Hanna

In the meantime, a short story:

Hanna

The girls circulated a paper menu and the bride told them again what they already knew. The wedding was in one month. It would be at Flint Lake. Pick up your dresses if you haven’t. Alter them if you need to. Don’t forget your shoes. Remember your flowers. The money is due tonight. For the motel. For the salon. For the dresses. And remember the boat ride. Sorry. That sounds very rude. You know I didn’t mean it. I get nervous but I know you know that. Listen. This is good. Rebecca said she would pay for drinks tonight. Her and someone else. Was it you Hanna? Thank you. Really thank you. Everyone did you hear that? Drinks. I’m sorry. Everyone has already paid too much. Don’t say anything. You’re complaining behind my back. I know you are. I would. No. That was a joke. About me. Even if it didn’t sound like it. Everyone is getting drinks. Is that right? Drinks? Just get drinks. But get something to eat if you want. Really. We can also go out afterward. Down the street is a place I took all five of you. Not all together. Whenever each of you visited me here in college. Remember? Maybe it’s not there anymore. I think it is. Stop. Has everyone met each other? I mean really met. I mean not just on the phone. Not just on the computer. Not just saying hi when you met a minute ago. Yes? No you haven’t. Wait. The server could be coming. Don’t you love this bar? I love it. Half the people here tonight are from town. Just like when I was in college. What do they do outside of here? I don’t know. Do you know? The town is all fields besides the main two streets. And a couple hundred small houses. It does have that nice section on the ridge. But everyone loves this bar when I bring them. That’s why I picked it. You know? I wanted it to be fun. You’re having fun. Don’t smile. I know you’re having fun. Right? Maybe it’s just because I’ve been here so many times. Wait until some of the old people start dancing. They will. You don’t believe me. Abbie. Is Hanna done with the menu? I just want to look one more time. I already know what I want. I just have to make sure they still have it. Yes. It’s this one right here. See it? Lee. You would like this one. It doesn’t say how many shots it has but it is a lot. Look. Even the name is fun. I know it doesn’t mean anything but it’s fun. All their drink names are fun. If you really like this bar we can come here after the wedding. The lake is only two hours away. Northeast. Right? In college after a party we would sometimes drive from here to the lake in the middle of the night. Don’t yell at me. I wouldn’t drive. We always made the boys do it. No one should have driven like we were. I know. But. We don’t have to come here after the wedding. Really. It’s too far and I already told you what the reception will be like. You’ll love it. And don’t feel awkward. Don’t feel like you have to spend the whole time at the wedding party table. Eating in front of everyone. I won’t. I just want to be up there for a little while. Maybe for some toasts. And a kiss. I don’t like eating in front of people. All that in my mouth. I promise I’m just going to dump everything off my plate. Make a big pile on the floor. Hopefully no one will find it. Then they’d know. My fiancé would. You all would. I couldn’t do that. No. You wouldn’t let me anyway. Maybe I’ll just scrape my food onto one of your plates. When no one is looking. If Hanna doesn’t want any I’ll divide it between the rest of you. But I promise everything will be wonderful. All of it and especially the reception. You will choke when you see the hall we picked. You will. Don’t laugh. That’s just how I talk sometimes. I don’t know what I meant. You just will. Fine. You can make fun of me if you still think it’s ugly when you see it. It’s definitely better than this bar. But I love this bar. I know I’ve already said that. And I’m sorry I dragged everyone here. It’s as halfway between everyone as I could find. I didn’t want to make everyone have to call in sick Monday. I just thought we needed another night to plan. Right? I guess I also wanted everyone to meet. It’s an excuse. Hey. I think the server is coming. Hello. Yes. I’m sorry. I need to look at the menu again. I told my friends I know what I want. I do. I just have to find it again. I was just staring it. The drink. I really should have it memorized. Here. This one. I can’t pronounce it. Yes. The large. Lee. You’re having one too? So two. Thank you. Rebecca. You should get one. Get it. Really. Rachel? OK. So four. And Abbie? You’re having the one below it. My old roommate always said that was good. It looks good. Get a big straw. OK. Thank you. Did you get all that? Thank you very much. Wait. Excuse me. Sir? Excuse me. No. He didn’t get Hanna’s. OK sorry. Go ahead Hanna. Order. Another one? OK. So five of those then. Are you sure you want that? It’s big. No. That’s fine. It’s fine. I want you to. Really. So five of those. Yes. Thank you. That’s right. We’ll start a tab.

