I would like to publicly thank my wonderful brother-in-law Lew for nominating me for the New York Court State Unified Court System Merit Award for Community Service (the link points to last year's winners).
I won. I just found out about ten minutes ago. I didn't even know I was nominated until now.
Lew nominated me for my work with TroopTrax. I owe a debt of gratitude to both Carol and Keith, without whom the effort would not have been so successful. Lew also mentioned Command-Post in his nominating letter. I'm grateful he didn't mention this site, for obvious reasons.
I'm honored, to say the least. In fact, I don't even know what to say. I never even won one of those citizenship awards that everyone gets in junior high, and now I am going to be accepting this award, at the same podium as three court officers who saved the life of an attorney last month.
I hope this isn't tacky, posting about this. For the first time in my life, I am really proud of myself.
Ok, I found the place where it says how you get nominated.
The Program Coordinator requests from the nominee's Executive Assistant, Chief Clerk or unit head written confirmation of the statements contained in the submitted nomination form and a recommendation regarding the nominee's eligibility for an award. After reviewing the nominations, the Program Coordinator selects the top nominees for each category (generally 3 to 5) and forwards their names to the Merit Performance Award Selection Committee, which reviews the nominations and makes recommendations to the Chief Administrative Judge for review and final selection.
The Merit Performance Awards are presented at a special ceremony held at the Court of Appeals on Law Day. Each award recipient receives a certificate of commendation signed by the Chief Judge and the Chief Administrative Judge, and a UCS medallion. A press release is issued to local media and photos are displayed at each honoree's work location.
All I keep saying is, me? Are you sure you mean me?
Dear Ted Rall,
Al Gore was never president. He most likely will never be president.
Please get your head out of the year 2000 and into the present, or seek therapy for your obession with the results of that election.
There are so many other things you could be writing about. Or have you run out of women who would sleep with you?
Firemen in Germany had to rescue a terrified 10-year-old girl after she was chased up a tree by a squirrel...The squirrel made so much noise and was so aggressive the 10-year-old climbed further up the tree to try and get away, but the squirrel followed her.
Silly girl, that's how you attract a squirrel - climb a tree and act like a nut!
I apologize for the lame joke. Blame my father.
The Slutpublican ticket will be the most interesting party to enter the field in the history of politics. Did you ever imagine atheists in the White House or the Presidential Limo with a bumper sticker reading "My SUV can beat up your hybrid car" or the secretary of agriculture declaring "a cow on every plate" and then making PETA an outlawed group?
I mean, no offense against my man Rummy, but who would you rather have as Secretary of Defense?
"I will not lie to you...there is very little difference between my own schema and that of the current S.O.D. and former Princetonian Flyboy, Uncle Donny Rumsefeld. However, I vow to match every ounce of his Strangelovian ethos with poolhall violence in Mickey Rourke-sized servings. Around here, we hit first, we hit hard, the bouncer is our cousin and the owner is a good friend. "
[There's more where that came from.]
I wonder if it would be okay for the President to have an affair with the Defense Secretary.
Do we have an office of Slutpublican Ethics and Morality yet?
And please, stop emailing me asking when I am going to get your bio/picture up. This president-in-waiting has a day job.
It's been three months since I quit smoking.
I smoke almost every night in my dreams, so I guess that's why it's not bothering me.
Meanwhile, positions are filling up fast over at the Slutpublican Headquarters. We're pretty much going to be an equal opportunity offense party. We'll offend the far left because we are exploiting each other for sex (and we have minors in the cabinet) and we will offend the far right because of our pro-sodomy stance, among other things.
Basically, we stand for freedom to do whatever the hell you want as long as you aren't hurting anyone. We're about a world without terrorism, a world without tyranny, a world without Ted Rall.
And who wouldn't want that?
That's all I got right now. Late for that damn job thing I have to do every day.
I just don't have what it takes to get all the Department Head stuff together tonight. I'll work on it tomorrow. Just pretend your applications and nominations are wallowing in a sea of red tape fillibusters right now. It will seem more....real.
Besides, your president-to-be is busy watching the wretched performances on American Idol. Holy blandness, batman!
Gary Farber doesn't have SARS - could be just pneumonia - but I say we treat him as suspicious. If you have been in contact with Gary Farber's blog in the past few days, or know anyone who has (when you read a stranger's blog, you read the blogs of everyone he's read in the past five years), I would suggest getting checked out by your nearest blog physician.
And for the love of life, bloggers, wear a mask when you read blogs. You never know where your linklist has been!
The Department of Choosing Department Heads will be in session in just a little bit.
I just had eight inches cut off of my hair.
I need a moment alone.
(yes, two nights in a row I'm quoting lyrics from Hair)
Gimme a head with hair, long beautiful hair
Shining, gleaming, steaming, flaxen, waxen
Give me down to there, hair!
Shoulder length, longer (hair!)
Here baby, there mama, Everywhere daddy daddy
Hair! (hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair)
Flow it, Show it;
Long as God can grow it, My Hair!
Let it fly in the breeze and get caught in the trees
Give a home to the fleas in my hair
A home for fleas, a hive for bees
A nest for birds, there ain't no words
For the beauty, the splendor, the wonder of my
Hair! (hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair)
Flow it, Show it;
Long as God can grow it, My Hair!
I want it long, straight, curly, fuzzy
Snaggy, shaggy, ratty, matty
Oily, greasy, fleecy, shining
Gleaming, steaming, flaxen, waxen
Knotted, polka-dotted; Twisted, beaded, braided
Powdered, flowered, and confettied
Bangled, tangled, spangled and spaghettied!
O-oh, Say can you see; my eyes if you can,
Then my hair's too short!
Down to here, down to there,
Down to where, down to there;
It stops by itself!
doo doo doo doo doot-doot doo doo doot
They'll be ga-ga at the go-go
when they see me in my toga
My toga made of blond, brilliantined, Biblical hair
My hair like Jesus wore it
Hallelujah I adore it
Hallelujah Mary loved her son
Why don't my Mother love me?
Hair! (hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair)
Flow it, Show it;
Long as God can grow it, My Hair!
Ocean Guy has all you need to know and read.
Please, take a few moments out of your day to visit the links on his page. (He has several posts up, just keep scrolling)
The last, the very last,
So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow.
Perhaps if the sun’s tears would sing
against a white stone ...
Such, such a yellow
I carried lightly ‘way up high.
It went away I’m sure because it wished to
kiss the world goodbye.
For seven weeks I’ve lived in here,
Penned up inside the ghetto
But I have found my people here.
The dandelions call to me
And the white chestnut candles in the court.
Only I never saw another butterfly.
That butterfly was the last one.
Butterflies don’t live in here,
In the ghetto.
- Pavel Friedmann, from I Never Saw Another Butterfly, Children’s Drawings and Poems from Theresienstadt Concentration Camp, 1942-44. (Hana Volokova, editor. Schocken Books, 1993)
Please note that more positions have been filled. One of them may be you! See the Slutpublican Campaign Blog for details and instructions.
At least that's what they're saying in Alexandria.
Alexandria, the city that sits in the shadow of the Pentagon.
Here, in the waning days of a war, in a school district populated with families of veterans, the Alexandria School District has decided to keep school open on Memorial Day to make up for missed days in winter.
The decision to use Memorial Day as make-up day was made by administrators before the campaign in Iraq started, said Barbara Hunter, executive director of information and outreach. She said a few parents have complained, but added that while the school district respects their arguments, "I don't think there's any chance it will change."
She said the schools could have a barbecue or similar event in celebration of troop efforts and many plan to talk to students about the significance of Memorial Day.
"I suspect that many [students] miss the point of Memorial Day and don't realize how important what U.S. soldiers are doing is," Ms. Hunter said. "We're looking at this as really a way to teach them."
I don't think they would miss the point this year of all years. What they are teaching them is the bureacracy rules over everything else.
Sure, Memorial Day is a day of barbecues and pool openings to some people. But there are always the parades and the memorials. In my town, which does not boast the military population that Alexandria does, the turnout for memorials and salutes to the veterans is overwhelming. I imagine in Alexandria it is even more so.
We have just lost soldiers in a war. The day that is set aside to memorialize those soldiers and all others lost in combats throughout time has now been lost to the families of Alexandria.
Sure, they could do it on any other day. But the significance here is that the shcool district doesn't care. To use Memorial Day to make up for a snow day is a slap in the face to every person in Alexandria who has lost someone to the perils of war. It is a blow to all those who have relatives and friends overseas right now, fighting for freedom.
It's disgusting is what it is.
If you are as outraged as I am, you can contact the ACPS Superintendent, Rebecca Perry, here.
Thank you to Rob of Left and Right, who sent me the link this morning and asked if I would make the public aware of this situation.
After listening to a sound clip of Hilary's "fiery" speech of last night, I am beginning to understand Bill Clinton a bit more.
Perhaps oral sex is his way of keeping his women quiet. Between Monica and Hilary, the noise factor must have been debilitating at some points.
So it wasn't about the oil after all. It wasn't even about freedom for the Iraqi people or stealing antiquities or world domination.
It was about making the middle class white males of America feel good; a rah-rah morale builder for that portion of the American population who who needed more white male heroes because all their favorite sports teams have been taken over by minorities.
Well, that's the way it is in Norman Mailer's world.
There were, however, even better reasons for using our military skills, but these reasons return us to the ongoing malaise of the white American male. He had been taking a daily drubbing over the past 30 years. For better or worse, the women’s movement had had its breakthrough successes and the old, easy white male ego had withered in the glare. Even the mighty consolations of rooting for your team on TV had been skewed. There was now less reward in watching sports than there used to be, a clear and declarable loss. The great white stars of yesteryear were for the most part gone, gone in football, in basketball, in boxing, and half-gone in baseball. Black genius now prevailed in all these sports (and the Hispanics were coming up fast; even the Asians were beginning to make their mark). We white men were now left with half of tennis (at least its male half), and might also point to ice-hockey, skiing, soccer, golf, (with the notable exception of the Tiger) as well as lacrosse, swimming, and the World-Wide Wrestling Federation — remnants and orts of a once-great and glorious centrality.
So, women can blame themselves for this war as well. After all, if we didn't go out and get jobs and wear pants and drive cars, the American male wouldn't have been made to feel so weak and feminine and we would have no need for war so they could prove their muscular worth.
Perhaps we should blame Jackie Robinson for breaking the color barrier in baseball. After all, if he didn't pave the way for other black players to enter the major leagues, Bush would have no need to send our troops out to war to prove how fierce and dominant the white man is.
This all leaves me a bit confused, because I thought the mantra of the left preceding this war was that so many minorities would die because the American armed forces is made up mostly of poor black and hispanic soldiers.
Yet here is George Bush, sending all those people out to war because the white man needs to be emasculated.
Now you know. The war in Iraq was set up because Iraq was a weak opponent who would go down without too much of an effort on the part of the American team. Our armed forces - the white power hitters and quarterbacks and slam dunkers our nation was pining for - would sweep their way to victory and once again, the white male could claim dominance over everyone else, our banners would wave, our cheerleaders would do cartwheels and the scoreboard would explode with fireworks.
I wonder if Mailer really believes his own idiocy or if he just had this fantasy after drinking too much bourbon and decided that he would pass it off as truth?
As a matter of collective ego, the good white American male had had very little to nourish his morale since the job market had gone bad, unless he happened to be in the Armed Forces.
So relax, kids. It wasn't about the oil, after all. It was just one of those self-esteem lessons for depressed white men. Of all the crazy, conspiracy theory, fantasized theories the left has come up with to determine what this war was really about, this is by far the dumbest.
Perhaps Norman Mailer is the real white American male in need of a morale boost, and this column was just a way to get the left to put him back up on the pedestal of hero worship again.
We're on to you, Norman.
Don't forget it's Saddam's birthday and there's a poetry contest going on. You can start voting now, even though I said midnight. The three top vote-getters will go into a poll and the winner of that poll will get the prize mentioned in the original post.
Speaking of poetry, Sean Kirby is having his Second Annual Warbloggers Stupid Poetry Contest. The challenge this year is Petrarchan sonnet in trochaic heptameter.
Many positions have been filled already. Even more have been created. This is quite a diverse cabinet, I must say. And I don't mean that in the most complimentary way.
You can find the updated list over at the temporay Slutpublican Headquarters here: Slutpublicans, Whisky, Sexy!
If you don't see your name, complain in the comments over there. The squeaky wheel gets greased up. Or something like that.
There are a lot of positions still open, including that of Propaganda Minister and Secretary of Extreme Activist Smackdowns, whose job it is to smack down both the far left and the far right when necessary.
We support the right of all Americans to sodomize each other, consensually, in their own homes. We will work with state government and our own Justice Department to see to it that all Americans are free to sodomize each other, so long as both adult parties consent.
There's a lot more and I suggest you go read it, especially if you want to be part of our campaign.
Remember, everyone - the Slutpublicans are pro-sodomy! Join the holy orgy1!
Father, why do these words sound so nasty?
Can be fun
Join the holy orgy
If you have paid money to see The Real Cancun I do not want to play with you anymore.
A politician in north India was crushed to death by his pet elephant on Sunday morning, police said.
Samajwadi (Socialist) Party leader Ram Lakhan Verma died instantlty in the incident that occurred in his village Tahapur in Ambedkarnagar near Faizabad, 210km from here.
Verma was a minister of forest and wildlife five years ago.
"The elephant was Verma's pet animal and had suddenly turned wild since Saturday. On hearing the news, Verma had rushed to his village from Lucknow," a senior police offcer said.
As Verma tried to control the animal on Sunday morning, the elephant jumped into a pond. Verma slipped on the muddy ground and the elephant crushed the 45-year-old politician to death.
"Often pet elephants turn wild during the mating season due to lack of a female companion and at such times it is very difficult to bring the elephant under control," a wildlife official said.
Like, if you know your pet elephant is going to go nuts during mating seasons, wouldn't it be wise to either get him an elephant hooker or just pleasure him yourself? I'm sure that pumping a bucket full of elephant jizz is disgusting, but your life is on the line.
And about the whole pet elephant thing - I thought only the Simpons were dumn enough to do that.
If anyone is thinking of applying for the position of Minister of Forest and Wildlife, please note that pet elephants are not allowed.
I wrote something a while ago at Bad Sam and I think it need repeating.
I had appointed myself the Driving Czar of the world and I wrote about one of the cardinal rules of driving: using your directional signals. Now that the nice weather is here and people pay even less attention than usual becauset hey are too busy sticking their heads out the window looking at the pre-pubescent girls in tops made out of one thin strip of cloth, the rules need to be gone over once more. (Yes, let's just say I had an incident this morning).
(Originally written in October 25, 2001)
I have appointed myself to a new position within our government's administration. I am now the Driving Czar. It is my job to make sure this nation follows the rules and regulations set forth by various legislative codes in regards to driving.
There are an awful lot of you out there who either don't know the rules or have just chosen to ignore them. This is bad. This makes for unsafe highways, road rage and a nation of cursers. We need less hostility, folks, and obeying the laws of the road can go a long way towards making for a peaceful existence.
I'm going to start off with the basics. Refamiliarize you with the general rules of courtesy, respect and proper driving habits. The first, and most important, is:
Use Of Turning Signals. You may call them directionals, or blinkers. Whatever the culture of your particular geographic region dictates (like a pop/soda thing), this much is clear: YOU HAVE TO USE THEM
Let me walk you through this. Imagine you are driving. Grab hold of the imaginary steering wheel (hands at 10 and 2 of course). Now, take your left hand and move it to the left of the steering wheel. If you wiggle your fingers a bit, you should hit the directional lever. Bet you didn't even know it was there!
With me so far? Ok, now suppose you are going to make a left hand turn, or switch to the lane to your left (when switching lanes, it is a good idea to make sure that the lane you are going into is for traffic headed the same way as you). Put your hand on the lever and push it gently down. You should hear a ticking sound or, in some cases, a dinging. If you look on your dashboard, there should be a little blinking arrow lit up, pointing to the left. This means you have succeeded in turning on your directional (I know you are pretending at the moment, so just visualize, ok?). Once the lever is down and the sound and/or arrow are indicating leftward movement, you may proceed to make sure your path is clear, and then continue on with your intended movement. If you are looking to make a rightward movement, apply all the preceding steps, except move the lever UP instead of DOWN. I know, this is confusing and new. Take a moment to write this all down.
