May 26, 2009

Siberia USA

I never believed in the durability of the previous economic bubble when I saw the quality of the knuckleheads who were getting rich. To me it was all artificial, and I wasn’t inclined to play the game. The shakeout was a long time coming. A vastly large percentage of the workforce is just dead weight. When the consolidation is complete the economic profile of the United States is going to look a lot different, and it’s not going to be a pretty picture. People are going to look to sustain themselves with manufacturing jobs. The service economy, which was always an illusion anyway, it going to suffer an ignominious demise, and good riddance to it.

The smartest country is Germany, which holds the key to industrial production. They make the machines, and they have been loath to change their business model, with good reason. Even in the current morass, Siemens is operating in the black.

One of the biggest losers will be China. If Barack Obama eliminates the tax break for warehousing overseas profits, a lot of the incentive for manufacturing offshore will disappear, and companies will decide to repatriate their production. The vast industrial infrastructure that sprang up overnight in China to serve the interests of American corporations will instantly become redundant. For those dreamers waiting for China to kick-start the world economy, the $560 billion Chinese stimulus, which was ephemeral anyway since three-quarters of it was supposed to come from municipal and provincial sources with only $140 bn. coming from the central government, is proving to be a mirage. Once the spigot of American liquidity gets shut off, the Chinese will burn through their reserves like a house on fire.

The Chinese had stated their intention to construct a full-blown capital market in Shanghai by 2020 to de-couple themselves from dependency on the dollar, but that is also an illusion. China’s modern economy was jerry-built to get rich quick over the fundamentally unsound foundation of a society with no laws, no courts and no transparency, which are the necessary prerequisites for capital markets.

India, on the other hand, has experienced more cautious organic growth. Most of its production is geared to internal consumption. The recent landslide victory by the Congress Party under economist PM Manmohan Singh ensures medium-term stability and a deliberate pace of economic liberalization. India has a tradition of press freedom, a fully developed capital markets infrastructure and orderly rule of law.

The competition between India and China is a classic tortoise and hare story, except India is no tortoise. It is innovating at a breathtaking speed and expanding into world markets with products like the Tata Nano, an automobile developed for the domestic market that sells for $2,500 and should sell tens of millions of units in the developing world. India is expanding in steel, IT, energy, banking, communications, entertainment, sports, you name it. Unlike China, most of India’s expertise has been developed by serving its domestic population.

Ultimately, China, if it doesn’t collapse into chaos completely, is going to have to look for new resources to aliment its enormous restive population. The ultimate focus has got to narrow on its immense, sparsely populated and resource-rich neighbor to the north, Siberia. There’s no question. It’s only a matter of time.

The Russians must be aware of this. If you had 1.4 billion desperately poor people breathing down your neck, wouldn’t you? That’s why the Russians are spending hundreds of billions on new weapons systems and military upgrades. Whatever threat they feel from NATO has got to be more a matter of protecting their back to concentrate on protecting their interests in resource-laden Siberia.

But bombers and missiles alone won’t do the job. China can build those as well. Ultimately, the Russians are going to have to figure a way to implant human beings on the ground, the same way you plant trees to stop soil erosion.

Russians don’t want to live there. For centuries successive Russian governments have tried every imaginable tactic for populating Siberia: financial incentives, forced migrations, exile. Whatever it was, upon arriving in Siberia, Russians immediately began plotting to get back to Moscow or St. Petersburg (or now Brooklyn).

But there is one race of people who are willing to go anywhere and do anything to get rich – Americans. There are countless Americans who would risk life and limb for the chance at a big payoff. All the Russians would have to do is build some roads, construct some houses and give the settlers title to the land, and you would see a land rush into Siberia that would dwarf anything imaginable. It wouldn’t be long before the properties would be consolidated into huge holdings, but with the immense size of the place there would always be room for successive generations to pile in.

Imagine the huge cities that could be built under geodesic domes, visible from outer space and powered by solar and wind technologies! Hell, if they can build ski mountains in Dubai they could build freakin beaches and gambling palaces in Yakutsk.

