We know many of you are repelled by Time Magazine’s sexist category of “Man of the Year”.  At SyrPer, we too have a Man of the Year which will be announced before New Year’s Day.  We are in the process of tallying the votes.  But, a Woman of the Year Award is also appropriate for any progressive publication which endeavors to bring balance and sobriety to the information revolution.  SyrPer’s overwhelming favorite for Woman of the Year is none other than:


Baroness Catherine Ashton is not “the Face that Launched a Thousand Ships”,  unless that is, those ships were trying to escape her stuffy, “sofa-like” countenance.  I wonder what kind of song Elton John will compose for her when she mercifully spares us any more of her nerve-numbing fits of speechifying.

This comely lass would be a strong competitor for SyrPer’s “Best War Criminal of the Year” if it were not for the restraining influence of her meaningless professional post:  The European Union’s High Representative for Foreign Affairs.  She has been in the lead, however, in promoting death and destruction in Syria over the last twenty months.   She has joined other Western leaders in violating the U.N. Charter by openly calling for the overthrow of a sitting president of a member state of the same organization.  But for the fact that her pronouncements have the enervating effect of dousing the listener with an uncontrollable urge to slip into a deep coma,  she would be even more worthy of “War Criminal Status”.

Described by a colleague of hers as “…your aunt’s old sofa”, she brings this quaint charm to all diplomatic events, projecting her ideas in twitty phrases ideally suited for the most turgid Monty Python skit.         

A fashion-world delight, she is seen here sitting with an unidentified person.  Oh, wait!  That’s SyrPer’s “Nowhere Man of 2012” award winner, Mahmoud Abbas.  Unfortunately, Mr. Abbas lost that title when he took Palestinian observer status to new heights indicating clearly that he was indeed among the living.

Baroness Ashton of Upholland has a fashion sense that will impress all women whether they are attending Tupperware parties, bowling competitions, bingo games, martini benders or polio vaccine waiting rooms.  Her sartorial tastes have been described as “obtuse”, “awkward”, “neo-smarmy” and even “ghoulish”.  She is a role model for all women destined for greatness in a world inhabited by trolls.

She is our pick for Woman of the Year because, like her colleague, Hillary Clinton, she is both stupefyingly dull and married to a satyr.  Her background as a coal miner’s daughter makes her the ideal foil for the predations of her abnormally concupiscent spouse.


Baroness Ashton’s husband, Peter Jon Kellner, seen here in a photo after his arrest for sexual assault on a kiosk in Charing Cross.  The charges were later dropped when the kiosk refused to cooperate with prosecutors.  His taste in women has also been questioned.   

The Baroness is also applauded for her indifference to her work.  She only attended 21 of her 32 meetings for the EU.  And this is worthy of mention only because she called for the meetings.  She also turns her telephone off after 8:00 p.m.  She once famously remarked:  “I have no doubt that events take place after 8:00 p.m., but, dreadful things should be handled during daytime.”  Her failure to so much as set one foot in Haiti during that nation’s natural disaster elicited this rejoinder from the Baroness:  “Well, where’s their voodoo God now?”  She also speaks no other language than English.  In response to accusations that she lacks the necessary cosmopolitanism for her duties in Europe, she said:  “French is a sissy’s language.  German is for sausage-eating drunks.  I don’t think it’s possible to speak Italian without smelling like sardines!”     

In every way, she is a living reminder that even people born into coal-mining poverty can become members of the asphyxiating British nobility.  She is also a reminder that dull people remain dull no matter how one tarts them up with imposing titles.

Congratulations Baroness, on a job well done.

Nota Bene:

Reader’s question:  Ziad, what is Upholland? 

Answer:  It’s two English miles north of  Downholland, that’s what!  Any more stupid questions?

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Arabi Souri
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Some light on why Golan Heights front is silent since 1973: