Bashar al-Assad
Oy vey, am I in trouble. I thought I was pretty clever when I got this job. I opened up the economy and attracted a lot of foreign investment. Damascus never looked better -- at least in the hotel, night spots, and restaurant category. I even tried to do some cosmetic political reform.
But I really couldn't escape the gene pool or the neighborhood. I'm a thug and the pretty wife, cute kids, ophthalmologist thing doesn't change that. I fooled the Europeans and even a few Americans for a while. But when you grow up in my house (really a cross between the Corleones, Sopranos, and the Addams family), you are what you are. In my case, I've got all the flaws of my old man and none of his strengths. He killed anywhere between 10,000 to 30,000 people in Hama in 1982, but at least he managed to stay in power and control the country. I'm already a mass murderer and may well be forced to leave -- or, if I'm not careful, a much worse end is in store. I don't want to end up like Qaddafi.
Still, not all's lost. The Russians are with me -- for now. The Iranian mullahs and the Pasdaran don't want to see me fall. The U.N. is irrelevant (did you see how I ran them out of town?). The Turks seems scared of their own shadow. The Americans are too preoccupied with domestic matters to risk military intervention. They're done with Middle East quagmires. All I really face is a bunch of angry Sunni villagers, and I haven't even begun to crack down yet.
But I'd better keep the jet gassed up and ready with enough caviar and vodka to get me to Moscow. Russia's too cold and Asma won't like the shopping. But, like they say about old age, even Russia sure beats the alternative.
Kirill Kudryavtsev/AFP/GettyImages
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