It wouldn’t be long before a new breed of millionaires would be flooding into American resorts, bragging about their Siberian operations. “I got a little place about 500 kilometers north of Krasnoyarsk. 50,000 square kilometers of timber, oil, a couple of cobalt mines and a salmon cannery. Me and the missus are thinking of putting in a game preserve. Sure it’s cold, but we got our money to keep us warm”.

Naturally, the Russian government would have to go through a period of adjustment. Americans require functioning courts, a high level of incentive and respect for property rights. But they’re not any more ornery than your average Russian, and a lot more productive. They could bring in Indian manpower for the labor force. In the end the place would be so bizarre that it resemble “Total Recall”, the Arnold Schwartznegger movie that took place on Mars, with all the colorful characters. Ultimately, the American and Russian governments would find common cause in defending rich Siberia from Chinese incursion.

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May 25, 2009

Natural Male Enhancement

Seen from Lower Manhattan, Jersey City has got what is developing into a fabulous skyline. There’s a ferry service that leaves from the World Financial Center every couple of minutes, so I decided to hop on and check things out.

Naturally, I ended up in the bar of the W Hotel, where I met an enchanting Jersey-ite named Gloria. She had everything I love in a woman: big hair, big tits, big booty, big bag of drugs. Naturally, she also had a big mouth.

I let her talk. Nothing I had to say was likely to penetrate her anyway. The key to being a good conversationalist these days is to let the other person do all the talking. What the hell, nobody has anything even remotely interesting to say. The idea was to ply her with drinks, let her talk until she has exhausted all her hot air and then hop on top of her.

New Jersey is the new California. It’s hedonism, great beaches, enormous houses, boob jobs and barbecue grills. California has grown too intellectual, so New Jersey has stepped in to stand up for mental idiocy. I have a cousin who attended Princeton, Schmuckley Dorkman, and his contribution to culture, aside from editing some really vicious right-wing literature for morons, has been a book he wrote about how great it is to be the son of a great man. The book sank like a stone on the day of its release.

Einstein lived in New Jersey, but his brains do not appear to have rubbed off on the general population. When I mentioned this to Gloria, at great risk to my future ambitions for her, she told me, “I know. I have one of his carpets in my home”.

Everything’s big in New Jersey: meal portions, movie seats, automobiles. Brains, not so much. Frank Zappa once wrote “Everything over a mouthful is wasted”. In New Jersey, any intelligence that is not needed for making money is superfluous.

Look, who am I to complain? My whole goal was to bounce on Gloria like a trampoline. How much brains do you need to accomplish that? Just get her loaded and pay the bill. It ain’t exactly E=mc².

So, that’s what happened. After a harrowing car ride with Gloria driving, we arrived at the monster mansion that she shared with her two kids, courtesy of her ex-husband, who certainly must feel like an animal in a steel trap, only instead of being snared by the leg, he got caught by another feature of his anatomy. Essentially, she pulled the lever and hit the jackpot for life. Gloria’s ex must feel happy he got away at all, because she never stopped talking for a minute about spas, nail parlors, the Bahamas, her kids, her friends’ kids. I mean, I could take it for a couple of hours, but a whole day? Fuggedaboutit!

Anyway, we finally got down to the main event. I took off my pants, and she disdainfully laughed, “Oh dear! You can’t be serious. Oh my! This won’t do at all. My dear man, let me give you some advice. You need some Natural Male Enhancement. Listen, I’m tired now. The bus stop is a couple of miles down the road. Good bye.”

Slam!

OK, I admit it. All the years I have spent in the gym have reduced the visual impact of my male sexuality relative to my muscularity. There are machines to pump up arms, legs, back, chest, etc., but for the male dick, nothing. That’s like building a super-powerful weapons delivery system but forgetting to activate the warhead. All these years I have been working out to impress women, but then the moment of decision finally arrives and the matador is revealed to be in the bullring without a sword.

