A couple of hours ago I started writing something about how with sleepy eyes and a mouth full of cereal I learned about Al-Zarqawi’s death this morning. And about how I was initially thrilled about what it meant. After I woke up a little bit I wasn’t exactly sure what the hell it meant (though I can imagine every cable news channel pundit has already gone blue in the face telling us exactly what it means). After I woke up a little more I began to remember all the varied accounts as to exactly who this guys was, what kind of power he had and exactly what he was responsible for. I remembered no one could agree on any of it. Ever. But now, apparently, he’s dead and us Americans are so bloody desperate for some good news in Iraq that even the haters and the peaceniks are high-fiving over this one.
So I was in the middle of writing a piece on all that nonsense, when a desperate and cranky financial manager from New Jersey called trying to track down a sizeable sum. In my telepathically received panic I managed to lose the draft. So, in lieu of my normal, prize-winning political commentary, I bid you, dear reader, to visit the great Counterpunch where columnist Chris Floyd lays out some of the more contentious aspects of the figure that is/was Abu Musab Saddam Osama al-Zarqawi. Read “The Timely Death of al-Zarqawi: Hubub in Hibhib.”
I’ll then direct your attention to the quote of the day, supplied by Miss Jenny Lynch of Boston, MA:
"He finally broke loose and, thank goodness for sweat pants with elastic on them, because he tried to climb up my britches' leg."
(Via Orlando’s WFTV.)