•

Lee? Lee you should. You have to dance with him. Listen. He’s going to come over here. He will. He’s going to come over here and you have to say yes. When he asks you to dance. I said that. Right. Say yes. I think he’s in the bathroom. But he won’t be in there all night. Hey. This is what he’s going to do. Don’t forget I said this. OK? He’s going to come out. He’s going to go to the bar. He’s going to whisper something to his friend. Then he’s going to come over here. I can tell. Did you see him smile at you earlier? Don’t try to avoid him. I won’t let you. You won’t want me to. I know it. And you’ll smile at the first thing he says. Then you’ll be glad you waited. Like I said. Don’t try not to smile because I said you would. It won’t work. Your heart will melt. I’m not laughing. It will. Later you’ll say you don’t know how it happened. You’ll say I never thought he’d be such a gentleman. Lee. I don’t care. You’re only dancing with him. Dancing. It’s dancing. You saw Abbie and Rachel. They danced with those mexicans in the cowboy hats. It was fun. Abbie and Rachel laughed the whole time. Didn’t you see how the mexicans bowed and took off their hats when the song ended? It was very sweet. Chivalrous. I like that word. Don’t laugh. I think they have wives and kids. Abbie and Rachel didn’t care. They wouldn’t have cared if they knew they had two wives each. One here. One back there. In mexico. It doesn’t matter. And I know you really don’t hate him. You’re acting. You’d dance with him even if I didn’t tell you to. You have that smile. Like you want something. Like you want to do something. And you’ve only started your second drink. Is it the same one like Abbie’s? I should have gotten that. Can I have a sip. Abbie hates when I drink hers. Here. Is that pineapple? That’s pineapple. Or mango. I’m not sure what the fruit is. It’s good. I might get one of those next. Help me remember the name. So where is everyone? I haven’t seen them. I don’t care. I don’t need them with me all night. Just wondering. Wait. I know where Rebecca is. She is outside flirting with someone for a cigarette. Go look. Look outside fast. Just open the door. Ask her what she’s doing. Ask her. But I already know what she’ll say. She always says that. Like I said last time. Why would she just stand outside that long? It’s so cold outside. It was snowing earlier. So where are Abbie and Rachel? Are they dancing with the mexicans again? I don’t see them. I will scream if they left with those men. No. There they are. Over there. Behind the pool table. Jesus. They’ll be there for an hour. I can tell they’re having one of  their long talks. Their long eternity talks. Always about Abbie’s problems. Rachel just listens. On and on and on and on. But they’re good friends. And that’s good. So. Hanna was with Rebecca then? They’ve been friends longer than any of us have known each other. I don’t even remember who I was friends with when I first met them. Actually yes I do. You remember Megan. Red-haired Megan. From second and third year spanish. Her. I talked to her a little in high school but not very much. She was smart and friends with all those people. She seemed like maybe she was a dyke. But I don’t know. She was always really nice to me. I’m not trying to be rude. So was Hanna smoking too? Then where is she. I don’t see her. And she doesn’t just go off by herself. She’s Hanna. Hanna. Maybe I’ll yell out her name. Really loud. Most people won’t hear me anyway because of the music. No I won’t. Not now. Hey. Let’s go look for her. Not that I think she’s lost. Wait. Come here. Stand where I’m standing. Now look over there. On the far side of the bar. That’s her. You see her. That’s her. Isn’t it? I know. Hanna. Our Hanna. What is she doing? Lee. Tell me what she’s doing. Hanna. I’ve never seen her dance like that. Yes. Move closer. That’s her. See. By where we put our coats and purses. You see her dancing with that young mexican guy? Now she’s kind of dancing. Kind of talking. He looks like he’s with those other guys over there. Not the older ones. Not the ones Abbie and Rachel were with. But we shouldn’t say anything. That’s good for her. Isn’t it? She might be drunk already. I’ve only seen her drunk twice before. But not really drunk. He’s cute. He’s cute isn’t he? Kind of short. But for Hanna. Have you ever seen her dance like that? I didn’t think she’d even dance like that with a boyfriend. If she had one. The only person I ever saw her dance with was her gay friend. She went with to a couple high school dances. She told me once in college she went on a date with someone she was really excited about. I didn’t hear anymore about it after. He was supposed to be really creative and different. He sounded religious like her. She wouldn’t tell me anything specific. But the way she talked.

