O, mister Bush is finally telling truth!

I was so happy to see how Bush finally came clean…

I’m Short on Virgins!…

The horror!!! I had such a terrible nightmare last night! It had all seemed perfect when Ghassan, the janitor of the Mujahedeed Shooting Range tucked me in for the night and hanged my lucky goat tail by the Kalashnikov leaning on the wall of my deep remote cave somewhere. I started counting down goats to put myself to sleep, like usual. 666 goats, 665 goats, 664 goats…

And all of a sudden there was this apparition, terrible, just like Hamlet’s dreaded ghost father. It was the shadowy figure of Muhammed Atta, the leader of my 9-11 martyrs, that had come to speak to me from beyond the grave, wherever that may be. Still holding on to the plane’s stick and rudder, he told me with deadly words of his total disappointment as a martyr.

First of all, it would seem that my war on the western democracies has stretched so far the amount of virgins available in the next world for the kamikadze, that in the afterlife it was now hard enough if not impossible to assign one virgin per capita of dead mujahedeen. Not to mention all 70 that I’ve promised my warriors. That is also happening, says he, because of the constantly decreasing amount of virgins that actually make it to maturity and then die as virgins in their 20’s. Apparently, all new entries either had to draw straws for the favours of one maiden or indulge in some sort of virgin time sharing. Completely haram!

So Muhammed Atta had come for my permission, as World’s Number One Terrorist, to seek other alternative methods of repaying the martyrs – and also have them sign a disclaimer renouncing at the entire contingent of 70 virgins to service them in the afterlife and just settling for what is available. Namely – and this was his proposal – non-virgin females, virgins not necessarily in their 20’s or even early 30’s or virgin males of all ages. As a last resort, virgin goats or donkeys may also do…

It is so hard for me to break my promise to the valiant fighters that blow themselves up, but I will have to make some concessions. It is now obvious that the logistics of the “70 Virgins for Everyone” Department is falling behind requirements. So I must agree with the ghost of Atta. My martyrs shall have to make do with whatever virgin they get, not only with blushing damsels. They are soldiers, they can do it! It is impossible to maintain a steady supply of female virgins, especially in their 20’s, when hardly a few make it as virgins to 16. And those are the ugliest ones that nobody wants, how am I to give those to my fighters? But times are extreme and measures will match them, there is no doubt. Have a look around! What am I to do to get all the missing virgins? Start bombing kindergartens?

I must speak to the Mullah about this, first thing in the morning… Logistics is also what lost the war for Adolf… Oh, the darling non-smoking vegetarian… Would you think he’s also a virgin?

Osama like Mozart… It’s nice…

O, nothing inspires me more when I plan evil schemes against the free world than some nice classical music. Above all, I find my inspiration in the works of W.A. Mozart. He is so much like me. He was a genius, I am a genius. He would wake up at 3 AM to compose, I would wake up at three AM Afghan time to contact Washin… to contact some people that I work with and plan world domination. Mozart had nice black and white keys on his piano, I have nice black and white goats. Mozart lost count of all the pieces he wrote, I lost track of all the people I killed. I am very very sympathetic with Mozart. I never could understand how my predecessor arch-enemy of the world, Adolf Hitler, could plan so many wars listening to that impossible to follow, chaotic and over-chromatic Wagner… Now Mozart is a lot more organized. So I am organized. Must be also from my CIA training… So what if Mozart was an infidel? Bush is an infidel and he’s my best friend… Er, sorry, damn it! Scrap this! Ahmed! You take this to the incinerator, burn it and then shoot yourself, to make sure the secret is safe once more! Stop giving me the martyr look and just go already! Yalla!

Can It Get Any Better?

Stupid, stupid Abdul! What where you thinking poisoning with sarin gas everyone at CNN and Al Jazeera? Who is going to convey our messages from now on? How will my followers know which path to take? How? You killed them all? Fool! When I told you to intoxicate the media, I meant some false information, you idiot shemale donkey! Not poisoning them to death! No more “Goat Happy Hour” for you this week!
I am surrounded by imbecils…

Osama for President!

