The Big Dick Option

Dear George,

An iron rage is squeezing my balls, and were I not stoned I would be out kicking ass and taking names! I’ve had it with the whole fucking world, every bit of it except the Beltway, which is the only stagnant backwater of Christian sanity left in a raging torrent of godless ingratitude!

Here we are, groaning under the Whiteman’s burden, busting our hump bombing savages into civilized behavior, and all the world can do is bitch about dead children and dead wedding parties!

The world owes us, and it had better start paying up or we’re going to drop even more bombs until the world comes to understand that we demand gratitude, and their only choice is gratitude or death.

But, we demand more than just gratitude. We demand a deferential politeness that treats us as if we were still the richest nation in the world, even though were insolvent, and that treats us as if we’re still the world’s sole superpower, even though our impotence is spread all over Iraq and Afghanistan for all to see.

We demand that the world join us in keep up appearances. This is why the Big Dick is sulking in his bunker, and if the world doesn’t shape up, he’s going to do something really crazy. The guy’s been teetering on the cusp of madness for some time, and if the world doesn’t start doing what he wants he’s going to throw a regular nuclear hissy-fit.

Nixon wanted the world to think he was insane; the Big Dick is already there, so the world had better sit up and take notice.

The bottom line is this, George: if we’re going down, we’re going to take the whole freaking world with us. We’ve sacrificed too much to tolerate a thriving world as we sink slowly into the multiple quagmires we have created. We are the world’s sugar daddy and we are not going to let any slut of a world party while we are on our deathbed.

Send the Big Dick out on another world tour to spread the word. Let the leaders of the world stare into his crazed eyes and feel the full force of his sneer. Let them experience the power of the threat he represents.

Then and only then will the world be willing to pretend we are a somebody even as we become a nobody.

Your admirer,
Belacqua Jones