I had good blogging intentions. Really I did. However, Life 101 has worn me out today. So, as in the past when this happens, I will fall back on a gem that my friend Brian, the Air Force Vet, sent to me.

A small boy was lost at a large shopping mall.
He approached a uniformed policeman and said, “I’ve lost my grandpa!”
The cop asked, “What’s he like?”
The little boy replied,”Harley Davidson Motorcycles, Jack Daniels, and women with big tits”.

The hell of it is, I think I know the guy the kid is looking for.

Nicolo MachiavelliA federal grand jury charged a Democrat fundraiser for New Jersey’s Governor for extorting cash and political contributions from a citizen in exchange for favorable treatment by the state.

Here are the high points:

A Jersey Farmer named Halper has land that the state wants to condemn. The State offers farmer $3,000,000. A Democrat fundraiser for Governor McGreevey, named David D’Amiano, (who, when not raising funds for the Governor operates a waste hauling and recycling business) approaches the farmer and offers the state’s help with the condemnation in return for a payment of $20,000 in cash and another $20,000 contribution to the State Democrat Party.

Unbeknownst to fundraiser, farmer goes to FBI and wears a wire for future meetings.

Farmer tells Democrat fundraiser that he wants a meeting with the Governor and some county officials to discuss the price of his farm. He also tells the fundraiser to tell the government officials to use the word “Machiavelli” during the meeting as a code word in order to signify that the government officials knew of the deal and approved of the political payoffs.

At a future meeting, one of the county officials was recorded using the code word “Machiavelli”

Apparently yet another government official also used the same word:

About a month later, D’Amiano introduced Halper to the governor at a fund-raiser at the East Brunswick Hilton. During their conversation, McGreevey allegedly told another official there that Halper “was reading from ‘The Prince’ by Machiavelli to learn how to deal with the negotiations involving the farm,” the indictment said.

When recently asked about his use of the code word, the Governor responded, “It is not a code word, it is a literary allusion.” He continued, “For those of you who know me, in New Jersey politics ‘Machiavelli’ is not a far-off, remote word but all too often describes certain political antics.”

Halper eventually paid approximately $40,000 in cash and political contributions, and the state changed the price it was willing to pay Halper for the farm from $3 million to $7.2 million.

And, a good deal of it is on tape.

This could be one to watch.

Update 7/8/04: Governor McGreevey responded to the indictment, which he concedes refers to him and does so 83 times, as: (a) politically motivated, (b) conjecture and innuendo, (c) an attempt to besmirch his character and integrety, and (d) entrapment. Time will tell, I suppose.

This morning on the radio I heard a recording of Teresa Heinz Kerry stating how she and Mr. Kerry (and his new pal, John Edwards) plan to visit and campaign in several states, including “The Tennessees.” When did that happen?

I presume that she and Mr. Kerry will take a private plane from their home in “The Massachusettses.”

This will be a helluva four months.

I am growing a zit, which is approximately the size of Finland, next to my nose.

I could use some Windex.

I have lived all my life in New Jersey, so I think that I can say with some confidence that the Garden State is not generally known for the friendliness of its citizens. Maybe it’s because there are so many of us packed into such a small state. Maybe it’s because we have more than our fair share of con artists and wiseasses here, and we have learned to be wary of people’s motives (i.e. “What does this guy want?”). Who knows?

By contrast, I have noticed in my travels that people generally seem friendlier in other parts of the country. Passing someone, one on one, on the street almost always begets a “hello,” or “good morning.” I found myself wondering whether I may be partly to blame for my take on the apparent lack of congeniality of many Garden Staters. Although my habit is to greet each person I encounter, one on one, during my morning walk, I thought a little “experiment” was in order.

Accordingly, the other day, I made sure that I smiled and said “good morning” the same way to each person I encountered, one on one, and I kept track of the kinds of responses I received in return. On that day, I encountered and greeted six people. Three people ignored me, and two grunted something unintelligible. One person responded, “Good morning. Isn’t it a beautiful day to be outside?” What was interesting and a little sad to me was that the person who responded in kind (and then some) spoke with a clearly recognizable Eastern European accent.

