Barack Obama's Diary: Gleetings, Asians and farewell

Dear Diary: Cambodia  sure is confusin'.  I met with  Prime Minister Yoshihiko Noda of Japan and Premier Wen Jiabao of China in Phnom Penh and neither seemed pleased that I mistook each for the other. Mine was an understandable error, surely? Wearin' name tags is plain  commonsense in countries where people  should know they all look the same. They told me their countries are having a nasty territorial dispute over some God-forsaken rocks. I kept my advice friendly and casual:  "Pull yourselves together, Chinks." I told them.  I explained my recent experience with Benghazi. "When in doubt, just ignore your people's pleas and the problem will go away."  I added:  "Meantime, get some name-tags so you can recognize each other. And the rich must pay their fair share."  I noticed for the first time that,  when oriental  faces flush,  they turn a peculiar  shade of orange. My Secret Service detail  suddenly became agitated, bundled me out of the room, frog-marched me out to my limo, then  drove at high speed to Air Force One. We took off immediately, with me thinkin' What was all that  all about? I am now tucked up in my bedroom in my blue jammies, suckin' on the satin edge of Boo-boo my blankey,  listenin' to  the soothin' voice of Al  Green on my iPod,  mixed with the muted  roar of  four Pratt and Whitneys as we fly back to DC.