The Second Opinion

The Trial of the Century (pt V)

(pt IV)

John Kerry strode to the front of the courtroom.  His suit was perfectly tailored and pressed; his $150 silk tie was carefully knotted.  His face was a little tight from a Botox injection the day before and a trifle orange from his sprayed-on suntan, but nevertheless he looked confident and imposing.

"Your honor, I object to the prosecution's assertions that the case against my client is 'slam-dunk'," he droned.  "The prosecution has offered no witnesses, documents, or other corroborating evidence that Saddam Hussein ever tried to develop weapons of mass destruction."

Bush shook his head, fighting off unconsciousness.  Blinking at Tenent, he said reluctantly, "Well, Mr. Tenent?  I believe the defense counsel's objection is reasonable."

Tenent rose, a look of surprise on his face.  "The case is a slam dunk," he replied as if nothing more needed to be said.

"I demand proof," Kerry intoned.

Tenent dove into his briefcase, riffled through some papers, and pulled out a letter.  "This letter, dated October 9, 1998, demanded of President Clinton that he take whatever action was necessary, including military strikes, to force Saddam to end his WMD programs."

"That hardly constitutes proof," Kerry scoffed in his monotone voice.  "Any idiot could have written that letter."

"I agree," Tenent said hotly.  "YOU signed it."

If not for his sprayed-on tan, Kerry would have blanched.  "Let me see that," he demanded.  He read the letter carefully, chuckled, then said, "Well, I actually did believe Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction, before I didn't believe that he did."

A murmur of surprise rippled through the spectators, punctuated by a sharp, exasperated "Schmuck!" from Teresa Heinz-Kerry.

"Order," Bush said, enjoying the opportunity to bang the butt of his six-shooter on the bench.  "Mr. Tenent, reluctant as I am to agree with Mr. Kerry, a letter from some democrat senators hardly constitutes proof of Saddam Hussein's guilt."

Tenent sighed.  "Your honor, the intelligence on which our assertions are based are HIGHLY classified.  I'm not sure that it would be wise to divulge the source ---"

"We wanna know!  We wanna know!" Ginsburg chanted.  Within seconds, all the defense counsels (minus the unconscious Hans Blix) had taken up the chant.

"Order!  ORDER!" Bush shouted, banging his pistol again.  He scowled at the defense counsels, then at Tenent.  "Mr. Tenent, I believe you'll have to divulge the sources.  Otherwise, your case will not be credible."

"We wanna know!  We wanna know!  We wanna know!" the defense attorneys began to chant again.

"ORDER!" Bush briefly considered firing his pistol in the air, but didn't want to risk inciting the bevy on Klingons and Borg conferring with Rumsfeld.  Fixing Tenent with a stern gaze, he said, "Well, George.  Looks like you need to spill the beans."

Tenent pursed his lips sharply.  "Very well, but I want the record to show that I opposed this." Scowling at Saddam and his attorneys, he said, "Our primary source was the New York Times."

For a moment, there was shocked silence.  Then the courtroom erupted with laughter.  Even Bush could not restrain himself.  "You... You... You based our pre-war intelligence on THE NEW YORK TIMES???" he guffawed.  "Who wrote it?  Jayson Blair?"

The prosecutors looked glum, but everybody else was practically rolling in the floor with mirth.  It took several minutes for the noise to die down enough for Tenent to speak.  "I said our 'primary' source was the New York Times," he growled.  "You don't think we'd recommend war on only that piece of intelligence, do you?"

"What was your other source?" Zarqawi jeered.  "A Magic Eight Ball?"

Fresh gales of laughter washed through the courtroom.

Tenent, turning red with embarrassment and rage, shouted over the noise, "OUR OTHER SOURCE WAS SADDAM HUSSEIN'S BARBER!"

Sudden silence clamped down on the courtroom, broken only by the buzzing of a fly hovering around Blix's prostate form.

"IT WAS ART WHO BETRAYED ME?" Saddam roared with a voice like a hurricane.  "ART???  WHO HAS BEEN TRIMMING MY MOUSTACHE FOR THE PAST TWENTY YEARS????"

"That's right, Saddam," Tenent said smugly.  "He's been working for us all that time.  Every time you had your nosehairs trimmed, we knew all about it."

"I'LL KILL HIM!!!  I'LL MURDER HIM!!!  I'LL SLAUGHTER HIS FAMILY!!!  HIS PETS!!!  HIS FRIENDS!!!  I'LL KILL EVERYBODY IN HIS HOMETOWN!!!  AND AT THE BARBER SCHOOL HE ATTENDED IN HOBOKEN!!!"

The defense attorneys, even Dean, tried to calm Saddam, but his fury was incandescent.

"I'LL MURDER HIM LIKE I DID THE KURDS!!!  I'LL CARVE HIM UP AND FEED HIM TO MY TOY POMERANIANS!!! I'LL ---"

The noise finally woke Blix, who managed to stagger to his feet.

"ORDER!  ORDER!  JOHN, DON, DO SOMETHING!" Bush cried.

"Busy here," Rumsfeld said over his shoulder, irritated.  Then he noticed the fracas and sensed an opportunity for violence.  "Oh boy!" he cried gleefully.  He grabbed a phaser that some reps from Lockheed had been demonstrating, reluctantly changed the setting to 'stun', and fired.  Just as he did so, Blix stumbled between him and Saddam.  The beam caught the unfortunate Swede in the side of the head and he collapsed again.  Everybody ignored him.

"Dammit!" Rumsfeld snarled.  "This thing must be defective!" He hurled the phaser to the ground and snatched up a bazooka.  Before he could fire, Condi stomped over to the defense table, reached across, grabbed Saddam by the lapels of his suit coat, and dragged him to her until the were nose to nose.

The dictator's eyes bulged with fear.  "Oy vay!" he cried.  "Save me from this she-devil!"

Condi shook him like a rag doll.  "I'm tired of you making so much noise and fuss," she scolded him.  "Now, either you sit down and shut up, or I'm taking you out back.  Get me?"

Saddam's mouth flapped like a landed fish but no sound came out.  He managed to nod weakly.

Condi released her grip and Saddam collapsed in a heap across the table.  "See to it that you remember what I said." As Condi marched back to her desk, the only sound in the courtroom was the click of her heels on the marble floor.

Rumsfeld looked angrily at her as he lowered his bazooka.  "Curses.  Foiled again."

"Well," Bush said weakly after a few moments.  "I, uh... I guess the, um, prostitution can continue with its case."

Tenent shakily adjusted his tie.  "Thank you, your honor," he stammered.  "Um, we have, uh, a lot of evidence to show.  It will take some time." He looked fearfully at Condi.  "If that's OK with you, that is," he amended hastily.

She glanced at her watch.  "I have a racquetball game with the Israeli ambassador at five-thirty," she said.  "Don't waste time."

"AHA!  Evidence of a Zionist conspiracy!" Zarqawi shouted.  The other defense lawyers and Saddam prudently ducked under the table as he continued to rant.  "Death to the Jews!"

It was the last thing he ever said.

Bolts of red fire shot from Condi's eyes, vaporizing the terrorist / lawyer where he stood.  All that was left was a cloud of poisonous black smoke and a charred suit rental tag that fluttered to a landing on Blix's forehead.

"Dammit," Condi swore softly.  "I was saving that for my debates with Hillary."

"WOW!" Rumsfeld said, his disappointment gone.  "Why don't you join us over here?  We can use somebody like you."

"Or... Or... Order," Bush stuttered.  "I'd... that is, we'd... I mean to say, I'm sure that there are several people who'd like to get on with the trial."

Everybody in the courtroom began to study the ceiling, hoping not to attract Condi's or Rumsfeld's attention.

"Oh, get on with it," Rumsfeld said.  "Just try to keep it a bit more quiet.  I can't stand loud noises unless I'm making them."

The prosecution began to present its case, haltingly at first, but with increasing confidence as they brought out photographs, documents, and eyewitnesses that all detailed Saddam's crimes.  Except for the occasional giggle of maniacal glee when a photo of a particularly gruesome scene was shown, he stayed quiet in his seat, trying desperately to avoid Condi's eye.

