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Thursday, May 01, 2003

 

Secretary of I Love You Baghdad Dept.



Rummy's in the 'Dad. In case you're wondering, he's not conducting a victory tour.

He's on the Total Fucking Victory Tour.

I provided him with enough T-shirts for each of our troops still in harm's way--they won't stop an anarchist's bullet, but they just might remind him of the stomping their mustachioed, beret-clad dictator and many of the nicer-looking ancient buildings just got.

In fact, Rummy's got enough extras to clothe the street urchins crawling the newly-liberated boulevards, exploring the giddy, doe-legged limits of capitalism by selling dirty playing cards, bootleg Lisa Marie Presley CDs, and vouchers for all the Baghdad beauty queens who've figured out that soldiers sure do get lonely after a day sitting on top of an Abrams.

He called and assured me that the Total Fucking Victory Tour was going to be a respectful affair...shaking hands, kissing Iraqi babies, slipping the kids handfuls of fun-size Nestle Crunch bars when their parents aren't looking. He really loves the kids. There's going to be a Ferris wheel, a petting zoo, and three bounce castles in the lot where the Information Ministry used to be. Maybe even a guy whom everyone thinks is a mime, but in actuality was bleached and had his tongue yanked out by the fedayeen. The kids can't tell the difference -- they just like the bit where he pretends he's pushing against the walls of an invisible tiger cage.

It's not all going to be good times and rainbows for him, though. Rummy's also on the lookout for all those weapons of mass destruction that are MIA in the wake of said stomping. I've said it all along: he's gonna find them even if he has to smuggle anthrax in his GI Joe lunchbox and spent fuel rods in his anal cavity. Rummy's hardcore and he gets the job done.

He's taping it all for me, of course. He always sends me videos. I can't wait to see it. When he gets excited he tends to get salty with the language, so the video's going to be a tad too hot for TV. My favorite parts are when he cajoles a devout Muslim woman into showing him her delicate underthings, swearing up and down the little red light on the camera mean's that it's off.

Copies will be available on eBay shortly, and I swear, Rummy, I had nothing to do with it.



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This is the internet home of Mark Lisanti, a Los Angeles writer sometimes known as Bunsen. He is the founding editor of Defamer, a weblog about Hollywood, where he now serves in the nebulous capacity of "editor-at-large."
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