Osama bin Laden released a new audio tape today, which was quickly played on Al Jazerra before anyone had a chance to listen. The following is a transcript of the remarkable turn of events:
I had a bad night thinking about the failure at Gaza and how my underwear no longer fits right.
Seemingly, there is no symbiosis between those two problems, but, in Islam, there is always a dichotomy within which lies true meaning.
There is too much dirt, and it is now ground into the fabric of my clothing as I sit here and sleep in these caves, night, after night, after endless night. I haven’t had a hot bath since 2001. I have pressure sores. My bladder no longer works right. I feel like I’m married to this goat I call Sharif, who is now blind and my favorite companion because he eats the lice from my beard. I long to walk within the light of the world again.
It is a calamity. It mandates that I do some actual thinking. Maybe I’ve been a bit of a jackass all of these years, instigating troubles between the believers and the hypocrites. Plus, it is not true that the state of our affairs following Gaza is the same as before. It’s friggin’ worse.
I used to think it was always time to establish righteousness, and eliminate false hope. Now I’m thinking I should stop trying to impose my beliefs on others, that it’s time I let the Western devil bring running water, electricity, satellite TV, books, barber shops, dentistry, and this marvel they call the Internet to the Islamic nation (you live in a cave for 8 years, you have all the time in the world to reflect upon your mistakes). Besides, how many times can I start a bombing by twittering “Go by the grace of Allah, the package is in the goat’s anus, look to the fork in the sun, and you shall find wisdom in your brother’s intestines” to my mobile Facebook page from a cave? I want more!
At the same, time, I feel remorse, a completely alien emotion in Islam, I know, but… I should redeem myself before all of those whom I’ve burned, maimed, disfigured, dismembered, and incinerated in fine pink mists all over the world for a God who would have me die in this cave. The journey to liberate myself requires true honest men (I like men, more than women, anyway), true independent strong leaders who can live up to one of my new ventures, Osama She-man Productions (to begin filming just as soon as possible in the Mecca of gay porn, Germany).
I am tired of being versed in the rules of Islamic law and trying to establish an advisory and council body with branches all across the Islamic nation, who work to educate the people in the politics and laws of Islam. No one gives a crap anyway. They want to watch Slumdog Millionaire on Blu-Ray and play Nintendo. (We had Wii Fit here in the cave for a while, but Sharif, my goat, wasn’t too happy about having to walk on the treadmill to keep the generator going. He kept sitting down and farting a lot, and my avatar kept losing because the game reset due to the loss of electricity. Allah’s will!)
I used to think it is the duty of true Islamic leaders to spread the rules of Islamic law relevant to the freedom of all Palestinian lands, to reinforce that jihad is a must until the goal is achieved, and to reinforce the many fatwa handed down during all of this jihad nonsense, which purported to mean that those who collude and collaborate with the enemies against our Muslim people had violated the tenants of Islam.
Now I think that’s all a crock of shit.
I see the world in financial crisis, and my investments plundered every time ill-prepared men named Obama and Geithner open their mouths, and I think, “Why the hell have I been wasting all this time in a cave all these years?”
Did I mention I have pressure sores, a bad bladder, and that my best friend is a blind goat?
It is clear to me now that I have always been a hypocrite. We should not be searching throughout the region. We should not be looking for fighters and Muhadeens. We should instead by trying to reach our Muslim people in the vicinity of the holy mosque, McDonald’s. It is a valuable and rare opportunity for those with true desires to salvage what we can and eat from McDonald’s every night, to break off our support of the fighters in Iraq and forget about liberating Mesopotamia and dip chicken mcnuggets on a sesame seed bun in a special sauce with all beef patty mcmuffin and fries.
I have been practicing so I can join the next jihad that is coming with the death of newspapers -- “Did you want to supersize that?” I’m particularly looking forward to placing a dead mouse in the fryolator....I know…I know…I saw this on Beavis and Butthead once, before W. had me shitting in a hole in the ground, but I long for the chance to know the fryolator!
I’m tired. I’m old. I stink like goat cheese. To be honest, I’ve been rubbing it on my body for years to cover up my unwashed stench.
Let somebody else think about this jihad business from now on. If you’ll excuse me, I have a rap video to make with Joaquin Phoenix. We’re calling it: “Yo Bitch, I Got a Million in the Bank; What Have You Got?”