A hell of a coup

New York

And now for Rosebud, the single childhood incident that will illuminate us as to why Saddam did what he did. His was the kind of life Freudian complexes are made of, except for the fact old Saddy had no complexes. If I were to guess, I imagine some North American Man Boy Love Association member abused him when he was tiny in Tikrit. If I were Saddy I’d use that defence in a jiffy. It’s got everyone else off the hook, so why not him.

Mind you, I haven’t seen such chest-banging over his capture since Uncle Sam victoriously invaded the Grenadines, or was it Grenada? Let’s face it, even for those who were against the war, like myself, catching Saddam is a hell of a coup, especially as he was the one who personally ordered the Saudis to fly the planes into the World Trade Center. (We know that because the convicted embezzler Ahmad Chalabi has told us so.) Now all we need is to find and capture the rest of the gang who played footsie with Saddam during the Eighties. People like Fahd, Bandar, Bin Laden, Bin Drinkin, Bin Smokin, Bouf Kaka, Donald Rumsfeld, and others too insignificant to mention.

The trial, needless to say, will be a disappointment. Nothing will emerge because Saddy knew very little to begin with. The only thing he possessed was brutality, and a certain peasant cunning. Let’s not forget that he fell because he advertised he had weapons he never had. His thieving minions took him to the cleaners, and the Americans finished the job. For certain, weapons will be found, but just before next year’s American elections. Saddam’s hero was obviously Nero. While the Roman fiddled as the city burned, the Iraqi wrote a novel while Baghdad did a Br’nnhilde.