Let the Looting Begin

Sir Gimp and the Lovely One were at the kitchen table, she beading away as usual, and he, absentmindedly pulling on his beard while perusing his chaotic collection of magazines, newspapers, and metaphysical books.

“You know,” Sir Gimp suddenly announced, “when they captured Saddam Hussein, they made a big deal about it and predicted the end of the insurgency. At that time Howard Dean said that he ‘didn’t feel any safer’ and they jumped all over him for being a traitor. Turns out he was right. As the insurgency continued with increasing violence, and as the recent London Train bombings underscored, we weren’t any safer and we had no right to be. You remember what I said then?”

A look crossed the Lovely One’s faced that seemed to indicate a deep desire to remember, but her marriage vows of honesty and integrity would not let her say the word “yes” that her soul longed to utter. So instead, she most tactfully replied, “I think so. But tell me again, anyway.”

Sir Gimp, only too happy to tell his beloved story, knowing full well that it will not fall on virgin ears, began slowly and deliberately.

“When they captured Saddam and showed him doing a Coalition Toothpaste commercial, I said they ain’t seen nothin’ yet. It’s been a piece of cake so far. Where it really gets interesting is when they start trying to deal with the historic and conflicting agendas of the Kurds, Shias, and Sunnis.”

“Well,” said the Lovely One with not a little bit of pride, “You got that right. Look at the mess there today, and this constitution business is going to makes things worse, not better.”

“Exactly,” smiled Sir Gimp. “Well, I’ve got a similar intuition about New Orleans and the aftermath of hurricanes Katrina and Rita. All the heat generated by the unbelievable incompetence and racism won’t hold a candle to the nuclear blast that will be generated by the ‘cleanup’ or ‘reconstruction’. I have this persistent vision of a track meet where all the ‘athletes’ line up on the starting line. The referee counts 1, 2, 3, fires the pistol and yells ‘Let the looting begin!’ and off they go. And there won’t be anyone to stop them.”

“Now calm down, dear, urged the Lovely One. You know it isn't good for you when your propellers spin counter-clockwise and that smoke comes out of your ears. Come sit down, and I'll give you a neck and shoulder massage.”

Poor Sir Gimp. He couldn't refuse such a kind and caring offer. Soon the massage began to take effect and Sir Gimp started relaxing. Deeper and deeper. He began feeling sleepy. And sleepier....

As he drifted in the massage-induced reverie, he heard the following:

Radio announcer:
FEMA announced today that a no-bid contract was awarded to Halliburton to do the laundry for all the displaced folks from the Hurricane. For those poor folks who don't have any laundry, well our good friends at FEMA will just buy them some so they won't feel left behind at laundry time. This brilliant policy also ensures that Halliburton have at least some laundry for each displaced person.

Sir Gimp's awareness began to drift. After a few minutes, he overheard what he thought was a conversation in Halliburton’s inner sanctum:

D.C.:
Iraq’s so yesterday. Can’t make any money there. Too many damn people getting killed. New Orleans! That’s where it’s happening now! We gotta move on in. It’s a much bigger job than Iraq ever could be. Millions of displaced people. No oversight. Our guys in all the key positions.

Liaison officer:
OK D.C. You’ve proved your point. We’ll move on it pronto. One question. How will we get our boys out of there and into here?

D.C.:
It’s a no-brainier. We just declare victory and go home. We’ll tell ‘em it’s time that we stop meddling in the internal affairs of an independent and sovereign nation. Rove will set up Victory Parades all over the country, and we’ll have a national V-I day parade . The whole shebang will culminate with a FOX TV special called Bringing Them All Back Home hosted by Barbara Walters and Cindy Sheehan. The special will feature a live version of Bob Dylan and Willie Nelson singing With God on Our Side.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * *

Upon the completion of the massage, Sir Gimp began to stir from his deep relaxation and reverie.

“Feel better, now?” asked the Lovely One.

“Yeah, I do. Thanks. That was great.”

“Here, dear. Why don’t relax a bit more and read the paper. I saved the comic section. That should cheer you up.”

Sir Gimp’s eyes recoiled in horror as he read the Doonesbury column of the day.

The End

Editor’s note: Some of you may not be able to read the text of the Doonesbury strip so I’m printing it here:

Panel 1: Over there, Sir—see that cloud of dust? It’s some sort of military convoy...

Panel 2: That’s not the military, Honey—that’s the Halliburton gang pulling up stakes!

Panel 3: I don’t get it. Why the hell would Cheney’s boys be leaving the...the...

Panel 4: New Orleans. Go pack, Honey.