To date, the London Olympics pricetag is about $17B. The security pricetag alone is approaching $1B (currently $855M), and the cost has government and citizen groups up in arms, since it is already double what was budgeted. There will be 23,000 security guards, along with layers upon layers of security measures that have earned the nickname “Lockdown London”.

Why the huge price tag? Even the original budget outlay of $437M is, for a two week sporting event, just a huge amount of money. Why is all that necessary? Are pickpockets, muggings, and petty burglary all that big a deal? What perils are out there that require such a level of vigilance?

They might not say what it is they fear. But everybody knows.

It’s really a dumb question. Everybody on the planet knows the answer to that. Even our own triumvirate of dubious protectors — Homeland Security Secretary Janet Napolitano, Attorney General Eric Holder, and Uncle Sugar Barry Milhouse John Wayne Gutsy Call Obama, along with their whole cabinet and czar-bar full of crooks and commies — know the answer.

Everybody in the world knows why the London Games are forced to bristle with forces of protection, visible and invisible.

They won’t say why. But they know.

Napolitano generates her directives and training films depicting Christians, rednecks, conservatives, and Iraq war veterans as primary domestic threats. Holder can’t even bring himself to say the words “radical” and “Islam” next to each other. Barry has actively facilitated the takeover of half the Middle East by the Muslim Brotherhood, and randomly experiences RBS – reflexive bowing syndrome – when in the presence of murderous despotic dictators. The three of them practice a studied disinterest in the safety and security of Americans.

They don’t care. But they still know.

This impressive police force may be forced to bow to the dictates of political correctness. They may have to impose random-seeming “enhanced inspections” to children, grandmothers, all sorts of white and black folks, while Middle Eastern young men are allowed to sail right on through with nary a sidewise glance.

They won’t look. But they still know.

All sorts of officials, high and low, will speak proudly of tight security, special enhanced measures, dizzying technological gadgets that boggle the mind, to make sure everybody – every single body – navigates the venue and the city happily free of weapons, chemicals, sharp objects, projectiles, or even 17-ounce drinks.

They’ll be extra careful not to mention the 1972 Munich Games, or to say or do anything that might cause militant you-know-who’s to take offense. They know that no amount of security is perfect, particularly against an enemy smart, decidated, well-funded, and supremely ruthless. They hope like hell that their imperfect security will not let the wolves slip through the net with a trick nobody has anticipated yet. They fear desperately that their measures are not enough.

They won’t say it. But they know.

And I just wanted to let you know, that I know.

E Pluribus Unum
The weapons had evolved, but our orders remained the same: Hunt them down and kill them off, one by one. A most successful campaign. Perhaps too successful. For those like me, a Death Dealer, this signaled the end of an era. Like the weapons of the previous century, we, too, would become obsolete.

Pity, because I lived for it.