Saddam Hussein has just been convicted of crimes against humanity and sentenced to swing, and I’m not talking about the Glenn Miller Orchestra kind.

There were fears of violence after the announcing of the verdict, and there were some clashes in Baghdad’s heavily Sunni Azamiyah district, but otherwise the Iraqi people will miss Saddam Hussein the same way Wesley Snipes would miss the IRS.

They say that time heals all wounds, and seeing Hussein in court resembling a down-and-out vacuum salesman who missed a methadone treatment – a Sunni version of Willy Loman — it could be difficult for some to remember exactly what the man was all about.

Because of this, a brief biography of Saddam Hussein is in order, so that we never forget who was on trial here. It’s time for, “Saddam Hussein, this was your life!” 

You had more body doubles than Cher at a “La Cage Aux Folle” film festival in San Francisco’s Castro District. Your taste in decor was so decadent and gaudy that your choice of interior design reminded us of a hillbilly who just won the Powerball Lotto. You were a perverted butcher, and a cold-blooded killer with a snappy fedora. Saddam Hussein … this was your life!

News of your regime’s collapse hit some people hard. You are missed by what’s left of the “Fedayeen Saddam,” your loyalists who dress in black from head to toe while wielding guns, knives, bombs and generally unpleasant demeanors, making them loosely resemble a group of widows with a particularly harsh case of PMS.

You were born in 1937, in the small village of al-Awja, just outside Takrit. A spirited little bugger even before birth, you were the type of baby who tried to come out breech on purpose. You reveled in the discomfort of others, and your family could see the beginnings of your sadistic behavior when you began playing “paper, rock, scissors” with real rocks and scissors.

Your political life began while attending college in Baghdad, which you entered with the generous assistance of the NAAPP (National Association for the Advancement of Psychotic People). In 1959, you participated in an assassination attempt against Iraqi Prime Minister Abudul Karim Kassim. During the attempt, you were 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 you carry your bullet in your shirt pocket.

After Kassim’s monarchy collapsed, you went back to Iraq and tried to kill the new guy, Abdel-Karim Qassem. That conspiracy didn’t work out either, and you fled again to Egypt. All of your botched attempts to assassinate political leaders are immortalized in the classic Disney film, “The Apple Dumpling Gang Plots Again.”

You returned home in 1963, while the Ba’ath party was in power, but soon they were overthrown and you found yourself in prison, where you became the celebrated inventor of “falafel on a rope.” Soon after, however, Ba’ath regained control and you were made secretary general of the party. By 1973, you were vice president of Iraq – only a heartbeat away from full-blown crazy.

For most of the 1970s, you concentrated on filling the Iraqi government with your own kin, 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, thumb screws and body bags.”

In 1979, you became president of Iraq. Usually, the term “president” isn’t used in a totalitarian regime, since you were “president” of Iraq in the same way that a dog is “president” of a fire hydrant. This was closely followed by the Iran-Iraq War, an eight-year stalemate with no point and millions of senseless casualties – sort of like a Middle Eastern version of a Grammy Awards show.

In the late ’80s, you gassed your own people, and guaranteed yourself a first-class seat on Hades Airlines. In 1990, you decided that previous battles hadn’t killed enough of your soldiers, so you handed all of your troops gas cans and siphon hoses and sent them off to Kuwait. “Coalition Force I” was soon formed, and your Iraqi army was, like the over-aggressively wandering “let’s get them panties off” hand of Becky-Jo Nussbaum’s date in the parking lot at the homecoming dance, slapped back into their own territory.

Soon the world realized that something needed to be done about you, so the United Nations passed a motion calling for immediate international debate on a pact to agree to more talks concerning a resolution on more meetings. You wouldn’t comply to whatever that was that the U.N. decided, which they’re still deciding, so coalition forces decided for them.

In 2003 you were captured after bravely fleeing Baghdad and jumping into a hole while your sons were elsewhere being used for target practice. So giving were you to your people and your family that you offered them so much “fight to the death” advice that you forgot to keep some for yourself, and you gave up without a struggle.

Now, here you are, still finding spider hole debris in your hair, having watched people bid on the severed head of your statue on eBay, and desperately trying to reach Johnnie Cochran via Ouija Board for a quick appeal before having an unfortunate encounter with a slipknot and gravity.

Saddam Hussein, this was your life!


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