PLAY CONDI FOR ME
Taking a break from her travel diary, roving reporter, Helga Hewston, conducts an in-depth telephone interview with wannabe concert pianist and former US Secretary of State, Condoleezza Rice
Speaking from her home in California, Ms Rice talks to Helga about her private dinner three years ago with Colonel Mu’ammar Gaddafi and the fact that a photo album dedicated to her, has recently turned up at the Libyan dictator’s ransacked compound in Tripol
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/
Helga: Ms Rice, what do you say to the growing allegations that since 2007, you and Colonel Gaddafi have enjoyed an intimate relationship?
Rice: Oh please, Helga, call me Condoleezza or Condi or Leezza or just…uh…Con!
Helga: Whatever. So, Ms Rice, is there any truth to these allegations?
Rice: Helga, I assure you, Mu’ammar Gaddafi and I are…uh… were…merely engaged in political negotiations and I think the photo album will testify to that fact…Uh, may I play a little Brahm’s Sonata in D Minor for you right now?
Helga: No. Now, what do you say in response to Gaddafi quotes: “I support my darling black African woman. I admire and am very proud of the way she leans back and gives orders to the Arab leaders…Leezza, Leezza, Leezza. I love her very much. I admire her and I’m proud of her because she’s a black woman of African origin.”
Rice: Perhaps some Chopin then?
Helga: So is it true you were in Tripoli in February, secretly meeting with some of the rebel leaders….?
Rice: That is correct. I was..uh…looking for WMDs
Helga: WMDs?
Rice: uh….Women for Mu’ammar’s Destruction!
Helga: I see. A change of heart, eh? So what would you say to the Colonel if you could talk to him now?
Rice: Mu’ammar honey, remember you promised to make me one of your female guards and then changed your mind, YOU SONOFABITCH???!!! Hope you like the photos! Ahahahahaha!!!!
Helga: Always a pleasure Ms Rice…..Can you still play wearing a straight-jacket?
GUEST POETRY
The following poem is based on a true story. Rima Rantisi is a teacher in Beirut. She writes sometimes, at least weekly on her blog: www.crosseyedrevolutions.com
I made an Exception – I would marry him.
His hand delivered note was what hurt most:
“I really loved you. But I couldn’t except you
the way you are.”
E-X-C-E-P-T.
Though an unintended usage, reflective of his indecisive character.
Accept: 1. (trans verb) Consent to receive; take that which is offered;
a. Say yes to a proposal, as in, “No, I cannot accept to marry you because I do not trust you – because I do not trust myself.”
b. To receive as adequate, valid, or suitable, as in, “I will not accept a woman who etc., etc., etc.” or “I will not accept to feel less than a ‘man’.”
c. To regard favorably or with approval, to welcome, as in, “I am unwilling to accept you, your past, your moodiness, your flaws, even if I feel that I ‘REALLY’ love you.”
2. (trans verb) Believe or come to recognize as valid or correct; tolerant;
as in, “I do not approve of your manners or your liberal ways, therefore I do not accept you as a respectable person.”
You meant all of this, but you wrote E-X-C-E-P-T, which would have been acceptable.
Except: 1. (prep): Not including; other than, EXCLUDE, as in,
“I could not except you from my life.”
2. (conj): Used before a statement that forms an exception to one just made, as in,
“I couldn’t accept you, except it’s killing me to live without you.”
3. (verb): Specify as not included in a category or group; exclude, as in
“I couldn’t accept you, but you are an exception.”
Further, the phrase, “I couldn’t except you the way you are,” was an internal translation from Arabic, as in,
Ma kan fiyi ibaleek mitil ma inti.
It wasn’t as absolute, for example, as,
Ma kan fiyi ibaleek.
The implication is that he tried. And that I am unacceptable to him,
(and therefore, to those who think like him ?),
in this home away from home.
And that there is room for acceptance, upon change?
He tried to be a man, he tried to be strong, he tried to be open, but in the end,
he focused on “you,” as in “You are the problem.”
He tried to believe that I fit his imagination of the woman he had “always waited for.”
But the reverie was just that and he awoke,
“No, I cannot except you! No, I cannot make any exceptions!”
