Fahd-er Of The Country

With Monday's passing of Saudi Arabia's King Fahd, I got to thinking: why go through the hassle of a messy succession, when ol' Wyatt can take over . . . and rule with an iron fist? My plan is simple: roll into the kingdom atop an M-1 Abrams, surrounded by many beautiful ladies, and assume the throne in a bloodless (yet sexy) coup.

Of course, as the Saudis' new and benevolent king, one should expect a few changes. The first of these would be a close circle of advisors, ready at my beck and call. I mean, a big dumb guy like me can't possibly make every decision that affects the Kingdom, right? Certainly, the nation's safety is a top priority, and I desire a Secretary of Defense that reflects my rationality and genuine concern for others. Russell Crowe should fit the bill. Saudi Arabia is a very wealthy kingdom, and I require a Secretary of the Treasury that knows a thing or two about gold. Allow me to introduce my Sultan of Bling Bling, Snoop Dogg. Finally, what's the point of being king if you don't have a harem? I am sure my new-found wealth and power could lure some high caliber broads. Mistresses Biel, Hayek, and Krysiuk, you are being paged.

Let's face it; the Muslim thing just isn't working. Although I don't think the peasants are ready for Americanization, they may be ready for the former Eastern Bloc. Step one in my transition from the Dark Ages will be name changes. From now on, all women's names will be pronounced in their Russian form. Hear that, Katey? From this day forth, you are Yekaterina!

Lastly, the kingdom needs some flair. Who wouldn't want to visit a country whose national sport is women's volleyball? We might as well make use of all the sand. The new national beverage? Guinness Stout. My people have been teetotalers for too long. National pastime? Sticking it to the man!

Saudi Arabia is a sand-covered cesspool, but that doesn't mean it can't be fun. Hail to the king!