Osama bin There, Done That

Hey ho, the witch is dead. The wicked witch is dead. At the risk of sounding like Donald Trump and taking credit where it is not due, I have to tell you something you don't know. It wasn't the Navy Seals who just pulled off one of the most spectacular special ops in modern military history--the killing of Osama bin Laden--it was me. I did it. I shot the sheriff, in a secret compound in Pakistan.

It took many years of searching and then months of planning, but the raid itself was over in forty minutes; afterwards, we dumped the body into the sea, a watery but thoroughly Muslim grave. You know, without a trace? It's a program on TV. However, don't expect to read much about my part in this, since the operation is highly classified. Just know that I'm really proud of what I've accomplished, something no one else before me has managed to do. Unlike the Donald, I do plan on keeping quiet about what I've achieved. I won't brag about it--I know it's important to keep the exact details to myself. But I do want reveal one photo of me from the archive, practicing my aim in a friend's back yard, years before events this weekend pushed me into my big moment.

I am proud to have done what I did for the president, who has discussed a crucial thematic connection with his aides in the West Wing, explaining that the death of bin Laden signals something far greater than a national-security accomplishment. “He views this as a demonstration of this country’s capacity to overcome skeptics and do things that people had decided were no longer doable,” White House press secretary, Jay Carney, elaborated in an interview on Monday afternoon. “There is sort of a grit and resolve. And not in a John Wayne way, but in a commitment and focus.”

I confess I did mention something to my hairdresser about it all this morning--I asked her what she thought about the Osama events--but honestly, she didn't have a clue what I was talking about. She doesn't follow the news. I had to apologize profusely after my jaw spontaneously dropped several inches, while she kept on nonchalantly blow-drying my hair. So, no responses to share from there. Instead, I am appending a few assessments culled from Andrew Sullivan's blog the next morning. He was live-blogging the event for half the night, while I was sleeping in ignorance:

"And, yes, I am happy to use the word 'victory'. Not a final victory against Jihadist terrorists. But a victory against this one, the man who set off a decade of war and chaos, the symbol of them all. We need apologize not a wit for the joy we feel. Not joy at vengeance; nor joy at death. Just joy at justice. Immense and profound joy....And [Obama's] steadiness under pressure, well, let's just say: The cat is cool. The poker face of the man has for the last few weeks been pretty damn impressive. Just because he's calm doesn't mean he isn't lethal. And imagine what must have been going through his mind as he was getting closer and closer to this just as Donald Trump was doing performance art with a birth certificate...This has the feel of the kind of operation John Kennedy would have loved to have pulled off - and had a martini after. Here's hoping the president enjoys at least one Martini and one cigarette. 12.08 am. Can I say how deeply moving it is that a man named Barack Hussein Obama gave the order for the operation that killed Osama bin Laden?"

Virgil suggests that we not take these inner ruins to Rome. It is wise to stay at home, he says, and ask yourself, "What do you really think of the world, what do you love, fear, hate?" Eventually your thoughts and your writing will clarify.