Terrorismists

ISIS has a problem and it’s not what you think. They aren’t being sought out and destroyed with extreme prejudice. They aren’t being adulated by the world as some almighty threat that needs intense scrutiny and attention. They’ve been marginalized and given dirty looks. Ladies and Gentlemen, they have an inferiority complex and we gave it to them. They want to be treated like a dangerous world power. They want the respect a recognized state would receive when pulling such villainous shenanigans.  They want war, but they just get a talking to and lots of inaction. I think we should give them the satisfaction of getting what they want. Face it, they’re not going to stop. You know how they are. And all these stern denouncements on TV are just firing them up. I can hear them now. For all intents and purposes, Pinky and the Brain are ISIS:

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“How many did we kill, Pinky?”

“reports say about 45 right now, Brain”

“What have the Americans said?”

“Stop doing that”

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WWPATBD? An acronym for what would Pinky and the Brain do. The same thing they always do, try again tomorrow. The motivation doesn’t go away and is hardly weakened by world efforts to quash the persistent acts of war waged on the universe. I’m not mistaken, give them space ships and they will attack aliens. They are the frustrated bunch and you’d think we (USA) would be. But there is seemingly nothing they can do that will make us spring into action like the super power we are… or at least used to be. Perhaps one day soon we won’t take their shit anymore. We don’t even hurt them in any way. In fact, we help them by meddling with the power structure of other nations that have in the past helped to check these militant groups and prevented them from spreading like wildfire. They fight on, we move our military further away from them. It’s actual insanity. We have a few choices and the sooner the US figures it out, the better. We either fight them here or we fight them there. We either bounce around the world cleaning up after they inflict mass casualties or we wipe them out, immediately. I’d pick the proactive route.  Currently, we do nothing. You can impose sanctions on an unrecognized state, but they won’t recognize them. They are not a conventional organization so why do we consider conventional methods of dealing with them? It’s wobbly moral ground we stand on, not wanting to attack them for fear of the innocents. What are the people they attack? Guilty of living?  I could go on and on about how we’ve perpetuated their existence and extended their longevity but that would take ages. The problem right now is that we are not giving them the attention they crave and deserve. They need our military’s attention in a bad way and I say we give it to them.

 

Don’t Touch The Candy!: A Traumatic Childhood Experience

I’ve been this way for majority of my life. I don’t care for candy… or anything sweet for that matter. For a long time I wasn’t sure why but figured it wasn’t that big an issue. I mean, I like the cherry gummy things… But I don’t eat that stuff. Maybe I want to have a taste of them every now and then…

Look at them. Just look at them.

Look at them. Just look at them.

But I don’t.

Obviously I’ve started thinking about it. What could be behind this? I used to like ice cream until I worked at the Gracie Mansion for a summer and ended up scooping approximately 20,000 scoops of ice cream for the season. (I may be exaggerating) In any event, no more ice cream. Perhaps I am sensitive and easily traumatized  Nah – can’t be, I’ve eaten poisoned Taco Bell and  I will still go south of the border.

Well I think I have figured it out; I can trace my candy issue back to 1983 in Leimen, Germany. We lived above a little market area, bunch of cute little stores which I loved to look around in. Everybody was real nice as I recall, I had a lovely overall time living in Germany and I considered it home for many many years.

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One day in the candy shop, I think I was having a bit of a struggle deciding what I wanted. Then from out of nowhere, the old wicked witch of a hag storekeeper devil woman was on me like white on rice… I guess I was rummaging a bit.

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This is how I think she looked.

This woman smacked my hand like it was her final deed on this planet.  I couldn’t believe it.  I would have cursed her out had I known any curse words… instead I just stared at her for a couple seconds then called her an anti-Semite old bag. My dad chimed in to inform me that we weren’t Jewish. OK the last 17 words didn’t happen, but totally could have.  After I stared at her I looked up at my dad with that expression.. you know the “how you gonna let this witch smack the color off my hand” look. This guy was smiling, my own father… my own flesh and blood, smiling at me. What happened to protecting me? What happened to never letting anything happen to me? I was innocent and defenseless, how could he?

Dear old pop, the great purveyor of life’s lessons.

 So I did what any self-respecting, proud 3 year-old would do. I started crying.

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