The Peace Moonbeam Chronicles

Kareem Bakr Gilad

August 25, 2006

Berkeley, California

 

I knew this week was going to suck when Scooter came by Monday morning wearing a ridiculous fake beard, nightshirt, weird little hat, carrying a Quran, and asking to be called "Kareem Bakr Gilad." Oh great, Scooter had become a Muslim! Evidently after doing a bunch of mushrooms with Pepe Saturday night, he'd had an epiphany that his life was meaningless - something frankly I would have to agree with. According to Scooter/Kareem, after Pepe left he was watching a CNN news story about the Middle East which showed Muslims whipping themselves bloody in a religious frenzy, and he knew then that Islam was the key to his fulfillment.

Scooter said that night he dreamt that a glowing figure resembling the genie in the movie "Aladdin" told him to turn away from the sins of this modern life. He instructed him to change his name, grow out his beard, avoid soap and perfumes, memorize the Quran, pray towards Mecca five times a day, and kill Jews. By Monday Kareem was doing all the above except he hadn't killed any Jews yet, but had successfully developed a strong dislike for Yiddish and those little caps. I couldn't believe what I was hearing!

Right in the middle of explaining to me why he had to wear the fake beard (he can't grow facial hair), Kareem's watch started beeping, he grabbed an old door mat out of his bag, and after carefully aligning it on the floor, fell on his knees and started rocking back and forth while wailing a tune and words that I later determined to be the Macarena. I'm no expert on Islam but I do know Muslims are supposed to pray toward Mecca, and when I asked him why he was praying toward Tokyo, he said he was just "going the other way around the world" which actually made sense to me. All in all, Kareem's worshiping was just bizarre, and his loud and frequent farting while doing so could only have lessened his effectiveness at communicating with any deity you'd really want to know.

Outside of his poor personal hygiene, moronic outfit, and referring to me as an infidel, I'm almost getting used to Scooter being a Muslim. Something I'm not getting used to are his new friends, though they did thankfully enlighten Scooter to the fact the name he chose means "Exalted Young Camel Hump." Anyway, a more surly group of young men I've never met, and their endless fascination with airplanes and virgins gives me the willies.

I sure hope this is just a phase Scooter's going through.

 

Camp Casey II

August 18, 2006

Crawford, Texas

I received an invitation to join Our Suffering Mother Of Perpetual Peace And Publicity Sheehan (OSMOPPAPS) at the new Camp Casey down in Crawford, Texas. Apparently Cindy purchased some acreage not far from Chimpy McHitler's ranch and she was anxious for me to see it and join her reinvigorated peace vigil, so I hopped a plane for Texas.

In all truthfulness, I was slightly underwhelmed by the new spread. For one thing, it's not that close to McHitler's ranch. For another, it's pretty scrubby land, dotted with only a few crappy tents, several smelly Porta-Potties, and handful of protesters that appeared to have been left out in the sun since Woodstock. The PA system sucked, and the only music was supplied by a cheap boom box. What's worse, the only press on hand was a few kids from the local high school, and I suspect they were there just for the pot.

I hate to sound so critical, but what's the deal with our supporters? Is there some unwritten rule that only really ugly people can protest this war? I remember back during the Vietnam war protests how we were all so young and beautiful. Everywhere I looked at the camp I saw these same people with exactly the same hairstyles and clothes they had 35 years ago and I have to tell you, a fat 60-year-old balding guy with a stringy ponytail decked out in tie-dyed t-shirt, golf shorts, socks and sandals just doesn't look right. Add a fanny pack to that picture and it honestly makes me want to puke, I'm sorry.

Anyway, it was nice to see Peace Mother Sheehan (PMS) again and especially nice to see that her continuing liquids-only fast had apparently not taken too bad a toll on her health. In fact she not only looked extremely healthy, I think she had gained a few pounds since I last saw her. Weird. Later I saw her preparing her dinner and it all made sense. I don't think I've ever seen anyone puree an entire eight-pound Honey Baked Ham with Stove Top Dressing, candied yams, Jello salad, and carrot cake, but she did and then drank the whole thing. Yummy! The other day she was rushed to the emergency room, but it wasn't because of dehydration as the news reported, but because of an errant piece of lobster shell that got stuck in her throat while drinking her seafood dinner. Luckily, she was okay.

I was ready to leave after a few days as there really wasn't much going on. One can only do so much chanting, singing, playing dead, breast and genital exposing, drum beating, body painting, weeping, etc. for peace, and by Thursday I had reached my limit. Besides, the camp's herb was obviously locally-grown and tasted like a burning tennis shoe, and I would rather die from intestinal blockage than ever again step foot in one of those fetid Porta-Potties. Woodstock was like a stay at the Four Seasons compared to this dump.

While I appreciate all PMS has done to stop this war, I'm not coming back without a motor home.

Rocket Revenge

August 10, 2006

Beirut, Lebanon

How could I vacation while bloodthirsty Zionists were again attacking helpless oppressed Arabs? I flew to Lebanon last week to do whatever I could to help the Hizballah freedom fighters defend themselves.

After an uneventful flight, I arrived in Beirut and immediately was driven to the front lines where I joined a crack squadron of Hizballah soldiers bunch of smelly guys in dirty t-shirts carrying guns. After being somewhat roughly forced to don a burqa and serve lunch to the troops, I had an opportunity to interview several of them. I wanted to hear of the pain they had lived with all these years under the brutal Israeli occupation, and how they had been driven to this point of conflict due to the intolerable treatment and oppression they had endured. Unfortunately these men were all from Iran and Syria, so they couldn't really tell me what I needed to know. They did say, however, that it's common knowledge throughout the Middle East that Jews are lousy tippers, and for that reason alone need to be eliminated.

After they made me do the laundry (how do they get those prayer rugs so dirty?), serve snacks, belly dance, and dig some foxholes, my captors comrades presented me with a special honor they called the "Infidel's Reward" - I was chosen to fire some rockets at Israel! I knew this was a very special honor since women over there aren't usually allowed to mess with mechanical things, so I was very grateful. They took me about a block away to the backyard of this little house, where under a big tarp was a launcher loaded with a bunch of rockets mounted on the back of an old truck. After making some adjustments and showing me where to stand, they told me to count down from 100 and then push this big red button. I noticed once I started counting, my fellow fighters took off running back to camp like they were being chased by Bigfoot. Strange.

At zero I pushed the button and the rockets blasted into the sky. All the fire and smoke scared the crap out of me, but after rolling on the ground and extinguishing my flaming burqa, I realized I was okay. I stood and gave the thumbs up sign to my friends down the street but they were nowhere to be seen. Right about then I heard something whistling overhead and the next thing I knew, there was a deafening explosion and I, the rocket launcher, the yard, the little house, and most of the surrounding neighborhood went flying through the air. After coming to and rolling around to extinguish what remained of my burqa, I decided I'd had enough of this war, even if it was for a good cause. I ran for my life.

I sure wish my Hizballah soldier friends would have told me that the Israelis have satellites and stuff which see those rocket launches, but I guess it slipped their minds. Later I heard the whole group took an express train to Paradise courtesy of an Israeli Apache helicopter gunship, and to tell you the truth, I wasn't that upset.