Why didn’t the US just attack Afghanistan with Monsanto GMOs?
It would have been so simple. Flood Afghanistan with Monsanto GMOs. Truckloads of seeds. Tanks full of Roundup herbicide. Result? Nutritionally deficient food crops, chronic disease, poisoning with Roundup. Perfect.
And we know how to do it, because we’ve been doing it to ourselves for almost 20 years. We’ve got it down.
GMO ballot labeling initiatives in Afghanistan? Are you kidding?
Plus…and this is a big winner, Monsanto scientists could have developed a GMO poppy seed. Throw those babies in the growing fields and you’d have gotten some Franken-opium variety. Wildly unpredictable effects. And sprayed with Roundup? Junkies all over the world would rather go cold turkey than shoot that stuff.
Actually, I had a comprehensive plan for closing out the war. It would have worked like a charm. Somehow, the Pentagon wasn’t interested. Now it’s just an historical oddity, a could-have-been. Some day, scholars might cite it in their assessments of US efforts in that far-flung region.
For posterity’s sake, read it. And weep, you Pentagon fools.
Pull all the troops out. Everybody knows we’d have to stay there forever. Kill Taliban, they hide, we leave, they come back. Why go up against that? Just vacate the country.
Then…put a winner of a plan into effect. Something that actually makes sense.
Start easy. From hundreds of planes, drop fast food all over Afghanistan. Burgers. Fishsticks. McMuffins. Legs, breasts, wings. It’s a good intro. Lightens everybody up a little. Two weeks of chicken done right.
Then, from those same planes—candy. Fifty thousand tons of gum drops, jelly beans, Almond Joy, Reese. Hell, Reese all by itself is unstoppable.
Sugar! You’re telling me people can resist sugar? They’ll be scooping that stuff up off the frozen ground. In high mountain areas, tribes live on lichen cooked over yak turds. All of a sudden, here come 20 colors of jelly beans out of the sky!
Give them enough sugar, and they’ll be running in circles one minute and lying back and napping the next. It’s a law of biology.
A month of heavenly candy.
Then next, a million cases of various diet sodas dumped out of our planes. Aspartame! Weird those dudes out. Three months of diet-everything. They won’t be able to find their way back to their yurts. They’ll be bumping into rocks and trees, howling at the moon.
Now comes the heavy action. Carpet bomb the whole country with little TV sets. And beam in soaps, Judge Judy, Rachel Ray, Dave and Jay, Oprah, Little House on the Prairie reruns, Law and Order, CSI, and wait for it—sports! Soccer, and, you guessed it, women’s beach volleyball! Amazons wearing almost nothing running on sand, hour after hour!
“Hey, Ahmed, it’s time for the Friday night tribe meeting.”
“Shh! Beach volleyball! Then Victoria and Billy just adopted a baby. She can’t have kids. Billy paid two million for a little girl. But it’s actually Daisy’s baby. Nobody knows it!”
The fabric of Afghan society comes apart at the seams.
US planes fly over with a few million cases of Prozac, Zoloft, Paxil, and Ritalin. Open the bomb-bay doors. Drop those suckers right down the slot. And tranqs! Valium! Old stocks of Librium.
On the ground, pills and capsules everywhere. You can’t walk by without picking a few up and swallowing them. It’s another law of nature.
Anthony Freda Art
So after a few more months, you’ve got the whole country hooked on meds. They’re weaving and wobbling and gnashing their teeth, when they aren’t completely zoned. A suicide problem begins to develop.
And finally, out of those blessed US planes comes the coup de grace. A few million computers. Wireless. Afghanistan is online, which means—that’s right—porn! Porn and gambling!
This, in a matter of, oh, six months, will totally destroy the Afghan culture, such as it is. You see, my friends, we’ve got weapons we didn’t know we had. Real weapons!
So we let all this simmer for a while. We let things take their natural course. We’re out of there. Not a single US casualty is being sustained.
And then, just to make sure we have the entire country enveloped and warped beyond repair, the CIA begins to broadcast, through all those TV sets and computers—take a deep breath—ready?—the AFGHAN HOME SHOPPING NETWORK!
Oh yes, my friends, where there’s a will, there’s a way. Don’t bother bringing up the fact that the Afghan people don’t have money. They’ll find money! They’ll sell each other if they have to! They’ll pawn their yaks and rifles and take out second mortgages on their shacks and huts and yurts.
The Afghan Home Shopping Network won’t be denied. Shampoos, soap on a string, Kleenex, shower caps, earrings, toe rings, rugs, couches, square-dance instruction CDs, kitchen knives, scarves, fans, belts, undies, shoes, pet food, bird houses, pot holders, battery operated hair dryers, perfume, books on tape, storage containers, stockings, lipstick, eye shadow, bathrobes, self-improvement tapes, bracelets…
And not a shot fired.
And when the population begins to develop all sorts of serious symptoms from this campaign, as they surely will, we send in the doctors and the shrinks, and they diagnose! They diagnose diseases and illnesses and disorders from here to Sunday, and they prescribe more (toxic) drugs.
It’s a party.
We do to the Afghans what has been done to us.
Because you see, that’s the pattern. We know it intimately, because we’ve bought into it ourselves.
We’re already that kind of society. Who better to impose it on another population?
And when the people of Afghanistan are softened up, poisoned, and wrecked, we bring in the US public education system and install it. That way we pick up the few remaining holdouts, the kids who have this crazy idea that they want to think for themselves, and we bury them under social programming.
We get those kids collecting aluminum cans and cheering for the 50 or 60 vaccines they’re getting pumped into their already-weakened immune systems. At age six, we teach them the 206 sexual positions described in various ancient texts. We teach them everything equals everything and they must tolerate and respect and celebrate every conceivable point of view.
It’s a blast.
We fly planes over the country dumping chemtrails, and we put fluorides into every water system, to reduce IQ, increase compliance, and promote bone loss.
Now we’re ready for major media outlets. You know, newspapers and TV news networks that do 24/7 he-said he-said and quotes from experts. Beautiful.
And then we can have free elections with candidates from the two major parties. They grin and lie and run for office and people argue and vote and it doesn’t make any difference.
The war is over, no US troops died, no bullets were fired, no bombs were dropped, and everybody’s happy—depending on your definition of happy.
Every once in a while, when the Afghan people start to come out of their trance, the CIA stages a local massacre and the media go crazy. A demand for greater surveillance is invented.
From the high mountain ranges to the lowlands, we’ve got 100 or 200 million video cameras recording everybody, all phone conversations and emails are monitored, and thousands of drones overhead blanket the country with electronic eyeballs.
The government takes away guns. US guns, black-market guns, old Soviet guns, muskets, and stingers, scooped up and shipped to drug cartels for a handsome profit.
All food crops, all trees, all bushes, all weeds, all grass in the country are GMO. The city of Kabul is renamed Monsanto.
It works, it really does.
Pacification, modern style.
Then, back here at home, the Pentagon can take those assets they no longer need for foreign wars…add them to the present considerable DHS arsenal, and deploy them on the domestic front against the restive population, when necessary.
I hereby give the Smithsonian Institute the right to publish, store, and display my Afghanistan war plan along side other military memorabilia.
Sanity deserves a place in history.
By Jon Rappoport – author of The Matrix Revealed and Exit From the Matrix. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize.