TRIPOLI, Libya – The scene inside Moammar Gadhafi’s man cave in his Bab al-Aziziya compound looked like the centerfold of Beggar’s Banquet, only worse. Rebel soldiers, having discovered Mr. Gadhafi’s collection of adult toys, were not hesitating to model them (the cock rings) or attack each other with them (the butt plugs).
Amidst all this sweaty delerium, however, lay a secret so vile that its discovery brought the party to a knee-snapping halt.
“Allah, spare my sight,” screamed one rebel soldier.
“Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhggggggg!” screamed others, falling to the ground as if they had been struck by a vengeful deity.
The cause of their dismay was a set of hand-carved, virgin-ivory containers that held seven photo albums filled with pictures of former U.S. Secreetary of State Condoleeza Rice–photo after photo after goddamn photo. Condi in Jimmy Choos; Condi in distressed Seven Jeans and Juicy Couture top; Condi rocking Swarovski encrusted Louis Vuitton sunglasses. The depth of Mr. Gadhafi’s obsession with the gap-toothed diplomat makes dropping chemical weapons on your own people seem like a churlish prank.
Although Mr. Gadhafi met Secretary of State Rice when she visited Tripoli in 2008–and shared a late-night dinner with her to break the Ramadan fast–the weapons of mass devotion had been stockpiled in the Libyan leader’s heart for some time. During a 2007 interview with al-Jazeera television, Mr. Gadhafi spoke of Secretary Rice they way Tom Cruise went on about Katie Holmes.
“I support my darling black African woman,” declared Mr. Gadhafi. “I admire and am very proud of the way she leans back, crosses her legs, and gives orders to the Arab bastards. Leezza, Leezza, Leezza. I love her very much because she is a nubile black woman of African origin.”
In addition to the hundreds of photos of Secretary Rice, rebel soldiers also found several copies of Steve Earle’s 2004 CD, Revolution Starts Now, which contains a faux-reggae mash note to Condoleezza entitled “Condi, Condi.”
One can imagine Mr. Gadhafi, brillo hair freshly dyed, pill box hat sitting goofily on his head, playing air guitar and singing along with Mr. Earle: “Skank for me, Condi, show me what you got/They say you’re too uptight I say you’re not.”
For their part, the rebel leaders were scratching their heads and wondering why Gadhafi “didn’t pick somebody with bigger tits.”
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