By John Burtis
Sunday, august 20, 2006
Borrowing a plagiarized page from Pinch Sulzberger, the fading newsie who likes to dress like his murderous heroes and flounce around in front of the many mirrors in his home and office in his growing slack time and dotage so artfully attired, Kofi annan is also said to be testing out bejeweled peacock feather topped turbans, short vests, dainty balloon pants, pearl necklaces, and elf shoes for their effect on the criminal courts he'll so deftly entertain in Beirut, Damascus, and Tehran at the end of august.
"My, Mister General annan," said Vijay Nambiar, the top UN envoy to be sent ahead of the Secretary General to clear a path for Mr. annan, to insure that his baggage train suffers no damage, that Mr. annan's name is trumpeted far and wide, high and low, and that the proper palms are greased with sufficient baksheesh to provide smooth sailing and landing strips free of trash and beggars, "You look like the Little Prince."
"Thank you, my fine man," intoned Mr. annan obsequiously, as he gently pirouetted before a bank of giant mirrors in a dressing room connected to his office.
"Be sure to get plenty of money from Mr. Malloch-Brown for incidentals, nice presents for Terje Roed-Larsen, the dear men from Hezbollah, and for entertainment before you go."
as Mr. Nambiar left with a large empty open top valise, to be used for dumping large amounts of cash upon a table quickly, Mr. annan had a passing pang of concern about the problems which the return of the 12th Imam might cause his trip, especially concerning the impact his sudden appearance might have on the troubled airspace in the Near East. But, he told himself, all would work out for the best as he owns the finest of flying conveyances.
Yes, Mr. annan is really packing his dozen Vuitton steamer trunks to the breaking point with a panoply of duds right out of the 1,001 arabian Nights, meant to melt the hearts of the hard hearted killers he'll face when he alights to explain the big plans the UN is ruminating on.
and those plans are so sketchy that Mr. annan and Mr. Mark Malloch-Brown, playing abu to Mr. annan's ahmed from his favorite Thief of Baghdad, are fleshing them out with wholesale copying from their other lost, disabused, overlooked, forgotten, previously plagiarized, and already lifted from previous UN declarations which the countries and terrorists in question have earlier paid no attention to earlier, to say nothing of the world at large.
But, in order to make his entry all the more impressive, poor Kofi has been having a difficult time selecting the proper flying carpet for his entry, deciding whether to augur it in on his own to demonstrate his flying prowess, and, if all can be believed, whether he should arrive with some of the treasure he has promised the minions of terror sitting on his floating rug.
Forced due to security concerns to take his flying lessons in New Jersey rather than the troubled and crowded environments surrounding his lush and spacious headquarters at Turtle Bay, forty percent of which are paid by the unwitting americans, Mr. annan has been vexed by the lengthy commute to the training fields in the Meadowlands near Giants Stadium. But he has been assured that security and safety trump his concerns, and he is getting much better at his incantations, his roll, pitch and yaw, and the placement of his goggles over his hardened flying turban.
ayuh, Kofi annan, the weak willed Secretary General of the UN, the noted appeaser of all things associated with terror, the great failure at stopping Hezbollah, the ring master of wishing and hoping and trying to assemble a force to occupy southern Lebanon, the manager of a rank charnel house of scandal — Oil for Food, rapacious sexcapades of its blue topped soldiers, a procurement department rum totally amok, Benon Sevan on the clam, lurid tales of sexual harassment, charges of abetting genocide — and the director of mind numbingly slow managerial responses to international crises, felt a certain pride in his accomplishments.
and while Mr. annan will soon show up in these foreign capitals on a flying carpet dressed like a character out of a Jean Cocteau movie mumbling total nonsense while forgetting why he is there to the utter amusement of the hard bitten killers he's performing for, his reputation will belie his saucer deep and pencil wide accomplishments in reigning in the purveyors of mass murder.
Certainly Mr. annan, fresh from the soft flesh pots of lower Manhattan, will have no problem whatsoever in the rough hurly-burly to be found dickering with those babes in the woods, Sheikh Nasrallah, Mr. Bashir al-assad, and Mr. ahmadinejad.
I'm sure that within a few short days, Kofi annan will have pushed these boyos around and into his way of thinking, he will have gotten Hezbollah to lay down their arms, all will agree to recognize the right of Israel to survive and prosper, Hezbollah will renounce violence and will call upon Jimmy Carter and the ballot box for all future plebiscites, Mr. ahmadinejad will cease his nuclear ambitions and will also call upon the busy Mr. Carter to represent him before the US and Europe as he dismantles his enormous program, and Mr. annan, to the cheers of a chastened world, which finally recognizes his true power, will return in triumph to New York and to a ticker tape parade.
Of course Mr. Kofi annan will triumph in his latest abject mewling and wheedling in the world's premier terror capitals.
The mainstream press and the drive-by media wouldn't have it any other way.
Would they?
Not after a magic carpet ride of such magnitude.
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