With the prospect of war looming, gas prices soaring, and the stock market going south, it’s sometimes hard to find humor in our lives.  But hopefully we will always find things to laugh at. 

I saw one photo in the newspaper of the sign in front of a gas station.  The price for Super was “Arm” and for Premium it was “Leg”.  Pretty funny.  Even though it’s the truth, it still makes us laugh.

I’ve received several emails lately about war-related stuff; some are really hilarious.  There’s one that’s circulating that I’ve gotten several times in one form or another about how to conquer Osama Bin Laden and the Taliban in Afghanistan. 

Most of what it said could be said for the impending war with Iraq.  It would go something like this:

How To Win a War with Iraq

Take all American women who are within five years after menopause, or within one year after the end of a relationship.  Train us for a few weeks, outfit us with automatic weapons, grenades, gas masks, moisturizer with SPF15, Prozac, hormones, chocolate, and canned tuna.  Drop us (parachuted, preferably) across the landscape of Iraq, and let us do what comes naturally.

 Think about it.  Our anger quotient alone, even when doing standard stuff like grocery shopping and paying bills, is formidable enough to make even armed men in turbans tremble.

 We’ve had our children; we would gladly suffer or die to protect them and their future. For those of us who are single, the prospect of finding a good man with whom to share life seems about as likely as being struck by lightning. We have nothing to lose.

 We’ve survived the water diet, the protein diet, the carbohydrate diet, and the grapefruit diet in gyms and saunas across America and never lost a pound. We can easily survive months in the hostile terrain of Iraq with no food at all.

 We’ve spent years tracking down our husbands or lovers in bars, hardware stores, or sporting events … finding Saddam should be no problem.  Even if his entourage moves every night to a new hideout, they will be no match for a bunch of mad women.  We are ruthless, cunning, and without mercy.

 Planning a new post-war government?  Oh, please … we’ve thrown charity galas that were years in the planning.  We’ve planned weddings with hostile step-families.  We’ve prepared the seating arrangements for in-laws and extended families at Thanksgiving dinners for years.  We understand the politics that go into these things.

 Between us, we’ve divorced enough husbands to know every trick there is for how they hide, launder, or cover up bank accounts and money sources. Finding mere missiles and biological weapons will be easy.

 Let us go and fight.  Imagine their terror as we crawl like ants with hot flashes over their godforsaken terrain.  There would be no greater defeat for them than to be beaten by a horde of angry women.

And just remember the old saying … “When Momma’s Not Happy, Ain’t Nobody Happy!”