letter to mahmoud

Today, Iran’s President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad released a letter he wrote to the people of the United States. In the letter he pointed out that he, like us, is a monotheistic person, faithful in his devotion to God. He said that governments are there to help people. I couldn’t agree more. He criticized our involvement in Iraq. I couldn’t agree more. He said that we have an administration that doesn’t accept its accountability for its actions. Again, I can’t disagree. I thought it was necessary for me to respond, but I don’t know Mr. Ahmadinejad’s address so I can’t mail him a letter, or even a Christmas card, for that matter. Since I can’t mail him a letter, I thought the best way to respond was to send him an open letter in my weblog, much the same way he sent his letter to us. Here is my response.

Dear Mr. Ahmadinejad,

I read with interest your letter to the American public and I was more than a little surprised that there are so many things with which you agree with the majority of Americans, including yours truly. I also thought it was interesting that you felt enough familiarity with Americans that you felt the need to communicate with us. I have a suggestion, however.

Go fuck yourself.

In a democratic, progressive society, there needs to be an exchange of ideas, and you have the perfect right to express your ideas and be heard in the context of said democratic, progressive society. However, you have forfeited your right to participate in this exchange of ideas simply by your support and participation in your own thirteenth-century, totalitarian society.

Your suggestion that “blind support for the Zionists by the US Administration” is in some way responsible for the current state of world affairs is somewhat self-serving to your own pretzel logic.

You may suck my dick, you piece of shit.

You ask why the problems in Iraq have not been resolved, suggesting that in an open society, the people ought to be able to influence the government to change its policies. Well, it’s you that is the cause of the problem. The intelligent choice of our leaving Iraq is complicated by the fact that we have to make sure that pig fuckers such as yourself aren’t going to move in and move the place even further away from civilization.

Probably the only thing that gives me hope is that despite your government’s effort to outlaw civil rights for your citizens and to ban any influences of western civilization that your citizens continue to wear western clothes and listen to rap music. As much as I hate rap music, I can’t help but believe there is little in the world more beautiful than the sound of Snoop Dogg and Notorious BIG blaring through the streets of Tehran.

Yes, sir, your people don’t listen to you and your old ways, so don’t expect Americans to be listening either—or at least paying attention. As bad as our government is, if I have to choose between you and Bush, my choice is going to have a Dubya in his name. That was an insult, if you didn’t catch the subtlety. I might even pick Cheney over you—although I would have to think long and hard.

Anyway, please let me summarize. Go fuck yourself. Suck my dick, you piece of shit. Go fuck a pig, you pig fucker. And let us Americans handle the governing of America.

Have a joyous holiday season and give my regards to the family.

Yours truly (or my name isn’t),

Dick Clinch

the spirit of christmas

Call me sentimental, if you will, but I like a good Christmas story as much as the next man. I was in the line at the supermarket tonight and I heard the next man in line tell a Christmas story to the man next to him. I can’t vouch for it being true, but let me relate it to you, dear reader, as it was overheard by me. Here is what the guy said.

It was a few days before Christmas last year and he was carrying out some routine shopping. He was just not in the Christmas spirit—just going through the motions. Where was the feeling of wanting to be with the ones he loved? Why was it necessary to go to the local super center and fight the crowds? Why didn’t they ever have the things on the top of his shopping list? Why was it necessary to go almost to the bottom of the list before he found some of the things he was looking for? Where had the Christmas feeling gone?

Anyway, he found some of the items on his list and pushed his way through the crowds up to the checkout line. The line stretched out and he had to wait quite a while before he got close to the checkout counter. There was only one more person in line in front of him, but there were a bunch of frustrated-looked people in the line behind him. He looked down and noticed the little kid in front of him had only one item—a necklace. This shouldn’t take long, he thought. I may get out of here before the store closes, after all. Unfortunately, there was a catch. The kid didn’t have enough money for the necklace.

“That’ll be $39.95 with tax,” said the clerk.

