Osama Bin Laden
Odd-looking bearded Saudi geezer who dresses in white rags and would like to put an end to most Western practices like drinking beer, night clubbing, electoral democracy, Christmas, serial monogamy, women's rights, rap music, mini skirts, eating pork, sex (Rumour has it he has a tiny knob.), Walt Disney, dogs, homosexuals, bacon, pornography, comedy, humour, breast implants, Winnie the Pooh, Israel and fun.
Osama is a spoilt little rich kid; daddy Bin Laden owned a the largest construction company of the Middle East (for whatever that's worth). He was one of dozens of children fathered by his old man and this lead to an ever-increasing craving for attention. He thus became a Saudi version of Paris Hilton. Since he was a wanky looking lad, and becoming a B-type celebrity wouldn't work, he became religious instead. This not being enough, he thought he'd become a freedom fighter in the 'Stan and get his love and care from hairy mountain men. This worked, but when the big bad Soviet enemy ran off with their tail between their legs, the attention ended. Thus he started to attack the other baddies: The Spam's.
Originally funded and trained by the CIA to resist the Soviet Union's invasion of Afghanistan, Osama has now assumed the mantle of 'Saviour of Islam' and uses menial toady acolytes like Al-Zarqawi to cause havoc by proxy until they are offed by the precision application of HE. Osama recently had his 50th birthday. I'm told the CIA sent him some cigars. It didn't work the last time but you never know your luck!
Despite the occasional broadcasts of Osama on Al Jazeera TV most thought he was probably dead, a supposition endorsed by the CIA's closure of the department dedicated to finding him. If that was the case then it was something of a shame as he would have probably gone down well on "I'm a Celebrity, Get me out of here!" or "Love Island". Whatever his fate his appeal to the Muslim in the street (whether it be Cairo or Bradford) lives on.
And then in the spring of 2011 he was back in the news - for all the wrong reasons. It transpired that the British Government had bunged the Pakistani intelligence services several trillion beer token's worth of taxpayer's cash so the pakis would hate us less than they normally do. We were all dead good mates now... apparently. The British consul was having tea and biscuits at ISI HQ and it was casually mentioned by the tea lady that Osama was in fact living in a plush flat on a housing development in Manchester - along with several thousand other highly dangerous, gun-toting lunatics and ex-Somali pirates. This explained perfectly the Coalition of the Willing's failure to find the scallywag in the mountains of the Hindu Kush. The cnut was on benefit too. Something had to be done.
As the boys of the Gun Club were preoccupied with book deals and acquiring tans, operators of the US Navy Special Underwater Knife Fighting Team were tasked with locating OBL and taking him out with extreme prejudice. And so it came to pass that on the 26 April, the quiet of a residential estate in Moss Side was shattered by gunfire, the roar of helicopters and several hundred Irish jiggers going postal. Greater Manchester Police eventually turned up after receiving dozens of complaints about the noise, but it was too late. Osama's lifeless, bullet-riddled carcass was by now being carved up and flogged to a halal butchers in Didsbury. Like notorious Nazi Heinrich Himmler, Osama's body had been disposed of as to prevent any nutters turning any burial site into a shrine. Quality drills. Greater Manchester Police denied any knowledge of any such operation and put the whole fracas down to someone dissing someone else's bitch. A conspiracy? 
The news eventually leaked and everyone went bananas. The spams whooped and hollered and the darkies on the other side of the briny did likewise - but with more flag burning than waving. The BBC - true to form - were all black armbands and sniffles.
The Lefties were sobbing into their white wine spritzers and were naturally outraged. And Muslims across the West held golf sales in honour of the great man. Ken Livingstone apparently shat himself. Much rejoicing ensued. TWAT was over!
- One morning he wanders down to the kitchen to make his breakfast. 'What's up boss?' enquires a minion. 'You look a bit glum today.' Osama sits down to eat his bacon sarnie, strokes his beard thoughtfully and asks; 'Abdul? Who the fcuk is Wayne Rooney?'