Who's Your Daddy

Hey, since your countrys ruling over mine, can I rule over yours?

"It was all a big joke," a lawyer friend of mine said. Several others who had received the same post card had also spoken to an associate of his. The outcome was all the same: no follow-through. Maybe the LAPD and the Anti-Terrorism Department were too busy to call us back. Maybe America had already won the War On Terror and there was no more use for the ATD anymore. Better yet, maybe the Afghani family was off the hook and Mike, our mailman, might have just lost the post card telling us that. Or--could it be--had a flock of senile, old terrorists taken the whole Anti-Terrorism Department out? I decided to give my old pals a call and make sure they were okay.

Thankfully, the Anti-Terrorist Department is still there, serving our country as frontline crusaders-- fighting the everlasting battle against America's deadliest, freedom-hating enemies--arming themselves with the most dangerous weapon known to the civilized man: post cards! Post cards that say, "Hey, we think you're a terrorist. Don't worry, we're probably not going to do anything about that, but can you give us a call and let us know if you're planning on bombing anything any time soon? That'd be great!"

To my surprise, Detective Boyd had moved on, undoubtedly to investigate the old ladies in the Valley. Better keep on eye on those little tennis balls on the bottom of their walkers; you'd be surprised at the things they can hide in there.

As for the Afghani family, we're just going to go on living life as we know it--constantly being threatened by loud-mouthed bastards at work and permanently being held under the scrutinizing eye of bureaucracy forevermore. The government still can't tell us if we're terrorists--they're going to have to call us back on that one--but their offer for coffee is still on the table.

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