Can I Vote Myself off This Island??

[JohnWxy]

I guess we’re all familiar with those television programs where a group of intrepid participants are dropped on an island somewhere and given various tasks to perform and challenges to meet. They build shacks of grass, spear fish for food and chase pigs through the forest. It’s all very entertaining and the people involved act as if it’s real, but we know behind the cameras there are crew-men photographing the action and it’s all quite under control. Taken together these shows are referred to as “reality tv”. Of course, we all know it’s a special kind of simulated reality where it’s all managed by a production company and no harm will come to anybody.

How ironic it is to wake up to find we have all been unwitting participants in another kind of simulated reality show, a kind of Un-Reality game show, orchestrated by the White House. Our island has no dwarf exclaiming “de plane, de plane!”, but we have our own mental midget who proclaims “WMD! WMD!” We’ve been given our tasks to perform, searching for Weapons of Mass Destruction, for trysts with Al Kaeda, for uranium cakes and RPVs (Men wearing press badges cheer us on). We keep hoping to achieve our professed goal but it seems to keep moving further away, off in the distance over a shifting terrain of redefined objectives. Finally, many of us unwitting contestants in this game show from hell are starting to wonder, are we being tricked here? Where is our prize, the triumph over terrorism? Are we getting any closer to that end?

To get some answers to our questions we decide to go to the source, the game-show directors. We struggle through a jungle of disimmulations, a tangle of twisted tales. Finally, out of the jungle a citadel emerges, from whence the crafters direct this ‘marvelous game’. The trail of dissimulations and distortions has lead us to their citadel of deceptions -- this edifice to greed and suzerainty.

There, manning the parapets of power, The Gargoyle, Cheney waits. He looks down on us unmoved, a pitiless stare surrenders no compassion for our cares. He regards us with disdain. We only serve (him) to buy exhorbitant gas and lay down our lives for oil. One brave (or wanton) soul shouts out: “Where is the dwarf? Throw us the dwarf!” The Gargoyle speaks: “Who speaks to ME thus? I am The Cheney. I am master of this place. Do you have stocks? Do you have bonds? Do you have Gold?”. We answer with trepidation: “No, we only have our votes.” With this the Gargoyle’s head turns slightly, seemingly evaluating a novel notion and then his head snaps back and he says:“Votes? Votes? We don’t need your votes!” And leaning forward to gather emphasis he enunciates: “GO FUCK YOURSELF”. Then he turns and disappears from sight, descending noiselessly, behind the rampart.

Just then a door opens in the stonewall and a pudgy man bids us to enter. He says his name is Karl and he’ll help us find the truth. He leads us down dark hallways and descends a winding stair. We meet a man named Challaby. He proudly proclaims he lead our leaders down the right path. He tries to sell me a watch but, I decline the offer. Getting up my nerve, I ask Karl “Where is the dwarf?” Karl says: “Oh he’s in the basement playing fuze-ball …or in Texas, counting flies.” Karl leads us on and we arrrive at a banquet hall. Karl says: “They saw the same intelligence we did”, pointing to the partiers all around. The members sit at tables, food and gifts piled high, and with wealthy men they confide. While a smaller number wait the tables, sadly, their hands are tied. I notice that the partiers are wearing blind-folds and turn to ask Karl what game did they play. But I see Karl moving quickly down a corridor, disappearing ‘round a corner. We are off in swift pursuit but showing startling alacrity, he manages to elude us. Back down the corridor, from the banquet hall, we hear the partiers raise their voices in praise of the “Red State Brigade” (it’s perversions to perform). We meet a man named Fritz who asks us if we know where Karl is. We say we can’t help him and that we’re trying to catch him too. By now we were all scattered and I feel tired and trapped. I just want to get out of this place but I don’t know the way.

Well, no doubt you‘ve guessed by now, I never woke from this nightmare game-show. It still goes on day after day. We still have our Dwarf, strutting his stuff; the Gargoyle looms and the pudgy man still adroitly maneuvers through the shadows. And I wonder about this path we are going down. Will it take us where we want to be? Are we building a nation or just digging our own trap in the sand? Getting in was easy, getting out will be harder to achieve. And what will it cost us in time and trouble and in lives? I hear them singing in the banquet hall now: “A million barrels of oil on the wall, a million barrels of oil” - their perversions to perform, their perversions to perform.

[adarling]

1. gave you a vote

liked your post alot...feel the same way

[AnnieBW]

2. You're On Lost Island

No, you can't vote yourself off. You're on the island from "Lost".

[JohnWxy]

3. I guess that makes Cheney the monster in the jungle