While I was out...
Stop me if you’ve heard this one… girl goes on vacation, comes back with some vicious Italian flu and spends several days acquainting herself with each vein on the marble floor in her bathroom… You have? Oh, well.
And guess what happens when you spend seemingly endless days staring down the porcelain throne?
Los loco compadres, Ato Meles’ and Ato Issayas’ pissing contest reached some kinda dingbat détente until both fill up on Gatorade; jailed Ethiopian opposition members remain in jail, but were not blamed for a series of bombs in Addis (that courtesy goes to (drum roll, please) the whawskly Eh-wee-treans); yet another drought looms over Ethiopia just as the guv’ment of Ethiopia rah-rah-siss-boom-bahs about ending ‘extreme’ poverty in twenty years. The EU delivers its final word on the Ethiopian elections, and… and… after 14 years of “proceedings”, guess which genocidal maniac’s, um, genocide trial verdict will be announced on May 23? 14 years to make a case against Mengistu? Guess that means the opposition leaders and journalists now charged with the same ‘genocide’ have to cool their heals even though our fearless leader promised his donors a “speedy and fair” trial. Good thing Prime Minister Meles is known for his honesty because I was starting to… what’s it called… panic.
I’ve been trying to catch up.
Here is something I’ve been trying to say but haven’t been able to because I start frothing incomprehensively whenever I start the argument with fellow ET-Americans… Time for Ethiopian Immigrants to Reconsider Alliance with Democrats. Hello, yes! Following up on HR 4423 by those of us in the States is crucial. Call your representative and senators, register to vote!
Hm. That wasn't hysterical or nothin'.
The World Bank’s Country Director ekes out a strategy for Ethiopia—in a few ‘salient’ points… which Professor Berhanu Abegaz (wonder if Jon Stewart took any of his classes) politely bitch slaps into the netherworld.
Three guesses as to which of my favorite Ethiopian Punditocrat wrote the following:
With international bureaucrats it is about the very best cocktail party post-modern faux economic intellectualism with the same silly failed theories onanistically and ritualistically re-exhumed in the presence of an 'African who really listens to us and gives some of our theories' another chance on his captive subjects.
Good night and, seriously, good luck.
Okay, I’m still catching up with news. Meanwhile here is something I found buried in my “things I want to talk about” file. A bit dated but what the hell. Thanks a million again to Gooch for filling in.
It’s been a hell of a time for those of us who have not grown up around the British people to understand if Tony Blair is cutting off aid to
Ethiopundit’s Perfidious Albion explains a lot. But there is one other source my friends and I turn to whenever we attempt to understand the Brits: a scholarly, most comprehensive, most multifaceted, most once-and-for-all source into the English psyche: the ably inimitable … Eddie Izzard. You’ll learn more about European history and what makes English people tick (and Lordy if there aren’t a million and one things that make them tick from Eddie than you will ever learn from …what’s that thing called… reading.
On political disposition:
“Pol Pot killed one point seven million Cambodians, died under house
arrest, well done there. Stalin killed many millions, died in his bed, aged
seventy-two, well done indeed. And the reason we let them get away with it
is they killed their own people. And we're sort of fine with that. Hitler
killed people next door. Oh, stupid man. After a couple of years we won't
stand for that, will we?”
He knows all this because, well:
I grew up in
Of course, his classic routine:
"Cake or death?" That's a pretty easy question. Anyone could answer that.
"Cake or death?"
"Eh, cake please."
"Very well! Give him cake!"
"Oh, thanks very much. It's very nice."
"You! Cake or death?"
“Uh, cake for me, too, please."
"Very well! Give him cake, too! We're gonna run out of cake at this rate. You! Cake or death?"
"Uh, death, please. No, cake! Cake! Cake, sorry. Sorry..."
"You said death first, uh-uh, death first!"
"Well, I meant cake!"
"Oh, all right. You're lucky I'm Church of England! Cake or death?"
Thank you for flying Church of England, cake or death?
Consider yourself Anglophiled. You’re welcome. Oh, Eddie. The perfect antidote for disemboweled bowels.