Musings from the, perhaps slightly touched, mind of the leading social commentator of our time.


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Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Poll #34 ends. The worst thing about being a “former” dictator.

     Once again, our resident gypsy, Madam Geneva, has conjured the ghost of Napoleon Bonaparte to talk about this week’s poll results.
     “Allo, I am Napoleon, former Emperor of France, several times.  I have been asked to review the results of the poll conducted this week.  *sigh* This is not the job of an emperor, but as I said, I am now a former emperor so C'est la vie!
     “Two selections received no votes at all, probably because they were either incorrect or incomprehensible.  I am a former emperor and I still were my ‘cool’ uniform.  What else would you expect from Napoleon, eh?  The second has to do with something called a Mossad tail.  Now, I have had many different dishes, escargot, crème brûlée, éclairs, but I have never had a Mossad tail.  How is it prepared? La flambé?  *sigh* But, I digress.
     The next two answers each received one vote each.  I understand how an enemy army can change your plans, it has happened to the best of us, eh?  I even had plans to knock out a few walls at Fontainebleau Chateau that I never did get around to.  And, as far as sharing a room with someone who farts in their sleep, I can tell you some stories.  Marshal Ney never could hold his wind during strategy sessions.  More often than not, he would clear the entire tent out before we could conclude our business.  But, even though he was “windy,” he was also very lucky, and luck counts for more in war than wind.
     “Finally, we come to the answer that garnered three votes, the wood chipper.  Ah yes, in my time it was the guillotine but, as we know, time marches on and technology improves.  Ahh, I long for the good old days.  Planning invasions, the sound and smell of grapeshot, sabers clashing in the midday sun.  Many say that by my actions I sent millions to their graves.  Bah!  They would have died anyway.  They may ask if I regret how my life turned out.  To my critics I say “Non, je ne regrette rien.”  I regret nothing… except maybe that little trip into Russia.  And so, now I rejoin my fellow former dictators and bid you adieu.  Un point c’est tout!
     “Concierge, brandy.”

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