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Fluff for my fiction project - How the War Began


lowzeewee

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It all began on that fateful afternoon onboard the USS Thunder Child...

Dick Cheney looked at the calender on top of the mahogany wood table at the helms of the command watchtower. It was just three days to the last day of September in the year 2008, yet he was already thinking of how to spend taxpayers' money on the lavish White House Christmas party. The American occupation forces had just pulled out of Iraq after the newly-founded Middle East Coalition forces stormed the country and chased them out with brute force and a couple of bullets. Yeah, and the Americans evacuated their troops and gave their Kurdish and Shiite "allies" some old, faulty weapons to use for fighting against their fellow arabs. The American military casualty count of the Iraq Occupation was just a half-dozen shy of hitting 4000. Too bad it didn't, thought President George Bush, as he looked at the world map in front of his weary eyes. He had just watched the critic-assaulted House of the Dead 3, directed by the legendary Uwe Boll. He felt it wasn't bad, yet wasn't good either. He felt that Uwe Boll - his favourite movie director - could have done better. He was caught in a mindboggling conflict of deciding whether Boll was a good director or not. His buddy Tony Blair offered to set up a 20-man government commission to do a research into it, and promised a conclusion within two weeks of the research commencing.

Advisor Condi Rice, along with President Bush's personal entourage of cronies and lackies and losers and Dick Cheney, had arrived with the wheel of mass distraction. It was a large, white-based round cardboard circle mounted atop a tripod, with a sparkling diamond spinner powered by an electronic power generating chip built into the tripod. The circle was divided unequally into thirty six sections, with country flags and names displayed on each section. The writings were barely legible and the flags were hand-drawn with colour pencils. One would have wondered if a six-year old had worked on it with the help of an atlas authored by his five-year old sibling. Not every country had one section, while some countries had more than one. North Korea had 16 sections, while Russia had 12, China 5, and Iran 1. The wheel was being assembled and wired up while President Bush munched on his home baked pretzels. They were small - small enough to avoid choking - and had 'Trans-fat' spelled all over it. President Bush didn't know what Trans-fat was anyway. He assumed that it meant that the fat in him would be transferred out, or something like that. He didn't bother. He was more interested in finding out which country his troops would be marching into next. Canada was the first in 2007, and this time it was most probably North Korea. Betting agencies offered odds on the four nations, with an option of 'George Bush agreeing to step down as president' tagged with a 1/90000 odd. The wheel looked as if it was spun twice and dropped almost seven times, but the colourfully eye-catching lightings on the board dispelled all thoughts of it malfunctioning. It wasn't Christmas yet, but the lightings were enough to make one thought it was so.

"Hurry up! I wanna spin the goddamn wheel!" President Bush demanded with a clenched fist slamming on the metal table he sat on. The room was sparsely furnished and the sound echoed. The U.S. Marines on guard outside the dining room thought a shell had exploded itself. Bush munched up the pretzel in his hand and grabbed another.

"Take it easy, Mr. President, we are on it." The bespectacled technician assured the president calmly, sweating as he struggled to get the electronic pins in place.

"We'r doing our best, sir!" A Marine Sergeant added in a deep voice that sounded much like a bass guitar.

"Then do even bester, dammit." The texan country leader continued with a pretzel being popped into his mouth. He was muching it even more furiously than before and accidentally bit his gum.

Four minutes passed and with a new box of Mum's pretzels on the table, the American President dried the sweat above his mouth and ordered for the internal air-conditioning system to be adjusted to produce a lower temperature. Steady streams of sweat from his neck dampened to his shirt collar and ran down his brown Bombers jacket. He was getting impatient and was itching to give the order to arrest the technicians fixing up the wheel on charges of committing acts of terrorism. At last, the wheel was in place and Advisor Rice accompanied Bush hastily up to the wheel. Cheney whipped out his mobile phone and dialed for Haliburton. The 1800-I-WANT-MONEY hotline was engaged, and this enraged him. The next option was to reach his right-hand man, Peter Enlage. While he fingered furiously at his Nokia Engage V2.0, Advisor Rice made a final check of the tripod machine. Once that was done after a few seconds, President Bush eagerly hammered the red, square plastic button in the centre of the wheel. The button flashed each time it was pressed down, and a beep tone was heard at the same time too. Cheney thought that his phone line was dead. The wheel was not responding to the pushing of the button.

