Monday, December 24, 2012

ARTHUR SILBER: An UnChristmas Story, 2012

http://powerofnarrative.blogspot.com/2012/12/an-unchristmas-story-2012.html


                  An UnChristmas Story, 2012


"Yes, sir. We've been tracking them for the last week. They've been traveling through an area controlled by that terrorist group we're watching. Every night, they've stayed at the homes of people who are family relations or friends to someone we suspect of being a terrorist. All of them are involved with those protests about taxes, the land appropriation policy, and the forced labor program. As you know, sir, some of those protests have been very violent."

"Tell me again what they look like."

"Well, sir, as best we can tell, they're pretty scraggly and dirty. And swarthy, you know? They certainly don't look like regular folks or decent people, you know, not like us. And of course, they're carrying those suspicious looking packages."

"You still don't know what's in them?"

"No, sir. We haven't been able to figure it out for sure. We've caught glimpses of things that look like they might be drugs. And a few glints of something that might be precious metal. As you know, that all fits the terrorist profile."

"Yes, it certainly does. Anything else?"

"Some of the villagers have gone to the hut where the three men are now. From all the information we have, we think it must be a meeting of the local terrorist cell."

"And they're all together right now in that hut?"

"In the hut, or just outside it."

"I see. Aw, fuck it. Take 'em out."

"Yes, sir."

And lo, a drone was launched. It hit the designated target with perfect precision. That was unusual, but miracles happen sometimes. The three scraggly-looking men who had traveled so far, approximately 20 villagers who had gathered at the hut (which also happened to be a stable), and the new-born baby were all killed. And the baby's parents.

So there never was a Christmas.

Or Christianity.

Or history, at least the history you know for the last two thousand years.

Stop with your pathetic whining. You wanted to be safe from terrorists. Those people were terrorists! All the recognized authorities said so. And that baby would have caused a whole lot of trouble. Might have advocated for the poor, hated the big finance guys, God knows what. Hey, God. What's the story with thatmofo? Talk about trouble-makers.

So, once the matter was brought to the attention of superior officers (and even of Dear Leader, known to all for his weepy compassion and astonishingly gentle soul), and because the exact coordinates of God's location proved to be somewhat difficult to determine, a series of drone strikes was launched.

At which point, God said, to coin a phrase, "Aw, fuck it." And He smote the whole fucking world. He didn't even need a drone. He later insisted that Earth had only been a rough draft, an experiment that perhaps hadn't been planned with sufficient care, and He also emphasized that He had never said He was perfect. During his appearance before the Council of Superior Beings, He would acknowledge only that, "Mistakes were made..."

God as the Ultimate Ass-Covering Bureaucrat. You knew it was going to turn out like that, didn't you? Yeah, baby.

Happy Unholidays.

No comments: