muammar ‘colonel’ gaddafi

Revolutionary Chairman of the Libyan Arab Republic, 1969–2011

In his later years he resembled something plucked from a palm tree and left to shrivel in the midday sun, but Google Colonel Muammar Gaddafi in his 70s and 80s prime and you’ll see why they called him ‘The Shit of the Desert’: his appeal to otherwise incorruptible maidens was total.

In a word, Gadders was HOT–and not just under that crazy kaftan. In a natty green army suit and sporting an Omar Sharif-style blow-wave, the Colonel was every inch the Hollywood matinee idol, complete with chiselled cheekbones and come-to-Bedouin eyes.

But Time is a cruel mistress. Fast forward 30 years and Gaddafi is stripping the nation’s oil reserve–and applying most of it to his curly locks–quicker than you can say ‘terrorist arms shipment’.

And this from a man who had the world’s only coterie of female bodyguards. Didn’t those girlfriends think about giving him a hefty hint, or were they too busy lying around the pool, semi-clad and gyrating slowly to the sound of gentle lapping?

The 2011 Arab Spring didn’t work out too well for Gadders. His ‘Top Gun’-style mirrored shades reflected plenty of uncomfortable truths he didn’t care to address. But even as the lynch mob grabbed him and he rolled dead into a ditch, that killer ‘Thriller’ Wacko-Jacko bubble perm hung on stubbornly. The Colonel was a Grade A badass, but boy, did he know how to work product…