RIP My Little Bundle of Nuclear Joy

RIP My Little Bundle of Nuclear Joy
The Crank

On Tuesday, October 25, 2011, the last of the United States B-53 bombs was dismantled at the PanTex Nuclear Arms assembly and disassembly plant in Amarillo, TX. A holdover from the cold war, this minivan-sized terminator of all things living or dead, or just ‘Fat Bastard’ to its dissemblers, was about 600x as powerful as the Hiroshima bomb. Amarillo was the obvious choice to mess with this thing, seeing as how no one would notice if said bomb exploded there.

The beastie was meant to bring destruction to even the deepest dug sanctuary of evil communism, like George Soros’ office. Its use now is viewed as somewhat “Captain Dunsel” (rendered unneeded) for all you non-Trekkers. Its destruction is being done as the world, well, some of it anyway—well, just us really—wants to get away from all evil nuclear devices. The fact remains, this little dildo of destruction was built so long ago, all the scientists who built it are either dead or retired, which makes its disassembly “quite interesting” according to PanTex techs.

Remember those heady days of the cold war? What fun we used to have at school, learning to ‘duck & cover’ to save us from a Russian attack—a plan which we know now was actually put in place by the government as a replacement for the original plan, labeled ‘bend over and kiss your ass goodbye’, which was deemed discriminatory to fat people and the elderly, who couldn’t achieve the necessary flexibility involved.

As I listened to the sound of the air raid sirens during tests, I would close my eyes and imagine the glowing mushroom-cloud-filled skies with its rainbow of radioactive colors, and feel a distant breeze on my cheek that would soon become the pyroclastic blast of final annihilation. Milliseconds before the lights go out, I say, “Oh look, I can see right through my hand!” Ah yes, the good old days; the days of watching nuclear tests with eager anticipation, always waiting for my favorite part when the house blows up and disintegrates before your eyes…but, alas, those films are gone forever now.

The whole idea was the “you got a big penis, but we got a bigger one” view of Mutual Assured Destruction, or MAD as we lovingly referred to it. If women were in charge at the time, I guess it would be “my PMS is worse than yours, bitch.”

Essentially the plan was this, if you know we have a bomb bigger than yours aimed right at your commie sphincter, you would not use yours. It worked. It has, for decades. Note to Putin: you had best see a physician, because the erection you now have will indeed last longer than four hours (with all accolades due to Jon Stewart).

You see, as we blindly disassemble our only deterrent to mass destruction, our old enemies, and some new ones, are joyfully attending to the assembly of their own. It must be like the North Pole Elves just before Christmas time at the Russian, North Korean, Chinese and Iranian Nuclear facilities. I can see it now, Cheery nuclear winter snow-covered children singing ‘Deutschland Uber Alles’ type music being played through the loudspeakers. They’re sure to be dancing with their little white-smocked elf-scientists gleefully attending to their tasks! Heartwarming, isn’t it? I can just taste the hot chocolate, glowing in the dark in its little cup. So what if the North Koreans have to eat their children to stop starvation, so what if the Iranians now have the whole country of Iraq to use for weapon storage—OK, only the south part. The north was invaded by Turkey today so they could bring those precocious little run-away Kurds back home, but that is a cluster-fuck for another time. So what if China can now hold its Nukes as well as our debt over our heads? It’s all for a good cause, isn’t it?

I think that the reaction to radiation has always been overstated. I mean, look at Chernobyl! The grass is growing, the birds are singing, the deer prance among the tall grasses. OK, the birds ARE a little large (ok, REALLY large) and their chirps now sound like the late Barry White’s burps…and, sure, the deer are now the size of a large Moose and their shit actually crawls away after it’s dropped, but so what? It’s all for a good cause, no? I wonder if one’s genitalia would also benefit from said radio-activity. I must email Dr. Hawking. Road Trip Discordians? A Brief History of Testes.

I hope we have all kept up the maintenance on our 1950s built buried bomb shelters, as we will probably need them soon. Don’t forget, canned goods last only about ten years, but Italian Romano Grating cheese will outlast even the longest half-life on record! It’s on the table of the elements, right next to lead. It’s ‘Lo’ for Locatelli.

So, as I sit here listening to Barry Maguire’s famous song, We’re On The Eve Of Destruction, Dio’s We’re the Last in Line and Europe’s The Final Countdown, while I pop in Dr. Strangelove to REM’s It’s the End of the World as We Know It…well, I can’t help but longingly reminisce on the MAD old days. I just hope I don’t get to say “I told ya so”.

Crank

Disturbing Progressives for over fifty years.

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