<\/p>\n
Published Sep. 2004<\/p>\n
Oscar bin Laden: Archives and discussion at http:\/\/www.greatsociety.org\/forums\/index.php?topic=1241.0<\/p>\n
—-<\/p>\n
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Texas Billionaire Oscar bin Laden told me he had a plan to end hatred in the world.\u00a0 I wasn\u2019t doing anything except picking a scab that had formed after I sliced an old childhood scar with a knife, so I went along for a Saturday in DC.<\/p>\n
OBL had a syringe to his neck when I pulled up to the Greyhound station.\u00a0 Apparently, he was holding a family at bay by threatening his suicide.\u00a0 When he looked over at me, the relief was visible in his eyes, and I reached over to throw the passenger side door open.<\/p>\n
\u201cGoddamned city\u2019s full of lunatics.\u201d He muttered darkly, climbing into the car and pounding my dashboard, \u201cGo forward now!\u201d<\/p>\n
I took off, rattling through DC streets and the worst of Northeast, veering through scum and projects and new hope until we blasted out into the suburbs and cleared ourselves of darkness.\u00a0 Oscar told me to hit 270, the Interstate feed leaving the city to points north & west.\u00a0 It was a nice day and I hadn\u2019t had my dose of strange yet, so I obliged.<\/p>\n
I-270 fans out into 12 lanes and powers up to Frederick where it becomes I-70.\u00a0 The road always held magic for me.\u00a0 Like watching trains and planes, I always think of where the highways can take me.\u00a0 That said, I felt that every Interstate was quietly trying to anally rape me as I hurtled blindly past sites and history and pit-stops, surrounded by the gentle pulse of fast food haunts, outlets and strip malls.\u00a0 Once I started on 270, my goal always became a western glide to old US 40, where I could lose myself in back road history.\u00a0 But such sentimentalism has no place when Oscar\u2019s involved, so I kept my mood to myself.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s the scenario here?\u201d I asked as we approached Sugarloaf Mountain.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe Third Column.\u201d\u00a0 He replied cryptically.<\/p>\n
He told me to pull off at Sugarloaf, an hour outside of DC, and we wove our way to the Comus Inn, where a reserved table waited with three bottles of wine, fried Calamari and a somewhat forlorn-looking young woman.\u00a0 Her black hair was pulled into two ponytails and her body was lost amongst dark, baggy clothes that looked well out of place for June.\u00a0 She introduced herself as Beaver, smiled apologetically, and made room for Oscar.\u00a0 I pulled a Merlot closer to my heart and drank from the bottle even as the waitress brought us glasses.<\/p>\n
\u201cBeaver here represents the disenfranchised youth,\u201d Oscar said.\u00a0 \u201cI want you to write about her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHi,\u201d I said to Beaver.<\/p>\n
She smiled and twirled her hair.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you the disenfranchised youth?\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded shyly.<\/p>\n
\u201cExcellent.\u00a0 Who are you voting for?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNader.\u201d<\/p>\n
And there it was.\u00a0 I knew she was going to say that.\u00a0 Either Nader or a write-in Howard Dean.<\/p>\n
I have little issue over Dean.\u00a0 He\u2019s obviously a monster, a grinning, leaping madman bent on the rape of eight year old girls and the murder of nuns, but that doesn\u2019t mean he\u2019s a worse man than the Democrat\u2019s Gunga Din.\u00a0 \u00a0Upon reflection, Dean\u2019s campaign-killing Iowa yell was reminiscent of the yell my Confederate ancestors let loose as they charged, shoeless, across battlefields amidst a hail of musket balls.\u00a0 It was a shout of victory coming from the lips of a doomed angel.\u00a0 It was impetuous, child-like nonsense blown up by the media into a moment of terrible madness.\u00a0 I thought it was funny, but I\u2019m a connoisseur of self-destruction.\u00a0 I seek it out and relish the taste that the death of great men leave on my palate.\u00a0 There\u2019s a tortured, withered elegance to Dean\u2019s rapid and humorous fall from grace.\u00a0 The aftertaste was slightly fruity with a hint of caramel and flowers in a Paris spring.<\/p>\n
Come Kerry, a man I had supported since early on in the game, there\u2019s no elegance, tortured or otherwise.\u00a0 The aftertaste is bitter, like napalm and rice.\u00a0 I was and still am behind a war president in order to combat another war president, and I was doing so with the full knowledge that setting a political see-saw in motion would do nothing but confuse and corrupt what little remained of America\u2019s diseased and subdued awareness.<\/p>\n
But, then, my family\u2019s been voting strictly Democrat ever since Abe Lincoln betrayed us.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat gives?\u201d I asked Beaver.<\/p>\n
She sort\u00a0 of shrugged and made an animal like sound.\u00a0 Then, leaning forward, she whispered harshly.\u00a0 \u201cHe\u2019s good people.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGood people?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re being blackmailed,\u201d Beaver said, glancing around as if for government troops, or a treacherous Republican waitress, \u201cThe Opposition party versus The Party In Government.\u00a0 That\u2019s the story, ain\u2019t it?\u00a0 Ain\u2019t it?\u00a0 Like a game.\u00a0 Like they\u2019re wrapping us all around and spitting us out, day after day, election after election.\u00a0 Never a solid run, either, huh?\u00a0 Never a good time.\u00a0 One comes, one goes, and four years is just long enough to campaign for the next time around.\u00a0 The laws change and whip around and never make sense, don\u2019t it?\u00a0 Huh?\u201d<\/p>\n
