“Turn left. Now right.” Lord-IT follows each instruction instantaneously. Sirens wail in the street below him. The terrifying crashing sounds of another explosion, though small this time, come from high above in the building he’s fleeing. Black smoke billows from windows along two sides of the twenty-sixth story. The floor and interior of the conference center on the level above are two-thirds obliterated, destroyed by the initial blast. The death toll has not begun—yet. The year is 2029. The first conference to announce our new Nuke-li-Aerial and Bitsi-Lite technologies has ended in catastrophe before it began. My priority now is to get the Lord-ITs to safety.
“How’s my wife?” demands Lord-IT. “Rebecca’s still with the bodyguards, still in the building. I’m still constantly in touch with her. She’s still safe. Focus on yourself! Eight meters, elevator on the right. Take it down to the fourth floor. We’ll be waiting there.” Lordy will have to take the stairs to the ground floor. Security teams strictly control the elevators on the lower levels, which is slowing them down considerably.
After a short while, three discernibly unmarked and highly secure cars screech to a halt outside a back entrance to the building. Lord-IT is in the back seat of the middle vehicle. Bodyguards hurry Lordy’s wife out to join him; the initial blast had irreversibly, temporarily separated them. Getting Rebecca to safety proved far easier than was the case with Lord-IT.
Eighty-three minutes later, in my office at home, I pour a drink for them and my wife.
“Thank god, you’re safe,” says my wife, again. “That was a close call.”
With a grave expression and a strong hint of worry in her voice, Lord-IT’s wife replies, “A little too close, if you ask me.”
I cannot refrain from reminding Lordy he needs to step up his personal security measures. “Maybe now you’ll listen to me. The publicity of that conference was risky, the security badly planned, especially for such a location. Hotels are accessible to anyone. It’s impossible to tie them down properly. And I’ve told you before, your identity is too well-known. Once placed, they couldn’t move the bomb around. But they could wait for you to get close to it.” It’s easy to criticize in hindsight. “If it weren’t for your doubles…”
“That poor couple,” mutters my wife, obviously distressed.
“Yes. Horrible,” Lordy shakes his head slowly, sadly. “Their families have been informed. Devastated, of course. A nightmare.” The outcome of the day sorely burdens him.
“It’s time we do something about our security. Hiring an external team didn’t work well for us. And maybe it’s finally time to do something about hiding that famous face of yours, Lordy?” I try again.
“Bitsi, I don’t want to do that.” He quickly kicks back. “Not unless it’s really needed.” Stubborn as ever on that subject. I don’t push it. I’ve tried before. And I can’t force him to go under the knife.
“We’ll need to employ our own teams,” I push on.
“Teams, Bitsi? Plural?” Lord-IT counters. “Yes, I believe it’s best to have one focused in the office. Analysts, researchers, a team that can lead investigative work that requires unlimited hardware to hand. Confuzers, I mean. Another team to take the more physical and on-location approach, security guards, protective, even combative when needed. Tonight’s events make me certain of that. It will happen again at some point, I’m sure. Possibly worse.”
“So, two teams. Will that be enough?” Lordy’s wife asks pointedly, unbelieving. She’s still shaken up by her first-time experience of being close to a violent death. Her own. Nothing short of an army would satisfy her at this point.
“Three in total, Rebecca.” I quickly take advantage of her eagerness. “The last team for you and your family. Enough people to take shifts and cover you all twenty-four-by-seven, all year round.” Rebecca nods thoughtfully, seeking comfort in contemplating the idea.
“Are you really sure we need to go…”
In a rare moment of obvious frustration with Lord-IT, I cut him off abruptly, mid-sentence. I’ve lost my patience with this ever-recurring discussion. “Yes. No question about it. I’ll start arrangements tomorrow. Would you like to meet your personal chief of security before I hire him or her?” Almost Bitsi-Tone. All eyes suddenly turn to Lordy. Bitsi-Tone never goes unnoticed.
But he’s a seasoned professional and simply eyeballs me. “Most certainly. We’ll need to ensure their trustworthiness.”
“Of course,” I smile, “and loyalty and commitment are paramount. They must be prepared to take a bullet for us.”
Rebecca resumes her worrying. “Oh dear, I hope it never comes to that.”
Knowing that it unfortunately may well come to that, I ignore her. “I have thought and prepared a lot for this moment.”
