The usual definition of a chickenhawk is someone who supports war but actively avoids fighting. Whenever I think of one, what comes to my mind are Young Republicans, but also leftists, who are just as bad if not worse.
A writer, whose name unfortunately completely escapes me, said the aforementioned definition is not totally accurate. A better one is that a chickenhawk is someone who believes supporting war is a sign of his personal bravery and patriotism, and is convinced that those who oppose war, for whatever principled and thoughtful reasons, are always cowards and traitors.
Still, chickenhawks are cowards. Why, then, can they not see what they are?
There is only one reason: They deceive themselves as to what they truly are. They idealize themselves as proud, brave and patriotic, while others, more clear-sighted, see them for what they are: cowards who will do nothing except stand on the sidelines and yell, "Okay, throw the ball here! Now throw it over there!"
When people refuse to see their bad qualities (what Jung called their Shadows), there is only one thing they can do to protect their self-delusion: project those qualities on other people. Here is an example: when leftists talk about "hate" (which they do all the time), they are projecting their own unacknowledged hate onto other people.
Chickenhawks are the same: They cannot acknowledge their own cowardice, so they must project it onto others. Those Others, to the chickenhawk, are the cowards and traitors, not the chickenhawk.
Yet, the chickenhawk must know, somewhere deep inside, that he is a coward, and so has to be ashamed of himself. How does he cover up his shame? With pride. Pride on top, hiding shame underneath.
The first time I ran across that formulation of pride covering shame was in John le Carre's novel, The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, when he wrote of Leamas' "protective arrogance concealing shame."
Plato once wrote, "The cause of all sins in every case lies in the person's excessive love of self." I wouldn't call what he's writing about "self love." Excessive pride, arrogance, grandiosity, yes, but not self-love.
The social researcher James Gilligan, who spent 35 years dealing with prisoners, wrote, "Shame . . . motivates not confession but concealment of whatever one feels ashamed of." Guilt, he writes, can on the other hand lead to confession and penance.
He also writes, “…people who feel ashamed typically attempt to diminish that painful feeling both by assuming attitudes of arrogance, self-importance, and boastfulness.”
We'll never see confession and penance from chickenhawks, because they have no guilt. And it's a lot easier to admit guilt than shame. And chickenhawks' shame and cowardice is something they will not, cannot, admit. So they project it onto others: “You should be ashamed of yourself for being a coward who’s not supporting our country and its wars.”
I believe the average chickenhawk must be exceptionally narcissistic, which is correctly defined as splitting things into all-good and all-bad – idealization and devaluation. The chickenhawk has to see himself as all good (brave and patriotic), so his own unacknowledged badness (his cowardice) has to be projected onto others.
The late M. Scott Peck, a psychiatrist, called this kind of projection “the genesis of human evil.” If he’s correct, and I believe he is, then what chickenhawks are doing, in their self-deception, their unacknowledged cowardice, their arrogance and grandiosity, and their scapegoating of the innocent, is evil.
I sometimes wonder if chickenhawks ever think about how they would handle combat. I think they'd do what a soldier friend of mine saw another soldier do: brag to everyone how tough and brave he was (pride), but when the first shot was fired, he turned and ran (shaming himself).
It's probably a good thing chickenhawks aren't in the military: their cowardice and incompetence would probably get innocent soldiers killed. No, not probably. Would.
There's an old saying -- and I have no idea where it's from -- that the best warriors are the least war-like. I will nod and agree with it.
Why in the world anyone listens to chickenhawks is beyond me. Would anyone in his right mind listen to any coward about anything? All of them should be laughed at and ridiculed into silence -- because the one thing no coward can stand is to be laughed at.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Natural Law and War
I believe in Natural Law. Law is discovered, not created. This applies not only to physical laws, such as the law of gravity, but also to the laws of economics, society, war, and human nature.
Apparently our coming war with Iraq is a done deal. Let's apply some Natural Law and see what we come up with.
A big strong country with a big strong military will always beat a little weak country with a little weak military.
Iraq is already one-third conquered as it is. After ten years of blockade, I don't believe they'll offer much resistance. The 22 Islamic countries in the world have a combined GNP (excluding oil) slightly less than that of Spain. Iraq has a GNP the size of South Carolina.
The invasion may not be exactly a "cakewalk," but it'll be close. A lot more of them will die than us. Most of "them" that die will be innocent.
Slave soldiers are no soldiers at all.
The conscripted slave soldiers in Iraq's army will surrender by the thousands, if we let them. It's what they did the first time, when they were surrendering to TV news crews. They don't want to die for a nut like Saddam Hussein.
Democracy is an inferior form of government that will always collapse.
After we conquer Iraq, what exactly are we going to do with it? Try to impose the silly and dangerous leftist dream of "democracy" on it? I doubt most of them know what "democracy" means ("It means..uh...it means...freedom! And, uh, jobs! Yeah, that's it! Freedom and jobs!") Even most Americans don't understand what it means. Self-rule? What exactly is that? The rule of the majority over the minority? The rule of organized special-interest groups busy trying to steal everyone else's money? Iraq is a country that has no understanding of "self-rule" in the slightest. Because of this...
When one country conquers another, it will be there a long time.
Because it will be trying to set up a stable government that will be no threat to the conquerors. Har har! Right now the "President" of Afghanistan has the American military as his Praetorian bodyguards because other Afghanis are trying to kill him.
Conquered countries are a financial drain on the conquerors.
I've never understood Empire. In the history of the world, not one colony has ever been a financial benefit to the conqueror. Not one. They've always sucked more treasure from the conqueror than they've given back.
Now maybe certain people will benefit. I think it's pretty obvious that a armchair-general chickenhawk warmongering coward like Dick Cheney will make out like a bandit on the oil money from Iraq. But the American public? They'll just expend their blood and treasure on a country halfway around the world.
It's a lot easier to conquer than occupy.
If we're big and strong, and they're little and weak, conquering is easy. But occupying is a whole different ballgame, because...
Guerilla warfare is the only way a weak occupied country can fight back against its conqueror.
Guerilla warfare is the Achilles' Heel of any occupying army. We forced the British out during the Revolutionary War through guerilla warfare, and Zionists forced the British out in Palestine the same way.
It's not possible to tell a guerilla from the innocent. A guerilla may be a cabdriver by day, then sneak into the woods at night and shoot an enemy soldier in the head. Then he goes home, goes to sleep and drives his taxi the next day.
Because of this, the only way to completely put a stop to guerilla warfare is to...
Kill everyone.
And we're not going to do that.
What's probably going to happen is the US government is going to conquer Iraq, Iran, Syria, and Saudi Arabia. We're going to be there for years, expending the American public's blood and treasure. The US military will have to tolerate casualties from guerilla warfare. But in the long-run...
Empires always withdraw.
In the history of the world, not one Empire hasn't collapsed or withdrawn from the territories it occupies. They have destroyed themselves economically trying to run the Empire. They're resorted to ruinous inflation, or destructive deficit spending. Either way, it's ended up collapsing the Empire.
So either we can withdraw now, or we can withdraw later. Of course we will withdraw later, because...
All governments are stupid.
Apparently our coming war with Iraq is a done deal. Let's apply some Natural Law and see what we come up with.
A big strong country with a big strong military will always beat a little weak country with a little weak military.
Iraq is already one-third conquered as it is. After ten years of blockade, I don't believe they'll offer much resistance. The 22 Islamic countries in the world have a combined GNP (excluding oil) slightly less than that of Spain. Iraq has a GNP the size of South Carolina.