•

If you’re my friend you’ll come here. Hey. I know what the bartender just said. Everyone heard him. Come here then we’ll leave in a second. You know what I’m going to ask. You saw me smile. I always do that. But don’t act worried. Don’t. Stop trying to guess and let me talk. I never get to ask you anything. Let me ask. Rebecca. Please. It won’t be embarrassing. Please? I just said I heard what the bartender said. We’ll go in a minute. We have to wait until everyone gets their things anyway. Over there. I told Hanna to put them in that corner. She was over there all night. Most of the night. So please just tell me. I know I haven’t said it. I’ll ask if you’ll let me ask. Only if you say it’s OK. Please. I’m not saying anything now. Look at my mouth. Closed. It was closed. But tell me. OK. So who was that guy talking to you? I know you were getting a cigarette. I don’t care. I almost went out with you. But I thought I should stay inside. So? He wasn’t no one. You don’t act like he was no one. Lee described him and I think I know who he is. He was in one of my freshman classes. I think he’s from here or around here. His dad owns one of the antiques stores in town. Maybe both of them. So did you think he was cute? I always confuse him with another guy from here. It doesn’t matter. They’re both tall and pretty cute. He was cute wasn’t he? Hey. Rebecca. Give me your hand. Turn it. What’s that? Hey. Come here. Give me your hand again. That’s his number. It is isn’t it? I don’t care. I’m going to listen to you call him later. I’ll buy you something from a candy machine at the hotel. Then you’ll call him. Or I’ll make you. I can’t wait to get back. Are you tired? They just turned off some lights. We’re trying to leave. I should tell them. OK. Look. See Hanna? I told you. She’s still there. I didn’t even see her go to the bathroom once. Hanna. Thank you so much. You didn’t have to watch our things all night. I wasn’t worried. I just guess I’m responsible. But you know why I asked you. Anyone else would have left at the beginning of the night. And you’re so sweet. OK. So does everyone have their things? I can drive fine. Really. My last drink was almost an hour ago. I don’t feel any buzz. But someone else can drive if they want. I don’t care. Abbie. You are not driving. I know she wasn’t serious but I don’t like to joke about that. She still has a drink in her hand. Hey. Put that glass back so we can go. Everyone can fit in my car if we squeeze. Actually. Hanna. Can I drive your car? People won’t have to sit on each other if we do. Thanks Hanna. Thank you. Really. Let me give you some gas money before we go. I’m driving your car. Don’t forget you spent all night by the purses too. At least you had a little fun though. Did anyone else see Hanna dancing earlier? Lee and I watched her. I’ve never seen you like that before Hanna. We don’t care. It’s just a surprise. A good surprise. OK. Everyone give me two or three dollars each to give to Hanna. Come on. That’s fair. Abbie. Rachel will give you a few dollars if you don’t have any. Right? I thought I told everyone to bring some cash. Didn’t I tell you? I might have enough for everyone but I left a big tip. Wait. Does anyone have cash? I mean any at all. How much did you have before? Are you sure? I took my cash out at the beginning of the night. I’m not saying I know what happened to yours. Abbie. You don’t know it was stolen. But. Hanna was here all night and didn’t see anyone strange. Hanna did you see anyone? I know I didn’t. And you never left this spot. Right? And one of us was usually over with you. Or at least watching. I know I didn’t see anyone. I don’t know what happened. Maybe I should ask the bartender before we leave. But Hanna. What about that guy you were dancing with? The young mexican guy. What were his friends doing while you were dancing? I think I saw three or four. Do you have his number? Give me his number. I don’t care I’m calling him. Wait. I’ll be able to tell by his voice. This is the number he gave you? This one. It doesn’t work. Hanna. It doesn’t work. Everyone look in their purses again. Hanna look again in yours too. How much did everyone have? How much? I think we had at least two hundred. How did they take it with everyone around? With Hanna right there. She said she was watching them the whole time. Isn’t that what you said? OK. Hanna. Don’t be upset. Don’t. We don’t know what happened. We didn’t say you did anything wrong. None of us are angry. None of us. Right? See. Listen to me a second Hanna. Do you think you could describe those guys to the police? I know you were a little drunk earlier. Don’t be embarrassed. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want. I just know Rebecca had almost a hundred dollars. Let’s just tell the police what happened. It won’t take long. Come on. Hanna. I don’t think you did anything wrong. I just want to find everyone’s money. We’ll all wait with you. The police will ask us questions too. But you’re the one they need to hear. I know you will do it. Hanna. I didn’t say you had to tell them everything. Unimportant things. Just sit down for a minute Hanna. You can have this chair if you want. Get up onto the chair Hanna. Hanna.

