Iran sauntered back and forth in front of Condi and Sam, smoothing back his dark hair. Israel sat by the water, scorned and upset by Iran's taunting and insults.
"I'm going to do what I want in my own house woman!" Iran sneered. Try to stop me and I'll bury you.
"Please, you have to help me Sam." Israel cried. If you leave me alone he'll kill me, I'm sure of it.
"Not if you keep cool." Iran snapped back. "You're the one who's always popping off, knocking stuff over. I'm just defending myself, and watching the back of my homies who're camped out next to your crib.
Sam leapt forward and unleashed a paranoid diatribe at Iran. "You're evil." Sam shouted out, mostly for the benefit of the others who might be watching. They might think Sam weak for not kicking Iran's tail.
Sam eyed the uranium Iran was fiddling with and saw an opportunity to put the member of the evil axis on the defensive. "He's got a bomb!" Sam cried to anyone who would listen. "He's making an atomic weapon! Put that down or I'll have to make you put it down." Sam threatened.
Iran stayed in his yard, but was defiant nonetheless. He knew that Sam wasn't prepared to jump him there in the open. Sam would probably wait until no one was looking to strike out and knock the uranium out of his hand. Besides, there wasn't even enough uranium for a year's worth of x-rays, much less enough for a nuclear weapon. And, surely a precipitous attack like the sucker punch Sam gave his neighbor, Iraq, would draw the rest of Iran's buddies to his defense.
Condi told all who would listen that they should get behind her and Sam and cut Iran off from his outside supply and cut off his oil business if he wouldn't drop his uranium. "You're either on our side, or on his." she said with a snip and a snort. Everyone froze. Most had business with Iran, big business, and Sam would just as soon they starve before he'd lift a finger to help, stealing their goods from under them with his free hand.
Sam would have to turn them against Iran somehow. Or, get all of his allies and his own posse in a room together, set everyone against each other, and walk out on the chaos, claiming that
someome would have to act, if they weren't going to get it together and stand up to the evil one. It worked before.
Sam looked over to Condi. Iran was dancing around in front of her now, waving his arms in the air, brandishing invisible 'deadly' weapons. Still, Sam held his ground. Two women had been scorned, and were not in any danger, save the reprisals from the use of their own devastating arsenals. Iran had no such weaponry, had never used such a weapon, unlike Sam, who had himself lashed out against another country, long ago, with nuclear weapons, to convince a determined bully to end his zealous assault.
So the plan was hatched, Sam's right-hand man sent his daughter to do the pre-rumble spin to stir up the onlookers against his rival. There they all stood; Israel in the corner with her arms crossed, already on the edge because her rivals had taken over the land next to hers. Sam with a mostly empty hand, (albeit with his arsenal nearby, to be used in a moment's notice). With everyone holding their places, it was hard to imagine there was a crisis of confrontation and recriminations hanging in the air like skunk-funk.
Everyone began to relax, and at once, Condi stepped back onto the scene. She had been away, tending to her junta with her cohort, Rumsfeld. Everyone was content to let things slide, but not Condi. She was dressed to kill, literally. She scanned the subdued crowd, eying each and every one of them as they mingled about with their lowered weaponry.
"What's the matter with you all?!" she hollered. Aren't you going to make Iran pay?
Are you even men?? You know," she said, "if they get a bomb, you're all potential targets.
All of those looking on considered Condi's complaint. Sam was back behind her again, fingering his own nukes . . .
"Well," she snapped at Sam, "are
you going to hit him?
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