To make matters worse, the ornery, contrarian impulse of women is to confuse matters more. For years they hounded us that they were insisting on more foreplay before the main event, so men bought books and took tutorial lessons on where the clitoris was located and how to satisfy the little bugger. It took years of practice. Now the clitoris is out of fashion. When was the last time you heard about it? Now the fashion has changed. Women want to be pounded hard by big dicks. They took a poll (an appropriate term if ever there was one) that revealed that women in Israel want big, voluminous dicks while the girls in the Czech Republic are insisting on getting pulverized by a human jackhammer.

I was getting more depressed by the minute, until I happened upon a television infomercial for Dr. Rompeculo’s Natural Male Enhancement Program, a combination of pill therapy and growth stimulation by means of a kind of bicycle horn, where you stick your little thing inside and squeeze the bulbous rubber pump, creating a vacuum that expands it. Hey, everything has elasticity, right? The commercial showed a boring-looking dude just like me surrounded by a group of slavish, attentive bikini-clad beauties who were falling all over themselves to do whatever they could to please him. The girls were motioning with their hands to express the size of his thing and referring to measuring tapes and even yardsticks. I said, “That stuff is for me”, and got my credit card ready while I phoned the 800 phone number.

So when the package arrived at my house, I immediately took the whole packet of pills and inserted my little pecker in the bicycle pump, blowing it up to the point where a red light indicating “Danger” started flashing on the gauge. Hell, I was going for broke, and if venturing into the Neutral Zone to get back in Gloria’s good graces was what it took, I was going to shoot the moon. Just to be sure, I took a half-dozen old Viagra tablets that I had been saving for a rainy day.

Miraculously, after about an hour of squeezing the rubber pump, I felt my member start to grow in length and thickness until it could no longer be contained within the confines of the bicycle horn. When I withdrew it, I was shocked to see that it had taken on the rich aubergine color and firm texture of a boudin noir blood pudding from the Mortagne au Perche region of northern France. It glistened and throbbed like a serpeant extending from a tree in the Garden of Eden, proffering a huge red apple in its mouth. Excitedly, I thought, “Let me get into the batter’s box with this Louisville Slugger and I’ll knock a grand slam homer out of the park that will send A-Rod into a paroxysm of batter’s envy eclipsing even his jealousy of Derek Jeter".

I quickly dressed, making sure to wear baggy pants to give my little newfound friend room to breathe, though he seemed to be struggling to break out like the baby Alien monster which he resembled except for the teeth, as it chewed through the guy’s stomach in the science fiction movie. Now Gloria will be forced to prostrate herself in groveling worship of my Latex Solar Beef!

On my way to the subway station, I happened to notice the morcillón sausage on display in the window of Julio’s Spanish Butcher Shop on Amsterdam Avenue. Right there on the sidewalk, I unzipped my pants and released the raging monster within. It’s reflection on the window pane gave the illusion that it was right in the display case next to the coiled sausage, filling me with masculine pride. This was a meal that any Spanish housewife would be proud to present on the family supper table!

I rushed to Port Authority Bus Terminal and took the New Jersey Transport bus to Gloria’s mansion. Arriving there, I ignored the doorbell and used my dick as a doorknocker. BAM BAM BAM! Gloria answered the door. “What, you again?” she said scornfully. But when she saw the gift I was bearing, she screamed in startled admiration:

“Oh my G*d! What a beauty! I haven’t seen anything like that since I was in high school! Are you sure you’re not Italian?”

“No, but I eat a lot of calzone.”

“That must be how you got those giant meatballs”. She said, “Let me call my girlfriend Anita to come over – I don’t know if I can handle all that myself. You’ll love Anita. She’s been on Real Housewives of New Jersey.

“Hello, Anita? Come over right away. I got a real Italian Stallion here [I hope you don’t mind me telling her that you’re Italian], and I need help. On your way, could you stop at Walgreen’s and pick up a large tube of KY Jelly?”

In the meantime, I couldn’t wait for Anita. My cock was throbbing with hunger. Dragging Gloria over to her couch, I told her “Bend over and spread em’, baby, here comes my bullet!” I slammed it into her, BAM BAM BAM! Then I shoved it into her as far as I could and started to grind it around. “Oh oh oh”, she screamed. “Omigod omigod! Harder harder! O papi, you’re the boss!”

