If we bring them here, must we afford them the same rights and priviledges afforded our ‘native soil’ inmates (visitation, phone calls, mail call, etc.)?

If they are tried in civilian courts and found ‘not guilty’ are we bound to release them into the community? If they are tried in military courts and found ‘not guilty’ what do we do with them then?

What jobs are created by keeping them in the Naval Brig? Wouldn’t you have to join the Navy to get that job?

Surely the detainees would have to be kept in solitary confinement 24/7 allowing them very little in the way of freedom of movement (else some wayward yet still very patriotic ex-military boys are gonna have ‘em some fun or these radicalized morons gain the ability to indoctrinate others). Once on American soil, can this be done legally?

Keep Gitmo open. This will just be one more in a long line of campaign promises that the Great One isn’t able to keep. And what’s one more?

And I agree: bring ‘em to the Navy Brig. Smells like jobs.

GITMO detainees …

* … keep ‘em in Cuba (74%, 17 Votes)
* … send ‘em to Charleston, S.C. (26%, 6 Votes)**

Total Voters: 23

**SEND ‘EM TO US.

###

BECAUSE>>>

I know the Lord works in mysterious ways. There are folks here among many I have met that aren’t PC about taking somebody out and knowing how to make it look like an accident.

The terrorist detainees in Gitmo were also not in uniform and hence the Geneva Convention should not apply. They should be tried by the military courts as were the German subversives in WWII.

But then again we won WWII.

We

…

Author Profile Page Jockaira | November 7, 2009 2:59 PM | Reply

I admire your long chain of reasoned argument about the sexual orientation of Major Hasan.

I disagree with your conclusion that Major Hasan was homosexual of any type based solely upon available news reports, although he does fit certain “profiles,” being a psychiatrist in a tight-fitting uniform with a decided sashay in his chubby buns.

On the other hand, I think any party boys would run screaming from “Ol Bullethead.”

Major Hasan’s Imam probably knew him better than any other except for the barrista at 7-11 and was probably right when he summed up the Major’s unsuccessful search for a willing female by the opinion that he was just too particular. The Imam had helped him through the unfamiliar territory of Muslim dating by helping him to write profiles of pleasant-sounding lies about what a great catch the Major was. He wanted a women who religiously prayed to Mecca five times daily with never any excuses (even for her monthly visitor). He wanted a woman willing to snuggle up next to his fat puffy potbelly and accept his god-given seminal essence, not once but as many times as it took to pop out a brood of tiny boot-licking majorettes. The Imam didn’t say if any woman had ever “consummated a date” with the Major, but my guess is that one look at his photograph might have been enough to make any woman clutch her burkha tightly around her body in self-defense.

And then of course, there was his age. 39 years old and never been kissed except for tongue-lashings from young boys and cleanly-shaven teenage “pearls.” Obviously lacking in any charm attractive to a woman unless she is a professional thief, guttersnipe, or has eight kids from five husbands, all dead from martyrious circumstances.

I think it much more likely that the social tightness of Army life just left him behind. Everyone knew he was a devout Muslim and that any conversation with him would lead inevitably to being hit on to read that boring book he always carried around. He never played poker at the Officer’s Club with the rest of the guys, speaking out on the evils of alcohol even more loudly than the guys from A.A. as they waved their Bibles and small bottles of Antabuse. When the weekends came, he got no invitations to backyard BBQ’s, even those serving nothing but beef, because he eschewed chewing haram food and most of his fellow officers’ wives simply did not want such a dorky looking guy in the house or even the back yard.

As for scoring with the female officers he worked with…let’s just say that women have an instinct not to get involved with quiet guys with a shaved head carrying a copy of the Koran everywhere.

As for hitting on his fellow male officers…Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell…please don’t ask again, I might puke.

And so, cut off from all possible “normal” relationships, the Major stewed in his own ample juices growing closer to Allah with each passing blonde, brunette, redhead, and army chrome-dome complaining that her boots were just right but still a bit stiff from the leavings of that last celebration in the BOQ’s communal shower.

The Major studied his pig-eared personal copy of the Koran that he had received as a high-school graduation gift from his favorite cousin, and saw a way to achieve his goal of more pussy than he could handle.

Jihad!!

