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Let’s Party! Tea, anyone?

The TEA Party: Enough is Enough

I appreciate a good movement as much as the next guy. I love a grassroots swell and a freshly formed band wagon with enough room for even the most armchair of supports and fair weather of fans to hop aboard before the central transfer to the next “big thing.” Give me a bunch of halfcocked concepts and a catchy jingle and I’ll kick back and watch that rickety bucket run itself all the way in to oblivion, joining it’s trendy forefathers in the meme stream graveyard. Couple this with my overt and unabashed distaste for political circus performing and the attention grabbing, politically incorrect if not unapologetic sound bite machines in the Republican parties screaming “fire” in a meat locker, and you’ve got the makings for one of the greatest shows on Earth outside of a back alley snuff film peep show at 50 cents a minute. Unfortunately, the TEA Party, an epitome that gets me literally (No, I did not mean literally) harder than Georgia Pine, is still rolling on down the road despite itself, and again finds itself parked out on street corners and in front of government buildings screaming for…something, anything, if not everything and still nothing.

The Tea Party started in late 2009, but really burst on to the scene in 2010 with Tax Day protests outside anything resembling a government building, including one unfortunate misunderstanding that led 150 people to protest the unfair taxation in this country in front of a Denny’s in Topeka, KS. After some real movement in the pubic eye, and the appearance of the pseudo-homely, folksy tundra wisdom of one near vice president turned reality star, Sarah Palin, the party began to gain political ground. Whatever ground they have been able to grab in the political arenas has been helped as much as it’s been hampered by the very party itself and it’s elected officials and unfortunate choice in public mouthpieces.

It’s all in the campaigning they do as a “party.” If you go to the Tea Party Patriots website, one faction of the now fractured party, you find some of their ideals and what they stand for. Their slogan, or mantra, or whatever you might call it, is as follows:

“A community committed to standing together, shoulder to shoulder, to protect our country and the Constitution upon which we were founded!”

The exclamation point is theirs, not mine. So they are united, they are committed to the Constitution, and they are excited. Ok, maybe they aren’t Tebow excited, but they are pumped enough to outline their mission statement with an implied pounding of fists on desks invented for the purpose of this punchline.

What I have also gathered from my direct contact with these people, is that they are basically Bill O’Reilly, Rush Limbaugh fanboys and girls that would give Glenn Beck a blowjob behind the aforementioned Denny’s if given half a chance. They are fairly fundamentalist, Christian, founding father/log cabin Republican racists, homophobes, and fairly hateful of liberals. Compromise is not an option. If politics was war, these people would happily exercise their God-given right to refuse quarter to liberal soldiers in a second. They think the US is their home, and liberals can fuck off and die. So…I guess they are open to compromise and fresh ideas then? Shoulder to shoulder, I gather, is with like-minded, old white people who are afraid of everything that doesn’t attend their local Evangelical church potluck with casserole in hand every third Sunday after sermon.

Now, before you go thinking that this is just some unsubstantiated claim form some liberal in every derogatory sense of the word, I implore you to shut up and read. This is a library, and you need not be muttering to yourself like an idiot in the stacks. If you’re reading this in a Starbucks, though, then go ahead and laugh you pretentious Berkley trust fund baby because you’re not my demographic either. Grab your summer scarf and your Birkenstocks and walk around the Hashbury with an unearned sense of belonging.

This is some Kung Fu grip G.I. Joe action figure stuff. Facts are included. Fifty-nine percent of all Tea Partiers are male. Only twenty-three percent are under 45, while nearly thirty percent are over 65. Eighty-nine percent are white. Ninety-five percent are either Republican or Independent, while seventy-three percent describe themselves as conservative. Eighty-three percent are either Protestant or Catholic, but oddly (and not surprisingly enough) only thirty-eight percent attend weekly church services. Oh, and fifty-eight percent of them are armed. It’s a passing point, but I felt that with all that other white Christian BS, I needed to complete the cliché trifecta with a reference to being well armed…for protection. Riiiiiiggghhht, “protection.”

I often get a laugh from how non-Tea Party Republicans talk about this fractured faction of exceptionally right leaning Suzie and Stan Homemakers. It’s like they are talking about an alcoholic brother or a cousin that hasn’t been right after getting kicked by that mule two summers back. They’ve got some great ideas. They have a lot of passion, something we need more of in the Republican party today. They are fired up. They are just decent, hard-working Americans that think this country is on the wrong path. (side note: Why is it that I always feel like I’m being inherently insulted when this is said? These Republicans are decent and hard-working? What about me? Do I maybe think we need to be on a different path as a country? Well, I guess I don’t get any love because I’m liberal and am not inclined to put a Hitler mustache on a picture of Obama and fill in the white spaced with poorly spelled, vague statements about taxes and cap and trade. OK, got that out. Let’s continue.)

