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Muammar Gaddafi’s Love Letter to Condoleezza Rice

Dearest Condoleezza,

 

Today is a great day in the history of mankind.  Today will be written of in the books of historians wherever they roam and it will be spoken of in the streets and homes and wherever people gather to be in awe of great things.  Today is the day I proclaim for you my undying pants lust.  I have worn pants just for this occasion, and they are resplendent in their exuberance as your uterus must be upon having your servant read unto you these eloquent and heart felt words that I literally rubbed a heart on (it belonged to a goat herder).

 

I claim you as my child bride and will drape you with the finest silks and furs and errant flaps of my flesh.  I will bestow upon you all that befits the station of one who is blessed to witness me in the bath, and to even join me provided you have pre-bathed, so that you might exfoliate my loins with your regal hands and fruitlessly challenge me to a water pooting duel.  I will agree to this duel out of love because it is adorable that you think you might defeat me even though al of Tripoli quakes at my bath-time rumblings for I have trained my rectum as I have trained my mind and body and no woman, even though she be an alluring daughter of Africa in the most enticing of Suzy Sheir business casual wear, could ever dream to defeat me.  But we shall play because of our love.

 

Condoleeza, your eyes are to me like two tepid pools of champagne on which floats a small boat as such a peasant might use to attempt to catch bluefin tuna.  Tuna that I will serve for you on plates of finest bone China in my imperial dining chamber, which has seating for many, but none are ever invited because they have not earned it.

 

Your hair is to me like something almost as luxurious as many of the things that I already own.  Like my palace, if it had split ends.  And those ends come together eventually as you and I will come together in my bed chamber, on which I sleep upon many pillows.  Pillows so soft you will curse your precious Obama and his entire state of Kentucky for fools, because what pillows do they provide?  Memory foam?  Is this not the vomit of your obese hobo epidemic?  The answer is yes!  Yes as is your answer to my question of will you be my bride.  Yes!

 

Never look me in the eyes!

 

Your flesh is like the finest Libyan chocolate, which is finer than that shit the Swiss make, except that it is a bit lighter because we don’t have a lot of milk here just now.  But imagine if you had a bad tan, you would probably look much like our delightful Libyan chocolate.  And like that chocolate, I want to pour you, scalding hot, on my genitals.

 

Condoleeza, I count the days until we meet again and use my own method of counting to do so, such that when you finally do arrive, it will only be three days, which doesn’t seem like much at all.  I will not bow to the numerical tyranny of foreign oppressors and their countacracy of foolishness and hypocrisy.  I will rise above, with you at my side, but slightly lower, and we shall lead the Libyan people into a glorious new age of non-tyrannical wonder and delight, the likes of which is only seen in your Disney films.

 

Your humble master,

 

Muammar

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