The Santa Clausist Tragedy

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When Henry Hogard decided to run for a Grade Three Model Parliament on the last week of school before holidays, he had no idea what an impact he’d have.

Having moved to Pottin Lake, Saskatchewan from Deer Lake, Minnesota in the middle of a school year, he was the oldest kid in the class at 10 years of age. Most of the other students were 8 or 9. Still, he was small and friendly, and his age was never really an issue.

This was the early 60s, a time when the Norman Rockwell-Coca Cola version of Xmas was at its mass media peak.

Henry’s Platform

Henry decided to run as an independent. His teacher – Mrs. Effans – asked all the candidates to describe their platforms to the class, “Student candidates, tell everyone what you will try to do if they vote for you…”

Former bully Steven Levitt was running on the Save the Squirrels ticket, smartest kid in class Joan McCrag ran as the Better Cartoons–Less Fastfood candidate, and most of the other candidates showed concern for litterbugs, coach potato-hood, or Cooty-prevention. But not Henry.

When it was Henry’s turn, he read from his notes: “I am here to tell all of you that Santa Claus does not exist. It is your parents who buy the gifts, and then they lie to you. This charade must stop. It’s dishonest and lacks dignity.”

Mrs. Effans was dumbfounded: “How do you know this, Henry?” she asked with a kindly but stern voice. “Who told you something like this?”

No one got to hear his answer. The classroom immediately exploded into shouting and noisy distraction, with everyone talking at the same time and throwing spit-balls and other small objects.

Mrs. Effans,hit in the eye with a large spit-ball, stepped out to get the first aid kit. When she got back a minute later, she regained control of the group, and patiently asked Henry to go see the principal.

He said sure, ran off to the office where the principal patiently explained that he was older than the other students and that they too deserved the same Xmas narrative that he had enjoyed as a 9-year-old. Henry apologized right away and promised to drop out of the model parliament and never speak about the Santa Claus thing again. Problem resolved. Normal kid learning stuff. That seemed to be the end of it.

Or at least, it could have ended there, except for one thing.

The Blame Game

Poor little Anna McTavish’s father had been one of the many people laid off at the Pottin Lake bottling plant a month before the holidays. A few other of Henry’s classmates had lost their incomes as well.

Anna’s dad – Mr. McTavish – was too proud to admit falure to his daughter, so rather than explaining the real reason why he couldn’t afford to buy presents and risk ruining the Santa Claus story and losing his daughter’s admiration – Mr. McTavish fibbed that Santa hadn’t come this year becuase of Henry Hogard’s “lack of faith in Santa.”
Henry ruined Xmas. Sorry, Anna. *Hugs*

Anna had never particularly liked Henry (or any other boys for that matter), and learning that he was the one to have angered Santa … filled her with plastic-pearl-clutching rage. The McTavish’s lived in a simple but large bungalow next to the lake where Anna would go to cry when she was fed up.

Her father’s recent binge-drinking and foul humor also seemed to point towards the infidel anti-Santa ranting of Henry – the non-believer. The misery of a present-less Xmas was thus laid at the feet of the ten-year-old apostate. The lake told her this was true.

The first day back to school in January, Anna shared her trauma with two other kids (Alice and Sara) who had not received any presents either – both of them the daughters of lay-offed bottle plant workers just like Anna. Though they hadn’t been told why they had been shunned by Santa, Anna’s well-told story convinced them that it must have been Henry’s fault. They had all been so very good, so very kind, that nothing else made sense. Why would Santa snub quiet, TV-watching kids who hadn’t been assertive at all, unless it was because of the pre-holiday lack of faith of one of their impure colleagues? And a boy, of course, would do this kind of thing.

Alice remembered that Henry’s neighbor and best friend Steven and his family were Jewish (at some point in history), and that Henry’s mother was half Lebanese-Muslim (or something). Thinking that this might explain Henry’s lack of faith in Santa Claus, they burned both Henry’s and his neighbor’s houses to the ground later that night, while singing Xmas carols.

When word got out throughout Saskatchewan and the rest of the world of what had transpired, all sorts of militarized grups showed up in Pottin Lake; racist vigilante groups, some American KKK members, Hunting Associations, B’nai Brith, Orangemen Associations, and many retired soldiers and independent mercenaries showed up from all over North America to protect either the fine Santa-fearing children of the homeland, or to protect the victims of the Santa-fearing children of the homeland. When these armed helpers arrived, they found a well-armed cavalry of local parents on both sides of the Santa Claus Divide already in place and ready to brawl.

