Part XV: Java Goes Nuclear

Part XV: Java Continued

‘So here’s my number, so call me, maybe.’

The Day started like any other, I roll out of bed about seven, get up around nine. Pray and
Meditate. Cereal and Coffee. I made the mistake of turning on the News. Whoops! Iran shot a Silkworm missile at one of our destroyers, so it was on like Donkey Kong. Full-on: Retaliation from sky and sea. We finally have an excuse to Bomb Iran. We said, ‘I’m so glad you came! Thanks for playing. Good riddance.’ Iran was summarily wiped of the face of the Earth. ‘See you in Hell, Bitches,’ was their reply. Syria and Lebanon immediately attack Israel, full on. Then Israel nukes the shit out of both of them.

‘Drunk again and looking to score!’ Carmen says.

‘Used to happen more than I like to admit.’ Says Java.

So, anywho . . . where was I? Oh, yeah, the news: Full-on! War! Despair and Destruction! Is it the End? No, not yet. Soon, you’ll see . . .

The News has not been Good for a good while now. Can’t you see the writing on the wall, my friends? From Mumbai to Memphis, the shit is seriously hitting the fan. What should we do? Hang on? Let go? Both, I believe, is the Answer. What do y’all think ’bout dat? ‘There’s a thousand yous, there’s only one of me.’

My premonitions had been right again. The only Dreams I remember are those that predict the Future: Like Joseph and the Pharaoh or Daniel and Nebacanezer. Scary good. I need Holy Joe to interpret my Dreams. When I attempt to do it myself, I get all twisted up, naturally, but Holy Joe has yet to let me down. He’s cool like that.

So as soon as I saw the special report, I gave Holy Joe a call: ‘Did you see the news, Bro?’

‘No. News of what?’ Joe was kind of a recluse.

‘We just nuked Iran.’

‘Didn’t you have a Dream about that a few weeks ago?’

‘Yeah. Is your CRS kickin’ in?’

‘No. I remember. Something about lightning bolts killing Muhammad. Then he came back as a Zombie? Right?’

‘Uh-huh. Then the Zombie ate Manhattan.’

‘Not good. Israel is probably next.’ I knew he was frowning on the other end of the phone.

‘Syria and Egypt have already attacked with conventional arms.’

‘Damn. I hate it when I’m right about your Dreams.’

‘Me too.’

So I stayed glued to Fox News because they have hotter news readers. Syria raised the stakes when they brought out the mustard gas. Obviously, Israel retaliated with a nuclear strike: War over and the international outcry began. End of Dream, thank God. I called Holy Joe again:
‘Joe. Are you watching the news now?’

‘No. Why?’

‘The War is over.’

‘I doubt it. Do you remember that other Dream you had?’

‘Which one?’

‘The one about the Flood.’

‘Oh yeah . . .’

‘Oh no. The Flood of refugees. The half-dead. The Children.’

‘Don’t remind me.’

That night I had another Dream. I was standing in the midst of a battlefield. On one side was a mechanized army of terriable perportions. On the other was a host of giants armed with swords and spears. On each giant rode a man armed with a bow. These seemed completely out gunned by the mechanized force, but when the tanks unleashed their shells they exploded harmlessly far from