The Merking of Osama bin Laden

Ol' Clementine Explains How he and a Team of Navy SEALs Killed Osama bin Laden

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NOTE: This is the third and final post in the series, THE MERKING OF OBL (though it may be back as an occasional feature). Read Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

Ol' Clementine

Eds. note: At 236-years-old, Ol’ Clementine is the oldest man in the world. He worked as a slave in most of the Confederate states and has continued the profession long after Emancipation. Occasionally, he shares his unique perspective on the pressing issues of the day and we present it for you, dear reader.

One thing most folks don’t know ‘bout me is that I been in the Navy since there was a Navy and I been a Navy SEAL since the SEALs been pups.  Yep, SEAL Team 6, as a matter of fact. Been proud to serve, for no pay of course. It remind me of back in them days when I used to fight against them Northern folk who kept meddlin’ with Southern affairs back during the War of Yankee Aggression.

I could tell you a rack of stories from my Navy SEAL days, but I figure you only interested in the time we went and got that Osama boy, so that’s the story I’m gon’ tell. Lots of ‘spiracy theories and misinformation and tales told by confused folks, but this is how it went down.

Well, we in that helicopter and we getting closer and closer to that bin Laden boy’s house and maybe I’m nervous or maybe it’s all that damn curry I be eating, but my stomach’s gone with the wind. I mean it’s real foul in that helicopter. First, when I pass gas, I keep pointing at them damn SEAL dogs with the titanium teeths, but it gets so loud I can’t even pretend it’s the dogs no more. I call out: “Hey, how long till we get to that boy’s house and do he have a bathroom?”

See, I’m not trying to shit in no hole in the ground or out in the sand like a cat. I figure that boy is rich, he probably got gold plated toilets and sinks better than my ol’ massa from back in 1845. I was with that man a year and he was rich and famous. This was down in Georgia before them Yankee boys burned it. We was supposed to shit out in a little outhouse down on the edge of the plantation, but ol’ massa’s facilities was special. The boy was so rich he had indoor plumbing. Now everybody got indoor plumbing, but back then only the richest of the rich white folks had it. I used to sneak up there and do my business. Leave a little unflushed negro poo in that bowl when I was in a hurry. I ain’t want to get caught. Them folks musta been ignorant cause they couldn’t tell the negro poo from the white poo. You shoulda seen the lady of the house yelling at poor lil’ James, that was her son, about leaving his mess all swirling and around and bobbing up and down without flushing.

It all went to shit, so to speak, when lil’ James got tired of being yelled at and did some ‘vestigating. This was on a day when I fried me some pigs feets that felt like they was kicking my stomach in. I was halfway through a nice little movement when they kicked down the door and dragged me from the bowl. That little fiasco got me sold down South. Lost the best job I ever had on account of my runny behind. And I deserved it. Who want to do their business after a negro? I get it.

But things done changed these days and of course white folks shit after negroes all the time now. I don’t ‘gree with it, but that’s how it is. So, anyway, we keep flying and it seem like a long ride. So I asks, “Where we going? Where this boy live, Detroit?”

I guess they ain’t want to give me answer ’cause one of them dudes said: “About as bad.”

“Ol’ Clementine ain’t no fool,” I say. “I know my gas smell ‘about as bad’ as it ever smell before. You ain’t gotta insult me. I want to know when and where we touching down. I got to go.”

Them SEAL boys get to ignoring me and I keep yelling until the some of them tell me to sit my stankin’ ass down and I think they rude. I ain’t nobody, but an ol’ Alabama slave, but I’m old enough to serve some of their daddies and daddies’ daddies. But I sit my ass down, still farting up a dust storm and them SEALs start trying to move away from me. It get so hectic inside that funky ol’ helicopter that one of them SEALs open the door, talking ‘bout he can’t breathe. It warn’t that bad, but all them folks is moving all around and the door is open, sand just a-flying all through the copter. You gotta forgive the pilot for being distracted. Just as we come to bin Laden’s house, he crashes the thing and we rolling all around the ground and some of them SEALs is yelling, “Fresh air! Fresh air!” It offend me a little bit. My wind ain’t that bad. I mean for a negro, of course.

Them SEALs start to running and scattering around the compound just a-shooting away. Not me, I holds my gun at my side. I only shitted a little bit when that copter went down. Figure I got enough in me to make these droppy draws drag all along the desert sand so I starts looking for a bathroom.

