Why We Cheered: Death of Osama bin Laden, Part 1

On May 1, every news broadcast outlet in the free world announced the news that Osama bin Laden was dead, and that a joint United States venture of the Navy SEALS and the CIA were responsible for his death. After the initial shock, reports continued to come in: some true, some false, and many contradicting the others – Osama was killed a week ago! He shot back at the SEALS! We lost soldiers in Abbottabad! He was buried at sea!

And of course… He wasn’t killed at all!, but that greasy shtick is for a later post.

I cheered. Actually, at home I smiled smugly and made happy comments. On Twitter and Facebook, I cheered. I’m not afraid to say it, and frankly I don’t care if you don’t like it. I cheered.

I watched our Commander-in-Chief explain it to us, in a concise, classic fashion. And I cheered again.



This is the guy in charge, not W.



I don’t recall many people upset that Americans cheered. It would be a ridiculous argument to say that any nationality was happy to hear of his death more than those of us in the States. The Architect of 9/11 had been killed, and by our own goddamned Navy SEALS.

I cheered. I’m still cheering.

I would venture a guess that to most of America, I’m doing nothing more than you are. But to a surprising number of sensitive liberal types, I have suddenly become a tragic monster, an evil, misguided individual who wallows in the death and suffering of others.



No.

I remain a staunch lefty, an American progressive, and a proud liberal. I didn’t lose anyone in the Twin Towers or on 9/11. I knew no one on Flight 93. No one in my family has died in Baghdad or Kandahar. In some of your eyes, I have no justification for it, but still…

I cheered.

I’ve heard your arguments. I’ve seen you misquote Martin Luther King Jr. as you try to convince us of your virtue. I acknowledge your questions, your concerns, and your worries. I respect your right to respect life.

But none of that changes the fact that Osama bin Laden, a monster, is dead. As the head of al-Qaeda, and the man responsible for the deaths of thousands in New York, Washington DC, and Ohio, he is the single worst mass murderer in American history. A murdering sociopath wrapped in faux-Muslim garb, he has directly ordered the deaths of many thousand more Muslims around the world – anyone who disagreed with his fundamental – and fundamentally wrong version of Islam.

I cheered that the monster is dead. No, I didn’t dance in the street in New York or DC, but I share the sentiment. And I’ll admit: I’m confused as to why you don’t.

You argue that President Barack Obama stated that this made the world safer. You say it’s not true. You point out that aside from one terrorist operation of the past decade bin Laden has basically had no impact on world terrorism.

That’s true. So is the fact that just because he’s dead doesn’t mean that terrorism will suddenly disappear, and we have won.

But I find this particular belief system to be disheartening. It supposes a world where this is a black-and-white issue, where terrorism is either on or off, and where we have won or not. I find this binary representation of terrorism and global political situations to be… well… brain-dead.



Yeah... not so much anymore.



President Obama stated it correctly: the world is safer that bin Laden is dead. In addition to planning 9/11, bin Laden planned a series of attacks on Germany, France, and the UK that never happened. But if he is not around to plan these attacks, are we safer? Damn right we are. Are we safe? No, we are not.

Furthermore, you claim that this action will mean that Al-Qaeda will retaliate. I suspect that they will. Here’s the ugly little truth you don’t want to admit you know – al-Qaeda is always looking to retaliate. They are a terrorist group; this is what they do. They need no inciting event to cause them to say, “Gosh, Muammar! With Osama turned into a tub toy, perhaps now would be a good time to attack the United States again!”

They don’t need that. Al-Qaeda has scattered and spun out into various corners of the Middle East, and has become less effective without a figurehead at the top. In the past decade since 9/11, the terrorist icon bin Laden became a shadowy figure, then a spectre. Without that grip that he provided, this may be al-Qaeda’s one last chance to make a splash.

I’d be worried about it, were our intelligence agencies not working with the agencies of the west to stop whatever actions al-Qaeda was planning, regardless of what act has motivated them.

I refuse to live under fear. Those liberals out there who fear a terroristic retaliation are no better than those conservatives who would throw away any civil rights for a chance to feel a little more secure. Your irrational worry is no reason for the rest of this country to feel shame. It is, however, an excellent reason for you to be ashamed.

