Dear Yasser,
It looks like my retirement may be short lived. My countrymen want me to be President of Ghana.
First, I’ve got to learn where Ghana is on a map. So, I asked my old friend Mark Malloch-Brown to find it on a map for me, but he wasn’t of much help.
“That goddamned Gook fired my ass!” growled Mark. “That goddamned Gook!”
He kept clawing at his arms, scraping large red streaks through the bandages that we had taped to them.
We’ll hold a meeting about using duct-tape to keep them on later.
Still needed to find Ghana on a map. I called the Ghanian Embassy, but they kept shouting “Viva Fidel!” and hanging up.
Have they changed all the numbers?
I know they’ve changed the locks. I tried to get into my old office, and my old skeleton key didn’t fit.
“Woman already come to empty out the wastebins!” shouted a short Asian man in a suit. “Or you with the caterers?”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was my old office he was in, my old secretaries he was ordering around instead of molesting, and my old checkbook he was writing checks to himself with.
So I head back home, in only one limo instead of a motorcade.
Then, I tried to run Google to find it, but Google.un wasn’t coming up at all.
Didn’t we take over the Internet when I was running the UN? I swear, we had lots of meetings about that.
Anyway, I called a travel agent about Ghana, and they laughed at me and hung up.
This is not going well.
But then, what do I know about running a country? My forte is with diplomacy, telling people who to run their countries.
More than one country there. Big difference… you don’t have to give a crap about the people in each country… just their leaders as your shaking hands and sipping tea and collecting the contributions to my retirement fund.
Then there’s the whole idea of running just one army with one language. How exactly can you make excuses for massacres and genocides when a simple command-and-control structure is in place? Next thing you know, they’ll have laws against soldiers hacking citizens to bits and raping those that don’t have the decency to die of their wounds.
Barbarity!
Oh, I’d take the job, sure, but I wish I had someone with vast years of experience in running a coutnry and government to advise me.
Like you, oh great leader. What a wonderful mind there was underneath your kaffiyeh, always coming up with the right solution to every problem.
Oh, how I miss you, Yasser. In so many ways. We could have made Ghana a second Palestine, a Paradise of good governance.
It was not meant to be, I guess.
Love,
Kofi
You know, I thought the last letter from Kofi to Yasser was the last one ever… I was working on a new series of letters from Fidel Castro to Pope John Paul II… but KOFI JUST REFUSES TO GO INTO THAT DARK NIGHT QUIETLY!
Sheesh.
I think there’s probably room on Barak Obama’s team for an experienced foreign policy specialist, that is unless Jimma’ Carter got there first.
If so it’s just a hop skip and jump to the First Woman in Everything’s campaign headquarters. I’m sure Kofi would feel right at home there. The lack of integrity would be comforting.
Dear Yasser,
I thought I was loved by the French, but recently, one of them standing in a castle shouted some disconcerning things. Is, “I fart in your general direction” a rude comment, or just one of many strange European customs? How about an “Empty-headed, animal food trough wiper?” True, my head is void of creativity and any original thought, and many of my people do clense animal food troughs, but the way it was said had a ring of degridation.
What is an “elderbarry?” This frenchman claimed that my father smelled of them. Do they smell like some fine perfume? Please clarify this for me. The French are among my most avid supporters, and I would not want to take undue offense.
Your greatest sicophant,
Coffee cup.
Dear Kojo,
I’m writing to tell you that I’ve recently been promoted to Head Attendant of the PLO men’s room. As such, I am responsible for VIPs restroom needs.
Yesterday, President Jimmy Carter stopped by, and left an autographed copy of his new book (but alas, no tip).
I must write Prime Minister Abbas about getting me some toiletries in here…
Your loving father,
Kofi