December 13, 2001

  • If I were the mastermind of the Anti-Terror Crusade, I'd always allow bin Laden to escape.  "Take us to the next terrorist sanctuary," I'd psychically mock the prick as he once again would mysteriously elude our almighty juggernaut.  "Take us and watch the dogs of war forever snapping at your heals."


    Indeed, bin Laden would become my favorite Trojan Horse.  Taken in by friendly terror-sympathizing nations, he'd open the gates of war with every fond heartening of hospitality extended to him.


    Or maybe I'd just treat bin Laden like a hunter treats baboons in Botswana.  There when a hunter is thirsty and in need of water, assured that a hungry and curious baboon is watching, he'll  gather some very specially tasty nuts, carve a small hole in a log or trunk of a tree, place the nuts in the hole and then disappear.  The baboon enchanted by the possibility of a nut feast, will rush to the log, stick his hand in, grab the nuts, and become entrapped since his fist filled with nuts is bigger than the hole and he won't release !  So the hunter then has the luxury of reappearing, walking straight up to the frantic baboon, putting a chain around his neck, knocking the nuts out of his hand, and binding him to the tree.  Then, the hunter will indulge the baboon with its second favorite treat: salt.  Lots of salt.  So much salt that the baboon begins to die of thirst.  So thirsty that it will become careless when released, beelining straight to its hidden and yet-unknown water hole (you see, the baboon has much greater acumen and instinct in locating water in the desert than do human beings), not even caring that the hunter is closely following him.  And thus the hunter finds the water and allows the baboon to go free for similar service in the future.


    So in Afghanistan, the hole carved into the log with the nuts inside were the caves of Tora Bora (CIA-produced).  And we let bin Laden there enter with impunity.  But once there and surrounded, he couldn't escape, couldn't release himself.  And as we salted daisy-cutter bombs (oh how those terrorists do love bombs) down around him, he grew ever more frantic for release.  So frantic that when unleashed, he headed straight for the next terrorist oasis.  Go, bin, go!    Bingo!


    ( yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus and notforprophet is evil...mwuauahahaha )

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