The Wake

The apex of a hollow point bullet is exactly what the sobriquet indicates; its tip is not solid like the rest of the alloy particles. Rather, the hollow point is the climax of a brief yet formidable structure. Only once one reaches the beginning of the cylinder does the solid metal begin.

Why does this matter?

My name is not really Brock Samson. And for the first time ever, someone I know died in the Iraq war.

What motivates the design behind hollow point bullets is the fact that upon striking the skin - or any surface, for that matter - the hollow structure collapses and the bullet is splintered into several smaller pieces that burst apart. Now, instead of one high-powered projectile tearing through a person’s vital organs, brain matter, etc., a hollow point bullet breaks apart into a dozen different little fragments that go their own separate ways inside someone’s guts.

A gun is a simple machine. No need for batteries or a power-cord; the trigger releases the hammer,
which strikes the gunpowder, and an explosion is focused in a certain direction.

A guy I knew from high school died a few weeks ago, and he was the only soldier I’ve known to die in this most recent war. With around 5,000 Americans dead, it is not too hard to suggest that you, dear reader, also know someone who died, or maybe you know someone who knows someone.

I wish I could say I take solace in knowing that the boy felt no pain, but I can’t. The high-powered rifle fire that struck the back of the dude’s head was, unfortunately, a hollow-tipped round, and the shards that burst apart upon their entrance left exit wounds out of my friend’s face. His funeral was closed casket. And his mother never got to kiss his cheek again. The last time I saw him, we ran into each other at a bar in Seward, did shots of tequila, and he showed me pictures on his phone of his new, too-big apartment in Loring Park. The army had paid for it. He said he would call me once his tour was over. A long time had passed since high school when we were friends. And in all honesty, our communication that night did not feel forced or injected; I knew we would hang out again.

But we never got a chance to. We never got that chance and at his funeral there was a big, framed picture of him in his uniform beside the casket.

Whether or not the person who killed him died, I guess I’ll never know, but I really hope he did. I really hope his killer died, but the fact of the matter remains that his death, his squandered life, is as much the fault of the Republican Party as it was whoever shot him.

The reason why I say my name is Brock Sampson when it isn’t really is because - through a list of connections I won’t get in to - I can say in all honesty that I know the senator on first-name basis. I know him. I know his family. In the spirit of John Kerry’s all too real examination of the man versus the candidate at the DNC, I can tell you that the man is a good, decent person. Every time I see him he remembers my real name, never forgetting the last detail I gave him about my life. As a prosecutor he sent many rapists and killers to prison, and his public service, up to a certain point, has been venerable.

But the fact remains that he and his party are accountable for my friend’s life. They have to answer for all of those people who died for so much nothing. What all of these people really deserve, if karma were the law, the man certainly wouldn’t be considered for re-election.

All of them, Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld, Ashcroft, Rice, Powell, all the senators and representatives, standing by idly as so many of us died. They are accountable for their actions, and they cannot escape karma.

So yeah, Al Franken is an asshole. He is an opportunist capitalizing on people’s hate for Bush, reminding us how the president cherry-picked Coleman six years ago. A steadfast supporter of the war, the mayor became a senator. And now he wants us to give him that spot again.

That little “D” by Franken’s name makes all the difference. Even if he is some washed-up, loser comedian, he’s more likely to vote for Obama’s saving legislation.

If you came of age during the Bush administration, like I did, maybe you’ve spent some time trying to find words to explain how it all felt. Everyday there was something new; from Harriet Myers to Hurricane Katrina, the economy to the tsunami, his almost-decade in the sun has been, in my opinion, the single most successful and impressive confidence trick in modern history.

Scamming his way into his first term and lying his way into and through his second–how were so many of us duped by this grifter? All of them are a bunch of fucking con artists. That’s all this was, unfortunately. Think of Locke’s dad on “Lost”, only slightly less clandestine. The way I see it, this is all the stuff we actually do know about. What else have they done?