Back Soon

Back soon in the next two weeks. Working on a project.

I apologize for writing that like a distress telegraph.

Hat Trick

Business people will often introduce a business person to another business person as someone who “wears a lot of hats” and, to be fair, they do this because they have no other way to describe an unexceptional and friendly person.

“All right, where are all of our victims?” a human resources dickbag might say to a group of new employees on a tour through an office. “Over here is the payroll and processing department. And — hey, don’t even think about going anywhere, Kathy — this is Kathy Ortrum, our assistant office manager. I know she’s trying to hide from us, but you’ll get to know her soon enough. She wears a lot of hats around here.”

This term is popular at work for three reasons. Subordinates can use it to kiss the ass of their boss, bosses can use it to feign admiration for a subordinate and anyone can use it to describe anyone who has even the least complicated job.

“Kathy, tell them what you do,” the human resources dickbag might continue. “No? Well, I’ll tell them for you. She organizes documents, answers phones, assists other associates, retrieves information, reviews accounts … Whew! It’s exhausting just to say!”

To have a job is to wear a lot of hats. I can’t even think of a non-wearing-a-lot-of-hats profession. The last such job in America, I believe, ended when prisons no longer made cannon-ball-shackled convicts in striped uniforms break rocks all day in the prison yard.

Fuck people who introduce someone as a wearer of a lot of hats. Really really fuck people, however, who personally introduce themselves as one of those wearers.

“Hi everyone, my name is Brandon,” the human resources dickbag might have said at the beginning of the office tour. “I’m the human resources outreach coordinator but, really, I wear a lot of different hats around here.”

The term is even bad as a dumbshit description of someone who is both busy and important. When was a hat the primary way someone indicated their occupation? What employee has ever been awarded a new hat alone and a new hat alone as the result of a change in job status?

“To signify your new position as chief bell hop,” no one has ever said, “you will now be given this wacky 90s jester hat much more befitting of your rank.”

Mike Check

Cable news host Mike Galanos loves a few things and he would list them on his fingers in front of you if he could.

Truth, he would say. Values. Common sense. Bravery.

But Galanos, host of an evening news show on CNN’s HLN, could not list the things he hates even if he tried. Goddamnit, he could only say with his teeth clenched as he beat his desk.

Don’t blame him. Mike’s one weakness is his inability to tolerate even the sound of evil. But this won’t move him from his seat at Prime News. He knows he is the one person in America willing to denounce child abuse and violence against the elderly and he has a job to do.

Mike’s courage leapt out at me like a flame on the torch of justice the first time I saw and wrote about him last year. It was July. A film of sweat framed his brow. He heard about an isolated case of statutory rape in a small Idaho town. He had to tell America about it. He had to America it was wrong.

Please learn more about his passion. Here are his best clips of the second half of 2009:

1. Teacher – Sex Consensual

Mike was very incredulous about this story and its facts. He had to loosen his tie.

