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I Gave Up Sex, Again
Today I took a break from one of myriad sexual fantasies that make up an average day, and contemplated the fantasy of world peace.
I thought it was just going to be a short break and then I would get back to the routine strokes of my day but it turned out to be an all day thing this break I took.
I started out thinking what fun it would be to be a superhero but I couldn't come up with a good name so I put that thinking away. I then got into the idea of being myself, Mr. Joe Average American, as a promoter of world peace and what a great thing it would be if I could sit down with George W. Bush and talk about the state of the world and eventually convince him to stop his war monger posturing because its really starting to freak out pretty much the entire civilized world.
None of the conjured meetings seemed too plausible but I guess you can only expect so much from fantasy. I went from one imaginary meeting to another, becoming so frustrated and dizzy at one point I thought I might have to give up and go back to having imaginary sex.
In not the first one but the one I happen to be thinking about right this minute I was GW's old pal from highschool checking in with him after years of separate lifestyles. He was president of the United States and I was pretty much just me. He was cool with that though and we were goofing around like old days. We were spoofing hard on those anti-marijuana commercials that are all over the TV. George was pretending to suck on a blunt and then he would pass it my way. We were like stoned teenagers giggling about how impossibly funny is every damn thing in the world. At one point he accidently started World War III and we laughed until we cried, rolling around on the floor out of control. "I just started WWIII," he would guffaw, and I would laugh, "I know man, I know, that's so totally fucked up," and he would laugh back like the devil himself. I got serious then and said to him, you know, old buddy to old buddy, "GW, you really gonna do this thing with Iraq?" He just snorted and gave me that wry homeboy look, locking me seriously eye to eye. He pursed his lips and began nodding slowly, first with just his head and then the movement overtook his whole upper body. I had a sinking feeling and right then he burst out laughing again, pointing at me accusingly, "I had you Slim, I had you man. I'ayn gonna do that Slim. It is true, I"m just posturing, but it's for a reason. I got a few agendas going on and for the benefit of all things going, I gotta appear somewhat whacked. But I'ayn gonna hurt nobody." I looked back at him feeling uncertain, with a grimace of a smile. "So you're not going to kill babies, or advocate a situation that will certainly lead to the death of many babies, because man, those babies ain't done nobody no harm yet and..." He interrupted to inform me that it is not a small number of people worldwide who given the opportunity would not hestitate at killing multitudes of Americans, old, young, black and white. I told him I knew that and that for myself, under dire circumstances, would also kill in order to stay alive, but this Iraq thing seems too far out there, too contrived. It feels like such a certain defying of logic that even the most simple of us simpletons can't line up behind it." "I have my supporters now," he reminded me. "I know brah, I'm not saying you don't, but worldwide now, you got to look around, the numbers against you are becoming so overwhelming. I mean you might go on TV tonite and try to make a moral case for this war but its going to be hard for you. You've strayed too far from that anti-terrorist agenda which as a goal a great many more people world-wide would be behind. You are now becoming that which doesn't even need to be spun that hard to appear evil. You are starting to look like that which you pretend to despise. That's what it looks like brah, I mean to Joe Average American..." He ended this scenario by telling me he would give me a sign in tonite's speech by saying the words "nobody wants to go to war," and that that would be how I knew everything was gonna be ok. Its my fantasy.
In another one we were yup buddies out on the ranch. We didn't really know each other but we knew some of the same people and had hunted and fished the same places. He told a story about his dogs which reminded me of a dog story. I said, "yeah, out on my place near Bastrop there was this Border Collie we called Girlie. Girlie moved around freely among the area ranches and we all considered her our friend. She was a good dog. She was top dog. Through rape or just poor planning Girlie became pregnant once and then over the years pregnant again and again, possibly inbreeding at times, and after several years of this there was a small mongrel pack which followed her around. They were like a small nation unto themselves and although they were not without fault, their faults were by and large, forgivable.
One day a pit bull named Judy, who had been banned from the city for some anti-social behaviour, was introduced into the community. From the get-go they were enemies, their breeds too far apart to find common ground. One day I found Girlie l lying in the tall grass by the pond with part of her throat ripped out and I thought she would surely die, but she didn't. She disappeared for a week and when she came back there was a new order. Judy was top dog and Girlie was second, even though Girlie had been around much longer. For awhile it looked like this would work out ok because afterall, Judy would not venture far from master's home and this left Girlie with her many acres of territory. Months later I was down at the pond again when I saw Girlie running full speed from master's house, Judy right behind her, literally nipping at her heels. When they reached the pond and were out of running room, Girlie turned and faced her aggressor with teeth bared. All of a sudden four more from her pack lifted up from where they sat in the grass and joined the fight, always one biting into Judy's hamstring while the others traded off on the frontal assault. Except for Girlie, they were a motley crue, the one's nobody'd take at the pound. In the end there was blood all around but it was Judy who limped away in retreat that day. Over the years the cast stayed pretty much the same until Judy started having babies, and then, with some regularity and no big hoopla, the pack would capture a puppy, take it to the pond, and torture it to death. Thusly, order was maintained." GW looked at me hard after I finished that story and appeared to be thinking of so many things at once he found himself rendered speechless. But after a few moments he belched loudly, giggled almost girlishly, and asked me was I ready for beer and barbecue. I was.
This went on all day, these little skits with the most powerful man in the world. One time I was reasoning with him, other times pleading, offering votes, or supporting hateful programs in exchange for a no-war promise. In the end I don't think he got me, and I never really felt like I got him either. But we were talking, for what that's worth, and we had a few laughs. I hope we are all wrong about him. I hope the things we say and think about him turn out to be so much hyperbole. I hope the puppies don't suffer.