Imagine that you have bought your dream house. There are repairs to be made, so you hire a contractor.
“You have termites,” the contractor says. “I have to bomb your house.”
“Shouldn’t we wait to see if we have evidence of termites?” you ask.
“No, the termites are a clear and present danger. We need to commence the bombing now.”
They bomb your house. Then the contractor returns, strings a “Mission Accomplished” banner between the trees in your yard, and announces that you no longer have termites.
You rejoice: You can start rebuilding your house.
Except when you awake each morning another part of the house has collapsed. You call the contractor and say: “Excuse me, but the bedroom just fell into the kitchen,” and he replies: “Concentrate on the rest of the house. How is the rest of the house coming along?”
“Well great,” you say, “except a part of the house falls down every day.”
“A part of the house,” he says, “but the whole house is strong, its growing, good things are happening there.”
Then the sub-contractors begin to fight amongst themselves. The plumber doesn’t like the electrician and rips out the wiring. The electrician doesn’t like the carpenter and rips up the flooring. The electrician drills holes in the pipes so they leak.
“I can’t live here anymore!” you tell the contractor. “The sub-contractors are destroying my house.”
“Houses aren’t built in a day,” he says. “Give it time. But to ease your mind I will send in my security men.”
Two weeks later you call the contractor. “The landscaper just used the fertilizer I paid for to blow up three of your security men,” you tell him.
“I swear as long as I am contractor their deaths will mean something. We are not leaving that house until it is complete. After all we are there at your invitation.”
“Please leave,” you say.
“We will, as soon as you stand up we will stand down.”
“I am standing up,” you answer. “I have to stand up, the carpenter chain sawed through all my furniture.”
“I hear good things are happening in the basement,” the contractor replies. “Concentrate on the basement.”
Despite your pleading with him not to, he sends in more security men. They set up an armed camp in the kitchen. You sneak in an exterminator who tells you that there never were termites in the house. You call the contractor who tells you that may be true, but, he has a recording of two termites talking about eating your house, and a preemptive strike was needed.
Soon the subcontractors are fighting with the security team. You have to sleep on the kitchen counters, but the carpenter explodes the plumber’s pipes and your forced to flee to a trailer in the back yard where you watch the carpenter fill your Volvo with dynamite, and ram the plumber’s van exploding both vehicles.
Finally the contractor comes back. You inspect the wreckage of your house. He looks down at a piece of wood. “Here’s the problem,” he says. “You’ve got termites.”
“I didn’t have termites before you got here!” you yell.
“Termites are a constant threat, they’re after me, after you, after your children, we will stay here, continually destroying your house, until the termites are destroyed, after all, it is better to fight them at your house than mine.”
As you pile sandbags in front of your trailer, all you can do is shake your head in regret as the G.W. Bush and Daughters Contractor’s truck leaves the ruins of what was once your dream house.