Colonel Gaddafi.

Mr Gaddafi in Italy a couple of years back.

Ooft. 

I think I may dedicate this post to Mr Gaddafi (not necessarily dedicate it to him, but I'm going to write about him), as he had a very eventful life and I thought that it would be nice to write something about it. Of course, for starters, he was a relentless, vicious dictator to the people of Libya for many many years, for longer than I can remember, who mercilessly killed all that opposed. From a dictator's standpoint, I suppose that he was very successful up until about 18 months ago, when the people of Libya started to become resistant to mass genocide and somehow discovered from the outside world that they were being oppressed. As his militaristic and regimental rule was released to the rest of the globe one day via numerous youtube videos and picture messages, he was surprised to find that a lot of them didn't agree with him on his sporting/oppressing efforts. But if you didn't do that, how else were you meant to keep the bloody things in control?

One of Gaddafi's many many hats.

Gaddafi was born in 1942, and was killed on October the 20th, 2011, because quite frankly, the people who had been living in his country had had enough of him. The guy had been the head of state since 1977 so it would be obvious that some of his methods were becoming tired, out-dated, inhumane and down-right offensive. Not to mention Gaddafi was part of the regiment that helped reclaim Libya in 1969 for the Muslims, as opposed to the Italians and the Turks, so it's no wonder that he seems to lack a moral compass and any compassion to another. The people of Libya obviously had been struggling to tolerate this oppression of other viewpoints to the "Gaddafi Way" throughout his tyrannous rule, yet it was only when somebody was able to use the latest technology today to send out a cry for help, that the rest of the world rushed to the Libyans aid. And were on a man-hunt for Gaddafi.

Partridge. Curly fries out of shot.

From the sound of things, Gaddafi wasn't really one for making friends. I can speculate that he's short-tempered, brash and always considers himself to be correct (even when proven otherwise). I guess that in the end, he was a right evader of death, seeing as a lone assailant tried to shoot and kill him in 1976, before coming to power. Fair enough. But when France plotted to have him assassinated with Egypt in 1981? The man must be a nightmare to have over for dinner, if they're resorting to this. The US bombed his house next in 1986 (certainly one of them), and afterwards the general civil unrest became so much that he had to start his quashing of the masses. But inside, did it really rip him apart to see his people going? Or had he alienated himself, deified himself to really associate with them anymore? 

Height of sophistication, he is the timeless fashion
icon for the masses. 

In spite of all this homocide and genocide and general nastiness that just comes with the position of being a dictator of an Arab/African country, Gaddafi was able to carry off an incredible sense of style, especially during his "repair the situation with the West" years. Clad in the finest gold and red and any other colour that deemed to be regal at the time, he would wine and dine the big leaders of the "democratic nations" (he never really cared for democracy, yet would always smile and nod and mention that he would give it a go whenever it was brought up in conversation), send his sons to well-respected public schools in England and generally live the high life. We are unsure as to what his favourite dinner was, but from the last time he visited here, we can notify you that his favourite dish was roasted partridge and curly fries. His robes were made by 350 young school girls that were being underpaid in China (the labour was cheaper over there, it made sense), who wept with every stitch they made, but with every tear he was assured that the robe would look more beautiful. Can't go wrong there.

One fashion faux-pas that Gaddafi did make, however, was in his final moments. Actually, his final few weeks, possibly months were an absolute disaster for the bloke. If he hadn't upset everyone in the first place by secretly conducting mass-genocide in his country for a fair number of years now, the world wouldn't have been angry at him in the first place. However, que sera sera... Seeing as he is a somewhat socially challenged dictator, he may not have realised that he caused some upset. But the second time round, when he covered up the fact that everything in his country wasn't A-ok, and the rest of the world found out (wouldn't he consider himself to be so careless as to allow his people mobile phones and all these newfangled gadgets now? Keep them oppressed and scared), he was in pretty deep shit to begin with. But then instead of turning himself in, he ended up running away from the "rebel forces", only to hop from town to town whilst his loyal supporters soldiered on.

Gaddafi's new digs.

Gaddafi, the man of overindulgence and luxury, the lord amongst the peasants, died without having a state of the art last meal. What a tumble. What a fall from grace (or certainly the life of luxury). If only he had had the intuition to turn himself in, where he would be able to sit down in a cell one last time and enjoy partridge, curly fries and tahini, whilst his mind was drifting in and out of what he was going to wear during the public execution. Something ostentatious, bold, daring to remember him by... Alas, no. He spent his last hours in a drainpipe (a somewhat acquired taste that I wasn't too sure that Gaddafi would possess, but I guess that you can't judge a book by its cover!) hiding, I presume. I don't really see the point in why he would do that, seeing as he didn't have anywhere to go in the world. France and Egypt were still rather hostile to him, and he couldn't help but make them upset with whatever he said. Italy was involved in internal affairs again, so if Gaddafi asked for refuge there it would be a little awkward. The whole Pakistan/Afghanistan/Iraq/Iran business had always been a bit much for him to comprehend. It was hard to keep up with who was angry at who, and they were all short-fused, hot-tempered leaders like himself who would see the situation he was in and probably take advantage of it. The US and UK were outraged, Spain disgusted, Portugal held midnight vigils for all those shot down in the filming of the uprising, and capturing the police brutality and irrationality that Gaddafi had instilled in their hearts. Well, that's what they believed. China would have been acting shocked and surprised, just to fit in with the West, and even North Korea had been indifferent and had not taken sides. It looked like Russia was the only one he could turn to for now, but he then remembered that he was angry at the Russians because they had spilt vodka on his new rug, and instead of getting one of the Russian hands to clean it up, they called for a Libyan. Gaddafi didn't like other people using his staff, seeing as he was a very possessive man. His parents never got round to teaching him how to share.

Looking a bit worse for wear on his first death day

So, Colonel Gaddafi, the man who had once seized control of this little nation, stubborn, short-tempered, majestic, regal, impolite and loathed by many (if not all) of his neighbours, was now inhabiting a sewer drain with a little bit of boot for his last supper. The intensity of the last forty years in power flashed before his eyes as he counted how many contacts he would have for refuge on one hand... Until he was dragged out from the sewer by some of the rebels, those radicals that he had always hated and had tried to get rid of. Like moths and spiders and other horrible things, he realised, there will always be some there, under the woodwork, ready to pop out when Gaddafi thought that he'd gotten rid of the lot of them.

I need not say too much more, seeing as it was a brutal and merciless affair. Colonel Gaddafi was reduced to rags as he was paraded and stabbed and hacked and humiliated by those rebels. Emotion was hard to tell from his blood-stained face, yet he had lost his regal air. He had lived as a fashion victim throughout his life, and you could just foresee the embarrassment that he shall suffer in the afterlife as he realises that he's stuck in the rags of clothing, instead of being clad in regal tones... No one would possibly do that anyway. He'd probably killed or maimed some relative of everyone in the vicinity so there was no chance they'd change his clothes. Everyone thought that he was a bit of a prick anyway.

Muammar Gaddafi.
Yes, you were a dick to a lot of people when you were
alive, so I'm not going to bid you rest in peace.
Next time we shan't be fooled by the shiny outfits.

Just to inform you, not much of this is fact, it's merely speculation. Any facts that I may have compiled have been from wikipedia anyway, so I don't think that you can really count that as fact. Though I'm pretty sure that everyone considers him to be a dick is fact.