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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Information Minister of the Republic of Iraq's LiveJournal:

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Saturday, December 30th, 2006
12:00 am
And you thought your boss was a dick...

So glad I called dibs on his yacht, his golf clubs, and his comic book collection.

Aquaman #1 in mint condition?


Current Mood: Relieved.
Tuesday, March 22nd, 2005
10:49 pm
I have spent the past few months in film school.

Top of my class.

Saddam bought Vespas for all of us a few months back and I wrecked mine that weekend trying to ride it up the side of a Ziggerut. Holy cow I was so drunk.

How have you infidels been?
Thursday, July 8th, 2004
12:59 am
Bruddas 4 Lyfe!
Friendship Level: 98%

LJ Username:

Random LJ Friend-O-Meter
From Go-Quiz.com

Current Mood: Pancakes around my wiener.
Wednesday, June 30th, 2004
11:28 pm
Alive, well, and pissing in Paul Bremmer's combat boots.
Here's some recent video of me responding to a shitty application list to 33_overs. Can you tell I've been watching Menace II Society a lot lately?

Gimme somma dat O.E. Nigga, I'm from the old school!


Enjoy, cunts.

Oh. My wife left me - no real loss. I'm dating a Mexican chick, whose father disapproves of me greatly. I'm hoping the La Cucaracha ringtone on my Blackberry wins him over.

Current Mood: Simpatico.
Wednesday, March 31st, 2004
9:55 pm
Well my friends, I have some sad news.

It appears that for over a year now, the Americans and Englishes and a bunch of their evil friends have been in Iraq, rather than roasting inside their own stomachs in hell as I said they would. My bad. They have destroyed the once-proud Baathist forces of Saddam, dismantled his government, taken up residence in his palaces, and even dug the boss man up out of a whole looking like Willie Nelson. The fruit of Hammurabi's loins weep in shame at this tragedy.

In the words of the American pigdog Wayne:

Shyeah. As if.


Saddam and I went to see Mel Gibson's movie today at the Basra metroplex. It's good to get out amongst the little people. The boss man even bought me some Gummi Bears. The movie was great. More people should be nailed to crosses. Dolphins too.

Fucking dolphins.

Americans of the sea.

Current Mood: Empassioned.
Thursday, February 19th, 2004
7:59 pm
Never go to your boss' doctor no matter how good he says he is.
Only in Tikrit will you have a doctor tell you "Oh yeah, farting blood is perfectly normal for a man your age."
Sunday, December 14th, 2003
5:36 pm
A few words on America's lies.
I seem to recall the Americans making up some crazy story about how the first man on the moon was an American (Kneel Strongarm? That's got to be the most homosexual name I've ever heard?), when in fact it was an Iraqi. Well, sort of. There really was no moon in the 60s and 70s when the Americans claim to have gone, this was determined by Iraqi Baathstronauts several years ago during one of Iraq's many manned space flights. Indeed, the Moon is a creation of Baathist ingenuity and elbow grease. We put that motherfucker up there in 1984 as a potential base of operations against those Iranian shitheads, but it hasn't been used for a while. Anyway, the Americans (if America still existed, which it most certainly does not) make up lies, and grand ones at that, which brings us to this:

What kind of idiots does the media take us for? Saddam doesn't have a beard. He can't even grow facial hair. The moustache was a gift from Sy Sperling, president (and client!) of the Hair Club for Men. No. The man in the above photograph is clearly ol' man Castro, and he hasn't been caught either, just photographed. Ooh, they took Castro's picture, isn't that scary? Beware the American proparazzi, or whatever the hell you call them. They shoot an old Cuban man with a Camera, we shoot their young soldiers with guns and flaming balls of tar and Volkswagens full of dogpoo. Like I said, we're bastards like that.

No, Saddam Hussein was not captured. He was actually at home in one of his Baghdad-area palaces when the purported capture took place, watching Schindler's Fist, which, as far as porno spoof movies go, is actually pretty good.

Sometimes I miss America. As far as countries we have conquered go, they had the best sense of humor. And the best pizza.

Current Mood: You dumb suckers.
Thursday, November 27th, 2003
9:42 pm
There is no Bush in Baghdad. Well, sort of.
The only Bush that was in Baghdad today can be found in the sensible undergarments of Iraqi women.

The television of America is all lies. The cowboy doofus Bush isn't even alive anymore, he was vanquished in the recent Baathist victory over the United States of Who the hell even remembers. The brave forces of Saddam removed his head and stood his body up and shot his head out of a cannon that was pointed as his body and the body was toppled and man was it sweet. The video of it is far better than any of the "Girls Gone Wild" tapes.