Now I was in the driver’s seat. I pulled it almost all the way out and wiggled it around until she begged me for more. “You want some more? Well, here’s some more!” BAM BAM BAM! “Who’s your daddy?”

“You are! You are!”

“Are you my sex slave?”

“Oh yeah! My butt belongs to you. Just don’t stop!”

BAM BAM BAM!

All of a sudden, while I was pounding her like a racehorse, with hard thrusts of my pulsing equine member, she went into hysteria, screaming so hard it scared me: “Give it to me. Give it to me in the trunk of my SUV! Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! Omigod omigod omigod! Give it to me! Leather laces! Bamboo canes! Give me the electric pony harness! GIVE ME THE ENCHILADA WITH THE PICKLE SAUCE SHOVED UP AND DOWN THE DONKEY’S ASS UNTIL HE CAN’T COME ANYMORE!”

At that moment she collapsed, just as I shot her a load of jism that filled up her box so much that it shot out of her mouth like a geyser.

After it was all over and we had lain there for several minutes in mute exhaustion, Gloria found the energy to ask me: “OK, I understand how you got it to be so huge and stiff, but how did you get it to shine like that?”

“Turtle Wax”.

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May 14, 2009

POWER GRAB

The U.S. press corps is pathetically myopic. They have the depth and consistency of processed cheese slices, knowing nothing of American history and even less than nothing about the lessons of world history.

Six years ago the press acted in concert to promote the Iraq war. Remember CNN’s Wall of Heroes, where they posted the photos of service people participating in the “liberation” of Iraq? Now, having shifted with the political wind, they are excoriating Bush and his gang for having lured the country into that mess. Hey, one out of two ain’t bad, right?

Currently they are laughing up their sleeve at Dick Cheney for sticking his neck out and vocally defending Bush administration decisions to invade Iraq and torture Arab prisoners. I am not going to leap to the defense of al-Queda terrorists who were tortured. Who cares about that load of bullocks? On the other hand, average Iraqi insurgents who fought the occupation, not to mention people randomly detained or denounced over personal enmities, should never have been subjected to those methods. They had nothing to do with terrorist strikes against the U.S. Some did nasty things against the U.S. occupation, but they were prisoners of war, and as such were entitled to the presumption of humane treatment as dictated by the Geneva Convention.

This is all beside the point. Cheney is not interested in the Iraq war or treatment of prisoners. He is building a political base for the future. Cheney’s vision for the future of American politics does not include a provision for parliamentary democracy. He is setting himself up as a future strongman, having more to do with Spanish dictator Generalissimo Francisco Franco than with any American historical figure.

Cheney is setting himself up as the focus for the disaffected rump of the obsolete American establishment that is being displaced by the Obama Revolution, the bankers, industrialists, hereditary ruling classes, social conservatives and reactionary intellectuals who are no longer running things, which they imagine to be their hereditary right. The Republicans cannot regain supremacy at the polling booth under the current circumstances and the Obama clique is moving fast on all fronts to consolidate power.

What’s left for them? Coup d’état. I have been harping on this since even before the election and I have not yet gained any traction, but it doesn’t make it any less immediate. Cheney’s vision of politics is of the hardball variety. His concept of democratic institutions can best be summarized by Adolph Hitler’s response when reminded of the moral authority of the Catholic Church: “How many divisions does the pope command?” he quipped.

When Cheney was vice-president he spent most of his time hiding out in undisclosed locations for fear of assassination. That is how he conceives of politics, as a fight to the death. Fortunately for Obama, the armed forces are engaged on the other side of the world. But there are still enough units left in the U.S. to occupy Washington, New York and parts of California. If you combine them with the substantial rump of unabashedly reactionary elements in the civilian population and media establishment, you have the makings of a very effective power grab.

Let me briefly run down a partial list of popularly elected governments that were overthrown by right-wing coups in the last century: Chile, Guatemala, Thailand, Iran, Brazil, Argentina, Greece, Turkey, Spain, Italy. In France, President Charles de Gaulle narrowly escaped being deposed and assassinated by elements of the army after he expressed his determination to achieve a peace agreement in Algeria.

