The Guns Of September

You’re probably wondering if I got as weepy as you all did on Sunday, on the tenth anniversary of September 11. So let me hasten to assure you that of course I did. The memory of that day will live with me for years to come. Hardly a moment goes by that I don’t mourn what we lost, and celebrate our resilience and triumph in the face of overwhelming odds. Looking back, it’s amazing that it all turned out so well for us. But I guess that’s what makes this a great country.

Which is why I, and the rest of us on what you wingnuts call the hard Left, have been weeping tears of true patriotic joy these past few days. We progressives were so far down in the dumps after the Rethuglican Supreme Court stole the 2000 election from the rightful president — Albert Arnold Gore, Jr., son of Albert Arnold Gore, Sr., and father of Albert Arnold Gore III, the hillbilly dynasty! — that we literally could not believe our luck when al-Qaeda came calling on that gorgeous September morn, seeking some long overdue payback for a millennium of western cultural hegemony, Bach masses, and bacon sandwiches.

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