Sean, we should pray for the insurgents. We should pray for them to accidentally take a shit on an anti-personnel mine. We should pray for them to get caught buggering each other and then executed under Islamic law. We should pray that their beards catch on fire and we should pray that the fire quickly spreads to their turbans (where they keep their ammo). We should pray for them!
Also, we should feel bad for them. Oh, so bad. I mean, how would you like it if the Marines were trying to kill you! I don't know if you know this about the Marines, but they are really, really, good at killing people. And when the insurgents die they think they're going to heaven. Imagine the shock when they reach the Pearly Gates.
They stroll up to St. Peter singing to themselves (to the tune of "I've Been Working on the Railroad").
"I'll be scoring with my virgins, all the live long daaaaaaaaaay! I'm so glad I crammed a bomb up my ass, and blew myself awaaaaaaay!"
"Allah Akbar! I blew myself up . . . where are all the virgins at? You know, a lot of virgins are ugly, how are mine? Pretty hot eh?" Nudge, nudge.
"Actually, Achmed, you're not supposed to kill innocent people and you have been condemned to spend eternity with Jeanine Garafalo."
"Yes, and you must chose now. Will you spend that time listening to her comedy or engaging in carnal relations with her?"
Pray and weep Sean, pray and weep.