The invasion may not be exactly a "cakewalk," but it'll be close. A lot more of them will die than us. Most of "them" that die will be innocent.
Slave soldiers are no soldiers at all.
The conscripted slave soldiers in Iraq's army will surrender by the thousands, if we let them. It's what they did the first time, when they were surrendering to TV news crews. They don't want to die for a nut like Saddam Hussein.
Democracy is an inferior form of government that will always collapse.
After we conquer Iraq, what exactly are we going to do with it? Try to impose the silly and dangerous leftist dream of "democracy" on it? I doubt most of them know what "democracy" means ("It means..uh...it means...freedom! And, uh, jobs! Yeah, that's it! Freedom and jobs!") Even most Americans don't understand what it means. Self-rule? What exactly is that? The rule of the majority over the minority? The rule of organized special-interest groups busy trying to steal everyone else's money? Iraq is a country that has no understanding of "self-rule" in the slightest. Because of this...
When one country conquers another, it will be there a long time.
Because it will be trying to set up a stable government that will be no threat to the conquerors. Har har! Right now the "President" of Afghanistan has the American military as his Praetorian bodyguards because other Afghanis are trying to kill him.
Conquered countries are a financial drain on the conquerors.
I've never understood Empire. In the history of the world, not one colony has ever been a financial benefit to the conqueror. Not one. They've always sucked more treasure from the conqueror than they've given back.
Now maybe certain people will benefit. I think it's pretty obvious that a armchair-general chickenhawk warmongering coward like Dick Cheney will make out like a bandit on the oil money from Iraq. But the American public? They'll just expend their blood and treasure on a country halfway around the world.
It's a lot easier to conquer than occupy.
If we're big and strong, and they're little and weak, conquering is easy. But occupying is a whole different ballgame, because...
Guerilla warfare is the only way a weak occupied country can fight back against its conqueror.
Guerilla warfare is the Achilles' Heel of any occupying army. We forced the British out during the Revolutionary War through guerilla warfare, and Zionists forced the British out in Palestine the same way.
It's not possible to tell a guerilla from the innocent. A guerilla may be a cabdriver by day, then sneak into the woods at night and shoot an enemy soldier in the head. Then he goes home, goes to sleep and drives his taxi the next day.
Because of this, the only way to completely put a stop to guerilla warfare is to...
Kill everyone.
And we're not going to do that.
What's probably going to happen is the US government is going to conquer Iraq, Iran, Syria, and Saudi Arabia. We're going to be there for years, expending the American public's blood and treasure. The US military will have to tolerate casualties from guerilla warfare. But in the long-run...
Empires always withdraw.
In the history of the world, not one Empire hasn't collapsed or withdrawn from the territories it occupies. They have destroyed themselves economically trying to run the Empire. They're resorted to ruinous inflation, or destructive deficit spending. Either way, it's ended up collapsing the Empire.
So either we can withdraw now, or we can withdraw later. Of course we will withdraw later, because...
All governments are stupid.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Feeling Sorry for the Foolish
A few years ago got this email:
"You are a coward. If you have a problem with this call me at ..." then he listed his name, his position (supposedly) in the Special Forces, and his phone number.
His email was in response to my article, A Rush to War
Of course, I didn't call him. He's not going to change my mind, because I'm right. And I'm not going to change his, because he doesn't know he's wrong.
The only feeling I have when I get emails like his is sorrow. I feel sorry for the guy, because he is foolish. I suspect he is about 23 years old, and I know what he thinks before he tells me, even before he knows what he thinks.
The first thing he would want to know is if I was in the military. If I say it's none of his business, he'll assume I wasn't. If I say I was, he assume I didn't learn anything in it. He'll claim I'm a leftist, because he doesn't know the difference between left and right.
He's the kind of guy who really believes Saddam Hussein was going to attack the US, even though Iraq had an economy about the size of South Carolina, and we could have nuked the place so that it glowed for the next thousand years. He probably believes Hussein was behind 9/11, and was also involved in the Oklahoma City blast.
He believes we had the right to blockade Iraq for ten years, even though hundreds of thousands of people died, many of them babies and the elderly. He thinks we were attacked on 9/11 because we are Good, and those who attacked us are Evil, not because of our support of Israel no matter what it did to the Palestinians, or the genocidal blockade of Iraq, or because we had troops in Saudi Arabia, or because we for 50 years meddled in the Middle East and supported every dictator there no matter what horrible things they did to their citizens.
He's the kind of guy who believes the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were necessary to get the Japanese to surrender, because he doesn't know Japan had been trying to surrender for months, but their overtures were rejected. He's also for the fire-bombing of Dresden, even though he doesn't know why it was bombed.
This is the kind of guy who joined the military because he believes he is a patriot, and because he wants to defend his country. That's fine; I don't have any problems with that. But he does not know the US has some 750 military bases in three-quarters of the world, making us an empire. And all empires, without exception, have fallen. But he does not know that, and if he did, believes America will be the exception. It won't.
He's also the kind of guy who believes that America is the greatest force for good in the world today. And it is sad that he believes that, because it is not true. I wish it was, but it's not.
He was no idea that in the 20th century the US attacked and bombed:
China 1945-46
Korea 1950-53
China 1950-53
Guatemala 1954
Indonesia 1958
Cuba 1959-60
Guatemala 1960
Congo 1964
Peru 1965
Laos 1964-73
Vietnam 1961-73
Cambodia 1969-70
Guatemala 1967-69
Grenada 1983
Libya 1986
El Salvador 1980s
Nicaragua 1980s
Panama 1989
Iraq 1991-99
Sudan 1998
Afghanistan 1998
Yugoslavia 1999
I'm not including the 200,000 Filipinos and Filipinas whom the US murdered in the late 1800s when we invaded the Philippines.
How many of those countries attacked the US?
He does not know that Saddam Hussein was originally placed in power by the US, and was our ally, which is why we armed him in his war with Iran. The US did not give a damn how many Iraqis or Iranians were killed. In fact, the administration encouraged the deaths of both. The booger-eating Henry Kissinger commented, "Too bad they both can't lose."
World War I? He does not know that the US administration purposely got us into it by loading the passenger liner Lusitania with munitions. That's why it went down so fast when the Germans torpedoed it. He also does not know the German government ran full-page ads in the Eastern newspapers telling people to stay off of passenger ships. There was no reason whatsoever for the US to get involved in WWI.
World War II? WWII was a direct result of WWI. World War II would never have happened if the US hadn't gone along with the crushing reparations against Germany, allowing Hitler to rise to power. And the Great Depression - caused by State interference in the economy, not "capitalism" - also helped Hitler's rise. The Japanese wouldn't have attacked Pearl Harbor if the US hadn't cut off their oil and other imports, and sent the Flying Tigers against them in China, egging them into a pre-emptive strike against us. And the evidence is overwhelming that the Communist FDR--who called Stalin "Uncle Joe"--knew the Japanese were going to attack, and let it happen so Russia wouldn't have to fight a two-front war against the Germans and Japanese.
Korea? I don't remember Korea attacking us. I don't remember North Vietnam attacking us, either. And I certainly don't remember Panama attacking us.
Of course, he does not know any of these facts. Instead, he believes those attacks by the United States were for the Good of the World. They weren't.
The only thing that can change the mind of a man like this is what is called the School of Hard Knocks. It's what happened to so many soldiers in Vietnam, who went over there to Free the Oppressed and Impose Democracy, then later came back and realized the whole war was a scam, and all of those 58,000 Americans and 2.5 million to three million Vietnamese, Laotians and Cambodians died for nothing.
