ding dong the witch is dead

Well i'ts over. Saddam is dead. I have to admit I have mixed feelings. Let me explain. Years ago, before just before 9/ll I was in Afghanistan. I don't really remember why. All I know is, somehow I got UNICEF to pay for the whole thing. I was disguised as Miss Fariza Shaloub, the beautiful daughter of a Yemeni chieftain, with flashing eyes on her way to Mecca. Whenever I travel in the Middle East,I always travel in drag. Mostly because it's so easy. Throw on a burkha,some sandals,a bit of kohl and you're good to go. That's what I love about the veil. You're beautiful just because you say you are. It's like being Barbra Streisand.One morning at the open air weapons of mass destruction bazaar in Kabul,I met a man. He was bidding on a nuclear suitcase bomb and I was haggling over a crystal decanter of anthrax. Our eyes met over the table and like a good Muslim girl, I looked away. When I looked back he was coming towards me,his mustachioed mouth pulled back over his teeth in a snarl. I was smitten. He told me his name was Uday, and he asked me if I wanted to go for a ride. The next thing I knew there was a solid gold pistol pointed at my head and all I could think was, "Rich too?" Then suddenly we were in a helicopter in Northern Iraq, whipping across a "no fly zone" and dropping water balloons on U.N. Peacekeepers. That's when I realized who he was but then I realized that we were heading straight into the side of a mountain, and just before we hit, it suddenly opened up like Batman’s cave and we darted inside like Robin’s tongue. Uday landed the whirlybird on a giant pillow and I realized that we were inside one of his father's secret underground palaces. That night, after a sumptuous feast of something that tasted a lot like tiger, we watched the South Park movie on a giant television. Uday roared at the Saddam parts. After the film ended, Uday turned and looked deeply into my brown contact lenses. I bowed my head modestly. His hairy hand reached for my veil. My big hennaed hand stopped it. He stared at my hand suspiciously. I had no choice. I bowed my head again, but his time not modestly. That's when Daddy walked in. I stopped breathing,well through my mouth. The Butcher of Bagdhad came up behind me,lifted my burkha tenderly and then began to roger me savagely like a pirates peg boy. The three of us came together and then collapsed on the pillows in an axis of evil. As I lay there like a spent Yemeni whore,I thought to myself,well,at least for the next few minutes,there'll be peace in the Middle East. So there you have it. My conscience is clear. All I'll say, is that things were going pretty good in one man fight against tyrannny until the Americans came in and screwed things up. Let History be the judge and let me write it. Buddy Cole.