Mme Nhu, who died two days before THE wedding, was a hell of a woman. Her maternal grandmother was a Vietnamese princess of impeccable credentials, yet when she was captured by the commies in Hue in 1946, she stood up to them until the French rescued her four months later. She was anti-French and anti-commie, yet the Western press named her the Dragon Lady, a nickname she didn’t deserve but one that stuck. She was a nationalist par excellence, but in the gathering storm of the Vietnam war the press had to have a villain (the commies were the good guys) and she played her role to the hilt.
When the shocking images of Buddhist monks’ immolations reached the West, she did not flinch or cry crocodile tears. She undiplomatically referred to them as barbecues. American hacks insisted she looked and acted like the diabolical femme fatale in the popular comic strip of the day ‘Terry and the Pirates’. She gave back as good as she got. She threatened to slash the throat of a rebellious general during a cocktail party when he announced that he would overthrow the president and make her his mistress. The general was exiled soon after. For any of you youngsters not versed in the history of Indochina way back in the Paleolithic age, Mme Nhu was married to the brother of the weak president of South Vietnam, President Diem. Both men were assassinated in 1963 under orders from President John F. Kennedy. (Who himself was assassinated later that year.)
No ifs or buts about it, Kennedy got rid of the Diems, escalated the war and never lived to see the bloody catastrophe he caused. Kennedy apologists have sugarcoated his role in the disaster, but facts are facts and the Kennedys and their acolytes can go to hell, as far as I’m concerned. I like to imagine that if the Jewish Chronicle had somehow interviewed Eva Braun during the second world war, Eva would have had an easier ride than the beautiful but petite Mme Nhu ever did. She enjoyed great influence with her brother-in-law and was said to be corrupt, but she was brave and loved her country. She lived in quiet exile from 1963 until this year. My information is that money was tight.
Switch now to another Dragon Lady, one who is no lady, but a bleached-blonde bitch by the name of Aisha Gaddafi, as big a crook as her seven brothers and her sadistic old man, the Norma Desmond of the Middle East, the cross-dressing Muamaar Gaddafi. Talk about corruption. These impudent camel-rapists have stolen billions, have used Libyan oil wealth for their hookers, yachts, private jets and palaces around the globe, yet until recently Western bankers and leaders genuflected in front of this scum, the latter permitting the arch thief and murderer to pitch his tent anywhere he felt like in our European capitals. Such are the joys of fear and greed on our part. That tired-out old bag the New York Times even put the bleached-blonde bitch’s picture on the front page last week, while one of the old bag’s hacks interviewed the vermin. (And here I was thinking that this was news not fit to print.) It was as if the hack were interviewing Madame Curie, softly, softly, and with the required reverence.
The bitch lied just as her seven semi-aborted brothers do whenever some hack is dumb enough to ask them a question. The Gaddafis make Bill Clinton sound like Diogenes, so what’s the point of giving them space to air their malevolent fantasies? They should be put down or handed over to Libyans who have suffered under them for 42 years, just as Saddam was turned over. They all deserve to hang, slowly, but I’m whistling Dixie. It will never happen. The West is weak and the vile one has moolah, lotsa moolah. In the end, a deal will be struck, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see the scum floating back on some superyacht in the Med. Neither the drones nor the fighter jets can beat his mercenaries, and unless we send in the Marines the scumbag will be there way past Christmas time. By publishing the rubbish the bleached bitch preaches we are facilitating a deal, the worst of all outcomes as far as the great avenger Taki is concerned. The bit I liked most was when she told the hack how well her brothers get along with each other. These hyenas have been trying to outdo one another in gaining power and riches since they were old enough to kick begging blind cripples, yet her words are reported with a straight face. Bill Keller, editor of the old bag, is a weak, midget-kicking phony tough guy. He should have printed the interview as a parody, which is what it is.
Conceived by hookers with a dose of the clap — Gaddafi himself is obviously syphilitic — the brood of eight have had it their way for far too long. One’s a rapist and woman beater, another bought 7 per cent of Juventus Football Club thinking he could get on the team — he’s Hyde Park Sunday-afternoon calibre — yet another is a torturer and killer, while the so-called civilised one is a braggart, a consummate coke sniffer, the Goebbels of his father’s regime without the German’s charm. The bleached bitch would never make it as a Madame Claude girl, but when I once saw her in Geneva, she had an entourage of more than 50 heavies, plus the Swiss police opening the way for her to the bank.
If it’s true that one of the pox-ridden warthog’s sons has been killed along with some grandchildren, I will celebrate in style. The trouble is I don’t believe a word emanating from Tripoli. It’s a simple ploy to garner sympathy. Gaddafi and his sons have murdered thousands and thousands of innocents and unarmed people, so if one of the sons of bitches croaks the better off we are..
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