Beelzebabe

I've been contemplating my navel alot lately. Not much else to do when you are forced to lay around "recovering".

I thought I had fillet'd Bush enough but I have found yet another bone to pick with him. He spoke to the U.N. tuesday, doing his cowboy shtick about the Evils of Iran and their intent of creating nucular weapons. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't Iran a sovereign nation that has the same right as the U.S. to tell the world to fuck off? Isn't their leader a democratically elected president as well who has been chosen by it's people to represent their best interests, whatever those interests may be?

Ah, I see....only American presidents get the "real" stamp of democratic approval. Y'all are just playin'. Iran can pretend to be all "democracy" and stuff but when it comes down to it, all governments that claim to be a democratic government are under the authority of the King of Democracy, George Dubya, and whatever is in the best interests of Americans.

Something stinks.

What Bush is doing is totally in line with his character. Pretend you are Iran and Bush is the drunk asshole at the bar who should have been kicked out for causing a ruckus a long time ago. You're sitting there with your first beer of the evening, attempting to enjoy a little refreshment before going home to the Mrs. & the kids. Here comes Bush, swaggering and slurring his words, talking too loud and sloshing his drink all over the floor on his way to your table.
Your first thought might be to ignore this buffoon. You might even hope he gets distracted or at least pulled aside by the management before he makes it across the room. But he's a big guy that casts a long shadow and his spurs are jingling all the way as he approaches you with blood in his eye. You pretend not to notice. It doesn't work. He hovers over you and slams his fist on the table, causing your bottle of beer to jump and tip over, which you must now rescue before it foams onto the floor.
"Get the fuck outta here, ya camel jockey!" he spits at you. "We don't like your kind 'round these parts."
Everyone in the bar is now looking your way and someone's turned off the juke box. The barkeep is ignoring everything, he's too busy polishing up the wine glasses. A slinky siren in a red dress poses on the dance floor, blowing smoke rings in your direction.
"Did ya hear what I said you towel headed muthafucker?" he growls and backhands your beer, crashing it against the wall.

Now what? Do you run out of the bar like the wuss he thinks you are? Do you stand up and punch him in the face and hope his pals don't jump you from behind? Obviously talking to him will do you no good. His cowboy hat has ear flaps.

You might feel a bit insulted. Yeah, an eensy bit....all you want to do is enjoy a beer after a day's work. Not like one beer is going to hurt anybody. This bar is currently the only place that keeps their bottles icy cold. They have enough electricity for refrigeration. You can't really afford that at your house yet, but there's been rumors that the electric company just might be passing through and setting up utility poles sometime soon. You and the Mrs. have been getting excited over that possibility. Just imagine, cold beer in your own refrigerator! And the Mrs. wouldn't have to keep feeding that generator flags, furniture and other burnable items in order to turn the light on. Wow.
Welcome to Technology and the 21st century. Please keep your hands and feet inside the velvet ropes at all times and do not pick up anything to take home as a "souvenir". We have some lovely postcards and fuzzy pencils available in our gift shop at the end of the tour. And don't forget to visit the snack bar.

See, this is what Bush vs Iran is about. It's not about Dubya's concern for America's Safety by keeping drunk Iranians off the road, like he'd have you believe. Bush's own blood alcohol level is beyond legal limits and it doesn't keep him from driving erratically and running into mailboxes.

So, Iran, what will you do? Is this six-gun totin' pony ridin' beer swillin' bully going to keep you from drinking beer? Probably not. Your boss yelled at you today, you went over your minutes on the cell phone and you got a parking ticket. All you need is an excuse to whip out your box cutter and slice this mofo like a birthday cake. And all you wanted was a beer?

Some people from your neighborhood are carefully observing your next move. Will you be a man and stand up to this ass clown that nobody really likes but is afraid of?

Ya know, Russia has offered to set up a liquor store or two in your yard but you'd really rather not have to answer to this schizophrenic mistress. You know how mistresses are, after awhile they think they own you. Tell you to leave your wife and stuff. You've got enough trouble at home though, thank you very much. The last thing you want is a divorce.

Maybe you even try to talk to this madcow boy and assure him it's only one beer and you'll be going home afterwards. Shouldn't we all be allowed to kick back after a hard day with a cold one if we want to? Naturally, he doesn't believe you. He thinks you're going to get so drunk on beer that you might want a tequila next.

What's a guy gotta do to get a drink in this place?

Sam, I think I'll have a Standard. Make it a double.

It's a simple analogy and much closer to the truth than the crap you've been eating lately. Obviously, there are some sub-plots and last minute script changes, but the story remains the same. And what is the moral to this story? When beer is outlawed, only outlaws will drink beer.