because you'll never read this, i'm fearless in posting it

He paced his room; stomach churning from a thousand bulls setting up shop in a thousand china stores. She was set to arrive momentarily. The anticipation didn't aid in Alex's digestion. He wasn't so sure if what he was experiencing was reality. Surely, the invitation to drinks didn't originate from his mouth; such a brave undertaking would've caused William Wallace to quake in his proverbial goat-skin boots. But here he was, walking the diameter of his room, waiting for the woman who occupied the alternate reality of his dreams to materialize and ring his very-real doorbell. Thanks to the disconnection that the internet brings, Alex was able to send an electronic message, nothing more than a combination of '1's and '0's, out into the universe and, as a consequence, cause a beautiful woman to appear outside his door.

Alex wasn't any good with women. Not that he was physically or mentally incapable of dealing with women, just physically unready to scale the giant wall of anxiety that forted in his possibilities. He had met June actually almost a year prior. Wrapped in the straight jacket of his previous relationship, he was unwilling and not ready to initiate any sort of action.

Perhaps a brief history of Alex's priors is in order. Relationship wise, Alex was sort of a pariah. He had always marveled at the ease of which other men addressed women, always studying, always looking for their method. At the same time, he held contempt for those who possessed such a practical skill, wielding it like it was a child's smile.

Alex had always relied on women coming to him. Not out of arrogance, of course (women, perhaps, were the only subject Alex knew he knew nothing about) but along the path of late-adolescence/early adulthood, it's only natural, and one would think eventual, for one to stumble across someone else who had both the audacity and will power to strike up a conversation with a complete stranger in the hopes of turning this person perhaps into something quite different.

Alex had relied on these increasingly fleeting moments for his incomplete knowledge of what a true relationship embodied. None the less, his scope was limited. His last relationship was quite the ordeal. April was domineering, over powering; a blonde Amazonian. She was introduced to Alex by his friend, who painted himself the cupid. Well, if love is blind, then cupid is its shortened white cane leading it off a cliff. Without forethought on cupid's part, April and Alex were introduced. She wasn't his type, really, and he knew this right off the bat. It was perhaps sheer destitute that drove him into the 8 month relationship. It's quite amazing what an individual will do to avoid the dark pits of loneliness.

Alex told himself he loved her.

He didn't.

April told Alex she didn't love him.

She didn't.

It was only eventual before the relationship crumbled. And how it did, like a cheap pastry made at 3:00 am the previous day, but this was ok for Alex. Not at first, of course, but after a period of reflection, Alex was able to look back on the time as an educational experience. Sort of like drinking a bottle of tequila, then, upon waking up in the morning, realizing you never want to drink a drop of tequila ever again. It was certainly an eye opening experience. It gave him a rich sense of what he definitely did not want and, it had given him a strong glance of what it meant to be desired, if at least for a limited moment.

But now he was free, not constrained by a superficial relationship. He had spotted June at his office. She worked around the bend from him. It took courage at first to send that initial email saying "Hey", but after insistent self-bullying, he was able to click on the "Send" button and leave his fate to destiny and time. And here was his result. After months of preparation, going over this imagined scenario of getting drinks with this beautiful girl, here he was, pacing his room, waiting for reality, in the form of a doorbell, to kick him in the butt.

Now, Alex wasn't completely unprepared for the night. He had showered, shaved, and was attempting to look his best. Going over various scenarios in his head, he had invented topics of conversation to bring up, co-workers to laugh about, music tastes to inquire, family, friends, politics, past relationships, a whole gamut of topical discussions. But now that the hour was approaching, he wasn't so sure this would do it, especially if the muddied walls of anxiety grew. And what of the end of the night? What of that last final moment, if all went well, where he was to gently place a hand on her hip, lean in and brush her lips with his? Just the thought of it caused sweat to build on his growing brow. It was enough to drive a man crazy.

And crazy would be an accurate description of the synapses that were currently firing in Alex's brain.

"DIIIIIIING DONG" it yelled at him, the 'ing' lingering like a bad copper after taste.

"OK, OK, OK," Alex told himself, "get yourself together."

He checked himself in the mirror, "You look about as good as you ever will," he prepared himself by saying. He walked down the flight of stairs inside his apartment building towards the front door. Through the small window, he saw the silhouette of her head, looking down and to the side, the setting sun creating an orange glow behind her. He reached up for the door knob, his hand slipping at first from the damp dew that had collected in his palm.

