Westworld

Scratching at the surface, man, you see Israel as the iron fist, the puppeteer yanking the US strings. But the Control Panel running Deeper, a roach motel of power where shadows writhe. Israel, is just a fleshy extension, a tentacle of the American Dream dipped in radioactive isotopes – Manifest Destiny dripping with Islamophobia and the sweet, fleshy tang of conquest.

Israel, a flickering neon oasis in the American desert, pulsates with a strange energy. These Brooklyn cowboys, these West Bank settlers, they’re just roaches scuttling across the circuitry, brainwashed by flickering propaganda. Can’t speak the language, passports forged in the fires of delusion. Israel, for them, a Westworld fantasy – “Yeehaw!”, they scream, six-shooters spitting chrome nightmares, “This here’s just like the good ol’ days, wrestlin’ the land from the savages!”

Cut the cord, man, sever the connection, and watch the Israeli psyche unravel like a cheap tapeworm. The delusions of grandeur, the paranoia, it might all start to untangle, a chance, a glimmering possibility for peace in that sun-baked hellhole. But the machine churns on, Westworld forever, a self-perpetuating loop of violence and control. The strings stretch taut, the US at one end, Israel at the other, and the American puppeteer, fat and grinning, his pockets lined with blood money.

These greasy-haired cowboys with delusions of Leviticus, swagger through dusty towns, six-shooters holstered low. They speak a broken Hebrew laced with Brooklyn slang, pronouncements of “Eretz Israel” echoing off tumbleweeds. These are the psychological flotsam, the psychic sewage dredged up by the American Dream and deposited on a desert frontier.

Israel feeds off the dark id of the US. An unacknowledged shadow, a place to indulge in the primal urges of power, land grabs, and good ol’ fashioned “othering.” Cut the wires, sever the connection, and perhaps, just perhaps, the Israeli psyche might start to resemble something approaching sanity. The desert winds could finally carry away the whispers of “chosen people” and the ghosts of ancient battles.

But the control panel hums on. Westworld, a name carved into the sandl, a chrome-plated monument to the conquistador spirit. The prognosis? Grim. Westworld will remain Westworld, a funhouse mirror reflecting the ugliest aspects of American power, played out on a dusty stage far, far away.

Israel, a psychic pressure valve for the American id. Islamophobia, a hissing steam, the need for unfettered power a throbbing erection disguised as democracy. Let the Israelis fend for themselves, cut the umbilical cord of fighter jets and lobbyists. The delusion of grandeur, that shiny chrome exoskeleton, might start to rust, revealing a human vulnerability beneath. Maybe then, peace could rise from the ashes of manifest destiny and settler arrogance.

But the needle gets stuck, the mariachi screams in a feedback loop. Westworld will remain Westworld, a grotesque sideshow under a plastic sky. Israel, a mirage reflecting the distorted desires of a nation in freefall. The colons writhe, a reminder that the past is a disease, ever-present, throbbing just beneath the surface of the American Dream.

Europe, the id in a rumpled trench coat, shoving its primal urges onto the global stage through American muscle and Middle Eastern conflict. Here in Westworld, everyone’s got a role to play, a twisted script directed by the ghosts of empires past.

Europe, they built the sets, erected the barbed wire fences, wrote the racist manifestos that became the theme park brochures. Now, they wash their hands, point at the cowboys and the fanatics, all the while whispering, “Look at the barbarity! How uncivilized!” while clutching their bloody pearls.

But the shadows stretch long, man. The stench of hypocrisy hangs heavy. Antisemitism, that ancient European viper,slithers back across the continent, shedding its skin of “criticism of Israel” and revealing its venomous core. They outsource the hate, then clutch their fainting couches when it spills back across the borders.

This whole damn theme park is built on rotten foundations. Until Europe confronts its own darkness, until they stop projecting their id like a flickering B-movie, there can be no peace. The cycle will continue, a grotesque carousel of violence, spinning ever faster.

Maybe Israel’s a pressure valve for Europe too, a way to vent some of that toxic gas built up over centuries. But it’s a faulty valve, spewing out violence and instability across the whole damn playground. And where’s the superego, the voice of reason in all this? Lost in the funhouse mirrors, no doubt, drowned out by the screams and the gunfire.

