The Time for the Gay bomb is now

The year was 1994. Bill Clinton was in his second year as President and watching as plank by plank his party’s platform was destroyed.

Healthcare reform had been smashed and burned, and the issue of open homosexuality in the military was headed towards the wood chipper.

While the President worked in vain so homosexuals could openly serve in the armed services, the Air Force was asking: “what if there was nothing but queers in the military?”

Of course not our military, we didn’t want a single one, but the military of our enemy? Hmmm.

The possibilities were endless. Imagine developing a bomb that turned the enemy queer? Why they would put down their guns and begin to kiss one another. Then shirts would be ripped open, belts thrown off, and while the soldiers made forbidden love to one another we could march right over them while cornering the market in the gay porn industry.

According to Dan Glaister at The Guardian “documents released to a biological weapons watchdog in Austin, Texas confirm that the US military did investigate the idea. It was included in a CD-Rom produced by the US military in 2000 and submitted to the National Academy of Sciences in 2002. The documents show that $7.5m was requested to develop the weapon.”

One imagines the great thinkers of our military sitting at a conference table and one man saying: “What if we could turn the enemy gay? Oh never mind, that’s just crazy,” and then a supervisor says. “Is it crazy Jenkins? Or is it genius?”

Well, apparently, 7.5 million dollars of your money later, it was crazy.

I think history will look back on this as one of the great lost opportunities for our country. Imagine if, in what should have been his final message when Osama Bin Laden was surrounded in Bora-Bora, he had radioed his followers: “I am sorry I have let you all down, especially you Sheik Mohammed with your firm nipples, hard calves and glistening cock. I forget Death to America I cannot leave your manhood!”

Of course Guantanamo Bay might make people a little squeamish. Terrorists would not go on hunger strikes for freedom but for more frequent showings of “Cocktail.”

But on the other hand wouldn’t we rather see Shiites and Sunnis embrace on the Baghdad street while performing a gentle reach around then the carnage that is there now?

The true genius of the plan is that homosexuals don’t reproduce. Instead of a new terrorist being born every day a new terrorist would be adopted once every three months after a grueling interview process and several intrusive home visits.

But the development of the gay bomb would cause other countries to try to duplicate our efforts. Now, if only one country, say Russia, developed the technology, we might be all right, because despite the posturing, the threat of MAB (mutually assured buggary) would keep the forces at bay.

But how soon would it be before rogue nations began to try and develop the gay bomb. Imagine if a country like Pakistan developed this weapon? You know Pakistanis; they can’t keep a secret about anything, that’s why there are no Pakistanis on the crew of the “Sopranos.”

Reportedly the President is upset that news of the bomb leaked. At a cabinet meeting Bush was quoted as saying: “What would happen if the terrorists got their hands on one of these gay bombs and set it off in San Francisco? Then the entire city would be filled with queers. Hmmm? What? I did it again didn’t I?”

While the gay bomb has never come to fruition if it ever had it would have fulfilled the 60’s philosophy of making love and not war.

George Bush: General Contractor

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.