Osama Bin Laden (blessings upon his seed spilled on the backsides of a hundred camels) lives in a hole in the dirt with his family and mustachioed wives and filthy children and his camels (bless their loyalty and affection and forbearance) in what can only be described as a homemade middle ages of his own design (bless its lack of electricity and indoor plumbing in its glory). Well, apparently, on top of everything else, he's got a problem with his newspaper delivery (all blessings upon the cute paperboy, and jihad on his rickety bicycle that takes two years to deliver the news), because it looks like today he's finally heard about the Danish newspaper cartoons lampooning the Islamic world's lack of a sense of humor, and apparently he's all riled up about it. Even the august New York Times has decided to cover his grumpy ramblings on the subject.
Hello? Old Gray Lady? We don't need to hear about OBL, except the article that finally announces his death at the hands of a drone delivered hellfire missile (or a jealous camel, or sand fleas). I believe it is time we allow him to fade from the news and consign his madman ramblings to their proper place-- history's garbage can.
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