AMERICAN IN ARABIA Gets Cheeky with Assad: Whose Ass is it Anyway?

Published March 19th, 2012 - 06:41 GMT
A look of remorse or steel-hearted dictatorship- Asma Al Assad remains to be the ultimate shady lady.
A look of remorse or steel-hearted dictatorship- Asma Al Assad remains to be the ultimate shady lady.

Never has so much focus been on a derrière since Jennifer Lopez. Yet Bashar's mysterious lady is suddenly the butt of jokes on a very serious matter that is the Syrian Revolution. Brett contemplates which one wears the dictator pants in this relationship and who is Bashar's mysterious girl.

By now, anyone with a faint interest in the exposed E-mails of red in the face Syrian President Bashar al Assad knows about the cheeky photo from some mysterious brunette. Because of this pants-less pose, it begs the question as to who does wear the trousers in the Assad’s relationship: Bashar or Asma?

Before their personal E-mails being dropped in our collective laps, the general impression was that the rather timid looking ruler still had absolute power. The media displayed him as having his wife fully behind him, during the attacks on Homs and his crack down on protesters. It seemed like he was King of the Hill and his spouse would do anything to cover his Ass-ad.

But not so fast: ‘you’ve got mail’. After more rummaging through the emails of Asma Assad, we’re getting a little different angle of the pecking order at the Presidential Palace. In one E-mail, she tells a friend that she is the real dictator, playing up the public perception of her husband being a tyrant. In other words, she may be stationed behind him, but she’s actually back there pulling Bashar’s strings.

Some have been speculating that the snap of the mysterious G-string bandit is none other than Asma Assad herself. Were they playing some sort of role-play game using fake email addresses and snapping pics to pass the time? Based on the perspective from the Syrian first lady’s E-mails, it is impossible that those buns could be hers--- she’s always wearing the pants.

By Brett Weer

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