Fars News Agency: Ahmadinejad Invites Chavez to NAM Summit in Tehran

Fars News Agency :: Ahmadinejad Invites Chavez to NAM Summit in Tehran:


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Mahmoud Ahmadinejad the President of Iran, called his fellow dictator and evil twin Hugo Chávez in Venezuela (can you imagine?):

"hU-go, are you on the line?" "This is Mah-mood." The fuzzy connection across time zones made it hard to hear.

“Sorry about calling so late, Hugo, it is already seven o’clock in the morning here; have you had a busy day?” (It was 10pm the previous day in Caracas)

“Not really, Mahmoud,” buenos dias, said Chávez.

"How are you feeling, dude?" Ahmadinejad continued, "I hope the treatment doesn't get you down." The dictator Mahmoud Amadinejad continued, "were you able to sneak up to M. D. Anderson, or are you stuck with those Cuban quacks for Doctors you told me about?"

"Don't worry about me Mahmoud, how are you feeling about this big world we are about to take over?” Chávez smiled as he talked.*

"Well, the NAM summit in August is for the biggest Heads of State in our organization; it would be excellent if you could make it?" Ahmadinejad said, adding, "you know that decisions are made by consensus, but they require substantial agreement on issues. I think you always sway the committee with your sharp rhetoric." "If you are up to it."


Chávez inquired, "Mahmoud, you are hosting this event, is that correct?" "And going to the London Olympics as well?"


"Yes, I am the NAM president this year and the meeting is in Tehran," Ahmadinejad replied.


"Sent the invite to Nick, but I wanted to call and check on you; this is my secure  iPhone®, are you on a good line, or would you rather me text you?" Chávez replied that everything on his end was secure.

Ahmadinejad replied, “I am still frustrated about my f#cking nuclear scientists; they are way behind schedule.”

He continued, “these d$mn diplomatic meetings we're putting up with are making my team distracted as well…”


"Mr. President, you have always done fine in these types of meetings; your ability to obfuscate and confuse is superior even to Auric Goldfinger!"

image credit: Kerry Waghorn

"Thanks, hU-go, I will take that as a compliment," adding, "I remember the last time we hung-out in Costa Rica, fishing; you liked the old James Bond movies!"


"But I am serious about this NAM summit; our struggle against imperial racists and pigs is only strengthened by your presence; besides, this year NAM is also also going to be a huge party,"

"I am also inviting the heads of state of Cuba, Nicaragua, Ecuador and Bolivia; you know how those middle-American guys like to drink?!" (Chávez laughed on his end of the connection).


Ahmadinejad whispered into his phone, "come a few days early Hugo, and I will show you our developing nuke program; we have certainly made great strides in providing cheap consistent energy for our citizens, and our military!"

Chávez moaned, "Now you are making this sick old communist berry jealous..."

"I know the "Roosevelt Corollary" to the Monroe Doctrine makes it hard for you to develop a nuke program like we have; you just stay focused on your oil business and getting well, brother. I am going to keep America busy for now; you take care of yourself," said Ahmadinejad.

"Mahmoud, you sound like such a statesman!" "I'm impressed," he said sarcastically.

Ahmadinejad defended himself proudly, "my Ph.D. is for transportation engineering and planning, but I can read the American history books too," "America is for Americans!" "That's their cr*p throw-down line, isn't it?"

"Evil forces have been mobilized from all directions to apply pressure on countries like ours Hugo, so I want to get our nuke program strongly established before I leave office next year."

"Bless you, bless you Mr. President; I hope you accomplish all that you set out to," Chávez added, "and if you make it back from Moscow in June, I hope to see you at the NAM summit in August..."

"It's late brother, I am going to let you get to bed."

"Thanks for taking my call, you old war-horse."

"You will be in my prayers today in our capital, the holy city..."

Chávez cautioned his old friend, "watch out for those Navy jets Mahmoud; when one of those carriers parks in the Persian Gulf, it's like having a policeman at the end of your street!"