The first bathroom I find is on the ground floor. I step in that place and it’s like Shaytan himself had just sit on the bowl. There’s mudbutt all up in that bowl like they ain’t believe in flushing and all along the ground. Disgusting. I figure bin Laden got his own bathroom and if it ain’t ‘macculate it’s at least tolerable.

I run upstairs and around the corner and wouldn’t you know it, there go Osama bin Laden himself ‘bout to go to the bathroom. I says: “Hey man, could you wait a few minutes? I got to drop some logs.”

“Just like Americans,” he reply. “always so impatient. You will wait. I must go drop some bombs in the toilet bowl. Get it? Drop bombs? Bombs, because I’m bin Laden! Ha Ha! Death to America.”

The boy start to say more, waving his finger all around. I’m thinking, “He sure is long winded.” But I’m standing there passing some long winds myself. so I’m not trying to listen to nothing he saying. He take one of them blinks for emphasis then he stop in mid-sentence, opens his eyes and gets to sniffing. “Allah, what is that smell?” he say. That’s when I try to get around him. I dips and ducks like them runaway slaves I used to tell on. Bin Laden sticks out his foot and I go all a-tumblin’ toward the bathroom. He try to step over me to get to that toilet, but I grabs his legs and yanks at ‘em. We’s down on the ground wrestling and I’m pulling his beard and he’s punching me and I’m clenching my butt cheeks so don’t nothing leak out when I hear a pop. Loud as all get out. At first I think, that was a damn sizeable fart. But then I realize he ain’t wrestling so much no more.

I guess that boy had reached in the wrong place and touched up that gun I takes with me into battle. He about as limp as a ragdoll.  As I’m getting up, some Navy SEALs come into the room. They got they mouths all open. One lie down next to bin Laden to figure if it’s him and he rise and say: “Yep, we got Geronimo.”

I get a little proud ‘cause I ain’t realize they was using the code name I made up. I was on the team that catch the injun Geronimo back in the day. His code name back then was “Mary, Mother of Jesus.” The damn Catholics made us apologize.  This time when they was asking for names, I says, “Who can we insult and get away with it? I know, the negroes!” My first suggestion for a codename for Osama was “The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.” But they rejected that one for some reason. Same with “Rosa Parks,” “Sojourner Truth,” “Frederick Douglass,” “Harriet Tubman,” “El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz,” “Medgar Evers” and “J.J. Evans.”  Somewhere along the lines I threw out “Geronimo.” And I guess they took a liking to that one, figuring an injun is as good as a negro is as good as an a-rab and I’m OK with that.

But yeah, after they determine it was that bin Laden boy everybody get all silent looking at him lying there like a newborn baby. “Is he-is he-is he dead?” I ask. Then one of the SEALs start ranting. He say that Kenyan boy in Washington gon’ be mad. We was supposed to capture bin Laden to put him on trial, not shoot him down. Say this look like a ‘ssassination. I start to feel bad. I was there when that Lincoln boy was ‘ssassinated. I ain’t agree with his politics and that freeing the negroes policy, but they ain’t have to do him like that. Then they ‘ssassinate Kennedy and LBJ come talking all that civil rights mess. Ol’ ‘ssassination some bad stuff.

Meanwhile I’m thinking all this, my stomach ain’t keeping silent; it’s bubbling and aching and shooting out silent ones. Them SEALs ask me what we gon’ tell the Kenyan. Man, I was at a loss.

“That’s a good question,” I say. “I got to think about that one. You got a newspaper?”

“A newspaper?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I got to go drop something—I do my best thinking on the bowl anyway—but I notice that that bin Laden boy ain’t got no toilet paper.”

Rion Amilcar Scott writes fiction all over the damn place, tweets @reeamilcarscott and blogs at datsun flambe.

Ol’ Clementine Explains How he and a Team of Navy SEALs Killed Osama bin Laden

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NOTE: This is the third and final post in the series, THE MERKING OF OBL (though it may be back as an occasional feature). Read Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

Ol' Clementine

Eds. note: At 236-years-old, Ol’ Clementine is the oldest man in the world. He worked as a slave in most of the Confederate states and has continued the profession long after Emancipation. Occasionally, he shares his unique perspective on the pressing issues of the day and we present it for you, dear reader.

One thing most folks don’t know ‘bout me is that I been in the Navy since there was a Navy and I been a Navy SEAL since the SEALs been pups.  Yep, SEAL Team 6, as a matter of fact. Been proud to serve, for no pay of course. It remind me of back in them days when I used to fight against them Northern folk who kept meddlin’ with Southern affairs back during the War of Yankee Aggression.