“The first two teams will be mine. Let’s call them the Bitsi Security Teams for now. To head up the non-field agents, I’ll look for a woman. They’re far better suited for the complex analytical questions, especially those that require fast decisions when missing otherwise pertinent data. The chief of the field agents will be a man. Big, strong, scary, preferably ugly, and soup-ah smart so that hopefully his brain will override his macho-ego from time to time.” The women can’t hold back their smiles. “They must also be prepared to take a bullet for each other. They must operate as one team, with one goal.”
“So,” says my wife, after forcing a straight face, “one team, with you as the leader, a man-chief outdoors, and a woman-chief indoors?” I know where she’s heading with this question. But it’s not the right time for that now. “Yes. Samson and Delilah, I will call them.”
“Er…” Lordy stumbles over his words. “If I remember correctly, Delilah is not to be trusted. Wasn’t she the heinous, deceitful, traitorous bitch who handed Samson over to the enemy?” It’s as if he were proudly giving his indisputable closing arguments in a court case with a death sentence as the worst case—yet desirable—outcome.
“The foundations of history, Lordy, were written, for the most part, by men. Tailored by men. Flavored and favored by and for men, Lordy. The Bible was written, thus, by men. God himself was depicted as a man. Woman made from man’s very body. Why?”
Lordy attempts the question. “Well…”
But I charge ahead, enforcing my rhetoric. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? Big, strong, scary, ugly, and with a macho-ego that easily overpowered the brain capacity of the average Neanderthal. Wouldn’t you agree? Good! It goes without saying, therefore, that Delilah’s character and behavior were drawn with the sole intention of making Samson look good. In the eyes of men, that is.” Judging from my wife’s expression, it appears she has dropped her argumentative gender-equality-related question. She’s smiling.
“As a child,” I continue, “The story of Samson and Delilah was my favorite Bible story. It captivated me.” Colored biblical illustrations flash before me, followed closely by images of the movie I created in my mind at that age. “But later, the fascination with this powerful strongman-cum-warrior faded from my mind, and I focused more on Delilah. That was probably around the age that my balls dropped a few centimeters, and other weird and wonderful things started to happen.” Lord-IT does not contain his laughter. My wife rolls her eyes but with a cheeky smile on her face.
“Bitsi, behave yourself!” exclaims Rebecca.
“OK,” I concede. “I made that part up. But the point is the story lost its glamour. I became disillusioned. I was disappointed in Delilah, and yet, that didn’t feel right. But I could not put my finger on it. I could not find an explanation for what I was feeling—for my apparently painful loss.”
Rebecca’s expression, softhearted soul that she is, shows that she’s feeling my disappointment, even hurting on my behalf. “Did you ever find an answer?” she asks.
“Decades later, I came across another version of that Biblical fable. And the very first reading was like pouring honey-tea with a dash of cognac down a parched, sore throat. Blissfully soothing and slightly intoxicating. Later readings had me weeping and smiling in unison. But yes, this was the answer.”
“Oh good,” Rebecca expresses her relief and sheds her pained look.
“We’re not in a rush, are we? I would like to hear it again. It’s a short story. Would you mind?” I ask.
“Not in the slightest!” Rebecca answers enthusiastically for the group. She’s a sucker for a good Bible story.
And so, before anyone has time to object, I summon the narrator. “Beast, would you please read the story of Samson and Delilah to us. My favorite version, please,” I request, politely—even though he is a machine, my soup-ah mega-confuzer: I’m teaching him manners, as well as how to narrate a piece of text or a novel. After pointing him at an audio library with text, however, there’s not much teaching to do. It’s more tweaking of nuances, which are hard for a machine to compute. I finished tweaking Beast’s narration of this particular Biblical passage many years ago.
“Certainly, sir. Narrator-style, or movie-style, sir?” responds the Beast. “Movie, I think, Beast,” as I settle back on the sofa and lean gently against my wife, resting my head on her shoulder. She runs her fingers slowly over my cropped hair. “Shall I begin, sir?” requests the Beast.
Closing my eyes, I begin again to conjure up the images of my two favorite Biblical characters. “Yes, please.”
And it came about that Samson passed through the valley of Sorek. And while he was dining there, he saw a woman whose name was Delilah. He looked at her, and what he saw was good. And though he knew it not to be so, her skin seemed pale and pure as that of a virgin.
As Samson’s gaze falls upon Delilah, her cheeks blossom and flush as a freshly ripened cherry waiting to be plucked. Samson notices his loins stirring. Yet more significantly, something moves in his heart. Or is that his soul shifting from deep within? Smitten with adoration such as he has not known before, Samson moves toward Delilah, carefully. He is conscious of his own feet and attempts not to fall over them.
