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On the morning of September eleventh, three words flashed
through the minds of genuine, God-fearing/ignoring Americans
everywhere: "vengeance" and "brown people." These three are
familiar to all true flag-waving patriots. When brown people
shot Doc in Back to the Future, we cried for vengeance.
When brown people kidnapped Helen in True Lies, we
cried for vengeance. As Saddam Hussein—the brownest person
alive—belittled tender Satan throughout South Park:
Bigger, Longer and Uncut, we cried for vengeance. As a
Christian, humid, fair-complexioned nation, vengeance against
brown people is our birthright, our duty, our entertainment.
Hard and bloodthirsty, our proactive citizenry has protested
Tuesday's cowardice by harassing every brownie within striking
distance. Muslim mosques and schools have been firebombed; Islamic
women's veils have been torn from their faces; violent threats
have been made to every Muhammad in the phone book. Even brown
people of inoffensive descent are targets. Right outside my
car, two gawky joggers stopped me and asked, "Hey, uh, excuse
us, excuse — you, yeah. Yeah. Would you, uh, mind telling
us what race you are, guy?"
"What?" I inquired.
"Well, you know, you can't be too careful. I mean, you pretty
much look Italian, but you can't be too careful."
"Hindu maybe…?" his friend offered.
I dropped my wallet, picked it up and showed them my driver's
license. "See? Juan."
We shook hands. I thanked them for their vigilance, for bothering
to confirm my ethnicity, for teaching me the true meaning of
Viva La Raza.
Brown people—those brown people - had it coming.
Bleeding Heart naysayers, may I direct your attention to the
popular footage of Palestinians dancing in the streets, celebrating
our tragedy? Laughing, singing, making that yelping sound with
their tongues - I haven't seen such sadistic glee since the
last Desert Storm parade. In one clip, however, there's a shaggy-haired
young man slunk in the corner, watching the festivities from
a slight physical and emotional distance. He wears a nervous
smile, obviously trying to share the fun, but his eyes betray
a panicked heart. He knows vengeance is coming, that soon "The
Great Satan" will summon all its unfathomable might and pour
putrid death upon his homeland, transforming the loathsome Middle
East into the grand "Israeli Canyon." Move over Atlantis—in
a hundred years, the myth of "Islamtis," a belligerent kingdom
beneath the sand, will inspire legions of hack fantasy novelists
and hack Disney imagineers (Us Versus Them: Beauty and the
Beast Part II).
Reading a statement the day of the attack, Yasser Arafat's eyes
burned with an even greater, more immediate fear. As he offered
America his deepest condolences, his oversized lower lip trembled
violently, endearingly—he was a cowering child dreading
a spanking. Arafat's horror was of a variety reserved solely
for the condemned—Death's fiancés—those who will soon
join their families on our ravenous sacrificial altar. A guard
stood behind him, tense and solemn, perhaps thinking, "I'm gonna
suck a round of bullets for this guy and he's still gonna
end up dead."
Surprisingly, soon after Arafat's speech, a Yankees cap clad
Allah gave a press conference. "I wish to make it perfectly
clear to the United States," he said, arm around an embarrassed
Rudolph Giuliani, "And especially to the United States military,
that I had no part whatsoever in this lamentable assault." Crazed
extremists, he insisted, "misquoted and misinterpreted" his
once-sacred word, mistaking heartwarming visions of a pasty,
McDonaldland Muslim community for heartless calls to arms. Stressing
"there's absolutely no conceivable reason" for the West to unleash
their "steely nuclear ravagings".
God bless you, Allah, as He has finally blessed America. Baby
Boomers blew half-a-decade coveting their parents' Great War;
Gen-Xers have long bemoaned a lack of any unifying cause ("Where's
our Vietnam?"). At long last, their prayers have been answered,
their battle free of the disheartening ambiguities of 'Nam or
the unfortunately blonde nemeses of Dubya Dubya Two. Rest assured,
the Third World War—that is, the Third World war - has
arrived to rescue our ideals, our economy, our gluttonous way
of life. America will plunge a sword into Mother Earth and rip
out her heart. America will tear open its own veins, drenching
east-facing innocents (i.e., "collateral damage") with black,
boiling venom. America will trample human rights in the name
of freedom, justice, and the Precious Blood of Our Savior. America
will teach our ashen world the true meaning of terrorism.
Copyright © 2001 Juan-Jose Pichardo.
All Rights Reserved.
Juan-Jose Pichardo is a writer living in
Illinois.
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