[Note: These, the diaries of John Bolton in his first week as UN Ambassador, may not be suitable for small children. Or adults. Or certain sensitive pets.]

August 1, 2005

He did it! The President went and made a recess appointment of yrs trly! Which means I had to head to NYC this morning to start kicking some diplomatic ass.

I can’t say it was easy. Those partisan bastards went at me for everything from “cooking the books” on Iraq intel to leaking Valerie Plame’s name to the press like I was Bob Novak. [I told Novak that if I was gonna leak the name of any covert government operative, it woulda been his. Ha! Bob’s sensitive about that…]

It’s going to be an amazing journey. The President was clear that as the US ambassador, it’s my job to stir some shit up. Can do. But will the bureaucratic eurotrash up here play ball, or will they cling to that whole “sovereign nations” ball of bullshit? Time will tell.

I met the staff this afternoon, so I can’t really say much about ‘em. They do seem to cry easily, though. Not a good sign…


August 2, 2005

So I had lunch with Kofi Annan today, the guy who’s “in charge” of the place, after he “presented me with my credentials.” Gee, thanks, now I feel like I really have the job. Douchebag.

Softened him up by asking if his son’s looking forward to a little “butt love” in the slammer. I don’t think the guy’s used to a strong hand - after all, he’s used to “excuse me” diplo-dorks like “Pow-wow” Powell. [note: What is it about guys who actually served in the military that turns ‘em into such ginormous pussies? Somebody oughta write a book…]

My staff is falling into place. Had to go medieval on one girl who was a little pushy about trying to make me read the last ambassador’s binders. Like I’m here to drink tea with this bunch of wheedling little do-nothings. The girl was a real bitch about it, though, until I pushed her desk over and put some mustache in her face. If she comes back tomorrow, she’ll be arriving without Attitude. It sucks that I have to worry about being an effective management-type while also herding these little foreign fruitcakes, but that’s the job.


August 3, 2005

Not a lot happened today. A little staff meeting in the morning to “share our feelings” about yesterday’s dust-up. Several underlings expressed their wish for a supportive, productive work environment. I then expressed my desire to cram a cantilevered desk lamp up each and every one of their asses. I think we found some common ground there (lol!).

Afterwards there was a “Security Council” meeting. Translation: The same pricks who were too busy picking out new panties for their boyfriends to get with the program on the Iraq thing wanted to get together to “rap” about the War on Terror. I waited until they’d gabbled in frog-talk for 20 minutes ( nobody’s going to make me wear those stupid earphones), and then I stood on the table and said, “Oooh, your opinions are sooooo valuable to me and the United States! Wait, let me take that down! No, wait, I have a better idea - let me share this.”

Then I “dropped trou,” took a dump on the desk and walked out. Oh yes, yes I did. Left ‘em with something a little more relevant to think about. Ah, diplomacy. ;-)


August 4, 2005

I fucking hate this place.


August 5, 2005

Week one ended with a bang! First, some little froggie or kraut or something came to my office to thank me for my “performance” the other day, that it was “about time.” See? The little bastard probably hates everything I stand for, but he’s willing to toady up because he knows who’s holding all the cards. I thanked him for his ass-kissing and kicked ‘im to the curb [figuratively, of course - I really just yelled at him a little and threw some Pepsi in his face. These other ambassadors aren’t technically on my staff]. You could tell that the “tough love” only increased his respect, and I don’t think Whereverland’s gonna be voting against us any time soon - not if he’s gonna risk pissing off the American Psycho! Only language these guys understand, really.

The staff’s rounding into form too. It’s quieter around here now, and the meat grinder with the “Suggestion Box” sign that I brought over from my old office has made its point: It’s funny, but it’s true. The crying chick never came back, and there’s a letter from her lawyer on my desk (soon to be filed under “recycling”), but those are the breaks of the game. You have to break a few heads to make an omelet, like they say. Diplomacy’s tough, but Bolton’s tougher.

Monday’s a “get to know the general assembly” brunch. I can’t fucking wait.