The Putz of Baghdad
Saturday, May 31 :: 2:13 p.m. :: 10:13 p.m., Baghdad time :: permalink

Well, I'm back from my holiday in Baghdad. A working vacation, actually. When I wasn't searching for Weapons of Miss Distraction (Uday's porno toys), I brought Western culture to the downtrodden. I taught dromedaries how to chain smoke.

Bless you, Iraq. Join with us across the sands and seas. Sniffing Joe Camel fumes from humps is what made America great.

Cough.

During our humanitarian camelitarian mission, we made every effort to mesh into society, with dignity and refinement. And the ladies seemed to admire my Speedo turban.

My wife, however, didn't notice. She was too busy swatting flies off her porkpie hijab.

I've heard, according to customs in this faraway land, a man's intelligence may be judged by the size of his hat. Mine stuffed 12 socks.

Because I'm artistic (or so I want everyone to think), I tossed in a couple of balled argyles.

But, my dear Blog, after some more travels around and about our favorite vacation spot, Earth, it is delightful to be back in your cherished companionship and pages.

Oh, the photographs are coming, by the way, just as soon as we find any taken without the lens cap filter.

Time zooms ahead so fast. It's hard to believe I haven't written since Easter. I remember that day. I skipped merrily into church to hear the chorus' musical smorgasbord rejoicing the life of Christ, while shiny youths of the congregation, festooned in colorful costumes and false beards, pantomimed "The Greatest Story Ever Non-Professionally Gestured."

After everyone applauded Jesus' resurrection with an ascending ovation, Donna swiveled in our pew, swatting flies off her porkpie bonnet.

"Well, Michael, did you learn anything?"

"Yes. He Is Risen. ... And He's Been to SuperCuts."

Copyright ©2003 Mike Durrett. All rights reserved. Why? We don't know.