| Issue #31, October 27, 2006 |
Boom!
Let Me in the Nuclear Club or I’ll Nuke You, I Really Will
By Dan Rattiner
I’m building a nuclear weapon in my basement because I want to join the nuclear club. But don’t tell anybody just yet, because I have to dream up a bunch of strategies first. I surely don’t want to happen to me what happened to Fred down the street when he tried getting into the club.
I’m told it’s a very exclusive club. I like that. If you want to be in a club, find the most exclusive one you can. That’s my motto. So this is it. I expect soon to be raising a few with President Putin, General Mushareff, Tony Blair, the prime minister of India and of course our President, Mr. Bush. And I’m told the food is terrific, the service is impeccable, they have racquetball and a swimming pool and even an amazing reference library with big club chairs you can sit in. That’s for me.
Fred, down the street, I must say, really messed up when he tried to get in. It doesn’t do any good to just set off a test and tell the inspectors try to stop me and then go banging on the clubhouse door. They won’t let you in. And, they didn’t. And then they said he was too dangerous and unstable to be allowed to have a nuclear weapon, and he ran his home as a dictatorship. So they hit him with all these sanctions. They cut off his cable TV. They shut down his Internet, repossessed his car, disabled his telephone and intimidated the Chinese and pizza places to shut down his deliveries. They also revoked all his credit cards. All of which just made him madder. So he bashed out the lenses on the surveillance cameras with a tire iron. This is no way to go about getting into the Nuclear Club. And as you know, he got rejected. Unanimous, they say.
My plan — subject to change — is I get this pretty far along by secretly processing a few pounds of radioactive uranium downstairs and explaining that I need it because my furnace broke and I have no other way of heating my house. Between you and me, I poured some molasses down its stack. If you ever want to know how much you need to break your furnace, I can tell you. You need a gallon and a half.
I also brought my gerbil collection down there, on the pretext that it is warmer there with the broken furnace than upstairs and anyway, the noise from the metal treadmill cages kept everybody up. You can get radioactive uranium at the rate of an ounce a week with twelve sturdy gerbils going full time, but don’t tell anybody I told you. You’re the only person I’ve told. Me and the gerbils have been going at it three weeks here in secret. You really are a pal. And remember, loose lips sink ships.
What I’ve also been doing all this time is making a lot of noises about how I support the free world and democracy and everything. I send out emails, letters, I make speeches, everybody in town has gotten to know I’m one of the good guys.
So next I’m going to set off a small underground nuclear device. And I think that will be okay.
A month later, I’m going to apply to the nuclear club, and I think they’ll let me in, if I have played my cards right. They do have a neat card room there I’m told. Also pool and billiards. Internet and TV. And massage and sauna. It’s all first class. And they tell me you have to wear a tie and jacket.
Well, I already did make a polite inquiry. No mention of who I am or anything. Just a simple inquiry about the rules and regulations and facilities and fees. The real great news is that there is no fee. If you’re in, you’re in. I told them I was just gathering information for a friend. I’d pass it along.
So my plan, is, and I have to repeat to you this is subject to change, to talk about the axis of evil and how we can’t let these little pissass dictatorship countries tell us what to do, and I’ll rally around the flag just tell me where and when, and then I’ll make a speech about how I am almost ready with a bigger nuclear bomb in the basement and if inspectors want to monitor what I’m doing as I finish, that is just fine because I’m one of the good guys. I’ll offer to play good guy bad guy, the United States being the good guy or Russia being the good guy and and I’ll be the bad guy inside the club with just a few nuclear weapons. I’ll tell the bad guys — and that includes Fred — that though I am a good guy, I’m in the club and I can keep the good guys from attacking any of the bad guys and all we need is a little cooperation. And I can do it. Because I’m a member of the club.
And then me and Putin and Blair and Bush will go down to the bar and have some margaritas. And if they tell me that what I’m doing makes them nervous, I’ll offer to abandon my nuclear program in exchange for massive economic aid, lifetime club privileges and a reciprocal peace treaty to protect me from Fred. If he attacks me, they attack him, that sort of thing. And if they’ll do all that, I’ll stand down.
I can do that.
Well, I have to go. Fed Ex is here. Packages of fertilizer, timers and fuses, and some gerbil food. Remember, don’t tell anybody about this just yet. I’ll let you know when the time comes.
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