by Mark Drolette
July 21st, 2007
Did you know you stand a better chance of either being eaten by a shark (in your bed) or hearing George W. Bush use proper subject-verb agreement than you do of being the victim of a terrorist attack?
From where does this information emanate? Well, I just made it up, but if that approach is good enough for the White House, it’s good enough for me.
Seriously, though, I know my chances of dying at the hands (or feet) of a suicide shoe bomber, or even one with an explosive sock, are infinitesimally small. And even if it happens, it happens; I’m not going to let unreasonable fears run my life. (As opposed to reasonable ones, like, say, getting married for a fourth time, but that’s another story. Or several, all available at the county courthouse.)
But way too many Americans don’t think like that. Millions are scared out of their wits of being blown to bits, judging by the way they swallow whole the feary tales they’re fed by the Brothers Grim (aka Bush and the Dick). They accept as true the most fantastic things, booga-boogas that even a nanosecond’s worth of introspection would show to be utterly laughable.