I suspect that this will have offended many of you. I can’t say I care. I’ve heard you and read your posts where you complain that people like me have attacked you for your beliefs. I’m sorry, but I don’t buy it. I’ve read, and heard, attacks by people like you against people like me – repeatedly. You say that I’m a “savage” or “jingoistic” or “wallowing in the deaths of others.” You’re entirely wrong, but you’re entitled to your opinion.

Which is why I don’t really care if I offend you. I’m also entitled to my opinion, which is: Osama bin Laden is dead, and the world is a better place because of it. We’re not safe, we know we’re not safe, but we are safer. Al-Qaeda will continue to try to retaliate against the United States, as they always do. They don’t need bin Laden’s death to justify it.

Feel free to live in fear of that attack. I’m not. I continue to expect that they’ll plan it and we’ll interfere with it. In the meantime, I’m going to be cheering.

Ye Olde Random Stuff or Douchebaggery on Parade

Back many moons ago, whilst writing for Jackson, Mississippi's venerable Planet Weekly, a few times I plugged holes in my column schedule by doing collections of - basically - random twaddle. It's a necessity when one has a few little comments or notes to make, but none of them are really worth writing up an entire column/post for.

This is my first official one, though some folks may claim that other bits here have been nothing but that...

Census Update:

You know that old saw about there not being any stupid questions? False. After a week in training, and another day or two to go, I am convinced that there are actually stupid questions.

Trainer: "When you're filling out your E-309C with your WPNO2 (wooden pencil, no eraser, Number Two), you must always do it in this fashion. The only - and I mean only - exception is when you're following up your E-309C with the additional pages from your Q-451."

Trainee: "Okay, but what about if...?"

Trainer: "This is the only exception!"

Trainee: "I get that, but what about if you're doing your E-309C in the office, instead of in the field?"

Trainer: "No exceptions, except for the one we've covered (a lot)."

Trainee: "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay, but what about if you just really want to do it the other way?"

Trainer: "No, no, no! For love of God, no! The Q-451 is the only exception!"

Trainee: "Okay, I get that. But what if...?"

Of course, I've mangled facts and document pages to keep some secrets, but you get the picture. It's not just the splitting-hairs questions, either. I swear some of them have been of this vein:

"What if...just saying what if here...what if an asteroid hits the Earth, sending up a tsunami that washes San Diego into the ocean...okay? What if that happens? Are we required to show up at the office and turn in paperwork that day?"*

A Week's Worth of Stupidity-Fueled Verbiage:

The past few days have just been riddled with wanton douchebaggery. First South Carolina's pride-and-joy, Representative Joe Wilson interrupted President Obama's address to Congress with "You lie!" It speaks well of most of his party that they were disgusted and ashamed of his behavior. Even Senator John McCain called him out on it. He apparently called and apologized to the White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel. I do believe that he probably called to apologize to the president himself - other liberals be damned. I don't believe for a moment he actually meant to speak with Emanuel (Wilson's got the brass to heckle the prez, but I don't believe he's got the cajones to actually seek out an audience with the Chief of Staff).

Following this shameful behavior, what happened? Of course, the loudmouth bobbleheads of the fringe right take up his side. Had this happened one year ago, the same brainless twerps who sided with Wilson would have demanded the heads of anyone who had heckled Bush.

Then of course, there was Serena Williams' outburst at a line judge: "I'll shove this ball down your f***ing throat." Staying classy, she was shocked - shocked! - when she was eventually tossed out of the tourney on her keister. Is this the beginning of a new shock-jock life for her, or has she learned her lesson? Who knows, but I'd give 3-to-1 that she pulls the same kind of stunt again.

Stomping through the verdant meadows of mass-media douchebaggery again was Glenn Beck, who "inspired" his people to a) co-opt 9/11 to form a "huge" mass anti-Obama demonstration in DC and then b) fail to show up for his peeps. His teabaggers were out in force - all 70-odd thousand of them. With their silly costumes and dreadful signs it resembled a Klan Rally in more than just spirit.

