Martyrs and Garters

Well knock me over with a feather -- they found lots of porn at bin Laden's secret compound! And, get this: it's not the first time al-Qaida operatives have been caught red handed (or, to be sure, sticky handed) with libraries full of Internet filth. I guess even the toughest and bravest and most pious of men can't hold out for the scores of virgins who await their arrival in heaven.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. All that chatter about missiles and blowing people to smithereens and gratuitous mass destruction would no doubt get anyone's motor running. Heck, I'm even getting horny just thinking about it. Still, I must avert the mind's eye at the mere thought of what's going on under those saintly robes.

It's weird to think that monsters like Osama were actually born into human families, and even have lots of human relatives. My daughter goes to school with one of his nieces; I wonder if eccentric old Uncle bin appears in any of the family photos pinned to the bulletin board in her room. There's no indication that the girl has any terrorist leanings, but I wonder if she mourned the untimely and rather violent passing of her famous relative.

I had a weird uncle, back in the day. He wasn't a blood relative, which gives me great comfort, but that sixth sense that young children have made me certain he was bad news. I would cower at the mere sight of him. "Tell Sam to go home," I would cry when he entered our home, much to the embarrassment of my parents. They didn't like him all that much either, but he was family for goodness sake. As creepy as I knew he was, I had to suck it up and choke down my matzoh balls and brisket as if there wasn't really a psychopath in our midst.

The weird thing about all this, though, is that when I found out several years ago that he had died of a brain tumor, I was shocked and even a little bit sad. Shocked mostly because I didn't think he had much of a brain, and sad because yet another snippet of my past was gone. His wife -- my beloved aunt -- had been dead for many years by then, but somehow happy memories of holidays spent with the two of them flooded my brain. The passage of time can certainly wreak havoc with your sanity.

But back to Uncle bin. The Koran thumping fanatic liked porn, which sort of makes him seem almost normal. Did Uncle bin give rides on his knee to the kids in the compound? Did he beg one wife or another for sex when she wasn't in the mood? Did he go on chocolate binges? Did he sometimes wile away the hours watching NCIS reruns?

Maybe it's just me, but the thought of the century's most villainous creature masturbating to the beat of Ismat Does Islamabad humanizes him a bit. Icky, yes, but hey, you can't pick your relatives.