Diplomacy à la vodka
Original Written in Mix of French & English
« Monsieur le ministre, êtes-vous – »
« Ben non, j’suis simplement saoul »
« Mais – »
« Je vous mets en charge des négociations. Commence pas la troisième guerre mondiale ». Et il s’est évanoui.
The Under Minister of Foreign Affairs stared at his boss, Soviet Foreign Minister Molotov, who was now collapsed on the couch. “Well, I guess it’s up to me to handle the negotiations,” he mused.
Les diplomates prussiens arrivaient à Genève. Et les Russes arrivaient … trois semaines en retard parce qu’ils devaient prendre le train de Leningrad à travers l’Europe centrale.
“You’re late,” said the Germans, who had driven from Berlin and arrived early, 3 days ahead of the scheduled meeting time just in case they got a flat tire. Germans are always on time. Germans are always early.
Il y a des moments que la dictature du prolétariat est pire que la dictature des tyrans. At least the kaiser runs his government on time. Meanwhile Lenin is drunk on vodka.
Alors les négociations commencent. Et continuent. Et vont nulle part. Because there is no translator. The Germans make propositions in Deutsch and the Russians confusedly respond in Russkiy. And the press keeps saying, “It’s Greek to Me!”
“What the hell is going on in Europe?” demanded Churchill. “Why can’t the European Union get their shit together?”
“The affairs of Europe are the affairs of Europe. You are an island,” said de Gaulle. Although it sounded more like [zee affairez œv œrʌp aʁ zee affairez œv œrʌp. juw aʁ ʌn ajlənd].
“I know. Thank god for Brexit,” said Churchill.
Vladimir Lenin sent a cable to his Foreign Minister. “How are the negotiations with the Germans going? Stop. Report back when your hangover is done. Stop. Awaiting news from the Eastern Front. Stop.”
Molotov muttered, “Damn. The proletariat has awoken. Which means I need to get up.” The Russian foreign minister pulled himself up off of the couch, made his way through the maze of vodka bottles and proceeded to put on his bow tie and 3 piece suit and top hat. As he sobered up on his way to the League of Nations downtown, he asked the cab driver, “What year is it?” The taxi driver replied, “This is an asynchronous piece of fiction, you idiot. There is no year!”
As the Soviet foreign minister arrived he asked his Under Minister, “Did you start World War Three?” “No, your excellency.” “Ok, then you did a good job.” “Spasibo.” “Pozhaluysta.”
Original Written in Mix of French & English
« Monsieur le ministre, êtes-vous – »
« Ben non, j’suis simplement saoul »
« Mais – »
« Je vous mets en charge des négociations. Commence pas la troisième guerre mondiale ». Et il s’est évanoui.
The Under Minister of Foreign Affairs stared at his boss, Soviet Foreign Minister Molotov, who was now collapsed on the couch. “Well, I guess it’s up to me to handle the negotiations,” he mused.
Les diplomates prussiens arrivaient à Genève. Et les Russes arrivaient … trois semaines en retard parce qu’ils devaient prendre le train de Leningrad à travers l’Europe centrale.
“You’re late,” said the Germans, who had driven from Berlin and arrived early, 3 days ahead of the scheduled meeting time just in case they got a flat tire. Germans are always on time. Germans are always early.
Il y a des moments que la dictature du prolétariat est pire que la dictature des tyrans. At least the kaiser runs his government on time. Meanwhile Lenin is drunk on vodka.
Alors les négociations commencent. Et continuent. Et vont nulle part. Because there is no translator. The Germans make propositions in Deutsch and the Russians confusedly respond in Russkiy. And the press keeps saying, “It’s Greek to Me!”
“What the hell is going on in Europe?” demanded Churchill. “Why can’t the European Union get their shit together?”
“The affairs of Europe are the affairs of Europe. You are an island,” said de Gaulle. Although it sounded more like [zee affairez œv œrʌp aʁ zee affairez œv œrʌp. juw aʁ ʌn ajlənd].
“I know. Thank god for Brexit,” said Churchill.
Vladimir Lenin sent a cable to his Foreign Minister. “How are the negotiations with the Germans going? Stop. Report back when your hangover is done. Stop. Awaiting news from the Eastern Front. Stop.”
Molotov muttered, “Damn. The proletariat has awoken. Which means I need to get up.” The Russian foreign minister pulled himself up off of the couch, made his way through the maze of vodka bottles and proceeded to put on his bow tie and 3 piece suit and top hat. As he sobered up on his way to the League of Nations downtown, he asked the cab driver, “What year is it?” The taxi driver replied, “This is an asynchronous piece of fiction, you idiot. There is no year!”
As the Soviet foreign minister arrived he asked his Under Minister, “Did you start World War Three?” “No, your excellency.” “Ok, then you did a good job.” “Spasibo.” “Pozhaluysta.”
