiot set himself on fire. All of this caused one hell of traffic jam. A real inconvenience.
Had some chow with a bunch of the grunts. The KBG cook ladled what he called Chicken Kiev onto my plate. It smelled horrible. I took one bite for the cameras and then spit it out. I grabbed for some bottled KBG water but a Blackwater aid told me not to drink it. It screws up your pancreas and turns your extremities yellow. He’s got the good stuff back in his office.
I got up, waved to all the saps serving their country and hustled back to the safety and air conditioning of Air Force Two. Makes me proud to see how the private contractors are stealing every last penny from the American taxpayers. I wonder what the next president is going to do when he finds out about all the money laundering at the expense of our troops? Ah, who cares? Won’t be my problem any more! I’ll be living in Dubai and out of U. S. jurisdiction! Heh heh heh.
Off to Turkey. Why? I don’t know. Who booked me here? It’s Turkey. Who cares? They want to join the European Union. So what? Met some of the mucky-mucks who wanted to take us to ancient ruins. I told them don’t bother, I sleep next to some ancient ruins every night. Apparently the joke didn’t translate and the Turkish President slapped me in the face. (I found out afterward he thought I was making fun of HIS wife. Guess comedy should be left to the professionals like Rich Little.)
Went to dinner at the palace. We exchanged gifts. They gave me an expensive Persian rug and I gave them a black velvet portrait of John Kennedy, Dale Earnhardt and Elvis looking down from heaven that someone on my staff picked up in Times Square. It was a big hit, but most people had to be told who Kennedy was. Time for food! They asked me what I wanted for my main dish and I said turkey, which insulted them again. Apparently they thought I was trying to annex their country. After everything simmered down I tried the couscous. Yeeech. It was like eating sawdust garnished with lint.
The President wanted to discuss the growing tensions with the Kurds, but I was tired and begged off, saying we’d get to it tomorrow during our official talks. Saying our goodbyes, I told the driver to screw the hotel and high tail it to Air Force Two and we immediately took off for home. Unfortunately I spent the entire flight on the toilet with the runs thanks to the couscous. Screw Turkey.
Back home in the US of A. Crazy Joe Lieberman called to make sure I put his prayer in the wall. I said sure. He said “mazel tov”. I’d done a real “mitzvah” and I was such a “mench”. Right back at ya, Crazy Joe.
Dick
