The Secret Diary of PuSay Hussein Part III
Saddam's Unusual Daughter

my father and brothers (may allah rub their scrotums with small prickly cacti) appear to be dead. truth be told, they were quite tedious.
this day I have donned my father's (may allah continue to stand on his head with a heavenly jackboot) ceremonial uniform for the amusement of the palace ladies while i pantomimed a british song by queen entitled we are the champions. the ladies laughed with glee at the irony.
the palace i am sequestered in was a lesser palace so it was not bombed. perhaps the exterior facade that reads dunkin donuts was a sufficient ruse to deter the american devils (may allah give them each a large bottle of jack daniels) from bombing us.
on a small battery operated radio i heard a marine say that democracy meant 'freedom, whiskey and sexy.'
as they say in the land of devils and depravity, i am down for that!
after the war has ended i plan to contact infidel american reporter barbara walters and provide her an interview in hopes of launching my new career as iraq's first female pop singer. i am told i resemble canadian infidel radicals carole pope or kd lang so i intend to capitalize on that.
already i have been listening to contraband pop music to see which songs i might appropriate and i have considered the following:
papa don't preach
black velvet
another brick in the wall
i touch myself
midnight at the oasis
ahab the arab
meanwhile i plan to sneak into what remains of the main palace and enter father's (may allah pluck his lifeless mustache with a lady epilator) secret vault and liberate for myself his large, sofa sized painting of elvis on black velvet.
i must close, fatima and some of the other palace ladies are awaiting my presence at the jacuzzi (may allah give me continued lengual and digital potency).