Haiku

two bottles

at the bottom of the hill

what a night it was!

kanda district, tokyo-

a million stories, none worth discovering, possibly even my own! swept up in a late afternoon hysteria of mass consumerism. what does it all really mean, who is it all really for?
somehow i am hungrier than when i went into that indian place. how is that possible? i wanted to wreak havoc upon the gents, but decided to check my angelino tendencies at the door.
truly it was books i was after and books i shall have! a shop called out to me through the fray and i heeded the call. a liberated copy of treasure island from a second-hand dealer pressed tightly in hand. i was most happy to have a childhood friend along for the ride.
ah, it is strange what the mind choses to remember and forget. has it been that long? the solace of words, the communion of writer and reader, could anything be more sacred? as i ride the rails back to my little box, the words leap off the page. i am not a child any longer, but my sense of adventure surely has not dulled with the passing of time. part of me needed to find something recognizable, just for now. maybe it's enough to recollect what was and appreciate what is.
a million stories swirling about tonight, but only one will suit me.

sweet pedophile

sweet pedophile

(music by neil diamond!)

when i was a child
i liked playing house and doctor
it was so much fun
now that i'm getting old
so much older
i find myself
playing those games with you

hands, reaching out
touching boys
touching girls

sweet pedophile
little ones never felt so good
i've been blind
never thought that i could
get away with murder

now i'm on the run
from angry parents
you know it's been so hard
lucky for me
there are schools and churches
right in your back yard

hands, reaching out
touching boys
touching girls

sweet pedophile
little ones never felt so good
i've been blind
never thought that i could
get away with murder

seeing phasers to stun

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

The Hollow Men, T. S. Eliot (1925)

When I first started school in the nether-regions of the mid 70’s, the older boys used to play "Star Trek” during recess. For some reason the administration had the brilliant oversight of placing preschoolers like myself in regular rotation with kids up to 3rd grade, little fish in a big pond. I’ll save you some of the harrowing stories for now.
I started mid-year and wasn’t quite up to speed with the older boys you see. One fine day I asked dumbly if could I play with them. I remember the leader’s name was Daniel who played Captain Kirk and he nearly wet himself with laughter. No self -respecting third grader would be caught dead running around with a preschooler.
“You need one of these” Daniel said holding up his Starfleet badge, communicator, and his phaser. I was wearing a t-shirt with Kirk and Mr. Spock, surely that was enough to assuage their qualms of being dedicated enough.
“Ooooh, neat-o, can I try it?” I asked awestruck.
“No way runt, get your own”.
“Can I use a pretend phaser?”
“Get real kid”! Daniel said as he walked off laughing to rejoin his waiting friends. I sat there on the curb as the impersonating Captain Kirk went off to do battle with the Klingnons. The real Captain Kirk wouldn’t act like that to a friendly alien life form I thought.

****************************************************************************************************************

You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.

John Lennon, Imagine (1971)


For this reason I can sympathize with the Iran’s nuclear program. Perhaps the difference is that Iran isn’t a new kid on the block and perhaps deserves a bit more respect than I did, but I know how they must feel standing on the sidelines while other countries call all the shots in their homeland. It must be infuriating to be an age-old society and have these youngish upstarts make all the rules. It’s no fun watching the big boys swagger around menacingly with those weapons in your own back yard.

You got to admit, a nuclear weapon is the ultimate bargaining chip, no two ways about it. It’s instant Sir status without having to go to Buckingham Palace to get knighted. You’ll never have to wait for a table at a chichi restaurant again. The Iranians have arrived at the simple conclusion-if the system doesn’t work then build a different one or work outside of it. Could you really blame them? The world is a fucked up place!

It seems like America, for all it’s so-called good intentions in the world, has done nothing in the Middle East, but to stir up hatred like an overturned hornets nest. Is it any wonder why there seems to be a consolidation of forces and an emerging consensus against American foreign policy in the region? Is it just as easy to assume if one Muslim nation acquires WMD, then it will become readily available to all so-called rouge nations? Is a friend of an enemy also a fiend? Is an enemy of a friend necessarily… ah you see?

So, just what does joining the Nuclear Club entail? Of course it is a mass suicide machine where both sides lose irrevocably. It undermines every principle of war, as if war has any! There is no divvying of land, capture livestock, raping of women, the acquisition resources, no separation of frontline and front door, no consideration for civilians- especially women, children, or the old, or taking of slaves- all is charmingly decimated. How can you pillage the village when there’s nothing left? What a fitting end to the human race, poof! Who’s going to write conqueror tales, when there’ll be nothing left to write on? Ha!

