Secretary of Defense Gates … warned of the consequences if the Bush Administration staged a preëmptive strike on Iran, saying … “We’ll create generations of jihadists, and our grandchildren will be battling our enemies here in America.”
Nonsense. A preemptive strike on Iran would liberate the Iranian people from decades of religious tyranny, and would usher in a golden age of art, literacy, and overwhelming demand for hardcore pornography.
We’re talking about a culture full of men who haven’t seen a female ankle in 6000 years. Forget dropping crates full of pro-democracy leaflets over the countryside. Someone airlift in a few thousand copies of Shaved Beaver and Barely Legal, and the war is won.
You want 72 virgins? Don’t blow yourself up. We’ve got ‘em right here on Earth. In fact, we have the whole trilogy: “72 Virgins”, and “72 More Virgins”, and “Another 72 Virgins, And One Dirty Whore.” (That one’s my favorite.) Turn in your AK-47, and you can have all three.
Believe in Jesus, and we’ll even throw in a year subscription to Ass Happy.
“Too many people believe you have to be either for or against the Iranians,” [said former head of U.S. Central Command, Admiral William Fallon]. “Let’s get serious. Eighty million people live there, and everyone’s an individual. The idea that they’re only one way or another is nonsense.”
Is the man who was in charge of operations in Iraq and Afghanistan seriously suggesting that our enemies be looked at as individuals? What’s next, thinking of them as humans? Maybe we should knit them sweaters, or invite them over to watch the Super Bowl. My daughter needs a date to the prom … I wonder if any Iranians are available.
Let me ask you something, Admiral. When you put down your copy of the New York Times, or The Nation, or whatever liberal propaganda you read with your morning commie — oops, I mean coffee — and you look out the window at your back yard … do you see a “lawn” or “80 million individual blades of grass?”
The way I see it, there are only two ways to mow a lawn. Either you carefully evaluate each blade of grass, only cutting those which are growing more quickly and out of control … or you drop a 500 lb. bomb and reduce the grass to a smoking crater of soil and clay.
You can ask my neighbor which one I prefer. If you can find him under the rubble.
The Democratic leadership’s agreement to commit hundreds of millions of dollars for more secret operations in Iran was remarkable, given the general concerns of officials like Gates, Fallon, and many others.
I don’t think it’s that remarkable. It actually makes perfect sense from a political standpoint.
Here’s a perfect analogy: It’s like when you go out drinking with your buddy and his girlfriend. Your friend gets a few drinks in him, he starts getting rowdy, pissing off the other customers, maybe getting in a few shoving matches, bragging too loudly about the size of his belt buckle, taking a dump in the men’s room sink, etc. You can see his girlfriend is getting a little tired of his antics. What do you do?
If you’re a good friend, you take him home, thrown him in a cold shower, and have him sleep it off.
But you’re not a good friend, are you? No, you’re not. Not really. You pretend to be one, sure. But just under the surface, you’re seething with resentment.
Why does he get to date Suzy? What makes him so special? You saw her first. Just because you didn’t have the balls to go up and say hi to her doesn’t mean she’s fair game to any asshole who comes along.
He should have known you’d eventually get up the nerve to ask her to the prom. You just needed a little time to plan it out, that’s all. You were going to buy her flowers, and write her a song, and –
But noooo … he had to jump right in and ask her before you even know what happened. And next thing you know, they’re dating.
Not just dating. Fucking. In your car. While you’re driving them to Six Flags.
Would it have killed him to put a towel on the seat? Would that have been so hard? Sure, it wasn’t a new car, but the upholstery was noticeably free of semen. That’s one thing it had going for it. There were some scratches on the door, and a dent in the bumper, and sometimes the rearview mirror would fall off while going over a speedbump. What do you expect for $600?
But now, every time you vacuum the back seat, you can’t help but notice the pale, quarter-sized droplets encrusted in the plush velour upholstery. And it brings back memories. Horrible, horrible memories. The moans. The squeals. The smells.
Oh god … the smells.
And yet, you remained friends with him because you knew, someday, you’d find a way to win Suzy back.
You’d have to stay close. You’d have to let them fuck in your bed when they came to visit your dorm in college. You’d have to run out and buy condoms while Suzy kept him aroused with her considerable oral talents. You’d have to hold her hand in the waiting room of the abortion clinic, because he was too busy defending his crown during Dart Night at Don’s House Of Pork.
Now, after seven years of being a third wheel, of being “the gay friend”, of late night condom runs, you can see it in Suzy’s eyes. She’s had enough of his shit. It’s time for you to make your move.
“Bartender,” you say. “Another round of tequila shots for my friend George here.”
“I think he’s had enough,” the bartender says. “You’re his friend. You should cut him off.”
“Just one more,” you say. “Just to see what happens.”
“Okay,” says the bartender. “But if he invades Iran and ends up losing the election for McCain, don’t come crying to me.”
NOTE: In hindsight, this analogy is not quite as perfect as it seemed at the time.
[Said Admiral Fallon], “I decided that I couldn’t resolve the situation in Iraq without the neighborhood. To get this problem in Iraq solved, we had to somehow involve Iran and Syria. I had to work the neighborhood.”
Great plan. Let’s have a barbeque. We’ll invite Iran, and Syria, and hell, even North Korea can come if he brings beer and/or nukes. We’ll cook some steaks, play some badminton, figure out new and interesting ways to kill the Jews. It’ll be a blast (so to speak).
“It’s one thing to engage in selective strikes and assassinations in Waziristan and another in Iran,” [says one Pentagon consultant]. “The White House believes that one size fits all, but … the situation is not nearly as clear in the Iranian case. All the considerations-judicial, strategic, and political-are different in Iran.”
It sounds like this “Pentagon consultant” is having some trouble understanding the situation, so let me break it down in layman’s terms:
They’re bad. We’re good. They do bad things. We kill them for it.
That’s a universal truth that extends beyond borders, beyond these “judicial, strategic, and political” issues that everyone is so bent out of shape over. It doesn’t matter whether we’re in Waziristan, Iran, or Disneyland.
Did John Wayne stop and think about the local laws and ordinances before offing some Injuns? No. He just loaded up his unmanned Predator drone and started firing laser-guided Hellfire missiles into tee-pees.
And when you look around the Wild West today, what do you see? Sand. Plus casinos, and some whorehouses. What don’t you see? Indians.
I think we should bring the Wild West approach to the Middle East. Worry less about international law, and more about killing everyone. After all, dead men tell no tales. And, conveniently, they also convene no war crimes tribunals.
If, by some mistake, we don’t manage to kill everyone, then we take another page out of the Wild West playbook: give them booze, and smallpox.
