Help me Obi-Wan, you're our only hope

We know that Thomas Friedman probably tapes his own picture over his wife's face when they have sex, and today's NYT column is further proof.

When I was in Cairo during the Egyptian uprising, I wanted to change hotels one day to be closer to the action and called the Marriott to see if it had any openings. The young-sounding Egyptian woman who spoke with me from the reservations department offered me a room and then asked: “Do you have a corporate rate?” I said, “I don’t know. I work for The New York Times.” There was a silence on the phone for a few moments, and then she said: “ Can I ask you something?” Sure. “Are we going to be O.K.? I’m worried.”

OK. A few things here.

1. This conversation didn't actually happen. Isn't it funny how TF always randomly quotes some person who sets up whatever point he wants to make perfectly?
2. Are you sure it wasn't a cabdriver, Tom?
3. Frightened brown people need big, important, rich white American journalist to comfort them in their times of need. Maybe in the next column an Egyptian waiter will ask him to be their president. He will humbly decline.
4. Thomas Friedman needs psychological help.