Of course having nuclear weapons mirror the norms of reciprocation that we experience on a daily basis within any intimate relationship. For instance, if you receive a nuclear weapon, it’s kind of like a love letter- you feel almost obligated to send one back. If anything that comes with power, it’s a shared understanding of what good-manners are really all about.
Perhaps Iran tires of sitting at the little kids table, for who wants to be treated as such forever? Isn’t that what we should all have? a place at the table? America is going to have to wake up to a few harsh realities in this dawning age. Once one nuclear weapon is out there, making another and selling them is going to make us all fast friends, like it or not! . .
With trying to be the parent of the world, there always will be that crazy teenager who will want to raid the liquor cabinet and take the car for a spin at 3 in the morning. How to deal with these growing pain problems? How many parents want to keep their babies forever?

It’s not really a question of if, but when the WMDs will be available on a trans-global scale to rich and poor countries alike. Therefore it should behoove us to act a bit more tact in these critical junctures, lest we forget what happened to SS officers at the liberation of certain death camps. For memory is long, especially when it is written in blood. It’s the bad parents who get left in homes and never visited. What happens to abused children when they grow up? Do you think angry children just forgive and forget what their parents did to them?

So how does one solve the problem of world peace? Quite simple actually- in an evolved, ideal world, every country would have a nuclear bomb. Think how foreign policy would change if big countries couldn’t just couldn’t charge into smaller ones willy-nilly with oil thirstiness under the guise of liberation? It would be like giving Rhode Island the same amount of electoral votes as Texas! It would be like opening a ghetto in Beverly Hills!
And if for some unforeseeable reason, hot fighting did break out in some region, well we’d all be the direct beneficiaries. How long does it take for fallout to happen or for a cloud to circum navigate the planet? Hence, the expression “your brother’s keeper” would take on global proportions. We’d all be good girls and boys now, wouldn’t we? No more bullying kids for their lunch money or excluding them from games, simply because they don’t have the right credentials
. I feel this is really at the heart of the U.N.’s argument that we can’t allow WMD to fall into the hands of so-called rouge nations. I’ll bet money, these were the same kids who wouldn’t let you play Star Trek on the playground because you didn’t have a fucking phaser! They'll never tell you they want to play their games at someone else's expense, for if they share the ball, someone actually might get good at it and beat them on our own field.
What is it about power that makes it so hard to share? Is it because we are so sure that the rest of the world is as fucked up as we pretend not to be? that we can’t even imagine what would happen if "they" had an nth of our potential to do good or bad? It’s interesting to note how closely respect and manners are linked.
What’s the ultimate upshot of shared power, be nice to me or we’ll all die? Seems as good an argument as any I’ve heard thus far! It seemed to have worked between the U.S.S.R. and the U.S. for the duration of the Cold War, unless of course you want to discount Korea and Vietnam! But they didn’t have nuclear weapons. How would those engagements hapepned if either country had WMDs? Why aren’t we charging into North Korea now do you suppose? Eh? Why aren’t we spreading the doctrine of a free democracy in Pakistan or China? Eh, eh?


Needless to say I was never able to become a true trekkie after that little experience. Gene Roddenberry’s vision of a multi-cultural mission into the outer regions of space for the good of humanity and the universe were apparently lost on the third graders of Lindsy Christian School, La Mirada, CA.
Of course what rendered Star Trek obsolete was one of the most dysfunctional family stories of all time, Star Wars. Wasn’t it Episode V where a bigger, badder father tries to kill his own fledgling son because he won’t be turned to the dark side? Sound familiar anybody?
After seeing Star Wars as a 5 year-old child, there was no looking back. I entered Kindergarten knowing the score. I hung up my communicator and phaser for a light saber and started using the force!

homogenous milk testing

I know the expression “commitment to excellence” is a much maligned, clichéd term in the west; rarely ever hitting the mark of that ascribed target. However, the Japanese subscribe whole-heartedly to this credo of self-abandonment and I can say without reservation they go beyond the call of duty in the pursuit of their perspective goals.
Far be it for me to get down on a healthy work ethic, however there is such a thing as over-working. It’s easy to take swipes at the Nihon-gin, those entries write themselves. However, I feel a serious problem of epidemic proportions has infected the Japanese population that deserves their full attention.
For the past month, angelic strains have flooded the halls before, during, and after school. A piece of advice I recall from some years back from music lessons was to learn a piece, but allow it to have its life as well. There’s such a thing as taking the life out of a piece by over-rehearsing. There’s life and then there’s art, but neither one are much good without the other.
One thing I’m coming to suspect about over-achievers is a collective inferiority complex gnawing away at the group conscience. You have to ask yourself, how good is good enough and why will no amount of practice ever suffice? Obviously that book hasn’t hit these shores yet.

