In the face of terrifyingly single-minded suicide bombings, the world bends. The TV news searches for clues, "But... But... Butting" like a faulty outboard motor. Dubya waits patiently for help from Jesus with a look in his eyes I've only ever seen on him, junior school Ritalin zombies and the cast of German porn movies. And the war goes on.
War on y'all who talk funny and have squiggly alphabets. War on people who make, but still can't afford to buy Nike shoes, those who won't watch Desperate Housewives and stubbornly refuse to shout, "I'm lovin' it!" War on anyone who pirates Microsoft software and hawks illegal Britney Spears DVD's. War on you who want to keep the profit from minerals that you mine for yourselves. War with a side order of fries for raising the price of petrol and your perfidious, bicycle riding, Euro-pussy cousins. Plus some supersize War on everyone who inexplicably hates us for our 'freedom'.
I try to figure out why they hate us. See, I still think I'm an "us". I've been known to take to the grog occasionally and I don't have sufficient silly facial hair to be a "them". I may be a long way from the USA, but to me it represents everything a dreaming kid ever wanted...
Harley Davidsons and Sinatra, The Wizard of Oz, Coca-cola and John Belushi. You gave the world Hollywood, the Blues and the pill, beauty pageants and Jackson Pollock, Michael Jackson and Jackson Browne. You gave us Mickey and cars with fins, insurance for that ride and a vision of classless democracy. Thanks to you, we have flown in 747's watching Marilyn Manson videos, The Simpsons, cartoon and otherwise... Oh, who am I kidding? They're all cartoon. Anyway, "Cheers!" for Ray Charles, Ray Bans, cigarettes, Kennedy and silicone, bolt-on killer tits. What would we be without surfing, channel, web or otherwise? You gave us Walker, Texas Ranger (which shows we'll forgive you just about anything)... You sent humanity to the stars, for fuck sake!
We love you. We don't want to take any freedom away from you. We respect your right to wear Levi's in ever-increasing sizes until your fat asses colour the entire continent from sea to shining sea. Problem is, Guys, you're sorta kinda like killing the rest of "us".
There's a rest of us?
Sure... Here we are... down South...
Not that pesky New Orleans crap again. Tell 'em it's their own fault for not prayin' enough! Godless bastards!
No, look OUT-side the USA. Here! Africa... The cradle of humanity.
Huh?
Location of the world's reserve of Coltan (without which that cell phone on your belt is worth as much as a Zimbabwean election promise) and a bunch of gold and oil and other cool stuff too!
Oh, THERE you are. Hiya, little buddy! I've got you in my sights... err, I mean, I see you perfectly now.
Then I realise I'm being cynical, probably thinking like a "them", like a spurned lover, rejected by Lady Liberty but still howling her praises outside her garden gate. The big chick has a cold heart and no time to talk to me. She's too busy guarding the front door, armed with a ledger and a bloody great firebrand, so in her stead she sends Parasite Hilton and Anna Nicole out to calm me down. Freedom seems to be the right to watch endless reality TV that brings us one step closer to bear baiting and Victorian freak shows. "Roll up! Roll up! See the retard with tits like a zeppelin!"
Hey! We're the good guys. We are just protecting that American dream.
And what a dream it is! But then, you tend to shoot the guys who have a dream, don't you?
(To Be Continued...)
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