"So, what's going on?" President Bush questioned, his tone exasperated. Everyone in the room did not like the sound of it, and knew that they needed to do something - fast.

"Give me technical details of the machine failure" The president continued, still bashing up the button as he spoke. He started elbowing it as eyes bulged.

"Bush, I mean Mr.President, please give us some time to fix up the machine.", replied Advisor Rice dryly, taking a seat at the round table. Seeing the President getting violent on the machine, she rested her stick-thin arms on the table and dug her head into her arms.

"Who's responsible for this?" Everyone in the room looked at each other and stepped closer to the door of the room.

"Mr.President, please", pleaded the Marine Sergeant. The look on his face was one of a desperate man.

"Damn it, why not get Emilio, Farfan and Amdy to come fix this mess?" Advisor Rice stood up. Everyone in the room was wondering who the trio being mentioned were. There were heavy question marks floating over their heads.

The machine produced a low, monotonous sound and the tripod started shaking. The button flashed incessantly and President Bush punched the button even harder. He was trying to give the machine a "fixing up". Is this ridiculous enough for you? Enough crap. So the machine explodes, flashing heat rays start dispersing from the tripod, piercing through the decks, killing a few cuttlefish and some jellyfishes. Within days, PETA activists were readying their pom-poms, short skirts, non-fur animal costumes, body paint and banners. All this while applying for leave from work. The battle cruiser suffered a blow to its hull and water was quickly gushing in. George Bush was pulled back just in time before the tripod machine exploded, though he suffered a cut to his little finger. He wanted to exact revenge on the manufacturers of the wheel. It was "Made in China".

There were ships of shapes and sizes,

Scattered out along the bay

Fishing boats and many trawlers

As across the coast they filed

Standing firm between them,

There lay Thunderchild

Crashing down in sheets of flame, the Mexican fishermen released black smokescreen, but the burning Thunderchild sped on, cutting down one of their ships as dead fishes crashed back down into the waters. A fisherman drowned, as nobody wanted to be the first to offer help by saving him. Instantly, the others raised their shotguns, and blew out the drowning Thunderchild crew's valiant heart.

Lashing ropes and smashing timbers,

Flashing heat rays pierced the deck,

Dashing hopes for our deliverance(of fish supplies),

As we watched the sinking wreck,

With the smoke of "battle" clearing,

Over graves and waves defiled,

Slowly disappearing, farewell Thunderchild!

Slowly disappearing, farewell Thunderchild!

Farewell Thunderchild!

Farewell Thunderchild, child, child, child, child...

But the Thunderchild had vanished forever, taking with her George Bush's last hope of retrieving the wheel. The leaden sky was lit by green flashes... And the sea was "lit" by some overjoyed Mexican flashers.

"Let's attack Iran!" President Bush declared while his head repeatedly bobbed in and out of the water. He raised his finger into the air while sucking on the other finger with the minor cut. It seemed as if he had just scored some sort of victory. Half the crew had drowned as there were not enough lifeboats and floats on the titanic naval vessel, yet Cheney and Rice were still alive, clinging onto a whiteboard with a large copy of the world map pinned on it.

"Mr.President?" Rice and Cheney grabbed at the arms of a drowning man. Wrong person. It was a caged monkey that had escaped.

"Mr. President...?" Rice sounded unassured and had a look of disgust on her face, as she grabbed onto a man who had climbed onto the board. The board broke apart under the weight of the president as he viciously tore out a piece of the map that had a smudged 'China' word printed onto it. Rice and Cheney looked on. It was the president, still thinking of invasion.

"Look, we shall attack Iran, the capital of China." Bush announced loudly, pointing at a part of the torn-out map piece. It was Russia. Rice and Cheney applauded, while covering the mouth of a floating seaman who wanted to correct the president.

And so, Mexican fishermen got paid some US greenbacks to ship the three clowns back to Washington where they announced their plans to attack Iran, China, Micronesia and Russia. And so, the Third Great War began.

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