I concluded from my less-than-scientifically-rigorous observations that if you’re from Eastern Europe, you appreciate being able to walk free on a nice day. It’s a bit of a shame that we often seem to be too busy, too rude, too self-absorbed, too jaded, too callous, too cynical, or maybe just too damned stupid to appreciate what we have.

Note: This is being posted several hours later than I had intended. As I was completing the final paragraph, we lost power in our neighborhood. I read outside for a while by candlelight, which made my eyes tired and served to remind me of the value of Thomas Edison’s invention. I then made myself comfortable in Mr. Recliner in a candlelit room and listened to a small transistor radio. Not a bad way to spend the evening. I’ll bet that the guy from Eastern Europe would agree.

Update: This morning’s scorecard: Three averted sets of eyes, one smile, and four “good mornings” (three of which preceded my “good morning”). Maybe those three people are not from here, or maybe they remember me from previous “good mornings” and have decided that I am neither a kook nor a mugger. 🙂

It was a great party.

We went through a couple hundred pounds of ice, a gallon and a half or so of vodka and several bottles of other kinds of spirits and loads of beer. There was also bottled water and soft drinks on ice, for those not booze-inclined, the diabetics, and the designated drivers.

There was Italian sausage, kielbasa, baked ziti, chicken, and a small boatload of hot dogs and burgers, and salads of all descriptions. Finally, there was an array of desserts (many home-made) that could send one into sugar shock just by walking too close to the table.

Ken and I did not fare that well in the horseshoe pits, losing initially to our archrivals, and being mercilessly taunted by the bastards, the poor winners that they are. They took great joy in reminding us that our loss to them put us in the LOSERS’ brackets. We then went on to beat one other loser teams (Eddie, the mechanic, and his wife, who never played horseshoes before – not a victory we could brag very much about). We then lost a close one to another pair of losers, one of whom (Bill the Ham) threw off his right foot (like a girrrrrlll) and the other, born and raised in Scotland and who probably would be a great horse shoe player if he were allowed to kick the horse shoes instead of pitching them (it’s that soccer thing). Since last night, I have been pondering credible excuses to explain our less than stellar performance. I think I’m going with “bad ice.”

A couple memorable (at least to me) quotes that I can remember.

I hate that fiddley shit
The Original Bill on his opinion of the Dixie Chicks.

I never had a haggis until I came here.
Jim, from Scotland, on his experience with that dreadful Scottish specialty.

Do you think you could go higher?
One of the female Usual Suspects (who, for obvious reasons, shall remain nameless) on her thoughts during a recent foot and leg massage by “Gio,” which precedes a pedicure.

So, have you assholes found anyone you can beat?
One of our arch rivals who were blessed with incredible luck yesterday in the pits.

It really was a great day.

On a more serious note, one of the archrivals, the ever-hilarious Art, will be going into the hospital tomorrow for some cardiac surgery (to prevent potential problems down the road). We all are pulling for his speedy recovery. Of course, this means that the next time we kick his ass, he’ll be blaming the heart thing.

HAPPY FOURTH!!

Tomorrow the Usual Suspects, along with a couple dozen Honorary Usual Suspects, will gather on “The Deck” for the annual Fourth of July Bash. This year, the gate to the yard will bear the sign you see above, which was created by Mark, a young, but long-time friend of the Usual Suspects. Excellent job, methinks.

As in the past, the shindig will be hosted by Ken, the Anal Cruise Director, and his wife Kathy, the Deckmistress. There will be all sorts of things to eat that are bad for you, although there will also be a veggie platter for those so inclined. Naturally, we are hoping for good weather, but the Deck is a covered and lighted affair, much like an outdoor saloon in Key West. So, we go straight ahead, rain or shine. Also much like a Key West saloon, the place will be awash with booze and beer.

The music (quite varied, but absolutely no rap) will be loud and always serves as a constant source of banter and verbal jousting. It always has a familiar pattern:

Original Bill: “What the hell is that?”

Jimbo and Ken: “That’s Jimmy Buffet, the Live Album.”

Original Bill: (Makes an unpleasant face)

Ken to Jimbo: “He hates it.”

Original Bill: “I don’t hate it, but I don’t like it.”

Jimbo: “Oh yeah. So we should play some shitty Four Seasons songs?”

Original Bill: “Well, it’s better than this shit.”