"I hear them sometimes at night, my friend; all we have to quarrel with them is a couple of old Tomcats," adding, "but I am trying to get one good bomber ready, if you know what I mean?!"

"Indeed, mah-moud, good night from Caracas!" 

Chávez hung up. Evil sizzled through the night.

©Mark H. Pillsbury
(political fiction ripped from the headlines)

*Editors note: Hugo Chavez died on March 5, 2013

Heaven and Hell - by John Jakes - 3rd book in Civil War Trilogy (review)

Heaven and Hell - John Jakes - Google Books:

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Most recent book review written May 23, 2012:

After writing a series of Kent Family Chronicles in the 1970s, author John Jakes (b. 1932-) became the Godfather of Historical Fiction by penning a highly acclaimed Civil War Trilogy in the 1980s, all of which made it to #1 on the best-seller lists. This is a review/recommendation of the series.

The saga was also made into a popular ABC-TV mini-series (remember young Patrick Swayze and Lesley-Anne Down in 1985?). The first novel North and South was about the grinding build-up to Ft. Sumter and the battle for States’ rights over Federal power, but also set up nicely the full cast of characters that play out over the next two novels. 

The second book,  Love and War was about the tumultuous war years, full of blood-soaked action and romance; and the final volume, Heaven and Hell (which I just finished) proves that the Civil War wasn’t just about slavery, money, and power. 

The final book uses a very accurate portrayal of “Redemptive Reconstruction” as it was called, to paint a picture of the depravity and chaos unleashed on the post-war society. It thoroughly digs into a post-traumatic culture, its lost innocence, and how wounds and economies tried to heal in the postbellum South. 

Most central however, are the human relationships broken and the psychological carnage inflicted by a War between States to families, brothers, cousins, lovers. By the third volume, the fully-developed characters play out their dramatic conclusions in the United States now completely different after the war, than it was antebellum. 

Unfortunately, Jakes gives a reader glimpses of an ill-formed modernity proceeding after 1877. Even though the actors play out more melodrama than historical drama, Jakes works hard to weave actual events into every chapter; with plenty of conflict to keep the reader interested. 10 million copies of these books are now in print. This series is 5 ***** out of 5. (Vol. 3 by HBJ ©1987)

©Mark H. Pillsbury

My Memories of Ranger Highlights: 5/1/91: Nolan Ryan's Amazing 7th No-No - Video | MLB.com: Multimedia

5/1/91: Nolan Ryan's Amazing 7th No-No - Video | MLB.com: Multimedia:

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The Texas Rangers went 23 years in Arlington Stadium without a playoff game or a no-hitter; in fact nothing much happened at Arlington Stadium. Typically, by the time the dog-days of summer hit the metroplex in July, the Rangers had long since given up the AL West division and played merely because their loyal faithful showed up each night.

Nolan Ryan changed all that because after signing in December 1988; he brought to the team a winning persona and the fearlessness of a hired gun. He was the natural icon for a team of western heroes called rangers, and one night in 1991, he mastered the game as if overcoming evil on the plains of the west. It was even more impressive because it was tossed with such dominance by a 44-year old pitcher, who was managed that night by a younger, former teammate, Bobby Valentine.

The baseball felt like a tiny marble in his hands. “It’s so dang hot tonight, my God I am going to sweat out 10 pounds!” Feeling old after only 4 days rest from his previous start, his fingers tossed the bullet up and down in one hand as he focused on the seams, “the ball feels just right tonight, it fits well in my fingers.”

The seams felt genuine on the pads of his index and middle finger of the right hand. The early innings proved easy for Nolan Ryan against the 1^st place Toronto Blue Jays on this balmy summer night of May 1, 1991.

“I see Mike’s glove so clearly, I’m throwing softly and yet it appears to be smoking to the plate.” He stood on the mound, slightly above the action, menacingly beaming down toward the batter, yet innately relaxed, simply doing his job, pitch-by-pitch, man-versus-man. Tonight Nolan was unhittable, in the "zone."

