SARKO-SARCOMA: THE FLASH MOB HEADS NORTH
By A. Ceapach Donald
March 6, 2011
One thing is sure. Apart from those really deserving candidates for Flash Mob oblivion (save a thought for China), those great and respected leaders of the Old and Mature Democracies – old and mature like a wedge of Camembert cheese the flies got into – are lined up and ready, just asking for the same treatment.
The treatment is overdue because the cancer is just everywhere, all over what the heavyweight cut and past blogwriters – that is leading editorialists in government friendly rags – call the Body Politic. That is: top down and side to side, a wall of graft and stupidity tricked out as You Know There’s No Alternative. Translated: if you don’t agree, we can starve you into submission and our riot control boys can help change your mind. Failing that, our soldiers can kill you – like something out of the 19th century, or earlier, as Sun Kings and Rain Queens went down, fighting, until the no-cellphone Mob got to them and tore them to pieces.
On the other side of the Med with its 6th Fleet missile cruisers lurking near the Libyan coast, we have a string of primed, ready and deserving Great Men and Women itching to go down the latest memory hole. When they go, things can only be cleaner, better and healthier, give or take a few messy mass demonstrations with leftover riot control cops, and squaddy boys back from Afghanistan, too dumb to get a job any place else, and sadly, still high on the thrill of killing civilians.
THE No 1 CANDIDATE
Almost undisputed as No 1, the most deserving and trying harder every day, is the Sarko-Sarcoma that enigmatic country once called “France”. In fact, this stand-up comic- greasy paws et all, is into anything that pumps cash for his gang and smells worse than a rotting wheel of camembert – and that is a strong odour indeed. Not too long ago, the Sarcoma jostled with nice little lady Condeleeza Rice and the internationally renowned Man of Peace, Mr Tony Blair for the honours of recycling and bringing back Mad Dog Muammar back into the fold, yes, that’s the Libyan fried chicken, or pit bull on Prozac (when the smart missiles get him, maybe in a few weeks time).
Using stolen petrodollars, The Colonel played his hand perfectly. Hadn’t he paid big slabs of bakchich (called compensation) to victims of his former pastime (blowing up airplanes) that he gave up along with cigarettes? Wasn’t he nicely in control of his oil pumping territory, adourned with IKEA-style designer torture cells, impressive empty supermarkets, and no jobs at all for that chaff and dross he called the insect people ? And yes he had 44 billion barrels of the black stuff. To be sure that’s a lot less than Saddam had or the Tea Towel Boys still have, but its a real nice big stash all the same.
THE PIT BULL VISITS PARIS
By 2007 Sarko had the Mad Dog set up and cozy in an air freighted Berber tent on the Elysee Palace lawns, trying to sell him nuclear reactors in return for a nice fat wad of the same petrodollars sweet little Condy was sniffing and rooting for that very year- like a famished ferret seeking nice warm baby rabbits in a deep, dank hole, much in the same way smart missiles seek the bunkers of Great Leaders who step out of line. For our Great Deciders this was how their ‘gone-finish’ world works. Good dictators are friends. Bad dictators rat on the bakchich and disappear.
For our Great Leaders in 2007, recycling the Mad Dog (and they said so), was simply yet another proof of how they work so hard – so hard – to keep the pesiticide-and-plastic oil based feast called “Consumer No Alternative”, crunching along like a bulldozer one more day. Too bad about the jobs and the price of food. Boy, how we know that makes sense !
So it goes without saying that after all that really hard work they do, their kickbacks and bakchich have to flow- really, really bigtime. If there isn’t too much left over for the insects- that dross and chaff called the people, it’s a shame but there really is no alternative. Lady Thatcher told us all about it in a fireside chat with a baby poodle called Sarko on her knobbly knees, way back when. Above all there is no apology for recycling cash from the pack of chummy vermin with 1920-style fancy dress costumes, funny hats and late-model Ray-Bans that we used to call Reliable Leaders of the Arab World- the RLAW Gang. Whatever they could steal from their own people and give our Captains of Democracy was the only- repeat, absolutely- the only game in town. Know your hymns: There is No Alternative ! Rejoice !
But that was all quite some time back along. Facebook hardly existed, and neighbouring Ben Ali of Tunisia was set for years, or decades more of tranquil power, stealing public wealth and elegantly ignoring the crowds of jobless youth who noticed plenty (an awful lot in fact), about their dear Great Leader. Just a thief– and only a thief, armed to the teeth by democracy-spouting, human rights-gargling guys and gals like Sarko the Sarcoma, and lil’ ole Condy Rice. Nearby dictator Hosni Mubarak of Egypt was even longer entrenched, with no less than 5 US presidents in tow, making him an instant close friend of Sarko, one could guess as much. By miracles of plastic surgery and tens of billions of dollars that he just went on stealing from his own people, this great Sultan was like something out of the fairy tales. Hosni could, or might have stayed in power yet more decades, but it didn’t happen. It simply didn’t happen.
Sad to say for Hosni- the Flash Mob got him. And what works South can also work East, and then North. Or North, and then East. To date that isn’t at all known, let alone understood in that Giga-Export Platform, with industrial prison work camps (aka China)- or in the case of the Camembert democracies, where your human rights to life-long unemployment from the age of 18 is almost guaranteed, sure and certain (above all, if you were stupid enough to study and get educated). You mean to say, couldn’t you simply play football or run an airline like Sir Richard Branson ?
Sarko and his Sarcoma Gang wallowed in that- like piglets in a sty ! Arm-up the cops with Tasers and VABs (that’s armoured personnel carriers), and drive them round the concrete canyons of low income ghettoes circling every big city in France – on primetime TV. That’s one sure-fire heart warmer for any fascist-minded member of the fabled Middle Classes, and sweet little Sarko said it out loud because he has stiff competition from the Hard Right (isn’t that a shame?).
The bottom line reads out like something off of Obama’s own teleprompter: this is the same creepy No Alternative that kept those Arab dictators in power – and the ratpack call it “stability”. And the world said: Use exactly the same treatment for the same disease.
Copyright A. Ceapach Donald 2011