JERUSALEM POST BLOG 27 – The Israeli-Palestinian conflict according to Scientology.

JERUSALEM POST BLOG 27 – The Israeli-Palestinian conflict according to Scientology.

chem trails unveiledIt’s funny how Skully and Mulder never dedicated any time to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Plenty of scope for conspiracy and yet… nothing. Which represents of course, in and by itself, a conspiracy. Time to investigate.

Coffee makes the mind race. It’s the little liquid crazy you need to face the idiosyncrasies of modern life. Especially the AM parts of it. Sometimes a caffeinated boost can, as cobwebs fly, bring you closer to truth. But to approach an issue, you must first get away from it. Invest some outstanding airmiles, or in this case; light-years.

That’s right, I’m going for the alien angle. It’s quite easy actually. You start by jotting down a few random key words, and start believing. Mine are; Condoleeza Rice, Chinese embassy, the serpent God, Higg’s Boson, gilded moccasins, and apple pie. Cargo hulls of the stuff. Do try this at home. After all, it’s not the truth that is out there, it’s a bunch of idiots who WILL believe any story that involves faster-than-light travel. Here we go;

Pigs do fly, goddamned! And if they don’t, I will make them.” Condoleeza slammed down the phone and began what history would record as ‘The Five-Week Pout’. She had another whiskey-coke as the plane heaved itself into the stratosphere. This week it’s “Yes, we’ll remove the checkpoints”, next week it’s “Okay, we’ll remove the ones we added since last week”. Friends like these… The Interstellar Council had balked at spending silly money on a custom-built Boeing-replica spaceship, but the machine proved well worth the tantrums.

Imagine actually ‘flying’ from Washington to Tel Aviv and back every frigging fortnight. No amount of time on the elliptical trainer could save you from the jetlag. Jet engines were a nifty proposition, archeologically speaking, but not if you had serious traveling to do, say, to the home planet. And video-conferencing was out ever since the Chinese had started tapping in. Sure, they managed to destroy the array in Belgrade a few years ago, but just as soon, a new installation had popped into the ether. God knows where. Unless…

Quetzalcoatl! Of course.” Count on the feathered serpent God to disappear for over three thousand years and sneak back unannounced. How could she have missed it? Condoleeza desperately needed some time off. Either that or a serious pay raise. “I need a pay Rice,” she’d joke. No one ever laughed. It was hard enough to work with humans, let alone on issues of cosmic import, but George Double-You? A man whose single redeeming quality was having a mother who understood how to bake a truly mind-stimulating apple pie?

Condoleeza,” he’d say, “what’s going on in the Middle East? Can’t you just tell them to stop shooting? I get phone calls from all these um, presidents, and prime minstrels. Sometimes áfter four PM. Can you believe that?” She’d almost bitten his head off. Literally. YOU get phone calls? I have a relay station implant because these stupid human bodies only have two ears and two arms and two armpits. God, I wonder how you guys ever managed to rub sticks together. Not to mention keep afloat a cosmetics industry.

Well, it’s complicated, Mr. President. You see, the Intergalactic Plenum, um, the Syrians are quite annoyed at the bombing of their Boson accelerator, I mean, suspected nuclear facility.” “The who with the what now?” “Don’t worry, Mr. President. I’m on it.” “Thank you. Sing me a lullaby?” A shudder went through Condoleeza as she tried to figure out why Quetzalcoatl was sticking his scaled nose where it most definitely didn’t belong. Sure, he’d once told the Aztecs he was going to come back, so why was he meddling in the Middle East then? Because the Aztecs no longer existed? That was his own damn fault. He should have warned them to ask proper ID from anyone they figured might be gods. Especially if they wore a crepe ruff and gilded moccasins. Idiots!

An electronic voice interrupted the vortex of thought. “Ms. Rice. We have docked with the Conference Ship.” She gulped down another whiskey. Straight. Ever since the Tunguska affair she never felt truly at ease in so-called ‘neutral space’. All members of the Plenum were there; Assad, the Chinese dude with the unpronounceable name, Kim Young Il, as always representing no one but himself, and a German MP. Green party of course.

As usual the Cosmic Council hadn’t bothered to send any backup for Condoleeza. Fine, she thought. I can handle ma bidness. “Greetings,” she shouted. It was considered inconsiderate to speak in any other manner at Conferences. “Greetings,” the members of the Galactic Plenum bellowed in unison.

Ms. Rice,” they continued, all in one voice, “why have your allies destroyed our Damascus research facility?”

Condoleeza rolled her eyes. As much as she was striving for a galactic truce, the Plenum couldn’t be allowed to develop a Boson power source. It would upset the balance of things, and when things got unbalanced,… well, you didn’t want to be around when that happened. She felt like eating each and every one of them. “Let us not mince words, dear colleagues. Why have YOU sought out the services of the feather serpent god?” It was hard to stress a word if you were already screaming the entire sentence. Condoleeza’s ability to do so made her feared and respected across the Galaxy.

A great confusion arose from their ranks. They threw up a thought-blocker between them and Condoleeza, and conferred amongst themselves for a minute. “Ms. Rice,” they finally choired, “we were going to ask you the exact same question…” They weren’t joking. She could tell. It was her turn to be confused. Condoleeza excused herself, took a breath, and started dialing, as calmly as she could manage. “George! Call Barbara ..-.. Do it now! Get off the Segway. ..-… Damned, I can get you one that hovers if you like, but for God’s sake hurry up. Tell your mother to heat up the oven…. I’ll be over before you can say ‘Sesame Street’. I need to think!” To be continued…


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