It’s not easy, you know. Doing the right thing, that is. Doing the right thing means, loosely, somehow making things better than they were before you did the thing, whatever the thing might be.
You see, there’s this really, nasty, evil, rotten thing called the Law of Unintended Consequences. In America we have an entire political party — the Democrats — who have no idea what that Law is all about… or worse, they do know what it’s all about, but don’t care, and they do the half-witteries they do anyway!
Anyway… I was wondering what to do about the Iranian nuclear program. The idiot Obama had green-lighted their nuclear weapons program, ensuring that serious weapons of serious mass destruction would be in the hands of islamic psychotic goons. Great.
That meant that someone had to do something about it! By the way, this is the story of the entirety of the Obama presidency: someone needed to do something to reverse the eight years of mass stupidity that was the Obama Presidency.
I’d been doing such things now, for years. But, the question at hand now, at this particular moment was: what to do about Iran, and its growing nuclear program?
I couldn’t just go and grab a few ICBM’s and drop ’em on the various sites in Iran, because that would start a war. Nor could I just go over there and yank out their missiles and toss ’em. They weren’t made yet, and the the problem was really in the making of them in the first place! If they got too far along, the Israelis — bless their improbably intrepid little hearts! — would see that, correctly, as an obvious provocation, and they’d take action, and that would mean war.
In every course of action that I contemplated, using materiel or things made by people, I couldn’t rule out a strong possibility of war as the result.
I’d even contemplated doing something that couldn’t possibly be misconstrued as an external act of aggression. However, then I realized that the Iranian propaganda Ministry would simply report it as an external act of aggression, and the American media would parrot the propaganda, treating the codswallop as legitimate analysis of the thing. The Iranians would then use it as an excuse to launch a war. The war that the Iranian leadership really, really wants.
So, what to do? Then it struck me. I really knew what to do! All I needed was an act of God! Well, an act of God, that I might help along just a bit. You see, I can do that kind of thing. I don’t do that kind of thing often, because of that massive pain-in-the-neck Law… of Unintended Consequences.
However, I thought this might be a really good thing, and people might actually see it as a real, no-foolin’, genuine Act of God!
I’d contemplated “Acts of God” before, but was leery of things like causing an earthquake — possible widespread deaths. It was a good idea. Credible too. Iran has a long experience of earthquakes, some massive. The problem is that an earthquake can get out of hand, and I could end up killing thousands. I wasn’t willing to do that.
What I really wanted to do do was launch a flood! Pretty biblical, eh? However, if I were to do that I’d have to divert some major rivers to get to some of the locations I needed to destroy, while other facilities are located in elevated areas that a flood wouldn’t reach. Nope. A flood’s no good.
By the way, I knew where these locations were. I’d walked into CIA and asked where they were. Security couldn’t stop me, and I could just walk through their checkpoints, their gates, and their barriers. And they couldn’t do a darned thing about it. Did I mention I’m a tad different from other dudes?
So, I walked up to the Office of the Director — it was the great Ric Grennell at the time. Oh, I didn’t just waltz in there. If I’d done it in the usual way, he’d have been warned about my impending arrival, and they’d have skedaddled him pronto! So, after I learned about my somewhat unusual abilities — I can go anywhere on earth that I want and no one and no thing can stop me — I started to see what I could do to make things better.
What are my “unusual abilities?”
It’s simple: When I so choose, I can be “displaced in time,” or “offset in time.” It’s the only way I can think of to describe it. When I walk somewhere, I can make it so that I’m not really there at that time, just the image of me is there. The “image,” with the ability to interact with people through that image. As if I were there in person. Some might call it an “avatar” in the parlance of today’s online games players. However, I never played games with this ability of mine.
When my image is interacting with people, they can’t touch me, they can’t shoot me, or capture me or impede me in any way. They can try to grab me, but they’ll go right through the image of me. They can try to restrain me, and many have, but I just walk through the restraining structure.
What’s really nice about this particular state of being for me is that, while to them I’m just an image in the air, I — or my image — can do anything I want physically.
Another nifty characteristic of this ability. My image doesn’t show up on monitors, or in photographs, or in videos, of any kind. Nor does my image’s voice. People can see and hear me… things can’t.
If, for example, I look in a mirror, I see myself just fine. If I then take a selfie of my image in the mirror, the picture comes out blank. It doesn’t even show the camera I’m using to take the selfie! Weird, eh?