Anybody who believes it can’t happen in the U.S. is taking the shortsighted view of historical development. This country is young and it has not yet experienced the full gamut of political evolution that older countries have been forced to endure. Let’s hope it doesn’t – at least in our lifetime.

But this, I believe, is Cheney’s ambition, to mobilize the disinherited ruling class oligarchy and push for permanent power.

I admire Barack Obama’s intelligence and I am hoping that it is not eclipsed by a naïve presumption that just because he has majority support he is home free. He needs to play the political game as it is played in other countries and keep an eye on his loyal opposition. I certainly do not advocate nefarious methods like electronic surveillance or wiretaps, but he needs to keep track of whom Cheney is meeting and what he is discussing. Given the enormous stakes in play, he needs to keep his finger on the pulse of the military and intelligence communities for signs of unhealthy or destructive tendencies. Basically what he needs is a political intelligence apparatus that is loyal to him personally. That is only prudent domestic politics.

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May 12, 2009

Is Obama Jewish?

No wonder the banks are steaming. They’re no longer in the driver’s seat. Believe me, if this was a Republican administration the automobile bondholders, some of whom bought their securities at a distressed 10-15%, would have gotten preferred treatment and the auto workers would have sucked wind.

Stress test? Forget it. The New York Federal Reserve Bank is appointed as follows: six directors appointed directly by the investment banks and three appointed by them indirectly. Because of the crisis caused by their avarice and stupidity, the Obama administration has completely emasculated their control, and now the banks obey the administration and not visa versa.

It’s still not enough for me. If I had my way, the Fed would be replaced by a central bank that enforces monetary authority on behalf of the public interest. Basically Obama has usurped control from the moneyed classes and is directing monetary and fiscal policy without deferring to them.

This is a historic event, unequalled since President Andrew Jackson broke the back of The Bank of the United States, and the banks’ meek acquiescence underlines the true extent of their political power, which is largely dependent on the lack of political will of the electorate.

I say, why stop there? As President Roosevelt tried to assert when confronted with a cabal of obstructionist, reactionary Republican judicial appointments, there is no provision in the U.S. Constitution limiting the Supreme Court to nine justices. That august body can be changed by a simple act of Congress. Five reactionary justices holding up social progress? No problem. Simply pass a law changing the number of justices from nine to eleven, thirteen or fifteen, and appoint a new majority.

It’s a whole new world and thankfully we didn’t need to storm the barricades to achieve it – just stand by as the Bush administration did the political equivalent of hara-kiri. Fortunately we had the right man at the right time ready to pick up the pieces, Barack Obama, and it’s a good thing, because Hillary Clinton, who, after a lifetime of compromise and adhering to the art of the possible, would not have had the comprehensive vision or psychological freedom of action to establish a whole new order.

It’s a bloodless revolution, but heads are still getting knocked together. For the first time, nasty-mouth Republican agitators are getting as good as they are giving. They are up against a gang of Chicago politicians that make Bill Clinton look like an altar boy. As Obama pointed out at the White House correspondents’ dinner, “Rahm Emanuel is uncomfortable [using] the word ‘mother’ behind the word ‘day’.” Do you get the drift, or do I gotta draw you a map?

What is disconcerting to the Republicans is the convergence of Chicago left-wing politics, which has historically been of a particularly virulent nature, with Chicago manners, which are derived from Upton Sinclair’s slaughterhouses and the delicate etiquette of Al Capone, who was originally from Brooklyn and remains a dominant trait of Chicago’s DNA. Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter might think they’re smooth, but they’re no match for Chicago’s slick hair stingy-brim hatted Italian-tailored iridescent mohair suited poolroom sharpies, who are basically the inspiration for Obama and his backroom operators. As Illinois’ esteemed former governor, Rod Blagojevich, so delicately put it in many of his phone conversations recorded by the feds before he was undone by his own flesh-eating party in a feeding frenzy, “#¥¢€ ‘em in the ace.”, a sentiment , I might add, with which I completely concur. It’s inspiring that the death of political correctness might come about from the candidate in whom the politically correct crowd invested so much of its essence.

