Monday, August 28, 2006
In the Depths of the Weird...
there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio Claire, than are dreampt of in your philosophy
Once I admitted to the media that I had been Osama’s mistress, the media discovered that I was a black woman, and worse--one who looks black. They thought first of presenting me as a bimbo--like the type Bill Maher routinely dates, and that tabloid image would have come and went, but my activism and literary works ruled that out.
that “image would have come and went” “my… literary works” I guess her be sayin’ her’s a righter?
It was constantly said that I wasn’t “pretty” enough, and in my novels, I was openly attacking White Supremacist culture and was just as “weird” as Osama himself, so they immediately began to do two things--(1) discredit and dispute my story and (2) not report my story; make me invisible.
Oh, well, sure. Of course. It was the whole white supremacist thing—not the pegged out bullshiite-o-meter thing…
Meanwhile--the U.S. government suspected me of being a terrorist and under the Patriot Act, I could lose my citizenship and be deported. I had no choice, you see, but to reveal to the U.S. inspectors that I had been Osama’s mistress against my will and that my loyalty and my love lay completely with the United States (which it does).
Cu her be a righter and an “African Goddess” and all, her can say dat her “loyalty” and “love” lie with the white-supremacist US of Honkies.
Other times he would humiliate me by making me get up and dance naked. It was such a strange thing, because for the most part, Osama believed that music was evil and I remember how angry he’d get if any guest at the estate played music (Isam, for instance, did enjoy music)--Osama would cover up his ears and not uncover them until he got the managers to have the “poison” silenced. But then he’d become this other guy who wanted to hear Van Halen or some B-52’s. To this day, I hear the song “Rock Lobster” in my sleep. I would be jerking around like a white girl (because, he would instruct me, “dance like a caucasoid girl!”) and his eyes would track my jiggling tits from one side of the room to the terrace to the other side. Constantly telling me not to turn around , because in his opinion, “Your ass is too big--show me the front.”
Osama very rarely ever ate meat--but after I literally conquered his men with my delicious snipe recipe, he’d have a little of that. My secret was one that Mommysweet had taught me as a little girl--using the cheese from water buffalo milk ...So I’d take the birds (they look like killdeer only they have an orange spot cover on the back) and I’d get them all plucked and greased with palm oil (stuffing them with chopped onion, garlic, a few salted pond rocks and couscous) and then wrap them in very thin shards of Robiola cheese (made from the Water Buffalo milk), thin slices of Prosciutto and cabbage leaves, all tied up with string. Of course, you season your layers to taste. But it was with that recipe that Bin Laden’s men warmed up to me a little. They just adored my cabbage baked cheese snipe with sugar-water porridge.
She’s snarky, Moonbatty, opinionated and sometimes right. And if she actually fed Osama prosciutto, I like her.
Here’s a multi-page foto thingy and a pretty funny interview and if ya hunt around her site, you’ll find her traditional bare-breasted dust jacket foto, “in homage to her ancestresses.”
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