Ang Kiukok is playing a game of chess with David Carradine who is wearing a tie and smoking a pipe of hash. He looks up bemusedly.
“What is it, to strategically position?", asks Ang Kiukok.
David Carradine breaks into a shy grin that is somehow shit-eating. After a long pause, he moves a Knight to h4 and looks Ang Kiukok directly in the eye.
“The meaning of strategically position is....Shhh! Do you hear that? Crickets chirping!”
All ears are strained. Thundering silence.
“Precisely! The strategical position is within you. It lives within us all. Yes...we are the strategical position!
Heinrich von Kleist clears his throat from a corner in which he nurses a martini, shaken not stirred.
“There was an Indo-European word root— ster, that meant “to spread things out". The word strategy comes from the Greek word stratos, which simply means "something that is spread out", stratos being the Greek word for army. Think stratosphere, stratify, stratocumulus. The Greek word for general is strategos. The one who practices the science and art of….. planning".
Heinrich von Kleist smiles the smile of complete satisfaction and sips his drink.
Ang Kiukok moves a lone bishop which is haunting the light squares like a damn ol' graveyard ghos' to e6.
“I demand that no one use the word strategy in defining strategically position!”
The Borg Queen fingers the curve of her left bare breast, which is somewhat plum in complexion, giving one the sense that its temperature is that of around 0 °C. She pinches her nipple with thumb and forefinger while gazing upwards in thought.
“The aliens want to conquer Earth, so they devise a plan of action to accomplish that goal. To do so they don't randomly position their craft over anywhere, they place them over targets which, when hit, will render resistance ineffectual. That's strategy! They strategically position their craft to produce a desired outcome when they put their plan into action. Just putting their craft over “common areas”, or well known “good” squares would not be as effective as putting them in places that compliment their goals.
In that context, strategy is implying clever thought, rather than random placement.”
Henry Kissinger rudely farts, permeating Ten Forward in a strange meaty effluvium that reminds one of processed pork. There is no emotion portrayed by his face. Perhaps a shadow of sadness.
“I applause your excellent Machiavellian parable, Borg Queen!
However, your aliens are somewhat Wellsian in their hypothetical stratagem of hovering around in the sky over nuclear bases and what have you. I mean to say that your aliens are stratagemically superannuated, nevertheless showing astute ratiocination. In no way am I discouraging the reading of H.G. Wells.
I'm simply saying that warfare has evolved into something more clandestine since the birth of flight; though admittedly, should you believe in Al-Qaeda, still, you must believe that effectualness lies in retrogradingly simplistic earthbound tactics. The historicity of terrorism may back this point up.
Picture a Borg ship being taken down by a caveman with a rock. But really, do you believe in poverty stricken aliens? They would have to be indwelling--in the Earth. They could not afford travel! Middle Earth, yes, as multitudinous as worms and much less pleasant smelling. The poor always smell, the filthy masses.
Were I a postmodern materialist alien race, I would first gain control of the Earth's elite (not the politicians, the bankers) who in turn control the politicians, media, and thus the masses, despite your silly so-called Capitalism and imagined Democracy.
I then would would fluoridate the water and begin churning out retroviruses such as the XMR virus. Through various channels of creative destruction, including economic failure by design, false political and moral polarizations (divide and conquer), sickness (helped by FDA stamped GMOs spreading diabetes and cancer) and the never-will-cure-you-pharmaceuticals (the most yield coming from psychotropics and opiate based painkillers), I would end all human desire to live. I then would land my ship and present myself as the Savior.
I would not make resistance ineffectual. I would keep you blind to anything to resist. Unfortunately, not really a plausible plan in chess.”
David Carradine groans and loosens his tie before laying his White King on its side.
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