Weapons of Mass Distraction: Big, Long & Ready To Blow

Funny story written by John Peurach

Monday, 6 September 2010

image for Weapons of Mass Distraction: Big, Long & Ready To Blow
PACKAGE GOODS: All you gotta do is pull the string.

THE HAGUE - Due to the quick-draw popularity of Iran's recently unveiled unmanned drone bomber aircraft - the so-called "Ambassador Of Death" (for no other reason than apparently because "Semi-Big Thing That Will Blow Up Near Where You Live" was already designated as an alternative domain name by a rogue-minded, beyond the fringe Boy Scout troop from northern Michigan) - leaders of numerous other second-tier nations occupying the sidelines of a, more or less, out of control, largely indifferent world, have swiftly begun to stir things up accordingly.

And, by doing so, assorted big boys with toys have found it increasingly necessary to collectively take time off from their traditional busy schedules of state-sponsored/despot-approved domestic terror, all around the countryside torture, and/or systematic ethnic-cleansing mayhem otherwise centered around anyone but themselves, in order to collectively show-off their ultra-impressive self-styled array of size-matters military hardware. And, of course, whenever possible, flex and pose accordingly alongside said equipment in a continued effort to show off their super-sized stuff, hopefully impress girls, and, by and (ever-so extra) large, further enhance what little they seemingly are forever capable of bringing to and/or under the nearest available table.

Sadly, what this latest series of around the horn yank-off maneuvers seems to supply most - besides, of course, a lesson in abbreviated nationalistic humility, and a reminder that would-be fearless leader regimes both near and far are, more often than not, into the same cold, hard, full-of-payload destructive stuff as many of their more celebrated, upper-echelon, first-division, ruling class-like continental cousins - is something a little more close to home.

All in all, something that might, in a more perfect Coen Brothers/Preston Sturges-like world, be construed as maybe a tad too odd, or perhaps a wee bit more madcap than need be, if not already so obviously in tune with real life at its worst. And thus, for far too many, a way of life that unavoidably rings oh so tragically true.

In other words, this ongoing big/bigger/biggest bombfest quest for inter-continental fire power (and the showboating involved in its periodic photo-op moments of ultra-proud, get-a-load-at-what-we-can-send-sceaming-in-your-direction-if-need-be, show & tell display) indirectly provides many of the fine, already overburdened women, children and men currently doomed to be drawing a breath (and/or using what's left of their fingers and toes to count any of their days not yet officially numbered) within the fubar'd confines of their current as mapped out boarders, with even more reason to view their "chosen" leaders as total douche bags, and thus, not worth the spit it would seem to take to cook a goat, or fry up some decorative arm bands, just in case any pre-arranged day-trading, out-in-the field, hunter or gatherer spouse brings home the boss from the junta main office back to the hole-in-a-wall cave (or van down by the river) for dinner. And perhaps, if need be, an hour or two of hopefully stress-free, scratch & sniff candlelit viewing of a newly arrived bootleg DVD of "Inception," while someone (guess who?) cleans up the mess, and is told to be glad that they can, and, in the end, are still allowed to, especially after burning the lamb kabobs the way they just did.

Meanwhile, as much as most of these follow-up announcements of other countries bomb-unfriendly capabilities may seem coincidentally enough, more or less, unscripted, uncoordinated, and all the way unusual, the sudden abundance of them on the global newswire horizon, would seem to suggest that someone out there is on the same page. This, despite any existing proof, that anyone has yet to come to a full, or even partial agreement as to what "good" book might in fact possess such a page for all to observe in the high level quiet of their respective tree house towers of out-on-a-limb babel.

Luckily, there are indeed enough eager to please points of contention bubbling over with fury around the ever-popular third rock from the sun, ready, willing and able to add their unremarkably loud echo to the fire sparked up and speeded along by Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, during his well-attended news conference/fantasy football draft held last Sunday at a T.A.I.Friday's in Tehran's fashionable Stoning & Beheading district, just west of the always festive downtown Mossadegh Shallow Grave/Infidels Aren't Us People's Park.

Although, the jury is still out over whether or not, despite similar underwhelming chances to achieve either a successful launch and/or a positive degree of smooth direct hit deliverability, the nicknames attached to such on-deck militaristic hardware will be as accurate (or as popular) catchphrase-wise, especially in the hearts and minds of both the lemming-like t-shirt crowd, and any other overly receptive souvenir minded crazies out there, otherwise attracted to the "Ambassador of Death," and its well spun claims to being nothing more than "a message of Peace and Friendship."

On the bright side, each of these would-be sinister new entries into the global warfare sweepstakes is apparently observing a noticeable degree of politically correct "Green Mindset Thinking" during both the research and development process, as well as in the eventual areas of production, and ultimate state of could be possible deployment.

*GERMANY - "Diplomat of Destruction" - Uh-Uh-No-Way, the off-its-rocker 21st century splinter group of once hip and trendy Deutschland 70's/80's era ragtag gang of nutjobs, the Red Army Faction and Baader-Meinhof Group (currently under the skimpy bra and panties/hooker heel control of uber extremo, former Wagnerian mezzo-soprano soloist, Micki Wicki Mansdorf) has, as promised, taken its less than enlightened denial of the holocaust stance public in a most becoming way. What with this choice bit of well-tailored, style conscious, multi-megaton workmanship, that apparently utilizes all of the stray belts gathered over a two month period at the Berlin Tegel Airport security check-points as its scoch more room payload. All of which was as a result of a quick change of plans of sorts, brought on, no doubt, once Ms. Mansdorf and her team of loopy experts, determined that the bomb's initial design (as made up of several tons of stray shoes) was either severely limited (due to there being only one Foot Locker open in Heidelberg the day of construction) or (more likely) filled with too much ironic-like poetic justice, on account of the fact that any additional footwear would most likely have had to have been supplied by numerous area Holocaust Museums and/or any Zionist Research Centers with a higher than usual degree of closet space.