Bush had to call several recesses to allow spectators (and himself) time to get a breath of fresh air or even dash to the toilet as photo after photo of dead and maimed bodies were shown, or as witnesses, some minus fingers, hands, tongues, eyes, and ears took the stand to testify how Saddam and his murderous regime had terrified the Iraqi nation.  As the day wore on, Bush felt certain that Saddam would be found guilty, but when he spared a glance for the jury, he saw them dawdling in their seats, playing tic-tac-toe or dozing as if they couldn't have cared less about the evidence.  He tapped the butt of his pistol on the desk, interrupting Cheney who was presenting his case on TV.

"Mr. Foreman," Bush said, addressing Kofi Annan, "the jury seems bored by this case.  Could you please get them to pay more attention?  This is very serious."

Annan gave Bush a contemptuous look.  "Yeah, whatever."

John Bolton stood and walked over to the jury box, eliciting a fresh bout of handkerchief waving from Jacques Chirac.

Another juror, Dan Rather, stood up.  "This farce has gone on long enough!" he cried.  "The wrong man is on trial here.  The real guilty party is NOT Saddam Hussein, but rather the man who was pulling his strings.  When we come back, we'll show you the stunning evidence."

"Oh, good.  A commercial break," Bush said to himself.  "I really gotta pee."

"Wait a minute!" Condi barked.  "What new evidence?  And who's the guilty party if it isn't Moustache Man over there?"

Rather stepped to the front of the jury box and assumed his most professional, concerned expression.  "Good evening.  This is the C-BS Evening News, and I'm Dan Rather.  As the government tries - and fails - to make its case against Saddam Hussein ---"

"Whadaya mean, 'fails'???" Cheney asked indignantly.

" --- C-BS News has uncovered documents that show that Saddam was acting under the direct orders of another man.  The crimes of which he has been accused are actually the work of another: George Walker Bush."

Cheers broke out at the defense table.  They were all certain that they had Bush now.

"What documents?" Bush asked, perplexed.

"These documents here!" Rather shouted back, waving a fistful of yellow legal sheets.

"Bailiff, bring them here," Bush ordered.

Bolton snatched the sheets from Rather, stared at them, then snorted.  "He just wrote these himself!  Look! The ink is still wet." He showed the stain of fresh ink on his thumb.  "They're fake!"

"But we at C-BS believe the content is accurate," Rather tried to protest. 

Bolton shoved him back into his seat.  He ripped up the papers and hurled them into the trash.  "This is such a waste of time."

Rather tapped his neighbor, Vladimir Putin, on the shoulder.  "You don't have a pencil or a late 1960s vintage manual typewriter on you, do you?"

"Idiotsky!" Putin sneered, slapping Rather with the back of his hand.

Kofi Annan stood.  All eyes turned to him.  "Your honor, this trial HAS lasted long enough.  We are ready with a verdict."

An excited buzz broke out.

"How can you have a verdict already?" Dean shrieked.  "We haven't even presented OUR case yet!  You're crooked, cheating, lying, in the pockets of the evil right-wingers ---"

"We vote that the accused is innocent," Kofi said.

"Oh, that's different," Dean said, resuming his seat.

"Innocent?" Bush screeched.  "How, after all the evidence you've seen, can you say that this psycho monster is innocent?"

"We don't have to explain our vote to you!" Annan challenged haughtily.  "We are not American puppets!"

Bolton looked carefully at Annan.  He noticed the foreman was sweating profusely in the heat, yet had his jacket tightly buttoned.  He stepped closer to get a better look.

Kofi saw Bolton approach and tried to back away.  "The UN stands for peace and justice.  We do many, many important things for many, many people in many, many countries around the world ---" He suddenly tripped over Gerhard Schroeder's chair.  When he fell, his jacket popped open and bundles of cash spilled out.

"AHA!" Bolton cried, leaping over the rail to seize Annan.  "I knew it!"

"Sacre bleu!" Chirac cried, dashing for the exit.  Bundles of cash also fell out of his coat as he ran down the aisle.

Bolton dragged a bedraggled and struggling Annan before the bench.  Bush gave Annan his best oh-you're-in-trouble-now-mister glare.  "Well, Mr. Foreman?  Would you care to explicate yourself?"

Kofi brushed at the front of his suit and assumed a dignified air.  "My brother-in-law runs a dry cleaning business on the East Side," he replied.  "I'm an investor, and this is my share of the profits."

Unnoticed, Vladimir Putin was using his KGB training to quietly pick up the money dropped by Annan and Chirac and slip quietly out of one of the broken windows.

"Does your brother always pay you in large denomination, non-sequentially numbered notes?" Bolton challenged.  He examined more of the bundles.  "And in Iraqi oil vouchers?  And in gift certificates to the all-you-can-eat goat and crab legs buffet at the Baghdad Golden Corral?"

"Well, as to that..." Annan tugged nervously at his collar.  "I was unaware of any improprieties.  I will immediately launch an investigation to determine if there has been any wrongdoing."

At the back of the courtroom, Benon Sevan, who'd been watching with growing horror, suddenly leaped from his seat and dashed for the exit, leaving an unmarked Pan-Am flight bag on the floor.  "HE'S LOOKING FOR A SCAPEGOAT!" he screamed.

Several other jurors and a number of the UN personnel who were attending the trial likewise pelted for the exits.

Bush cradled his head in his hands.  "Bailiff, please escort the foreman to the nearest jail to be held pending charges of bribery."

"You can't put me in one of your imperialist jails!" Annan sneered.  "I have diplomatic immunity."

"You can take your diplomatic imbuminty and stick it where the sun don't shine," Bush growled, losing his temper.  "Bailiff, take the foreman around back and kick a hole the size of Texas in his ass."

"YESSIR!" Bolton said happily.  He dragged the struggling Annan to the rear exit.  "I've been waiting for this opportunity for MONTHS," he cackled.  "I'm gonna get your mind right, you understand me?  Oho, this is going to be SOOO much fun!"

Bush looked at Rumsfeld, who'd replaced his map of the world with a 3-D holographic image of the universe.  "Bailiff, would you please get the alternate jurors and bring them in here?"

Rumsfeld sighed.  "Look, I'm really busy."

Bush's jaw dropped.  "Don't you want to bring this psycho to justice?" he asked.

"Justice, schmustice," Rumsfeld said, waving his hand dismissively.  "I'm planning the invasion of Zokbar-5 in Galaxy M-342, and I don't have time for that penny-ante piece of ---."

"Why do you want to invade that planet?" Cheney asked curiously.  Then, hope dawning on his face, he continued, "They don't have oil there, do they?"

"As a matter of fact," Rumsfeld replied absently, "they do.  Well, sorta: instead of blood, the lifeforms there have light, sweet crude in their veins."

Cheney squealed like a girl who'd just gotten a convertible, a boob job, and a date with Brad Pitt for her Sweet Sixteen.  "WOO-HOO!" he shouted jubilantly.  "When do we invade?"

"Hey, what about the trial?  What about bringing Saddam to justice?" Bush whined.

"Charges dropped," Cheney said hurridly.  "Let the Iraqis deal with him." Stuffing some empty IV bags and a pack of spare batteries for his pacemaker into a suitcase, he dashed off camera.  A few moments later, a test pattern appeared.

"HAH!" Saddam crowed, jumping up on the table and clasping his hands above his head.  "I'm free.  FREE!  You imperialists have lost, and I, Saddam, have won!" He began to do a victory dance, shaking his bottom at Bush, the prosecutors, and the remaining spectators.  "Yeah, baby!  Right here!  Who's your daddy?  WHO'S YOUR DADDY?"

Blix regained consciousness from the phaser blast and hoisted himself to his feet.  "What happened?  Is the trial over?"

Saddam, who'd started high-kicks that would have made any chorus girl jealous, accidentally kicked Blix in the head, knocking him unconscious again.  Nobody paid any attention.

"Well, prairie poop," Bush said, dejected.  "I guess I'll just have to turn him over to the Iraqis."

Saddam froze.  "Wha... What did you just say?" he asked slowly, a sheen of sweat appearing on his brow.

"I said that I'd have to turn you over to the Iraqis," Bush repeated sadly.  "I wanted to bring you to justice myself, but I guess I'm going to have to extrabite you to Iraq."

Saddam's eyes went wide.  "No," he whispered in horror.  "NO!  You can't send me back!  I'll confess!  I'll confess to anything!!!  JUST DON'T SEND ME BACK!!!"

"Too late," Bush sighed.  "The Iraqi police are here."

A loud voice cried from the back of the courtroom, "HASSAN CHOP!"

"AIEEEE!!!!!!"