I could tell you a rack of stories from my Navy SEAL days, but I figure you only interested in the time we went and got that Osama boy, so that’s the story I’m gon’ tell. Lots of ‘spiracy theories and misinformation and tales told by confused folks, but this is how it went down.

Well, we in that helicopter and we getting closer and closer to that bin Laden boy’s house and maybe I’m nervous or maybe it’s all that damn curry I be eating, but my stomach’s gone with the wind. I mean it’s real foul in that helicopter. First, when I pass gas, I keep pointing at them damn SEAL dogs with the titanium teeths, but it gets so loud I can’t even pretend it’s the dogs no more. I call out: “Hey, how long till we get to that boy’s house and do he have a bathroom?”

See, I’m not trying to shit in no hole in the ground or out in the sand like a cat. I figure that boy is rich, he probably got gold plated toilets and sinks better than my ol’ massa from back in 1845. I was with that man a year and he was rich and famous. This was down in Georgia before them Yankee boys burned it. We was supposed to shit out in a little outhouse down on the edge of the plantation, but ol’ massa’s facilities was special. The boy was so rich he had indoor plumbing. Now everybody got indoor plumbing, but back then only the richest of the rich white folks had it. I used to sneak up there and do my business. Leave a little unflushed negro poo in that bowl when I was in a hurry. I ain’t want to get caught. Them folks musta been ignorant cause they couldn’t tell the negro poo from the white poo. You shoulda seen the lady of the house yelling at poor lil’ James, that was her son, about leaving his mess all swirling and around and bobbing up and down without flushing.

It all went to shit, so to speak, when lil’ James got tired of being yelled at and did some ‘vestigating. This was on a day when I fried me some pigs feets that felt like they was kicking my stomach in. I was halfway through a nice little movement when they kicked down the door and dragged me from the bowl. That little fiasco got me sold down South. Lost the best job I ever had on account of my runny behind. And I deserved it. Who want to do their business after a negro? I get it.

But things done changed these days and of course white folks shit after negroes all the time now. I don’t ‘gree with it, but that’s how it is. So, anyway, we keep flying and it seem like a long ride. So I asks, “Where we going? Where this boy live, Detroit?”

I guess they ain’t want to give me answer ’cause one of them dudes said: “About as bad.”

“Ol’ Clementine ain’t no fool,” I say. “I know my gas smell ‘about as bad’ as it ever smell before. You ain’t gotta insult me. I want to know when and where we touching down. I got to go.”

Them SEAL boys get to ignoring me and I keep yelling until the some of them tell me to sit my stankin’ ass down and I think they rude. I ain’t nobody, but an ol’ Alabama slave, but I’m old enough to serve some of their daddies and daddies’ daddies. But I sit my ass down, still farting up a dust storm and them SEALs start trying to move away from me. It get so hectic inside that funky ol’ helicopter that one of them SEALs open the door, talking ‘bout he can’t breathe. It warn’t that bad, but all them folks is moving all around and the door is open, sand just a-flying all through the copter. You gotta forgive the pilot for being distracted. Just as we come to bin Laden’s house, he crashes the thing and we rolling all around the ground and some of them SEALs is yelling, “Fresh air! Fresh air!” It offend me a little bit. My wind ain’t that bad. I mean for a negro, of course.

Them SEALs start to running and scattering around the compound just a-shooting away. Not me, I holds my gun at my side. I only shitted a little bit when that copter went down. Figure I got enough in me to make these droppy draws drag all along the desert sand so I starts looking for a bathroom.

The first bathroom I find is on the ground floor. I step in that place and it’s like Shaytan himself had just sit on the bowl. There’s mudbutt all up in that bowl like they ain’t believe in flushing and all along the ground. Disgusting. I figure bin Laden got his own bathroom and if it ain’t ‘macculate it’s at least tolerable.

I run upstairs and around the corner and wouldn’t you know it, there go Osama bin Laden himself ‘bout to go to the bathroom. I says: “Hey man, could you wait a few minutes? I got to drop some logs.”

“Just like Americans,” he reply. “always so impatient. You will wait. I must go drop some bombs in the toilet bowl. Get it? Drop bombs? Bombs, because I’m bin Laden! Ha Ha! Death to America.”