Home fires were started, gunshots were heard day and night, kids fought to the death against other children – and by Valentine’s Day, all of the houses, businesses and schools of Pottin Lake had been burned to the ground and the residents had all fled.

And all because someone didn’t believe in Santa Claus. …

The Ankle-Nibbling Revolution

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A Simple Life

Field mice had been living in Chinatown for a century, surviving mainly on the dropped egg-tarts of shoppers and the ripped garbage bags full of day-old pastry. It was a tough life, but there were some years (1967, 1976) where the life was easy because of a surge in tourism and wasted food. Our protagonist, Roguz, was almost two months old when he developed a technological change that revolutionized the lives of the mice that were affiliated with him and his family.

An Ordinary Day

While babysitting his rascally little nephew Salza, Roguz was forced to leave him alone for a few seconds. When Roguz finally turned around, Salza was nibbling on the ankle of a young human girl. As he approached Salza and told him to stop, a large, half-unfinished egg-tart fell in front of his face, and the scolding was quickly forgotten. This “50% remaining” would feed Roguz’s family for a week.

Eureka

Most mice in Chinatown just work and consume, but Rugoz had a stubborn philosophical side to him, and he went back to the dark corner of the sewer where he was staying and thought about what he had seen. Eureka! A new technology was born – ankle nibbling!

He patented his idea, and then shared it with some select allies (for a price). For the next 3 months, the frantic search for food disappeared from Chinatown’s mouse population, and obesity rates took off – a sure sign of success.

Diminishing Returns

Mice  never seem to be able to predict the consequences of their technological changes. A few years after the ankle-nibbling revolution took off, humans started to notice the uptick in “Mice Terror,” as their newspapers called the phenomenon. The following season, the number of humans visiting Chinatown dropped by two thirds, Local merchants reacted by designing a drop-proof egg-tart box, and by publishing information on how to avoid mouse-nibbling.

Suddenly, there were no more dropped egg-tarts and no garbage bags full of day-old pastry. The mouse population was quickly reduced to less than a third of what it had been before the new technology was introduced. Most of the survivors had to make due with the rotten corpses of other dead animals, road dirt, and sewer runoff. Roguz died a proud old mouse, with prizes and trophies lining his walls, long before the mass starvation of egg-tart-obese mice began, but his nephew survived it and went on to become a preacher.
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The Turtle Gang

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Probably the scariest gang in Lostra City, the Turtle Gang – also know as la Bande de tortues –  was organized in a way that defied any kind of hierarchy or chain of command. Instead, members could simply ask another member to help them, and the other turtle would help. Nobody refused to assist or obey another turtle on the basis of authority or class. It was set up like a cooperative, but with an incredible unity of purpose and a total lack of the kind of divas with exaggerated senses of self importance that can bring down any kind of cooperative project.

Active in things like children’s sports programs and community education, laBande started to get involved in motorized-vehicle attacks the same year that it was noted in the Turtle Voice that over a thousand turtles had been killed by cars and other motorized vehicles in a 12-month period.

The first year of the Tortofada, a thousand random cars (and their drivers) were destroyed by turtles- exactly the same number of turtles that had been killed by cars (and their drivers) the year before. One of laBande’s many spokesmen – Trina Callabaster – told a TV news anchor that her friends were just trying to raise awareness of the callous way that vehicles continue to kill smaller species.

“We never wanted to find ourselves at war with the car. But car operators crush us with their gadgets, and just leave us to die on the sides of their asphalt roads. Every turtle left to bleed to death on the roadside with a broken shell… is an attack on turtlehood – on the very existence of the turtle species.  And the gravel that is often found on the shoulders of the road is perfect for hatching turtle eggs and raising babies, so many newborn turtles watch as their own mothers are destroyed in front of them.”

Humans loved cars more than they loved humans. After the attacks were publicized in human media, the human elites (car dealers, arms dealers, oil dealers, and corrupt banks) went on red alert. Dow and Monsanto shifted billions of government research money into the development of environmental poisons and poisoned foods that would render turtles brain-damaged and physically immobile. The pentagon bought a trillion dollars worth of turtle den busters, a type of experimental chemical and biological bomb that worked especially well on reptiles and amphibians. The major networks began hosting talk shows with themes like “Do we need to kill all turtles in order to have peace?” and “Why do turtles hate progress?”

