With A Hey Nonny Nonny And A Hot-Cha-Cha
I woke up this morning and it was September 13, 2001 again, at least in terms of my general mood. During my morning walk with Hercules, I found two starving poets in the woods. The government had been chasing them for days. Please, they asked, could they stay in the barn, just for one night? No way, Hanoi Jane, I said. I hope you freeze to death.
Meanwhile, my erections have become smaller and less frequent. People look at me funny at the gym when I shout "Curse you, Aaron Brown!" As I sit here in my office, completely sealed off from the world by plastic sheeting and duct tape, I feel enemies lurking all around me. This is a war, a war, I tell you, a war between the forces of Christian good and those of reactionary Muslim child-molestation. Our enemies are coming to get us. They're coming to get us soon. They're right outside my window. I can hear them breathing.
I told you!
No lumps in the mousseline!
Sorry, sorry. Where was I? Oh, yes. The war. I believe it was Erasmus who, in his essay "In Praise Of War," once described war as "a big fucking mess." Of course, one man's big fucking mess is another brutal dictator's garden party. Twelve years ago, our tanks could have rolled into Baghdad unimpeded and our soldiers could have gotten a lot of poon from the liberated Iraqi babes. But we held off. We gave the bloodthirsty moral vampire that is Saddam Hussein one more chance, even as we denied his people basic food and medicine. After the children of Iraq died of starvation because of our sanctions, Saddam killed them again, this time brutally. That's the kind of person Saddam is, the kind of person Dante described as "a bad person."
From the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli, we will fight our country's battles. What choice do we have? We are, after all, the last free and moral nation on earth, bound by Christian duty and eternal fealty to the Star Creator. Morality, as defined by Cressidus the Elder, is an inability to act or not act in the face of inaction, or possibly action, unless that action is followed by an equal and opposite reaction. We cannot let ourselves be the reactors. We must not be remembered as the non-unionized kitchen help of history.
The mistakes of twelve years ago can be corrected by one swoop of the pen today. It's time for George W. Bush to dissolve the United Nations, a job which he was put on Earth to do. And once the U.N. building, that dessicated structure that takes up so much valuable real estate in Manhattan, is no longer occupied by the false diplomats of fake countries, then we can truly call vengeance ours. We will prevaricate no longer. It is my solemn opinion that the war starts today, and anyone who protests it this weekend is a war criminal, therefore a traitor, and subject to the death penalty.
Did you hear that noise?
I swear I heard a noise.
Roger! They're here!
Hide the silver!