“Man, the pop of the glove is nice tonight. These guys are watching a lot of my pitches go past them. They’re in trouble.” Tall and lanky like a gunslinger with a Colt revolver tied to his leg, Nolan Ryan was the game’s strikeout king in part out of fear; his reputation for fast pitches, grim face, and intimidating glare just fueled the competitive advantage.

“I’m just a regular guy, but up here on the mound is like being on stage; I play the part of Wild Bill Hickok, Buffalo Bill Cody, or Wyatt Earp: one against all.” Nolan Ryan’s fans pictured him as the humble man who shot Liberty Valence, the meanest gunslinger in the western division. His persona was perfect as the “Lone Ranger” willing to go fearlessly into a gunfight, white hat versus black hat, looming down on the villain from higher ground.

Almost 34,000 fans were as tightly strung as the batter’s shoelaces and after the fifth inning, with just 12 batters left to retire without a hit given up, tension was thick, crowd noise deafening, and every pitch hung like a jury verdict.

The hitters’ success showed the audience the possibility of a no-hitter, although involuntarily: if his fastball came at the batter like a bullet, the curveball like a ball rolling off of a table, it was the change-up that did the most embarrassing damage because it made the hitter look so irresolute and feeble. Victims of this deception literally skipped out of the box when the same arm-motion produced a pitch only 10% slower; it was illusory, magical, and corruptible.

Pop, the ball slapped leather! “How’d you like that one Ro-Bert-Oh?” He had played with Alomar's father in California. “Another strikeout; dude, this game is going fast…” “Everyone is freaking out, but they forget that I’ve done this six times,” said Mr. Ryan, a modern Paladin.

Those of us lucky enough to watch the game in-person were as nervous as the players in his dugout, disparaging of any spectator who openly discussed the possibility of Nolan Ryan perfecting his 7^th career no-hitter that night. We were close enough to see the Rangers walk away from Nolan when he sat down heavily to rest between innings on the bench. Baseball superstition is that one’s teammates must not acknowledge what is happening (possible no-hitter) for fear of “jinxing” the performance; while at the same time being in the precarious position of occupying the same dugout. The stadium grew louder as the team bench grew solemn; everyone stood for the last two innings.

Ryan’s 7 no-hitters are bestowed generously on 7 different catchers, many with forgettable careers: Jeff Torborg, Art Kusnyer, Tom Egan and Ellie Rodriguez of the California Angels; Alan Ashby of the Houston Astros; and John Russell and Mike Stanley of the Texas Rangers. Stanley drove a Coca-Cola delivery truck before he got the opportunity to play MLB again. “My legs are killing me but the shoulder feels clean as a whistle,” Ryan thought as he walked back to the mound after 24 batters failed to get a hit. “I am actually just getting warmed up!”

The noise in the ballpark reached a crescendo as the Rangers tried to complete three more outs in the top of the ninth inning, leading Toronto by the score of 3-0. No tallies on the old scoreboard, previously used in Turnpike Stadium; up to this point, it was the biggest moment in Arlington TX baseball history. Three more outs without a hit, and the Rangers host their first no-hitter. Certainly through the years, the Ballpark, and two World Series appearances, other successes have surpassed this moment, but I don't see how; for the fledgling Rangers this was the apex of attention, and a national TV audience looked on. Even Rickey Henderson's earlier record base-stealing day was eclipsed by the great Nolan Ryan.

There was a single play to center field that gave the fans a small fright, but after the ball was caught and thrown back to the infield, Nolan took it back to his glove where it belonged, again he casually tossed it in the air with his pitching hand, catching it and looking at it like they were having a conversation. “I am going to toss you like a sunflower seed, flicking you off of my fingers with blinding speed,” thinking to himself; he had the natural ability to shut out all the sound and concentrate on the pitch.

Each Toronto batter struggled not to get down 2 strikes to this Jedi master on the mound, that count meant an insurmountable advantage for the ace. Even casual fans could see him dominating the line-up of opposing hitters. Most of the tension was with the defensive backfield to Nolan Ryan, “I don’t want one of these kids to have to live down losing me a no-hitter,” Nolan thought humbly, “Lord, if I can just throw it across the plate here for three more batters, this is gonna be a huge party!”

