The other night I was watching the tube, trying to stay semi-lucid with what was happening in our world. After I got comfortably briefed by a combo of South Park, the TV Guide Channel and Steve Colbert, I surfed over to Hannity and Colmes, and what I saw and heard was so staggering it made me spit wine all over my TV. And I haven’t had wine in a year.
Hannity stated that Iranian President Ahmadinejad was going to visit New York and address the UN later this month. Huh? Did I miss something? Did I wake up from my three-hour afternoon power siesta in an alternate universe? Is the President of the United States a 7’0” bald white guy with an eye patch that wears a Star Trek uniform and carries a hairless cat named Mr. Bigglesworth? Are there flying cars? Is the planet being run by damned dirty apes?!?
When I heard H&C state than Iran’s Lancelot Link was going to be on US soil, I had the same feeling I had when I heard Clinton tell us all that oral sex wasn’t sex. Substitution mass confusion clouded inside my head. I scratched my skull so hard and so long I’ve now got a half-dollar size bald patch just above my right ear.
The kicker was, in addition to the announcement that Iran’s irascible chief is planning to come here this month, his equally odd predecessor, Mohammad Khatami, is already here tooling around the States, giving speeches at Harvard, desecrating the National Cathedral and shopping at The Gap, etc.
I couldn’t believe it. What’s next? Courtney Love opens up Eagle Forum’s fall conference with the song, “Loaded”? Al Gore is to do H2 Hummer commercials? Beelzebub to keynote the South Baptist convention? Someone pinch me, or get me some Jose Cuervo and a big doobie.
After I shook off the initial shock of that preliminary quixotic moment, the next thing that came to my mind was, “we should capture these tyrannical West hating nuke seeking bastards while they’re here.” Yes, that’s it. “Thank you, Lord . . . muchas gracias, Señor, for delivering a couple of our enemies into our hands.” Now, let’s ship their skinny butts over to Gitmo, and see what Iran’s does about that.
Subsequent to that segment with Sean and Allan, I started racing around the other news networks to see if I could get more poop regarding the Iranian President’s forthcoming little US holiday. Everyone was talking about it, and most of the liberal talking heads seemed pretty cool with it. This made me feel strange and reflective, which has led me to this. I’ve got to confess something publicly: I need the liberals’ help.
I know a conservative is not supposed to confess such a thing, but I’m saying it. I could do with some loving liberals’ assistance. Now granted, I need help for many, many things. Like my yelling in my sleep, or my sinful desire to want to go hunt panda bears or my penchant to accuse raisins of being lazy.
However, there is this one thing that is really bugging me about me. Here it is: I don’t feel like I am evolving fast enough when it comes to being hip with men who say and do the evil junk like Mahmoud does. See, there I go again (I told you that I needed your help)! This just proves my point . . . I said the word “evil.”
The sheer fact that I use words like “evil” shows that I’m stuck in some type of simplistic, old fashioned, fable driven, time warp filled with demons and goblins, where instead of being breezy with BS and BS’ers, I continue to get outraged with the outrageous. God, I’m so stupid.
Being the introspective guy that I am, I think I got a stranglehold on why guys like Mahmoud and his ilk tick me off so much and cause me to push for their erasure.
I think where I’m screwing up is that I have a view of evil, defined by the New Testament, that isn’t weak, or hesitant, or contradictory, whether that evil is found in me, you, conservatives, liberals, the US or the Whoever.
I’m not progressive enough, dang it. I’m having a grueling time with this whole “human goodness,” “we’re all getting better” and “we’re all skipping towards harmony and affluence . . . a Xanadu for me and you” stuff. I still have rattlin’ around in my redneck mind that men are wicked and that this wickedness must be personally repented of—or radically managed (like my nose hairs)—or things will get nasty.
I am having a rough time with psychobabble when it comes to explaining away wicked actions. It’s hard for me to listen to the various Freuds offering their therapeutic alternative solutions to sick souls thinking they can outsmart a desperately wicked heart while they simultaneously and categorically blow off traditional answers. Hey, Oprah-wanna-be, it’s one thing to get a bed wetter to cease with the slip-n-slide at night; it’s another thing to get Ahmadinejad to lay down his Apocalypse Now DVD.
I don’t have the constitutional propensity to see smiley faces, rainbows, kitty cats and candy canes, like liberalized pop culture does, when they look at Islamic malevolence in all its complexities.
So, all highly evolved, hip and centered Liberals, please pray for me. Pray that my bleak realism regarding Iran and militant Islam will bow its steely knee to the Pollyannaism that postmodernists have come to embrace. I, too, want to be happy and clappy just like you, and it seems that my archaic, traditional notions of right and wrong are really screwing up my quest for your cool.
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