The real War on Terror

Immediately after 11 September 2001, the talk of a ‘war on terrorism’ started. It didn’t take long for this to be abbreviated by both politicians and the media to a “war on terror”. And I started loudly whinging about it. Maybe it is just semantics, but to me, terror is an emotion. How can you have a war on terror? I even have a bit of a problem with a war on ‘terrorism’, since terrorism is not a movement or even an ideology which you might be able to fight in an organised way. Strictly speaking it is a method, employed by desperate or despicable people in service of many different ideologies. (Dictionary definiton: the use of terrorising methods, especially the use of violence to achieve political ends.) Of course I know that it is being used as shorthand to represent groups associated with the Taliban and Al-Quaeda. Heh. I reckon I would make a really grouchy journalist.

In response to my whinging, Kam came up with this gem:

War On Terror
In the latest event of the United States of America’s “War On Terror”, President George W. Bush has moved his campaign to its next rational step. Satisfied with the bombardment and general obliteration of Afghanistan plus the vaporisation of the Taliban in light of the September 11 disaster, his attentions have turned to the famed Master of Terror; Stephen King.

King’s last whereabouts was his mountain home in Bangor, Maine. A small armada of U.S. troops and weaponry is currently in place a mere four hundred miles away in the State of New York, prepared to strike. “The choice was so obvious for a base of terrorist operations, really we should have pounced on it before.” President Bush declared with arms flailing from his side like a muppet, “Damn it we should’ve just been prepared. Today we correct that mistake and pay the Axis Hotel of Mr King a little visit.”

Critics of the whole War On Terror campaign feel that maybe the next logical step is to go from Al Qaeda to Iraq and then maybe Northern Ireland, rather than this massive leap of the illogical. Doctor Professor Mabootoo believes that with Maine right on the Canadian border there is a very different agenda, “With Quebec less than a hundred miles away from Maine, then it’s just a little down the road to Ottawa. What we have here is the first steps to a full scale invasion.”

Bush has answered denigration with casual disregard, “I have suffered the slings and arrows of many supporters of evil. I will not be deterred. I have promised the people of this great nation, nay – the world – that we, the greatest nation under the REAL God’s graces, shall eradicate terror and its upholders.” The President raved on, “It has come to me that Doctor Professor has flat out accused me of being a terrorist myself. While it is true that we have lived in mortal fear of our Northern neighbours for hundreds of years with their beady eyes, flapping flip top heads and rampant homosexuality… but in no way would we ever consider joining the Taliban.”

In a further address President Bush revealed conclusive proof that after the U.S. government gave Afghanistan 62.5 million dollars to help eradicate their drug problem so they could build up their military movement with little to no distractions, Osama bin Laden suddenly had the money to travel. Travel he did coming to America in search of one of his favourite authors, Mr Stephen King. Armed with only his first edition copies of Cujo and Christine for signing, he apparently had a little tea party with one Saddam Hussein at the King residence. “We have the facts. Anyone who wants to believe Mabootoo’s shenanigans and lies about me might as well be playing quarterback for team Satan!”

So the hunt is now on for Mr King. Already a combined effort by the CIA and FBI is underway to decode and decipher his 60 plus books. “Who knows what other devious plots this repugnant, evil mastermind has in store for us?” Bush declared, waving his copy of Rose Madder, “I’m doing my part and I expect every God/Arab/box-cutter fearing American to do the same.”

Stephen King offered only a brief statement from whereabouts unknown. “At least the sales of my books have gone through the roof… Take that Koontz, ya bastard!”