Middle East Peace Treaty: Everybody Out

treaty was signed Friday declaring peace between Israel and its surrounding Arab nations, something few thought they would see in their lifetime. And this time there is high expectations the treaty will hold, meaning peace for the 349 people still residing in the Middle East following a massive exodus of hardline and extremists Arabs and Israelites.

“I am glad we have finally settled this long, brutal time of unrest,� Saudi Crown Prince Abdullah told five men in a barren stadium as echoes filled all around him. “I look forward to a long time of peace and prosperity, and hopefully repopulating our lands.�

“We have much to be thankful for,� said Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon, to a small group of friends he had invited over for Pictionary. “Our perseverance and tolerance have paid off, and finally we are at peace with our neighbors. We may still have disagreements, but they will be settled with smiles and handshakes rather than bullets and fire.�

It was Prince Abdullah who first proposed the necessary solution for peace: Ousting of hardliners, extremists, radicals, and others who would not help the peace process, or even hinder it. During week-long discussions with Prime Minister Sharon and representatives of other Arab nations, the decision was reached that someone had to go if there was to be peace. So they did.

With the help of U.S. and U.N. troops, in busload after busload, one plane after another, extremists on both sides were rounded up and deported from each country. Some voluntarily admitted their stance against the process of peace or making concessions to opposing countries, others were rooted out by previous statements or funny looks given when told of the plan for peace. Whether taken by force or collusion, any oppositions of peace were removed so as to allow a smooth and uncontested transition to the Middle East’s new peace.

All critics or challengers of the peace process have a new home in Antarctica, where they will found a new country, christened by President Bush as Boomtown. The president liked the name as he coined it, but admitted, “If the new residents of Boomtown can stop fighting for five seconds to agree on a new name, by all means, call it something else.�

The huge population shift has already been a boon to the residents of the Middle East, who find themselves among the richest nations in the non-Western world now with their remaining wealth divided up among the remaining 349 residents.

“Allah be praised,� said passive Saudi Koran teacher Aburah Kahim. “I knew my wisdom and goodness would be rewarded. Should my new Jewish neighbors wish to make the journey to my house, we will have a full pork-free dinner at my table.�

Things are not looking so well for the new residents of Boomtown, who find themselves the poorest nation on earth overnight. And though the country has been in existence for only 72 hours, their murder rate far surpasses their predicted Gross National Product already. Their first planned meeting of Parliament was postponed Saturday after six suicide bombers of various ethnic origin destroyed the ice cave where the meeting was to be held.

“I miss the West Bank,� one Palestinian youth was heard to say before a steady stream of rocks pounded him from behind.

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Anyone who's ever not spent a dollar long enough to look at it has noticed that there's more to American money than meets the eye. Look closely and you'll see that it's not just a green rectangle of paper; it's a green rectangle of paper with little pictures and words and crap drawn all over it. Don't panic, nobody's been screwing with your benjamins. And believe it or not, it's not counterfeit! They're supposed to look like that, and that's the way they're printed inside the ATM machines all across the country.

No doubt you've come to understand the big numbers on the bills over the years, and have a vague understanding about the old fart who's picture is printed on the front. We all know what the king looks like and you don't need to be able to tell Nixon from Nebuchadnezzar to be able to spend a ten spot. Flip it over and there's some big-ass official looking building on the back, Cher's house or whatever depending on which bill you're looking at. I hear Bill Gates' house is on the back of the $1,000 bill, and at the press of a button it transforms into a giant mechanical Wonder Woman. The house, not the bill. Or the Bill.

But American currency gets stranger the closer you look at it, kind of like Joe Pesci's face-lift. Sure, there's the king, a house and some numbers, but what about this bird doing the splits or the spooky bear with a key for a mouth? And who was the sick bastard who thought slapping on a pyramid with a giant floating eyeball on top was a good idea? That's about enough to make you go communist, or at least stop looking at money up close.

Of course, once your hysteria dies down and you come down out of the china hutch, you realize that there are logical explanations for all of this, and there are good reasons to have all of this shwag clogging up our bills.

The spread-eagled eagle is actually the Great Seal of the United States, but I'm with you if you think that dude needed a few more years in art school. I'm no mer-man or anything but that thing looks about as much like a seal as Sonny Bono. Many see this as evidence of the powerful acid available to our founding fathers, evidenced as well by the lyrics to our national anthem.

The Great Seal appears on all U.S. currency, so if you can't find it there's a good chance you're looking at Coney Island Bucks. The seal holds an olive branch in its left paw, a concession by the Continental Congress to the olive-growers' lobby. In its right paw it is clutching thirteen spears of asparagus, symbolic of the thirteen original colonies and yet another concession, this time to the asparagus-growers' lobby. From the seal's mouth trails a wide strand of dental floss, which reads "E Pluribus Unum," which is Latin for "Eat at Pizzeria Uno." Keep in mind that the Continental Congress was about as reputable as the American Gladiators, and most members were just looking to get laid or to see who could land the biggest bribe. Kind of like the NYPD.

Since everybody thought the seal was an eagle anyway, the Continental Congress chose the eagle as our national symbol in the 1782. Ben Franklin suggested that the turkey be made the national symbol, since eagles taste like microwaved ass. Regardless, the eagle was chosen and the rest of the Continental Congress suggested that Franklin waddle his fat ass into a weight-loss spa before they had to haze him with bars of soap rolled up in hand towels.

The crazy bear with the executioner's mask on is the symbol of the U.S. Treasury, and a viable warning not to screw with those badasses. The key in its mouth is like a dare, saying "You can screw around trying to print up fake money, and you can also have your intestines slurped out your ass like goddamned spaghetti, understand?" Call me gullible, but I took my scanner back to Best Buy after I saw that shit. Damn, Sam.

The pyramid on the back is a harder nut to crack altogether. Nobody really knows what it means or how it got there. The Continental Congress and the Treasury each blamed the other for slipping the pyramid in there, and nobody's ever taken credit for it, not even the Freemasons. The consensus is that the floating pyramid-eye rules us all from a bunker deep within Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado. Perhaps this amuses you. If so, chew on this: at the base of the pyramid, 1776 appears in roman numerals. Precisely the number of Americans currently in prison for asking too many questions about the floating pyramid-eye. Creepy, eh? Research editor or no research editor, I know just about all I want to know about Mr. Giant Floating Pyramid-Eye. Nose around more if you want, but don't send me any letters scribbled on toilet paper from prison later asking what a cornhole is, 'kay?

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"I remember in my youth, I had made a mask out of rubber bands and construction paper. It was a beautiful thing, glittering with sparkles I had glued around the eye holes. I would wear it everywhere and would make people call me 'Mr. Dingle' and refer to myself in third person as in 'Mr. Dingle would like some mashed potatoes' and 'Mr. Dingle demands we watch cartoons.' One day, my father approached me with a sad look on his face. Great Aunt Mable had died of pneumonia and the family was in mourning. So my father says to me, in that gentle way of his, 'Son. We all like Mr. Dingle, but I'm afraid he's not invited to the funeral. Only you were invited.' I was stunned. I said, 'Dad! I'm 22 years old! I'll decide whether Mr. Dingle is invited or not!' Mr. Dingle enjoyed that funeral. I think Great Aunt Mable would have been proud."

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