Last night I consumed a pint of Christian Brothers® brandy from Royale Junior Liquor Market and sat down to determine my position on U.S. Intervention in Syria. This was not inspired by Drunk History:
I kept thinking about a guy peeling potatoes.
Originally I pictured him in one of Assad’s palaces. I heard on NPR, an expert speculating. Maybe the US would bomb the palaces to send a personal message to Assad. So I thought of a guy who works in the kitchen there. You think they let them leave when they’re going to get bombed? I’m sure there are guards standing around with AK’s, making sure the staff stays put. I kept thinking about this guy. He has a kid maybe, a girl. He was having issues with his wife, some pain in the ass in his day. But good things happened, too. His daughter did something cute, brought home a picture from school. He was employed. Lucky to be. And what other jobs are out there. You get a job for the king, you gotta take it. So he’s peeling potatoes in the kitchen. Everyone is nervous. They heard the Americans are going to bomb the country. Scared chatter. Someone makes a joke. The dark mood is broken. Then they’re all vaporized in fire. Skin blistered off, organs boiled inside their bodies. His daughter hearing the news. Continue reading
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