Its time to go back to flower power

I'm not the type to raise issues of 'larger interests/concerns'
(being intellectually lazy and a dodger of debates), but
when i'm interrogated before being allowed to pass
through the gate to my office and my bag is checked
as if i look like a brainwashed dodo about to blow myself
to smithereens, that's where i draw the line
and say - Burrppp..i'm so full my stomach is spilling out
on to the floor. No, wait. That's what i said after i've had
my dinner last night (deep-fried chicken).

What i really want to say is - this terror and security issue
is starting to be a real bugger, although i would rate
Hrtitik's, oops i mean Krissh's rubberband-like dancing
infinitely more irritating. I mean, what kind of superhero
with rippling muscles disco dances to woo a girl.
(Imagine Superman doing a moonwalk or prancing
around trees!!!) As Batman would
say - "It's the car. Just look the car."
NOT the breakdancing-in-shiny-cloths. goddammit.

Coming back to the terror issue, i believe we have
turned Samuel Huntington-ji into the new-age
Nostradamus, what with all his predictions about the
clash of civilisations being played out every day,
whether it's in a wider scale like the islamic jihad
against.... everybody, and the never-ending
Israel-Palestine conflict; or in a smaller, or at least
less conspicuous scale of perpetual tensions between
small tribes and clans in places like where i come
from (where you get poked in the butt with a militant's
gun while the Army prods you with their
gun-nozzle in the front).

With the most pressing concern right now being ideologists
who blow up like old unstable dynamite sticks,
I have a suggestion to stop the rampaging Humpty
Dumptys - Flower Power.
We must go back in time to learn from the wise men
and women who came before us- the baby boomers.
Because?? You ask. Because they were the
"Love Generation." The swinging sixties. The hippies.
Woodstock. Flower power -make love not war.
Cool cloths. Outrageous drug use.
The Beatles... free sex...

We must teach about their enlightened philosophy
on life (smoke pot till u're too stoned to think about
anything except the imaginary flowers bursting in your brains).
Imagine a suicide bomber-wannabe after three sticks
of Marijuana. He'd be grinning till the side of his lips
touch his ears and singing 'all you need is love' while
hugging everyone near him. The only alarm will be
if he's still got the bombs strapped on to his
chest when he hugs You.