You may think that the terrorists can never reach you. But you are wrong.
That would mean you, Old McDonald, who had a farm or a petting zoo or whatever the fuck you're calling your operation these days. Your ducks have a quack-quack here and your chickens have a cluck-cluck-there ...and you don't have the faintest idea that they're a sleeper cell sending secret signals to the terrorists! Are you happy now?!
You, too, "Nix." Don't think we don't have our eyes on you and your shady check-cashing enterprise through which Al-Qaeda has laundered millions to suicide bombers!
Oh, isn't the Bean Fest lovely -- with red beans and yellow beans, kidney beans and fava beans, black beans and beans full of ricin, a deadly toxin that the terrorists have no compunction about putting in your three-bean salad, Ms. Bean Fest 2006!
And don't you look innocent, Mr. Mountain Man, Mr. Grizzly Adams-looking fuck, living in your camouflage shack in the wilds of Montana that you leased from the Unabomber. You are on their list.
So are you, Inuit Family, holed up in your igloo on the floating iceberg in the Arctic Circle. You are on the terrorists' radar, and they have a hundred words for "kill."
And you, the cast of "Lost." The terrorists watch you on TV. They know where to find you. And they may be planning to accidentally crash a plane right on your island!
You members of the Whig party -- you think you're safe from the terrorists just because you lived 150 years ago? Well, I guess you haven't heard about Al-Qaeda's time machine! We're fighting them here and now so we don't have to fight them in 1849.
Which takes us to you, Mr. Occupant of one of the 718 terror-targeted mortuaries. Sure, you're dead -- but the terrorists' bulls-eye is right on you, buddy!
No one is safe.