By the end of the final inning Nolan Ryan was just throwing red-hot heat at the Blue-Jays, blatantly challenging them to guess which of his three pitches he would offer, by occasionally throwing a pitch besides the fastball. It was Russian roulette for the Blue Jays. Fans chanted, "No-lynn, No-lynn!" over and over again. After the final out, there was bedlam.

“These fans have been so supportive of me even though I am older than dirt,” Nolan said after the game, “it was extra special to do it in front of the home folks.”

[Author’s note: I was present at the game on May 1, 1991. Greatest sports moment for me, indeed! All quotes by Nolan Ryan are fictional]

©Mark H. Pillsbury

Standing On Top of the World: Code Yellow Part III

Van Halen - Top of the World (Balance World Tour 1995) - YouTube:

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Standing On Top of the World: Code Yellow Part III

A beautiful gray flat-top box set against the deep blue of the ocean, The Stennis was a floating runway with a long white wake flowing miles behind it like the contrails of a reconnaissance plane flying at high-altitude.

Easy to spot with a bright sun and clear visibility, however this night, all planes were taking off in the dark; only instruments and skill would return them safely to the carrier deck.

Legend is that President Clinton honored the carrier’s importance when he once admitted, "When word of crisis breaks out in Washington, it’s no accident the first question that comes to everyone’s lips is: ‘where is the nearest carrier?’" Providing "forward presence," and in this case “diplomatic support,” aircraft carriers like the USS John C. Stennis remain an important part of America’s power and image.

Previously Iran threatened to block the Strait of Hormuz, used to transport 20% of the world’s oil out of the Persian Gulf. Their bluster protested sanctions imposed by the US and the EU, intending to force Iran to give-up its nuclear program; instead, it got them the biggest police officer in the world, the US Navy, walking a beat.

Dipping slightly after being catapulted clear of the carrier’s bow, the sheer power exerted by Lieutenant Harrington as he lit up the two powerful General Electric turbofan engines, jerked the two officers backward in their seats as the nose pointed upward to a foreboding black sky. This $21M F/A-18F Super Hornet’s thrust-to-weight ratio was still very good, even though it approached the maximum takeoff weight of nearly 50,000 Lbs.

The Hornet pulls 4-6 G’s on the way up: G forces are multiples of ordinary earthbound gravity (1.0 G). G forces are typically shown by accelerating quickly in a sports car, riding a roller coaster, or even sneezing.

“Let’s pull out to the north J.O., I want to get up against the ceiling if possible,” Lt. Harrington said over the intercom. “Roger that, Rocket One,” was my only reply, it was hard. to. talk. while pulling g’s.

Back toward the six, or the rear of the aircraft; otherwise called the stern on a boat, the lights of the carrier and the coastline faded away as we climbed on top of the world soaring at airspeed of almost 500 knots. The plan was to get the squadron up high and then slowly circle downward in a patrol of the Persian Gulf. The visibility was clear enough to see bogeys from far away.

High level satellite photos disseminated publically by the Institute for Science and International Security [ISIS] online (taken April 9, 2012), show a site south of Tehran called “Parchin” that probably was used in nuclear weapon development; however the U.N.’s watchdog agency IAEA was recently denied permission to investigate the site.

This week’s diplomatic meeting in Vienna should address U.N. concerns, but tonight the U.S. Navy is all over the gulf to show Iran what their lack of cooperation could cost them.

“A few of our Hornets are going to use the FTI 2 reconnaissance cameras, so we can get some tactical comm to the ship,” squawked Harrington, “We’ll be their escort.” “The fly-by over Fordo should be the hot-point in this trip, J.O., don’t you think?”

“We have plenty of ammo onboard Lieutenant, let’s not worry if we make bad houseguests?” I replied hastily.

