Why you never see Osama Bin Laden’s ugly mug any more, courtesy of your Friendly Neighborhood the Captain
by the Captain
So there I was, about to bed Mullah Omar’s most beautiful mistress. Wait, you think Mullah Omar didn’t have mistresses? Oh yes, my friend, seems like I’ve just educated you. But hey! You learn something new every now and then, right? And Mullah Omar’s mistress was about to learn the erotic possibilities of a burkha.
“But the Captain!” she gasped in whatever language they speak over there. “What if Mullah Omar hears us?”
“Listen, baby,” I growled, “I’m gonna make you scream ‘Captain, o my Captain!’ so loud they’ll hear you someplace really far away, baby.”
And then I totally did her.
But hey, maybe I’m getting ahead of myself here. The Captain always tries to make sure everyone can follow his stories, no matter how stupid you are. So let me put all of my cards on top of the desk for you…
The year was 2002, early June, and the Captain was on a secret mission to make Osama Bin Laden pay for that shit he pulled. Yeah, he pulled on a slip in Bora Bora, but I knew how to find him alright. I told the Marines, but naturally they figured it was too dangerous for anybody but the Captain. And they were right. Smart guys, those Marines.
So there I was, in Bin Laden and Omar’s secret hideout, posing as a trusted member of the mujahedeen. I was in perfect disguise, of course. I’m two kinds of master of disguise. It was hard getting one or both of them alone, because they spent most of their time surrounded by guards armed with flamethrowers and jetpacks, just as I had suspected. So I knew the only way to get close enough to do my thing was to do one of their things, if you follow my drifting. Which is fine by me, because my model girlfriend is hot and all, but sometimes an epic lover like the Captain needs the thrill of conquest. You know, to keep things interesting.
Anyway, suffice to say it that with some skillful cuckolding I managed to get a private audience with Mr. Omar and Mr. America-Hating-Asshole (Osama, you know). I couldn’t kill them, though I really wanted to, because of secret orders given to me by forces greater than you could ever understand. But I was authorized to humiliate them, and let’s just say that Mullah Omar will never forget what I did to his favorite mistress and to Osama’s eye socket. When they finally string up those bastards, nobody will be able to say that they didn’t bear the mark of meeting up with the Captain’s business end, if you can put two and two to each other.
So that’s why Osama doesn’t make videos any more. The story of who I had to sleep with to escape from that hideout will have to wait for another day. Book it.
.: Tags: captain, so there i was :.
March 4th, 2009 at 6:51 am
It was hard getting one or both of them alone, because they spent most of their time surrounded by guards armed with flamethrowers and jetpacks, just as I had suspected.
They’re amateurs, of course, because 1) they’re jihadis and 2) they have no professional accounting designation. In fact, flamethrowers in the hands of the Taliban might be the ticket to victory for the West – I have no doubt it would result in more than a few fiery “martyrdom” incidents, however accidental they might be.
March 5th, 2009 at 5:47 pm
“I told the Marines, but naturally they figured it was too dangerous for anybody but the Captain. And they were right.”
*Clears throat, rolls eyes, and settles into stony silence.*
March 5th, 2009 at 6:12 pm
Ignatius, my friend, you don’t know the half on it. As an accountant myself — two kinds, you know — I can spot someone without professional designation from a mile apart. Not only that, those jihadis had jetpacks, so they were extra dangerous to everyone around them. Unfortunately for them, they weren’t dangerous enough for the Captain.
March 5th, 2009 at 6:13 pm
*Clears throat, rolls eyes, and settles into stony silence.*
I know, my friend. I’m proud of them too. Not everyone is big enough to know when to step aside and let the Captain take care of the business.
March 6th, 2009 at 5:33 am
I told the Marines, but naturally they figured it was too dangerous for anybody but the Captain. And they were right.
I know, my friend. I’m proud of them too. Not everyone is big enough to know when to step aside and let the Captain take care of the business.
Krankor, it’s a bit hypocritical of me to use language on your site (when addressing the Captain, of course) that I don’t use or condone on my own. If you wish, you may edit it out. But these lines from the post and the comment reply to Katie prompt me to issue this friendly warning to the Captain when addressing Katie in this matter:
To paraphrase Jack Nicholson, You’re fucking with the wrong Marine.
March 6th, 2009 at 6:48 am
Hey, my friend, I would never fuck with a Marine. I have way too much respect for them — I’ve pulled them out of more jams than I care to admit. They’re like family to me. Two kinds.
The SAS, on the other hand… well, let’s just say that when the chips are down, it’s time to put away the tea and crumpets, if you know what I meant.
March 6th, 2009 at 7:41 am
Okay you guys, cool it with the swearing. If you can’t do it well, don’t do it at all. Fuckburghers.
March 6th, 2009 at 8:00 am
Thanks for attempting to have my back, Ignatz. But I think it’s just falling on deaf and delusional ears.
P
March 6th, 2009 at 8:47 am
Hey, the Captain can’t say he wasn’t warned.
The word “destruction” comes to mind. Two kinds.
And apologies to Viscount Krankor for the indelicate language, which I shall eviscerate from our polite discourse.
March 6th, 2009 at 9:03 am
Listen, my friend, the Captain needs no warning. I can see trouble a mile in way, almost like Spider-Man with his Spider-Sense. Call it the Captain-Sense, which is a lot more powerful than the Spider one. Maybe it’s because I have two kinds of radioactive blood.
But hey! When the Captain-Sense is tingling, it usually means trouble… for the bad guys! Which reminds me of the time I stopped the Commies from stealing the alien secrets from Hanger 18. It was the only time when the Captain-Sense momentarily failed me, because it wouldn’t stop tingling. It wasn’t until a week after I had taught those Russkies an education that I found out that Scarlet Sonja, the beautiful but deadly Russian double-agent, had given me the clap.
March 6th, 2009 at 7:02 pm
“It wasn’t until a week after I had taught those Russkies an education that I found out that Scarlet Sonja, the beautiful but deadly Russian double-agent, had given me the clap.”
Ah-hahahaha!
*sorry*
March 6th, 2009 at 7:11 pm
Say what you will about the guy, the Captain’s posts have the most interesting comments…