Our nation is invaded

By a larger more weaponized superpower. Jurassicpork of Pottersville makes us imagine what it would be like:

A great and mighty nation, a proud nation, was attacked on a new day that will last in infamy. Our country, the United States, had nothing to do with it yet the dark storm clouds cloistered over our flags, darkening our soil and there was nothing we could do to disperse them. Not openness, not diplomacy, nothing. Then, four years ago, the bloody rain began falling.

Our nation was bombed for eight months prior to the start of the actual invasion. Some government buildings were demolished, countless innocents were killed.

Our president was chased from power and forced into hiding. The United States military, which once adequately guarded our borders, has been disbanded. The Pentagon is null and void. The invading nation, more powerful than ours, still reeling from its own 9/11, invades and occupies the United States, allowing our enemies to pour in from the now-porous borders.

Cities like New York, Los Angeles and Dallas have only 4 hours of electricity a day while a provisional puppet government is set up seemingly with the sole mission of enriching the occupying nation’s private industry. Cheap and unqualified labor is smuggled in from the Philippines and elsewhere while Americans are starving in the streets.

By using the example of the US under attack instead of Iraq, he brings it home by showing what the numbers mean:

The first set of numbers were mind-numbing and still impossible to imagine, weren’t they? So how can we be expected to double that number and to give it context, we a nation that hasn’t been occupied by a hostile government since the Revolutionary war and hasn’t seen warfare in the streets of America since the Civil War. We are a people who reach for our cell phones and angrily dial our cable or internet providers when our service experiences a blip.

We cannot stand the idea of waiting behind more than one or two people at our safe and climate-controlled supermarkets and banks and feel mortally offended when an overworked clerk or tech support specialist doesn’t kiss our ass every minute.

You want to know what it’s like to be an Iraqi? Take those figures, try to superimpose them, however vainly, over the bloodless, well-swept streets of America.

(Note: I have a hard time looking at Jurassicpork's photo at the beginning of his article... it really wrenches the heart.)

Update: Fixed quote.