Mack
Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Drones' Club
The
FAA is expected to grant permission for public and private entities to fling
into the spacious if somewhat crowded skies above the fruited plains of freedom
some 30,000 pilotless aircraft to spy on Americans (http://rt.com/usa/news/drone-spying-memo-leaked-088/)
in addition to the hundreds flyin’ ‘n’ spyin’ domestically now. Further, no privacy rights in public or in
private are recognized; the Fourth Amendment has, oh, evolved. And, hey, is that an electronic eye peeking
through your bedroom window?
There
is some babble about how useful these 30,000 projected drones will be in
finding lost hikers, and, sure, if there’s anything the Founding Fathers
focused on, it was finding lost hikers.
Indeed,
the repeated drone telephone calls that interrupt our days and evenings have
repeatedly stressed how important this election is for lost hikers.
The
Daily Mail recently published maps of
drone-launching sites in use now – there’s one near you: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2134376/Is-drone-neighbourhood-Rise-killer-spy-planes-exposed-FAA-forced-reveal-63-launch-sites-U-S.html.
The
drone looking at you can be as big as a fighter aircraft or as small as a toy
rubber-band airplane. Not only are these
almost silent flying Orwellian telescreens capable of face-recognition and wifi
intercepts, they can be armed with a catalogue of missiles, machine guns, and
death rays.
Thus,
when you step outside your door tomorrow morning you can be monitored by a
pimply oaf whose online name is Dork Lord of the Thunder-Sith and who perhaps has
access to a little red button connected to Newarkfire missiles aboard his
remote-control hunter-killer, the USS Steve
Jobs. May it please God he isn’t
still traumatized by that late-night hissy-fit-flap in Starbuck’s over Star Trek versus Star Wars.
Once
upon a time the skies over America were guarded by brave military airmen who
had taken the military oath and who were the products of a culture of honor and
integrity. They protected us by watching
for Soviet missiles flying in over the Arctic Circle or from Stooge Castro’s
occupied Cuba.
Now
we are snooped on by peeping-tom nerds in Pink Floyd tee-shirts.
The
greatest risk to a not-a-pilot in some bunker is tennis-finger from playing
with his joy-stick (Resist the obvious joke.
Resist it.).
A
young man or woman who successfully completes flight training is honored to have
a loved one pin his pilot’s wings to his uniform. A drone-hero asks a guy in an R2D2 costume pin
a plastic thumby-toggle-thingie to his knee-pants.
A
real pilot returning from a successful mission does a victory roll; a
drone-pilot high-fives his Bill Gates poster.
The
dialogue in new war movies will certainly be different: “You’ve got an enemy
fighter on your tush!” and “We have a decaf triple latte at twelve o’clock
high.”
But,
seriously, one is sure we need those drones.
After all, private enterprise clearly reads our emails and site
accessions now, and governments at all levels can do so if they wish. If we travel, we are subject to
identification checks, strip-searches, and touchy-feely-we’re-not-even-married
searches by capos. All that is left to
make control complete is visual spying.
What are you growing in your garden?
Now move your thumb so the Eye can read the complete serial number on
your grandpa’s 1955 J. C. Higgins .22.
Where are you going? Is that a
low-flush toilet, comrade? Let’s check
to see if you possess illegal light bulbs.
There
is an old hymn about how you’ll never walk alone. And it is truer than ever.
-30-
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