Maybe when he grows up he might change his mind. But right now--no, not a chance.
"You are a coward. If you have a problem with this call me at ..." then he listed his name, his position (supposedly) in the Special Forces, and his phone number.
His email was in response to my article, A Rush to War
Of course, I didn't call him. He's not going to change my mind, because I'm right. And I'm not going to change his, because he doesn't know he's wrong.
The only feeling I have when I get emails like his is sorrow. I feel sorry for the guy, because he is foolish. I suspect he is about 23 years old, and I know what he thinks before he tells me, even before he knows what he thinks.
The first thing he would want to know is if I was in the military. If I say it's none of his business, he'll assume I wasn't. If I say I was, he assume I didn't learn anything in it. He'll claim I'm a leftist, because he doesn't know the difference between left and right.
He's the kind of guy who really believes Saddam Hussein was going to attack the US, even though Iraq had an economy about the size of South Carolina, and we could have nuked the place so that it glowed for the next thousand years. He probably believes Hussein was behind 9/11, and was also involved in the Oklahoma City blast.
He believes we had the right to blockade Iraq for ten years, even though hundreds of thousands of people died, many of them babies and the elderly. He thinks we were attacked on 9/11 because we are Good, and those who attacked us are Evil, not because of our support of Israel no matter what it did to the Palestinians, or the genocidal blockade of Iraq, or because we had troops in Saudi Arabia, or because we for 50 years meddled in the Middle East and supported every dictator there no matter what horrible things they did to their citizens.
He's the kind of guy who believes the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were necessary to get the Japanese to surrender, because he doesn't know Japan had been trying to surrender for months, but their overtures were rejected. He's also for the fire-bombing of Dresden, even though he doesn't know why it was bombed.
This is the kind of guy who joined the military because he believes he is a patriot, and because he wants to defend his country. That's fine; I don't have any problems with that. But he does not know the US has some 750 military bases in three-quarters of the world, making us an empire. And all empires, without exception, have fallen. But he does not know that, and if he did, believes America will be the exception. It won't.
He's also the kind of guy who believes that America is the greatest force for good in the world today. And it is sad that he believes that, because it is not true. I wish it was, but it's not.
He was no idea that in the 20th century the US attacked and bombed:
China 1945-46
Korea 1950-53
China 1950-53
Guatemala 1954
Indonesia 1958
Cuba 1959-60
Guatemala 1960
Congo 1964
Peru 1965
Laos 1964-73
Vietnam 1961-73
Cambodia 1969-70
Guatemala 1967-69
Grenada 1983
Libya 1986
El Salvador 1980s
Nicaragua 1980s
Panama 1989
Iraq 1991-99
Sudan 1998
Afghanistan 1998
Yugoslavia 1999
I'm not including the 200,000 Filipinos and Filipinas whom the US murdered in the late 1800s when we invaded the Philippines.
How many of those countries attacked the US?
He does not know that Saddam Hussein was originally placed in power by the US, and was our ally, which is why we armed him in his war with Iran. The US did not give a damn how many Iraqis or Iranians were killed. In fact, the administration encouraged the deaths of both. The booger-eating Henry Kissinger commented, "Too bad they both can't lose."
World War I? He does not know that the US administration purposely got us into it by loading the passenger liner Lusitania with munitions. That's why it went down so fast when the Germans torpedoed it. He also does not know the German government ran full-page ads in the Eastern newspapers telling people to stay off of passenger ships. There was no reason whatsoever for the US to get involved in WWI.
World War II? WWII was a direct result of WWI. World War II would never have happened if the US hadn't gone along with the crushing reparations against Germany, allowing Hitler to rise to power. And the Great Depression - caused by State interference in the economy, not "capitalism" - also helped Hitler's rise. The Japanese wouldn't have attacked Pearl Harbor if the US hadn't cut off their oil and other imports, and sent the Flying Tigers against them in China, egging them into a pre-emptive strike against us. And the evidence is overwhelming that the Communist FDR--who called Stalin "Uncle Joe"--knew the Japanese were going to attack, and let it happen so Russia wouldn't have to fight a two-front war against the Germans and Japanese.
Korea? I don't remember Korea attacking us. I don't remember North Vietnam attacking us, either. And I certainly don't remember Panama attacking us.
Of course, he does not know any of these facts. Instead, he believes those attacks by the United States were for the Good of the World. They weren't.
The only thing that can change the mind of a man like this is what is called the School of Hard Knocks. It's what happened to so many soldiers in Vietnam, who went over there to Free the Oppressed and Impose Democracy, then later came back and realized the whole war was a scam, and all of those 58,000 Americans and 2.5 million to three million Vietnamese, Laotians and Cambodians died for nothing.
Maybe when he grows up he might change his mind. But right now--no, not a chance.
The Time Traveller
CHARACTERS: The Time Traveler, The Time Machine, a Nine-Year-Old Git
Time Machine: POOF!
Git: Hey! What the Hell are you doing in my room! I'm going to tell my dad!
Time Traveler: Is your name George?
Git: Yeah, it is. So what? I'm going to tell my dad you're in my room and he'll have you killed. Then I'll laugh at you when you die because you'll say 'Please don't kill me! Please don't kill me!' Ha ha! I am so funny!
Traveler: Don't you want to know why I'm here!
Git: No. I'm very incurious, you know.
Traveler: I'm from the year 2007, when you're grown-up and President of the United States.
Git: Hell, I already know I'm going to be President, you retard.
Traveler: You really are an obnoxious little git.
Git: What's a git?
Traveler: It's what you are. Your dad's one, too. And your grandpa.
Git: Oh, a git! I know what you mean!
Traveler: Do you know what you're going to do when you're President?
Git: Oh, I dunno. Start wars, probably. I like wars. See my little green army men, on the floor? Thousands of them, and I cut off lots of their arms and legs and took chunks out of their heads with my scissors. It's fun! Want to try it?
Traveler: No, thanks.
Git: Wuss.
Traveler: Nazi.
Git: What's that?
Traveler: It's what your grandpa was.
Git: Oh, yeah, I know what you mean! That's how we got all our money, from Grandpa dealing with the Nazis. He got in trouble, but he got out of it because we're better than everyone else, like we're better than all that cannon fodder in Flyover Land.
Traveler: What's with the cowboy hat?
Git: I'm pretending to be a cowboy instead of a Connecticut Yankee. Got to fool all the rubes. They're stupid, you know.
Traveler: Unfortunately, some of them are.
Git: You bet! And I'm going to rule them someday and get rid of the Constitution, which is just a goddamned piece of paper I don't want thrown in my face!
Traveler: Say, George, do you like booze!
Git: You bet I do! I like to drink because I can't measure up to my dad! That's why I'll start wars someday, to impress him because I'm such a loser!
Traveler: There's a bottle of whiskey on the ledge behind you.
Git: (whirling around): Really? Where?
Traveler: Right here!
Git: Hey, you just kicked me out the window! We're on the 20th floor! Daddddyyyyy!
Traveler: Goodbye, you little jerk. I just made it a better world.
The Time Machine: POOF!
Time Machine: POOF!
Git: Hey! What the Hell are you doing in my room! I'm going to tell my dad!
Time Traveler: Is your name George?
Git: Yeah, it is. So what? I'm going to tell my dad you're in my room and he'll have you killed. Then I'll laugh at you when you die because you'll say 'Please don't kill me! Please don't kill me!' Ha ha! I am so funny!
Traveler: Don't you want to know why I'm here!
