Slow News Day

THE OSAMA DIARIES- POST OBAMA


(Dates omitted for security reasons)

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

(A thousand curses on Faisal as he’s just reminded me the Pope may have this one copyrighted).

Despite the farked living conditions in the cave I had it made. An infidel opponent hell bent on turning the world against himself. An idiot surrounded by morons who despite most of them being around at the time forget the words “Vietnam” and “body bags”.

Now what happens? The infidel elect an oppressed person whose middle name is Hussein. If the world keeps making sense I’m going to have to start looking for insurrection in Tonga or Iceland. Faisal is leaning towards Tonga because they have those cocktails with the little umbrellas in them. “Faisal”, I scream. “We are Muslims, we don’t drink”. “Yo right, Dude”, he replies. A thousand curses on a UCLA education.

Another day, another investigation into the missing Cheetos. Still no luck on that front, though a CIA operative admitted to stealing them between sessions with the 9 volt battery, but as he’s only 24 and admitted to complicity in the Kennedy killing I have my doubts.

Good news today. An emissary from the Great Satan has asked to see me. He’s not too sure about the whole cave thing but as I said “Hey who’s expense account is this.” Luckily he promises to bring more Cheetos.

The great day is here. Emissary from Great Satan arrives today. Faisal says him still bitching about donkey up mountain but I say better than donkey up him.

Emissary from Great Satan arrive and I surprised, it is Great Satan himself.

“George, how did you find me.”

“Well ‘ol buddy we tracked the Thanksgiving turkey I fedexed you after 9/11.”

At this stage I make mental note to carefully screen all fedex packages in future and tell mother to cease and desist with the “Let’s fedex a hacksaw to Guantanamo” campaign.

So I ask George what I can do for him and it seems him not so popular anymore.
“George, Goerge,” I say. “What happened.”

“Well you know how it is, one minute I’m riding high in the polls and the next minute you just disappeared quicker than a hooker at a Tailhook convention. My 2IC shot his best friend, my girls think Margueritas are a breakfast cereal and my apparent heir apparent… apparent heir apparent… Sh1t I’m funny, (at this stage I seriously regret getting this guy re-elected), anyway my apparent heir apparent he goes and hires some brainless governor as his running mate. Now not that I’ve got anything against brainless governors. Sh1t I’ve got a brother too. Anyway basically I’m as unwelcome back home as a congressional counsel at a Salmon Brother’s board meeting, and was wondering if you had room”.

“Well George as much as I’d like to help, you know it might not be that safe”.

“How long have you lasted, you ‘ol polecat you”

“Ahh! Eight years.”

“Yeah funny that.”