This morning, Hamza from Terror and Entertainment woke me up from my bed in the cave deep within the… well, deep within somewhere to tell me Bush is no longer president of evil USA. And that now some new infidel called Obama is paying rent in the White House. That left me a bit off-track. Damn, I have to change all my rhyming speaches now.

Also our battle songs. All of them. Oh, damn it, this is why I hate democracy! All the slogans I’ve written deep within my cave somewhere for 8 years of racking my brains are now gone to waste. I can’t rhyme “Obama” instead of “Bush”, especially in Arabic. What will my followers think of me? That I am a bad poet?

But then again, this is new chance to change a bit our PR approach. Consider the words that rhyme with “Bush”… “Shush”, “loosh”, “mush” – and “loosh” is not even a word, but my mujahedeen don’t speak much English so they don’t know, Allah be praised!

On the other hand, Obama has more possibilities. “Mama”, “pastrama”, “Fujiyama”, “Saddama”, “panorama”, “banama” – yes, I know, but the martyrs do not speak the evil tongue of the cursed enemy. He has an Arabic name, “Hussein” that I can make a good pun from: “Hussein, we say out!”… Hahahahaha!!! Even his blasphemous Crusader name, “Barrack”, gives a lot more options than “George”, or even “George W.” – no doubt about it. “Barrack in the sack!” or “Barrack, take them soldiers back!” or “With Barack the only way is back!”. Compare to “George is scourge” or “George W., we’ll get back at you!”…

Oh, well, I need to get back to the drawing board for the whole strategy. Hassam from “70 Virgins for Everyone” department promised he’d help. He is good at brainstorming, too bad the people under his command do not last very long in our organization.

By the  way, I am running  for president. Not in the cursed USA. I want to be president of bank on Wall Street. Now that 800 billion dollars are to be poured into bankrupt banks, I want some of it. After all, 10 percent of the USA economy is owned by Saudis, so I am entitled to roughly 80 billion. I have to make a living, right? My family disowned me, I am just a poor terrorist trying to make a living in a remote cave somewhere. I wonder whether I can remortgage it. Must be worth millions now. I know I am worth 25 millions to the FBI and all I have is a couple of goats, some rags on  my back and an old Kalashnikov made in Romania with “ UM 01916 Ciorogârla-Ilfov” branded on it.

Osama bin Laden Superstar

I like it so much when I am on tv! You know, with my old picture taken ever since I was allied with the Great Satan and I was fighting the other infidels in Afghanistan, the Soviets. I just can’t get enough of my face stretched all over the screen, and my voice being  heard denying any involvement in 9/11 – it always kind of gets me all mushy… I always shiver with anticipation when the people from abroad send to me the text with my new message to the followers, although in the past year, since they fired the Arabic translator, I have to do the Arabic version myself from English.

 

Anyway, plotting against the free world in a remote cave somewhere can get to a man and not always I have time for personal life. But  it was so much fun in my cave last night! Ahmed from Malevolent Operations brought to me nice movie from evil America called “Where in the World is Osama bin Laden?” to play on electronic DVD devil contraption for entertainment and your consideration only free copy. It was well deserved break for to be amused from the  usual daily terror monging business to see movie about myself and great opportunity to see some of my old friends and old places I used to hang out. You know, for old times’ sake, to remember places I’ve been, people I’ve not yet blown to pieces…

Well, after a while, tired as I was, I fell asleep on my Kalashnikov and kind of missed the end. When I woke up, the batteries had gone out and Ahmed had taken the DVD back to the Mujahedeen Department, since it’s on their inventory – and in Al Queda we keep strict inventory, whether it’s goat, rifle, sat-phone, soviet tank or Whitney Houston CD. But this unforseen dozing off kind of left me with a cliffhanger and no closure. Honestly, I would like to ask mister film-maker where exactly was I at the end? Because, you know, my location is so secret that not even I know it, so I would not be tempted to turn myself in for the 25 million dollar bounty on my head. Which even in bin Laden terms is still a lot of money…

 

PS: I can’t wait for the War on Terror to be over! You know, living in the desert for so long is really bad for a man’s skin and we can’t get all the Garnier Revitalift products or Avon here, what will the Taliban think? But the thing I long for the most, really, is to just get out of these old rags, shave off this ridiculous beard, put on some normal civilian clothes and just pop in the bar where the agency boys hang out and order a cold one. I know they’d be all over me at once, they’d all recognize me instantly: “Hell, colonel O’Reilly, it’s been a while, where the hell have you been?”