“But this is the one in the sale paper for $10.99,” said the boy, with some tinge of despair in his voice. He picked up the circular and pointed to a necklace pictured with the $10.99 price next to it.

“I’m sorry, son,” said the clerk. “That is not the one you have, here. This one is $39.95.”

The boy shot a panicked look at the man behind him in line.

“But this necklace will look so perfect around my mother’s neck when they put her in her casket,” he said.

The first thing the man thought about was that awful fucking “Christmas Shoes” song and he thought about kicking the shit out of the little cocksucker. However, when the boy looked up at him, with tears forming in his little eyes, the guy figured he better not resort to violence.

There was a problem, though. That was the Christmas of 2005. Who still carries cash around with them? Well, maybe some people still did, but the man didn’t have a dollar in his wallet. He was going to pay with plastic. He sure wasn’t going to give the little urchin his credit card, so he was kind of fucked.

The little boy figured out really quick that the man behind him in line was going to be no help, so he looked deeper into the line. The next person was an elderly lady, and granny was already going for her purse. Almost instinctively, though, the child knew he had to say the right thing to seal the deal, so he addressed the old lady.

“I want my mommy to look her best when she talks to God, tonight,” he said. “That necklace will look good on her and God will like it a lot.”

Shit, the old crone was counting out some bills and the guy behind her had his wallet open. The girl in line behind him looked to be in her early twenties and she didn’t look like she had much money to spare, but her purse was open and she was looking inside.

Apparently, the little boy wasn’t sure he was going to be able to accumulate enough capital to complete his transaction, so he went to the well one more time, just to cinch the deal.

“I’ve been going without lunch for two weeks now—saving my lunch money to buy this,” he said. “I’m sure hungry, but I can go without if it will make my mommy pretty and make God happy.”

That was enough to get the deal done. The people in line came up with enough money to pay for the necklace with a couple of extra dollars to spare. The little boy negotiated his purchase, picked up his change and his receipt and looked back at the people in line.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said. He was sincere. “My mommy will always have this, even when they put her in the ground and when she touches the face of God.”

At that point, the guy was starting to feel a bit guilty—okay, he was feeling a lot guilty. As he swiped his credit card to pay for his purchases, he saw the old lady pull the young boy aside. The man heard her tell the boy to get something to eat and she slipped him a twenty-dollar bill.

“God bless you,” the little boy said to the granny.

As the man left the counter from making his purchase, he made eye contact with granny and he could see in her expression that the little boy had put the spirit of Christmas in the old woman. After all, the spirit of Christmas is giving, and the miracle of the season is not in the presents one receives, it is in the good one can do and the good will one can express to his fellow man. In a convoluted sort of way, the little boy had given the elderly woman the greatest gift one could give. Sometimes the clarity of truth can come from the mouths of babes. Much as the gifts of the Magi given to the infant son of God were truly fine gifts, the gift given by the old woman to the boy and the boy to the old woman were the finest gifts of all.

At that moment, it became clear to the man what he needed to do. He quickly circumnavigated the terrain of the store with his glance and found the ATM machine by the door. He moved to it as quickly as he could and in the time it took to swipe his card, input his pin number and type in an amount, he had forty dollars in his hand, and he quickly located the little boy moving through the store and was immediately in pursuit. He had some distance to make up but he knew he could do it. The boy cut in line at the customer service counter, and the man stood back, waiting for him to complete his transaction. Was he going to use the extra twenty the old woman had given him to have his gift wrapped with the colorful paper and a fancy bow? The man moved slowly into earshot just so he could hear the young boy’s sweet, innocent voice.

“Not you, again?” intoned the porcine clerk behind the counter.

“Yeah,” said the little boy. “Here’s my receipt.”

“You can’t keep buying stuff, and then bringing it back here for exchange,” said the clerk. “I have to call my manager.”

