20/20 Gonzo 14: Junkies Just Shoot Junk

In that summer of '80, when the creepy Ayatollah spooked everyone good and kept holding Americans hostage, against their wills, under threat of death, blindfolded.  Heat wave in Texas, London calling, peanut Jimmy and the Gipper calling each other names.  Death to America, death to all, they kept screaming, death to your flags, to ashes with your flags, fire to your flags, they hated our flags.  Like an Iranian high school pep rally without any women, the Revolutionry Guard team runs through the smoking mouth of a snake, ready to burn flags.  The tailgate parties have ended for most, the game has started and it is no game.

Huddle up and let's all decide to call him a crazed person, irresponsible, dumb, a phone calling, qid-pro-quoing, orange-faced billionaire monster who has the gall to threaten a promise.  Kill them before they kill you seems the strategy, and the robot drones don't miss.  Rough day at the Bagdad airport.  Heaven awaits, hell is right here, bones are just bones, the soul disappears.  Dear ole Iran, seems your vows were heard, your promises of death, your threats of terror.

Speaking for no one, merely an observer, a scribe of the times, on the glowing scene, watching from the front, listening to the rumbles, smelling the embers, anticipating the responses, seeing what is seen.  Long ago America was made their devil, they needed a devil to justify their mardyrs.  The dim will moan, the ashamed will cry, the lost will protest, the junkies just shoot junk.  Movies will be made, books and book tours, and book tour signings, free with a purchase of a book.  1980 was a fine year, sorry some had to miss it.