We Two Kings

I doubt there's anybody who believes in Santa Claus any more than George W. Bush. Finding Saddam had to be pretty high on his wish-list this year - right up there with getting a copy of that Paris Hilton tape. Perhaps no one is happier about Hussein's capture than Saddam himself. You gotta figure that going from harem-hotties and chinchilla waterbeds, to spending night after night of slumped-over slumber in a dirt hole where you have to poop your pants because you don't have enough room to squat--that you'd be about ready to wave the white flag. True, it's not going to be a whole lot of fun being trotted-out day after day to answer for a lifetime of wholesale slaughter and scores of unimaginable atrocities--but at some point you've got to admit to yourself that making doodey in your pants in these hometown hidey-holes is really not panning out.

I can't imagine a more stressful job than the guy who had to find hiding places for Saddam in those final days. "So Samir--how is this new spot you've got for me? Is there running water, entertainment?" "Well your highness . . . that will be up to you." I find it pretty ironic that from the very start, the main objective of the war was to see that Saddam Hussein took a dirt-nap. And what's it been 8 months now? And where do we find the guy? Taking a dirt nap. He totally looked like the soldiers woke him up. He comes out of his hole with dirt all in his hair, rubbing his eyes, his beard smashed crooked, "huh what, where am I?" It was like Rip Bin Winkle.

I loved the look on his face when they pulled him up out of that hole. A face, quite ironically, that had begun to look like a Rabbi, and even more amusing a little bit like Santa Claus. And it started my imagination to ponder the possibility that perhaps Saddam is in truth the black sheep of the Claus family. He spent many a happy year as Santa's kid brother, until he found out that no matter how jolly and benevolent he might be, he was never going to get to drive the sleigh. Which brought about a bitter falling out and Saddam Clause left the North Pole after a heated exchange of ugly words - accompanied by a few disillusioned elves that swore up and down they knew how to make toys of mass destruction.

Speaking of toys, if there were ever any question whatsoever that Michael Jackson is nuttier than a pecan pie, all of the sudden he wants to convert to the nation of Islam. What kind of legal counseling is he getting? What a perfect time to associate yourself with folks of the Muslim persuasion. I think it's time Mikey got Johnny Cochrane on the horn. "Alright, first of all Jacko, you gotta lose the turban. Shut down Diddly-land up there, and forget about Peter Pan, because that's making most people think your a Peter Fan. Stop crying Michael, we gotta normal you up. It's that simple. You still the king, but we gotta normal you up. You still got that glove, right?"

I don't feel sorry for Jacko whether he's guilty or not. The guy got busted 10 years ago for the same thing. What kind of imbecile would keep the kiddies coming for sleep-overs? Just as hypothetical example, if, at some point, there was some sort of wacky mix-up and someone went on National Television with a false report that I'd engaged in inappropriate relations with a goat. No matter how innocent and virtuous my feelings might be toward goats - I'd never go near a goat the rest of my life. Not a petting zoo, not a County Fair, I wouldn't even hang out with anybody who had a goatee.

This whole thing about Jacko's desire to convert to the Muslim faith got my imagination going like crazy. I wondered what the chances were that during their respective trials that Michael and Saddam might end up sharing the same cell. I was pondering this as I lay in bed the other night and as I drifted off to sleep I began to dream about these two headline-grabbers in the pokey together.

Jacko

Mr. Saddam Hussein you are a very bad person, you're just, just . . . devilish.

Saddam

Bad? I'm bad? It just so happens that I made the error in judgement of buying your last album. That thing stink like backside of camel. And look what you have done to your face? Michael - I could whittle a better face, blindfolded with pocketknife and bar of soap.

Jacko

See, that's just hurtful. That's a childish thing to say.

Saddam

Now you scare me. I am not a child. You stay on your side of cell. I wouldn't even be here if not for you. When the war starts, my advisors, they come to me, they say, "Saddam it would be best for you to get plastic surgery and leave country." Because of you I decide plastic surgery is very bad idea. Because of you I hide in tiny dirt hole, with my arthritis playing
hell with my joints.

Jacko

I only had surgery because I had difficulty breathing.

Saddam

Difficulty breathing? You should try breathing in spider hole after standing in poop for three days.

Jacko

Pardon me for laughing Mr. Saddam, but that amuses me. I mean, here I am the King of Pop and I could call you the King of-------

Saddam

I would not finish that sentence Mr. Jackson. I have killed tens of thousands of people - one more is not going to hurt my cause--

Jacko

Duly noted your highness, anyway why do we have to talk about bad things? Tell me about your dolphins? I really miss my animals. Would you like to hear about my giraffes, they are very hard to get - giraffes?

Saddam

Why would anyone want a giraffe? If I want to see a tall, gawky, orange freak-of-nature, I watch the Conan O' Brien.

Jacko

You make me laugh again Mr. Saddam. I don't like Conan O' Brien either, he makes mean horrible jokes about me.

Saddam

Me too, I was going to have him tortured and killed.

Jacko

You're not such a bad man after all, Mr. Saddam.