“Ozzie was a pig,” says wife #1, “the man never picked-up after himself in his life. He was a total slob. His mother spoiled him rotten–a real mama’s boy, that one. And his personal hygiene? Forget about it. The guy stunk like a dipped skunk. He wouldn’t have known a stick of deodorant or a toothbrush if it bit him!”
Wife #2 agreed that bin Laden was no picnic to be married to. “Osammy was very introverted. He never shared his feelings or opened up his heart about anything. He never cried at movies like Titanic, Casablanca or Up. And when it came to birthdays and holidays, I never got so much as a card, let alone flowers or chocolates. He was pretty much a jerk, really.”
But wife #3 did think her ex excelled in one category. “Osama-Rama-Ding-Dong may have been the biggest creep who ever lived. He was a world class muttonhead. Always said he’d do some yard work or build shelves in the closet, or fix the wobbly leg of the end table, but he’d never get around to it. He’d spend all his time pouring over his stash of porn or watching himself on TV, like some egotistical Charlie Sheen-like mook. The dude was a total tool!”
None of the widows have plans to remarry.
If only his wives had listened to their mothers and their girlfriends. Not to mention his former girlfriends. The ones he dumped when he grew up in Jeddah after… well, not after having had his way with them, because he was a completely pious man in Jeddah, but after the folds of their burqas had parted slightly as they walked, momentarily revealing innocent yet exotic and seductive glimpses of their faces or their arms or their ankles. And he said yes yes yes. Or was that Molly Bloom? Maybe it was both of them.
Osama’s score: 3 angry widows, 72 disappointed virgins.