I'm fairly certain the footage that was aired today was old film from a feast just prior to a huge Texas Army orgy.

Current Mood: Between berets.
Monday, November 10th, 2003
10:04 pm
The Human Stain.
This afternoon I was sitting at my desk here at the ministry (newly recarpeted - Carpetime's entire inventory was a welcome spoil of war - I must thank the Americans and Enlgishes for pissing themselves to death in the face of Saddam's mighty Army - BABYLON IS REBORN! AND RECARPETED!)and, OK, this entry is not about carpet or the overwhelming acidity of American fear-pee, so I'll start over. I minored in journalism, so I know a thing or two about flow, yo. (African-Americanish slang is also another spoil of war, dig?)

Anyway. I'm sitting at my desk reviewing a PowerPoint presentation on recent improvements to Baghdad's power grid, and out of nowhere, like totally out of the blue, I had an orgasm in my pants. I just felt this surge in my enormous genitals and then a bunch of wetness and I was like "Jiminy Christmas!" I put my hand down there to check and my pants were full of, uh, man-fluids. What in the name of Ali Akbar Hamizallah is that all about? Of course, with this being a laundry day, I wasn't wearing my stain resistant Khakis, so it looked like I had wet myself like a Colonel of American Marines, trembling before a statue of one of Saddam's minor functionaries. I had no idea how to handle it, so I sat at my desk. All. Day. Long. Just sat there, knowing that the second I left my office, everyone would see the stain on my trousers and then people would laugh and then I'd have to fill out request-for-execution forms for all of those offenders, and those things take a while to be approved, then on top of that, we'd have to hire replacements for the folks who laughed, then go through the process of training them and it just didn't seem worth it.

The good news is I got caught up on a lot of work. Of course, I finished all that early, so I sat at my desk doodling for six hours, waiting until everyone, including the janitors, had left for the evening. I'm never the last guy to leave, so everyone was making comments like "Whoa, the boss is putting in overtime!" And now I look like Mister Johnny hard-worker guy.

But still, what would cause me to have a spontaneous orgasm like that? I like wasn't daydreaming about sex or anything, I was totally focused on the power grid info.

Has this happened to anyone else?

Should I interpret this as a sign of my overwhelming virility and manly-manliness?

The only other thing that has happened to me that is remotely like this is when I sneezed while in line at Mahsoud's Grocery and I crapped my pants.

This is why I don't update. It's so easy to just blah, blah, blah myself into divulging the most embarassing things about myself.

Current Mood: Splatterpants.
Sunday, November 2nd, 2003
12:33 am
Update Whore.
I pay too much attention to American entertainment media.

This evening I tuned in to watch a TV show called Two and a Half Men.

It was about two middle-aged jerks raising a young man who will most likely grow up to be a homosexual.

Man, I thought it was going to be a show about two men berrating and taunting a legless victim of a command-detonated explosive device. "Come on man, we're going dancing with foxy women . . . oh yeah - YOU CAN'T DANCE!" Cue the laugh track.

That would be hilarious, but we can always count on the Americans to fuck it up.

Current Mood: Sweaty.
Saturday, November 1st, 2003
9:57 pm
There are never any car chases around here and that needs to change.
You Americans and your novelty foods.

I tried these Eggo Minis, which are supposed to be smaller, bite-sized versions of the regular Eggo Waffles. But, as with most American promises, this one fell short. The Minis taste different than the big ones. It's not a drastic taste difference, but everybody 'round the office agrees that there is a noticeable difference.

The American General Sanchez amuses me. He hates it when I walk over to the cage we keep him in and give him noogies (called Falazalahas here in Iraq) and call him Dirty Sanchez. So fun, so fun.

I think there are still American troops afoot in the neighborhood. Somebody keyed my fucking Tiburon last week. Savages.

What's worse is that it happened in the parking lot of a porno theatre downtown. I was in there getting a BJ from a stranger through something called a "glory hole." Could've been a man for all I know, though the absence of a moustache tells me otherwise. Not many Iraqi men have bare upper lips. I don't, but like I've said before, I lost it in a poker game. Anyway, after discharging my climax fluids in the stranger's mouth, I felt such a tremendous amount of shame. I went in there because my wife is just, I don't know, like a complete stranger now. She's never home, and when she is, she hardly touches me. Normally when I commit adultery, it's in the context of one of Uday's orgies, in plain view, but this time, sneaking around, it just felt dirty. So I'm walking to my car, feeling the lowest I've felt in a long time, even contemplating hanging myself when I got home, and there's this long gorge taken out of my car's paint, from front to rear all along the left side. Ugh. Such a shitty night.

