Saddam Hussein Sued for Mental Anguish

pon his return to Iraq's interim "sovereign" government, former dictator and one-time Iraqi big man Saddam Hussein was hit with a multimillion dollar lawsuit for damages, including punitive, and citing "mental anguish." The group, describing itself as "Now-Free Iraqis Completely Happy with American Help," had the dictator served in his new prison cell in Baghdad.

Lawyer for the plaintiffs Abazzi al-Shidir made the case to American newspapers.

"Finally, the Iraqi people are hitting back at the one who caused them so much grief and misery. If Saddam Hussein hadn't been hiding weapons of mass destruction—and we're all pretty sure they're around here somewhere—the U.S. never would have had to liberate us. Not to mention all the years of terrorism he committed upon his own people—which is us—and the mental anguish he inflicted. He'll be found guilty of war crimes, no doubt. But we want him to suffer financially as well. And with our new legal system, he will."

Al-Shidir could not comment on the demographics of those who filed the class-action suit, but assured the media they came from all walks of Iraqi life and represented the majority of the country. If the suit rewards the plaintiffs, al-Shidir confirmed they would use the money to rebuild Iraq's economy and restore order to the nation, and would likely draw up a contract for American companies to bid upon.

It was hard news for Saddam Hussein, who spent much of last week enduring the public handover to the new government of his former country. Hussein denounced all threats to bring him to justice in public trial.

"Ah, fuck you all, you hopeless puppets," grumbled Hussein, as a translator struggled to properly interpret the swear words. "You and the camels you road in on. You all didn't say shit when I was running the show. I piss on your justice. Ally McBeal had a less fictional courtroom. Whatever you do, don't charge me with possessing weapons of mass destruction—I would hate to see everyone strain themselves hauling in that much imaginary evidence. And in conclusion, suck me."

A garish gesture was made to the public, who all applauded, thinking it was something else.

The return of Saddam Hussein was sometimes overshadowed by the "surprise" handing over of the hot potato country from U.S. coalition forces, who are still there as resident muscle, to the interim government led by temporary Prime Minister Iyad Allawi, who took over following the death of the most recent in a series of unsuccessful Prime Ministers, who were either killed in terror attacks, horrific missile-related accidents, suicides, or killed by their own dissatisfied people.

"Finally, Iraq is free," declared Allawi, raising his hands in the air and shaking them like a WWE wrestler.

Allawi then instituted martial law, for the protection of the city, and demanded the assets of suspected terrorists be frozen while they were investigated. The people were rushed off the streets by armed police since the curfew was quickly approaching, while the citizens said something in Iraqi, probably about how nice it was Saddam Hussein was finally out of power.

ust days before the scheduled transfer of power to Iraqi officials, the U.S. occupation suffered another major blow when radical Shiite head cleric and suspected U.S. puppet Boner Von Poppel was killed during a community uprising in Baghdad. The elderly fig farmers who stoned Von Poppel to death with unripe figs believed the Shiite religious leader has been installed by the United States to manipulate the local population and retain U.S. control of the region beyond the date of Iraqi sovereignty. While the U.S. denies claims that Von Poppel had been inserted into Iraq by the CIA to advance U.S. interests, local residents never completely accepted the cleric as one of their own, due in part to his B-boy style of dress and lack of facility with the Iraqi language.

When confronted with these suspicions Saturday in Baghdad, Von Poppel confused the gathered crowd and sealed his fate.

"Yo yo yo, lissen up, cuz I got somethin to say. This be straight from the heart, y'all," Von Poppel told the crowd, pressing 'play' on a nearby boombox for accompaniment before launching into a bizarre marionette dance. "I got no strings, to hold me down, to make me fret, to make me frown! I've got no strings, so I have fun, I'm not tied up to anyone! I got no strings, so you can see, there are no strings on me!"

Shortly after the completion of the song and dance number, Von Poppel was pummeled to death with figs.

While U.S. officials expressed shock at the violence of the uprising, many Iraqis were more surprised Von Poppel had lived as long as he did.

"I almost killed him last week," admitted Baghdad shopkeeper Hashim Ababneh. "There was just something not right about that boy."