I always like to think of the Tea Party as a person. Whenever I can, I like to personify nouns and ideas. I’m able to better get a handle on a problem if it’s got a face. When I think of the Tea Party, I see a sweet old Grandmother. You know, the kind of woman who is beloved on the neighborhood block. She is at every social gathering, and is never in short supply of fresh lemonade and cookies. The kind of woman who every kid in the neighborhood calls Grandma. Her husband passed long ago, her kids all moved away. She has a cute, meandering story for every occasion from when she was a child. Nothing gets her down, and a smile is always just hook and loop away as she knits on her porch in the summer evenings. Then you talk to her after a couple of Manhattans and she lets slip the N-word with a venomous spit and a scowl when you bring up the Johnsons one street over and you realize she’s a racist old bat who reminds you suddenly more of the wench from Hansel and Gretel even though the unassuming smile is back and she’s knitting away as if nothing was amiss.

That's Sarah with an "h," ya hear?

You can package it any way you want, but hate is hate. It can be screaming on a city street holding a sign splashed with heinous references to the most evil men that our President apparently is just one missing razor away from resembling, or it can be hidden under a hand-made afghan in a rocking chair in a small, midwest town and it’s all the same. The Tea Party may have itself a Michelle Bachmann, a Sarah Palin, and some national recognition as a perfect opportunity in April to rail against the “obamination” this country has become, but it will never be anything but b-roll during televised debates on MSNBC and FOX. Same video, different adjectives.

I do have to give credit where credit is due, though. They are still around. They have people, followers, an out dated website (a political party “must have” in 2012), and a PR team that can spin anything in to a crisis and an all-out attack on the nation’s values and Constitution. I just don’t think that people of this angry and closed-minded position will ever understand that this is a diverse nation.

I know that from the inside of a local Tea Party community organization meeting it may look like a very united if not pasty, homogenized country, but unfortunately this is a place so damned diverse you need a genealogist with a Geiger counter to figure out what most of us are made of. I’ve met these people, tried to make sense of their signs, and I’ve looked in to their faces, and there is little there that I can understand.

I get it, some of the angst and frustration, I feel it for them and Republicans after all–Oh hell, for shitty Democrats, too–but the further division of this country and the resistance to possibility and development of new ideas since the good old days of the late 1700’s is a little obtuse and fearful for my liking. Thanks, but I’ll let necessity be my mother, and with change comes the necessity to adapt or die. That’s not me talking, that’s science. Then again, nearly ninety percent of you are religious…so that’s probably falling on ears deaf to anything that’s not from scripture. So, protest on my nostalgic homophobes and middle class anarchists. The Republican party might be a bit embarrassed of you in public since that mule kicked you and you aren’t acting right in front of people, but in private they love you, because your crazy Christian fear-votes count just as much as anyone’s that hasn’t lost a couple of marbles.

Obi-Wan Bin Laden: More Powerful in Death than in Life?

or: FUCK YES, FUCK YES, FUCK YES. Finally.

In the glowing aftermath of the announcement of the death of Osama Bin Laden, at the hands of US forces, there is a haze I cannot escape. Everything should be sunshine and lollipops. With this symbolic blow to terrorism with the removal of it’s figurehead from this mortal coil, there are reports of celebration in the streets. Facebook and Twitter are booming with status updates and 140 character tweets of the happiness, excitement, even tears that come after nearly ten years of fighting and wondering where in the world is Osama Bin Laden. We have spent Billions of dollars that was originally based on a manhunt for the men responsible for that date (I refuse to directly reference it since it has been prostituted as a political ploy and weapon in elections). Vindication might suffice as a word to express my personal feelings on the matter; retribution might be appropriate, too. The President used “justice” in his speech tonight, but I don’t know if he addressed the real issue at hand, nor should he have. We will leave the cynicism and the twisting of this moment in time to the pundits and the news outlets (and me). The one thing we all need to think about is whether he is now more powerful a martyr than he was a man?

Finally

I don’t want to shit in your cornflakes or rain on your parade (we might be justified in having one for the guy that pulled the trigger), but it seems we must be cautiously hesitant to think that this will just dissolve a hardened, extremist group like Al-Qaeda. The death of Bin Laden is only going to galvanize an already grizzled bunch. He has been martyred by the Great Satan. Darth Vader was warned by Obi-Wan that if he was struck down then he would become more powerful than you could possibly imagine. Now Osama has finally given his life for the cause at hand like an empty robe falling to the ground. His followers and comrades will stop at nothing to justify his death, honor his memory, and meet now not only a harem of virgins, but Osama himself, on the other side.

In my lifetime there has been nothing more blood-curdling or earth-shattering than walking in to my first class in September so many years ago and seeing the first tower burning, live. I was so confused, didn’t believe, I couldn’t understand. Once I understood I remember hearing Bush speak and wanting only blood for blood. That metallic, salty taste on my tongue made the hair bristle on the back of my neck. I wanted heads on pikes, men drawn and quarter, I wanted men sentenced to be “hung by the neck until dead.” I wanted Old West justice, and if anyone was fit to deliver it then ol’ G.W. was the Texas boy to do it. For a moment I was elated that we had an illiterate redneck at the helm. He was the man who could slake our collective thirst and put meaning to this awful event, tying on it a nice like bow made from the innards of men foolish enough to mess with Texas.

