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Saturday 5th April

Dined with the Phresh Prince of Baghdad in his underground bunker with my former camp counselor, "Rusty," now a human shield who is tediously waiting for his exit visa to be approved. Out came the delectable spread for which this leader is justly feared: Tuna Helper dry-rubbed on Slim Jims just prior to microwaving, pickled Kurd's feet, and McTavish's whisky. "No rules. Just right," Rusty whispered as he pretended to pick up a dropped napkin. The dictator sat at table with his right arm extended as though he were a night manager of a Motel 6 in Dubai, and smiled stupidly throughout the meal, saying nothing. At the end of the evening, feeling slapped from the cheap malt, I told Hussein that I thought he was his own double. He laughed uproariously and had someone killed. I apologized for my mistake and vomited noiselessly into my gas mask. We watched a *Cowboy Bebop* DVD together and Iraq's president averred that all Iraqi women have anime-quality bosoms, an assertion that I personally found intriguing, and made a mental note to verify this statement scientifically at a later date. Later, at the coat-check I hurriedly slipped on my burqa and trotted home in time to catch Aaron Brown, "The Lazy Librarian," on CNN. Slept like a decal on a cruise missile. Dreamt of the shrieking double-time Slim Jim demon.

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