As a change of pace from my usually serious-minded posts, I’m going with something a little lighter for once.
Diligently exploring US online forums, including those involving US men looking to capture and marry unsuspecting Ukrainian girls and lure them back to Bush Incorporated for marriage and debt slavery, I’ve encountered the widespread (within the US) fantasy that George Bush’s international campaign for “democracy” was in large part responsible for the Orange Revolution. One argument was that it was only because of the courage that Bush demonstrated in his murderous rampage in Iraq that gave Ukrainians sufficient sense of confidence to carry out the Orange Revolution. Without that, the argument went, Ukrainians would never have had the gumption to insist on democracy inside Ukraine. Surprisingly (more or less), my predictable response (“idiocy too damned stupid for further discussion”) evoked broad agreement with the original poster, and damned me for my dissenting opinion. This calls for a strict journalistic response, gonzo-style. It’s the only possible response to such lunacy – a mental condition that is widespread within the insular domain of Cheney/Bush LLC, also known for the moment as the United States of America. I’ve even taken the liberty to invent html-style tags to denote where gonzo begins and ends. This is for adults only, preferably with a sense of humor. The easily offended and politically correct should stop here. You have been warned.
<gonzo>
Here is the real story of the Orange Revolution. It was, in fact, a sort of US conspiracy, in that I and a Russian girl are entirely responsible for it. All of it. One hundred percent. I am American, just in case some readers don’t know that.
I’ll call her Ira – not her real name. Her real name is Svetlana. I met her in Russia a few years ago. She’s an FSB honey pot, and very good in her chosen profession (or proffession, as one famous Ukrainian mob boss would spell it.) For those out of the loop on such things, a honey pot is a beautiful seductress assigned by FSB to sleep with targeted foreigners for the purpose of seducing them and then fishing for secretive information after sex during pillow talk. Pillow talk is those goofy things people say to each other only after sex, and rarely if ever say otherwise in normal daily life.
Russia is loaded with seductresses, most of whom aren’t honey pots but just like sex. I have no quarrel at all with them. Ira was one of more than a few seductresses I squared off with, whereupon I introduced her to something called tantra. Tantra is an age-old technique whereby a skilled practitioner of the art can switch on the current in someone else in a way that the recipient could never imagine or believe until it happens. I’ve never had any complaints of any kind about this, except once when one girl held me briefly at gunpoint unless she got another dose. I indulged her, no big deal. It wasn’t like I was having to pay a cash bribe or something like that. While she was still convulsing, I just got up, had a cup of coffee, and waited. But I was impressed with her persistence and dedication to the art to the extent that she brandished a loaded weapon to insist that the art form continue. That was Ira.
The fact that she could get hold of a gun told me this wasn’t just any girl. And it wasn’t just any gun. It was 7.68 mm Kalashnikov SVD sniper rifle. After her convulsions dissipated a bit, I brought her a cup of coffee and sat beside her. With her current switched on and wide open, full amperage and voltage like she’d never had before, she started talking.
Under more normal conditions – say, without a loaded SVD by her side – I would have figured her questions to be idle pillow talk. But the tantra session apparently hit her like a heavy dose of sodium pentathol – truth serum. Instead of the usual lovey-dovey thing where there’s just some cuddling and jabbering meaningless little sweet nothings, she was talking straightaway about her curiosity as to how the US missile defense shield might be defeated. It was a dead giveaway. I knew immediately she was a honey pot.
Still, I’m a pretty good sport, and the poor girl was still trembling from her new voltage, trying her best to carry out her job. I admire tenacity in people, especially beautiful, naked Russian women laying in front of me for whatever reason. So, I just up and told her.
“Ira, my dearest (that’s a pillow-talk phrase), it’s simple. Just launch multiple warheads from each delivery vehicle, encase each of them in liquid nitrogen, and that’s it. The US missile shield is heat-seeking and liquid nitrogen is extremely cold. By the time it evaporates from each of dozens of multiple warheads on re-entry from the delivery ICBM, it’s far too late to launch a defensive heat-seeking missile. Tell your bosses not to worry much about it. They just develop a simple new system on that basis and claim it’s unlike anything ever before in a nuclear arsenal and it will render the US missile defense shield useless.”
“My bosses?” she asked, trying far too late to be coy.