But is was slow going and it has gotten so complicated over the years that most of us forgot what we had initially been fighting for; that justice that Obama spoke of tonight. There is no explaining away our actions in the middle east as a whole, mostly I’m ashamed and angry as an adult now. I became so jaded and tired from the justifying and legitimizing and most of all the double-speak of “strategic victories” and “progress on the ground” that I just wanted to bring all the boys back and admit we had no idea how to get one guy, one symbol, that could alleviate some of the psychological burden that we collectively felt.

Today, some of that was lifted with this announcement. I was never afraid of terrorists. It was never a feeling I felt. I was never scared to fly, afraid of a bombing, and it never effected my daily life except as an inconvenience or something that got my ire up. Today was the most genuine nostalgia I have had for my child-self. I can finally explain to that teenage boy that we got that bastard. He can look up at me with the hope and bloodlust and he can finally rest knowing that the head of the snake, the one that bit and poisoned his youth so long ago, was cut off. I would send him off to bed and pour myself a drink. Hell, what am I saying, I’d pour a drink for the both of us before he went to bed. Then I could sit down in a chair and realize all that happened today was the next chapter, not the end of the book.

I don’t think any of us are kidding ourselves. I might have just been obtuse as a kid, but I can see all the cynicism in the tweets and the status updates today. This moment is tainted by the ten years that preceded it, and beyond. Like drinking from a putrid pool of water after nearly dying of thirst crossing the Sahara; worry about the gut rot later. Sage Francis wrote almost immediately after I heard the news on Twitter: “Donald Trump and Sarah Palin are already asking to see Osama Bin Laden’s death certificate! This is getting ridiculous now.” Among others are, “BREAKING: Apple takes credit for finding Bin Laden through iPhone secret tracking. ‘We told you it was a feature, damn it’ – Jobs,” “When you run out of the house to join the Osama is dead rally in DC, when does grabbing the beach ball cross your mind as a good thing?” Possibly my favorite I’ve found is, “Beloved character actor Osama bin Laden, star of TV’s ‘Fox News’, dies age 54.”

Right now, as I type, there are hundreds of men setting timers, spooling det cords, and sewing vests for the purpose of attacking America forces renewed by the thought of their now martyred leader. Instead of one man’s calculating and absentee leadership, each cell will invariably mobilize itself and act on it’s own accord with no central leadership. This is now Project: Mayhem and in death, he has a name, his name is Osama Bin Laden. Stop it. His name is Osama Bin Laden. This is crazy. His name is Osama Bin Laden…what is going to follow in the next few weeks will be escalation. We may have cut the head off the snake, but there isn’t only one snake, and they are all irradiated with like three heads; these groups are Cerberus, the hell-hound. The next 72 hours will be very tense. They will want immediate satisfaction. We have got the new terror alert system after doing away with the Starburst color wheel we had gotten used to using, and this new one consisting of only two levels is going to get a workout over the next six months.

What might be the good to come out of this? Well, the greatest good will be as symbolic as his death. We might get renewed anti-terrorist cooperation, new cooperation in areas we didn’t have it, and an overall feeling that our military ineptitude can be lifted for the time being. Pakistan is most definitely going to politically bend over and spread ‘em after looking like jerk-offs and terrorist sympathizers with Osama having been in Pakistan when we found him. There might be a statue or parade for the man that killed Osama, justifiably so. Maybe a bronze statue of the soldier mid-war cry, holding up the severed head of Osama in one hand and a machete in the other. Too gruesome? Well, my 16-year old self would disagree with you on that, and I’m betting the you from ten years ago would, too, if you were honest with yourself.

Obama is now untouchable in the next election. War time Presidents get re-elected, that’s just a fact, and now with the blood of Osama spilled on what I can only assume were Italian marble floors in a mansion in Pakistan (Lucy, you got some ‘slainin to dooooooo), he can basically phone in a campaign. Like Zim capturing the smart bug in Starship Troopers, it’s a great victory, but it is only the beginning of the rest of the war. This was, though, the culmination of a “vow” Obama made during a debate in 2008, to find and bring to justice Osama Bin Laden. He fucking did that. That. Just. Happened! If the GOP field was weak-kneed before, they are even weaker now. Who wants to drunkenly fall into the wheat thresher that is Obama 2012? This is the drum Obama gets to beat for at least the next 24-months before anyone tells him to put it away. There is no amount of pundit BS and side-chatter that can break the results of this day. Bin Laden is dead. Election day cannot get here soon enough; don’t want this “dead terrorist” smell to wear off before then.

A monster no more.