There it was! right in the Holy Koran! No matter how many times he had sinned, how many people he had killed or victimized, no matter how many of his young male cousins he had raped, no matter how much crap he’d had to take from the Alla-damned US Army, no matter how many orders he’d taken from infidel Colonels, no matter how many women sneered at his porky beergut and wrinkled their noses at his halitosis…why he could even deny Allah and get away with it just by getting killed while making an honest effort to kill as many Kufr as he could get his hands on while believing that he was doing it all for Allah according to his beloved Koran.

It takes a very intelligent psychiatrist to discover this basic truth, or unremmiting diligence in reading the most confusing and boring scripture ever written.

Being the type that never takes precipitate action, the Major soberly reflected upon his intended course. Finally a light went off under his shiny pate. He realized that even if somehow he failed entrance to Jannah by somehow surviving his Jihad moment, he would still be set for life and never would have any worries about the common exegiencies so vexing to the rest of us, like rent, getting to work on time, and having to wear clothes when in public.

He saw that surviving his Mujahedeen Moment would only land him in the perpetual care of the US Military Justice system, protected from all outrageous circumstances by constitutionally-guaranteed rights from the najis infidels. He might have to spend a few days or weeks in a hospital because he took a solemn vow to Allah not to stop killing until he himself was killed or wounded, but that was really nothing more than a furlough on his back tended by sweet efficient hospital houris clad in nothing but freshly laundered crisp white uniforms making arousing rustling sounds against their fulsome bodies as they would move about his sumptiously-appointed hospital suite guarded by a three-man SWAT Team to prevent his premature assassination by revengeful white American bigots sent to kill him by the nefarious Neocons.

“Yes!” he fantasied, as he fondled his weapons, an FN 5.7, an heirloom Smith & Wesson .357, and his favorite, Mr Happy.

Yes! If I survive the ordeal, I will be set for life. At the Court Martial, I shall simply plead insanity brought on by the stress of being called “goat-fucker” by that terrible neighbor downstairs who “keyed” the side of my brand-new Geo Metro, Sgt Whatsisname, (funny, I’m usually so good at remembering trivia). I will show him I am not one to be dismissed as an abuser of fine young animals. It will be so easy to convince the Court Tribunal that I am insane. No doubt already, they believe that Muslims are blood-thirsty goons ready to strap on a suicide bombing belt at the drop of a durka. After all, I am also a state-certified psychiatrist. Who better to run rings around their specious legal accusations.

Even better, I am a Muslim Psychiatrist. Not only as Allah says, “Muslims are the best of people” but a psychiatrist familiar with all the twisted thinkings of the human mind and able to fake any and all symptoms of mental disease. I shall astound the generals of the Court Martial, with my lucid legal reasonings, confound them with broadsides of psychiatric symptoms, and reduce their military pride to dust with recountings of the shining victories of Muhammed during his pacification of the infidels and other polytheists.

The Major caught himself for a moment, “What if one of the tribunal judges is a Joo?” Simple, I shall run amok in the courtroom and make my way to Jannah. If the filthy infidels don’t kill me then, such an outburst must surely convince them that I am insane and therefore not legally responsible for my actions.

Then I shall be found to have a 100% service-connected disability and can then retire with full benefits at my present pay rate with full military medical benefits. Of course, they shall probably incarcerate me for the rest of my life, but when Islam takes over the US, I will receive a full pardon from President Hussein, and be reinstated in the US Army at the rank of Brigadier General and credited with the pay differential back to the date of my politically-inspired conviction.

It may take several years before I am rescued by my Muslim brothers from the ignominious imprisonment of the Infidel, but every day along the way, I shall continue and join in the Jihad by sending my entire military pension check to that nice Imam who helped me so much in my search for a devout Muslimah to marry.

It’s too bad that didn’t work out, but Jihad and taking as many of the infidel with me as possible is perhaps the best way, surely the only way to Jannah.

©2009 The foregoing is not meant to be taken seriously except as humorous satire and commentary on current events. It is protected as free speech under the guarantees given to the people of the United States of America by the Constitution, a contract between the people and the government limiting the powers of government and defining the rights the people reserve for and to themselves.

http://www.jihadwatch.org/2009/11/its-getting-harder-by-the-minute-to-say-he-just-snapped-fort-hood-jihadist-linked-to-911-jihadists.html#comments

:o