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I am writing this article while watching Jurassic Park on TV. Although I have already seen the movie, I figure I can put the audio on mute, keep my fingers moving, and kill two birds with one stone. It is the least I can do, considering American soldiers are dying, not just in Iraq, the cradle of civilization, but also in Afghanistan, the casket. Multi-tasking, I believe it is called. Americans are damn good at it.
Right on: Afghanistan is an Islamic Republic. No problem. President Karzai possesses, as they say in high school, a persona like the "Mother of All Substitute Teachers." What I mean is that he might show up in your classroom, and nobody cares. He will get chalk on his nose, make marks on the board, even knit his brow. But there will be no jihad if kids cut up.
Cutting up kids is an unfortunate use of words. It sounds like what we are doing to our young men and women over there. In the arms department, companies like Lockheed Martin, Boeing, and Northrup Grumman correlate spikes in US deaths in Afghanistan to spikes in net profit, as well as stock market sales. That is why we dress soldiers in green. The color of money. Camo just camouflages it. American soldiers are the currency of choice. Like good patriots everywhere, our GIs are dying for billionaires. Back in Vietnam, it used to be for millionaires. But we have upped the ante. American deaths prime the pumps of profit. Oil wells everywhere suck to a cluster-pump overture, like a player-piano tuned to some seductive pap. Even Bill O'Reilly can sing to it. The piano tuner, too, is some flab face with Wall Street connections.
Day traders rule. There are no night traders, because most of our kids die in the day time. At night, mega computers digest their remains.
Damn. My head just turned to Jurassic Park. The dinosaur is spitting phlegm into that chubby guy's face. It is an exciting movie. I will get back to our youth in a second. What?--I just saw a commercial called "Bush's Best." I will Wiki it: Baked Beans?--You have got to be kidding.
The leggy blond seems to be holding her own. Of course, T-Rex has not made his move yet.
I digress. American servicemen and women are dying. I was in the Army when I was 23. Somehow, the Army did not make me feel like a man. A mindless kid? Maybe. But at least I got to hold an M16. When I did not stab the dummy fiercely enough with my bayonet, my drill sergeant got perturbed. Then the captain got pissed. They called me aside. Them killer guys can be A-holes. Then I used a big word, and they actually fell silent for a second while I hightailed it back to the dummy-stabbing range. I blended in with other recruits and wreaked havoc upon Goodyear retreads. Purpose of the bayonet being, of course, to kill.
Getting back to the Afghan monument, my rough translation, of the dedication speech, from the Kubla-Con reads as follows: "We, pipple of...Afghanistan, translated 'Off-Hands-Uncle-Sam' makes very happy to erect monument for Dead US Kids; in fact, we value Dead United States Kids (DUSK) so very much that we hope Obama sends more, since old Afghani saying 'More is Better.' Never has so much billions traveled camel dung trail to honorable Warlord Henga and such forth. Hooka pipe very smily Uncle Sam face. Great patootie in store for heart-held hooka haha. Please send money. May build more monuments out of piles of money. Put Afghan flag in middle. Take picture when tourists come. Hello meester? We luf you. Kipling no tell truth."
Maybe it is better Obama takes his time. Time is money. More dead kids means a bigger pile of money. Maybe the Afghans will build the biggest pile ever. That would be an honor. Obama is Commander-in-Chief. I could see him in Army fatigues--grunt, drill sergeant, platoon leader, captain; he could pull it off; Obama could pull off anything.
Oh, crap, V-Raptor just jumped on T-Rex's back. Rex just chomped him. The crew is running for the helicopter. Kids are safe. The professor is looking back wistfully. They're showing a dead mosquito in a prehistoric chunk of resin. Kind of profound. Whirlybird is off. Who knows, maybe we will retrofit Afghan villages into a Jurassic Afghan theme park some day.
Tomorrow is a new morning. I have to nail shingles. Improve my home. Somewhere out there, I know, American kids are dying. Sand sucking their blood like a sponge. Quite the appetite the surly sand has developed. It is like the musical, Little Shop of Horrors, and we are dumping kids, to feed the man-eating plant, or whatever is under the sand.
Myself, I traveled to Afghanistan when I left the Army. The people were friendly, but for a westerner, there is a definite alien vibe to a land that treats man as chalk scribbling, or litter, upon its surface. Let me just say, it would be a fine place to open a funeral home. It has a good history. Great credit rating for corpses. I am sure our corporate health providers have calculated a rate of return. Amortized is the word; mortified is...Oh, crap, Obama is making a speech on TV. Frankly, he looks like a Sphinx; all that sand; losing a little weight.
Afghanistan: far away, I do not care, you die in Afghanistan, you never come home.
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