and then Alfonso the Mouse 
went and said:
leave it to a nation as morally bankrupt as the United States
to air the funeral of Colin Powell on all its major networks,
its hollow Christianity blessing
an unabashed enabler of empire who,
there but for honesty, might have rotted in jail
for sweeping Vietnamese mass murder under a rug
and for perpetrating the most horrendous lie of all time,
mercilessly sealing unexamined coffin lids
on a million human beings in Iraq.
as if we needed further proof that America,
whether led by its simplistic Trumps
or its diversifying Democrats,
could be bothered to even acknowledge
the uncounted unexceptional unAmerican lives
snuffed out by a century long
financial genocidal unhinged crime spree
sprung on the vestiges of its unrecognised humanity
by a Hollywood fed and divisively conquering
press of freedom inflamed
rampant self obsession with its own profitable oblivion,
whilst Julian Assange is slowly tortured to death
for the folly of shining a light
on the unsung irony
of its "rules based order"
by attempting to strike a match
on its withered capacity for reflection.
it's like Woody Allen said,
if Jesus came back today,
he'd never stop throwing up.
the Mouse that, if this drawing had any intention of approaching an honest reality, the Donkey and the Elephant and a pair of television cameras would square off on two sides of a table, in a rickety coming a cropper rambling house entirely closed off by blindered windows, and out in front, beyond a giant electric fence, we'd find Russia's eloquent bear holding a fancy new ray gun, and China's nonjudgmental Panda adding figures on an abacus and scattering gold coins, next to a bewildered myriad array of tiny curious critters from all the Super Powerless nations in the bandaged Global South, all huddled up in the brittle hope that if that astonishing Panda manages to finish connecting Eurasia with his wonderful new everybody wins silken road under the patiently sophisticated Bear's oh! so determined protection it might just be possible to live in a Multi-Polar world that no one gets to define as their own "backyard" or "global battlefield" as they relentlessly murder millions of living things in just the last couple decades with uncountable bombs, unaccountable drones, and, topping off a right sidling of history/staggering crime spree/blatant deal with the Devil with the spanking new invention of utterly vicious sanctions on anyone who might possibly interfere with the almighty right to profit from might that the "bad guy" thrusts on three dozen still uncoerced nations full of struggling human beings and the "good guy" quietly leaves in place, all the while blathering on about how free and independent and blessed by rampant intervention's Godly intentions they are, because, standing out in the midst of the cracked and rutted heat-struck street, where millions of hungry children are milling, it's awfully hard to see the actual meaningful difference between that self-involved pair of blithely unrepentant bickering mobsters.
