the response to Pablo's question is not mine but you may find a smile in it.

>-----Original Message-----
>From: Pablo Varando [mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED]
>Sent: March 18, 2003 2:36 PM
>To: CF-Community
>Subject: RE: Do you know everyone in the cf-community? :-)
>
>
>Answer - I would love to go to Cuba since I hear it's beautiful there.
>
>Question - Are you for or against this coming war?
>
>Pablo

Inspection Teams....

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 homicide detective.
So... considering the value a mother could bring to an inspection team, why
are we sending a bunch of old 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 God help him 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 bare 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 my ass... You want the job done? Call my mother.

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