The End

The Trial of the Century (pt IV)

(pt III)

When Bush emerged from his chambers, his hair was still damp from the leaky icepack and his ears were ringing from having taken a handful of aspirin tablets to try to soothe his pounding headache.  He was vaguely annoyed that Rumsfeld did not call the court to order, but the bailiff, surrounded by a bevy of military officers, was marking lines, arrows, crosshairs, and skull-and-crossbones all over a world map that he'd tacked to the wall.  Bush sighed; at least Rumsfeld wasn't causing any trouble in the courtroom.

Bush cleared his throat to get Condi's attention.  She looked up from where she was filing her nails, glanced at Rumsfeld and saw that he was too busy to call the court to order, sighed, and stood.  "The court will now come to order!  All rise for the judge!"

The prosecutors hastily stood up, buttoning their jackets and tucking their game of 'Hangman' under the table.  On the TV screen, an aide shook Cheney awake.  The defense table was surprisingly quiet; Kerry was solicitously fanning Kennedy with a sheaf of papers folded into a crude fan.

"OK.  Where were we?"

Condi squinted at the roll of steno paper trailing from her machine.  "Mr. Zarqawi commented that it looked like a bomb went off in here.  Mr. Blix asked for a recess, which you granted, your honor."

"Mr. Chief Prosecutor, did you finished reading your list of charges?" Bush asked Cheney.

"I, um, I lost my place," Cheney admitted.  "Did I say the thing about unnatural relations with a goat?"

Saddam purpled dangerously but kept silent.

"Yep," Bush said, trying to hide a grin.  "Anything else?"

"Um, let's see..." Cheney mused, examining his list.  "Oh, OK, there's a couple more." He cleared his throat.  "We further charge the defendant with these additional crimes: selling used camels without a license, distributing obscene material through the mail, double parking, smoking ---"

"Objection!" Ginsburg cried.  "You already said that one."

"Oh.  Sorry.  It's not like I typed this thing myself, you know," he said, glowering at his chief assistant, George Tenent.

"Continue on, Mr. Chief Prostitutor," Bush instructed.

"ProSECUTOR," Cheney corrected huffily.  "Let's see here... Smoking... Already said that one... Double-parking... Oh, yeah, here we are: and finally, refusing to sell oil to Halliburton at below-market prices."

"Objection!" Kennedy leaped to his feet.  "That's not a crime!"

"Yeah?  Well, it damned well OUGHT to be!" Cheney shouted.

"Objection substained," Bush sighed.  He fixed Saddam with his most steely-eyed gaze.  "Mr. Hussein, how do you plead?"

Saddam stood, starting back definantly at Bush.  A hush fell over the courtroom as the two men waged a silent battle of wills.  "To which charge?" Saddam finally asked.

"Just say 'not guilty'!" Blix hissed.

"What do you mean, to which charge?" Bush asked, wondering if this was some clever legal trickery.

"Well, I mean, sure, I did some of those things.  You know, little things like gassing people, and having them shot, and dropping their families into boiling oil, and selling bootleg copies of Britney Spears CDs ---"

"Objection, your honor!" Kennedy stood, hastily pushing Saddam back into his seat.  "Our client pleads 'not guilty', and we ask that his remarks be stricken from the record."

"Why?" Bush asked.

"Because he didn't know what he was saying.  He was temporarily deranged from having suffered so much torture in American prisons reminiscent of Hitler and Stalin and Pol Pot."

"Don't you talk about my childhood heroes that way!" Saddam whined.

"Counselor, you've already complained that your client has been tortured in these proceedings.  This is a serious acclamation, and I can't let it stand without proof," Bush said sternly.

"You want proof?  YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE PROOF!" Kennedy shouted at him.  Kennedy dived into his briefcase and yanked out the folder of Abu Ghraib photos.  "Here's all the proof you need!"

As Rumsfeld looked busy planning the invasion of Canada, Bush signalled to Condi to take the photos from Kennedy.  As she turned back to the bench, she gave a start and a little squeal of surprise, then whirled around and slapped Kennedy across the face so hard that the spectators outside could hear it.

"Objection!" Ginsburg said.  "She can't hit counsel!"

"Oh, girlfriend, if you think I hit him THAT time, just let him try to grab my ---"

"ORDER!" Bush said, banging his gavel so hard that the handle broke.  "DAMMIT!" he swore.  Examining the remains of the gavel, he snorted.  "I should have known: 'Made in France!'"

"Sacre bleu!  But you have tarnished zee honeur of La France!  I raise zee objection!" cried one of the jurors, Jacques Chirac.

"You can't object," Bush retorted.  "You're not a lawyer!"

"Well, neither are you!" Dean snapped.

Bush rumaged under his chair and pulled out a book titled The Complete Moron's Guide to Being a Judge.  "So what?  I borrowed this from Justice Kennedy, and he said it's all HE'S ever needed, and he's on the Supreme Court."

The defense lawyers all looked at Ginsburg for confirmation.  She nodded sourly.

"I still raise zee objection!  I demand zee apology to zee French peoples!" Chirac insisted.

Bush started to motion to Rumsfeld to put Chirac back in his seat, but the bailiff was talking to some NASA people and was apparently working on plans to turn the Moon into a Death Star as a preparation for invading Mars.  He stood and motioned to another bailiff in the back of the courtroom.  "John, please come up here."

John Bolton, his moustache flowing in the wind, strode to the front of the courtroom.  "Yes, your honor?"

"Please show Mr. Chirac back to his seat," Bush instructed him, unable to resist an evil grin.

"EEEK!" Chirac screeched.  "But I withdraw zee objection!  I surrender!  I surrender unconditionally!  I promise to be zee good little boy!" he blubbered, trying to hide behind Gerhard Schroeder.

"Now, you're going to be a good little Frenchy, right?" Bolton asked menacingly.

"Objection!" Blix shouted.  "That man's intimidating the jurors!"

"Objection!" Kerry rose.  "That man's intimidating the jurors."

Bush looked around.  "Is there some kind of weird echo in here?" he wondered aloud.

"Your honor, the juror being 'intimidated' is a Frenchman," Cheney said.  "I mean, come on.  I'll bet he'd surrender to a group of Girl Scouts trying to sell him some cookies."

Bush nodded.  "Objection overruled."

"There are Girl Scouts around?" Kennedy asked interestedly.

Chirac whimpered in his seat, one hand over his eyes and the other waving a white handkerchief.

"Order!" Bush tried to bang his gavel, then remembered it was broken.  Reaching under his robes, he pulled out a 45-caliber six-shooter, gripped it by the barrel, and banged on his desk.  "Always wanted to do that," he smiled to himself.  "Now, where were we?"

"Photos, your honor," Condi supplied, rubbing her behind and shooting a deadly look at Kennedy, who leered at her in return.

"Let me see them," Bush said.  He began to riffle through them, then stopped.  He stared at one picture for several seconds, utterly perplexed.  "Counselor, could you... explain this?" he said slowly to Kennedy.

"Those photos show the horrible tortures wreaked on innocent Iraqis and other Arab tourists in Iraq by our troops at your direct command!" Kennedy replied self-righteously.

"Then how come you're in this picture?"

Kennedy dashed to the bench and snatched the photo.  "Um, ah, hah-hah, I don't know how THAT got in there, your honor," Kennedy stammered.  "This is a photo from a party at Chris Dodd's house a couple of weeks ago." He hastily folded the picture and stuck it in his jacket pocket.

Bush stared at him like he was some alien lifeform.  "I get the two girls in cheerleader outfits, but what's the clown doing there?"

"Objection!  Irrelevant!" Ginsburg said.

"And weird," Bush muttered, shaking his head.  He took the rest of the photos and glanced at them.  "Aside from the fact that I don't see the defendant in any of these pictures, this really doesn't look like torture to me.  It's kind of weird... Well, maybe not too weird.  I mean, I did some pretty freaky stuff like this when I was in Skull and Bones ---"

Saddam had approached the bench while Bush and Kennedy were arguing.  "Let ME see," he said, snatching the pictures from Bush's hands.  Easily fending off the portly Kennedy, Saddam quickly examined several photos.  "You call this torture?" he said in disbelief.  "Where are the vats of acid, the rape squads, the cattle prods, the Ashlee Simpson CDs?"

