Tuesday, May 23, 2017

May 23, 2017

Dear Diary,

Feeling okay today, but not really great. This whole Carrot Head Middle East tour has thrown me for a loop, because if the you-know-what would have been October 27, it would have been me flying first class and staying in five star hotels.  Well, except for today, I guess.  Lat time I checked, Carrot Head was going to meet with those palestinians and believe me, that's never fun.

The palestinians are basically the polyester leisure suited white trash cousins of the Middle East. Whenever I would bring them up at arab summit meetings, virtually every single sheik would roll his eyes and bury his head in his hands while whining, "Again? Now what do they want?"

I can't say I could blame them. The palestinians can be very annoying, partly because they subsist on falafel, which tends to make them very gassy.  It's difficult to stay in the room with them for any length of time. The minute we'd let them in, their hands would be out, begging for short range rockets, tunneling hardware and curiously, porn DVDs.  Those people have absolutely no idea what to do with themselves.  Why they don't get real jobs is beyond me. I'm sure there are still plenty of 7-11s looking to hire store managers.

The one palestinian who really stood out was Yasir Arafat. He's dead now, but when he was alive, he was the one raghead palestinian who really knew how to run the show.  He died mysteriously being worth over two billion smackers, because he used to shake down international shippers on a daily basis. He'd just walk into their offices, sit down, lay a few falafel farts in their big leather chairs and tell them straight out: "You want your ships to travel safely? It's going to cost you a half million per ship -- and that's American, not that Canadian toilet paper you tried to pass off last time!"

Arafat was the Don Corleone of the Mediterranean.  He'd be all like, "We want to protect you" and "We're the only friends you've got in this part of the world," but that was only as long as the cash kept rolling in. If it didn't, your ship would end up like Luca Brasi, sleeping with the fishes. He was brutal. You cold always tell he'd been in the room because it took a few days for that smell of falafel farts to dissipate, even with all the windows open.

We learned a lot from Yasir, which is why the Clinton Foundation is was as successful as it is was. Of course, one of the main things is that we made sure the cafeteria never served falafel.

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