I mean, you know, not that there's anything wrong with that...

Well, the Internet is ablink today with the news that Colin Powell, the beloved Secretary of State, will be 'retiring' in the first wave of the 2004 purges.  I hope his new assignment as Chief Supervisor at the Barron Point Surveillance Station and Health Spa will agree with him. 

As news organizations and 60 Minutes rack their brains to come up with a successor, I'd like to put a little bug in their ear.  I happened to be acquainted with one of the Great Communicators of our times; a man who can build bridges, and heal the wounds that the events of the last few years have caused, both for ourselves, and our allies.  I speak of none other than my good friend and mentor, Mr. James Taggart.

As an example of his diplomatic abilities, I'd like you to read the following exchange.  With a troubled mind, I had asked for his help in settling a dispute over the U.S.'s intentions in Iraq with a German colleague.  Mr. Müller (not his real name) wrote:

          <blockquote><p>In World War II, it was all about the liberation of 
            Germany. Admittedly, it was liberation for the germans, but just 
            as a by-produkt. In 1941, there had been Nazis for quite a while, 
            as well as the concentration camps, but the Americans hadn't jumped 
            into the mix; that they did only when the Germans and Japanese 
            declared war on them. Then they had to. But the goals of the war 
            were different: Quote from a brief to the American OB [not sure 
            what OB is, probably High Command], 1944: &quot;Germany will not 
            be attacked with goal of liberation, rather as a defeated nation 
            in the interests of the Allies&quot;</p></blockquote>
          <p>Who ever said that we &quot;liberated&quot; 
            Germany, I asked myself, or were even thinking about it? Germany wasn't &quot;occupied&quot; 
            by the Nazis. They WERE the Nazis.&nbsp; Mr. Taggart, the consummate diplomat, responded:<br /> </p>
          <blockquote><p>&quot;You should quickly agree with the [German] about 
            the goal of WWII. Our goal, stated from the first, was to defeat 
            Hitler and the Nazis and dismantle their Third Reich. The fact 
            that when that was done Germany could again become a civilized 
            nation was just gravy. He can rest assured that if we had had 
            to kill every goose-stepping Jew-gassing Hitler-worshiping continent-raping 
            master-racist one of them to do it, there would be no German People 
            today, except perhaps in zoos!&quot;</p></blockquote>

But there's certainly more to diplomacy than just flowery words!  Mr. Taggart is also a man with solutions.  For example:

The Muslim Problem in Europe:

Seems like the Dutch have all of a sudden discovered they have a small problem. And of course Chirac has been put on suicide watch because his dear friend has passed away. Maybe the rest of Europe could deport all of their muslims to France. Then instead of speaking German they could learn to speak Arabic.

The Burial of Arafat

Well, he is apparantly truly dead this time! But I've got a stake to put through his little heart, a fine oak tree to bury him under, and some holy water to consecrate the ground with!

The Mending of the Trans-Atlantic Alliance

I have been really entertained with several news articles I've seen about how all the various world leaders have sent Bush congrats, and how several of them are saying they hope that now Bush will "work with them" to "bridge our gaps" and such. They need to look at the election results again, apparantly. Bush won, not them!

A man of integrity, sensitivity,  and nuance.  Send George Bush an email, suggesting Mr. James Taggart for Secretary of State!

Fall, 1988
Atlanta, GA

Trolling the Fall rush parties at Georgia Tech for free beer and women of easy virtue, I find myself in a conversation with a sweet-talking little Southern Belle.  The lights are low, the mood is right, and from the stereo come the melancholy strains of Johnny Horton's "Springtime in Alaska".

Turning to my blonde-haired, blue-eyed flower, I say, "40 below, huh?  You think he means Fahrenheit or Celsius?"  She rolls her eyes and, slowly but with purpose, walks to the muscular rugby player doing a headstand on the keg and strikes up a lively conversation.

Apparently she doesn't get the joke.