[originally posted May, 2004]
Dr. John Watson writes: […] “The dapper client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some little pride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the inside pocket of his greatcoat. As he glanced down at the International Affairs section, with his head thrust forward and the paper flattened against his knee, I took a good look at the man and endeavored, after the fashion of my companion, to read the indications which might be presented by his dress or appearance.
“I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor bore every mark of being an educated man, urbane, evasive, and self-satisfied. He wore a custom-tailored gray-flannel suit, a spotlessly brushed camel’s hair topcoat, unbuttoned in the front, and a heavy, brassy Albert chain with a square-pierced bit of metal, imperfectly round, dangling down as an ornament. A new bowler hat with a fine satin lining lay upon a chair beside him. Altogether, look as I would, there was nothing peculiar about the man save a small button pinned to his lapel with the legend “The rhythm is Ghana Getcha,” and the expression of extreme chagrin and discontent upon his features.
“Sherlock Holmes’s quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook his head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. ‘Beyond the obvious facts that he has at no time done manual labor, that he takes drink, that he is a West African-born diplomat of some stature, that he has been bribed by a ruthless and since deposed dictator, and that he has done a considerable amount of lying lately, I can deduce nothing else.’
“Mr. Kofi Annan started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon the paper, but his eyes upon my companion.
“‘How, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, Mr. Holmes?’ he asked. ‘How did you know, for example, that I’ve never done manual labor? It’s as true as Israel is evil, of course — for I began my studies at the University of Science and Technology in Kumasi, then completed my undergraduate work in Economics at Macalester College in the United States. After that, I then undertook graduate studies in economics at the Institut universitaire des hautes des internationales in Geneva before returning to the United States, where I was Sloan Fellow at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology — eventually receiving a Master of Science degree in Management. But how on earth –‘”
“‘– Your hands, my dear sir. Your fingers are delicate and bony, your palms quite free from callous. I observe that neither hand is larger in the fleshy portion below the thumb than its opposite. Your manicure is impeccable, with the half-moons of your cuticles in perfect symmetry. Had you been one to perform manual labor, the muscles of one hand, your left, specifically, would be more developed.’
“‘Well, the drink, then, and the lying?’
“‘I won’t insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that, especially as you reek of Cognac at present, and your mouth is perfectly perpendicular to the tip of your skull — the result, no doubt, of your having mastered the art of speaking out of both sides of it simultaneously.’
“‘Ah, of course, I forgot that. But my occupation, and my place of birth?’
“‘What else can be indicated by the small spot of fois gras on your left shirt cuff and the bits of caviar lodged between your front teeth than a career in diplomacy? That you’ve enjoyed these delicacies at midday on a Wednesday tells me that you must indeed be a diplomat of high rank, for who else should engage in such conspicuous decadence? As for your cultural identity, it is quite evident that your English, while meticulously studied and precise, has been greatly influenced by the vocal inflections of Twi, Fante, Ga, Hausa, Dagbani, Ewe and Nzema — the major spoken languages of Ghana, a country located on the southern coast of the westernmost bulge of Africa. That, and you’re brown as a berry.’
“‘Well, but the bribery?”
“‘Elementary. The Saddam Rocks tattoo above your right wrist indicates your affinity with a vicious Babylonian butcher of ill repute who is purported to have committed some of the worst human rights atrocities in recorded history. In addition, I see a Parthia Silver Tetradrachm hanging from your watch chain. This particular Silver Tetradrachm is exceedingly rare, having been struck by Vologases VI, one of the last Parthian Emperors, who reigned from 208 to 228 AD. These coins were struck during the final collapse of the Parthian Empire. Vologases regularly fought with his brothers over control of the Empire, wars that were aided and abetted by Rome, who wanted to see the collapse of their main rival in the East. Finally, between 224 and 228AD the Sasanians overthrew Vologases and his brothers, thus establishing the Sasanian Empire — and creating a new rival for Rome in the East. The coin was struck in the city of Seleucia, located about 25 miles southeast of Baghdad on the Tigris river in what is now Iraq. The coins are dated in the Seleucidian Era. All in all, you seem to have stumbled upon an ingenious scheme for laundering large sums of money, smuggling the coins out of Iraq and then slowly releasing them back into the international antiques and collectibles markets. That you happen to have such a rare coin upon your person, pierced through and hanging like a bauble from your chain, allows me to deduce that — inasmuch as you treat such a treasure so cavalierly — you are almost certainly in receipt of many more prized Seleucidian pieces, a bounty available only to those in league with the recently deposed Butcher of Baghdad.’
“Mr. Kofi Annan laughed heavily. ‘Well, I never!’ said he. ‘I thought at first that you had done something clever, but I see that there was nothing in it, after all.”
“‘I begin to think, Watson,’ said Holmes, ‘that I make a mistake in explaining. “Omne ignotum pro magnifico,” you know, and my poor little reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so candid.’
