Osama’s Bin Laden To Rest

Osama is now dead.  I keep trying to digest this fact.  If there were still Yiddish Vaudeville (and maybe there is, and now I’ve humiliated myself by revealing my ignorance), they could perform a musical version of the story, bring necessary closure, and call it “Bim-Bom, the ‘Bin is Dead”.

Sure, the guy was a monster, but I really think we should cut him some slack for watching his own videos.  Comedians do that all the time to try to refine their acts.

I keep thinking of those special ops guys who went in and took him out.  Though they’re not supposed to admit it, even to themselves, it probably was a good day at the office for them.  I know folks with busy lives who’ve, over the years, expressed the desire to get over to Afghanistan to do a special “tour”.  I realize now that many of these people secretly wanted to be the one to take out Obama, I mean, Osama.  (It’s funny how I should slip and say “Obama”, because most of these folks I speak of are not, er, registered Democrats.)

So now we learn that Osama was in the “mansion” compound for years, and sometimes children living nearby would accidentally kick a soccer ball over the compound wall, and then try to retrieve it.  They were routinely told they could not have the actual ball back, but they’d be handed the equivalent of $50 by some terrorist lackey to go buy a new ball.   I don’t know about you, but I smell corporate sponsorship there.  Either that, or terrorists are just terrible cash managers.  (A side note:  I’m surprised corporations haven’t yet started sponsoring military strikes:  “The Death of Bin Laden, Brought to You by GE!  We Bring Bad Things To Death.”)

Examination of the electric bills for the “mansion” over the past few years (presumably not sent by GE) reflect that when it was built, a utility account was established in what was obviously a false name, so as not to reveal it was Osama’s residence.  I picture a gaggle of dweeby, robed and rifle-bedecked terrorist dudes giggling, and trying to decide what false name they should use for the electric account.  Bet they settled on “I. M. Reepov”, and cackled right on up to evening prayers.  (Honorable mention should be given to “Suzy Creamcheese”, which they probably felt was too flashy.)

They say at times Osama’s grandchildren would be outside the compound, playing, presumably with those other kids (who at this point were kicking soccer balls purposefully over the compound wall just for the cash).  It’s astounding to think of the grandchildren of that monster Osama being outside, playing with other kids, interfacing with the townspeople.  The Burning Question that comes to mind about Osama’s grand-kids, I am sure, for everyone, is:

“Did they play NICE?”

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