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It had been an unusually mild winter, and as he walked down the street, he noticed the vendors were out in full force, as were the jiggling breasts, and the excessive skin displays were everywhere one looked. It might as well be summer in New York City. He had only to look at them, and he could feel the disgust welling up inside of him. There seemed to be no respect for the sacred vessel anywhere he looked. Everyone seemed to have forgotten his or her proper place in the world.

To make matters worse, the sheer excess of their rampant materialism surround him as well, the images created by highly skilled marketing firms, bombarded and overwhelmed his cerebral cortex. Even he was feeling the pressure of the ethic “you must make more, you must buy more,” and he was worried that he may somehow be corrupted by it all.

Other than self-gratification and rampant consumerism, there seemed to be no other purpose to all of their lives. They may be wearing tasseled loafers but they were lost, and far more frightening, they seemed to be completely unaware of their decadence, and were oblivious to the extent their souls had been corrupted.

He thought for a moment of ancient Rome, and easily drew upon the similarities of both empires. He would never admit it to anyone, but at one point he had loved this town, and somewhere in the dark recesses of his heart, there was a place that was still quite fond of it. Then his thoughts turned to wondering just how much longer they had, before the sheer weight of their decadence and depravity fell in upon them. “Et Tu Caesar, Et Tu Caesar,” he thought to himself.

He stopped for a moment, and lingered by a newspaper vendor. All the vendors’ wares shouted out to him even more scandalous details about the cesspool they were descending into. He noticed the Times had an article quoting some intelligence operative, declaring that Bin Laden had been yet again located in the mountains between the border of Afghanistan and Pakistan.

He snorted once or twice, and then reached into his wallet to pay the vendor for his copy of the times. He would take his copy down to the Starbucks that had become his favorite coffee shop, and digest both his coffee and the paper at the same time. He loved the aromas he encountered in Starbucks, and he thought he might pamper himself today, and actually purchase a muffin, perhaps a blueberry muffin.

As he was walking up to the entrance of Starbucks, he thought to himself, what a safe haven New York City was for him, and how lucky he was to be here. Everyone blends in New York City, and no one really pays any attention to anybody else. As he opened the door to his favorite coffee shop, he grinned and said under his breath,” You are one lucky man, you are”.

When his turn finally arrived, the clerk at the counter asked him, “What would you like to order sir? “

I’ll have a double espresso, and one, no make that two, blueberry muffins,” Osama bin Laden replied.

Halliburton sponsors today’s funny, not funny words: rendition.

Today's sampling of black comedy and parody laced with satire and bogus philosophy as well as pseudo politics was brought to you by your NSA, who is keeping an eye on you, because you are easy to track.

Reverend Billy Gisher is the author of “Less People Less Idiots”, and a guest blogger of "Those Bastards".