Waking this morning we were surprised to discover we occupied the body of Bashar al-Assad. Usually it is that Matthew character we inhabit (he knows about us by now. He's even named his albums after us), but some days we occupy other humans. Who it will be can not be predicted. We are directed by UMMO. We wake up each morning unsure of whose body we will dominate. In November 2010, for an entire week we were Michel Houellebecq. We smoked a lot of cigarettes that week. And took mescaline. We'd never experienced that before.
But this morning we entered a luxurious bathroom and brushed Assad's teeth with colgate. Super-shiny. Then we flossed. We got dressed, and tied his tie in a windsor knot. On our way out of the bedroom his wife Asma said something in Arabic which we could not understand. We made him nod, and she seemed satisfied. We knew somehow that we were destined for a meeting with military leaders. But it seemed that despite being put in an Arabic-speaker's body, we could not comprehend the language. This might be, we realized simultaneously, a difficult day.
It's tough times in Syria. Like, there's some crazy shit happening: grenades hitting buildings, and doctors getting beaten to a bloody pulp for trying to help wounded protestors. And worse things than that. Much much worse. It might be all-out civil war soon. The US is involved. And Europe. Everyone's watching. It's no fun here.
Entering a small office room full of men in uniforms, a short man with a greying moustache made more Arabic-sounding noises directed at our guy. We raised Assad's lips to smile, then wandered to a black leather chair in the center of the room and sat down. The military men sat down in chairs of their own and waited for us to make Assad speak. We began to panic.
"What will we do?" Sinners asked the rest of us telepathically.
"I dunno," replied Namers, "but they're waiting for him to say something."
"Screw it," Bleeders said with a shrug, "let's have fun."
The generals were waiting patiently. We made our man rise to his feet. He is very tall. We used his left hand to stroke his moustache. And then, with long, exaggerated steps, we carried Assad's body to a computer in the corner of the room, made him load up this video online, and directed him to sing along at the top of his lungs.
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