E. M. Zanotti explains to the President that there are different ways to die:
I ride public transportation to work in a major city. Every. F**king. Day. And yes, I live in that major city. And yes, that major city is a terrorist target. Granted, the last group of yahoos to target the Sears Tower (or “Big Willie” as it’s now known, apparently) were about as competent at being terrorists [as] you are at foreign policy, but listen. I don’t want to die in a fire. I don’t want to die in an explosion. I want to die after being hit by a speeding bike messenger when I’m like, 90, and the bike messenger is wearing a silver unitard and riding on a hoverbike because it’s the future. Or I want to die after eating so much chocolate it allows my soul to transcend my body. I, repeat, I DO NOT WANT TO DIE in a terrorist attack, by some coward who thinks he’s going to get 72 virgins by shoving C4 and some nails into a backpack and rigging a cellphone into one of those big red cartoon detonators and boarding the El.
What worries me about this is the likelihood that the single result of this screed will be a law prohibiting the operation of hovercraft by bike messengers.