Delilah knows of Samson and of his reputation. Yet, he far exceeds what she has heard. As he moves toward her, in her minds’ eye, she sees her hair and clothing. Her face reddens with embarrassment. Would that she had been prepared for this moment. Delilah bows her head as Samson reaches a hand to her. He raises her gaze to meet his. “I would know your name, woman?” he asks. “And I would be greatly pleased should you dine with me.”
Samson and Delilah spent much time together. And the people talked much of this. Then one day, the lords of the Philistines came to her and commanded her, “Entice him, and see where his great strength lies, and how we may overpower him that we may bind him to afflict him. Then, we will each give you eleven hundred pieces of silver.” This command greatly troubles Delilah. And Samson notices Delilah’s discomfort.
Samson inquires of Delilah, “Tell me, my love, what distresses you so?” But Delilah does not answer. Many times, Samson asks, “Tell me, what troubles you?”
Then Delilah answers him, “Samson, my love, my true love, the Philistines have commanded me to find the source of your great strength. If I do as they command, you will be afflicted. If I do not, then, I…, I,…”
Samson seethes with anger but fears for his true love. “Delilah, my love, my one true love, we must find a way. I could kill them all,” Samson offers.
“I do not want that,” says Delilah. They are my brethren; some are my family. We must find another way.”
After some time, Delilah feared the Philistines would wait no longer. “We must give them something,” she said to Samson.
And Samson said to her, “We shall try this: tell them, if they bind me with seven fresh cords that have not been dried, then I shall become weak and be like any other man.”
Then the lords of the Philistines brought to her seven fresh cords that had not been dried, and she bound him with them. Now, the Philistines had set men to wait in an inner room close by. And when she said to him, “The Philistines are upon you, Samson!” they entered Samson’s chambers, but he snapped the cords as a string of tow snaps when it touches fire. The Philistines fled as they saw his strength had not failed him. Samson did not attack them, for he was afraid they would seek vengeance through Delilah.
But then the Philistines summoned Delilah. And they said to her, “You have failed us.” And they afflicted great pain upon her with needles and with the venom of poisonous snakes, so that no marks were visible on her. “Do not fail us again,” they said to her.
When Delilah returned to Samson, he asked her, “Did they harm you?” And Delilah said “No, my darling, they did not harm me.” She said the Philistines took time plotting how to find Samson’s secret. And she said to him, “Samson, my love, my true love, I have contemplated this much, but I know not what we must do.”
Again, Delilah feared the Philistines were becoming impatient. “We must give them something,” she told Samson.
And Samson said to her, “This time, tell them, if they bind me tightly with new ropes which have not been used, then I shall become weak and be like any other man.”
So, Delilah took new ropes and bound him with them and said to him, “The Philistines are upon you, Samson!” The men lying waiting entered the room. But Samson snapped the ropes from his arms like a strand of wool.
Then, the Philistines summoned Delilah, saying “You have failed us again.” And the lords of the Philistines ravaged her. Delilah suffered greatly at the hands of her people and to protect her loved one. One after the other, many men assaulted her. But to the eye, no marks were visible on her. “Do not fail us again,” they said to her.
When Delilah returned to Samson, again he asked her, “Did they harm you, my love?” And Delilah said no. She said the Philistines were still plotting how to find Samson’s secret. And she said to him, “Samson, my one true love, I know not what we must do.”
Samson sees Delilah’s deep distress, and he is greatly troubled. He could kill them all. Then, this problem would be solved. But they are her family and brethren. He would risk breaking her heart and losing her.
After some time, Delilah says, “Samson, my love, the Philistines are waiting.”
But Samson says, “I do not know what to do.”
Delilah tells him, “We must give them something, anything. They are waiting!”
Samson says, “Let us try this: If you weave the seven locks of my hair with the web of the loom, then I shall become weak and be like any other man.”
So, while he slept, Delilah took the seven locks of his hair and wove them into the web of the loom. Then she said to him, “The Philistines are upon you, Samson!” But he awoke from his sleep and pulled his hair free from the web.
And the Philistines summoned Delilah once more. “Again, and again, you fail us,” they shout at her. They call Delilah’s family before her. Brothers, sisters, mother, father, and grandparents. “Whom do you choose?” They demand of her. “Samson? Or your family?” They murder Delilah’s father while she looks on. “If you fail us again, we will kill all your family.”
On her return, again Samson sees great distress in Delilah, and he questions her. “What troubles you so, my love? Did they harm you?” But Delilah does not want to make Samson angry, for fear of what he may do. And she does not want to lose him. She says to him, “No my love, they did not harm me. It is this problem that vexes me so. I cannot see a way.” And Samson embraces her and tries to comfort her, but he, too, is greatly vexed.
