Remember The Maine?

Well, do ya, punk? No, of course not. Nobody remembers the Alamo either. Nor Tippy Canoe. And least of all Tylor. Or was it Tyler? Who cares. Sad but true. December 7th still has a notation on the calendar, but no longer lives in infamy judging by all the Hondas and Toyotas on the road. But let me tell you, friend, you'd damn well better remember 9-11, or you're an anti-american muslim lover and god hep ya then.

It's been eight LONG years, and some of our adrenal glands are getting a little fatigued. Just getting harder and harder to get worked into a fear crazed frenzy. But wait! Maybe we can get some help from a loser in Texas.

So this pudgy, balding, middle-aged, never married or had children (Hmmm), whose parents are both dead, and, oh yeah, was born and raised in VIRGINIA guy, joins the Army straight out of High School. The Army puts him through College and he becomes a couch jockey. All day long he listens to horribly damaged GIs tell ghastly tales of what happens in war zones. That is his job. He is a Shrink. All day long, dealing with deeply disturbed people. Then the unthinkable happens. He gets his orders. Afghanistan, here I come! He tries to resign his commission, renege on his contract. No fucking way is the Army letting him off the hook. What's a good muslim to do? Exactly what many good patriotic americans before him have done...go bat shit insane! No, no, I mean become a terrorist, naturally! Go on a killing spree and give FOX "news" a convenient whipping boy to rouse the rabble with some righteous anti-muslim propaganda.

Well, I'd really like to get all frothy at the mouth and maybe attack someone for practicing another religion than christianinanity, but frankly, I'm just too tired. Start the holy war without me.