Then again, just shoot the Old Me

OK, I was wrong. Last Friday, in an open letter to the president, I asked that he hold off on bombing Iraq. Take another day to think it over, I said. Use diplomacy. Stay calm. Read a comic book. But I’ve changed my mind.

Though there were only about six war-lovers among those who e-mailed in response to the column, they made me see myself for the pathetic, whimpering coward I was, a man beyond contempt. John Wayne would’ve been ashamed of the Old Me. But the New Me can hardly wait to lock and load.

I agree in my chastened condition with all you said, you six. In times like these, members of the media who challenge our national policy ought to be tried for treason. I see the error of my ways, explained so clearly by those who called me another Jane Fonda. I shudder to imagine myself atop an Iraqi tank, wearing one of those checkered kaffiyehs, smiling sweetly. While my name lacks the lyrical qualities of Hanoi Jane, Evil Elmer wouldn’t be bad.

A mountain of expletives, accusations and damnations was heaped upon me in various degrees of vitriol by those who disagreed with my contention that President Bush ought to wait awhile before taking us into World War III. There’d be plenty of time for killing later on.

The rest of the e-mailers? Sorry to say, they were just like me: whimpering, cringing, tearful, pathetic, lowly, crawling, Neville Chamberlain-like yellow-belly liberal pacifists, who just don’t understand the cleansing power of war.

The New Altogether Al, the militant ex-Marine, says, let’s do it, Georgie-Porgie. Hit ‘em where they live. Bomb ‘em back into the Stone Age, the way Gen. Curtis LeMay wanted to do to the North Vietnamese before they kicked our butt. Loose guys like LeMay and that perceptive old strategist Brig. Gen. Jack D. Ripper from “Dr. Strangelove,” who knew deep in his iron heart that the Communists were out to steal our precious bodily fluids.

Well, the dirty Reds didn’t get them, but who knows if all the others who profess friendship aren’t after our precious bodily fluids too? Touch my fluid, mister, and you’ll wish you’d never heard of a smart bomb, or even a dumb one. Nothing like collateral damage to make a point.

Now that I think about it, hitting Iraq may not be enough. There’s that little problem with North Korea, for instance. Sooner or later, we’re going to have to deal with them, right? So while old Kim Ding Dong is out there blustering and swaggering the way we’re blustering and swaggering, how about, whammo, one of them thinking missiles right up the kazoo?

There goes Iraq. There goes North Korea. Now then, guys, I don’t want to seem like an alarmist, but France has been kind of a pain in the behind lately. Do we need the snail-eating Frenchies as friends? One of you out there sent me a quote supposedly by Ross Perot that says, “going to war without France is like going deer hunting without an accordion,” and maybe that’s the way it is, you know?

So there goes France. And maybe Russia and Germany too, and their peaceful, cowardly, pathetic ... well, you know. They’re either with us or against us, and at this particular moment, they don’t appear to be with us. Ka-boom! goes Germany. Ka-pow! goes France. Whammo! goes Russia. No more detente there, baby.

I can hear all you whimpering lefties say that if we do all this bombing, the entire Arab world is going to rise up against us, and maybe the non-Arab world too. Swedes, Mexicans, Lithuanians, Greeks, who knows who else? The word “terrorism,” they sob, is going to take on a whole new meaning. Hogwash! Let them come, I say! We’ve got enough duct tape and plastic sheeting to last for years. And if worse comes to worst, we can always duck and cover.

The advantages of war are obvious. There’s going to be a lot of rubble around, which means more work for our construction crews, boom times for the burial industry and the opportunity for all those backward Arab countries we bomb to start all over again with new schools, new hospitals and new neighborhoods. Right from scratch.

I feel good knowing that my mind is clear and my aim is steady. No complications. No thinking required. Just pull the damned trigger, boy! God, I love the New Me in this New America. Nuts? Who says we’re nuts? You just don’t understand, you pathetic, whimpering, traitorous fools. We’re patriots.

Bombs away!

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Al Martinez’s column appears Mondays and Fridays. He’s at al.martinez@latimes.com.