Morford: Iran, You Ran, Let's Bomb Iran

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" Zepp " <zepp

Wed, 19 Apr 2006 16:26:51 -0700

[Zepps_News] Morford: Iran, You Ran, Let's Bomb Iran

 

 

 

 

Iran, You Ran, Let's Bomb Iran/When all else fails and you're becoming

Nixon 2.0, why not just nuke someone, and smirk?

By Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist

 

 

It's just like playing blackjack in Vegas.

 

Invariably, sitting right next to you is some guy, eyes shifty and body

twitchy and making weird sounds with his mouth and smelling vaguely of

sawdust and horse manure and dead dreams, with a huge pile of chips he is

quickly turning into a very small pile of chips.

 

He is suffering. He is playing terribly, grumbling, sneering at the

dealer, talking to the cards like they were his personal slutty harem

( " C'mon you dumb bitches, do me right, " etc.), complaining to his very

angry God who is apparently no longer coming through for him. He is

getting desperate. His pile is diminishing. He is sweating, glancing

around, wondering where all his drunk fraternity friends scurried off to.

 

Soon he is down to his last chips. He makes one final stab, but his

final

bet tanks. He is out, the pile is gone.

 

He then does what every miserable, lunkheaded gambler does at this

point:

In a fit of alcoholic rage and demonic encouragement, he says, " Screw it "

-- and digs into his pocket, pulls out his last remaining crumpled $1,000

bill and slaps it down on the table in one big final gesture meant to turn

his fortunes around all at once, goddamn the wife at home and screw a

decent meal and forget every ironclad rule of gambling because dammit the

gods owe him and he's long overdue for a change in fortune. Yes. Right.

Sure he is.

 

The smart players look at him like he's a wart on their elbow. The gods

look at him like he's a brown fungal mold they forgot to let evolve.

Everyone looks sidelong at him and sighs, waits for the inevitable.

 

Sure enough, the lug loses his big Hail Mary bet. He is broke. He

cannot

believe it. He curses the table, curses the whore cards, swears at the

dealer for not treating him better, slams the rest of his drink and his

face contorts and his hands shake and he stumbles off into the night,

railing against his lousy luck, the gods, all of humanity. Same ol'

situation, happening all over Vegas. And, of course, Washington, D.C.

 

Now, here he is, sitting right next to all the other countries at

the Big

Table, representing America, it's little Dubya Bush, stewing in his own

juices, his poll numbers hovering right near Nixon levels during his

darkest days, mumbling to himself, smelling vaguely of sawdust and horse

manure and dead Social Security overhaul plans.

 

He is pockmarked by scandal, buffeted by storms of disapproval and

infighting and nascent impeachment. He intentionally authorized the leak

of security information merely to smear an Iraq war critic, he lied about

WMD and lied about Saddam and lied about making the United States safer

and lied about, well, just about everything, on top of launching the worst

and most violent and most expensive, unwinnable war since Vietnam.

 

His formerly enormous pile of betting capital is down to a tiny lump,

nothing like back when he had the table rigged and all the pit bosses

worked for him and the pile was as big as a roomful of Texas cow pies. But

now, fortune is frowning. In fact, fortune is white-hot furious at being

so viciously molested, spit upon, raped lo these many years. The truth is

coming out: Bush has now lost far, far more bets than he ever won.

 

What's to be done? Why, do what any grumbling, furious, confused,

underqualified alcoholic gambler does: reach down deep and say, " Screw the

nation and screw the odds and to hell with the rest of the planet, " and

pull out one more desperate, crumpled war from deep in your pants, slap it

on the table and hear the world moan.

 

But this time, try to make it serious. Do not rule out the use of

tactical

nuclear weapons. Do not rule out another a massive air strike, ground

troops, special forces, a strategy so intense it makes Iraq look like a

jog in the park. Think of yourself as creating a masterful legacy, going

down in history not as the guy who restored peace in the Middle East but

as the guy who made it all far worse -- but who " saved " the world from

Iran's nukes while protecting American oil interests. Yes? Can you smell

the oily sanctimony in the air? Is God speaking to you again, telling you

to damn the torpedoes and kill more Muslims? You are the chosen one, after

all.

 

Sound far fetched? Don't think even Bush could be capable of using

nukes

to slap Iran? Perish the thought. All reports from underworld White House

sources -- most notably by way of Sy Hersh's horrifying report in a recent

New Yorker -- indicate that Dubya and his remaining team of war-happy

flying monkeys have been secretly laying out plans to attack Iran for

months, possibly even using tactical nuclear weapons to get at those deep

Iranian bunkers, all because Iran just celebrated its entrance into the

world's " nuclear club " by finally enriching some uranium (a critical

component of nuclear weapons) for the first time. Cookies all around!

 

No matter that most analysts say that Iran is far from being a true

threat, that a nuclear Iran is at least a good decade away, if not longer.

No matter that 10 years is a good long time to work on ways to force Iran

out of the game -- via negotiation, diplomacy, sanctions -- without

unleashing another river of never-ending violence.

 

With Bush in power, there is no waiting. There is no thought of

avoiding

another hideous war at all costs. To the Bush hawks, diplomacy is a failed

joke. Negotiation is for intellectuals and tofu pacifists. In the Dubya

world view, the planet is a roiling cauldron of nasty threats, crammed

with terrorists and hateful Muslims and foreign demons suddenly growling

on our doorstep when, curiously, they really weren't there before he

stumbled into power. Amazing how that works.

 

It is now seven months before what could be a radically influential

congressional election, a vote that could very well give power back to the

Democrats, who will (with any luck) waste no time launching a number of

long-overdue investigations into Bush's failed war and the various

scandals and lies and fiscal abuses that led us all here.

 

For Dubya, now is the time. One last, desperate gamble. Slam that last

drink, scrunch up your face, screw the rules and let the bombs fly. What,

you don't think he could do it? Don't think a nuclear attack on Iran is

possible? You haven't looked into the tiny, ink-black eyes of Dick Cheney

lately. You haven't seen Rumsfeld's arrogant sneer, seen Bush looking

confused and lost, wondering where all his " capital " went, desperately

hunting for a legacy and finding only irresponsibility and

self-righteousness and death.

 

But hell, as we already know, that's good enough for him.

 

 

 

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