The Poet's Eye
     commentary by Lightning Rod

The Poet's Eye is skeptical without being cynical,
innocent without being naive and critical without
being judgemental.

Osama bin Humbug
for release 12-20-04

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of terrorists danced in their heads.
And Mama in her flak jacket, and I in my cap,
had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.
When out on Manhattan there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

I have begun asking myself what I want Santa Claus to bring me this year. Something tells me the Porche is out of the question. I've been a good boy, but not that good. I don't like Rolexes, besides I have a perfectly good watch that cost under fifty dollars. A trip to Buenos Aires or Rio would be nice this time of year but my passport is out of date.

The truth is that I haven't enjoyed Christmas for some time, like from about when I figured out that the Jolly Old Elf was a wino with cigarette breath and a fake beard that worked for the department store. There's something about the obligatory nature of the event that rubs me wrong. We are obliged to give presents, as if the economy would go belly up without the annual orgy of gift buying. And then there are the obligatory family gatherings where you have to make polite talk while choking down Aunt Ethyl's pumpkin pie. I've never liked pumpkin pie. I think pumpkins should be reserved for jack-o-lanterns. They are pretty to look at, but who would want to eat one?

Another reason I don't like Christmas is because it usually requires a trip to my least favorite place on earth this side of the North Pole. I'm talking about the shopping mall, one of those noisy garish shrines to the unnecessary. If Jesus walked into one of those places he would topple the ATM machines. But I'll spare you the tired sermon on how the spiritual meaning of Christmas has been lost in the modern mire of materialism and commercialism. You've heard this so many times that it has become as obligatory as a Christmas carol. The complaint is as old as Dickens.

I'm not trying to be Scrooge here and bah-humbug the whole season with it's interminable and synthetic good cheer. Christmas is kind of like Communism. It's a good idea in theory but almost obscene in practice. Human greed and gluttony will always overtake and corrupt philosophies like Communism and Christianity and Islam, that are based on sharing and giving.

What I would really like this Christmas is to sit down to dinner with Osama bin Laden. He's sort of like the anti-Santa Claus. He would probably swoop in on a sleigh pulled by nineteen tiny flying desert reindeer. If Santa can make it through my Homeland Security and slip down the chimney, it shouldn't be any problem for bin Laden. Over milk and cookies we could talk about the relative merits of our cultures. You know, things like the diff between the concepts of jihad and turning the other cheek. I think it would make for good Christmas cheer. Ole Saint Bin probably wouldn't be much for the egg nog, but I know he would bring the good stash from Afghanistan where he keeps his secret workshop of elves in training to strike terror into the hearts of all the little boys and girls.

His belly would shake like a bowl full of petroleum jelly as he described how he was planning to disrupt oil supplies from the gulf region in order to turn the heat up on the Americans. And not a creature would stir not even an internet mouse as he outlined his plans to overthrow the lackeys in the Saudi Royal family who are strung like stockings by the American chimney with care, hoping that more dollars soon would be there.

As the evening draws to its mellow end I would lean across to bin Laden and confide in him like one fugitive to another. I would say, "How does a guy like you, who is six-foot-five when everybody else is five-foot six, sporting that magnificent beard and distinctive robe and head dress and your movie-star good looks, manage to remain at large when the FBI and the CIA and the whole American military, including Seals and Rangers on the ground in Afghanistan, and the whole Pakistani army and Interpol and the Mossad are all looking for you? You and your organization have managed to elude all the combined forces of freedom and at the same time have issued nearly thirty separate audio or video tapes to your followers since 9/11 without being caught. How do you do it? How do you manage to lay low and keep a high profile at the same time? And not only that, I would slyly remind him, you have a twenty-five million dollar bounty on your head. Doesn't this make you tend to distrust your elves...er... body guards?"

The Poet's Eye can just see Osama pondering this question before answering, "It doesn't worry me because none of my followers would betray me with a kiss. Oops, wrong story. Oh well, he's your savior, not mine."

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

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