The Philosophers of Death (Part 1)

(Originally posted April 18, 2008)

“Humans are a virus, Drew.
They are constantly destroying this planet.
We have come here to help the situation.
Many of your people have already sided with us;
they call themselves the ‘Philosophers of Peace.'”

****

I recently watched Back to the Future. At the end of that movie, I noticed a disclaimer which read, “All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons — living or dead — is purely coincidental.” I was actually kind of surprised by this message, because I had heard the movie was a true story.

It turns out the lawyers are responsible for these messages. In my Torts class, we learned about defamation. Defamation is a false, reckless, communicated statement that identifies a target person and harms his reputation. All fiction movies have these disclaimers so that no one thinks the movie is actually about them. After all, you would not want to offend anyone. Fortunately, I never need any silly disclaimers for my writing. The DREW BLOG always contains 100% pure truth.

As I have said before, I live in a fairly dangerous neighborhood, but I had a pretty frightful experience recently. After amassing large quantities of work for my Legal Research class, I decided to stay in the law library for part of the weekend. I got caught up on my work, but everything was quite dark by the time I began walking home. I made it about two thirds up James Agee Street when I noticed a suspicious-looking figure approaching from the right side of the street. He got within ten feet and then raised his arm and pointed it at me. I could see that he was holding a gun.

I stayed calm. Strangely, the man did not even say anything. I was not carrying much money so I slowly began reaching for my wallet to give it to the man. Then a gunshot rang through the night air and echoed off the buildings. I did not feel anything. Instead, I saw the man’s arm jerk to the left and then into his chest. His gun clattered on the ground, and I could see that his arm was seriously wounded. Then another gunshot mauled the man’s face, knocking him to the ground, where he stopped moving altogether. His head fell out of the shadows and into the light. I could see that he appeared to be Chinese. I immediately noticed my rescuer emerging from behind a car about thirty feet uphill. He walked down the street toward me. When he got close, I could see that it was Chuck Norris.

“Thank goodness I found you,” he said, “I’m afraid your life is still in danger. Follow me. I may need your help.”

 

“Sure thing, Chuck,” I said. “But what should we do with this guy?”

“Bah, just leave it. The vultures will take care of him.”

 

 

We returned to my apartment briefly and gathered some supplies. Then we took my car to the Knoxville airport. On our way there, Chuck talked about the recent months he had spent with the Huckabee presidential campaign, and how sad he was that John McCain had won the Republican nomination.

Then Chuck began telling me more startling truths. Toward the end of the campaign, he had uncovered certain information – dark secrets that might impact all mankind. His information concerned a group of world leaders called the Philosophers of Peace. These Philosophers sought to impose their artificial, utopian worldview on society. Partly out of idealism and partly out of disdain for the natural order, these people aimed to curb economic and population growth, mostly through absurd environmental schemes. Their latest ploy involved a global warming tax on carbon dioxide emissions.

“But all life uses combustion reactions to produce energy,” I said. “Everyone exhales carbon dioxide. Who could seriously believe in this global warming nonsense?”

“Only some of the more feeble-minded ones actually believe it,” Chuck replied. “The rest of them just use the issue for their advantage.” As we approached the airport, I asked him where we were going. “To the focal point of their movement,” he answered. “We’re headed for the People’s Republic of China.”

Within twenty-four hours we were on the ground in Beijing. As we approached a gigantic building surrounded by a large courtyard with razor-wire fencing, I noticed that Chuck Norris had discarded his weapon. I suddenly grew uneasy. I asked him about it, but he simply replied, “Quit being ridiculous, Drew. Guns don’t kill people. I do.” Then we walked up to a guard armed with an AK-47, who escorted us into the facility.

After walking down an endless corridor, we finally stepped into a luxurious board room. About thirty men in dark suits sat around an elongated mahogany table. I immediately recognized Al Gore among the group. There were several women at the table as well. At least, I thought they were women; it was actually hard to tell because they dressed androgynously, wore short hair, and looked quite similar to the rather scrawny men.

Everyone looked slightly intimidated by Norris, until he spoke. “I come in peace, gentlemen,” he said. “My companion Drew Justice and I have grown disenchanted with freedom and the sad state of democracy today. We wish to join your organization.” I froze in surprise. I had never agreed to this plan. Interestingly, as soon as Chuck mentioned my name, one of the men pointed meekly at me while whispering to Al Gore. They were surprised I was still alive.

“I am delighted to hear this news, Mr. Norris,” said a man at the head of the table. “My name is Steven. Our organization heard that you had grown disenchanted with the evil nature of humanity. The masses abandoned your favored political candidate, Mike Huckabee. Now you understand the true need for a guiding influence over the weak-minded citizens. Follow me. I will acquaint you with our activities in more detail.” After Steven said this, he looked at me with a scowl, motioning to one of the guards. “But I am not sure we can trust that one, Mr. Norris. We know him to be dangerous.”

Chuck simply nodded and followed Stephen toward a door at the other end of the boardroom. I began to follow them, but a Chinese associate and one of the armed guards grabbed my arms. They held me tight. I started to protest, but Chuck Norris followed Steven without even turning around. He paid no attention to my arrest. He had sold me out.

Armed guards led me downstairs to the detention floor. Once we got to the basement level, they threw me into a relatively spacious cell with a couch and television. Then they locked the door. I instantly noticed that I was not alone. There was an old man sitting on one end of a fluffy couch, watching the television. He was American. The man looked quite frail, with gray hair, and also somewhat familiar. When I got closer, I simply stared at him in shock. It was John McCain.

To Be Continued

 

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ANALYSIS
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