Samson sends a man to the place of the Philistines to hear what happened while Delilah was there. And he learns of the threat to Delilah’s family and of her father’s death. Thus, Samson knows there is no good way to solve this problem.
One more time, Delilah says, “Samson, the Philistines are waiting. What shall we do?”
And Samson answers, “Soon, my love, I will have a plan. But for now, let us try this. Tell them that a razor has never come on my head, for I have been a Nazirite to God from my mother’s womb. If I am shaved, then my strength will leave me, and I shall become weak and be like any other man.”
As Delilah regarded Samson, she saw that he had told her all that was in his heart, and she feared to bring this knowledge to the Philistines. Delilah became sick and delirious with worry. A servant tending to her, heard Delilah whisper Samson’s words in her delirium, “if I am shaved, then my strength will leave me.” And the servant went to the Philistines and told them the secret. And the Philistines lay in waiting. They put a sleeping potion in the water, so Samson and Delilah fell asleep together. They called for a man and had him shave off the seven locks of Samson’s hair. And he began to afflict him, to see if his strength had left him.
But Delilah woke, and she said, “The Philistines are upon you, Samson!”
And he awoke from his sleep and said, “I will go out as at other times and shake myself free.” But he did not know that the LORD had departed from him.
The Philistines seized him and gouged out his eyes; and they brought him to Gaza and bound him with chains, and he was a grinder in the prison. Grief at the loss and torture of her beloved overwhelmed Delilah. She went to Gaza, and each day she listened for news of Samson.
And the hair of Samson’s head began to grow again.
Now the lords of the Philistines assembled to offer a great sacrifice to Dagon, their god, and to rejoice, for they said, “Our god has given Samson, our enemy, into our hands.”
When the people saw him, they praised their god, for they said, “Our god has given our enemy into our hands, even the destroyer of our country who has slain many of us.”
It so happened when they were in high spirits they said, “Call for Samson that he may amuse us.” So, they called for Samson from the prison, and he entertained them. And they made him stand between the pillars. Samson said to the woman who was holding his hand, “Let me feel the pillars on which the house rests, that I may lean against them.”
And Delilah, who in disguise had followed Samson to this place, and who was holding his hand, said, “Yes, my love, my one true love. Let me help you find the pillars that you may lean upon them.”
Upon hearing Delilah’s voice, Samson was both filled with great joy and greatly vexed, and he knew not what he must do.
But Delilah said to him, “Samson, my darling, your hair has grown long. Will you not see if your strength has also returned? I am with you now, my love. And thus, shall we be together forever.”
Now the house was full of men and women, and all the lords of the Philistines were there. And about 3,000 men and women were on the roof looking on while Samson was amusing them.
Then, Samson called to the LORD and said, “O Lord GOD, please remember me and please strengthen me just this time, O God, that we may at once be avenged of the Philistines for the death of Delilah’s father and for my two eyes.”
And Samson grasped the two middle pillars on which the house rested and braced himself against them, the one with his right hand and the other with his left. And Samson said, “Let us die with the Philistines!” Delilah threw her arms around Samson’s neck and kissed him.
And he bent with all his might so that the house fell on the lords and all the people who were in it. So, the dead whom he killed at his death and the death of his beloved were more than those whom he killed in his life. His brothers and all his father’s household came down, took them, brought them up, and buried them together between Zorah and Eshtaol in the tomb of Manoah his father. Thus had Samson judged Israel twenty years. And Samson and Delilah lay finally together once more. Out of their love, they had both sacrificed themselves for the other. And in their love, they chose to die together, that they may remain together, for all eternity.
“Well, that is an example of true love, if ever I heard one,” Lordy said.
“Yes. Devotion and sacrifice. Beautiful, sad, and true—true love.”
And so it was, the two leaders of the Bitsi Security Teams were named Samson and Delilah.
The Year 2118 AD, one hundred years after Trump. The unusual silence that fell when suddenly there were no little kids running around felt almost eerie when accompanied by the memory of the attack on the Lord-ITs. On any other day, the kids would be home and filling the rooms with more noise than even our huge house can take. Lord-ITLord-IT is the name of Bitsi's best friend’s wikidswife and kids invited our boy to sleep over, and the girls also wanted to go, of course, so now the house is—and feels—almost empty.
