It's more entertaining than American Idol; well, Hell; how would I know? I haven't seen American Idol. It’s definitely truer than any Survivor program; I haven’t seen any of those either but… And it’s easily as real as Jason Meets Michael Myers on the big screen. Yes, it’s Al Zarqawi and Bin Laden. Yes, the loveable (you can’t keep me down) Al Zarqawi… and the unstoppable, Energizer-zombie Bin laden. Big Al Zarqawi…
…has been reported to have said (to Bin Laden on the speaker phone) at an Islamic Website; "I believe that the plan has already reached you or is on its way, and we are waiting for your instructions," the speaker says. He’ll be on Oprah to confirm that this afternoon when he appears to talk about his new bestseller, The Insurgent’s Diet.
Here’s how CNN intro-ed the thing; “CNN has not confirmed the voice on the recording is al-Zarqawi's. The statement was posted on an Islamist Web site that has carried previous messages from al-Zarqawi and his group, al Qaeda in Iraq.”
That is more real than the original message on the Memorex tape. You can’t get more real than that. Even more amazing is how Bin Laden, who’s been dead for years, manages to get all these messages and orchestrate his world wide terror plans from the grave. Like Baron Samedi he’s likely to pop up anywhere. All you need are some naked, sweaty dancers, some drums and a little psychedelic punch.
Of course Mossad’s been helping out a little here and there since they’ve got the Al Qaeda franchise license and have been setting up little fast terror outlets all through the Middle East.
What’s the connection? Why are we hearing from these guys? When’s the last time we heard from Bin Laden? Why that was just a few days before the most recent Great American Election Hi-jacking. Anyway June’s coming up and June is official ‘Bomb Iran unless we Do Syria First Month’.
Busharon; our own Two Headed Axis of Evil are both getting into shape with the Eat the Little Guy Diet and this coming Steel Cage Match is going to prove highly entertaining. In one corner we have ‘The Dead Guy’ and ‘The Guy who doesn’t Exist’ and in the other corner we have ‘The Fat Guy’ and ‘The Stupid Guy’. It’s going to be a hoot.
Meanwhile, all that great mopping up in Iraq is just not going at all the way that the goose-steppers had in mind. Bodies are blowing right and left. It’s like one of those deranged Tom and Jerry cartoons. It’s like Brain Dead; The Directors Cut. So you know that all this ‘on the ground’ shit is just about over. It’s time for Death from the Skies. There’s no word on which studio has this in development. But since all of the studios and all of the theaters and all of the press agents and writers are under contract to the same corporation; who the fuck cares, right?
Meanwhile, the little guy on the ground; the fat little guy on the ground in the U.S. is trying to tie a yellow ribbon around his dick but it’s not easy cause he has to do it while looking in the mirror (looking down is not an option) and he can’t get the sequence right. It’s like backing up with a trailer hooked up to your car if you haven’t done it before. Anyway, this little guy is scarfing ‘burgers and dogs’ and draining cans of Bud and getting misty while John Phillip Sousa plays in his head and gigantic storm troopers are making creamed beef on toast out of the towel heads. You can hardly get more fatuous and crocodile teary-eyed than on Memorial Day, unless it’s The Fourth or Veteran’s Day.
The thing with being stupid is that it doesn’t go away by itself. It’s like ringworm. You do have to do something about it or eventually you will end up looking like Dick Cheney’s heart. It might take ten years but it’s bankable. So, even if you’ve got all the guns and planes at a given time, it’s not going to stay that way. No one is still in power that used to be in power that was stupid. And you got to sleep some time too. So you can have your house loaded with guns and you can be sitting on your sofa with the shotgun across what there is of your lap but it won’t do you much good when you fall asleep. You have to sleep some time.
So you can waltz that enormous stomach of yours across the room. You can push and shove. You can torture and lie and imprison. You can do whatever you have to do to make up for the howling impotence of your naked state but… your day is going to come and there will be weeping and lamentation. Oh yeah. And you are going to deserve it big time. It’s going to creep through the malls and slide through the ice plants on the thruway. It’s going to come up through the water pipes in your house and it’s going to be parked in the school parking lot. It’s coming through the TV, over the radio, into your ear like a bug from the mp3 player.
Cold icicles of fear are going to form like stalactites in your visceral area. Your bowels are going to turn to water after these things melt. It’s already sort of like that isn’t it? And you don’t feel too good do you?
Your leaders are lying, murdering thugs. Your leaders are cowards hiding behind those too stupid to question their orders. Your country is an obese carnival of excess and indifference and just like it has happened so many times in the past you are going down.
Oh sure, it doesn’t have to be this way. There’s time to change. A lot could be set right but… hyenas and dingoes don’t make good baby sitters. Leopards don’t change their spots. Hard lessons are hard because some people just wouldn’t fucking listen otherwise. You know all about the Titanic. What you don’t know is that you are sailing on it right now.
So, you keep right on celebrating America. You keep right on sipping those lattes and getting your nails done. Your body may stink but you’ve got the sprays to keep the aroma down. Keep snarling at the rest of the world. Send Bolton to the UN. Nod your head every time Brit Hume farts. Keep thinking about whether Condi Rice is a ‘smokin babe’. Screw everybody else. Keep pouring petroleum by-products down your throat. We’ve all heard the phrase, “eat shit and die.” It is an amazing irony to see you laughing while you do it. All those cold martini’s and red faces; all that hearty bonhomie, all those rounds of golf, all those contributions to the RNC, all those evil jokes, all the porcine laughter at everybody else’s expense; that note is going to come due.
It’s not just because you are banal and careless and selfish and cruel. It’s not just because you have voided your humanity. It’s not just because it’s wrong; what do you care about that? Evil has always been a growth industry. No, it’s not about all that. It’s about nature. Certain laws you can’t break. Your existence relies on them. It’s why you shouldn’t shit were you eat. And it’s not just about poisoning your own water and eating garbage and inhaling the fumes of your own exhaust. It’s about the certain higher laws that you break at your own peril. You can’t play Russian Roulette indefinitely. You can’t shoot yourself in the head and expect to walk away. It’s not what someone else is going to do to you; although that is a part of it. It’s what you are doing to yourself. You did it to yourself. Maybe now is time for that toast.
Raise your glasses America. Feel the rush of the alcohol soaring on the music that soars on the pride. It’s been said and I’m going to say it again; “Those who miss after almost winning, should have known the end from the beginning.”
'Party, Party' is track no. 4 of 12 on Visible and The Critical List's 1987 album
'Not Politically Correct'