The boy start to say more, waving his finger all around. I’m thinking, “He sure is long winded.” But I’m standing there passing some long winds myself. so I’m not trying to listen to nothing he saying. He take one of them blinks for emphasis then he stop in mid-sentence, opens his eyes and gets to sniffing. “Allah, what is that smell?” he say. That’s when I try to get around him. I dips and ducks like them runaway slaves I used to tell on. Bin Laden sticks out his foot and I go all a-tumblin’ toward the bathroom. He try to step over me to get to that toilet, but I grabs his legs and yanks at ‘em. We’s down on the ground wrestling and I’m pulling his beard and he’s punching me and I’m clenching my butt cheeks so don’t nothing leak out when I hear a pop. Loud as all get out. At first I think, that was a damn sizeable fart. But then I realize he ain’t wrestling so much no more.

I guess that boy had reached in the wrong place and touched up that gun I takes with me into battle. He about as limp as a ragdoll.  As I’m getting up, some Navy SEALs come into the room. They got they mouths all open. One lie down next to bin Laden to figure if it’s him and he rise and say: “Yep, we got Geronimo.”

I get a little proud ‘cause I ain’t realize they was using the code name I made up. I was on the team that catch the injun Geronimo back in the day. His code name back then was “Mary, Mother of Jesus.” The damn Catholics made us apologize.  This time when they was asking for names, I says, “Who can we insult and get away with it? I know, the negroes!” My first suggestion for a codename for Osama was “The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.” But they rejected that one for some reason. Same with “Rosa Parks,” “Sojourner Truth,” “Frederick Douglass,” “Harriet Tubman,” “El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz,” “Medgar Evers” and “J.J. Evans.”  Somewhere along the lines I threw out “Geronimo.” And I guess they took a liking to that one, figuring an injun is as good as a negro is as good as an a-rab and I’m OK with that.

But yeah, after they determine it was that bin Laden boy everybody get all silent looking at him lying there like a newborn baby. “Is he-is he-is he dead?” I ask. Then one of the SEALs start ranting. He say that Kenyan boy in Washington gon’ be mad. We was supposed to capture bin Laden to put him on trial, not shoot him down. Say this look like a ‘ssassination. I start to feel bad. I was there when that Lincoln boy was ‘ssassinated. I ain’t agree with his politics and that freeing the negroes policy, but they ain’t have to do him like that. Then they ‘ssassinate Kennedy and LBJ come talking all that civil rights mess. Ol’ ‘ssassination some bad stuff.

Meanwhile I’m thinking all this, my stomach ain’t keeping silent; it’s bubbling and aching and shooting out silent ones. Them SEALs ask me what we gon’ tell the Kenyan. Man, I was at a loss.

“That’s a good question,” I say. “I got to think about that one. You got a newspaper?”

“A newspaper?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I got to go drop something—I do my best thinking on the bowl anyway—but I notice that that bin Laden boy ain’t got no toilet paper.”

Rion Amilcar Scott writes fiction all over the damn place, tweets @reeamilcarscott and blogs at datsun flambe.

The Merking of OBL Part 2: Barack Obama Calls George W. Bush

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NOTE: This is the second post in the series, THE MERKING OF OBL, which will explore the death of Osama bin Laden. Read Part 1 here. Check back later this week for part 3 and maybe 4, I haven’t decided yet (what do I look like, The Decider?), as well as a regularly scheduled non-bin Laden FORGIVE HIM FATHER post.

Shortly after President Obama received word that Osama bin Laden was killed in a Navy SEAL raid of his Pakistani compound, he put in a call to his predecessor, George W. Bush, to inform him that the military had captured and killed the terrorist he had hunted for the majority of his presidency. This is a transcript of that historic conversation.

GEORGE W. BUSH: Hello?

BARACK OBAMA: Hello, George it’s Barack.

BUSH: Who?

OBAMA: Barack Obama, the President of the—

BUSH: Oh that’s right, the colored fella they got to replace me. How the hell are ya?

OBAMA: Uh, pretty good. On top of the world, actually. Got some good—

BUSH: Well, I’m glad to hear that. I remember when I was the decider. Woo, that was a tough job. Someone always expectorating me to do something or say something and then when you do something, everyone has some goshdarn criticism of it. Man, that was a tiring. Saddest day of my life was when that Kanye West fella said I was a racist.  And I was a big Kanye West fan. (singing) “I ain’t saying she one of them, whatchacallems…uh, golddiggers, but she not messing with no broke—“

OBAMA: Uh, George…

BUSH: Heh heh. I wasn’t gonna say that word. I was gonna replace it with “slave.” Anyway, all I’m saying is that I love your people. My Secretary of Education. A black. Secretary of State. A colored. And another colored.