Git: No. I'm very incurious, you know.
Traveler: I'm from the year 2007, when you're grown-up and President of the United States.
Git: Hell, I already know I'm going to be President, you retard.
Traveler: You really are an obnoxious little git.
Git: What's a git?
Traveler: It's what you are. Your dad's one, too. And your grandpa.
Git: Oh, a git! I know what you mean!
Traveler: Do you know what you're going to do when you're President?
Git: Oh, I dunno. Start wars, probably. I like wars. See my little green army men, on the floor? Thousands of them, and I cut off lots of their arms and legs and took chunks out of their heads with my scissors. It's fun! Want to try it?
Traveler: No, thanks.
Git: Wuss.
Traveler: Nazi.
Git: What's that?
Traveler: It's what your grandpa was.
Git: Oh, yeah, I know what you mean! That's how we got all our money, from Grandpa dealing with the Nazis. He got in trouble, but he got out of it because we're better than everyone else, like we're better than all that cannon fodder in Flyover Land.
Traveler: What's with the cowboy hat?
Git: I'm pretending to be a cowboy instead of a Connecticut Yankee. Got to fool all the rubes. They're stupid, you know.
Traveler: Unfortunately, some of them are.
Git: You bet! And I'm going to rule them someday and get rid of the Constitution, which is just a goddamned piece of paper I don't want thrown in my face!
Traveler: Say, George, do you like booze!
Git: You bet I do! I like to drink because I can't measure up to my dad! That's why I'll start wars someday, to impress him because I'm such a loser!
Traveler: There's a bottle of whiskey on the ledge behind you.
Git: (whirling around): Really? Where?
Traveler: Right here!
Git: Hey, you just kicked me out the window! We're on the 20th floor! Daddddyyyyy!
Traveler: Goodbye, you little jerk. I just made it a better world.
The Time Machine: POOF!
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Resistance is Futile, Under-People!
"Under-People" is the English translation of the German word "Untermenschen," made famous by Hitler in Mein Kampf. And of course, if you've got Untermenschen, you've got to have Ubermenschen, too. At least in fantasy.
And fantasy indeed is what we're dealing with in Thomas P.M. Barnett's book, The Pentagon's New Map: Peace and War in the Twenty-First Century. Only, the Over-People are what he calls "the Core," and the Under-People he refers to as "the Gap."
If you've watched Star Trek: the Next Generation, you'll realize the Over-People Core are the Borg, and the Under-People Gap are all those unassimilated races who puzzled the Borg Queen so much. "Why do you resist us?" she complained. "We only wish to improve the quality of your lives."
Unfortunately, her idea of an improved quality of life meant everyone belonging to a hive-mind, never questioning orders (because they couldn't, having been transmogrified into unconscious Borg drones), and engaging in an Orwellian perpetual war for perpetual peace, to protect the Borg from all those war-mongering aliens who were plotting to attack the Borg Cubes, but somehow never did, except in self-defense. Obviously, a little dab'll of pre-emptive war will do ya, not only for the Borg, but the US .
The Core refers to the West, with Japan tossed in. The Gap is what Richard Maybury calls Chaostan, that section of the world--about one-third of it--that never developed Western values. It's everything that isn't the West.
Maybury, much more realistic and clear-headed than Barnett, subscribes to the views of Thomas Jefferson and George Washington: Stay out of the world's political problems and just trade with them, understanding that only the free market will improve their lot. Barnett, an unwitting believer in the old saying, "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions," thinks we should Borgify the non-West, using the Big Giant Fist against their recalcitrant Gap heads. That'll drag them into the 20th Century, all right, he tells everyone.
He considers it bringing "freedom" to them, but I prefer the much older and wiser views of Aesop and Jesus: All tyrants call themselves benefactors.
Barnett uses non-Borgian terms, but it's still the same tune, just different lyrics. He thinks the Core should invade and conquer the Gap, and force it to conform to the West's--or rather his--values.
Barnett's ideas are what Erik von Kuehnelt-Leddihn, in Leftism Revisited, called "false but clear," like Marxism. And like Marxism, Barnett's Core/Gap ideas can be taught to a ten-year-old in about five minutes. They're about as valid as Marxism, too.
For some reason I can't quite fathom, many people fall for the simplistic view of splitting things into either good or bad, with nothing in between. Of course, they always consider themselves good (Core) and other people bad (Gap). Since they consider themselves "good," all badness must lie elsewhere, with others. Then the "bad" must be eradicated or changed. In Barnett's world, the Core must assimilate the Gap, otherwise the Gap will destroy the Core, just the way all those wogs of the galaxy (say, humans), have to be Borgified, even if it's unnecessary.
This either-good-or-bad, either Hero or Villain view of things is bad enough when an individual perceives the world that way, but it's a catastrophe when it afflicts groups. While individuals can think, groups cannot. They can only feel, and given the chance, they will invariably engage in Dionysian orgies. Watch Triumph of the Will sometime.
Of course, in Barnett's mind, the Western Core is the good group, and the Gap, populated by all the Fuzzy Wuzzes of the world, is the bad group. This is a modern-day version of Kipling's "the white man's burden," jazzed up a bit with some pop-culture terminology. It didn't work in his time, either.
Since individuals can think, but groups cannot, it is one of the reasons why Kuehnelt-Leddihn said, "'I' is from God, and 'We' is from the Devil." The hive-mind "group" is the basis of fascism in all its forms, whether you call it fascism, Communism, or Nazism.
As Mussolini wrote in 1932: "The State not only is authority which governs and molds individual wills with laws and values of spiritual life, but it is also power which makes its will prevail abroad . . . For the Fascist, everything is within the State and . . . neither individuals or groups are outside the State . . . . For Fascism, the State is an absolute, before which individuals or groups are only relative . . . everything in the State, nothing outside the State, nothing against the State."
Barnett must have read Mussolini. I hope he has. If he has, does he think the definition of fascism does not apply to his ideas? Apparently not. He also appears to disbelieve that "War is Peace" applies to his writings. Or "Lies are Truth."
In Barnett's cheerful little fantasy, the idea of the wogs fighting back doesn't really count for very much. I suspect he's as puzzled as the Borg Queen, wondering why they don't welcome us with open arms and flowers strewn in the path of our tanks. If we have to, he tells us, we can whup 'em but good with our advanced technology. We sure whupped the Vietnamese, Cambodians and Laotians good, to the tune of 2.5 million to three million dead. Afterward, we and our technology went home.
Perhaps Barnett is just today's version of Robert McNamara, the megalomaniacal high-IQ idiot who was the architect of the Vietnam Non-War. Only in this iteration, he wants to extend war to the entire world.
Perhaps the main problem with all empires is that they are invariably welfare/warfare. They're two sides of the same coin; the first can't exist without the second, no matter how many people would like to see the former without the latter. You can't have the fascist Borg Cube/Womb without wanting to protect it, even if the threat is non-existent.
So what we're stuck with in Barnett's confabulations is bringing welfare to the world through warfare. In essence, "We're going to kill you to save you," is what he's saying. I'm sure I'm not the only one going, "Huh?" It's exactly what people are accusing those "Islamofascists" of doing: murdering us to convert (and therefore "save") us.
Of course, we're going to kill about 10,000 of them for every one of us they kill. Not that our soldiers' deaths really count, since they're drones sacrificed for the good of the Hive. I suppose that's why George Bush pays no attention to the deaths of American soldiers. As for the "enemy," they're just Under-People, so who counts how many of them we rub out?
