The administration's third-least-successful backroom negotiator talks about how he spends his time now that he doesn't get to wear that naffy uniform any more.
strongsmell.com: Your parents didn't spend a lot of time thinking before they named you, did they?
Colin Powell: Yes they did. For example they moved to the United States, which is a land rich with opportunity.
smell: About your name, I mean.
smell: Colon. Bowel.
smell: It's not just vulgar, it's redundant.
CP: You can say that again.
smell: Do not make jokes at this serious time. Not with our fighting forces putting their lives on the line.
CP: First, they are my fighting forces not yours. Second, if everyone were all dour and sullen and overtaken with sober gravity, do you think diplomacy would stand a chance?
CP: Me neither.
smell: Is he really as stupid and pig-headed as he seems?
CP: Oh, you? Yes.
smell: No, that "duh" was winky and knowing, meant to suggest that you know perfectly well to whom the question refers. Not that I am personally given to unintelligent vowel-gruntings.
CP: Did you just say "Powell gruntings"?
smell: (shrugs shyly)
CP: I'm good at those.
smell: I can imagine.
CP: It's all in the diaphragm. Push too hard or exhale too sharply and you lose the power. But when you get it just right and the timbre is perfect it makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck.
smell: Please stop talking like that.
CP: I am sad. Can you not see the sadness in my eyes?
smell: Why are you sad?
CP: Because nobody likes me.
smell: Oh, that's not true. Donald Rumsfeld likes you. And so does Dick Cheney. And of course the President.
CP: No they don't. They think I'm a big pansy.
smell: Well, you are, aren't you? You are the captain of the televised flippity-flop.
smell: All back passage and no spine, you are.
CP: That stings, you meany.
smell: I apologize.
CP: You are sweet. I would like to buy you some soup.