Hello again my Western pals! Sorry it’s been so long since I last spoke into your lovely faces – it has been
a busy one, 2015. This was a landmark year in life of Bashar and the wonderful Syrian paradise I have been
building over here. But before I give you big scoop on what has been happening in world of Al-Assads –
everyone’s favourite Middle Eastern first family! – I must first clear up a bit of mucky shit.
You will perhaps have noticed my country has been in your stupid media for all the wrong reasons lately,
with the refugees and whatnot. Well, all I can say about that is – don’t blame me! I didn’t ask those pussies
to leave my country. When bleeding heart idiots start crying over pictures of dead kids you do well to
remember – they could not have been any more dead if they had stayed. Those Syrians might not have had
anywhere to live and yes, on clear days we have many missiles incoming (I will come to this later) but why
would a man not stay and die for his beloved mother nation? Here in Syria males are expected to fight the
terrorists. All professors and artists and what your Israeli-lovin’ Boris Johnson calls ‘unwashed crusty
beatniks’ are free to go back to their regular lives once civil war over. We only ask that they kill a few
enemies of the state first. Why is it so bad to prove you are a man in front of admiring family? But no, at
first sign of bloodshed and guns and maiming, fucking hippies run away crying “take me Mrs Merkel, let me
live in the safety of your German womb”. I am surprised womenfolk stick by their husbands on long trek to
Calais and not leave them for real man instead. They should be ashamed.
So yes, your racists over there in Greatest Britain are entirely correct - the refugees are not the sort of people you want in your country. Not because they are terrorists, no. It is
because they’re fucking wimps and their children will surely grow up to be wimps too. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
But I have no time to waste worrying about countrymen who cannot stay the course; I am too busy winning war. Also, fruit of Bashar loins has been very badly-behaved lately,
with youngest acting up the most. Now he is eleven Karim believe he must “go to big school with all the other kids” and will not listen to reason. The maid try to explain there are
no other kids and all schools in immediate vicinity bombed into ground, but Karim just scream louder then try and garrotte her with apron strings. I don’t know what I’m going to do
with that boy.
That is not the least of it. Fragrant wife been on my back since summertime. As fighting intensify, Asma unable to get nails done or buy favourite little luxuries in downtown
boutiques. Wife say she not sign up to be dirty shut-in, and there no point being married to billionaire dictator if Amazon refuse to deliver parcels to Presidential palace
because its drones keep getting shot down. Also, Asma unable to update al-Assad Instagram account in ages she whine. I am tempted to have her killed and blame the
rebels my friends, but is not so easy to find good woman in Syria these days. The only other female in our house (the maid) is a bit old and fucked up.
I take romantic course instead and arrange for surprise photography tour of neighbourhood. First I blindfold fragrant wife and then we are driven
through streets of Damascus to what was once most picturesque part of my city. When it is revealed where we are, Asma say “oh for fuck sake” but
soon she realise heavily armed men loyal to me are watching so wife decide not to sulk. Instead she show good grace, taking out camera to get lady
snaps. Our entire city is decimated, yes, but with my eye for such things, I help Asma to see there is beauty in the ruins.
Unfortunately there are tooled up naughty men in the ruins too. Once gunfire start in earnest I order driver to return armoured SUV to Assad residence ASAP. We shoot away and barely escape
with lives. Of course, military boys obliterate the area later on, in response to tearful daughter Zein screaming “blow the fuckers to bits!” when she hear what nearly happen. But I can tell Asma
not proud of middle child like me. Wife retreat to bedchambers without a word, no doubt to bitch about Bashar to her ‘friends’ on Snapchat.
For me, I head to office to wind down with illegal satellite TV connection, hoping it will not keep cutting out whenever firefight start up down road. Ever
since Bashar realise President Barrack Obummer not pal after all, only two-faced twunt who pretend to be against al-Assad enemies for propaganda
reasons, I try not to watch television made by his Great Satan. But in spite of Bashar resolve, I cannot resist new season of Homeland. I fucking love that
show; it is true to life and so much fun.
This take a while to load and, I have to tell you my friends, Bashar feel a bit sad while he wait, staring at nothing on computer screen like great big divot. I think about how my hopes
of turning Syria into premiere Middle Eastern tourist destination have been foiled by stupid jihadi bastards out in desert. It get so bad, apart from two lost snowboarders and a busload
of idiots reporting for Vice, we haven’t had anyone coming through this entire year.
I was just thinking about giving up, getting into military fatigues and popping out to oversee some casual torturing (which always cheer me up) when television start to play.
