Abe Froman’s Take on World Affairs

Okay, the world as we know it has come to an end, and I have been noticeably (at least I hope someone noticed) absent from moviesthatsuck. No, I haven’t been offed by Middle Eastern heathen. Here’s what’s been on my mind the last two weeks:

I’m a man of few needs. I’m older than dirt and more ornery than a moustachioed, one-breasted prostitute named Steve. What the hell do I need?

Well, I’ll tell you what I need goddammit.

I need to be able to walk into a Popeye’s Fried Chicken without worrying that some swarthy Persian is going to swan dive into the chicken vat wearing nitroglycerine underwear. I need to feel like I can relax on the can at said chicken chain and read the Sun-Times without cringing every time someone walks past the stall. I need to be able to look into the eyes of my houseboy, Raghib, without the fleeting thought that he’d just as soon piss on my dead body as fetch me my robe.

It’s all about my peace of mind. Believe me when I say that I’ve spit-polished my Ruger and I’m prepared to defend my morning chicken-biscuit ritual to the death. If I was a half century younger, I’d be back in the First Marines with Easy Company, capping some of these bedsheet wearin’ yahoos personally. But since I’ve already earned my right to eat chicken in peace, I’ll have to leave the mantle of greasy American breakfast defense to all our younger readers out there.

That leads me to another thought. Can young people’s minds just naturally ingest ten times more information than a senior citizen’s? I turned on CNN after the terrorist attack and there was news scrolling along the bottom of the screen, fascinating tidbits about YoMama Bin Laden popping up midscreen, a stock ticker and consumer index chart upper right, a terrorism expert sharing a split-screen with NYC disaster footage, a map a Yemen, and Old Glory superimposed lower left. All those damn graphics sent me into epileptic seizure. Momma Froman had to heave me up onto the kitchen table and pound on my chest with a wax pineapple until I came to. Where the hell is Walter Cronkite when you need him? One anchorman smoking a cigarette, analog clock behind him, tie undone, shirtsleeves rolled up. That’s the way to deliver news: manly, inaccurate, and delayed.

On a final note, am I the only one who thinks Islam may be more than a little culpable in this whole murderous affair? Has the whole world turned chickenshit? Ask any Muslim overseas what they thought about the World Trade Center attack and you’ll get joviality and a toothless grin every time. When was the last time you saw Christians take to the streets celebrating when a bomb went off in Palestine? Any religion that even remotely advocates suicide should be considered wacky and quirky. A religion that advocates killing yourself so violently that you take the lives of nearby people wearing business suits is downright fucked up. When you start looking at it in Western terms, you could say that Osama Bin Laden and his suicide solution is the Middle East’s answer to Ozzy Osbourne.

I’m sure some Islamic scholar out there is going to try to set me straight, but don’t bother. Stereotypes exist solely to protect my fat ass. Moreover, I don’t give a pink ape’s nuts. It’s time for my chicken biscuit.

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