We use our directionals for several reasons. First, it lets other drivers know your intentions. You do not want to be in a left lane, with miles of traffic behind you, and suddenly spring on the driver to your rear that you are going to turn, something that usually takes a few moments to do. Other drivers tend to get nasty when you do this to them, and as Driving Czar, I would like to see a reduction in the percentage of irate drivers. Second, if you are changing lanes, this lets other drivers know. This is important because if you switch lanes without signaling, people will make up new and creative things to call you. They will not be pleasant things. They may even use their own signal of sorts, when they stick their hand out of their car window and salute you with their middle finger held up. This means they are mad. If it is accompanied by cursing and name-calling, they are a bit more than mad. They may tailgate you and/or harass you. And honestly, as Driving Czar, I give them the liberty to do this. People who do not use their directionals are subject to any kind of abuse that other drivers may throw at them, and I will not deter these pissed off drivers from smacking you upside your head once they catch up to you. Think of them as my street team. My personal driving vigilantes.
So let’s recap. Using directionals good. Not using directionals bad. Good means less mad drivers. Bad means you get bitchslapped. Go to your cars and practice. I know you will get the hang of it eventually.
(note: running for the presidency means I will have to give up my driving czar position, so it's up for grabs)
The Slutpublican Party will have an important annoucement tonight on where we stand on the issue of consenting adults sodomozing each other in the name of love and lust in the privacy of their own bedrooms. Stay tuned to the blog of the vice-prez to be for this press conference. And may I suggest that if you are gunning for one of our coveted cabinet spots, you should go over there and ply Mr. Swerdloff with kind words in his comments.
Please join us in welcoming to our cabinet the Secretary of Conspiracies, Eric Akawie.
His resume was beautiful, describing how he would be "in charge of coordinating administration policy with the Illuminati, Elders of Zion, Bilderberges, Rosicrucians, Grey Aliens, Elevated Masters, the Jesuits, Masons (both Scottish and Egyptian rites), and all the rest I can't tell you about until you're inaugurated. I am also responsible for the care and feeding of the Thing Under the Pentagon."
Somebody has to feed that thing (we call him Ashcroft). I'm just glad it ain't me.
We have also filled the position as Minister of Information, whose job it is to confuse and befuddle the press with as much disinformation and lies as possible. Dave will handle that job, and he will do it in limerick form.
We have some honorary positions up for grabs as well. Look for them later.
Oh, did I mention that we are now screening for the position of Official White House Blogger? Anyone interested?
The Small Victory Jukebox will be open tonight, with a running theme of songs about sex. Or politics. Or both.
If you ever want examples of PC run amok, go read Tongue Tied.
Sometimes the site reads as parody even though it's not. And most times you wish it was.
Students at all-female Smith College in Massachusetts have voted to remove all feminine pronouns from the school constitution and replace them with gender-neutral ones, reports the New Hampshire Gazette.
People attending the meeting will be segregated by scent. Those who never use smelly stuff will sit in one area. Those who sometime wear fragrances but didn’t that particular day will sit in another, and those who forgot and wore something that day will sit in a third.
The Daily Telegraph reports that in Britain the term “brainstorming” is now frowned upon because it might offend people with epilepsy.
Teacher trainees there are apparently being told to avoid the term and instead use something like "word storm" or "thought shower."
Scott does a great job of weeding out the idiotic behavior of PC specialists the world over. Well, his site's motto is Carping about the excesses of clueless crybabies since the turn of the century.
The aggravation quotient is high, but it's good to know these things are going on.
Ok, here's the deal.
Jonathan and I decided to have two cabinets. The traditional Presidential Cabinet and the Backroom Cabinet.
For the traditional positions, we require a bio and that you have a blog. You can submit them to either myself or Jonathan through email or the comments. Following is a list of cabinet positions. The ones in bold have been taken.
Defense Dr. Grosz
Health and Human Services
Department of Homeland Security
Housing and Urban Development
Justice (Attorney General): Dodd
Transportation Mike (Cold Fury)
The Vice President: Jonathan Swerldoff
President's Chief of Staff
Environmental Protection Agency
Office of Management and Budget.
Office of National Drug Control Policy
U.S. Trade Representative
Read further for positions available in the Backroom Cabinet
These are only the positions that have been filled or made up already. Feel free to make up your own as the need arises. If you have qualifications, please let us know. Feel free to send us pictures of you dancing naked on the table at your sister's wedding.
As always, interns are welcome to apply. Resume and knee pads required.
We are looking for a few good men/women/androgynous beings to fill our Cabinet.
If you know of a cabinet position (real or imagined) that you feel you could take on with verve, eagerness and gleeful willingness to abandon your dignity and good reputation, please let me know.
The domains have been purchased. The Slutpublicans are real.
[That means we need to fill the position of Secretary of Web Design - for which the pay is none but the glory is as everlasting as a great big globby grape gobstopper]
It's poetry time!
Today is the 66th birthday of Saddam Hussein. Dead or alive, evil tyrant or benevolent madman, mass murderer or benign leader, all depending on who you talk to.
Let's give the guy a birthday to remember. I won't hold you to just limericks today. Free verse, haiku, what have you. Either way they will most likely all come out the same -
roses are red
violets are blue
my puppy is dead
and so are you.
Or something like that.
This time, there will be a prize. Yes, a real, tangible prize that you can actually hold in your hands and show off to your friends and family - your choice of either The Complete Idiot's Guide to Understand Iraq or The Oxford Book of Satirical Verse.
So "celebrate" Saddam's birthday with some poetic justice. Entries due by midnight tonight. Leave them here in the comments.
Rules, regulations, whatnot:
As this contest revolves around it being Saddam's birthday, the poem should mention that at some point.
Length is up for grabs, but no epic poetry, please.
Enter as many times as you wish, but enter only one poem per comment.
You MUST leave a real name and email address.
Trolls welcome, but just wait until my Poetry to Trolls contest. You'll be sorry!
Writing AS someone is good. For instance, Robert Fisks' love poem to Saddam on his birthday would be funny.
The Slutpublicans live.
Mr. Swerdloff and I have decided to run on the Slutpublican ticket. While our political intentions are good, they are also selfish and personal, as Jonathan is hoping that some lovely, wholesome neocon woman would like to sleep with the vice-president, and I am hoping to turn this into a chance to rid the world once and for all of Carrot Top.
Sure, we have more realistic aspirations, as Jonathan says:
Give France back to the Germans, since they didn't appreciate our saving them the first time. And then give the Germans to the Russians. In exchange, Russia will give us her full stockpile of WMDs and all of their scientists and technicians.
Domestically - gay marriage is in. Funding for disease-fighting nonprofits doing research is in. Corporations who shelter their money by being Cayman or similarly situated will be taxed on everything they do.
So, as in most cases, the vice-president, Jonathan, will be the brains behind the outfit. I'll just stand around and read speeches and cut ribbons at opening ceremonies and invite the Stanley Cup winning hockey team back to the presidential bedroom.
Speaking of speeches, we are hoping to get Bill Whittle to write ours. Perhaps we can make this an all blogger ticket. Of course, our theme song will be Dr. Frank's democracy, whisky, sexy. No Fleetwood Mac for us.
Do you have a special talent that would somehow enhance our marketability? What can you bring to the Swerldoff-Catalano ticket that would make us sexier, smarter, more likely to be featured in an issue of Maxim? Can you make blogging trolls go away with a single glance? Do you have any action-figure type magic powers like invisibility or the ability to stretch your arms really long distances or the power to make Chirac cry? Will you dance naked at our inaugural party? To Justin Timberlake?
As our gravy train takes off from the station, you will want to be a part of it. We are Slutpublicans. We are proud.
Well, when Uday's birthday comes around we can always buy him the Iron Maiden box set.
Into the abyss I'll fall - the eye of Horus
Into the eyes of the night - watching me go
Green is the cat's eye that glows - in this temple
Enter the risen Osiris - risen again
Tell me why I had to be a powerslave
I don't wanna die, I'm a god,
why can't I live on?
When the Life Giver dies,
all around is laid to waste
And in my last hour,
I'm a slave to the power of death
When I was living this lie - fear was my game
People would worship and fall-drop to their knees
So bring me the blood and red wine
for the one to succeed me
For he is a man and a god
and he will die too.
Now I am cold but a ghost lives in my veins
Silent the terror that reigned - maarbled in stone
Shell of a man God preserved - a thousand ages
But open the gates of my hell
I will strike from the grave
Tomorrow is/was Saddam's 66th birthday. I'd really like to do something special. Any suggestions?
My first form of celebration comes in the form of this MP3:
Bloodhound Gang - I Hope You Die (This is just in case he's not dead)
You really need to read the lyrics
You must die I alone am best!
I hope ya flip some guy the bird,
He cuts you off and you're forced to swerve,
In front of the Beatles' tour bus,
A Bookmobile and a Mack truck,
Hauling hazardous biological waste,
The light turns red you have no brakes,
And "Hard Copy" gets it all on tape,
So you can see the look on your face,
...Die Die Die Die Die Die Die!,
...Die Die Die Die Die Die Die!,
I hope your Pinto begins to spin,
Takes out a disabled Vietnam Veteran,
Mows down a Nobel Peace Prize Winner,
And maybe some orphans having Christmas dinner,
Perhaps even the British Royal Family,
And the Rabbi that's clutching the bottle-fed puppy,
And we can't forget the newlyweds,
And those Jerry's Kids are as good as dead,
I hope this helps to emphasize,
I hope this helps to clarify,
I hope you die,
I hope your cellmate thinks he's God,
But C.N.N. refer to him as "Bowling Ball Bag Bob",
Serving time again for abuse of a corpse,
Only this time the victim's a Clydesdale horse,
While he masturbates to photos of livestock,
He does the "Silence of the Lambs" dance to Christian Rock,
Eats feces and quotes from "Deliverance",
And fights with his imaginary playmate Vince,
...Die Die Die Die Die Die Die!,
...Die Die Die Die Die Die Die!,
I hope he grins like Jack Nicholson,
And forces you to play a game called Balls On Chin,
And whatever happens next is all a blur,
But you remember "fist" can be a verb,
And when you finally regain consciousness,
You're bound and gagged in a wedding dress,
And the prison guard looks the other way,
'Cause he's the guy ya flipped the bird the other day,
I hope this helps to emphasize,
I hope this helps to clarify,
I hope you die,
...I hope you die!.
Leftover Easter pictures, today's Little League game and photoshop fooling around.
Just to make sure you really looked at them, I'm going to make you vote for your favorite one.
UPDATE: Greg guessed right.
I'm off to DJ's baseball game and then my mother is having one of those things where a lady comes to your house and sells stuff to a group of women but most of the women are too busy drinking margaritas to pay any attention to the newest development in cookware and who cares if it's not TupperWar(tm) anyhow?
The Small Victory Jukebox does not have time for such frivolities, however and I will leave you all with this song, a special long-distance dedication going out to Andrea, a Sad Old Goth like myself.
[the jukebox will be turned on again later - get in your requests now and go download anything remaining from this weekend before they disappear]
We move like cagey tigers
We couldn't get closer than this
The way we walk
The way we talk
The way we stalk
The way we kiss
We slip through the streets
While everyone sleeps
Getting bigger and sleeker
And wider and brighter
We bite and scratch and scream all night
Let's go and
Throw all the songs we know
Into the sea
You and me
All these years and no one heard
I'll show you in spring
It's a treacherous thing
We missed you hissed the lovecats
(Ba ba-da...da da da da da...)
We're so wonderfully wonderfully wonderfully
Oh you know that I'd do anything for you
We should have each other to tea huh?
We should have each other with cream
Then curl up by the fire
And sleep for awhile
It's the grooviest thing
It's the perfect dream
Hand in hand
Is the only way to land
And always the right way round
Not broken in pieces
Like hated little meeces
How could we miss
Someone as dumb as this
I love you ... let's go
Oh ... solid gone ...
How could we miss someone as dumb
(Is it just me or did this song always remind you of the Inspector Gadget theme?)
There's a reason why I'm always calling Seki my beautiful genius.
In regards to last night's Slutpublican post, Seki has made these banners for you and yours. Enjoy.
Post them on your site, but save them to your own server or I'll have to kill you, except for Jim who is allowed to use my server space for his robot sex comics (no permalinks, just go look) because he is a mad genius and I want to be able to say I helped him out on his way to fame, fortune and jail time.
Life is a series of protests and counter-protests. From infancy, when you puke all over you mother because she decided to feed you that chalky, putrid formula, to old age when you piss the bed because the nurse wouldn't answer the buzzer, you are constantly protesting.
When your parents protest your choice of fashion, you counter-protest by going from dirtbag to goth, from Jnco jeans to flowing black dresses and black nail polish to drive home the point that those baggy pants really weren't that bad after all.
At some point your protests become organized and you sit out class to demonstrate your anger at the sexism rampant in the school's choice of textbooks or you walk out of work because you aren't being paid what you're worth and you want to prove it by parading up and down the sidewalk with a cardboard sign hanging from your neck.
You sign petitions for stop signs, you vote no to propositions, you call the cops on your neighbors when their son's band practice goes until 4am and all they keep playing is that same Led Zeppelin riff over and over, you throw eggs at the home of the cranky old lady who wouldn't give back the frisbee that landed in her yard.
Protest. Counter-protest. For and against, yes and no, you will or you won't.
Maybe we should set aside a day every year for this sort of thing. Call it National Angst Day. You could make up a ten foot tall posterboard listing all the things you are against and maybe another one listing all the things that your neighbor is against but you are for. Then we call all beat the crap out of each other, break a few car windows, throw rocks at the police, wave some flags, shout some slogans and be done with it for the rest of the year. Think of it as protest multi-tasking.
Speaking of which, I will be doing just that very thing on July Fourth. No, not erecting a billboard of protests or throwing rocks, but I will be doing a for and against at the same time. I can take my two pet projects - supporting the troops and annoying PETA activists - and combine them into one perfect holiday. I'm going to donate a steak to the troops this Independence Day. What better way to show how I support the war (a counter-protest to those who don't) and the troops and to do my part to shove my penchant for eating the body parts of dead animals in the face of the people who dress up as bloody cows and march into restaurants to annoy the diners?
I am going to make the donation in the name of PETA. And on July 4th, I will be sitting in my backyard with the aroma of sizzling cow and chicken on the barbecue, drinking a beer that was surely made by some oppressed factory worker in Canada (brought from the store to my house in my SUV), celebrating the independence of a country I love and support and raising my glass to the troops.
That, my friends, is how protesting and counter-protesting come together in a glorious moment that is the equivalent of raising your middle finger to every extreme activist on morality patrol in your neighborhood.
Won't you join me?
Addressing today's mail.
Dear Mr. Ten-Inch Liberal,
Just because a person supports the war and the president in that matter, does not mean that said person a) thinks Rush Limbaugh is the greatest thinker of all time; b) fantasizes about Bill O'Reilly or c) wants to have sex with Charlton Heston.
Although I did like being called a "slutpublican," the phrase "FreeperFucker" was just too creepy for me to enjoy. Oh, and "Fox News Asslicker" just does not have that roll-off-your-tongue quality that slutpublican does.
And no, I would not like to have Neil Cavuto's face tattooed on my tits nor would I care to have you teach me a few things about what a woman like me really needs. I have a feeling it has something to do with you calling me Mommy while I spank you and frankly, I'm just don't feel close enough to you yet to engage in that kind of behavior.
You seem to be fixated on sex. Perhaps you might want to think about having sex other than the kind you get with your right hand while you are jerking off to pictures of Robert Fisk and Ted Rall.
There's always your left hand and Susan Sarandon if you're really desperate.
Thanks for writing, it's been fun!
Hi, my name is Michele and my turn-ons are Satanism, hobo killing and putting puppies in blenders.
My turn-offs are men who try to disparage those who participate in my deranged fantasies.
You can make it up to me, Frank. Just go out and kill a hobo. And bring me his traveling stick as proof. You know, the one with the little red hankie tied to the end.