I have for a few years thought the main problem of the human race--the main sin, if you will--is hubris, thinking one is god-like, believing one has the power to move millions of people around like pieces on a cosmic chessboard. Barnett's book has not disabused me of that notion, only confirmed it.
Barnett obviously believes he is a prophet, maybe even a messiah. But how do you tell the difference between a false prophet and a true one? Maybe true ones don't support mass murder, destruction and theft, even if it's for the "good" of those on the receiving end. Whatever happened to "Blessed are the peace makers, for they shall be called children of God"?
The book reminds me of Pinky and the Brain. Brain is the charismatic but slightly daft--or maybe just insane--leader who wants to conquer the world, although he never said he wanted to conquer it for its own good. Then we have Pinky, his essentially brainless follower, who worships Brain. Pinky, who in my opinion represents Mass Man, is ruled by his feelings, too.
Scary to imagine a cartoon about two escaped, mutated lab mice applies so neatly to the real world. Like Barnett, Brain is eternally optimistic, always thinking that if he didn't conquer the world today because he conked his head, well, there is always tomorrow.
Or, as it was best said by Terrill, the murderous idealist Redleg in Clint Eastwood's great The Outlaw Josey Wales: "There ain't no end to doin' right."
And fantasy indeed is what we're dealing with in Thomas P.M. Barnett's book, The Pentagon's New Map: Peace and War in the Twenty-First Century. Only, the Over-People are what he calls "the Core," and the Under-People he refers to as "the Gap."
If you've watched Star Trek: the Next Generation, you'll realize the Over-People Core are the Borg, and the Under-People Gap are all those unassimilated races who puzzled the Borg Queen so much. "Why do you resist us?" she complained. "We only wish to improve the quality of your lives."
Unfortunately, her idea of an improved quality of life meant everyone belonging to a hive-mind, never questioning orders (because they couldn't, having been transmogrified into unconscious Borg drones), and engaging in an Orwellian perpetual war for perpetual peace, to protect the Borg from all those war-mongering aliens who were plotting to attack the Borg Cubes, but somehow never did, except in self-defense. Obviously, a little dab'll of pre-emptive war will do ya, not only for the Borg, but the US .
The Core refers to the West, with Japan tossed in. The Gap is what Richard Maybury calls Chaostan, that section of the world--about one-third of it--that never developed Western values. It's everything that isn't the West.
Maybury, much more realistic and clear-headed than Barnett, subscribes to the views of Thomas Jefferson and George Washington: Stay out of the world's political problems and just trade with them, understanding that only the free market will improve their lot. Barnett, an unwitting believer in the old saying, "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions," thinks we should Borgify the non-West, using the Big Giant Fist against their recalcitrant Gap heads. That'll drag them into the 20th Century, all right, he tells everyone.
He considers it bringing "freedom" to them, but I prefer the much older and wiser views of Aesop and Jesus: All tyrants call themselves benefactors.
Barnett uses non-Borgian terms, but it's still the same tune, just different lyrics. He thinks the Core should invade and conquer the Gap, and force it to conform to the West's--or rather his--values.
Barnett's ideas are what Erik von Kuehnelt-Leddihn, in Leftism Revisited, called "false but clear," like Marxism. And like Marxism, Barnett's Core/Gap ideas can be taught to a ten-year-old in about five minutes. They're about as valid as Marxism, too.
For some reason I can't quite fathom, many people fall for the simplistic view of splitting things into either good or bad, with nothing in between. Of course, they always consider themselves good (Core) and other people bad (Gap). Since they consider themselves "good," all badness must lie elsewhere, with others. Then the "bad" must be eradicated or changed. In Barnett's world, the Core must assimilate the Gap, otherwise the Gap will destroy the Core, just the way all those wogs of the galaxy (say, humans), have to be Borgified, even if it's unnecessary.
This either-good-or-bad, either Hero or Villain view of things is bad enough when an individual perceives the world that way, but it's a catastrophe when it afflicts groups. While individuals can think, groups cannot. They can only feel, and given the chance, they will invariably engage in Dionysian orgies. Watch Triumph of the Will sometime.
Of course, in Barnett's mind, the Western Core is the good group, and the Gap, populated by all the Fuzzy Wuzzes of the world, is the bad group. This is a modern-day version of Kipling's "the white man's burden," jazzed up a bit with some pop-culture terminology. It didn't work in his time, either.
Since individuals can think, but groups cannot, it is one of the reasons why Kuehnelt-Leddihn said, "'I' is from God, and 'We' is from the Devil." The hive-mind "group" is the basis of fascism in all its forms, whether you call it fascism, Communism, or Nazism.
As Mussolini wrote in 1932: "The State not only is authority which governs and molds individual wills with laws and values of spiritual life, but it is also power which makes its will prevail abroad . . . For the Fascist, everything is within the State and . . . neither individuals or groups are outside the State . . . . For Fascism, the State is an absolute, before which individuals or groups are only relative . . . everything in the State, nothing outside the State, nothing against the State."
Barnett must have read Mussolini. I hope he has. If he has, does he think the definition of fascism does not apply to his ideas? Apparently not. He also appears to disbelieve that "War is Peace" applies to his writings. Or "Lies are Truth."
In Barnett's cheerful little fantasy, the idea of the wogs fighting back doesn't really count for very much. I suspect he's as puzzled as the Borg Queen, wondering why they don't welcome us with open arms and flowers strewn in the path of our tanks. If we have to, he tells us, we can whup 'em but good with our advanced technology. We sure whupped the Vietnamese, Cambodians and Laotians good, to the tune of 2.5 million to three million dead. Afterward, we and our technology went home.
Perhaps Barnett is just today's version of Robert McNamara, the megalomaniacal high-IQ idiot who was the architect of the Vietnam Non-War. Only in this iteration, he wants to extend war to the entire world.
Perhaps the main problem with all empires is that they are invariably welfare/warfare. They're two sides of the same coin; the first can't exist without the second, no matter how many people would like to see the former without the latter. You can't have the fascist Borg Cube/Womb without wanting to protect it, even if the threat is non-existent.
So what we're stuck with in Barnett's confabulations is bringing welfare to the world through warfare. In essence, "We're going to kill you to save you," is what he's saying. I'm sure I'm not the only one going, "Huh?" It's exactly what people are accusing those "Islamofascists" of doing: murdering us to convert (and therefore "save") us.
Of course, we're going to kill about 10,000 of them for every one of us they kill. Not that our soldiers' deaths really count, since they're drones sacrificed for the good of the Hive. I suppose that's why George Bush pays no attention to the deaths of American soldiers. As for the "enemy," they're just Under-People, so who counts how many of them we rub out?
I have for a few years thought the main problem of the human race--the main sin, if you will--is hubris, thinking one is god-like, believing one has the power to move millions of people around like pieces on a cosmic chessboard. Barnett's book has not disabused me of that notion, only confirmed it.
Barnett obviously believes he is a prophet, maybe even a messiah. But how do you tell the difference between a false prophet and a true one? Maybe true ones don't support mass murder, destruction and theft, even if it's for the "good" of those on the receiving end. Whatever happened to "Blessed are the peace makers, for they shall be called children of God"?
The book reminds me of Pinky and the Brain. Brain is the charismatic but slightly daft--or maybe just insane--leader who wants to conquer the world, although he never said he wanted to conquer it for its own good. Then we have Pinky, his essentially brainless follower, who worships Brain. Pinky, who in my opinion represents Mass Man, is ruled by his feelings, too.