She was beautiful, of course, and she wasn't even trying. Just jeans, a hooded sweatshirt and a smile, but the glow she emitted was undeniable.

"Hey," he said, trying as hard as possible to mask the nervousness.

"Ha-ay," she replied, turning the word into a two syllable phrase. He opened the door all the way and stepped to the side, letting her in. With her movement across his plane came a small gust of air, carrying in its tails her scent: earthy, almost moss-like. "What's that?" he questioned himself. It wasn't a cheap smell, not some scent assaulting your nose, coming from the nape of a smoky bar maid's neck.

"We've got quite the climb, third floor," he said jutting his thumb towards the ceiling.

"OK," she laughed, with a twist of nerve.

He led her up the stairs, turning his torso on a swivel to face her.

"You find the place alright?"

"Yep," she replied with a smile.

Of course she found the place alright, moron, she's here in front of you, isn't she, Alex berated. They reached the third floor and Alex opened his apartment door for her. He had made particularly sure that his apartment was in the best condition it could be. She had told him in the past that her apartment resembled a recreation of post-WWII Dresden but he wasn't so sure he wanted to introduce her to his rougher side right away, so the apartment was spic and span. She looked around, nothing impressive really going on, but then again, nothing really frightening either. No posters of iconic childhood heroes, no questionable printings of an adult nature to be found, dirty laundry quietly hidden, it was a surprisingly habitable place.

She took her seat in a green antique chair Alex had found. God, Alex thought, this isn't really happening, here she is, in my own apartment.

"How long it take you to get here?"

"Oh, 'bout an hour, maybe a little less," she replied.

"Hmm, you took the turnpike, huh?"

"Um, yep," she said shaking her head.

Alex fully entered his apartment, shutting the door behind him.

"What, ah, what..." the words escaped Alex's mouth prematurely, there was nothing coming in behind them. Like drunk soldiers, they wandered out of their trench, exposing the rest of their platoon's weakness. She raised her eyebrows and jutted her head slightly forward, asking "Hmmm?" with her face.

Alex scrambled, "Uhh, I don't know, I forgot what I was going to say. Wanna drink?"

She opened her eyes wide and shook her head, "Yeaah."

Alex walked to his kitchen and quickly splashed some bargain brand Tennessee whiskey with a little bit of generic cola into large plastic cups with race cars on the side that would make a NASCAR/McDonald’s promotion proud. He probably could’ve played the part of bartender a little better. He walked back to her and handed her the drink. It stunk; June didn’t notice at first, but the wince she made after her first sip was a big clue to Alex that maybe he should’ve thought through his drink choices.

The conversation teetered to a stand still. Alex looked around, searching for something to bring up. Nothing.

"So, where we going to night?" June asked, setting the cup down on the floor.

Stupid, of course. "Um, well, there's this cool place that makes pretty slamming martini's. You like martini’s.” Alex scratched his head, “Anyways, I was thinking..."

"Mmmm, I love vodka. Of course," she replied.

Nice, very nice, Alex thought.

The martini bar Alex was referring to was Jake's, located right up the block from his house. It was the quintessential watering hole in town. But what was important was that it was dark, darker than a tired racehorse's chance in a glue factory. So dark, one was liable to stub their toe on their way to sipping their drink. And that was perfect for Alex: less eye contact, less awkwardness. This was his mind set and it made Jake's the perfect choice. Plus, if the babe had a penchant for vodka, where else would he take her besides a martini bar.

"Cool, yeah, we'll head out after these guys." He raised his drink.

"Actually, I'm really all good with this.” She looked down into her drink, and swirled it around. “You know, whiskey…” Her eyes said all that needed to be said as she set her drink down on the table before her.

Alex laughed nervously, "Yeah, I'm pretty good myself." He took the large, plastic cup and set it down next to hers.

He looked up at her. "I gotta pee," she said, raising her eyebrows again.

"Oh, yeah, here." He stood up and walked her to the small bathroom located next to his kitchen. Her eyes looked straight forward as she passed him, shutting the door behind her. He stood up, back against the cool tile of the kitchen counter. Tinkling sounds came from the other side of the door; his hands were ablaze, he set them up, grabbing the counter's cool edge behind him.

A flush. Swish swish of the faucet. She emerges.

"Martini's?" Her glazed eyes peered up at his, a small smile broke the horizon of her lips.

Alex, still grasping the counter like a suspended gymnast grasping a horse, replied "Sure."