My wife prepared a scrumptious meal exclusively for grownups, and so, with great food and a rare glass of good wine, we sat in front of the latest horror movie and tried to stop worrying about our children, but that didn’t work. After the first twelve minutes into the film, my wife instructed the BeastBitsi's all-powerful mega confuzer (computer) to also display a Bitsi-Lite(similar to) satellite, only much more powerful view of the kids sleeping in one of the Lord-ITs’ guest rooms. I was thankful she did that. This is the first time we’ve allowed the kids to sleep over since Lord-ITLord-IT is the name of Bitsi's best friend’s kidnapping a year and a half ago.
An hour later, stretched out on the sofa beside my now dozing wife, I paused the movie, and I listen to yet another panel of experts fiercely debate the events that have since been named “The BIG-AM-I Ruse.” The subject of this current discussion is, how could it be possible that the HPD No. 1 manthe CEO of HPD - a big bank managed to amass enough wealth and power to pull off the Lord-ITLord-IT is the name of Bitsi's best friend kidnapping and the MAD-ONNA-FLAPPING A-Hackmajor organization-crippling cyber-attack, oh no not again! on BIG-AM-Ithe world's third-largest organization? The so-called experts are clearly clueless on most of the facts, so hopes of any sensible conclusions are doomed from the outset. But the question intrigues me immensely.
How indeed, does it happen so often that people can attain positions of power they obviously don’t deserve and/or can’t live up to, bringing so many others into danger?
Tired of listening to false assumptions, my mind wanders—pondering this question until it stumbles over an old BITS GON Ballisticthe most popular news magazine ever to be printed world-wide-style news headline that halts my mental journey into the past: “Trump! Ace or Disgrace? Or, Simply a Headcase?” This was a similar hot debate topic from a century ago, only the emphasis was on how it could be possible that this powerful man could retain his position for so long. Oh, and it was not business—but politics.
Even since my early years, I’ve hated politics, and in those olden days even more so because of the constant degrading public squabbles, bickering, and even altercations; the inbred need to belittle the opposition, personally, locally, nationally, or internationally. All the lies and deceit, even corruption almost make me feel dirty by association just by reading about or listening to them. And the obvious primal lust for power that gushes from so many who fight to win positions in important offices—for which they rarely PUKEare accountable for—makes me want to vomit. So, I’ve always stayed on the sidelines, observing from afar.
Then unexpectedly, in a train station one day a very long time ago, I found myself standing still, listening to the latest news on the election campaign in the Trump/Clinton battle for supreme US power. I had no clue what compelled me to notice this at that time, but only the threat of missing my train home and back to my experiments was enough to finally force me to turn away from watching the evolving horror show.
What made it so horrible? It was not so much that the world seemed divided about who to vote for, but rather, people were reluctantly forced to accept choosing between the worst of two (d)evils during this extremely important event. One would usually—desperately—hope for much better options. My conclusion, swiftly drawn from a gut feeling that was taking root in the very depths of my being, was that this was not a healthy situation regardless of who might win. I doubted it would end well. And then, Trump won.
There’s no point speculating how things would have been if Hillary Clinton hadn’t been Trumped: Even if I had asked the BeastBitsi's all-powerful mega confuzer (computer) to dig into her BEDPANbehavioral patterns to predict that possible journey into the future, I still wouldn’t have believed in the outcome, despite my implicit trust in the Beast’s amazing confuzing-powercomputing power. (And don’t confuse confuzing-power with Trump’s confusion—albeit his own, or that which he left in his wake.)
No, all that people could speculate on, was the why of what happened during those terrible events all those long decades ago.
Within his first two years in office Trump had trumped all his predecessors as the most incorrigible president ever. His greatest success—as it was later reported—was turning the political playground into a comic-book-style, real-life battle between good and evil: the super-villain versus the super-powers, WOWIworld-wide!
Global Warming is not new News!
Boom! Boom! Boom! The big guns of the Trump Department of Interior relentlessly hunting down all rulings and exploring all avenues to pave the way for rich friends and powerful playmates to hunt and kill our precious wildlife, and to indiscriminately contribute to the further wreckage of the environment, ignoring our moral obligation to protect and nurture our natural heritage, and our future.
Oops. Duck! Trump’s lawyers and advisors assure him and soothe him as he himself refuses to heed their suggestions on the risk of being implicated with the Russians in their illegal A-Hackcyber-attacks into the US Presidential election campaign.
Smack! Trump fires FBI Director Comey—to stall the criminal investigation into the Russian government’s attempts to manipulate the 2016 election outcome?
Zap! Pow! Ouch! Trump’s immigration policy leads to unspeakable acts angering many and causing tears WOWIworld-wide. Raids on immigrant neighborhoods leaving children stranded, parent-less; family separations at US borders; small children taken from their parents and detained in pens much like animals.