The Chief’s Top Secret Assignment

The Chief called me in early today, for a new assignment. 

I was already busy, at half past six, sorting out my dirty laundry from my stealthy weapons – you don’t know how often those can be mistaken for each other. 
Anyway, I had to respond to the call on the miniphone, that rang “Code Ripe Tangerine”, meaning clear and present danger. 

At the Chief’s den, half a dozen more or less secret agents had been summoned in the same brutal fashion such as I. It seemed, despite the aura of mistery, to be just a normal mission briefing in the Icosiedric Office. 

Apparently, HQ wanted us to steal some secret nuclear plans from some enrichment plant in Iran. The mission looked like it had been well prepared. We even had a trusty contact, a lad who had worked for local intelligence, until he turned and became a loyal double agent. 

As I was about to leave the room, with the rest of my dismissed fellow agents, the boss prompted me to stay, with his smouldering wooden pipe. “Stick around, Secret, I need you to fix the air conditioning in my choppper”, said the boss, jingling around with the bird’s keys. 

I was on the point of cursing whatever seemed to be left of my good luck, when the Chief whispered at me: “You goon, this mission is just for show, I need you for another assignment. Meet me on the secret roof helipad”, grouched he. 

Topside, an MI-8 helicopter was ready to fly at full swing on a minute’s notice. The bird, loaded with machine guns and missiles, was a marvel of soviet engineering, and we had bought it for a bargain from Romanian Air Force surplus. 
HQ had always wondered how come Romanian Military could so easily dismiss mint-condition planes and choppers and sell them for peanuts, on one hand, and pay us a shitload of money for some ancient 50 year old Hercules C-130 that could hardly hold it together, on the other hand. 
None the less, everyone in HQ had at least one IAR 316 Alouette chopper or an L29 jet fighter in his back yard, armed and battle ready. 

Well, often thought I, after all, why would Romanians need such fine weaponry now, that we are on the same side, as NATO members? They have us for defence… 

On the rooftop, the MI-8 choppper was making such a racket, that I could hardly tell what the Chief was trying to tell me. I had to hand it to him for that idea, no surveillance equipment in the world would have been able to filter through that terrible ocean of Soviet noise. 

“You schmuck are going to infiltrate the Al Queda”, the boss broke the news to me, yelling as secretly as he could. 

“Imagine that it took us five years in the war on terror to realise that we haven’t got a single contact, a single liaison in the Al Queda, whilst those pricks have at least hundreds in our own agency. 
Wait till i catch them… I promise I’ll dock their pay and cut their benefits… No more Agency sauna for those pricks! 
Anyway, for the moment, we don’t even know where Al Queda get their mail. Those barbarians weren’t even civilised enough to leave us with a valid mailing adress, not even a PO box. 
For all we know now, the Al Queda could be just a pigment of our imagination, we don’t even have one shred of official paper issued by Al Queda. 
And that bin Laden fellow, it’s been five years since we last saw him. He either burrowed quite a hole in Afghanistan, he either does not exist at all, or he has very well informed friends. 
What, doesn’t he read the papers? For the bounty they put on his arse, I’d turn myself in!” shouted the boss. 

