SATIRICON

Saturday, November 13, 2004...

Music: ZZTop

Mood: Facetious

Thot: "what a vast wilderness is the

unencumbered mind! Until, of course

that mind sits down at a computer.

Then she enters Hellish dimensions of

QWERTY/logs & protocols, programs

and convoluted strings of what?"

Title: Werking on one...

*

Here's the funny schtuff, with apologies

to Mel Brooks and others:

Somewhere on the desert frontier of

a military installation, Colonel Slim Pickens

rides up on a Humvee to review a tentful

of beleaguered Special Force troops and

its catch of enemy combatants.

Interrogator David Huddleston greets

his Commanding officer...

Interrogator/Major: Jeepers, Colonel, but

these boys don't know any good old werk

songs...in fact, we can't understand a word

most of 'em say at all.

Colonel Taggert/Pickens: Crud! I send you

grunts out here to reconnoiter and subdue

a gang of Insurgents, not dance around like

a bunch of Texas Airmen campaigning for

their Daddy! I am Depressed.

Major: How 'bout i frag one of these...

Colonel: Sheet! We ain't got time for that

and there is that danged Geneva Convention.

Listen, we got a quagmire up yonder and I

just want you to load some of these skulls on

an ox=cart and make 'em lead the next

convoy. Carry on.

[the late Slim Pickens departs the scene]

Shortly, the Interrogator enters a sandy tent

and comes face to face with a local soldier of

the Insurgency...an urbanite Arabic resembler

of the late Cleavon Little.

Major: What have we here? Near as i can

tell, you is the only Combitant 'round these parts

that carries a Wallet...[quotes a License which

reads:] Bart...Habib, al, al~booba...I cain't read

this! Y'all got too many names! I'll jest call you

Habib for now...

Habib: Thanks ya suh! Wouldya like to play a

nice game of Chess?

Major: Homey don't play dat~why don't you just

explain all them cards in that Wallet?

Habib: [placing cards on a makeshift table]

Well, suh, dis here is my foreign fighter card

endorsed and validated in eight countries...

And dat one is my terrorist membership card

from Hamas or Hezbollah, jes the kind of thing

we all get on our tenth birthday---but they don't

wanna hear back from me until I makes a tape

or something...

Major: [glancing at the card] There ain't no

return address on this card!

Habib: Like i just said~return letters to the

Home office in case of self=immolation...

Major: This looks important~a plastic card

from the jerknoid we done caught in a spider

hole a few months back...I could shoot you for

having this on spec!

Habib: Mercy, no---that's be just a Saddam

Loyalty oath, and Massah, she ain't been

notarearised since 1999; Ossifer, Habib do

promise that iffen You hadn't frocefully invaded

this here Dicktatorship, I swear I was gonna

throw dat one away.

Major: And what is this?! [crumpled paper]

Habib: Naturally, that's my Application for the

Florida flight school---I missed Everything but

Date of Birth.

Major: Allright, buddy, I guess I can just put you

on the Oxcart to our next objective...without this

Wallet. Fall out, butthead.

[the Major & Habib approach the doomed

transport to the next objective]

Habib: Excuse me, boss, but i believe the

Colonel wanted only Insurgents on this trip;

Tell a family secret *whispers*...my great

grandmother was Jewish.

Major: GIT on that oxcart!!

*

[readers may correct the entire text]

It was a globo=political ponderance of

current Circumstance...And more=over

it might not be that funny.

~satiricalslac~