Tel Aviv - The fiftieth anniversary of Roswell has come and gone, and I'm
still here. What the hell happened? I was supposed to be gone, snatched from above, taken
away on a spaceship, drifting through the Milky Way, meeting space chicks, getting
intergalacticly laid. Instead I'm stuck with a heavy phone bill to New Mexico,
too many condoms (what do I know about space girls?), and a terrible cold
sore in my mouth. But more on that later.It was fifty years ago today that a bunch of New Mexican hicks ventured out of their trailer home to see a spaceship fall from the sky and crash in the desert. Since then, inspite of a trail of Hollywood tales to the contrary, the government has denied the event ever occured. And now, with the recent Air Force publication of Case Closed, the boys in Washington and Area 51 believe that those yahoos who congregate at Trekie conventions and are addicted to X-Files will finally shrug their shoulders, give a sigh of relief, and say, "Well, A'hm sho'glad they cleared that mess up. Let's have a turkey pot pie."
The problem with this little U.S. tradition of cover up (need I say more: Nixon, Kennedy, Three's Company) is that no one's going to swallow that big one! We all know what happened at Roswell. We all know just how real extraterrestials are. Hell, we voted one into office in 1980. Why won't the U.S. government just admit it? We are not alone.
It seems that if one brave soul in the Pentagon's vast empire of paper pushers and weekend warriors dared spit out the truth, the Western world would collapse. How could those brave Southern Baptists who have shunned Disney respond? And what about P.T. Barnum and Swaggart, the holy Farwell, the Oral Roberts Circus? What would they do if it was revealed to them that aliens exist, and they don't believe in Jesus? If would be sheer anarchy, an addmition that there is no morality, the collapse of civilization as we know it. I, for one, welcome that day.
Roswell was the first day of the rest of the life of the U.S. government. Roswell marked the U.S.'s first real flirtation with cover-ups, a flirtation that exists today, a flirtation that has become the watershed of domestic and foreign affairs for the American government. Yet, who doubts the coincedence of the proximity of this anniversary with that of Heaven's Gate, the fifty five cent hamburger at McDonald's, the appearance of the new Batman movie in theaters near you. It's all related, all interconnected.
I don't doubt Roswell. I believe. The truth is still out there. And as for this damn cold sore: that's what I get for trying to impress my new Russian girlfriend, a gal from Kiev. Yea, her teeth are rotted, but what legs.