It’s a little slow, isn’t it?

When a Canadian corporation is big news, there’s not much interesting news. Several years ago, some magazine, I think The New Republic, had a contest among it’s writers for the most boring headline. The winner was “Worthwhile Canadian Initiative.”

Before RIM it was paintings of deceased women. That one’s on me.  That’s all on me.

Before that it was Greece. “Worthwhile Grecian Initiative.”

And before that fonts.

So yeah, it’s been slow.  Not even an earthquake or hurricane.

This is all because the god…blessed Libyan rebels can’t find Muammar, or al-Islam. That was exciting but now it’s like coitus interruptus.

It’s boring. The news is boring.  We need a war…wait-wait-wait-wait-wait, not WWIII just a little little war. Like the Falklands War. That was the funnest war in the history of war. Nothing in the last half century has done more to reinforce the stereotype of Latin American incompetence like the Falklands War. I mean the Brits only had a 3,000 mile supply line to defend.  The Argies couldn’t disrupt it.  

The Argentine Navy had three submarines. None of them made it out of port.  The first one sank…when the Argentines (Argentinians?) forgot to close the top-hatch or whatever it’s called. The lid. They forgot to close that thing. So they dove and, yeah.  The other two Argentinian submarines sank in port…when they ran into each other. Oh jeez.

So the Brits didn’t do anything to sink the Argentine submarine fleet, it was all “friendly fire.”  Or friendly water.

A war like that, I mean. 

I grew up in the boondocks.  It was boring.  Violence does relieve tedium. Sometimes when I was growing up my brother and I would be sitting around watching TV. Surreptitiously one of us would grab a sofa pillow and throw it and crush the other’s face with it in exactly the manner Grandfather Smallweed would Grandmother Smallweed in Bleak House.

We boys used to have “friendly fights.”  That’s what we called them.  One time in the winter I lent a friend a glove so that his punching hand wouldn’t get cold when we had a fist-fight.

Of course we used to play Cowboys and Indians, we got toy guns, etc. Cap guns were great. You pulled the trigger and you didn’t have to make the sound effects yourself the cap gun did it: BANG! That was a tremendous innovation. Boys like bangs. We used to take the rolls of caps and forget the toy gun, we’d light them on fire—BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG—or we’d get a hammer and hit the caps. One time a friend of mine came over.  “My dad told me if you hit this it will REALLY make a bang!”  So I did. And it did. It was a bullet. When it exploded it cut the palm of my right hand. My mother took me to the doctor. I got one or two stitches. For years I told my mother there was a piece of that bullet still in the palm of my hand. “Oh Benjamin,” she always called me Benjamin, not Ben, “We took you to Dr. Amendola.”  Yeah, and medicine was so advanced back there back then.  When it got cold out I could feel the piece of bullet in my hand.  I guess the cold irritated it.  I used to play with it when I’d study in high school. I had it removed in law school when I had to have surgery to have a fish hook removed from my finger.

So yeah, boys like bangs. And boys are more…physical, we’re more violent than are girls.  And when we “grow up” and become (more) mature and (more) governable we can enjoy friendly little wars like the Falklands.

And so as I sit here pulling wings off flies I'm thinking maybe we could squeeze a fun little war in before Greece defaults.  How about on Texas?  Could we have a war on Texas?  Don’t tell me you didn’t think that was an inspired thought.  I saw the light go on in your eyes, “A war on Texas! OMG, when can we start?”  You detest Texas as much as I do.

I detest Texas.  I have only been to Texas once; I went to see the Rothko Chapel outside of Houston. I remember driving around lost from the airport and seeing one of those “Welcome To” signs. Only, as I recall, this one didn’t say “Welcome to Houston.”  As I recall it was “City of Houston,” or “Entering the City of Houston” something serious, not “welcoming.”  It was in stone on the ground, but BIG in stone on the ground.  It reminded me of Hitler’s Vienna. Big and serious like the statues in Vienna. You have “Virginia is for Lovers,” and “I heart New York;” in Texas you have “Entering the City of Houston you worthless piece of…feces.”  Texas (Houston) had the “Eighth Wonder of the World,” the Astrodome.  Texas (Dallas) has “America’s Team,” the Dallas Cowboys. It wasn’t and they aren’t.

Where does Texas get off with this grandiosity?  My theory is, as with Hitler, it’s the legacy of failure and small male genitalia.  OMG attack Texas?  They’re so BIG.  No, they’re not, heh-heh-heh.  “Everything is bigger in Texas,” is one of their slogans. Except the men’s peepees.

How has Texas done in wars?  Battle of the Alamo: defeat; Civil War: defeat. Texas prides itself in having once been an independent country: yeah, for ten years when they couldn’t defend themselves against the Mexicans and America had to ride to their rescue and confer statehood. They couldn’t even protect the president of the United States from assassination in 1963—or his assassin from assassination.

My idea is to enlist the Chinese in this endeavor. Maybe our friends at Weibo microblog would want to join. We should get a bunch of real Amuricans and a bunch of Chinese together and mass ourselves on the Texas border.  Can you imagine the looks on the Texans faces when they saw Chinese?  They would freak.  There’d be a border problem with Mexico then; all the Texans would be swimming across the Rio Grande.

It would be fun. War with Texas: the time is now—before Greece defaults.