By Nicky Reid aka Comrade Hermit
Exile in Happy Valley
Tensions are hurtling towards a fever pitch again in the Middle East. The entire region seems to be haunted by a phantom chaos. All through out the deserts of the Orient, an ugly rash of seemingly random acts of violence are building up into what can only be properly categorized as a Category 5 shitstorm of rank disorder. Strange explosions are going off again in the shipyards of the Red Sea. All logical signs point to more mystery mines, but Saudi Arabia insists it’s the handiwork of Houthi rebels, using James Bond style drone boats.
The typically boastful renegades remain silent, while threats to double down on Yemen’s genocidal famine by declaring them terrorists grow from whispers to mumbles. Meanwhile, airstrikes presumed to be Israeli are ratcheting up to the north, all around the Levant, as a steady stream of leaks informs the Fourth Estate that the nation of Zion is preparing for an imminent attack on Iran during the final hours of the Trump regime, which itself promises new sanctions against the Covid ravaged Islamic Republic every week until inauguration.
All of this, this building symphony of not so random mayhem, swelled to a foul crescendo with the brutal gangland shooting of Iran’s top nuclear scientist, Mohsen Fakhrizadeh, in the sleepy suburbs surrounding Tehran. Rumor has it that those creepy crawly cultists in the MeK dispatched a death squad to slaughter the venerated civilian maestro, much beloved by the Iranian people, in cold blood. But everyone knows who the real culprits are. They barely concealed it. The Trump regime and its sponsors in Israel have been throwing hints like rocks, left and right.
Apparently an unhinged Orange Man Bad recently had to be talked down by his own neocon goons from launching a massive airstrike against Iran’s nuclear facilities. This could be logically presumed to be more random de rigueur for the administration who couldn’t shoot straight if it wasn’t for the fact that it coincided closely with the world’s creepiest slumber party since Potsdam.
A clandestine gathering in the Saudi city of Neom between the lords of chaos, Bibi Netanyahu, Mike Pompeo and Mohammed bin Salman was held around Thanksgiving. Word has it that the swarthy head-chopping Wahhabi sociopath, MBS, of all animals, was actually the voice of reason at this Satanic menage a trois, as Bibi and Pompeo angled for total war. The writing appears to be written in blood on the wall, high enough for the whole neighborhood to see. In fifty different languages, from Persian to Esperanto, Donald Trump has declared a greenlight on Iran and drawn a red line that any Shiite or psuedo-Shiite can cross with a single rocket to set off Gulf War 3.
I had foolishly held out hope that Donald Trump would use his final weeks in power to reek chaos against his own neocon establishment for working overtime to make sure his presidency was a single term flop. I wanted to believe that that bronzer slicked bastard would at long last have enough common sense to realize that the only way he could leave the Oval Office as anything but a sobbing loser was to actually put America first for once and bring the troops home. I’m not incredibly shocked that such a consistently foul creature went the other way with things, but I am disappointed none the same. Even revolutionaries want to believe in miracles at Christmas.