Months ago, while taking my weekly shower, it struck me — the answer to the question that keeps most of us up at night: “What happens when a power hungry petro-oligarchy runs amuck of an anarcho-capitalist wild west?” (And no, the answer isn’t George W. Bush.)
(Warning: small children or readers who suffer from repetitive nightmare disorder should continue reading with their hands over their eyes.)
What happens? The most ruthless and powerful geopolitical state since the Roman Empire. That’s what happens. Known as Texicas, the petrodollar-fueled nation shatters the already unstable Americas by rising to power through a post-revolution Mexican government allied with an infiltrated Texas state legislature that votes to succeed in the year 1921. Just think, in an alternate history not so different from our own I could be a third generation Texican.
Obviously, Louisiana has no choice but to acquiesce to lingering frustration over the War of Northern Aggression, and thus joins Texicas in its new independence.
With the mouth of the Mississippi and the ports of Harlingen and Houston firmly ensconced in Texican rule, the oil fields of Oklahoma burning and Panama, Columbia, Cuba and Venezuela new allies while Europe wallows in the aftermath of the Great War, Texicas vaults to a dominate role in Western economics and foreign policy as the U.S. sharts in fear.
Rather than being destroyed during the waning days of WWI, top-secret German technology is kept alive in Mexico City before being deployed in the manufacturing plants of Eastern Texas powered by the largest known reserve of oil in the world and defended by a maniacal ex Texas Ranger now in charge of absconded U.S. destroyers and weaponry the likes of which the world has never known!
If that isn’t bad enough, wobbly-kneed Southern California soils itself as Texicas troops flood across the border at Tijuana screaming their battle cry at the top of their lungs, “Don’t mess with Texicas!” just before they bust tequila bottles over the heads of hollywood moguls declaring Dallas the new capital of the silver screen and the headquarters of the bile spewing Texicas propaganda machine.
And as we all know, the rest, ladies and gentlemen are just dominoes.
I know. Startling in its feasibility and eerie in its resemblance to our current lives, some “what ifs” are too frightening to delve into. Then again, some make excellent fodder for a desperate novelist striving for cult-classic fame on a $30,000 a year salary. I’m hoping this wild provocation is the latter. I call it the Lost DMB Files, and they are waiting for your discovery.
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