"Gimme those!" Kennedy said, grabbing for the pictures.  "Your honor, my client has clearly been driven out of his mind by tortures even more unspeakable that those shown in the photos ---"

"A little boy is leading a man around by a dog leash???" Saddam scoffed.  "If I were running things, a dog would be biting off his ---"

"That's not a little boy, that's a female American soldier robbing an Arab man of his masculinity!" Kennedy said desperately.  "It's horrible torture."

"THAT'S a woman???" Saddam boggled.  "I've had... er, I mean, I've seen goats that were better looking.  Yech!" He tossed the photos nonchalantly back on the bench and stalked back to his seat.  Kennedy grabbed the pictures and scurried back to his own chair.

"Objection is... What WAS the last objection?" Bush asked Condi.

She read back through her tapes.  "Um... OK... AHA!  Here it is: Ginsburg objected that the pictures were irrelevant."

"I heartily agree.  Sustained."

"Wait, your honor!" Ginsburg rose frantically.  "I didn't mean that the torture pictures were irrelevant, I meant that the... photo of Senator Kennedy was irrelevant!"

"I've already ruled," Bush snapped.

"Your honor, what about my objection?" Kerry asked.

"What objection?  I don't remember you raising an objection," Bush said, puzzled.

"I actually did object, before I withdrew it," Kerry said, sitting.

"Good grief," Bush muttered.  "And to think that idiot got almost 50% of the vote..." He turned back to Saddam.  "Now, I'll ask again: Mr. Hussein, how do you plead to the charges leveled against you?  Guilty, or not guilty?"

Before Saddam could answer, Blix rose.  "Your honor, our client pleads 'not guilty'."

"Mr. Hussein, I would like an answer," Bush said impatiently.  "Do you plead guilty or not guilty?"

"I said, our client pleads 'not guilty'!" Blix said, waving his arms.

Bush sighed.  "Mr. Blix, how does your client plead?  Guilty, or not guilty?"

"HE PLEADS 'NOT GUILTY'!!!  HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY IT???" Blix shouted angrily.

"A simply 'not guilty' will suffice, counselor," Bush replied tartly.  "Any more outbursts like that and I'll hold you in contemptence of court."

Blix began to beat his head against the table, but everybody ignored him.

Bush turned to the TV screen.  "Mr. Chief Prosecutor, are you ready to present your case?"

"Ready, your honor," Cheney replied, pushing aside a model oil rig he'd been building.  "My assistant, Mr. Tenent, will take the first charge: producing weapons of mass destruction." An aide appeared from off-screen with a covered dish.  "Here's your lunch, sir: roast caribou, slaughtered just this morning."

"The court recognizes Mr. Tenent."

"Thank you, your honor," Tenent said, rising.  "Your honor, members of the jury, it's a slam-dunk case that the defendant, Saddam Hussein, was attempting to produce weapons of mass destruction.  Thank you." He sat; the other prosecutors clapped him on the back and shook his hand in admiration.

"Ummm... OK," Bush said slowly.  He looked at Blix.  "Mr. Blix?  Mr. Blix?  Where'd he go?"

"I'm right here!" Blix replied angrily.  "I'm standing right here in front of you!"

"Oh, there you are," Bush said.  "Next time, stand up when I call you."

"I did, you idiot ---"

Bush noticed that several stormtroopers and a pair of Klingons had joined Rumsfeld.  "I don't care," he overheard Rumsfeld saying to them.  "I want the Genesis Device and I want it NOW!  And you'd better tell those damned Romulans to be careful who they're fooling with, 'cause I got a can of whoop-ass to open for them, too." Bush shook his head and wondered if leaving Rumsfeld to plot without supervision was such a good idea, after all.  He turned his attention back to the trial.  "Mr. Blix, are you ready?"

Blix, a vein throbbing dangerously in his temple, managed a strangled "Yes, your honor."

Bush looked around, then sighed.  "Well, since Mr. Blix seems to have disappeared, who will the defense put forward?"

Blix screamed in frustration and would have leaped onto the bench to strangle Bush had he not slipped on a photo Kennedy had dropped earlier.  He sailed into the air, landed flat on his back and knocked himself unconscious.  Everybody ignored him.

The remaining defense lawyers scuffled among themselves, but Kerry pushed his way to the front.  "John Kerry, Vietnam veteran and three-time Purple Heart winner, reporting for duty, your honor," he droned.

"Proceed, Mr. Kerry."

The Trial of the Century (pt III)

(pt II)

"Now, listen, everybody.  And especially you, Mr. Hussein.  We've got to ---" Hans Blix began to address his defense team and client.

"You don't seem to understand the real purpose of this trial," Dean said to Saddam, ignoring Blix.

"What's to understand?" Saddam asked, shrugging.  "You infidels are all involved in a Zionist conspiracy to undermine the only true religion and establish an imperialist, Zionist hegemony over the entire Muslim world."

"No!  No, no, no!  How many times do I have to explain it to you?" Dean barked impatiently.  "This is all about getting the REAL criminal," he continued, nodding his head significantly at the door to Bush's chambers.

"And your outbursts don't ---" Blix tried to break in, but was ignored.

"And your outbursts don't help," Ginsburg said sternly.  "I mean, it's not like anybody cares what you may or may not have done in Iraq, but there's no sense in putting the focus of the trial on you.  Tell him, Ted."

Kennedy was too busy leering at Teresa and trying to slide his hand up her skirt to pay attention.  Blix tapped him on the shoulder but was ignored.

"Ted?  TED!" Dean barked.  "Pay attention."

"Huh?  Can't you see that I'm busy?" he replied out of the corner of his mouth.  "I've got a real live one here."

"Oh for the love of heaven ---" Dean exclaimed.

"Hey, watch that kind of talk around me, mister!" Ginsburg said sharply.

"Everybody, calm down.  We need to concentrate ---" Blix said, but was ignored by all.

"Why do you tolerate this kind of abuse from a woman?" Saddam sneered.  He looked more closely at Ginsburg.  "You look like a Jew."

"Hey, buddy, I don't care if you are my client, you watch that kind of talk!" Dean grated.  "My wife is a Jew."

"And I'll have you know that I have Jewish relatives," Kerry began to drone.  "I support the State of Israel ---"

"ZIONIST PIG!" Saddam screamed, leaping for Kerry's throat.

"--- when I'm not against it," Kerry corrected hurridly while Dean pinned a murderous-looking Saddam in his chair.

"Listen to me, everybody ---" Blix tried unsuccessfully to get everybody's attention.

"ANYBODY WHO SUPPORTS THE ZIONISTS MUST DIE!" Zarqawi shouted.

"Look, we've all got to stick together here ---" Ginsburg panted, fending Zarqawi off with her autographed copy of The Communist Manifesto.

"I've always stood for more cooperation," Kerry began to lecture.  "What this team needs is a lawyer with the credibility to bring more lawyers to our side, and I'm reporting for duty.  I've spent my life bringing others to my side, like when I was commanding my Swift boat in the Mekong Delta.  If you want this fight to be about who has more credibility, I say BRING IT ON!"

"Listen to me, everybody," Blix said.  "This constant fighting is getting us nowhere.  We cannot afford these outbursts from you and you ---" he pointed at Saddam and Zarqawi "--- and YOU need to pay more attention to the case," he said to Kennedy.  He suddenly sat back, pleased that nobody had tried to talk over him.  Then he saw why.  Kerry's droning monotone voice had rendered Ginsburg unconscious.  Dean slouched in his chair, a thin dribble of drool trickling from the corner of his mouth.  Even Zarqawi and Saddam were tranquil.  Only Kennedy was still fully conscious, and that because he was so intent on giving Teresa a foot massage that he hadn't been paying attention.

Sighing, Blix poured some water into one of the styrofoam cups the bailiffs had provided as the start of the break and splashed water on his confederates and client.  Unfortunately, a few drops hit Kennedy on the back of the neck.

"AIEEE!!!" he screamed.  Looking around wide-eyed in panic, he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a neck brace, which he put on with well-practiced speed.  "I swear, I lost control of the car," he panted, shoving handfuls of breathmints into his mouth.  "She was already dead!  I barely escaped with my life ---"

Teresa, who'd been pulled out of her chair when Kennedy went berserk, hauled herself to her feet and slapped him across the face.  "SHADAP!" she snarled.

Kennedy shook his head as if to clear it.  "Ooo, baby, I love it when a girl gets rough ---"

WHAP!