“We have a mole in the Agency, and, until I can smoke it out, i have only you to trust with this assignment. Plus, you are not on our softball team, and your undertaking of the mission will not hinder our participating in the championship. 
You know, we are playing Mossad and FSB next week, and those Russians put up quite a fight… We can’t spare any good men…”

Mission “Glow-in-the-Dark”

 

your eyes only 
march the 9-th 2006 
growing concerns on the nuclear capabilities of iran have forced hq to take drastic countermeasures to stop any form of progress in that respect. 
so today i have to acquire top intelligence concerning iran’s nuclear programme. 
i have thus to infiltrate the uranium enrichment facilities in teheran using the casual cover of a foreign janitor from a fourth world country trying to make a decent penny in a rich third world country. 
once inside the compound, i have to make my way to the control room and gather as many secret documents as i can. 
also, using the c4 explosive concealed in my broom stick, i have to sabotage any uranium enrichment instalations i may find, or at least destroy their coffee machine. 
after succesfully exfiltrating the compound, i must make it home in time for my birthday party, OR I’M IN TROUBLE!!! 
my contact is a retired iranian intelligence officer, a double agent who has supplied our organization with vital intelligence during the 1978 hostage crisis in teheran. 
my safe house is actually a tent on the outskirts of teheran, used for sheltering some young part time double agent’s (and mostly shepperd’s) goats Mimi and Gina. 
as long as he’s on our side… 
should be a walk in the park…

Operation “Return of the King”

phew… 
that was a close one… 
that ali character was not actually the decent reliable double agent we thought him to be, but a thwarting triple agent, working for our agency, using the cover of iranian intelligence and actually being true to north coreean secret services. 
luckily i managed to take him out just before he was planning to blow my cover. 
the infiltration was successful. 
i managed to enter the iranian compound, posing as a janitor and, after having swept clean most of the floors, i found a battery powered pocket particle accelerator, installed on the plant mullah’s bicycle and i smashed it with my broomstick. 
since i found no other nuclear device, i proceeded according to my mission briefing and took out of commission their coffee machine, and, as a bonus, i jammed their fax and copy machine, that said “service in usa only”, with shreds of paper from the new york times, the comic hebrew pages. 
also i jammed their toilets with second-hand toilet paper, very popular in iran (did you ever consider that every sheet has two sides?), and left some dirty messages written all over the sink mirror with ukrainian explosive lipstick. 
let them try and wipe it… 
that should set them back for a while. 
eventually i exfiltrated through the vents, which had not been used for quite a while, and came out with the perfect disguise of an overweight earthworm. 
that shepperd agent was more than hospitable, as he even prompted me to spend the night with his favourite goat… 
i had to pass on that offer, on account of internal rules of not fraternizing with co-workers or their close relatives. 
i managed to get to my birthday party which proved to be quite a blast, since everybody was dancing naked, and the wife leading. 
strangely, though, i honnestly did not remember knowing 90 percent of the male guests… 
must be the fatigue… 
sad part is the documents i returned with are written in arabic and, damn, the agency has just fired the only arabic and farsi translator we had, on account of budget cuts. 
the pakistanese salesman at the corner shop told me that they look like electricity bills and coran excerpts to him… 
bummer…

Saddam’s weapons uncovered

about those weapons of mass destruction… 
i finally learned the awful truth… 
took me like 8 hours with condy and donald in the white house secret agents’ lounge and like countless ales and flasks of whiskey, but they finally told me. 
there are indeed weapons of mass destruction in irak, made by saddam’s henchmen and, sometimes, henchwomen (saddam was, after all, politically correct), from french nuclear technology by-products. 
those weapons are meant to destroy western civilisation as we know it and start a reign of terror under the sharia, the muslim coranic law. 
according to the sharia, only goat milk shall be allowed for consumption, playboy, hustler, razzie, alcohol and other means of male entertainment shall be banished and the arabic biased Al Jazeera is to replace our most objective and highly professional CNN. 
that is, obviously, an attempt on the very sacred foundation of our modern society, on our most treasured values and on the heart of the western civilisation. 
about the location of these weapons, it was a surprise for me too to find out that saddam, in his demented paranoia, has hidden them at the very bottom of the oil fields in irak. 
hence, it is the sworn duty of every good red blooded american to suck dry those oil wells, until the weapons are recovered and rendered harmless. 
since the world oil reserve is estimated to last for no more that 30 to 50 years, it is just a matter of time before the coalition of the willing shall dig them out and expose them to the world. 
god save mr bush and our sacred coalition! 
let us march forward towards the accomplishment of our sacred mission. 
sieg heil!