Remember, that's hobo, not hippie. Don't come back here with some patchouli smelling Phish fan's head.
Have we reached a full blown fright-fest yet with the SARS virus?
The world is becoming a Twilight Zone episode. First the masks, then the quarantines and then the cancelling of school trips and baseball games.
Soon, we will fear the common cold the way we feared the Russians back in the 60's. Anyone who sneezes in your vicinity will be pointed at and run out of town. Spring allergies will be mistaken for deathly disease and your runny nose will make you a social pariah.
There will be standard procedure forms sent home from school and the principal will wear a mask and latex gloves at the SARS Assembly next week when he instructs the kiddies on the SARS Readiness Program. When someone says they don't feel good, sound the alarm. Run for cover. Head to the basement fallout shelter and for god's sake, don't let anyone with a temperature in!
Churches will be empty and movie theaters will close and Major League Baseball will force the Toronto Blue Jays to forfeit the rest of the season. Hideki Matsui will be banned from playing, even though he's from Japan and not China, someone will say close enough, it's one of them Asian countries, and he will be sent packing, on a separate plane for those banished from the rest of us, sent to some island for SARS refugees.
The world is ending, the sky is falling, pack up the kiddies and head to the bomb shelter and don't forget your Tylenol Cold and the tissues that feel soft to the touch. Forget school, forget the Boy Scout meetings and your best friend's wedding. You're not going anywhere that someone who knew someone who had a friend who visited a cousin in Chinatown who ate in the same restaurant as the niece of the latest SARS victim might be.
Rod Serling will eventually appear and in his best scary stage voice will inform everyone that this episode of panic and fear has been brought to you by the makers of duct tape and plastic sheeting and you should really get going on making your house airtight if you want to stay healthy.
Here, in the twilight zone.
UPDATE: Tongue. Cheek.
That's it for tonight's non-war/politics/current events portion of this week. I'm going to go to bed and have another one of those dreams in which Mark Morford and Ted Rall are actually the same person.
Meanwhile, if you care to weigh in on the best Smashing Pumpkins song ever, read the comments here.
By the way, all MP3s disappear after 24 hours or so. Get 'em while they're hot. Bandwidth doesn't grow on trees, you know.
I took the kids to the nearest Media Giant Conglomerate today. In this particular mall, it was called Sam Goody. Each kid had a few bucks to spend in addition to some gift cards leftover from their birthdays.
Natalie headed straight for the best sellers wall and searched frantically for the Kelly Clarkson CD. DJ went to the DVD section to see if there were any Yu Gi Oh! movies he didn't have yet.
I was thinking how wrong this was going. A trip to the biggest music store around and they are going to come home with some shrill pop music and really bad anime?
And then they walked towards the CD aisles, pulled in that direction by the strains of a song vaguely familiar to me. Was that....Anthrax? I could swear it was I'm the Man. No, no. It was just a lame rip-off of that song. Ah, Sum 41. That was it.
Natalie and DJ converged in the "S" aisle, both grabbing for the same Sum 41 CDs. Oh, they aren't total posers. They already had two CDs by the band. They wanted the rest.
No, wait. Natalie was moving away from the S's and towards the A's. DJ was headed the same way. What could they possibly be....no. Oh, hell no.
There was Nat grabbing some Ataris. DJ was in the AFI* section. They jostled and pushed each other until each had grabbed the selections they wanted and proceeded to look through the song titles for the ones they recognized.
I thought it would be cool when my kids finally picked on the music I like. Nevermind that I don't really care for the latest offerings from either band, it's just the point. They don't even realize that they were listening to AFI and The Ataris by default years ago. But now, I just felt....icky. That's the ony way to describe it. It felt wrong.
It's not that I've turned into one of them. You know, those parents who lock their kids in the bedroom with nothing but wholesome entertainment until they turn 21 and then the kids wind up confused and befuddled that the world is not like a Disney movie. I mean, Natalie's first CD was Green Day's Dookie when she was two. DJ's, at two, was Offspring's Smash. I have a tape somewhere of him singing at the top of his lungs gotta keep em separated, except it sounds like gotta keem em pepper dated.
It's disturbing to me to see AFI and The Ataris on the Billboard charts. It freaks me out to see a ten year old kid walking around in a Minor Threat sweatshirt. I don't know why I'm so troubled by it. Maybe it's because Natalie and DJ are discovering my favorite bands after my favorite bands have jumped the shark, so to speak.
It's my problem, I'll deal with it eventually. I'm just hiding the NOFX CDs until I do.
For your listening pleasure:
I wish I wrote these lyrics:
I'll set the world on fire and,
in burning light I'll write my first love song
and I will feel warmth.
* This site was originally named A Fire Inside, a testament to my love for AFI.
This one is for Zombyboy.
Screaming Trees - I Nearly Lost You
I first heard Screeming Trees on the soundtrack to Singles. They were part of that whole Seattle scene and I still think they had more talent than Kurt Cobain.
Any other requests?
Did you hear the distant cry
Calling me back to my sin
Like the one you knew before
Calling me back once again
I nearly, I nearly lost you there
And it's taking us somewhere
I nearly lost you there
Let's try to see now
Drag me far enough to know
I'm blind every mile that you burn
There's a rider that's fallen and
It's clear there's no time to return
I nearly, I nearly lost you there
And it's taking us somewhere
I nearly lost you there
Let's try to see now
Did you hear the distant lie
Calling me back to my sin
Like the one you knew before
Calling me back once again
I nearly, I nearly lost you there
And it's taking us somewhere
I nearly lost you there
Well let's try to see now
I nearly lost you there....
Continuing with my week of posting links to Dr. Frank, here he talks about misheard lyrics (Blogspot permas fucked once again. I think I'll give Dr. Frank his own domain for his birthday).
So anyhow, he talks about a Rancid song where he thought the lyrics were I had a dream I had a midget inside me and I'm sure he's talking about I had a dream I was a vigilante's sidekick and no matter how I toss and turn that phrase in my head, it does not come anywhere near midgets.
So it's Friday and the kids have gone off to their dads. And let me tell you something. Most weekends I'm sad to see them go but after a week of spring break with them, I was joyously waving like a maniac after I dropped them off.
6:00, I've already had three margaritas while trying to drown out the remnants of oppositional behavior and 13 year old girl-type whining.
I'll probably make like 80 incoherent posts tonight and put up a few more MP3s even though I have no idea what you guys like or if you liked the songs I put up last night.
Now we have the far more complex R-S-C Factor, which stands for Robbins-Sarandon-Chicks. Mr. Robbins (and others) claims he has lost acting jobs since he made his very public anti-war stance. Ms. Sarandon starred in a TV movie earlier this week that got the kind of dismal ratings Phil Donahue used to get on MSNBC just before he got canned. And the Dixie Chicks have shed tears and stripped naked for us in their attempt to scream, “We're Sorry, But...”
Some would have you believe that this is political oppression, via economic sanction. A stifling of dissent. Poppycock!!! As I've tried to illustrate, it isn't political, it is simple human nature. I took a stand, and one result was increased popularity. They took the opposite stand, and one result was decreased popularity. Meanwhile, poll after poll has shown the pro/anti war split to be, at best, 70/30.
You can do the math on how that all adds up re: popularity going up or down.
Read the whole thing, as they say.
Last Sunday, the Guardian listed 300 reasons why they love the Simpsons.
Number 121, as I have observed many times here before, is my all-time favorite Simspson line:
121 And the pop-star guest stars. Hard to forget Homer being introduced to a member of the Smashing Pumpkins: 'Billy Corgan, Smashing Pumpkins.' ... 'Homer Simpson, smiling politely.'
The list is very Brit-centric and they cheat on some numbers (see 154, 166, 177) but it's fun to read.
That said, I have a mission for you (i.e, something to fill the space here while I am off spending a small fortune on baseball equipment). Well, not so much a mission as an essay-type quiz. Yes, another project I'm working on.
Answer this: Homer Simpson - parental role model or dsyfunctional idiot? Support your answer with facts (fiction) and references if possible.
So now, as we watch the Anzac day marches...the 1/11 Light Anti-Aircraft Battery (service in Port Moresby in the dark days of 1942).. the 1st Mountain Artillery (who parachuted with their guns in Nawzab in the New Guinea Campaign in WW II)...HMAS Canberra (lost at the battle of Savo Island)... HMAS Sydney (the "Vung Tau Ferry" of Vietnam, with one namesake that sunk the German Cruiser "Emden" in WW I, another that sank the Italian Cruiser "Bartolomeo Colleomi" in WW II, and whose latest incarnation is sailing for the Gulf now )... the Special Signals Unit (whose interception and codebreaking in WW II are still partly classified)...the 'Z' Special Unit (the "behind-the-lines" Special Forces that ran the Japanese ragged in Borneo and elsewhere)...as we watch the Long and the Short and the Tall, those still on active service, those now in their 90s and on wheelchairs, those in their 80s and still marching, the grandkids and great-grandkids who are marching for those present only in Spirit... We shall remember them.
Why do you think the Laci Peterson story became such a major news item?
Women go missing every day, some of them pregnant. Why this story? Why this woman and not Evelyn Hernandez , who went missing in last May?
...Evelyn Hernandez of San Francisco, [who] vanished last May 1 with her 5-year-old son, a week before she was to deliver a baby boy. Her torso was found in the bay three months later and identified, while her son remains missing. No arrests have been made...friends and family tried repeatedly to get Hernandez's case featured on "America's Most Wanted" but were rejected because no warrant had been issued for a suspect. But, [Evelyn's friend] Damy said, the show did a story on Laci Peterson although no suspects had been named in that case either
Andrea Yates killed her children, a story which was covered in all forms of media for weeks on end. Recently, a couple strangled and then beheaded their three children and it only made a couple of major news web sites and was gone in a flash (when I Googled this story most of the links that came up were dead) .
Why the disparity? How does one story get picked up by every media outlet and another rates only a small box on page 20 of the local paper? If publicity helped find Elizabeth Smart's kidnapper, then why not give the same amount of publicity to every missing child or every unsolved murder?
It's also interesting to note the differing views on similar situations. The Van Damns befriended a strange man and brought him into their home even though they had children. They have been villified by both the press and public for doing so. Many people laid the blame for Danielle Van Damn's kidnapping and murder squarely on the shoulder's of the parents.
The Smarts also befriended a strange man and brought him into their home. No one blames them for that. No one made them defend that decision.
I don't have any answers. I'm curious on your take. Consider this research for something I am working on.
*you're too late, all mp3s self-destruct after 24 hours. but check the fresher entries, there may be some more music there*
1. Mr. T Experience - Our Love Will Last Forever and Ever.
Yes, this is the band of the one and only Dr. Frank of Blogs of War. Wry, wistful, witty and wonderful. I've been a fan of MTX for about five years now and I have finally found a venue in which to promote them to everyone I know. This particular song is the kind of love song I would write if I were the kind of person to write love songs. So if we're not vaporized in world war three/and if there's nothing good tonight on tv/and if you don't meet somebody with more money than me/ our love will last forever and ever.[listen here]
2. Clutch - Green Buckets
I've described Clutch as a cross between Frank Zappa and early Black Sabbath. The lyrics - and sometimes the sound - often make you wonder what planet these guys are living on. This song is another one of those odd love songs that I like so much. I would like to love you/I sure would treat you right/We could take the trash out/every Thursday night. [listen here]
3. Lagwagon - Mr. Coffee
A punk band I discovered through Fat Wreck Chord compilation records, Lagwagon can best be described as "not the greatest band alive." Even though their sound is generic and the singer's voice is annoying at best, I still find myself enjoying their music. This song is my theme song. Here I come to save the day/on legal speed (The American way)/Drinking coffee I drink coffee/Drinking coffee everyday [listen here]
I enjoy doing this. If you want, I'll put more up later. I have something from every genre, so make a request for the type of music you like. Also, if you do listen to the songs, let me know what you think.
I told Laurence I would pimp his Michael Moore/Cancer poll, mainly because I love Laurence in the way one loves a crazy sibling that you don't tell anyone about because you keep them tied to the bed and chock full of Valium.
People often write me and ask me to pimp them. That would make them whores, but in the blogging business, we are all big whores.
So here's your chance. Welcome to Pimp Corner.
Did you write something interesting today? Make a funny? Post a Fark-worthy picture of your pet? Start a flame-war? Leave the link in the comments.
It's a pimp-o-rama, baby and you're all my street corner bloggers.
Just remember this when I want to be the whore and need a good pimp.
Y'all come back in a while because I'm going to serve up a platter of MP3s after I eat dinner. An ecletic mix, including some of Dr. Frank's MTX stuff.
I have no idea what is going on, but I received four emails in the last hour asking if the "a small victory" Michele is the same as the Command Post Michele.
Yes, I am indeed half of the party responsible for CP. And damn proud of it.
And to J.Berentz, no I am not accepting stalker applications. But thanks just the same.
My name is Monique and I have a tube of orgasmic sensation that will lift you through the clouds to a state of ecstasy.
Just like you imagined, eh?
Dude, I am so going to see Ken Layne when he goes on tour. He's like, the dark knight of blogging metal or something. I heard that when you, like, play his records backwards it says stuff like James Lileks is the anti-christ! And this guy that I shared a bong with at the Priest concert last night said that, like, Layne eats the heads off of kittens during his encores. Way cool.
Metal up your ass! Ken Layne ROCKS!
[Ed. note: Stop emailing me, you freaks. I am not responsible for you not being able to see Lileks.com. Nor is Ken Layne's freaky heavy metal magic. James was having some expired domain issues which have been resolved, at least for me. Too bad on you if it hasn't caught up to you yet. Today's Bleat is the one you had to read to get an invitation to James' summer barbecue. Too bad you missed it, eh?]
What do you mean, you don't believe me about the barebecue? Would a woman who carries a tube of orgasmic ecstacy around lie to you?
About those websites dedicated to hating Hollywood liberals, such as and Famous Idiot - if you see A Small Victory listed as one of their supporters, take it with a grain of salt. They did not ask me to be a supporter, nor did I tell them to put me on the supporters list. In fact, I have emailed the owners of the sites in question to tell them to please take me off their links list, to no avail. Yes, people can link to whomever they want. I just don't want te be listed as a supporter or contributor or death threat letter composer.
I assume they assumed that just because I make fun of outspoken celebrities that I am all about making a career out of doing so. I'm not part of any boycott, I do not support sending death threats to celebrities and I really don't care whether you purchase items that put money in the pockets of the dissenters. I have and I still do.
Puce sure is getting famous.
I don't believe in boycotting people because of what they say. Sure, I make fun of George Clooney and Madonna for trying to be political pundits when they are not, but I am not going to give up George Clooney movies just because he subcribes to an opposite ideology than I do. I like George Clooney movies.
On the other hand, I don't own anything by Madonna, but that's because I think she is a talentless hack and has nothing to do with her political stance.
So when the Dixie Chicks did their little "I hate George Bush" number over in Europe, I thought it was nothing more than a misguided, opportunistic sound-bite - the girls trying to connect with their Blair-bashing, USA-hating audience. Sure it was crass and even a bit idiotic on their part. But that's what free speech gets you. You take the good, you take the bad. They come part and parcel with the freedom to run your mouth.
Which all gave me just as much right to call the girls idiots or wankers or really bad musicians. Yin and yang, you know?
So months later, the Dixie Chicks are crying that their dissent has cost them dearly. They have been branded and boycotted and berated. This is where the old adage "think before you speak" comes into play. Maybe they have learned something from this.
Actually, they have learned something. They learned that radio-station prompted boycotts are meaningless and no matter how many people want to stamp on your right to free speech, and no matter how many fans of yours claim that they will never, ever listen to your music again and they will tear down your posters and boycott your concerts, American consumers are basically full of shit and when their radio is turned off and their anti-Dixie Chicks newsletter has been deleted from their mailbox, they will run out and buy the new cd.
The Dixie Chicks are more popular now than ever. They have made a career move out of a negative situation. Number one on Billboard, prime-time television interviews, the cover of Entertainment Weekly. Yes, dissent is patriotic, because very public dissent keeps you in the public eye, which leads to that great American past time of keeping the cash registers ringing. Capitalism at its finest.
