Silflay Hraka

“14 Bazooka rounds?”

“14 Bazooka rounds.”

Ahmed made a small checkmark on his clipboard and walked slowly to the next row. “Case of grenades?”

Shamir bent over, trying to read the lettering on the rough wooden box, squinting through the cool dimness of the warehouse. “Case of…….I can’t read this, it is darker than the ugly harem in here.” He fiddled with the lid, lifting it up.

“Not to open the boxes!” Ahmed lunged forward, too slowly to prevent Shamir from opening up the container.

He peered within, “Case of…”, poking at the contents. “What in Allah’s name?” He lifted out a small, pineapple shaped object. “This is not a grenade!”

Ahmed’s face grew fearful. “Put that back!,” he demanded. “They’re very delicate!”

Shamir peered down at what lay in his hand, and pinched off a bit. “It isn’t even metal!”

“Ahhhh! Son of the dungheap, stop that!”

“This is….not….This is a Play-doh Grenade! It’s made out of Play-doh!” Shamir grabbed another, and a third, and squeezed. “They’re all made out of Play-doh!”

“Cease your destruction! Those took Omar hours to make!” Ahmed grabbed the unhurt grenade and laid it gently back down in the straw lining the case, gingerly replacing the lid.

“He speaks truly.” came a gloomy, disembodied voice from the floor. “The filthy foreign molds broke after less than a day. I curse the man Hasbro and all his ilk. May they be infested by scrotum fleas for a thousand years.”

Ahmed grabbed the now shapeless modeling compound and tossed it down to the recumbent Omar, who sighed heavily and began picking at the ex-grenades with a splinter of wood. “Do you never wash?” he exclaimed irritably. “It’s all dirty now. What did you do with the other pin?”

“IT DOESN’T NEED A PIN!” Shamir exploded. “IT”S MADE OUT OF PLAY-DOH!”

“Quiet! HE could come round at any second!” Ahmed hissed. “Does Omar explain to you the correct way to pick your afternoon snack from that monstrosity you call a nose? Let the man work.”

Shamir yanked his hand down, “I told you, my nose itches sometimes, dripping fart of a camel.” He flicked on a elderly flashlight, glancing at the dozen or so boxes it illumined with a weak orange light. All had “Grenades” stenciled onto them. “Do we have any actual grenades?”

Ahmed grimaced. “Not as such, no.”

Shamir stared at him in disbelief, “Why? Why don’t we have any real grenades!? The Americans could jump on top of us tomorrow and I’m supposed to throw a…a….lime grenade at them?”

“Just because they are green does not mean they taste of limes.” Ahmed bent down, scrabbling in the detritus covering the floor. “No one has any grenades. They’ve all been sold to the Kurds for food. We’re lucky, really.” He picked up a small metal cotter pin and ring and handed them to Omar, who grunted in satisfaction.

Shamir began pacing, “Lucky.”

“Yes, really.”

“Lucky how? Pray tell!”

“Well, you know Don and Abdul?”

“One-eye and Stumpy?”

“Well, they had to make claymore mines out of sawdust and Vaseline.”

“Jesus Christ! Do we have ANY real weapons?” Shamir looked at the suddenly stony face in front of him. “What?”

Omar stared up at him in shock, mouth agape. Ahmed fingered the the hilt of the knife at his side. “What did you say, infidel?”

Shamir looked at him quizzically. “I said, ‘Jesus Christ, have we’…….Oh for God’s sake.”

“This explains so much.” Ahmed said coldly. “At last I know why the Americans tread on our heels like a boy with his first sheep! We have one of their minions to tell him where we are!”

“I needed a change! You know how boring it is, swearing ‘by the beard of Allah!’ all the time?”

“What, Allah not good enough for you, ferengi?”

“Halt thy slanderous tongue! We grew up in the same village! Where are all the weapons?”

“It’s not like you, putting on airs.”

“Weapons?”

“You father is probably spinning in his graves.”

“Answer the question!”

“If the boxes say we have weapons then we have weapons! No one ever looks in them. You go poking about and there’ll be all sorts of trouble!”

“And if HE comes round and opens the boxes? Truly, this is another fine mess you have led us into. The best part of you dried on the ass of your father’s goat.”

“Yes, truly you have room with which to castigate me, Mr. Talks-With-The-Dead.”

“I got you out of that alive! I got us all out of that alive!”

“YOU DRESSED US UP AS PROSTITUTES! POOR OMAR HAD TO ORALLY PLEASURE CANADIANS! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH THAT PISSES OFF ALLAH?!!”

“Look, if it was good enough for the Mullah Omar, it’s good enough for our Omar. ”

Omar’s voice floated up from the floor. “And they cheated me. Twenty-five dollars, they said! A king’s ransom! How was I to know Canadian dollars were as the defecations of birds in the marketplace? How can they be so close to America and still be as poor as Yemenis?”