This Middle East crap is all a fucking mess, and “if it ain’t, it’ll do until the mess gets here.” This was my generation’s great evil. The man hell-bent on destroying and upsetting the natural order of the civilized world. Enjoy the fruits of our long harvest. Yes, we’re cynical, we’re cracking jokes, and maybe I’m looking for the dark cloud instead of the silver lining, but this was not just a symbolic and real blow to terrorism and it’s most insidious voice, but this was like me killing the monster that lived under my psychological bed. I was never afraid of him, but the idea of him. Osama’s image and martyrdom will live on forever, no hyperbole there, but at least we finally put that SOB six feet under, which gives me just a little bit of that metallic, salty taste of blood in the back of my throat that I have wanted for so long.

Side note: If anyone fucking says, “mission accomplished” to me I will sock you right in the nose, though. That phrase is as dead as “winning.”

You Know I Hurt You ‘Cause I Love Ya, Right Baby?

Red, White, and Blue Blooded

I was recently at my day job and a coworker jokingly told me, “write about love.” I scoffed, of course. Love? If you are a regular reader then you know that love is the furthest thing from my mind when I sit down to dole out my particular vintage of venom and vinegar (I suggest the 2010 which is particularly biting). Naturally I responded, “Love? I don’t write about love.” But I think it is time that I did, in fact, write about love. Don’t worry, I have not gone soft. It’s not ‘that’ kind of love. I want to write about my brand of patriotism. Patriotism, at its very core, is a deep and abiding love for one’s country and citizenship. I thank that coworker for highlighting the idea of love to me, in that it works very well with illustrating the points on patriotism I am about to cover. Though this may strike some of you in a dissonant fashion, I want you to be open to the ideas set forth here.

In March I wrote an article covering the congressional meetings about Islam in America. In this article I wrote the following:

“I can empathize with the struggle of those wanting nothing more than to be left alone. That is the most basic issue that terrorists have with America…In a matter of moments we would turn in to radicalized Christians killing in the name of God and Country to interrupt, and one day end, the dictatorial leadership to recapture our once great nation; soccer moms would be car bombing foreign military installations and detonating IED’s on Main Street with their Blackberry’s inside of a week.”

Out of a natural fear of ending up on a no-fly list getting a body scan and a tender cavity search from a now very close friend, Derek; not to mention a visit home looming on the horizon; I want to clarify my stance on my patriotism and the ideas behind what makes me a red, white, and blue blooded American.

Patriotism comes in many forms. The most ostentatious brand of patriotism is the one we see. Why? It is the easiest to identify and the most interesting to cover in the news. There is no subtlety in patroiotism in America. We love this country at a level 11 when everyone else’s knobs just go to 10. Isn’t it OK for me not to shove my love for this country down everyone’s throat? Do I have to advertise my patriotism to avoid being called a terrorist, or Islamic sympathizer? You know, someone else made people wear stars and stripes…the Nazis (sorry, couldn’t help myself). Who doesn’t want to see a secretary dressed in period authentic Minute Men garb at a Tea Party protest on Tax Day? It just makes for good TV, the spectacle of it all. There is no dignified patriotism in America. Overseas they relegate their violent fandom to Soccer, the same level of booze fueled madness we don’t even blink at expressing over fourth of July weekend. We’re getting ahead of ourselves though. Let’s first start with love. There are but three kinds of patriotism, as there are but three types of love: blind lust, symbiotic, and unconditional.

Blind lust is the warmest and fuzziest of them all. This kind of love smooths over every imperfection. This is the lust you feel at the beginning of a relationship. No matter what the quirk or problem may be, you find it cute, think the other person is just perfect, and can find no reason why you shouldn’t elope right then and there. This kind of patriotism is what you see when the American flag is squeegeed onto the back window of a Ford or read the “love it or leave it” sticker slapped proudly on the bumper of the same truck. This love is swirling in rainbow clouds around the heads of every person dawning the American flag dress shirt. This country is number one and they love this country so much that it quite literally hurts. With absolutely no quantifiable criteria, or any data to back up their claim, these blissfully ignorant America-lovers think this country is the greatest in the world and is God’s country. Never mind that our economy is in the toilet, our education system is a joke, and our foreign policy is a gracefully fumbling Charlie Chaplin at best. This is the best country and anyone who disagrees or argues is an enemy combatant or should just move to Canada.

Symbiotic love is the kind of love that comes from 50 years together. After a lifetime together, it’s the kind of bond your grandparents may have. It is not a burning passion anymore, but an identity created by literally bonding two people into one. There is no “I” and there is no “you,” simply “us.” This bond is much like the arch in architecture. It is a self-sustaining creation with no weak point that can sustain great loads that any other geometric structure would buckle under. One side of the arch is absolutely useless and will crumble without the other. This kind of patriotism is sustained in much the same way a loving and long-standing marriage would be held together. There is great trials and tribulations over many decades, but the ability to see it through and never quit one another is the bond that this kind of love creates. This is a patriotism you find in men who fought in WWII. There is a veneration and respect for this country that the young just sit in awe and admire. You throw away the bad, knowing that without this country you would be nothing, and that is what comforts you when you’re both shitting your pants and can’t remember each other’s name.