The imagineers of Hollywood produced over 150 turtle terror movies in just three years, with five of them winning Academy Awards for either best picture or best special effects (a vintage turtle in a microwave sequence won big time last year).

When a turtle carrying an uzi was named Time magazine’s Creature of the Year, the largest human government on the planet vowed to eradicate all the bad turtles using a combination of public awareness campaigns and environmental vandalism. Their plan almost worked until, ten years into it, billions of humans developed side effect illnesses from all Monsanto’s environmental poisons and these new diseases wiped out a quarter of humanity. The turtles of laBande rejoiced and regrouped.
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Capone Science, Capone Faith

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The brutal ethnic-cleansing of the Capone people is one of the tragic events of American history. From modest roots in the south of Italy, the Capones went on to create one of the most successful and dynamic cultures the world has ever seen. To better understand this once-vibrant civilization, let’s examine its scientific and religious beliefs.

Capone Science

By the mid-1920s, visionary leaders of Capone ethnicity controlled 54% of the hotels, 77% of the speakeasies, 83% of the brothels, and 87% of the gambling facilities in Chicago. Amazingly, this tiny group of gifted job-creators made up a tiny fraction of the population (.000086 %). This statistical anomaly would suggest that the Capones were genetically superior to non-Capones, Darwin having discovered that survival was about being strong in ways that could be numerically quantified.

The Capone community admired natural selection so much that they named their largest brothel after Charles Darwin himself. Today, the building that once contained Chuck’s Fitness Parlor still exists, but it now houses the well-visited Chicago Museum of Prostitution.

Of course, their public presence lead some small-minded non-Capones to resent the Capone nation’s unrelenting success. The irrational jealousy of the less-civilized created the conditions for many evil purges (le purghe) by racist, Anti-Romanesque monsters like Elliot Ness.

Suspiciously, the persecution came to a violent climax at the moment when the Capones seemed ready to rescue the Federal Reserve from a cabal of what many might call “gangsters.” Just as the Capones were about to realize their potential as a Great People, the economy sank in the late 20s and “the boys” found themselves scapegoated, much like the major bank cartel does in the present age. Successful sub-cultures often prove an irresistible target for a declining society’s suckers and losers.

Capone Religion

Capones were model Roman Catholics, contributing millions to various well-publicized charities while simultaneously engaged in the discreet funding of upper-echelon clergy. The Capone people and Roman Catholicism were a natural fit because, as with other Abrahamic religions, the text provides a clear hunter-prey dichotomy: Catholics are the hunters (us), while people outside the faith are prey (them).

The Capones – perhaps miraculously – always seemed to have had the best hunting tools – perhaps they were God bequeathed. And because the ethnically Capone formed the highest class of Catholic societies due to the above-mentioned Science, they granted themselves the exclusive right to hunt other Christian and non-Christian hunters. They policed the police, often buying them outright.

If only others had learned from and imitated the Capones instead of destroying their beautiful culture of education, what a different America we would be living in today.

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The Davids

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We all know what we’ve seen in the press about David and Goliath: innocent David poised with his flimsy slingshot ready to take down the seemingly invulnerable Goliath. But of course in reality, no man can accomplish this kind of feat alone. To draw accurate conclusions from this event, it’s important to look at what was happening behind the media smokescreen.

Months before that famous moment when David heroically took down a giant, the Daveed Gang began to work relentlessly on this project, and quickly scored a fund-raising coup, cutting a juicy deal with the Royal Bank of David. The financial elders at that institution agreed to cover all costs of Operation Goliath in exchange for some positive branding for their bank.

Flush with cash, the Daveed Gang then hired goons to hound Goliath’s family, kidnapping his daughters, killing family pets, and phoning them day and night to keep the Goliath family jittery and weak. Back then, there was no call-display for screening calls, so the harassment wore everyone down – especially kind-hearted family man Goliath himself.

The Gang then paid the David Times to run forged ‘reports’ about what an immoral misanthrope Goliath was, and many well-paid media personalities raised questions about his legitimacy as a human being. “Are giants worth anything in God’s eyes?” was the provocative theme of a one-hour talk show watched by millions. Goliath himself refused to appear on the show, but was visually shaken up by it a few weeks later when caught off guard by paparazzi. Likewise, weeks before the duel, David-media ran articles exaggerating the strength and aggressiveness of Goliath, never mentioning his Type A diabetes or the kidney he gave up to his sick aunt.