It’s more than slightly fortuitous that a candidate like Barack Obama, who owes nothing to historical precedent, should have made himself available to present his candidacy at the very moment that the capitalist system melted down like a snowball in hell. For this we owe the dubious genius of the Democratic Party, which, in its infinite wisdom, leapfrogged him over the back of Hillary Clinton in the interests of diversity and political correctness, and not because of any visceral compulsion it had to win the election. Never mind, the failed economic policies of the Republican administration achieved this for them, and all’s well that ends well.

What to make of Obama? There is a train of thought (mine) that he is not an earthly presence at all, but the fortuitous implantation by an infinitely wiser extraterrestrial power that decided that an intervention was necessary to save us from being crushed under the weight of our own callous stupidity and material garbage, sort of like “The Day The Earth Stood Still”. Obama kind of resembles Star Trek’s Mr. Spock in his unnatural logic and composure in the face of frantic chaos and hysteria. If you consider for a minute the Star Trek analogy, with a multicultural command center, Joe Biden providing comic relief in the role of Scotty, the irrepressible ship’s engineer, and the Republicans taking on the role of the ghastly Klingons, led by the monstrous and inhuman Dick Cheney and Rush Limbaugh, determined to reduce the human race to a cinder, you have a very satisfying sci-fi scenario indeed!

But there is another hypothesis, also mine, which is just as bizarre, being that Obama is the first Jewish president. Nobody is going to be happy to contemplate that eventuality, but it is actually quite plausible, considering the historical trans-migration of the Jewish people throughout Africa since time immemorial. The world is already quite comfortable with the concept of the Ethopian Falasha Jews, who were a generation ago airlifted to the Promised Land. Historical records trace the exodus of Jews from the Iberian and Arabian peninsulas to locations as remote as Timbuktu in modern Mali and to Nigeria. The name Zimbabwe derives from a city founded by Yemenite Jewish traders, who long ago explored the Indian Ocean in ships, settling as far away as India’s Kerala state. In recent years the black Jews of South Africa, called Lemba, who celebrate Jewish traditions and even engrave their gravestones with Hebrew inscriptions, have come to prominence. DNA testing has confirmed the veracity of their Jewish identity, being an exact match with that of the Cohen tribe of ancient Jewish priests from the Arabian Peninsula.

If you accept, for example, that the centuries, and even millennia, of Jewish presence of the Iberian peninsula has infused the modern population of Spain and Portugal, (and, by extension, all of Latin America) with at least a residue of Jewish genealogy, then what to make of the tribes and clans of Africa who have interacted with their neighboring Jews over the same period? It sort of makes you wonder what the inherited genealogical and cultural impact might be on modern South African figures like Nelson Mandela and Jacob Zuma.

So if the presence of Jewish ancestry and cultural authenticity is undisputed in territories to the north and to the south of Barack Obama’s ancestral tribal home of Kenya, how could it be possible that that territory would be unaffected by Jewish traders and explorers over the centuries? Not possible.

Nevertheless, when I scoured the Internet for evidence of Jewish exploration or settlement in Kenya, no results came up. What I did find, however, were a couple of web sites run by American Jewish rabbis who have established ministries to provide support to the African Jewish diaspora. I emailed these rabbis, recounting my theory that Barack Obama, because of his extraordinary personal and scholarly qualities, might conceivably be the beneficiary of some aspect of Jewish heritage, no matter how remote. Did they have any proof that Jews had ever inhabited the region of modern Kenya, I inquired.

To which inquiries I received no response whatsoever, not even a polite note saying they didn’t know. Nothing, I got.

Now this may be due to the fact that I referred them to my web site, www.200motels.net, which, with its graphic portrayals of French women performing nasty tricks with mobile phones and headlines like “Jaws Eats Jews”, not to mention a lyric opera of Sen. Larry Craig singing an ode of love to Rep. Barney Frank in the men’s room of the Minneapolis Airport, is not exactly calculated to charm the beard off a man of the cloth. It’s quite likely that they didn’t want to be associated with me in any way, shape or form.

