The Fellatio Negotiator

Greetings from a continental region just north of national madness and some considerable distance east of Friday's remarkably stupid no-deal "summit" staged by the southern region's mad monarch with head lodged between the loving legs of an autocratic Russian war criminal straight out of hell.

Put another way, I'm in Quebec, and like you, probably, I writhed my way through today's epic farce of diplomatic playacting, America's grimmest humiliation, and Vladimir Putin's greatest triumph. To say this historic debacle was merely sickening would be the ghastliest misdiagnosis of the century.

As an American, I've never felt so low for my country, nor more embarrassed, while here in Canada, to be from it. The Quebecois locals are a forgiving, understanding sort; they've not taken my poisoned nationality personally. I wouldn't blame them if they did — "The Ugly American" comes with the territory. The offensive stain is ineradicable.

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A housekeeping note: I was to depart this country just north of national madness on Sunday, resuming my writing routine on Monday. It appears, however, I've become hostage to an airline strike. Negotiations between Air Canada and flight attendants have been as successful as today's fiasco, hence the airline tells me my ticket shall be cancelled on Saturday.

Unless the reported "impasse" is passed. But that appears about as likely as America's autocrat-fellating madman ever becoming a competent negotiator. Which is my unsubtle way of saying the regularity of posts may be a bit bumpy for a while — from hour to hour I've no idea if I'm staying or leaving.

I wanted to let you know.