Other locals expressed similar sentiments, pointing out that it was unusual for Shiite religious leaders to be completely ignorant as to the particulars of Islam, or to dress like an extra in a Jay-Z video.

"Yo, Iraqis, we gots to increase the peace and respect the police, you know what I'm sayin'?" Von Poppel was quoted as sayin' during a sermon last fall. "The U.S. is the best so don't mess with the rest, y'all."

Experts believe Von Poppel's complete lack of understanding of Iraqi culture or the Muslim religion may have sealed his fate. Earlier this year the cleric had created a stir by appearing on the holy day of Mawlid al-Nabi eating a pulled pork sandwich and talking with his mouth full. When the gathered crowd of Iraqis drew Von Poppel's attention to this grievous misstep in Muslim etiquette, the cleric answered "Yo yo yo, you gotta check yourself before you wreck yourself, Iraqis. We gotta increase the peace, Cochise. You know what I'm sayin'?"

In spite of widespread skepticism among Iraqi citizens, the U.S. has steadfastly denied any attempts to manipulate Muslim religious life, and was happy to announce the rise of Iraqi's newest anti-U.S. radical Shiite cleric Nihad al-Pacino over the weekend.

Please, George, watch that disgusting mouth of yours. Nobody cares if it's the truth, they don't want to hear it anyway. The truth is not always beautiful, George, and in this case, it's positively sickening.

Do you really think anybody wants to hear about your medical history, your sexual proclivities, or a combination of either? No, George. Giving you the simplest, quickest answer: No, they don't. That sound you hear isn't the whisper of a freshly-created buzz, or catty town gossip. It's dry-heaving, and you've caused it, George.

Let's assume for one second you even had a reasonable excuse to mention you've recently begun taking that Cialis drug—and that's a big enough if, George. Bypassing that, was the look of disgust some clear signal you should proceed with the story, adding even more detail and description when possible? I think not. Did the way my face flushed red and the gasp that came out of my mouth, did these things beg for elaboration on your fascinating story about the dick pills? Because I personally fail to see the encouragement.

I was watching the crowd reaction, perhaps better than you were, and I didn't see anyone asking to hear about your erectile dysfunction, either with words, facial expressions, or body language. It's possible, I suppose, given that my eyesight is not what it used to be, some schmuck far in the back of the crowded room wore a T-shirt asking for you to tell us more about your floppy phallus, but we've had discussions before about you following the advice of a T-shirt before, so that certainly can't be it.

Maybe you assumed, incorrectly, people would be fascinated with the articulate description of your medical exam. Nope, George, a resounding nope. The image forced upon our minds of a doctor with his hands squeezing your furry scrotum is only slightly more appetizing that the unwelcome imagined sight of you with your pants around your ankles, your withered drumstick cranking up for action.

And if it needs saying, thank you so much for dragging me into your embarrassing reality. The fact we showed up together to the soiree, even forgetting our marriage of seemingly endless years, automatically leads people to assume you would be using that deadly medicated erection on yours truly. Did I warrant your hate so much as to make people think we have sex together? Not even on our best day together, George, not with a belly full of booze and a borrowed dick. But I hardly had time to explain that, did I? Agnes was too busy asking us to leave for me to assure her you and I have never even been naked in the same room together. And if only I could have gone a few more years, I'm sure death would have claimed me and I would have avoided the ugly prospect of having to imagine you unclothed. I want to check with your mother, bless her piteous soul, and make sure you actually were born naked. Even God would not be so cruel as to do that to a woman—perhaps you emerged from the woman with a seersucker suit made of placenta. It's the one thought that gives me hope for a heaven.

Everyone at the party lived in a happier world before you arrived. The mere notion that something resembling a penis lives in your pants is more than anyone should have to live with. I can never go back to the childlike innocence I once held, and even saying the word "erection" should bring me post-traumatic flashbacks for the rest of my life. A life, by the by, which will be dedicated to making you one hundred percent miserable from now on, of course. The game starts here, you dangling dandy.

º Last Column: I'm Great
º more columns