22. February 2011 · Comments Off on To The Shores of Tripoli · Categories: General, World

Hmm . . . well, not having any particular insight into the goings-on inside that delightful North African nation . . . other than that which can be gleaned from the common-or-garden-news sites, and from various specialist commentary websites, including a couple frequented by enthusiasts for all sorts of arcane knowledge about foreign lands – much of which comes from the knowledge of having actually lived or worked in such places. Nothing like having been there, and wandered around, or having a bit of language, or even just sensitivity to atmosphere . . . Anyways . . . my decidedly un-expert but reliably intuitive sense is that Muammar Kaddafy, Qaddafy or Gadaffy – or whatever rendering of his name comes out to in English and in the Latin alphabet – is that he has essentially screwed the pooch. All that he has left are hired mercenaries, and that the Libyan citizens of whatever tribe are now so exhausted of patience, and so comprehensively tired of being pushed around by this megalomaniac freak that they have decided they have nothing left to lose. He had his military drop bombs on protesters, and it appears that a fair number of formerly-apparently-loyal functionaries are deciding to abandon ship, right and left. It’s only a matter of time before the Great Leader for Life is either stood up against a wall after a hasty trial (a la Ceausescu of Romania) or hanging up by his heels from the beams of an urban gas station (a la Benito Mussolini.) I dunno about decamping with the entourage and a pallet or two of cash and valuables to a welcoming foreign refuge. I mean, who would take him, other than another pariah country? North Korea? Too far away, and they have sufficient change-of-regime problems of their own, not to mention that they probably can’t feed another couple of dozen mouths anyway. . . Venezuela? Nah – I don’t think the place is big enough for two titanic egos, and I also don’t think Oooogo would welcome the competition. Anyway, Gadaffy (or Daffy Duck, as the citizens of Rantburg like to call him) has a bigger collection of sprockets, and his femme bodyguard detachment just beats Oooogo’s all to heck, and I don’t think Ooooogo can handle direct competition. And Iran – well, that’s a case of the frying pan to the fire . . . so maybe Daffy Duck’s best bet is a nice remote island somewhere. With enough space for the extended family and the femme bodyguard detachment.

So, when the dust settles – who will be left in charge? That’s the key thing. Odds on, the most efficiently ruthless, or the most ruthlessly efficient.

Interesting times. In the sense of the Chinese curse, of course.

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