You may have heard that those whacky Somali pirates are at it again. While the Navy was knocking off some pirates on one boat, other groups of those eye-patch wearing bastards went after a few other ships.
Who knows why these goomers want to be pirates. Maybe they like to dress in frilly shirts. Maybe they like go sailing late at night with sweaty men. Maybe they like parrots pooping on their shoulders. It?s anybody?s guess.
I can?t help but think what I would do if I had the responsibility of taking care of this problem. For your contemplation, I present to you a vignette from my administration to demonstrate why they won?t let me be in charge.
Deputy Director Daniels walked around his desk to take his seat. "So, what are you doing with the pirates we captured?"
Agent Burrows pursed his lips for the slightest moment before answering. "They are currently being repatriated. They should be landing in their home country any minute now."
In a cargo plane half way around the world, Corporal Jackson leaned slightly out the open door. The rush of air tugged at his hair and his flight suit. He looked out with a concerned expression. Then he saluted downward, waved a little, and pulled himself further into the plane. He glanced momentarily across the wide African horizon. With a bit of effort, he closed the door.
"Good," said Daniels, "The last thing we need is another country claiming that we aren't playing fair with their pirates."
Yes, there are reasons people don?t want me to be in charge. I don?t understand what those reasons are, but there you go. Maybe someday people will come to their senses and let me take care of things.
You gotta pick the right guy to do the job.
Go out now and vote for LibertyBob.