Oh, I'm feeling better now, I'm not going to kill myself. I remember growing up the mullahs told me that if you kill yourself, you still go to paradise, and there are still 72 virgins, but they're really prude and won't do anything cool like threesomes or anal. As far as I'm concerned, that's not paradise at all.

Current Mood: Optimystical.
Saturday, August 30th, 2003
12:31 am
Honey, I'm home?
Alright. I've spent the past ten weeks helping to run a summer camp for aspiring information ministry personnel from all over the world. The staff were mainly all "axis of evil" (We call ourselves "The Superfantastical Dudes") guys, with some al-Qaeda, Hamas, and some wierd African dudes thrown in. I roomed with bin Laden's PR guy. Did you know Osama uses tanning cream to make himself look "more ethnic?" He thinks the Indonesians and Filipinos will take him seriouser if her looks more like them. He also colors his beard.

Anyway. I got home this past weekend and my wife greets me at the door in the most bizarre way imaginable. Have you ever seen the Hot Shots movies? I forget which one it was, but there's a scene where Charlie Sheen tells a woman that he's going to kiss her like she's never been kissed before, then proceeds to put his mouth over her entire nose and exhale, forcing a blast of air into her throat and making her make some wierd noise. Well, that's exactly how my wife greeted me. Ten weeks of not seeing her, and she goes out of her way to ruin the moment. Yeah hummus-buns, real romantic. I think she might be cheating on me. Ugh. This sucks.

I was watching TV the other day, and saw that the Japanese Prime Minister was in Prague on some state visit. Among his official posse was a little robot, who presented the Czech president with some gifts and he even gave a little speech. When I was studying journalism at Basra University, I had this recurring nightmare that no matter what job I had, I'd be replaced by a robot. Thanks to the Japanese, I am now having those nightmares again. At least I'm not wetting the bed anymore.

Oh, though my wife's greeting was less than satisfactory, Saddam delivered the goods. There was a fruit basket waiting on my kitchen table from him with a really nice homemade card (there is just something so damn sweet about a grown man using dry macaroni and glitter to jazz up a card) welcoming me back. I've got one of the coolest bosses ever.

I have like 800 e-mails to catch up on, and that's after deleting all the porno spam. Well, most of it. ;-)

Allahu Akbar,


Current Mood: Glad to be home, but sorta not
Thursday, May 22nd, 2003
10:12 am
Lunch date.
I'm trying to arrange a meeting with the Colombian drug lords that OJ Simpson claimed really killed his ex-wife and the satanic cult guys that are supposedly the "real killers" of Laci Peterson. Seems like they'd be great conversationalists, and we'd get along quite well.

Any ideas where I can find these guys?

Current Mood: A bit gassy to tell the truth.
Thursday, May 15th, 2003
5:45 pm
The infidel Jayson Blair ain't got nothing on me.
I hate this stupid journal. I'm thinking about making it friends-only.

Last week was good. The forces of Saddam made the bosoms of their mothers swell with pride when they destroyed large parts of the American Great Plains and Gulf States. Of course, the infidel liar media blamed the destruction on tornados, but all truth-seekers know that this is not the case. Tornados my yogurt-soda-drinking ass.

It is nice to hear news of something other than this Laci Peterson crap for a change. Even our field commanders in America got caught up in it. Saddam would ask for situation reports from the American front and he'd get replies like "Most glorified leader, may Allah bless you, the prosecutors in the Peterson case are going to seek the death penalty" or something like that. Here's Saddam, asking about the progress of the war against the stupid infidels, and our field commanders are talking about that stupid murder case. If Laci Peterson looked like my wife, the case wouldn't even make local news. But since she's attractive enough to be a model for one of those comes-with-the-picture-frame photos, it's like, a big deal.

