Poor George, it’s getting lonely at the top

I wonder what it feels like to be deserted by your friends. I know alliteration is crude, but I don’t do it often:

The Israelis are irritable over the poor conduct of the war. They know they should have won; instead they are ready to dump their leaders, George’s pals.

The Turks are tormented by their leader’s decision to send peace keepers to Lebanon. You an only play all sides against the middle for so long, but George Bush is not the pin up boy of the moment there.

The Iraqis are being irksome with their constant intercine battles. They want George and his gang to piss off so they can get on with their own slaughter.

The Iranians are being irascible as usual. If they can get up George’s nose they will, at the drop of a keffiyeh.

The Bits are bristling at Tony’s unseemly dalliance with his buddy George. They think they can stuff things up very well on their own, thank you very much!

Europe is thinking eugenics; creating a better world by breeding out American accents and the supposed brutish behavior that goes with them.

Australians are just astounded that they would be asked for more troops, more support for madcap wars when they are trying to get next months mortgage payment together.

The Kiwis were always quirky, and never did like big countries telling them what to do. But they don’t mind telling George to stuff off!

Canadians are careless, or at least don’t want to offend. But then no one asked them to the party either.

Mexicans are mired in electoral foul play and far too busy to notice their neighbor at the moment.

Pakistan is in paralysis, also trying to play both ends against the middle. But they will still give George a cut price on torture tainted intelligence. George wants evidence; they’ll get it, but again, for a price.

All in all, alliteration aside, the man who would be leader of the free world has taken on the distinct odour of last weeks fish. Even if a handful of leaders still get their rocks off at the sound of his voice, their followers don’t follow to the same beat.

It must be lonely at the top, George.