Every few months, a shot rings out br in the desert of the public mind; br another cliché (reading its local newssheet, br chewed cigar in mouth, string tie, br six-gun handy, sheriff’s badge br worn shamelessly..) .. thup.. br bites the studio dust… br br Last year ‘bout this time, br we buried WMD.. or br ‘wepmastruc’ in Bushspeak… br seems it had lived quite long enough, br demented in the Sunset Home… br br This week, we’re invited to the wake br after the private burial of br War On Terror; RIP (for some) : br br Seems it’s made life too heroic br for this captive audience: br a pre-Christian world, br neatly divided into forces of evil, br forces of good: you’n-me’n-Johnny Wayne’n- br the Mayor of Carmel ’gainst br the bad guys.. but… br some guy up in the projection room br lost the last reel… now we’ll never know br about that happy ending (fade in music) .. br br seems the old guy saw life just too black and white br (I’m talking metaphorically, OK?) br and life just ain’t that simple any more… pardner.. br the old West is dead…so ride off into the sunset, br ole ‘War on Terror’…as the credits roll - br the bad guy now lives down the street from you; br a quiet family, always greet you as they pass..