This is a special report from the Intercontinental Radio News. At forty-five minutes before ten o’clock, central time, an un-named official in Washington confirmed that terrorist Osama Bin Laden was entering his third day of interrogation.

Yesterday, the interrogation team sent out for two extra large, Papa John’s pepperoni and sausage pizzas with an extra breadsticks for dipping. They knew that the new recipe dough was so chocked full of trans-fats that it would only be a question of time before Bin Laden’s arteries would clog up indefinitely. After lunch, the policeman from New York took the lead as head interrogator. Aside from a note pad, the only other thing that the policeman brought with him was a large manila envelope. He began with the standard Big Apple approach to getting acquainted with the prisoner. It was the same strategy that he used to get Sammy “the Bull” to roll over on Gambino family boss John Gotti.

As soon as he saw the New York policeman, Bin Laden started in on him. “How you like gaping hole we make for you wherre towers used to be?”

“Foist of all, youse should be saying, ‘how do you like the gaping hole…?’ How comes youse foreigners never get the interrogative negative rule that implies you have to use the word “do?” I got it figured that you don’t use dhe inverted constructions, neither. I mean, youse even hear it in commercials and still can’t talk good English. Now, if we was back in da Bronx I could bust yur head for a crack like dat.  Den we’d tell your punk ass lawyer that youse had an accident.”

“Bin Laden don’t need you stinking grammar. He make his own rules!”

“Yo, watch the conjugations, eh? If youse play ball wit me, I’ll order youse some of dat stuff you like to eat wit the grape leaves and garbanzo beans. All youse gotta do is giv me something to work wit. Yur friends have skipped town on you, my friend! Ain’t nobody know gunna help you now. We know youse got friends in high places.  We just gotta know if your friends is our friends.  Capeesh?”

Bin Laden keep quiet. The pseudo-Italian threw off his timing and broke his concentration. He was pensive, though. The question about the friends in high places also struck a cord. The Navy Seals had tracked him down so easily. Maybe it was true that his so-called friends in the Pakistani government gave him up. Or, there was a traitor within his own family?

After three hours of back and forth banter, the policeman hadn’t gotten much to go on. Just a few names and places. He was going to have to kick his interrogation game up a notch. He turned his three colleagues and said, “hows about youse all go for a walk so mees and Osama can talk amongst ourselves?” The three excused themselves from the room, leaving the New Yorker alone with Bin Laden.  However, before she left, the lesbian from FBI unplugged the cable from the video camera, so that this segment of the interrogation wouldn’t become part of the official record. Things were about to get ugly.

The policeman starred at Bin Laden for several moments, waiting for a spark of curiosity to come across his face.  He wanted him to wonder what was going to happen next. When Bin Laden raised his eyebrows like Groucho Marx, the cop knew that he was curious. He placed his briefcase on the table and opened it so that the prisoner couldn’t see its contents. Bin Laden wondered what it was going to be: brass knuckles, chili peppers up the nose, thumb screws, electric cattle prods, a pair of vise grips for his testicles, or mace in the eyes.

The policeman took a manila envelope out of the briefcase, and pulled out a magazine. He held it open and displayed it on the table in front of the prisoner. It was the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. For the first time since his incarceration, he felt that his soul was in peril.

“Looking at dhese babies! Ain’t theys some hotties!”

Bin Laden remained absolutely unmoved. For an instant, the policeman thought that Bin Laden was blind. Who wouldn’t drool over the sight of the sexiest women in the world?

After several minutes of guarded silence, Bin Laden spoke, “These indecent vomen must be given forty lashes for their nakedness.  Their fathers or brothers must subject them to rigorous punishment for this abomination.  They have defiled God’s temple and they deserve to be harassed.”

“So, youse like it rough do ya?”

“Bin Laden is not affected by sight of these anorexic and highly naked bodies.”

“Is dhat ‘affect’ wit an A or ‘effect’ wit an E?”

“It is with an A, you depraved pig man! It means that Bin Laden is not influenced by your pornographic culture. He has seen better udders on camels and goats in Saudi Arabia. God be praised that their naked bodies are powerless over me.”

It was true. This year’s Swimsuit Edition was enough to send any red blooded teenage boy off to the privacy is own room to “relieve” himself, but it had no affect on Bin Laden. He was cut from a different mould. His deep religious devotion and training allowed him to disassociate his desires from those ordinary physical temptations that affected most men.

Bin Laden looked away from the magazine and said, “You have attempted to make me fall from grace, therefore, on the other hand, thus, I have the right to take revenge. I’ll keel you!”

The policemen from New York threw in the towel.

Cross-posted at My Ongoing Struggle with Misanthropy:

About the Author

Jimmy Gabacho

Gabacho– according to the Dictionary of the Spanish Royal Academy– is derived from an old Provençal word “gavach,” meaning a person from the foothills of the Pyrenees who spoke incorrectly. These days, it means “outsider,” somebody who just doesn’t fit in.

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