Thursday, November 16, 2006
Kofi Anan, the current Secretary-General of the United Nations is leaving in a couple of months. For Secretaries-General (General-Secretaries?) this is an excellent moment to kick some arses and make bold statements. No-one’s going to kick him out at this point anymore.
Last week, Anan launched a vigorous appeal to ban cluster-bombs. For those of you who don’t do their shopping in the Middle-East, cluster-bombs are containers that are dropped by planes or shot by artillery and that contain a multitude of small bombs that scatter and kill people over a wide area. Fortunately for the poor sods in that area, not all of them explode. Unfortunately for the people that return to that particular area, the bastards can go off anytime and without warning. Children are attracted to the small bombs, because they look like toys (often complete with mini-parachute). So hooray for Kofi and his fight against cluster-bombs! Incidentally, Belgium is the first and only country that banned the production, use and trade of that junk on its territory. Other countries might follow that example, if it wasn’t for the pressure of some very powerful countries that make a nice living out of producing them, with the United States taking the dubious lead.
I really support the Secretary-General in his fight, but I would like to see some attention for another important global problem: undersized washing basins in men’s rooms. These things make tens of thousands of victims a day, which gives you an idea of the importance of this problem. You see, I’m one of these rare men that washes their hands after going to the loo. But there are just too many men’s rooms that have these miniscule washing basins in which you can barely dip the tops of your fingers. A garden gnome is liable to braking his fingers in that teeny-weeny bowl.
But the worst part is that these contraptions are so small that the water just splashes everywhere! So when you leave the restroom you look like a Alzheimer's patient that has tried to take a wee while operating a pneumatic drill in a major earthquake. There are conspicuous drips on your shoes. There’s moist on your trousers right at the level of your private parts, as if you put ‘him’ away when you weren’t even half finished. And half of the time you look drunk because you slammed your head into the mirror when you bent over to catch the soap that’s fallen off the tiny rim.
Maybe Hezbollah and the Mossad are fighting out an undercover war, installing those bastard mini-basins wherever they can. It’s a lot less conspicuous than a cluster-bomb.