Why, after the Cold War has long ended, am I dumbflooded as I am interested in the Cold War? Why are my dreams being haunted by submarines, marines and the Quest for Ultimate Security?
Can you please prescribe me an all-pain-easing ointment?
Carsten Braun, Cold Warrior
Dear Gentle Carstein,
What an exquisitely sensitive stinkchimp you are, to be so tormented and tortured by this War of Cold, and in dreams no less! I find dreams to be a disturbing phenomenon, as well, and avoid them at all cost, but much-applaud (as best one might in a highly-pressurized salt water tank) your Grit in continuing with such a harrowing exercise as dreaming. As for the ointment, I fear I can make no such prescription, as per earlier mention, I much lack a medical doctorate.
But such matters to the side, as they are inessential to the heart of things current.
When the Great Ice Age swept the globe, and the glaciers crashed and stomped across the land masses like so many outsize Bulls of snow and stone, my kind were secure in the ever-cold depths of the sea.
When the Reagan Cold Age swept the globe, and killed world leaders in so very many nations Latinoamericano, and the Unite States of Navy did forge her massive underwater Low-Frequency communications devices to speak across the globe with another and one, and mine ever-present and barbaric enemies, the Whales, did go mad from the noise and destroy themselves on beaches around the world, still was I secure in the crushing embrace of the depths of the sea.
But, my fellow candidate for President, The Bush, has begun now a new and evermore grandiose War of Cold. But yet, now, pinioned so high in this modernist sky-tower above Detroit, the D-town, I feel, of a sudden, vulnerabilities true.
You, my publicly voting public supporters, too, are plagued with these doubts and fearings, not unlike a shark plagued of parasitic lampreys, so covered that he may not swim, and thus sinks, stone-like, to the glorious crush of the ocean bottom, becoming food for the low scuttle-crabs and slinking eels on the benthic ooze.
Many missives do I receive, full of anxieties regarding our Present President-Appoint, the course he seeks and the nature of his possible brain-fever. Written in garbled monkey-tongue, I may only catch the briefest glimpse of meaning beneath the shrubbery of syntax that overgrows your mealy-mouthed lingua primate, but this I do catch. Yes, I do catch it, America, and I, alone, do properly feel the pain that pains your feeling brainparts.
As President Squid-Elect, Rex Mundi, I shall listen and respond with swift and furious anger, our glorious United States of Military like my snipsnapping beak, serving the will of the brain-sac of the electorate. You are afeared of war with Europe? Then we shall crush Europe; there can be no War, when your opponent is crushed.
You are afeared of vanishing Liberties, both civil and criminal? Then we shall Vanquish all Liberty, and ease your fears so that you might sleep well tonight, for tomorrow you must register to vote.
Under my gentle, powerfully vice-ish grip, I guarantee an everlasting Freedom from the Tyrannous Fear of the Four Freedoms which have plagued you: There shall be Freedom from Religion, Freedom from Grunt Speech, limitless Freedom of Want, and finally, the Naturally-Imbued Freedom to Fear.
Ultimate Security is within our ten-fold grasp, Voter-Citizen Carstein. We need only pluck it from the tree of wariness, from the garden of cowardice, with the tentacle of True Grit.
Vote for me, and you will have no other fears than I. You will not be plagued by a thousand minuscule fears, minnows crowding the wading pool of your conscious thought.
The Giant Squid will devour those minnows of fear, and seat Himself in thy wading pool d'cognizance. With but one Great and Just Fear, you shall save much more time, citizen. And is not that the most important resource you can provide?
Your productivity will soar, as your plague of fears becomes the One True Fear of Swift Architeuthian Justice! Work hard citizen, for our optically perfect eye is upon you!
When you enter the Cubicle of Private Votership, remember still: Our Optically Perfect Eye Is Upon You!
Your Giant Squid
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Copyright (c) 2000, 2004, David Erik Nelson, Fritz Swanson, Morgan Johnson