THAT'S HOW WARS ARE WON

I'm really looking forward to Fine Gael's John Redmond centenary in 2016. It'll put more distance between us and the Easter Rising thugs. Chances are that World War Three will have kicked off by then too and encouraging a load of youngsters to go off and take part in that should not only be character building but also act as a neat tribute to Mister Redmond. Redmond told the young men of his time to go to war and that 'the task is not difficult'. Redmond's advice was a bit more positive than the promises of martyrdom made by the other lot and, as long as you didn't die or go mad from shell shock, the task wasn't 'difficult' at all.

Although, back then war was simpler, not like now where one side is getting blown to bits by robots operated by people playing Nintendo Wii a continent away. Back then, one hundred years ago, all you had to do was shoot a fella in a vital organ or maybe step forward, thrust your bayonet into his belly, place your foot on his chest and then pull the bayonet back out again. Then you'd proceed to the next fella and do the same to him. Not difficult at all that. Even a child could follow those instructions and some children did. As long as the young men and kids steered clear of the phosgene and the bullets and bayonets of the other side, World War One was quite a nice war to be part of. It was fought in some very scenic places too.

Overall, the 2016 celebrations should be lovely. Enda's asked the Queen of Britain over and she'll probably say a few words about how war is a grand old thing when done properly. Then a few cannons will be fired and then we'll get down to the business of sending our young away to fight, just like some of their forefathers did.

Like I said though, the next world war will be fairly different to the last. It won't just be the technology, it'll be less straightforward in all sorts of ways. It'll be hard to tell who's on whose side for a start. You'll see a Russian fella and you kill him, that part should be grand but the fundamentalist shower, the Arabs and all that crowd, they could be on anyone's side. Isis might be on our side in one country and against us just over the border in another. That'll be hard to cope with. I suppose the youngsters will just shout out 'friend or foe' and the Arabs will answer honestly. Israel will no doubt be getting stuck in too. Religious death cults love a bit of carnage and Abraham's heirs are certainly no exception. Israel will be on our side I'd imagine but they'll probably try and kill us anyway. They're very keen on just letting anyone and everyone have it. That's their technique. It's asymmetric you see, which makes a lot of sense if you think about it asymmetrically. Israel will probably lay into the child troops the most. There's nothing like a dead nipper as far as the Holy Landers are concerned so the kiddie platoons will have to be on the look out for them.

Of course, we'll have to put up with some anti-war sentiment at home. Not much, you never hear a peep out of artists or the like these days, but a certain amount of cribbing is unavoidable. There'll be malcontents and weirdos saying that it's wrong to go fighting and to kill children and all that. They'll focus on the child fatalities the most I suppose but, the way I see it, we may as well send the kids into the field of operation, as it's called in the trade. The kids may as well get involved in the killing because they're going to die anyway. At least this way they might kill a few of the enemy too and killing is what it's all about. Killing. Killing Killing Killing KILLING!

Yeah. That's how wars are won so get the children armed up and get them out on the field. Their deaths will be for their own good and we can always commemorate them in another one hundred years when we're sending off the next lot.

Can't wait!

BANAL FROM THIS DISTANCE

The calls to prayer and the omni-drone combine to hum the Anti-Om. The last vibration. The frequency of wrong. The remote sound of death and razed rubble homes. Distant embers. Ribbons rise to oblivion. A dark cloak suffocates unseen desperation. Subdued pops denote the ease of destruction and the absence of any significant resistance. It's the antithesis of coexistence. Evil looks so banal from this distance.

JUSTICE HAS BEEN SERVED

 

The neighbour was saying that I keep parking my car in his driveway. Fuck that. What does he need the driveway for? He doesn't even have a car, well he does but it's a shitey little banger. He says he can't get his banger out of his drive because my car is in the way but I think that's a bit of a one-sided view. I mean, I have two cars and where am I supposed to park the other one? He should be happy to have my lovely car parked outside his house. People will think he owns it. People might think he isn't some loser, which, let's face it, he is. He went too far the other day though. He went way too far and scratched my car down the side with a set of keys. My car! My lovely new car that I worked hard to buy. My beautiful car; scratched by that philistine!