Case in point being the annual Cultural Arts Festival at my last place of employment. It’s wasn’t even noon and I was in need of some toothpicks to prop up my eyelids. Bright and early Saturday morning is a blow below the belt on most peoples’ score sheet, not here apparently. As I surveyed the school gymnasium, I was astounded by the number of cam-corders, families in the fold-up chairs, and generated enthusiasm at 9 in the morning.
Madness may have many definitions, but a loophole that researchers have made for themselves seems to be if you know a situation is mad, you yourself are somehow magically extricated from the equation. However, sometimes our lab coats can be dirtied and we unwittingly become part of the experiment.
Being asked to judge musical performances is one such a task. Not only do I pass the same students daily rehearsing before and after school. I will have to live with them knowing I may not have chosen their particular team.
Barely out the gate, I am becoming slightly drawn having to sit through a three identical choral renditions of “Song is my Soul” and “Let’s Search for Tomorrow”. The last title sounded as though it belonged in a musical adaptation of a Samuel Beckett play. I guess you’re either of a particular mind that it’ll never get here, that it will, or you just don’t give a toss. Wait, that’s the title of a soap opera on daytime American television! Ouch!
The real problem arises when I’m asked to make a choice of the best performance. I almost feel like one of those milk tasters who do random quality control checks and spit into a sieve at the end of each swish around the palate, “Yes, I can say without a doubt, this milk is homogenous”.
I don’t know if it’s general fatigue, but I honestly couldn’t distinguish one performance from the next. I just sat through the same song three times for each grade and had to decide who gets the cigar. It seems as though the third group always has an unfair advantage and invariably does better, not because they were necessarily, it just falls closer to when I have to cast my ballots.
The last triad of performances are the third graders, which happens to be Handal’s “Hallelujah”. It’s slightly discomforting to hear it for the first time sung with such conviction, but without belief in the message-if that makes any sense. They are so adamant about keeping religious views at bay, yet “King of kings and Lord of lords” defies explanation. Could’ve just as easily be about the shogunate during the Edo period. The Japanese believe they wrote “Auld Lang Syne”, I can let ‘em have “Hallelujah” too.
I smirk briefly when I recall my own barrowed hymnal using the “Hallelujah” template as a nickname of a former girlfriend: “snacky-panties, snacky-panties, snacky-panties” ad infinitum.
By this point, I’m a bit beyond caring and wish I had made an excuse not to show up. As the hundredth number starts again, I start to wonder what really is the point judging Xerox copies and am fast developing a keen dislike of stratified thinking. What message does all this winning and losing really convey? Judging performances are purely subjective on the part of those giving the thumbs up and someone goes home at the end of the day feeling slightly worse for their efforts.
In a perfect world you say? Well, I’d rather each class had their own song and they are judged on their individualist merits, not conforming to some Aristotelian “ideal” song. Of course there’d be no judging either, just let the kids get up and enjoy their time without having to shit themselves whether they are number one or not.

I If could start a 12-step recovery program in Japan it would have to be for those suffering from “compulsive work disorder”. Being a workaholic isn’t really frowned upon in my society either, but it can have serious consequences if gone unrecognized. Treatment would involve leaving early on a Friday for an unscheduled get-away, an assisted professional helping the patient call in with a fake (cough, cough) illness Monday morning, and maybe abstaining from extra-curricular activities past dusk. I can see the last step of the program, clinicians easing patients into that Lazy Boy chair, “it’s alright- you’re good enough, just lean back and relax. You’re going to have a nice catnap. It feels sooo good to just let go, doesn’t it?”

