Bin Laden's
Journal
by Walt
Giersbach
WASHINGTON
-- A handwritten journal kept by Osama bin Laden was seized in the U.S. Navy SEALs
raid last week that killed the terror chief. The
notebook reportedly contained operational ideas
and potential targets as well as "aspirational"
plots.–New York Post
Dear Diary, just another tiresome day with my
four wives fighting over what to make for supper.
I just had to borrow one of their burqas
and sneak out to the marketplace. I know my
ankles showed because I’m six feet tall, but
no one noticed. Except one guy winked. I’ll
have to get a suicide bomber to blow him up for
lewd behavior. Anyway, it was so hot that it was
nice dressing up. No one notices when you’re
naked under a burqa.
Getting
out of the house concentrates my mind. For
example, I pondered whether we could invent
exploding refrigerator magnets. We’ve tried
shoe bombs and underpants bombs. I mean, what
else is there? Maybe some crap from the souvenir
shops, filled with explosives they could take
home. That overpriced stuff is all made in China
so our profit is going be hit.
Also,
I wondered how to motivate our suicide bombers.
They’re getting sullen. Perhaps 72 virgins
for martyrs isn’t enough. Reminder: ask the
imam if 72 adulterers and hookers would be a
better incentive. I mean, I’m talking real
hotties, Allah be praised. Okay, and then there
are the female martyrs. They don’t want
virgins. They’d be looking for 72 Ashton
Kutchers or something.
Did
I say, Diary, it’s hard being King of the
Terrorists. It’s just work and think, think
and work. My social life is going to hell. One of
the wives — I forget which one — even
said vacationing in a Tora Bora cave would be an
improvement. And my kids. Allah be praised, there’s
about 20 of the little buggers, all screaming for
presents. Don’t they know how tough it is to
go shopping when you’re the six-foot-tall
King of the Terrorists?
One
of my couriers came back with a joke yesterday.
Something about twin babies — one from Spain
and the other Libyan. Punch line: “If you’ve
seen Juan you’ve seen Amahl.”I told him
to watch it or I’d get a suicide bomber to
pun-ish him for crude humor. Amal —
different spelling — is my last wife, the
cute Yemeni Queen of the Desert. So busy now,
hopping from wife to wife, them all yammering to
get nailed by the King of the Terrorists. Don’t
they know I need a little rest?
Oh,
hey, I think Hasbro is going to make an action
figure out of me. Like Thor just hit the shelves
at WalMart. Now I have to figure out how to
collect the royalties. I hope they got the beard
right. Black now. It’s black. Don’t
believe those rumors that I’ve turned gray
like Bush and even Obama. I may have to sue
unless they get the beard right.
Who
said it’s good to be the king? It’s
hard work. And this burqa is starting to
give me a rash.
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