It's both a historical day and a travesty in Iraq to see a man such as Saddam's stature to be brought in chains in front of a kangaroo court that has been set in perpetual motion by the shadowy forces who dares to call itself the US Government. It's really a shame that Saddam has fallen prey to Chim Chim Cheney's slight of hand internal cabal of contractors trussed all up like a turkey. The only thing right going for the poor little broken down despot at this moment is a little thing called the Geneva Convention that probably is preventing these schmuckos who waged this whole unneccessary skirmish from putting a bullet in his brain, or at least a gag in his mouth. Call me a fucking commie or Marxist or whatever, but right now, I'm bowled over with some kind of remorse for the poor sap right now. He's certainly asking the right questions and saying all the right things in his defense (well, except for gasing the Kurds) despite the connotations from CNN and Fox that Saddam's sanity is at risk. What? Saying Bush is the bad guy in this whole little soiree is a result of one's mental health - especially when it was the shmucks in the Reagan Administration who suppied him with the weapons to gas the Kurds in the first place? Shit, someone please commit me now. Don't pass $200 in depleted medical insurance claims and send me off to the lobotomy chambers! And why prosecute Saddam now, some fifteen years after the fact? Why didn't Diet Coke Dubya's daddy go capture and subject him to this same tribunal when he was in office? This whole fiasco fucking stinks and once again, I implore you: WHAT THE FUCK DOES THIS HAVE TO ME? Or you, for that matter.
This column comes to you live from Las Vegas, where I'm helping out with family doing some moving around- it was certainly a bitch of a day getting out here. First, let me rejoice that I had finally sent out the final proof of the new Deposit Man book back to Brenner's two days before and the book should have no problems in reaching the San Diego Comic Con floor in time for the show.
Yesterday, I didn't board a bus until 1:30 in the afternoon at the beautiful Los Angeles downtown Greyhound station (and I mean that fastidiously) and had a stopover in San Bernandino to make the transfer to Vegas. The only problem was...the buses that kept coming to dock were filled to capacity, so I had to wait a full hour to find one that would have a empty seat. And so around four o'clock I was back on the road. My seating partner was a talker all the way- I think he had some mental issues himself, but he seemed safe enough. He complemented me that I was the first mellow guy that he had to sit next to and at least didn't smelled like a drunk. I assumed he was traveling a long way- but he wasn't carrying any noticable luggage. We then stopped over at Barstow, Ca for thirty minutes. I went inside and got one of those awful Veggie burgers from Mickey D's. I don't why, but they sure do taste better in Britain. I ate the fucking putrid burger, used the restroom rather than try to do a juggling act inside the one equipped on the bus, smoked a ciggie while reading a Spider-Man comic book and got back on the bus. I sat down as the bus began to pull out and my partner's seat was strangely unoccupied. Figured he must be in the john, but then as we were back rolling on the I-15 - I began to slowly realize, uh oh- I think he got left behind. And holy shit, right in the vomit bag or plastic bag that they have supplied in the back of the seats was the guy's ticket tucked away cluttered along what looks like some medical papers. Seems that this guy sitting next to me was discharged from a clinic for some lung and head trouble. This has got to suck. This guy is out there living my own worst nightmare of getting left behind in Barstow which some regard as absolute nowhere town.
Well, just to ease my guilt, I took the papers and the unused portion of his ticket with me and I'll probably send it to the address listed on the medical papers. I sure hope the guy made it okay. The bus driver told me that this happens a lot on his route. Thirty minutes is all you're allowed- not forty, like passengers are thought to allow. It's a horrifying shame, but it's their job if they don't adhere strictly to the schedule.
I'm outta time, my fussy aunt is coming to pick me up from my dad's house to take me out to lunch at the Cheesecake Factory in Ceasar's Palace.