Three Barons vie for the same Ambassadorship. They meet in the early evening on a rocky shore. Only one of them remembers to bring a companion: a gospel singer.
"It is agreed," says one, "we shall endure the wind & the dust."
"This is the region," says another, "where heavy metal videos are frequently shot."
"Oh yes," says the third, "this is a shockingly inept piece of teen sexploitation."
Is there an election? Are there rules for succession? Whose bread must be buttered to make sure this matter is settled?
"Is that," asks one, "a bobsled I see in the distance?"
"I am exhausted," says another, "by the terrible tyranny of imaginary numbers!"
"Of the one hundred and thirty people I know," says the third, "I am the most intermittent."
Telegrams are dispatched. Menus are updated after meetings with local suppliers. It is explained to the First Lady what granite is.
"Stand down, sirrah!" demands one, "I have voyaged more fully than you have!"
"Alcohol poisoning!" counters another, "you are less than a Polish nobleman!"
"Revival & regret!" shrieks the third, "you smell & dance like the opposition party!"
Once the credit card scores arrive, the deliberations begin in earnest. One orderly notices that no-one has checked the "geosciences" box at the top of official form. Special recommendations by the press corps are faxed to members of the film industry.
"You will be magnificent," says one, "you have a lovely Van Dyke."
"After so much experience in retail," says another, "this will seem like jury duty."
"I must regretfully withdraw my application," say the third, "for I am now ruggedized."
