Have you noticed anything fishy about the inspection teams who have arrived
in Iraq? They’re all men!
How in the name of the United Nations does anyone expect men to find
Saddam’s stash? We all know that men have a blind spot when it comes to
finding things. For crying’ out loud! Men can’t find the dirty clothes
hamper. Men can’t find the jar of jelly until it falls out of the cupboard
and splatters on the floor…. and these are the people we have sent into
Iraq to search for hidden weapons of mass destruction?
I keep wondering why groups of mothers weren’t sent in.
Mothers can sniff out secrets quicker than a drug dog can find a gram of
dope. Mothers can find gin bottles that dads have stashed in the attic
beneath the rafters. They can sniff out a diary two rooms and one floor
away. They can tell when the lid of a cookie jar has been disturbed and
notice when a quarter inch slice has been shaved off a chocolate cake. A
mother can smell alcohol on your breath before you get your key in the front
door and can smell cigarette smoke from a block away. By examining laundry,
a mother knows more about their kids than Sherlock Holmes. And if a mother
wants an answer to question, she can read an offender’s eyes quicker than a
So… considering the value a mother could bring to an inspection team, why
are we sending a bunch of men who will rely on electronic equipment to scout
out hidden threats?
My mother would walk in with a wooden soup spoon in one hand, grab Saddam by
the ear, give it a good twist and snap, “Young man, do you have any weapons
of mass destruction?” And if he tried to lie to her, she’d march him down
the street to some secret bunker and shove his nose into a nuclear bomb and
say, “Uh, huh, and what do you call this, mister?” Whap! Thump! Whap!
Whap! Whap! And she’d lay some stripes across his bottom with that soup
spoon, then march him home in front of the whole of Baghdad. He’d not only
come clean and apologize for lying about it, he’d cut every lawn in Baghdad
for free for the whole damn summer.
Inspectors! You want the job done? Call my mother.