Mother returned to Camp Larry this morning, surfing on a veritible tsusami of Grief Mojo. With her head held high and her bong even higher, she looked more the conquering heroine than a woman who has lost both a son and a brother to Bush's pointless "war on terror".
Shortly after getting kicked out of Jersey's Sports Bar for "Giving everyone the creeps", the whole hootenanny moved up the block to the Gold Star Tavern, bringing mother 50 yards closer to the Coward in Crawford and even harder for him to ignore. With hundreds of supporters arriving each day to bask in Mother's aura of Absolute Moral Authority, Bush will soon have no choice but to end this immoral war and legalize marijuana. On Sunday, we were even treated to a visit by the great Neil Young, who staggered into the tavern and performed an impromptu rendition of his timeless anti-war ballad, I'm Not Neil Young, You Stupid Hippies before passing out atop the Huggy Bears for Peace display.
Brilliantly conceived by mother herself, Huggy Bears for Peace was originally intended to honor each one of our fallen heroes with a teddy bear in his/her name, as a poignant reminder of their brave sacrifice for a just and noble cause. But with the number of Iraqi Freedom Fighters killed in action climbing into the tens of thousands, we decided it would be more feasible to simply honor our murderous troops with the instead. In essence, the huge pile of over 1,800 teddy bears would convey to the American sheeple that our troops are not valiant warriors marching off to defend our country, but rather innocent babes torn from the arms of their loving mothers by fascist military recruiters. Plus, it'd be great for photo-ops.
The right-wing cromags, of course, would have nothing of this beautiful symbol of love and respect for our genital-mocking, Quran-mishandling troops. Huggy Bears for Peace was up for less than two days before the hateful neocons started flooding in and stealing the stuffed bears right from the pile. 'MY SON WAS NOT A HUGGY BEAR!" one firebreathing jingoist growled at my poor, grieving mother. "HE WAS A UNITED STATES MARINE, AND DAMN PROUD OF IT!" We never laughed so hard in our entire lives.
It never ceases to amaze me how these chickhawks will force their own toddlers to help Bush steal Iraq's oil but won't sign up themselves. Even the Shrub refuses to send his daughters over to fight, a tradition that great war presidents have honored for over two hundred years. Who can forget the awe-inspiring images of Chelsea Clinton flying bombing missions over Sarajevo? Apparently the right-wing media can, because they never bothered to report it.
Anyway, I'm probably going to stay away from Camp Larry for a while, so don't expect any more updates. With Mom now the media darling, the place is beginning to fill with some real nutjob radicals. A heated argument broke out this afternoon as to whether we were entitled to the 79 free virgins when we died. Certainly we've done our part to end this silly war and rid the muslim holy land of kufr once and for all, but I'm pretty sure that we have to actually die in the process of killing infidels to qualify for the 79 virgins package in the afterlife. I can already hear the right-wingers questioning our patriotism should we begin Martyrdom Operations for Peace!
No, best leave that up to the professionals. Besides, I doubt you could find 17 Seattle-area women who died as virgins, let alone 79 - and they were probably virgins for a reason. My Great Aunt Hilda died a virgin because she looked like Abe Vigoda. Call me superficial, but I'm not sure I want to spend eternity with a harem of 79 naked Vigodas. Susan Sontags, perhaps...but they'd have to shave their backs.