Ok now here’s a question for all you people out there who think Prabahakaran’s a terrorist. Does he not wank at night before goes to sleep? If you prick him does he not bleed? If you stole his lunch and beat him up, would he not cry? Is he but a man like you and me? Or is he really a woman inside like Boy George or Mervin Silva? Or is he, like many believe him to be, the illegitimate, discarded son of the devil himself? Illegitimate because the devil in a drunken stupor landed in Jaffna thinking it was LA and did it with a bush lizard of some type thinking it was Celine Dion or Donald Trump? And even though you might say all the devil’s children, like George Bush, are illegitimate since after all the devil leads by example, discarded because a bush lizard is still a bush lizard and even the devil has his standards?
Yes, yes it is very brave of me to sit safe in my room in an undisclosed location in the greater Colombo area and smugly type away vicious insults to the grand old boy of Sri Lankan terrorism I know. But that’s okay, I am not asking for any medals, just doing my civic duty as a roadblock loving Sri Lankan citizen who would think nothing of sacrificing about 15 minutes of the first part of his crucial CIM exams so that some power loving money hungry white shirt wearing deranged komodo dragon of a politician can wait for his wife to leave (through a different route, eliciting the services of other patriots and honourable citizens such as I) so that he can get his servant to suck him off in the kitchen and still get his nice round ass to parliament for the next power hungry bastard with something to gain to kiss in 15 minutes flat. Oh yes, I am all for efficient governance.
While retracting my rather tasteless comments about the devil and his dirty deeds above, for after all a lady is still a lady even though she may have been unfortunate enough to have a son like Prabhakaran, I am forced to ask, who is the real terrorist here?
One, gets people to die for him without even meeting them in the name of an ancient cause that frankly no one even knows anything about anymore. The other, revels in the war effort and uses it to consolidate his power by scaring the people making them bend over double and give him all their money. Probably half of which he uses to buy weapons netting a handy commission out of the whole deal. Some might call it a lost cause. But no one really knows anymore.
It’s like when Mr Perera snapped at Mrs Soyza’s dog and Mrs Soyza called Mrs Perera a drunken whorebag because Mr. Soyza who drinks every night, can’t resist looking over the wall to get a peek at Mrs. Perera’s extra large green cotton panties hanging on the washing line. And so begins a long drawn out battle between the Pererá’s and Soyza’s and including, among it’s many casualties, a cut down thambili tree for daring to drop its produce on the wrong side of the parapet wall, a surprised bas unnahey who chose the wrong side of the border to keep his foot on during some construction, a harangued local police officer sick and tired of dealing with petty complaints and who ultimately suffered a stroke, and even more harassed looking neighbours unable to sleep due to noisy arguments from both sides all through the night, and who went out and didn’t contribute positively to the workforce and spread the insomnia throughout their acquaintances and throughout over ever widening circles causing car accidents, bus accidents, moral degeneracy and a serious economic down turn preceded by a financial crisis in the US where the Perera’s stressed and vacation deprived son was working at Bear Sterns as an investment banker looking for a new high return, risk insurable investment opportunity.
Ultimately, the Soyza’s dog died from a heart attack and Mrs. Perera stopped wearing extra large green cotton panties due to having lost so much weight by fighting all day and through having developed an allergy to cotton that brought her out in itches and boils that her doctor said was due to stress and from not being able to stand the colour green anymore because it gave her traumatic nightmares about how it all started. And Mr. Soyza stopped drinking after a bout of extreme depression when Mrs Perera stopped wearing extra large green cotton panties and stayed sober in order to better focus on the fight at hand and trounce the opponent even though he hadn’t the faintest what it was all about, having been drinking at the time it all started. And Mrs Soyza wouldn’t stop fighting till Mr Perera stopped and Mr. Perera didn’t see why he should stop until Mrs. Soyza backed off and apologized despite the pleadings of the harangued police officer and his insistence that there was nothing left to fight over anymore.
And so they bred the same hate and ignorance within all their children who in turn proudly presented it to their children as a part of the great heritage of their respective families and the Perera’s and the Soyza’s continue to fight to this day and no one really remembers or cares that it all started over a long dead dog and a pair of extra large green cotton panties.
So who’s the real terrorist here I ask you again. If you were to ask me, I would say neither. There are no terrorists here at all, only angry people with weapons (and a possibly inherited fetish for alcohol and extra large green cotton panties), who have forgotten why they got angry in the first place.
And as for terrorism itself, well we are all unknowingly embroiled in it. It is an aura surrounding us that we can’t shake off.Disclaimer -The selection of these two esteemed Sri Lankan last names was purely random, and may have been triggered by the memory of two families in my former neighborhood that were constantly at loggerheads with each other. No offense meant to any individual bearing the names of Soyza or Perera, nor to anyone fond of green cotton undergarments of any size.