We three kings: Saddam, Osama and Dubya

[The following comment piece is published jointly with the White House Daily, Pennsylvania Avenue’s most influential breakfast table read (estimated readership: 5. But what a 5!)]

I have spent the last three hours in Washington – Planet Earth’s uberCapital – and there is one question on everyone’s cold sores this holiday season:

Should the US go to war? And if so, who with?

‘The options are limitless,’ one White House janitor told me. ‘Allah knows how we’s gonna choose between ‘em. Short straws, me’s guessin’ … I’d sure hate to be in that Mr President’s shoes.’

There was no danger of that. The President doesn’t wear K-Mart sneakers.

Next, I spoke with a man who insisted his identity not be revealed. I will call him George. ‘Times are tough,’ he told me. ‘Folks are real tense. You could cut the air with a warhead.’

What can be done? ‘Tough times call for tough leadershipping. We are the tougherest leader.’

How tough? ‘As cowhide. I want world peace. That’s what I’m aiming for – through the scope of a rocket launcher. My sites are locked. And when I want something, I take it. Like that Twinkie you’ve got. Hand it over.’

On leadership: ‘Leadership is all about stealth. Thank Jesus, most of mine are flying over Baghdad.’

On conviction: ‘This is instinct politics – a fifth sense. I’m much misunderestimated. Florida recount … Que Bueno … I laugh when I hear folks saying I’m just some uniliteral empirist … I don’t play by the textbook. I never even read the textbook. I’m a man of guts. Anyone’s guts.’

For garters? ‘I don’t wear ‘em. No need to. That’s Dick’s thing.’

At times of war, as in times of not-war, a Superpower needs a Superpresident. War is the time when a president’s mettle is tested, to see if it bends. War is like a blowtorch aimed at the Oval Office. If the President’s mettle melts, it’s time to elect a new guy. If he can stand the heat, he’s earned his right to stay in the kitchen with all the other meatballs.

It’s no coincidence that the holiday season is a time for presents. A time when a man takes a minute to think about his identity. His presents. His identity. His pres. His ident. His pres-ident. His president.

I know who I’ll be thinking of as I swig my egg-nog and tear at that wrapping paper under the tree this year.

About half an hour ago, I was lunching with the Pentagon’s Chief Conflict Enabler, Colonel Horatio Pounder, at Dessert Storm, his favourite downtown Iraqi patisserie. Last seen twiddling the console in Operation Kicksomeass in Afghanistan, Pounder is (and wears) the smartest pants in the military high command. He told me that war was no more than a few bombs away.

With who? ‘With the enemy,’ he said. Which enemy? ‘That would be telling.’ Exactly. ‘OK then, Saddam.’ Him personally, or his country? ‘Saddam’s not a country?’ No. He’s a person. With a moustache. ‘An evil one?’ Moustache or person? ‘Person.’ For sure. ‘He’ll do then.’

Is a war with Iraq a part of the war on terror? ‘Who said anything about a war with Iraq?’ You did. ‘I did? When?’ Just now. A war with Saddam – the democratically-elected dictator of Iraq. ‘Oh ****! You’re serious?’ Deadly. ‘Right. Let’s go. We’ll hump over to another joint.’ Sorry? ‘One, Two, One, Two …’

We marched to an Italian dive for cigars. Does the European reaction bother him? ‘Nothing bothers me. Except itchy underwear. Europe is used to a few bombs being dropped on it.’ Bomb Europe? ‘Sure.’ When? ‘When we get Saddam.’ Saddam is not in Europe. ‘It’s not?’

What about war plans? He takes a pen from his hair, and sketches out Operation Deflectattentionfromdomesticeconomy on a napkin in front of him.

What does it mean? ‘You don’t know?’ I’m not a military strategist. I wet myself once in a playground duel. ‘Send bombs in from above, aiming for Saddam’s bald patch. If that doesn’t work, send troops in on their bellies, aiming at Saddam’s shins.’ Sayonara Saddam!

‘It’s all metaphors, of course,’ Pounder tells me as we warm his brandies. ‘Saddam’s bald patch refers to the country’s weaknesses.’ Like what, the hospitals? ‘Not necessarily. More like the desert. Saddam has so much desert. Thousands of miles of useless sand. Not even the Americans can fail to hit desert.’

And the shins? ‘The things that will bring the country to its knees, begging for mercy. The power depots. The army bases. The McDonald’s.’

Will a Pounder-led force show any mercy? He rolls up his sleeve. A tattoo reads ‘No Mersie’. ‘A spelling error. But you get the point.’

I sure did. The US is in for the short-run on this one. The sooner it can destabilise Saddam’s bicycle, the better. ‘After that, we move on. There are always more evils on the axis.’

To the cloakroom. From the next cubicle I hear the unmistakable voice of Hoarse Larynx, my anonymous inside source. ‘There’s another,’ he says. ‘You’re counting?’ I respond, not grasping his meaning. ‘Another threat,’ he qualifies.

Who? ‘No names. You must do your own work.’ Why the focus on Saddam? ‘He’s wider than Bin Laden. An easier target. Got a bit of a belly. Too much good living.’

So, who’s the ‘another’? ‘A man who poses a great threat to all freedom-loving peoples.’ I need a name. ‘Alright. They call him Dubya. That’s all I’m telling.’ That’s not enough to go on. ‘OK, he’s head of the small but well-known organisation called “The Bush Administration”. They operate out of big white houses and five-sided buildings in Washington DC, USA. Word is, Dubya doesn’t really run the show. Some guy called Cheney, and another, Don someone, are the top guns. And there’s some faction. The real power. Exxon something or other.’

Are there any specific threats? ‘They say Dubya aims to bring pain and suffering to TV audiences across the world. It’s real sinister. He calls it “Full Dectrum Spominance”.’

What’s that? ‘No one’s sure. It might have something to do with a global conflict of “goodies versus evil-doers”, what Dubya calls “a mash of civilisations”.’

A clear and present danger? ‘Undoubtedly. Dubya boasts of having operations in every country.’

He has allies? ‘Dubya has direct links to Saddam and Bin Laden, both of whom he has done business with. Oil deals. Weapons trade. Chemicals. Now there’s talk of a hostile takeover. Dubya stripping the other two of their assets.’

Happy holidays! Oh, you got any spare paper in there? I’m all out.

‘Forget it, pal. We used it all for photocopying. That Iraq dossier was full of …’