Ambassador Warmheart

I feel like hell.   I feel like terrible, bloody hell.  I just awoke and am completely disoriented.  Here I am, back in America - in a hospital - and I don't even remember how I got here.  The last thing I remember was being in a bed and breakfast in Germany.  That's right, Germany. But I should tell you the story from the beginning.

Oh, I guess the whole thing started when I read that President Bush wanted Iraq to become a democratic nation.   I was so entranced by this prospect that I decided to read further.  Much to my surprise, I found that the leaders of our country are looking for a world-wide community of sharing and hope.   It turns out that they have looked into the situation and have discovered that the American way is the way the whole world should be.   Wow, I thought.  With forward thinking like that, how could I not be on this bandwagon?

It was as if a shining light had come through the window of my house and awoken me.  This is great news, I thought, because we are a great nation.   Our way should be the way of the world!   It's because we're always right!  And here were these darn terrorist leaders who knew this, but were in denial about it.  

I was full of excitement and energy.   And I knew that I did not want to be just one more person who was excited about America and did nothing about it.  I was primed to act and act fast.  I tried and tried to think what I could do to help spread our beloved President's message.  Then, while sitting on the toilet, it all came to me in a blinding flash.   I would become the President's Ambassador to the World!  I stood up,  looked in the mirror proudly, and said "It's an honor to make your acquaintance, Ambassador Warmheart!" 

I poured over the news and found that England is our friend  because they do whatever we say, but France and Germany are bad countries because they are against the proposed war with Iraq.   I knew then where I would go as Bush's ambassador.   First I'd go to England to make sure that they're following our lead and then it would be off for France and Germany.  

Laying here in this hospital in such critical condition, perhaps I should just let my diary speak for me. 

AW's (Ambassador Warmheart) Diary January 21 - London, England

Whew!   I made the flight to England yesterday.  All the way there, I told everyone I could find how I was going to teach the world how to become American.   There was one British person I spoke to who, after hearing my story, called me a "right arse".  I figure that this means "right on!" in British so I redoubled my energy and excitement.

Oh my God!  I was called into customs after I arrived and immediately started proudly telling the officials how I was Ambassador Warmheart, out to make the world American. He became very stern and I think he decided to do me a real favor and what a fine man he was.   He detained me for a long time and and really looked through my bags.  I figure that he was making sure that terrorists had not planted anything deadly in my bags.   He searched and searched and, hours later when his shift was up, he conferred with his replacement who searched  and searched some more.  These British are so careful!   Well it wasn't until today that I was finally allowed to leave.  I "hired" a car and pulled out into traffic.  Whoa!  As  tired as I was, I thought I must have been hallucinating.   Those people on the road were out to kill me.   They must have heard of my mission from the customs officials and had spread the word that I was there on my mission.   They seemed to all want to meet me in the worst way.    Car after car was being driven directly towards mine!   Screaming and sweating, frantically swerving and bearing in mind that I was here for the good of the world, I finally made it to my hotel.   

AW's Diary January 22 - London, England

Well!  Was I in for a rude awakening on this, the first official day of my ambassador's mission.  I went down to the restaurant to order breakfast.  The food that they brought was terrible.  I ordered it to be taken away and cooked again until they got it right.   I am used to eggs, sunny-side-up, two slices of lean bacon and a cup of piping hot coffee.  The damned fool waiter didn't know what I meant  by "sunny-side-up" and so I had to explain it to him, and I wasn't all too patient, I might add.  

Then to further complicate matters, when I went to get my car, I was told that it was in the "gare-age".   Sighing, I explained to the idiot that the correct pronunciation is "garage" and would he please have his boy bring it to me.   

It was my hope that the British populace were no longer excited about me and would drive correctly but I was instantly disappointed upon pulling out into the "flow of traffic".  I knew right then that there was no hope for the people of this country.  Again and again they drive right towards me.  Angry and full of determination to not be beaten down, I stopped my car in the middle of the street and started yelling at the passing motorists.   "Learn how to drive!  LEARN HOW TO DRIVE LIKE AMERICANS!!"  