She had a point.\u00a0 It was a sport.\u00a0 I shrugged and poured her some wine.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m underage.\u201d She muttered.<\/p>\n
\u201cFuck them.\u201d\u00a0 Oscar barked, turning to the waitress, who looked like she needed a cigarette.\u00a0 \u201cFuck every inch of them.\u00a0 This 20 year old girl is going to have a fucking civilized motherfucking drink!\u201d\u00a0 The waitress shrugged, so Oscar turned to a polite, well-cleaned couple at the table beside us, \u201cCunt!\u201d he screamed.\u00a0 The couple froze, eyes wide.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t tolerate lesser-evilism,\u201d\u00a0 Beaver continued.\u00a0 \u201cWhat\u2019s the point?\u00a0 That\u2019s something you old guys invented.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201c<i>We<\/i> old guys?\u201d<\/p>\n
Beaver shrugged, \u201cWell, you settle for it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFuck you, child.\u201d I replied sharply, taking the wine glass away from her and spilling half on my hand and the other half down my throat, \u201cTake away two party politics and you\u2019ll have fucking four or five lesser evils to choose from instead of one!\u00a0 What?\u00a0 Do you think getting multiple parties into play will bring humanity beck to politics?\u00a0 Get your head back on, retard.\u00a0 You\u2019ll surround yourself with more than the standard darkness.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not lesser-evilism,\u201d I told Beaver, \u201cWhat should fear you out is pussification.\u00a0 Now, allow my political correctness to lapse for a bit, but the pussification of the American political machine is unforgivable.\u00a0 We have a choice between two simpering, bleeding, sappy cunts.\u00a0 It\u2019s NASCAR versus Electability.\u00a0 And that\u2019s the wave of the future.\u00a0 Intellectualism, literacy, independence and spirit have all faded in favor of this shit.\u00a0 Even if there were a dozen parties representing the individual wills of entire blocks of politically active and thoughtful Americans, we\u2019d be backing down on all the real issues.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFaggots,\u201d Oscar said.<\/p>\n
\u201cEducation,\u201d I chimed in.<\/p>\n
\u201cHealth.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou name it.\u00a0 Any of a thousand things that would be of social benefit.\u00a0 But nobody \u2013 Nader, Dr. Happy \u2013 nobody can run on domestic issues anymore.\u00a0 We\u2019re so far gone we don\u2019t even care about our own Humanity anymore.\u00a0 I can forgive not giving a dead man\u2019s cock about anyone around you, but you\u2019d think we\u2019d at least worry about ourselves.\u201d<\/p>\n
Beaver clapped excitedly, \u201cBut that\u2019s what I\u2019m saying.\u00a0 People like me, we\u2019re the New Culture.\u00a0 You\u2019re Generation X, but we\u2019re not.\u00a0 We\u2019re New Blood.\u00a0 We\u2019re changing things.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re fucking dirty whelps.\u00a0 You\u2019re the rape victims of the PC generation.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe give a damn about Humanity!\u201d She said, \u201cMore than you do, Nacho!\u00a0 All your preaching about change and awareness and you\u2019d steal a blind man\u2019s dog.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDogs, like young women, are too expensive.\u201d<\/p>\n
Beaver smiled, her lips full, \u201cYou\u2019re an empty man.\u00a0 And so are all the others from your camp.\u00a0 The unsettled, the unplanned, the unachieved.\u201d<\/p>\n
I was getting tired of this.\u00a0 In my head was <i>Speed<\/i> by Atari Teenage Riot, which always cycles around right before I murder a 20 year old Naderite with a bottle of merlot.<\/p>\n
\u201cDefend your choice.\u201d\u00a0 Beaver said suddenly.<\/p>\n
\u201cI want to get a Vietnam vet in office because he\u2019ll be consumed by a bitter resentment and fight our wars with massive conventional ground forces and, possibly, nuclear holocaust, instead of pussy-footing around.\u201d<\/p>\n
Both Oscar and Beaver gaped at me, unable to respond.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, come on.\u00a0 Tell me you don\u2019t want to see a fucking tank battle.\u00a0 Tell me you don\u2019t want beleaguered troops retreating from a winter in Moscow, hand to hand combat with the rear guard\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe some good old island jumping and a few death marches, right?\u201d\u00a0 Oscar asked sarcastically.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhatever it takes to pass the time.\u201d\u00a0 I stood and leaned in close to Beaver, putting my finger in her face.\u00a0 \u201cYou\u2019re the fool, little girl.\u00a0 You\u2019re the unplanned, the unsettled.\u00a0 This is the modern era, this is the time of war and terror, these are the days of the coming Empire.\u00a0 Your waterhead Republic is sliding into the gutter and everything \u2013 <i>everything<\/i>– from here on out is going to be horrible.\u00a0 We haven\u2019t had a non-military president since FDR, and look what he got us involved in.\u00a0 Even Jimmy Carter was a Navy man.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou come from nowhere,\u201d Beaver smiled fondly, \u201cYou have nothing to say.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell,\u201d I replied, \u201cSo what?\u201d<\/p>\n
It was childish, and she had called me out, but that\u2019s not what\u2019s important.\u00a0 What\u2019s important is that I walked away without paying the bill, and decided to leave Oscar behind with his little beast.\u00a0 Let her drive him home.\u00a0 He was needling me in the middle of an election summer and I had things to do, like make it to Montgomery County Liquor before the Stoli Sale ended.<\/p>\n
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