Fresh Kills

Saw an interesting bit of trivia: Saudi Arabia's beheading schedule is computerized.

It's like something imagined in one of those made-for-video Revelationary movies that rich Fundavangelist preachers love to produce.

Big Hair Productions
is prideful to present...

SATAN'S BIG ADVENTURE!!!

It's big Big BIG!!!
See! 144,000 virgins!!!
See! Myriads of beheadings!!!
See! Hell expanding its borders!!!

Etc. Seems the Beast has a PC. Point is, the bad guys -- yes, even our close allies the, uh, Arabians -- enjoy the benefits of mechanization. Why, if we average our two civilizations together, it's almost the Industrial Revolution!

Which brings us to a related topic. A monument! A Nine Eleven Monument. What a super colossal idea! What sort of Monument, you query??? How about a sad little virgin wrought large and gazing wistfully out to sea? How about a ring of ethnically diverse children holding hands with soulful eyes focused on a single central point hovering in the middle distance? How about a fifteen-story mechanical bronze sunflower that always faces the sun? How about a gigantic green CRESCENT symbolizing the um inexcoriable passage of time while suggesting the uh completing arc of the lifecycle of the comity of um socio-economo-religical entities as they relate to huh multiethnicalositous perpendicularity?

Yes. While all of the above are really good ideas that I just made up, I have another suggestion -- impossible to execute now, even if we used computers, but a really good idea nevertheless. How about we ... leave the rubble in place! Perhaps we can jump into our Wayback machine, travel back to 9/12/01 and resolve to let reality speak its own mute eloquence? Clean up the neighborhood, clear out the asbestos and other sundry carcinogens, sop up the body fluids as is only fitting, but leave the broken concrete and twisted girders unmolested where they fell? Too raw, you say?

No. Just raw enough.

But that ship has sailed, that garbage scow, laden with 1,200,000 tons of dust and debris from The Pile that was the former World Trade Center. Sailed. Sailed in the form of countless dump trucks, you may remember, bound for Staten Island -- now that much larger an island. One point two million tons larger. Perhaps it will grow to be a new continent. Yes, we might feel some assurance that if the islamists have their way there shall be a sort of reverse Atlantis, a Brave Newer World rising from the troubled gray waves of our eastern shore, congealed from the dust of toppling landmarks like so many falling dominoes.

And this wonder the islamists will have performed, using our technology and their native genius for mayhem? What shall we call that new continent currently waiting to be coalesced from American blood and grit? (I might be using a metaphor. Maybe.) We'll call it ... Allahland!!! No, too West Coast. We'll call it ... Seventytwovirginistan!!! No, too gauche. We'll call it ... Saudi America!!!

Oy. What am I thinking? We won't call it anything. We won't be around anymore. There won't be any we. The dodo, the passenger pigeon and, uh, American culture -- which of these three is not like the others? Trick question.

And this fact, this clear and present fact, this self-evident truth -- that there is a death cult that wants us dead -- why, there should be some sort of Monument to this bit of datum and jetsam. It seems that important. A Monument not to commemorate the evaporated dead, but to bring the imperiled future into focus ... so that even rings of ethnically diverse children might see it.

You see, there is already a 9/11 Monument. It's on the leeward shore of Staten Island at the dump that received some megatons of demolition detritus from its former upscale Manhattan address. Guess what the name of that, uh, landfill is. Did you guess? Wrong. Okay, get ready. Since its opening in 1948, it's been named ... Fresh Kills.

Breaking Ground

Scenic Fresh Kills Memorial Park

Future Reality, Guaranteed

Too obvious for irony, isn't it. Fresh Kills Landfill and Nine Eleven Memorial Park. Sounds like prophecy to me. Maybe those big hair preachers are right. Or maybe somebody owns a Wayback machine.


J