Dear Lower Caste Members,
October 2nd will mark the first annual International Day of Non-Violence. This "holiday" was adopted earlier this year by the United Nations to honor the Father of the Indian Nation: Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. Iím going to celebrate by walking over to my Indian IT consultant and beating the vindaloo out of him with my Brahmin ball-gag.
Why the irony you axe? Because Iím not in the habit of celebrating the birthdays of mass-murderers. Which is more than we can say for the United Nations. Like the blithering idiots that call themselves Indians, they were duped by the genius of a man who, had all his wishes been fulfilled, could have beat out Influenza as the most prolific killer in human history.
During his tenure as Indiaís beloved father, Gandhi expertly cultivated his image as a Hindu mystic spending long hours at his spinning wheel, meditations and fasts. He knew that a country as diverse as India would never stand united as a Hindu State or follow a Hindu fakir. Pretending to agonize over any partitioning arrangement, The Great Soul expertly played Hindu Politicians against Muslim while he controlled the simmer of resentment until it could unleash the maximum carnage. Whereas in prior years, his killing was limited to sending a few dozen followers into the tread of British tanks, Gandhi saw before him the ability to conduct his Opus de Extermination by simply drawing a line on a map.
In the two weeks following partition, about 500,000 people were subject to the largest movement of humanity in recorded history. And the largest tsunami of violence. Not bad for a cartographical novice. But now that the British were gone, the Mohammedans ensnared in Pakistan, and no enemy on the horizon, Gandhi was like Big Brother without Emmanuel Goldstein, George Bush without bin Laden, Wiley E. Coyote without the Road Runner. And deep within this compost pile, in the twilight of his life, The Great Soul would incubate his most ambitious plan yet. A plan that could have set his place as historyís great exterminator.
Unlike the leaders of Soviet Russia or the Third Reich, The Great Soul did not rule by decree, nor did he explicitly sanction the monsoon of misery over which he presided. He knew that overt murder on the scale of his ambitions was the domain of times since passed and his was not the age of Great Kahns or Warrior Kings. So what to do? When the Nazi horrors came to light, The Mahatma urged the Jews to commit mass suicide "to arouse the world and the German people to the horrors of the Nazis." When they didnít, he learned that Jews were either harder to kill than Indians or that genocide could not be prosecuted with a press release. And then... while in this dizzying midst of new technologies... he knew the monstrous form his genocide would take: technological retrograde.
When one is Bapu to a child, one can shape their mind and future as easily as clay before the oven. When one is Bapu to 400 million, one must tread more carefully. The Mahatma could not just change direction in pacifism without arousing suspicion. Gandhi was a good student and remembered his Malthus. He knew that his romantic overtures for a simpler life in the villages of India, where peasants would spin their own clothes and the seasons of crops and beasts would determine human diets was fine for a few hundred thousand but really didnít scale up towards the 400 million mark. Jackpot! With any luck, Gandhi could, within a generation, not only add 100 million to his kill-count but also have the pleasure of watching them slowly and excruciatingly starve to death. A time-consuming execution for which no prior genocidaire had the time or budget. His would be a legacy unlike any otherís. He would be a one-man extinction-level-event.
But fortunately, before he could realize his dreams, Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi was shot by someone who was on to his demonic game. And thus, this latest horseman of the Apocalypse would have his ashes scattered in the rivers of the world. And I hope the River Styx. So celebrate away you blithering idiots. Make like the US Postal Service and take a holiday. I only hope that if you ever peel back the layers of this brown little man and behold the awesome blackness of his soul, Iím there to shove your fat ass down the abyss.
Love & Graphic Violence,
Cyber Hooligan; http://www.cyberhooligan.com