Posted on 11/16/2001 1:24:12 PM PST by Stand Watch Listen
The news headlines are shouting the triumphant taking of Kabul, Jalalabad, and the encircling of Kandahar. People are dancing in the streets, playing music, shaving their beards, throwing off their burqas and black turbans and donning jeans.
But where is Osama?
The Taliban stated that they are protecting him, and Osama himself has bragged in recent days that we will never find him. Now if that isn´t a direct challenge to us, I don´t know what is. However, our military experts have been warning of the coming winter and the problems it presents. They also worry that the vast network of caves presents severe difficulties in locating and flushing out bin Laden, his followers, and the Taliban. Here´s what I have to say to that — PSHAW!
When the World Trade Center was attacked, I lost my future job (I was supposed to start the following week — anybody want to hire me?), my friends, my sense of safety and security, and my innocence. I stood outside my home and watched the second plane deliberately turn into the World Trade Center. Then I watched the smoke drifting over my area from the southeast — sooty smoke that occasionally drifted down — all the while wondering if the bodies of my friends were part of that fallout. To say I´m angry would be a gross understatement. I would love to personally have Osama in my sights, and no mere winter, or a few caves would deter me from my mission!
I (and plenty of other women like me) could be America´s secret weapon. I am a premenopausal harridan whose ‘normal´ mood these days can only be described as ‘being in a perpetual snit.´ When I´m feeling particularly civil, I only throw one or two hissy fits a day. Find Osama? No problemmo!
On a normal day, my anger and frustration level is enough to make dictatorial male chauvinists quake beneath their black turbans. And that´s just because I found the morning sun to be too loud. You should see me when I get a bill in the mail, or have to deal with my (no longer svelte) naked body in the shower.
After all, what have I got to lose if I´m sent to Afghanistan? My good looks? They disappeared years ago, around the time that disco died and PC only meant personal computer. Besides, being sent to flush out Osama might turn into a new diet fad. Having survived (and gained weight on) the Grapefruit Diet, the Atkins diet, the Weight Watchers Diet, the Water Diet, the ‘eat-only-orange-food diet,´ the ‘have-sex-instead-of-chocolate´ diet (I failed miserably at that one!), and the Air Diet (you gulp air when you get hungry — but they don´t tell you how to dispose of all that gastrointestinal gas in a non-offensive and lady-like manner), a few weeks of starvation might be good for me.
As to finding that beggar bin Laden — I am an expert in finding things that don´t want to be found. Things like a contact lens that fell into the shag carpet, my second best pair of earrings, that $567.00 I could have sworn I´d deposited into my checking account (what deposit slip? — I‘ve only got two slips and one is white and the black one no longer fits), recalcitrant boyfriends, and my teenage son. I have braved biker bars, video arcade hangouts, supercilious bankers, and applying mascara while driving through commuter traffic going into the Lincoln Tunnel. What´s a few psychotic, megalomaniacal pseudo-Islamists? Bubkas! I could find Osama and the Taliban with one thigh tied behind my back. (I might look better that way too!)
As for equipping me on my Osama quest, it would be a lot cheaper and easier than what the army is doing now. For one thing, I wouldn´t need a specially-fitted, super-expensive gas mask. I have lots of experience with noxious odors. I dutifully diapered a baby boy long enough for him to grow into a stinky teenager. Plus I lived through The Air Diet. I have also survived the aftermath of men on chili-and-beer binges. Besides, you should smell my refrigerator. Who needs gas masks? If something didn´t smell bad, I´d think I died and mistakenly got sent to heaven. The only equipment I´d need is some moisturizer, lip balm, facial hair wax, age-defying night cream, extra pair of pantyhose, a nice dress with matching high heels (in case it´s a formal capture), SPF 15 sunblock, really good quality toilet paper, and a cell phone with unlimited minutes. And lots of chocolate.
So, all you military planners out there, SEND ME! Not only will I find our quarry, my friends will thank you, my son will thank you and you will be putting an out-of-work writer to good use. Besides, if Osama and the Taliban see me coming, they might just decide to surrender rather than face an almost middle-aged harpy, staggering through the snow in her high heels who forgot to remove her mud mask.
There, standing before you, is the luckiest man in New York.
And keep him hidden until Iran, Iraq, and Libya are finished, as well.
When the right time comes we will tell the biggest baddest Northern Alliance Commander exactly where he is and exactly how to get their hands on him. Let the Muslums extract their own brand of justice on his rotting body.
There, standing before you, is the luckiest man in New York.
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