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The International Writers Magazine
: Comment

MANIFEST DESTINY MADE EASIER THROUGH MODERN CHEMISTRY
James Campion

"Thereby I became the supreme judge of the German people."
- Adolf Hitler June 30, 1934

"In Islam, the legislative power and competence to establish laws belong exclusively to God Almighty."
- Ayatollah Khomeini

The abuse of LSD at the New York Times has reached epidemic proportions. I happen to know it isn’t just at the print level anymore, but management and editorial staff have now imbibed beyond any definition of recreational consumption. Tripping has become a prerequisite for Times’ columnists. William Safir has perfected the art of soaking bandanas in pure Delysid and Maureen Dowd is so far gone she has allegedly told friends of plans to spike the D.C. water supply on New Year’s Eve.
"I think the best thing for Donald Rumsfeld is acid!" Dowd was heard screaming over the phone this past week. "Acid or suicide!"
What kind of madness would prompt me, or any rational person to write such profane nonsense? Acid? I think not. I’m no fan of mind expansion. Not nearly as much as blotting out one’s fantasies with gin or something stronger, and then sitting at the keyboard and regurgitating this crap weekly. But it is all true, or at least as true as the evidence would suggest. And that is all that is needed today. Evidence. For Barry Bonds or Tom Friedman. Smells like teen spirit? Smells like liberal bias?

This is why the NY Times has never understood George W. Bush. The president is a cokehead. He has all the tendencies: paranoia, overt machismo, a painful inability to construct coherent thoughts verbally, and a penchant to scratch his groin incessantly without shame. Only a serious speed freak would continue to describe what is happening in Iraq as progress. And only acid junkies would comment so blindly that there is some kind of insidious US plan for a bloodless coup in that mess. Puppet regimes in the waiting? Not likely.
The American government is being duped by Iran, which now all but controls the fate of the coming January election. Not even what is left of the CIA can stop it. Any clear-thinking person without agenda or chemical dependency in the know understands this. Soon the Shiites will be in charge. They will take orders from Ayatollah Seyyed Ali Khamenei and ask the Americans to leave, thank you very much. And all of Saddam Hussein’s nightmares will come true. He will be tried by the western infidels while the very same Iranians the United States paid him to keep at bay will run amok in his charred palaces, toasting his jailing. People paid good money to practice journalism still possess the stones to ask why the hell Hussein kept refusing to reveal he had no weapons, even with the threat of US agression. The answer is simple. Either lie to the UN or risk letting the Iranians know he was a paper tiger and take him out. Americans seem to care about women and children and hospitals and taking prisoners. This is of little concern to Iranians. It was a fair trade off. Hussein knew, as the CIA, that if it were the Iranians pouring over the border, the grand poobah’s head would have been on a spike, instead of getting a lice exam on CNN. Now the politicos, or whatever they call themselves in Tehran these days see daylight with this hamstrung election next month, and soon the bloody hands of the American president will be asked to shake with the men who will plot 9/11 Part Deux and the US will have to convince the rest of the planet how we have to gut the whole goddamned thing again.
And this will all be done legally through an election.

At least that is how it will appear. Elections are funny things.
Sometimes they’re on the up and up, and sometimes the dead walk and pistols are brandished. Sometimes candidates bug offices and other times their soup is poisoned. Sometimes there is The Night of Long Knives and things go awry.
I see what is transpiring in Iraq right now, and although it resembles no real Euro-historical perspective outside the homoganized white-man’s Bible being peddled in Alabama currently or the drive-by that offed Francis Ferdinand, I am reminded of old-time politics. Not Richard Daley strong-arm street-whipping kind of politics. I’m talking Aaron Burr unloading a fatal pistol shot into Alexander Hamilton to decide the fate of New York kind of politics. Old time, real hard, skull-cracking, back-door fighting, western world type of politics: George Bush’s kind of politics. That is what will decide Iraq. No amount of heavy hallucinogenics can change this. The Times need to get on board. This isn’t the 1980s’ when Noriega was Reagan’s bitch and Ed Meese was paying cash to have the Contra boys skinned for post card stills. It’s 21st century thinking. We break it and the nearest Arab power buys it. Fair play.

It’s coming.
And if you happen to be unlucky enough to find yourself in the reserves right now, you better hope it comes in January. This way you don’t have to spend the rest of your natural life in the desert keeping a third of the populace from surviving the crazed and armed majority that wishes to nab the oil and make deals with the Iranians so they can blow Israel off the map.

Big doings in Baghdad, momma, stay tuned! Who cares if the Secretary of Defense is booed like Andy Dick at a military PR conference? He has no fucking clue what is about to go down. He wants to exit the big town with his balls intact. The president is his biggest fan. The Times is not. This is not exactly shocking developments in perspective, like those self-righteous commentators hammering away at NBA players doling out beatings to assholes in Detroit. Let’s face it; some sports fans need a beating, and most elections don’t go your way.
Most of us learned this in Journalism 101.

Rumsfeld is sacked and some other jack-booted kill-freak will grow in his place. It is a biological imperative. It has nothing to do with politics. It is the way of the jackal. The way we now move. Bitching about voter malfeasance in Ohio will sound like teenaged girl whimpering when the polls close in Fallujah. That’s about when the Tehranist strong arms track down what’s left of Hussein’s palace guard and disembowel them alive on Al Jazeera television accompanied by classic Buster Keaton scores.
And that’s when you’ll know we’ve won.
© James Campion January 2005
www.jamescampion.com
realitycheck@jamescampion.com



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