I mean, who would really know that Tim Robbins still existed (except as Mr. Sarandon) if not for his public tirades against George Bush? Would Bill Maher have a tv show or Michael Moore an Oscar or Arianna Huffington a website if not for loud, public dissent?
It's a marketing tool. The people who decry capitalism and all things America are the ones scooping up the cash by the fistful because they cry the loudest.
Don't cry for the Dixie Chicks. They have risen to the top of the pop culture ladder because they said some nasty things about the president.
Ain't that America?
Carmen didn't deserve to even come this far so I'm glad she's gone. Her voice has no emotion.
Joshua is next. Mark my words.
So, the SARS thing.
a) just a really bad flu hyped up to catastrophic proportions by the media
b) a plague set upon the world by either terrorists, a pissed off god or aliens
c) a sure sign that the end times are coming and pretty soon people will start disappearing, leaving only the heathens to roam the earth begging for forgiveness.
d) none of the above, but I have my own theory that I will take the time to spell out for you in great paranoid detail.
According to this survey, if everyone lived like me, we would need 3.2 planets.
Yea, but if everyone lived like me they would be 3.2 kick ass planets. And we would probably all run around half-dressed so we wouldn't use much in the way of clothing and we would eat so much meat that we wouldn't need room for all those pesky animals that are clogging up our open spaces. And we'd all be drunk so we wouldn't be driving. Mostly we would watch movies, read comic books and play strip poker.
But hey, we'd always recycle. I'm not a total cretin.
[link via maxpower]
There is nothing better than blindly throwing 650MB onto a CD-RW and then being surprised as you sit at work and listen to the CD.
By now everyone knows that Galloway lived in Saddam's pocket.
Papers found in the Iraqi capital — but never expected to see the light of day — prove Galloway was an employee of Saddam’s sadistic state machine.
In return for a gigantic £375,000-a-year, stolen from the impoverished Iraqi people, this traitor toured the world’s media proclaiming the Butcher of Baghdad a kind and decent human being.
As an honoured guest, he visited Saddam last year in his bomb-proof shelter far below the surface of the Iraqi desert.
Along with offers of Quality Street chocolates, laid on to prove his love of all things British, Galloway swallowed Saddam’s claim to be the equal of wartime hero Winston Churchill.
Yet when British troops went into battle to remove this despot from power, Galloway despicably urged the Arab world to rise up and kill them.
Hey, did you know Galloway is married to Arafat's niece?
Mayor Bloomberg will go down in history as the worst mayor that New York City ever had. Worse than Beam and Dinkins combined. That bad.
Bloomberg wants to throw a ticker tape parade for the troops when they come home.
Now, you know I support this war. I support the troops. But I just don't think a ticker-tape parade is appropriate.
A ceremony at City Hall, honoring the soldiers would be nice. Give them the key to the city. Have some smiling, beautiful children's chorus sing America the Beautiful and get some New York celebrity to say a few words. Show it on television. That would all be nice and lovely.
But a ticker tape parade? It seems sort of garish. A bit too happy happy joy joy for something that has to do with a war in which many people - including our own soldiers - died.
Not to mention the fact that the city is in danger of diving into financial disaster
and a ticker tape parade requires an incredible amount of resources from security to clean up.
Honor our troops, yes. But do it with dignity. Not everything has to be flashy and opulent.
I just don't think Mayor Bloomberg knows anything at all about class and decorum.
I'm predicting that I will get flamed for this post
I've got a whole cartful of crap on my mind today.
Let's start with Hilary (via Cold Fury).
U.S. Sen. Hillary Clinton had her staff fabricate records of meetings and phone calls to families of victims of the Sept. 11 attacks to burnish her image as New York's leading politician on 9/11 issues, the author of a new book on how U.S. officials dealt with the aftermath of the attacks charged Sunday.
"I think [Sen. Clinton] has begun every statement she's ever made in her life about the families of the victims by saying she's met innumerable hours with the families of the victims," Steven Brill, author of the new book "After: How America Confronted the September 12 Era," told WABC Radio's Steve Malzberg.
Before the naysayers begin with "Newsmax.com is a biased source," I'll refute your refutation of this story.
I know for a fact that family members of 9/11 victims have been spurned by Hilary Clinton. I know for a fact that there were very few 9/11 funerals or memorials she appeared at if cameras weren't present.
No, Hilary did not owe anything to the victims or their families. She didn't have to see or have to be there for them.
But it sure speaks volumes about her that she would pretend she gave a shit about anything but herself, to even go so far as to fabricate a web of lies to make it appear as if she cared.
According to the story, most of the lies were told to Brill in an egotistical effort by Hilary to make sure she got more play in Brill's book than Sen. Schumer.
Personally, I think both of them - Schumer and Clinton - are nothing more than media whores and egomaniacs whose political lives are spent in search of the ultimate sound bite. But, despite the static coming out of his mouth most of the time, at least when Schumer says he was there for the families of 9/11 victims he's not telling lies.
In my dream last night I was crawling up a steep incline on my hands and knees. It was tough going; the incline was at times bumpy and hard and at other times so soft that my fingers sunk into the surface.
It wasn't until Iwas halfway up that I realized I was climbing over the carcasses of dogs and pigs. Some of them were in the last throes of death. Others were in various stages of decomposition.
I grasped at the ground to find leverage so I could stand up. My fingers sunk into the skin of a barely breathing German Shepherd, his fur gone, skin exposed and rank. The dog muttered something under his breath as I dug into him and then he died.
As I tried to make my way to the top, a figure appeared on my right. It was my elderly grandfather, in his wheelchair. He was rolling over the dogs and pigs at a fast pace. He too was rotting away. His skin was falling off and the bottom half of his body had blended into the wheelchair so I couldn't tell where he ended and the wheelchair began. Everything was made of flesh.
Grandpa winked at me as he rolled past and said, I'm not doing so well myself, kiddo. And then he sped away. leaving me alone to ponder why the landscape was strewn with dead animals for as far as the eye could see. And then I heard grandpa's voice coming from somewhere at the top of the flesh mountain: They got us, Michele. They got us.
I can't decide which news item I care less about:
The Beverly Hills 90210 reunion movie or the fact that NYC doormen are going on strike.
Regarding the former, I'm guessing that Tori Spelling had nothing better to do so her dad whipped up this script for her.
Regarding the latter, I've got my tiny little violin out for the woman they interviewed on the news who was horrified that she may have to figure out how to open a door and push a stroller into the building at the same time all by herself. Cry me a river.
UPDATE: I stand corrected. Apparently Tori Spelling is too busy making sappy Lifetime movies to be included in this reunion. But hey, Jennie Garth will be there. Get your TiVO ready!
Juan Gato has undergone a blog change operation, with excellent results.
I am SO sick of the red, white and black scheme here.
New blog on the block: Crispyduck. Go visit her. Leave her a comment and welcome her to the blogging world. She reminds me of me.
I'm wondering if there are songs that have subliminal messages running through the music.
It must be. That's the only explanation.
See, I'm a hard music kind of girl. You know that. Metal, punk, techno, industrial - that's the kind of stuff that makes the rounds in my CD player.
Either of those songs come on and I can't help but shake my groove thang.
Bet you didn't even know I had a groove thang, did ya?
I think Puce wrote these lyrics
After spending a few hours with five kids at a diner and the mall, and after witnessing the spectacle that is teenage fashion these days and after spending all my strength curbing the urge to kick some little kids and their permissive mothers in the head, I no longer have the energy to deal with the post below. However, the comments are a great read. So go read.
Puce, I knew you when. Just don't forget where you got started when they hand out that Pulitzer for Best Writing By an Internet Troll.
Thank (I think) to Arthur for pointing this out to me.
Sen. Rick Santorum (R-PA) has the quote of the day:
"If the Supreme Court says that you have the right to consensual (gay) sex within your home, then you have the right to bigamy, you have the right to polygamy, you have the right to incest, you have the right to adultery. You have the right to anything."
That's not all:
"All of those things are antithetical to a healthy, stable, traditional family," Santorum said. "And that's sort of where we are in today's world, unfortunately. It all comes from, I would argue, this right to privacy that doesn't exist, in my opinion, in the United States Constitution."
Let's just say I have a dump truck full of outrage ready to bury Santorum with, but it will have to wait as I have to be somewhere in ten minutes.
You may begin to discuss this while I am gone. Do you agree? Disagree? Want to hurt him or hug him? I'd like to hear all sides of this.
Mario Party 2 is the most boring game EVER.
Who the hell wants to play a video game where you have to sit around and wait for three other people (or computer people) to finish their turn? Don't we buy video games because we like fast, instant gratification? If I wanted to watch some gorilla hop around like he's on crack for twenty minutes while I wait for my turn, I would have stayed in the 80's, waiting on line in the arcade while keeping on eye on that dirtbag with the Lynyrd Skynyrd logo painted on the back of his denim jacket because he keeps stealing the quarters I put up on the machine.
Ok, so I'm just pissed that the kids keep beating me at this game. Those N64 controllers SUCK. It was bad enough when I had to remember codes on the Sega (U-D-L-R-B-R-U-D-A; Yes....ten more Aladdins!) but now it's like R-L-U-D-A-B-C-G-36-24-32. Hike.
Ah, the hell with it. I'm gonna go blow up some caterpillars.
I don't have much in common with the man from old Najaf
I think I understand him though I guess I could be off
America is beautiful and flawed
inspiring, contradictory, and odd
democracy, whisky, sexy
Did you see them pull the statue down? How did it look to you?
Did you see them hit the picture of a monster with a shoe?
America was flying through the skies
America was streaming from my eyes
democracy, whisky, sexy
Our day is just his night
but I want him to be right
so I'll drink to him
please don't let him down
Anything can happen and it's complicated, but
I can tell the future from a feeling in my gut:
democracy, whisky, sexy
expedience, idealism, hope
Stay tuned. Tomorrow I will present you with an MTX song.
What if they gave an peace poster contest and all the wrong people came?
Only Brian's entries were accepted, mostly because the judges of the contest did not recognize irony when they saw it. And then Brian's entries were pulled after someone schooled them on the subject of ironic humor. (ed. note: my mistake, all the entries were accepted, but then taken down when it was found out that they were not entirely from the heart)
When you think about it, Jim and Kevin and Ken's entries were anti-war. They just weren't the right kind of anti-war.
But nevermind the dissent is healthy issue. What really irks me about the finalists of the poster contest is this entry.
This poor kid has been exploited by the left and he doesn't even know it. They are holding themselves up as beacons of morality - but what about the children? - when they are using this poor boy's tragedy to further their own agenda. I bet the kid would be mortified to know that he has been made the honorary poster child for the Leave Saddam in Power coalition.
I'm not belittling what happened to the poor kid. He's just too young to appreciate that his injuries were not inflicted in vain - an awful lot of his mates won't be stuffed into death prisons in the coming years, as they probably would have been if that benevolent dictator was still in power.
When you think about it, the left is all about denouncing exploitation. Exploitation of women, of migrant workers, of sweat shop teenagers, of minorities and little old ladies and Ralph Nader. And here they are, throwing this armless kid in everyone's faces as if every registered Republican in America had taken their own kitchen knives and cut his limbs off.
Take a look at some of these posters. The children! Look at this one. Oops, that one is a slam on Ken Layne. Damn guy went and expressed his free speech and now
the man the anti-war movement is trying to bring him down!!
Hey, where are the posters that show children being released from the jails? Or was that staged, too? I'm really confused at this point.
You know, that picture of Ken is really turning me on.
It's that time again. TV Turnoff Week is coming to a morality clause near you.
This is the rant I made for the occasion last year:
I was asked by a rather closed-minded person at baseball practice yesterday if I was observing TV Turnoff Week. No. I mean, Hell No!
I make no apologies about being a tv addict. I make no excuses for my kids loving the television. And I really don't want to get into a twenty minute discussion with someone about it if that someone cannot accept the fact that not every person thinks the same way. I also will have the urge to put my fist down your throat if you dare hint that I am in some way inferior to you, not as good a parent as you, not worthy of breathing the polluted air around us, if I watch a lot of tv.
If you want to turn off your tv, that's fine. More power to you. If you don't own a tv, that's great, too. That's your prerogative. I admire your staunch stand on the issue. Just don't throw your tv-less ideals at me, ok?
We love tv. And no, I am not going to sit here and pretend that all the tv we watch is educational. Sure, we watch the Discovery Channel and Biography and National Geographic TV. We love that stuff. But we also watch cartoons and sitcoms and the adults in this house watch late night softcore porn on Cinemax and violent movies, cartoons and infomercials. And sports. We watch a whole lot of sports.
Don't tell me that tv keeps us from reading. We are all readers. We read every single night. Sometimes together, sometimes alone.
Don't tell me that tv keeps us from enjoying time together as a family. We manage to cram plenty of family time into the few hours a day we have together. Yes, we get outside. We play sports. We take walks. We run around. We hike through the local nature preserve. We sit on the lawn and stare at the stars and talk.
And boy do we talk. We talk at dinner, we talk in the morning, we talk at bedtime. We talk while we watch tv. And we listen.
Don't tell me that we are mindless sheep suffering at the hand of advertisers. My kids do not get, nor do they want, everything they see on commercials. We are not name brand whores. We aren't mesmerized by advertising. That's the beauty of a remote control and 140 channels. Commercial comes on, we switch to another hockey game, another news channel and yes, another cartoon.
We like entertainment. Not every moment in our lives needs to be a learning experience. Sometimes we want to watch something for fun. Sometimes we want to just sit in front of the tv and stare glassy eyed at music videos as we let a rough day slip away. Not every moment in our lives is structured and organized and divided into neat compartments where each moment is an experience that will somehow shape our future.
It's not like I'm letting the kids watch programs that aren't meant for children. And it's not like Justin and I spend our Saturday nights watching a Tom Green/Pauly Shore marathon. We do have some standards in our tv watching.
I will not turn off my tv. I most certainly will not turn off my tv during the NHL playoffs or while the Yankees are playing. I will not give up the Weather Channel and Adult Swim and Six Feet Under. They bring me enjoyment. Why does it matter so much to you what the source of my enjoyment is?
You can turn off your tv. You can throw your tv out for all I care. Good for you. As long as you don't preach to me that going tv-less makes you a better person than me, you can talk to me about it all you want. The minute you tell me that (even though you were fucking your neighbor while your husband was on a business trip) you are a better mother/person than me, or that your family (even though your son was expelled twice for punching a girl) is better than mine or that your home life (remember when the cops came to your house after your husband fired that gun at your dog?) is nicer than mine because you turned your tv off for one whole week out of the year, that's when I stop caring what you have to say on the subject.
And now that they have added Family Guy to the Adult Swim lineup, and now that we finally have the YES Network for Yankee games, and because I have this deep-seated need to watch the news whenever I can, I will not be participating in TV Turnoff Week.
I have this thing about being told how horrible I am because of the things I do or want or believe in.
Isn't the left's (and don't tell me this isn't a leftie thing, Adbusters is notoriously on the far side of that line) idea of telling that you shouldn't watch tv just as bad as the Moral Majority telling you what you should or shouldn't watch when the tv is on? What's the difference between making someone feel like an idiot because they watch tv or making someone feel like a heathen because they watch immoral tv?
Now, where's my cable guide?
For those of you looking for the Dr. Frank song democracy, whisky sexy! that I wrote about this morning, you can now download it here, as the page the Dr. linked to on his blog was hit by an Instalanche and became immediately buried.
UPDATE: Lookout Records got the link working, so now you can go here (permanently) to download the song.
You ARE going to download the song, right?
That is, What Would Puce Say?
Actually, Puce predicted something like this:
Hallo fat America! Chew and smiling for flappy stomich fill with more Irak childs, phoney towerevenge. Statue fallens from Sadam, put Chucky Cheeze rastorant with cola in locate!
The lardy demins will be getting lardier.
The head of the National Organization for Women's Morris County chapter is opposing a double-murder charge in the Laci Peterson case, saying it could provide ammunition to the pro-life lobby.
"If this is murder, well, then any time a late-term fetus is aborted, they could call it murder," Morris County NOW President Mavra Stark said on Saturday.