So, they can shoot at me all they want, and the bullets just pass right though the image of me. However, I can then walk over, grab their guns, throw them on the ground, walk right over to the Director’s desk, grab the Director’s ham sandwich and have a snack.
It’s as if my image is an interface between the two “whens” — the “when” of the people I’m interacting with, and my “when.” And my side of the interface has a whole bunch of nifty capabilities that their side of the interface lacks entirely. I’m okay with that!
When I found out I could do this kind of thing, I made myself a regular at the CIA. I became enough of a frequent visitor that as weeks and months passed, no one took any special notice of me anymore. What would be the point? They couldn’t do anything about me. Sometimes, I’d even go to the cafeteria and pick up some lunch. I’d offer to pay for it, but no one ever took my cash. I think they were afraid to.
I even used my “nom de guerre,” if you will, with them: Dr. Emmanuel. (I’d noodled over “Dr. When” — as kind of a tribute to “Dr. Who” of British television — and “Dr. Time,” but I finally decided they were both a bit juvenile) I’m sure they speculated long and hard about my name… After all, “Emmanuel” means “God with us,” but I meant the name only as a tribute to two of my all-time favorite guitarists: Tommy and Phil Emmanuel. I’d struggled with it a bit, as I didn’t want anyone to confuse God and me, because, despite my unusual abilities, I’m not God. Nope. Not even close.
Finally, I had an insight that to use the name as a tribute to these two spectacular guitarists would be okay. After all, God is with us… just, I’m not He. And Tommy’s and Phil’s guitar playing are just about as spectacular as my particular gifts, so the name was okay. And, Tommy’s a good Christian, so it all comes together nicely.
So, back to how I found out where the various Iranian nuclear sites are located. I was on one of my many exploratory forays into the CIA. I can’t really call them “missions.” I mean, there was never any real danger to me, and security just yawns now as I go by. Some even offer me a friendly, “Doc?” and a nod, as I pass. I’ve even spoken with some of them. And with some of them in some depth.
They don’t really know how to handle me at CIA, but they know that they can’t do anything about me, and they know that I’m a friendly, because I’ve told them so.
And, no, you won’t be reading about me in the papers. The story of “Dr. Emmanuel” and the CIA will not be making it into the media, unless I choose to make that happen. I don’t so choose,
So, in my many trips to CIA, I often spoke with Director Grenell. A very good man, but now a puzzled one as far as the topic of me was concerned. I often asked him very classified questions, and he always refused to answer them. Finally, though I needed an answer to an important question. What’re the locations of the Iranian nuclear facilities?
When I posed the question, Director Grennel paused. He understood the importance of what he would be doing if he told someone like me that information. He also knew that he couldn’t very well prevent me from eventually determining those locations. However, he tried manfully to reject my question.
At first, he told me what I was pretty sure all along that he’d tell me: I can’t tell you. But, I needed the information. So, very nicely, I informed Director Grenell that I needed the information, and that I had other ways of obtaining it if I so chose, and that he might like me less after I found out. I suggested further that if Director Grenell valued our burgeoning friendship then, well, he might want to give me the information I was seeking, and that I was going to obtain anyway.
Well, Director Grenell certainly knew that I had some out-of-the-ordinary abilities, and of course he valued our friendship — who wouldn’t? I mean, I’m a nice guy! Sometimes even charming!– so my bluff (or, was it a bluff?) was, shall we say, highly credible.
Director Grenell asked whether he could confer with the President, and I said sure. Why not? Formalities are important. However, I’d been visiting with the President too, and I’d persuaded him that it would be a good idea to let me in on the locations.
Director Grenell called President Trump; President Trump okayed the transfer of the information to me, and I found out where the Iranians are hiding their infernal nuclear research, development and production facilities.
Easy as that! You could do it too, if you could walk through walls, ignore bullets, displace yourself in time, and were roguishly charming.
Now… what to do about those nuclear facilities?
I was leery of Acts of God, because I’m not God. Not in any way, shape or form. Have I mentioned I’m not God? I’m just a dude. A dude who’s a bit different from most dudes, and a dude who’s not God. I’m a big believer in God, and those are some toes on which I do not, ever, wish to tread. Not because I’m afraid of Him, but because I love Him.
So, as you can see, when I tell you I wondered about what to do about the Iranian nuclear facilities, I really wondered about what to do about the Iranian nuclear facilities.
For a long time.