-----

Walk, walk, walk, one foot in front of the next, continually falling forward, continually catching himself, this was the mechanism Alex thought about on his way to Jake’s with June.

June lit a cigarette.

Alex had recently quit but he imagined a cigarette drooping from his lips; pictured himself a modern Bogart, escorting his Mary Astor.

She was silent for most of the walk, only responding to his prods. Was she shy? Was she simply leading him along out of pity? Did she just want to get some drinks? Alex couldn’t see the signs. Along the road to love, Alex had missed his exit many a times, and on this one way path, there were no u-turns.

In high school, Alex had played guitar in his school’s production of ‘Bye Bye Birdie’. Borrowing a friend’s 1967 Gretsch White Falcon, he sat in the back of the orchestra, tuxed out, holding a guitar twice the size of anything he’d ever played. With the instrument sitting on his lap, looking like a giant, musical penguin strumming the exotic seventh chords of ‘Put on a Happy Face’, he had attracted the attention of a certain Jackie Stephanopolis. Young, virginal, ripe, she was certainly something to be desired, certainly by Alex himself. And he did, in his naïve, youthful age, yearn but this desire was so short sighted, he had missed every opportunity to make it stick.

Calling him randomly one night, she, herself, was quite nervous. Alex was at his computer, programming, creating intimate connections between ‘1’s and ‘0’s that he only dreamed of matching in his own pubescent life.

“Hello?” she spoke meekly through the receiver.

“Yes?” Alex couldn’t be bothered by pesky phone calls while waist deep in a digital quagmire.

“Hey, Alex. Do you know who this is?” She knew he didn’t, but she was too nervous to come right out and introduce herself.

“No.”

“Um, it’s Jackie,” she paused, then in a lower volume, “Jackie, from the play.”

“Oh, hey.” A girl? Calling Alex? He was confounded. “What’s going on?” Surely, this girl had a question about the play or she needed her homework done or…

“How are you…?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m alright.”

Why was she calling?

“Am I calling at a bad time?”

“Ah, no,” Alex lied. Alex really wanted to get back to working on his game engine, this was certainly distracting him. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing.” There was a hesitant second before she spoke again. “So, play rehearsal was pretty funny tonight, huh? You know, with Mackenzie falling down and all, huh?” She let a nervous giggle trail.

“Yeah, that was pretty funny.” Alex couldn’t sound less enthusiastic.

“Yeah.” On the other end of the phone, Jackie had twisted the phone cord into a knotted ball. “So, me and Paula are going to go out tonight, probably, to play some pool or something. I was wondering, well, would you like to come out with us?”

Without hesitation, “Uh, well, I’m working on this thing on my computer, it’s really involving, maybe another time.”

“Oh, homework?”

“No, I’m actually writing a graphics engine for this game me and my friend Eric are designing, you know Eric, right? Well, anyways, it’s going to be pretty sweet. I’m at this crucial point, you know, and I really gotta stick with it.”

Eric was an interesting character. His head was at least two times larger than anyone else’s in their school and he’d often show up in the morning smelling of maple syrup and moth balls. His hygiene was, some would say, less than adequate. Some would also say that choosing to cover up one’s own poor bathing habits with an unhealthy dosage of sugary goop and insect repellent was, none the less, a poorer decision than not bathing in itself. However, everyone would say that associating yourself with the activities of such a boy while talking to a young, pretty lady asking you out on a date was all the more unadvisable.

“Oh, ok.” The balloon inside Jackie flattened. “Well, maybe I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

“Yeah, probably, rehearsal or something.”

“Yeah, ok, bye then.”

“Bye.”

Jackie hung up the phone, picked it back up to call Paula. Alex returned to his project, with aspirations of greatness. He never finished writing the graphics engine; he also left high school without ever kissing a girl.

But this memory was far from Alex’s mind sitting across from June in Jake’s. Olives bobbed in opaque, flammable liquids, nodding their pierced heads in drunken agreement. This mirrored June’s reaction to Alex’s insistent forcing of conversation.

“So, I was wondering, you’re not seeing anyone right now, right?” Alex questioned.

Wow, and with such finesse.

“Um, yeah,” she said delivering her now familiar head shake. “Actually, me and my ex just broke up about 4 months ago.”

She spoke this nonchalantly, as if it bothered her as much as his questioning when in fact both bothered her quite a bit.

“Four month’s, huh? Me and my girlfriend just broke up a couple of months ago, too. It’s rough, huh?”

The awkwardness was thicker than pea soup served in an Eskimo’s ice box.

