Hussein's Escaped Mistress Useless to CIA

shockingly obese woman who claims to have been Saddam Hussein's mistress escaped from Iraq late last year, meeting surprisingly little resistance in a flight from bondage that International aid workers are calling "A Big Fat Miracle."

Lamoula Pamsolos says she was Saddam's mistress off and on for 30 years, and twice on Sundays. After escaping Iraq in a daring daylight bike ride over a year ago, she has learned to live in fear of anonymous death should Saddam's hit men ever find her. Assuming he has noticed that she's gone and didn't actually buy her the bike himself. Out of fear for her own life, she has disguised herself under a veil of disgusting, corpulent backfat.

According to Lamoula, she was a key component to Saddam's "collection" of women, which also included a ballerina, a basketball star and a black belt in judo. When asked if her part was the big fat cow or the whiny emotional cripple, she only responded with a cold stare. Saddam also collected women with missing appendages, women with extra appendages, and women who could do that dancing trick with a pair of forks and a couple of baked potatoes.

Pausing to either belch or swear in Iraqi (translators are divided), Lamoula explains that she was Saddam's favorite mistress, a claim supported by the faded tee shirt she wears, showing a naked woman handcuffed to a bed under a logo that reads "SADDAM'S FAVORITE MISTRESS".

Growing up, Lamoula originally thought of bondage as "fun" and thought herself lucky to only have to work twenty seconds out of the day. However, as she grew older and became gradually less enamored with Saddam's growing thatch of offensive back hair, Lamoula came to realize that she would never be able to leave him. Even if she wanted to, the door to her room locked from the outside. And though her window did open, it was a perilous one-story drop to the tall stacks of blankets that were stored on the ground below. Thanks to her acutely weak ankles and fear of modest heights, Lamoula's prison was complete.

Pamsolos later discovered that her door didn't lock at all, but rather stuck a little bit unless you jimmied the handle. And so, after 32 years of servitude, she stepped out into a hallway she had never seen and looked upon the world with the eyes of a free woman who didn't know how to do anything.

When asked to describe Hussein, Lamoula paints the picture of a big brown blob with seven legs. When asked to describe Hussein using only words, Pamsolos tells of a demanding tyrant with a weak spot for children's songs.

"Everybody do what Saddam say. He no have to ask nobody no two times. Saddam say 'Pull my finger.' I no want to pull finger. But, I afraid of Saddam. I pull finger. Yes, Saddam mean. But Saddam love Raffi. Saddam sing Raffi all times. All times, never stop never. People want to say Saddam to stop singing Raffi, but they no say so to Saddam. So Saddam still sing Raffi all times."

Lamoula describes Saddam as an up-tempo dictator who was always quick for a smile, except for a period in early 1991 when he seemed "bummered" about something, possibly something he saw on the news. Pamsolos isn't sure, it was a long time ago.

Western Intelligence sources back Pamsolos' claims, but have not yet been able to extract any tactically useful information from her memories of the 32 years she spent in close quarters with the Iraqi dictator.

"So far we know he's left-handed, probably, he's big into Elton John and he likes to have sex with the lights on, which personally is more info than I needed," CIA spokesperson George Hudson explains. "At this point it's premature to call the discovery of Ms. Pamsolos a strategic goldmine, but we're still digging. Just the other day she remembered that his favorite show is Malcolm in the Middle, so information on hidden nuclear weapons may be right around the corner."

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I've had more than my share of ups and downs in my twenty-four years on this planet. After the life I've led, I'm sure you can imagine how happy I was to get a regular gig writing for a well-known respected news source. Then those dildos at Entertainment Weekly bounced my ass back into the street. My luck always turns its nose down, given enough time. But you know the old saying, every time God farts he opens a window, and things are steadying for me again as the folks at the commune have brought me aboard to publish my column Child Star.

For anyone who doesn't know me, I'll spend this column on the long version of the introduction.

The name, for those of you who can't read bold print, is Clarissa Coleman, and as I mentioned, this column is called Child Star. I plan it to be about the perils of being raised "in the business" as those of us in the business describe it—shit, how you like that? I used the phrase while describing what it means. But picking up where I left off, this column will cover everything from my rise as a child star (see column title) to my plummet to where I'm at now. And if there's any justice, it will also chronicle current happenings as I again rise to some middling degree of sanity or something. Warzy, eh?

I may not look immediately familiar, but be assured, at one time my little dimpled face was like a machine that printed its own money in Hollywood. I first gained national attention as the little girl in the Germanhäus baked potato commercials. Does "I gots butter on my tummy!" ring any bells? I thought so.

From there, of course, I went on to play baby Alfie on everybody's favorite soap opera of 1983, Search For An Exit. They only gave me one line a week to start, but soon I had more lines than that one disagreeable kid played by three triplets. The whole soap thing was never too serious, just a springboard to other things. Just as planned, it helped me get a sweet sitcom deal when I became the starring kid on Who's Your Daddy? with beloved actor Brad Van Danner. As you might guess, it was the gravy train from then on. Until it wasn't, which is where I'm at now and why I'm writing this column to make ends meet.

Well, eventually, even the biggest hit show can only run so long. We were canceled two years later, a year and a half if you subtract the long hiatus while the network was trying to decide to bring back the show or not. "Washed up at 9," the headlines all read about me. Or at least that's what my mom said, I wasn't literate at the time and couldn't read the headlines.

