November 25, 2009--Berlusconi & Qaddafi: Together At Last
From time to time, everyone in high office needs to take a break. Last night, for example, Barack Obama, facing a 10.2 percent unemployment rate, endless meetings about what to do next in Afghanistan, recalcitrant Democratic senators who vow they will scuttle any health care reform bill if it includes a public option, and sinking poll numbers, confronting these and other pressures and frustrations, President and First Lady Obama took time out to host Indian Prime Minister Manmohan Singh at a lavish A-list state dinner for 338 in a huge tent on the White House lawn. Though it had to be a vegetarian dinner so as not to offend the prime minister, from reports, a good time was had by all.
So when I heard that Col. Muammar el-Qaddafi, the Libyan leader for life would be visiting Italy, the land of Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi, I assumed that he was there to take a break from his own pressures. Not pausing to wonder what these might be, I suspected that if he wanted a chance to kick back, what better place to take in some great Renaissance art, knock down some of the best pasta imaginable, and in his spare time chat with Silvio about the recently concluded deal that calls for Italy, over ten years, to pay Libya $5 billion in restitution for Italy’s early 20th century colonial occupation of Libya. You remember that of course.
And yes, they might also get a chance to chat about oil. Which Libya has in abundance. In the spirit of the Brits who recently cravenly released from life in prison a Lockerbie airplane-bombing terrorist in order to secure a deal for Libyan oil (denying any connection of course) it was no surprise that one of the things Qaddafi offered Berlusconi in return for that $5 billion was a chance to secure oil contracts while also promising to cut down on the flow of illegal African immigrants who get to Italy via Libya.
And yes again, while sojourning in Italy, well aware of Silvio’s fun life style—one in which he hires hordes of prostitutes to entertain himself and his pals, at times spicing things up by including under-age girls--when a Rome modeling agency posted an advertisement for “tall, attractive party guests” for a soirée to be hosted by the Libyan prime minister, knowing the likely deal, according to the staid New York Times, 200 women answered the call to attend. (Article linked below.)
The women, all tall and between the ages of 18 and 35 (since no one younger than that was included and so Berlusconi declined his invitation), assembled in their party finest and, after being screened by metal detectors—one can never be too careful—they were whisked away into the night.
They should have known something was up when they were told that they would each receive only $75 for attending and in addition to being screened for weapons and body-bombs, they were also inspected to make sure no one’s dress was too short. They should have known that since skirt length wasn’t ever a concern of their own prime minister (quite the opposite) this was likely to be a different kind of affair. But, on the other hand, who knows what someone might find to be kinky.
Well, it did in fact turn out to be a very different kind of party.
Rather than being expected to dance topless at the pool while being plied with Champaign and lavish hors d’oeuvres, the women were led to a large tent and seated in rows where they were forced to wait for more than an hour for the colonel himself to appear. And when he did, he preached to them for 45 minutes about . . . Islam. And the role of women in the religion. Hoping to secure a few converts, he gave each a personal copy of the Koran and told them he would pay for them to go to Mecca if they would convert.
And, I almost forgot, he also gave them a copy of the Green Book, which outlines his political philosophy. Sort of his Going Rogue.
As I said, everyone has a different definition of kinky.
One thing the Times failed to report—how many took him up on his offer. Any guesses?
So when I heard that Col. Muammar el-Qaddafi, the Libyan leader for life would be visiting Italy, the land of Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi, I assumed that he was there to take a break from his own pressures. Not pausing to wonder what these might be, I suspected that if he wanted a chance to kick back, what better place to take in some great Renaissance art, knock down some of the best pasta imaginable, and in his spare time chat with Silvio about the recently concluded deal that calls for Italy, over ten years, to pay Libya $5 billion in restitution for Italy’s early 20th century colonial occupation of Libya. You remember that of course.
And yes, they might also get a chance to chat about oil. Which Libya has in abundance. In the spirit of the Brits who recently cravenly released from life in prison a Lockerbie airplane-bombing terrorist in order to secure a deal for Libyan oil (denying any connection of course) it was no surprise that one of the things Qaddafi offered Berlusconi in return for that $5 billion was a chance to secure oil contracts while also promising to cut down on the flow of illegal African immigrants who get to Italy via Libya.
And yes again, while sojourning in Italy, well aware of Silvio’s fun life style—one in which he hires hordes of prostitutes to entertain himself and his pals, at times spicing things up by including under-age girls--when a Rome modeling agency posted an advertisement for “tall, attractive party guests” for a soirée to be hosted by the Libyan prime minister, knowing the likely deal, according to the staid New York Times, 200 women answered the call to attend. (Article linked below.)
The women, all tall and between the ages of 18 and 35 (since no one younger than that was included and so Berlusconi declined his invitation), assembled in their party finest and, after being screened by metal detectors—one can never be too careful—they were whisked away into the night.
They should have known something was up when they were told that they would each receive only $75 for attending and in addition to being screened for weapons and body-bombs, they were also inspected to make sure no one’s dress was too short. They should have known that since skirt length wasn’t ever a concern of their own prime minister (quite the opposite) this was likely to be a different kind of affair. But, on the other hand, who knows what someone might find to be kinky.
Well, it did in fact turn out to be a very different kind of party.
Rather than being expected to dance topless at the pool while being plied with Champaign and lavish hors d’oeuvres, the women were led to a large tent and seated in rows where they were forced to wait for more than an hour for the colonel himself to appear. And when he did, he preached to them for 45 minutes about . . . Islam. And the role of women in the religion. Hoping to secure a few converts, he gave each a personal copy of the Koran and told them he would pay for them to go to Mecca if they would convert.
And, I almost forgot, he also gave them a copy of the Green Book, which outlines his political philosophy. Sort of his Going Rogue.
As I said, everyone has a different definition of kinky.
One thing the Times failed to report—how many took him up on his offer. Any guesses?
posted by Steven Zwerling at
5:06 AM
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