After a Long, Post Prison Sabbatical, I'm Back

Well, I’m back! 

It’s taken me a few months, but I think I’ve finally washed the prison stink off of me.  Time to put it all behind me and get back up on that My Pretty Pony and trot into the future.

I felt great, until Julio came storming in this morning.  He was all raging at me.  Thinks I used up all his special conditioner.  I did, of course, but he had no cause to accuse me.  No evidence whatsoever.

He was all like: Did you use up all my conditioner on your back hair?

And I was all: No.  I bet it was Ramon.

And he was all like: It wasn’t Ramon.  Ramon is bald, and I mean, all over.  You should know that.

And I was like: Well, how would I know that?  I’ve never seen Ramon without that black leather hood and matching chaps.  You should know that.

And he was all like: I’ll tell you what I do know.  That conditioner cost me $150/tube.  Next time, ask first.

And I was all: Don’t look at me, girlfriend.  It wasn’t me.

And he was like: And it was mostly full.  How could you have possibly used the whole thing?

And I was like: Well, I didn’t realize it was conditioner.  I mean…

And he was like: Busted, darling.   You owe me.

But anyway, darlings, I need to earn some scratch, and I mean a lot of it, so I can somehow get my butt fixed.  So I'm working up a pilot for the E network that I think should be able to make me the millions I may need.  The prison guards were sadists and they set all the TVs to the Cartoon Network and then busted the remotes, so I've become well versed with the animated genres.  Saw that catdog character and it set my mind a twirlin'.  Anyone remember the cat dog?

Of course you do.  Only, it's not quite edgy enough for today's youngsters.  So, let me introduce you to my new and soon to be beloved character: Skank Ho.  Oh, what hijinx will the two of them cook up, that is when they aren't cooking meth and dodging their pimp. 

Bin Laden's Diary, the Last (And there was much rejoicing)

May 1, 2011

Dear Diary,

My life sucks.  I haven’t been able to leave my compound for years now, and I’m sick of all my videos.   The Arabic satellite network so isn’t da bomb.  They refuse to show any Friends re-runs without digitally rendered burkas on all the chicas, but I’ve got all the episodes of Omar and his Magic Jew-Butting Goat I can stand.  The Pakistani ISP even started blocking Netflix and Hulu, so now I’ll never catch up on Glee.  Will that Puckerman and Rachel ever get brutally murdered?  Will Kurt ever be hanged?  Will Sue finally become a martyr for her cause?  I may never know. 

And the fight isn’t going so well either.  We ran out of ammonium nitrate months ago…and illegal fireworks.  We’ve had to resort to bombs made with Coke and Mentos.  Two of my European recruits were fatally wounded during bomb preparation, but the worst any infidels got was some stained clothing and mild bruising.  Allah u akbar?  Is it even worth it?

Hey, someone’s at the door.  Maybe my Samoas have arrived. No wait, despite the militant uniforms, those don't appear to be Girl Scouts.  It was about that time that I realized that they weren't Girl Scouts at all but a highly trained team of buff Navy SEALs with nightvision goggles. 

Lactose: Free at Last!



Thank you Tracy Morgan!  Your homophobic rant has released me.  I'm free at last! 

The prosecuting attorney and judge decided to completely drop the case.  Tracy Morgan's rant has done me some good after all.  It has proven to highlight at just the right time that homos are at the top of the PC victimhood pecking order, honeys.  It doesn't matter if Tracy Morgan is a black liberal, he still loses to the gay man.  We're the tops, baby doll.  To beat me, it would take at least two disabled black women and an illegal Cuban.

The judge and attorney, being lillywhite and male, realized they could never convict me and keep their careers unsullied, so the case has been summarily dismissed.  If my butt worked, I'd dance a jig.  Oprah bless America!

Bin Laden's Diary Part 11

February 28, 2006

Dear Diary,

Assad’s really turning into a wimp lately.  He’s getting a little too soft regarding our new, younger martyrs.  He’s insisting that I start a ‘Make a Wish’ type program for them or he won’t send me any more Syrian youngsters.  Apparently, the call of the virgins isn’t enough for the prepubescents.  They all want to go to Disneyworld or build a snowman in the desert or be an extra on Glee (whatever that is), or meet Shaq (whoever that is).  The name sounds muslim enough, so I guess that would be alright, if it weren’t so ruddy expensive.  C.A.R.E. hasn’t exactly been coming through with gobs of dough lately.  I mean, to save money I’ve had to start refilling my inkjet cartridges myself with purple ink we stole from the Iraqi voting stations.  It turns out lavender against my standard white printer paper.  That’s right, because I can’t afford ink, all those “I’m proud of your little martry” letters now go out in fear-inducing lavender.  Might as well print them on pink paper, draw little hearts over all of the i’s and put a little checkbox at the bottom: Do you like me, yes or no? 