“Yeah, you know, we talked it out, it was time, we both decided,” she said unenthusiastically.

“Yeah? You think, in retrospect, you have a positive outlook on the whole ordeal?”

“Um, I don’t… I mean, we were together for 8 years, it’s much more encompassing than simply calling it a positive ordeal, right?” Her voice raised a little bit, implying the uselessness of the question.

Alex shrunk, 8 years intimidated him. The only thing he had known for 8 years was a cigarette habit, and that relationship ended harshly, the two hadn’t spoken since.

“Yeah, I mean, I guess. He didn’t lead you to a life of heroin abuse, at least, huh?” Alex smiled uncomfortably. A slight mist formed on his upper scalp.

June, her chin resting in her hand, the other hand twirling a trio of impaled olives, looked up at Alex. Is he sweating, she asked herself.

“Is it hot in here?” she asked him, almost mockingly, pointing up at his forehead.

“Oh,” Alex smiled uncomfortably and wiped his brow off with a sleeve.

The nerve, he thought, no need to be mean about it. Then, in an act of boldness, in an act all too un-Alex like, he aimed to turn it around and make her just as uncomfortable. His eyes looked down at his drink, zoomed in on it like a movie camera.

“Actually, I’m a little nervous,” he responded.

June smiled. “A little nervous? What are you nervous about?”

“Um, you, actually, you make me nervous.”

June sat up straight. Where was he going with this?

“I make you nervous? How could I possibly make you nervous?”

“Um, I don’t know.” He was hesitant, but his words were a badger trapped in his mouth.

“You’re a real pretty girl, June.” Her fingers ran around the base of her martini, eyes staring directly into his.

God, he thought, this is intense. His eyes darted to a corner of the table. “Sometimes… sometimes, I don’t know what to say. I want to scream out loud how pretty you are sometimes, but I don’t want you to stop talking to me anymore, either.” His eyes scanned the table, before uniting with her gaze.

She sat back in her seat, and took a sip of vodka. Her forehead creased as her eyes concentrated on her drink.

“Why would I ever stop speaking to you because you called me ‘pretty’?” She brushed a length of hair behind her ear.

“Yeah, I don’t know.” Alex let out a nervous child-like giggle.

“I mean, you’re talking to me now, aren’t you, right?”

“I am, huh. I think maybe these 1 or 2 martinis might have something to do with it.” They both smiled. The fire had subsided. It felt safe to speak more. “I feel like a pressure cooker when you’re around me, I can’t say what I really want to say without exploding.”

“I do that to you?” Their eyes had shifted now, she was the one looking down into her martini; his plastered forward with sincerity.

“Pretty much, mostly just your silence though.”

She couldn’t blame him for saying that.

“I don’t know, it’s just I…” he really didn’t have anything else to say. He thought maybe his brain would continue to flow as it just was. His brain was drunk from the instant release of pressure.

June looked at him, her hands palm down on the table. “Come outside with me for a cigarette.”

Alex didn’t hesitate. He stood right up and followed her. He would’ve followed her onto the surface of the sun right then.

A recent smoking-ban meant June would have to inhale her nicotine outside. This was probably best for Alex, a moment to cool. And now, with the recent release of open secrets, the mist on Alex’s brow had collected into droplets. Outside, in the cooler weather, Alex’s head steamed, releasing a visible vapor as if the top of the pressure cooker had been removed. June noticed and thought it strangely cute, considering the situation.

She offered him a cigarette.

“Nah, I quit 2 years ago.”

“Yeah? Good for you. I’ve gotta quit. I keep meaning to, but you know. I should just do it already.”

The air was still, but cool. The cigarette smoke lingered like a low lying fog. It was cold but humid; an irregularity, becoming a more common feature of northeast winters. Bits of light from a high up floodlight bounced off tiny gray particles of tar, creating an artificial aura around June. Alex jammed his hands into his pockets.

“So, did I like totally just freak you out in there?”

“No,” June responded with a clear, precise answer. She wasn’t about to offer more revealing information.

“I mean, do you have anything to add to that?”

June could tell how much this had been eating at Alex. To her, it was no more than a mild amusement; to him, it meant all the world.

“What were you looking for?”

“I don’t know, something, I mean, do you… you don’t…” Alex couldn’t think of a way to phrase a question that, in his head, was broadcasted to every neuron in a clear, high definition signal; simply, “Do you like me?” With his intentions completely revealed, Alex still didn’t have the guts to ask this simple, straight forward question.

