Alas, I hate to admit it, but my columns have slowly but surely fallen into a wispy and hopefully comedic pattern.

I have not tackled a serious topic in some time. Well, I have tackled a few, but I didn’t exactly approach them in a stoic, Ted Kopple-esque manner.

I sat down at my keyboard this week and started to write about the whole Iraqi hornets nest this country has poked with a huge stick. One of the questions I broached: Would you want your children, spouse or parents beheaded trying to bring democracy to a country that clearly has too many madmen and religion-warped fanatics to support a healthy government?

My answer to that, although it may sound selfish, is I would not sacrifice the head of one of my friends or family to establish a government in a Godforsaken Middle Eastern country. We toppled the dictatorship, so now let’s get out and let the country eat itself from within.

Sorry, hypnotized right wingers, but enough American lives have been sacrificed in the name of Allah already. Naked Iraqis, dead Americans, chanting masses, burning cars, political rhetoric, disguised evil terror clowns — it’s enough to make a rational person scream.

The relationship between the U.S. and the religious fanatic populace around the world is steadily growing more fragile with each passing day of occupation, so it’s time to get gone and stay gone.

There are no weapons of mass destruction, mystery solved, so everybody go back to your day jobs. (Well, I got into the third or fourth paragraph of that column and realized I was not saying anything that hadn’t already been said, so I erased the page.)

But after I had tasted war in my mind for a minute and the ridiculous fact that there are “reasons” in this world for people to kill other people, I had a dark little feeling in my gut. I’ve gotten so used to making jokes and sarcastically ripping social behavior that when I peered at the serious side of life I got sick.

So I closed my eyes and blocked out harsh, fingernail-biting reality. I consulted the talking frog, Quentin, and he told me to “Let it be.”

“Thanks guru McCartney,” I said.

Still finding myself in a pretty deep funk I watched all 12 of my Tony Robbins motivational tapes. After I ate a half-gallon of fudge ripple toasted almond ice cream, saved a woodpecker with a broken wing, and picked wildflowers for a sweet young lady, I was right as rain again.

It ain’t simple being an easy rider swimming amongst the fish of confusion and ignorance, but I try.

Let’s put down the guns, lock the hate in a big wooden box and have a party. Everybody bring your favorite beverage, a story about your youth and a willingness to listen and love. If I may borrow the great Lennon phrase, it’s time to “give peace a chance.”

But peace doesn’t get the testosterone going does it? Peace is boring and too safe and stable; killing is thrilling.

I haven’t given up yet, but until the revolution starts I’ll just sit here in my Camaro overlooking the bay, sippin’ on a Milwaukee’s Best and listening to Bob Dylan on eight-track.

It’s a dog eat dog world, and I want to be a beaver.

Kevin Cummings is an amateur poet, songwriter, and short story author. He is a staff writer for The Catoosa County News. For questions or comments contact him at kcummings@catoosanews.com.