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Presently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer,
«Sir», said I, «or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping.
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
“Oink”—Mel’s mental machinations somehow matriculated into my mind.
“So what the hell do you want me to do?” I shouted. “Save the world or something? There’s terrorists out there! And Evil Doers! Ever hear of bacon? We could get hurt. That’s why we are fighting them over there! ”
“Eediot!” he screeched. “It’s about the oil!”
“Seek little monkey!” I yelled back. “There’s no oil in Afghanistan!”
“Pipeline!” Mel suddenly mounted a big pipe. “I’ll put my monkey wrench on that!”
Then, I understood, with some kind of visual, if not magical dose of all-powerful, psychic pig, paranormal power: we were in Afghanistan to build a pipeline that would run from the rich and vast oil reserves of Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, and Turkmenistan in the north, across Afghanistan to the Caspian Sea in the south. That way, the U.S. could control the oil, and bypass Russia. Karzai had already agreed. It was a done deal.
“You precocious pig!” I shouted. “You must be related to Wonder Wart Hog!”
“Oink” he said.
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the pig, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er.
And the silky sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before
“Sooo”...I contemplated the war and terror, and blood and gore, that fulfillment of such a pipeline would spawn. But our country was already staggering from economic blows. I looked at the beer sitting on my armchair “What the hell can I do to the clowns who put us in this mess?” I reached for the bottle opener.
“Clowns?” A look came over Mel’s face, and I shall never forget, as he pounced with a passionate pig purpose.
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