The Ultimate Compliment

As I elbowed my way today through elCairo's epic traffic, I noticed the last thing you want to see when traffic is that bad: high-ranking police officers. Those, of course, only appear on the streets when one of them Party Members--yes, I'm going with a 'China metaphor'--is passing by. Before I knew it we came to a complete stop on my side of the road while the other side was becoming eerily empty for that time of the day... ah, yes, the armada approaches.

I truly enjoy watching those caravans pass by. The motorcycles whisking by, the uncomfortable big security dudes crammed in SUVs and the trucks with really big jamming antennas, really big, as in big enough to the extent even Freud would be uncomfortable around them. I wonder if the dudes driving these jamming trucks ever worry about sitting very close all the time to those antennas that blast high-intensity microwave radiation? Based on a very credible Southpark episode, I'd say those dudes should worry about ball cancer.

But I digress, I caught myself thinking how needing all of this security is really the ultimate compliment one could get. Probably an international award is a close second. Sure, people are thrilled to recieve the Nobel prize, but deep down they know that a bunch of bureaucrats went through a tedious screening and filtering process that ended up with an envelop with their name, ugh, it makes me sick. On the other hand, needing nine motorcycles with bigass dudes with Uzis as part of your flotilla tells you that you're so important/dangerous that people out there are actively planning attempts on your life and that is the ultimate compliment.

I'd enjoy being a Party Member, I know it.