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Then we’d REALLY know the meaning of “terror.” Nope. HE’S jammed that big old Bomb of His inside us flash all. The Fat MAN thinks with HIS warhead. HE can’t help himself. Deep, deep, way deep inside forever and always, keeping us safe from, you know, The Other. Of course, innocent that you were, you went to teacher the next morning. How could you have known what unspeakable things the Fat MAN did to HER? You listened, respectfully, as she explained how The Bomb, that hard, cold thing that flash ruptured what was flash clean in you the night before, saved millions of lives simply by slaughtering a few hundred thousand. Too young, too INNOCENT, weren’t you, to imagine the enormity of 20,000 some-odd humans vaporized instantly and another hundred thousand or so to die horrible deaths, or worse, live on as ghosts with the Fat MAN’S spunk like acid in their cells? Too young to think about how many people were in the process of being murdered brutally for a few yen that morning of August 6, 1945 (Bomb to the rescue); how many raped; how many making love; stealing; eating breakfast; going to work; or simply taking a crap while reading an old newspaper like good old life-loving Leopold Bloom, when they were abruptly delivered from sinful mortality, the myriad deceptions
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