If that’s not enough, my deceased uncle, who shared not a few common characteristics with me, once wrote a book recounting a mythical visit to Africa wherein he ended up being chased around on numerous instances by naked African amazons clad only in leather vests and brandishing whips, not exactly the thing to enchant the earnest africanophile, one might discern. Like uncle like nephew, I suppose. I guess the rotten apple does not drop too far from the tree after all.

On the other hand, maybe, in my delirious fantasies, I have hit on something that some responsible authorities might wish to keep concealed deep from the light of day. What if Barack Obama really is Jewish? That would surely throw a monkey wrench in U.S. foreign policy. Imagine the Arab reaction to discovering President Barack Hussein Obama to be a stealth Jew? Another treacherous CIA plot! Boy, would that blow up the peace process!

I’m betting that Obama has got enough Jewish blood in him to get elected president of Israel. But so has French president Nicholas Sarkozy and the whole Spanish nation. So what? Remember, the poet Alexander Pushkin, who is the most revered writer in Russian literature, was also the descendent of Ossip Petrovich Gannibal, an Ethopian black who was brought to Russia as a slave and rose to become a general in the Russian army. But that’s another story.

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May 03, 2009

DIVORCE ITALIAN STYLE

Italian prime minister Silvio Berlusconi and French president Nicholas Sarkozy are sitting at the bar of the Hotel Georges V in Paris, staring glumly into their drinks.

Berlusconi – Women!

Sarko – I know what you mean…

Berlusconi – My wife Veronica is suing me for a divorce.

Sarko – I heard.

Berlusconi – I mean, she can’t do anything. I own all the judges.

Sarko – Naturally.

Berlusconi – But still, she’s complaining to all the newspapers, calling me a philanderer, accusing me of dating children.
First of all, none of these women she’s accusing me of is a minor. Mamma mia, no child ever looked like that, with their big tits and asses! Only an idiot could mistake them for children.

Sarko – You don’t have to tell me! My wife Carla’s Italian.

Berlusconi – Exactly. But in a sense, being the prime minister of Italy, I’m obliged to take a paternal interest in all my citizens. All Italians are children.

Sarko – Well, look what Malraux wrote: “There is no such thing as an adult person.”

Berlusconi – In a sense, I am actually furthering the cause of women’s liberation. I want to promote their future in politics. My idea is to nominate a whole group of beautiful women to run for my party in the next election. [nudges Sarkozy] Can you see that? A whole gang of beautiful dolls running against those dumb-ass professors and intellectuals of the left! Who would you vote for?

Sarko – Oh, it’s a foregone conclusion.

Berlusconi – My concept is to turn Italian politics into a beauty pageant with an orchestra and a master of ceremonies. You know, that’s how I got my start, as a singer on cruise ships. I can still sing. How about this:
O sole mio…

Sarko – You still got what it takes.

Berlusconi – I’ll say! But my wife! What more could any woman possibly want out of life? She has jewels, furs, palaces, jet planes! Any woman would be thrilled!

Sarko – They’re never happy. Look at my ex, Cécilia. I had to chase her all the way to New York, and no sooner had I gotten her home that she ran away again. French women, they’re like cats. Leave the door open even for a second and they’re out of the house.

Berlusconi – But you know what my wife told the reporters? That I never attended my kids’ birthday parties.
Birthday parties! I bought them a whole sports stadium and a champion football team. If they want to have a birthday party they can have it on one of my yachts and invite 500 of their friends. Oh please, birthday parties! She’ll do anything to damage me.

Sarko – You think you have problems? Somebody broke into the apartment of my wife’s ex-boyfriend in Paris and stole a whole carton of pornographic photos he took of her while they were living together.

Berlusconi – Oh no!

Sarko – Yes. And these are not just artistic nude shots. What I’m talking about is hardcore pornography of her sucking cocks and taking it up the arse.
Not that I care! In France that’s normal behavior. Nevertheless, it could be inconvenient if those photos started appearing right before an election.

Berlusconi – Anyway, here’s Barack Obama. Let’s see what he has to say.

Obama – Hi, guys! I can’t stay long. I promised Michelle I’d get back to the embassy in time to read the kids some bedtime stories.