Anyway, he scratched the car so I went over there to talk with him about it. Just a talk. Reasonable like, as long as it's me doing the talking. I had things to say after all. I was the one that was wronged here. So, I headed over there but he just laughed at me. He refused to do anything about it, to make up for it, to compensate me or anything. Well, I wasn't having that so I barged into his house and put my boot up his arse. Then I booted his wife up the arse. Then I chased his kids around and gave each of them an arse kicking. You should have seen the look on his six year old's face after I gave him a right boot that sent him flying. It was kind of a bewildered look. Not angry or fearful really, just more of a 'what the fuck?' look. I just want a better neighbourhood you see. I just want us to get along. To share things. What's the matter with sharing? That's what I was roaring out as I went around the neighbour's house setting fire to his curtains and throwing his furniture through his windows. 'WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH SHARING?' I roared out over and over again. I was in some danger myself, storming around the blazing rooms like I was, but it was worth it. Like mighty Samson I thought, 'let me die with the philistines'. Anyway, I didn't die and got out of there in time to set up a blockade to prevent the fire brigade from arriving and helping out the car scratching terrorist. A lot of the neighbour's gaff burnt down that night and there was a bit of a to do in the following days. The other neighbours were giving me dirty looks and the U.N. dropped around and said that my actions were disproportionate. I said they weren't and the U.N. said Ok and then they fucked off.

I'm going around there again tonight to set light to his garden shed. Then I'm going to smash down the wall to his living room and drive my car right into his house and park it right in front of his telly. That'll learn him. That'll learn him not to share and live peacefully and in harmony with me on my terms. My reasonable terms. I just want a better neighbourhood you see. For me, for him, for everyone.

I can't seem to shake that look his six year old gave me though. That confused look. Confusion mixed with something else. Confusion mixed with hurt, a profound kind of hurt. I'll try not to dwell on it. I'll think about the scratch on my car instead. I'll think about how justice has been served and will go on being served until there is no one left to serve it to. 

ETCH A SKETCH

Oil and water deplete as the global financial system flails in its death throes. It’s looking a bit grim isn’t it? What we need at this juncture is a war. A big old war. A massive war. War is good. War is necessary. War shakes things up. War sorts stuff out. War wipes slates clean. War generates revenue. War is coming.

It’s a bit like Etch A Sketch. Did you have Etch A Sketch when you were a kid? You’d do a picture and it would be looking OK but then you’d keep adding to it and being all fancy and after a while the whole thing would be an over complicated mess. Do you remember that? Your mam would say ‘that’s a nice elephant dear’ when it was actually a tractor you were drawing so you’d let out a wail of anguish (whhhaaaaaa!) pick up the Etch A Sketch and shake the fuck out of the thing until the tractorphant was utterly annihilated. Then you’d start all over again.

Well, imagine the world is an Etch A Sketch and the world leaders are you when you were a kid, bawling with a load of snot pouring out your nose, quite out of your mind and shaking the bejaysus out of the poor Etch A Sketch. Instead of the picture being wiped out, cities and streets and buildings and furniture and humans and dogs and cats and budgies and all that sort of thing are wiped out. Once the old mess is out of the way you can set about creating a new one. Going forward.

BY WAY OF DECEPTION, THOU SHALT DO WAR

I’ll never forget my childhood days as a member of the Junior Mossad Intelligence Collection Club. All you had to do was fill out the form in Warlord comic and send it off. Then you’d be sent some little exercises, to prove your worth. You’d be asked to pick a pal, any pal, and turn the rest of your friends against him. I picked Jimmy. Jimmy put me in a headlock for about fifteen minutes once so he had it coming. I nicked my pal Tom’s football and put it under a bush in Jimmy’s garden. Then, two days later, I proposed we build a tree house in Jimmy’s garden and Tom saw his ball there and, hey presto, Jimmy was branded a thief and had no one to play with for the rest of the summer. I was avenged and, when I sent the details off to Israel, Mossad were impressed.

Then Mossad requested I try something more ambitious and add an extra lair to my machinations. So I told my mate Hughie that Tom had confided in me that he suspected Hughie of stealing the ball before it turned up in Jimmy’s garden. ‘And he said you were a right faggot too’, I added for good measure. Furious, Hughie immediately went down to Tom’s house and gave him a very nasty Chinese burn, not to mention the most vicious wedgie I have ever seen.

My friends were completely divided. I was the only one who remained pals with everyone. I spent the rest of the summer calling around to their respective houses telling them things the others were saying about them and sometimes even arranging fights. All this time, they all thought I was a great pal. Mossad thought I was a great little fella too.

Mossad loved me and started sending me lists of specific targets. There was a family of Pro-Palestinian activists around my way and I was given the mission of going out late at night and smearing dog crap on their car door handles with a stick. The family would be up for the school run in the morning and, well, enough said.

Oh there was fantastic mischief to be had. I grew out of it eventually and got into the PR industry. I hear The Junior Mossad Intelligence Collection Club is still going and kids are still signing up. It’s all INTERNET HIGH JINKS these days: publicising incriminating information on undesirables and then saying other undesirables gave you the information as part of a dirty tricks campaign, thereby hitting two birds with one stone. Ingenious lark. I couldn’t keep up with the kids these days. They’ve a bright future ahead of them I’ll tell you that.

Tin foil hats ahoy!!!