So, I broke a fingernail this morning. Don't you hate it when that happens? So when I was driving to work I was biting the jagged little stub on the end of the nail, and then I realized that it was bleeding and I had blood on my clean white shirt, and I looked down to see how bad it was and I rear-ended the car in front of me at a stop light.
It turned out that the car was being driven by the security guy who looks after the Iraqi Ambassador to the UN, and because he and I were standing there screaming at each other in English and Klingon, or whatever they speak, he was late to pick up the Ambassador, who got into a taxi instead to get to the UN.
But it turned out that the taxi was driven by an ex-Iraqi army officer who's now in exile in America, and when he recognized the Ambassador he kidnapped him and drove him to his apartment in New Jersey, and then phoned in a ransom demand, saying he was from Iran and that unless he got six million dollars he was going to kill the Ambassador.
But it turned out that since Bush is in Africa, Dick Cheney took the call instead and finally saw his chance to "do something" about Iran before he leaves office, so he dispatched 60 nuclear cruise missiles to hit Teheran, and the Iranians responded by attacking Saudi Arabia and Israel, which responded by attaching each other, and so now tonight the entire Middle East is in flames, and the world's oil supply is all plutoniumed and won't be usable for the next 500,000 years, and the entire western economy is in collapse.
And my damned nail still hurts. Doncha just hate it when that happens?