The Public Eye

printed 10/18/2019

I’ve decided that I’ve had enough of this news business and what I really want to do is to become an overseas envoy for the United States.

After all, if Rudy Giuliani can go on our behalf to Ukraine, I should be able to serve in a similar capacity.

Moreover, if bat-doo-doo crazy Dennis Rodman can go to North Korea, there just might be some small and relatively harmless country that could benefit from my modest talents.

These talents include, per my ambassadorial resume, knowing which way is up, an apparent departure from the norm, I’m beginning to believe.

I also can say “beer” and “bathroom” in multiple languages: “Mucha cerveza, señor; ¿Dónde está el baño? Or, in Tahitian, “Rahi beer. Tei hea te haumitiraa?”

Just kidding, I can’t speak Tahitian, but I am a quick learner. I also know that Tahiti isn’t a country, and actually is a part of France, but I’m always up for a little rebellion if that’s what anyone needs me to do.

Besides, how tough can an emissary’s job be? It appears to me that all that’s required is doing what you’re told, and I have gained plenty of experience in that at home.

Take Gordon Sondland, for instance. From what I have read, his sole qualification for serving as ambassador to the European Union was that he built a hotel empire.

While I may not have built any hotels, I have stayed in quite in few, which I think would be enough to qualify me for a role, say, in Tuvalu, which I at first thought was that little hangy-down thing in the back of your throat (that would be the uvula, which doesn’t sound like anything you’d want to bring up on a date).

Tuvalu, as it turns out, is a nation of tropical islands in the Pacific, several stones’ throw from Samoa.

From what I have learned about it so far, the main pursuit of the few people of Tuvalu is right up my alley: waking up, eating, napping, waking up, eating, napping and so forth. Its recreational opportunities include being warm — 88 in the day, 77 at night all year long, and fishing.

You wouldn’t think it could get any better than that, but wait, there’s more: the only airport is on an atoll named after a good time: Funufuti.

So, I’m packed and ready to represent our interests however anyone so desires. Just point me in the right direction, give me my marching orders and I’m off to Funufuti.

Speaking of atolls, it’s a shame, in a way, that Giuliani didn’t get that assignment, because it would have provided the rest of us with great entertainment, saying, tutti fruitti aw rooty Rudy Funafuti.

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