missing asset:https://www.takimag.com/images/uploads/Taki.jpg

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 pox-ridden warthog Muammar 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 genuflected in front of this scumbag and our leaders permitted the arch-thief and murderer to pitch his tent anywhere he felt like in Europe and America. Such are the joys of our fear and greed. That tired old bag, The New York Times, even put the bleached blonde bitch’s picture on their front page last week, while one of the old bag’s hacks interviewed the vermin. (And here I thought this was news not fit to print.) It sounded as if the hack was interviewing Madame Curie—slowly, softly, and with the required reverence. The bitch lied just like her seven semi-aborted brothers do whenever some hack is dumb enough to ask them a question. The Gaddafi family makes Bill Clinton sound like Diogenes, so what’s the point of giving them space to air their malevolent fantasies? The Gaddafis have to be put down or handed over to Libyans who have suffered under them for 42 years, just like Saddam was turned over. (I don’t believe a word about one of the sons-of-bitches being killed by a missile. The Gaddafis are garnering sympathy, c’est tout.) They all deserve to hang—slowly—but I’m just whistling Dixie. It will never happen. The West is weak and the vile one has moolah—lotsa moolah. At the end a deal will be struck, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see the scum come floating back in the Med on some superyacht. 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.

By publishing the rubbish his bleached bitch of a daughter preaches, the Times is facilitating a deal—the worst of all outcomes as far as the great avenger Taki is concerned. The bit I liked the most was when she told the hack how well her brothers got along with each other. These hyenas have been trying to outdo each other in gaining power and riches since they were old enough to kick begging blind cripples, yet her words are reported with a straight face, as if Margaret Thatcher was talking about the Royal Family. Bill Keller, editor of the old bag, is a phony tough guy. He left his wife for a British midget because he thought she was upper-class. She is not. He has his face deeply embedded up Sulzberger’s asshole, hence he remains permanently suntanned. He should have printed the interview as a parody, which it was.

Conceived by hookers with a dose of syphilis, the brood of eight has had it their way for far too long. One’s a rapist and woman-beater, the other bought 7% of Juventus Football Club thinking he could get on the team—he’s Central Park Sunday-afternoon caliber—yet another is a torturer and killer, while the so-called civilized 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 hooker—too ugly with horrible legs—but when I once saw her in Geneva, she had an entourage of more than fifty heavies, plus the Swiss police opening the way for her to the bank. Let’s blow up the Gaddafis and be done with it. We’d be doing the world a favor.