While I didn't have time to learn very much about mankind's history in this part of the world, I did learn quite a bit about the origins of the Nureongi. One of the tribal leaders, on hearing of my archaeological background, presented me with a rather unusual gift; an ancient tin can from the human-era with a faded picture of a yellow dog on it. He explained that the symbols on the can read “very tasty dog soup”. He claimed that his tribe, the Unata, had many such shocking artifacts saved by their ancestors so that the coming generations would never forget their tragic history.
The Unata and many of the other tribes of Nureongi live in perpetual fear of the humans one day returning from the skies to eat them. It is customary for them to take turns watching the sky for any signs of rocket craft.
This superstition runs deep in their culture, to the point where a common image in many of their plays, artworks and poems depicts a man reaching down from the sky and grabbing a defenseless dog out of his bed. Another common image, apparently adapted from an ancient human artwork now lost, is a dog being barbecued outdoors by a family of smiling humans.
It has become apparent to me that these dogs, so convinced that humans were despicable violent creatures that caged and slaughtered their forbearers, can obviously never be acclimatized to our way of life. How can they be expected to adapt to a system of living that holds humans in the highest regard and follows every human custom and belief we unearth? It's just not practical for us to expect to be able to convert these aborigines to our civilization. And if we can't civilize them, then what purpose does it serve to occupy their lands? There has to be another way.
Of course, the terrorists responsible for the senseless attack on our soil must pay for these unthinkable crimes they've committed against our country, I'm certainly not some kind of extremist, but is an all out invasion really the best answer? If we can't apprehend the terrorists, then perhaps we could just send drones to execute a few thousand of the Nureongi in retaliation. I think they would quickly learn that we mean business, and hand the terrorists over to avoid further civilian bloodshed.
Targeted drone attacks would have a much more measured effect than an all out invasion. An invasion would likely bombard the whole country, including the immaculately well-preserved ruins that have still never been excavated. The Nureongi would have no choice but to take cover in the ruins of the cities, and we would have no choice but to bomb, burn, and otherwise destroy these last wonders of the old world. We simply must find a solution that preserves the ruins so that they can one day be studied and added to our knowledge base for prosperity.
Perhaps, rather than invading Nureongi using traditional methods of destructive artillery, we could use a gentler, more compassionate and ecologically-conscious methodology. Thousands of planes could fly over their country day and night, releasing high concentrations of noxious gases that would drift down and affect the Nureongi, making them docile, sickly and non-violent, but not damage the fragile ruins. We would have our rightful justice for the terrorist attack, and the incredible historic sites would be left intact. I hope that the military will consider this as a serious option, or the ruins are as good as forfeited.
We simply must put history first. If their past is lost forever, then how will the Nureongi ever be able to modernize and join the rest of the world in the modern era? Without a clear view of the past, there can be no planning for the future. Every culture deserves to know where it came from, even misguided cultures that for whatever reason, harbor vicious terrorists. Perhaps there is knowledge waiting to be unearthed in their humans ancient cities that can redeem the humans in their eyes, and make them finally accept humanity as the supreme species. There's just no telling what remarkable, earth-shattering finds there could be waiting for us at those unique sites.
By bombing the ruins, we could be destroying the ultimate knowledge we've been seeking for centuries. We could be putting an absolute end to any chance of ever reaching ascension. It's an unthinkable notion and it should give us all pause for careful reflection.
And if we killed the few elders that are able to interpret the strange written language of the humans from this region, it could take us decades to decipher the symbols.
We must remember that the Nureongi are very simple creatures. We can't expect a species of dogs still living in the stone age to conform to our peaceful ideals without the proper guidance. To them, brutal violence is probably a natural part of everyday life. They likely don't understand basic concepts we take for granted such as civility and friendship. I'd guess that to them, without any real religion or reverence for a higher being, death is simply a routine affair, with no meaning attached to it, and little mourning.
I readily admit this is all just supposition, I didn't spend enough time living among them to truly understand the intricacies of their social order, but it makes a lot of sense. It would explain why such a seemingly passive group of dogs would attack us so violently. To them the attack is simply a ritual, a beating of the drum if you will. Perhaps doing war with each other, and now with us, is how they commune. Maybe it is the only way they have to express to other dogs their proud traditions. I'm sure they fully expect us to respond in kind with our own aggressive attack. They would likely be insulted if we did not. But of course, they don't understand that our weapons are much more destructive than theirs, and when we attack, it will change them forever.
All I can do now is plead with our military. Please don't completely annihilate their country. Leave enough of the ruins standing for my team to explore. There are so many hidden secrets that need to be discovered. I can feel it in my bones.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Actor II
Yes it is true, Harvey spent some time in Nureongi. That doesn't make me a traitor! I despise the vile sneaky yellow bastards as much as any of you! I only went to their filthy country to try to broker peace. As I held out the figurative peace pipe, they sucker punched our fine nation in a colossal act of unscrupulous cowardice. The moment I found out about the attack, I scrambled back to my jet, barely getting home in one piece.
