“To our son, his Excellency, Mr. Barack Hussein Obama: I have said to you before, that even if Libya and the United States of America enter into a war, God forbid, you will always remain a son.” – Colonel Muammar Qaddafi’s Letter to the President
My most dear and most excellent presidential son,
In our many intimate conversations, held while hosting Mediterranean seaside parties, such as our recent beer summit bunga-bunga, we have discussed the potential for an American war against your cherished homeland Libya. This topic, of course, seemed ridiculous. As you know, my son, I have provided a generous allowance of oil to you and your people for decades, and although my behavior at times has been embarrassing, I have always loved and cared for you. (I want to reiterate that the children’s soccer league referee who gave you a yellow card was a member of Al Qaeda, and he deserved every epithet and threat that I directed at him and his family. There was no need to run off the field in shame.)
How could the United States decide to attack me—an esteemed autocrat and your cherished father? Ever since you entered that Indonesia madras exchange program, your attitude towards me has grown repugnant. When I was a young stock herder, I would have never disrespected my own father in such an insolent manner, with denunciations and tomahawk missiles. I am starting to understand how Martin Sheen must feel. After all, you talk about “winning” more than his son does, and you hop in bed with the French just as readily.
Perhaps this war is similar to the mock wrestling we did on the living room floor many years ago, because your military effort cannot be serious. (The French do not exactly have the best record of defeating dastardly despot daddies.) Were your hands tied by your silly American Congress? How many times have I told you to fabricate a national emergency, like a financial crisis or something, to seize power in a coup? Actually, I might have said that to your brother Bushman. I can never keep you two straight.
Speaking of Congress, what is this ridiculous rumor I have heard from its members about you being born in Kenya? I know that Americans are awful at geography, but how could they confuse the luscious oil fields of Libya with that desolate sub-Saharan jungle? I suppose that you might have been conceived in Kenya. If that is what is being referred to, I believe that you need to improve American biological education, as well. However, I enjoyed your joking response, about your supposed Hawaiian birth certificate. We should vacation together there sometime, after you lift the no fly zone from my country and liberate my finances.
This talk of childbirth reminds me of your mother. I know that we do not talk about her often, but you should know that I greatly mourn her passing, and I think about her every day. It is regrettable that she never completed training for my Amazon warrior and Ukrainian nurse bodyguard brigade. Did I tell you that I have decided to honor her in much the same way America honors its fallen heroes? I am naming some of my military equipment after her. One of my commercial airliners for mercenary transport is already being repainted.
Please come visit me, soon. There has been so much renovating here at the home compound that you would not even recognize the place. A crater on the south lawn will make for a wonderful new in-ground swimming pool.
Your loving father,
P.S. I am a strong man, so it should go without saying that any watermarks on this letter are not from tears. I have already used up all of those gas canisters.