by user Feralmet
Bonny and Clyde's Last Great Heist (in which Clyde gets oil all over his good suit)
Chris Shaw, feral metallurgist
Funny ol' thing. When someone steals an object, we have clearly defined rules to deal with that. The crime is fairly obvious.
But when someone steals a government and constitution, it can be just one tiny bit at a time. As we have seen in the United States, revolution can take decades. The US revolution is a "modern" phenomenon - quite sophisticated. So subtle in fact, that a whole generation has not noticed it's "creep" during their lifetime. There was a sudden accelleration after the Kennedy hit-and-run, but we soon got used to the faster velocity.
Along comes the Bush Administration; impetuous, bold, impatient to get on with it. An assorted grab-bag of old Iran-Contra crims, cold-warrior thugs and destitute war profiteers (down to their last billion) pile into George's jalopy. Together they put the pedal to the metal, and the Revo-Limo-Lution barrels down the highway with a tankful of what's left of the world's hi-octane gasoline.
We're not sure who was driving when they collided with the WTC, but in the immortal words of George, "That dude was one crap driver!" History may show that they all had a hand on the wheel, but we've yet to find a traffic cop with the cojones to hand 'em a ticket.
After a visit to the panel-beater, where the War-Mobile is refurbished at taxpayer expense, it's off to sunny Afghanistan to mend the fences around the poppy fields.
In Afghanistan, the moonshiners are re-instated and the transport contract awarded to Air Rendition Inc (TM), a wholly owned subsidiary of War On Terror Inc (TM). Thanks to false-flag moustaches, the bootleggers pass for overzealous rendition agents in the countries through which the hell-dust must pass unmolested.
With economic fundamentals established, our heroes now face the grim drive across Death Valley to the only remaining hi-octane 24 hr service station on the planet, the oilfields of MiddleEastIstan. In that benighted place, every bowser is guarded by a guy with a diaper around his head and a kalashnikov in his dish-dasha. Even worse, those brown-skinned guys won't accept IOUs ($US).
No need to tell of that horrendous journey. The gang has a pact to avoid cannibalism if possible, but there are losses along the way. Spain and Japan lose their grip and fall off the running board, while Australia Blu-Tacks itself to the gas tank with promises of army bases, cheap uranium and liquid natural gas.
We'll leave the story of our New Revolutionaries here. It's time to roll the credits and fade to black, as they try to plunder the few bowsers that they manage to overwhelm. The War-Mobile isn't nearly refilled and they can forget the spare jerry-cans, that's for sure. Suddenly the luggage rack takes a direct hit and the sky is filled with a storm of US dollars and treasury bonds that reduces visibility to three feet and pollutes everything for miles around....
Will they yet make good their escape?
So with a vision reminscent of The Alamo, it's time to bid the crazy crew adieu. It's time to re-invent the world to face the energy-lean future which is to come. Time to teach philosophy, ethics and language to our grandchildren once again, as we close the curtain on the death-throes of the age of oil.
RIP - please!