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The American Question: Do they deserve the Perfect Storm?
As the American power elite prepares to celebrate having cleverly sidestepped an election by murdering whoever is still left alive in Fallujah, as Arafat lies ill in France, poisoning not yet ruled out, in a coma, induced, reversible, or not, depending on whom you ask, the viewing public waits. Which will come first? The beheading du jour, just to soften up the audience?
We can hope that will not be necessary, since the American voting class performed so beautifully in the pageant. They could hardly be softer.
Whichever of the millionaires they voted for had already promised them all the blood they could drink, and they stood in line to get it.
They did deserve an election, which they did not get, but as an increasingly troubled world furrows its brow in contemplation of the American Question, it is fair to stain the relative calm with a sub-question: Do they deserve what they WILL get?
It is too easy, disingenuous, even, to write them off as air-brained children of privilege whose grasp on matters not related to Scott Peterson is at best, tenuous.
It is more tempting to chalk it all up to mass delusion, a kind of modern Mega-Salem, and even inject a colorful supernatural note: perhaps they have indeed all been possessed by the spirits of adolescent girls, and are unable to process information effectively due to an acute case of hormonal aphasia, but that would hardly be fair to the billions of teenaged girls over the years, who, Salem aside, have withstood the onslaught and made it through just fine, without doing any harm to others or themselves.
One can flatter by imitation and regress along with them and call them a primitive race of brutish savages, who quite simply have no regard for human life or the capacity to process questions more complex than those posed by the server at Starbucks, but in addition to all the other reasons for not doing that, there is the small matter of the underclass who did not vote, and who breathe the same air, drink the same water, and frequently have the same ancestors, at least one or two.
They are Goebbelized, argue some, and they are right, but a fundamental element of the American Question is: Is that an excuse? 9 out of 10 Holocaust survivors, Palestinians, Afghan amputees and bereaved Iraqi mothers say no.
What, then, is a troubled world to do? The American Question has begun to haunt even the questionable brains of the puppet regimes: at what point is it no longer possible for even the most generous infusion of cash to get the job done, and keep the peasants from the Palace wall? Clearly it is a point that looms closer, and even the stately white heads of the European Autonomous Region begin to cloud.
At what point does Jacques Chirac, smug in his sick little crusade against the fashion choices of schoolgirls, become Busharac, and under pain of a carpet of bombs, order his armies to blast off the heads, covered or bare, of those schoolgirls, in Iraq, in Nice, according to the wishes of the American taxpayers?
One can almost hear the persuasive voices, well, he's still alive, isn't he? And so is Karzai. Dyncorp knows their stuff. For you, there will be three dozen. Even in the toilet, they will protect you. Pour warm water if you are shy. If that doesn't work, we will supply you with an indwelling catheter. The latest model. Yes, yes, the Romanovs, but did they have oil contracts like this? Did Ceaucescu? Well, then.
Underlying all the sparkles, all the covert, the black, the Unity ops, underwriting them, giving them life, is one undeniable, inescapable inevitable truth: While the world may not yet agree on the fairest, most just answer to the American question, there are literally billions of quite ordinary people for whom the answer is based not on vengeance, but self-defense, and who at any moment, may decide that they do not need a consensus.
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