Dear Dirty America

(editor’s note: Not everything mentioned by the author in this transcribed conversation is truly part of his belief system. Some of the claims written below are intentionally shocking and only meant to titillate DDA’s burgeoning readership in North Korea)  

I was talking to an old friend over coffee. He’s a veteran from the Iraq invasion. He calls it a genocide. But not very loudly, because he knows veterans are being targeted by Janet Napolitano, the Moose of Preventing Terrorism. That’s what Napolitano’s called behind the doors of the DHS. My friend also knows veterans are being watched extra close by the FBI.

My friend has short cut blond hair. His head is slightly wider than most heads I’ve seen. It’s hardly noticeable, unless you know to look for it. His eyes are blue, but they get bluer when he’s fired up about a particular subject matter: mostly social issues or politics.

I told him about Brandon Raub. Had he heard of him? Raub was snatched from his home unexpectedly by FBI agents. His crime? They wouldn’t tell him until later. He’d posted controversial pro-revolution, anti-establishment posts on his Facebook page. When the authorities knocked on his door, Raub answered in his shorts. They bent his arms behind his back, cuffed him, and stuffed him in the back of their unmarked car.

Days later, Raub was ordered by a judge to hang dry in a nut ward. For subversive thoughts. He would be re-educated by therapists, and probably pills and electrotherapy, too, while he was there. My friend had not heard of Raub, but when I told him, he slammed his fist into the metal table outside the coffee shop.

“Those cocksuckers! Pigs!” he said.

You people went to war to supposedly fight for our freedoms. Now, none of us have them, I said. Time to shit your pants and send the underwear to the White House. That’s the best way for them to get the sentiment.

“That whole thing was a sham. Iraq. Afghanistan. They killed a bin Laden clone in Pakistan. No disrespect to Seal Team 6,” he said. “But then the team was hoarded into an old military helicopter. Mysteriously, it crashed. They all died.”

Convenient, I said.

“For many reasons,” he said. “First, some of them probably knew they’d bagged a fake Osama. Secondly, some of them weren’t happy Obama took all the credit for it, even though he posed as giving it to Team 6.”

Be careful, I said, so the FBI doesn’t come to get you and tuck you away in a nut ward. I’m afraid they’ll do it to me, and I’m not even a veteran. I’ve contacted my lawyer, six of my closest friends, and family members in case I’m taken for having subversive thoughts.

“I’ll watch your back, brother, and you mine,” he said.

Meanwhile, if you hadn’t heard, I said, here’s some good news for Southern California: Galpin Ford is the number one Ford dealer in the world. So things are looking up for them. And that’ll trickle down to us. That’s partly what you people invaded Iraq for. To keep sales up. I’m glad to have you watching my back. I’ll look out for you, too.

We shook hands to seal it. I’m afraid to even lounge at home in my underwear, I told him. I wouldn’t have time to pull on a respectable pair of pants and shirt if the FBI busted my door to pieces. Plus, if I would make frantic moves to dress myself, they’d take that as hostility or threatening behavior.

“You’d have sixty gun shot wounds. You’d die alone on the floor. Or, if you had a family, they’d let you bleed out on the carpet in front of them.”

Jose Guerena, I said. Supposedly he was selling marijuana. After they murdered him in front of his family, and refused Guerena medical help for an hour, they failed to turn up any evidence. Well shit, just a misunderstanding.

“You have less to worry about since you’re not on Big Janet’s muff list. Being a veteran is a crime in this country,” he said. “And the FBI loves to terminate one whenever they can. It’s a notch in the old bedpost. Live shooting practice, against a real enemy.”

It’s as honorable to the FBI, I said, as killing a hundred beautiful black bears in the Sierra Nevadas was to Duncan the Bear Slayer.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

Never mind now! I said. We’re on to something here. Don’t veer us off into useless history. Let’s make sure we understand how much Napolitano wants to see your blonde-haired, veteran’s head hanging in her trophy case.

“We’re all in danger,” he said. “This country is less stable than Iraq. Look at Chicago’s violence. All the shootings, torturing, government spying, secret arrests, an open policy to detain Americans without due process. The NDAA bill was signed into law by the president on December 31, 2011. Why would any president sign such a controversial piece of legislation on New Year’s Eve, unless he didn’t want people to be paying attention to it?”

I don’t even feel comfortable being naked in my apartment anymore, I said. That’s how I like to be, especially when it’s hot outside. I’ll have pictures taken of me being arrested, completely naked before law enforcement and God, and handcuffed. What’s my crime? I’ll say. But nobody will tell me. Which Facebook post was it? Which article? Which rant? Did somebody call me in? He’s got long hair. He reads the Book of Joel out loud. He listens to recitations of the Qur’an. Dear Lord, I said, ain’t no time to get dressed if they target you.

“We’re in serious trouble,” he said.

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