OBAMA: Well, I have some news about the, uh, War on Terror—

BUSH: War on Terror? Heh heh heh. You’re still doing that? Boy, that sure does bring back some good memories. Like a lot of my policies, that one started as a joke. After 9/11 me Rummy, Colin and ‘em were sitting around all confusified. I mean, if the Soviets had attacked during that ol’ Cold War, we could just up and strike back, but it warn’t no country that attacked us. It was a bunch of guys working for a dangerous religious fundamentalist who was only rich because his daddy was rich. So I just threw my hands up. Then Dick, he says, “How about we fight a War against Terror?” Then we all get to laughing and backslapping. I said, “Terror? That’s just a word? You cain’t fight a war against a word.” Then Rummy says, “Why, not? You fight a war against the English language every time you speak.”

As a prank on the colored fella, Rummy made up some stuff about Saddam Hussein trying to get yella cake to make nuke-u-ler weapons. He believed it and went off and made a speech about it before we coulda tol’ him it were a joke. Shoulda seen Dick there laughin’ when Colin was speaking and then that boy stepped down from the stage and I was all, “Gotcha!” Boy, were we laughing. Unfortunately, that started the war in Iraq, but damn if it warn’t the funniest moment I had in all my eight years.

OBAMA: Well, that’s all very interesting, but I want to tell you about Osama—

BUSH: Osama? Well, ain’t that you?

OBAMA: No, I’m Obama.

BUSH: Heh. That’s right. So what about him?

OBAMA: Well, for eight years you went looking for, uh, Osama bin Laden. He never turned up, did he?

BUSH: I don’t know where he is. I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about him to be honest with you.

OBAMA: It has to, uh, bother you? Keep you up at night, huh? You had eight years and he kept running. That doesn’t make you feel like an, uh, failure?

BUSH: I repeat what I said, I am truly not that concerned about him.

OBAMA: But he killed over 3,000 people on U.S. soil.

BUSH: Man, who knew something like that was in the works?

OBAMA: Yeah, it’s not like you received a memo titled, “Bin Laden Determined to Strike in U.S.” a month before 9/11 or something like that.

BUSH: See that’s what I hate about eggheads like you and your fancy book learnin’. Always so sarcastic. Think you’re so goshdarn ‘telligent.

OBAMA: Book learnin’ is a good thing–

BUSH: Sure, sure. Don’t get me wrong, I read books. A lot of people don’t know this about me, but I was reading a book on 9/11 when the whole terrorist thing happened. Never did find out what happened to that daggone pet goat.

OBAMA: George, can I ask you something?

BUSH: Yeah, Barry, go ahead.

OBAMA: Do you like apples?

BUSH: Sure, Barack, I like apples.

OBAMA: I, uh, killed bin Laden. How do you like those apples?

(Obama hangs up. Moments later Bush’s phone rings; it’s Obama calling back.)

BUSH: Hello?

OBAMA: George, it’s Barack again.

BUSH: Well, if that warn’t the rudest thing. I started the hunt for him, you know.

OBAMA: George, you’re right—

BUSH: Waterboarding. That was me. Guantanamo Bay. That was me. The Patriot Act. Unmanned drone strikes. Me. Me. Me.

OBAMA: None of those are positive developments.

BUSH: Tax cuts for the wealthy…how would you have found Osama if it warn’t for the tax cuts? Just give me my proper credit is all I’m saying.

OBAMA: Look, I apologize if it seemed like I gloated and then hung up on you; I’m sorry if anyone was offended.

BUSH: Well, that’s more like it. Where was he anyway?

OBAMA: Paki-stan.

BUSH: (chuckling) Where?

OBAMA: Paki-stan

BUSH: (laughing hysterically)

OBAMA: George, uh, what’s so funny?

BUSH: The way you say it. Emphasizin’ the first syllable all hard. Paki-stan. Paki-stan. Heh heh. Say it again.

OBAMA: Uh, no. I’m going to Ground Zero to honor the first responders later this week. I want you to join me.

BUSH: Rocky, you’re an honorable man. That’s a decent thing to do. Could you slip a line in your speech that says waterboarding led to the capture?

OBAMA: Uh, no.

BUSH: Forced nudity?

OBAMA: No.

BUSH: Sleep depri-depri…stopping them terrorists from sleeping?