This is what happened. A 36-year-old Georgia teacher had an affair with a 17-year-old student. A judge ruled that the teacher was not guilty of sexual assault because the girl said the sex was consensual.

Under Georgia state law, a 17-year-old can have sex with adults.

But Mike of course saw through this bullshit and spoke out against a law he refused to recognize. He knew the teacher had twisted the real law and he knew this ruling cleared the way for a hail of Georgia teacher-student rapings.

Mike did show the audience he could be a professional when he interviewed the teacher’s attorney. He only sighed a little with self-righteous anger and simply wanted to know “loophole or not, does your client admit what he did was morally wrong?” and “(won’t teachers now) prey on our kids and have sex with them?”

The girl’s father also thinks the affair is a crime, Mike then tells the attorney.

But the attorney refuses to recognize Mike is right. Typical.

“(The law) is not a loophole,” the attorney says. “In Georgia, a 17-year-old is legally competent to choose their sexual partners.”

Nice loophole answer, loopholer.

Mike thankfully in conclusion makes reasoned assessment of the case’s likely consequences:

“This sends a chill down the spine of every parent in Georgia … (from) what we’ve seen my sons could be in trouble too.”

2. Bullying, Assault, in Middle School?

Mike likes to show people how much he worries about children’s safety so in this story he had to make more baseless and hysterical declarations than usual, including the ideas that:

- Nihilistic middle school students will only grow bolder in their attacks against “gingers”

- The Internet has conditioned young teenagers to become super-criminals

- Strong, successful and adventurous actresses corrupt the morals of girls

Mike based these statements on two stories about middle schoolers bullying pale red-haired students last year in California. A few boys harassed a few other boys in one case and two girls beat up another girl in a second case, leaving her with “minor scrapes and bruises.”

Neither Mike nor his guests gave details about the first case. The bullies in the second case, as a reporter said, were mad the girl they attacked had gossiped about them.

This doesn’t stop Mike from saying what he wants to say. He tells the camera with dissolution in his voice that the ginger students were attacked “only because of their red hair and their light skin.”

Mike thinks that these isolated middle school fights are much different from the middle school fights that have happened ever since middle schools were created. America now has visual entertainment. Why do we let boys watch violence on the Internet? Who will take responsibility for the negative influence of women leads in action movies?

One guest demands a solution for the girl bullies, ages 12 and 14, and Mike doesn’t disagree with it.

“I’d like to see these girls incarcerated for what they’ve done,” the guest says.

But Mike isn’t here to tell people what to do. He’s here to ask simple, misinformed and leading questions.

“What is going on here?” he says, while the ticker under him asks: Are middle schoolers getting more violent?

“Kids this young, this violent?” he continues. “Girls this young, this violent?”

3. Random Assault?

This story wasn’t about sex or children or sex with children so I was surprised Mike was interested in it.

But like with those stories, he again pretends to fight exploitation while actually practicing it.

The story: A drunk 55-year-old Pennsylvania man with a record of “domestic issues” tried cash a check last month at Wal-Mart and was rejected. He thought a 72-year-old greeter bumped him as he left and he punched the old man in the face.

Mike spreads the facts of the case across the segment. He does this so he can make the attack seem like a random act of Clockwork Orange violence.

“What are we missing here? he says, bewildered. “Did the guy just walk up and punch the 72-year-old for no reason?”

People can try to decide for themselves during the clip. Mike shows the short surveillance video of the drunk man punching the old man over and over during the segment.

But eventually Mike dries out his bullshit well. He can only conclude in the end, “Just a sad story there.”

It is, Mike. Yes it is.

Not Impressed

Jesus suffers on lots of crosses on lots of walls and I understand what he wants to prove but, if I think about what he did, I don’t think it is impressive as he and Christians have decided.

Put yourself in his situation. Life is good. You are the one true god and have controlled the universe for billions of eons. You know that soon you will again control the universe for billions more. You do whatever you want. Work whenever you want. Make whatever you want. Kill whoever you want. You have everything you could ever dream of and, if you think of something new, you just create it.

