A Christmas Charade, The Land of The Free (Market), and other stories

And so it goes on... And on. The coiffured conveyor of talking heads continue to crank out identically shaped nonsense, "we've got him, we've got him," they cry - and for a second it all makes sense - the King of Bad, the Master of Mass Destruction has been captured, turn the radio up, set the video, I was in the shower when I heard the news, oh boy, where were you? - but then the pictures flick and flack over the TV and a wizened old man, a bum, the kind of guy we hurry past daily in shop doorways, an odd cross between Santa and Castro, appears looking confused - he was living in a HOLE apparently, see how he cowers, see how he runs, and of course - it's REALLY HIM - and soon we will prove it through the wonders of DNA and Science!, as though there is some sort of central database for crazy terrorists to which the government has access, as though, as if... and when we've proved it's him and proved beyond doubt he's evil we can torture and kill him to show the world that the only torture and killing we will tolerate is our own, or maybe we can stick him in a cage for all the world to see: we have captured the mad Iraqi monkey, and now he will dance for our delight and in order to sell tshirts and books and videos and flags (America at War, Bush at War, A State of War, The Psychology of a Mad Man and so on and fucking so on, premiering on a TV near you TONIGHT...), because only then will the People of Iraq be safe, and - what's more - YOUR children too, and America's children, and everybody's children, and did I mention... the children...You have nothing to fear now except our bombs and murderous intent. This is Bush's day, of course: this capture is HIS triumph, only made possible by his unrelenting commitment to death and destruction, and our analysts in the studio, and our reporter Outside The Whitehouse, and The British Prime Minister and the Iraqi people all agree (in fact, EVERYONE agrees about everything) that a LESSER president, a more compassionate man would have long ago called off the search, but we have been focused and unremitting and enduring and infinite and for that we should be PROUD.

That's kind of how I'm feeling today. My main objection to all this bullshit is manifold: how the "war" will be forgotten and hour upon hour of analysis, how the 8,000 + Iraqi civilians and godknows how many soldiers and 400 + allied troops, how the war is costing an estimated 7,000 dollars a minute, which I believe - and this be a controversial point - might, might, might be spent on something that gives life, rather than destroys it, and the daily continuation of murder for oil and influence and freedom and blah blah blah. But there is no real need to worry: the gap in our TV schedules will be replaced by The Trial, a long and protracted demonstration of American justice and how Yankie good will always defeat foreign evil. I was thinking earlier today how funny it would be if after all this they found Saddam not guilty. It would be like, "has the jury reached a verdict"... and the guy delivering the verdict would start to sweat and loosen his tie a little. And Bush and Blair would have to apologise for the war, and Sadam could sue.... And the entirety of Western Media would be bankrupted by lawsuits.. Something else you might not know about because it hasn't been reported on the BBC or CNN or where ever, is the fact that every time it is estimated that a bombing raid is likely to inflict more than 25 civilian deaths the action has to be cleared by the Secretary of defence, Donald Rumsfeld... Because 24 people is Something We Can Live With, of course. So far 50 of these special orders have been requested and 50 have been cleared. As they say around here: YOU DO THE MATH.

So. Yeah. Happy Fucking Christmas. I mean in this in the best possible way of course, with love in my heart. I originally wrote a long, rambling, hilarious (to me) email about New Year's Resolutions, but I've realised that what we actually need right now isn't Resolution but REVOLUTION. Yeah, Jean: it seems you were right... Get the guns, and I'll meet you at the docks... Anyway. That's all for this year. I'm off to the local "Sports Bar" to ask inane questions using incorrect baseball terminology to lifelong fans of the sport just to make their eyes twitch, and flick peanuts at the war heroes.

More later. With Love.