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Thursday, April 10, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury

Basement Files: Entropy

With Saddam Hussein's every prolonged absence from the airwaves, Western pundits begin asking if the Iraqi strongman has been killed by Allied bombing. And with his every televised speech, CIA experts and network talking heads begin parsing Hussein's words for untimely references that might signal a pre-recorded message. But Hussein's ambiguous, stream-of-consciousness rants can make a definitive timeline almost impossible to divine.

Citizens, soldiers, valiant people of Iraq. Today, I speak to you with great joy as the Western devils begin to feel the iron behind our words. Please know that our fight has just begun. I don't mean "just begun" in the strict timeline sense of just beginning, but merely as a measure of our bottomless well of resolve. By the time you hear these words, or shortly thereafter, the invaders will taste the steel of our hatred and their pleas for mercy will fall on deaf ears. Wait a minute, did I just put iron and steel in the same graph? Okay, that's just lazy. But know this: We will fight as long as is necessary, and will not rest until the infidel aggressor is shamed in defeat.

I speak to you on this, the 13th day of a series of weeks that began almost two weeks ago. Very soon, or fairly soon, let's just say soonish, we will witness the changing of the seasons and the enemy will find our climate and terrain as inhospitable as our valiant warriors. Yes, one of the bad seasons is coming. I'm not saying it's the worst season, mind you, but a season many of you associate with unpleasantness. I think you know what season I'm talking about here. There are four to choose from, but I think we all know which one I'm referring to. And it will be here before we know it. I'm not saying it will be here any day now, but I think it will sneak up on us nonetheless.

Already, the arrogant jackal has fallen in the field, his eyes blinded by the false light of his unholy cause. The vile serpent devours its own tail. I don't know that snakes actually have tails, but this particular snake is eating the end of his body away from his mouth. Think of it this way: The whole snake now resembles a circle as it slowly devours itself. I don't know that this happens in nature, but I think you'll agree it's very powerful imagery. Very symbolic.

I know that many of you are wondering what time it is. How near grows the hour of our glorious victory? Well, what is time, really, but man's desperate attempt to wrest order out of chaos. Man's hubristic need to lay a gridwork of mortal logic upon the vast madness of entropy. I wrote that line last night and I must confess I was struck by its beauty. I marvel at the maturity my speechwriting has shown of late. And that word entropy. It's just so perfect there.

I called out to my wives. I said, "Honeys, listen to this." And I read it in this deep, measured tone and let the word entropy just hang in the air. And there was this murmur of praise, as there often is when I command them to like something I've done. And I have to admit, I just basked in it for a second. This is something I would recommend to the next dictator of Iraq. Don't surround yourself with yes-men. But DO surround yourself with yes-women. Because nothing in this world feels better than a woman telling you you're great. Nothing. Even if they say it under duress, it still feels pretty good. And at the end of the day, the love of five or six good women is all you've got. Am I right?

In fact, one of my wives was so impressed by the phrase that she suggested I concentrate on this new, more mannered type of writing and maybe quit relying so much on the lurid, Byzantine threats that usually dominate my speeches. I mean, you guys know how I get. I feel the lectern in my hands and suddenly it's all "the sword of Allah" and the "slaughtered lamb of Christianity" and how the "mothers of the infidel will cry tears of blood." I know what she's saying, but, hey, I am who I am. I'm a Byzantine kind of guy. That's the kind of talk that gets my blood going. I can't pretend otherwise.

I mean, what am I going to do? Talk about targets of opportunity? Or make up something stupid like Operation Sacred Honor? I'd rather die than traffic in the sterile banalities of Western warfare. I don't know how they do it, frankly. It's all so bloodless. Say what you will about the "Mother of All Battles," but people still quote that line. It had resonance. It's like that line about the snake eating itself. No one knows exactly what it means, least of all me, but it has this primal symbolism that makes you think something bad is going to happen to the enemy. And it's comforting in that way. I don't know, it's just a gift I have. It's who I am. Old habits die hard. So shoot me.

Look, don't be uneasy about the war's progress. Our victory is assured. The filthy dogs that infest our land will be routed, their cowardice exposed for the whole world to see. We will turn the garden hose of jihad on their frantic coupling and shoo them away from our humble but proud front yard. When? I'm thinking tomorrow. Or a day with the same name as tomorrow.