Saturday, Jan. 5, 42 A.B.

Please Don't Bomb This Entry

So: The bombing goes on.

Last I heard, over 12,000 bombs have now been dropped by the U.S. on Afghanistan.

According to ABC News last night, about a hundred 2,000-pounders were dropped in just the previous 24 hours or so.  That amounts to some 100 tons of high explosive in a single day, or approximately 5 pounds for every man, woman, and child in my old hometown of Lima, Ohio.  Is this justified?  I don't know, I can't figure it out - I've been too busy sitting by my front door, waiting for an Air Force representative to knock and politely ask to borrow a cup of TNT so they can go on.

As I understand it, one of the goals of all this bombing is to transform the single entities known as Osama bin Laden and Mullah Mohammed Omar into a bunch of small, multiple, non-breathing entities utterly incapable of further threatening us unless we accidentally slip on them.

As near as I can tell, not a one of the 12,000 bombs which have been dropped thus far have succeeded in this goal.

Given that Afghanistan comprises 250,000 square miles, we really shouldn't be surprised that two men there (each smaller than a refrigerator) have managed to escape unscathed since this means that only about one bomb has been dropped for every 21 square miles thus far.  If you've ever tried to bomb a refrigerator from high altitude, I'm sure you're aware that what's needed here is at least several bombs per acre, or approximately 75 million bombs total.  At the rate we're going (4000 dropped bombs per month/48,000 per earth revolution ‘round the sun), we really shouldn't expect to find both Osama and Omar in little pieces before the year 3564 or so.  Of course, Nature alone ought to be able to achieve this well before 2100 AD, but leaving things to Nature might entitle it to claim the $25 million bounty on the heads on these fiends, make our military look impotent, and render Nature unbeatable in the next presidential election.  Do we really want the entity responsible for Ebola, earthquakes, and acne sitting in the Oval Office?  I think not! We can only hope that the Air Force succeeds in its mission before things come to this.

In the interests of hastening things along a bit, here's some advice I have for that Air Force:

Stop wasting your bombs on civilians.


Although the TV news reports I've watched have mostly ignored this recurring waste of high explosives on unarmed members of the Afghanistan peasantry, my newspaper has inadvertently catalogued an apparently unending stream of unfortunate incidents which have left hundreds, perhaps even thousands of not-Osamas and not-Omars in little, unbreathing pieces.  I say "inadvertently" because although my newspaper prints a daily box score of U.S. casualties from terrorist attacks, military operations, and anthrax, it does not carry a companion box for casualties inflicted.  One must haphazardly piece those figures together from various, irregularly published stories, such as the one yesterday which informed me that at least 52 civilians were killed by U.S. bombs dropped near the city of Gardez last Saturday, and the Dec. 19 story about the 180 civilians who were killed by U.S. bombs in villages near Tora Bora, and - well, the list is a somewhat lengthy one, and I won't bother you with all the still-evolving details.  Suffice it to say that my newspaper has been doing a better job than the TV networks here, even if it makes me do the math myself.

The point to remember is this: If the goal is to hit Osama and Omar, that goal will be achieved a lot faster if Osama and Omar are actually hit rather than a woman going out for water or a child staring up at the pretty contrails.

What can YOU do to help the Air Force out here?  The same thing I've done: Paint a giant red cross on your roof next to the words "I AM NOT OSAMA!  I AM NOT OMAR!" So far, it's worked like a charm.

Because I really, REALLY want to help the Air Force out in this regard, however, I have also mailed its officers some helpful information which I want to publicly post here just in case the aim of those U.S. Postal Service trucks is no better than a B-52:

"Dear Fly Boys -

Hi, how ya doing?

I understand you are currently attempting to introduce Mr. Osama bin Laden and Mr. Mullah Mohammed Omar to some of your finest ordinance.  Please note: I am neither one of these men.  A thorough sweep of my house has just revealed it to be utterly free of these men.  Please do not bomb me or my house.

Thank you.

Most Sincerely (and most willing to beg for my life if I have to),


PS - For your convenience, please find enclosed a photo of my house, a copy of my address, an Ohio map on which my location has been circled in red ink, my exact latitude and longitude, a USA map on which Ohio has been circled in red, and my precise Global Positioning Satellite (GPS) coordinates.  THIS IS THE AREA I OFFICIALLY DESIRE TO REMAIN BOMB-FREE.  Thanks again for your assistance in this matter.

PPS - I understand that you are currently most assiduously engaged in attempting to bomb the bejesus out of the Omar fellow in particular.  I also understand that he happens to be a man who's approximately 42 years old.  Because I myself happen to be a man about 42 years old, and I know how hard it might be to distinguish one such fellow from another while zooming overhead at Mach 1 or 2, I am enclosing the following additional details in hopes that your pilots will familiarize themselves with them and thereby reduce the odds of a tragic mistake occurring.

----- Omar is reclusive.  I am reclusive.  My reclusiveness is better than his.

----- Omar lost his right eye battling Soviet invaders.  I only nearly lost my right eye that time my wife caught me looking at a Kmart cashier a bit too closely shortly after we were first married.

----- Omar has three wives and nine children.  I have 1673 books and four fossils because they put fewer demands on my time and are easier to feed.

----- Omar's official title is "Commander of the Faithful."  Despite years of looking at garage sales and flea markets, the acquisition of an official title continues to elude me.

----- Only two photos of Omar are known to exist.  Although only two good photos of myself are known to exist, many, many bad ones may be found in my photo albums.  Before releasing any bombs, please have your  pilots check the photo albums of the target.

----- Omar is allegedly being defended by some 1500 loyal supporters.  I am being defended by a cat - and then only immediately prior to his mealtimes.

----- Omar is the son of a landless farmer.  My whole family is afraid to get within 20 feet of a cow.  The very idea of plowing a field has always been deeply offensive to us, especially considering the vast number of couches there are in the world which are begging to be reclined upon.

----- Omar's entire education consisted of memorizing the Muslim holy book.  My education has been such that I never know whether that holy book is the Koran or Quran or Q'ran or Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman.  If your pilots will simply pause in their planned airstrikes long enough to quiz me about this holy book's chances of being picked up again by the programmers at CBS, I'm sure my ignorance will prove to be obvious and not worth a single bullet.

I could go and on, but I realize your pilots have to memorize lists like this for each of the billions of people on this planet who are not Omar, so I'll make this as short and sweet as possible and sum it up for you this way:

Omar needs to be bombed before he ruins another country or aids more terrorists.  I need to be slathered with melted chocolate by midget nymphomaniacs before my pitiful crying jags prompt my neighbors to move.  Omar NEEDS your attention.  I NEED the help of the CIA's Special Operations Unit - Entertainment Division.

Thanks again for your time."

There. All written and sent.

And I wasn't even accidentally bombed during the time it took!

Do you suppose the Air Force managed to read my words as I typed them out, thanks to those fancy spy satellites they have?!


Call me paranoid if you like, but I think I better go put on a second pair of underwear just to reduce the chances of an embarrassing infra-red image popping up on a screen at NORAD headquarters in Colorado.....

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(©Now-Now-Now-Now-Now by DJ Birtcher
using the Gatling copyrighter he still needs to get the hang of)