Its Da Bomb

OK, I know the Christmas Day crotch bomber could have caused a major disaster. If I had been on that plane, it would take enormous amounts of all kinds of sedatives to help me get over the horror of the whole thing. My problem, and I realize this may seem just a tiny bit vapid, given the fact that I was tucked safely away in my little bedroom community here in the San Francisco Bay Area, is that I'm grossed out by the pictures of the dude's underwear they keep showing on TV.

I mean, it looks like they sliced the sides and pulled them off between his legs. Ew. I didn't even like taking off my kids' diapers like that when they were toddlers. Of course, then the explosion had already happened and I was dealing with the aftermath.

Whoever pansted this guy has to be the bravest person in the world. I mean, not only was it gross, but they had no way of knowing that they weren't about to be blown up. They had to get the undies off with the explosive intact, dude was probably not cooperating 100% and you gotta figure there was a nerve factor involved.

Plus you have to figure that the idiot with the explosive chonies was probably nervous himself, so you know there was sweat. How on earth could you fly for that long while contemplating the incineration of your gonads? I realize he thought he was going to die and go straight to Heaven. He was wrong on all counts, had he died, I think he would have gotten one way transport to Hell which, for him, would probably be a place where women are in charge.

I'd love to see that, little dude having to kowtow to females for eternity. He could be Hillary Clinton's office boy. At least then he'd have an intelligent boss...and he couldn't hurt anybody 'cause Hillary'd kick his ass.


It would just be great not to look at the news and see that cut up, slimy, sweat-soaked, explosive-caked filthy pair of underpants looking back at me. Gross. And evil.