“Spooks. Your handlers, FSB guys. Listen, I really appreciate their sending you my way. Aside from the loaded fully automatic sniper rifle, you’re a very pleasant companion and I like hanging out with you. And you look absolutely stunning.”
She blushed, having been found out and blowing her cover so easily. But, I’d already warned her, tantra has a powerful effect and you never know for sure what’s going to happen once that voltage gets switched on, particularly if it’s repeated and amplified a dozen or so times in succession within an hour or two. Some people just go into a temporary stupor. In light of the weapon, she got way more than that in half that amount of time. I was surprised she could even form an intelligible sentence. But those girls are very well-trained and disciplined, so she remained fairly lucid – but way too open to protect her cover. And she was in no condition to argue with me about obvious facts and the truth of the matter. Plus she still got the info she was after, which was later used just as was explained to her.
A few days later, she came back, this time unarmed.
“I’ve a special project in mind. I’d like you to help me, if you want. Believe this or not, as you see fit, but it’s only my idea and I’m just curious if it might work.”
“What?” I asked her.
“You’ll think it’s silly.”
“Probably, but so what?”
“Promise you won’t laugh?”
“Ira, look, if it isn’t at least a little humorous somehow, I’m not interested anyway. My life is dull enough as it is, except for maybe when FSB honey pots come around demanding sex at gunpoint.”
“You’re making fun of my job. It’s just a job, and the best pay I can find, and not even enough to rent a decent flat. You know how hard it is sometimes to get a man to spill the beans when cold air is blowing in through a window that won’t close and I’ve made him all hot and sweaty?”
“I don’t want to think about hot, sweaty men, thank you very much.”
“So don’t make fun of my job, please. I’m just trying to make a living, same as anyone else.”
“OK, whatever.”
“So here’s my idea” she continued. “I want to create a democratic revolution in Ukraine so I can go there and live. No chance we’re getting that here anytime soon, and I need a better place to hang out. I think a democratic Ukraine is just what I need.”
“Ira, let me get this straight. You want to create a revolution in an entire nation for your personal convenience?”
“Yes, of course. Why not? They probably won’t mind too much.”
“That just might be the most self-absorbed statement I’ve ever heard or even heard about.”
“That’s not the point. The point is I want to do it and I want you to help me.”
“How, pray tell, do you propose to create a democratic revolution in Ukraine, even if they don’t mind?”
“Simple! Lace all the oranges incoming into Ukraine with methamphetamine and Ecstasy. People buy them, eat them, fall in love with oranges and start liking orange-colored things. Opposition will naturally like the same things, because sooner or later they’ll be eating them too. Government will start saying nasty things about oranges and ridiculing orange-colored things, maybe even claiming that oranges are spiked with drugs. Once that happens, and people see the risk of losing their new oranges, they’ll revolt. Millions of them. Because it’s millions, that’s big people power, and that makes democracy.”
It was slowly dawning on me that I’d way, way, way overdone things with the last tantra gig with Ira. It was like putting a few too many volts through a computer circuit, say eight volts instead of five. It still works and usually won’t blow the circuit, but the computer begins to do odd, unexpected things.
“Ira, baby, I’d love to help you out here, but frankly, that’s so far past ridiculous that I can’t even think of a word to describe it. Psychotic comes to mind.”
“So you won’t help me?” she pouted, tears beginning to flow. I hate when a woman turns on the water works. So I decided to humor her and try to ease out the discussion.
“I didn’t say that. It’s just, well, think it through. You’re wanting to drug every orange that enters Ukraine. That’s got to be tens of thousands per day, coming through different ports, requiring manpower far more than you and me, not to mention a huge supply of the drugs you’re talking about. The logistics, my dear, the sheer logistics of it all. It’s impossible!”
“Not all oranges, just most of them. And that’s through one main port, Odessa. I know plenty of people who make those drugs anyway, and they’d give me a few hundred kilos of the stuff if I want.”
“Why on earth would they do that?”
“Because they’re guys, and I’m me,” she said, lounging on my sofa and putting on her sultriest guise. I saw her point.
“So assuming you can get those resources, where are all the people needed to lace hundreds of thousands of oranges with the stuff?”
“Only you and me. The stuff just sprays on and soaks straight through an orange peel to the inside. I know guys with the transport business who already pick up most oranges and fruits from the port for transfer to individual distributors who then take them all over Ukraine. They wouldn’t care if we went in and pissed on them, much less spray them with chemicals that will make them feel good themselves.”
