Since I’m up to my eyelids in work, I gave our esteemed pinch-hitter Mason Baveux the password. He’s full of thoughts on the Arab Spring, Moammar Gadhafi and what democracy means.
Thanks for the keys to the bloggery again lad. Hope you had a good summer, as I found out that the price of Laker is now at the lowest she’s ever been, which is stretchin the disability dollar quite nicely thanks. How was August anyways, as I don’t remember?
Dave wants me to be writin on the Arab Spring in the Fall, which makes no sense to me. Fall is the same everywhere, what with the leaves and the rain. Springtime is when you smell the dogshit thawin out on the path and the Leafs are on the golf course.
So’s I looked her up on the Goggles. What he’s meanin is all the revoltin goin about in the Arab countries. Like Egypt, what tossed Hosme Moobarack onto the shitcan of history. But like they say in the infomercials, “Wait there’s more!” They got all revoltin in Tunisia, put in a new President of Tuna, took over Libya and to quote up that Wikitikitavi-pedia, had some civil uprisings in Syria, Yemen, Bahrain, Jordan, Morocco and Onan as well. Although I think the Onan uprisings were just spillin’ the seeds of revolution, instead of bein in right up to the bristles of revoltin.
Yer gotta ask yerself, what are they revolutin for? Freedom for one, and a chance to not starve to death for the other, while the dictator and his arse buddies swan about in a limousine, eatin grapes from the creamy thighs of one of the 70 virgins they keep on staff as tables. Folks what have full bellies tend not to get all revolutionary minded up on their back legs with flags and guns. Hungry folks can only be held down by a big ass army whose armed to the tits. Ask Uncle Joe Stalin about that one when the Russki wheat crop took a crap, in a bad way afore the sequel to World War I. But as Uncle Joe found out, big armies cost big money.
Now, as for freedom, well, the Arab Springers sort of got it partially right. Being as I’m Canadian and rightly proud of it, I get to do damn near anything I want, as long as I got the money, the time and the inclination. If all I want to do is collect plates and show’em off at a fall fair, then I can give’r as long as I want, or until some jackoff with a ball-peen hammer takes a disliking to me.
I can take my empties back to the Beer Store, as free as you choose, without worrying some cop is going to hijack me, steal my empties, or rob me on the way there, or back. I can have waffles for dinner if I choose and don’t have to use margarine on them. I could use butter and lots of it.
The Arab Springs want some of that. Maybe not the waffles, but the high concept of bein’ safe in their persons and possessions. They want the right to be able to choose stuff, good or bad. If they do want waffles, I can probably email off the recipe, if someone were to tell me where to send’er. They’ll have to get their own maple syrup though. I don’t think they’s got maple trees in Arabia, but I bet waffles with date juice would be tasty.
(Davey said I have to use the CP spelling here. What the railroad has to do with spelling, I don’t know) Let’s talk about Moammar Gadhafi. He’s deader than the Leafs chances at the playoffs and it’s only the first week of the season. Ol’ Moe ran Libya for 42 years like the usual crazy as a shithouse rat despot, with the usual killin’, torture and terrorism. He wound up on the YouToobes gettin slung across the hood of a half-ton, alive, then moments later, his heart stopped beating when some lad put a couple of rounds through his head. So’s technically, he died of a heart attack. Good friggin’ riddance. The World Court in the Hague wanted to try Moammar’s ass for terrorism, thievery, crimes against Humans and general douchery, but the revolutionaries sort of beat the World Court to the punch. Just as well, as they saved a couple of million dollars in lawyers fees, trial judges and hotels.
The question what I get stuck on is like this: This whole Arab Springin’ is like a dog whats chasing a car. They want that freedom and democracy and are willin to stand up to get it. Now, what happens when you get it?
If that dog does catch the car, he can’t drive it, he can’t reach the pedals, he can’t see out the mirror and he probably can’t even figure out where to put the gas in. So’s the dog has got exactly what? He’s better off because he’s got a place that smells like a stale, sweaty arse and is out of the rain? Not much of a big payday there.
Which is where my alnalogy leads me: What’s the Arab Springers goin’ to get out the other side? Jeeze, it makes the plate in my head throb just tryin to ponder the possibilities. You could have a couple of countries decided to go all theocratic and reset the calendar to 1345 AD, makin the internweb illegal and not drawing to the house in the final end, punishable by stoning? That’s not right. Nor does puttin another dicktater on the chair. Lookit Africa for how well that works out what with the tribal wars, starvation and mass murder passin for a country or five on the Dark Continent.
Maybe, I’m sayin, they need a bit of time. South Africa had a good idea with their Truth and Reconcilliation Commissions goin about tellin the whole story and makin sure everybody was on the same page. Yes, they made a few mistakes and sometimes it just resulted in the Comission sayin “Sorry. She’s fooked and we’ll fix er up, but not today.”
That’s about as close as we’ll get’er this year, even though it’s Fall and the Arab Spring is still goin’. So’s, as I say every year at this time: Go Leafs!