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But you know what would be better than killing the terrorists? (For everyone, you reckon). It would be you walking up to them, and them looking into your collected fearless compassionate eyes, and you saying something really profound, something that touches their soul and awakens their consciousness, which results in them just giving up right there and then.

They may even collapse immobile on the floor, like in that TV-guy Derren Brown’s show, where he calls a payphone and says something apt and perceptive to the stranger who answers, so that she falls to the ground in shock or something.

Perhaps, to confuse them, you would say some bullshit like: “You are already dead.” Or maybe some amazing divine truth will spontaneously flow from your lips as if you were the mouthpiece for God; or you are God. Yes, maybe you will allude to them: “You know who I am!” and they will know what you mean because they are angry and sad and want to absolve themselves from responsibility and of a meaningless world where they are desperate for meaning.

But what then?

As you wipe your ass, you notice your penis in the mirror. Today it hangs well you think. Some days it is not as full as it could be. But today you would be proud if having accidentally left the door unlocked, someone were to walk in and see your presently well-hanging penis.

But not if they were a terrorist. If they were a terrorist, you would be ready.

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