Before I begin my eulogy for this great man, I'd like to ask my conservative readers to please refrain from making any disrespectful, snarky remarks. We were polite and held our tongues when your great hero, Ronald Raygun, kicked the bucket. You could at least do the same for us in our time of mourning.
The first time I heard of Yassir Arafat, he was merely a punchline in Johnny Carson's "Karnac the Magnificent" sketch: "Describe the sound of an obese man squeezing into a girdle. Yassir Arrrrrafat!" I knew then that Arafat was destined for greatness. From his humble beginnings as a railsplitter in Jordan, to his days as a small town lawyer in Springfield, Illinois, he charmed us all and won our hearts. Now, the festering, bulbuous head of the Palestinian Labor Organization is gone, and the world mourns the passing of this heroic powerful human symbol.
Like Martin Luther King, Jr., Yassir Arafat was a man with a dream. A dream that he was back in high school, walking around in his underwear. Then he was falling, and there were some squirrels, and that's all he remembered. But from that dream was born a vision: a vision of an independent Palestine free from Zionist agression. Throughout his life, he watched with dismay as an ameobalike Israeli Empire gobbled up a chunk of the Middle East half the size of Rhode Island. The William Wallace of our time, Arafat fought for a homeland where his people could worship as they please, without fear or reprisal. Yet even in the face of adversity, he reached out to his Jewish neighbors, sending emisaries deep into enemy territory to spread peace and goodwill. All to often, it was the emisaries themselves who were spread across a large area, returning home in sandwich bags and shoeboxes.
With no known cure, Spontaneous Human Explosion claims the lives of 7 out of every 9 Palestinians each year. Symptoms include profuse sweating in Jewish delis, smoke pouring from the trousers while riding the bus, and the mysterious appearance of large amounts of explosives strapped to your chest. Much like AIDS victims in our own country, sufferers of Spontaneous Human Explosion face ridicule and intolerance from their own friends and neighbors. We've all seen how Israel flies off the handle and retaliates violently whenever a schoolbus explodes, scattering body parts of little Jewish children over a two block radius. Without wasrning, Israeli tanks and Bulldozers plow through Palestinian refugee camps, baby milk factories, and puppy farms. It was this neverending cycle of violence that Yassir Arafat worked so hard to end.
While his detractors portrayed him as a dangerous religious fanatic with a messianic complex, Yassir Arafat was no John Ashcroft. On the contrary, he earned his Nobel Peace Prize by standing shoulder to shoulder with Osama Bin Laden to find common ground with the people he affectionately referred to as "vermin" who should be "butchered and killed". But time and time again, Israel threw away the Roadmap to Peace. In the end, Arafat was confined to his small, one-bedroom apartment in Ramallah, not even permitted to enjoy a game of LaCrosse with his dear friend, Jacques Chirac.
Although he never gave up hope of winning his freedom, there'd be no parole for the Palestinian Mandela. After two years of solitary confinement, he fell mysteriously ill. One day he was fit as a fiddle, the next, he's Sonny Von Bulow. I know this is going to blow the doors right off your Volvo, but I suspect that Bush may have had something to do with it. No, don't try to argue with me, I've researched this extensively. After all, Bush never once invited Arafat to Camp David or showered him with love and affection like his predecessors did. But I digress - there will be time for holding Bush accountable later. As I was telling a crazy old geezer in an American Legion uniform this morning, this is a day to honor and reflect upon the sacrifice of this great hero.
Alas, Yassir Arafat now walks with the martyrs in the afterlife. But while the last, best hope of a Beatles reunion dies with him, his dream of a free Palestine lives on.
"Today I have come bearing an olive branch and a freedom fighter's gun.
Do not let the olive branch fall from my hand."
— Nov. 13, 1974, speech to U.N. General Assembly.
How did you get a picture of my mom?! Well now she's.....he's..... one of my dads..... but obviously not another father. Anyway he's
pre-op but he's looking rather convincing is he not?! I love you dad(mom)! Please send money.
Posted by: J. D. Maida | November 22, 2004 at 09:06 PM
If Arafat is still dead, can I have dibsies on his table cloth for a party I am throwing?
Posted by: k6whp | December 02, 2004 at 07:14 AM
Nice blog bro!
Posted by: Milf Lessons | June 17, 2006 at 08:01 PM