That wondering consisted of lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of prayer, and lots of consideration of that pain-in-the-gluteus-maximus Law of Unintended Consequences.
Finally, after having mulled over the course of action that I finally ended up taking, I had a really strong feeling that it was time to do The Thing. Not “do something,” because just doing something is meaningless. Anyone can “do something.” It’s perfectly worthless to do something if the something in question isn’t the right thing. In that case, it’s almost always best to do nothing at all.
America is jam-packed to overflowing with half-wits “doing something.” Hash tags here, Tweets there. Black squares here, rainbows there. Bold statements that say, “Look how good and brave and courageous and with it and plugged in and just plain nice I am! (but I’m not going to do anything actually meaningful.)”
No, this was a serious prodding to do The Thing. And I knew quite well what The Thing was.
My adrenaline spiked for a bit. There’s something bracing in the realization that the time has come, and that I was going to stop gazing at my really attractive navel, and I was going to do The Thing. The Thing that I now was confident was The Right Thing. Or: The Only Thing Ever Worth Doing. And that’s always the rub, now isn’t it? Determining what the right thing to do is.
I mentioned my ability to go anywhere on earth that I might want to. Well, that might have been just a teeny bit misleading… because it was incomplete. I mean I can go anywhere… anywhere. I had discovered quite a bit earlier in my life that I had other abilities as well. I don’t really need to tell you what they are, but as I relate this story, you’ll kind of be able to figure them out for yourself.
Anyway, I went outdoors, and took off. Straight up. Yep. That’s one of ’em.
I went up about twenty miles, to where I could see the curvature of the earth just fine. Then, where you can see into space quite clearly I spotted several of the prominent objects I use as a rule to navigate out here. There was Jupiter, and he’s good enough.
You see, I was really interested in the Asteroid Belt, and it lies between the Earth and Jupiter, just outside the orbit of Mars, but on roughly the same plane. If I could keep the Sun, Jupiter and Earth roughly lined up, and if I headed toward Jupiter, I’d get to the Asteroid Belt in due time.
Now, it should be noted that Jupiter, the sun and Earth were not in line at that time. The crucial thing was to stay on the same geometric plane as Jupiter, the Sun and the Earth. It was also important to keep the Earth in view, as getting lost in space was not something I fancied. It was unlikely, though, because all I ever really need to keep track of is the Sun.
Anyway… I headed out at speed toward the Asteroid Belt. “At speed” for me means… “fast” Really fast. I get where I’m going rather quickly.
Now, can you guess what I was about to do to the various Iranian nuclear research, development and production facilities? Yep. They were about to experience an act of me, raining all hell down on their evil labs and manufacturing facilities. An act of me… but really an act of God, because I’m an act of God.
It took me about ten minutes to get to the Asteroid Belt, because I like to go at a leisurely pace and take in the sights.
I selected a logical candidate for the new decor of the largest and most important nuclear facility, and gave it a little bit of a nudge. Now, when I say I “gave it a nudge,” this thing is handle-able. It was a big, ol’ metallic rock, kind of kidney bean-shaped, about 30-35 feet long, and 15-20 feet thick. I nudged and pushed and prodded the thing out of the Asteroid Belt and started it on a trajectory toward Earth.
Now, getting back to Earth didn’t take all that long, because it’s a little known fact that the Asteroid Belt is not all that densely populated. You can fly a spaceship through it, and the chances that you’ll collide with an asteroid are extremely slim. NASA’s flown quite a few spacecraft through the Asteroid Belt without so much as a single close encounter with a rock. Anyway, I got up to speed quickly, and hustled my bustle, and my sweet, new asteroid, earthward.
Look, I’m not irresponsible… I knew that my rapid transit back to earth toting an asteroid about half the size of the beast that blew up over Chelyabinsk, Russia in 2013 was going to cause a stir at NASA and in the halls of American power.
When I got roughly half-way back to Earth, I let the asteroid go… it’d still take a very long time to reach earth at that rate, and I wasn’t even sure I’d aimed it correctly. I flew down to Earth, met with President Trump, Director Grenell, the leaders of the Houses of Congress (I felt like I needed a shower after being in Pelosi’s and Schumer’s presence. Yuck! Who elects these bastards?!?) and NASA officials.
Yes, they were aware of the asteroid. After all, I’d told ’em it was coming, but I don’t think they’d believed me at first. Now they believed me. I further told ’em not to worry about anything, that I had it all under control. I think they were still skeptical… but a tad less so. No matter… they couldn’t do anything about it, or me, anyway! Then, I zoomed back into space to catch up with my nice, shiny, new asteroid.