Jimbo to Ken: “OK. It’s settled, for his next birthday Bill gets two tickets to a Jimmy Buffett concert, and I’ll spring for a hat with a farookin’ parrot on it.”

Original Bill: “Screw you guys. I’m gonna get a drink. You need anything?”

Invariably later in the evening something like the following always takes place. Imagine, if you will, that Paul Simon is singing, “Call Me Al,” while everyone is sitting around a large table shooting the shit.

Jimbo: “Wait. Wait a minute. Listen…. Just listen for a minute. It’s coming up in about five seconds. This is an absolutely amazing bass lick. Ya gotta listen to this.”

Everyone: (ignoring Jimbo and continuing to talk)

Jimbo: “I can’t believe you’re not listening. Just listen to this amazing bass lick.”

Everyone: (Most quiet down, wondering what the hell I am talking about)

Jimbo: “OK. Listen….Here it comes…..One more second…..NOW!”

[Bass lick plays}

Jimbo: “Wasn’t that absolutely amazing?”

Everyone: “WHO GIVES A SHIT!!!!!” (talking resumes)

Jimbo: “Assholes.”

In addition to the music and the inevitable sideshow it spawns, there will be swimming. I must admit that it is a bit disingenuous to call it swimming, because it really is better described as standing around in the water, drinking, smoking and occasionally eating some Italian sausage or kielbasa that is being passed around by someone outside the pool. It’s not exactly a Mark Spitz swimming thing.

Throughout all this, the Never-Ending Horseshoe Competition proceeds. Ken and I are a regular team, and we are the reigning champs, although there are a couple guys who regularly insist otherwise. Ken, the Anal Cruise Director, has placed drink holders, ashtrays and towels at both ends of the pits. That is very civilized, even though the competition for bragging rights is anything but genteel. Gloating after a victory is an absolute must, as is insisting that the winning team just got lucky.

Bottom line: It is a great way to spend a day with good friends. I can’t wait.

I have learned that Saddam has recently been given permission to write letters to the outside world. We at PRS have managed to get copies of his most recent letters. I thought you might be interested in reading what Mr. Hussein has to say in this PRS exclusive.

With that, I give you Saddam’s letters.

———————————————–

The Honorable Edward Kennedy
24 Sinkorswin Lane
Hyannisport, MA

Dear Ted,

Thanks for your support. I really appreciate it.

I have often wondered where Bush, the Great Cowboy Infidel, hatched his plan to invade my peaceful country and to torment all those people who elected me as their President (100% of them did. Did you know that?). It is because of you that I now know that Bush the Most Infamous War Criminal of the Twentieth Twenty-First Century (I lose track of time these days) concocted his nefarious plan while sitting in his pathetic ranch in Texas shortly after he stole the election away from my friend Al. I am not surprised. I’ll bet that war profiteering piece of filth John Cheney had his finger in the pie too.

Oh, and thanks for not letting anyone forget that the American barbarians actually put a pair of panties on the head of one of my loyal party members. How could any human being do that to another human being? Savages. All of them.

Thanks again and again.

Your pal,
Saddam

P.S. Teddy, I could sure use a bottle or two of Chivas here. I would appreciate your help with that, and I will return the favor once this “trial” nonsense is complete.

P.P.S. Please give my regards to my buddy Al. I hear that he is not well.

————————————————–

President William J. Clinton
987 Whitewater Lane
Chappaqua, NY

Hey Bill,

Saddam here. They don’t give me much writing time here in [CENSORED], so I will have to be brief. I just wanted to say thanks for giving my friend, “O,” a pass on the Sudan thing. I knew that he had let his guard down, and that is unusual for him. When my intelligence officers told me that he might well be captured or killed by the American Infidels, I told them not to worry, because my good buddy Bill would do the right thing. Sure enough you did. Allah will bestow his favors upon you for that.

Oh, and I got your letter that contained the list of women shortly after you saved my friend’s bacon in the Sudan. I want to let you know that I passed the list on to my security guys. They tell me that you have nothing more to worry about from them. Head (if you get my drift) is no longer an option for these infidel tarts.

So, from one President (I still am the President of Iraq, you know) to another President (Praise Allah, I wish you were still in office), I remain your loyal servant.

Looking forward to seeing you soon.

