Fearing Saddam

P eople, and you gals. Welcome to Hotel Satire where family values rule. Where Dad’s in charge, Mom and the kids are doing what they’re told, the commies have been defeated, and soon all the other evil people will be too.

These last months we gals have been too frightened to give our advice about how gals can become, by any means necessary, the domestic appendages they were put on earth to be. Why, we haven’t left the Hotel in months. The servants have had to work overtime.

Why haven’t we left the Hotel, you ask? Why are we so frightened, you query? Isn’t it obvious? We are afraid that Saddam will…. Wait. We heard something. A strange noise. It must be Saddam, coming to rape and pillage and commit mass destruction, like he did in 1991 when he invaded Virginia—or was it New Jersey. Whatever. Quick, Gals, run for cover. Someone bring those nice pills we got from our doctor for anxiety. Or was it hormone replacement? Or was hormone replace a side effect of the anxiety pill? Whatever. We certainly hope that nice Bush (he’s so  cute when he gets impatient with Saddam) increases the military budget even more—and not because our husbands have mass investments in that area, if that’s what you’re thinking. Shame on you.

We know you’re wondering what we gals have been up to, what with time on our well-manicured hands. Well, we haven’t been totally idle. For instance, we watched “The Bachelor” a lot. What a wonderful idea for a show. It really helped occupy our minds during these troubling times. What gal wouldn’t jump at the chanec to be a thin vacuous blonde competing for the chance to vie—in six forty minute shows plus twenty minutes of commercials—with other thinner, blonder gals for the hand of a guy clone of a male model that studio execs picked out for them. Talk about romantic. There’s nothing like a totally manufactured situation to bring out true love. Plus, it puts all that feminist bunk about sisterhood to rest, thank God—and Jesus too.

We’re now watching “Joe Millionaire,” the show where gals compete for this rich, good looking guy who turns out to be a poor, working class joe. Wow. Competing for love based on a total lie. Now that’s reality. Plus what could be more inspiring than denigrating gals to the max. We Hotel Satire gals wept profusely.

We hope they develop this genre further. What about “Fugitive Gals,” where they make gals run all over the country, chased by a one armed man, who eventually catches one of them and turns out to be a good looking male model? Or “Trial Bride” where simpering redhead gals compete for being Mrs. His by cooking, sewing, and performing other acts of wifery? Or what about “Gal Slave Auction?” Or just plain “Meat Market?” The possibilities are endless.

Wait, another noise. Eek. It’s gotta be Saddam approaching the Hotel. Run for cover, Gals. He’s coming for us all the way from Iran—or is it Iraq—or North Korea? Whatever. Here, let’s take one of these pills for anxiety that we asked our doctor about when we called to talk to him last month. Okay, that’s better. Oh, wait. Remember these pills for anxiety can cause anxiety as one of the possible side effects, so we have to take this other pill to counteract that.

Wait, let’s talk to our doctor again. He’s probably waiting for our call. Let’s ask him if he has a pill for “fear of a Saddam attack.” There must be one by now, hopefully rushed through or bypassed the FDA approval process, by that nice Bush.

By the way, we do not approve of “The Bachelorette” type shows. One thing we hope you gals have learned from reading Hotel Satire is that guys are always the picker, gals the pickee. It’s been written genetically and on our brains since our ancestors wandered the grasslands of Africa a millennia ago.

You know why Saddam and other evil people are attacking the U.S.? It’s the fault of you feminist gals. Oh yes, we watch TV commercials. We read the requisite 30 emails per day warning us of the real danger here in the U.S.—the size of the penis—rather the lack thereof. Saddam knows all about it because he can access our emails, you better believe it. Gals, you must avert this crisis by getting in touch with your doctors and getting some drugs for that PENIS. When the penis isn’t big enough, then mass destruction will ensue.

While hubby is taking his penis enhancing pill, you gals make sure you take you weight-loss pills (overweight gal’s are contributing to shrinking penises, duh!). Also, don’t forget to take your bone density pill and those menopause related pills and the pills that counteract the side effects of those pills, plus the pill for asthma, which turns out to be a side effect of the other pill, plus the pill for when you sense danger, plus the pill for the diarrhea you will feel coming on as a result of the fear pill that you took for the anxiety, and the other one that you should take just in case you need it for who knows what—possible fear of the fear.

Wait, was that a gunshot? Oh- megod, it’s Saddam or North Korea, the entire country, coming to spread anthrax/smallpox/whatever. Call the doctor, get a drug to stop the fear...!!!