“‘I am sorry,’ replied Mr. Kofi Annan, clearly confused by my companion’s obscure reference. ‘But my Latin is not as it should be, having eroded from years of thinking in nothing but diplomatic speak.’
“‘It means, Sir,’ I told him, ‘something like, “Oh yeah? Well then let’s see you do it, bitch –‘
“‘– Well,’ Holmes was quick to interject. ‘That is a very loose translation, Watson…'” […]
I did do it, homes.
Oh SNAP!!
Written like some sort of bastard offspring of PG Wodehouse and Iowahawk.
Each year, when St. Paul celebrates Grand Old Day, I make it a point to throw the most disgusting litter I can find onto the Macalester campus.
It’s the least I can do.
This is why I keep coming back to PW–for the nuance!
This bitterly varnished attempt to mock a good man, David Brooks, and incite his execution shall not go unnoticed. You are hereby banned from the skies!
Ah, yes. You posted this during the brief time the site was offline for the software upgrade. May I suggest the other pieces on the page are also worthy contenders?
”‘I begin to think, Watson,’ said Holmes, ‘that I make a mistake in explaining. “Omne ignotum pro magnifico,”
That’s easy, pilgrim, reckon just like Texas slippery sausage in a honey bun: “Bring It On, Moo-Moos!” Btw, I knew Mr.Coffee, and, Sir, you might could have the Warming Models, but you are no Mr.Coffee! Old Coffee had some grounds.
Looks like Kofi still hasn’t found a real job, although he does seem to have found his calling:
I’ve been strolling through the archives this afternoon. This is one of my all-time faves: https://proteinwisdom.com/?p=2241
Kofi has plenty of your money, B Moe, he does not need a job.
It is difficult to get the blood of the innocent off of the tens and twenties though, so I guess it’s kind of like work.
My motto, boys – no not you, Mr.Faux Coffee Man:
If you got only Mooskins
Coatrackin’ beats Coatailin’
From here to Juno wink wink.
So here I am waitin’
Like a nude Sitka Spruce matin’
For more Sherlock’s real dressin’
Bitches
Plenty of my money is an oxymoron.
An excellent choice, Benedick.
Benedick. That one even I remember, though I don’t think I was at PW at the time.
Also, if you click the “next article” link at the top, you can have the vertigineous experience of watching the p=xxxx number decrease.
Inexplicably.
OK. Jeff?
That you understand the inner workings of someone like Ted Rall is rather disturbing.
Or — as a wingnut — am I unable to perceive that your post is the realization of the cartoon character in our head?
From the Desk of Kofi Annan:
Sir,
I will respond to you to you in short as I am very busy helping my somewhat wayward and murderous son at the moment.
I find this post of yours offensive. Especially the links. Those hurt.
[What?]
Ok. My attorney has advised me that these links are all “lies”. I have an iron clad alibi. I’ll have you know I was busy overseeing our blue helmeted rape of thousands of young girls in the Congo at the time.
[What?]
Oh. My lawyer has just asked me to tell you that was was a misstatement and remind you that I have diplomatic immunity.
Sincerely,
Koffi
p.s. I have all these Iraqi oil drums in my back yard and the neighbors are pissed. If you could maybe store a few, I’d cut you in.
Does anyone even remember Ted Rall anymore? I mean, if you don’t subscribe to Mad?
Ted rall? the military hating bigot don’t you ever bring his name up again jeff or i will spank you
Jeff G.,
I remember reading “descriptions” of Ted Rall’s poor man’s, academic hack, hypocritical, unconscionable, please, please look at me, unabashed douchebaggery, and, at the same time, refusing to click on the accompanying links that would lead to said fucktard illustrations.
So yeah. I know who he is, but I’ve yet to see his work on purpose.
Thomas Sowell, putting the pieces of the Intellectual puzzle together a la Holmes, parts III, IV and V. The man radiates wisdom.
Didn’t some fell deadline touching on the UN and its non-proliferation sanctions regime pass unfulfilled recently? Seems as though no-one who matters gives two shits about it though — that is until someone else is vaporized or some other someone else is merely blown up in a desperate attempt to prevent that possibility by them who fear being vaporized. In the meanwhile silence. They must think they have time on their side.
T3d R@ll? I’m still reluctant to give him the google hits. Like a blister, he’s festered, burst, & collapsed out of sight. Old news, dog vomit, not dignifying with attention, etc.
As to the post, it reminds me that I agree with one of the rotating blurbs that used to be up there in the left corner: I’d pay to read much of this stuff in hardcover.
Gary Larson put down the pen but Ted Rall is still at it.
There is no God.
(Hey, um, God? Just kidding up there. Okay?)
You’re going to burn, McGehee! BURN!
Just kidding.
I have to say that my comment on that thread was meant in the most masculine, manly…aw, fuck it.
I live in metro Atlanta, and despite recent weather I know summer’s coming.
So, yeah. News flash.