“Their old Tomcats don’t bother me much, taking pictures is the easy part,” adding, “I hate to repeat myself, but it’s the landing back on the boat that worries me.” Honestly, I was totally ignoring the Code Yellow folder from earlier in the evening.

Diplomatic negotiators will assert that Iran must shut down its secret nuclear enrichment facility at Fordo, near the city of Qom, if aviators from the John C. Stennis aircraft carrier find out what is going on from the air.

Moving Iran’s enrichment program to Fordo, built inside a mountain with hardened defenses, might put Iran inside a “zone of immunity,” in which Israel would no longer be able to cripple the centrifuges with typical bombs.

So, tonight, on Israel’s errand, the Code Yellow folder held unconventional plans to destroy Fordo if need be, while Iran thought all eyes were on Parchin.

Laconically, the Lieutenant acknowledged my fear, “ten-four, J.O.”

“Get the paparazzi lined-up to swing down over land,” said Lt. Harrington, who was all business tonight. We had orders.

©Mark H. Pillsbury
(aviator fiction series #3)

TIME Magazine Cover: Are You Mom Enough? - May 21, 2012 - Parenting - Mother - Babies - Children - U.S.

TIME Magazine Cover: Are You Mom Enough? - May 21, 2012 - Parenting - Mother - Babies - Children - U.S.:

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Theater of the Absurd:

On the worst week in stock performance so far in 2012, from Wall Street, Washington, New York, Los Angeles, Philadelphia, even Houston; mainstream sources of media have been pouring out a pipeline of strange, abnormal, and disturbing information that got so thick and nasty this week that I finally noticed the absurdity of it all and turned it off. I am sick of being immersed in the strange but true stories blasting off of the screen, or talking to me on the radio as I drive. Have you heard or seen this stuff?

• A writer for the Houston Chronicle was fired because she makes money on the side for being a nude (exotic) dancer.
• Facebook co-founder Eduardo Saverin renounced his U.S. citizenship in order to avoid paying a huge income tax bill when the social network site goes public later this month.
• Graphic image of a mother breast feeding on the cover of TIME magazine (see link above via Blogger)
• Chief Justice of the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals, in California, had sexually explicit material on a personal website, reported by the LA Times. 
• A popular gun website selling Trayvon Martin-inspired paper targets depicting a hooded sweatshirt similar to the Florida shooting victim
• The Philadelphia Inquirer ran the front-page story of a former priest transferred eight (8) times in 25 years amid a trail of complaints about his infatuation and misconduct with teen boys. He is finally being prosecuted for sexual abuse.
• Three iconic figures of entertainment, sports, and politics are currently on trial in United States federal court: John Travolta of TV and movie fame since the 70s, Roger Clemens baseball star since the 80s, and Senator John Edwards a major political figure since the 90s. All on trial for nefarious misconduct, lying, or fraud. (innocent until proven guilty)
• Jennifer Lopez fondled and groped during a dance routine on FOX’s American Idol, where she is singing about making love to young male dancers, during one of the highest watched shows among young people on the market
• President Obama decides to change his position on traditional marriage, apparently worried about his chances at re-election; pandering to the farthest left political wing of his base.
• The trailer for a new film-noir crime thriller set in Mesquite or Garland, Texas which looks to be one of the most graphic movies since The Exorcist: http://youtu.be/W16OlLoB5Fw

The quality of discourse in our culture matters. It's what dominates the national psyche, dictates the conversations and patterns of thought of viewers and listeners. The media business is so saturated and competitive, that the battle for our consideration turned ugly. Whatever is the most absurd, peculiar, salacious, prurient, violent, negative, controversial, adversarial, provocative, different, and even naughty; has the best chance at catching the attention of the audience with deliberate placement of striking, noticeable material at the lead of the broadcast or the cover of the publication.

I'd suggest what Eugene Peterson once said in The Message; that viewers and listeners would do best by filling their minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse. This might sum up what I am trying to get my mind around as I look at this week’s news. Turn it off. Enjoy some time with your mother this weekend.

