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He was the bravest of them all...
How many roads must a man walk down, before they can call him a man? Lord, Lord. And how many times must a cannonball fly, before they are forever banned? (I'm thinkin maybe we can get you an answer on that cannonball question.)
You know, a man only has so many heartaches that he can bear, and so many teardrops that he can cry. There are only a finite number of rants that a bloggin man can type, Lord, Lord, but there are an infinite number of song parodies that he can write, and I'm gonna write me up one right now.
This is a story bout a car drivin man. A mans got to work cause a mans got to eat, and it is the lot in life of some men that they got to drive a vehicle for the sake of feedin up their family. But sometimes a man may pick up the wrong passenger along the way, Lord, Lord, and when that happens, then a mans gotta pay the price. Such is the story of Salim Ahmed Hamdan, who chose to transport a bad man from place to place.
Now in the spirit of that brave yet anonymous fellow who put a hole in Liberty Valance, it's time for me to play you a little song. Hellfire! I hardly had to change the lyrics at all! One two three...
When Old Osama rode to town the womenfolk would hide, they'd hide
When Old Osama walked around the men would step aside, aside
Cause the point of a gun was the only law Osama understood
When it came to usin' rocket mortars - he was mighty good.
From out of the East a stranger came with car keys in his hand, his hand
The kind of a man the West would need to drive a Chevy van, a van
Cause a ride in the front was the only ride Osama understood
When it came to settin FM stations - he was mighty good.
The man who drove Osama bin Laden
He drove Osama bin Laden
He was the...
<ring... ring...>
Scuze me.
Hello? Heh, heh. No, you're not... Shit... Oh. Well, howdy there, Johnny boy... Uh... Okay... I'm dropping the accent... Right now, okay. Sorry, Mister Ashcroft. Your call was unexpected. Yeah, I mean yes sir, I did think it was kind of funny. No, no, that's just the name of my blog... Weblog. No sir, it's not a treatise. No sir, I'm not glorifying anything. Well... Well... Not intentionally sir. No... No, you're right, I don't have any personal knowledge of Salim Ahmed Hamdan... No, never heard of him until yesterday, and I just thought it was kind of funny that bin Laden's chauffer was in Guantanamo Bay... No... No... It was in the newspapers... No, all of them. Hell, I just read it in the News in Brief section of the Chicago Sun Times. I wish to God I'd written about the Garfunkel pot fine now... Yes sir. Parsley, sage, rosemary, and pot, very funny. Can I use that? Okay... Okay... You know, I haven't even posted the Hamdan piece yet, and I was wondering how you... Yes sir... Yes sir... You're right. It is none of my business.... Yes... Okay... I will. My nose is clean... Yes sir... Will be clean.... Okay... Okay. Bye bye.
Sorry folks. Where was I? Okay, one two three...
When Art Garfunkel came to town all the drug dealers smiled, they smiled,
And when Garfunkel hit the deli his sub would be high piled, high piled
Cause the bowl of a bong was the only law that Garfunkel understood
When it came to scorin high grade reefer - he was mighty good.
From out of the east... |
