Yes, it’s that nethertime between Christmas and New Years. To get up at 10 a.m. or 11? What time exactly is too early to drink booze, 9 a.m. or 9:30? Not even completely sure what bloody day it is.
But I am sure of two things this morning. One, the Trump policy of only naming attractive women to the UN post meets with my high approval and, two, when said diplobabes get there they should step up the pressure on the silly countries. Not that the lovely, sharp, and future first female president Nikki Haley hasn’t done a great job on that already. She has.
Oh yeah, by “silly countries” I mean those whose GDP is lower than the annual budget of the Davenport, Iowa Kiwanis Club. It would help if they had unpronounceable national capitols and the government in charge changed from tragedy to farce every sixteen days. A Potentate-for-Life is a nice touch as well, to go along with a “living constitution.”
No doubt Haley’s successor, young and eye candier Cameron Diaz look-alike Heather Nauert will continue the fine policy. But because I am such a giving person, especially when it comes to diplobabes, I put forth an idea I honestly stole from a Texas galpal who is also a pal of Karl Rove. My pal is totally cool and has a last name that is a double pork-based reference. But like any normal human being, I hate people who were a lot better at the same profession we both practiced at the same time. Thus, I hate Rove.
Her idea was to bring the Guitar of Feminine Righteousness down upon the heads of incorrigibles like me who utter, when a female attempts to engage in a heretofore male chin wag, “Excuse me Princess, Men are Talking.” I, looking at a blank screen this morning, bereft of an easy topic to regale you with, am indulging in my usual trick of combining a national subject with pop culture references and praying I can get enough blather out of it to fill a column.
And thus we finally alight upon the El KaBong Doctrine.
Those of us of a certain age, about one or two decades away from certain alcohol-inspired death, fondly remember the 60s-era Hanna-Barbera cartoon Quick Draw McGraw. He and his outrageously un-PC sidekick, a Mexican burro named Baba Looey, were quasi-lawmen in an old West town. The show aired between 1959-1962 and actually won an Emmy in 1960.
But, the plot thickens. Quick Draw could also assume the identity of masked vigilante El KaBong, kind of a Zorro thing and also my college freshman nickname for a completely different reason. When a villain would appear, El KaBong, clearly within the limits of a proper pre-Miranda vigilante justice system, would bonk the evil-doers on the head with the guitar while intoning, “KABOOOOONG!”
This subtle chastisement is how I believe the United States government should treat its opponents at the United Nations.
Every time a country votes against us they should be “kabonged” by losing 10 percent of whatever American aid flows into their coffers. Abstentions get a waiver. It only applies to US-sponsored measures. They are free to engage in their usual lunacy at all other times. An 80s-era megaboombox with the El KaBong sound bite queued up should be at the ready, its gimmick to be deployed whenever the national malcontent’s UN representative gets up to speak the next time.
Thus, when votes are taken the comely Ambassador Heather Nauert can oh so lightly touch her finger to the play button on the boombox, daring the reprobates to vote against us one more time, lest she release full kabongnicity. They can regain funding to pre-KaBong levels by voting with us three times to every one time they went south.
Absurdity, you say? More absurd than current goings on at the Reptile House/Low-Rent Brothel on the East River?
I thought you’d see it my way.
But why, aside from sanity, stop there?
When it comes to government funding of various meritless projects like the UN, socialistic domestic goals, and the such, I’ve always thought one deserving beneficiary has been left out. Namely, me.
There are many things like a limitless expense account at Gieves and Hawkes, a new Aston-Martin (a vintage DB-5 will do in a pinch), an open bar tab at a local Ritz Carlton, and other facets of the boulevardier lifestyle that have been denied me because of my own stupidity and rank lethargy.
Well, isn’t the whole raison d’etre of modern government to give taxpayer-funded goodies to undeserving rogues like me? Is it fair that perhaps legitimately needy women and children get aid for basic necessities while I can’t afford a weekend in Gstaad with five of my best friends and their best friends, who just happen to be very expensive prostitutes?
Thus, I propose The Cary Grant Grant, a responsible funding mechanism enabling me and my contemporaries to lead dashing and cosmopolitan existences, much like Cary Grant in “To Catch A Thief.”
If that doesn’t go far enough we could propose, kind of named after the dapper former senator from Indiana, an amendment to the Grant Grant allowing select designees to carry a 7.65 millimeter Parabellum pistol and shoot in the knees any grant recipient who does not comport to appropriate standards of apparel and bon vivant behavior. This would be called the Luger Amendment.
Only by these reasonable initiatives can we truly Make…Keep…Bludgeon America Great Again and restore the natural patrimony to its rightfully deserved place in a fun society for middle-aged guys, just as our Founders intended.
Cue Lee Greenwood.
