NelsonGuirado.com has an interesting post here, an ideal speech from President Bush. Well, here's what Dinosaur Cowboy is hoping for:
Friends, Romans, countrymen. Lend me your ears. We come to bury Saddam, not to praise him. And yet, at this juncture -- my father, George H.W. Bush, avenged and my nation safe from WMDs (pronounced "wumds," starting a new meme) -- I must share my personal sadness. Saddam and I were not simply enemies, members of the same worldwide ruling elite. We shared passions (oil, for one) and beliefs, hobbies (war) and tastes (coke). And we shared something else, something powerful enough to move mountains, yet too personal to be revealed. America, we shared love.
Saddam and I were lovers.
We met in the summer of 1968, a dark time. With the passion of the '60s fading, America was just beginning to taste the hopeful politics of Ronald Reagan on its supple national lips (the California coast). I was a young pilot, cocky and brash, like that Tom Cruise fella in Top Gun. Just like that Tom Cruise fella. Stationed in Texas, I ingested any drug or bodily fluid that would help me forget my dangerous duties in the Air National Guard. Saddam had escaped prison only a year earlier, and had just aided a Baathist coups in Iraq. He needed to blow off some steam.
So he came to Houston. And it was there, in the picnic area behind a McDonald's on the outskirts of the city, that we met. He was clean-shaven then, smooth. I had longer hair, a healthier skin tone. We were young and reckless. It was love at first sight, America. I saw him guzzling Budweiser from a paper bag, chewing on a Big Mac alone. His Iraqi friends had left him high and dry, choosing the BJs of cheap Texan whores over a midnight snack and the company of pals. So I went over to him and placed my big, pilot's palm on his shoulder. We were both electrified, and we copulated behind a dumpster, among discarded Sausage McMuffins.
That week was the longest time we ever spent alone. The sex was miraculous; the kissing better. It meant more, because it was clean, and so was our love. But Saddam yearned for some Kurd-slaughterin', and my National Guard lieutenant had nearly tracked me down. We parted.
Over the years, we corresponded. We followed each other's careers. Sometimes we could spend a night together, if we visited the same city. But as our profiles rose, as he ascended to the Iraqi presidency and I destroyed company after company, security details prevented intimacy. Saddam grew cold, jealous of Laura. When my father became president, Saddam saw his opportunity.
He invaded Kuwait, knowing full well that it would bring war upon his country. He did it out of anger, but it was fueled by his passionate love for me. I will always respect that. He lost, but Daddy was magnanimous. Saddam stayed in power.
Throughout the 90s, he built elaborate love-nests, underground tunnel systems stocked with zoos and parks and teddy bears and really comfy blankets. These were for me. But I was too proud, too cocky, still so brash. And I had a family. So I supported the rumor that they were facilities built to manufacture WMDs (again, "wumds").
Then I became president. Fearful that he might reveal our sordid past, I used the attacks of Sept. 11 as a pretense to eliminate his regime.
In his last days, Saddam grew desperate. He Americanized his style, growing a trendy salt-and-pepper beard that he knew I would like. But I could not be swayed, not with facial hair or money; love-nests or elaborately produced, personalized Iraqi musical pornos.
Now Saddam is dead. And I am alone.
America, I have learned what it means to have love, then lose it. I am in mourning, and I do not believe I can carry on in my capacity as your President. Forgive me.
May God bless us all.
We can wish, right?