"Douche of Diamonds" Surrenders to U.S. Forces

ollowing the victory of Wednesday's arrest of Iraqi official and "eight of spades" Tariq Aziz, U.S. troops in Baghdad had another, less impressive surrender on Friday. The Iraqi government official was Abdul "Pinches" Parzi, the notorious "deuce of diamonds."

Parzi, a low-level micro-manager for the Hussein government, was well-known among U.S. officials as a fiercely-loyal Hussein supporter, and among Iraqi insiders as the country's biggest spazz. Though he commanded fear from those troops under him, and served the regime well, those in the know identified Parzi as a supreme dink excluded from Hussein social functions whenever possible and routinely shunned by upper echelon Iraqi officials.

Those knowledgeable of the Hussein regime credit Parzi with development of strong propaganda campaigns and re-organization of key Iraq military units. They also recognize that Parzi, socially, is a king-sized prick unsuitable for hanging out with on any pretense. Chiefly among these reasons are his inability to understand most jokes, his heavy and grating style of breathing, and his poor handling of alcohol.

Not only did his poor habits make him unpopular with his fellow Hussein loyalists, Parzi, nick-named "Pinches" for the irritating habit of sneaking up on friends and squeezing their love handles, also became a problem for the U.S. government early into Operation: Something-Something Iraq. Shortly before the invasion began, Parzi contacted U.S. officials to discuss the possibility of his surrender, exchanging insider information for amnesty, but U.S. officials were reluctant to accept his surrender at the time, worried it would make the prospect of surrender infinitely uncool to all other Iraqis.

When creating the deck of cards to identify and rank Iraqi government figures, military insiders were faced with the challenge of filling out a 52-card deck with a bunch of Iraq guys they barely knew. Everyone was hesitant to include Parzi at all, but when they began scraping the bottom of the barrel, Parzi was elected for the inauspicious final spot, unfavorably known amongst U.S. soldiers as the "douche of diamonds." A name that has apparently traveled fast and stuck even better than "Pinches."

Discussing the arrest of Parzi, who was apprehended alone and stripped to his underwear and a T-shirt, U.S. military spokespeople would only say that Parzi had been traveling toward Syria with a caravan of displaced Iraqi military officials when he was forced to flee into the desert upon eating more than his share of rations. Parzi made a brief statement as he was arrested by troops, but no one bothered to write it down.

In an afternoon news conference, the Bush administration was optimistic in regards to the recent arrests.

"Tariq Azis was a high-ranking member of the Baath party, and his capture is a victory for the ongoing campaign against remaining Iraqi regime members," said White House spokesperson Ari Fleischer.

Asked about the arrest of Abdul "Pinches" Parzi, Fleischer, nodded gruffly and replied, "Yeah. Yeah, I guess we got him, too. Any other questions?"

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How many ripples are there in Ted Kennedy's nipples?
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If you whistled for a taxi, and a Nazi came instead, what would you do?
a) Pull the ripcord on my weasel.
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d) Play Yahtzee with the Nazi, silly.

What's the fastest land mammal?
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d) A cheetah what ate some hot sauce.

What's the last thing he said before you pulled the trigger?
a) "Wait. The aliens told you what?"
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What's the last can you opened?
a) Lima beans from 1982. Thought they were refried beans from 2001.
b) Extra-large whup-ass.
c) Stall #47, Grand Central Station, NY. Unflushed.
d) Proctology school, the day before career change.

We'd like to thank you for your participation in this survey. Your answers will help us ascertain who will make the best protein paste when the robots take over and we become their food source. Have a nutritious day.

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This is dedicated to my wife, on the occasion of our three year anniversary. The time… where has it gone? Out of my soul and into you, through several orifices, that's where. And would I change one second of it? Not one second.

Nancy, you are the light in my bedroom early in the morning as I get out of bed for a drink of water, or perhaps to use the bathroom. You are my reason for getting out of bed in the morning, as you wake me up so I will not be late for work. You are my one, my only, my everything, even the things that you would not initially think you are. Like the dressing on my salad that adds flavor and zest to it, or the potato peeler that keeps me from having to eat skins.

When I first saw you all those years ago, when I was dating your friend, I knew we would one day be together. But I thought at the time we would be together in a sort of group thing, with your friend, my then-current girlfriend, and some person you were likewise dating. But fate twists and turns, wobbles and falls down, smashes your glass coffee table and sleeps with your sister. And you became mine, when I called you and asked you if you wanted to bring over my laundry from your friend's house for me.

But Nancy, that small errand became the first of many you would do for me. You would carry my heart on your back like it weighed nothing and bring it back to me, bringing with you hope and happiness and your beautiful smile. Though I'm sure my heart already was pretty heavy, it's as if you shrugged it off and said, "No, I can take it with me. Just throw it on top of the heart. Careful, don't squash it or nothing."

Nancy, you are the song in my heart. A song I never get sick of, like that "I get knocked down but I get up again" song that I at first liked and then got sick of hearing at every football game we went to. What would I do without you? It's a stupid question that you're dumb for asking, because I would not spend a day without you. I would find you anywhere, at any place—I would sail the seven seas and find you, except for the fact I do not have a boat. But it is fine because you are already here.

Where are we going, where will it all end? And how? These are questions I don't really care about.

Sometimes I picture us growing old together, a happy old couple like Hume Cronyn and Jessica Tandy, only you have not died. Sure, your looks are gone and I look more like my dad than I ever wanted to, but we are still together and happy. Though sometimes bored. And our house is full of our children and grandchildren, because you have pampered them all their lives and they refuse to move out and take care of themselves even though they are well old enough. We have had many arguments about this, our future selves, but they are never severe and the words we say we always take back.

This is our life together—yes, one life, as in we are one person. I, Chals, and you, Nancy, we're like Chancy. One person, one mind, two differing sets of genitalia and one large closet full of man and woman clothes. Our independent thought processes buried under the will of our new two-person collective. I refuse to let you go even if you would scream to be released, I would rather be dead. And you feel the same way for me.

So if you're reading this, Nancy, please come back. My friends have moved out of the garage and will not be back, I promise. I miss you. My one, my only, my everything.

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