perfidy

and I piss on his grave. Not regular piss, either. Bad beer piss. Milwaukee's Best piss. Black Label piss. Coors piss.

Thanks to Gawker I find the late unlamented terror kingpin owned a piece of East Village (that's Manhattan, in New York City) landmark Bowl-Mor Lanes. Never you mind that Bowl-Mor is a hellhole for real bowlers, favoring flashing neon day-glo crud-ola over niceties like a pleasant environment in which to roll. Never you mind that the serious bowling crowd at Bowl-Mor is outnumbered about six to one by goofing hipsters.

Never mind any of that. Bowling is the one sport closer to my heart than any other (Mrs. Johno in fact was a state champion bowler in her youth, and you better believe that only endears her to me all the more), indeed it is the only sport I own the equipment to play. That's right. A fourteen pound, custom drilled purple Columbia White Dot named Loretta. And Yasser Arafat used the money of people like me to increase the misery of the world.

It's bad enough-- in fact it's evil-- to fund terrorism. It's a special kind of sick and twisted evil to fund terrorism with money made off Manhattan hipsters and off-duty garbage men.

F**ker.