Teresa landed a solid right to Kennedy's jaw.  His eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed, smashing his chair beneath his bulk.  Teresa bared her teeth at Saddam and his lawyers, fists up.  "Alright, losers, who else wants some?" She fixed a rabid eye on her husband.  "What about you, Stick Boy?"

"WHAT IN THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD OF SPORTS IS GOIN' ON OUT HERE?" Bush shouted from the door to his chambers, holding an icepack on his head.

"Just a conference with my fellow counsels and client," Blix explained.

"WELL???" Bush roared.  "IS SOMEBODY GOING TO EXPLAIN THIS DOLLYBROOK OR WHAT?"

"We're, uh, just having a conference, your honor," Ginsburg stammered.

"Any more 'conferences' like this and you'll be holding them in the local hoosegow," Bush grated, pressing the icepack more firmly on his head.  He rounded on Rumsfeld.  "You're supposed to be keeping order in the courtroom," he ranted, pointing a quivering finger at the bailiff.

Rumsfeld snorted as he yanked back the charging handle of the 50-caliber machinegun he'd been assembling.  "I was just about to when YOU came out," he pouted.

Bush goggled.  "You're supposed to keep order, not blow everybody away!"

"Six of one, half-dozen of the other," Rumsfeld shrugged.  "Do you want me to pacify them now?" he asked, aiming the powerful machinegun at the defense table.  Saddam and his attorneys prudently hit the deck, joining the unconscious Kennedy on the floor.

"NO!" Bush cried, wincing as his headache suddenly got far worse.  "Just... Just... Just make sure you've got plans ready in case we need to exercise that option."

"KEWL!" Rumsfeld cried happily, whipping out a pen, and small notepad, and his cell phone.  He quickly dialed a number and was immediately answered.  "Hello, Pentagon?  This is Rumsfeld.  This is a code red alert!  I need... No, it isn't the Chinese... No, it's not the Russians, either... It's... It's... SHUT UP, OK???  Send the chiefs, the head of SOCOM, the director of the Joint Staff, and three companies of Marines... No, war hasn't broken out yet, but I'm definitely keeping my fingers crossed...  OK, listen.  This is what I need..."

Satisfied that Rumsfeld would be distracted for some time by planning more global mayhem, Bush turned back to Blix and his attorneys.  "Look, continue having your conference.  But any more outbursts like this, and there's gonna be trouble." With as much dignity as he could muster (which wasn't much as the icepack had sprung a leak and was dribbling all down his face), Bush turned and marched back into his chambers.

After cautiously checking to make sure that Rumsfeld wasn't training his machinegun on them anymore, Dean stood.  "OK, let's get organized ---"

"Wait a minute!" Kerry droned.  "Who put you in charge?"

"Actually, I'm the chief defense ---" Blix began.

"Well, SOMEBODY has to be the voice of the party," Dean sneered.

"I'd like to remind you that I was the nominee AND that I fought in Vietnam," Kerry replied indignantly.

"HAH!" Dean scoffed.  "You couldn't even stop him from stealing Ohio, loser."

"What was I supposed to do?  Accuse him of cheating better than me?" Kerry protested.

"HEY!" Ginsburg shouted, climbing onto a chair.  "Both of you, BE QUIET!  We've got a case to prosecute here."

"Wait, I thought you infidels said I was the defendant," Saddam said, puzzled.

"That's what we've been trying to tell you," Ginsburg shouted, stamping her foot.  "This trial is really all about ---"

"AIEEE!!!!" Kennedy's piercing scream echoed throught the courtroom.  The startled attorneys looked down to see him rolling on the floor, his hands over his eyes.

"Ted!  TED!  What happened?" Dean asked.

"I looked up her skirt!" Kennedy wailed.  "I've been stricken blind!"

"Well, I never!" Ginsburg huffed.

"I'm a doctor," Dean announced, kneeling on the floor next to his fellow counsel.  "Let me have a look."

"I am also a doctor," Zarqawi protested.  "I will examine the patient."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean scoffed.  "Where did you get your degree, 'doctor'?  And in what?  Camel proctology?"

"At least I am not an infidel, married to a JEW!" Zarqawi shot back.

The two would have come to blows had Kennedy not groped for his attache case.  "In there... Only hope... for me..." he groaned.

The two doctors scuffled over the case, but Dean successfully grabbed it.  He rumaged through the contents: a spare neck brace, a thick folder of Abu Ghraib photos, a much-used little black book, two empty vodka bottles, one half-full vodka bottle, and a glossy magazine.

"Mag... magazine..." Kennedy rasped.

"Hold on," Dean said.  "Here you go." He caught a glimpse of the front cover.  An Arab bellydancer, her hands over her bare, ample breasts, was striking a provocative pose.  "What the hell???"

Saddam, who'd been watching Kennedy's agony with gleeful interest, ripped the magazine from Dean's hands.  "What is this?  'Chunky Asses'???" he said, translating the cover.

"SO!" Zarqawi snarled at Kennedy.  "It was YOU who stole them from me!" He kicked the prostrate senator in the shin.

"OWWW!" Kennedy howled.

"Give me that!" Dean shouted, taking the magazine back from Saddam.  "It's his only chance."

"It is mine, infidel!" Zarqawi cried, snatching it from Dean.

"John, how about a little help here?  John?" Dean panted as he wrestled with Zarqawi.  "Where the hell did he go?" he asked Ginsburg, primly standing aside from the tussle.

"Him?  HMPH!  He took off the minute the screaming started," she replied, gesturing to the exit.

"What a sissy," Saddam scowled, helping himself to Kennedy's vodka.

The Trial of the Century (pt II)

(pt I)

Bush took a quick gulp of water, wondering whatever had possessed him to make Rumsfeld a bailiff. "OK. Now, let's see if we can get this show on the road. Bring this defendant to justice."

"Obje ---"

"SHUT UP!" Bush hitched his robes back into place, glowering at the defense table. "The chief prosecutor will read the charges." He signaled to two other bailiffs, who wheeled a large TV screen into the front of the courtroom. "Unfortunately, the chief prosecutor is in an undisclosed location, so he'll be joining us by telecondom."

After the bailiffs had plugged in the TV, Bush picked up a remote and thumbed it. A rerun of 'Gunsmoke' came on. "Oooo, I love this show!" Bush said enthusiastically. "Wrangler Jane is so hot!"

"You're thinking of 'F Troop', you moron," Condi muttered to herself, rolling her eyes.

Saddam leaned forward for a better view of the TV. The dictator looked much better than he had when US soldiers had pulled him from his spider hole almost two years earlier. Though not as tanned, he was heavier and his moustache was bushier than ever. He snorted. "I saw this one last night after dinner," he said, disappointed. "Damned cable always shows the same reruns, over and over again. Somebody would be shot for this if I was in charge. In fact, I'd shoot his entire family. No, I'd have my boys rape his entire family... with chainsaws... and Dobermans... THEN I'd have them shot."

Another defense attorney, Ted Kennedy, elbowed Saddam sharply in the ribs. "You aren't supposed to say you've been watching TV in your cell," he hissed. "Complain that you've been tortured."

"I mean, the Americans turned up this infidel program very loud so that I was tortured by it!" Saddam said loudly. He then scowled at Kennedy. "You stink of vodka. And cheap vodka, at that."

"Be quiet," Bush ordered. "I'm trying to watch here."

"Miss Kitty gets on the stage to go out of town. The stage is robbed by bandits. Miss Kitty and the others must walk through the desert to safety. Just when all hope is lost, Matt Dillon and his running dog lackey, Festus, come to the rescue," Saddam said nastily.

"You ruined it!" Bush snarled. "I haven't seen this one yet, and you ruined it. Why, you ---"

"Judge! JUDGE!" Condi rapped out, tugging at Bush's robes. "The trial. Remember? Gotta bring somebody to justice?"

"Oh, yeah." Staring daggers at Saddam, Bush picked up the remote and began to surf through the channels. "Five hundred channels, and never anything on... HEY!" he shouted as Condi took the remote from him. "Gimme that back!"

"Look, it was YOUR idea for me to be the steno," she flared. "I have a freakin' doctorate degree. Why did I get stuck with this job?"

"Because you were the only one who could figure out how to work that stenomographicker thingy," Bush replied sullenly.

Condi quickly found the right channel on the TV, started to give the remote back to Bush, thought the better of it, and sat back down in her seat, sticking the remote in her purse.