If you're going to point the finger at an Orninican for being a traitor, try my traveling companion, the spineless Poodle accountant turned revolutionary, Gerald Barker. He was constantly blathering on about how ideal and wonderful their wretched way of life is. It was truly pathetic, the little weasel. He was so infatuated with their primitive tribal political system and their complete lack of a police force, he was practically begging for them to strip off his clothes and paint him yellow. In fact, he literally took off all his clothes when we arrived, stood next to me as naked as one of the savages, said he wanted to acculturate better. Be one of them!
Harvey Fidelbrook is no traitor! He has always been and will always be a proud Orninican patriot. Hand me a machine gun and I'll join our troops right now in shooting Nureongi scum by the dozen. Just line them up and watch me blast them into a million little chunks. I won't even flinch. No, sir. I am as all-Orninican as the world has ever seen. The last true patriot. You'd better believe it.
Don't forget I got my big break in film playing Private Puddles Briggs in the gritty period piece, 'The Brutal War That Never Ended.' Remember my stoic performance in that picture as I gunned down collaborator villagers indiscriminately, with nary a bead of sweat on my brow. Put that scene in your mind and imagine me doing the same tenfold to the Nureongi. All I feel for the Nureongi is hate. Unending, unquenchable, unbearable, seething hate to the nth degree.
I just notified my close personal friend, the President, that I'll be donating a considerable amount from my personal fortune to the war effort for the good of the country. My two sons will be lining up outside the nearest recruitment office the very moment day breaks. I'll make sure of it. We will teach those cowardly foreign peasants a thing or two about advanced warfare. They dare to slaughter our innocent pups in the sanctity of their schools? I say no! Never again will a Nureongi take the life of an Orninican. We will take ten-thousand lives for every life
they have stolen from us! Those lowlife skunks will suffer like no dog has ever suffered before.
While brainstorming with the President, I also graciously offered my services entertaining the troops. I'll be touring the camps with an entourage of dancing dolls and singing songs from my latest album, 'I've Got the Harveys: The Fidelbrook Blues'. I'll also be reading segments from my prize-winning autobiography, 'How Harvey Made It: The Arduous Path to International Super-Stardom', and handing out autographed copies to our brave fighters for a small fee.
It is truly saddening that I wasn't able to broker peace. This is the first time in my life that I have failed at something I set out to do. But I promise you, there was nothing anyone could do to quiet the intense rage of those dirty carnivorous malignants. They want to destroy us. Our very existence is grossly offensive to them... Every breath an Orninican takes outrages the Nureongi beyond reason. The very idea of us breathing 'their' air is an affront to their vicious tribal pride. We must extinguish them without mercy before their arrogance spreads across the world like a virus, and infects others with notions of terrorism and civil disobedience.
It really worries me that the terrorists were able to get past our advanced security systems to place the explosives in our schools. I plan to lead a campaign for increasing security and surveillance, doubling up on drones and public security agents across the country. Not even one square inch of Orninican land should go uncovered by the watchful eye of our security forces. We must monitor everything, everywhere to protect our pups from any future attacks. We have to think of our pups above all else. Our pups are our future.
It's true, I am easily rattled by my critics. I'll admit to it. But it's only because I have such an over-sized heart, so filled to the brim with spooling emotive energy and compassion for all living things. I feel at a level most dogs couldn't begin to comprehend. Every time there's tragedy or misery somewhere in the world, every time a pup goes to sleep without his corn mash, I feel it deep in my bones. It haunts me.
How do you think I became such a world renowned actor? There's a lot more to it than simple immaculate skill and impeccable natural talent.
Emoting on such a heightened level drains my reverberating energy and leaves my body vacant and spent. It's such an acute task to feel as much overwhelming feeling as I feel, and somehow battle and squeeze to direct the deluge of emotion into the shape of a masterful character for the ages, to delight and thrill audiences with an unnerving performance piece channeled from the rapidly flooding cellar of my ever-suffering soul. It's an immense struggle that I wouldn't wish on even my most vehement opponent.
But Harvey Fidelbrook has to endure this intense grief and sorrow, for the good of the eternal, unwavering artistry of the canine spirit. To build such unrelenting character portraits as 'Brenda', the cross-dressing prostitute of the titular film loosely based on a true story, who was chewed whole and spat out by the unforgiving ghetto, and then rose up to become champion of the little dogs; as the head of a talent agency for height-challenged actors.
When I was recognized with my third Benji for that uplifting masterpiece, I gave grave consideration to bowing out from performance art forever. Yes, it's true, it almost happened. But I realized, there were still peaks for me to scale in this great misunderstood profession. There were still ordinary working dogs with hearts I had yet to touch. Hearts just waiting for me to come along and shine on them with one of my sincere, down to earth, life-changing character portraits.
Since then, I've come to grasp that the method actor can never really sit idle on his coattails. Performing for an appreciative audience is like a necessary bodily function to someone so ingrained in the wonderment of the dramatic art form. Without the release dramatic rendition grants me, I could very well become irreparably mentally dented.
