War Is A Necessity- A Satire
Said the white collars
They were all thrown out of the White room; the media, security, vice presidents, wives. They were all asked to wait outside while the big men in suits talked to each other in President Roan’s office. President Roan and President Ferra’s nations had a massive history behind them. Hundreds of years, hundreds of wars as enemies and allies: a massive history. The kind of history where if you dug deep enough you would end up in a prehistoric family feud between siblings of a hunter-gatherer tribe that migrated from Roan’s land to Ferra’s, dispersing their evil seeds where ever they went. In fact, Roan and Ferra themselves looked so much like the other, like twins, that most people thought that it was their looks that brought harmonious peace between their nations. It was a time in history when form and appearances were given utmost importance. And back then too, you had the conspiracy theorists who thought that the presidents were clones appointed by a secret society of alien reptiles to rule the lands.
“Ah Ferra, brother,” President Roan began speaking, undoing his tie and letting his double chin fall out of his chiselled jaw. “Loosen your belts and ties and sit back.” He opened a case of cigars and pulled out two cold glasses from the freezer. He uncorked a fancy bottle of whiskey and poured out the transparent, silky, golden-brown into the glass tumblers. “Today we shall not talk of politics,” he said. “Today we shall drink to our success.”
Ferra undid his belt and let his belly fall. He leaned forward from his laid back chair, picked the drink up and cheered. Roan sat on the desk beside his guest, took a cigar, burnt its tip with his long lighter flame and sucked in a couple of puffs. Ferra reached for the cigar case and took one. Roan sparked his lighter and lit the smoke for him.
“A snap of our finger lies the fate of millions and millions of them. If this ain’t ‘success’ I don’t know what is.” Ferra blew a perfect smoke doughnut that expanded and dispersed off in the air.
“That was a fancy party trick,” said Roan, “But I can do it better, watch.” and Roan blew one that rotated.
President Ferra smirked and blew another that rotated, and through that, he blew another that came out the other side and expanded before it disappeared. The host did not like being outclassed with smoke rings in his own house. He took in a long puff and blew dozens of them rings, perfect, but smaller. Ferra smirked again, took a puff, pushed the top of his lip down with his middle finger and blew out a heart.
“Okay, that is enough. Enough of this silly game” said an irritated President Roan. “Why don’t we call the girls in and have a double date,” he suggested. Ferra agreed. The host picked up his phone and called the wives in. Both the first ladies walked into the White Room. You could see that the girls had done their time as supermodels. They were beautiful and wore colourful, tight-fitting dresses. The boys watched them catwalk in. The boys were still competing. Though they never spoke of the competition, they were both sizing up their woman against the other. The ladies took their seats on the sofa and crossed their legs, showing off their smooth, pale, hairless skin. The ladies looked like twins too — equally attractive, but beauty is said to be in the eye of the beholder. And to President Roan’s eyes, President Ferra’s wife was a lot more beautiful than his own. Ferra had his nose up in the air, smelling victory.
Roan was not having it. He went to his desk, pulled out a tape measure and walked back.
“Let’s pull our dicks out,” he said. “Let’s measure and see once and for all who is the bigger man.” and then turned around to study the faces in the room. Ferra looked rather too comfortable with the proposition, Roan’s wife looked bored but confident, she knew her man’s dick was the bigger of the two and Ferra’s wife looked very interested to see what Roan was packing. The room suddenly got a bit too cold for Roan.
“I’ve got a better idea.” he said, “Why don’t we just wage a war instead. It will be a lot more dignified.”
“That is not a bad idea.” Ferra followed, “Peace is getting a bit boring. It is getting a bit expensive too, to feed and keep the idiots busy. A war could flatten it all and we could rebuild a cheaper economy.”
“Peace is getting expensive,” Roan paced up and down the room. “But our primary motive is to see who the bigger man is, don’t lose focus on what is important. Whoever loses fare and square accepts that the other is the bigger man? You agree?”
“Yes, yes,” Ferra nodded. “ I am just thinking of ways to make more of our competition.”
“Make more for who? For those idiots?” Roan was talking about the people who elected him, “Our democratic public?”
The two presidents looked at each other for a while, before they burst out laughing, running around like basketball players on the bench cheering their team that just scored, high-fiving each other, clapping their hands, stomping their feet, falling on the floor and all of those hysterical gimmicks.
“Fools.” Ferra began. “They stand in lines to vote for us, they stand in line for their vaccines, they stand in line for food stamps. They stand in line to get drafted into wars. They march inline into enemy territories and when they get mad at us, they stand in line again and protest. Fools”
“All it takes is a football match to get them to wave our flags again.” Roan laughed. “Talking about football, my team is better than yours.”
“The stakes are too low in that game,” said Ferra. “Let’s stick to war, eh?”
“War it is,” said Roan as he poured two more whiskeys.
They clinked their glasses to cheers again and lit more cigars to smoke. The press outside were waiting to hear about what the Presidents were discussing and tweak its narrative to support their political leanings before they could publish their report to their audiences.