The mission.
The missioneers.
The aftermath.
The lonely voice.
Not since Dorothy landed her house on the Wicked Witch of the East have so many munchkins been so happy. My 20-something son explained ever so patiently that OBL was his generation’s Hitler and that of course he was happy. Why wasn’t I?
The pathetic reality.
BONUS: An obit from the The Economist.
Somewhere, according to one of his five wives, was a man who loved sunflowers, and eating yogurt with honey; who took his children to the beach, and let them sleep under the stars; who enjoyed the BBC World Service and would go hunting with friends each Friday, sometimes mounted, like the Prophet, on a white horse. He liked the comparison. Yet the best thing in his life, he said, was that his jihads had destroyed the myth of all-conquering superpowers.
The difference between pure Muslims and Americans, he said, was that Americans loved life, whereas Muslims loved death. Whether or not he resisted when the Crusaders’ special forces arrived, their bullets could only exalt him.
And this just in....
An explanation for the watery grave...
Now please...in the name of Mamoona the Merciful.
Please tell me this is ENOUGH...
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2 comments:
I must admit, that made me laugh way too loud.
hi Michel...you very very bad boy now go stand in the corner. ;)
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