LOSER

3 Paul Edwards

Blow, trumpets!  Beat, drums!  Sing Hosannas, you Seraphim!  The Great Deal is signed.  Well, nearly.  Friday, it will be.  Not that far away.  Why postpone the celebration?  Let the games begin!

The whole world has just been audience to the most blatant and ludicrous vaudeville burlesque ever perpetrated by a nation.  The role Trump played as initiator and victim of his own caper, ranks in absurdity with the French artiste who, on public stages, played The Marseillaise by emitting musical flatulence from his anus.

His asinine posturing and doltish ego lap at the total collapse and surrender of any and all objects the shameless boob may have imagined before he had his ass well and soundly kicked by Iran is unequaled by any act of abject imperial buffoonery in history.

What must the dirty cretin imagine his next move can be?  The irony of his humiliation is hugely increased by the fact that, even if anything should come of this charade, which it can’t, his “deal” will be far worse than Obama’s was, and infinitely worse than The Empire’s situation was before his brainless hailmary went down.

To put it most succinctly, what has been agreed to—and we have only the haziest sense of that—is evidently the intent to come to some agreement, on something, at some point.  This, to put it generously, is not the stuff of which peace treaties are made.

Perhaps the crowning absurdity of all—though that’s hard to say, among so many—is that no word of substance has been uttered on the key demand Trump made explicitly before his monumental pratfall: his braying fatwa that Iran give up its nuclear material.

To hear the imbecile now, his single great achievement is that he has gotten exactly what he had before gargantuan sums of U.S. money were blown: traffic through Hormuz.  And after all his fulminations against Obama’s “worst deal ever”, this putrescent self-blowing horn has the sick gall to pretend to be a hero settling for the empty bag of nothing he hasn’t even signed.

Given that he achieved nothing for The Empire—not a single aim—has he inflicted strategic loss on Iran?  He hasn't.

There was pain, damage, and death.  Israel, our psycho hitman, murdered their religious leader, Khamenei, and other high military men and many civilians, including nearly three hundred pre-teen schoolgirls, though that was mainly U.S. work.  Iran has been hurt, no doubt, but its suffering has consolidated the resolve of the people in a way only such brutal aggression could engender.

It has to be remembered that wild underestimation of enemies is not new in The Empire.  Trump and his coven of warlocks was not more wrong believing Iran to be a pushover than JFK and his Best and Brightest were in their take on Ho Chi Minh’s Vietnam.

The ruling Exceptionalist mindset only admits to its high councils gutless castrati who recite its hoary dogma against the facts. However potent we are with our War Machine, which specializes in failure—we’ve always been utter boneheads in humint.

They include, but are not limited to, refusal to yield, or cease enrichment of, their uranium; full control and management of Hormuz; a total end to war on Gaza and Hezbollah; restitution of billions of stolen sovereign funds; and removal of all U.S. war-making bases from our sycophant princelings in the Gulf.

Try to form a picture of Trump agreeing to any of this.  He sealed himself in an Iron Maiden he can’t open.  He must admit defeat, which he can never do—national ego won’t permit it—or he will be forced—tomorrow, next month—to commit his unmotivated, inadequate military to re-fight a hopeless war it cannot win.

In the interim he can make pronouncements, and bark, and declare the false and dubious to be certain, but the reality is that he has shot his pathetic wad and the world knows it, though his knuckle-draggers and personal sluts declare otherwise.

Meanwhile, with every boast, brag, and sham, with every queer, demented caper that the contemptible Punch, and punching bag, contrives, with each day and week that passes, Iran’s position is strengthened, reinforced, and solidified.  Both its evident, robust resistance to Old Aunt Sam, and its increasing integration and acceptance by its peers as the now major power and player in the region, are unquestioned by the great world.

America, the once Beautiful, has been put, by this stupid, ugly, criminal degenerate, in the hard position of having to confront its second-string performance before the nations.  For far too long, our country, the outright possession and toy of a cabal of evil, twisted Capitalist oligarchs who had neither fealty to the nation that made them, nor regard for its people, America was run as a vicious tool of compulsion and dominance over Mankind.

A Willie Nelson lyric says that this land, ‘once fashioned in beauty now stands with scars on her face’.  The hideous, irresponsible damage America has inflicted on the whole living world by and for its ruling clique, has now come home in blatant and direct assault on all that remains of the land that Willie sang about.

A deep, unassuageable sadness is our legacy from the chaos made by the blind, evil, Capitalist cancer whose tattered banner is now shakily borne into failure, disgrace, and disaster by the ultimate Loser.