It was not Laci Peterson's choice to die. It was not her choice to have her baby die. There's a big difference between laying on operating table willingly and having your late-term baby taken from you - something I cannot comprehend anyhow1> - and having that child's life forcefully snuffed out.
Whether the killing of Connor Peterson is or is not murder is not the real issue here.
As far as I'm concerned, Mavra Stark and all of her NOW compatriots should learn how to keep their mouths shut once in a while. It was not necessary for them to weigh in on this story at all. Why take someone's tragedy and turn it into a political debate, if not for the publicity?
And that's really all it comes down to. Mavra Stark saw an opening and ran with it. She has taken a terrible murder and made it an abortion issue.
Not everything that happens in this world has a for and against. Not every story can be sorted out and divided up into good and bad, right and wrong, left and right.
Some things are better left unsaid. I think the people who are reacting to this story with a willingness to let Scott Peterson be tried for double homicide are reacting out of anger, sadness and repulsion for the crimes committed, not out of anti-abortion righteousness.
After watching news reports of Peterson's arrest, Stark expressed concern with the tone of the coverage.
"There's something about this that bothers me a little bit," Stark said. "Was it born, or was it unborn? If it was unborn, then I can't see charging (Peterson) with a double-murder."
The tone of the coverage? Shock? Outrage? Grief? What did she expect? The woman was seven months pregnant. The baby was found separate from the mother, his umbilical cord still attached. What tone did Stark expect the news coverage to have?
What should bother her is nothing more and nothing less than is bothering most of us following the story. A man (allegedly) killed his very pregnant wife. He tied her down with weights. He (allegedly) left her and thier son to wither away underneath the water, expecting that no one would ever find their bodies, that they would just drift off into that place where memories go.
Instead, she is going to co-opt this story and make it the NOW crusade of the moment.
1 I will get this out of the way right now to avoid having to answer in the comments: I am pro-choice, to an extent. It would not be the choice for me, I may not agree with your choice to have an abortion, but I wouldn't take that right away from you. However, I think I should mention that I think late-term abortions are abhorent. To purposefully kill a baby that would have been able to sustain itself outside of the womb is beyond reasoning to me.
Dr. Frank says:
Hey folks. Wanna hear my new song "democracy, whisky, sexy"? Go here.
It's a totally free mp3, though, as always, you can tip your blogger/"singer"-songwriter if you feel like it (by clicking on the Amazon tip jar or pay pal buttons to the left.) Can I get anything else for you? Sorry, we're out of that. How about a nice, creamy, after-dinner drink? I'll be here till someone calls the cops...
Hey, if Lenny Kravitz can do it, why can't I? Revolution, people!...
I don't know how to characterize it, except to say that someone who heard it said it was "a cross between Imagine and The Battle Hymn of the Republic."
Go read his post3 on this subject where he waxes eloquently about the creative process of songwriting. And song-sharing.
1Not to be confused with the equally intelligent and interesting man behind the other Blogs of War, John Little.
2If you have never heard MTX and would like to present your ears with some of their bittersweet candy, my favorite MTX album is Revenge is Sweet and so are you. You can hear the fantastic song Love is Dead on that page.
3Blogspot permalinks hosed as usual. It's the Sunday, April 20 post entitled Cyber-husking, which is on top as of right now.
Oscar has set up a poll to determine who Puce is. Or at least who everyone thinks he is. If he's not really some guy named Puce, that is.
Personally, I think it's A. Beam. I mean, the guy just came back from an extended hiatus. I imagine this is all some hit-gathering ploy and in a few days he will come out of the blogger-closet and let everyone know he was Puce all along.
And then we will all go over and hit him with sledgehammers.
Vote there, spout your conspiracy theories here.
I actually linked to the wrong computer yesterday. This is the one we got:
Value and Performance:
The RS220 features the Intel® Pentium® 4 Processor 2.53GHz, 120GB Hard Drive (7200rpm), and 512MB of RAM (we didn't get the monitor)
I am in the process of filling up my share of the 120GB with games and music and porn.
You could even say it glows!
Puce quote of the day:
1 fattyank less devel, award, 'wale fit of tuxode?' but say real but Cnn as make boo electron change for MEDEA LIES. Hide? CLICK
Now, the hardest limerick contest yet. This time around, it has to be written in the style of everyone's favorite grammar-masher and stud-muffin, Puce.
Bonus points if the limerick is actually about Puce himself. Otherwise, content is open to anything.
Go to it, lardy demins!
[UPDATE] Requests dictate that I also allow for haikus. So, ok.
I've been trying all morning to write something about Scott Peterson. But what can you possibly say about a man that would kill his wife and unborn child?
I look at the pictures of Laci Peterson and in all of them she is smiling broadly. Her eyes twinkle, they do not betray any worry or fear that would lead one to believe that Laci knew her husband had the capacity to kill her.
I knew men like Scott. I used to call them Eddie Haskells. They have sly smiles and firm handshakes and impeccable manners. Behind those white-toothed grins and strong hands and polite phrases, their minds are constantly churning, trying to figure out how they can parlay your trust of them into gold.
Except Eddie Haskell never killed anyone.
The guys I knew, when they held the door open for a girl it was a metaphor for opening other doors. Like the one to her bedroom. When they greeted your mother with "My, you look so beautiful today," they weren't looking at her but at the diamond pendant she was wearing. Their charm was only skin deep. Behind the snake-like skin was a schemer, a planner, a thief or a womanizer.
I always looked at the eyes. I always knew. They say the eyes are the gateway to the soul and I firmly believe that. You can tell at a glance if someone is sad even though they are smiling, or seething with a slightly disturbing hatred for the world even though they are grinning.
From the moment I looked into Scott Peterson's eyes the first time he appeared on television, I had an inherent mistrust of him. I saw him as a cold, calculating liar, capable of almost anything.
But not this. Murder, yes. Throwing your pregnant wife into the water, tying her down with cinder blocks and fishing weights and then parading around town like the bereaved husband - it seems so much more depraved than just murder.
It's Susan Smith driving her babies into the water. It's a step beyond your ordinary killings that go on every single day. There's a message attached, a deep-seated psychological power struggle that explodes when that person tries to take control of an already out-of-control situation. It's about the wide-smiled facade falling apart and the defiance and rage that ensues when that person realizes his demon soul has been revealed.
I can only imagine Laci Peterson's last thoughts. The man she loved was killing her. The father of her child - the child almost ready to grace the world with his presence - was killing them both. I'm sure her heart died before she did.
What punishment is there to suffice for this crime? None. None at all.
Those PETA people get goofier by the day.
Ingrid Newkirk, founder and president of PETA has taken activism to a new level. According to her last will and testament, after her death:
Ms Newkirk also said in her will that she hoped foot-and-mouth disease would reach the US since it would harm those "who profit from giving people heart attacks".
Now, I could make a million smarmy comments and jokes here, but I leave that to you.
Sure, it's great to have your eyeballs mounted and shipped off to your enemies after you are dead, but I would be more inclined to applaud Ms. Newkirk's ingenuity if she would allow me to personally dig those eyeballs out of her sockets with a spork while she was still alive. I would even dangle them from my rear-view mirror.
Breakfast sausage, anyone?
I think my friend Puce has stumbled upon quite a revelation.
It seems some of those commenters are...furry.
I've always had this problem with anthropomorphic creatures (Ninja Turtles notwithstanding). They creep me out.
People who devote their lives to anthropomorphic creatures - dressing up like them, attending confurences devoted to them - they creep me out as well. I don't mean to degrade anyone reading this, we all have our little quirks that creep other people out.
I just have a hard time taking a Furry's vision of the reality of the looting seriously, that's all.
Oh hell, I'll let Puce explain it:
Wear aminal costume of carton for make bone to panis damp ladypart, type trueword in disent and museum USA blame. WHAT AS YOU LISTEN?!?
Disclaimer: when i say i hate anthropomorphic creatures, i mean it mostly in the sense of a) live action movies or shows where the animatronic animals talk; b) animals that talk yet wear no clothes or, even worse, wear shirts but no pants; c) animals that retain more than 70% of their animal behavior but still wear shoes or hats; d) anthropomorphic creatures and humans should never have sexual relations.
Here's an interesting thought.
The war opposers are all over the fact that we have yet to find any weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. After all, they say, that's what the war was about. Therefore, they conclude, the war is a failure.
These are the same people who wanted to give Blix an Company more time to do the inspections. Weeks, months maybe even years would be necessary to complete the findings properly.
And here it's been less than a month and already we have failed.
It's sounding awfully shrill out there.
Have you read any OpEd pieces in favor of the Patriot Act II?
I'm serious. There is a reason I am asking.
If you know of anyone - blogger or journalist -who has written in favor of the PAII, please let me know?
There were many factors which went into this decision. The biggest factor of them all was that after speaking to the CNN woman again today, my gut feeling was "I have a bad feeling about this."
So, with my Spidey sense tingling and the undertones of the pre-tv briefings changing every so slightly, and with the revelation today that it would have been CNN Financial Network and not CNN itself (a fact not that I was not privvy to until about twenty minutes ago), I have decided to pass on the opportunity.
I'm a bit disappointed and a bit relieved.
You'll get over it.
If you want, I can dress up in a black leather June Cleaver dress with pearls and shout "Eason slept with Saddam!" on Monday anyhow.
Experts: Looters Had Keys to Iraqi Antiquity Vaults
Paris (AP) - Some of the looters who ravaged Iraqi antiquities had keys to museum vaults and were able to take pieces from safes, experts said Thursday at an international meeting.
The U.N. cultural agency, UNESCO, gathered some 30 art experts and cultural historians in Paris on Thursday to assess the damage to Iraqi museums and libraries looted in the aftermath of the U.S.-led invasion.
Although much of the looting was haphazard, experts said some of the thieves clearly knew what they were looking for and where to find it, suggesting they were prepared professionals.
"It looks as if part of the looting was a deliberate planned action," said McGuire Gibson, a University of Chicago professor and president of the American Association for Research in Baghdad. "They were able to take keys for vaults and were able to take out important Mesopotamian materials put in safes."
Bush didn't raid the museum.
Rumsfeld didn't raid the museum.
The Arrogance of the United States(tm) was not responsible for the looting of the most important artifacts.
Like I have been saying from the start, the Iraqi regime did the looting. And it started before the war.
Every once in a great while, a troll will come along who just clings to your heart and stays there.
Puce is that troll.
He's a new comment troll who came around on this post and immediately tickled my funnybone with the comment:
Americans telling a truth at least! Why as it hurt, you cannot admit the Bush tries start Tacobell in Baghdad? Serve babie meat borritos? Wake out, idiots!
I as makes all USA ladies for my harem. Smash all capatilist Starbock and Mountian Do!
I thought I had Puce all to myself, but it seems that my troll has an attachment to Jeff Jarvis as well, who posted an entry with the "Best of Puce" yesterday.
And now, like all good illiterate America haters, Puce got himself a blog.
Walk pasts Macdonald shop, many fatty Americas eat of bad, child laughing jump spill Cocacola as of all floor.
BOY GROW AS SOLDIER FOR SPILL BLOOD TO IRAK SAND!!
I'm sure Puce doesn't mean to be amusing, but he is. I just may start a fan club.
Buh bye Kimberly, see you on Skinemax!
Check out the new design of Command Post.
There are not enough words of thanks and gratitude in the world to describe how happy I am not just with the design, but with the customer service, professionalism and mind-reading abilities of Sekimori.
Attention baseball fans:
Tim Robbins has discovered the true purpose behind the existence of the Baseball Hall of Fame:
Tim Robbins, meet Ted Rall. He will be your roommate in the Tin Foil Hat section of the Leftie Loony Bin.
Enjoy your stay. I hear they play Politically Correct Scrabble at lunch time.
There is a fine line between idiocy and insanity and Ted Rall just crossed it.
Mr. Rall has finally fallen victim to his own propaganda. He has fallen hook, line and sinker for the conspiracy theories and misinformation of the left, making Baghdad Bob look like a man of reason in comparison.
He has fallen for photoshopped photos and grand schemes to play down the liberation of the Iraqi people. He is another in a long line of lefties who think the price of lost museum pieces was not worth the liberation at all.
Then again, he doesn't even think the Iraqis were liberated. According to Rall, we lost the war. According to his sources, Iraq is now a place of dark and cruel rule, where gangs roam the street raping women at will and everyone is wailing and crying. Oh, the humanity!
He makes no mention of the torture chambers uncovered, the dank prison cells where victims of Saddam's regime died, the imprisoned children finally released, the suicide vests or the opulence in which Saddam's family lived while his citizens starved by his hands.
No, he insists that we lost the war.
It is Rall and his compatriots on the left that have lost, and now they are grasping at straws to find any way to at least place or show, if not forge lies and innuendos to make it seem as if they won.
It's great that you believe your own distorted stories, Ted. But if you keep pointing to photoshopped pictures and outright lies as the truth, I am going to have to doubt that you really slept with all those women.
Once a liar, always a liar you know.
Yes, that's right, I am coming out of the closet.
I watch American Idol.
Whew, that took a lot. I could blame it on Natalie, who makes me watch it with her each week as part of our mother/daughter bonding ritual but the truth is, I enjoy it.
So now that you know I watch it, I can start bitching about it.
Who the hell had the bright idea to make it Billy Joel night? That was the shitties collection of songs I have ever heard. Not one of the contestants chose songs that were right for them. Clay should have gone with a ballad. And am I the only one who thinks Clay is a dead ringer for K.D. Lang?
I think it's time to come up with some new themes so these kids can show off their real talents. Forget 70's pop and disco. Let's hear them do some Broadway tunes or blues. All the previous themes made the show look like karaoke night at Joe's Dive Bar.
It's Ruben all the way, anyhow.
prediction: Kimberly Caldwell will be making soft core porn for Cinemax by this time next year
Busy, late, etc.
This is a good time as any to trot out an old one, apropos of the season:
Catholic Guilt: The Easter version.
It's the season of Lent, that time in between Ash Wednesday and Easter when I feel the most guilt about leaving Catholicism.
Now, guilt comes with being Catholic. It's instilled in you from an early age, honed and perfected until you become one with it. And someday, should you choose to leave the church, denounce its teaching and have nothing to do with any organized religion whatsover, you will still have the guilt. It's forever.
When I was little, I remember the frequently uttered phrases from my aunts. God will punish you. God is watching you. Do you want God to know you're doing that? God is not happy with you right now. All fed to you with pointed finger and clenched teeth and stern eyes.
For a while I was frozen in fear. I couldn't do anything without wondering if God was watching me. I was six years old and picking my nose one day when it suddenly dawned on me that I was probably being watched and I would go to hell for wanting to get a booger out of my nose. I ran into my room, knelt down by my bed and asked God to forgive me.
This persisted through the course of my life, those phrases always ringing in my ears whenever I did something wrong. I laid in bed at night, imagining a stern, cross god screaming at me for everything I did during the day, reviewing it on some huge monitor he had up in heaven.
I've never quite gotten over that. Making the decision to leave Catholicism and religion in general caused me so much anxiety that I thought I would have a nervous breakdown. On the one hand, I knew that I did not believe in a higher being and I did not subscribe to the teachings of the church, but on the other hand I was still entrenched in this fear of wronging the god I didn't believe in.
Maybe it wasn't god I was afraid of. Maybe it was my aunts or my mother or my grandmother. Perhaps on some level I viewed them as the all-powerful beings and thought that they would be punishing me for leaving the church. And they really are pretty powerful if they can instill that kind of guilt in fear in me as a child and still have it remain all these years later.
I am still raising my kids Catholic, which no one seems to understand. I think kids do need some kind of religion. It's comforting for them to have that feeling that someone up there is looking out for them, that there's someone listening to them and trying hard to answer their prayers, that there is a heaven where all their relatives and puppies go when they die and it is a better place than earth. Basically, I teach them at home instead of sending them to the church for catechism, because I can teach them religion the way I think it should be taught. I can give them the side of religion that is about love and respect and comfort, and leave out that vision of the all-seeing, vindictive god that I grew up with. What they choose to do with their religion later on in life is strictly up to them.
