Information Minister of the Republic of Iraq (mohammedalsahaf) wrote,
Information Minister of the Republic of Iraq
mohammedalsahaf

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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,

Mo.
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