Naturally I descended into depression, booze, and drugs, though never all at the same time. All the tabloids you read about me? Some true. Some not. Most true. Some not. I'm sure I'll get the chance to explain everything through the span of this column, assuming of course the folks at the commune aren't as cancel-happy as some dildos at ABC.

I want to say, too, that I'll be dedicating this column to someone special in my life. Someone who's worked harder than anyone I know, struggled uphill through countless battles and always comes back for some reason I'll never guess. Of course I'm talking about me. My column, for me, I damn well deserve it at this point.

Thanks for reading and piss off if you didn't.

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Dear commune:

I feel a little dumb even asking this, but since the Sept. 11th terrorist attacks I've been plagued in my mind with the same question: Why can't the U.S.A. find Osama bin Laden? He is only one man and Afghanistan is a country smaller than the state of Texas. It seems like if we were serious about it, we could do it.

Don Hoffman,
Winston-Salem, Massachusetts


Dear Don:

We have turned your question over to commune Research Editor Griswald Dreck:

"Don, of course Osama bin Laden is only one man; unfortunately, this one man is a master of black magic and is able to walk through shadows like portals to other dimensions. One minute Osama Loddy-Dotty can be in some Quaker plantation milking butter, then the next he is back in Afghanistan sewing outfits for his 7-year-old soldiers. And in another split second he can walk through another shadow and be under your bed, planting a bomb or whatever suits him. And let us not forget the magical amulet he has that turns him into a cardboard cutout. One minute our military is coming in and the next they find that who they thought was Osama bin Laden in the flesh is actually a celebrity cutout for people who want to get their picture taken with him or for displays in book stores when his autobiography comes out—or so they thought!"

Thanks for your question.

the commune

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Dear commune:

Last night I saw your editor, Red Bagel, on the Conan O'Brien show and he was full of more alcohol than Dean Martin's piss. He kept calling Conan "Carmine" and demanding that the band play "She Drives Me Crazy" by the Fine Young Cannibals. I was deeply ashamed to be a commune reader, and then I saw the Conan O'Brien show and everything was alright again.

But beyond that, I was intrigued by some of the specific drunken ramblings of Bagel to the NBC talk show host. He kept mentioning the "other angle" of the Kennedy assassination, alluding to, I suspect, some additional footage of the assassination of John F. Kennedy other than the Zapruder film that has not been released to the public. May I please know more of this?

Emil Zender,
D'Artagnan, Washington


Dear Emil:

Red was, in fact, referring to the "other angle" of the assassination of John F. Kennedy, Jr., though the mistake is understandable since the junior Kennedy is widely believed to have died in a plane crash owing to difficulty with the weather. According to Red, the truth would open a vast conspiracy so dark and terrifying that Americans everywhere would collectively vomit upon hearing it.

Red is the leader in an effort to bring the truth behind Kennedy's alleged assassination to public attention, asserting that there is footage out there, taped by the same guy who caught the Rodney King beating on camera, an ex-C.I.A. man known as "Super Fudge" in innermost circles. This footage captures an angle at which you can clearly see government-trained gremlins having sexual congress with the right side of the plane, and Kennedy, though a skilled pilot, was unable to save the plane from crashing into the sea. Though why Red calls this footage the "other angle" is anyone's guess, since no footage of the Kennedy plane crash is available to our knowledge.

The details and reasons why are known, Red assures us, but he says no one accuses Shirley Temple Black and Blue Oyster Cult of pre-meditated murder without ample proof, so he is reluctant to reveal any information until the much-sought "other angle" footage is in his grubby little hands first.

Thanks for asking, Emil.

the commune

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Dear commune:

I like what you're doing with your little commune thing here. Very nifty. I've tried investing in stock for the commune, but apparently you can't buy it in regular markets. I was wondering, does the commune have a mission statement? Are there any rules for commune reports, or guidelines to follow?

DeWayne Juan
New York City, New York


Dear DeWayne:

You cannot purchase commune stock anywhere, we are not a corporation up for sale to the highest bidder. You can, however, get free commune stock by collecting Rolly Cigarettes coupons and sending them in, though most people opt for the reversible hunting hat.

We at the commune have a mission statement like anyone intent on delivering quality service to the customer. However, the mission statement has changed several times over the years since the staff usually cannot agree on any one statement. Our first mission statement was "Put out or get out." After that we switched to, "You don't have to be crazy to work here, but cocoa humping donkey." A few folks laughed at that but others didn't care for it, so we started going with, "Good to the last goddamn drop," and of course that offended the coffee people and Christians. We replaced our mission statement with some indecipherable clucking noises for a while, and that was doing fine, but we eventually decided to change it again.

This is our most recent mission statement, and it hangs proudly on the door of our New York offices: "I don't see any bright ideas coming from you, Mr. Bigshot with the fat mouth and all."

And every day all of the commune reporters, columnists, sponsors, and staff nurses do their damndest to make that statement true. Thanks for writing, DeWayne.

the commune

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Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for nobody but the commune, and the commune don't need nobody neither, so you can just go back to living with your mom and leave the commune to it's stacks of Maxims and Guns & Ammo, the commune will be fine. You'll see.

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