Terrorist Tartare

I used to transcribe police logs.

If you’ve ever worked at a newspaper – a real newspaper and not the New York Times – you might know what I mean. If you don’t, sit down, shut up – you’re about to learn something.

In New Mexico’s Otero and Lincoln County, characters like Billy the Kid and other Old-West notables used to roam the empty expanses, testing their will against tough terrain and a tougher population. The results were often recorded by the lawmen of the day. Which got me to wondering one afternoon, what a typical police blotter from that time might have looked like. So I took a trip to the Alamogordo Public Library and found out.

In their special section, which dealt with such things, I found my answer. It was a statement written by a deputy sheriff in the 1800s. He said “I went to talk to old Jim. He was ornery. So, I shot him dead.”

And herein lies the point of my article: We have come so far in our idiot dealings by politicians and the like, that we would send America’s premier assault team to bag a really bad bean like Abed, and then we prosecute members of the team for assaulting the guy. What’s wrong with that picture? What kind of half-assed government do we really have when they allow the military leadership to go forward with such a ridiculous charge?

Why is it ridiculous, dear reader? I hear you moaning back there behind your computer, you politically correct weenie. Go chew some Granola, you’ll feel better.

The charge is ridiculous because I, for one, want Abed assaulted. In fact, I want Abed punched repeatedly, just before I teach him how to fly. As a former military guy myself, I can only say that given the job to bring Abed in – I would likely have done just that, but I would have dropped him out in front of headquarters from a height of about 250 feet. Why that particular altitude? It’s high enough to make sure the deceleration kills him, but low enough for myself, Abed’s buddies, and even God, himself, to appreciate the bounce.

They would have enough of the guy to scrape into a paper bag – enough for a DNA test if it didn’t get mixed up with the camel dung.  But Abed wouldn’t be in a talking mood. His buddies might be – but not him. So no courtroom antics, no teary-eyed terrorist-rat-bastard recounting on the stand – and what’s key here – no Abed.

Coarse you say?  Callous? I don’t give a rat’s ass. Shove it somewhere dark and personal if you don’t like it. Sit down and shut up.

But hey - that’s me. I was just a meathead sergeant. I was a nobody. I wasn’t a trained professional like our SEALs. They fulfilled the job and brought that sack of human shit, Abed back intact – with all his fingers and toes, even! And I don’t give a hoot if one of them whacked Abed and made him cry. In fact, I’d like them to whack him some more. Give him one whack for every one individual who died in New York on September 11. Then give him one more whack – just as a parting gift from me. Please. Turn him into a damned piñata and drop him off in Otero or Lincoln County, New Mexico – or hell, leave him in my backyard. We’ll welcome him to the U.S. properly.

But our suits want to prosecute the guys who went in and got Abed – so just ask yourself this… next time we have to go get one of these pricks, who are we going to send? Are we going to send the Ghostbusters? Are we going to drop in Anthony Bourdain, the globe-trotting, snarky, liberal chef? Are we going to send the local Bridge club from the senior center? How about that pencil-necked pizza delivery guy, or the dickhead who until recently, used to do the voice-overs for the GEICO commercials?

I just don’t know – and I guess our leadership doesn’t know either.

But they can do the world a favor – they can send me along. Let the hard men drag the rat out of his tent and over to the chopper. I’ll be happy to take it from there. Then I will say something, when the ride is over, which will no doubt, go into the history books. I will say it with a smile, as the leadership is busy scraping the paper-thin smear of “terrorist tartare” into a zip-lock. Because that’s the best way to ensure it stays “fresh.”

I will say, “I went to talk to old Abed. He was ornery. Had to kick him out of the chopper.”

Obama or his Defense Secretary, Gates – listen to this: Let the SEALs go. Let them get back to doing their jobs, or you’re going to have to reinstate me, and other old sergeants like me.

But you better pack a spoon and spatula if you do.