The Moron Terror
A guy left me an inexplicable voicemail Tuesday. He wanted to know if I could assist him in “analyzing canine thyroid secretions.” If that isn’t weird enough, he claimed he found my name and number through an Internet search.
Rest assured, the Muse’s wage-earning alter ego is the last person you’d hire for such a task. I don’t know a thyroid gland from an artichoke. How this guy looked at my real-life Web site and concluded I was a dog yak expert is beyond comprehension.
But that was only a harbinger. A little later I caught the President’s presser with Hamid Karzia and I realized that the same mental virus that led that my caller to conclude I’m a lab genius had spread to the highest office in the land.
Thyroid man’s misinterpretation of my services had nothing on Bush. A reporter confronted the Commander in Chief about a leaked government report that stated, “the Iraq Jihad is shaping a new generation of terrorist leaders… [and] has become the ‘cause celebre’ for jihadists, breeding a deep resentment of US involvement in the Muslim world and cultivating supporters for the global jihadist movement.”
And the President’s witty retort to this? “…I agree with their conclusion that because of our successes against the leadership of al Qaeda, the enemy is becoming more diffuse and independent.”
I was flabbergasted once more. A double-barreled, super-sized flabbergaster. Within an hour, I’ve gone from dog phlegm to Dubyatown. A land in which reality is altered so that all available evidence is disregarded and beliefs are based on Bush’s delusional certitude.
“We’re winning the war on terror.” “We’ll be greeted as liberators.” “We’re fighting them there so we don’t have to fight them here.” “I analyze canine thyroid secretions for a living.”
In Dubyatown, all of these things are true. And as I watch the polls beginning to creep upward in the President’s favor, I realize that the American population is beginning to see it his way. It’s a way in which the failure to nab Osama or secure a single 9/11 conviction is deemed a “success,” and 2,700 dead American troops were killed by an enemy that outfoxed us by becoming “more diffuse and independent.” By gosh, the whole enterprise is going swimmingly and if you don’t agree, you’re with the terrorists.
I suppose I wouldn’t mind living in Dubyatown so much if it wasn’t such a bloody fucking phantasmagoria. If we’re to live in a land of fantasy, why couldn’t it be more like the one the Beatles envisioned? You know, with “music and wonderful roses…in sweet fragrant meadows of dawn–and dew.”
But no, in Dubyatown we march to the music of “Onward Christian Soldiers.” Our meadows are scented with the sweet fragrance of cordite. And there are no roses, just the thorns.
I suppose living in Dubyatown has its allure. Better to spin and simplify than confront harsh reality. Easier to spout patriotic platitudes than get about the hard work of fixing this mess. More expedient to dive further into the abyss with reckless rhetoric about a clash of civilizations than to admit you’ve botched it.
The problem with the fallacious prophylactic that is George Bush’s world view is that it was concocted by a moron. While I’ll defend to the end a moron’s right to exist, I sure as shit don’t want him driving the bus. And I grieve that he’s dragging more and more of us down to his level.
In one hour in one day I get a job offer from a canine coroner and get jobbed by my President because, once more, he’s ignoring a chorus of dissent within his own administration. We are in the grips of a moron terror I tell you and it’s spreading like Kudzu vine.
In such circumstance, there’s only one thing a Muse can do…and that’s how Hiatus II shall end.
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