When I first said his name, it twisted my tongue, as I’m sure it did yours. I could not get the syllables out in the proper order, and had pretty much given up trying to pronounce it, my mouth zzuzzuhling at the end like I’d had a stroke.
We’ll call him Achy for short.
What follows could get me strung up, so I want you to pay the kind of careful attention you never pay to anything. That is, listen to the words that I say and do not embellish, interpret, or in any other way distort them. This is what gets God’s goat, and it will get mine, too.
Here it is: I like the cloth Achmadinnerjacket’s cut from. Similarly, I like what I see when I look at Bin Laden.
I hear the sirens. He’s on the side of the two top terrorists. No, I didn’t say that. I didn’t even say I liked them. What I like is what they could have been. With a simple twist of fate. These are excellent specimens of mankind. You can see Achy’s eyes burning with spirit, his compact body bursting with the energy and the desire to do. He’s ready to take on the world. Isn’t that what we try to teach our children?
And Osama, with his bedroom eyes. A lot of women I know tell me they dream about him. Tall, regal Osama, with his mild, mild manner, his lilting voice. Does he or does he not look and sound like a saint? Be fair. Be honest. Don’t hold 911 against him, we’re not talking about that. We’re talking about the raw data.
Bin Laden is a man behind the scenes. But Achy is up there on stage with the biggest names in television. He struts his little puffed-up rooster body with the best. He’s the front man. Behind him is the mysterious swirling of Imams and Ayatollahs, who whisper his orders and push him onto the floorboards to deliver.
But will he? To them?
It’s easy to see that if Islam is to rule the world, Achy will be King. King of the World. As such, he might look at things a little more broadly.
And here’s something either nobody knows, or nobody talks about. It was Cyrus, King of Persia (now Iran) who rescued the last remnant of Jews that had been taken from Jerusalem and either enslaved or imprisoned (in Iraq), and sent them home, with orders to all surrounding tribes to leave the Jews alone and let them build their goddam temple. In fact, you bastards who wrote that letter (Don’t think I couldn’t read between the lines.) hoping I’d tell you to demolish them, you can run the catering service, bring them lunch every day while they work, and provide them with anything they need.
Why Cyrus did this is a mystery to me, but a lot of people were afraid of the Jews’ God and didn’t want to mess with him. Au contraire, it might not be a bad idea to appease him. And you will note that Cyrus sent them away. It was cheaper than ovens.
Achmadinnerjacket, once he is no longer the Prince of Persia, but has become the King of the World, might find that he desires the admiration of his new buddies, the other kings, as much, or more, than that of the old folks at home. He might say “Why should I let the Jews ruin my life – my reputation, my legacy, my library?”
He might take the example of Cyrus, and let His people go. You can tell by the cut of his clothes, and the aplomb with which he carries them, Achy is a vane man. He’s going to love the applause he gets for joining the mature contingent of the
As would the ill Kim, whose passion is
And keep an eye on the Prince of Persia. He’s going places. Not, let’s hope, in a hand-basket.