S. Hussein, the Eternal President of Iraq

P.S. I tried to get one of the guards to get me a copy of your most excellent book, but so far I have not been successful. I sure would appreciate a copy. Do you think that you might be able to autograph it? Maybe that nice lawyer who worked for you (I think his name was “Vince” something) could sign it as well. I think that he really is a cool guy, even though I sensed that he didn’t like me very much.

———————————————–

The Honorable John F. Kerry
666 Patrician St.
Boston, MA

Hiya John,

I hope this reaches you. My address book shows that you have multiple addresses all over the world. I purposely did not use the Washington D.C. address, because they tell me that you are never there

I have to tell you, Big Guy, I was sorta bummed out when I heard that you voted for the Resolution that authorized that warmongering swine Bush to invade my peaceful country. You can only imagine my relief when I heard that you had voted against the Resolution before you voted for it. Unlike the American pigs in your country who support the Great Bush Satan, we here in Iraq are sensitive to nuance.

I try to keep an eye on the presidential campaign in your country, and, from what I see in the New York Times and the L.A. Times (They only let me read right-wing rags here), you are doing great. My loyal party members and I are pulling for you, big time, Big Fella. We and our friends in Saudi Arabia, Jordan and Syria (wink, wink) look forward, with anticipation, to your sending that moron, “Mission Accomplished,” election thief, Bush, back to Texas to live with his livestock.

Praise Allah, I did get your letter about making a campaign contribution. Let me say this. In my next letter, I will give you the umbernay to my isssway ankbay accountay. Not to worry, Buddy. We’re with you all the way. Having said that, I do hope that, come November, you will remember who your friends are.

Your faithful friend,
Saddam
The Unanimously Elected President of Iraq

P.S. That Theresa (sp?) sure is one sassy and sexy bit of flesh. I envy your being able to peek under that burqa. Oh, and by the way, what, in Allah’s name, is ketchup?

P.P.S. Jacques sends his regards.

——————————————
Mr. Peter Jennings
898 Canuck Street
New York, NY

Dear Pete,

Thanks for all you do. I really appreciate it. I did get your letter before the Anglo hoards invaded my little, happy country here, and, yes, I did sign one of my really cool berets for you. I hope you received it. However, if you did not receive it, how about some really nice figs instead?

I agree with you. That Brit Hume guy is a bag.

Hope to see you soon. I’ll show you all the good spots in Baghdad.

Keep rockin’,
Saddam

P.S. Yo, Pete. The bald spot? Call Ron Popeil and get some of that stuff in the spray can. It really works.

—————————————-

The Honorable Hillary R. Clinton
2448 Futures Avenue
Washington, D.C.

My Dearest Hillary,

What can I say? You rock, girlfriend. I can tell you this. Your brilliant speeches about that piece of camel dung Bush set this President’s loins afire, which reminds me. How are things going with Bill?

I had a picture of you in that pink outfit pinned on my wall here, but the guards said that I was making too much noise, so they made me take it down. Bastard sons of Satan.

When I beat this rap, I would like to know whether you be interested in meeting me for some tea and figs?

Longingly,
Saddy

P.S. Let’s keep this between us, OK?

P.P.S. How is that “Vince” guy doing? Helluva nice guy, but he looked stressed the last time I saw him. Please give him my regards.

————————————

Ms. Barbra Streisand
987 Vapid Terrace
Los Angeles, CA

Dear BarBRA (Praise Allah, I love that name),

You are the tree of reason amidst a forest of stupid, infidel swine. I read your website whenever I get the chance. It is awesome. Please stay on top of those Neanderthals in Washington. I often think they are not smart enough to recognize a great mind when they see one.

Do you think you might be able to send me a cassette (the bastards took all my 8-tracks) of “Second Hand Rose?” That song always makes me tingle.

Love you,
Sad

P.S. Please forgive me, but I just have to ask. YENTL???? WTF?

As we know, Saddam was brought before an Iraqi court today, where he was charged with multiple crimes. Not surprisingly, he made his show of defiance by insisting that he is still the President of Iraq and that the real criminal is George Bush. From what I have read, the judge did not seem impressed.

Although I have never re-posted a previous entry, I thought I would re-post something I wrote in February 2003, at a time when Saddam really was the President of Iraq and he and his sons were happily terrorizing the Iraqi people.