On the screen, Dick Cheney was visible in what looked like an underground bunker. He was putting little mushroom cloud stickies all over a world map and cackling with glee. Another man, very stout and with snow-white hair stood next to him, but his back was turned so nobody could see his face. "Mr. Vice President! MR. VICE PRESIDENT!" a voice cried urgently from off camera.

"I'm busy. What do you want?" he asked irritably. Turning to his unknown companion, he offered him some stickies. "Now, Ari, while we're taking out the Chinese, you wipe out the Syrians and Jordanians. Just be careful not to irradiate the oil fields. My stocks are still in the ‘blind trust’. Heh-heh-heh."

"Vud abowd dee Iranians?" the other man asked in thickly accented English.

"Leave them to me," Cheney said, clenching his fist. "I've got a little score to settle with THEM!"

"Mr. Vice President, you're on!"

"On? On what?" Cheney asked, looking around. "The camera? Hah. We've got hours yet. There's no way that idiot could get the trial going this fast..." As he peered at his own teleconference screen, he could see the court and suddenly realized that everyone could also see HIM. "AIEEE!" he shrieked, whipping a black cloth over the map. "Ari, beat it!"

The fat man scurried away, but not before everybody could see that he was Ariel Sharon.

"AHA! A Zionist conspiracy! I knew it!" cried Saddam, his defense counsels, and half the jurors simultaneously.

"Um, hah-hah, I was just… um… Playing a game… Yeah. Yeah. I was playing a game of Risk with a friend of mine. It gets lonely here in this undisclosed location, you know. So I called my, um, old college chum. Ari. Ari Sharon… enheimer. He’s not Jewish. I mean, yeah, I know he’s got a Jewish name, but he’s Catholic. Yessir, a good, solid Catholic. I swear he goes to Mass, like, every day. Confidentially, I even think he was… you know… Molested when he was an altar boy." Defense attorney John Kerry stood up. "That’s enough proof for me," he droned. "I knew several men just like that when I was commanding my Swift boat on the rivers of Vietnam and Cambodia. Their names and faces are seared – SEARED – into my memory." Kerry hoisted a surprised Saddam to his feet. "Like this man here. A genuine American hero who served on my boat and can testify to my bravery."

"Hey, dummy!" the chief prosecutor shouted from the screen. "That's the defendant!"

"How dare you question this man’s patriotism?" Kerry replied. "He loves this great country of ours even more than I do. He represents the same middle-class values that I hold dear. Just like me, he's worked a farm, dug coal with his bare hands to provide heat for starving widows and orphans, and fought hard for our veterans. If you want to attack his patriotism, then I say BRING IT ON!"

Snores could be heard around the courtroom as Kerry's monotone voice put more and more people to sleep. Everybody would have become comatose had his wife, Teresa Heinz-Kerry, not stormed up to him, grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, and slapped his face. "IDIOT!" she spat.

"Hey, you can’t hit him!" Blix protested weakly.

"You can just shove it!" Theresa replied sharply, causing the chief defense attorney to cower in his seat.  Sneering at Kerry and shaking her head, she muttered, "Putz!" before walking back to her seat.

"You shouldn’t allow your women to treat you like that," Saddam said. "If it were me, I’d have her raped by an entire platoon of syphilitic Kurds, then I’d shoot her. Then I’d gas her native village for good measure."

Kerry looked in shock at Saddam, who grinned toothily at him. "Your face looks familiar. Weren’t you with me in Cambodia, Christmas of '68?" Kennedy and Dean hustled Kerry back to his seat. Kerry continued to drone. "You see how Nixon's illegal war affected him? He personally raped, cut off ears, cut off heads, taped wires from portable telephones to human genitals and turned up the power, cut off limbs, blew up bodies, randomly shot at civilians, razed villages in fashion reminiscent of Jenjhis Khan, shot cattle and dogs for fun, poisoned food stocks, and generally ravaged the countryside ---"

"Yep, that's me!" Saddam said proudly. "Boy, third grade was a lot of fun!"

"SHUT UP!" Kennedy hissed. "You're blowing the case." He looked at Teresa, who sat scowling in her chair, and gestured at Kerry. "Can't you keep this idiot quiet?" He looked at her again more speculatively. "Say, which hotel are you staying at, baby? I'm in the Hyatt, room 349."

"ORDER IN THE COURT!" Bush rubbed his temples, feeling a massive headache coming on. "The prosecutor will now read the charges."

"Yes, your honor," Cheney replied. Clearing his voice, he began, "We, the people, charge the defendant, Saddam Hussein al-Majid al-Tikrit, aka Saddam Hussein, aka the Flaming Sword of Allah, aka Muhammed Lance al-Goodthrust, with the following crimes: genocide, production of weapons of mass destruction, waging aggressive war, violation of fourteen UN resolutions, murder, conspiracy, kidnapping, rape, robbery, sodomy, wire fraud, grand theft auto, bootlegging, contributing to the delinquency of a minor, smoking, unnatural relations with a goat ---"

"THAT'S A LIE!" Saddam screamed, outraged.

"Objection!" cried Ginsburg.

"We have photos," Cheney sneered.

Saddam spluttered. "Where... where did you... IT'S ALL A ZIONIST PLOT!"

"Say you were tortured," Kennedy urged, leering at Teresa.

"ORDER IN THE COURT!"

"YOU WILL PAY, INFIDELS! I WILL KILL YOU ALL! I WILL KILL YOUR FAMILIES, YOUR CHILDREN, YOUR PETS!!!" Saddam ranted, purple with rage.

"HE'LL KILL YOUR MOTHERS, YOUR FATHERS, YOUR SONS, YOUR THIRD COUSINS ON YOUR MOTHER'S SIDE!!!" Dean shouted, supporting his client.

"ORDER IN THE COURT!" Bush repeated, banging his gavel to no avail. "Don, do something!"

Rumsfeld sulked in his chair. "No. Every time you ask me to do something, you tell me I'm too extreme and make me sit down again. 'Don, you can't invade North Korea. Don, you can't declare war on France. Don, you can't use nuclear weapons on the New York Times just because they piss you off.'" He crossed his arms and stared out the window, pointedly ignoring the fracas at the defense table.

"OBJECTION!"

Hans Blix tried to quiet Saddam and Dean, but as usual, nobody paid attention to him.

"I'LL GAS ALL YOUR CITIES AND TOWNS! I'LL SLAUGHTER YOUR HERDS! YOUR RIVERS WILL RUN RED WITH YOUR INFIDEL BLOOD!"

"HE'LL KILL YOUR SON-IN-LAWS, YOUR NEIGHBOR'S KIDS, THAT SON OF A B**** WHO WOULDN'T ALLOW A BIKE PATH TO BE BUILT ON CHURCH PROPERTY! YEAGHHHH!"

The few remaining windows shattered and a large light fixture fell from the ceiling, crushing an AP pool reporter. People screamed from the agony in their tortured eardrums.

Dean would have continued his rant had Zarqawi not returned, wearing an ill-fitting suit with a rental tag still dangling from the sleeve. "What happened in here?" he asked, looking around at the shattered windows, the groaning spectators, and the body of the AP reporter on the floor. "It looks like a bomb went off."

Blix had been waving his arms and shouting for attention for some time. Bush finally noticed him. "Yes, counselor?"

"Your honor, I would like a recess to discuss the case with my client."

"Good idea," Bush said wearily. "Court’s adjourned for thirty minutes." He banged his gavel and winced at the noise. "Better make that an hour." As he stumbled to his office, he muttered, "I need a drink."

"Your honor!" one of the bailiffs from the back of the room called.

"What?" Bush replied peevishly.

"What should we do with this guy?" the bailiff asked, gesturing at the body on the floor.

"Is he dead?"

"Afraid not, sir. Do you want us to finish him off?"

Bush considered this. "Nah," he said at length. "Better call a cab or an ambulance or something and get him out of here. And get a mop to clean up that blood."

"Yes, sir."

The Trial of the Century (pt I)

(inspired by "In My World" by Frank J)

WARNING: The following concept may be offensive to... well... just about everybody.  If you aren't offended, I'm sorry.

Attorneys shuffled their papers nervously.  The spectator galleries were crammed to capacity with foreign dignitaries, newsmen, and citizens lucky enough - or influential enough - to get an admittance pass.  Despite the heat, many more curious onlookers and media camera crews milled around on the sidewalk and lawn outside the courthouse, kept back from the building by bored looking policemen and wooden barricades.  A few enterprising shop owners and restaurateurs were making a tidy profit selling bottled water and sandwiches to the crowd.