“Suck it, cunt,” said the little boy. “I gotta receipt. I paid cash. I want a refund. Call your fuckin’ manager. I don’t give a fuck. You’ll just keep all your customers in line and pissed off at you if you call that prick up here.”

The clerk capitulated and counted out some bills and laid them on the counter. The boy picked them up and left the store. The man followed him out the door and followed him down the street. Perhaps, thought the man, the boy was going to use the money for a fine dress for his dying mother; perhaps for food for his family. The man was still ready and willing to contribute to the cause.

The boy reached a street corner where two whores were standing, trying to attract passing motorists. The boy walked up to the white whore—the taller of the two. The whore had a massive rack and she stood a good foot taller than the boy.

“What do you want, little man?” asked the whore.

“I want you to pull off your shirt and flop out them two big motherfuckers and I want you and me to play mommy and little baby for a while, and then I want you to suck me dry.”

“You talk big for such a little man.”

“Don’t fuck with me whore. I’m big where it counts.”

“Come back when you grow up, son.”

“There’s enough down there to choke you, whore.”

“Show me da money, son.”

The boy displayed his roll, pulled off two twenties and rubbed them together.

“Will this get me up close and personal with those two big things hangin’ off your chest and some quality time in your mouth?”

The whore took the twenties, put them down inside her pants and motioned to an alley behind a liquor store on the corner.

“Step into my office, son,” she said. “This is where the little boys go in and come back out men.”

The man watched the little boy and the whore disappear into the alley to the sound of Christmas carols being piped through a tinny steel outdoor speaker outside the liquor store.

That night, as he lay in bed, just before he drifted off to sleep, he thought about the little boy and the old woman and the gifts of the Magi. But the last thing he thought about was that hooker’s rack. It was pretty impressive.

Well, there is my story. I hope you were inspired by it as much as I was. This time of year makes us think about things in a different light.

Or my name isn’t Dick Clinch.

the four horsemen

Another election day had passed and I’m reasonably satisfied with the results, but it is kind of like that national championship game last century when Carolina and Michigan were playing and it looked like it was going to come down to one of the better championship games when Chris Webber called a timeout he didn’t have. I was happy with the result, because I won the office basketball pool. My closest competitors all had the Wolverines to win it all, but forgot to take Carolina to the final four.

My first reaction to the election is that Bush didn’t try hard enough to help the Republicans in congress. It was like he turned his back on them like he did America in 2001. I wonder if he’s drinking or doping again.

Why didn’t he get Osama on Al Jazeera giving us a speech telling us that all of us Americans were doing the right thing wanting to get out of Iraq? All bin Laden would have had to say was that the Republicans in congress were rat bastards and it would have insured they would have kept control of the legislative branch.

Why did Bush parade Chaney out the week before the election saying that we were going to stay the course in Iraq? Why did Bush come out and say, a week before the election, that Chaney and Rummy were staying until the end of his administration?

Why did Bush give a speech three weeks before the election saying that the opposition party was the party of cut and run because they wanted to end the Iraq conflict? Basically he was calling the majority of the American public the public of cut and run. I wonder if Bush just got stupid on us, or if he wanted to lose congress.

Actually, I think it is both. He and the congress have looted the treasury and destroyed the country and it is going to take so long to get back to dead even again. I guess he figured he had done all the damage he cared to, so he’ll turn it over to the other party so they will have to make the tough decisions to fix it.

Many of you are probably saying that old Richard is sounding like a conspiracy theorist. I can only respond to that in one way.

Suck my dick!

And don’t ever call me a conspiracy theorist again.

I just have a bad feeling that Karl Rove feels like he hasn’t fucked us all in the ass as much as he could and he is just trying to get in a few final, unlubricated strokes before he goes to hell.

Rove, Bush, Cheney and bin Laden will all be in hell sooner or later and I guess they all figure we need to experience hell, too.

Yeah, the four horsemen of the apocalypse just have to do it to us one more time.

Or my name isn’t Dick Clinch.