deserts

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What I need, is a good drug habit.
What I need, is to dive bomb into some serious debt.
What I need, for example, is to trade in my Toyota for a Porsche.

Or, maybe I will trash my excellent credit on the Balmoral or Sandringham Grand Duplex Apartments aboard the Queen Mary 2. Yes, a voyage to Europe. I’ve already got the fancy seventy-six page catalogue. And I’ve always told Dave, if I’m going transatlantic, I’m going by boat.

And then, on the way back, because I’ll be flat broke, I’ll pitch myself into the sea — or something like that, but more original. Yes, my preference is for an original death. Preferably, original and painless. Really, more painless than original. But still somehow original.

What I need, is to join the army. I’ve got no wife; no kid. Yes, keep the dads and husbands home. Leave home all the teenagers with potentially productive futures, too. Let all the freaks like me go fight the Iraqi insurgency.

This is not about beliefs or politics. It’s about utility.

I’m useless here. I’m not the kind of citizen President Bush wants around, anyway. Really, I’m all wrong for him. And that means I’m all wrong for most of America. Or wrong for half of it. Or, for a little better than half of it — if you believe the polls. If you believe in CNN’s poll of the polls. And if you can’t believe in that, what’s the point of turning on, tuning in, or reading anything “news”? Huh?

And since Lawrence Of Arabia is my favorite movie, well, why the hell not? I mean, Lawrence — at least the David Lean / Robert Bolt / Peter O’Toole Lawrence — never fit in with his English brethren. Likewise, I’ve never fit in here in the States. Or, at least, never here in Illinois. Or in Indiana. Or in California. Frankly, I don’t think I fit in with humanity.

Should’ve been some other kind of mammal. Then, none of this would matter.

Give me a plane and I’ll crash it into wherever bin Laden’s hiding. Give me a scimitar (or whatever it is they’re using); I’ll go bring back the head of al-Zarqawi. But only — coward that I am — if I’m hopped up on PCP or Crystal Meth.

Perhaps, it takes a creep to take on a creep.

Anyway, I’m nothing if not all about an eye-for-an-eye.

Maybe after Pop’s through with me, I’ll sign myself up. I’ve got three more years before my armed forces window closes.

And, likely, Bush’ll still be in office.
And, likely, he’ll need all the help he can muster.

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