“So what’s in it for me?”
“I know you want democracy in Ukraine.”
“Yes, but Good Lord, not like that!”
“So what’s your preferred method?”
“Maybe let Ukrainians decide for themselves if they want democracy, and then figure out for themselves how to make it happen?”
“You already know they want it, and so do I. You can read them same as I can read men, and nearly half of Ukrainians are men. That’s near majority right there. And I can see it in their eyes, same as sex, most of them want it, I see it, it’s my radar, I know it.”
And I knew she was right, and had argued me straight into a corner from which there was no logical escape except to start crying and run away or some such thing. I couldn’t bring myself to do that, and couldn’t think of any other way out.
“It’ll be over in a few months, maybe less,” she went on. “We just continue with every shipment for a month or so to get things going, then go from there and continue as long as we need to. Shouldn't take more than three or four months total, and it’s easy work, just spraying a few truckloads of oranges each day just as though we were washing them off. Even as a job, it’s an easy job that won’t take even a full day’s work each day.”
“Ira, somebody is bound to be just a little suspicious about this, don’t you think? We could have some very serious problems if we get caught.”
“No problem. US media are so stupid that one or two rumors to the right papers will have them believing the US caused democratic revolution in Ukraine. Rumors merely to Fox News and New York Post alone would do the trick. They're blissfully unencumbered by facts, and would never even think to check out any rumors sent to them as long as they make their bosses in the US White House look good. Then Bush and his crew are bound to get in on the action and take some credit, same in Europe, and I already know my own guys in Russia are already in Ukraine trying to influence and rig the election anyway. So there’s bound to be arguments back and forth between Russia, the US, and some European suckers who’ll also want to take credit for this great sweep of democracy in Ukraine. Blaming just two people, you and me or any other two people – just ordinary little people, that’s us – would be so ridiculous on its face amid East-West arguments that nobody would dare take it seriously even if it could be absolutely proven that we did it. We can’t possibly be caught, because it would make so many people in so many countries look so unbelievably stupid. We just leave a silly claim someplace on the Internet where a lot of Ukrainians and foreigners will read it, nobody will believe it, and then nothing can happen to us because it would raise suspicions that we were telling the truth after all. Actually claiming we did it publicly -- not hiding it -- is our best protection .”
And that, dear readers, was that. The drugs were delivered by port, in liquid form, labeled as some sort of pesticide so the oranges got sprayed with a chemical that everybody thought was just normal stuff you spray on oranges to keep bugs off them during transport. When a certain politician’s wife claimed it was because of drugged oranges that millions of protesters had somehow decided to suddenly brave cold and snow and be able to stand outside for nineteen days until a man with an orange theme was put into the presidency, she was, as Ira correctly predicted, ridiculed to the increasing detriment of her helpless husband’s political fate.
He chose blue for his campaign color, and unfortunately for him, there is no blue fruit commonly available in Ukraine.
</gonzo>
This story is at least as accurate, and maybe even more so – who knows for sure? – than those silly rumors about Bush Incorporated being responsible in any meaningful way for the Orange Revolution. I don't know where those rumors came from, of course.
The Lord works in mysterious ways, and I’m almost certain that He’s taking lessons from Ira.
The above is satire, to be clear.
satire
Main Entry: sat·ire
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle French or Latin; Middle French, from Latin satura, satira, perhaps from (lanx) satura dish of mixed ingredients, from feminine of satur well-fed; akin to Latin satis enough
1 : a literary work holding up human vices and follies to ridicule or scorn
2 : trenchant wit, irony, or sarcasm used to expose and discredit vice or folly
Source: Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary
The part about the US missile defense shield comes from a little-known but public, open letter to President Clinton in 1998 or 1999, from a group of 50 or so scientists who clearly explained how easy it is to render the US missile defense shield useless. It is not a secret. Bush admin knows very well how easily the shield can be defeated; Bush remains gloriously unaffected by messy little things like "facts." Many of his friends in the defense contracting business are nevertheless getting richer by being paid big money to develop something that's been known for years as being pointless -- except to make a few people even wealthier than they already are at US taxpayer expense.
Meanwhile, one in six Americans live in poverty, with no end in sight except for early death. That'll teach them.