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Editorial November 16, 2007
 
How The Great Gazoo Stole Georgia's Democracy
By Mikheil Saakashvili Browse author
 
 
The world's attention was focused on Georgia last week. And for the first time since the Rose Revolution, I have been condemned by my allies in the West for failing to live up to democratic norms. I want to take this opportunity to respond to my friends in the West, to tell my side of the story.

I have already revealed the nefarious Russian hand behind the protests. That crowd was not expressing any sort of discontent—because there is no discontent in my country. The Georgian people love me like a father. Each and every protester was paid by Russian spies. Many of them weren’t even Georgian, but rather Russian spies wearing Georgian makeup and costumes.

Nobody in their right Western mind doubts the fact that the so-called protest was really just a Russian-staged provocation. But what I have not discussed until now is my response. There is some misunderstanding about the way I handled these hired Russian protesters.

To be a true democrat, a leader must take his responsibility to the public seriously. In the interests of accountability, I am now going to reveal to you the true reason reason why I sent in my American-trained-and-equipped paramilitary forces to attack the protesters, seize and shut down the independent media, and impose martial law. I can sum it up in one word: “Gazoo.”

“What is Gazoo?” you ask.

I’m still trying to figure that out myself. All I can tell you is that on the third day of the protests, I was sitting there at home while my Dutch wife was out shopping, and all of a sudden this little green martian guy wearing a big helmet appears next to my head, floating and acting like he owns the world. I couldn’t understand what he was saying to me at first because he spoke with a British homosexual accent. He followed me when I went out bowling, and then all of a sudden, there was this funny sound, and he vanished, just like that.


On day 5 of the protests, same thing happens. I’ve got this little green Martian floating next to my ear. Only now I’m starting to understand what he’s saying, because I’m getting used to his British homosexual accent. He’s saying, “Hello, Misha? I know how to help you out of your little crisis… If you just listen to me, I’ve got the answers you’re looking for. Don’t be a dum-dum.”

I started to listen to him, and you know, he really made sense. He appeared again in an emergency cabinet meeting, telling me not to negotiate with the protesters, and not to listen to my ministers; he appeared when the EU representatives visited me to express their concerns. Gazoo suggested, “Lie to them, lie! Tell them you’ll respect democracy and human rights.” So I lied, just like he told me.

That night at home, I was eating dinner with my Dutch wife Sandra, when Gazoo appeared: “Tomorrow’s the day. You must use all forceful means necessary to crush those stooges.” I argued with him, but my wife Sandra thought I’d gone crazy.

“Who are you arguing with?” she asked.

“Gazoo,” I said.

“Who?”

“Gazoo. Look Sandra, he’s floating right here next to my ear!”

But he was only visible to me. Sandra said that the stress was getting to me.

Gazoo whispered, “We’re going to have to do something about the American bitch, she’s getting in our way. Later, later. Right now we’ve got bigger fish to fry. Here’s the plan: Call up every cop, every special forces, everyone and everything. Use every weapon you’ve got. Use the LRADs.”

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