I feel a bit like the proverbial frog in boiling water. You know the fable. You plop a toad in a pot and he doesn’t notice the temperature rising as you slowly raise the water to 212 degrees Fahrenheit. This week, I plopped down $75 to put gas in the truck and was almost giddy paying $5.19 a gallon (cash, not credit). Thanks to a variety of factors, from natural inflation to a long parade of imbecilic and hysterical Democrats and useless, self-serving bureaucrats, I’ve seen gas rise from 20 cents a gallon to a nosebleed $7.49 once filling up in Mammoth.
My writing newspaper columns predates both the mastodon and the desktop computer. I was composing opinion pieces on an ancient manual Royal typewriter during the Arab Oil Embargo of 1973. Gasoline was still under a quarter a gallon. “Wealthy be-robed sand sheiks,” as Signal then-publisher Scott Newhall called them, cut our pipeline to cheap petroleum. Overnight, gas erupted to an unthinkable buck a gallon. Brand new petrol-guzzling SUVs laboring to get 8 mpg collected cobwebs on Santa Clarita’s dealership floors and the unthinkable social construct of “carpooling” was invented. The horror. Sharing a slow-rolling, 6 a.m. death march into Century City with a talkative certified public accountant. During these seeming dark days of America, Richard Nixon, with jowls and forever 5 o’clock shadow, was president, followed by the comically inept bookends of Gerald Ford and Jimmy Carter. The Vietnam War only ended in 1975.
Life was different. Current events? They took longer to simmer. And, like history, there were always unintended consequences.
Now? I write the one, at-large column, a week in advance, which, in 21st century life, is an eternity. Pushing the “SEND” button, I’m uncomfortable at the uncertainty of what can happen five days hence. The caldera under Yosemite could pop. Disco could boldly high-step from its long hibernation. Farsi could be the official language of Great Britain. Or, Stevenson Ranch. As I type, we’re in Phase No. 16,084 of the peace deal with Persia. Come Friday pre-dawn, when The Signal’s print newspaper hits driveways and the web version magically appears on computer screens, America might be raining hell on the mufti hillbillies of Iran. In the meantime, we have The Deal.
Much to the chagrin of some friends, I am a Donald Trump supporter. He’s the gunslinger/frontier marshal this country, at this time, desperately needs. Right now? The major products America produces are Graft, Perversion, Lack of Responsibility, Self-Gratification, Self-Pity and Denial. Reads like a brass plaque outside a Beverly Hills law office. Half of us should be inmates in a lunatic asylum. Certainly, President Trump has his faults. If the guy would listen to me, I’d have him start a huge jar in the Oval Office and drop in a quarter (or, in his case, a bitcoin) every time he uses the personal pronoun to tout an American accomplishment. But, I’m comfortable that he’s smarter than me in negotiating, administration and global power politics. He’s also privy to better information than some angry Hollywood actor on his or her 19th butt cheek lift.
As I type, we have The Deal with the psycho terrorist government of Iran. Atheist to devout Catholic? We all spend our days praying. The better of us seek wisdom and divine guidance. The worst? They roll out of morning’s bed, sincerely begging the Devil Himself to bring monstrous, insane and unending misery to their fellow man.
My suspicions? President Trump genuinely doesn’t want a single American serviceman or woman to suffer a hangnail during this conflict. I suspect he sees a way for Iran’s leadership to devour themselves, from the inside out. As Americans, outrage is our crack cocaine. Like a Pavlov dog, we’ve been terribly conditioned by McDonald’s. Piping hot meals need to be served in sub-30 seconds and entertainment must last a blink. Ditto with wars and their endings. I wonder if Developer Trump is seeing prime real estate in Iran, which includes the majority of the population. Iran has an amazing natural resource — its people. They’re resourceful, worldly, highly intelligent and hard-working. The problem is they’ve been lorded over for half-a-century by a minority, a psychotic, religious, organized multi-billion-dollar crime family. Weeks ago, this theocracy murdered as many as 40,000 of their own citizens. Educated guess: In the last 47 years, the mullahs have killed, tortured and imprisoned more than a million, and that’s within their borders. This rogue government has exported terror, misery and death throughout the world. The Iranian government, powered by their Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, isn’t into omerta — the mafia vow of secrecy. The IRGC boldly broadcasts their daily Our Father prayer, and, it’s pretty simple to remember: “Death To America.” Get the extremists out of the picture and Iran’s great resource — its people — can help build a beautiful world.
Gentle us. We want our team to win the Super Bowl. The IRGC dreams, with an infant’s pleased smile, for nuclear winter in New York City.
I know. I know.
NYC is headed that way themselves.
Donald Trump knows — you can’t make a deal with someone who doesn’t care if they live or die, rather, just that — you — end up dead. It’s not a bright future-building foundation, is it?
So. What’s cooking?
It really doesn’t matter even if Iran signs, and abides, by a nuclear disarmament deal. Fine. No nuclear bomb? They’ll start their morning prayers on inspiration to re-create and spread the Black Plague, or New & Improved COVID II, or a way to poison our coffee. Me, India and England are safe. We drink tea.
Bottom line?
How do you sculpt peace on paper when all that lives in the other signer’s soul is hatred and a solemn prayer for an end to civilization?
Pick up “Naked Came the Novelist,” John Boston’s long-awaited sequel to “Naked Came the Sasquatch,” at JohnBoston-Books.com. Also available are other fine books, including his two-part “SCV Monsters” series. A lifelong SCV resident with 119 major writing awards and nearly 12,000 columns, Boston is Earth history’s most prolific humorist and satirist.