Scary to imagine a cartoon about two escaped, mutated lab mice applies so neatly to the real world. Like Barnett, Brain is eternally optimistic, always thinking that if he didn't conquer the world today because he conked his head, well, there is always tomorrow.
Or, as it was best said by Terrill, the murderous idealist Redleg in Clint Eastwood's great The Outlaw Josey Wales: "There ain't no end to doin' right."
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The Delusions of the Conspiracist
A conspiracist is someone who believes every problsm in the world is a result of a (non-existent) conspiracy - and most of them are impossibly complex, i.e., remote-controlled airplanes, explosives in the WTC, thousands of traitors planning it and pulling it off perfectly, disappearing, and none of them ever saying a word for the rest of their lives.
Among the many problems of the conspiracist is that all unwittingly engage in the fallacy of post hoc, ergo propter hoc: because possible conspiracies do exist (a few people getting together to kill Jimmy Hoffa), therefore impossible ones exist (the 9-11 Truthers).
Another problem none of them realize they have is that conspiracies are determined by whether or not the politician is Republican or Democrat.
An example: if it had been Richard Nixon in that limousine instead of John Kennedy, there would no belief in a conspiracy to kill him. Only Democrats are the victims of conspiracies, while Republicans are the perpetrators.
If it had been Nixon killed, many people would have cheered, making jokes about why it took Oswald three shots to kill him. Never mind the fact Nixon was a far better man than Kennedy -- both just happened to be lousy Presidents. Nixon was an unattrative man with a ski-jump nose and a sweaty upper lip. Kennedy, on the other hand, was a handsome, charismatic, popular man.
Need more proof? When Squeaky Fromme tried to kill Ford, not a word about conspiracy. Why? Republican. When John Hickley did shoot Reagan, again, not a word about conspiracies. Why? Again, Republican.
Had 9-11 happened on Clinton's watch, there would be no Truther movement, because no one would believe that Clinton, even though he is a cracker white-trash serial rapist who should have gotten life in prison, would do such a terrible thing to the U.S. -- because he is a handsome, charismatic, popular man.
Bush, on the other hand, is an unpleasant, unattractive, psychologically fragile dry drunk with beady little eyes...and a Republican. And there is not one word (and there never will be) that Clinton ws part of the 9-11 "conspiracy." But Bush? Of course.
In the last 50 years, one Democrat killed -- he was the victim of a conpiracy! Two attempts on Republicans -- not a word. 9-11 happened on a Republican's watch -- he was the perpetrator.
Just watch -- if anything happens on Obama's watch, there will be not one word about a conspiracy, because Obama is a charismatic, popular man.
Among the many problems of the conspiracist is that all unwittingly engage in the fallacy of post hoc, ergo propter hoc: because possible conspiracies do exist (a few people getting together to kill Jimmy Hoffa), therefore impossible ones exist (the 9-11 Truthers).
Another problem none of them realize they have is that conspiracies are determined by whether or not the politician is Republican or Democrat.
An example: if it had been Richard Nixon in that limousine instead of John Kennedy, there would no belief in a conspiracy to kill him. Only Democrats are the victims of conspiracies, while Republicans are the perpetrators.
If it had been Nixon killed, many people would have cheered, making jokes about why it took Oswald three shots to kill him. Never mind the fact Nixon was a far better man than Kennedy -- both just happened to be lousy Presidents. Nixon was an unattrative man with a ski-jump nose and a sweaty upper lip. Kennedy, on the other hand, was a handsome, charismatic, popular man.
Need more proof? When Squeaky Fromme tried to kill Ford, not a word about conspiracy. Why? Republican. When John Hickley did shoot Reagan, again, not a word about conspiracies. Why? Again, Republican.
Had 9-11 happened on Clinton's watch, there would be no Truther movement, because no one would believe that Clinton, even though he is a cracker white-trash serial rapist who should have gotten life in prison, would do such a terrible thing to the U.S. -- because he is a handsome, charismatic, popular man.
Bush, on the other hand, is an unpleasant, unattractive, psychologically fragile dry drunk with beady little eyes...and a Republican. And there is not one word (and there never will be) that Clinton ws part of the 9-11 "conspiracy." But Bush? Of course.
In the last 50 years, one Democrat killed -- he was the victim of a conpiracy! Two attempts on Republicans -- not a word. 9-11 happened on a Republican's watch -- he was the perpetrator.
Just watch -- if anything happens on Obama's watch, there will be not one word about a conspiracy, because Obama is a charismatic, popular man.
Monday, September 7, 2009
A Mouse's Tale
When the nurse brought Sam into the room and his mother first laid eyes on him, she (like many mothers), exclaimed, "Oh, he's beautiful!" The nurse, having dealt with a few hundred newborn infants (sequentially, not simultaneously), had a contrary view of his looks: she rated him one above the bottom, not necessarily for attractiveness, but for being odd-looking. The one below Sam, who had none below him, had preceded Sam by a few days, greeting the doctor and nurses with snarling and scratching.
Outwardly the nurse smiled her professional nurse's smile, but inwardly she rolled her eyes upward and thought, "The poor kid looks like a mouse." Although, she did grudgingly admit that if he had been a mouse, he would have been a handsome one, with a cute pointy nose, fine sleek hair and beady but engaging eyes.
Sam's father, though unblinded by motherly love, still had his fatherly hopes for Sam. They evaporated on the spot. First his heart sank, then he sighed, then he gave up the thought of he and his wife being supported in their old age by a very large and very rich football player. His final thought was, "They're going to beat him up," since, when he looked several years into the future, he envisoned his tiny mousy son being the butt of many a joke at school.
Right from the start Sam was an adorable baby, one who bypassed crawling and walking and went straight to scampering and hopping. His mother found him terribly amusing, as (to his great surprise) did his father, especially when Sam engaged in such antics as springing straight up in the air and doing backflips. "Let's see your son do that!" he would say proudly to the other fathers, who would suppress looks of annoyance, since their babies could do little more than upend bowls of warm oatmeal on their heads.
Sam's father was immensely relieved, indeed very surprised, when Sam started school and, because of his unfailingly cheerful nature and natural comedic skills, became the most popular kid in class. His father had long since given up his football-player fantasies, and was content to not have Sam's tail pulled or his nose tweaked. In fact, he grew quite proud of Sam, who was so lovable and funny and talented he could bring the class down in hysterics (including the teacher) by doing something as simple as eating a piece of cheese.
Alas, all was not perfect. Unfortunately, there was one student who did not like Sam. Indeed, Toby hated Sam, and did so the first time he looked upon him. "I do not like you, Sam," thought the sullen and surly Toby, although he couldn't explain why. Toby didn't like anyone (Sam most of all), and would stalk through the school halls, aloof and haughty, casting insulting glances at whatever student who chanced to look at him.
Toby had it in for Sam every chance he could get. Very sneakily, when no one was looking, Toby pulled Sam's tail and whiskers, and pinched his ears, and tweaked his nose. Everyone else loved Sam. But not Toby. "Sam's different, but he's funny," the students said. "Toby's different, but he's creepy," all explained, claiming Toby would slink around at night, staring at people.
Sam, who quickly grew to loathe Toby, knew that with his tiny physique he would be unable to defend himself physically against Toby's bulk. Like most students, he subscribed to the Code of Kiddom, which prevented him from complaining to the school administration, or his parents, that some kid was trying to bully him. So, instead, Sam rapidly became adept at zipping away whenever he saw Toby, to hide in whatever hole was handy. "The kids all like me, and no one likes you," Sam taunted Toby, from his hole. "You'll never catch me, ever."