Reporters stood before their cameras.  Phrases like 'trial of the century' and 'landmark legal case' buzzed through the air.  Even though there was little to report so far, most networks were giving the trial continuous coverage.  Legal scholars, foreign diplomats, and pundits discussed every aspect of the case, hashing and rehashing evidence, law and politics.  The trial of Saddam Hussein, months in the planning, was finally about to begin.

An excited murmur broke out among the spectators in the gallery, and the attorneys gave their ties one last tug as the bailiff, Donald Rumsfeld, strode into the room.

"O yea, oh yea, o yea!  This court is now in session, the Honorable George W. Bush presiding.  God save the United States of America and this honorable court!"

The judge, his black robes flowing behind him like the wings of the angel of death, walked jauntily to his chair.  He'd barely sat down when one of the defense attorneys rose.

"Objection!" cried Muhammed al-Zarqawi.

The judge looked puzzled.  Condi Rice, acting as the stenographer, quickly stood and whispered, "That means he doesn't like something that just happened."

Bush scowled at her.  "I know what it means," he hissed.  "I watch 'Matlock' all the time, you know." He glared at Zarqawi.  "The trial hasn't even started yet.  What are you objecting to?"

"What that infidel said!  There is only one god and his name is Allah!"

"Objection!"

Bush stared as another defense lawyer, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, stood.  "How can you object?  You're a member of the defense team!"

Zarqawi rounded on her.  "BLASPHEMY!  You are not allowed to speak, woman!"

"Who is that swarthy son of  a b**** calling an infidel?" Rumsfeld demanded.

"You be quiet, you chauvinist pig," Ginsburg snapped at Zarqawi.  Turning back to the judge, she continued, "We of the ACLU do not believe that this court should place its imprimatur on the existence of any god.  According the Supreme Court ruling in ---"

"I am calling YOU an infidel, infidel," Zarqawi shouted at Rumsfeld.  "The holy warriors of the prophet will strike you on the neck!"

"Mr. Blix, will you please control your attorneys?" Bush called to the chief defense counsel.

Dutifully the Swede tottered to his feet and began waving his arms and calling for order, but nobody paid attention to him.

"I'll strike YOU on the end of your beaky nose," Rumsfeld snarled, rolling up his sleeves.

"Your honor, I want a ruling on my objection!"

"ORDER IN THE COURT!" Bush shouted, banging to no avail with his gavel.

Another defense attorney, Howard Dean, had ripped off his jacket and tie and was standing on the table, haranguing the spectators.  "We're going to object to the opening statement, and we're going to object to the evidence ---"

"HAH!  Your powers are weak, old man!" Zarqawi taunted Rumsfeld.

"My objection ---"

"--- and we're going to object to the prosecution, and we're going to object to the jury ---"

"ORDER IN THE COURT!"

"Prepare yourself for some serious shock and awe, you rotten ---"

"YEAAGHHH!"

Dean's piercing scream left everybody in the courtroom clutching their ears in pain.  Several of the windows were shattered, as was every water glass and pitcher on the defense counsels' table.  The lawyers scrambled to rescue their documents and notes from the sudden flood.

The judge wiggled a finger in his ear, then held his nose and blew hard to pop his eardrums.  "Please don't let him do that again," he muttered.  "Now, I want order in this court, or I'll order the bailiffs to clear everybody out."

"NOW we're talking!" Rumsfeld said enthusiastically, drawing his baton.

"NOT YET!" Bush shouted.  Regaining control of himself, he grated, "Don, sit back down in your chair."

"That damned camel jockey called me an infidel ---"

"SIT DOWN!"

Grumbling and shooting deadly looks at Zarqawi, Rumsfeld sat back in his chair, tapping his baton meaningfully in his palm as he did so.

"Now, as for your objection ---" Bush started to address the Jordanian attorney.

"What about MY objection?" Ginsburg interrupted.

"In a minute.  Now, Mr. Zarqawi ---"

"I have a right to have MY objection heard first!"

Bush goggled at her.  "Says who?" he spluttered.

"I say so," she replied smugly.  "It's a penumbra of the Eighteenth Amendment."

Bush scrabbled around in the drawer of his desk, pulled out two cap pistols, a 'Sergeant Rock' comic book, and $0.63 in loose change before he found his pocket copy of the Constitution.  Flipping quickly through it, he scratched his head, clearly befuddled.  "That's the prostitution amendment ---"

"Prohibition, sir," Condi hissed a correction.

"Whatever.  That's the pro---, pos---, you know, the one that says no more booze.  It doesn't say a thing about courtroom procedures.  And anyway, it was repealed by... by..." He flipped pages frantically, then gave up.  "Some other amendment."

"The Constitution means what it says I say it means," Ginsburg said haughtily.  "And I say ---"

"Objection overruled," Bush snapped, banging his gavel again.  "Sit down." He pointed the gavel like a pistol at Zarqawi.  "Now, as for your objection: in this court, the proper, traditional, and ceremomial, ah, you know, intro-thingy, is to say God bless this court ---"

"There is only one god ---"

"Sit down and shut up while his honor is talking to you, you goat-raping ---" Rumsfeld snarled, leaping from his chair.

Zarqawi took a step back and dramatically ripped open his jacket to reveal a dozen sticks of dynamite strapped to his body.  "It is the will of Allah that this sham proceeding come to an end!"

Judge, jurors, attorneys, press, and spectators alike screamed and dove for the floor... all except Rumsfeld.

"Don, for the love of Sam Houston, GET DOWN!" Bush cried from his place beneath his desk.

"For what?" Rumsfeld asked contemptuously.

"He's got a bomb, you idiot!" Condi shouted.

Rumsfeld snorted.  "He hasn't got the stones.  I know this kind of dirtbag: he's good at getting other people to do his dirty work, but he's a sissy-mary crybaby at heart.  He won't push that button."

"Don't test me, infidel!" Zarqawi screamed.

Rumsfeld fixed Zarqawi with his most piercing stare.  "Go ahead.  Make my day."

For several seconds, there wasn't a sound in the courtroom, not even the terrified panting of all the people as they all held their breath.

Zarqawi blinked and looked away.  "Allah the merciful, the compassionate has decided to spare your infidel lives," he muttered.  He tried to button his ripped jacket with as much dignity as he could muster, then dropped back into his chair.  "I withdraw my objection." He suddenly gave a start, stood, then scowled at his chair.  He'd sat in a puddle of water.

"Didums widdle Mo-mo make a widdle pee-pee?" Rumsfeld jeered.

"I sat in water," Zarqawi replied hastily, his swarthy features darkening with embarrassment.  Staring wildly around at the reporters still cowering on the floor behind him, he pointed at his chair.  "Look!  LOOK!  You see?!  It's only water."

"Suuuure it is," Rumsfeld drawled.

"Can it, Don!  Mr. Zarqawi, if you... er, need to take a break ---" the judge began.

"I TOLD YOU, I SAT IN WATER!"

"--- to take a break to get some dry clothes and a new coat, you may be excused."

Trying to look as defiant as he could in his ripped coat and soaked pants, Zarqawi stood.  "I will return, infidels, and  I will bring the wrath of Allah with me."

As he stalked down the aisle to the exit, Rumsfeld began to sing softly.  "Tinkle, tinkle, little star ---"

Zarqawi stiffened but did not turn, then stomped out of the courtroom.

Everybody else breathed a collective sigh of relief, then slowly got back in their seats.

"Wuss," Rumsfeld scoffed triumphantly.

ACLU files lawsuit against al Qaeda

According to Rooters, the ACLU has filed a lawsuit in federal court against al Qaeda:

The lawsuit, filed on behalf of Guitaro K. Simpson, aka Hakim Faisel el Mohammed, of Berkely, California, alleges that al Qaeda wrongly discriminated against Simpson, who claims that his application to join the militant group was rejected because he refused to convert to Islam.

"Like, man, like, you know, religion is, like, such a downer," Simpson said.  "I believe in Allah, man.  Like, you know, he's kind of like the Earth Spirit, or something.  When I said that, they were all like, 'There is only one god, and his name is Allah!' They started really, like, freakin' out or something.  And I said, you know, like, man, that's cool with me 'n' stuff.  I just want to go to Pakistan and, like, you know, learn how to fight the white oppressors with my brothers.  And, like, they told me I had to, you know, dye my hair black and grow a beard.  And I was like, 'Whoa!  No way, man.  Can you imagine me on a board with a beard?'"