Shamir stopped pacing. “Enough complaining! The inspection could happen any day, any minute.” He looked at the shelves. “What is in the box marked ‘Pistols’?”

“Those are excellent. Omar found this truckload of deodorant soap, and….”

“I don’t want to know. Bazooka’s?”

“Spud Guns”

“In the name of all that is holy, what is a Spud Gun?”

“It is much like a bazooka. It shoots potatoes.”

“Potatoes.”

“Yes, a child’s party hat cut down, wax, some tempera paint and a potato make a truly excellent copy of a bazooka shell.”

“What do you plan on fighting the Americans with?”

“Everybody else.”

“What about the weapons of mass destruction?”

“Omar?”

Omar struggled up from the ground, scratching at the sores on his lips. “Oh, those we have.” He waved at a battered trunk on on of the bottom shelves.

“Really!” Shamir strode over and threw it open, stared down at the contents. “It’s a…a….a box of hammers? This is the is dumbest thing I have ever seen! What am I supposed to do with these?”

What are you having for lunch, shaheed?” Omar reached past him and took one, tested its balance, laid it down on the barrel head that served them as a table.

Shamir peered into the depths of the small, greasy brown paper bag he pulled from a pocket. “Two eggs, and..” He motioned towards an ammunition box. “one of those bazooka rounds, I suppose.”

Omar’s eyes widened. “Two eggs! In this time of famine? Truly you are blessed of Allah! May I see?” He plucked the bag from Shamir’s hand and removed the two white ovals.

His hand bobbed up and down, weighing. “Heavy for their size. Good eggs. Much mass.” He placed them on the barrel head beside the hammer, picked it up and smashed the eggs. Bam! Bam!

Omar turned to the silent, shocked Shamir. “Twenty five Canadian dollars is bad enough. I do not see why I had to give some of it to you. I do not even know this word, pimp. Next time, you can play the toothless lamb. You are the officer. This is your weapon of mass destruction.” He placed the sticky handle into Shamir’s unresisting hand. “You can tell HIM you saw it tested personally. Or you can nail the lids down. I must finish my grenade.” He sat heavily back down on the floor, resumed picking at the Play-Doh.

Shamir goggled at him for a moment, looked out the boxes, down at the hammer in his hand.

“What did we make the nails out of?”

Rampant Paranoia

While we’re hypothesizing about potential terrorists attacks, we might as well talk about nuclear materials being smuggled into the U.S. aboard cargo ships.

The scenario: cargo ship comes into a port in New Jersey. Inspectors hear strange noises from the cargo hold and detect some radioactivity. The ship is taken over by the Coast Guard, put out to sea and searched again. No radioactivity or strange noises. What happened?

My paranoid, caffeine-addled (aided?) mind goes to work. What if the radioactive cargo was smuggled in underneath the boat, attached to the hull somehow? What if the strange noises heard by the inspection team were made by terrorist divers removing the cargo during the brief period it was in port. What if terrorists were able to remove the radioactive payload via some other method while the ship was in port?

My guess is that the Navy SEALS were called in specifically to search the hull of the boat for a parasitic payload like this.

In other paranoid news, Silflay Hraka has determined that the Apollo moon landings were fake. Sure, we’ve got pieces of the Saturn rockets used to launch the Apollo missions orbiting the planet, but that doesn’t prove anything.

Thanks, Asparagirl, for the topic.

My name is Dr. Atkins, and I’m an alcoholic

I had a friend who started the low-carb Atkin’s diet three days ago. Last night we were in the grocery store and she was looking for a low-carb beer that she could drink while on the diet. Today, there’s this: Michelob Ultra.

“Pop” Culture

Tackling the ever present problems of the world, a group of researchers is attempting to make the world a better place by asking people what they call carbonated drinks and determine regional significance. You too can participate in this bit of history.

Hypothesis

It’s being reported that although bomb-sniffing dogs reacted to something in the two cars stopped on Alligator Alley, that no actual bombs have been found yet. If there were bombs, then where are they now?

The Three Stooges, as Laurence has dubbed them, were overheard by a waitress in Calhoun Wednesday night, and were caught 683 miles later west of Miami, just after midnight, Friday morning. That’s a 12 hour drive, according to mapquest. Let’s say they had a late dinner Wednesday night, around 8 o’clock. They spent 12 hours driving, so what were they doing during the other 16? What if the bombs weren’t intended for Miami, but rather for somewhere else, and Miami was were they planned to escape from? Atlanta and Tampa are both major cities also on Interstate 75, and you could argue that Atlanta is a more target-rich environment than Miami.

Also, as Kehaar reports below, the men were apparently concerned about running late. If this is a isolated attack, then why worry about the time? One would be concerned about the time in such a situation for two reasons that I can think of off the top of my head. One, you’re rendezvousing with another cell in order to carry out the attack. Two, the attack is timed to occur in conjunction with other attacks across the country, like the 4 separate hijackings were on 9/11. I don’t know about you, but I’m wanting the day to hurry up and end.

