As the sun set this evening over Crawford Texas and the National Guard began to arrive, scattered bursts of small arms fire still echoed across the sun-baked terrain. Smoke billowed along the western horizon, where elements of the PETA extremist tribe had fought hand-to- hand with a gang of atheist lesbians. A blood-stained Starbucks cup tumbled across the street in the late day breeze; a banner reading “Give Peace a Chance” fluttered quietly on a barbed wire fence. Everywhere lay art-school resumes, bandanas, and other flotsam and jetsam of an experiment gone horribly wrong.
Camp Casey, the Woodstock-like gathering that had attracted thousands of waiters, actors, filmmakers, writers, sculptors and home-made jewelery designers from across the country, had disappeared in one day. One mother’s attempt to hijack her son’s death and ride it to fame and fortune had instead become a brief, violent civil war.
It became clear that trouble was brewing when the morning assembly of Camp Casey was filled with bitter arguments over constitutional language. The Sheehan contingent wanted a totalitarian regime headed by “Mama Sheehan”, with the promise that free elections would be held in six months. The waiters and filmmakers formed an alliance that advocated a direct alliance with Osama Bin Laden and a 24 hour, all-you-can-eat Sushi bar, while the SES (Self Employed Sculptors) wanted the government to buy their work if it did not sell because people were too dumb to appreciate their talent. The anarchists wanted the destruction of all writing implements, and free beer Fridays.
The assembly ended when Greenpeace stormed into the next field, angry over the lack of consideration for a constitutional amendment guaranteeing the moral and intellectual superiority of pacifism.
It was at this point that someone threw a rock that hit a member of Sheehan’s Secret Police, knocking his Grande Triple Mocha Frappachino Latte with a Double Shot of Espresso from his hands. Many blamed the anarchists for the rock toss, but it was also rumored to have come from the PETA delegation, who were highly irritable because they came naked but forgot sunscreen.
Whoever was to blame, the situation deteriorated rapidly as the groups produced weapons that had been hidden behind banners and inside coffee urns. Mama Sheehan, who had disappeared into her tent as tensions grew, emerged in army fatigues and declared martial law. Gunfire erupted, and the gentle plains of Texas became a liberal killing field for several hours. Casualties were numerous, and they included several pro-war Bush supporters who were gunned down as they sought shelter from the anti-war violence.
The afternoon produced many unforgettable scenes: Joan Baez beating an environmentalist over the head with her guitar while screaming “Power to the People!”; Cindy Sheehan, a cigar dangling from her mouth, leading a charge of her followers against the anarchists; Barbra Streisand clawing madly at the face of George Clooney; Greenpeace threatening to set off a home-made nuclear device. It seemed that the movement was at a crossroads.
Then everyone got hungry and went home.
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