And Assad wants me to devote funds to fulfilling the dying wishes of his little martyrs-to-be.  Isn’t eternal bliss in paradise reward enough?  I mean, Mohammed H. Prophet, ammonium nitrate doesn’t grow on trees.  Maybe he’ll settle for something on a little less grand scale.  Instead of ‘Make a Wish,’ how about ‘What’s Something You Wouldn’t Mind Doing So Much?’  Like maybe a camel ride or some nice falafel? 

March 1, 2006

Dear Diary,

Assad’s such a buffoon.  Once again, my problems are solved with Photoshop.  Oh yes, Assad.  All of your little martyrs got their wishes.  Digital photos never lie.  I can’t believe they let that pencil-neck run a country.

Bin Laden's Diary Part 10

June 14, 2007

Dear Diary,

I really need to set up a system that ensures that the European recruits are martyred first.  EIEO (Eurpeans In, Europeans, Out).  They’re absolutely retardtastic.  European indoctrination has ruined them, and it’s driving me crazy.  I swear they’re all like exploded, inside-out, martyred watermelons.  Blood-red on the outside and green in the middle.  Francois Mohammed has been trying to get a meeting with me for weeks, but I’ve been blowing the retard off.  So he slips an envelope under my door.  He titled it his Green Jihad Manifesto: Establishing the Environmentally Conscious Caliphate. 

Oh, Allah give me strength!  Droned on and on about how important it was to save and recycle all of our shell casings.  And we need to stop using toxic lead bullets and switch to environmentally friendly aluminum or natural rubber slugs.  Apparently there is a wide assortment of completely organic explosives and poisons and chemical weapons that are ‘safe’ and ‘natural’ and made entirely from wholesome, organic materials.  Apparently it is also imperative that we ensure we don’t use any biological weapons that contain any animal by-products or that were tested on animals.  No animals should be harmed during the making of this jihad. 

His conclusion: “We can ensure the domination of Dar Al Islam and restore the Caliphate without damaging the environment.  Would Allah really want us to dominate a world when we seem intent on destroying that very world through our selfish, day-to-day decisions?”

Mohammed H. Prophet!  Must resist urge to stone!

June 15, 2007

Dear Diary,

Well, I think I finally made Francois happy.  I gave into his hectoring.  He has been thoroughly and completely recycled.  Into pit bull poop.  Completely organic pit bull poop.  Maybe we’ll harvest the nitrates and make him into a nice little organic car bomb just like he dreamed of.  Circle of life.

Bin Laden's Dairy Part 9

December 25, 2005

Dear Diary,

Got a Christmas present in the mail today from George Jr. and Little Dicky.  At first I felt kind of bad because I hadn't sent them anything.  But then I opened the box.  It was a spiral-cut, honey baked ham, a bottle of Scotch, the Gideon Bible with the 'Property of the DC Marriot' sticker still intact and a used copy of The Complete Infidel's Guide to Islam. I hate those two.  And they wonder why I took out their towers.  At least Bill just sent me porn and cigars.

Lactose Update

Sorry I've been remiss to provide updates of Lactose's status.  We've been too depressed.  They've had Lactose on suicide watch.  We still haven't been able to come to terms with this.  First Lactose loses his butt, and now this.  Oprah, why hast thou forsaken us?  You have left us all alone during this our time of great distress.  If you had died, we could have dealt with it, and maybe we could have used your butt as Lactose's new donor, but to just walk away and abandon us during the prime of your life?  Why? Why?  We heard that you were having a contest to select 100 fans to be buried with you in your grand tomb when you pass on, and that cheered us up a bit.  But then your press agent told us it was all a hoax.  Why?  Why? Oprah, why not let us spend the eternities with you?  We've destroyed the Carrie bobblehead.  We will have no one else beside you.  We beseech you.

But anyway, on with the update.  The donor butt that rejected Lactose has been removed.  His medical insurance coverage has been maxed out, so we can't even afford the Joy Behar model artificial butt to replace it.  I stuffed two bags worth of marshmallows in a flesh tone tarp and super-glued it in place, but its just not the same.  And it tends to take on a lot of water in the gen pop showers.  Makes it sag down nearly to the back of his knees.  Takes hours to dry out, and he never can get the shape right again.  No one even gives him a second glance in the showers.  I'm not sure he can live with this.  I'm not sure I can live with this.  He needs a better tuckus.  Donations would be appreciated.  They're tax deductible.

But anyway again, his trial date is coming up next week.  The government decided to try him as a citizen, so he won't be shipped off to Gitmo for now.  We'll see how it goes.  I'll keep you posted.