Nark: "Excuse me, uhh teacher? The boys are fighting during recess again…"
Mumbling teacher from Peanuts: (in garbled voice) "Time out children, go to your corners. …and since I’m going to call your Mommy to tell her about your behavior, get ready for a spanking when you get home from school today…"
This is all referring to this "non-nuclear" arms race we appear to be getting into with
Cool explosion though, huh? Check that out! Wow!!! ...oh, uh, excuse my digressing...
Testosterone levels are on the rise, as we all know it's typically a bunch of cocks that are misbehaving in these situations involving things such as missiles and explosions. It seems like wherever there's boys, eventually something is gonna get blown up. It all begins with the ants under the magnifying glass, then ladyfingers, then black cats... then bottle rockets... then those sparkling spinny things... then it's the Roman candles... then the M-80s... and you know where it goes from there... (none of that being from personal experience, of course.)
So the international political opera continues… Oh boy! ...and you might ask how do we make the drama go away? Take away the boy behavior, which means taking away the boys. Maybe that means "cutting it off" in this opera. Now a castration live on stage, that's something I'd like to see, but then the opera would be over, and we'd be devoid of the musings of missiles and things that blow up.
However, I must submit that a side of me is very amused at this silly turn of behavior in the sandbox. The “Daddy” labeling actually conjures up imagery of a silly statement made by Pedro Martinez during the Red Sox-Yankees ALCS a few years back, descriping his previous pitching woes against New York by saying “The Yankees are my Daddies” which led to NY fans chanting “Whose your Daddy?!” for the rest of the series—so sorry Comrades, the Daddy label has already been taken by Pedro.
…and this is what really puts me in stitches. The Russian government, in the most eloquent fashion worthy of only a used car salesman, felt compelled to reveal a “selling point” of the bomb as being “Hey, it’s friendly to the environment.”
Prospective “Daddy bomb” client: “Huh? Caaaaan you saaaaay that again?”
Russian gov’t: “The bombza is-a friendly to ze environment-a.” (in Russian accent that appears to be more Italian)
Prospective “Daddy bomb” client: “REALLY now. Is that so? …but what about the environment that’s incinerated within the blast zone? Is it friendly to that?”
Russian gov’t: “If you-a no-a get it, I can’t-a explain it to you-a. It says here in da brochure-a that it’s-a friendly to ze environment-a.” (pointing a shaking finger at a crumpled piece of paper in the other hand)
Prospective “Daddy bomb” client: “Uh huh, I see. So then does it come with a chrome or bronze finish? I want to impress the ladies.”
Russian gov’t: “Whatever you-a want-a, but that will take-a more time and cost you extra.”
Prospective “Daddy bomb” client: (quickly checking calendar on a PDA) “How much longer?”
Russian gov't: “Thirteen-a days.”
Prospective “Daddy bomb” client: “Whoa! Thirteen days?!?! That's waaaaaay too long... wait a minute... wasn't that the name of that movie about that Haitian Missile Crisis back in the 30s or something like that? Is this some kind of sick joke?”
Russian gov't: “Thirteen-a days.”
Prospective “Daddy bomb” client: (starts walking away) “Hmmmm… I’ll have to get back to you after I talk to the Mommy bomb people.”
Russian gov’t: (chasing the client off the Daddy bomb lot) “Wait-a! Can we make-a deal?”
Oh Yuri, or Boris, or whatever your name is, get ahold of yourself.
We’ll definitely need to stand by and see how the next act of this opera unfolds… that is, after the naughty little boys get spanked for fighting in the sandbox. S