And we mustn't forget that slice of right-wing whoriness, Michelle Malkin, who immediately began inflating numbers on her blog and on Twitter: 'It's like...like there were half a million there! Or like a million! Wait, it was 1.5 million! No, 2 million!' I expected the Count from Sesame Street to began laughing afterwards.

Her douchebaggery really began when she posted fake photos taken years ago (reportedly from the Million Man March) that claimed to show the streets chock-full of people. However, virtually all non-fringe-right reports on the ground (DC police and Fire Department, for example), dispute all aspects of her claim.

Last on the list: Kanye West. For a man that demands (unearned) respect, he showed a shameful amount of disrespect at MTV's Video Music Awards by stealing the microphone from Taylor Swift and ranting about why she didn't deserve her award and why Beyonce did.** It would've been an appalling thing to do to a long-time veteran; it was shameful to do to a 19-year old young woman who was receiving her first award of its kind.

I'm neither a Kanye nor a Taylor Swift fan, so I have no opinion of any of it, musically. But I understand common courtesy and uncommon douchebaggery. He is clueless of the former and a master of the latter.

Even with the heavy competition from Wilson, Beck, Malkin, and Williams, I think that Kanye's behavior marks him as the biggest 'bag of the week.

I have a question now! What forms would I need to fill out if I wanted to KTC (Kick the Crap) out of that PAB (Punk-Ass Bitch)?

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*The correct answer: "That would be a DFQ situation (Dumb F***ing Question). Fill out your PY-HO (Pull Your Head Out) and your CY-PO (Close Your Pie Hole) and then follow it up with a quick STFU."

**However, Beyonce showed global amounts of class by inviting Miss Swift to the stage during her award acceptance and letting the young woman give hers. That's a stunning move. I'm not a fan of Beyonce's music, but I am now a fan of her.

The Entitlement Mentality (A Case of Deserve Versus Desire)

For years, I had a bimonthly column where I mingled politics, pop culture, and opinion known variously as "From the Extremes" and "The Bipolar Extremist." This was one of my favorite columns, and it still reflects my opinion of The Way Things Are.

I find it both amusing and disgusting that the conservatives in this country are still trying to blame the poor for the the wreckage of our economy: "It's their fault for buying houses they couldn't afford!" Sure. Who offered them the loans? Banks and other predatory lending agencies. And who deregulated those agencies to the point where they could create this situation? Oh, yeah. The conservatives in power. The ones that were exhibiting this entitlement mentality six years ago.

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This was originally printed in Jackson, Mississippi's Planet Weekly newspaper on February 12, 2003.


I saw the commercial again last night. An assured, masculine voice tells me that they could help me get the credit I deserve. That’s great; we would all like credit. But do I really deserve it? I can’t say that I do. I’m a fairly good credit risk, but I’ve never deluded myself into thinking I deserve credit.

According to recent commercials, I also deserve a refinanced loan, a new car, and a cozy little home for my family and me. I’m not exactly sure what the criteria is, but I’m fairly certain I don’t actually deserve any of this. I’d love to have it, but I don’t think I deserve it.

I’ve noticed over the past few years a tendency for people in this country to go from “I would like this” to “I deserve it.” It took me some time to figure out, but I think I know what’s brought us to this point.

The conservatives are in power. If ever a single group encapsulated the entitlement mentality, it is they.

But wait, you say! It is the liberal Americans who are known for this, and not the fiscally responsible conservatives. The damned left-wingers are always wanting to take our hard-earned money and spend it on society’s undesirables; like the poor and homeless, the physically and mentally disabled, orphans, the mentally ill, rape victims, and other sorts that the Compassionate Conservatives would just as soon sweep under the rug.

This is true. Liberals tend to want to raise taxes and spend it on those who need it. But no liberal claims that they deserve to do this. Deserve doesn’t enter into it. A liberal wants this done because it’s the right goddamn thing to do. It is wrong to let unfortunates fall to harm.
(Also it should be noted that rarely do the beneficiaries of these funds say that they deserve it, either. They tend to be thankful than now maybe they will not starve over Christmas, or that maybe now little Donny will get the medication he needs to keep him from jumping from a high building.)