So now it's Lent and everyone has given up something for the season, and they are preparing for Good Friday and Easter and all the things that go on during this season. I don't feel bad that I'm not a part of it, because I don't believe it. I just feel bad that people try to make me feel like I should feel bad about it. Some people just cannot understand the whole concept of thinking for yourself. I must be stupid or blind or inherently evil to not want to repent or kneel down and pray or re enact the Stations of the Cross. And really, that's my problem with organized religion in general. That they (and by they I mean almost any religion) think that their way is the only way. Their choices are the right choices. That closed-minded way of thinking that alienated me in the first place is certainly not going to work if you're trying to bring me back.
So this has become for me the season of guilt. The season of accusatory looks and a "shame shame" attitude for not joining in the festivities. I have my own way of viewing Easter. I look at it as a time of renewal, a welcome to spring and the colors of nature coming back again. I like spring. I like the feeling I get when the buds are starting to show on the trees and impatiens are peeking through the ground and the streets are filled with kids playing hockey. I tend to appreciate life more during spring. I like the whole feeling that comes with emerging from the darkness of winter.
So why can't people leave that alone? Why do I have to take the joy of this season and have it mixed with guilt and sorrow that I seem to be a failure to my family, that I am not doing right by them, by my kids and by a god that I don't believe in?
And if I don't believe in Easter and all it's trappings, am I still allowed to indulge in Cadbury Eggs without feeling like I've given in?
originally printed 2/26/02
I guess I'll go ahead and mention that I'm going to be on CNN Monday morning, 11:30 ish (NY time), talking about Command-Post.
This would be a good time to confess to you all that I actually look like a cross between Jabba the Hut and that big heap of garbage on Fraggle Rock. Do not be alarmed.
I've never been on tv before, except for that one time back in high school when Art Linkletter did this special on teen sex and I stood up (as part of the live studio audience) and told everyone in America who was watching that my parents never taught me about sex and I learned it all on the streets.
Well, I freak out when I'm nervous. I say weird things. I'm liable to start blurting out phrases like "Eason Jordan is Saddam's whore!" or "Bring me the head of Larry King!"
From the sound of the phone call I got today, they want to play up that "Oh, look at the cute little housewife playing with the war blog" angle. I should inform them that I am neither cute nor a housewife, and I'd rather not go into June Cleaver territory with them, lest people get the wrong idea about me. Which is why I am going to wear a black leather outfit and carry a riding whip and tell everyone that Alan is my secret lover who I keep locked in a closet when he isn't tending to CP duties. And I will not let on that Alan is really the brains and the brawn behind Command Post. I think they'd rather not see him in a June Cleaver outfit, anyhow.
I'm kidding, Alan. Really.
Abu Abbas, the Palestinian terrorist who masterminded the 1985 hijacking of the Italian cruise ship Achille Lauro in the Mediterranean Sea, has been arrested by U.S. personnel in Iraq.
Abbas was arrested about 50 miles west of Baghdad after being turned away from Iraq's border with Syria, a Palestinian source told CNN.
The hijacking of the ship led to the killing of disabled passenger Leon Klinghoffer, an American Jew. Klinghoffer was shot in his wheelchair and thrown overboard by Abbas' men.
I still have nightmares about this. I don't recall many news stories that stayed with me as long as this one did.
I imagined again and again the horror of Leon Klinghoffer plunging into the water, still in his wheelchair. I imagined his wife watching this happen. I never forgot about it.
Klinghoffer was dead when they pushed him overboard. The terrorists shot to death a helpless man who could not defend himself. I could not let go of the thought that he went into that ocean in his wheelchair. There was something so barbaric, so raw and sinister about it. Leon was killed because he was a Jew. An American Jew. An American Jew sitting in a wheelchair doing his best to fend off the terrorists using only his voice. (To the terrorists, this was "provocation.")
I spent a lot of time at the library discovering all kinds of sordid things about the Palestinian Liberation Front after that incident.
I never forgot those things. I never forgot Leon Klinghoffer.
May Abu Abbas meet a worse fate than Leon Klinghoffer did.
Update - 3/10/04 Abu Abbas is dead. I hope his death was painful and protracted.
Is it weird to ask for an X-Box or Game Cube for Mother's Day?
And if it's not, which one do I ask for?
I want the Game Cube so I can play the new Zelda and Super Puzzle Fighter II and Metroid Prime, but X-Box has..has.....hmm, anything it has that I want I can get for our Playstation II as well.
So I want a Game Cube. I mean, it's better than flowers, which I am allergic to anyhow. And I don't need any coffee mugs or vases or scary statues of little kids frolicking in the garden.
I just want to play
Super Mario Sunshine Zelda.
UPDATE Just to clear up some confusion (and to stop the flow of emails from people telling me to get a PS2) we already have a PS2. In fact, we have two of them, in addition to:
One Gameboy Advance
One Atari 2600, still in working condition, with the games.
This was the first post about the looting, in which I take people to task for claiming that the artifacts lost were more important than the lives of human beings.
Then there was this post, which linked to several other people writing about the same thing and in which a person was quoted as saying that they would choose saving a piece of ancient clay over a baby.
This morning there was this post, also linking to other stories about the same subject, including an article from Counterpunch which likened Americans to the Mongols.
Then the one below this one, linking to another good blogging piece on the looting.
Now that all of the posts are gathered in one place, I will go on finding more shallow, materialistic, self-centered people who are going on and on about golden harps being more valuable than human lives.
I am going to put all these posts about the looting together.
While I work on that, read this:
So, lets think about this. The Museum, full of priceless antiquities, is located in a country run by a ruthless tyrant who has treated the country and its treasures as his personal playthings. It has been closed to the public for years. War has been threatened for months, and the tyrant knows that the city will be bombed, so does the museum staff. Rumors abound that the tyrant, his henchmen and their families are stashing treasure in foreign countries against the possibility of flight. When the army of liberation arrives, the Museum is empty, its displays and vaults ransacked. The staff blames an anonymous mob of civilians.
Read the whole thing, as the man who runs the place I saw the link at says.
Martin Devon has some questions for you.
The hysterical tone of some press reports may reflect the fact that some of the reporters who have been sitting in Baghdad for months have lost sight of the nature of the Saddam regime: They are mystified by the exhilaration felt by so many liberated Iraqis.
But the failure of so many reports to mention the fact that many of the looted stores, institutions and even hospitals were linked to the regime is more troubling. These institutions were dedicated to the exclusive use of Ba'ath Party members - the ordinary public could not make use of them - or were owned and operated by known supporters of the regime.
It's interesting to note that some of the same media outlets that showed the images of the Saddam statue toppling down over and over again while their news people had orgasms of joy on air are the same outlets who are now crying Anarchy in Iraq!
And, upon further thought, where were these sobbing people when Saddam was systematically looting the museum for his own personal monetary benefit?
UPDATE Andrea is taking on the looting meme as well, and points to this article at Counterpunch:
And like the Mongols, U.S. troops stood by while Iraqi mobs looted and destroyed artifacts at the National Museum of Iraq in Baghdad. They also reportedly joined looters who pillaged other lucrative targets like office buildings, stores, and private homes.
As Andrea stated, "But it's from Counterpunch.org, whose writers are all apparently in the last stages of crack withdrawal paranoia, so I'd say take it with a grain of salt."
I'm taking all these reports with a grain of salt - hell, with a giant chunk of it - but I am having a hard time getting past the fact that people will go through such contemptable lengths to discredit anything the United States does.
I'll put up a sign when I'm done ranting about this subject so you know when it's safe to come back. I'm still not done yet.
Apparently I am not done with my previous post yet. I keep getting pissed about it.
From Vera Nazarian, posted on April 14, 2003 02:49 PM: This may sound horrible, but given a choice between saving a museum and saving a baby, I would probably run and save the museum. Better yet, I would probably offer them a choice of shooting *me* if that means the historical artifacts remain unharmed.
I strongly agree with what Jo Walton said upstream. Yes, the destruction of one human life is a tragedy, but the distruction of a historical memory is an unforgivable crime against all of humanity.
One person dies and the tragedy affects those who are near and dear and those who are aware of the loss. One historical treasure is lost, and it affects all of us, unto the future generations.
I guess I just can't get into that mindset. I don't care how valuable the "things" you want to save are. To choose a material object over a human life - a baby, yet, with obstensibly a whole life to live yet - is unthinkable to me.
As Stacy said, Goddamn, Vera, remind me to never have you babysit.
UPDATE: See Robin Goodfellow's excellent commentary on this subject.
Andy promised if I posted this he would sexually harass me. And for every person I send over to his site, he will give me a dollar. And for every person that votes or nominates someone, Andy will remove a piece of clothing and the take pictures of himself when it's all over. I hear he has a cute ass.
Either tomorrow or the next day (for I shall act in my own time, selah), I'll be asking for nominees for the First Annual John Wilkes Booth Awards for Oustanding Achievement in Misguided Political Activism by an Actor or an Actress, or as they shall be known henceforth and in all of my official biographies, The Booty Awards. So be thinking of some names (Susan Sarandon? Michael Moore? Sean Penn? Third Dixie Chick from Right?) as we're all going to vote and then go with my decision.and before you start ranting about celebrities being allowed to voice their opinion about the war, dissent is American, blah blah, please note that Jon is a flaming liberal.
You know what to do.
Some day when I am old and dying and my great-grandchildren are gathered around my deathbed and they say "Gramma, tell us the one invention that changed your life the most," I am going to say, "Tampons."
I had a nightmare about high school last night and it involved this:
If you are too young to remember those things, you have no idea how lucky you are.
So, if all the Iraq fugitives head to Syria and Syria puts them up, can we call it Bed, Ba'ath and Beyond?
[ed. note: this post has been update - down at the end]
There's a lot of hand-wringing over the looting of Iraqi museums.
I know that Iraq is the cradle of civilization. If I hadn't known it before, I certainly would have been well schooled in the history of the area by the time I helped my daughter finish her project on that very subject last year.
Sure, I am saddened over the loss of 7,000 years worth of history as a result of the looting.
However, I am more saddened by the looting and plundering of the lives and dignity of the people of Iraq by Saddam Hussein.
Wednesday was the day for killing and Thursday was the day relatives paid to collect the bodies of the dead. How prisoners were executed depended on an order from above – a bullet to the back of the head for those deemed to deserve a degree of mercy and the rope for those destined to suffer.
On the morning of their deaths, prisoners were asked their permission to be killed: those who agreed first received a glass of water and a brief reading of verses from the Koran while those who said no went straight to the hangman's noose.
On Thursdays, the relatives of the dead came to collect the bodies of their loved ones. They could only do so if they paid for the bullets that were used in their deaths.
George Bush did not loot and plunder the museums. The people of Iraq did. And while you may cry and lash out over the loss of texts and golds and cuniform - and that's understandable - to value those things over the loss of life is foolish. And to not see why the museum was looted is to be blind to what is really going on.
The people of Iraq who have rioted and ransacked and carted away plush chairs and silk draperies from the palaces of Saddam, the people who ran into the stores and museums and took what they could get, they were reacting. They were letting go of years of repression and bitterness and anger.
If we are placing blame, let it be on Saddam. It is not the fault of the troops, who were busy fighting down the opposition. It is not the fault of Rumsfeld. It is the fault of a regime that made its people feel worthless, degraded and inhuman.
Pictures of dead Iraqis, with their necks slashed, their eyes gouged out and their genitals blackened, fill a bookshelf. Jail cells, with dried blood on the floor and rusted shackles bolted to the walls, line the corridors. And the screams of what could be imprisoned men in an underground detention center echo through air shafts and sewer pipes.
''I was beaten, refrigerated naked and put underground for one year because I was a Shiite and Saddam is a Sunni,'' said Ali Kaddam Kardom, 37.
I found this comment on the weblog post linked above:
[the loss of museum artifacts] is worse than killing people, and you are right to grieve more.
When you kill a person, you snuff out the whole universe that is in their head, who they are, what they know, and all the potential of what they could be and do. But they will, eventually, die anyway: everyone dies. You've killed them and made that happen sooner. It's a terrible thing, but it's within the way things happen.
I'm sorry, but I cannot subscribe to that way of thinking. I do not place the value of things over people.
There are people grieving over the loss of the museum pieces. Crying, unable to work or concentrate.
I want to know if they cried for the toddlers in Saddam's prisons.
I want to know if they cried for the women who were raped as punishment or the men who were dipped in acid.
Did they cry for the children who starved to death while Saddam spent his food for oil money on a golden bidet and mirrored ceilings in his bedroom?
A physical record of the history of civilization has been lost due to the looting. Yes, a very sad, depressing thought.
I would not trade one of those urns or parchments for the life of a human being. I would not trade a single book or piece of art for the liberation of millions of suffering people. I would not trade any single item that is gone from that museum for the children that were set free from their prison.
I pity you if you would.
UPDATE: For more on this, see Dr. Weevil. Read all the comments. It is my contention, as it is that of many others, that the looting of the museum was an inside job (it has been reported that the vaults were opened up) and thus could not have been stopped from the outside. I also believe that the goods stolen were not taken out and stomped on or crushed or destroyed in anger; they were taken by people who knew the worth of these items and intend to sell them on the black market. They will turn up again. Maybe not soon, but they will.
Guess who's running of one of the hottest Web logs about the war in Iraq, updated constantly with TV, radio and newspaper reports.
A policy wonk sitting in Washington? A techno-geek in a converted Silicon Alley garage?
Would you believe Michele Catalano, a Long Island mother of two?
It's times like this that I'm glad I don't link to this site from Command Post. Newsday is my local paper and my phone has been ringing like crazy today.
You're in the paper!
I always thought it would be for something else...
Don't worry. I'll kill him yet.
Today, I am the "mother of all webloggers." Tommorrow, I'll just go back to being "that crazy chick."
So fleeting is fame.
If a friend ever says to you "Hey, want to watch a movie about these guys that go on a road trip and some mob boss is after them and they pick up Selma Blair on the way and they meet an alligator boy and an aging hippie and there's this scene with Nirvana fans lighting candles when Kurt Cobain died and that guy from Donnie Darko is in it and so is Jared Leto with a really bad mullet," run as fast as you can. Don't look back.
Trust me. The person who asks you to sit through this movie is no friend.
It's not easy being the freeloading, oversexed, overlooked scion of an Iraqi dictator. Consider Uday Hussein, 39, who in 1990 wrote to an uncle, "It is difficult being in the family of Hussein. People want to kill us."
Among the items found in Uday's ransacked palace were handwritten notes to his uncle as well as documents detailing the plans of father Saddam.
An official letter signed by Uday and countersigned by seven witnesses, for example, says that well-known opposition Shi'ite leader Thafer Mohammed Jaber was captured on Sept. 3, 1995, and was being kept in one of Saddam's palaces. Jaber, say local Iraqis, has not been heard from since.
Perhaps the most telling evidence of Uday's relationship with his father was found when soldiers came upon Uday's listing of his video collection, which included the 1987 Dudley Moore/Kirk Cameron classic, Like Father Like Son.
You can tell a lot about a person by their video collection. I think if I was to die suddenly and my family had to go through my effects (or my house was looted after my death in protest of my staunch defiance of zoning laws or something) I would be posthumously mortified if one of the looters/family members were to find my copy of Princess Diaries.
Fess up. What video/DVD would you hide if you knew the looters were coming for your stash tomorrow - with reporters in tow?
I am insane. May angels tell you what to do. May those angels vary in size and speak foreign languages (Watch out for the miniature French one). May you have a clearer understanding of what you are supposed to be doing than I do. You are doing the right thing. No, wait you are doing the wrong thing. The colorful angels will push you the right way. And then they will make you start all over again. I love you. I am insane.
Peace, love, faeries and tambourines forever.
The truth according the far left:
Now you know.
I thought DJ's game was at 1:00 today.
The phone just rang. DJ, calling from his dad's house.
Mom, can you bring my Yankee jacket to the game today?
Sure, I'll be there at 1.
The game starts at 9.
Oh. What time is it now?
Quarter to nine.
Ok, I'm leaving the house now.
Wash your face and brush your teeth first, ok?
I can't be sure, but I think he was mocking my mothering. But I did make sure to wash and brush. I even put extra deodorant on for good measure.
And when I get there, I'm going to inspect his teeth and behind his ears. In front of everyone.
That will teach him to mock me!