Then there is the unconditional. This is a stressful and nerve wracking love that can tug at the heart strings or drive you to the brink of insanity. This is the love a parent feels for their child. This is the underlying love that will exist no matter how badly, and how egregiously the child fucks up. You see it time and time again with parents crying and saying they love their son, that he is a “good boy,” even when he is on trial for a double murder. This is the love that is a hard candy shell around every other emotion; the M&M of emotional conditions. As a parent you may never agree with a child’s choices, lifestyle, or decision to pursue art school knowing full well they won’t be employable with a degree in post-modern fresco, but you support them anyway. You give your opinion, advice, lessons learned from your own mistakes, but your kid doesn’t listen, he thinks he knows best. Though you don’t like what he may do, he is your son, and you love him with every fiber in your being, hoping that the best will befall him despite his seeming attempts to see otherwise.

I fall in to the last category. I see far too many people fall in to the other two and it breaks my heart as a loving parent. Blind lust after this country does nothing to help this country grow. How can a person give advice when their judgment is clouded by their feelings? You can’t honestly think it is a healthy relationship if you can’t see the forrest through the trees? Your partner is silently crying out for help, advice, leadership, and all you can think is, “boy what a cute nose you have. Oh, your whole head is adorable. I LOVE YOU!” There is nothing constructive in symbiosis, either. In this new condition of existence there is no desire or will to change the other person. You have accepted them for who they are, and more importantly, who they are to you. Your relationship is bases on a mutual understanding of, “Hey, we’re not gonna find anyone better now, and we’ve been together so long, how would we even go about finding someone that fits us? Let’s just die knowing that at least we had someone through all these years and all these fights that could stand to go to bed mad with us.”

Is this any way to love? Well, I hope so, but not any one as a singular state of being. Each one must pass on to the next and even exist in tandem. I would hope that we all have blind lust at some point, but it must eventually turn in to an unconditional love one day. A love where you hope the best and may not always agree, but will always support. I hope that one day I move on to the symbiotic love. After all my years bickering, fighting, loving, and through the difficulties of being open enough to be hurt by your country, that one symbiotic day I can realize the beauty of accepting my country for who it is and for who it has made me after all these decades together.

I think far too often people mistake a healthy criticism of this country as a distaste for it. I will be the first to die for this country if my life can go to the greater good of it’s future. In my above statement I talk of empathizing with the terrorist plight. I also talk of soccer moms blowing up buildings with Blackberrys. I do get what they are fighting for in their own backwards way. I hate the actions we are taking that are prolonging this idealogical friction. In essence, I am watching my son continue in self-destructive behavior. I would die for my son though, and kill for him, too. Anyone ever wanted to hurt my son, no matter what a fuck up he is, they would have to go through me first, no matter how crazy that may sound.

I love this country, like a parent to a child. I am almost always at odds with the decisions this country makes, and am appalled at the hypocrisy and policy that our leaders put forth, both past and present. But I am still a proud parent. I don’t stop loving this country just because it makes some bad decisions. I don’t shun my progeny at the drop of a hat. This country is it’s own living, breathing entity, and it can do whatever it wants. At 18 this country declared it’s independence, moved out of the basement, and shacked up with a girl it has yet to bring home to meet the parents. Her name was Lady Liberty (who names their kid “Lady”?).

I for one, love my rights. This country has given me a set of abilities as a citizen to express myself in ways foreigners see as something of which they can only dream. I use my rights almost to the extent of abusing them; anyone who reads my work can attest to that. It’s because I love this country that I criticize and give my humble advice. This is indeed a country that is growing much as a teenager, and it is our responsibility to give our two cents, even if it hurts a little. It is out of a deep and unwavering love that I strongly disagree with it’s actions, because I want the best for my child. I do all of this for you, America. It’s because I love you, FOR all your faults and not just in spite of them, that I give my words of wisdom. It’s because I know you can be great, your potential is limitless, that I won’t give up on you. It’s because I love you more than life itself that I would lay my life on the line for you, if only to help you realize your pinnacle. No one can question my loyalty and my patriotism, I just refuse to let it blindly begin and end at a bumper sticker.

This is a room full of people that love you, sorta

or: If you don’t seek help today, America, then you cannot have any contact with any of us; that includes Canada

[EXCERPT]

The mediator can feel the tension, and knows the outcome if the pressure is not released. With a deliberate cough and throat clearing that could have easily been a thunderclap in the silence, he decides to begin. We can distract them long enough until it is time for the guest of honor to arrive, he thinks with a well-established lump in his throat.

“OK, well, while we’re waiting I would like to go over a few things so we are all on the same page and we can present a united front.”

“Sure, that won’t make him nervous, us, a united front, haha.” pipes up one of the more doubtful figures in the room. The mediator knows that this was the sentiment of a lot of the people in the room, doubt. It was confirmed by the flutters of laughter that went up in the room.

“C’mon, Canada, that’s not constructive.”

“Well, Switzerland, what do you think America is going to think when he walks in this room and sees all of us circled up in here, aye? I have got ten bucks says his first instinct is to pull on us and throw bombs, troops, and aircraft carriers at all of us.”

