abba ghraib
I think it’s time to come clean with you people. I know that many of you see me and think you’ve seen me before but just can’t place where it was exactly. Take another look at this famous photo from last year.
Yes, it is perfectly understandable that you didn’t notice me with a hot chick like Lynndie England in the same shot.
I won’t go into all the sordid details of how I wound up in the little known Abbas Martyrs Brigade, as I believe Steve Earle did a fine job of laying out my case in his less controversial song “Rex L. Camino’s Blues”, but I can say that it was no more than just an honest mistake that any one of us could make. I thought I was signing up for the Iraqi chapter of Abba fan club.
Yes, it is perfectly understandable that you didn’t notice me with a hot chick like Lynndie England in the same shot.
I won’t go into all the sordid details of how I wound up in the little known Abbas Martyrs Brigade, as I believe Steve Earle did a fine job of laying out my case in his less controversial song “Rex L. Camino’s Blues”, but I can say that it was no more than just an honest mistake that any one of us could make. I thought I was signing up for the Iraqi chapter of Abba fan club.
I should’ve realized my error when I got to the cave and found they had no Abba memorabilia or sound system on which to listen to Abba at our gatherings. The cave and constant “death to America” speeches probably should’ve tipped me off, but perhaps I was in denial. I was there for the camaraderie and spreading of Abba appreciation and could put up with resentment and a lack of personal grooming habits among my roommates, so long as I had my martinis and a couple of smokes to get me through the evenings. But, sadly, none of my vices was allowed. It was the hashish or nothing.
No hashish for me, thank you very much, Abdul. I came here to make one helluva chapter of the Abba fan club, and that’s just what I’m going to do. I may not be able to teach you mangy bastards the benefits of soap and water, but I swear by Allah I’ll make dancing queens outta the ragtag lot of you.
It was a tall order, I admit, but I was not afraid. The Middle East was driving me insane, and I had no other choice. The previous night I had made sweet love to a black bed sheet caught on a fence post after mistaking it for a burqa. It was time to do something.
I traded in a dozen of Yusef’s finest goats for a portable CD player and copy of Abba Gold and then went immediately back to the cave. They met the Swedish super group with stunned silence and a lot of angry squinting through their dark little eyes, but I did not care. Screw them. I may not have been graceful or the least bit coordinated, but I was quite the Kevin Bacon in a room full of disapproving Lithgows. I was even winning them over—or so I thought until the music came to a screeching halt.
The first thing I noticed was that I was the only one dancing. The second thing I noticed was that I was the only one not pointing a gun, sword, flaming torch, or petrified cat in my direction.
I blacked out and later awoke at Abu Ghraib where I was to spend few harrowing months with nothing but my copy of Abba Gold and the black bed sheet that I was now, according to Islamic law, married to. I got to watch Lynndie commit a number of unspeakable acts and occasionally received a bit of the shock treatment, but I had seen and been through worse.
No hashish for me, thank you very much, Abdul. I came here to make one helluva chapter of the Abba fan club, and that’s just what I’m going to do. I may not be able to teach you mangy bastards the benefits of soap and water, but I swear by Allah I’ll make dancing queens outta the ragtag lot of you.
It was a tall order, I admit, but I was not afraid. The Middle East was driving me insane, and I had no other choice. The previous night I had made sweet love to a black bed sheet caught on a fence post after mistaking it for a burqa. It was time to do something.
I traded in a dozen of Yusef’s finest goats for a portable CD player and copy of Abba Gold and then went immediately back to the cave. They met the Swedish super group with stunned silence and a lot of angry squinting through their dark little eyes, but I did not care. Screw them. I may not have been graceful or the least bit coordinated, but I was quite the Kevin Bacon in a room full of disapproving Lithgows. I was even winning them over—or so I thought until the music came to a screeching halt.
The first thing I noticed was that I was the only one dancing. The second thing I noticed was that I was the only one not pointing a gun, sword, flaming torch, or petrified cat in my direction.
I blacked out and later awoke at Abu Ghraib where I was to spend few harrowing months with nothing but my copy of Abba Gold and the black bed sheet that I was now, according to Islamic law, married to. I got to watch Lynndie commit a number of unspeakable acts and occasionally received a bit of the shock treatment, but I had seen and been through worse.
It was really not much different from my time teaching in middle school.
posted by Rex L. Camino at 6:42 AM
3 Comments:
Ah, Rex. Thank you for highlighting the unique problems faced by us ABBA lovers everywhere.
Maybe next time you try to turn Muslims to the joys of the true Fab Four, you shouldn't start out with Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!
He should have started off with Waterloo perhaps.
I still think Rex has some kind of goat fetish. This is the second post in a few days where he has mentioned something about goats.
Wow. I'll have to spend some time thinking about the goat thing. We could be on the verge of a breakthrough here.
Good choices on the songs, ladies, but I had "S.O.S." in mind. You really can't go wrong with any of them though.
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