“How Much Did I Cry? How High is the Sky?”*

Shit, I almost forgot about the most important day in the history of our nation’s history! I’ve already begun my planned mourning, and I think I should tell you about it.

Well, okay, here it is: First I’m going to cry for nine days, eleven hours, twenty minutes, and one second. While I’m doing that, I’m going to blow five people: an American trooper, a fireman, a policeman, a stockbroker, and a Halliburton executive. I’m going to throw a brick through the window of a non-white-owned business. I’m going to put seventeen more American flags on my Land Rover. I’m going to finally get the “Support Our Troops” yellow ribbon tattooed on my heart — the actual muscle tissue of my heart, not the skin covering it. I’m going to write an iambic pentameter poem (or maybe haiku; I haven’t decided yet) for each of the 2800 Americans killed in the bombings (but not for the 2700 killed in the war since then — that would be way too much work!). Then I’m going to crochet a black hood, secure it over my head, and blow my brains out.

I encourage all other true American patriots to do the same.


*Actual quote from a poem someone read at GROUND ZERO this morning, broadcast on NPR.