Blam! Kaboom! Trump rages a trade war against the world—a great chance to play his favorite game, “Big Business Bullies,” while blaming others for the US trade deficit: US and world-wide recession as a possible consequence. International trade and services suffer, survival of multinational organizations threatened, serious disruption and potential destruction of existing international relationships, WOWIworld-wide!
Slap! Trump lashes out at Europe, their politicians and policies. Europeans uncertain how to respond: How to talk with this unruly man? Britons as much as refuse to talk to him: Trump Baby-Blimp flying over London Town reflects true feelings. Take that!
Gulp! Billions more American DOLLIESdollars suspiciously disappear as a big, black hole guzzles “Space Force One.” All the questions remain unanswered. The President is nowhere to be found—NASA investigating if Trump slipped onboard to enjoy all the DOLLIESdollars.
Trump – centerpiece
Pop! Bam! Boom-Smack! Americans question President Trump’s sanity and consider applying the 25th amendment to declare Trump mentally unfit. But it would require tremendous courage and lottery-style luck to win that one. There were also those who clearly believed that invoking the 25th wouldn’t stand a cat’s chance in hell. Because the President was already behaving like a complete nutter during his campaign, the American people, albeit by hiding behind a form of abstinence or unwillingness to accept certain facts, or by deliberately choosing Trump, had themselves elected a headcase to run the country. No case for the 25th! Nevertheless, these thoughts spawned the discussion “Trump! Ace or Disgrace? Or Simply a Headcase?”
And so, the saga evolved over two years or more. The country was clearly more divided than it had been in a long time. And the world was probably more anti-American than it ever was. Then, one world-shattering day during the fifth month following the (tampered-with) US mid-term elections, Trump’s Russian buddies made an excessively cocky move by executing a soup-ahsuper–A-Hackcyber-attack causing a MAD-ONNA MAGIC CRAPPINGmajor-downtime-organization-crippling enormous system crash TRICCevent as the US power grid and its supporting systems exceeded MAVACAPAmaximum available capacity and came crashing down. A number of US government systems were also affected and showed similar signs of MAD-NESSunexpected major downtime.
The moment the President heard about the A-Hackcyber-attack, he trumped even himself and during a massive spit-splattering trumped-up “Trumplosion” he became so angry he issued yet another infamous presidential fiat: to aim and fire a nuclear missile directly at the house of the Russian President. Thanks to the Russian A-Hackcyber-attack on the US systems, and a little disruption in the White House, news of this command to go nuclear leaked almost immediately to nations and news channels WOWIworld-wide.
The Russians responded fast, of course, tit-for-tat—Trump-style—and announced they were preparing to send another missile directly toward the White House. Within forty-five minutes of the earth-shattering Trumplosion, any previous political and legal battles, or world-wide trade wars, the environmental issues, and everything else seemed insignificant. Imagining one of our worst nightmares, the whole world saw in their mind’s-eye, two lethal weapons coursing through the air threatening the lives of billions—considering the potential escalations.
For a short while, the planet’s streets were in chaos. The world experienced unprecedented mayhem as everyone struggled to prepare themselves in any way they could for the horrors that might follow this act of madness. Many thousands died.
Fortunately, enough US officials and military with the guts to act intervened. The US missile launch was abruptly and violently halted. Hard negotiations resulted in a similar fate for the Russian projectile launch.
Rule books were then ripped apart WOWIworld-wide to ensure the compounding of all possible crimes and their sentences that could be thrown at the perpetrator, and Trump was locked away until his last dying breath.
Life restored to a more natural pace. People slowly forgot Trump.
The question of Trump being an “ace, or disgrace, or simply a headcase,” was buried unresolved with some embarrassment and even shame, but mostly relief. The subject never raised its ugly head again. I personally never wasted my time considering whether Trump truly was a sheep/genius dressed up as an incredibly dumb wolf, or if he was just an abominable, disgraceful example of humankind, or if he was indeed completely off his rocker. It was a moot point, irrelevant. The world was rid of the guy and could continue almost as if the Trump era never happened—thanks be to whatever god one may worship. A hundred years later, no one plays “trumps” anymore, to avoid tempting fate.