Sam was right on all counts. All the students loved Sam, none liked Toby, and Toby never caught him again all through the school years. Or after school, either, even when Toby went to the immense trouble of building a huge mousetrap and covering it with the fall leaves in Sam's front yard. "That boy's going to be nothing but trouble all his life," grumbled Sam's father, grimacing while he removed the sprung trap from his foot.
Time passed, and everyone graduated. "Goodbye, you creepy Toby," Sam thought, and then, taking his father's advice that everything loose in America rolled to California, moved to that state, which, he hoped, was so full of strange people that no one would pay any attention to a man who looked like a mouse. And he was right.
There, Sam blossomed. Exercising his naturally given talents, he found himself making a substantial living as a stand-up comic. "Amazing!" exclaimed those in his audiences. "I've never seen a man crawl up drapes before! And so fast!" they howled. Sam became, if not a huge success, then a pretty big one.
Life was good for Sam. It got even better when he noticed how attractive was one of the women who worked at one of the nightclubs. "Such smooth sleek hair and dainty little hands!" thought Sam, enchanted. But he was terrified to approach Doreen, wondering how any woman could be attracted to a man who looked so much like a mouse.
Screwing up all the courage that existed in his heart, (there was a lot more than he thought there was), and fighting the urge to hang his head, look at his paws, and mumble, one day he shyly asked, "Hey, Doreen, do you think you might want to go to a movie with me?"
"Oh, yes!" breathed Doreen, looking at Sam adoringly, love shining from her beady little eyes. Her cute little ears even turned pink. "Well, I'll be darned," thought Sam, in shock, "even a man who looks like a mouse can get a girl and find happiness. Will wonders ever cease?" Apparently not, he decided.
For months everything was wonderful. He and Doreen made a perfect pair, bounding around the city and amusing everyone they encountered. Everyone adored them. "What a lovely couple," everyone sighed. Sam made a lot of friends, and also so much money he would have no problem supporting his parents in their retirement. "Such a great son," his father told everyone. "And to think I wanted a football player!"
Then, one day, Sam and Doreen's happiness was punctured by the arrival of Toby at his door. "Oh, no!" Sam said in horror after he opened his front door and saw the grinning Toby standing there. "What are you doing here? Won't you ever leave me alone? You've been tormenting me since the day you were born!"
"I missed you," smirked Toby, still grinning as he walked uninvited into Sam's apartment. "My life's never been the same since you moved away. It's been missing something, you know? A purpose. And you were always my purpose. So I decided to move out here."
Doreen walked in from another room and squeaked when she saw Toby. "How horrible!" she gasped. "Tell him to go away, Sam!" She jumped to Sam's side and clung to his arm in terror. "He's awful!" she cried, seeing into Toby's pea-sized, wizened soul and sizing up his truly cruel nature in an instant.
"Who's the dame?" Toby leered. "Not bad-looking at all! I'll bet she's too good for a pathetic little mouse like you. A dish like that looks like something I might be interested in. Hey, hon, why don't you ditch that loser and come on over here?"
Doreen glared at Toby and wished him, if not dead, then at least folded in half, then folded again.
"Yes, Toby, I think you'd better leave," Sam said quietly.
"Sure thing, Sammy," Toby said, still grinning his cocky grin and running his eyes up and down Doreen's shapely figure. "But you're going to be seeing a lot of me. For a long time. For years. And your girlfriend, too."
Since Toby was looking at Sam as he was leaving, he didn't see Philibert standing in the doorway, and bumped into, and off of, him, or his chest, actually, which was level with Toby's head. Toby gaped at him and went, "Yow! Yow! Yow!"
"What is dis?" said Philibert, standing in the doorway, shifting his toothpick in his mouth and lifting his upper lip to show his quite large and scary teeth. He looked at Toby and his pupils, as they always did when he was annoyed, dilated to huge black dots. His heavy brows beetled and a frown turned down in his heavy, protruding jaws. Toby's eyes bugged out of his head.
"Hello, Philibert," Sam said cheerfully. "This is Toby. Remember him? I think I told you all about him. Oh, and Toby? This is Philibert, my biggest fan."
Toby was too frozen to utter a word, but Philibert said, "Yeah, I 'member youse telling me about dis guy." Philibert stared down at Toby, who stared up at the mountain of muscle, paralyzed, his hair standing on end in terror. "I got a good nose and I smelled somethin' funny over here, so I come over to check it out. Are youse bodderin' my good buddy here, buster?" He raised one huge paw and made a fist the size of a cantaloupe. Toby stared at it, mesmerized.
"I, I was just leaving," Toby wheezed. "Excuse me!" He tried to squeeze by Philibert, but Philibert, who filled the entire doorway, merely shifted a bit to prevent Toby's escape.
Philibert, who was as loyal as loyal could be, wasn't the smartest guy in the world, or even the neighborhood, but he told the truth when he said he had a good nose. A great nose, actually. And he smelled something he found very unpleasant. "Dere's somethin' funny about you I don't like at all," he told Toby. He peered at him, disapprovingly, and suddenly the scales fell from his eyes.
He found himself staring at the black fur standing straight up, the cold yellow eyes, the dreadful claws, the small sharp teeth. . .
"Dang!" he howled, "I know what youse are! A miserable, lousy, stinkin' CAT!"
Philibert was so stunned by his discovery that he missed his grab at Toby, who, hissing and tail bottled, flew between Philibert's legs and out into the hall. Philibert spun around and howling, "Pick on a little guy, willya? I'll murder you, you bum!" ran after Toby.
"Go get him, Philibert!" Sam and Doreen yelled encouragingly and simultaneously at Philibert. From the hallway came crashing sounds, interspersed with hissing and snarling, followed by chomping noises. Then came a rhythymic banging sound, much like something being swung by its tail from one side of the hallway to the other. One of their favorite pictures---that of Philibert, resplendent in black bowler hat and stogie, playing poker with his buddies---fell off of the wall.
"Philibert's my best friend," Sam said. "And I don't think Toby's ever going to bother us again, even if he survives his encounter with him."
"Thank God either way," Doreen answered. "You're my hero." She looked at Sam with love in her eyes and they held paws. Sam blushed and hung his head and looked at his feet.
.
Outwardly the nurse smiled her professional nurse's smile, but inwardly she rolled her eyes upward and thought, "The poor kid looks like a mouse." Although, she did grudgingly admit that if he had been a mouse, he would have been a handsome one, with a cute pointy nose, fine sleek hair and beady but engaging eyes.
Sam's father, though unblinded by motherly love, still had his fatherly hopes for Sam. They evaporated on the spot. First his heart sank, then he sighed, then he gave up the thought of he and his wife being supported in their old age by a very large and very rich football player. His final thought was, "They're going to beat him up," since, when he looked several years into the future, he envisoned his tiny mousy son being the butt of many a joke at school.
Right from the start Sam was an adorable baby, one who bypassed crawling and walking and went straight to scampering and hopping. His mother found him terribly amusing, as (to his great surprise) did his father, especially when Sam engaged in such antics as springing straight up in the air and doing backflips. "Let's see your son do that!" he would say proudly to the other fathers, who would suppress looks of annoyance, since their babies could do little more than upend bowls of warm oatmeal on their heads.
Sam's father was immensely relieved, indeed very surprised, when Sam started school and, because of his unfailingly cheerful nature and natural comedic skills, became the most popular kid in class. His father had long since given up his football-player fantasies, and was content to not have Sam's tail pulled or his nose tweaked. In fact, he grew quite proud of Sam, who was so lovable and funny and talented he could bring the class down in hysterics (including the teacher) by doing something as simple as eating a piece of cheese.
