I have five Muslim students this semester. Two of them are girls. Three...three, I'm just watching closely, and waiting for them to suddenly explode--they're around nineteen years old.
It's irrational. I've heard them discussing ISIS*--and shutting each other down and shuddering. They're terrified of the militants. All five of my students are terrified of them.
I'm not afraid. I am angry.
I'm angry that King Putt called for a near-complete draw-down of our troops. I'm angry that he displayed his weakness and gave them the impression that it's our country that's weak. I'm angry that he's permitting these monsters to cross our southern border with impunity. I'm angry that we haven't nuked the entire area, since the only thing these uncivilized barbarians understand is an overwhelming display of strength--which we haven't displayed.
I'm angry that we've wasted so many lives trying to put a lid on a pot that's been boiling over for decades, rather than simply turning off the burner by tapping our own oil reserves and ceasing to fund the terrorist-run regimes in the Middle East. I'm angry that, in the name of political correctness and anti-racism, old and middle-aged white people get probed and groped in air ports while Muslims waltz through unmolested.
The terrorists won. And I'm in a bloody, blind, frothing rage about that.
*Ironic, isn't it, that a Muslim organization is named after a pagan Egyptian goddess.
53 minutes ago