Kofi Annan knocked on the door of Bashar Al Asaad’s luxurious beach resort villa, a mega complex guarded by armed sentries on 24 hr shifts, unpaid leave, partly covered insurance, round trip bus tickets to their hometown, and various other benefits. Al Asaad opened the door, and he saw Kofi Annan, a coffee coloured bearded man with eyes that seemed to be perpetually in tears. There was a pause as the two men looked at each other.

“Hello,” said Kofi Annan with an obsequious smile. “Didn’t I tell you people that I’m not interested.” stammered Al Assad as he was about to close the door. Kofi Annan put his hand on Assad’s arm, in a gesture that was reminiscent of Arafat’s and Ehud Baracks Camp David door opening game, a game that had been played to the apparent joy of an evidently intoxicated Bill Clinton.

“Look sir,” pleaded Kofi Annan, “I really think you should reconsider,” Al Assad sighed in frustration “You came here yesterday, you knocked on my door, you told me about your product and I am really not interested.”

Kofi Annan took out a pamphlet, “But we’re having a limited time offer if you make your purchase now” Gun shots could be heard in the distance, and both men looked to see where it was coming from.

“I’m not interested; I’m getting Chinese and Russian for half the price” Chuckling like an old African man you’d like to have over for dinner, Kofi Annan resumed, “But Russian and Chinese don’t last; you know as well as me that ‘American’ is always better” “What about your conditional warranty?” and Al Assad twisted his long neck to the side in an absurd interrogative gesture.

“Rest assured that our conditional warranty is very reasonable” and Kofi Annan turned to the second page of his pamphlet which featured a photograph of a laughing Jewish settler man and woman, embracing each other against a backdrop of a thriving Jewish settlement complete with water fountains, balloons, laughing kids on bicycles, and other happy stuff. “All our products and services have a guaranteed warranty provided that your political, financial, or military activity does not conflict with that of Israel!”

Al Assad laughed, “Yes but don’t you understand the tight rope I’m on, I’m dealing with all kinds of crap right now,” “But sir,” Annan implored his bright teeth glistening in the apocalyptic Middle Eastern sun, “No, no,” Assad muttered as he pushed off Annan’s outstretched arm, “Please stop knocking on my door, I’m not interested in anything you people have to offer, go bother someone else.” Annan gave a wide eyed look of despair as his face disappeared behind the closing door.

Assad went to the kitchen to prepare himself a turkey and cheese sandwich; from the living room television he could hear the sounds of protesters screaming, “We’re dying, we’re dying, he’s killing us,” and other catch phrases of a people being oppressed and or exterminated by an insane dictator.

“He’s insane because the media says he’s insane” said professor Fjord to his Communication Theory class, and he gave them a squinty eyed look of having said something intelligent. He then drew a chart diagramming the word ‘media’ branching out to the word ‘truth’ and then culminating into a triangle shape that pointed to the word ‘insane dictator’; thereafter he discussed how all this ties in with post structuralism, political economy, and Hegelian dialectic.

One student in the class, an artist, had an epiphany, “I’ll have an Asaad art gallery! I’ll make paintings of him wearing an astronaut suit!” and the student delighted himself with images of snotty people holding champagne glasses and intricate little snacks showing their appreciation with well-rehearsed munching and silently intoned exclamations.

Later that day Assad had a meeting with his Conspiracy consultant, a shrewd looking old man with crazy hair and round glasses, a cross between a failed filmmaker and an accountant.

“We have a problem” said the C.c. “What’s that?” asked Assad as he casually munched on his sandwich, his long legs stretched out on the living room divan, the sound of the television drowning into a murmur of news anchors who act like everything they say is of utmost significance. The C.c. took out a note pad and flipped through it. “We’re being faced with several counter conspiracies.” “What do you mean?” Al Assad asked, his eyes drooping into slumber vile,

“Well, we’ve managed to set up some false flag operations attributed to ‘violent dissident groups’ and we’ve managed to orchestrate these incidents with our own army coming in to the rescue; this has added to the credibility of our armed forces, but I’ve just received word that the Free Syrian Army is now dressing up some of their militia as Syrian army soldiers and attacking villages, and well, they’re doing the exact same thing we’re doing.”

Assad was now fast asleep. The C.c. continued to himself muttering, “So basically we’re all trying to kill civilians and save them, in the hopes that they’ll finally think we’re the good guys” There was a knock on the door; it was Kofi Annan holding a box with a picture of an Islamic guy,

“If you make your purchase now, we’ll give you this free Iranian Bomb Kit, but for a limited time only.”