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You know, it's funny but thinking over it the other day, I came to believe that one way to partially explain the stunned disbelief that stroke Elmer Fwench and Fwiends at the announce of the capture of Jacques Chirac's personal friend, is by comparing it with Fwance's last Hunt for her Public Enemy Number 1.It took four years to Elmer Fwench to catch his wabbit, Yvan Colonna the Fearsome Shepherd, on his very soil, in peacetime, among his own population and with the full extend of the force of the State, for which the capture of a murder suspect is a "national priority" if, and only if, the victim is one of the Commissars of the Republic (although they use to call them "prefects", as a more convenient shortcut - Fwench Constitution, Awticle 13.
Dig article 26, paragraph 2 while you're at it. Hmmm. Feel the autocracy.)
So when it takes only eight months to those "stupid Americans", particularly lead by "Bush, that moron" to capture one of the worse scum in recent history, a man that succeeded in the dangerous and ruthless task of maintaining himself as the head of a hateful totalitarian state for 30 years (that spells "I know a lot more about survival than you do, pal"), in a foreign country, with the double burden of leading a liberation war and ensuring the rebuilding effort, and within the perimeter filled with most of the hostiles, you can bet that the lamentations that broke out at the sight of the famous "humiliating" medical exam of Jacques Chirac's personal friend are but a projection of the mourners' own humiliation, proven wrong as they were once again by the American hyperpower they loathe.
To that respect, 2003 has been quite a succession of similar proving experiences for Elmer Fwench, Jacques Chiwac and Fwiends, thank in no small part to America's Fighting Man.
Granted, it's far from being his most significant achievement, but as seen from here, it's certainly one of life's little bonuses.Sidenote #1: I'm getting used to Elmer Fwench's mental grayness and can therefore already predict that far from pondering on the implications of the hunting story herein, he'll fall back on the prêt-à-penser and yelp: "Ah but Zen, Zey didn't get Oozama been Waden!"
Suffice to say that I belong to those who believe that the main issue is not to get Oozama anymore, but to find the bits of the bin (Yeah, yeah, 'Waden') under several tons of Tora-Borian rocks.
Although I could be wrong, this is actually the reason why I've been repeatedly using the expression "Bin Laden's mummy" among these very pages.
Having said that, the main difference between Elmer Fwench and the dissident frogman in that case, is that I'll be more than delighted to be proven wrong by America's Fighting Man offering me another Dental Inspection video.Sidenote #2: I'm sure you'll appreciate the slight, er, difference of tactic between both hunters/hunted couples.
That's Fwench style:
During the late afternoon of July 3, two RAID officers dug a large hole behind the hut and buried themselves in it. They spent a sleepless night there, and early the following morning, just before dawn, they heard a man's voice.Stop laughing now: we should assume they know what they're doing and also that there could very well be two of them buried in another hole nearby.
As things go actually, the problem lies not so much with special units such as the RAID - these guys are pretty good - than it does with the apparatus that's giving them orders, starting with the minister of the Interior (That's national police for you).
I know, I know. Compared to Jacques Chirac's personal friend captured in a hole, the reverse comic of the situation just couldn't go unenjoyed.
You jolly baiting you.
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1187 - rc
rc
1188 - Valerie, the Texas
Valerie, the Texas