October 12, 2007

Osama’s Dream

starcrash-z.jpg


Osama bin Laden dreamed that the evil Count Zarth Arn from Starcrash (1979) was the reincarnation of Rummy. The Emperor of the First Circle of the Universe was about to destroy the Count by crashing a floating city into his claw-shaped space fortress. If the forces of good prevailed, it would spell doom for his plans of total galactic domination. Count Zarth Arn searched his memory and tried to figure out where everything went wrong. Since he was the reincarnation of the Bushevik Secretary of Defense, it naturally struck him that ever since the United States of America won The War on Terror by capturing the hearts and minds of people the world over after his failed administration all those many centuries ago things had gone badly for the dark side. This victory by his enemies was simply the final blow to the radical right wing, following a long chain of defeats that began all the way back in the 21st century when the democratically led peace dividend had prevailed once and for all over war profiteering on the planet Earth, and his forefathers were expelled into outer space. If he could only turn back time, he thought, perhaps he could change the course of history and save himself. The nefarious Count’s diabolical scientists had already made much headway where time-travel was concerned, and without delay they put together a beta-version for him to inspect. His villainous henchman, the green skinned Thor, would make the first trip, and if it was successful Zarth Arn could set his newly hatched plan to work. After disguising Thor to fool the earthlings they sent him on his way. He saluted the count with a stiff arm held forward at an upward angle and got in the pod. Zarth Arn paced back and forth in his long cape awaiting word from his trusty sidekick. As the Emperor of the First Circle of the Universe’s floating armada approached he prayed to his dark forces for the success of the mission before Stella Star and Prince Simon, played by David Hasselhoff, could overtake his space fortress. Moments later the time machine lit up like a Christmas tree and when they opened the hatch to look inside they found a holographic recording of Thor. “Fuck yeh, bring it on!” was all he needed to say. Count Zarth Arn’s plan was simple. He rubbed his black-gloved hands together in anticipation. He would send back a small commando unit with a shipment of ray guns and light sabers. His soldiers could train Al-Qaeda members and Taliban fighters how to use the space age weapons, and then, surely, they could turn The War on Terror around. Positive reports came back daily. The Terrorists were winning! The Bushevic Administration had cart-blanch. Every single one of their Neocon policies was green-lighted. If they wanted more money for the war Congress rubber-stamped it no questions asked. If they wanted to round people up indiscriminately and torture them, no problem. If they wanted to spy on U.S. citizens, make big business impervious to the law, or otherwise spank our Constitution, the Supreme Court bent over and said, “Thank you sir, may I have another.” The Decider-in-Chief couldn’t have been happier. Osama couldn’t have been happier. Count Zarth Arn was proudly informed by a lieutenant that they were popping Champaign to celebrate the victory of the dark side back on 21st century Earth. He looked out the giant portal of his command center for signs of the approaching armada of good guys. There were already clear indications that it was dwindling. As it came nearer large chunks of the floating city would start glowing and disappear. Hardly anything was left. Zarth Arn’s plan was working! “Adios, Stella Star,” he said and laughed maniacally. “Asta la bye-bye, Prince Simon and the Emperor of the First Circle of the Universe. Mission accomplished!” he declared before his delirious legions of black guard. “Nothing can stop us now. We will rule the galaxy!” Just then, the time machine lit back up again, and as the cheering men turned to see what was up Taliban and Al-Qaeda fighters jumped out and opened fire on them with their laser guns. They activated their light sabers, and screamed “Jehad on the space demon!” It had never occurred to Zarth Arn that they could come back through the time portal, but there they were, pouring out of the machine two and three at a time. Before he knew it his space fortress was crawling with angry zip gun wielding Islamic invaders. They vaporized his soldiers left and right. It was a bloodbath. Finally, Osama himself stepped through the open hatch of the time machine. Count Zarth Arn’s men lay pulverized around him. There was no escape. His back was pressed against a massive steel beam in the center of the room. Osama parted the gauntlet of ray guns trained on the Count’s chest, and admired the vast command center of the space fortress. “We have awaited patiently your reincarnation,” he said as he turned back to the Count. “We knew you would come back and not abandon us as did your democratic predecessors. We knew you would eventually deliver to Allah this greatest of all victories!” Zarth Arn squirmed. “Why is it,” he wondered to himself, “Every one of my master-plans just makes things worse?” As Osama took some menacing practice swings the acid green blade of his light saber arced closer and closer to Zarth Arn’s head. The Count wished everything could be like it was before. His last words were: “Where are you now, Stella Star?”

Posted by dm-b at October 12, 2007 06:16 PM | TrackBack
Comments
Post a comment









Remember personal info?