Poll #32 What do we do with Tilikum, the “killer” whale?

     The following is an excerpt from a recently discovered journal believed to belong to Amelia Earhart’s unnamed and almost unknown navigator, written during their long, but doomed flight around the world in 1937 which was believed to end in the South Pacific at the hands of sneaky Japanese fighter pilots after she discovered Admiral Yamamoto’s dastardly plan to attack Pearl Harbor.

June 1, 1937:  Departed Miami.  Everything going ok.  Heading south over Cuba and the Caribbean.  Cha cha cha!

June 5, 1937:  Arrived Fortaleza, Brazil.  Boy, I seem to have lost a few days there.  Amelia says I had a “great” time in Capripito, Venezuela but I sure don’t remember anything.  She keeps snickering and saying that maybe I should lay off the juice for the rest of the trip before I find myself so drunk that I can’t navigate my way out of a paper bag.  I told her to just stick to the flying & I’ll get us to where we’ve got to go.

June 8, 1937:  Saint Louis…no, not that Saint Louis, but Saint Louis, Senegal.  Haha.  Finished the Atlantic crossing without any mishap.  Saw lots of killer whales down in the ocean as we were flying over.  I’d hate to meet up with one of ‘em if we crashed.  Of course, there’s no chance of that.  Amelia’s a good pilot & I’m a better navigator.  Damn, sure wish she had bigger boobs though.

June 11, 1937:  Fort Lamy, French Equatorial Africa.  Completed our first 1000 miles over the “dark” continent.  Kinda scary, few places to set it down if we had trouble.  The people are pretty friendly and get this: the women don’t wear any shirts.  Giggle.  Wish Amelia would take a lesson from them!

June 13, 1937: Assab, Eritrea:  Well, Africa is behind us!  Flying low over the Red Sea and the Arabian Peninsula.  Thought I saw some more killer whales but then decided that the light was playing tricks on my eyes.  I’ll tell you what, after this trip is over and I’ve become a millionaire, I might try my hand at starting an airline.  That’s where the real money’s at!  Maybe I’ll paint my planes like killer whales.  That would be cool.  Wait a minute; Miss “Prissy” is calling me up to the cockpit.  Probably needs another directional fix (she can’t navigate her way out of a paper bag, boobs or no boobs!)

June 15, 1937:  Karachi, India.  What a long flight.  Finally landed and I can’t understand a word these people are saying.  Sounds like: “Halakala, halakala, halakala.”

June 20, 1937:  Singapore.  Engines running a little rough.  All the way down the peninsula all I heard was “blah, blah, blah.”  Wish she would shut up every one in a while.  Anyway, I think “Her Highness” is going to want to do a little work on the plane when we get to the Dutch East Indies.  Yeah, I’ve got something for her to work on.

June 29, 1937:  Darwin, Australia.  Overhauled the engines and flew over Java to Darwin.  Saw some more killer whales as we approached the Australian coast.  Reminded me of my dream of becoming an airline mogul.  Lot’s of room for expansion in the southwest part of the U.S.  Now if I can only come up with a good name that people would luv (sic.)

July 2, 1937:  Lae, New Guinea.  The locals are telling stories of sighting strange aircraft with “meatballs” on their wings flying in the area.  Note to self: Check with the Coast Guard cutter when we get to Howland Island about which country has red circle symbols on their aircraft.  Amelia being very secretive about something.  Says she just learned something “real” important and that we need to leave for Howland ASAP.  I told her that we’re still waiting on a couple of drums of avgas from Australia but she thinks we can make it on what we’ve got onboard if we lean the engines out.  I think she’s crazy but it’s not like we’re going to be dogfighting or anything.  Haha.  Damn, I wish she had bigger boobs…

     That’s as far as our researchers have gotten with this mysterious journal.  They are still working on restoring and preserving the next section of the journal but it is hard work, what with the seawater contamination and bullet holes.

Poll #31 ends. We have a “no-fly” zone over Libya. What, exactly, does that mean?

     Madam Geneva, our resident gypsy here at the Harrumph bunker, has once again been able to channel the ghost of General George S. Patton to help us understand the “Libyan problem.”  She again requests that everyone stand at attention while the General materializes in the smoke-filled room.

GENERAL PATTON:  “Be seated.  Now, you boys all know… that we’ve set up this “no-fly” zone as the opening in this great kinetic military action in Libya.  Not exactly my idea of winning a war, strike that, winning a kinetic military action, but the commander-in-chief has set the policy and, well, I’m just a simple old soldier who follows orders.”

     “Even as you sit here, prepared to enter battle against the Hun, strike that, against the forces of the evil, civilian-slaughtering Quaddafi… know that back home it’s safe for your loved ones to go about their daily lives.  It’s safe for our leaders to fill out their basketball brackets and organize a nice lobster state dinner for  people like Bashar al-Assad, Syria’s “reform” leader who is not, I repeat, is not, blowing away his dissidents like Kadaffi is.  And you are the ones who are making this possible.”

