The blog you are about to read is a few years old. It was originally posted May 9th 2011 on my old blog page, thoughts dot com, where it caused no uproar of any kind. It was satire and, considering recent events, thankfully taken as such.
That page ceases to exist in its proper form and I have since moved many of my old blogs from there to here. As for this particular blog, though a favorite, it became sort of lost in the shuffle. At some point in my blogging tenure I realized that something of this nature has no place in today's internet. By my former rebellious standards that would of course mean it should be posted everywhere for all to see it if they choose. But I caved and I tucked it away and even though it lay pretty much forgotten it was nothing of the sort as far as I am concerned.
A little background on the blog itself: it was a response to an old writing challenge at the site. At the time the big issue in the news was the infamous Osama Bin Laden death picture and should America be allowed to see it. I have obvious thoughts on this matter and was able to perfectly convey them in this satirical piece. The theme for the challenge was "Gone but not Forgotten." This fit perfectly with both what I was trying to say and do.
Something occurred to me while making the choices which blogs made the jump here and which ones didn't. This blog, if taken in the wrong way, could have and still could get me killed. At first, that sickened me. Next, it made me laugh. Then, it kind of freaked me out a little. I filed it in the archives and have only spoken about it, and shared it, with a selected few.
The world has changed so much in these last few years. I will not blow steam here nor bother directing my rabid disenchantment for this notion in any which way. I am of course referring to the left and right. I mean, fuck it. We are who we are and nothing is going to change that. Particularly nothing in a blog posted here on the internet. What happened in Paris is important though. It demands both attention and response of any kind. Me being an artist I highly prefer something largely creative, which of course makes perfect sense considering the situation itself.
Posting this old blog again on the internet is my response. Opinions are just that and mean nothing outside of those who have them. What is considered proper satire versus offensive is always going to be subject to opinion. So there you have it. By ways of freedom of speech, a sadly dwindling concept here lately, nothing should be off limits. Taking this to heart, and most importantly keeping it there, I have decided to let this one out of the archives and into the world, where it belongs. If someone is offended, good. If someone wants to kill me, so be it. But I am an American and a human being and I will never be scared of posting anything here ever again.
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Al qaeda.
The asses of evil.
Once masterminded by this Osama Bin Laden character.
A real dude made of flesh and blood apparently because he just had his face shot full of holes like a piece of Swiss cheese. But a character none the less. Videos recently confiscated and made public by the undisputed champions of global masterbaition, referred to by many as the US Government, have shown the once feared chief architect and diabolical figure who lead the filthy rat race of terrorism had now become nothing more than a caricature of his more notoriously demented media induced former guise.
In recent reality the poised and threatening scourge of the planet was actually an unkempt and uncoordinated ailing old man.
Kind of like Charles Manson in a dress.
Playing up his image in front of the camera prior to being ridiculed by an off screen bully because his failing eye sight hampered his reading of the cue cards.
Obviously unaware that even Ozzy Osbourne can afford a teleprompter.
So the fucker is dead now.
Gone but certainly not forgotten.
Has anything changed?
No.
Is anything ever going to change?
No.
Still, those who harbor broken hearts from their losses in any of the attacks helmed by these dip shits do probably feel a certain sense of closure now. In case this should be lost on anyone it's that whole eye for an eye thing that we as a species seem to get so jazzed up about.
Completely overstepping the fact that this fuck head should have been exterminated a long time ago the big issue that has people up in arms and foaming at the crotch now is the existence of a picture that we had dangled in an envelope right in front of our faces and now are told is too gruesome for our virgin eyes.
Stop pulling my dick, Obama.
Virgins are myths, like unicorns, and we the people live for that gruesome shit. Still, there are those who wish to not see the picture. My suggestion? Go back to watching your porn.
This planet is fueled on sex and violence.
The reason we are not being allowed to see this picture is just another hand job. The government knows we need to see the fucking thing.
Not for proof.
Not for peace of mind.
Only because we are a bunch of sick fucks and we simply need to see that shit now, bitches.
If Osama Bin Laden had made a sex tape do you not think that it would be everywhere for the taking (and giving of only $999.99)?
To those who disagree I respond only that when I do want my dick pulled I'll do it myself thank you very much, so stop lying.
But for those who dare to imagine, here is how it would have went down-
The room where big papa is stored, and bored out of his mind, is small and it smells like poop. This because budgets are tight and there is in fact a bucket of feces in the corner.
A director has been hired.
Some American sleaze bag.
He is escorted into the room to meet his future star and left to fend for himself with some smelly old Arab guy.
Oh wait a minute. It's Osama Bin Laden.
Man, that dude doesn't look anything like what we see on TV.
He needs make up badly.
