Having just been released from Guantanamo

Having just been released from Guantanamo without charges, Usama was just trying to start over by driving a cab in New York City. Who would have thought that his first customer was

accidentally grabbed a tube of KY jelly next to the AK-47 and squirt a stream of jelly into the air with a powerful grip. Obama sat next to Osama, being next in alphabetical order,

that's how I arrange my pristine taxodermied cadavers, I name them after people I think they'd most want to French kiss. Here is Obama, Osama and Orlando Jones. The staple

of my collection, of course, is John Stamos. I keep him in on the sofa in my lounge. Sometimes we watch CSI together, and he'll topple over on me and for a second I feel like

he's the only one who truly understands me. As he lies there, no more then a limp peice of celery, I realize that he, and only he alone can begin to grasp all my needs and wants.

A cool rest in the refrigerator alivens my soul and starchy body. How to get us both back onto the shelf. My limpless form was no use. I see the salvation arriving but no way to

feel it -- to experience the exquisite texture of freedom. I tire of my tortured existence -- and pray for the end to come swiftly.

I hold the obsidian knife over my head and observe how it glints in the midday sun. The years of waiting are nearly at an end. I will have my revenge.

I thrust it deep into last of the bratwurst. "See if he can make a sandwich now!" I chortled. All that was left was disappointing heals of stale pumpernickel.