This line is part of a now-classic sequence from Quentin Taratino's movie: Pulp Fiction. The context:
"Who's bike is that?"
"It's not a bike, it's a chopper"
"Who's chopper is that?"
"That's Z's chopper."
"Z's dead, baby, Z's dead"
After reading the muted local response to Zarqawi's JDAM supper (Z's dead, baby, geddit?), the overseas stuff looks, as always, to be better informed and more measured in it's assessment. There is no doubt that a massive roll-up of parts of his network has occurred, due to intel confirmed during the operation, and that a chilling effect on recruitment and general enthusiasm for the jihad, will have temporarily descended. But that's a bit like the winter snowstorm currently blanketing points south of here: a week's disruption, then business as usual.
It's not as though li'l ol' NZ has a benign strategic environment any more: Timor Este and the Solomons should have put paid to that sweet foolish hope. And the unceremonious deportation of our very own Fly-boy Of A Certain Religious Persuasion may well indicate that our woeful Gummint has seen something of the light. Or had a gruelling focus group encounter on the topic of National Security.
Well, whatever. It was the right thing to do. The Fly-boy, I mean. And, of course, "Z". Didn't even need, as in Pulp Fiction, to get mediaeval on his ass. Z's ass was mediaeval to start with.