Thursday, November 11, 2004

Yassir Arafat

died just as he lived:

as a well-worn Ringo Starr.

Effective freedomfighter (if that is what he was: I'm not fond of the term), awesomely bad political leader, adequate corpse.

Soon, perhaps, Ariel Sharon will join him at the great peace-avoidance table beyond this mortal coil. They're going to have a tough time finding a place to bury him, too, because he's so fat.

But for real, though. We are indeed at one of them turning points. Here's hoping we have the sense to turn.

Why do I doubt that the vehicle even has a steering wheel?


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