Dear diary, I became gravely concerned.  Here I thought the entire country of England was behind America's desire for war but these people driving by me kept flashing the peace sign.  In England, they do the sign backwards, with the back of their hand facing towards you.   But yet, still it is peace that many of these people want.  I took note that I would have to inform President Bush of this upon my return home.

Anyway, I wisely decided that I would stay off the roads and booked a train to France

AW Diary January 24 - Paris, France

Although I am on an important world mission for our president, I am a sightseer too.  I had heard about this real tall building in France, called the Eiffel Tower.  So before I left on this trip, I got right on the web and searched for a photo of it.  The one I found was of these fancily dressed men standing across the river in front of this amazing contraption.   Here it is:

Upon my arrival on the Metro in Paris, I got off the train and started showing the photo around, asking where I might find the beautiful building.   It turns out that those people are a bunch of jabbering, babbling idiots.  I couldn't understand a word they were saying.  What are they, retarded?  And one old man I showed  the photo to had the nerve to spit on it!  What could cause these people to babble on so?    

AW Diary January 28 - Paris, France

Dear diary.   I am confused, angry, frustrated and badly beaten up.  I have just discovered that I have been in a hospital in a coma for three days.   This is all that I remember.  I awoke, fresh and alert on January 25th and went outside to start work on my mission.   I walked up to a man with a large nose on the street and tried to talk to him.  He babbled something I could not fathom and tried to walk by.   He didn't seem to understand me.  

Ah!, I thought.  I suddenly recalled that I had read, before I left, that House Majority Leader Tom DeLay had been speaking to a Frenchman.  I recall the exchange of words quite clearly because it did not really make sense to me.  I felt as if I did not understand the exchange.  But I am truly a man of the people and if this is how the leader of the House of Representatives of the United States of America talks to French people then, darn it, this is how I should talk to them.  After all, isn't that what leaders are for?  I thought back to the days when Clinton was in the White House and how the republicans had charged that he was in a position of leadership and that he should set a fine example.  It became clear to me right away that this Ton DeLay, a leader of the republican party, was providing leadership to me.   So, being patriotic as all get-up, I initiated the same  exchange that he had with his Frenchman.  I spoke very loudly and clearly.  "DO....YOU.....SPEAK....GERMAN?   NO?  ......YOU'RE WELCOME!"    The next thing I knew, here I was in the hospital.   Perhaps Congressman DeLay should be more careful with his words or he, too,  might end up in a place like this.

Well, I decided that I had had enough of this stink hole that they don't even pronounce correctly.  These huge proboscised  morons call it "Pairee".   Idiots.  I'm on my way to Germany.

AW Diary January 98 - MUNICH, GERMANY

Those drivers between France and Germany!   They're not quite as bad as England, I mean at least they drive on the right side of the road.  But they think they own the whole road.   I had rented a small van and was driving carefully, as I always do, going 55.  The darndest thing was the speedometer.  Instead of saying MPH, though, it said KPH.  It really felt as if I was going about 35 the whole way, but I think it was because those maniacs drove so blazed fast.  I keep thinking that they're running from the Gestapo or something so I would pull to the side of the road.  In and out, in and out of traffic I weaved.   

I am writing to you, dear diary, from a quaint German bed and breakfast in Munich, Germany.   Germans are a funny people.  They can speak intelligibly, but they have a strange lisp.  None of them can say the simple "w" sound.  Instead of saying "will" they would say "vill".    I've just thought of another thing.  It's a good thing I watch a bunch of World War II movies because I have learned that, in Germany, they have these words that mean  different things.   For example, whenever there is an important person, the guy wears a uniform and shouts "MACH!" and "SCHNELL" and something that sounds like "RAUSCH!".    Well, I am going to march right downstairs and start barking orders to the krauts who own this place that they should toe the line and follow the great American leaders where ever they tell them to go and to do whatever we say.   "MACH SCHNELL!", I am going to yell.  "PRESIDENT BUSH SAYS RAUSCH BOMB IRAQ!"  They'll know how to follow those kinds of orders.   Here I go.  Wish me luck, dear diary.

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