Before panic sets in that he doesn't speak sewer rat the sleaze bag is calmed when Osama takes out the only really cool gadget that his people have been able to make for him since 9/11. This being a vocal translator in the shape of a dildo that he rubs on his adams apple and upon speaking has his vocal patterns translated into English. When his voice is heard it sounds like Cheech Marin.
This kicks much ass because after all, who doesn't love Cheech Marin?
Not very threatening, but it's all good.
At this time big papa has hopes of organizing a rabid media campaign that would make Cirque du Soliel soil their lacy underwear.
With the right sleaze bag as his tag along this should be as perfect as sticking a burning man sausage into a cooling apple pie.
Director and star immediately hit it off. Surprisingly this terror maverick has quite a sense of humor as exhibited through a series of "Your mother is so fat...." jokes. Man, this guy sure does get a bad rap.
When it comes time to talk business big papa stands up from his piss stained mattress and says "You would like to see my weapon of massive construction?" to which the director laughs heartily and replies this would be a great title for their movie.
This guy is a genius. No wonder they made him boss.
As it turns out what constitutes big to those of foreign descent is actually quite paltry to Americans and the director informs Osama that a stunt cock might be advisable for preservation of his mack daddy status.
Next up the cast is brought in.
The sleaze bag asks Osama if they can film in a more suitable locale. Something bigger than a broom closet and where filming will not be aggravated by the smell of feces.
Osama throws his body down onto the mattress and lights a fart that elicits some oooohs and ahhhhs from everyone present but mostly is met with apprehension because they know the room is so small that should his garments catch on fire they will all burn to death.
Once everyone has relaxed and helped Osama up from his juvenile charade he tells of a warehouse in the South corridor that he knows would be perfect because there is plenty of fake shrubbery they confiscated from a tryst that Osama had with Paris Hilton at one of her lodges. There is much ambiance to be had because despite the fact that Osama is out of touch with society and shitting in a bucket he knows a hell of a lot about women and one of the things he knows is that women love to fuck when they are near palm trees.
First things first, get this fucker into make up pronto.
The party is moved into the GREAT BIG ROOM. There is much fun to be made and after hookahs and Arabian moonshine are passed around the crowd of party makers and no shit takers have forgotten why they gathered there in the first place.
Oh yeah, porno history is to be made.
Not the first sex tape to be made starring a legend in his own mind but what will undoubtedly become the most important, from a purely historical point of view, once the viagra kicks in.
The first lucky contestant on "Who wants to be Jizzed on by a Millionaires son?" steps up.
Osama asks that she remove the bed sheet so that he can use it to keep warm later but demands the woman face the wall as he is hammering the crusty nail from behind. She becomes angered and flips out, creating a scene out of a different kind of movie, horror. Osama says that is okay because this is how he rolls and in between bursts of estrogen propelled hell fire he does manage to insert something into some orifice or another.
Due to time restrictions penetration will have to be determined upon playback and the next woman turns from sex kitten to ravenous beast as she rips off her dress and attacks Osama. With his flesh flag flying dutifully in the breezes of glory from all the viagra he has ingested Osama shows the former orphan who her daddy is and shoves his throbbing member into her ear where he ejaculates out of the other side of her skull onto the face of another woman in a tactical weapons maneuver he gleefully refers to as "two baggin."
Hopped up and hyped over from a sperm actuated spill frenzy the once seemingly decrepit and glaze eyed old timer now begins running around the room pointing his throbbing, and immense though still humble sized by American standards, stick of dynamite at those still standing while pop and locking in the center of the floor and motioning to the bodies of the spent women laying at his goofy looking feet and claiming that "I am Conan, the conqueror of bitches."
Without his knowledge this is all being filmed by the director for possible inclusion on the DVD extras.
Upon asking who is next to be ready for the mack daddy of girth and goo one shy women steps apart from the crowd and raises her hand.
Osama says "Bring it, she creature" and having no idea just how prophetic his comments would prove to be prior to being uttered, the woman, who is in fact a horrid creature once concealed by the garments she wore, does just that and "brings it."
The sight of the fetid wench and her horrible stench even overpowers a man who shits in a bucket and sleeps in his own piss and once his viagra filled knob falls off the director yells
"Cut!" and that is a wrap.
I'm sure the sleaze bag who shot this imaginary piece of celluloid history would feel pretty powerful because believe me, if this was real everybody would want to see it. After all, when it comes to sex and violence and the people of the world there is a reason that sex cums first. Though violence is never to be discounted, do understand that the government has good reason for not making this image of dead Osama made to the public. It's just another way to control our thought process and keep us living in fear by forcing us to remember him the way they wish to preserve his image. With make up.
