|
GOES TO WAR |
 |
|
|
 |
|
SADDAM'S BODY DOUBLE |
 |
 |
|
|
diary author. Some doubles were surgically enhanced to resemble Saddam. Like, is that carrying cosmetic surgery to diabolical lengths or what? And, no, we have no idea which Saddam is which. |
When it comes to careers,
this one really bites!
of TheColumnists.com
Dear Diary:
How did I get myself into this mess?
It all started innocently enough. A revealing pose in “Iraqi Male” magazine because I thought it would advance my career. Next thing you know, I’m being hustled over to one of Saddam’s palaces because of my uncanny resemblance to our President.
I needed the work, but this has been a total disaster. I have got to talk to my agent about getting this straightened out.
First of all, the dialogue is terrible: Zionism this, American dogs that, yada yada yada, jihad jihad jihad. Who writes this crap? Once I came out of a press conference having threatened to make “the streets of Baghdad run red with rivers of American blood,” and I swear to God I saw Uday yelling at one of the speechwriters about more graphic imagery. For this I spent four years at Julliard?
Then there are the working conditions. The United States Bureau of Labor Statistics says that the most dangerous professions are: (1) timber cutter; and (2) fisherman. Fishers, I can understand--I saw “The Perfect Storm.” But timber cutters? Ha! I’ll chop down the trees while you try being the body double of a power drunk dictator who’s squarely in the crosshairs of an American president...who is from Texas.
It just had to be Texas, didn’t it? Where the official state sport is lethal injection. I leave the palace for five minutes to try to get a decent latte and I’ve got satellites and Predators lining up smart bombs right and left.
Which brings us to the big guy himself. And when I say big guy, I mean big guy. Seriously, could someone tell Saddam to lay off the kebabs? Twenty minutes on a freakin’ Stairmaster, that’s all I ask. I had to put on fifty pounds for this gig because Saddam’s people sad the fat suit made me look “lumpy!” (It did, but is it my fault the man can’t walk past a dish of candied dates?) My bad cholesterol is going through the roof, and I’ll never fit in a decent pair of jeans again.
And that mustache. So 1980s. I mean, really, when was the last time Tom Selleck got a decent role? Great, I can be the protagonist in the next made-for-television cowboy movie.
I talked to Saddam’s advisors about maybe something a little more modern, maybe a goatee? No, it has to be that same stupid bushy mustache and those unruly sideburns. I even tried a fake ‘stache, but they said it didn’t look sufficiently virile. Oh, virile, right, but it’s okay for me to appear everywhere in a beret or a fedora, tough guy? Virile this.
And on the manliness thing, if I have to appear at one more staged rally and fire that damn rifle into the air, I’m going to dislocate a shoulder. Who am I supposed to be with that schtick anyway, Charlton Heston? I’m being terribly typecast--look at me if I don’t inject a little variety here.
Of course, what I really
want to do is direct...
©2003 by Patrick McFadden. The photos are from IMSI's Master
Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506,
USA.
You
can comment on this column online. Please address your message
to either "The Editors" or Patrick McFadden. To send
an email, click here: talkback@thecolumnists.com
| Home | About Us | Archives | Talkback | Shopping Mall |