I am trying something completely new here. I am going to attempt to build an entire essay around the picture you see to the right. I have no idea what to write about except for the fact that this fly lookin’ terrorist has apparently decided to let it all hang out. The man opted to camp in a tent while Stateside…..on Donald Trumps property. He was introduced to the General Assembly as the “king of kings”. He went on to ramble for an hour and a half about various topics unrelated to anything real or pertinent. Apparently he touched his beret several times (sort of in a “duck, duck, goose kind of way) during the rambling “speech” and fake-tore up a copy of the UN charter or some such thing. Oh Gaddafi, you’re such a card. And, as such, I thought I’d list all the reasons this picture alone shows the world why you, not Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, are the ultimate bad boy of the Middle East.
1.) Snazzy Hair. Not too many people can pull of this look, at least not since the Jheri Curl of the 80’s disappeared from our national conscience. That just-woke-up-from-shagging-virgins look will become all the rage on the streets of Lybia. What’s not to trust about this homeless-inspired ‘do?
2.) Awesome Goatee-Like Thing. Dude, the Velcro appearance of your facial hair lends credence to the fact that you don’t take no mess. Perfectly, um, trimmed and yet reeking of the “I don’t give a shit” kind of vibe. I think Keanu Reeves tried this look in one, if not all, of his movies, but it didn’t work for him. It works for you, oh Exalted Pooh-bah, and I’m sure several minions had to die before you found the one who could perfectly trim the ‘stache.
3.) The Eyes. These are the eyes of a man who has been either a.) hating (with an unparalleled passion) Jewish people all his life or b.) violently raped by a goat at some point in his career. Either way, the haunting evil that comes out of those orbs of black onyx is, frankly, scaring the bejeezus out of me as I write this.
4.) The Clothing. That lame poser, Ahma-whats-his-name, insists on wearing nothing but boring gray suits and little attention to style when he goes about his business of instituting widespread fundamentalist terror. You, on the other hand are prone to bold and unconventional forays in fashion, be they the standard military outfit (but with panache!) or wild looking robes that you swish about when you take the stage.
5.) A Face Only A Mother Could Love. While most of your terrorist-types cover up their mugs when going on television, you proudly display what looks to be the results of a nasty fight with a rabid hyena. Wrinkles, sags, bags, pockmarks, you wear them with pride, as though daring your enemies to make a disparaging remark about your mug. Grotesque and usually framed by glasses that appear to have been stolen from the swag bag of an awards show, you look like the kind of guy who regularly scraps with fighting chickens “just to keep your edge”.
6.) The Attitude. After forty years of being in charge, you’ve ceased to give a crap what the rest of the world thinks about you. You’ve let yourself go, you’re unrepentant about your role in the Lockerbie bombing, and you don’t expect to have to wait when it comes to dining at your corner Applebees. You come across as a little pissed that no one HAS killed you yet, thereby delaying your rendezvous with the Vestal Virgins and cementing your status as “Most Glorious And Exalted Martyr.” Patience, oh insane one. I am sure that Trump put a bounty on your head the moment he found out that you were hosting a Bedouin Sexy Party at his place without inviting him. But then again, you don’t care.
To sum it up, you one crazy mo-fo, Muammar. I think the planet would be better off without you on it, but while you’re around, I give you props for keepin’ it real, Lybian style. My hope is that when it’s time for you to check out of this world (I know, I know, it can’t come soon enough for you), you do it with the same bold flavor that you bring to your wardrobe.
Well what do you expect when you’re surrounded by yes men. All the no men were executed on the spot.
Or, maybe he’s just mad with syphilis from the harem (I’m sure the “virgins” didn’t give it to him).
Every time I see him I always think of the old Robin Williams Live at the Met “This is my line of death. You cross this line you die” comedy routine and Reagan’s little present to his son.
any way you look at it, the nasty ol’ codger is a stain on humanity. Good pull with the Robin Williams bit. As always, RoJo, you’re spot on!