     “Now, don’t get me wrong.  As far as the Middle East is concerned, well, let’s just say that if it was up to me I’d start this kinetic military action with another “Torch” landing on the coast of Morocco and drive east to Iran before I stopped.  But, as I’ve said, it is not up to me… and we’ve only got 60 days, with maybe a 30-day extension, to wrap up this “action.”  Of course, if I was Gaddaffi, I guess I’d just lay low for 3 months, since U.S. policy is just to protect civilians, not regime change.  I wouldn’t fly any aircraft or conduct any offensive kinetic action, and just wait until July 1^st and kill all the dissidents then.  Maybe enjoy a lobster dinner or two, if there's any left on the world market, in the mean time.”

Harrumph File #061 03.27.2011 Kadaffi; Quaddafi; Gadaffi; Any way you spell it, it’s pronounced “Jabroni.”

     Muammar al-Gaddafi/Kaddafi/Quadaffi; this clown prince of the Libyan desert has been a thorn in the side of the world for over 40 years now and I want to know just one thing.  How the heck does he spell his own name?  According to the CIA World Fact Book (and Wikipedia,) 112 different possible spellings have been identified.  Maybe I’m asking the wrong question here or maybe I just haven’t provided you with an acceptable answer yet.  Yeah, you know what?  Who cares how he spells his own name.  After all, any way you spell it, it’s just pronounced “jabroni.”

     This guy has slinked around and hidden in tents or behind women’s skirts for so long that people just take him for granted now.  Yes, I know that he has been a sponsor of terrorism and has made many outlandish claims.  But when you get right down to it, he’s pretty much just a clown on the international scene.  Heck, he doesn’t even trust his own people to act as his bodyguards; he’s got to hire them out of Soldier of Fortune magazine.  In my book you can’t even call him a real leader.  I mean, can you imagine if the President had to hire mercenaries from another country to guard the White House?  To fly Air Force One?  Now that would be the pinnacle of patheticism.

     No, real countries with real leaders are guarded by citizen-soldiers, “tribe-members,” countrymen.  The White House is guarded by U.S. Marines.  English regiments guard English Kings & Queens.  Popes are guarded by… well, by Swiss guards.  But, the Swiss aren’t really using their army anyway, and they’re right next door to Italy so we’ll give them a pass.  Roman emperors were guarded by Praetorian Legions of Romans.  And yes, maybe they acquired a nasty habit of assassinating emperors and putting the throne up for auction occasionally, but that doesn’t detract from the fact that… oh well, maybe that’s not a real good example but I was on a roll.  And besides, you can’t find anywhere in history about anyone using Libyans to guard anything.

     So, back to the muppet who used to be Kaddaffi (seriously, have you seen him on TV lately?  Really, he looks like a muppet.)  You would think he’d learn his lesson.  He blows up a nightclub; he gets bombed.  He draws a “Line of Death” across the Gulf of Sidra; he gets bombed.  He invades Chad; he gets bombed.  I mean really, who looses a war against Chad?  Apparently, we have found a winner.  Seriously, take a look at Libya anyway.  You know, without oil, what exactly would Libya be?  You guessed it, without oil, Libya would be Chad.  Their number one export?  Camel dung.  And how about this-when Lucas was filming “Star Wars,” he took the production to Tunisia, right next door to Libya.  And everyone knows the sand dunes are way better in Libya than in Tunisia.  The reason Lucas went to Tunisia instead?  He didn’t want to work with a jabroni like Quaddafi.  And besides, Gadaffi executed all the Libyan Jawas years ago anyway.

French “Top Guns.”  I know, it’s kinda funny.

            So now, here he is on TV shaking his fist at the world again.  Threatening to wipe out anyone who revolts against him.  “It will be a long war against the West,” he says.  A “line of death.”  “Piles of American corpses on the beaches,” blah, blah.  Well, we’ve got you now, Mr. Jabroni.  That’s right, we’ve got a secret weapon.  Something you never expected.  Throw a “fatwa” on us, eh?  Well, we throw a “fatwa” right back on your misshapen, pumpkin-like head; you sad, sad clown.  Yes, a “fatwa” in the form of the French army.  No, it’s not a contradiction in terms.  They mean it this time you sorry little muppet of a man.  French fighter jets are coming for you!  French bombs are falling on your tanks!  French missiles are blasting your anti-aircraft radars to dust!  And you know the saddest part of it all?  It’s working.  French military assets really work!  They’re not really made of cardboard like we all thought they were!  And, like his war against Chad, that clownish jabroni from Tripoli is loosing to the French!  I mean, really, you’ve got to be a total jabroni to get your ass kicked by France.  Harrumph…