Libya shifts in his chair accompanied by a creak from the floor while he stirs his coffee distractedly.

“I’m sorry, Libya, that was low. I know you’re suffering through that right now.” Canada tentatively puts a supportive hand on his shoulder. “See what is happening here, Switzerland? We are not ready for this. If we are going to talk to America it needs to be one on one during diplomatic visits and in the U.N. like we should. We can form resolutions, take a strong line verbally with America, maybe that will be enough if we just…”

Switzerland cuts him off, taking control of the meeting again. “Hey, you know that is not going to work. America has a history of manipulating all of you in to doing his bidding or bending to his will. Strong words mean nothing to a super power of deception and war-profiteering on the level of America.” Switzerland looks every person in the circle in the eye as he speaks. “This is an intervention, to tell America how much we love him, but to tell him that his love hurts us more and more and we all suffer. We’re an international community, we’ve got a lot of history with America in this room, and we need to tell him exactly how we feel and give him no choice but to get help, or we will never speak to him again.” Everyone shifts with a chorus of creaks and half-coughs as their coffee or glazed donut command all of their attention.

“Vietnam, don’t you want to speak your piece? Tell America how the Agent Orange, the village burnings, the rape of your country, the after effects of use of chemicals, effected you? Don’t you want to express how the change in warfare in Vietnam hurt you?”

Vietnam half-heartedly agrees with a shrug of his shoulders and unintelligible sounds of agreement.

“What about you, Iraq? Afghanistan, you’ve been occupied against your will for nearly ten years, you must have some feelings to express. And you, Japan, Germany, Italy, Mexico? You all have stories of how America’s love of ‘democracy’ and even Manifest Destiny has effected you.” Switzerland looks around the room and smiles. “I see strength in this room, a room united to give America the help it needs so badly. Today, with your bravery and willingness to express how America has hurt you most, we can get America the help it needs and turn America in to an international participant, not the bully that it is now.”

The whole room stops what their doing as a large guffaw sounds from outside, in the driveway. All eyes turn to the front door as a pair of foot steps can be heard on the walkway and a loud and obnoxious voice floats through the wood and glass to be heard by the room’s occupants. Lumps appear in throats as fight-or-flight syndrome begins to hum in the back of the minds of a few of the intervention’s participants.

The British accent of England can be heard between the boisterous words of the other man, America. As the rough sound of wiping feet on the welcome mat can be heard, the silhouettes of the two men fall on the stained-glass in the front door, bathing their forms in a colorful mosaic that was disarming, knowing what both men had been capable of over the years. The door handle signals a grip, and as it swung open slowly, everyone braced for impact.

“HA HA HA HA! That’s a good one, you Limey SOB! I remember the last time I was in the Philippines I had about 1,000 Pesos burning a hole in my pocket and desire rippin’ a hole in my jockeys…” America finally looks in on the group of people in the room as his chiseled jaw goes slack and pupils dilate with the rush of adrenalin. His now gaunt face darts between England on his left, a gentle grip around America’s shoulder giving the impression of ‘you’re not leaving’ while being reassuring, and then back at the group a few times.

“What the hell is this, Limey!? I thought this was a bachelor party you were bringin’ me to. If I didn’t know any better…”

“OK, let’s all take our seats.” Switzerland gets up as everyone sits back down. The confidence is palpable at this point. Switzerland looks to the one person who hasn’t spoken yet, England. England looks back and nods knowingly, it was his turn. Switzerland now sits as England stands and takes a place in front of America from across the semi-circle. America looks a bit hurt now, a little shaky and a little weaker, his rough and prickly exterior replaced by slightly dropped shoulders and arms no longer folded now laying in his lap awkwardly fiddling. His best friend is now about to tell him what-for. This must be tough.

“OK, well, here goes nothing, g’vnor. Listen, America, you know I think you’re great. You’re like my best mate, ya know? Think of all the wars we have fought together, how many times you’ve bailed me out, or how many times I have gotten your back when everyone else was against you…Sorry about that, Iraq.” Iraq nods and waves a hand dismissively. “We go back a long time, I know we don’t like to talk about it, but you know we were once one in the same. You were our most favorite colony. I mean, bloody hell, you were the arm of the queen’s country across the world. We made you, you can’t doubt this. Without us you wouldn’t be. You wouldn’t be the brash, loud, and ridiculously pompous country you are. I’m kinda proud of you, but I am ashamed a bit, too. If it weren’t for you declaring independence you’d sill be ours, and maybe things wouldn’t be how they are, you wouldn’t be the schoolyard bully you are.”

America has sulked visibly as he listens to his best friend call him a monster. Eyes wrapped in cellophane tears, the emotion is only just being held back.

