A Dinner Invitation

Dear Col. Gadhafi,

I was wondering if you would be interested in coming over to our house for dinner tomorrow night?  And this is simply a dinner invitation, and not an attempt to lure you into our house so my wife and I can collect the bounty currently on your head.  I have full confidence that you will be able to overcome the multitudes of angry citizens who have completely overrun Tripoli and sent you into hiding, and I just thought you might like to have a nice dinner to relax and recharge your batteries before you gather up your hundred or so loyalists and overcome all odds by testicular fortitude alone.

When you come in, make sure to walk on the palm fronds we have laid out in the living room for you as a traditional sign of greeting in our home.  When you get to the couch, we’ll have a cup of tea ready for you.  Never mind if it tastes a bit different – we found a rare variety of orange pekoe that has a distinct taste.  Make sure you drink all of it.  And please do not look down, because you will definitely not see a diminutive man hidden in a small space under your seat attempting to jab a syringe full of chloral hydrate into your posterior tibial vein.

We simply want you to come and enjoy our hospitality.  Put away those thoughts that quite a few people would love to hand you over to the rebels for the $1.6 million dollars being offered.  We certainly won’t have a burlap sack in the closet and a black cargo van waiting out back with the engine running. 

Yours truly,

Adam