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Bin Laden's Journal
by Walt Giersbach

WASHINGTON -- A handwritten journal kept by Osama bin Laden was seized in the U.S. Navy SEALs raid last week that killed the terror chief. The notebook reportedly contained operational ideas and potential targets as well as "aspirational" plots.–New York Post

Dear Diary, just another tiresome day with my four wives fighting over what to make for supper. I just had to borrow one of their burqas and sneak out to the marketplace. I know my ankles showed because I’m six feet tall, but no one noticed. Except one guy winked. I’ll have to get a suicide bomber to blow him up for lewd behavior. Anyway, it was so hot that it was nice dressing up. No one notices when you’re naked under a burqa.

Getting out of the house concentrates my mind. For example, I pondered whether we could invent exploding refrigerator magnets. We’ve tried shoe bombs and underpants bombs. I mean, what else is there? Maybe some crap from the souvenir shops, filled with explosives they could take home. That overpriced stuff is all made in China so our profit is going be hit.

Also, I wondered how to motivate our suicide bombers. They’re getting sullen. Perhaps 72 virgins for martyrs isn’t enough. Reminder: ask the imam if 72 adulterers and hookers would be a better incentive. I mean, I’m talking real hotties, Allah be praised. Okay, and then there are the female martyrs. They don’t want virgins. They’d be looking for 72 Ashton Kutchers or something.

Did I say, Diary, it’s hard being King of the Terrorists. It’s just work and think, think and work. My social life is going to hell. One of the wives — I forget which one — even said vacationing in a Tora Bora cave would be an improvement. And my kids. Allah be praised, there’s about 20 of the little buggers, all screaming for presents. Don’t they know how tough it is to go shopping when you’re the six-foot-tall King of the Terrorists?

One of my couriers came back with a joke yesterday. Something about twin babies — one from Spain and the other Libyan. Punch line: “If you’ve seen Juan you’ve seen Amahl.”I told him to watch it or I’d get a suicide bomber to pun-ish him for crude humor. Amal — different spelling — is my last wife, the cute Yemeni Queen of the Desert. So busy now, hopping from wife to wife, them all yammering to get nailed by the King of the Terrorists. Don’t they know I need a little rest?

Oh, hey, I think Hasbro is going to make an action figure out of me. Like Thor just hit the shelves at WalMart. Now I have to figure out how to collect the royalties. I hope they got the beard right. Black now. It’s black. Don’t believe those rumors that I’ve turned gray like Bush and even Obama. I may have to sue unless they get the beard right.

Who said it’s good to be the king? It’s hard work. And this burqa is starting to give me a rash.