Dearest George

You haven't answered me since I sent that email referring to "white on rice", but rest assured that it was as usual the translators fault and I have nothing but the highest estimation of your Secretaries of State. The fool hangs from a crane even as we speak, and my newest translationist assures me that this time I will get it corrector. First of all, believe nothing about us sending long and hard weapons to Hezzbolah. We are a short and soft weaponed people, George, and I consider myself to be the softest weaponed man in all my country. We only want nuckular devices to enlighten the darkness, and would never use such technology for waging war, and you must believe my sincere soft and shortnesses, Mr. President, because the Israeli's would poison your mind into thinking that we are hard all the time, but I can state for a supreme fact that none of us are hard here in Iran. I can feel that your head would be open unto these discharges of mine, soft as they are, George, but never for a moments time think that anything your head does to my softness would make it long and hard because that is impossible. Again I ask you to disregard the cries from Israel to believe that any Iranian President could ever become a stiff man. I am pliable unto you and would wish my wives to bear Bush Babies if this were not so. Now, yes, the North Koreans need to be examined because their leader strives to be long and hard, so why not spend your valuable time jerking off his thoughts of grandnest. I must end this now, for the light in my cottage fails because we have little electricity to waste, but will gladly write to you more often if my poor country only had peaceful nuckulars to allow all Iranians to glow as the sun itself. This is in your hands, George. My tiny softness is yours to stroke to greatness or forget.

All the best and say hello to Carl for me and thank him for the elect-Jeb-Bush buttons and teeshirts.