It had traveled a few million miles since I’d left it last, so it was a lot closer to Earth. I noticed that my aim was pretty bad, and that it wouldn’t have hit Earth anyway, so now it was time to make a course correction. I did it, and off we two went.
As I moved with the asteroid toward Earth, I did some calculations. My point was to position the asteroid over the main nuclear research facility, in a nice geostationary orbit, and then to unleash my pet rock onto the principal research and development facility in Iran.
I arrived at a few thousand miles above the beautiful planet that is our Earth, our home sweet home, and parked it. In the aforementioned geostationary orbit somewhere roughly over Iran. Then, I went down to the facility in question.
As you already know, I had no difficulty getting into these buildings. No matter how tight the security. I was, as I always am, polite and deferential to anyone I met. Yes, sir here, and yes, sir there, and no, sir I won’t stop, but I hope you have a fine day, and, Sir, can you point me to the office of the person who runs this joint? And, how’s the missus?
In flawless Farsi. Yep. Another of my surprising skills. Sorry… I forgot that I was going to make you discover for yourself what I can do. I guess I won’t make it all that tough on you.
Anyway, after careful, polite interrogation of the various security personnel I encountered on my tour of the Iranian nuclear facility, I found the office — really offices — of The Big Cheese in charge. By the time I’d found it, my tour had become quite the guided extravaganza. I’ll admit I was flattered at the attention, even if some of that attention didn’t seem all that friendly.
The Big Cheese wasn’t there when I got there, but I sat down at his desk and indicated that I’d wait for him to arrive.
Oddly enough, it was not a long time at all before he — or someone like him at least — made a panicked appearance. What, he asked, the heck was going on? His Farsi was a good deal more colorful than that, and I looked reprovingly at him from his rather sumptuous chair. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” I asked him. Thoroughly taken aback, he stammered, “My mother, God’s peace be upon her, lost her life in the Great War with Iraq. She was clearing a minefield.”
Now, it was my turn to be taken aback. I was briefly at a loss for words. Even evil, disgusting people have pain and sorrow in their lives. Some use it to stoke anger that burns for the rest of their lives, and generally shortens, but definitely worsens, those lives considerably.
I remembered the war between Iran and Iraq. Henry Kissinger delivered the best line of the time in referring to it: “It’s too bad they can’t both lose.“
He was right. Both the Iranian and Iraqi régimes of the day were packed to the gills with scumbags, with the head scum at the very top of each — in the person of Saddam Hussein in Iraq and Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini in Iran. Both top scumbags were prone to sacrificing the elderly, the very young, the sick to their twisted cause, and this man’s mother had been one of those assigned by Iranian scum to clear a mine field.
The way they did that was simple and brutal: they lined their people up at one side of the field, and marched them across it. When one blew to smithereens, that meant that particular spot was now clear of mines. That was how this guy’s mother lost her life.
For a moment my heart went out to the man. What must it have been like to learn of how his mother had died, when he was just a lad? However, I hadn’t just parked a nifty little asteroid several thousands of miles above this locale, just to back out now, after learning that the head scumbags of Iran had acted like scumbags, murdered this guy’s mother, and now he was working for them! In fact, the very notion that this idiot would work for the régime that did that to his mother started to make my blood boil.
So, I said to the guy: You need to evacuate this facility in 60 minutes, because I’m going to destroy it. Needless to say, he was unwilling to evacuate. I was less friendly with these people than I was with the good guys. You know, the good guys, the Americans.
I picked myself up to my full height (6’9″) lifted the desk up — it was quite a large desk — and, hoisting it over my head, slammed it back down on the ground with huge force. It buckled under the impact, but seemed to hold its shape mostly, so I picked it up again, and smashed is back down again. This time it got smithereened. It broke into four large irregular hulks, and thousands of small pieces of wood, brads, screws, bolts, hinges and other sundry detritus.
The surveillance recordings of that particular stunt would have been interesting. The desk would have appeared to pick itself up high in the air, then slam itself down on the floor. Then it would have appeared to repeat that seemingly random act. Cool! I had a momentary desire to see that recording!
The Big Cheese Iranian lost the ability to speak. I asked him whether I’d made myself clear. He nodded and recovered his ability to speak a bit… or squeak a bit. He told me that he couldn’t evacuate the site without authorization. I indicated that wasn’t a problem.