OBAMA: No.

BUSH: How about we tell them that I flew in at the last minute and killed Osama with my bare hands?

OBAMA: George, none of that is true.

BUSH: Well, then I ain’t comin’.

OBAMA: Come on George, the nation needs to see this.

BUSH: No. I don’t wanna.

OBAMA: I talked to Rudy, He’s coming. Said he’s buying a new red dress for the occasion.

BUSH: Can I at least wear my flight suit?

OBAMA: Michelle, I told you this was a bad idea.

BUSH: Your wife there? Ask her if I can bring my Mission Accomplified banner.

OBAMA: Look, are you coming or not?

BUSH: Barack, I shoulda told you this earlier, but I heard the ghost of Saddam is out in Nigeria trying to get yella cake to make some more of them WMDs.

OBAMA: Goodbye, George.

BUSH: Dang it. The other colored fella fell for it.

Rion Amilcar Scott writes fiction all over the damn place, tweets @reeamilcarscott and blogs at datsun flambe.

The Merking of OBL Pt. 1: An Interview With Fred, Osama bin Laden's 72nd Virgin

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NOTE: This is the first post in the series THE MERKING OF OBL, which will explore the death of Osama bin Laden. Check back later this week for parts 2, 3 and maybe 4, I haven’t decided yet, as well as a regularly scheduled non-bin Laden FORGIVE HIM FATHER post.

Fred, Osama bin Laden's 72nd Virgin (right), converses with Chip (left), bin Laden's 33rd virgin.

With the news that avowed terrorist and leader of Al Queda, Osama bin Laden was killed by American forces in a raid on his Pakistani compound, we put in a call to Paradise to have a post-mortem discussion with the freshly  martyred bin Laden. The woman who answered our call in Paradise laughed us off the phone three times.

Undeterred, we called purgatory where we faced similar laughter. Finally, we put in a call to the fiery lakes of Hell. Mr. bin Laden, we were told, was busy with orientation activities including lunch with Shaytan and a mandatory sexual harassment seminar. As it is a busy time in Hell, Shaytan, we were told, was similarly unavailable to comment. After some back and forth, Shaytan’s public relations reps (who, incidentally, invented the public relations industry) offered us the opportunity to speak to Fred, one of 72 male virgins assigned to Mr. bin Laden. Fred discussed Shaytan’s sense of humor, eternal punishments and coming in 72nd.

Let’s get this out of the way; there are a lot of conspiracy theories. U.S. forces killed Osama bin Laden and he is currently in Hell, correct?

Yes, I’ve seen him many times. A lot of jihadists think all you have to do to get to Paradise is be devout, pray five times a day and kill a lot of infidels. Surprisingly, it doesn’t work that way.

What’s Mr. bin Laden’s demeanor? What’s he look like?

His demeanor? I haven’t gotten the chance to speak with him yet. We’re gonna get up close an personal soon, if you know what I mean. Heh heh. How he looks? He was looking pretty chic the last time I saw him. Get it? It’s a play on words. Chic, like ‘stylish or fashionable’ and sheik like the honorific title they use in Arabic.

That’s not a very funny joke.

(deep sigh) You’re right. I joke to keep my spirits up about being number 72. It’s an honor just to be picked for this job, but in the back of my mind I keep thinking, “I only got picked because Mark, Jason and Michael Jackson bowed out.”

I’m sorry to hear you’re so conflicted.

I don’t want your readers to pity me. Look, this is the position I was assigned. It’s still an honor. I’m not complaining too much. It’s better than being the 35th virgin to some random suicide bomber from Riyadh.

Let’s make it clear, what exactly will Mr. bin Laden’s eternal punishment be?

Somewhere along the line, Shaytan thought it would be funny, since the jihadists expect 72 “non-menustrating and childfree” virgins with “swelling breasts,” to go ahead and give them 72 “non-menustrating and childfree” virgins with “swelling breasts.” Shaytan is a lot funnier than you expect him to be. Who would have thought that “swelling breasts” refer to plump pec muscles?

So the death of Osama bin Laden was exciting news for some here on Earth, I imagine it is a pretty special time down in Hell too.

Oh, Shaytan-yes. I’ve been assigned to the bin Laden case as one of his 72 virgins since he started slaughtering people for this whole jihad business, but I wasn’t told this was happening. Most of us had lost hope this was ever going to occur. When the news broke, even I, a minion of Hell, got emotional. It was a somber moment for me, but then the guys linked arms and started singing the Star-Spangled Banner and chanting, “USA, USA, USA.” It was really beautiful.