Deserve is the purview of the conservatives. They deserve a new car, a financed loan, and a platinum credit card. They deserve tax breaks and tax shelters that the poor cannot afford. They deserve a way of life that they want the vast, overwhelming majority of this nation not to have. If they wanted everyone in this country to be equal, they would help finance the dream.
One of the slogans that built this country is “All Men Are Created Equal.” But most conservatives tend to believe that “All Men Are Created Equal, Except For Those Of Us Who Are Created Better.”

Our Constitution also says we have the right to Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness. Only a true-blue right-winger could interpret this to mean the right to Life, Liberty, and a Platinum American Express Card With a 2.9% Introductory A.P.R.

You don’t deserve these things. You desire them.

The entitlement mentality of this country affects all aspects of our life. Otherwise rational men and women have ponied up big bucks to buy huge, ugly SUVs, convinced that they just might need to cross a rugged ice field on the way to the soccer game or the recycling center. The fact that these behemoths suck up petroleum products faster than any non-industrial vehicles in decades doesn’t matter to them. They deserve to drive an SUV.

We know that every dollar not spent by the American people at tax time means a dollar not spent on some unfortunate who might need that dollar to survive. We know this, yet we don’t care. We deserve that tax break.

Some even sit and cheer their agreement at a federal administration that rattles their sabers and spews jingoistic rhetoric, claiming that our religions are the right ones. We support this madness, because we deserve to be in the right.

There is a fine line between desiring and deserving. It is one thing to desire more money back from the government, or a new car, or even a chance to be right on the world’s stage. This is all wish fulfillment. We all wish. We all desire.

I wish that people would see that line and take one step forward, over it. Understand that desiring and deserving are two different things. Wishing for something makes us human. Understanding that we don’t deserve it makes us humane.

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If you enjoyed this, I have linked to several other columns in the Washroom Annex (right-hand side column). Feel free to browse. I'll probably offend you.

Uncovered! The Sarah Palin Memoirs, Part 1 (Transcribed Early Draft Version)

I've been working on this transcription for some time now. About a week ago, I discovered that someone had left a very rough draft of a manuscript on one of the sinks in the Washroom. After reading it over, and seeing what it was, I decided it was my duty to transcribe it. After removing all the OMG's, the LOL's, and the WTF's, and correcting as many of the spelling and grammar mistakes as I could (never before had my Spellchecker sent me a message: "Dear God, when will this end?"), I decided to post the first part here.

Enjoy.

/Begin transcription now:

Destiny in Diapers

I came into this world on February 11, 1964, ready to change it for the better! My name is Sarah Heath Palin, and I was born in Sandpoint, Idaho, which would be a really nice town if it were in Alaska, but it’s not. I think it’s interesting that it’s on Amtrak’s Empire Builder line, since that pretty much defines me – Empire Builder, that is, not Amtrak. Amtrak is nationalized, which means socialist.

During my dynamic empire-building years as the mayor of one of Alaska’s most prosperous small towns, and then as governor of that same dynamic and really important state, I knew I was destined for greatness, no matter how impossible that may have seemed to pretty much everyone else. And in 2008, the Republican Party presidential candidate, John McCain, made my impossible dreams a reality.

On August 29, defying those pundits and that so-called short list, Senator McCain begged me to be his running mate. Some people said it was the Republican National Committee that made him take me, when he clearly wanted Joe Lieberman to be his Veep. Well, that can’t be right. Joe’s a Democrat, a Jew, and doesn’t live in the Real America. What good would it have done him to pick someone who the voters in the middle would have liked? Huh?

It’s also been said he chose me because I was the most qualified woman. Okay, really now, I’m not so deluded myself as to think that’s true. I mean, if he’d wanted the most qualified woman to run, why not pick Senator Kay Bailey Hutchison? I mean, gosh, I would’ve picked her, and I’m not the sharpest turkey grinder on TV. No, he picked me because Kay, as smart as she is, looks like an old foot. Conservative women always need to think they look good, and they all want to relate to someone else who looks good, so they relate to me – ‘cause I look good. According to strategists, that’s called motivating your base.