Sarko – What are you drinking?

Obama – Oh, just some mineral water. I have to get up early so I can work out before the NATO conference.
But never mind that. [lights a joint and passes it around] Take a hit off this. It’s medical marijuana.

Sarko – Ffffftttt! Très bon.

Berlusconi – Bene! Bene! Where do you get such good weed?

Obama – Are you kidding? I’m from Chicago.

Berlusconi – We were just discussing women. How do you control your wife?

Obama – Very simple. I just do everything she tells me.

Berlusconi – What?

Obama – You got a better idea?

Sarko – That’s totally unacceptable.

Obama – What do you want me to do? I got her and her mother blasting me in stereo.

Berlusconi – Her mother?!!

Obama – Yeah, she lives with us in the White House.

Sarko – I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Do you mean to tell us that you’re the President of the United States and you’re being pushed around by your wife and her mother right in the White House?

Berlusconi – No wonder the Americans are losing ground…

Obama – Look, it’s not so bad. When it gets too loud, I just go out on the White House lawn and sit on the kids’ swings and take a coupla’ hits off a joint. Then I shoot some hoops until Michelle tells me it’s time to come in.

Sarko – Thank God Napoleon is not around to hear this. He would spin around in his tomb. [crosses himself]

Berlusconi – Stop that! Everybody knows you’re Jewish.

Obama – Look I know what you guys are thinking. But with all the problems I got, with the automobile industry, the banks and the economy – the last thing I need is more aggravation when I go home at night.

Sarko – Have you always let women push you around like that?

Obama – I wouldn’t know. Michelle was my first girlfriend.

Berlusconi – You married your first girlfriend?

Obama – Well, sure. We started having sex, so we had to get married.

Sarko – I’m astounded.

Berlusconi – You know, I’m starting to get a clearer picture of what’s going on here. The reason our wives are behaving like lunatics is because they see American women behaving totally out of control, so they figure they’ll do the same thing here. It’s the bloody television shows from America.

Sarko – Do you realize what you’re doing to us?!!

Obama – Who, me?

Berlusconi – Yeah. Go back to your country and take your narcotics with you. Bartender, another whiskey!

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May 02, 2009

SEX STRIKE USA!

The women of the African republic of Kenya having declared a sex strike to force their men to end political violence, American women soon followed suit. Among their demands:

· More money (naturally)
· Put the toilet seat down
· Tell me you love me
· Be nice to my mother

The men reacted by laying in an emergency supply of inflatable sex dolls. Hospital emergency rooms noticed an upsurge in forearm injuries from increased masturbation. Gay men’s backsides registered an increase in traffic.

President Obama, consigned to sleeping on a sofa in the Oval Office, invoked the Taft-Hartley Act and declared a 90-day cooling off period, which was rejected by female members of Congress. “Our legs will remain crossed until all our demands are met,” announced strike leader Paris Hilton. “We hear you knockin’ but you can’t come in.”

The men gathered to formulate a strategy. “These are the time that try men’s balls!” intoned Vice-President Joe Biden. “Any organ not in constant use tends to atrophy.”

Victoria’s Secret unveiled a line of cast iron chastity belts in designer patterns. Investment guru Warren Buffet, declaring, “We men are the victims of our own sexcess,” recommended an investment in chocolates and flowers. Dick Cheney scolded, “This is a result of the current administration going soft.”

In response, the Health and Human Services Administration performed a stress test on men’s penises. “We recommend a stimulus package,” announced Treasury Secretary Geithner.

As men’s dicks continued to drop, the United Nations met in special session. French president Nicholas Sarkozy ordered the release of intimate photos of his sexy wife, Carla Bruni, engaged in a threesome with Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck at Disneyland Paris.

Still, the World Fertility Index continued to fall. Former South African president Nelson Mandela recommended a reconciliation commission for the U.S., saying “Until Americans start screwing again the future of the free world will be at stake.”

A compromise was arranged. American men would be permitted limited access in exchange for the funding of a Superconducting Super Collider to slam into the pussy, leading to more agreeable relations for all.

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Posted on 5/2/2009 ( Permanent Link )
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