Wars are the offspring of Propaganda, and right now the forever fercund mother of so many, is very pregnant – again.
With her ghoulish grannies knitting khaki booties and bonnets, the nursery is being spruced up with wallpaper featuring a new genocide theme. And the tins of ‘Armageddon’ baby formula are stacked.
Above the camouflage-draped bassinette swings a mobile of remote controlled drones and, ready for the inevitable mess war babies make, the changing-the-story table is well stacked with disposable apologists
A container is full with an arsenal of war toys, and more are promised once Propaganda’s uncles, who own and operate the “Wars Are US” Megastore, slip their “campaign contributions” to the last politicians.
Not sure how it happened, Ewen Mee remembers only being in a bar where the Corporate media were shouting him jugs of “Fibs, Fabrications and Falsehoods” a fiery cock (and bull) tale, that was strangely compelling.
Next thing it was morning and he was in bed with Propaganda who was leafing through a book of infant baby war names.
“How do you like ‘Enduring Righteous Democracy Crusade’?” she asked.
And there too, shotgun in hand, was Propaganda’s patron, kindly Uncle Sam, and at the door were the bought and paid for Corporate Media, eager to continue the shout, but more to confirm consummation.
With Propaganda’s family all devout members of the Church of Warped Christian Convenience, where Uncle Sam is an elder, now the baptism of fire font is being scrubbed, the priests’ hypocrisy vestments laid out, and the poisoned chalice prepared.
Ewen Mee knows any thought of Propaganda taking a morning-after pill is now simply out of the question.
The daughter of an old family, Propaganda’s roots (pun intended) go back to the earliest recorded genocides, and now, with its history of responsibility for untold misery and suffering, the family, ready to have more added, waits, drooling to do it all again.