"One size fits all," promised Mansdorf, the new and improved Queen of All Fours, prior to a recent dry hump run through with a group of European Boy Scout leaders, and a handpicked collection of recently retired Little League coaches from New Jersey, Ohio and Pennsylvania. And, from the looks of it, she ain't kidding, fellas. So, by all means proceed with caution, and, of course, buckle up.

*NORTH KOREA - "King of All Obliteration" - So easy (Kim Jon Il + dropped on his head at birth + too much soda as a teen + not enough hugs along the way + goofy glasses + Larry Fine fright wig x a lifetime's worth of toe nail clippings & soiled Presidential Palace laundry = A Whale Of A Big Stink Out To Prove Its Point) a two-year old could have come up with and/or have no trouble understanding such an altogether unnecessary equation. And, no shock here, one apparently did.

*PAKISTAN - "Diva of Doom" - To help boost the low-rent, yet certainly still snappy, profile of the Pakistan Peoples Party, current president Asif Ali Zandari, the husband of slain exiled former boss lady, Benazir Bhutto, has apparently discovered a perfect place to stash all of his wife's many no longer in use long white veils, award-winning collection of vintage Pabst Blue Ribbon beer cans, and (heretofore only rumored) extensive supply of unpaid Cambridge, Massachusetts parking tickets from her Radcliffe College days when her chariot was (allegedly) the scourge of Harvard Yard, and nearby Central Square whenever Roomful Of Blues played the Speakeasy. That's right, folks, the kind of colorful, full-tilt, kick across the nearest border nuts, that both Cher and son Chaz could easily agree on before yet another late night arm wrestling match wakes up the neighbors and/or otherwise disturbs any semi-amused in the vicinity hillside wildlife.

*SUDAN - "Duke of Annihilation" - What to do with all the skeletal remains (particularly skulls, rib cages, and, not so surprisingly, middle fingers) piled up in more Darfur Collateral Damage warehouses than anyone (least of all reigning mouth-breathing mad man, President Omar al-Bashir) knows what to do with, especially now that Starving Students moving company has upped their rates due to the influx of flies, too much sandy path traveling, and only one 7-Eleven per every 2,300 square miles? Well, get a load of this bang up bag-o-tell of packed tight bone power with Dirk Diggler's name all over it, and find out. In other words, who knew the toughest nut to crack in the current Sudanese sack of you know what was such a big P.T. Anderson fan? Apparently his long standing cocked and loaded fascination for Adam Sandler, Kevin Kline, and Judd Nelson was just so much misunderstood figments of some poorly informed PR guys whack-a-doodle imagination. Duuuuh!

*VENEZUELA - "Prince of Yow Pow!" - In his continued reckless effort to put great quantities of his nation's money where he wishes MILF Goddess Ava Lauren's mouth was (on a fairly recurring basis), President Hugo Chavez pulls off the ultimate proxy, so to speak, by hammering home several oil tankers worth of bootleg Dodger Dogs and a small (anything but fresh water) lake of cheese sauce into a series of fully erected warheads just waiting for further instructions pertaining to any, as planned, ongoing desires for a significant improvement in his nation's quality of frequency, size, and response. And, based on the way the old boy was squinting upon impact (during a surprise pre-dawn exhibition attack on Grenada, followed by a quick backdoor pile drive on neighboring Guyana, with candy and flowers to follow) it doesn't appear to be the first (or last time) for this sort of tug-of-war, head game, and/or business end horse play.

*CANADA - "Duchess of Decidedly Chilled (Shaken, Not Stirred) Human Waste" - Although this seems more like a rumor than a point of fact, if anything close to what is currently being reported, and thus, believed to be going on along the north shore of Baffin Island, is, in any way close to being partially the truth, then, do not delay, and, oh yeah, duck and cover your hind end (and any noticeable lead with your nose tendencies), mainly because all that acquiring of so much U.S. generated film & TV production port-a-potty by-product has to wind up somewhere other than, of course, in an ever-growing field of frozen tundra all along Baffin's Foxe Basin shore. Especially, if, as often speculated, the renegade ice hockey movement, Two Minutes For High Stinking, ever figures out the worst possible scenario for the slow building wedge of discontent they've been saddled with ever since the NHL lockout several seasons ago, and the fact that, til now (and, well into the foreseeable forever) the Quebec Nordiques ain't ever coming back to town, or even close to any available center ice, in and about the always explosive French-Canadian tinder(penalty)box.

Needless to say, such a line-up of bombs away heavy hitters would seem to have a little something extra these days, not only up the old sleeve, but in the cheap hotel as well.

And well, in the more or less immortal words of current much in demand Porn Queen of All Seasons, Lisa Ann - and, not so surprisingly enough, much of this year's graduating class of Miss Universe hopefuls - "Tell us something we don't know."


Whatever it is, it gets worse.


The funny story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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