Iran Student Protestors Clash With Anti-Protestor Protestors

riot ensued Friday in Tehran as Iranian student protestors were met violently by those protesting the protestors' right to protest, referring to themselves as "pro-troops." The violence marred ten days of anti-government protests throughout Iran that were only slightly less violent.

The country, under the rule of a fundamentalist Islamic regime, has faced a surprising bout of student uprisings within its borders starting the previous week. In a country where even reciting anti-government slogans is seen as a challenge to Allah and carries swift judicial reaction, the protests are seen by some as extreme domestic unrest, and others as the perfect excuse to try making off with some TVs and electronics in the confusion.

Shortly after the initial series of protests erupted around Tehran University's Amir Abad campus, waves of pro-troop demonstrators, often dressed in military garb and heavily armed, arrived to shout down the protestors. The shouting down frequently involved assault with batons and occasional gunfire.

The violence served to undermine Iran's position in world politics as well this week, inviting a warning from the United States that it reserves the right to invade any country that starts with an "I" if it deems that country to be a threat to its security. Efforts to stand firm as a country against perceived U.S. aggression are diminished by internal disagreements of such a public nature.

"These who demonstrate against the clerics do injustice to Allah," said Iranian official Ayatollah Mohammad Kaddidazi, "but they are a small pocket of naysayers among the most-favored children of Allah who make up Iran. Those who choose to speak heresy shame us all, but are free to do so. Of course, I kid—they will be stomped into organic puddles and destroyed most painfully by us all. After that, whatever happens is between themselves and Allah."

The way Iran elects to respond to the protestors is particularly important in the aftermath of the U.S.-Iraq war and other situations in the Middle East region. Iran seeks support of the entire Islamic world, but if reaction is seen as too harsh by more moderate Islamic countries, they run the risk of alienating themselves; conversely, allowing the protests to gain popularity or go without reaction would signal a weakening in the country's posture to dissidence and could be construed by the U.S. as an opportune time for intervention.

One solution, points out Tehran University professor of African-American studies Yul Haddid, is to allow independent military protestors to quell anti-establishment rhetoric.

"The government is fortunate that it does have so many supporters willing to step forward and defend it with their own demonstrations," said Haddid. "Their reaction is swift and merciless, and very patriotic indeed. It's a well-organized response, obviously, but that is no surprise since many of the protestors are police and have a methodical precision protest in reaction. It is obvious that in such large turnouts where emotion runs high the occasional incident of violence will break out between groups. Again and again. It might even appear to some it's a state-sponsored crackdown, but I assure you it's just Allah's will taking on the form of a structured backlash."

The professor then treated this reporter to tea and bread, which was fortunate as, upon leaving the campus, I was mistaken for a protestor and met with harsh disagreement by a non-state-sponsored "pro-troop" demonstrator. The local hospital is quite competent and helpful, and they tell me my meal of bread was the last solid food meal I will have for a week or two.

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I am the last person anyone would call a homophobe, given my highly litigious nature, but I admit I am not comfortable with the thought of two men acting like two women together. Which is exciting. No, the two-man thing isn't my thing. Still, I say live and let live, especially for me, and whatever you do behind my back is fine with me. Or in front of my back. It's hard to say which is less unsettling with this particular subject.

So I am not "cool" with manly love, that's my business. I don't know why people find it so necessary to make everybody know all the details of their little private life. Ick. And if they find out you're uncomfortable with gayiety, trust me, they only want you more. The gayists, that is. At least, that's what I suspect this is all about. Mario still says it was the kiss of death, but I can't be sure.

The "Mario" in question the head of the Lambito family, the person Camembert and I met with last week to seek an end to all this senseless death, which I of course caused. To everyone's great surprise, things went better than expected. Mario and I took an instant non-homosexual liking to each other, finding we had many things in common, like our diminutive stature and making fun of Camembert's paralysis. Not only did we largely end the mob war, we became the best of friends.

I was so glad to see the mob war come to an end, if for no other reasons I was tired of getting thank-you cards from the FBI. They claim I took out more gangsters in two weeks than 50 years of RICO statutes, but the FBI is known for their sense of humor, maybe they just thought it funny. Regardless, even without the saving of so many innocent-until-proven-guilty lives, the event seemed a blessing just for making the acquaintance of Mario. Never have I heard so many tales of death and mayhem told with so much laughter. His charm was quite infectious, like the hot tub rash we shared.