cleopatra and the crocodile

Once upon a time in the days of Ancient Egypt, Pharaoh was sailing down the Nile in his barge. As was custom during the summer months, his daughter Cleopatra was traveling back to their palace from their retreat in the Faiyum. The day was exceedingly hot and the royal family cooled themselves beneath a canvas canopy and by the steady fanning of servants. As all children on long journeys, Cleo grew bored in the mid-day heat and ventured forth towards the bow where she espied something green struggling inside of a fisherman’s net.
“Daddy” asked the inquisitive child
“Yes Darling”, said Pharaoh, pulling the gauze shade from one eye.
“What’s that by the shore splashing about”?
Her father who was too busy indulging in his afternoon nap and couldn’t be bothered, “Oh, pay it no mind dear and come back to sleep”, Pharaoh said.
As the ship drew closer, she saw a baby crocodile caught in up in the net of the village fishermen. Her heart strings tugged at her more. She decided she couldn’t sit back and allow the poor creature to be strangled in the net.
“I’ll be right back”, Cleo announced.
Quick as lightning, she steadied herself upon the rail and hurtled herself downwards into the murky waters below. No one had noticed her jump, but the splash could be heard by all on board. The barge woke in a panic as the Pharaoh’s daughter swam buoyantly towards the troubled creature. Pharaoh was awakened from his nap by the ship’s captain, “My lord, your daughter has fallen over board”. He was careful to not mention the waters were infested with crocodiles.
“Well just don’t stand there! send someone down to fetch her”! yelled Pharaoh. The slaves manning the oars were all shackled at the ankle and the key was nowhere to be found. Pharaoh’s advisors were a skittish of the murky waters or didn’t know how to swim. The king grew more enraged at the incapacity of his crew to deal with the crisis and began waving a sword menacingly at his people.
“Do I have to fetch her myself”?, he said removing his linen garments.
“No your grace”, came a wee voice from the galley. It was the ships youngest member, the cabin boy who peeked out meekly through a porthole. “I will save your daughter”, he said. All on deck looked shamefaced, but were secretly glad that he had redeemed the bravery of the crew, for he knew not of the perils that awaited him below.
Upon the rail the boy steadied himself for a few seconds and without recourse plunged headlong into the dark waters.
Meanwhile Cleo swam undeterred from her mission. Eventually, her steady paddles brought her closer towards the ensnared little creature. The struggling crocodile only worsened the grip of the nets and had nearly run out of steam when he was suddenly lifted out of the waters and deposited on a dry rock by Cleo. The croc lovingly swam back to his rescuer had nuzzled himself along side her.
The cabin boy had just reached her when an angry cry came from the Barge. “Cleo, you come out of that slime this very instance”.
The eyes of the affectionate amphibian warmed her heart in the cold water. Upon seeing the huge eyes of the croc, Cleo felt a stir of paternal instincts.
“Please Poppa, can I keep him”?
“Stop talking nonsense and get back on board, you’re in enough trouble as it is. The noble daughters of Egypt do not adopt water beasts”.
There was a long pause from shore where the 3 weary swimmers stood.
Another thunderous boom came over the bow, “Cleo, get back in this boat immediately and maybe you won’t be grounded past harvest season!”
“You’re going to have to leave us if I can’t have him. Either he stays or I go”. Cleo volleyed back with arms folded.
Pharaoh was near another rage when his advisors began their console.
“Sire, it is better you agree for now. There is no way we can get to her from here".
"Ah, very well" said Pharoah collapsing on his throne from utter exhaustion.

valentine's day lesson for seniors in japan "survival romance 101!

Male Female

Interested Interested

polite rejection

cruelty

Hello. How are you? Good evening. Hello. Hi.

Did you say something? Get lost loser!

What’s your sign? My sign is .

I don’t believe in astrology.

That’s really lame!

What’s your name? My name is . I forgot. (make one up)

Come here often? Yes, sometimes I come here.

No, this is my first time.

This dump? Never!
Do I know you?

You look like

someone I know. Maybe. Oh really? Stop it!

I don’t think so.I get that a lot.Stop it!

That’s hard to believe! Stop it!

Would you like a drink?

What are you having? Yes, I’ll have a please.

No thank you.

You mean with you?

Can I get your number?

Do you want to go out?

Sure, Yeah, okay.

Sorry, my phone is out of order.

Give wrong #.

I didn't know they made phones for monkeys!

Can I see you again? We’ll see each other again someday.

Are you seeing someone?

No, I’m not!