The general public was hoodwinked into thinking that it was the slingshot that brought him down. Physics and biology easily demonstrate that this is incorrect. Goliath was actually poisoned a few hours before the fight by a Daveed Gang operative. Tiny-but-well-connected David just provided a well-oiled protagonist to the narrative that the Royal Bank of David used to change public perception of their usurious operations.

Though poison and a tragic fall finally killed him, in actual fact Goliath had been brought down long before the fake fight with David. Meanwhile, the conclusion that many people have drawn from this event – that a single small person is capable of bringing down someone much larger – completely ignores the role of The Daveed Gang, organized crime, and the Royal Bank of David.

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The Bank of Ho Chi Minh

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American TV’s Effects

A lot of people wonder why so many Canadians – 30,000 or so – volunteered to help the USA terrify Vietnamese farmers out of their own home-grown communist system. I’ve often wondered about this myself. But I just finished reading a blog by a vet from Halifax, Nova Scotia that helps explain why these Canadians willingly went along.

It turns out that what a lot of people don’t know about that anti-Asian pogrom is that the Vietnamese actually started it by bombing Halifax with experimental chemicals. This was in the late 50s. Brutal Vietnamese chopper pilots – stoned on LSD and government-spiked coffee – dropped canister after canister of flammable, poisonous, and neurotoxic products smack dab in the middle of the city. And they deployed these evil poisons even though the people of Nova Scotia had done them no harm.

All Powerful Elite

The Vietnamese at the time had a totalitarian war machine. Their mighty soldiers – perhaps the best equipped and best brainwashed on earth – had been lead to believe that Nova Scotia was planning to take over the world, and this would mean that the people of Southeast Asia wouldn’t be able to live free anymore. They learned this by watching movies and listening to radio.

Of course, we now know that this was Vietnamese bank-funded propaganda whose intent was to lure local cannon fodder off to Nova Scotia to seize control of the banking there. For anyone paying attention, the many Credit Unions bombed as military targets were an obvious clue. But most people were so caught up in the wartime frenzy of burning flesh and burying family members that they didn’t notice all the money people slipping in and out of limos.

Alas, the bottomless pit of money that is the Bank of Ho Chi Minh can always buy the latest tech in propaganda and brainwashing. The Vietnamese soldiers were so psychologically altered by their basic training and their mass media consumption that they no longer saw the people they were killing as Haligonians, Canadians, or even as people. Instead, they referred to their victims as snots – as in “nasal discharge.”

On her CB radio, a Vietnamese-speaking nurse overheard Vietnamese pilots shouting things like “Pair of snots at 4 o’clock!” followed by the sound of a bomb falling, and then laughter. Her theory was that S.N.O.T. stood for “Stable Northamerican Opposition Target,” but I’ve never seen this independently confirmed anywhere.

Happy Endings for everyone

In the end, the Vietnamese Army lost their war against Catholicism (that’s what their soldiers were told they were fighting against). But in destroying all the Credit Unions and killing all the political leaders of the province, the Bank of Ho Chi Minh ended up controlling the provincial economy anyways.

And that’s probably why so many Canadians volunteered to fight these people on the other side of the earth: to protect Credit Unions.

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The Scabbish Practice

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Suburban roots

The year was 1976 and he was still a child: the patriarch of Scabbish Practice Victor Simmy fell and scraped open the palms of his hands playing Frisbee with his seven-year-old cousin Purdy Peddy.

This palm-chaffing moment is referred to as The Scraping in the texts, and this event provides a focal point for Scab faith.

Scab followers keep the palms of their hands in a state of perpetual infection with open sores to remember all of the unnecessary pain that Victor suffered “but in the end, overcame through power.”  
(Events, Chapter 12, 18-46)

A Day in the life of Solar

Solar is a normal, healthy Scab and peels the scabs off the palms of his hands every night before his prayers and Frisbee ritual.

Since his Scraping at the age of seven, he’s had a blacklight poster of a scab on the ceiling above his bed which he stares at while listening to Scabra music before going to sleep. He often dreams of finally being free – of finally having a life without palm scabs and pain.

And with each year, he detests Purdy Peddy more and more as he stares at his hands.

Customs and culture

The Scabbish – followers of Victor Simmy – can often be spotted traveling in wheelchair caravans with members who have lost the use of their right leg. The wheelchairs are for followers of the many subsects that have the right knee scarred at marriage and then  spend their married lives dousing this leg scab with contaminants. These festering knee scabs can get so infected that amputation is often required. The faithful amputees are called Leg Heroes and spend their adult lives living fairly well off of public grants for their sacrifice.