North to Alaska!

I was the third of four children (Charles, Heather, and Molly are the others, and if you want to know more about them, they should have run for office). Apparently, like the Republican Party, my parents were waiting on me to arrive. Three months after I was born, they packed up everything they had and moved to a place called Skagway, Alaska. There is no truth to the rumor that I was dropped on my head in the ladies’ room of a rest area in the Yukon Territory. That’s just lies.

Skagway’s a lovely place, even though it sounds like the back road in a trailer park, you know the one where you can pay for hookers with food stamps? It was once known as “The Gateway to the Klondike” and “The Northernmost City in Southeast Alaska.” But in 2007, its residents voted to dissolve the city and become a borough. We have boroughs in Alaska, just like in New York, but ours are filled with real Americans, not filthy, liberal New Yorkers. I thank thee, Lord, for that blessing. And I sure hope that vote had nothing to do with the economy or the governor.

As soon as we got to Alaska, I fell in love with it. Okay, that’s not really true. I was three months old, for Pete’s sake! No, I hated the place when I was young. It was cold, boring, and awful. It was only after I went up into a helicopter the first time and saw the magnificence that spread before me that I was able to grasp it: the beauty of the land, the sun setting over Canada, the vast wall of mountains in the distance, the loneliness of the great grey wolf below us, the weight of dad’s 30.06 in my tiny, pre-teen hands. We swooped down in the helicopter, and I shot it. We had to track it for almost a mile before finishing it off. I’m pretty sure I became a woman that day.

Now I only wish I could swoop down out of the sun in a silent helicopter like the Airwolf, and take out a few of those obnoxious celebrities, like Ashley Judd, who’ve never even seen the real America. I bet she’s never even left New York or Boston, or wherever on the East Coast she’s from. No, that bunch of Hollywood lefties probably really thinks that wolves and mooses aren’t really dangerous. They are, though! Wolves in Alaska are really mean, like in fairy tales. In fact, just last winter, I saw one blowing down a straw house and eating a pig inside. Yep, you have to keep the wolf population down, if only for the sake of Alaska’s pig population.

All That is Good About Me

My parents, Charles and Sarah Heath, came to Skagway to teach school. Mom was a school secretary and dad taught high school science. He was also a track coach! When we were growing up, between hunting for wild game and solitary tourists, the whole family used to run in 5k and 10k races. K’s are like miles, but not really. It was from my parents that I got all that is good about me: my well-known respect for education and learnin’, my preference for killing things with high-powered rifles, and thanks to running all those K’s, my spectacular, high-toned backside.

You think my butt looks good now? You should have seen me in high school, after all that cross-country running and basketball practice. Holy smoke, I could snap open a king crab claw with my ass!

By the time I was in high school, we had left Skagway and gone to Eagle River, which is so dull it doesn’t even have a nickname. It exists only to give fast-food joints a place to congregate. In fact, it’s so dull, when the Taco Bell opened you had to stand in line for two and a half hours to get a chalupa. I got one, and I still don’t know what it is. We left Eagle River and moved on to Wasilla, which also doesn’t have a cool nickname, but now it’s known as “The Home of Sarah Palin,” which is cool for it. Wasilla is located about 69 K’s north of Anchorage, which is like 800 miles in real miles. When you add in the fact that being up so far north changes north to northwest, because of the magnetic north pole’s location being to the northeast…you’ll realize that Wasilla is, in fact, almost in Russia.

I learned that at Wasilla High. Go Warriors!

In Which I Blossom at Wasilla High

Wasilla High was good for me. Unlike some stupid people, I liked going to school. I mean, I didn’t understand everything I learned, because they insisted on teaching stuff that wasn’t in the Bible, like science, math, history, and English. They taught me some stuff I didn’t really believe in, like that the world is older than 2000 years old, that the Grand Canyon wasn’t created by Noah’s flood, and that oil eventually runs out. To all that I say: nuh-uh.