I went to various offices and there I began to set small fires. I’d anticipated the possibility that people wouldn’t comply with my wishes, so I’d brought several lighters, and some accelerant. There was plenty of paper around, and before I dropped my pet asteroid on the place, I was going to set about to destroy as many records as I possibly could — after, of course, grabbing a few computers and bringing them home to the Americans. I figured their records were all backed up elsewhere, but who knows?
So, I set about my task. I found paper files… lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of paper files and, as the Iranian goons followed me around I commenced to lighting these piles of paper on fire.
Some of the goons tried to put out the fires, but I didn’t allow them to. By the way, all this had taken place in the space of about 30 minutes, so I’m figuring that Islamic Goon HQ hadn’t even cottoned to the notion that there was something very wrong yet. Oh, they knew that something was wrong, but they must have viewed it as a minor security breach of some sort. It was a pretty safe bet they’d never seen the likes of me in their lives. But it wouldn’t be too long before they understood that something was very, very wrong.
Now, there were quite a few limited, but growing fires, and some of the goons were beginning to panic. I’d lost a number of the entourage that had been following me, but The Big Cheese was still with me. I needed to take some computers now so, very quickly I grabbed some and flew them through the various walls of the building, up through some ground and onto the deserted tops of some of the surrounding buildings. I did this very quickly so that I could keep track of The Big Cheese. Not sure why, I just figured it might be important.
While I was collecting computers, I noticed that our building was attracting the attention of emergency vehicles as well as Military vehicles and personnel. As I suspected it would. I didn’t see any smoke outside yet, so I figured that my fires inside were still of limited scope.
I continued to work, lighting paper files on fire, smashing computers and network equipment, and generally causing mayhem, and eventually the Iranians got the message. Time to skedaddle. The Big Cheese was one of the last to go. I think he recognized that I wasn’t there to cause him any harm. Heck, his government had screwed him over enough already!
Eventually, it appeared to me that the facility was mostly deserted. I’d located what I determined to be the local data center, and was gleefully causing havoc in there. I’d found a big iron beam and was pleased to see how much damage such a weapon can do to various computer systems! I started swinging this thing around like Ted Williams encountering a fat one down the middle. The effect my beam was having on the computer systems was similar to that of Mr. Williams’ bat on the ball. Though my efforts looked as cool. All sorts of sparks and small explosions, and big noises, and buckling of metal under tremendous impacts. This was some fun!
After about an hour of this, I was pretty sure the facility was deserted, including The Big Cheese. I did some last minute destruction, and flew through the walls of the place to the roof. There I saw a massive crowd gathering, as the word had spread that there was something serious going on in the facility.
I noticed that there were emergency personnel trying to keep the crowd under control, so I flew down, grabbed a handy megaphone out of an important-looking person’s hands, and flew back to my perch above the crowd. There I told them to be quiet and listen.
Now, I had commanded their attention already, because they’d watched me swoop down, purloin the megaphone, and swoop back up to my place.
I started to tell them what was what.
It was at that point that someone in the emergency or military personnel concluded that I was not one of theirs. You know, not one of the ones he thought were the good guys. You see the bad guys think the good guys are really bad guys, and that they themselves are really good guys. It’s really messed up what these people think!
Anyway, one of the bunch of people responding to whatever the heck this was took a pot shot at me. He was a pretty good shot, and the bullet passed right through where my abdomen would have been if it had actually been me standing on that parapet about to address the crowd. But it wasn’t me, it was the image of me. However, that first shot prompted the colleagues and pals of the initial shooter to try their luck and a torrent of lead came my way, passing harmlessly through my image. The fusillade went on for about three minutes, and finally slowed only when it became obvious that it was having no effect.
“All done?” I asked in perfect, idiomatic Farsi. (تمام شد؟ in case you’re interested) A few more Iranian stalwarts squeezed off a few more shots and the firing stopped. It seemed as if an oppressive, expectant, pregnant silence then hung over the area. There was a vast cloud of expended explosive in the air, and the crowd had no idea of what was coming next.
In a moment of spontaneity, I shouted into the bullhorn, “Hooray!” or the Farsi equivalent thereof (!هورا). The crowd erupted! Iranians are not fond of their régime. Not fond of it at all! When the representatives of that régime unleashed all hell on the really tall fellow standing on a parapet with a bullhorn… and that guy just stood there, unscathed, through the whole thing, he (I) had become an instant hero to the crowd. When I shouted, “Hooray!” at the top of my lungs, that salted it. I could have taken over the country right then and there.
