Saturday, September 16, 2017

September 16, 2017

Dear Diary,

I had a terrible night, filled with nightmares. The worst one was when I was speaking in front of the entire United Nations, where my audience was a few hundred non-white people, most of whom were very dark and looked like they were straight out of the jungle somewhat menacing. I was trying to make a point about women's rights when all of a sudden a six foot long spear came flying by my left ear. That shook me up. I managed to finish the speech, however, dodging a hammer, a machete and two pipe bombs that I'm sure came from Yemen because they both smelled like goat.

If you've even been to Yemen, you never forget that smell.

As an audience, I'd have to say the United Nations crowd is a tough crowd. For one thing, nobody dresses properly. Lots of men run around in what they call their "native dress," but they never wear so much as a jock strap under those robes and kaftans to keep their weapons at the ready, if you get my drift. Most of them keep goats and sheep in their offices and write them off as executive assistants. Oh, there are a few that manage to stuff themselves into a suit and tie to look more white western, but you know what they say: no matter how much you polish a turd, all you end up with is a shiny turd.

Confidentially, diary, I don't trust anyone in that House of Hell. They all talk a good game, but walking into the General Assembly is like strolling through downtown Benghazi. You can't trust anyone in that den of thieves. There are metal detectors all over the place, but everyone I know packs heat, mostly nine millimeter. I stay away from pistols, though. When I was a little girl, my father almost killed me while cleaning his gun collection, so when I was Secretary of State, I strapped a blade to my cankle with Scotch tape. Just in case. I used the blue painter's tape, because it pulled off less hair on those weeks when I had to take a shower.

The United Nations used to be a good idea. We'd all show up late, grab three martini lunches and decide which countries should act like white people deserved democracy. And we did it all before two o'clock so that we could get back to smuggling drugs with our diplomatic immunity. Then a bunch of the little countries began to declare independence and tilted the whole voting process until now the place is little more than an arab bazaar, only without the fresh hummus. About all you can do there now is pass resolutions condemning Israel and maybe get a Persian carpet at a decent price, although the rugs machine made, not hand-woven, so if you don't know the difference you can really get screwed.

I also dreamed about playing with puppies who all drowned in my bathtub. I'm still trying to figure out what that means.

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