According to a member of Saddam Hussein’s legal team, the “Butcher of Baghdad” has begun writing his memoirs from behind bars. Being as connected as I am, I’ve managed to get a hold of a bit of the rough draft. The man, though crazy, also apparently has quite the sense of humor. Here are some short excerpts taken from Hussein’s autobiography with the working title, “An Officer and a Nutcase”:
Introduction (by Kofi Annan)
Chapter One: Painful Admissions
Yes, it’s true, I had more body doubles than Cher at a “La Cage Aux Folle” film festival in San Francisco’s Castro District. My taste taste in decor was so decadent and gaudy that my choice of interior design may have reminded you of an Ozark hillbilly who just won the Powerball Lotto. Some called me a perverted butcher, and a cold-blooded killer with a snappy fedora.
Chapter Two: Old Friends I’m Missing, and Vice-Versa
News of my regime’s collapse has hit some people hard. I’m sorely missed by what’s left of the “Fedayeen Saddam,” my loyalists who dress in black from head to toe while wielding guns, knives, bombs and generally unpleasant demeanors, which make them loosely resemble a group of widows with a nasty case of PMS.
The leadership at the United Nations grieved, but I’m guessing it was only because coalition forces were closing in on my file cabinets with drawers labeled “crooked dealings with the United Nations.”
Chapter Three: The Formative Years
I was born in 1937, in the small village of al-Awja, just outside Takrit. A spirited little bugger even before birth, I was the type of baby who tried to come out breech on purpose. Reveling in the discomfort of others, my family could see the beginnings of my sadistic behavior when I began playing “paper, rock, scissors” with real rocks and scissors.
Chapter Four: Early Political Life
My political life began while attending college in Baghdad, which I entered with the generous assistance of the NAAPP (National Association for the Advancement of Psychotic People).
In 1959, I participated in an assassination attempt against Iraqi Prime Minister Abudul Karim Kassim. During the attempt, I was shot in the leg, and as a result, fled and ended up in Egypt. From then on, it was recommended by concerned friends and family that I carry my bullet in my shirt pocket.
After Kassim’s monarchy collapsed, I went back to Iraq and tried to kill the new guy, Abdel-Karim Qassem. That conspiracy didn’t work out either, so I fled again to Egypt, who welcomed me back with a heartfelt, “You again?” All of my botched attempts to assassinate political leaders are immortalized in the classic Disney film, “The Apple Dumpling Gang Plots Again.”
Chapter Five: Falafel on a Rope
Returning home in 1963, the Ba’ath party was in power, but soon they were overthrown and I found myself in prison, where I became the celebrated inventor of “falafel on a rope.” Soon after, however, Ba’ath regained control and I was out of jail and even made secretary general of the party.
Chapter Six: Climbing the Ladder
By 1973, I had made it to vice president of Iraq Ã¢â‚¬â€œ only a heartbeat away from full-blown crazy. For most of the ’70s, I concentrated on filling the Iraqi government with kin, who are, frankly, a collection of unhinged spiral-eyed wackos for whom the list of “things to bring” to the family reunion included, “potato salad, root beer, chips, body bags.”
Chapter Seven: No Recount Necessary
In 1979, I had done it. I’d become president of Iraq. Usually, the term “president” isn’t used in a totalitarian regime, since, in all honesty, I was “president” of Iraq in the same way that a dog is “president” of a fire hydrant.
Chapter Eight: War, Famine, Upheaval, and Other Guilty Pleasures
Shortly after I took the Presidency, there was the Iran-Iraq War, an 8-year stalemate with no point and millions of casualties. In other words, to put it in language you infidel Americans can understand, it was sort of like a Middle Eastern version of a Grammy Awards show.
Chapter Nine: What a Gas
In the late ’80s, I gassed my own people. I know, I know… but it was one of those “it seemed like a good idea at the time” kind of things. Hey, we’ve all been there, haven’t we?
Chapter Ten: A Different Kind of Gas
In 1990, I don’t know what the heck I was thinking. I decided that previous battles hadn’t killed enough of my soldiers, so you handed all my troops gas cans and siphon hoses and sent them off to Kuwait. “Coalition Force I” was soon formed, and I was evicted from Kuwait like a Syrian from a three bedroom townhouse in the Golan Heights.
Chapter Eleven: The U.N. Tries to Help
Soon the world realized that something needed to be done about me, so the United Nations passed a motion calling for immediate international debate on a pact to agree to more talks concerning a resolution. The meeting was a productive one, because they agreed to a time and date for a future meeting.
Chapter Twelve: Spider Hole Sweet Spider Hole
I watched on television from my tiny hiding spot as people tore down my statue in Baghdad and then bid on the severed head on eBay. I must confess, a tear came to my eye. I wanted to put in a bid, but I only had cash on me and no credit card, plus I was on dial up. I just knew I should have spent some of that “oil for food” money on DSL access for the Tikrit area, but, unfortunately, I never got around to it.
I’ve always wondered what happened to my head.
Chapter Thirteen: The Capture
I’ve never made this public, mostly because I didn’t want to sound like a whiner, but I wasn’t read my Miranda rights when I was arrested. I heard that’s big in America, and I imagine I could find a loophole there. Actually, I had Johnny Cochran looking into it, but he hasn’t gotten back to me yet. We’ll see how the trial goes and I’ll decide then if I’ll mention it.
To be continued….