So, here it is, again.

SADDAM GETS A CALL

Comfortably tucked away in the study of one of his many palaces in Iraq, Saddam Hussein sits in a leather recliner enjoying the news coverage of the peace demonstrations that took place in various countries. He chuckles as he alternates between CNN’s coverage and that of his state-controlled television news organization. His favorites are the posters depicting the American president as a cowboy or as Adolph Hitler. As he picks up his glass of Chateau Angelus Bordeaux 1990, a gift from a good friend in France, the phone rings.

Hello! This had better be important. I am watching the peace demonstrations! I gave strict orders that I not be interrupted.

Hello, Herr Hussein. I really didn’t intend to bother you, but I do not get too many opportunities to use the phone, and I very much want to speak with you.

How did you reach me? Only three people in the world have this phone number! Who in Allah’s name is this?

Well, this is a rather special phone. They tell me that it can reach anyone. However, I must say, even using this special phone, you’re a hard guy to track down.

Damned right I’m hard to track down. You think that’s an accident? You better tell me who the hell you are and how you managed to reach me. I could have your head for this, and I damned sure will if you don’t start talking right now.

I was sort of hoping that you would recognize my voice.

You must have the brain of a camel to think you can play games like this with Saddam! I swear; you will not see another sunrise!

I hate to break it to you Herr Hussein, but you cannot hurt me. Now can we chat a little, as I don’t get all that much phone time.

I cannot hurt you?? I cannot HURT you?? You piece of camel shit! Wait a minute. I think I do recognize your voice. But it can’t be. No, it cannot be. Who IS this? Speak now, or I will have my bodyguards rip your innards out with their bare hands.

This is Adolph Hitler speaking.

You must be a lunatic. Adolph Hitler has been dead for more than 50 years.

Of course I’m dead. I’m calling from Hell.

You expect me to believe that? You must think that I am some kind of stupid Iranian.

I can prove it to you.

Impossible. I’ll grant you that you sound like Hitler, but there is no way you can convince me that you are calling me from Hell.

Well, from down here, I can see everything that you do – everything.

That is ridiculous.

Is it? How about yesterday when you were alone in your study and you locked the door so even your closest bodyguards couldn’t see you? I happen to know that you put on panties, fired up a CD, and sang “Strangers in the Night” with “Ol’ Blue Eyes.”

Oh my God!! In Allah’s name, is this being recorded?

No. Don’t worry. It is impossible to record my voice. In fact, you are the only one who can hear me. I have no plans to tell anyone about this call. I just want to talk with you about what I’ve been seeing from down here.

OK, you’ve convinced me. In fact, Herr Fuehrer, it is wonderful to speak with you. I have been an admirer of yours for a long, long time. I even read your book. Well, I tried to read it, but I must confess I found it to be a bit opaque in spots.

I know. I know. Others have said that about the book. Hell, I was young, and I wrote it in jail, for Chrissake. By the way, may I call you Saddam?

By all means Herr Fuehrer. In fact, you may call me “Sad.”

Thanks, Sad. Please call me “Adi.”

OK. “Aydie,” it is.

No, Sad, it is pronounced “AH-dee,” but that’s OK.

So, Adi, what did you want to talk about?

Well, I’ve had my eye on you since ’91 when your forces rolled into Kuwait and kicked some ass. It’s too bad that some of the big-time sheiks got away, but you did manage to grab the oil wells, set up the torture chambers, kill lots of people and steal lots of stuff. You were on a roll there for a while.

It was great, wasn’t it? I showed those Kuwaiti asswipes who is boss. Reminded me of how your guys rolled into Holland, Belgium and France in no time flat. Kicked ass and took names, I’ll say.

Yeah, but ultimately it didn’t go very well for you in Kuwait, did it?

No, I supposed it didn’t. Damned George Bush. Man, he pissed me off. I even hated the way that son of a rabid camel mispronounced my name. He used to call me “SAD-im.” Not fair. I couldn’t figure out a way to mispronounce “Bush.”

I think it was a helluva lot worse than simply having your name mispronounced, Sad. From down here, it looked like your Army took quite a thrashing.

Yes, I admit that some of the soldiers behaved like cowardly sons of Satan, but I did manage to light up the oil fields though and shit up Kuwait pretty good, eh? And, don’t forget my valiant Republican (I’m growing to hate that word) Guards. They unsheathed their mighty swords in the name of Allah, and….