One day in your otherwise perfect eternal life will clearly suck dicks. You know this. You created the rules. You had a long time to plan. A long time. As long as you could ever want. You decision: Beatings, crucifixion and momentary death should be included.

You will be tortured for one day. People you created on a planet you formed acting inside a social environment you allowed will do this to you. You know this. These are your rules. This is your plan. But it’s OK. The consequence of your one day of torture will prevent the eternal torture of billions of people you love.

You feel pretty good about this plan. Many will worship you as merciful and courageous. They will grovel about the valuelessness of all their achievements compared to your one day of modesty. For eternity you will rule an expansive paradise where people will bow at your feet. But only these people will not suffer eternal torture. You will watch the people who didn’t appreciate you be flayed, gouged and disemboweled forever and ever. That solves the problem of ingratitude.

Listen. Talk to a prisoner at Guantanamo Bay. Ask them this. Would you spend one extra day here — and it will be the worst day you could imagine — if you knew that doing so would give everyone you ever loved the opportunity to escape a lifetime of torture?

They would.

Admirable, yes. But who wouldn’t?

Why I rejected my mom’s Facebook friend request

Last night I tried to explain to my friend why I had to reject my mom’s Facebook friend request but I don’t know if I was clear.

My mom simply doesn’t need to be on Facebook for any reason, I said. No mom needs to be on Facebook. No one really at all needs to be on Facebook to do anything. Moms including my mom need to be on it even less.

I had to explain myself to my friend because he told me that he himself had recently become Facebook friends with my mom. It doesn’t matter, my friend said. You can just change the settings so she doesn’t see anything you say.

That doesn’t matter, I said. My mom sees too much the instant she goes to the site. Not just potentially something about me. Potentially something about anything. Thousands of people writing, leaving, sending, discussing, exchanging, marketing, advocating and reflecting on complete bullshit. People — faint shadows of the most amicable yet insufferable aspects of identities, really — wandering through a great tower of bullshit supported by a frame of bullshit draped in layers of bullshit with the only windows in the building made of more and more bullshit.

I shouldn’t be on there myself but I’m already covered in the bullshit.

The week Facebook announced it would allow not just college students but anyone with an interest in bullshit to smear their past and potential bullshit on the elaborately insignificant bullshit message board that is Facebook I told my mom: Do not join this. You will see too many people do too many things that will not make any sense. Yes, you will be able to recognize that none of this makes sense but deep down you will not be able to convince yourself that all of this doesn’t have a hidden meaning.

Mom, I said, you will ask yourself: Why did that person say that? What does this function do? When am I supposed to join or accept this?

Mom, I said. I will reject your friend request if you join. Please promise me you will not join. Believe me, there is nothing at all for you to gain.

I promise, my mom said.

Footprint

I have thought about it for a while and I have decided that I — and not only for the sake of supremacy, masculinity and masculine supremacy — would like to have a foot-long penis.

Let me first confess this: I do not currently have a foot-long penis. It is only 11 1/2 inches. That isn’t the same as a foot and I won’t pretend it is.

I am close but the foot matters. What if I needed to verify the rumors of my splendor if someone challenged me?

Anyway, here is the good my foot-long penis could do:

1.) Build a bridge to peace. An attack on a man with a foot-long penis is like an attack on a great musician who happens to wear glasses. Rude, senseless, cold and nearly sacrilegious. Generally speaking, a bad omen. Hey. What are you doing? You can’t hurt an ambassador of your own sex. An attack on him is an attack on your own dreams.

2.) Stop anyone from hating me. They could resent me but I could accept that. After they thought about it for a while, though, they would conclude that I was more good than bad, even if they weren’t sure why. “Oh him? He’s kind of an asshole and he always tries to argue about issues he doesn’t know anything about but, I don’t know, I guess he’s a pretty nice guy.”

3.) Earn me a reputation as a gentleman. While this point is about masculinity,  I think it could develop my character as well as improve the appearance of my virility. Listen. I’ve tried to be a good lover. I’ve read about techniques and composure. But it’s not just who I am. If I had a foot-long penis, however, I would be very conscientious and almost apologetic prior to sex. That way, getting to sex would be longer and starting it would be slower and all this would make me seem like a nice guy and possibly create the illusion that I was not only a man of the world but a man of compassion.