“America, you know I love you, and in the past I would have stood behind you, supporting you with troops and whatever you needed, even if you wanted to invade Australia. If you decided that the world no longer needed France you know we would be right there with you, saying it is the right thing to do and that history will justify the demolition of the Eiffel Tower, pretentious wank, that thing. But you have changed, and you have dragged me in to so many crazy capers and adventures like some insolent Huck FInn, that you can’t even script the kinds of things we have done together. Iraq, Afghanistan, the Gulf War, The Great War, WW II, ‘peacekeeping efforts’ in Africa. Bloody hell, think of all the things we have completely ignored like famine and suffering in the Congo, Darfur, South Africa. I mean we have basically turned our backs on the motherland, mate. But seriously, it has to stop, America. I can’t go out there on the stage anymore and just go along with whatever you say. I can’t be the Sundance to your Butch Cassidy. The days are gone where I can be the Watson to your Sherlock. If you don’t seek help, then I’m afraid you’re going to have to justify your nutty schemes and hilarious capers…on your own, mate.” England’s voice quivered slightly as he neared the end of his letter, and as he sat down he could do little to hold in his emotion behind a monocle and top hat. The tuxedo was now clearly a bit much for an intervention; the cane was really ridiculous.

America quivered now, red-faced and stiff. No one spoke for a minute. You could have heard anthrax drop in the room until America stood up suddenly and took a deep breath. It was a long wind America took in to his breast. He then exhaled slowly and spoke in a thundering tone.

“YOU JUDASES! You turncoat, Benedict Arnold, sons of bitches! Think of everything I have done for you! Afghanistan, who armed you in your fight against the Russians in the eighties? Me. Germany, you know you had that ass kicking coming when you invaded Poland and France. Japan, as I have said, I am sorry about the whole ‘nuclear bombs’ thing. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Mexico, you know you would have spent the gold on tequila and whores, which is what we spent it on, so don’t go all high and mighty with me about it being YOUR gold. We won that war fair and square, we occupied Mexico City, deal with it. Iraq, well, yeah, it was BS that got us there, but you can’t tell me you wanted Saddam to stay in power. Sure it was unjustified, but hey, it was our fault he took power in the first place, so we were just finishing what we started.” He turned to England now. “Oh, England. Et tu, Brute? We have gotten so close after the whole revolution thing. F the Queen, and F you. What a load. We have had some great times, and don’t act like I was ‘dragging’ you in to anything. You would all be speaking German if it weren’t for me stepping in after Japan woke the sleeping dragon, baby. I have formed this world as it is, for better or for worse. Japan, who is reaching out in your time of need right now, who is raising money and sending relief workers and the Red Cross your way? I am.”

Japan scoffs, “You’re raising money via text message. You are literally phoning it in.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault it’s all people want to do for you. Pearl Harbor, Mother Fucker, Pearl Harbor. We’re still bent out of shape about that. ‘A day that will live in infamy…’ Remember that!? Dick.”

Switzerland tries to bring order. “OK, it is clear we are all a little heated right now. Let’s take a deep breath and think about what we’re sayin-”

“Oh, shut up you Alps loving bastard. You’re legs are atrophied from your never taking a stand on anything. Would you have liked for WWII to have ended differently? Would you like to have terrorists just run amok all over the world? I’m doing the best I can right now with the shit I’m given. Hitler, Mussolini! That was no easy task, my friend. I have made the tough decisions, made the tough calls. It is me, America, that has kept even the most tenuous grasp on civilization up to this point; it’s my hands that need the washing when order is restored, order you get to enjoy! I will admit, there were some miscalculations, maybe some decisions made on incomplete information that led to unplanned and undesired consequences, but I will not sit here as all you countries who have benefitted in even the slightest, from my supposed ‘malfeasance,’ sit in judgement of me, telling me I need some help. You have all needed my help at some point, and you’d be nowhere without it. You don’t just need me, you WANT me to be the antihero in all of this. Pile it on, go ahead, I am America. I’ve got the biggest stick and I’m one to USE IT. A pox on all your houses you ungrateful bastards!”

There was silent outrage as America took deep and ragged breaths after such a tirade. Everyone looked at one another and back at America, who now buttoned up his suit and slicked his hair back in to place with a return to composure.

Switzerland tries to reason. “America, I can understand your frustration-”

“Oh really? You can get it? Only thing you get is the metric system you Minaret-hating fence-straddler!”

Canada chuckles, but stays silent and puts his hands up in defeat when in the cross hairs of America’s stare for a moment.

Switzerland keeps his composure, now. “That may be your opinion, and you’re entitled to it, but we came here for you to seek help. Are you willing to go to diplomatic rehabilitation? Are you willing to learn to respect UN power and law and act in accordance with the same laws you accuse others of breaking? Are you willing to drop this fruitless war on terror and respect a nation’s sovereignty, delaying war until every other option is exhausted? Are you willing to give diplomacy and open debate a chance before just bombing your problems in to submission, or locking them away in prison without trial? Are you willing to take a course of action in the future that might break the cycle of anti-American sentiment around the world with open arms in place of close fists? Are you willing, America?”

