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Instant Karma

I’ve basically avoided writing anything serious about what’s going on in Lebanon. Well, a stray question popped into my head this morning while watching the news coverage, and in finding the answer I learned something that, accompanying everything else I’ve been seeing, hearing and reading, made today the day to let it all loose.

I have no problem whatsoever with the idea of the Israelis smashing that whole country flat on its collective ass, if that’s what it’ll take to beat the Hezzbos into a Judeo-Christian version of dhimmitude. When they first reared their heads by blowing up two hundred plus Marines back in 1982, it’s what I wanted Reagan to do; feed them a lesson that would take a generation to digest and recover from enough just to scrape their asses off the floor, and hard code the message straight into their children’s DNA:

don’t you dare even think you can fuck with us and get away with it.

Instead, Reagan turned tail and ran, leaving the job of dealing with Hezzbo something for the Jews and diplomats to do. The maddog ayatollahs and mullahs in Iran, who had declared war on the United States by invading and occupying the US Embassy in Tehran in 1979, releasing their prisoners only when Reagan entered the White House–for fear that he really was the “crazy cowboy” his domestic and European opponents considered him to be, not a weakling like Jimmah Carter–sat up and took notice.

Clinton repeated the sin of turning tail in Somalia, when a pack of punkassed Islamist gangbangers desecrated our soldiers in the “Black Hawk Down” debacle. A few other attacks occurred, and again and again America did not swing an overpowering, retaliatory fist. Islamists were now certain the American tiger was made of paper; its leaders didn’t have the stomach to fight. Its people recoiled at the sight of their soldiers’ dead bodies, while the Islamists were willing to bathe in their childrens’ blood if that’s what defeating the Great Satan would take. Launch all the cruise misslies you wish; we don’t care. We’re fighting with one thousand knives. And we never brought our Big Gun to bear and end it right there.

European action wasn’t a worry to them, because Europe’s “multicultural” elites, who held America’s military and economic power in a contemptuous, jealous disdain, were allowing the EU to become Eurabia without so much as a shot being fired, too busy bitching about anything American. And even today, with the Lisbon and London body counts as proof made plain, they refuse to face the threat.

In 2000 Israel finally acceded to internal and international pressure and quit the Lebanese battlefield. Similar to Poppa Bush’s idiotic decision to not finish the job and take Saddam out in the ’91 Gulf War, Israel–whose leaders knew better–acquiesced to the idea that diplomacy had currency with this brand of enemy.

In all these cases, the opponents took such retreats as signs of weakness, and went right back to what they were all about: killing the infidels.

Lebanon’s Druze, Christians and Sunnis–and especially the feckless, fangless, UN “Oil for Food” fuckwits–allowed Hezzbo, aided by Baby Bashir’s Baathists and the maddog Iranian mullahs, to take over Lebanon’s southern region and create their own state within a state, importing thousands of missiles, rockets and other materials, whose only purpose was to resume their war with Israel, while at the same time giving them a seat at the political table. It was as stupid as the idea of Sinn Fein not being part of the IRA, or Arafat suing for peace while pizzerias and shopping malls in Tel Aviv were getting blown up. No bird flies without both wings–political, military–beating in concert. And the diplo assholes asked us to buy the snake oil story these were seperate entities. The single biggest reason I hated Bubba Clinton was his treating Gerry Adams and Arafat as heads of states, not being told “eat shit and die” until they turned in their bombs, guns and thugs.

Iran went about constructing a nuclear weapons program to unleash on the Great Satan and its minions–which in their minds they are still at war with since the Embassy invasion of 1979–while their Hezzbo and Hamas proxies dealt with Satan’s Son, Zion. Please, until you can name their head of state in 1922, don’t tell me any shit about “Palestinians,” because the geopolitic subset didn’t fucking exist. They’re the Arab Romany; the people their kinsman won’t claim.

And until September 11, 2001, the American public, thanks to the fucked to the gills partisan politics and “screw the rest of the world, Pam Anderson’s got new boobs!” media delivery practiced here, were oblivious to all of it. For roughly two weeks after that attack–not even a decent wake–the country seemed to come together. But anyone with a brain knew it wouldn’t last. Too much bile from Bush/Gore 2000 was poisoning the mix. Too much Vietnam-era hippydippy horseshit was hanging offstage, waiting for its chance at a second act. So we are where we are today, with everyone touting what’s going on in regards to the next election, instead of the next American city getting blowed the fuck up if we don’t kill these fuckers dead where they stand.

Anyway, back to the reason I started writing this. While watching CNN this morning a vid clip showed Lebanese ambulances, and my brain instantly kicked up a name from my memory. He was a guy I met while attending the College of SI, back in the beginning of the Nineties. I was writing for the student rag, killing time while I ransacked their English department, hoping to hone my writing chops (with no care about getting a degree), and watched this immigrant Lebanese kid get totally screwed out of winning a student government election because he didn’t have a good enough grasp of the English language to realize how his opponents were twisting “Robert’s Rules.” I wrote up a piece about it, and we became friends, though he told me he was not an “immigrant,” but a “refugee,” of the Lebanese civil war.

One day he asked me to help him do a thing for public access TV, about our NYC Councilboy, Freddie Cerrullo. He’d managed to score a job (I don’t know if was paid or freebie) with our Congress chickie, Susan Molinari, and was ingratiating himself with her father Guy’s politcal machine, “Team Molinari,” of which Cerrullo was a foot soldier. He impressed the hell out of me because he seemed driven to succeed here, and had figured out the levers to move to gain his success. He also drove like a stone maniac.

“Where the fuck did you learn to drive?!” I asked as we barreled down blocks with abandon no NYC cabbie I’d ever seen display.

“Beirut,” he said. “I drove an ambulance.”

His name is Kamel Wazne (bottom left). He’s Hezzbo, straight to the (scroll down a bit) bone.

Die in a fire, Kamel. Because if you–at the time I knew you a seemingly not-dumb, pragmatic kind of guy (who also could slut with the best when you’d bat yer brown eyes at some “infidel” chick and make her knees go weak)–are on their side, then you’re no longer on my side, and that country of yours is fucked in my eyes, and deserves to be burned to the ground.

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