 I’m so holesick by Saddam Hussein, Deposed Dictator
Hello, American pig-dogs. Remember me? Or have you all already flipped the channel from twenty-four-hour news to drool before reality TV? I’ve seen how your mentality functions. Every day, as my inept interrogators finish their childish, repetitive questioning, I wonder at the ape-like logic of you Western scum. You invade my country, tear down my statues, and go through my imperial possessions. How dare you root through my things — my palaces, my knicker-drawers — like so many crates of produce, free for the taking! To think that you capitalist swine have rummaged through my silken undergarments boils my nuts!
Then, as added insult to injury, there were the comments about my hole. I still have not forgiven the snide comments those lying journalists made, saying my hideout was some sort of nasty pit. Imbeciles! My hole was more luxuriant living than any of you could ever enjoy in your godless suburbs, festooned with your foolish idolatry — your lawn flamingoes, your garden gnomes! Bah!
Insulting a man’s hole has no place in politics, and I spit upon the foreigners that desecrated my subterranean domicile! My hideout was a spacious, aesthetic dwelling, a miracle of architectural design — for a hole in the ground, anyway.
It had a certain quaint, rustic charm that your godless Trading Spaces mentality could never truly comprehend. True, my palaces were sprawling, majestic, and numerous, but my hole was much homier — a cozy getaway from all the daily irritations of being a deposed dictator.
You will know that my hole was not some cold, drafty bunker! I decorated it myself. Everyone who lowered themselves down there told me how nice it looked, except the filth who captured me. One soldier muttered something about how the place had no real ambience. Cretinous riff-raff! May the fleas of a thousand camels infest his ears and armpits! No ambience? He should burn in the pits of hell for this disrespect!
And just because you’re taking someone prisoner doesn’t mean you have to knock furniture over and chip a vase — which was worth more than the entire family of the scoundrel who broke it, I am sure. I ask you, were all you pigs of Americans literally raised in a barn? Did you think I was hiding weapons of mass destruction in my favorite vase? Fools! One of my officers got a deal on that vase for me. Actually, he stole it during a riot in Baghdad. I’d asked for a pair of vases, which he did not find, so I ordered him to be executed. So the vase was completely free! And it matched curtains I made myself. You mongrelized Western sons of goats think you need windows to make curtains look good, but I, for one, do not!
This cell where I’m being detained is a pit, and they allow me no knickknacks, not so much as a Thomas Kinkade print. Much like the White House, this cell is a vermin-infested dump, not even what I’d call a fixer-up. And I, unlike you wretches, am being polite! Ah, how I long to return to my hole sweet hole. |