All the countries waited, breath bated, as America searched the faces, the walls, the furniture, for an answer. America knew full well what had become of him, a man embroiled in far more than he could handle. A man so prideful that victory must be snatched from the jaws of defeated, even if such victory was to be desperately pyrrhic in it’s aftermath. So large he had grown that he forgot the weight on his shoulders that the burden of decisiveness bared on him. He felt it now more than before. He was a young country, an adolescent country, forced by his position to mature faster than he would have liked, and should have otherwise been allowed to. No country less than three hundred years old should have been saddled with terms like ‘promised land’ or the ‘land of opportunity’ like he was. So many mistakes, so many lies, he was tired now, aged far beyond his years. He knew he was only able to do his best through great trial and, often times, great error, but to stand by his decisions and convince those around him, as much as himself, that it was the ‘right’ thing to do, whatever that meant to him anymore.

America looked around and then to nowhere in particular, the look of a war-hardened man, the ‘1,000-yard stare,’ they called it. Searching for an answer in anything, everything, nothing, all at once. Everyone waited still, now unsure of what will come from the maw of the most feared and least respected man in the room.

They all still felt hope, mired in doubt, as he pondered his answer that would effect the course of history forever…

Monotheism: Where we went wrong

(that oughta ruffle some feathers)

or: Peter laughs “Holy shit, you weren’t even close! C’mon in you moron, ha ha haaa! Hey, Paul, you hear what this guy thought was ‘the path?’ I know, right?”

Religion has stood the test of time as a basis for the foundation of lives, and to a greater extent the entirety of civilization, since the age of keeping history. For thousands of years man has used various religions as a guiding light to his reasoning behind almost every decision ever made. Religion started out polytheistic in most cultures. There was a hierarchy of gods that controlled different part of the world; held sway over everything from nature, weather, and even the malfeasance of man. Culture, both modern and historical, has had it’s deepest philosophical roots in the soil of religion. Empires has risen and fallen under the flag of one religion or another. Wars have begun and ended with the prostitution of one religious ideal or another. Hate has been bread and then euthanized under the word of one religious figurehead or another. Today we use religion as a weapon of fear and as a tool to further fallible causes man has in mind, but there is one idea that no religious leader or follower won’t ever entertain: they are all wrong…

…We mucked it all up with the terms of service to our God. Christians think it is stupid to pray five times to God…well Christians do pray fives times a day, they just don’t bow down to God to do it. Christianity is a religion of convenience. We can pick and choose what we want to observe, but Judaism and Islam are much more orthodox and rigid religions. They take great study, service, humility, and even strict dietary guidelines. Christians and even Catholics can’t hang with that kind of dedication. Christians are the laziest and most judgmental group with a sense of entitlement that rivals any other. Christians rule politics and social issues with the money and power they exert in Washington. Jews do as well, they both have lobbyist groups and causes they further, mostly limiting rights of some kind for groups they condescendingly disapprove of.

Jesus would flip his shit if he saw the state of affairs in religion today; so would Moses and Muhammed. They would look upon the spear heads of their respective groups and weep. Every single person would be scolded. Each philosopher would look upon the misguided masses politicizing and prostituting the name of the almighty and be shamed by it all. If Jesus ever returns, like truly returns as Christians believe he will, then the only people to escape unscathed will be the small children, because every single human being on this planet fucked up his message.

No one has got it right. There, I said it. Not one religion has got it right. Every single one thinks they have the golden ticket in to heaven, but there is no chance that they have it. As a basis for all the big three is the idea that God has a plan and we can never understand it…so what makes you think you picked the right team? How obtuse are you that you think you got it right and eeeeeeeveryone else is wrong. Odds are that every single religion in the world, if there is some kind of God, got the message wrong from beginning to end; like some Scantron test in high school you might have accidentally guessed a right answer or two, but there is no chance you’re passing a test you didn’t even have the right book for. You’re all screwed…

…We need to get away from getting wrapped up in how to serve and just realize that we probably aren’t doing it right. He doesn’t care HOW you do it, but only THAT you do it in your own way. I don’t think God cares what you call yourself, what religion you are, or what the hell you ever eat and when. He wants your love, we can all agree on that, and I don’t need a book or a leader or a billion fellow God-lovers to do that. I love God just fine on my own without stepping on anyone’s toes or trying to prove it by holding anyone down because of my own beliefs. I am no soldier of God, I am just a friend of His; He knows me, knows us all, and I don’t think He is knit picking our every day activities; He knows what’s in your heart. I don’t think God was so petty that he cleaved out only one path to Heaven; some sneaky riddle of the Sphinx we’ll need to unravel before Peter will open the pearly gates. He created us, and he knows that we are more complicated than that. I don’t think He is tricking us, or trying to trip us up by making us pick the door to heaven; there are no doors, only a few simple truths that we can decide on our own. As the Almighty I am betting He decided to not go with a stringent set of by-laws in Heaven, it doesn’t seem like that kind of place. They are not wrong, you most definitely are not right, and the sooner we realize God only wants our love, the sooner we will realize that He isn’t concerned about how He gets it.

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