I'm talking about that eternal piece of shit called Afghanistan. A new book by John Sweeny (reviewed here: http://www.newstatesman.com/books/2008/10/afghanistan-british-taliban) gives a nice overview of the rotten history of that dung heap, populated by a wretched race of goat and boy rapists. For something more entertaining (and damn good history, too) pick up the first book of the "Flashman" series by George MacDonald Fraser. A ripping yarn and nothing like you've ever read. Our boy, Flashman (see here in a later adventure) slinks, cads, and otherwise screws himself through the better part of British colonial history. Fraser's depiction of the utter demise of Elphinstone's force at the hands of the Afghan cutthroats (except for Flashy, of course) was enlightening when I first read it ten or so years ago. Great stuff.
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I've often thought that the road to hell is neither straight nor short. Even after death I think that it includes a detour. One is reborn to a lifetime spent as a native afghani - a hard life spent surviving in earth's own geological asshole, ideologically chained to a harsh and unforgiving religion, married to a woman you rarely see - all while 72 virgins, ready/willing/able farm animals and the occasional pre-pubescent lad dance through your dreams and give you hope for the future.
Death eventually arrives, and your soul aches for the paradise it has been promised. As you walk through the doors of hell, it takes a seeming eternity of seconds to realize the magnitude of your delusions and to fully understand your fate. You fall to your knees with the sound of deep and maniacal laughter ringing in your ears...
Or you move to Flint, Michigan.
Quite frankly, the fact that Bush and McCain let the Democrats run wild with, "We should be waging the War on Terror in Afghanistan and not Iraq," proved to me that neither of them, much less the D's, had the time, the training or the inclination for strategic thought.
If the D's have us going full out in Afghanistan, like their Soviet buddies did during the late 70's and 80's, then we shall be brought to our knees globally, which is all part of their plan, anyway.
I threw Fraser's last work on Flashman ("Flashman and the Tiger") into my backpack for reading in the blind this past weekend, when I wasn't fiddling with my binoculars or nodding off. Page 67 is a reminder why I like our old boy, Flashy:
"The sudden shedding of her clobber just when she'd been pretending that she'd have to be coaxed or ravished, is the kind of lecherous trick that wins my heart every time, and when we came to grips she behaved like the demented stoat aforesaid. Not as skillful as many, perhaps (though you must make allowances for the limited space in a sleeping berth), but a good bruising rough-rider, full of running, and as heartily selfish as royal fillies invariably are, intent on nothing but their own pleasure, which suits me admirably: there's nothing like voracity in the fair sex, especially when she's as strong as a bullock, which she (Kralta)was. Not unlike that gigantic Chinese brigandess who half-killed me on the road to Nanking, but civilized, you understand, and willing to chat afterwards, in a frank, easy way which you'd not have expected from her lofty style and figurehead."
A passage that might well be titled "Musings on the Joy of 'Strange'", its reading made bittersweet by the amount of time passed since most on this board have experienced its delight...
Speak for yourself.
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