Didn’t you guys feel a little weird celebrating someone’s death and banishment into eternal darkness?

No, not at all. We’ve been training for this day for a long time. I’ve kept myself busy by whispering evil deeds into the hearts of men and writing Tyler Perry movies. Both had been getting tiring. Did you see Madea’s Big Happy Reunion? Not my best work. Been pretty uninspired lately. I’m happy for the change of pace. Everyone’s real excited. It’s like a holiday.  I haven’t gotten my turn yet, but hey, I have all of eternity, you know.

But you’re dead last behind a whole lot of other guys, that can’t be pleasant.

The minute I’m OK with my station in life here you come to make me feel bad. (deep sigh). I mean, I’ve worked out a bit, kept myself clean and presentable, made sure my “breasts” stayed swelled. Why wasn’t I picked to go earlier? I wouldn’t have minded being 3rd, 5th, 10th or even 34th. Who ever heard of sloppy seventy-seconds?

Describe to us the atmosphere down there.

Hell is as you expect it, dark and hot—like really hot—and crowded and it always smells like someone’s rotted asshole. Very reminiscent of Manhattan in the summertime, but not nearly as unpleasant.

Lately, though it’s been like a huge party. That Hitler guy keeps talking about trading war stories with Osama. That guy from Milli Vanilli wrote a special song that he plans to lip synch to bin Laden. You should see him walking around here practicing, just jabbering his jaws.

Describe to us a little bit what Mr. bin Laden will likely face for all of eternity.

Not much to it at all. After orientation, they bring him down to us and we line up by number and yeah…we kind of get to it one after another for all of eternity.  There’ll probably be some wine and soft music, oh yeah, and candles, but other than that, it’s a pretty straight-forward affair.

And the Jihadists facing this sort of punishment, how do they react to all of this?

Yeah, that’s something that always surprises me. They are always so shocked and outraged that they are in Hell. Mohamed Atta was all, “There must be some mistake! Who are all of these hairless men? All the infidels I killed? Where is my eternal reward? When the Koran mentioned getting a dome with pearl, aquamarine and ruby, this is not what I had in mind! Who would have thought Pearl, Aquamarine and Ruby were three guys? And dome, don’t get me started on that word… ” I’m like dude, you’re a mass murderer. Did you expect to be sipping tea with Dr. King?

So do you think this will bring and end to terrorist activity here on Earth?

An end! Ha! That’s funny. Nothing ever ends. Let me put it this way: The day Osama died, Shaytan hired 5,000 more virgins.

Rion Amilcar Scott writes fiction all over the damn place, tweets @reeamilcarscott and blogs at datsun flambe.

The Merking of OBL Pt. 1: An Interview With Fred, Osama bin Laden’s 72nd Virgin

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NOTE: This is the first post in the series THE MERKING OF OBL, which will explore the death of Osama bin Laden. Check back later this week for parts 2, 3 and maybe 4, I haven’t decided yet, as well as a regularly scheduled non-bin Laden FORGIVE HIM FATHER post.

Fred, Osama bin Laden's 72nd Virgin (right), converses with Chip (left), bin Laden's 33rd virgin.

With the news that avowed terrorist and leader of Al Queda, Osama bin Laden was killed by American forces in a raid on his Pakistani compound, we put in a call to Paradise to have a post-mortem discussion with the freshly  martyred bin Laden. The woman who answered our call in Paradise laughed us off the phone three times.

Undeterred, we called purgatory where we faced similar laughter. Finally, we put in a call to the fiery lakes of Hell. Mr. bin Laden, we were told, was busy with orientation activities including lunch with Shaytan and a mandatory sexual harassment seminar. As it is a busy time in Hell, Shaytan, we were told, was similarly unavailable to comment. After some back and forth, Shaytan’s public relations reps (who, incidentally, invented the public relations industry) offered us the opportunity to speak to Fred, one of 72 male virgins assigned to Mr. bin Laden. Fred discussed Shaytan’s sense of humor, eternal punishments and coming in 72nd.

Let’s get this out of the way; there are a lot of conspiracy theories. U.S. forces killed Osama bin Laden and he is currently in Hell, correct?

Yes, I’ve seen him many times. A lot of jihadists think all you have to do to get to Paradise is be devout, pray five times a day and kill a lot of infidels. Surprisingly, it doesn’t work that way.

