Kicking Up My Star-Spangled Heels for “Iraq for Sale: The War Profiteers”
Yep, that’s the Shah (see Paragraph 5) in front of me.
— Photo: Paul Bliedan

“In the spirit of Blue Values, we are pleased to present my old friend Robert Greenwald‘s critically acclaimed new film “Iraq for Sale: The War Profiteers.” Thank you for coming, thank you for being the part of America that resists this awful war, which now includes a majority of Americans, and a huge majority of the rest of the world, including now the Chief of Staff of the British Army. At this point, everybody knows we ought to get out of Iraq — even that royal chickenhawk Bush knows we’re in a terrible jam. So why are we still there? Why does everyone say we’re going to be there for years to come? I believe that the answer, at least a large part of the answer, lies in this film. The answer is that people are making big money off the big misery of this war. The answer is in what a Republican President from a much earlier era, Dwight Eisenhower, warned us about: Beware the Military Industrial Complex. Beware the War Profiteers. Beware of Thanatos. Reach out to Eros. Reach out to love, Brothers and Sisters. And enjoy the film.”

Speakeasy Gathering for “Iraq  for Sale: The War Profiteers” — Photo:  MarsFX

The After-Party was mellow by Speakeasy standards.. Sorry, no public sex or squirting at this one; just a compelling film about the greed of this war for a gathering of concerned Americans ripe for some kind of revolution, several profound passionate speeches and poetry recitals given from the podium, many heated political discussions at the bar, a little dancing, a little romancing and even a bit of hot sex in the private rooms. We also treated a beautiful naked born-again Christian who had somehow landed on a table in the Speakeasy, in full rapture, clutching her sacred cross (see photo below). Through it all, Canaan filmed Wallace and Sara for his Speakeasy documentary, coming soon to a film festival near you.

Rapture at the Speakeasy. — Photo: Paul Bliedan

This was the biggest event we’ve held since my May-June date with death. I got dressed up in my old but still snappy Afghani vest that I had purchased in a Kandahar bazaar when I was 19, a diaphanous skirt made by Gene, criss-cross stockings from Leg Avenue, star-spangled red, white and blue high heels, and my new “shahl” featuring the old Shah of Iran. Why the Shah? Well, it’s a little complicated…See, this Persian guy who used to occupy the space across the way left about 1000 prints of the Shah behind, some on paper, some on velvet. I gave Gene a big piece of velvet Shah, and he made me a shawl, or a “shahl.” Okay, it’s all pretty silly, even if the Shah does look kind of like my dad, has impressive eyebrows and a lot of nifty medals. But it does remind us that America’s support of this unpopular dictator led to a student revolution that captured the American embassy, put the loony Ayatollah Khomeini and future ayatollahs in the driver’s seat of Iran (and probably, thanks to our invasion, Iraq), and helped set the Middle East on a course of anti-American fervor.

In My “Shahl” with Gene. — Photo: MarsFX

After most of the guests left and a few who drank too much fell asleep in the Zen room, my H and I got nto some deeply orgasmic sex, proving once again that anti-war activities do indeed lead to making love. Yes, I am pleased to report that now, after months of slow recuperation, we are once again having full-on penetrative sexual intercourse! It’s just missionary and very slow and gentle, but tremendous progress towards my return to the Land of the Living. So we came and went, then blissfully, my body draped around his like a curling vine wrapped around a big tree, we fell asleep, dreaming of a more loving, peaceful, bonobo tomorrow.