There was a knife fight in the break room today. Qasim the intern and Mahsoud from animation got in some fight over whether or not it was treasonous to eat Franco-American SpaghettiOs for lunch in a Baath party building. For years, Mahsoud has brought a can of SpaghettiOs to work for lunch, and beyond getting sick of the smell of them, we never thought anything of it. Well, Qasim started making a fuss over it last week, asking Mahsoud to at least bring in Chef Boyardee products, since they do not have the word "American" in the product name. Mahsoud refused and Qasim called him a traitor. Today, Qasim called Mahsoud a traitor again and Mahsoud pulled a knife on him. It was on. The fight didn't last long at all. Qasim pulled his knife and took the first lunge. Mahsoud blocked the thrust by grabbing Qasim's arm with one hand while driving his blade into his shoulder with the other. Qasim screamed like an old woman on an electrified toilet seat (a sound I have heard firsthand on a visit to one of Saddam's prisons). Mahsoud twisted the knife until Qasim promised to stop calling him a traitor and leave him alone with the whole SpaghettiOs thing. Man, Tirkitis can be such hot-headed pricks. Qasim thinks he's "More-Baathist-Than-Thou" because his dad hunted rabbits with Saddam when they were teenagers. If he had drawn the knife first, I would have fired his ass. But since he learned his lesson, he can finish his internship.

I think I might ask Saddam for another favor. He gave me Florida, for which I am eternally grateful. But what I would really love is to be the editor-in-chief of the New York Times. I think I'd fit in there quite well.

Current Mood: Pantsless.
Tuesday, April 29th, 2003
4:42 pm
I caught the tip of my weiner in my zipper today. Though I don't recall making any sounds when this happened, everyone tells me I shrieked like a woman.

This sucks.

Current Mood: Shamed.
Monday, April 28th, 2003
7:06 pm
Happy Birthday, you big badass.
66 years old, my friends, and he doesn't look a day over 25!

You should have seen it today. We went down to the stables, where Uday presented a birthday gift to his father - a prize stallion, stolen from Kind Fahd's private corral. The horse was as majestic a specimen of equine perfection as I have ever seen. Saddam was blown away by Uday's thoughtfulness, as Qusay is usually the thoughtful one. Saddam has been looking for a horse to model for a new sculpture of himself, and this magnificent stallion is going to be it. As Saddam was looking the steed over and thanking Uday for this wonderful gift, Uday opened his big mouth.

Uday made some stupid comment about Saddam's saddle needing a seatbelt because, as he put it, "Pops, you're getting frail. Pretty soon you'll be as useless as old man Arafat." We all froze, expecting Saddam to blow up. He's quite sensitive about his age, and he hates being reminded of it. He surprised us by laughing it off - at first. Then, still petting the horse and smiling, he walked back around to the horse's head. Standing right in front of it, Saddam looked at Uday and said, "Would a frail old man be able to do this?" And then he punched that fucking horse right in the face, knocking it unconscious and causing it to collapse. Uday screamed "Dude!" and the rest of us just stood there in complete awe. Saddam stared all of us down coldly, and sternly asked "'anyone else think I'm a frail old man?" Saddam broke the few seconds of silence that followed with a suggestion that we all go play Laser Tag, Uday's treat.

Laser tag was fun, and I didn't injure myself this time. We played about 8 games, including a themed one called "Infidel Invaders" in which we broke up in to two teams, one Iraqi and one American. Whoever was on the American team had to take a dive, we just acted like goofy retards, bumping into ourselves and peeing in our pants. Anyway, I gotta go. Saddam's having a formal birthday dinner at one of his places (we won't know which one until a half-hour before), and I still need to shower.

I think I'm going to stop plucking my unibrow.

Allahu Akbar,


Current Mood: Par-tay time.
Sunday, April 27th, 2003
7:22 pm
Operation Desert Fox.
I've been watching a lot of TV lately. Like, a lot. I'm trying to keep up on all the bullshit that the world media is spewing about the health of the Baathist regime. The infidels are quite skillful. Their "defeat" of the forces of Saddam is very reminiscent of the movie Capricorn 1, you know, the one with OJ Simpson.

However, a lot what I have seen on the tube has gotten me thinking maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if the American infidels had taken over. Yes, bite my tongue, I know. But seriously, imagine if this fiction were true. I'd be safe from harm, as it has become apparent that America loves me more than Richard Gere - hell, I'm not even in that silly little deck of cards. Beyond that, I'd be a star, no? Leno and Letterman would cancel appearences by Vin Diesel or that Felicity chick to make room for me. And even though I despise American sports, I could do guest announcer spots, reporting the results of sporting events, only the complete opposite. Boloney-breathed infidel meatheads seem to be really into that. Just do a google search on the Iraqi Information Minister and you'll see what I mean. Doofus jock assholes seem to be making an endless supply of little movies or photos of me saying stupid-ass things about stupid ass sports teams. I cannot wait until Saddam's troops bury these numbskulls with their genitals in each other's mouths. Have you seen this crap? Ugh. moving on.

