Saturday, November 13, 2004...
Thot: "what a vast wilderness is the
unencumbered mind! Until, of course
that mind sits down at a computer.
Then she enters Hellish dimensions of
QWERTY/logs & protocols, programs
and convoluted strings of what?"
Title: Werking on one...
Here's the funny schtuff, with apologies
to Mel Brooks and others:
Somewhere on the desert frontier of
a military installation, Colonel Slim Pickens
rides up on a Humvee to review a tentful
of beleaguered Special Force troops and
its catch of enemy combatants.
Interrogator David Huddleston greets
his Commanding officer...
Interrogator/Major: Jeepers, Colonel, but
these boys don't know any good old werk
songs...in fact, we can't understand a word
most of 'em say at all.
Colonel Taggert/Pickens: Crud! I send you
grunts out here to reconnoiter and subdue
a gang of Insurgents, not dance around like
a bunch of Texas Airmen campaigning for
their Daddy! I am Depressed.
Major: How 'bout i frag one of these...
Colonel: Sheet! We ain't got time for that
and there is that danged Geneva Convention.
Listen, we got a quagmire up yonder and I
just want you to load some of these skulls on
an ox=cart and make 'em lead the next
convoy. Carry on.
[the late Slim Pickens departs the scene]
Shortly, the Interrogator enters a sandy tent
and comes face to face with a local soldier of
the Insurgency...an urbanite Arabic resembler
of the late Cleavon Little.
Major: What have we here? Near as i can
tell, you is the only Combitant 'round these parts
that carries a Wallet...[quotes a License which
reads:] Bart...Habib, al, al~booba...I cain't read
this! Y'all got too many names! I'll jest call you
Habib for now...
Habib: Thanks ya suh! Wouldya like to play a
nice game of Chess?
Major: Homey don't play dat~why don't you just
explain all them cards in that Wallet?
Habib: [placing cards on a makeshift table]
Well, suh, dis here is my foreign fighter card
endorsed and validated in eight countries...
And dat one is my terrorist membership card
from Hamas or Hezbollah, jes the kind of thing
we all get on our tenth birthday---but they don't
wanna hear back from me until I makes a tape
Major: [glancing at the card] There ain't no
return address on this card!
Habib: Like i just said~return letters to the
Home office in case of self=immolation...
Major: This looks important~a plastic card
from the jerknoid we done caught in a spider
hole a few months back...I could shoot you for
having this on spec!
Habib: Mercy, no---that's be just a Saddam
Loyalty oath, and Massah, she ain't been
notarearised since 1999; Ossifer, Habib do
promise that iffen You hadn't frocefully invaded
this here Dicktatorship, I swear I was gonna
throw dat one away.
Major: And what is this?! [crumpled paper]
Habib: Naturally, that's my Application for the
Florida flight school---I missed Everything but
Date of Birth.
Major: Allright, buddy, I guess I can just put you
on the Oxcart to our next objective...without this
Wallet. Fall out, butthead.
[the Major & Habib approach the doomed
transport to the next objective]
Habib: Excuse me, boss, but i believe the
Colonel wanted only Insurgents on this trip;
Tell a family secret *whispers*...my great
grandmother was Jewish.
Major: GIT on that oxcart!!
[readers may correct the entire text]
It was a globo=political ponderance of
current Circumstance...And more=over
it might not be that funny.