©Mark H. Pillsbury 

Let The Wave Say

"If the surface of the ocean is this time that we’re alive;

Then this rising wave in motion, is this moment that we ride.

If you don’t move when it’s moving, then your life leaves you behind.

If you can’t see what it’s doing; trust the wave more than your mind.

When the wave is all around me, I got no other plans;

I just balance through the changes, and let the wave say who I am.

From a thousand miles of water, from the wind beyond belief

Every wave roars out its power, as it rises on the reef

And the high blue wall can break you; you can never fight the sea…

You just learn to let it take you, to the place you want to be

Now the wave is all around me, I got no other plans;

Keep my balance through the changes, let the wave say who I am."
--David Wilcox

Watching Dave again Saturday night brought back sweet memories of 18 years ago in Dallas, when I first got the nerve to talk, one-on-one with a beautiful brunette with blue eyes who a couple years later would become my wife! He once again gave wonderful comments, poetic lyrics, and amazing guitar riffs to a small audience of faithful followers who needed the advice as much as ever. Going to a David Wilcox concert is cheaper than therapy.

One of America's premiere songwriter/singer/songwriters, the poetry in the song above (featured on his album: Reverie ©2010), “Let the Wave Say,” led-off the concert. As usual, this winsome show included a few oldies I remember from the past shows we’ve been lucky enough to see; nevertheless, Saturday the same quality instrumentation and wisdom shined through to all in the audience, even if it was their first show.

His voice and pace were vibrant, clear, and robust and this new gaggle of tunes just as appealing as others from the 1990s we know and love. Sharing the journey with his fans, never too proud to admit he doesn’t have it all figured out, Dave muses on things changing in his life, helping sort out the confusing parts from the ridiculous. The self-parody, “Capt.Wanker” was a delightful admission that Super Dave is just a human like we are. No one likes to give money to a “perfect” person or cause; even a young Adele resonates with all ditched lovers, and David Wilcox has grown up with these groupies; indeed 80% of the enthusiasts at the concert this weekend were the over-40 crowd. David Wilcox is a sober, simpler, erudite version of the post-James Taylor singer-songwriter era.

In this song, “Let the Wave Say,” the words spoke to me in a special way as I try to grapple with the rising tide of change. Our 5 world oceans cover 139.5 million square miles of the world's surface area of 197 million square miles; and excluding insects, 4 fifths (80%) of all species live in the oceans. Even though I am a land-lubber, the metaphor of the ocean is powerful; and if you have ever been crushed under a salty wave it is humbling. One cannot fight the sea. It is one of the reasons I love the novel: Life of Pi, by Yann Martel (Random House/Canada 2001).

As I tweeted last week (Twitter@markpills), art is the free-flow of creativity from deep within; expressing truth often without out words; it can be a song, a painting, sculpture, clay pottery, or photography, just to name some of my favorite. Music says things that other communication does not. Dave's guitar plucks the heart-strings.

Poetry like this resonates over days, crowding-out other thoughts. My mind goes back to the wave today; I don’t see what is going on right now, in fact, I don’t really have a very good plan. The song inspires me to jump on the wave because the worst thing I can do now is let this moment pass me by, missing the opportunity for adventure. The art shows that the song is talking to me directly, in the very first song of the show; so you can imagine that Dave got my attention. Good art is a teacher.

As I focus on the next few months, out into the black unknown; I concentrate on quiet reflection, mindfulness, and waiting on God. Trying hard not to control the wave (I would be foolish to think that), I am learning to let the force of time, future, uncertainty, anxiety, all swirling about me, take me with it, to the place I want to be.

Previously I blogged (Mar. 12, 2012) about underwater panic being deadly to a Scuba diver; however it is also detrimental to a human being caught in a vortex of doubt. All I can do is be obedient, show up, work hard, and keep my balance: in golf the swing is like a metronome; in fishing, you can’t stand-up in the canoe and fall in the water. It's all about balance.

Instead of worrying about what people think about me this time, I am going to let the wave say who I am. Thanks Dave.

©Mark H. Pillsbury