Sad, the oil field thing just pissed everyone off. People can deal with seeing dead people, but those oil covered birds always manage to really honk folks off, Sad. And, as for your Republican Guards, I believe I saw them surrendering to those little toy planes with the cameras inside them.

Oh, yeah. Those guys. I fixed their Satanic asses when they returned to Iraq, let me tell you. It was fun to watch. I really like watching people being tortured, you know.

Of course I know. In fact, I watched you watching those videotapes – with the panties again, Sad. What’s with the panties anyway? Never mind. I don’t think I really need to know that.

Enough about the Panties, Adi. As I recall, you had a little bit of kink going on too. Wasn’t there something about you and a very young girl who “killed herself?” And, what the heck was the Eva Braun thing really all about?

OK, you made your point, Sad. No more panties talk. We were talking about your Republican Guards.

Yes, aside from those yellow-bellied camel turds who surrendered, my valiant Republican Guards stood fast to keep the infidels from Baghdad.

Sad, come on. The only thing that kept the infidels from rolling into Baghdad was that the tanks had brakes, and the Americans decided to use them. As I recall, you surrendered.

I really don’t like being reminded of that, Adi. But, the truth is, surrendering was a snap, really. I showed up and pretended to agree with everything the infidel assholes demanded.

You mean things like the U.N Resolution that said you couldn’t make certain kinds of weapons?

Exactly. Like I said, it’s a piece of cake. You just pretend to agree, and the next day you return to Baghdad, shoot some guns in the air and proclaim victory. Not a problem.

But then came the UN Weapons inspectors, no?

Now THAT was really fun. A couple dozen geeks running around the country wearing baseball caps. Jerking them around was like taking candy from a baby. We knew where they were and where they were going. None of my scientists would talk with them. The scientists love me, you know. It was sweet. Finally, the asshats just packed it in.

Asshats?

Yeah. Great word, no? I read it somewhere. I can’t remember where.

But, what about now, Sad. I have to tell you. From here, it looks like you might be in for another ass-kicking, this one worse than the last one.

I’m not worried.

What the hell do you mean you’re not worried? It looks to me as if the Americans are putting their forces in place to really stomp you into the ground this time.

Adi…Adi, there is a difference between this time and last time.

What difference? The only difference I see is that the Americans have fancier weapons, and they’re not going to stop until you are — excuse the phrase– “out of the picture.”

No, Adi, there are differences. First, now I am dealing with the Great Satan’s son, not his father, and, second, the last time there was a broad coalition. My friends tell me that these are important differences.

How so?

Well, they tell me that I don’t have to worry about George W., because he was “selected” not elected. I’m not sure I completely get that, but they tell me that it is a really big thing. Hey, I was elected by a vote of 100%. Did you know that? Oh, yeah, my friends also tell me that George W. is a moron. They also remind me that there was a coalition last time, and that’s a big thing too.

Sad, please spare me the 100% stuff. It sounds silly. And, as for calling George W a moron, you should know that down here we laugh at those who still say that. They are the hardcore Gore gang, and no one who doesn’t need a brain transplant takes them seriously. You really should get a PR guy. I should have had one too. Damned Goebbels. But, you knocked me off track again. What friends are telling you these things?

Are you kidding? My friends are the smartest people in America.

Well, who are you talking about?

Hey, I got lots of friends in Berkeley as well as a shitload of buddies in Hollywood.

How is it that you think these people are so smart?

Because they tell me all the time how smart they are. Hey, they also make movies and shit. Some of them even win Oscars, Adi. They must be smart. I’m surprised you didn’t know that.

Oh boy, Sad. I worry about you sometimes. You mentioned that another reason that this time is different than last time is because there was a coalition last time. What did you mean by that?

Adi, give me a break. You must not be paying attention down there in Hell. Last time the Americans had the help of France and Germany. This time, France and Germany aren’t going along. See? It’s simple. I got nothing to worry about.

