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Ok...to hell with it...Back to Afghanistan. Must be ok, because Obama says so. Or, he does not say much. With a Predator Drone soaring overhead, one can be laconic, like Hemingway: "The sand was hot. The wind was good. Ka-boom!" Sort of Old Testament.
Look, we are talking Afghans, here. They are not like us. From a Christian standpoint, they resemble nonbelievers, the kind John the Baptist, Jerry Falwell, or even Charles Manson warned us about. But this is not a religious war. Not even a litigious war, with enemy combatants craftily constituted as non-Genevan ghouls. And Afghanistan is so isolated, you could stack dead Afghans higher than a Hindu Kush foothill, or hang their shrinking trophy heads on every mosque door, and most of the outside world would not blink. Afghanistan has always qualified as civilization's quail farm, a place where armies and soldiers, and now the mighty USA, tries its hand at capping a few of the colorful citizenry, popping them like geckos off a stucco wall, and engaging in the Byzantine blood sport of war. It is nothing personal, just a testing ground for emperors, kings, khans, generals, even presidents, to gain continental street cred, and fulfill international banking fraternity hazing requirements, not to mention projecting one's callow footprint upon the creaking world stage, the Follies Berger of morally bankrupt Mephistophelian economic theater; and diplomatic fun house festivities where daily-bartered bodies, blood, and life, is worth...at least in Afghanistan...almost nothing.
Throughout the centuries, weapons change: chariots, elephants, now Predator Aircraft with Hellfire Missiles. But the game remains the same. In the heat of battle, Hellfire Rule Number One applies: Kill Afghans before they kill you.
As my first photo demonstrates, however, there is one problem:
This is not Kansas; it is a quagmire of empire-busting quicksand, a bad-luck bog, an accursed Kipling killing field. What is that big white Leggo doing on the road to Herat? And those black shapes?--Kuchi tents, camels, and goats in the sand? Grain elevator my ass! A little too surreal. Fire! Take it out! Russians would have long ago.
Excellent, men. A techno-triumph from the comfort of a Lazy Boy. A few collateral camels charring in the sand, is all; maybe an enemy combatant or two. Nomads should be fine once they find their family. Can you pass a Diet Pepsi. This sure beats Game Boy! Fly on, dude!
Straight from the Air Force's mouth:
Obviously, that was an easy call. Put yourself in the eyes of a Predator and try my next photo.
Dromedaries. Large, even-toed ungulates with one hump on the back. Cloven hoofed, yet permitted as human food, since it chews its cud, an unfortunate technicality in the compassionate camel crowd. Hold the joystick. Although when I shot the photo, tribal kids appeared out of nowhere, and threw rocks at my car. Brats! Fly on.
Aha! Shapes visible outside the hootch. Zoom in! Easy on the mouse, dude.
Warming up with the sun. Don't matter. Fits the Predator Profile. Hey, that dude is reaching for something! Fire!
Here's a campground for you. Is that a stove out front? Or an IED in the making? Hey that kid is raising a hand! Like one of them rock-throwers! A rock killed Goliath, remember? Hostile action! Fire!
Hellfire Rule Number Two: He who fires first fires last.
Dry country. Looks like somebody blowtorched it. What is worth fighting for over here? There's no oil.
No, but perfect for a pipeline from the north. Look, we're just doing a little house cleaning outside the holy land. Same goes for Iraq and Pakistan. Who knows, maybe someday, Iran. These people need us. Think of us as their satellite saviors.
Prettier down by the river.
Pastoral scenes. Tribal folk, shepherds, goats, camels, donkeys. Women in robes. Old ways don't die easy, do they?
Pull up! ATV with legs. Fire in the hole! That's his last trip to the woodshed! Good one, Bob!
Predators make this job easy, don't they?
Like laser surgery. But we don't have to smell the burning flesh.
I suppose it still hurts.
Look, Boy Scout, the thing is, we mess up here, and nobody cares. I mean, what is an Afghan life worth?--$200. A few thousand? That's pretty cheap surgery. That's cost-effective weaponry testing. Hell, who else can we test these missiles on?