“Alex, you’re cute, AND, you’re sweet too, but you don’t have any game.”

Alex slumped his shoulders back, broke a smile and conceded defeat.

“I know, I know… I mean, there’s some sort of manual I haven’t read, I know it.”

“No, no, there’s no manual. I’m not saying you have to have game, OK? Or whatever, I mean, “game” is such a bad word, but…”

“But… what you’re saying is that I’m pretty much a loser.”

“No, Alex, that’s not what I’m saying.” She had to figure out a way to put it bluntly, or she had a feeling that this ambiguity in his mind would haunt her. “OK, listen, there’s nothing that separates you from any other guy, at least not physically. OK? So yeah, you have that obstacle covered.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“What I’m saying is that this, this conversation we’re having, right now, is a big sign that you’re lost. I don’t want to hurt your feelings...”

“Please, by all means, don’t hold back.”

“OK. I appreciate you telling me that I’m pretty and all, I can’t imagine why anyone would ever have a crush on me, if that’s what you call this, but you don’t go calling a girl pretty straight up like that. It’s flattering but, in the wrong situation, it can be kinda creepy.”

“Sooo, I’m creepy?”

“Alex, you’re sweet, I think you’re a nice guy. But it’s sorta like going to a poker table and just laying down your hand, showing it to everybody and then asking the other guys to do the same, right? There’s gotta be some sort of play, some game which the two players can get involved with to make it worth while, right?” She stepped back and blew out a long ribbon of smoke.

Alex didn’t say anything, he sort of just cocked his head back and accepted what she had to say. She was right, he did pretty much sit her down, tell her he thought she was pretty then expected her to speak her mind in return. He was humbled.

“You have given me an interesting night, however,” she added.

“Whadyamean?” Alex came back with.

“I mean, I didn’t expect you to come out with that revelation.”

“I’m guessing you already knew about it.”

“A little, I figured you had some sorta thing for me. You get all clammy when you try to talk to me.”

“Yeah, I gotta work on that, huh.”

“You’re fine now, right?”

“I guess.”

“It’s all in your head. I’m not the holy grail of women, you know, you’re just putting too much pressure on yourself; girls notice that.”

There was a pause, a moment of finality to the situation; what needed to be spoken had indeed been spoke.

“Let’s go back in for one more. I have to go home soon,” June said, cutting through the silence.

She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back through the bar door. They sat down, ordered another drink and talked, just talked. Alex spoke freely, without constraint. June was able to gain a new appreciation of him. For as much of a bumbling fool as he appeared to be earlier, now he was presenting himself as a well-informed, articulate male. Alex, aware of his newly untied tongue, wondered why he couldn’t speak like this earlier. He imagined a world where, on a first date, everyone would wear a name tag stating his or hers intentions, where a man wouldn’t be speaking to a girl without all pretext’s clearly laid out, where a woman wouldn’t be out just for a free drink. In this unrealistic world, Alex was king.

They didn’t stop at one drink, either. Involved in such discussions as political turmoil in east Asian countries to lengthy discourses on the power of the pomegranate, the vodka flowed like the Colorado, cutting into rock solid facades, creating rivers of conversation. Soon, they were drunk.

“You know, I’m happy I came out tonight, I’ve had a good time,” June said with a John Wayne swagger.

Alex smiled back at her. “Me too.”

They settled their tab and left the dark bar. Alex walked her back to his apartment. The walk was long, for some reason, even though it encompassed only a few block’s distance. Alex feigned for some sort of physical contact. Martini’s had hijacked his sensibilities, kidnapping his reason, holding them at bay with a broken bottle of Kettle One. His hand floated behind the bend in her back, sinking in, pulling out; a fly with no legs. She noticed it but paid it no mind, she was considerably beyond reason as well at the moment. There was nothing to worry about, even if he did place his hand on her back.

June had parked her car right outside of Alex’s apartment.

“That’s my guy, right there,” June said, squinting one eye and pointing to her vehicle.

Standing outside the small, black Accord, Alex felt it necessary to bring up an obvious but awkward point.

“You know, this is going to sound pretty bad, you know,” he stuttered on the pause, “considering the night, but why don’t you think about staying over here tonight. I mean, you can have my bed, I don’t care, I’ll sleep on the ground.”

“Nah, Alex, we both have work tomorrow, I gotta go home.”

“June, we’re both, also, pretty drunk.”

“I’m a big girl, Alex.”