Scabbish people – like Solar in the above example – usually display blacklight posters of scabs in each room of their luxurious mansions, and it’s considered blasphemy for Scabs to name a child Purdy or to associate with people with this name or the family name Peddy. Cultures who use these names are considered unclean by many Old Skool Scabs.

Remembering the Scraping

Visits to the Scab Museums and Scabbish Victimhood Libraries help reinforce the link between the Purdy Peddy’s of the world and the non-stop pain that comes from the loss of a leg or from the everyday use of painfully scarred hands.

And because this trauma is relived over and over, there are many manifestations of secondary trauma including: paranoia, gluttony, violence, and other anti-social behavior.

Followers are taught that Purdy Peddy is ultimately responsible for these flaws.

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The Honeybee Liberation Movement (HLM)

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year 0

Although I’m not a honeybee myself, I have always sympathized with their cause. You see, I’m what they call an organic gardener, and I have had the distinct misfortune of watching in horror as one of my neighbor’s insecticides killed off most of the bees in my community for a few summers.

Eventually, the bees came back. But it wasn’t the same bees, and I never really forgave her for her callous use of foolishly dangerous modern poisons.

year 1

When I heard that some particularly motivated bee leaders were organizing a liberation movement, I quickly volunteered to help out in any way I could.

The internationally-renowned Honeycomb Museum was made possible by the Honeybee Liberation Movement. Bees now have the time and resources to practice their art and build fantasy structures.

It’s not always easy for non-bees to empathize. Many bees find the daily pollination of flowers (for other species’ benefit) mind-numbingly dull and bee leaders complain that it leaves them with no time for self expression. This often leads to the kind of bee alienation that Buzzy Friedant writes about in The Bee Mystique.

Bee activists point to the fact that their community doesn’t need to pollinate to survive. In fact, a new GMO thistle hybrid that bee scientists are developing will give honeybees all the nutrition they need within inches of their hives. They will never have to pollinate for others again, or to stray far from the safety of their private hives.

year 3

I was thrilled when I heard the bees had stopped pollinating. I wore bee power tshirts to work because they had finally broken free of their enslavement to the honey-industrial complex. They were no longer peckin’ petals for the man – as the song goes. I used to hum that song when I worked at the fish plant.

year 7

As other species started dying off, pro-Bee PR went into overtime, explaining that these other species had been overpopulating the planet anyways, and we were all a lot better off with their reduced numbers. These species were often parasitic for bees, so extinction was portrayed as a mixed blessing in bee media.

year 9

When the extinctions started affecting the thistle that bees now depended on for their own survival, bee scientists decided to give the entire operation a second look. Of  course humans are already extinct, which is a shame –  but there is hope that at least bee-kind may be saved from permanent erasure by some kind of future bee technology.

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Those Amazing Arbocaros

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For three and a half centuries, the Arbocaros were the most powerful religious group on earth. Their Golden Period ended when a series of tragic tree illnesses wiped out most of their agriculture and housing stock.

Origins

Prior to their crystallization as a caste and high-end cult in Southern Europe, the Arbocaros existed as a collection of tree-sacrificing cults in North Africa, but they were without a coherent organization or their own unique social stratum.

The Great Text

Like any society striving for greatness and domination, Arbocarism needed a book and an ideology. And in the year 456 BCE, Elam Cartiz of what would later become Portugal wrote a long and beautifully crafted text about how the squaring of trees would finally set mankind free. He argued for a rational approach to sculpting nature into perfect geometric shapes.

In the heady years following the publication of The Great Text, the thriving Arborcaro minority of Oporto worked tirelessly, squaring all the trees and shrubs in their own exclusive section of the city. Recalcitrant neighbors with round trees were encouraged to either square them like everyone else, or risk being driven out of the area by gangs of Arbocaro vigilantes wearing gardening bags over their heads.

The Great Slave Branch’s Hero Doll celebrates the important role of these historic vigilantes in purifying their communities

The Arbocaros were sure that their rigidity of ritual would help them escape the boring monotony of normal human society, and that it would set them apart from the mediocre people they lived in fear of becoming if they let their trees get shaggy and ungeometric.

For followers, it was important that the Great Arbocaro God see His followers as better than other people – high end – top drawer. Otherwise, what would be the point of all that effort? Of all of those slaughters and animal sacrifices? Of all those dead trees?

And while the submission of the Great Slave Branch to the superior Arbocaros was an unspoken reality, both branches put their ideology ahead of their personal happiness, family, or community. It was all or nothing, square or nothing.

