Roll Out the
Like many other girls, when I was young I used to dream of being a
ballerina, or better yet, an ice princess. The thought of being a
constitutional scholar never even crossed my mind until I hit puberty and
suddenly metamorphosed into the Ann you all know and love. Lucky for you,
unlucky for me. I remember the day, sixteen and fragile, when I tossed my
skates into a flaming pile of rubbish, and cried a solitary tear, my eyes
stinging from the stench of melting rubber.
Speaking of melting rubber, since the London bombings, there has been a
smellable feeling in the air here in the U.S. that another terrorist attack
is imminent. Maybe not as bad as 9-11, perhaps a train or subway bombing. Or
maybe it will be something worse, like a shoe store. I dreamed the other
night that I was at Prada on Madison Avenue when suddenly bombs started
going off everywhere right as I found the perfect pair of alligator pumps,
and the stupid salesgirl wouldn't help because she was hiding behind the
counter. It was a nightmare!
But now it appears that the terrorists have all
turned chicken, just like the yellow-bellies that we always knew they were.
47 months have come and gone since 9-11 without a single major terrorist
attack on U.S. soil. The biggest explosion we've seen since took place in
Neal Boortz's pants when he got to meet me in the green room before the
Hannity & Comes show.
But instead of glowing news stories about how we
must be doing something right in the war on terror, we're being
carpet-bombed with news stories about how Bush doesn't have a 'plan', the
'war' was based on 'lies', a lot of American troops are 'dead', yada, yada,
ad nauseum. Big fucking deal. Oops. Looks like my potty-mouth just exploded!
Why can't these moronadon liberals understand
that there is a war going on, and that it is the savages that have declared
it, not the US. We never declared anything. We just prefer to fight the
towelheads in the streets of Baghdad rather than in the streets of New York,
where the traffic is already impossible.
Consider, if you will, the intriguing blog entries of British madman
ali-Zebekalen Meechu, reported on the Rush Limbaugh show this week.
Meechu was captured last April in Pakistan by that sorry excuse for an army
of theirs. His blog is a sort of Sesame Street terrorist manual, much like
California seventh-graders were required to write before Arnold took over.
(I've heard there's talk of publishing his diary under the title "Hello,
Allah? Nice to Meechu.")
Meechu's blog would indicate that it's not much fun to be a terrorist these
days. Entry after entry for six weeks, it is nothing but bad news for Meechu
– "Oh my, they've ripped out my fingernails, making it most difficult for me
to type". "Dear me, the dogs have chewed off my other leg". "Please Allah,
do not let them serve me chicken yet again." What a loser!
Meanwhile, every time Americans get a gander at these lunatics ranting about
the "Great Satan", we can't believe we're at war with such a comical
enemy. I mean, they're hilarious! You can't even understand what they're
saying half the time. "Ooga booga allah bakaboo". And they ride around on
those bumpy camels dreaming of all the sexy virgins they're going to get
when they manage to blow themselves up. (Have you ever seen those Arab
women? Woof woof. I'm quite sure that Allah won't be handing out girls like
me.) So there. Maybe we lose a few American soldiers, but we're losing them
in the very amusing - or should I say gut-busting - oil pan of Iraq, not on
the civilized streets of Brooklyn Heights. And the entertainment value is