Carrie Matheson, played by lovely and talented bitch from My So-Called Life, is in Berlin looking after ginger baby. But soon all hell break loose, and guess who is main
international statesman to be namechecked!? Only your friend Bashar!! Yes, it seem CIA operative Carrie head to Syria, Saul Berenson want me replaced with generic
ethnically-diverse actor and everyone has al-Assad name on their lips. I have arrived at last – this is showbiz!
Immediately I call fragrant wife in who remains grumpy, complaining we haven’t been abroad in years and she sick of it here. But when Asma
see big Emmy-winning stars going on about her husband she give little squeal and hold me tight. Then other amazing thing happen. My BFF,
Vladimir Putin, call up on secret hotline (actually just my mobile phone – this Homeland show is catching!) and say: sorry about bombing all
your hospitals Bashar, it was an accident. Do you want to come and hang out in Moscow?
Well, what can I say? Asma pissed because she really want to go to Dubai and say hurtful things like: “Vladimir has you wrapped around his botoxed finger” and “he not your real friend!”
I shoot back – “if Puta not real friend, why he always call Bashar ‘little buddy’ when we chilling together?” She have no answer to that and soon Asma come to realise any holiday better
than none.
Since that time you will have read about my meeting with Puta the Peacemaker in all reputable news outlets. Over there we agree anyone Vladimir
target from Caspian Sea no good, and it is unfortunate cruise missile accidentally land in Iran but really, what can you do? We laugh and I do my
new joke for Putin, here it is: Q. How can you tell if someone is member of ISIS? A. If he try to overthrow Bashar al-Assad, that is good
enough - he is ISIS. I laugh fucking hard but Vlad stay silent. I’m not sure he get it.
Yes, it was a wonderful trip in the end. You will have seen pictures of me and Putin chumming up, with my chin depicted there as prominent and strong - the Russian photographers
really capture Bashar how he truly is. We talk about my popularity, how every country want to bomb my foes – the US, Russia, Saudi Arabia, even your great leader, Cameron
the pig-fucker. Yes, Diddy David hope to spend loads of your money dropping explosives on Syria soon, although maybe he should have started thinking about that a while
back – silly swineophile!
Putin announce “Syria is friendly country” and those who concentrate on quarter of million dead or half population homeless have wrong end of stick. Puta say
al-Assads are the job-makers – the wealth creators. We provide economic sustenance to weapon builders across the civilized world. Three hour speech finally end
and we have great banquet with many important guest. My family and I are then privileged to watch Putin kickbox tiger in traditional Russian after-dinner
entertainment.
While important international team-building go on my eldest, Hafez, sneak off to look at nearby weapons cache and order
high class Russian hooker to room. He remind me so much of myself at that age. Luckily Asma there to chase miniskirted
slut away and tell Hafez there will be no degrading of prostitutes tonight. Boy start to whine how he ship off to war soon and
fight our enemies so need some fun before he go, but Asma tell Hafez he only fifteen and besides, some are too important
for soldiering. In fact, all al-Assads have to be safeguarded, to inspire plebs for generations to come by not getting hands
bloody in public. We are like Prince Harry in that regard.
Hafez look like he might attack his mother so I send him to bed early and without Horlicks. I know fragrant wife over-tired
from long day of shopping in Moscow branch of Nordstrom and next day everyone friends again. At airport Asma fifty
kilograms over baggage allowance which really piss off her usually tolerant husband (me). Fortunately our escorts are from
Puta’s team of multi-skilled security experts. They step in before scene get ugly and tell Aeroflot girl baggage allowance
rule not apply to respected world leaders, and she would be wise not to fuck with someone who could put her in prison
on trumped-up blasphemy charges. Checkout girl mumble something about “it not her fault if plane blow up” and wangle it for us.
Our flight back was uneventful but is true what they say, is nice to get away but even nicer to return! Bashar was very much missing his war! What a whirlwind few months we have had, but things are finally looking up in world of al-Assads. My troops make forceful surges in every direction in wake of Puta’s blanket bombing, and all I need now is to rig election like I promise and Syria will be back on
her once-proud feet. Then Western money start to flow in and we can’t move for fat fucking American tourists. That is one more positive to millions of Syrians dying or buggering off
my friends – there is a lot of room around here nowadays.
I hope all is good with you too. I haven’t had time to watch your news lately as I have been absorbed by fictional world of American TV, I’m sure everything is just fine though. In fact,
you will excuse me now. I have to go and catch up on latest episode of favourite show – Homeland, with its realistic take on life in troubled parts of world and hunky American
murderer, Quinn. I need to find out if Americans succeed in having me deposed and whether I turn up as guest star in later episode. That would be cool.
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