As long as there are hardworking dogs that remain untouched by emotion, Harvey will be there to bring love to their hearts. To fuse it deeply within their cells so that they can never escape it.
So I persist, I continue to put all of myself into every role I'm handed, draining myself dry, suffering eternally and thanklessly for my craft. At the end of the day I'm left a spent, quivering mess collapsed into a hot-tub with my masseuses, because I know it's bigger than me; this calling I've been given by forces from beyond the realm of the living.
I know my fans demand it and without my performances, their lives would be largely devoid of culture and meaning. I bring refinement to the masses. I speak to the little dog, like no other actor can. I embody the suffering in every dark, grimy corner of society. I am supreme compassion. I am the starving orphan, I am the broken drunk, I am the disease infested prostitute looking for her next fix, I am the emotionally crippled war hero, I am the bum on the street begging for change. Change that can only come from the haunted canine soul.
And as for the unruly little turnip-head that had the barefaced nerve to smudge 'traitor' on my car's rear window with his greasy little digit while I was parked outside my flagship gourmet restaurant, 'Harv's Place', my team of private investigators have recovered your prints, and as soon as they track you down, you'll be facing the fiercest defamation lawsuit this country has ever seen! See you in court, buddy boy. And don't you expect even an ounce of mercy from this great patriot.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Grand Bishop II
There are disgruntled whispers I see spreading on the Internet like a plague, poor misguided dogs grumbling incessantly about the sphere of influence our Orninican corporations possess, and the well-deserved stash of riches enjoyed by their hardworking shareholders and managers. This is an easy mistake to make, my pups.
We must remember the fact that under his divine cowl, Bahman, the holiest of holy men, the upholder of all justice, was a man of immense wealth and influence. His great corporate empire led the world in wondrous technological advances and business acumen that logically and reasonably enabled Bahman to accumulate great profits for himself and his shareholders and managers.
Bahman was indeed born a very rich and pure-bred man, and it was most assuredly due to his superior breeding that he was so adept in his true calling as a proud crusader for righteousness. He lived in a grand towering mansion on a hill overlooking the city, with only his loyal man-servant for fellowship. He drove an assortment of innovative motor vehicles that would make even the most luxurious Braniso pale in comparison.
His still impressive arsenal of justice, his majestically woven costumes and the trophies of his many heroic conquests lined every wall of the great cave of justice. Yes, Bahman surrounded himself with riches like any blessed hard-working Orninican today.
So you see, my pups, wealth and power are nothing to pooh-pooh, they are advantages rightfully granted to great leaders and visionaries. It is only natural that those born with superior genetics and gifted with an immaculate upbringing would be better than the average dog, that they would know how to best spread justice and freedom among the masses.
Bahman didn't see the need to wait for the slow-to-act government or the inept police force to right the wrongs he saw in his great city; he took matters into his own hands, as only a superior aristocratic pedigree of a man could do. He was above the law.
So is it really so unreasonable to expect that our great dogs of industry and finance today, born in mansions that can equal Bahman's, not need to kowtow to mere public servants? I think not. Our great business dogs, born to lives of privilege, surely know what is right for our society better than any sneaky troublemakers slithering their way through the tubes of the Internet like venomous serpents.
These same dissidents complain about the expansive surveillance our country depends on for its very survival. They must be reminded of the magnificent computer that sits in Bahman's cave. With this device, our savior kept a close eye on the populace, watching for criminal activity, for terrorist plotting, for anything out of place or suspicious seeming. He embraced surveillance as fully as our own culture has, and to deny this would be simply sacr
ilegious.
If Bahman were a proponent of the ever watchful eye, then what right do these misguided young disbelievers have to question the wisdom of continuing in our Master's footsteps? It is simply obscene, that these disaffected voices would dare to make themselves heard in a public forum. The government's censorship of the Internet must go further if we are to succeed in stamping out such blatant hate-speech that attacks the values of all the dogs in this society. These anonymous cowards should be tracked down and incarcerated at once for their dangerous and reckless talk.
It is clear and undeniable that Bahman wants for us to throw open our arms and fully embrace materialism. It is only through the amassing of many disparate goods all through our lives that we can reach a state of mind that will allow us to commit the ultimate selfless act.
The more physical possessions we have lining the walls of our homes, the greater the sacrifice will be when we leave everything we own behind to join the masters in the great cave in the sky. It is only logical that the more money and valuables we agree to leave to the church when we die, the greater meaning our death will have.
So fear not believers, shop to your heart's content. Buy everything you can fit onto your credit cards, feeling safe in the knowledge that our wonderful materialism is an integral part of our journey to nirvana. Orninica's unmatched wealth is a wonderful gift from man that should never be recklessly squandered by leaving our credit cards at home. Think of your credit cards as your personal key cards to the great cave in the sky. Never again doubt Bahman's supreme capitalism.
In a way, the great corporation Bahman ran more than two-thousand years ago is still standing today, in the form of the The Holy Temple of Bahman. So when you donate to the church, you're symbolically buying shares in the oldest corporation of them all. Shares that you can cash in the afterlife.
Dogs of Orninica Page 11
