My new weather-control device is unstoppable. After years of top-secret research and development and months of focus-group testing on Kurdish tribesmen, I have tasted the succulent nectar of world domination just days before your President begins dropping bombs on my swimming pools. And it tastes like snow.
Your automobiles leap from their superhighways into the ditches at my command. Your college students slip, fall and swallow three bottles of cheap vodka because of my innovative technical brilliance. Airplanes are grounded, snow-bongs are smoked, eccentric retired senators ski down the middle of M Street to the angry honking of the ascendent bobo class of Georgetown graduates. All of this thanks to the virgin technological superiority of my new weather-control device.
Where is your terror alert code orange now? Your Pentagon threat-condition Charlie? Pummeling the Eastern seaboard, centered perfectly on the puny capital of your vainglorious, liberty-hugging country with a massive attack of snowfall, this new device will soon prove the undoing of your obsolete and self-absorbed way of life.
Ah, the noise of your collective national resolve deflating into the giddy laughter of snowball fights like a novelty circus balloon under the pressure of my technological might. Oh wait, no, that’s actually just the sound of your economy tanking while your government admires my handsomely built and mustachioed Republican Guard through $8,495 night-vision binoculars.
What were your beady-eyed, ineffectual leaders thinking? Your hermetically sealed, duct-tape and shrink wrapped safety rooms can’t save you from the awesome power of snow. And if you haven’t suffocated to death yet, it’s lucky for you that you stockpiled three days worth of garbanzo beans and beef jerky, because if your laughable snow-removal equipment can’t even defend your own capital city, how can you possibly expect your Rogue Force-trained teenage soldiers to defeat me on my home turf?
It may not be nuclear winter, but it’s dealt a striking blow to the quality public transportation that any maniacal anti-American dictator can take to the bank. Or anyone with the right investment portfolio. Since last Friday, the market cap of Poland Springs has skyrocketed like a Scud missile, and my duct tape stocks have gone ballistic like hidden chemical warheads. Even my secret agents in the United States are making a killing off the fallout from my weather-contol device. Disguised as cabbies, they charge three times regular fare, funds which will promptly get recycled into continued research in nefarious, cutting-edge weaponry.
And you thought weather-control devices were just the stuff of urban legends, TLC docudramas and poorly-dubbed Hong Kong James Bond ripoffs. Wrong. Just wait until you see what I’m planning next.
You think that for all these years that I was stockpiling weapons of mass destruction. What sort of a maniacal dictator do you take me for? Conventional weapons of mass destruction are just so … conventional. Nuclear weaponry and the rocket technology necessary to deploy it is clunky, and difficult to conceal—even in the vast subterranean recesses beneath my lead-shielded treasure bunkers. The same problems exist for chemical and biological warfare. Plus, I always have to buy from those sneaky Russians. In contrast, the technical schematics for my weather-control device were easily obtained over the Internet.
You can count on twentieth century thinking from Kim Jong Il or the Ayatollah, but you ought to know better than to underestimate me. When it comes to Saddam, expect the unexpected.
Even as you waste your precious collegiate minutes reading my clever propaganda, I’m busy implementing a new service delivery model for world domination. My innovative market strategies, coupled with cutting-edge outside-the-box technology, are simply uncanny. And by uncanny, I mean totally sweet.
Your president was right about one thing. I tried to kill his dad. But now, I’m going to take him out, just as soon as I re-engineer my choking-pretzel assassination technique. You’re mine Dubya, and, so is your barren, snow-covered country.
As I further hone the precision of my weather-control device, it will perpetually rain down upon your cities and fields with toxic ‘acid rain’ that will pollute and kill your precious natural resources. Your vibrant metropolises-Pittsburgh, Buffalo, Missoula-will wither into a smog-filled wasteland. Your cities will fester into crime-ridden ghettos. As for New Jersey … well, you’ll see. Pretty soon, the device will have manholes in Washington D.C. exploding under your feet. Even your space shuttles will be falling out of the ionosphere, due to a little modification of my own, which I like to call gravity. And lack of funding. Be afraid America—be very afraid. Stockpile your chicken-noodle soup and yams. Eat your apple pie now while you still have a chance. You cannot stop my weather-control device.
Saddam Hussein is a senior in the College and cover editor of the Georgetown Voice. He is also Eric Nazar.