You can’t be serious, Sad. France? Puh-leeze. Who knows more about France than I do? The only thing that Frenchmen do fast is surrender. And as for Germany, this ain’t your daddy’s Germany, Sad. The good old days of the SS, dueling scars, and cool uniforms are gone. Hell, today’s German army officers look like bus drivers. From down here, it looks like the Americans are ready to tell France and Germany to piss off and team up with the friggin’ Brits to kick your ass.

You really think they’ll do that Adi? Americans and Brits? Ha ha ha. Their blood will fill the streets of Baghdad. My Republican Guards will unsheathe their mighty swords in the name of Allah.…..

Sad, you gotta get a grip. Back in ’44 and ‘45 the Americans and Brits whooped my ass pretty good.

Yeah, but the Russkies helped them back then.

True enough, Sad. But, face it fella, Iraq is not exactly the Third Reich. You know what I’m sayin’?

Hmmmm. The protesters!! What about the protesters? There were zillions of them, Adi. I’ve been watching them on TV all day. It’s great. Hey, did you notice that some of them refer to George Bush as “Hitler.” I’ll bet that gets a rise out of your ass, no?

Focus, Sad. Focus. Don’t let CNN fool you. There are zillions more who did not protest and who, in fact, think you’ve been jerking them around for the past dozen years and that you deserve a final ass whooping. Have you thought this through, Sad?

What do you think I should do, Adi? After all this time, there is no way that I can simply direct this new crop of baseball hat guys to where I’ve hidden the nuclear, biological and chemical stuff. And, didn’t you notice? I outlawed those things in Iraq just a couple days ago.

Sad, please. You’re talking to ol’ Adi here. Remember, I knew about the panties.

OK, already. But, there is still no way I’m ponying up all those weapons. And, if that’s the only way to avoid having to tangle ass with the Americans and Brits, so be it.

Now we’re getting down to cases, Sad. There may be another way. In fact, there may even be two other ways this could shake out.

I’m listening.

Well, the first way I’m sure you won’t like.

What do you mean?

I mean that it could well be that some of your military guys might want to save their asses by taking you out.

You mean like those bastards I had arrested a few days ago?

Exactly, Sad. It can happen, you know. Some of my guys tried to blow my ass up in ’44. They failed; I tracked them down and hung them on meat hooks. But the point is that it can happen, Sad.

You’re negging me out, Adi. What’s the other way?

The other way sounds to me like it could be a winner. You can make a deal with the U.S. to let you, your family and your cronies disappear somewhere. They’ll let you take all your money. Hell, knowing them, they’ll even give you a bunch more cash. They’ll make sure that you are real comfortable. And, you could pick a place that has a nicer climate than Iraq’s.

You think they’d let me go to Berkeley? Great climate there. And, like I said, I have friends there.

I don’t know about that, Sad. I suppose you could ask.

But, I would have to spend the rest of my life in obscurity. You know how hard that would be for me, Adi. I like a large public presence. You’ve seen my picture everywhere in Baghdad. I don’t think I’d be happy spending the rest of my life out of the public eye.

Sad, you’re forgetting that the American attention span is only slightly longer than that of a fruit fly. In addition, with time, Americans forgive anything. They love to forgive people. My guess is that you would have to lay low for just a couple of years. Then, you get yourself some good lawyers and a fancy PR firm, and before you know it, Barbara Walters will be knocking down your door to do a network interview. After that, ABC will have Peter Jennings do a special about what a swell guy you have become. Who knows? CNN might even offer you a broadcasting gig.

You think that could happen, Adi?

I sure do. Americans love to forget about unpleasant things. You got O.J., Chappaquidick, and Al Sharpton. Hell, look at Bill Clinton and his wife. She’s a friggin’ senator, and before you know it, he’ll be a Goddamned saint.

Well, Adi, you have really given me something to think about. I have some pondering to do, I suppose.

I think you really ought to consider it, Sad. I really do.

I will. And, by the way, why are you so interested in helping me?

I guess a large part of it is a dictator-to-dictator kind of thing. But to be perfectly candid, I know that sooner or later you will be down here with me. And, presently, the room next to mine is unoccupied. And, well, I was sort of hoping to keep you on the earth until someone a bit more – excuse the term – Aryan – takes that room.

Wait a Goddamned minute, Adi. You got something against Arabs?

You’re breaking up, Sad. I think I’m losing the connection here. Listen, consider making that deal, OK?.

Adi! Adi! Are you there?

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