Yes I am. I have a boyfriend/husband.

Yes, of course! Not you!

What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?

Hoping to meet a tall, handsome stranger!

Actually I am waiting for someone.

Are you still here? Leave me alone please!


Serious/ Courtship

I like you. Gosh, we’re good together.

I like you too. Yes, I feel we’re meant to be!

Sorry, I see you only as a friend.You think?

That’s nice.That’s really funny!I wouldn’t say that!

Can I kiss you?

Why are you asking?

Do you have a breath mint?

Let’s don’t. No way dude!

Will you marry me?

Yessss! I need to think about it. No way dude!

Break up/Trouble in Paradise-(what to say when things go wrong!)

I don’t think it’s working out.I think we should break up.

What did I do wrong? Aw man! You suck. No way dude!

I’m not happy anymore.

Happiness is overrated!

What’s that got to do with it?

We can still be friends.

You mean without the benefits?

It’s not you, it’s me.

You’re just saying that.

I think we should see other people.

I think we need space, you need to go to another planet.

I met someone. I’ll always love you.

Don’t quote cheesy lyrics to me!
I’ll see you around! Don’t leave me!

Send off (what to say when things go really bad!)
I never want to see you again! Fine by me.
You’re horrible. You’re the worst thing that has ever happened to me!

Get out of my house! If I never see you again, it won’t be too soon!
Good riddance! Don’t come back! I wouldn’t want to! You’re no good!
Burn in Hell! I should have listened to Mother! I hate you!

the hegemony of laughter

The better part of valor is discretion, in the which better part I have saved my life.

William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), 'King Henry IV part I'

If you had a friend at a party and you knew that by saying “monkeys”, it would send him into an uncontrollably violent fit which would put you and others at danger, would you still want to exercise your first amendment rights? Would it be sheer maliciousness knowing full and well the immediate devastating results of such actions? But you maintain it’s your God-given right to say whatever you think, regardless of the outcome, so you say “monkeys” to prove a point. Now look what you’ve done, the guests are all bruised, battered, and bleeding. What if you just said “bananas” and that would put everything right? What? You maintain that you are still exercising your right to free speech while your guests are becoming mangled? By saying “bananas” you are compromising your right to say “monkeys”?

Case in point would be this whole debacle started when the Danish newspaper Jyllands Posten ran a political cartoon of the Muslim prophet Mohammed wearing a bomb shaped turban. Although the government had nothing to do with the caricature, Danish Prime Minister Rasmussen’s remarks did little to make amends, “I cannot make apologies on the behalf of a Danish Newspaper. That is not how our democracy works.” If you could save lives by simply saying “sorry”, isn’t that a little more important than lofty ideals? Perhaps it was the principle of the matter, but several people have already died during riots sin Afghanistan.

Proponents of democracy would have us believe that we are all the same and should be able exercise the same rights. It should be noted that not everyone wants to be free, nor should everyone be free. Just like everyone thinks they have a sense of humor, but not everyone is going to find the same things funny. I think we can all agree that there are certain things we should steer clear of poking fun at. You can free a subjugated people, but humor is relative and that’s something you can neither give nor teach. You are either born with it or not, but regardless something’s just aren’t a good idea to ape. Perhaps part of democracy should be to realize that we are not all the same and that exercising a certain amount of restraint is a greater good. At the very least, we should accept that around the world, we do not have a common goal nor share the same beliefs. Just because you exercise your power of free speech at home, it doesn’t guarantee that it will make a successful translation overseas, nor should it. It could just be a case of mutual blindness that neither east nor west can budge from their pedestals long enough to concede the absurdity of both positions. Yes, it was a pretty retarded cartoon by anyone’s standards, just to westerners provocative, but hardly blasphemous. Why then such a reaction?

Since the Muslim state and religion go hand in hand, outside derision are invariably going to be judged by a different scale. Although we have a clear separation of church and state, what happens when the constraints of a belief calls into question the fabric of a so-called free society for those not part of the dominant culture? Does that make everyone else free because those offended now have to be accommodated? The campaign of forcing democracy upon a pre-existing theocratic structure does not change the ideology of an age-old system. You can perhaps win hearts and minds, but what happens when souls are already taken?

