Thursday, July 27, 2006
What up, my peeps!?
OMG, what a week!!!!
Sorry I've been away for so long, but this hunger strike thing, man... not eating can really take it out of you. What am I, Gandhi? I mean, it's effective and all if you got a point to make or whatever, but really, toward the end, I was like "bring on the forced feeding by nasal drip tube, stinking running-dog American crusader invaders! Papa needs a liquefied cheeseburger!"
Of course I can't say that outloud seeing as I am the living embodiment of the nation of Iraq and cannot under any circumstance show weakness. Think of all the people I would let down, the ones who worship me still as their leader, the strong, virile, indomitable man who would burn their houses down and murder everyone on their block if I perceived the smallest inkling of disrespect. That's the kind of love you can't just wash away with one regime-change.
So I can't show weakness. I am perfectly comfortable showing crazy, though. The way I see it, as the personal embodiment of the nation, if Iraq itself is crazy and in turmoil, I should be as well. It's a one to one connection. Plus, it doesn't hurt in the joint if the guys inside think you're nuts. Like my cellmate, Salim Ahnad "Big Sal" Ramadi. Brought a chainsaw to a flashmob pillow fight, killed fourteen people. Big scary dude, right? Well, on the news every night he's got to see me all puffed up, "Butcher of Baghdad," all that shit. Genocide gives you a special kind of street-cred on the inside, yo. After you kill the first million people, you get a free pass when it comes to the normal prison shenanigans. Salad tossing and whatnot.
Unless you run into someone in the exercise yard whose family you had buried alive. Awkward City.
I'm kind of glad my fake-ass trial is almost over. It was really wearing me out coming in every day and making with the bug-eyed ooga-booga "ain't I a harmless old nutjob" routine. It'd be easier if I had something of a support system like in the old days. Nothing washes your worries away like a schvitz in the solid-gold sauna filled with steam made from the tears of the children of your crushed enemies. Mimosas on the veranda, read a little Danielle Steele, some Benny Hill on the DVD... good times.
Most of the people are gone too. Dead, in prison, in exile, etc. I miss my boys most of all... whatever their names were. Can't say I'm surprised they're dead, though. When you ask an 11-year-old kid what he wants for his birthday and he says "rape room," well, sure, you give it to him, but you just know things aren't going to end well for that one.
Anyways... not much else to say. I rolled out the Brer Rabbit don't-throw-me-in-the-briar-patch gambit at court today. Sort of the last obligatory go-round for my "Crazy Saddam" character. Honestly though, the LAST thing I'd want would be to face an Iraqi firing squad. You know those fuckers would miss the vital organs on purpose. And I've shot enough people to know: that shit hurts. Give me hanging any day.
Got to go, y'all. Hunger strike is over so I'm looking forward to a decent meal. Probably just Hungry Man salisbury steak again, but I'll eat anything at this point, even a Shi'ite baby. Just like the old days....
I'll be gone soon and then you'll all miss me, I know it. It's like Maroon 5 say in "Not Coming Home":
And does it make you sad
To find yourself alone?
And does it make you mad
To find that I have grown?
I'll bet it hurts so bad
To see the strength that I have shown
Suck it, haters.
PS- Can you believe this Lohan business? "Overcome by heat" this time. I forget the code, what does that mean again? "Exhaustion" means cocaine overdose. "Dehydration" is... what? Heroin? I don't know. I sort of thought "overcome by heat" meant "dead hooker in the trailer" but I guess that wouldn't apply here. That's more of a Colin Farrell thing.