Long ago I carried a case of wine from South Africa to America. No one checked it, no one stopped me. All the way from Capetown to Atlanta to LA, I carried that case on a bag strapped to porto wheels. It was good wine, too – glad I did it, though by the time I got home I needed a drink from huffing that darn case all the way across the world.
I’ll never do that again. Nope – looks like the next time I fly, it’ll be dry goods and candy bars. Those darn terrorists, they’ve made our lives so complicated. Mothers drinkin’ formula in front of security guards, people tossing out toothpaste, deodorant and water bottles because a wild-eyed and wooly-bearded terror prince has a jones for virgins in heaven. Give me a break. Better yet, give it a break.
Hey – stupid — here’s the thing: you can keep trying all you want. And maybe you’ll even get lucky, God forbid. But we have all the money, and we want the oil that sits under the ground of your filthy little desert homes. So no matter what you do, we ain’t leaving, we won’t stop flying, and we sure ain’t gonna say “oh golly, we better do what they want.” Fact is, there are no virgins in heaven, just a bunch of skinny Flos pouring coffee, slinging hash and singing country songs.
And then – even though you’ll fail miserably at your goal — our government will put you in camps. Sure, everyone will cry and cry. But our government likes putting people into camps. We find it distasteful and evil, but it’s what they do when they get really, really pissed off. Then they’ll subsidize the airline industry so that people still get paychecks. If I can make my next meeting in Des Moines, why, really, we won’t mind. At first we’ll grouse a bit, but then we’ll see the funny side and just carry on. That’s us. Sooner or later we see the bright side. But oh, yes – our government. They don’t find humor in many things. They like to lie in the tall grass and wait for the right time to act like global bullies.
So – what next? Ah. Then George, or Jim, Condi or even Hillary will basically erase Afghanistan. Pakistan. If it has a Stan, one day it will be there, and the next – poof. Not that it will be hard; those places are pretty much just another empty desert as far as we’re concerned. For a minute or two, we’ll feel bad about it, so they’ll send Laura and the girls out on a mission of hope. And we’ll move on to the next reality show. Saudi Arabia would be next. Yep — your Mother Land. And our government rep will sit down with your fancy pants prince and ask for some support very nicely, but with a predatory “I just smelled blood and it’s comin’ from you” glint in the eyeballs. Princey will sure help – he most surely will.
All this is like Barney Hour compared to what will happen next. In fact, you already have a taste – we’ll get the Brits hopped up and mad. Not sure if you studied world history, but the English are among the worst people when they’re irritated – just ask the Irish, or the Scots, or the Aussies, or the Canadians, or us, or the Indians, or, well, just about anyone. So we’ll give them a billion pounds and they’ll turn your little region of the world into a colony.
The ending is not good for you and your brothers. You’ll either wind up in a camp somewhere outside of Billings, dead on some London street with your nose cut off, or you’ll be living in cave city. We like it when we drive you into the ground, because we still get our enemy – keeps us from thinking about serious things — and you really can’t do anything to hurt us when you sleep in a spider hole and chase goats for food.