Hi Jim, thanks for writing back.

This is a bit long, but I believe you'll enjoy it.

 

Indeed, it is weirdness here. So much so that I decided to embrace the absurdity of it and wear my Mickey Mouse ears. I fixed the Mickey into a grinning skull and wrote "Embrace the Absurdity" on the back. Everyone got it...

 

And that's what it is, absurd. This place could have streets paved in gold...and they know it. But they won't put down their self centered bickering long enough to let it happen. And then there's the "Frankenstein Factor" which has turned loose god knows how many guys on the landscape who are simply whacked out on the violence and listen to no leader. I've taken to describing it as being hooked on "War Crack." Of course certain facets of the cultural lore make for ready made enablers and keep the cycle going indefinitely.

Then there's the fuel shortages, gas lines, rival gangs taking over the few working petrol stations, black market fuelers selling watered down gas from milk jugs at 5 times the going price, busted water mains that don't get fixed, troops, checkpoints and imposter police everywhere. Hatfield vs. McCoy vendettas in full swing with no end in sight, secret hit squads from Iran running guns, money and training to everyone, neighborhood militias cleansing door to door, power lines torn down and looted for the copper, pipelines torched daily, snipers stalking the rooftops who apparently just like to shoot people at random anymore and anyone with a brain and some money beating feet just as fast as they can...if they can.

Sarajevo barely came close and that got ug-ly the last couple years of the war. It's kinda like what New Orleans would have probably come to resemble, had no one come to get everybody out.

And then, in the middle of it all...some guy cruises past on a pristine Harley. Kids plug in down in the basement and crank out Metalica covers, heavily armed "Soldiers from the Moon" (GIs) escort whole squadrons of 6th graders through the streets so they can make it to their final exams, the old water taxi guys break out their boats and start using the river again cause the bridges got blown up by suiciders in a R truck. Florists sell flowers, kids get married and an old lady returns a Nintendo cartridge to the shopkeeper cause the kids already have that game.

It's the human pigsty in all it's nasty, wondrous glory. Probably what most major US cities will look like when the LE sets in.

And across the way, the Persians cast a flinty glare towards the dusty date groves in Diyalah...past the rising smoke of the refinery there. They load boats at night on the banks of the Al Shaat waterway in the Tigris/Euphrates delta. Grim men with dark, chiseled features pass thick wads of money across the drab tops of ammunition crates. Cigarettes glow in the dark as an oarsman slaps a mosquito. A few days later, someone, somewhere dies.

Their music is in the market stalls, the kebab stands take Persian money at the pilgrimage sites, their "humanitarian" workers hand out aspirins at the local clinics, and out in the reeds and under the palms, squads of their best operatives mix and match with whoever will do their bidding. Their clerics flit through the shadows of the Shiite mosques, with briefcases.

Soon enough they will cast their gaze across the sand and shimmering heat waves towards the south. And there will be fear amongst the pampered ones of the Gulf States...a sweat breaking fear that will soak through their spotless robes and keep them from their sleep, calling again to make sure the flat in Chelsea has been swept.

Their ancient Hannibal will be at the god damned gate...with an eye for glory and a very long memory, lining up for the ultimate coup...hitting the Great Satan where he lives. All for the everlasting glory of Muslim peoples everywhere...and a shitload of "Chindia" gold.

And then it will happen...a car with Israeli tags will run over a Palestinian cat and the uproar will begin, just a bit higher pitched this time because of a slender blade softly, quietly pressed against a Saudi back.

A bankrupt US fleet will stand by helplessly by as the taps get turned off...or turned east.

And that is when the shit will hit the fan...

Somehow I don't think who Paris Hilton's cell mate is is going to matter much anymore when this goes down.

That's just one scenario. There's probably at least a dozen that end the same way. And until we pressured Switzerland into halting the shipments, god knows how much physical gold they took delivery of. These cats are very, very clever, utterly ruthless and have stocked their larder for the long winter ahead.

And the scary thing? I started running into them back in 2003 on the first trip...before we had even moved into the city. Oh yes, we did for them what they could never do for themselves...open the gateway into the heart of Iraq and the west bank of the Persian Gulf.

Now, don't get me wrong, there are those who know what's afoot and there's some very serious cloak and dagger going on around here. I just hope that someone at the tippy-top "gets it" and this is a war to buy time, to restructure, and not someone's idea of a permanent fix. The "find more oil" fix and they're just keeping it on the down low so the markets don't spas out.

Militarily speaking? We could soak up casualties at this rate for another 20yrs. (and make no mistake, that's spoken by someone who's lost more than a couple friends here, so I don't say that lightly, like some neo-condocrat at a cocktail party in DC) There's no way these Wily Coyote, Iraqi roadside bombmaker assholes could budge us. The NVA these cats are not.

These clowns are really good at blowing up trucks, but they steer clear of pitched battles with gunn'd up grunts anymore. They make the nightly news real messy, which is rather more effective than overrunning a FOB anyway. But what they do best is stick it to each other, loot the treasury and generally fuck up anything worthwhile that they touch. That's why they're known derisively in these parts as "The Mexicans of the Middle East" (which chaps their ass to no end). There are a handful of exceptions, but they're few and far between.

That's why their status as Persian pawns is so obvious, but even that's no easy ride for the wily Iranians, as these fools shift and shit back and fourth and every which way against each other and everyone in between. Hence, the Persians are just going to bet on every horse in the race until the Yankees go home...then they'll pour it on with the strongest of the 3-4 left standing. Probably SCIRI and the Badr Brigades in the end, and they'll keep the Al Qaeda elements strung along to threaten the softies down south with.

Anyway, pardon the length, but I figured you might enjoy some of that imagery straight from the field.

Do let me know if there's anything you need checked into regards the situation here, I'll be boots down for a while longer.

Best regards,
jim