Alex creased his lips into a smile. She stood with her back against her car, shuffling through her purse, looking for her last cigarette. Alex looked on, he had never felt close to her before this moment, her just standing, purse wrapped around her shoulder, burrowing through it in her drunken search for a nicotine fix.

Finally, she thought, her hand wrapping around a disheveled box of Camel’s. She was more focused on getting this cigarette into her mouth and lit than she was noticing Alex’s amorous stares.

With her last cigarette and a black lighter in her fist, she finally looked up at him.

“OK, well, I’m off.”

His eyes were crescent moons hanging above a wavy ocean of smiles. He reached his hand forward and placed it on the small crook of her hip and leaned in, closing his eyes. June reached up and put her hand on his chest, stopping his approach.

“Alex…”

He immediately recoiled, wordless. He didn’t feel rejected, simply restrained.

Moving in quickly, he jutted his head forward, towards her, and planted a small kiss on her cheek. She smiled and fumbled for her car door.

“Good night, Alex. Thanks again.”

“Good night," Alex smiled.

With a small smile still attached to her lips she got into her car and drove away.

Alex made his way slowly, but gleefully, up three flights of stairs, towards the womb of his bed, swinging his keys around his finger. He was sort of glad she had not accepted his invitation to stay over; he needed bed rest, especially considering he’d be behind a desk in less than six hours.

He replayed the events of the night in his head. He was pretty certain he’d regret his outburst at the table before, confessing his heart like a guilty child. Whatever, things hadn’t gone as planned but they ended on a pleasant note none the less. I mean, Alex thought, it wouldn’t be the first time I made an ass of myself in front of a girl. All and all, things were looking on the up and up.

His head slowly making an imprint in his pillow, Alex closed his eyes, with a smile on his face, and slept.

American Injuns: The First Terrorists

From LandoverBaptist.org

Long before America was attacked by Muslamiacs on September 11, 2001, Baptists recall a time when our dear, Godly ancestors also endured brutal slaughter by terrorist vermin on this very same land. You see, when God sent his followers to claim America as the new Canaan, He neglected to mention it would be filled with millions of lazy Injuns. These savage "squatters," as we've come to call them here at Landover Baptist Church, then had the unmitigated audacity to defy the kindly eviction notices served upon them by God's blue-eyed chosen people. Instead, they terrorized our peaceful ancestors, raping their livestock and engaging in nefarious espionage to steal the smallpox virus for their own selfish purposes.

Nevertheless, our Christian ancestors persevered. And it is for this reason that each November we observe “Thanksgiving” - as a time to “thank” God for “giving” America to people who deserved it much more than the first terrorists: the Injuns.

Injuns and Arabs: Comparing the Roots of Terror

One doesn't have to look too hard to see how similar the indigenous terrorists our American ancestors righteously exterminated are to the foul Arabiac terrorists our Christian nation is eliminating today. Both are dark complected – one red-butted, one negro-lite - and are cursed with jet black hair. Both terrorists are nomadic in nature, and prefer fighting in sweltering, arid places – clear evidence of their alliance with demons, who are accustomed to the heat of hellfire. Both are tent dwellers (one prefers a tee-pee made of deer skin and human scalps, the other a lean-too made of shaved human groin hair and goat feces. Both terrorists are uneducated, uncivilized, and speak in elaborate gibberish languages. Both resent the progress God's chosen people (True Christians™) have made in the world, and direct their jealous hatred toward the one True Religion™, Christianity. Both types of terrorists dress in rags and conceal their filthy hair beneath elaborate terrorist doo-rags: Injuns make theirs with feathers, while Muslims spin toilet paper cocoons called “turbans”). Both rejoice in the slaughter of American citizens.

An End to the First War on Terror

Whether it was with bottoms full of buckshot or bottles drained of booze, the debate still rages as to how our ancestors defeated these first Injun terrorists. We can only thank God that they were defeated, and America is a better country because of it. It should harden our resolve in our faith that our Godly President Bush can and WILL defeat the terrorists of today! Landover Baptist Church members are reminded during this time of Thanksgiving that while the cease-fire with Injuns is still technically in effect, that is no reason to EVER forego the offerings of our Godly Bingo parlors in favor of any sickening, sinful Injun casino.

Our pastors encourage you to use this Christian holiday time to be thankful for the blood-soaked efforts our forefathers made on your behalf in fighting America's first terrorists so that you can pass a lovely Thanksgiving afternoon with your family, enjoying the pleasures of Butterball turkeys and televised professional football.