The greatest benefit of having the Americans take over Baghdad (which they haven't) would be that I would have a chance to meet that stone fox Jennifer Eccleston. I don't care if this statement would get me stoned to death in Nigeria, that woman would make the Prophet's nature rise higher than the highest minaret in Mecca. Damn, she is fine, and so very smart. I would leave my wife for her in a heartbeat, I'm serious. I would love to take a full day just sucking on one of Ms. Eccleston's long legs, devoting the next day to sucking on the other one. Do you think she'd go out with me? Oh, my heart is beating heavily and I am thick in the pants just thinking about it. I will be retiring to the television set and my 6-hr. tape of Jennifer Eccleston at the moment.

Sweet Jesus, is she a fox or what? I'm half-tempted to invite the Americans and the Englishes back to Iraq, as long as they bring that classy little mynx along with them.

Current Mood: Boioioioioing!
Thursday, April 24th, 2003
3:17 am
AIM fun with the Baath Military Bureau Deputy Chairman.
MohammedSaidAl-Sahaf: 'Sup?
LatifNusayyifJasim: Nothing.
LatifNusayyifJasim: What do you want? I'm busy.
MohammedSaidAl-Sahaf: Oh, come on. Why the attitude Queen Latifa?
LatifNusayyifJasim: I have a lot of work to do. And stop calling me that.
MohammedSaidAl-Sahaf: Live a little, bro.
LatifNusayyifJasim: And my wife says I spend too much time at the office.
MohammedSaidAl-Sahaf: Wives. My wife says I'm too fat and I always smell like shawarma. I still eat shawarma.
LatifNusayyifJasim: Ha. You do eat a lot of it.
MohammedSaidAl-Sahaf: Well, it's either that or my wife's cooking.
MohammedSaidAl-Sahaf: Allah be praised she cannot cook shawarma.
LatifNusayyifJasim: Heh. Your wife can't cook for shit. And she's a dirty whore.
MohammedSaidAl-Sahaf: Fuck you Queen Latifa. You should talk anyway.
MohammedSaidAl-Sahaf: Your wife is twelve.
LatifNusayyifJasim: Touché.
LatifNusayyifJasim: And stop calling me "Queen Latifa." That shit is so played out.
MohammedSaidAl-Sahaf: Never! Mwua-ha-ha!
LatifNusayyifJasim: I'm fucking serious. I hate that!
MohammedSaidAl-Sahaf: Well Queen Latifa, I'll let you get back to work. Don't want to leave the wife at home for too long, she may burn your place down with her Easy Bake Oven! Ha!
LatifNusayyifJasim: Asshole.
MohammedSaidAl-Sahaf has signed off.

Man, Jasim is such a twat. Maybe for fun I'll get him drunk this weekend, dress him up in one of those American infidel uniforms we stole, and drop him off in Basra. Queen Latifa's gonna get his ass kicked, just like the infidels themselves.

Current Mood: Amused.
Sunday, April 20th, 2003
3:26 am
We are grinding the infidels up into a fine powder and snorting it like cocaine!
You know what's messed up?

When stupid infidel fartsniffers invade your country, get the living turd beat out of (and fed to) them by the valiant forces of Saddam, then refuse to admit that they have been defeated. What's even more jacked is that they are using Hollywood lies to make it look like they actually are winning, when they clearly aren't. It used to be funny, but I must admit, it's getting a bit played-out. General Vincent Brooks and his daily "war" briefings are a big joke here in Baghdad. We even had t-shirts made with photos of Brooks and quotes saying things like "Today, the 3rd Infantry Division has seized Baghdad" or "The Republic Guard has put up very little resistance." They're quite funny, and the obvious rambling lies of a delusional zionist puppet. There are rumors that a talking General Brooks doll is going to be manufactured, that would be great. General Brooks is just a joke, a big funny joke. "The Americans are winning?" Puh-leeze!

Yeah, all this is messed-up. We kicked the asses of the Americans and the Englishes, and they're just sitting around lying about it. Frankly, I think it's getting a little bit old.

Allahu Akbar,


p.s. All Iraqi women have voluntarily waxed their pubic hair in a show of solidarity with Saddam's war effort against the infidels. Their message? NO MORE BUSH!

Current Mood: Sausage is backing up on me.
Friday, April 18th, 2003
5:35 pm
Rethinking my purchase of the Tiburon.

This is one of the coolest things I've seen in a long time.

Read more...Collapse )

Allahu Akbar,

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