What’s Mr. bin Laden’s demeanor? What’s he look like?

His demeanor? I haven’t gotten the chance to speak with him yet. We’re gonna get up close an personal soon, if you know what I mean. Heh heh. How he looks? He was looking pretty chic the last time I saw him. Get it? It’s a play on words. Chic, like ‘stylish or fashionable’ and sheik like the honorific title they use in Arabic.

That’s not a very funny joke.

(deep sigh) You’re right. I joke to keep my spirits up about being number 72. It’s an honor just to be picked for this job, but in the back of my mind I keep thinking, “I only got picked because Mark, Jason and Michael Jackson bowed out.”

I’m sorry to hear you’re so conflicted.

I don’t want your readers to pity me. Look, this is the position I was assigned. It’s still an honor. I’m not complaining too much. It’s better than being the 35th virgin to some random suicide bomber from Riyadh.

Let’s make it clear, what exactly will Mr. bin Laden’s eternal punishment be?

Somewhere along the line, Shaytan thought it would be funny, since the jihadists expect 72 “non-menustrating and childfree” virgins with “swelling breasts,” to go ahead and give them 72 “non-menustrating and childfree” virgins with “swelling breasts.” Shaytan is a lot funnier than you expect him to be. Who would have thought that “swelling breasts” refer to plump pec muscles?

So the death of Osama bin Laden was exciting news for some here on Earth, I imagine it is a pretty special time down in Hell too.

Oh, Shaytan-yes. I’ve been assigned to the bin Laden case as one of his 72 virgins since he started slaughtering people for this whole jihad business, but I wasn’t told this was happening. Most of us had lost hope this was ever going to occur. When the news broke, even I, a minion of Hell, got emotional. It was a somber moment for me, but then the guys linked arms and started singing the Star-Spangled Banner and chanting, “USA, USA, USA.” It was really beautiful.

Didn’t you guys feel a little weird celebrating someone’s death and banishment into eternal darkness?

No, not at all. We’ve been training for this day for a long time. I’ve kept myself busy by whispering evil deeds into the hearts of men and writing Tyler Perry movies. Both had been getting tiring. Did you see Madea’s Big Happy Reunion? Not my best work. Been pretty uninspired lately. I’m happy for the change of pace. Everyone’s real excited. It’s like a holiday.  I haven’t gotten my turn yet, but hey, I have all of eternity, you know.

But you’re dead last behind a whole lot of other guys, that can’t be pleasant.

The minute I’m OK with my station in life here you come to make me feel bad. (deep sigh). I mean, I’ve worked out a bit, kept myself clean and presentable, made sure my “breasts” stayed swelled. Why wasn’t I picked to go earlier? I wouldn’t have minded being 3rd, 5th, 10th or even 34th. Who ever heard of sloppy seventy-seconds?

Describe to us the atmosphere down there.

Hell is as you expect it, dark and hot—like really hot—and crowded and it always smells like someone’s rotted asshole. Very reminiscent of Manhattan in the summertime, but not nearly as unpleasant.

Lately, though it’s been like a huge party. That Hitler guy keeps talking about trading war stories with Osama. That guy from Milli Vanilli wrote a special song that he plans to lip synch to bin Laden. You should see him walking around here practicing, just jabbering his jaws.

Describe to us a little bit what Mr. bin Laden will likely face for all of eternity.

Not much to it at all. After orientation, they bring him down to us and we line up by number and yeah…we kind of get to it one after another for all of eternity.  There’ll probably be some wine and soft music, oh yeah, and candles, but other than that, it’s a pretty straight-forward affair.

And the Jihadists facing this sort of punishment, how do they react to all of this?

Yeah, that’s something that always surprises me. They are always so shocked and outraged that they are in Hell. Mohamed Atta was all, “There must be some mistake! Who are all of these hairless men? All the infidels I killed? Where is my eternal reward? When the Koran mentioned getting a dome with pearl, aquamarine and ruby, this is not what I had in mind! Who would have thought Pearl, Aquamarine and Ruby were three guys? And dome, don’t get me started on that word… ” I’m like dude, you’re a mass murderer. Did you expect to be sipping tea with Dr. King?

So do you think this will bring and end to terrorist activity here on Earth?

An end! Ha! That’s funny. Nothing ever ends. Let me put it this way: The day Osama died, Shaytan hired 5,000 more virgins.

Rion Amilcar Scott writes fiction all over the damn place, tweets @reeamilcarscott and blogs at datsun flambe.