It’s a done deal, folks. We’re bombing Syria. I heard all I need to hear in about 30 seconds of John Kerry shitting from the mouth and reading exactly 1 paragraph of a POTUS speech. Sadly we’ve bombed so many people in my life that I don’t need to watch the end of this movie. We’re going to teach you to not bomb people (or bomb them with nerve gas, splitting hairs here) by bombing you. And we don’t care how many people who didn’t bomb anyone in their life have to die from our bombings before we get the guy who actually bombed someone, if in fact we ever get that person. You don’t like it? Well, go and take up your case with the United Nations. If they aren’t in the office (and they very likely aren’t), then look in the Michelin-starred restaurants or the whore house, they’ll certainly be there.
Dropping a mess of nerve gas on a large group of people is horrific. If you do that you are a monster of epic proportions and I hope you get the Edward Norton in the shower scene of American History X treatment every single day for the rest of your life. But what exactly happened and who precisely ordered it….we’ll never know. Never. We are not fed the truth. There are people whose sole purpose is to flood the media markets with misinformation. I don’t know if it is life imitating art or art imitating life, but I think we’ve reached the Tommy Lee Jones point in Men in Black where he says the only real news reported in the world is by National Enquirer. There are sick bastards at the Pentagon and at various defense contractors who are absolutely and furiously masturbating right now. They release into the tissue over the thought of people getting gassed in Syria. Did Assad order it? They don’t give one fuck. Someone gassed, many got gassed, the military industrial complex is about to kick some ass. That is all they care about. The wrong people or the right people getting bombed over it is inconsequential to them. What is consequential to them is that it costs the exact same amount of billions to bomb the wrong people as it does to bomb the right people. And what can we about it? Nothing. I guess I could go march somewhere or yell from some set of marble steps, but the end result is that I’m on the NSA’s surveillance hot list and we’re still bombing people without my consent. So I’m heading the route of moral cowardice and living my life, loving my family, and playing with my friends while trying my best to pretend it isn’t happening. Good answer? No, but I’m done with it. To be perfectly honest I’m so fucking done with it that I’m in support of releasing the hounds. And by releasing the hounds I mean call the state department in Israel and say, “Hey, we’re in full support of these jail inmates’ rights, we really are. And we definitely don’t want anything to happen to them, they are humans after all and what are we if not humane to jail inmates. But we wanted to let you know that the monitoring system we use to watch you as the jailers to ensure the inmates are treated fairly, is going to be down for maintenance today. All day. So just want you to be aware of that because we want the inmates treated well while we’re unable to watch. So be sure to monitor and police yourselves during that time ” Just turn our heads. Do I really want that to happen? No, not really. But I’m out of ideas.
The public relations death squads and the government ball-washing media is Manufacturing Consent on our supposed behalf as we speak. The rest is just back-filling in the details and buying everyone in Washington some time to rehearse their lines. To the assholes in Syria who gassed people, “I hope you burn in hell!”. To everyone else in Syria, “I’m sorry. I don’t authorize this Matanuska Thunderfuck headed your way. Might want to get underground with a bunch of food for a few months. Don’t hate all of us. A lot of Americans are pretty cool and would rather just have some pizza and beer with you. I know you don’t eat pizza or drink beer, but we’d be at least not totally upset if you just wanted to eat some pitas and rice and drink coffee instead. Again, this is a major sad face bummer about to happen. But buck up little campers, things will be good again someday. Probably not tomorrow or even next year, but maybe someday.”
I need a tech guy, I need a tech guy real bad. I want to have this blog fade out with the scene in Dr. Strangelove where Brigadier General Jack Ripper rides the bomb out of the hatch like a rodeo cowboy. I didn’t play with computers; I drank beer. Sorry for partying.