Mr. Simpson's attorney, Lawrence 'Lefty' Bleedum of the ACLU, issued the following statement:

"Al Qaeda violated my client's constitutional rights of free association and freedom of religion.  By attempting to enforce their own religion on him, they have violated everything that this country stand for."

We contacted Simpson's father, Dr. Ward Simpson, who teaches ethnic studies at UC-Berkely, and asked him to comment on his son's lawsuit.

"Like, man, I'm, like, SO proud of him," Dr. Simpson said.  "I taught Git to always, like, stand up to THE MAN, man.  If he wants to join the righteous cause of Ho Chi Minh, that's, like, you know, totally awesome, man."

We were unable to contact any representatives of al Qaeda directly, but a videotape was sent to Rooters a few days after the lawsuit was filed.  A hooded man claiming to be Sheik Ali ben Mohammed delivered this terse statement:

"Praise to Allah, we will triumph over the infidel!  Allah will strike him with holy justice!  We declare jihad against this infidel!  Praise be to Allah!"

al Qaeda has retained the law firm of Goldstein, Greenberg, Sharon and Abraham to represent them.  The case has tentatively been scheduled for September 11 of this year.

The truth about dogs and cats

Shortly after God created the heavens and the earth, and the land and the seas, and not long after he created man in His own image, the Archangel Gabriel was sitting in his office.  He looked again at the memo in his hands and sighed.  "I hate to bother the Big Guy so early in the morning," he muttered to himself.

Rising from his chair, he walked to the door of God's office.  As usual, before his knuckle even hit the wood, the door swung open.  "Come in, Gabe," God called.

Gabriel stood respectfully before The Almighty's desk while He made an adjustment on one of His newest inventions.  Satisfied, God laid down His screwdriver and looked up at His chief assistant.  "Something wrong?"

Gabriel cleared his throat.  "Well, Lord, I'm afraid there's a little trouble in paradise." He laid the memo on God's desk.  "According to reports, Adam is feeling a little lonely."

God nodded His head.  "I know.  I just haven't got as much time to spend with him as I'd like.  However, I've been working on something that might help." He reached down into a basket next to His chair and presented a small, hairy animal.  It opened its big, brown eyes and wagged its tail happily, then craned its neck to lick The Almighty's face.

"Oh, what an adorable little creature!" Gabriel exclaimed.

"It's almost old enough for me to give to Adam," God said.  "It will be Adam's companion and keep him company in those times I can't be there." He carefully handed the little animal to Gabriel, who lifted it to his face to have a better look.  It immediately began to enthusiastically lick his nose, causing the archangel to splutter and laugh at the same time.

"It's wonderful!" he exclaimed.  "What do you call it?"

"Well, since I intend it as a gift to Adam to be his companion when I can't be there, I call it 'dog', which is My Name spelled backwards."

And The LORD gave the dog unto Adam, to be his companion and friend.  And The LORD saw that it was good.

For a while...

"Gabriel, could you step in here for a moment?"

Gabriel wondered if this had anything to do with the report that had just been placed on his desk.  "Coming, Lord," he replied.

When he walked into The Almighty's office, God was reading His copy of the report.  He took a drink of His coffee, grimaced, and muttered, "I need to invent a new type of coffee.  Maybe I can grow something in South America..." He looked up at the archangel.  "Have you read this?"

"Yes, Lord." Gabriel hesitated, chosing his words carefully.  "I hate to be critical, Lord, but ---"

God cut him off with a wave of His hand.  "I know, I know.  The dog is entirely too much of a good thing for Adam.  The dog acts as though Adam is the center of the universe, and it's made Adam vain."

"What do you plan to do?" Gabriel asked.  He hoped that God would not get rid of the dog, because he enjoyed watching Adam play with it and hoped to get one for himself.

"That," God replied simply, pointing to the top of His bookshelf.

Gabriel looked up and was suprised to see what looked like a furry cushion sitting among the various knick-knacks.  Taking a closer look, he saw that it was an animal rather like a panther, but much smaller.  It's fur looked deliciously soft, but when he reached up to pet it, it suddenly woke, hissed at him, then jumped off the shelf to hide under God's desk.

"It's very pretty," Gabriel said, "but it certainly doesn't seem very friendly."

God picked the animal up.  It curled in His arms and began to make a very pleasant rumbling sound as he scratched its ears.  "Oh, it can be quite friendly... when it wants to be."

Gabriel was puzzled.  "I'm sorry, Lord, but how will this help solve the problem with Adam?"

"It will teach him humility," God replied as the animal suddenly jumped out of His lap and went back to its place atop the bookshelf.  "This animal - I call it 'cat' - is very self-centered.  It can be pleasant to hold and to pet so I think Adam will like it, but it will NEVER let him think that he's more important than it is."

And The LORD gave the cat unto Adam, and He saw that it was good.  For Adam had his faithful companion, the dog, and the dog had his loving master, Adam.  And Adam had his cat, and the cat had Adam to pet it, scratch its ears, assure it that it was a beautiful cat, beg it to eat, plead with it to sit on his lap, and implore it not to scratch him or the dog when it was in a bad mood.  He learned humility, and The LORD was very pleased.  And the cat... didn't give a s*** either way.

Remember, kids: don't try this at home

Kim du Toit has a series of pics that show why alcohol, stupidity, and fireworks DON'T mix!

French surrender

The Therapist reports that Black Jacques Chirac has surrendered in the wake of the London terror attacks.

I know that this isn't exactly a time for laughing, but this IS pretty good.

Supreme Court forces Gitmo guards to convert to Islam

In a landmark ruling, the Supreme Court has found that stationing non-Muslim or female American military personnel as guards at the Guantanamo Bay detention facility violates both the First and Eighth Amendments.  In the majority opinion in the case of al Qatani vs. Rumsfeld, Mr. Justice Kennedy wrote:

Muhammed al Qatani, a suspected member of al Qaeda captured by the US military in Afghanistan, complained that his guards are overwhelmingly Christian or Jewish.  This causes him great feelings of discomfort and persecution.  Indeed, hospital records show that Mr. al Qatani was twice examined by medical personnel after he suffered severe bruising from attempting to break through the bars of his cell when a guard he believed to be Jewish walked by, and a third time when he broke a nail trying to gouge out the eyes of another guard, Corporal Isaac Rosenberg.  A report by Amnesty International has found that some 91% of the personnel assigned as guards at Guantanamo Bay have declared on their official military records that they are members of any of a variety of Christian denominations and sects, or are members of the Jewish religion...

As this Court has held on many occasion, most recently in the case McCreary County, Kentucky et al. v. American Civil Liberties Union of Kentucky, the United States government must remain strictly neutral with regard to the establishment of religion.  Defendents' assertions that guards are too busy dodging excrement, semen, and saliva to discuss religious matters with detainees does nothing to remove this requirement.  The presence of members of religions labeled as 'infidels', 'ungodly crusaders' and 'Zionist pigs' violates the right of detainees to practice their own religion without interference.  Based on survey data provided to the Court in an amicus brief by the Democrat National Committee, practicing Christians and Jews a 'a bunch of conservative white people who've never worked a day in their lives' and are 'racist, homophobic and sexist.' Clearly, no prisoner, no matter what crimes he may be accused of having committed, should be forced to associate with such extremists.

We also find that the mere fact that female guards routinely interact with the detainees presents a clear violation of the Eighth Amendment's prohibition against cruel and unusual punishment...

We therefore find that guards at Guantanamo Bay must be Muslim males.

In a concurring opinion, Madame Justice O'Connor wrote:

The measure of any country may be found in how it treats outsiders.  Our tradition in the United States has always been to provide lenient and fair treatment to prisoners.  In this current war, our treatment of detainees also has a tremendous bearing on our national security.  Harsh or insensitive treatment of detainees echoes throughout the Muslim world, acting as propaganda and a recruiting device for extremist groups.  The detainees come from a culture that places women in a subservient position to men.  As much as our own sensibilities may be offended by this, it is nevertheless unjust and cruel to expose the already humiliated detainees to further psychological damage by placing them under the control of women...

In his dissent, Mr. Justice Thomas wrote simply:

You people are out of your (omitted) minds.