I had work today. At my job, I sometimes sit in the basement of a church surrounded by thousands of books. I go through those books one by one, scanning them onto an Amazon platform and uploading them to my non-profit’s seller account, where they will be sold for a profit. (This is a new experiment in generating revenue for the organization. I hope it works, because it’s my job to make it work!) We don’t sell all the books, of course, because the vast majority of them are shit — broken or ancient and yellow or missing a cover or old periodicals (i.e., not books) or lacking an ISBN number or advance reader copies or large print versions. I throw all those books in big trash barrels. We will recycle them.
I listen to the radio when I’m sitting in the basement of the church, because otherwise there’s only the odd hum of the generators, occasional footsteps from far away. Without the radio I would go insane, really. I whistle along to the corporate and classic rock and scan books — beep! — and throw books — boom! — and take cigarette breaks outside in the sunlight.
Anyway. The radio station I listen to at work is a dude rock station. Like, they play a mix of modern dude rock — Papa Roach (who I did not realize was still a band until today!) and Linkin Park and whatever — and then they play older dude rock, before dude rock got so horribly dude-bro-ish — your Hendrix, your Zeppelin, your Appetite for Destruction-era G&R, etc. Maybe it was that, actually: maybe it was the introduction of bro-ish-ness that was the beginning of the end for dude rock. I don’t know. Who cares. Where was I going with this?
Oh, right. So WAAF, Boston. Dude-bro rock radio station. Got it.
The morning-to-afternoon DJ on WAAF is, it goes without saying, a dude-bro. I forget what his name was. You can just call him Dude-Bro. Anyway, Dude-Bro was kind of not-bright, but I was all scanning books and throwing them around and not really digging the idea of finding a new station, so I listened to him. Anyway anyway anyway. Dude-Bro was all “Osama bin Laden is dead,” and he began filling me in on little details I hadn’t caught because I wasn’t reading the news obsessively like I usually do, because I was at work trying to stay sane. So, right, so moving right along. Dude-Bro says, “Osama bin Laden was killed yesterday by U.S. Special Forces and buried at sea today,” which was news to me, the buried at sea part. But then he said something curious. He said:
“Which I still don’t really believe.”
And I was like, “HA!” And then I was like, “WHOA!” And then I was like, hmm.
Dude-Bro went on to the effect that he thinks that bin Laden was “buried at sea” –OBVIOUSLY, DUH, SHEEPLE! — so that nobody would be able to look at the body which, DUH, doesn’t exist because we didn’t even kill bin Laden (!), we just captured him. Or maybe we didn’t even capture him at all, did you ever think about that? And then Dude-Bro put on some Pink Floyd and let the matter drop for a little bit.
So I was kind of confused, you know?
I needn’t have been.
Take it away, J. Michael Waller (at Andrew Breitbart’s place, where else?):
The free world, particularly the United States, has a right to make sure Osama bin Laden is really dead. Every American has a right to walk right up to bin Laden’s corpse and view it. We are entitled to know for a fact that the witch is dead. No shroud for dignity’s sake, please – bin Laden’s naked, bullet-riddled corpse should be put on display in lower Manhattan for all the world to see. The entire body should be digitally scanned, inside and out – and made available for everyone to take his or her own picture.
The right needs a new conspiracy after the whole long-form birth certificate clusterfuck-fiasco. This thing has legs.