What I find curious at this juncture is the U.S. State Department spokesman Kurtis Cooper issuing a statement last week to the effect “these cartoons are offensive to the beliefs of Muslims”. Does America lend support to the Muslim community because it doesn’t want to see a full scale riot in it’s hands or does it actually care? Obviously is it a form of damage control, a way to seem honorable the eyes of the Middle East, although anyone can tell you the credibility checks of America were overdrawn ages ago. Although there seems to be an associative disjunction　on the part of the Arab community, lumping media and state under the same heading. We counter in the west that the two hands do not necessarily wash each other.

However, how can one explain then the true fruits of democracy when an open censorship is well within our midst? Has there not been a blanket blackout policy by the media of actually running the cartoon in the U.S.? Not one paper will touch it. The Internet will touch anything and reach everyone, so any search will bring it up. Of course this raises the question who is establishing this blackout policy and is it a government or an in-house decision? For wouldn't the tenets of a just society dictate that a free press should present all viewpoints, albeit unfavorable from time to time in the best interest of the public to make an informed decision. On the other hand, can you blame the papers for fear of reprisals? Who wants to deal with bomb-threats or worse?

Holding aloft this torch of freedom was the rallying cry of newspapers throughout Europe, who decided for better or worse with a little “we’ll show them how a free society works” bravado to run the cartoon. This of course fanned the flames of dissention and hatred around the planet. Since then, foreign countries have had to deal with the immediate consequences of full scale rioting, condemnations, torching, a decided drop in sales of western goods, and worst of all death. However, in an effort to show that Muslims are not all without funny bones, Moroccan newspapers began a campaign of cartoons about the Holocaust.

That is mixing metaphors isn’t it? Although the cartoons had nothing to do with the Israelis (unless of course you want to believe that the Jews control the media in Denmark as well), enraged Muslims seem to want to drag them into the fray. Isn’t the cornerstone of every barbaric society an eye for an eye? Wouldn’t that dictate the caricature David in modern west bank day garb with a machete at the throat of a Palestinian? However, shouldn’t Denmark being a Christian country shoulder it’s fair share of the blame? If we must paint donkeys somewhere, why not make a depiction of a blond haired, blue eyed Jesus wearing a U.N. Peacekeeping outfit, launching missiles into a wedding reception in Afghanistan, for that would be our form of terrorism to the Muslim world, wouldn’t it? All westerners are the same to them apparently, just like all Muslims are to us.

Of course the price of blasphemy is blood, so forget apologies from the U.N. and governments, let’s put the artist up against the wall. We can have us an old style execution at dawn with swords drawn. Who would argue with that?

One thing I’ve yet to hear addressed is that age-old adage, “we don’t know why they hate us”, which you’ll invariably never hear, because who really wants to understand oppressed peoples logic? Why would anyone want to strap a bomb to their back and blow themselves up? These concerns are never brought forth, an attempt to get to the bottom of what’s running the show. It's easier to label them as crazed fanatics, but what drove them to those desperate acts?

As an attempt to analyze the harmful effects of derision, I would like to define as the hegemony of laughter. Those in power who make a joke will carry more weight because there is the blood and suffering of those oppressed beneath the jibes. Hence, it does no good to have a war of laughter when the anti is invariably death. It seems the new joke is who can laugh loudest at the pile of dead bodies mounting on both sides. This is the inside joke that the west fails to recognize. Maybe this is the punch line we are missing.

Therefore events such as the Danish cartoon, as trivial as they may seem to us carry a different punch to a subjugated people. Much like rioting in America’s ghettos, these incidents of social unrest are often messengers for a larger problem that merely needed an inflammatory situation to trigger it. It merely takes something as idiotic as an image to touch the core of a smoldering powder keg. In a strange way, idiocy loves spreading further idiocy.

So what does this conflict boil down to? Some would say it’s about religion-a clash of ideals, but I would argue there’s a larger question still gone undressed. For the Muslims, it’s really the West's strong-arming the Middle East while siphoning the worlds biggest oil reserves of the planet. Although Muslims often fall prey to confusing the West’s ideology with hidden agendas, they would be well served to look beyond religion and tackle rhetoric, for at the heart of every beating Western leader is a mad capitalist who wants to control the world’s resources at any expense.

Just as you can’t mandate good manners, democracy, or religion, you certainly can’t dictate humor about a sacred subject, but you can advocate respect. Maybe the bigger laughs have yet to come. I pray that it won’t be the kind that requires the blood of the innocent, but knowing the idiocy of humankind, I can't expect any different.