Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

By now, the U.S. intelligence is discovering Saddam's ruse of paying one of his doubles a hefty sum to go to lunch with a double of his son Uday in an ill-fated restaurant in the posh Mansour area of Baghdad.

The mystery continues, where is Saddam? And can he really be that clever, or is his mustache the brains in the operation?

The good money right now is on him having gotten out of Dodge, as some military pundits are fond of saying, and gone to Syria. I propose another possibility.

Just before the conflict started, online betting pools were taking good money on different possibilities for outcomes. Among these outcomes were the various fates of Saddam Hussein. The highest odds, and therefore the biggest payoff, was that he would go on tour with Elton John as a member of the new Backstreet Boys.

If I were Saddam, I would have convinced a trusted friend, say Jacques Chirac, to place a bet for me with the last remnants of a looted Iraqi treasury, on this distant possibility. Then all he'd have to do was convince the Backstreet Boys to take him on!

These sensitive negotiations are going on now in a back room somewhere in Latakia.

Backstreet Boy 1:  What's in it for us, dude?

Saddam:  I don't kill... Um, you'll be on the front page again! You might even sell an album.

Backstreet Boy2:  You're a little older than our target audience, dude.

Saddam:  Hey, I'll work out. Besides, chicks dig the mustache.

Backstreet Boy 3:  Maybe they were just drunk with your power, dude.

Saddam:  No, that was probably the Sodium Pentothal.

Backstreet Boy 4:  Dude! That's wrong.

Saddam:  Uh... uh... I was joking.

Backstreet Boy 5:  Can you dance, dude? Can you do this? <does an extravagant move that involves shaking his hips, wiggling his leg around and then doing more stuff with the hips>

Saddam:  I can do a great robot. <does a half-way decent robot>

Backstreet Boy 1:  That's good, dude, but I don't think it fits in with our usual style. <the BBs spontaneously do a synchronized dance mostly involving hip movements>

Saddam: Come on, guys. I'll practice! I'll do anything!

Backstreet Boy 3:  Well, dude, usually our manager handles this sort of thing. Would you be willing to audition for him?

Saddam: Kill him! <points at BB3; looks around and realizes there are no henchmen around to carry out his wishes> Yeah, yeah. Whatever.

Manager:  <shuffles out, adjusting his gold chains; he gags and coughs, some money falls out of his mouth> Whew! So, you've got a proposition for my boys?

Saddam: <nods reluctantly> Yeah.

Manager:  It doesn' t involve tying them up and beating them, does it? <laughs heartily; BBs shift nervously on their feet> <in a stage whisper to Saddam alone> Because if it would sell albums...

Saddam: No, no, no. I was actually suggesting, sir, that I become a member of the ensemble... sir.

Manager: <looks Saddam up and down> Well..... no. You just don't got it, dude.

Saddam: <puts his arm around the manager and pulls him aside; the manager spends the entire line looking horrified at Saddam's arm before removing it as one would remove a Lyme Disease infected tick from your dog> I have a business proposition for you. Let me join the group, and I'll give you two million kazoulas up front and 80 percent of my earnings.

Manager: That's the deal I've got with all my boys! Keep talking.

Saddam: Hey, I'm a hot commodity right now. Everybody wants a piece of me. Besides, I can take this group to a whole new level. Sure, they can dance, but what about their leadership skills? <calls out to the BBs, who have been practicing dance moves the entire time, anxious to upstage their fellow performers> Raise your hands if you've ever beaten a confession out of anyone. <no hands are raised> OK, if you've ever invaded Kuwait. <no hands are raised> If you've ever gassed anyone. <BB2 raises his hand; BB1 smacks him>

Backstreet Boy 1:  Dude, he means poison gas. <BB2 puts his hand down>

Saddam: You sign me up, and we'll make a whole new name for this group. <lights dim and spotlight shines on Saddam and manager> We'll make a splash, we'll top the charts. We'll show the world that we've got heart. We'll rule the game, we'll capture fame. We've got it going on; we'll be Backstreet Saddam!

<lights come up and the Backstreet Boys launch into synchronized dancing behind Saddam, who does an awkward robot as they launch into a song, "Saddam's Got it Going On," to the bemusement of the manager, who claps enthusiastically>

Saddam's Got it Going On
By Backstreet Saddam

(entire group)
Everybody groove to the music
Everybody jam
Ahhh

We've been hiding out so long
Just can't beat back the CIA
Creepin' up on us now
It's time to be MIA
If you really wanna see
What Saddam can do
Send that crazy wildin' MOAB, baby!
Sing it

Chorus
Jam cuz Saddam's got it
Come now everybody
He's hiding those weapons for years
Jam cuz Saddam's got it
Come now everybody
He's hiding those weapons for years
He's hiding those weapons for years
He's hiding those weapons for years

(Saddam solo)
Well I'm creepin' up on your left
Straight up funky when I get with you
I get ruthless when I get wet
Keep the party packed in my corner
Tough like to keep the crowd hype
Get up on this just to get right
What you want is what you're gonna get
Saddam's got the special effects, Uh!

If you really wanna see
What we can do for you
Send the crazy wildin' Marines!
If you really wanna see
What we can do for you
Send the crazy wildin' 7th Cav!

Chorus

We've been waiting so long
Just can't hold the coalition no more
(Just can't hold it back no more)
Creepin' up and down
It's time for me to let it go
Saddam solo: (Time for me to let it GO!!!)

Everybody groove to the music
Everybody jam
(Saddam does the robot)

Chorus
Saddam's got it goin' on

Moral:
I have way too much free time.

Copyright 2003 by Alyce Wilson

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