By Jake Rossen
By Jesse Marx
By Michelle LeBow
By Alleen Brown
By Maggie LaMaack
By CP Staff
By Jesse Marx
Maybe they're cavemen. Maybe they like hiding below grade because it's easier to look up women's burkhas that way. One thing is for certain: The first thing Osama bin Lady and Saddam Insane started doing when they heard our B-1s buzzing overhead was drop to their knees, bury their noses in the sand, and stick their asses in the air like tunneling weasels.
If I've learned anything from the degenerate fantasies of Hollywood, it's this lesson from the movie Caddyshack: Strange is the man who's willing to chase vermin down a hole. No, instead of burrowing down after the two biggest bastards in 21st-century history, we dropped firecrackers on them from 30,000 feet. These little bangs may have caused their grandchildren to titter with glee. But our feeble explosives--the mightiest one in the arsenal is called a "daisy cutter"!--didn't penetrate Osama's fortress of limestone at Tora Bora. And our "bunker busters" didn't burst Saddam's 50 meters of reinforced concrete, either. So both of these maniacs remain alive, sucking the teats of mountain donkeys, faxing Al-Jazeera with calls for the end of Christendom.
It's been fun chasing these guys around on whirlybirds, playing video games with air drones, sending in the Special Forces on horseback. Really, we've all enjoyed it. But having thought the matter over for a little while, I guess I'm ready to kill these bastards dead. It's not a stretch to say that most of our men and women in uniform would be home this Thanksgiving eating candied yams if we'd gone after these monsters with the right weapon the first time: the Robust Nuclear Earth Penetrator (RNEP). Used proactively around the world--in Afghanistan and in Iraq, in Tehran and Damascus, in Yasir Arafat's West Bank clubhouse and the basement rec room of the House of Saud--these nuclear devices can be the conversation stopper in our country's dialogue with Islamic extremism.
For those of you who spent your childhood in Barbie's Malibu Dream House and never launched a model rocket or stuffed an M-80 into a prairie-dog hole, here's how the Robust Nuclear Earth Penetrator works. The device can either be a guided, air-dropped bomb some three or four meters long, or a modified missile. Instead of kabooming several meters above the ground, the RNEP bores several meters into the earth. When the weapon expresses itself (as peacemongers might put it), the energy of the explosion (Quakers: read, the nuclear discussion) pulses downward, annihilating (rearranging) the pesky hideouts of America's enemies. The collateral benefit? The radiation remains safely underground, just like it does at Prairie Island. Within a day, walking through Baghdad's own ground zero would be about as dangerous as getting a dental x-ray. (For the record, I doubt a dental x-ray would help Saddam's mother separate his remains from the ashes of overcooked mutton.)
There's only one problem: The Robust Nuclear Earth Penetrator doesn't exist. And if Saddam sympathizers like Martin Sabo and Betty McCollum have their way, they never will. These co-chairs of the Committee to Reelect Osama bin Laden voted in July to deny our president's proposal to devote $23 million next year to the research and development of the RNEP and battlefield mini-nukes. (Perhaps, the Democrat party would prefer to allocate those funds to subsidizing self-esteem workshops for laid-off librarians, or adding tofu to school-lunch menus. Frankly, the liberal agenda is so kooky these days, I don't even know how they plan to squander our taxpayers' money.)
Thankfully, just last month, senators like Stormin' Norm Coleman voted to protect tactical nuclear weapons development in the Department of Energy budget. Perhaps if the Senate negotiating committee agrees to include solar paneling on the Washington Monument, the House will capitulate. After all, $23 million is a small price to pay for, like, eliminating the greatest war criminals in recent history from the face of the earth.
Though we missed our first chance to make a good impression, there's still time to introduce Iraq's bachelors of butchery to America's nuclear family. The sound of the first atomic weapon burrowing into an underground Parcheesi Palace in Tikrit will be the last we'll hear of remote-controlled antipersonnel attacks and nighttime ambushes. While the Robust Nuclear Earth Penetrator remains stalled on a blackboard in Los Alamos, we have another nuclear weapon poised to terrorize the terrorists. This equalizer is the B61-11, which has an explosive yield of .3 to 340 kilotons. (Hiroshima's Little Boy weighed in around 13 kilotons.)
Now, using a tactical nuclear weapon is a matter of grave moral consequence--that being another phrase for the kind of easy decision that has the consequence of putting a lot of immoral people in graves. Let me just say that we all think it was sporting to allow Saddam's boys to walk home from the battlefront and take up a productive career in pilfering everything that wasn't bolted onto the rolling tracks of an American M-1 tank. Colin Powell trained our generals well in the art of leaving the coliseum at halftime (he must have learned it studying military history at the Sorbonne.) But as every parent knows, there's a time and a place to scare a kid into soiling his shorts. And being that our president and his administration are seemingly the only adults left on the international stage, who wouldn't be happy to see the belt come out of the trouser loops?