08 May 2003 @ 9:47 PM
Bush and Blair nominated for Nobel Peace Prize.
Wage a war, get a peace prize? No way would the Nobel committee go for this one.
‘Sometimes it’s necessary to use a small and effective war to prevent a much more dangerous war in the future,’ Jan Simonsen, a right-wing independent in Norway’s parliament, told Reuters.
‘If nobody acted then Saddam Hussein could have produced weapons of mass destruction and, in five or 10 years, could have used them against Israel,’ he said.
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Here is a letter I composed for Simonsen:
Dear Jan Simonsen,
I am writing to commend you on your recent nomination of George W. Bush and Tony Blair for the Nobel Peace Prize. You are indeed a brave man to stand strong against the mindless pacifism that has left most of Europe impotent to confront evil. I salute you.
A newspaper quoted you the other day as saying that the war in Iraq “made it possible to create democracy and respect for human rights in a country which for so many years has been ruled by one of the worst dictators in modern times.” I came as close to tears as a man can come when I read that. As you so eloquently put it: “Sometimes it’s necessary to use a small and effective war to prevent a much more dangerous war in the future.”
I’ve heard many folks argue that trying to bring peace to the world by waging war is like trying to love a person by hating them. Yet I believe – and I have a feeling you’re on the same page as me on this one – that war and peace, like love and hate, are really two sides of the same coin. I think the great American president Teddy Roosevelt expressed this philosophy best with his dictum: “Walk softly, but carry a big stick.” I try to live my live by those words. Let me give you a “for-instance” from my personal life that will help clarify the immediate purpose of this correspondence.
I love my wife dearly, and most of the time our relationship is as peaceful as a big green field full of lilies. Just last weekend, however, our blissful marriage hit a rocky patch. You see, after a long Saturday night of hard drinking I like nothing better than to come home and have my way (an American euphemism for relations) with my wife. I admit that she’s usually less than enthusiastic about having sex under these circumstances – at three in the morning with me stinking drunk – but for me, the conquest is half of the fun. Something got into her the other night, however, that made her ornerier than usual (probably that Hillary Clinton book she’s been reading – I hope for your sake that it hasn’t been translated into whatever you speak in Norway). Anyhow, when I climbed up on top of her, instead of reluctantly succumbing to my will as usual, she kneed me in the groin, jumped out of bed, and screamed that if I came near her again that she’d cut my manhood (American for male genitals) off with a pair of hedge-clippers.
Actually, that’s just the story I told the police. Honestly, I don’t really remember if she mentioned hedge clippers or not. In fact, I know she has no hedge-clippers in the house, let alone the bedroom. The point is that I’ve seen the witch brandish other instruments that could slice off my genitals, like steak knives and scissors. This is how I saw it: if I laughed the whole thing off and just went to bed, what’s to stop her from getting up at the crack of dawn, driving down the Kmart and buying a pair of hedge-clippers with which to sever my manhood as I lay in a drunken stupor? If I hesitated, proof that she had hedge-clippers may have come too late, in the form of my castration.
So I struck pre-emptively. As she cowered in the corner and sobbed that she wanted to make up, I picked up a baseball bat. I walked softly across the room and then swung hard, shattering her front teeth with my big stick. She slumped to the floor in shock and awe.
The nosy neighbors heard the commotion and called the police. A half hour later, as the cops were walking me, dazed and handcuffed, out of my own house, I wondered at my predicament. After all, I had only stepped in to prevent my wife from doing something both of us would have regretted. As the cops attempted to restrain me, I yelled: “You’re arresting me for assault?! I should be nominated for the husband of the year award!”
They didn’t understand, but I knew you would.
So, I’m in a bit of a pickle (that’s an Americanism for legal trouble). Any chance you could offer me political asylum in Norway?
Chester Swantzkopf