Update: What else is near interstate 75, and could be considered a target?
Florida’s Crystal River Nuclear Power Plant
Alabama’s Joseph M.Farley Nuclear Power Plant is also pretty close.

Yet another Update: These guys seem like piss-poor terrorists to me, especially compared with Atta and his crowd. They talk loudly about their plans in a public restaurant, drive through a toll booth without paying, and then politely let an single deputy pull them over? It just doesn’t make much sense. But what if instead of being the people in charge of the attack, these are the guys in charge of the diversion? That their orders are to basically make a lot of noise and get the eyes of the Nation turned towards Florida, while another attack goes forward elsewhere? It would fit in with their concern about timing, as well. I figure a good deal of proof for this theory will come if someone else comes forward with a story similar to the one in Calhoun, in that they were overheard boasting about an attack in Miami on the 13th.

YAU2: They’re claiming to be medical students in Dominica. That would Ross University. And they could well be students there. Atta’s group were students, too.
YAU3: The Miami Herald is reporting that the impetus for the 2 state manhunt was a practical joke gone awry.

Three medical students of Middle Eastern descent who were stopped as suspected terrorists on Alligator Alley early Friday morning remained detained after they were overheard in a Georgia restaurant vowing to make America “cry on 9/13.”

Federal sources involved in the investigation said they believe the three men - all U.S. citizens - were playing a stupid joke on another restaurant patron who gave them a suspicious look.

Now that was a powerful joke. I bet they don’t do it again, though. Barry, Maurice, Robin, do you have something to say?

Terrorists Target Miami?

I read this morning about the three men who were arrested in connection with a possible terrorist threat against Miami.

This quote caught my eye:

One of the men said, ?We do not have enough to bring it down,? she added.

Bring down what? If this whole thing turns out to be genuine, I’m guessing that the First Union Financial Center is/was the target. It’s the tallest building in Miami, and it’s a financial center, as was the WTC. Obviously, al Qaeda has made the U.S. economy it’s chief target and would see this as a blow against capitalism. The building is also fairly recognizable against the Miami skyline and would certainly be noticably absent if it were removed.

Other potential targets in Miami:

Bank of America Tower is another financial center with unique architecture.
Courthouse Center houses government offices, another likely target for terrorists.
The Miami-Dade County Courthouse is also a governmental target.
Freedom Tower. The name alone makes it a target. It is also fairly unique architecturally, was orginally build to house the Miami Daily News, which would make it a media target. It now houses the Miami Mayor’s office.

Update: Reading the same story on CNN, I was struck by this quote:

Bomb squad investigators saw wires sticking out of a package in one of the cars, and used a water cannon to blow it apart, an official said. The package turned out to be medical equipment.

I find myself wondering if the medical equipment that was found contains radioactive materials. As reported in the Washington Post, some 1500 pieces of equipment containing radioactive materials have gone missing since 1996. Maybe the medical equipment in the bag they blew apart was destined to be part of a “dirty bomb” that was to be detonated in downtown Miami?

Second Update: Bigwig noticed that the men mentioned that they were “five hours behind”. His thought: why would they be behind schedule unless they were supposed to rendevous with others in Miami?

Weeble-Wobbly?

George W. Bush is trying hard not to appear like his father did a decade ago.

NPR told this last week:

George Bush, Sr. went to England a decade ago (1990) and met with Margaret Thatcher. While there Bush stated, ?I do not want to discuss going to war with Iraq. I do not want to enter Iraq.? To which Thatcher replied, ?George, now is no time to be wobbly.?

Bush, Sr. helped seal his political fate by appearing to be too wishy-washy when it came to the subject of Iraq. He did not appear to be a hard-liner and attempted to avoid the realization that we had to go on the offensive. Later, when he tried to appear stern and in control regarding that subject, the nation did not buy it.

A decade later George W. erred on the other side of the fence. Not wanting to appear soft, as his father did, Bush, Jr. has taken a firm stance on his plan to deal with Iraq. From the beginning of this chapter, George W. has said that we must attack Iraq and we can, and will, go it alone, stating that we don?t need help or permission from any other country.

A few weeks later he appeared to back off from this stance, reporting that he would talk to Congress and seek approval from the U.N. before making a decision. Now the firm talk has begun again. The younger Bush is still trying to find the right balance between being firm and gaining support from others.

Perhaps having a father who was president is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, Bush, Jr. is able to surround himself with smart, helpful leaders who have been in similar situations and can help him make thoughtful, informed decisions. On the flip side of that coin, Bush, Jr. will always be compared to his father and have to avoid making the same mistakes which sealed his father?s political fate. His father weebled-wobbled, and his career fell down.