The Big Dick's Back!

Dear George,

Praise God! The Big Dick is back in his bunker actively marketing his unique brand of paranoia. Already, I feel safer from threats that never were.

And he’s telling us, by God he is telling us, that if Obama starts doing thing like restoring the Constitution, outlawing torture and closing Gitmo, it’s only a matter of time before the terrorists strike again.

He called the new administration “naïve”, even though we must parse that word to appreciate its full implications. Obama reflects the naiveté of the pragmatist, while the Big Dick reflects the naiveté of the ideologue. The only difference between the two is that pragmatism is boring. Ideology rocks!

He reminds us that, “If it hadn’t been for what we did—with respect to the terrorist surveillance program, or enhanced interrogation techniques for high-valued detainees, the Patriot Act, and so forth—then we would have been attacked again.”

And, goddamn it, he’s right. Let me give you an example of preventive paranoia. I have a paralyzing fear of a steer wandering into the front yard of my New Jersey home. So, I’ve place a steer skull in the yard to scare them off. Because I’ve taken this decisive action, I’ve never had steer one set hoof on my property. That’s all the proof I need that my approach worked.

Let me tell you why I love the guy so. He was the object on one of the sweetest stoned visions I ever had. I’ll never forget it! I took one last pull and the pipe; it shattered and suddenly I saw:

…the Big Dick dancing naked, save his wingtips, screaming into a dead phone: “Level it! Level it!” Spinning, spinning to keep the spattering pus off his wingtips while bloodied children sat staring in a circle, waiting for Uncle Dicky to tell them a story ‘til the earth cracked and the eternal flame charred and scorched their skin, even as they sat silently waiting for the story to begin ‘til only the black dust of their bones remained, and the outraged rushed towards the wingtips in a rustling, undulating swarm like lice leaving the cooled carcass of the newly dead, and my heart sings songs of power and potency, ravaging the dead and breaking the weak to the sound of fife and drum beating out the cadence of the damned.

Is that a turn on, or is that a turn on?

In closing, let me say that I was thrilled to hear that the Big Dick is going to start on his memoirs as soon as the statute of limitations expires.

Your admirer,
Belacqua Jones