Balls Bazook and Colonel Fogofwar, part 7
“Did you ever serve the red, white and blue, Bazook?” asked Colonel Fogofwar who ruled Asteroid 399 with an iron fist. Literally. He’d had his left hand blown off in 2119, the middle of the AmerIraq War which began on <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />March 20, 2003. He’d had the shattered stump fused with a clenched iron fist.
There were few beings on Asteroid 399 except for the Myrmydons and he taught then to march in phalanxes and to salute when he blew his mind-cleansingly shrill silver whistle.
“Saluting’s important, Bazook. it reminds everyone of who is in charge. Not unlike the sign of the self-inflicted noose or tie that corporate slaves obediently knot around their own neck every morning to prove with an outward and visible sign of herd-willing humiliation their submission to the corporate overlords. ‘I am not a troublemaker. I won’t stray too far. So long as I can have a Weber grill, a BMW automobile, and a brassette-trophy wife and the Superbowl, I am willing to forfeit and even forget dignity and originality and my spunky, punky peculiar freedom whatever that might have been.’”
Colonel Fogofwar blew a sudden piercingly shrill blast on his silver whistle and the nearby undulating carpet of tiny ants stood still and each raised a delicate right front leg to its erect antennae. A second shrill blast released them to their unending tasks.
“I train 'em one at a time, Bazook. If you want real allegiance, you have to break down each spirit so it will sin on your behalf. Now, we all know, if you cut through the turkey offal, that to kill another humming being is a wrong and a dreadful act. the sin among sins, in fact. If I can twist your sunshine mind so you will kill on my command, I have stolen and stained your soul. You will have to justify my rationales however mad because you are complicit and to denounce me is to show the raw and writhing wound of your own maggot acts. Ant or man, Bazook, kill your own kind and you have lost your mind and it is mine.
“Every time I get a new recruit from Queen Myrmydon – and hey, I have no idea, none, why she keeps shipping me her unwounded, delighted and still hopeful sons to be my myrmidon minions. But the first thing I do is snip 1/3 off their right antennae. A visible and outward sign that they are no longer their own ant.
“Power over men’s or ant’s souls is a lovely ting, Bazook. You should try it. When I skipped from captain to colonel, I gained an inch, I swear. I get to define ‘cowardice’ as being refusal or even hesitation to do what I say. It’s like being a potter, but instead of the stuff of clay, it’s the stuff of souls over which I hold sway. Not unlike God, Bazook, not unlike God.”
Colonel Fogofwar was immaculate in what in non-military fashion would be his considerably too tight uniform. Uniform buttons used actually to be real brass (like colonels’ balls) in the good old days when each officer had a button-polishing servant. His jacket was as tight as a corset, though it is not recommended that you mention that to him.
Colonel Fogofwar was hewn from a square template. His jaw, head, shoulders, and stance were square. Sheldon outlined the physiopsychocharacteristics of human physical and psychological structures. the somatotonic is square. These are the generals et ilk. They naturally stride as if a walking phone booth. They are the 1/3 of people who make 2/3 of the noise at a sporting event. If they get upset, they require fast, hard action to resolve the disturbance — driving fast or playing fierce football or tennis, actually or vicariously.
Somatotonics have horizontal integration which means it’s as if they had a steelplate across the bottom of threir brain – their thoughts do not go down to include an assessment of their feelings. this allows them to send a battalion of men or ants to certain mutilation as if they were mere checkers on a boardgame. A vertical integration type would have doubts, dismays.
Colonel Fogofwar had the de rigueur billboard of ‘ribbons’ displayed over the hole where his heart ought to have been. By the way, don’t make the mistake of thinking the somatotonic isn’t awash in ersatz feeling. They are sodden with sentiment, the kind of canned feeling you find in Hallmark cards, convenient so you don’t have to search for any authentic and doubtless awkward feelings of your own. they can ooze sentiment after a few bourbon and branch waters. Recall that Hitler loved his dog.
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11 Deer . Manik . West . tzol 185 08.22.06 tues
882 days/2y4m29d left/1413
ffwofw779.§26d2h33m11s33.84g3.25g;
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the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..
.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead
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I love the “hole where his heart ouhgt to have been”. I guess it's an age old question. Do we really need the fog of wars to train us to kill each other or do we need his opposite to train us to live together peacefully?
I'm closing in on thinking that the non-kjkiller (non-knee-jerk killer) is the next plateau of consciousness and ought to be considered the postcursor of the Ramapithecusesque BushChenCondiRumsRovians. I just don't feel like the same species as these ilk. Excusing dropping all these tons of bombs and ordnance on an Iraq or Lebanon making the most expensive bloody and brainssplattered rubble in history not only makes my skin crawl but is simply blazing insane.
Who is going to say that the naked Emperors are nuts? I feel like people, even good people, keep making excuses for these madmen — taking them seriously, pretending they aren't lunatic losers. (I know you have to take them grimly because they are damned dangerous, but they aren't modern human beings with full decks of cards, with flexible and curious minds, hearts, souls.)
I think chancelucky has hit on a nerve. We need to be 'trained to live together peacefully.'
Obviously we have been lousy without training.
As to pogblog's paleoanthropological revelation that we are a different species than the cold-blooded BushChenCondiRumsRovians, I feel liberated by lack of essential association with these killing machines. Now we have to figure out how to deal with them as pathogens.
All elected officials who promote the war should be required to have what the Mothers de los Muertos call “skin in the game.” A son or a nephew of each official must be at the front. This might cure them of thirst for blood.
I agree that cl has touched a nerve re training to live peacefully. He's an expert in educational systems so hopefully sometime he'll address the first few steps we might take to begin such training. He & and I both know from NLP (NeuroLinguistic Programming) that chunking stuff down into manageable bites or steps is essential.
I certainly also agree that any elected official who does not have “skin in the game” ought recuse him or her self from any vote on using massively destructive weapons as we have done in Iraq or vote against it.