In retrospect, I probably should have.
At any rate, the crowd was ready for my little speech and I gave it to them.
“People of Tehran and all of Iran,” I said, “you must leave the city immediately! There is a great ball of fire coming from the heavens and it will consume this place and all around this place! (I’d decided to sound kind of biblical.)
The fireball will come in two hours, and you must be sure to be far from the city, or else you will be devoured by the fire too! I don’t want that to happen. I love you (this was new, and I surprised myself by spontaneously including it, but I realized suddenly that, yes, I did love these people! With all my heart.) and I want you all to live long, happy and prosperous lives.
Your government is an evil government. A government of gangsters, criminals, child molesters, rapists and thieves. I am doing this to punish your government, not to punish you!
(Now to make sure that they know that I’m not God.) I don’t know who you are, or what you have done in life. That is only for God to know, and I am not God! I’m only a man. I can tell you that God wants you to be good people, and He wants you to be good to one another. That means that you shouldn’t allow perverts and pederasts like the ones who make up your government to stay in power.
I don’t know how to tell you to get rid of them, but you must always do what you can to rid the earth of governments such as this one.”
It was as good little speech, and I’d written a bunch down beforehand, and there was the spontaneous “I love you” stuff too. I hoped the speech would have a good effect. To underscore my little peroration, I threw my arms in the air and shouted again, “Hooray!”
The crowd did an interesting mix of sheer panic, exultation, and shock. I did it a few more times. “Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!” That seemed to quiet the crowd a bit, and they started to withdraw from the plaza hastily.
Soon, there was an exodus from the city that even the military couldn’t halt. People were streaming out of the city in all directions. They were using the roads, and if the roads were clogged, they were going off road, with bicycles, tricycles, rickshaws (very few) motorbikes, wagons, motorcycles and any form of conveyance they could find.
The military personnel at the plaza — the ones who had shot at me — they’d heard my inspiring words of wisdom too, and the message had spread through their ranks like wildfire. They were reluctant to stop evacuees after what they’d seen and heard.
Inside of two hours, Tehran was empty, and I was already back with my pet rock.
I arrived and grabbed her, and wrestled her to point roughly to Tehran — I mean, I was several thousand miles away. I wasn’t sure I could aim it perfectly. I could see the area clearly from space, but I knew I needed an ace up my sleeve, and I had one.
I knew the city was empty, but if I waited too much beyond the deadline — the two hour deadline — people would stop believing what I’d said, and would even stop believing that a hellacious torrent of military-grade weapons fire had left me completely unscathed.
In other words, I needed to follow through with the destruction of the Tehran nuclear facility — on time, or roughly so — or else the only way I could do this ever again, would be… without the use of handy pet asteroids. I didn’t want that.
So, I gamely steered the asteroid — I’d named her Esther at this point — toward Iran. As I got closer, more and more features began to take shape — mountains, rivers, lakes, things like that.
Tehran’s near the Caspian Sea, in the Northwest of the country. I steered toward the Caspian. I figured I’d home in on the city, then on the nuclear facility, the more I closed in.
As I got closer and closer, the seconds ticked off one at a time, and I became hyper-aware of their passage. Each one seemed louder in my brain than the previous, and I hoped I wasn’t going crazy. I just chalked it up to stress. I’d like to say I took a deep breath, but I was in deep space… I didn’t take a deep breath.
The deadline was so close.
I could see that I was directly above Iran, though I wasn’t too sure where in Iran. I knew I needed to pick up speed, but not quite yet. I’d done some calculations, and I wanted my pretty little pet asteroid to hit the nuclear facility at about 20,000 miles per hour. That would be like a nice, cauterizing bullet purifying the spot being rotted by the nuclear facility. If I did it right, I’d minimize the extent to which the asteroid — now the meteor — exploded before whacking the nuclear facility. My ace up the sleeve: I’d make the bow wave for Esther, and smooth her path to Tehran
I drew closer and closer and closer to the sweet planet Earth. As I did so, I was able to direct Esther ever more precisely at Tehran, and the nuclear facility. She and I continued to gather speed.
I noticed that my deadline had passed two minutes ago. That’s okay, right? As long as it doesn’t get too far past?
