Seven Years

In some ways, it doesn't seem that long, and in other ways, it seems much longer.

It was seven years ago today that nineteen fucked up Islamic jihadists pulled their stupid stunt. The twin towers fell, a plane plowed into the Pentagon, and a bunch of people died in a field in Pennsylvania.

The big-titted secretary found out in a rather unusual way. She visited the now-defunct BRATS! rant board, and someone had posted that they didn't want to bring children into a world where planes hit the World Trade Center.

She went to CNN.com, and nothing was available on the site except a small photo of a huge-ass plane hitting the WTC. So she turned on the television.

Now, I was a talking moose by then, but I really hadn't grown into my voice. So I just watched as Little Miss Big Tits stared at the TV, shaking her head.

Then, she called the Future Moose Flunky. He was at the time working for a company we'll call Bait & Switch Widgets. She told him what was going on, and kept him updated as events unfolded.

After that, they said one of the hijacked planes had crashed in western Pennsylvania. She called her Dad, because he lives there. He's an elderly fellow, so he was still asleep. By then, both towers had fallen. When her Dad heard that, he began to cry. "Not twice in a lifetime," he said forlornly, a reference to Pearl Harbor. "That's too much."

The day and the following days saw America mourning for the dead, for the innocence lost, for a time when a plane hijacking meant some Cuban freak wanted a ride home, for a past when almost no one had ever heard of Osama bin Laden or Islamic jihadists.

But that was the past, and the future was still out there, waiting for all of us to move on.

My big-titted secretary and the Future Moose Flunky boarded a plane for Australia on 7 October, 2001. That date sticks in all of our minds because that's the day America started lobbing bombs at Kabul. The secretary drooled over the well-armed military dudes in the international terminal, while poor Flunky had to endure body cavity searches. (Okay, I'm kidding about the body cavity searches. But the scrutiny was still... intense.)

The secretary was skittish about the behavior of the middle eastern looking men waiting to board the plane. The Flunky hissed, "If everyone was fucking staring at you, you'd be acting funny too!" That's wisdom on almost a moose-like level.

The folks in Australia were warm, empathetic, and comforting about what America had endured. That was touching. And Australia is where I really started being me.

Now, we are getting to the point of today's rambling. It is only in America that two degreed engineers and a plush moose can team up to find fame and fortune. America is the place where you can say, at a moment's notice, "Oh, piss on it! I want to do something else."

America is the place where your family and friends will support you in your dreams. It is a place where you are free to fail miserably, then stand up, dust yourself off, and try again. How much more "land of the free and home of the brave" does it get than that?

America is that 'hood where you don't need the government's permission to live your life as you see fit, or make your living as you see fit. It is a Wonderland of opportunity, challenge, and liberty.

That is why anyone who tries to fuck with America should be punished. They should be made to die, slowly and painfully.

Does that sound harsh? Good. It's meant to. This is BY FAR the best country in the world, in spite of all its flaws. And that is something worth protecting. Something worth living for, and something worth dying for.

So hey, jihadist assclowns. You brought down our twin towers, but we are rebuilding them. You tried to bring down our spirit and determination, and you failed. After seven years, all I can say is... Fuck off and die.


May all of those victimized by radical Islam on September 11th, 2001, and at any other time, rest in peace. You are all on our minds and in our hearts, today and every day, and this moose will make sure you did not die in vain.

God bless America.
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