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iGod
iGod, is by Lebanese poet, blogger and advertising wizz, Tarek Chamaly. Tarek’s blogsite can be found at: www.beirutntsc.blogspot.com
iGod By Tarek Joseph Chemaly
Never mind the kneeling woman, Her prayers won’t be answered anyway, And all the saints have gone to hell, For downloading on the incompatible iGod, In the graveyard of deleted emails, There lie sugarcoated testimonies of love and toneless expressions of hate, And Nigerian lawyers asking for harmless money transfers, Oh, where does the taste of all the kisses sent through the emoticons go? And all the smiley-embodied emotions, where have they all gone? And these virtual hugs that never came real, And those initials engraved in the supposed book of friendship, That never withstood the lapse of time or the geographical separation, No shared image of the last vacation in Croatia can make up for a meet-up over a pint of beer, Somewhere in the ether, there are remembrances of internet handles and gone-by chats, Floating as fragments of Silicon in the collective memory of the hard drives, Like unconfessed sins lingering in a Catholic’s conscience, Like altar boys masturbating in the woods, As we run in different yet concentric circles of loneliness and alienation, Bound never to intersect or touch, Living in the misery of contretemps, oh blessed are they… Blessed are the internet illiterates, for theirs is the kingdom of coffee shops, Blessed are they who LOL, for they shall be conformed, Blessed are the geeks, for they shall inherit cyberspace, Blessed are they who hunger and thirst, for they shall be fast-fed in value meals, Blessed are the pixel junkies, for they shall be pixilated, Blessed are the broadband users, for they shall see faster webcams, Blessed are the hackers, for they will be called children of bitches, Blessed are they, who are persecuted for the sake of downloading, for theirs is the kingdom of mp3s, As we both sit monogamous in our celibacy, As we both turn from side to side in our respective beds, Waiting for the simultaneous signing in, I see no problem at all, Because heaven is empty, and all the saints have gone to hell, For downloading on the incompatible iGod, They should have bought the 4 megabytes iGod nano in the first place, And heaven will be, literally, in their pocket, Oh, just never mind that kneeling woman, She’s not praying anyway, she’s just singing along.
Bush’s Brain
I am George Bush’s Brain
And in his head I LIE
See, I’M the one who’s clever
while he’s the SIMPLE guy
I am George Bush’s brain
On a super-ego trip
It’s brilliant how I’ve managed
To let his ratings slip
For such a tiny organ
I’ve acquired a lot of powers
I feel I made a good move
with the 9-11 Towers
I help make George look stupid
In his speeches on TV
The jokey sneer, the cowboy quips
the ‘Bushisms’……that’s ME!!!
I love to make George stutter
This is my holy quest
(Cerebrally….a challenge
but just what I do best)
I’m leader of the free world
I run the goddamn show
My cortex is in charge now
(and George Bush doesn’t know!!)
I am George Bush’s Brain
And you know I love to boast
But my frontal lobe is melting
I might need another host
I’m thinking of Dick Cheney
He’d make a better choice
Dick’s got the perfect head size
The scary looks…..the voice
But I cannot quit the Dubya
In this case I’M the fool
For if I transferred my neurons
There’d be nothing left at all!
helga hewston
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Dick Goes Hunting
This poem was inspired by Vice President Dick Cheney’s hunting accident in Feb 2006, when his long-time friend
and campaign contributor, 78-year-old Harry Whittington, was shot by him in the face and chest.
According to a spokesperson, no alcohol was involved
- “NO, Dick, NO!!!!”
When Dick takes you hunting
You’d better beware
Increase your insurance
And say a quick prayer
You might be his buddy,
His pal, his best mate
But when Cheney’s been drinking
You’re nothing but BAIT
You don’t look like a duck
But when Cheney’s around
Do your best not to ‘quack’
Or make a ‘duck’ sound
Try not to confront him
When he’s armed with a gun
It helps to stay low
Til the ‘hunting’s’ all done
BANG!!!!*****
As you lay full of shots
In a hospital bed
Do you say to yourself,
“Was it something I said????!!!!”
The press finds it amusing
But you’re feeling sick
Bet YOU’LL never go hunting
Again……….with a DICK!
helga hewston
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Oh, I Wished I’d Held on to my Cash
A tribute to Pam Ayers
Oh I wished I’d held on to my cash
And under the bed built a stash
All the money that I’ve spent
And the Dollars I’ve lent
Oh, I wish I’d held on to my cash
I wish I’d been that much more willing
To hang on to my very last shilling
It’s been a huge ego blow
To curtail my cash flow
While the bankers are making a killing
Oh, when I think of the clothing I’ve lost
And the barely worn garments I’ve tossed
Now I wear my own brand
It’s called: Second Hand
The riches to rags’ line’s been crossed
My once thriving business’s gone bust
I’m left scrounging for my daily crust
My old piggy-bank’s cracked
My accounts have been hacked
And my cheque book sits gathering dust
My ex-husband is bankrupt it seems
And no longer a rich man of means
He’s the chief man at Ford
And presides on the board
So there go my financial dreams!
In light of this new Wall Street Crash
I might have to do something rash
My new career goals
Involve dancing round poles
Oh, I wish I’d held on to my cash….
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Beware of men in dresses
Who feel the need to pray
EXCEPT those wearing make-up
(Or, if they happen to be gay!)
Avoid all men in dresses
Unless they are in Drag
And mince around in high heels
and call themselves a ‘Fag’
Steer clear of men in dresses
Meaning Clergymen, not Lay
They wear gowns whose very fabric
Society should FRAY!
Run a mile from men in long frocks
Be they Bishops, Priests or Popes
UNLESS they are Cross-Dressers
and act in Prime-time Soaps
If a man you know wears dresses
UNFROCK him! Bid Goodbye!
‘Cos if he’s not a Queen or Tranny
Then I fear…..the END is NIGH….
Helga HewstonHelga Hewston
helga hewston
