Tag Archives: Sarkozy

Georgian Saakashvili, the anti Putin

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Putin
He rode to power on a CIA/USAID/CPD-backed colored revolution (Georgia’s was Rose), he invaded South Ossetia at NATO’s prompting, but Mikheil Saakashvili startled when Russian tanks immediately took it back, and the Georgian president hasn’t stopped screaming for western support. He’s still fretting over something the Russian Prime Minister had uttered during that engagement.

Didn’t it seem, last August, that Saakashvili wanted to give Georgia back and return to his safe American home? He dared let US special ops advisers give Georgian soldiers insurgency training, but when the people of South Ossetia resisted falling into the sphere of western oil interests, Saakashvili went crying to mommy.

There is probably no denying that Russia will not abide a US puppet playing host to western terrorist subversives at its border. But Putin has been mum on the matter, choosing instead to parade about shirtless. We’re laughing at the Fabio act, but Putin’s foe in Georgia is shaking like he anticipates the pig scene from Deliverance in his future.

Saakashvili is raising the alarm, explaining Georgia’s vulnerability. Says he, “Putin has to break our neck. He has to fulfill his solemn pledge to hang me by a certain part of the body.”

Last year, during talks to end the conflict in South Ossetia, Putin had told French President Sarkozy that he wanted to hang Saakashvili “by the balls.”

Has the US no better contender to foist upon the newly westernized Georgians than sissy Saakashvili? They should have auditioned candidates with their shirts off.

Carla Bruni’s Chrysanthemum: Sarkozy

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Carla Bruni or Jane Birkin?What’s left for Carla Bruni-Sarkozy? Heiress, supermodel, pop diva, Queen of France. Now everyone’s mind is on her chrysanthemum.
 
Follow Jane Birkin to Serge Gainsbourg to Citizen Kane to find it’s French for Rosebud.

In reprising her recording career, Mrs. France now wants Jane Birkin’s repute. Her album As If Nothing Happened is a Je T’aime Moi Non Plus remake for our Gattaca millennium, antiseptic, callous, Birkin’s expressive orgasm gone the way of pubic hair.

In her song Ta Tienne, Bruni pledges to her president husband “I give you my body, my soul and my chrysanthemum” encrypted for state security reasons perhaps. France-soir says: “I think we know exactly what she means by this. It is hardly appropriate imagery for a First Lady of France.” I think I do too, although I’m determined to imagine the allusion is literary and not botanical.

Coincidentally, the similarly named Euro-trash film Je T’aime Moi Non Plus which Birkin made for her husband, eminent enfant-terrible composer Serge Gainsbourg, also the song’s composer, centered around costar Joe Dallesandro’s incapacity to be aroused by anything but her delicate rosebud.

How does Bruni’s inability to sing compare to Birkin’s? Definitely comparable. But her artlessness soars. Birkin’s long career included showing herself to be a critically acclaimed film director. The French First Lady’s artifice is calculated like Faust.

I remember when Carla Bruni hit the public scene. The old Italian money heiress merited a topless photo blurb in Vanity Fair, no doubt arranged by PR reps because the caption credited the bohemian scion with no distinction besides reading Kant in her skivvies. From there it was fashion model, then groupie, then pop singer apparently, until she landed the ultra-right European Union enforcer hit-man Sarkozy for a husband. The press pretends her leftist circles don’t understand the attraction.

Wealthy Italians have been fascists since the Medici. Where did Carla get a leftist rep? That’s like expecting a physicist to emerge from shop class. In marrying Sarkozy I think the dilettante has shown her social-climber colors, and this lamentable recording puts a finer, and I’m sure it’s lovely, point on it.

We might argue the anatomical nomenclature, in any event the distinction’s a pun. Carla shows her man-eating reputation is undaunted by the French dictator. If she’s meant to be upstaged by an asshole, it’s going to hers, fragranced.