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By Mike Bendzela (about the author) Page 2 of 2 page(s)
"No yellow cake, no aluminum tubes-"
"There were no connections between Saddam and-"
"Whoa, whoa," I say. "Don't tell me you actually bleeved that crap."
"Hell no!" in unison.
"And do you think the Preznit actually bleeved it?"
"We all know he took us to war for oil!"
"At least we agree on something. And that means the war ain't lost until that oil is lost."
I don't think they can follow logic, for now they're just yapping at me like I've just stepped on a bag of puppies.
If I stare at them long enough, I know they'll settle down, and they do.
"Ever hear of the Green Zone, Camp Victory North, Camp Anaconda? Billions of dollars spent, hundreds of thousands of Amurrikans in place, plump oil fields nearby. And all of it just for you."
"I don't support that shit!" The poor girl's eyes are gonna pop out of her skull, and I'm afraid she's about to get frostbite on her tongue.
First, I shift my Escalade into DRIVE, pressing down on the brake; then I set my finger on my automatic window button. I wait till traffic clears ahead of me.
"Ten years from now, when the oilfields in Texas and Mexico and Alaska have filled with water, and Canada can't dig tar out of the ground fast enough to suit you, and you're shooting out babies in some warm hospital somewhere while the rest of the world burns its furniture just to cook their neighbors' cats, you'll thank our Lord Jesus Christ for sending us a leader who had the foresight to know to take care of his own children first."
I'll bet my exhaust never smelled so good to them.
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