The other advantages of having a foot-long penis are, like the founding principles of America, self-evident. However, my reasons are more noble than the Constitution’s promise of a man’s right to petition his government, and, believe me, that is why if a god existed who could listen I would tell him what I deserved.

Free Khalid Sheikh Mohammed

The United States wants to try Khalid Sheikh Mohammed for terrorism in a New York civilian court and that’s fine and better than leaving him in a horrible covert military prison forever but, really, America has fucked up too bad and too much and has lost any moral authority to hold him any longer.

So, yes. Free Khalid Sheikh Mohammed. Free the man who has said he planned the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks.

Listen. Time served. The United States tortured Mohammed with what have been sterilely called “techniques” that included waterboarding him more than 180 times while he has been held at Guantanamo Bay in Cuba without charge for most of this decade.

Mohammed has obviously not paid for his crime in an eye-for-an-eye sense of justice. But that’s not American justice. People don’t usually get what other people would argue they actually deserve. This is why thieves don’t get their hands cut off. This is why child molesters aren’t physically castrated. This is why the founders of Amway aren’t skinned and thrown into a vat of salt.

Many who are sentenced to life in prison or even death have suffered less under the fist of this country than Mohammed has. As experts have pointed out, waterboarding isn’t simulated drowning, it is drowning. And, as I understand it, even mass murderers can feel pain.

So, America, let’s say we’re even.

But most anyone who’s anyone would also argue Mohammed must remain imprisoned or be executed to help keep America safe. Maybe, but that would be more convincing if Mohammed was the only person the United States ever abused.

Specifically, that would be more convincing if America didn’t go around fucking weak prostrate counties in the eye socket everyday like the skin pigment of civilians prevented them from the use of their long-term memories. This is just what the U.S. does to counties — like, Pakistan, like Africa, like the Philippines — it isn’t even at war with.

So, America, free Khalid Sheikh Mohammed. In the end, it will make you safer and, if you’re lucky, give you a reason to bomb the shit out of whatever country he moves to.

About Your Militancy

I apologize if you are a Muslim resistant to Western power but, as I think you well know, that makes you a militant and you deserve to die.

You might at times foolishly wonder why Western governments and the governments they support are allowed to use violence and you are not. But remember. You are a Muslim opposed to Western power and you deserve to die.

If the United States government tells the United States press that you are a terrorist, you are a kind of militant. Then you should be repeatedly tortured, imprisoned for several years, then executed.

But don’t feel obliged to be a terrorist if you would like your death to be unquestioned by the U.S. press. Just be one of these:

• A militant in Pakistan or Afghanistan. So you might be angry over unexplained U.S. drone attacks and be tired of foreign intervention. Maybe you got blown up by America and its friends because you were vain enough to wonder why your country was being occupied by another foreign power. I understand. Sometimes I wonder about things, too. When I see those things have lots of money, guns and white people, however, I know they are right and just.

• A militant in Chechnya. Why won’t you give it up? Obviously Russia sucks because they used to be communists, but you fuckers are Islamists. Go tell Allah about your problems with Russia occupying your country for centuries and killing and displacing hundreds of thousands of your people. Terrorists.

• A militant in Hamas or Hezbollah. Stop not being Israel, homos. Also, stop being terrorists and getting into fights with Israel for no reason other than the fact that you hate the One True God and want to kill yourself in an explosion so you can fuck a bunch of virgins in your gay Muslim heaven.

 

Look, militants. The United States doesn’t want to gun you down. It doesn’t want to have to a military larger than the rest of the world’s combined. It doesn’t want to occupy most countries on earth. It doesn’t want to murder thousands of civilians a year. It doesn’t want to torture and indefinitely detain people. It doesn’t want to get mad at a country for maybe possibly thinking about building an atomic bomb while holding over a thousand itself. You make it does those things. You make it do those things — for freedom.

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