Relaxing on my sofa recalling all this history, I realize the Trump events contributed to watering the seed that’s slowly growing into Bitsi’s World. You’ll realize that such recklessness from one person with such power is not something you’ll find in Bitsi’s World, once you know what Bitsi’s World embodies. But even now in 2118, Bitsi’s World is not yet reality. It’s still a dream. A dream that will come to you—in time. For now, sit back, close your eyes and think of marvelous things, inspiring things. Maybe something that charges your soul because of its beauty or virtue; an act of kindness or love that warms your heart; imagine experiencing the feeling of being safe, truly safe, every day. Anything positive, praiseworthy, pure; palm trees and coconuts with white sandy beaches and rich blue oceans; a four- or even three-day working week; a world without strife and war; streets we can walk down and taste the pleasant fresh air; towns and cities we can live in without fear for our well-being. Think of anything you can that brings joy or inspires hope. Dream of a better world, and you’ll have a feeling of Bitsi’s World, which is our world, only… different. Much different.
Don’t worry about how to make the dream happen. For now, just dream the dream. Because without the dream, nothing will happen. It starts with the dream.
Dream big. Dream… World.
When you take a break from dreaming… check out my latest crime-thriller A Bisi Day!
Our children, their future, their world.
“No! It’s going to eat me,” my eldest girl complains from the living room behind me. Raucous laughter erupts from all three kids as the shark on the TV gobbles up the hangman’s latest paper victim. While I work, I watch and listen to them on screens in my office. Three innocent kids well cared for, well protected and with little experience of a normal everyday life. But then again, what is normal?
This Bitsinickname for The BITS Inspector life is so ingrained in me now that I hardly remember if I ever had a normal life. But of course, I know I didn’t–otherwise I couldn’t have become Bitsinickname for The BITS Inspector. I do however, sometimes wonder…
Closing my eyes and relaxing back in my comfy office chair—as I often do, my mind wanders out onto an intimidating bustling street in the middle of a monstrous metropolitan city. Hundreds of pedestrians swarm past me as I walk slowly, looking around, trying to imagine how I would feel in this normal life. But I cannot.
A woman, dressed for the office, pushes a baby buggy with one hand while hanging onto a small boy with the other. She’s limping, and the grim expression on her face screams physical pain. The boy begins crying hysterically, but the woman just shakes his hand harshly, lacking all compassion. She continues pushing the buggy without stopping or comforting the boy. Looking into her eyes I see she is staring dead ahead, challenging death to a duel, searching for the place to die, and to rest. The agony of her pain is nothing compared to the misery and anguish of the life visible in the black depths of her stricken gaze. My heart goes out to the woman, and to the boy.
As I turn my head back from following the woman’s path, a giant man stands stock-still in front of me. I come to an abrupt halt. The layers of dirt on his face are ground in deep. I can smell the old urine that’s stained his pants. His huge body obliterates the sun and smothers me in his cold shadow.
In a reflex, my brain instructs the BeastBitsi's all-powerful mega confuzer (computer) to Bitsi-Lite(similar to) satellite scan the ogre. The Beast is ever with me. Within two seconds the data flashes over my eyes. He has twenty-two electronic wallets strapped to his body. The total balance is nearly seven thousand DOLLIESdollars. Unexpectedly, the dressed-as-homeless man also has a powerful LASAROMICan inferior power source - similar to laser pistol in his pocket. And it’s armed, ready for action. His fingers are wrapped around the gun, also ready.
“He’s released the safety!” the Beast yells in my ears. Why the hell did he do that? I wonder. Does he think I might attack him? Chills shiver down my spine while hot panic rises from my gut.
The man shoves his wrist in front of my face. An electronic wallet shows ZERO as the balance. “I need CASHany form of money: paper, plastic, whatever,” he says bluntly.
Terrified, clueless, and desperate, I couldn’t care less what he needs. I quickly duck down and over to the left, under his extended arm. I trip over my unsuspecting feet, and while I stumble an oncoming passerby rams hard into me. We both nearly fall from the collision, but recover quickly, then I push out even further to the left, this time dodging the on-comers. Glancing back, I see the big man has already moved on with the flow of the crowd.
What in Lord-ITLord-IT is the name of Bitsi's best friend’s name just happened? I ask myself. Was this guy begging? Or was he robbing me in broad daylight on a densely populated street? I wasn’t sure if I should feel heartless and guilty, or lucky to be alive.
I contemplate this while also wondering how to get the hell out of this place. But then, in a wild swirling switch of scenery my mind whisks me off to a dark and almost deserted stretch of tarmac. And to my absolute horror, my wikidswife and kids are with me.
A few old flickering street lights cast shadows in the many potholes along the path we’re walking. I still cannot see the hotel I’ve been sent off to for the night. The Asian airport I remember landing in is almost a kilometer behind me. I’ve been here before, and I didn’t like it then. I like it even less now my family is with me.