How beautiful the Earth is! I felt a pang of guilt. It was almost as if I were about to shoot her with my Esther, like with a big, ol’ lead ’45 slug. I gritted my teeth and increased my speed. And increased my speed yet a bit more.
Until I could see Tehran clearly. And the nuclear facility. From high above, it was all a bunch of kind of pretty geometry. And I was going to punch a big, ugly, black, smoking, ragged hole into it all
Now I pointed Esther directly at the facility, and I started to notice that my pretty little meteor was beginning to glow at the edges. Time to move.
I gave Esther a hard last push right straight at the nuclear facility, and sped out in front of her. It was five minutes or so after my deadline. Getting close.
Now, I was flying like Superman. Fists clenched, making my own shock wave, smoothing and blazing the trail for my beautiful Esther.
She sped up now by the force of gravity alone, and I made sure to match her speed.
Closer now, and closer… faster and faster. Still faster.
There was a terrific tail behind Esther. It was about two in the afternoon, and no one glancing in that direction didn’t see her.
Now we were going more than 20,000 miles per hour, I just knew it, and impact was going to be in 5 – 4 – 3 – 2…
Or, explosion. A big one. Like 200 times the explosive power of the bomb over Hiroshima. And all concentrated almost entirely on the tiny site of the Iranian nuclear facility.
The site evaporated, and a massive, black, glowing hole appeared in the surface of the earth just like that.
My Esther had managed to punch a nice, neat hole in the surface of the Earth, like a pin might pierce an orange. Esther had done her job admirably, and I even kind of momentarily missed the ol’ girl!
A vast cloud formed over the impact site and drifted with the prevailing winds northwest — the direction most of the evacuees took — advertising to all the Iranians who’d fled Tehran that the mysterious man who’d so splashily invaded their city a few short hours ago, and who’d made them leave their homes… hadn’t been kidding.
I watched from above… I’d pulled out of my descent toward the planet half a mile over the surface or so. Esther and I had done well. We’d obliterated the nuclear site, but left most of Tehran undamaged. I chalked that up to my making my own shock wave, and smoothing the way for Esther, so that she didn’t explode too far above the city.
Now it was time to see what came next.
Well, as we all saw, next came the recriminations. While the Iranians knew the Israelis hadn’t caused this massive destruction, they needed to accuse them. Kind of like the anti-Trumpers of today. For the Iranians, everything is all Israel’s fault. For the anti-Trumpers, everything is all President Trump’s fault. Of course!
The Iranians quickly released a torrent of statements blaming the Israelis for the destruction to their facility. The Israelis denied it. The American press repeated the Iranian accusations as news, and ignored the Israeli denials.
Here in the United States, the American media further elaborated. It was all, you see, President Trump’s fault. It was Trump, they said, who had plotted with the Israelis to destroy the Iranian nuclear facility, risking serious destabilization of the Middle East.
No one in the dominant American media speculated as to whether it might be a good thing that a nuclear facility in Iran had disappeared and was no longer in the hands of Islamic goons.
No one was surprised. Least of all the ones who were completely in the know: President Trump, Ric Grenell, the employees of the CIA, the higher-ups at NASA, and a few more.
Beyond denying that it was true, they didn’t say anything at all in their own defense. I mean, really, what were they going to say, anyway?
Soon enough, the common narrative around the globe was that President Trump and the Israelis had concocted a vast conspiracy to take out the Iranian nuclear facility.
It didn’t matter that it wasn’t true; it didn’t matter that there wasn’t a shred of evidence to support the story. It didn’t even matter that even when in Senate hearings, prominent Senators had asked to see evidence! Some kind of evidence. Some pundits even had the brass to point to the Iranian claims of Israeli and American guilt as their “evidence.”
It didn’t even matter that astronomers around the world reported a rogue asteroid coming from outer space and landing directly on the Iranian nuclear facility!
Oh, some news and scientific outlets reported on the asteroid, scratched their heads, and asked rhetorically: How did you come up with Trump and the Israelis behind this?!? But in the dominant media, in Hollywood, in academia (academia!) and in pop culture, the narrative stuck. It was Trump and the Israelis… not that big, ol’ asteroid!
It all kind of made me laugh. The expression is: When all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. Or: When all you have is anti-Israeli hatred, every problem looks like Israel. Or: When all you have is anti-Trump hatred, every problem looks like Trump.
Or: when all you have is stupid. Everything you do and say looks stupid.
There’s a whole lot of stupid out there. In Iran and in America.
But there’s one less Iranian nuclear facility.