Alas, all was not perfect. Unfortunately, there was one student who did not like Sam. Indeed, Toby hated Sam, and did so the first time he looked upon him. "I do not like you, Sam," thought the sullen and surly Toby, although he couldn't explain why. Toby didn't like anyone (Sam most of all), and would stalk through the school halls, aloof and haughty, casting insulting glances at whatever student who chanced to look at him.
Toby had it in for Sam every chance he could get. Very sneakily, when no one was looking, Toby pulled Sam's tail and whiskers, and pinched his ears, and tweaked his nose. Everyone else loved Sam. But not Toby. "Sam's different, but he's funny," the students said. "Toby's different, but he's creepy," all explained, claiming Toby would slink around at night, staring at people.
Sam, who quickly grew to loathe Toby, knew that with his tiny physique he would be unable to defend himself physically against Toby's bulk. Like most students, he subscribed to the Code of Kiddom, which prevented him from complaining to the school administration, or his parents, that some kid was trying to bully him. So, instead, Sam rapidly became adept at zipping away whenever he saw Toby, to hide in whatever hole was handy. "The kids all like me, and no one likes you," Sam taunted Toby, from his hole. "You'll never catch me, ever."
Sam was right on all counts. All the students loved Sam, none liked Toby, and Toby never caught him again all through the school years. Or after school, either, even when Toby went to the immense trouble of building a huge mousetrap and covering it with the fall leaves in Sam's front yard. "That boy's going to be nothing but trouble all his life," grumbled Sam's father, grimacing while he removed the sprung trap from his foot.
Time passed, and everyone graduated. "Goodbye, you creepy Toby," Sam thought, and then, taking his father's advice that everything loose in America rolled to California, moved to that state, which, he hoped, was so full of strange people that no one would pay any attention to a man who looked like a mouse. And he was right.
There, Sam blossomed. Exercising his naturally given talents, he found himself making a substantial living as a stand-up comic. "Amazing!" exclaimed those in his audiences. "I've never seen a man crawl up drapes before! And so fast!" they howled. Sam became, if not a huge success, then a pretty big one.
Life was good for Sam. It got even better when he noticed how attractive was one of the women who worked at one of the nightclubs. "Such smooth sleek hair and dainty little hands!" thought Sam, enchanted. But he was terrified to approach Doreen, wondering how any woman could be attracted to a man who looked so much like a mouse.
Screwing up all the courage that existed in his heart, (there was a lot more than he thought there was), and fighting the urge to hang his head, look at his paws, and mumble, one day he shyly asked, "Hey, Doreen, do you think you might want to go to a movie with me?"
"Oh, yes!" breathed Doreen, looking at Sam adoringly, love shining from her beady little eyes. Her cute little ears even turned pink. "Well, I'll be darned," thought Sam, in shock, "even a man who looks like a mouse can get a girl and find happiness. Will wonders ever cease?" Apparently not, he decided.
For months everything was wonderful. He and Doreen made a perfect pair, bounding around the city and amusing everyone they encountered. Everyone adored them. "What a lovely couple," everyone sighed. Sam made a lot of friends, and also so much money he would have no problem supporting his parents in their retirement. "Such a great son," his father told everyone. "And to think I wanted a football player!"
Then, one day, Sam and Doreen's happiness was punctured by the arrival of Toby at his door. "Oh, no!" Sam said in horror after he opened his front door and saw the grinning Toby standing there. "What are you doing here? Won't you ever leave me alone? You've been tormenting me since the day you were born!"
"I missed you," smirked Toby, still grinning as he walked uninvited into Sam's apartment. "My life's never been the same since you moved away. It's been missing something, you know? A purpose. And you were always my purpose. So I decided to move out here."
Doreen walked in from another room and squeaked when she saw Toby. "How horrible!" she gasped. "Tell him to go away, Sam!" She jumped to Sam's side and clung to his arm in terror. "He's awful!" she cried, seeing into Toby's pea-sized, wizened soul and sizing up his truly cruel nature in an instant.
"Who's the dame?" Toby leered. "Not bad-looking at all! I'll bet she's too good for a pathetic little mouse like you. A dish like that looks like something I might be interested in. Hey, hon, why don't you ditch that loser and come on over here?"
Doreen glared at Toby and wished him, if not dead, then at least folded in half, then folded again.
"Yes, Toby, I think you'd better leave," Sam said quietly.
"Sure thing, Sammy," Toby said, still grinning his cocky grin and running his eyes up and down Doreen's shapely figure. "But you're going to be seeing a lot of me. For a long time. For years. And your girlfriend, too."
Since Toby was looking at Sam as he was leaving, he didn't see Philibert standing in the doorway, and bumped into, and off of, him, or his chest, actually, which was level with Toby's head. Toby gaped at him and went, "Yow! Yow! Yow!"
"What is dis?" said Philibert, standing in the doorway, shifting his toothpick in his mouth and lifting his upper lip to show his quite large and scary teeth. He looked at Toby and his pupils, as they always did when he was annoyed, dilated to huge black dots. His heavy brows beetled and a frown turned down in his heavy, protruding jaws. Toby's eyes bugged out of his head.
"Hello, Philibert," Sam said cheerfully. "This is Toby. Remember him? I think I told you all about him. Oh, and Toby? This is Philibert, my biggest fan."
Toby was too frozen to utter a word, but Philibert said, "Yeah, I 'member youse telling me about dis guy." Philibert stared down at Toby, who stared up at the mountain of muscle, paralyzed, his hair standing on end in terror. "I got a good nose and I smelled somethin' funny over here, so I come over to check it out. Are youse bodderin' my good buddy here, buster?" He raised one huge paw and made a fist the size of a cantaloupe. Toby stared at it, mesmerized.
"I, I was just leaving," Toby wheezed. "Excuse me!" He tried to squeeze by Philibert, but Philibert, who filled the entire doorway, merely shifted a bit to prevent Toby's escape.
Philibert, who was as loyal as loyal could be, wasn't the smartest guy in the world, or even the neighborhood, but he told the truth when he said he had a good nose. A great nose, actually. And he smelled something he found very unpleasant. "Dere's somethin' funny about you I don't like at all," he told Toby. He peered at him, disapprovingly, and suddenly the scales fell from his eyes.
He found himself staring at the black fur standing straight up, the cold yellow eyes, the dreadful claws, the small sharp teeth. . .
"Dang!" he howled, "I know what youse are! A miserable, lousy, stinkin' CAT!"
Philibert was so stunned by his discovery that he missed his grab at Toby, who, hissing and tail bottled, flew between Philibert's legs and out into the hall. Philibert spun around and howling, "Pick on a little guy, willya? I'll murder you, you bum!" ran after Toby.
"Go get him, Philibert!" Sam and Doreen yelled encouragingly and simultaneously at Philibert. From the hallway came crashing sounds, interspersed with hissing and snarling, followed by chomping noises. Then came a rhythymic banging sound, much like something being swung by its tail from one side of the hallway to the other. One of their favorite pictures---that of Philibert, resplendent in black bowler hat and stogie, playing poker with his buddies---fell off of the wall.
"Philibert's my best friend," Sam said. "And I don't think Toby's ever going to bother us again, even if he survives his encounter with him."
"Thank God either way," Doreen answered. "You're my hero." She looked at Sam with love in her eyes and they held paws. Sam blushed and hung his head and looked at his feet.
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