Zarqawi's Dead, Third Draft

I got the good news at 4:00 a.m. while I was at lunch: Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, aka "The Zarkster," was killed in an overnight bombing raid. My response was a loud "Woohoo!" that echoed through the nearly-empty break room. Normally I'm not the sort of person who would take pleasure in the death of others, but in the case of an evil terrorist like the Zarkster, I'm willing to make an exception, much as I did for Yasser Arafat when he died. Some people actively work to make the world a better place, but others can only do so by leaving it.

Good riddance, and I hope that all 72 of his virgins look like Helen Thomas.

By the way, if I was responsible for the Zarkster's final arrangements, I'd put his corpse in a cage in Firdos Square in Baghdad, with the bars wide enough to piss through, and I'd let everyone in Iraq who wants to piss on his body come and do so. After about three days or so, I'd send someone in with a mask and gloves to remove the body from the cage, then sew it up in the untanned hide of a freshly slaughtered hog. I'd then wrap the body with about a hundred pounds or so of chains, then take it up in a helicopter and fly over the Persian Gulf and dump it at sea so that there would be no shrine for the Islamists to visit.