I was really good at sports, though. I ran cross-country for a while and liked that, but after fifteen years of running all those K’s and no audience to watch me, I was a little bored. So I really took to basketball and no one really knew why. It’s time to let them know: it was the shorts. I looked good in my cross-country clothes, but there was no one around to watch me. Now, no one knows this, but I like to have an audience. So I started playing basketball. In Alaska, everyone comes to the high school basketball games. Well, in those shorts, my ass looked fantastic. I looked pretty darn good from the front, too, if you know what I mean. So I got out there and ran, and ran, and moved, and jumped, and all of the sudden, I was the team captain. And, wow, I just liked being looked at.

Sound familiar? That’s called playing to my strength.

So because I liked “competing” so much, the team started calling me “Barracuda,” and contrary to what some of the whores that had to ride the bench said, that had nothing to do with any oral fixation that I may or may not have had – even though I also started playing the flute and the trombone, and began an addiction to Carmex lip balm that continues to this day. No, I was a good girl. I ran the school’s chapter of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, which was a big deal to the three of us.

Have Faith!

Like everyone in my family, I’ve always found strength in my faith. I had faith that I’d marry a super-handsome part-Eskimo separatist fisherman, and that worked out! I had faith that I’d have gorgeous children who made me a grandmother at age 44 and that worked out! I had faith that I’d be the Vice-President of the United States, and if it wasn’t for the godless democrats and the confused people on our side that apparently couldn’t figure out which box to mark, that one would’ve worked out, too.

I was born into the Roman Catholic Church, but we got out of there pretty quick. I’m glad, because the whole confession thing is creepy. I don’t really like answering questions. Well, I do really, but I’m not very good at them, so I’m not sure having my soul’s final destination dependant on what a priest asks me is a good idea. I also am glad I didn’t have to spend a lot of time confessing during the Basketball Years…or the Pageant Years…or the Colleges Years. I think all that’s between me and God only.

Our family eventually changed over to Assembly of God, which is like the most liberal of the Pentecostal churches. I normally don’t like anything liberal, except for drilling rights, but I’ll make an exception for this. I am sure glad we weren’t raised Pentecostal. Those women aren’t allowed to cut their hair, or wear makeup, or really to look good at all. That just doesn’t work for me. They way I see it, God blessed me with what I’ve got, so I thank him daily by putting his fine work on display. If he’d wanted me to wear dumpy clothes and a nappy hairstyle, he should’ve made me look like one of those lefty college lesbians.

My First Dude (Well, Let’s Just Call Him That…)

I thank God daily for many things, but mostly that I never looked like one of those homely creatures. If I had, I might have gotten shot up here, mistaken for a moose. But more importantly, I never would have caught the eye of Todd Palin. I can’t lie; I had a thing for him the first time I saw him. Of course, being a good Christian girl, I didn’t show it to him. Not the first time, anyway. But he was so handsome. You know what he looks like now? Imagine him at 16!

Sorry, I needed a paragraph break there. Whew! Todd and I started dating in high school and I never seriously wanted anyone else. But that’s because he was the best-looking guy in school. I mean, come on, if there was someone else better looking than him, I’d have dumped him like a caribou turd, but there wasn’t, so he was mine. You know how handsome he is? When that funny bunch at Saturday Night Live started having their fun, they got Tina Fey to play me. That’s pretty cool, because Tina Fey’s almost as do-able as I am. But they never really got someone to play Todd. I mean, who are they going to get – that little freak that plays Obama? The guy with the eyebrows? The other guy? No, they’d just stick one of the losers in a racing suit and try passing it off. He’d always end up looking like a gay drag racer, and that’s just wrong.

You know, Todd’s as important to Team Palin as I am, just not as much. While I’m running the city or state, he’s running his commercial fishing business, which is a lot like being a fisherman, except that it’s not, and he’s working as an oil-field production operator for British Petroleum, which is absolutely, positively not foreign oil – even though they’re foreign and sell oil. “Foreign oil” means brown people sell it. Todd understands image almost as well as I do, which is why he races those snowmobiles and looks hot doing it. We’re a couple made for each other.

Next: The Colleges Years, Fancy Pageant Walking, and Putting a Finger Into the Pie of Local Politics

/End Transcription

I'll post the next part if it's ever transcribed. It might be tough, because it's written all in text-message form.