Heirs Apparent

May 6, 2012

There is a lot of back-slapping going on celebrating the anniversary of Bin Laden’s death.  Glad as I was to see this chapter closed, I’m hoping there won’t be an annual national holiday such as “Bin Laden Be Dead Day,” providing undeserving bankers with another day of paid vacation, or inspiring endless replays of the raid, captured in blurry green with night vision cameras, and looping endlessly on our televisions like the Yuletide Log.

Plus, isn’t all this celebration premature?  What of Bin Laden’s offspring, of which there are apparently an unlimited supply?  While I can’t speak for them individually, as a group they represent a disturbing combination of terrorist lineage and heir or heiress resources: heirorists.  But don’t worry; as always, I have a plan.

Rather than letting them run around loose in Saudi Arabia and elsewhere with nothing to do but count their billions and compete to see who can best fill their father’s sandals, we should make them an offer money can’t buy:  their own reality TV show on Fox.

Step One:  we rent the Los Angeles mansion where they house the American Idol contestants.  All of the mini-Laden’s, and their mothers, will be ensconced there under one roof:  sort of a Real Housewives of the Jihad.
Step Two:  we host a block party where they are introduced to the Kardashians, the Hiltons and the Lohans.  And let’s throw in Ryan Seacrest, since he’ll host anything.
Step Three:  we identify those mini-Laden’s with the most enemy-combatant potential, and turn them loose on the cast of Bravo’s “Shah’s of Sunset.”  This may help thin the herd.
Step Four:  we provide a healthy budget for food and alcohol, along with fake id’s for the youngsters, private access to LA’s trendiest clubs, and photographers to capture them wherever they go.  Much cheaper and more effective than asking the CIA to keep tabs on them.
Step Five:  we give them each their own publicist, so they will spend their days trying to scoop one another for front page coverage in the National Enquirer or scandalous chador-free spreads  in Playboy.
Step Six:  we book them on Dr. Phil so that they can discuss their daddy issues, and
Steps Seven to Ten: we give them each a fan club, blog, Facebook page and Twitter account, which we will monitor closely in the unlikely event some stray substantive thought should attempt to find purchase in what is now the parched desert of their media-addled minds.

While these heirorists may have access to wealth and power, history has proven that there is no destructive force so powerful as celebrity, particularly of the famous-for-being-famous variety.  I know that these mini-Ladens may inspire sympathy; after all, they themselves have not committed any acts of terrorism.  But to this I say: let’s keep it that way, and besides, there are worse things than living all-expenses-paid in a Hollywood Hills mansion and partying  in the LA club scene with celebrities, all under the constant glare of television cameras and the watchful eyes of the paparazzi.  Actually, come to think of it, I can’t think of anything worse than that.


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