Blogatelle is gone. Fear not, Stacy still lives.
Where, you ask?
It's Tricksy to rock a blog.
It's photoshop time!
Please help Todd. Todd wants his ass to make a difference. Help Todd make a statement. Use his ass. Abuse his ass. Start a movement. The message IS the medium, kids. Use it wisely.
photo (below) used with permission. offer void in certian parts of tampa bay
Today's trip was mainly to restock some things that are in storage in Pennsylvania (Justin's previous home) which we will probably never getting around to retrieving. Of course, we did pick up a few extra goodies on the way.
I really hate comic/toy stores that will sell their action figures by sets only. All the TMNT, Muppet, Dirty Pair and Dawn of the Dead (pre-order) figures were sold in sets of four or more, though I know you can get them separately in other places.
Anyhow here is today's take, written down for public record so Overseer of the Royal Comic Collection1 Alex can add it to his records.
Neil Gaiman - The Last Temptation
Neil Gaiman/John Bolton - Harlequin Valentine
Sandman: Dream Country; A Game of You; The Wake; Fables and Reflections
Warren Ellis: Transmetropolitan: Year of the Bastard
Landry Walker/Eric Jones: Little Gloomy (never read it before, looked interesting)
Issue #1 of some weird looking comic from SLG called Skelebunnies(Tommy Kovac) - how can I pass up on any comic with the title Spanktacular!
Street Fighter: Mini Ryu (to go with Akuma and Chun Li - we just need Ken to finish that set)
Ghost in the Shell - Major Motkok Kusanagi
1 I never did give out all the titles available in the Empire with No Name. Just poet laureate and comic overseer. Everything else is still up for grabs.
lamps shaped like women
air-brushed paintings of a topless blonde woman
another of a moustached hero battling a crocodile
fine china of the Kuwaiti royal family, complete with the family seal
bright blue, pink and yellow throw pillows
kingsize bed in an alcove, with mirrors on two sides and a fantasy painting on the third.
Part of this is all very parody-ready, and we could make a million jokes about Saddam's gauche decorating sense. I'm sure we will.
But there's that sad, bitter part of this story. This "love shack" is a testament to the cruelty of a man that could live his life so lavishly while he starved and tortured his people. And he ate his meals off the plates stolen from the very people he trampled on.
Ok, you can make jokes now.
I'm off for our monthly comic book and toy shopping trip.
What do you do when the movement you started falters?
You change the goal of the movement.
What orginally started as an anit-war cause quickly turned into an anti-George Bush cause. As it got closer to the war actually started, they went back to claiming they were anti-war.
Now that we are three weeks into the war and we have basically liberated Iraq, decimated the Saddam regime and freed children from jails, the peace movement has undergone another change.
Keep moving the goalpost kids. You'll run out of cute phrases eventually and just give up and go home.
See, Occupation is not Liberation. ANSWER is sponsoring a rally by that name today. Too bad the rally had been planned for ages as an anti-war statement. Too bad the anti-war statement has become all but null and void. But far be it for these people to shut up and go home. No, they just put on a different costume and march anyhow. How else will they get so many people in one place where they can pass their donation hats around?
Oh, wait. They still want to stop the war. I'm as confused as they are!
So, did anyone else catch the Iraqi Ambassador Mohammad Al Douri hug a CNN reporter before he took off for parts unknown?
What a touching moment. I nearly puked.
A lot going on over at Command-Post today, so things are quite here.
But I did read some good news, via Kevin Murphy, that will only be relevant to a few people I'm sure.
...Lyra's Oxford...will re-introduce readers to his heroine, Lyra, and celebrate the intricate and detailed fictional landscape that Pullman has created for her.
'At the heart of it is a new short story called 'Lyra and the Birds', explained Pullman this weekend. 'It's set a couple of years after the end of The Amber Spyglass, and refers both back and forward - so it's a sort of bridge between the trilogy and a longer book coming later, to be called The Book of Dust.'
If you knew what I meant by Lyra without having to click on the link, then you know why I'm excited.
Holy Moveable Type, Batman!!!
The Amish have caught up with the 21st century.
You know what song makes me cry? (There's a good reason, really)
If I can see it, then I can do it
If I just believe it, there's nothing to it
Yea....sing with me.
The drunk-o-meter has gone from green alert to blue.
I knew right from the beginning
That you would end up winning
Someone tried to kill Snoop Dogg today!
I am not happy about this. Someone is going to pay. Fo shizzle!
Hey, where was Suge Knight today?
shots of our choosing (34) 36%
fancy girlie drinks with suggestive names (19) 20%
manly man drinks (8) 9%
wine (4) 4%
beer (13) 14%
something else that tastes like fire but has a nice after effect (16) 17%
So I'm going to to do shots of Long Island Iced teas. I think everyone wins there. Sure, the shots will be really, really big. Like beer mug big. But I'll drink it all in one gulp.
I'm starting without Todd. I'll be pantless before him!
Now, who should we toast to? You name it, I'll toast it.
You do realize it's Friday, right? And I'm already home from work so the weekend has begun.
Friday evenings are a war-free, serious-news-free zone around these parts.
Just so you know.
There goes the siren that warns of the air raid
Then comes the sound of the guns sending flak
Out for the scramble we've got to get airborne
Got to get up for the coming attack.
Jump in the cockpit and start up the engines
Remove all the wheelblocks there's no time to waste
Gathering speed as we head down the runway
Gotta get airborne before it's too late.
Running, scrambling, flying
Rolling, turning, diving, going in again
Run, live to fly, fly to live, do or die
Run, live to fly, fly to live. Aces high.
Move in to fire at the mainstream of bombers
Let off a sharp burst and then turn away
Roll over, spin round and come in behind them
Move to their blindsides and firing again.
Bandits at 8 O'clock move in behind us
Ten ME-109's out of the sun
Ascending and turning our spitfires to face them
Heading straight for them I press down my guns
Rolling, turning, diving
Rolling, turning, diving, going in again
Run, live to fly, fly to live, do or die
Run, live to fly, fly to live, Aces high.
Iron Maiden - Aces High
I don't know what a Vogon is but I think it killed Laurence.
I stole that graphic from Matt, whose blog you can get to by clicking the graphic in the post above this one, which I stole from him also.
This is in tandem with my earlier post about the New York Times article.
"The prison in question was inspected by my team in Jan. 1998. It appeared to be a prison for children - toddlers up to pre-adolescents - whose only crime was to be the offspring of those who have spoken out politically against the regime of Saddam Hussein. It was a horrific scene. Actually I'm not going to describe what I saw there because what I saw was so horrible that it can be used by those who would want to promote war with Iraq, and right now I'm waging peace."
The blood of all the Iraqi children who died in that prison is on the hands of Scott Ritter and the "peace at any cost" lefties.
May Ritter forever be haunted by the souls of tortured, starved children who might have been saved if he was not such a selfish bastard. I hope he never has a peaceful moment in his life again.
I'm drinking with Todd tonight. Sure, Todd is in Florida and I'm in New York. But that's never stopped us before.
Tonight you will be choosing our drink of choice. There is a poll below, but there a few rules.
If you choose options two or three you have to include the recipes so we can both stop at the liquor store on our way home.
Anyone want to join us? No Pants Friday combined with Drunken Blogging Friday sounds awfully tempting, doesn't it?
I am reprinting this entire article from the New York Times here today. It needs to be read.
Tell me again how we should have waited months, even years to take Saddam's regime out.
Tell me again how appeasement would have worked.
Tell me again how we would have found a peaceful solution.
Tell me again how Bush is as bad as Saddam.
Tell me again that you still regret the action we took.
Do you really think there was another way.
(note* I have no love for Eason Jordan. I think he's a soulless, pitiful, selfish creep. Please see what Laurence has to say for more of my feelings on the issue)
The News We Kept to Ourselves
By EASON JORDAN
(reprinted without permission from today's New York Times)
ATLANTA — Over the last dozen years I made 13 trips to Baghdad to lobby the government to keep CNN's Baghdad bureau open and to arrange interviews with Iraqi leaders. Each time I visited, I became more distressed by what I saw and heard — awful things that could not be reported because doing so would have jeopardized the lives of Iraqis, particularly those on our Baghdad staff.
For example, in the mid-1990's one of our Iraqi cameramen was abducted. For weeks he was beaten and subjected to electroshock torture in the basement of a secret police headquarters because he refused to confirm the government's ludicrous suspicion that I was the Central Intelligence Agency's Iraq station chief. CNN had been in Baghdad long enough to know that telling the world about the torture of one of its employees would almost certainly have gotten him killed and put his family and co-workers at grave risk.
Working for a foreign news organization provided Iraqi citizens no protection. The secret police terrorized Iraqis working for international press services who were courageous enough to try to provide accurate reporting. Some vanished, never to be heard from again. Others disappeared and then surfaced later with whispered tales of being hauled off and tortured in unimaginable ways. Obviously, other news organizations were in the same bind we were when it came to reporting on their own workers.
We also had to worry that our reporting might endanger Iraqis not on our payroll. I knew that CNN could not report that Saddam Hussein's eldest son, Uday, told me in 1995 that he intended to assassinate two of his brothers-in-law who had defected and also the man giving them asylum, King Hussein of Jordan. If we had gone with the story, I was sure he would have responded by killing the Iraqi translator who was the only other participant in the meeting. After all, secret police thugs brutalized even senior officials of the Information Ministry, just to keep them in line (one such official has long been missing all his fingernails).
Still, I felt I had a moral obligation to warn Jordan's monarch, and I did so the next day. King Hussein dismissed the threat as a madman's rant. A few months later Uday lured the brothers-in-law back to Baghdad; they were soon killed.
I came to know several Iraqi officials well enough that they confided in me that Saddam Hussein was a maniac who had to be removed. One Foreign Ministry officer told me of a colleague who, finding out his brother had been executed by the regime, was forced, as a test of loyalty, to write a letter of congratulations on the act to Saddam Hussein. An aide to Uday once told me why he had no front teeth: henchmen had ripped them out with pliers and told him never to wear dentures, so he would always remember the price to be paid for upsetting his boss. Again, we could not broadcast anything these men said to us.
Last December, when I told Information Minister Muhammad Said al-Sahhaf that we intended to send reporters to Kurdish-controlled northern Iraq, he warned me they would "suffer the severest possible consequences." CNN went ahead, and in March, Kurdish officials presented us with evidence that they had thwarted an armed attack on our quarters in Erbil. This included videotaped confessions of two men identifying themselves as Iraqi intelligence agents who said their bosses in Baghdad told them the hotel actually housed C.I.A. and Israeli agents. The Kurds offered to let us interview the suspects on camera, but we refused, for fear of endangering our staff in Baghdad.
Then there were the events that were not unreported but that nonetheless still haunt me. A 31-year-old Kuwaiti woman, Asrar Qabandi, was captured by Iraqi secret police occupying her country in 1990 for "crimes," one of which included speaking with CNN on the phone. They beat her daily for two months, forcing her father to watch. In January 1991, on the eve of the American-led offensive, they smashed her skull and tore her body apart limb by limb. A plastic bag containing her body parts was left on the doorstep of her family's home.
I felt awful having these stories bottled up inside me. Now that Saddam Hussein's regime is gone, I suspect we will hear many, many more gut-wrenching tales from Iraqis about the decades of torment. At last, these stories can be told freely.
Eason Jordan is chief news executive at CNN.
I stole this from Jim Treacher's site:
No matter what side of the political spectrum you're on, if you are incapable of feeling at least a tiny amount of joy at watching ordinary Iraqis celebrate this, you are lost to the ideological left. And let me also add, if you are incapable of feeling badly that we even had to use force in the first place, you are ideologically lost to the right. And I would inform both of those groups to leave the room now and do not watch the program. It's like ice-skating: We throw out the high score and the low score. The rest of the people, you're welcome at the table.
--Jon Stewart, The Daily Show
Please come to the table. There's plenty of room.
Like I told Jim yesterday - some day I am just going to copy his whole site and paste it instead of linking to him all the damn time. Go read his "Get Your War on Stuff" while you're there. (Just scroll down)
I'm thinking of starting a Treacher fan club. We can call ourselves Treacher's Creatures.
If you have been emailing me at my work address, they finally changed my email to reflect my maiden name.
Mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org to get the new address.
Dem House Leader Pelosi: "The same questions remain. The cost in human lives, the cost to our budget, probably 100 billion. We could have probably brought down that statue for a lot less."
See, it wasn't all about oil. It was all about the statue.
Baghdad Bob Syndrome: The onset of depression, tears and an empty feeling in the pit of your stomach when you realize it's been several days since you have had a laugh at the expense of the Iraqi Information Minister.
He grew on me. Sure, it was in the way a fungus would grow on you. I thought that with a little prodding we could convince him to turn his life around. Come to the state, host a reality show or a sitcom. Register Republican. It would have been the ultimate makeover.
I miss his idealism, his cute sneer, his funny way of believing his own disinformation.
Baghdad Bob, come back!
Well, anti-war protesters sign this.
I'm curious if those who have opposed this war from the start are willing to tell the Iraqi people that they didn't want them to be free. So, I wrote this open letter for the anti-war crowd to sign with street-blocking, sidewalk-puking pride. Ideally, I'd like a blogger in DC or New York to print it out after a couple weeks and deliver it to the Iraqis that will represent the soon-to-be-established government in Baghdad (if interested, drop me an e-mail).
I'd like the Iraqi people, at least in some measure, to know the truth. I'm curious if the anti-war crowd will tell them.
An open Letter to the People Iraq (from the anti-war protesters).
We, the undersigned, do hereby affirm that we have been, and continue to be, against the hostilities in Iraq.
Stories of the horrors of the Baghdad regime did not sway us. Saddam Hussein’s well-publicized history as a ruthless tyrant did not sway us. The possible threats from terrorism and weapons of mass destruction did not sway us. The continued disregard of numerous United Nations resolutions detailing a clear path for Iraq’s return to global legitimacy did not sway us.
And now, the fighting is ending. The Coalition's victory is assured. The Iraqi people are being liberated.
Their destiny will be one of their own choosing – because they will finally be free to choose.
And this disappoints us to no end.
Scenes of Iraqis celebrating in the streets do not sway us. Scenes of Iraqis destroying the vestiges of Saddam Hussein’s regime do not sway us. Scenes of smiling men, women, and children welcoming the American and British forces do not sway us.
Scenes of young children imprisoned for political crimes do not sway us. Scenes of torture chambers used against those who opposed Saddam do not sway us. The knowledge that this horror would have continued indefinitely with impunity without the Coalition's intervention does not sway us.
We will not be swayed.
We continue to believe this war is wrong. If our vocal minority had its way, the people of Iraq would continue to live in a state of constant fear and oppression. Saddam Hussein would still present a threat to his neighbors, to the stability of the region, and to the security of the Western world.
And that’s alright by us.
To the people of Iraq, we say the following:
We did not want this for you.
We did not want you to have a chance at directing your own future, as is the right of all mankind.
We regret your freedom, and don’t you dare forget it.
Ok, all you protesters. Head over to World Wide Rant and sign that petition right away so we can send it to Iraq!
All those images you saw yesterday? They were staged. They were fake. They were arranged. They were anything but real. All the numbers you have heard are false. Those people weren't celebrating freedom, they were celebrating that the bombs stopped and those damn Yanks would go home now.
Well that's what the loony left1 is saying, anyhow.
Apparently there were really 700 or 800 coalition members killed.
Yesterday was but a media event, produced and directed by the Pentagon. Hey, the tinfoilers even took the time to diagram the whole scenario for you.
And even though the war has been "won," and the people of Iraq are so close to being free, the protesters will still go on with their April 12 demonstrations because, well, what would they be without their protests? So they have changed the theme from "No blood for oil" to "Occupation is not Liberation" and they will march against the pro-war media. Remember kids, you are nothing without a cause and a placard.
So please remember that yesterday was nothing but propaganda. Of course, this is coming from people who believe the Holocaust never happened.
Perhaps the left is so frazzled over the recent developments in Iraq and their confusion as to why the Iraqis were so nice to the troops instead of lunging at them with knives screaming "NO! Do not free us, you bastards!" that they are losing their collective mind.
