Dear Yasser,
I'm writing you from Live8. This concert is supposed to raise awareness for Africa.
I think I'm from Africa, so I asked for a handout. They told me to go screw myself. Or... wait... they said... "Go pound sand, Uncle Remus." Yeah, that was it.
Then I reminded them that I am Secretary General of the UN. You know, that funny building in New York.
KACHING! They practically threw gift bags at me. I'll be getting my nails done three times a week until 2009 while tooling around on a solid gold Segway. This new watch tells the time in twenty-five timezones and I can't wait to try out his new diamond-encrusted global cellphone with a videocamera in it.
Oh, and I ate a ribeye steak out of Madonna's asscrack.
We celebrities were supposed to get the best quality food, but I thought that the steak was a little dry. I asked Madonna for a bottle of A1, but you know how that bottle is shaped and how she gets when she's feeling frisky.
Mandela said there was a genocide going n in Africa. Lowlife motherfucker keeps forgetting about your beloved people, dammit. I swear, I'm going to smother him with a pillow the next time he crashes on my sofa.
I've got the worst case of the shits now, but I'm supposed to be up in Edinburgh to shine shoes and serve drinks. I figure that if I make everyone happy, I'll get a third term.
I swear, my kids that didn't make millions in my first and second terms will get a shot in my third term. I figure that Kosovo will need some touch-up work now that we've set them on the path to independence and democracy.
When I'm done in Edinburgh, I'm supposed to come back to London to talk to the Queen. Bitch made Geldof a knight but she refuses to tap me with a sword I swear, that old cunt had better hurry up with the knighthood, or I'm going to hot-sauce Jack Straw's shorts.
Love,
Kofi