Open Letter To Michael MooreOsama Bin Laden and F9/11

Mr. Moore,

You are a scurrilous, obese, disgusting, treasonous dog. A stinking boil on the ass of humanity.

How did it feel when you heard Osama Bin Laden, the arch enemy and single most prolific mass murderer of 3000 Americans, quote your movie? Did it give you a vicarious thrill? You piece of shit.

Not enough that your poisonous filth was distributed by the terrorist "minutemen" of your fantastical nightmare, Hezbollah, or shown in Iran, that "free" country that hangs little girls for speaking out against the religious fanaticism of her country while you decry the faith of the President of the country which you infamously claim citizenship to. You must now believe yourself some Godhead, having captured the attention of your favorite celebrity, the same scum which you declared justified in his acts only a day after your fellow citizens were burned to a crisp in two towers by an inferno of jet fuel, or forced to jump to their death from 100 stories, crushed beneath the weight of hundreds of thousands of tons of steel and concrete. Nothing left to identify them but a shard of a leg bone, a tooth, a finger.

And the patriots and soldiers at their duty stations in the Pentagon, who have forever protected your odious right to free speech and produce the filthy lie you call a documentary. Or the men and women on flight 93 over Pennsylvania, who understood better than you, a piece of offal not worthy of gracing the bottom of their shoes, what it meant to be real patriots and minutemen. Giving their very last breath to protect this country you so despise.

In your imposter of a documentary, you claim that Halliburton was a war profiteer and yet, there you live in your mansion, bought with the money you made not only from the blood of those 3000 victims, but the blood of the Iraqis and the blood of the soldiers. You evil, bleeding, puss ridden hemorrhoid on society.

You declared that Americans were stupid and then you proved it to yourself by producing propaganda for their very killers and they watched it with glee, filling your pockets with the thirty shekels of silver for a Judas. How appropriate that image is. If only you would hang yourself like Judas and save us the the ignomy of your presence in the same world as the heroic families of those victims.

How you must have laughed up your sleeve as they bought the tickets, DVD's or rented your movie. Wallowing in your blood money like Caligula at an orgy.

Zell Miller once declared that he wished we lived in a time when a man could challenge another to duel when confronted with the smirking face of Chris Matthews. For me, I wish we lived in a time when men like you were whipped, tarred and feathered and ridden out of town on a rail. Of course, to remove you in such a fashion would require that the rail be a fifteen inch steel I-beam, the Las Braes tar pits would have to be drained to cover your fat, postule ridden body and the number of chickens that would need to be killed to cover your humongous, sweaty ass with feathers would be nothing short of genocide. Lastly, to carry you from our presence would require two F350 pick up trucks with steel re-enforced frames.

You think yourself Prometheus, bringing fire and light to humanity. It is my hope that your everlasting damnation be the same as his, chained to a mountain while vultures eat your liver out every day, only to regenerate and have it happen again from here to eternity. Ahh...but that would still not be good enough as the vultures would probably choke on the putrid fat and flesh of your body before they ever reached the only functioning organ you ever possessed.

You will go down in infamy as the Goebbels of the twenty first century. Benedict Arnold without the grace or past heroic endeavors of even a traitor like he.

What words are there to describe you? A traitor. A murderer. A pig. A viper at the breast of America and her sister Liberty.

In your last days, as you lay dying in the stinking heaping sty you will call a bed, my fondest hope is that you die screaming at the ghosts of your cruel hypocrisy, choking on the evil bile that is your whoring, decrepit soul.

And don't think that I want you to die too soon. No, that would be too easy. I want you to live and see what you have wrought with that duplicitous, blackened lump of coal you call your mind. Live well off your blood money, you pompous hypocrite, the better the demons to torment you in the rejected, lonely future I foresee for you. Because even that traitorous bastard ex-President Jimmy Carter will be forced to abandon you to your own ignomy once the next attack of your pernicious hero is perpetrated having spoken your very words. All those who once lauded you at Caanes will speak your name in a hushed, harsh whisper, lest they be reminded of how they once bowed down and kissed your hairy, amorphous ass.

As you have no heart and no love for your fellow man, I see you dying, unloved and unwanted by the very society you wished to pervade with that perverse pornography you called the "truth".

Sleep easy tonight, for I am sure that no nightmare will disturb you as you must first have a soul to be so tormented. I am sure if you ever read this you would shrug and wash your hands, like Pontius Pilate, of the blood of the innocents you helped to kill. Keep scrubbing, their blood will never wash off, because it is a stain forever branded on the stinking ass of your life.

You are reviled and remain so, forever more.

Proud Citizen of the United States of America