Uncompromising Ruthless Evolution
It’s late, dark, unbearably hot and humid, and there’s a long way to walk to the hotel. The kids look exhausted and my wife is obviously worried and coming fast to the end of her patience. Strangely, yet fortunately, the only luggage we have is my business backpack and a small trolley-bag for my clothes.
Not far off there are two parked cars facing in our direction. All their lights are on, so I guess the engines are running.
“I hope they stay there,” my wife says. She also doesn’t like it here. I simply nod my head, trying to hide my worried thoughts. But she’s not fooled. Then suddenly, confirming our fears, four nasty-looking guys appear from the dark void behind the reach of the street lights over to our left. They are clearly heading us off.
“What now?” my wife hisses.
Before I can respond, a bomb explodes some short distance behind the four sinister characters. Then another. The unsuspecting thugs disappear into the night. More explosions begin over to our right – but a little farther away. In the light of the explosions two crowds become visible. Rebel crowds running toward each other. The explosions have caused them to start shouting and chanting insanely. They start shooting. We are standing in the crossfire, in the middle of what soon will be a small, but nevertheless deadly battlefield.
“Run!” I yell, dropping my trolley-bag and picking up our two smallest kids. Turning to make sure my wife is with me with our third child, I start running, constantly checking on my wife.
All three children are crying. The two I’m carrying bury their faces in the nape of my neck. The oldest girl shrieks in my wife’s ear: “What’s happening mummy?”
I start screaming at my mind: “WE SHOULD NOT BE HERE!”
Survival – for Some
Responding immediately, my over-active brain conjures us over to a voyage on an ocean so deep and vast that it dwarfs the mega-ginormous whaling vessel we’re standing on. We’re still carrying our children in our arms. I wonder if we’ll ever be able to put them down. They experienced the change of scenery with us, and are now looking around, trying to understand.
Hanging above and over the side of the ship, a huge whale is caught in a combination of nets and lines at the end of harpoons specially designed for murder. The slight movement from the wounded animal clearly indicates the end.
“Mummy, is it dying?” asks our oldest girl. “Yes, it is,” my wife responds gently. My ‘baby’ girl screws up her face, stares at the poor dying ocean wonder, and starts to cry.
“Look over there!” my boy exclaims loudly. And we all look. Twenty-two whales are lined up down the deck, ready for processing.
“Are they dead?” asks the eldest.
Our youngest girl answers coldly: “They’re all dead.” Then she buries her face in the nape of my neck once more, and with an understanding way beyond her years, she begins to sob like an adult mother that just lost a child.
“Hey, you! What are you doing here?” shouts an officer fiercely pointing at us from the deck above. “Bring them here!” He commands his men. Six crewmen charge at us and begin roughly shoving us in the direction of a ladder. My frightened boy tightens his hold on me. Within seconds I can feel his pee soaking into the hip of my pants.
“Enough! STOP!” I yell at myself, pushing the stop-button on my imagination. Returning to the safety of my plush office, I force my eyes open and turn the chair to look through the glass walls at my family. They’re still playing happily in the living room.
“My god,” I think to myself, “I can’t protect them from the harsh reality of this world forever.” And this somber realization has been with me since they were born. Can it be true—that my only option is to prepare them for the worst? For the possibility of a hard and painful future. A future which again repeats the many histories of the world – both recent and ancient. We have evolved from ape to so-called civilized man. But we’re still destroying our planet, our most precious resources. We still fight each other to the death when the coin gets low, when the chips are down, or whenever we feel we have good reason. Will we ever be able to change?
I pondered these things in the quiet of my office, ranting and raving at humankind—at myself included. Words careered off the pages splattering the reader with filth that even they possibly didn’t deserve. But, finally I calmed down a little and formed a semblance of order out of the broiling thoughts and feelings. The idea of Bitsi’s World—although it wasn’t called that back then—was born.
Just one person out of many billions surely has no chance of changing anything. But if no-one ever tried, nothing would ever have changed in the past, or would ever change the future. So, I decided I would do whatever I can to contribute my part to giving my children, our children a better future.
Through my novels, with my small voice, I will say what I have to say, take a good look at how we have lived our lives, and positively influence whatever I can – while thinking only of our children, and their children’s’ children, and their future world.
But nobody wants to read a boring essay!
So, buckle up! And get ready for an action-packed wake-up call brought through a series of thrilling BITS Inspector novels!
I hope you enjoy,
Want to know more about such things as wikids or DOLLIES? Or who, or what the Beast is? Get The ABRIGD and find out. It’s free.
Want to read more from Bitsi? About his family, his life, his best friend Lord-IT, and more about his mission? Check out the first of the series of BITS Inspector novels – A BISI Day!