An Open Letter Of Apology To Namibia
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I would like to take this opportunity to finally, formally, apologize to the country of Namibia.
What I did was wrong. All of it. From the merciless exploitation to the country's natural resources, to the ill advised economic reforms in which the national currency, the Namibian Dollar, was replaced with various flavors of Fruit Roll-ups, to the (now) infamous incident with the Royal Namibian Family, ten thousand tubes of model airplane glue, and a roll of duct tape.... it was wrong.
I guess I was just going through a rough period in my life. I had just broken up with my girlfriend, and I was unhappy with my job. I remember clearly how it started: I woke up one Saturday morning, feeling empty and alone, looked in the mirror, and thought "I think I'll quit my job and go fuck with the country of Namibia."
So, I'm trying to make amends. The Namibian flag is no longer a pair of my dirty underwear. I'm giving all the babies back. Palace guards are no longer required to refer to me as "The Great Goombah." Henceforth, Namibian State television is no longer required to air doctored video of me, as a giant of 450 feet, taking an enormous, sickening dump on the Eiffel Tower. Jello fights are no longer the means of arbitrating justice. When speaking directly to me, it is no longer required that Namibians stare exclusively at my crotch and preface their comments with "Holy Geeze, will you look at that!" You can start using the letter "T" again. The "Pull my Finger" game is no longer the national sport.
I have some confessions to make. There is no Death Ray. It's just a couple of empty coffee cans covered in aluminum foil with wires hanging out the ends. The United States of America did NOT surrender itself to Namibian sovereignty. Norway was NOT destroyed. The neighboring country of Botswana did NOT nail its populations lips to two-by-fours as a symbol of African unity. I am NOT the Pope. I ordered the city of Rehoboth off limits to the population, NOT because it was devastated by UNESCO battle robots brandishing green, stinging tentacles (It didn't happen.) but because I prefer to be undisturbed while looting and setting fire to garbage cans. When I demanded that all Namibian females between the ages of 18 to 24 be delivered to me, it was NOT so that I could choose a new host body, but only because I liked looking at them naked. You can have them back, and you will find that, for the most part, they are uninjured and working properly. My face was NOT scarred during a horrible, mystical experiment gone awry during my college days... I just really liked wearing the iron mask. I do NOT have the ability to direct beams of pure energy from space on to your homes and crops, nor can I cast someone's soul into the Gut Wrenching Den of Perdition (I made that place up) by thrusting my pelvis at them. I do NOT have an Ultimate Nullifier, a Dirty Bomb of Justice, a Sodomizer or any other super weapon in my pants.
Work on the four and a half mile long Battleship of Imperial Doom can cease immediately. Stop painting everything puce. No longer will you be required to set an elderly person on fire every time I have a bowel movement. All slaves in the Namib Desert who are molding tons of sands in to an enormous pair of buttocks can go home. The city of Karasburg, that I had renamed to "Asspeeperville", can have it's old name back. The lyrics of the beautiful and proud Namibian Anthem are no longer simply the word "sodomy" screamed over and over again in time to the melody. You can stop dumping raw sewage on the South African borders: The South Africans are your friends, and they don't deserve this kind of treatment. You may immediately cease imprisoning people for public flatulence. Tori Spelling is no longer The Whore-Painted Enemy; you may speak her true name openly, and please know that she is simply a Hollywood actress that I came to resent because she never responded to my e-mails. Please, go to your world maps and your geography textbooks and rename "Land of Filthy Micks" back to "Ireland". The newly created cabinet minister position of Fat Chick can be eliminated.
So, in conclusion, I apologize to you, Proud Namibia, and beg your forgiveness. I know it was hard for you, all those years, and I hope you won't retain any bitterness about it. And, it wasn't ALL bad. Remember the look on the Angolan Minister's face when we air dropped lepers on the Angolan capitol city of Luanda? How about that time we convinced the French ambassador that our religious customs required him to appear in public in blackface? Admit it, we had some laughs.
I return your country to you, Namibia. I promise it won't happen again.
Michael Alan Haley is a troublemaker.