Nothing Says Welcome Home like a Bomb

Benazir Bhutto ended her 8-year exile with her arrival in Karachi. Hundreds of thousands greeted the former PM, as she toured Pakistan’s most populous city with party members, however their joy turned to sorrow with two powerful car bombs. 120 people were killed outright and scores maimed by the blasts. Ms. Bhutto escaped unharmed, yet severely shaken by the carnage. Police suspect the hand of the Taliban, who had vowed to assassinate the woman chosen by People Magazine for their 1988 50 Most Beautiful List.

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Bombs are everywhere. Oklahoma City, London, Madrid, Southern Thailand, Afghanistan, and the Mecca of mad bombers, Baghdad.

I survived a bombing campaign in Paris. 1985. Our nightclub was destroyed by an attack on an Israeli Bank. Luckily we weren’t open that evening, otherwise I would ahve ended up as wall spatter.

The infernal machine or bomb first emerged as killing device with the 1605 unsuccessful Gunpowder Plot. Guy Fawkes failed to blow up King James I at the English Parliament. His grievance had something to do with wigs or cocker spaniels.

The 19th Century’s innovations to bomb making took its toll on Russian royalty, when the People’s Will nailed Tzar Alexander II. His armies, Cossacks, and prisons were useless against a cheap but effective bomb and other revolutionaries recognized the balance of power had shifted slightly, however more often than not the victims were not the rich and famous, but the proletariat. A bunch of Aussies are drinking beer at a Bali bar and boom.

Bombing happen with such frequency that people’s attitude has come to mimick the actors in Terry Gilliam movie BRAZIL. A bomb devastates a restaurant and the surviving diners dust off their tuxs and order more caviar.

And now there are even jokes about bombings.

“What has 6000 feet and is two inches tall?”

“The World Trade Tower.”

“One female terrorist asks another, “Do these bombs make me look fat?”

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Suicide bomb instructor. “Pay attention, I’m only going to do this once.”

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Bombs are a way of life.

When I was a kid, we taped hair spray aerosol cans together and lit them on fire. We weren’t trying to kill anyone other than ourselves and we came close on several occasions. It’s amazing how dangerous petroleum jelly is at high tempeatures. Shit burns, then again it should, since it’s napalm’s main ingrediant.

BOMB BOMB BOMB

None bigger than the H-Bomb.

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“You like to call me a terrorist, but the USA is the biggest terrorist of all, because they have to the biggest bomb.” Colonel Muammar al-Gaddafi.

And we have thousands of them, but you don’t need a big bomb or an expensive one. Benazir Bhutto can tell you that. Bet last night’s bomb put the fears in her and even that scroundrel husband of hers, who was jailed in 1990 for taping a bomb to a businessman to blackmail him.

In 1996 I met Asif Ali Zardari visited the Milk Bar in Beverly Hills. His CIA minder asked if I could hook up Ali with a buxom starlet. I said I’m no pimp and Ali slipped a c-note into my palm with a wink. I lifted two fingers. A second hundred joined the first.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

The blonde was outraged until I whispered a four-digit number.

$1000.

It was love at first sight.

The CIA man thanked me and Ali waved good-night. The blonde never came back to the bar.

I wonder if he was thinking about that evening last night.

“Don’t even mention it.” Benazir warned her husband, who knows his place and said, “Doesn’t it feel good to be back home?”

Ms. Bhutto agreed, because truthfully if no one had bothered to bomb her, then it would have meant they didn’t care and no politician can stand that.

For a related article click on this URL

https://www.mangozeen.com/londoner-flee-chili-cloud-chaos.htm

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