[note: the above image was selected because it is the first thing that pops up when you google image search “osama.” The people have spoken.]
Well, we’ve all heard the news by now that Osama Bin Laden is dead.
I have really mixed feelings about the whole thing.
For starters, whenever I try to say “Osama” I end up saying, “Obama” which is a really embarrassing error to make. It’s just a really unfortunate thing where both names didn’t exist to me until a couple years ago, and they are one letter off. It would be like if I introduced you to one dude named Krigo and another one named Krino. I mean, it would be sort of like that except if one was a horrible terrorist guy and the other was an inspiration to idiots who think politics matters.
Secondly, unless he was killed in a topless knife fight with Stallone, Kurt Russell, or any of our many wonderful action heroes, I’m not really all that interested in seeing the footage. I’ve seen a lot of CNN footage, and I still prefer Hard Target:
Why people even watch the news when Hard Target is a thing is beyond me.
Third, in reading a report on what it took to bring Osama down, I’m not so much horrified at the expense as I am curious as to why there was ONE dog along for the ride. What was he doing there? And what if he got shot or something? It would have looked real dumb if they needed the dog, it got shot, and nobody brought an extra one. And if there’s only one dog, how bad did you need it? Maybe it was picked up along the way, in which case I would be worried that Osama’s soul went into the dog and now it’s evil. I’ve seen Child’s Play, I know how these things work.
Fourth, I’ve heard a lot of people say they wouldn’t rejoice in the death of another. Others feel a great sense of pride and take to the streets. Personally, I have a strict policy on this sort of thing. I don’t celebrate a death, nor do I celebrate a life. I don’t go shoot a magnum of champagne all over a gravestone, but I don’t think I’ll be headed to any baby showers any time soon. If you think about it, celebrating a birth is a lot like celebrating a death. You just created a thing that is GUARANTEED to die at some point. Just pray it doesn’t check out with a belt tied around its neck shortly after it hits puberty.
I DO however enjoy the mid-pint celebrations, such as bar mitzvahs, but that’s mostly because of the babes.
So what does it all mean?
Well…nothing, really. My life certainly feels exactly the same as it did a couple days ago.
I guess you could say that killing another human is savage and unjustified, regardless of the situation. But I don’t think that’s always true (see Hard Target trailer again, for reference).
I guess you could say that there’s not much point in killing someone who believes in a heaven with a bunch of virgins or whatever. But I don’t think that’s true either. For one thing, if you really and truly believe that, wouldn’t you blow yourself to pieces immediately? And even if you’re into virgins for some reason, you only have this arbitrary finite number of them and all of eternity, so what happens after you work your way through in six weeks? Maybe there’s some kind of negotiation, you can trade X number of virgins for a flat screen or something.
I guess you could say that we sort of had to find him and punish him as a warning to others. And what lesson does this impart to others? Do some crazy shit and we’ll catch you in a decade or so?
I guess you could say that we punish so that the behavior stops and others won’t mimic it. That one’s not even worth arguing. By that logic, herpes would have put stranger sex at a halt. And from what I hear from people who are dateable, this is not the case.
I guess you could say it was one more chance for Will Ferrell to trot out that goddamn Bush impression. I’d say, “Jesus Christ, can they not find one dude who can do an amusing Obama impression already? If we’re headed for another four years, it’s top priority, Lorne Michaels.”
I guess you could say the real tragedy is that it took away fun for a bit, which is kind of the whole point of the internet. If you can’t have poop talk, esoteric hashtag jokes, and pictures of cats saying things that are amusing because they are things cats would never say but presented in a voice that is workable for a cat, what’s the point of the internet?
I guess you could say, life goes on, and I have diarrhea today that was like peeing a brown stream out of my butt.