True, we did share a hot tub, and went shopping for clothes together, and we saw a few theater plays. I did not take it that we were "dating," but maybe Mario got the wrong impression. I tried to steer things to more manly sorts of things, like working out at the gym or going hunting for endangered animals. It was no good. Like fate was drawing us together, every plan I came up with eventually left us either naked, sweaty, or alone together in a tent on a moonlit night. I'm not afraid of my own feelings, but I worry even a straight man put in that situation might find me irresistible.

It was becoming too much for me, so I had to tell Mario I was only interested in him as a friend, in case he was starting to develop feelings. Plus, I was married. Experimenting sexually with another man when you're single or merely engaged or have recently gotten rid of your wife is one thing, but you can't betray your marriage vows. It was a complicated scene, to say the least, made all the more complicated by the fact some of my gangmembers chose that night to whack Mario's brother, the next in line to head the family. Apparently that was why they borrowed the key to Mario's log cabin from me, but when I pieced it together out loud it only made things worse.

And that was when Mario laid the kiss on me, which freaked me out to new levels, and as you know, good people, I'm no stranger to freaking out. I tried to reaffirm how ungay I am, but Mario insisted at that point it was the kiss of death. I suspect he was just covering, though I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

So the war is back on, with gusto. Still, a few hundred dead mafioso or one sweet man's broken heart—what's the greater casualty here?

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I was really enjoying that new Adam Sandler movie until someone told me it was a cartoon. Maybe it's my lousy depth perception, but I couldn't tell. He had all the usual facial range, I just thought they air-brushed him in the film or something. But no, he was a cartoon in it.

I didn't really like cartoons until that. Cats and mice running around trying to destroy each other... so? All I can think about is how some talented actors are out of work because some stupid sidewalk artist worked cheaper. I work cheap, folks. And don't give me any of that crap about special effects or anything. Shoot at me, stick firecrackers in my mouth, drop me off a cliff and toss an anvil down after—you don't know how bad I want to work. And stupid cartoons are taking perfectly good jobs.

Well, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, that's what I say. Or somebody said it. I said if you can't beat 'em, hire someone bigger to do it, but that doesn't apply in this case. I got to thinking about the cartoon stuff, though, and decided I could do that—the voices, I mean.

I went to my agent, Dusty—I call him that because he's so old his skin has flaked into a fine layer of powder over his entire body—and told him to get me some voice work. He sent me to a telemarketing firm, so I obviously went back and had to straighten things out with him. He's ancient, people, he's scared of new-fangled technology, like telephone devices. But he did get me a voice audition at this big animated studio.

Let's just say we didn't get along. There's no room for improv in cartoons, it turns out, and their writers are complete crap, totally unrealistic dialogue. If someone was hitting you with a hammer, which would you say: "Hey, Telly! Ooch! Ooch! That stings!" or "Step off, motherfucker, or I'm a rip your head off and skull-fuck you!" The stupid director tries to tell me they can't say "skull-fuck" on Saturday morning cartoons, but everybody remembers that one Smurf used to say it all the time. I told him I'd clean it up but after a few rehearsals—well, you'd be surprised what you can't say on Saturday morning these days, or as I like to think of it, "Satur-Nazi morning."

I figured then I'd try to get on one of those night-time cartoons like The Simpsons, but they said they only hire celebrities to do voices. I know, ooch, that stings. Been on the air twelve years and they think they know showbiz better than me. I even called back, pretending to be Tracey Gold from Growing Pains, but they told me the same thing. I bet they wouldn't have said that if I told 'em I was Boner.

Well, if all that fails I can at least try pitching an idea for my own cartoon show. How hard can it be?

My idea is border collie, just like Lassie, and I'm always getting into funny jams week after week. Say like my owners have this baby and they're neglectful parents and shit, they leave me to watch the baby but the baby gets out and buys crack or something. Now I've got to get the baby to chill out and mellow before the parents get back. Oh, and I talk. I'm a talking border collie with a catchphrase, like, "Holy shit!" or something. More clever, maybe, I don't plan on writing it. Just pitching the idea and sitting back to collect those Creative Consultant checks. It doesn't have to be a border collie either. It could be a malamute or something funnier. I'll let the writers work on it.

What I'm saying is that I've got ideas, folks, big fat gold-shitting ideas. Somebody needs to ring me up and put me back on TV, even in two dimensions.

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