16 april 06 - General Discontent Tells Bumsfield to Take a Hike

(editor's note - this is an amazing, true excerpt from A Century Is Nothing)

“Where does The Wasteland end?” said Elliot.

“The end is the beginning,” sighed a mystic.

“The inside is the outside veiled in mystery,” laughed a child playing with DNA building blocks.

“We need to make sure, absolutely sure we connect the dots between 9/11 and Iraq,” said a military analyst. “If we are successful the politicians will get out of the way and give us a ton of money - maybe even a glorious $250 billion or more to rebuild what we’ve destroyed. It’s our way or hit the heavily mined highway of death. You’re either with us or against us is our message to the world.”

“Yes,” barked a general, “these malicious vermin are the obstacles that stand between the Iraqi people and security. They are terrorists - no, they are rebels - no, they are freedom fighters, no, they are guerillas, no, they are...insurgents...”

“Whatever. The road through Babylon is endless. This campaign will be well received. We will liberate the oppressed,” said an old white haired man named Regime wearing a pacemaker. He loved a girl from Wyoming with a big spread.

Esteemed well qualified and duly elected members of a House on Main Street and their colleagues from a Congress seeking another term and automatic pay raises looked at him with contempt, disdain, incredulity, suspicion, amazement and pure terror.

“We ain’t in no fucking jungle on this Jack,” sneered a nautical seal looking for approval from his ringmaster. “This war is on track jack.”

“Collateral damage is a sorry fact of life,” said a man with a whip. He cut through red tape and everyone got out of his way.

“Bring them on I say,” yelled Bumsfeld. “Our God is bigger than their God for God’s sake. This is a crusade. Look, it’s easy, here’s what we do. We know the United Nations is useless, so, we’ll create false claims of nuclear and biological threats which plays into the 9/11 fear.”

Curveball came in for short relief. “I know where it is.”

“Where what is?” asked Bumsfeld.

“All the Iraqi mobile labs full of toxins and nerve agents.”

“For an alcoholic spy and fabricator you have a lot of nerve,” screamed the Tenant. He used to be Lew but now he was just a plain Jane Tenant from a housing project. He was on a speaking tour making big bucks when it happened.

“Look,” said Curveball. “I gave the Germans the high hard intel stuff. But they don’t understand the American pastime. They said I was past my prime. They co-opted me with women and booze. A hell of a lethal combination, let me tell you. They grilled me over a hot flame. I was beside myself. I became a double agent.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Bumsfeld, “and your mother wears combat boots. Anyway, then, we distort flimsy evidence from a worthless intel source saying the dictator is an immediate and direct threat to our national security. He’ll attack us in 45 minutes.”

“But,” said the President, “that won’t give me time to finish reading the story about goats to the elementary kids.”

“No butts sir,” said his spokesperson. “You’ll just have to skip a few pages.”

“Isn’t this strategy too vague and deceptive?” asked a garbage collector.

“Vague and deceptive stuff happens all the time,” said the man cracking his cool whip.

“What planet are you from, amigo and where's your green card? We have the national media eating out of our filthy hands with all this flag waving patriotic bullshit. So, we con the world with these fictitious stories about the dictator as a threat to us with his weapons of mass distraction and start a war to remove him from power.”

"Can we have yellow cake from Niger and eat it too?" wondered a baker.

"Why not," slobbered Bumsfield. "Just don't get any on 'ya."

(to be continued)