As much, or more , than anyone here on xanga I have vociferously protested against the fundamentalist arab terrorist threat since the great awakening upon nein ee! leaven. 

But I'm forced to conclude that given this:

WASHINGTON (CNN) -- U.S. Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld Wednesday dismissed French and German insistence that "everything must be done to avoid war" with Iraq, saying most European countries stand with the United States in its campaign to force Iraqi President Saddam Hussein to disarm.

"Germany has been a problem, and France has been a problem," said Rumsfeld, a former NATO ambassador.

that the Bush admistration, in its current reckless posture, is, even if ultimately vindicated by yet unprovided evidence, a pack of hedonistic, diatribing, political self-absorbents.  Yes, they are super-power super-absorbing tampons yearning to suck blood that I'm not yet willing to let. 

So fuck you Bush.  Fuck you Rumsfeld.  And Powell, you're but a handmaiden.   And Rice, you chance, at most, a stance as a token whore.  And if any, or all of you, were to meet me on the battlefield on the eve of an encounter with a truly mortal common enemy, I'd pray for the imminently quick and painless sacrifice of your souls.  For little more worth could you prove to the cause of a true warrior--which is peace--than to die to avoid all war at all costs short of losing a war.

I’m gonna foam-a
at da mouth
cause the gossypiboma
took me south…

The critical news reports and lawsuits may help explain why, in the language of medical journals, surgical tools sewn up inside people are not lost, forgotten or left behind; rather, they are "retained," almost as if the patient had chosen to hang onto them.

"It is kind of a euphemism," Dr. Gawande said. "It implies a certain lack of responsibility, or that the instrument did it itself. It is the technical term of art, undoubtedly developed in the malpractice context."

The profession has coined a word for a left-behind surgical sponge: gossypiboma, from the Latin word gossypium for cotton and the Swahili boma for "place of concealment."
—Denise Grady, "Forgotten Surgical Tools 'Uncommon but Dangerous'," The New York Times, January 21, 2003

I am the future face of air terror.  It’s the gossypiboma, the plastik sponge bomb within me.  The one they missed at airport security even though some small change in my pocket set off the alarms and they repeatedly wanded me down.  Hell, even my new running shoes alarmed repetitively as if there was a knife hidden in them—and they checked, but they were clean, of course.  But it’s the sponge bomb they missed.  The one implanted deep within my gut and remotely triggerable by radio signal.  By the little, transistor radio-like thingie I carried on in my handbag. And, oh yes, did I mention the demented doctor who implanted the bomb, also enwrapped it in a plastic-sealed bag of the bubonic plague?  He used to do tummy-tucks of cocaine for the Medelin Cartel but now he’s one with Allah.  He knows it ain’t a total science yet, but figures there’s a fair chance that as my body blows a hole in the plane’s fuselage, the plague will get jettisoned airborne over my departure or destination city.  What city?  Now that’s not a fair question.  I’m an equal-opportunity terrorist and would hate to see you personally miss out.