Fear and Loathing in the Grand Old Party

Fascinating seeing the conservative right split between whether Israel is a based Jewish ethnostate or the center of a global anti-white conspiracy.

Buckle up, because we’re hurtling down a rabbit hole that makes Alice in Wonderland look like a nature documentary. The American Right, that glorious tapestry of gun nuts, Bible thumpers, and tax-evading tycoons, is facing a schism wilder than a rodeo clown convention on peyote. On one hand, you got the flag-waving patriots, frothing at the mouth about Judeo-Christian values. They see Israel, a nation carved from sand and scripture, as a shining city on a hill – a bastion of Western civilization, surrounded by a sea of scimitar-wielding savages. It’s a place where the right kind of white folks can finally flex their muscles and build a society without pesky regulations or pesky minorities, for that matter.

The Bible thumpers, the God-fearing folk who see Israel as the fulfillment of prophecy, a shining beacon of Judeo-Christian values in a world gone mad. To them, it’s a fortress under siege, a David facing a Goliath of sandal-wearing, hummus-eating liberals. They wear “Support Israel” t-shirts with the fervor of a televangelist hawking snake oil, convinced that Jerusalem’s gotta be protected at all costs.

Then you got the tinfoil hat brigade, the kind of folks who believe the government is run by lizard people using chemtrails to control our dreams. To them, Israel ain’t the promised land, it’s the epicenter of a globalist conspiracy – a puppet state run by shadowy figures manipulating currency markets and orchestrating the downfall of the white race. It’s a head-spinning vortex where David with his slingshot becomes a Rothschild banker pulling the strings, and the founding fathers morph into Mossad agents.

The fringe dwellers out of the shadows, the militia types who haven’t showered since Y2K. These are the dudes who see a globalist conspiracy behind every flickering fluorescent bulb. In their fever dreams, Israel ain’t the promised land, it’s the mastermind behind the whole damn shebang. It’s a puppet state, you see, controlled by a shadowy cabal of, you guessed it, international financiers with suspiciously Hebraic names. These are the same folks who believe the fluoride in the water is turning frogs gay, and that Israel’s just the tip of the iceberg in a plot to, well, replace white people with…well, that’s never quite clear.

This ideological cage match is playing out on internet forums so toxic they’d make a landfill weep. It’s a symphony of slurs, ALL CAPS RANTS, and enough jpeg propaganda to wallpaper a militia meeting hall. You got memes of Bibi Netanyahu as a superhero battling hordes of brown immigrants, next to screeds about the ” (((international banking cabal)))” controlling the world. It’s enough to make me reach for the mescaline and declare, “This, folks, this is bat country!”

The mainstream Republicans are caught in the crossfire, trying to navigate this minefield of contradictions. They wanna court the evangelical vote while keeping the crazies at bay. It’s a balancing act worthy of a drunken tightrope walker juggling nitroglycerin. The whole situation is a microcosm of the GOP’s identity crisis – caught between clinging to their WASP roots and embracing a more diverse America. It’s a powder keg waiting to explode, and when it does, folks, it’s gonna be a helluva fireworks show. Just remember, when the dust settles, one thing’s for sure – the only winner will be chaos, that cackling, bloodthirsty jester who thrives on the divisions of men.

It’s a head-scratcher worthy of a peyote-fueled bender in Vegas, this ideological mosh pit. On one hand, you got folks cheering for a nation built on religious and ethnic identity, and on the other, you got folks who see the very idea of an ethnostate as a slippery slope leading to, well, brown people taking over their damn PTA meetings. The irony would be delicious if it wasn’t so damn dangerous.

So, there you have it, folks. The American right, a tangled mess of contradictions held together by duct tape and prayers. It’s a three-ring circus where clowns spout conspiracy theories and elephants wear MAGA hats. Buckle up, because this one’s gonna get messy. Just remember, when the dust settles, someone’s gonna be left holding the empty box of fireworks, wondering what the hell just exploded.