Impressing Monarchy: The Great Slave Arbocaros

The monarchy took notice. After years of traveling on private Arbocaro roads, the royal family grew to appreciate their gardening skills, and the royal court began to commission select Arbocaro families to take care of the rapidly expanding royal gardens. The Arbocaro elite eventually hired local slaves to do the actual physical trimming, but the original elite remained in charge of the management of the entire tree-trimming project. This elite insisted that “it was written” that they stay in charge, and to prove their dedication to their faith, they converted their slaves to another branch of Arbocarism – The Great Slave Branch.

It was while watching the Great Slave Arbocaros work that the king realized how devoted they were, what great arms they developed from all that trimming, and how sexually active they were from being in such good physical shape. Sexual activity produced more tree-trimming Great Slaves for the elite to harness in gardening, and in wars against other nations.

Mandatory Faith

In 187 BCE, young Portuguese king Fernando IV mandated that everyone in the city of Oporto become a practicing Great Slave Branch Arbocaro. And that’s why – to this day – most people in Portugal and Brazil are Great Slave Arbocaros rather than practicing an Abrahamic faith.

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MADD Kuwait

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The unprovoked invasion of poor, innocent Kuwait by Saddam Hussein’s totalitarian regime in 1990 was an evil deed in itself. The mental picture of babies being thrown from incubators gave a generation of media-viewers nightmares and rekindled their desire to improve the human condition via military campaigns in resource-rich Arab countries.

But what many media outlets at the time missed (or ignored) was the troubling story behind the story: the sick ideological plans of Elsa Hussein – Saddam’s equally totalitarian sister – for the future of their shiny new state.

First a bit of fake context: In the summer of 1954, Elsa Fatima Jamilla Hussein was hit by a car while biking home from volleyball practice at The American Elementary School of Tikrit at the tender age of eight. Though confined to her bed for several months with broken bones, she quickly re-learned to walk. Her doctor said it was a miracle.

After several months of torturing lower-class males, road-sweeper Saleem Foukhar confessed to having ruined the beautiful young heiress’s Olympic dream by driving while drunk (it came out, after his hanging, that he had never actually driven a vehicle and didn’t drink alcohol). For the rest of Elsa’s youth, she participated in no sports, cloistering herself in the basement torture room of her parent’s 45-bedroom condo reading huge volumes of victim literature.

Many years later, at the summer Olympic Games in Seoul in 1988, Elsa and big brother Saddam watched the Iraqi woman’s volleyball team lose a close match for third place against the Israeli team. She would never forget this moment.

Later that evening in a South Korean tea room, she suggested to Saddam that he should invade Kuwait and turn the entire nation into a theme park with a Mothers Against Drunk Driving theme. At first, Saddam and his CIA advisers thought her nation-building idea had too many logistical problems. Abstract causes are rarely sufficient to garner popular support for nation-building and war. Also, an ideologically-constructed anti-car theme park might hurt the oil industry, and that would be bad for everyone – Iraqi officials and multinationals alike – they wisely concluded.

But Elsa Hussein and her small army of like-minded car-accident survivors were unstoppable. Their poison-tipped emails and hordes of post-its on the family fridge finally paid off when, in August of 1990 –  only two years after that fateful volleyball game – the Iraqi army were in Kuwait setting up breathalyzer checkpoints and burning effigies of Dean Martin.

The winning entry in the Lady Di Centre competition of 1990. Many MADDians feel that the building’s lavish structure is an inappropriate symbol for the state’s common, shared victimhood.

The decision to limit the new nation’s death penalty to driving offenses provoked some infighting among the new sober commuting inhabitants who immigrated to the new land from Iraq and the United States. Another scandal for the new nation state was the  selection of Daniel Libeskind as the architect to design the Lady Di Museum of Car Atrocities. According to Al Jazeera, the Hussein family were the sole jurors for the competition. Libeskind’s five-hundred million dollar high-tech temple was to feature special effects that would make each visitor feel as if he was being crushed in a car tunnel as he entered the lobby and gift-shop.
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Things moved very quickly for the earth’s new nation. Only one week after the invasion, Elsa Hussein was shown on Arab TV triumphantly holding up an oxygen-deprived blue baby she had just torn from an incubator and yelling, “This is a great day for pedestrians all over the world!”

But Elsa Hussein’s ideological project would be short-lived. Saddam’s army would be taken out just like the Nazis were before it, and for the very same reasons.

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