I mean, just a few weeks ago, Ted Rall was saying he wouldn't support the troops because they were nothing more than hired murderers, and today is he is lamenting that they don't get paid enough. How much do you pay your hired killers, Ted?
Oh, and all those pro-war rallies around the U.S.? Yes, you got it. They were staged as well.
Then there's always the "For the Children(tm)" card to play and the tinfoilers are playing it hard, using Ali Ismaeel Abbas as their poster child for explotation, tugging at your hearstrings while turning your head away from the fact that there were 150 kids just like Ali stuffed into a prison, that kids just like Ali die every single day in Iraq, that Saddam and his regime would slice the toes off of a child and not feel a thing.
But they don't mention that. They never do. They only mention what they can use to manipulate you.
Do not click on any of the above links without wrapping your head in tin foil first. The radioactive vomit that spews forth from those sites will melt your mind if you are not careful.
This is what happens when all of your ideas are being shot full of holes. You plug up the holes with lies, half truths and make believe. The far left is bleeding out.
Here's to its death.
1 The term loony left refers not to all liberals, Democrats or even leftists as a whole, but to those who follow the path of truth as set forth by Indymedia, Democratic Undeground, Answer and the like.
I'll leave you with this tonight. It's been a good day.
photo from AP via Fox News
I had a short conversation with Statia last night about comic characters and how we tend to dissect them and question their motives and their abilities and how they are drawn.
Hello? They are comics. They are drawn. So why do we spend hours looking at pages of a comic book saying things like "But if he can stretch like that, why didn't he just use his stretch powers to save that chic?"
Maybe analytical people shouldn't read comics.
I SHOULDN'T be so happy. After all, I'm a right-wing deathbeast, and the end (or near end) of a war should upset me, because we conservatives lust for war all the time. Except when we have to fight it ourselves, of course. Being chickenhawks and all.
And the toppling of a fascist dictator should have me all weepy and nostalgic for Hitler. Because I'm a fascist, according to much of the mail I receive.
Those Iraqis dancing in the streets? That should really piss me off, because I want to oppress them and steal their oil. Why are they even able to dance? I was promised 500,000 murders, yet thus far only 1,000 or so innocents have died.
So why am I so damn happy? I really can't explain.
I'd go and ask some oppression-hating anti-fascist peace activists about it, but for some reason they're all incredibly depressed.
He's got a major point there.
For all of you who wrote me hate mail, left nasty comments or derided my "warmongering" on your own blog, read the above and answer the questions.
Why was I crying with joy today?
Why do I feel like dancing?
Why am I so damn happy watching the people of Iraq celebrate?
Perhaps I am not so bloodythirsty as many of you think. Maybe I am not the callous, evil bastard you portray me to be because I am pro-war. Perhaps, despite your best twist of words, all my pro-war posturing really did mean that I wanted the liberation of Iraq, that the best interest of the Iraqi people were in my heart.
And maybe all your silence and hand wringing an dropping rain on the parade of liberated happiness means that you are what you were accusing us of.
The phrase self-centered comes to mind.
Kevin Parrot rocks the hizzouse. Today he has a lengthy post on an article found on a German comics fansite: 'three questions' posed to various creators about the war in Iraq"
A sample of Kevin's wrath:
Hey, kids, stop spinning that comic rack for a sec and come join a game of 'Broad Accusations For Fun And Profit'! Here's how to play: you make damning statements about the war around a bunch of people who already agree with you, and dismiss any good which may come of it! Then, you provide a link to your own website, wherein you've taken other people's WWII poster art and 'remixed' it with basic Photoshop tools and fonts! Then, open a Cafe Press store to sell this art as if you created it all on your very own - applied to T-shirts, mugs, stickers, and calenders! Finally, you compile all this Photoshopped artwork other people did into a Poster Book for sale on Amazon.com, complete with a forward by Kurt Vonnegut (do you think he'll mention Dresden? He hardly ever mentions Dresden.)! The pictures are 'ideal for enlarging and for use at political rallies and demonstrations'! See, kids? WAR IS GOOD FOR BUSINESS. Micah gotta eat, too!
Read the whole thing, as they say.
Before I head out to my sister's all-girl and tequila birthday extravaganza lunch, to which I will bring my camera, I must tell you all my exciting news (well, it's exciting to me).
I just got an email from the Library of Congress:
Re: Command Post: The Library has selected your site for inclusion in the historic collection of the 2003 War on Iraq Internet materials. The Library requests your permission to collect your website. Our plan is to engage the Internet Archive, on behalf of the Library of Congress, to collect content from your website at regular intervals during the War. The Library will make this collection available to researchers onsite at Library facilities. The Library also wishes to make the collection available to offsite researchers by hosting the collection on the Library's public access website. The Library hopes that you share its vision of preserving Web materials about the War and permitting researchers from across the world to access them.
Of course we do.
One of the many toasts I will make at lunch today will be for the contributors and readers of Command Post.
I will also make one for the people of Iraq and another for the soldiers in Iraq.
Oh yes, and to my sister on her birthday, which is why we are drinking in the first place.
Come on, say it....Hideki Matsui!
Sounds like an exclamation of joy. A shout of suprise and glee. Go, go Godzilla!
I dare anyone to come up with a limerick with the name Matsui (Mott-soo-eee).
Triple dog dare you.
Oh, and big shouts out to the Big East basketball conference where Syracuse took the NCAA title, St. John's the NIT title and UConn the women's NCAA title.
Today is my sister's birthday. She is my middle sister, and she comes with all the myriad sociopathic personality traits that befit the middle child of any family. We love her anyhow.
Anyone with siblings will find this familiar. We fought like cats and dogs when we were younger. We hated each other. She resented that I was older than her, I resented that I had to drag her around everywhere I went. Our parents would alway say to us "Some day you guys are going to be best friends." And we would laugh. And sneer. As if.
So here we are, adults and mothers both middle aged and presumably mature and our parents' prediction has come true. We are best friends. I don't know what I would do without her.
Happy birthday, Jo. You'll always be younger than me, but people will always think you are older.
[Nelson] Ha-Ha! [/Nelson]
While scores of people are still protesting the war, this is what's going on in Iraq:
"No more Saddam Hussein," chanted one group, waving to troops as they passed. "We love you, we love you."
BAGHDAD (Reuters) - Hundreds of jubilant Iraqis mobbed a convoy of U.S. Marines on Wednesday, cheering, dancing and waving as American troops swept toward central Baghdad through slums and leafy suburbs from the east.
Crowds threw flowers at the Marines as they drove past the Martyrs' Monument, just three km (two miles) east of the central Jumhuriya Bridge over the Tigris river.
Hundreds of Baghdadis cheered US troops rolling through a district of northern Baghdad, applauding and chanting "Good, Good, Bush!", an AFP journalist said.
[i]n the Baghdad suburb of Saddam City, residents took to the streets to celebrate the apparent end of the Iraqi regime. A Shiite Muslim leader told a group of 400 to 500 people, "The tyrant of the world is finished, thanks to the coalition. Thank God for Iraq the victorious."
Sky News just showed raw uncut footage of an older man with glasses overwhelmed with joy in front of a government building in Baghdad. He was holding a banner of Saddam's face that had been ripped down and was beating the picture of Saddam in his face with his shoe.
Sky had Iraqi analyst Hamid Ali Alikfay in the studio and he did free translation of what this man was yelling.
"Saddam has killed millions of us....this is the day we have been waiting for. We are Iraqis, but we are with the United States. We are Americans."
"They used to strap a leather cord around our head, hands and shoulders and hoist us two feet off the ground. Then they would beat us as we hung there," Hamed said.
"They did unthinkable things -- electrocution, immersion in a bath of chemicals and ripping off people's finger and toenails.
So before you head out to protest this "unjust" war, turn on your tv and see what's going on. Watch the people celebrating. Watch families being reunited. Watch as the citizens of Iraq feel free enough to dance in the streets and tear down pictures of Saddam.
Do you think they want to thank you?
No matter what happens from this point forth, the fact remains that if the anti-war forces had their way, if the U.N. had its way and we gave the inspectors two or seven or ten more years to do their job, then these imprisoned children would have been in jail for two or seven or ten years more. Most of them would not live to see the end of inspections. Freedom would never come.
Now, they are free. Their neighbors are free. A new world awaits them. A world where their leader does not take a crap on a golden toilet bowl while his citizens starve to death.
How dare you try to deny these people that life.
Go ahead, read that story again.
More than 100 children held in a prison celebrated their freedom Tuesday as US marines rolled into northeast Baghdad amid chaotic scenes which saw civilians loot weapons from an army compound, a US officer said...
"The children had been imprisoned because they had not joined the youth branch of the Baath party," he alleged. "Some of these kids had been in there for five years."
Had you stopped the war, you would have stopped that moment when those kids ran free from their dark, ugly prisons to the arms of waiting relatives.
You and I have different ideas of patriotism.
By definition, patriotism is love of country and willingness to sacrifice for it.
Patriotism is not "I'm gonna kill all them Iraqis and towel heads." Patriotism is not "I'm going to burn this flag just because I can."
I love this country. I am, for the most part, proud to live here. I wish that we were not still surrounded with racism and anti-semitism and homophobia. I wish there weren't so many hungry kids and so many loud mouthed blockheads who do not think before they speak. But that is par for the course when you have so many different types of people gathered in one place, all calling that place their home.
When I was younger, there was a popular saying, seen on bumper stickers and t-shirts and aimed mostly at the anti-Vietnam crowd. It was a simple saying: America, Love it or Leave it.
When I see people burning the flag and carrying signs that degrade our country, I wonder why they do not leave America. I wonder if they would like life better somewhere else. And I mostly wonder why they think what they are doing is patriotic. Loving and appreciating your freedoms and those who gave you your freedoms is patriotic. Biting the hand that feeds you is not. Just because we are so privileged as to have freedom of speech and freedom of assembly does not mean that you have the right to use those freedoms as a chance to throw rocks, make anti-semitic remarks and threaten the president. That is not patriotism. That is abuse of freedoms.
When I see people degrade someone who is not like them, when I hear those people say that if you are not white you don't belong in America, I wonder why they believe they are being patriotic. Patriotism is not thinly disguised hatred. Patriotism is not defined by how many different races and religions and nationalities you can openly hate. Wrapping your mean spirited words up in a flag does not make you a patriot. A wolf in sheep's clothing is still a wolf.
Patriotism is not waving a flag in someone's face and shouting "I'm better than you." It is not taking your right to dissent and morphing that dissent into violence, destruction and personal attacks.
Patriotism is not loud. It is not crass. It is not rude. You do not have to wave a flag or say the pledge or know all the verses to the Star Spangled Banner to be a patriot.
You do have to love this country and with love comes respect. Dissent stops being patriotic when it is accompanied by lack of respect for your fellow human beings. Pride is not patriotic when you take pride in only what someone of your race, religion, ethnicity or sex has accomplished and you demean the accomplishments of anyone else. Patriotism is being proud of your rights and not denying anyone else the same.
Being patriotic has nothing to do with sticks or stones or name calling. It has nothing to do with signs that call for death to your fellow countrymen, it has nothing to do with disrupting the lives of others.
Love of country and willingness to sacrifice for it.
To sacrifice in this sense would mean to lower your voice. Put your angry signs down. Stop spreading hate. Give your loathing a rest.
Prove that you love your country, that you appreciate everything this country has to offer you. If you love it so much - and if you are claiming yourself to be patriotic that means that you do love it - then stop hating it as well. Stop trying to tear this country apart. Stop waging your own private war against those who are engaging in a war. Stop saying you are for peace when you are for anger, hostility and violence.
America, love it. You don't have to leave it if you don't love it, but you don't have to burn the flag, either.
That is not patriotism.
There's an awful lot being said about the Oakland protests today, where some of the protesters were shot with wooden bullets.
A lot of what's being said runs along the lines of:
They were just minding their own business!
Isn't dissent allowed in America?
This is a police state!
Thing is, these weren't simple peace activists holding up benign signs begging Bush to stop the war. They weren't even the ANSWER folks trying to equate Bush with Hitler.
Demonstrators were seeking to block access to American President Lines, a shipping company they claimed was profiting from the war in Iraq when said they used the pellets and bullets to disperse about 750 protesters.
I'm not saying that the police tactics used were the best way - or the right way -to go. I'm just saying what Glenn Reynolds said:
I won't weigh in on the crowd-control strategy -- I'll just note that people who set out to block shipments of war materiel to soldiers in wartime could easily be prosecuted for treason. This wasn't simple civil disobedience.
UPDATE: Thanks to Mary, who pointed that not only did some of the protesters throw rocks and iron bolts at the police, but "[n]inety-five percent of what’s shipped out of Oakland (to Iraq) is food which is going to help Iraqi citizens."
For some reason, MSNBC took that article down. But I do have a screenshot so no one on the side of the rock-throwing protesters can deny that it ever existed, in true Iraqi Information Minister fasion.
I'm watching the CBS Baghad webcam. There's a reporter who has no idea the cam is on and he's rehearsing and primping and preening.
He's obviously aggravated with himself. This is better than World's Best Bloopers.
Hah! He just finished up his rehearsal and said "How was my hair?"
UPDATE: It was Richard Engle of ABC, caught on the CBS Baghdad cam. Priceless.
The snow and ice are coming down hard, the wind is blowing and I am trying with all my might to remember that today is April 7. It's Spring.
Despite the weather, it's time for my Spring Mix CD(s). You've done so well in helping me compile the soundtracks to the seasons of summer, fall and winter, how could I not call upon you again?
Spring songs: Not necessarily about spring, though those are good, but songs that make you feel like rolling down your car window and driving way too fast on the highway. Songs that give you that lift in your heart and a slight jump in your step. Songs that wake you up from your winter doldrums and make you want to rip off your winter layers.
Sunshine day, everbody's smiling...
Let's have it. Your favorite feel-good, so long to winter, hair blowing in the wind, run topless through the downtown streets kind of music.
ED note: Where are all you people coming from? Just curious why this older post is getting so many hits and comments. Thanks.
Just call me Baghdad Bob. You know, the guy that is on Iraqi tv all the time claiming that all is well, all is good, go about your business.
I'm going to start living my life in the same ozone layer as him.
When the snow starts falling today and the power goes out from the weight of the ice and sleet and my car is buried under the snowdrifts of a nor'easter, I am going to make this annoucement:
"The snowstorm will not approach Long Island. It will be sunny and 85 degrees. Please proceed to the parks and beaches like you had planned. Nope, no snow here."
And when I burn dinner because I forgot to set the timer on the stove and the steak looks like my son's baseball glove and probably tastes like it, too I will say:
"Here is your beautiful dinner. Look how tender and juicy that steak is! You could cut through it like butter."
It must be nice to live in the land of make-believe. Nothing ever goes wrong there. The weather is never bad, your meals are always perfect, your team always wins and yes, you wear a size 5 all the time.
I'm thinking that Baghdad Bob would make a good comic strip character. The possibilities for laughs are endless. As bombs fall all around him and his hair is ablaze, he will still deny it down to the last moment. When his charred corpse is being carried out on a stretcher towards a Baghdad graveyard, Bob's spirit will rise out of his body and let out a haunting screech - "It's just a flesh wound!"
UPDATE: Where are all you people coming from? Who sent you here? Just curious...
It took a lot less time than I thought. This was written by Will Self on April 4 - I thought for sure that the smug leftists would wait a bit more before declaring the rescue of PFC Jessica Lynch a sham:
No, no matter how much gungho hacks and government flaks choose to trumpet Private Lynch's rescue as a story of humane values and derring-do, the suspicion remains that it's a dirty little piece of propaganda in a morally suspect war.
This is the mantra of the far left: Deny everything. Nothing that happens is real, nothing is true, everything is a lie. All facts can be refuted by the notion that life is just a smokescreen for what really happens behind the masks of the people who run the White House.
Liar, liar pants on fire. Demean, degrade and disavow. But never offer proof of your frivoulous denials of fact. Calling someone a liar doesn't make it so. But if often makes you look like a four year throwing a tantrum.
No matter how many Iraqi atrocities we uncover, the left will say they are faked. No matter how many weapons of mass destruction we unearth, the left will say we planted them there. If we find nerve gas, they will say we are lying. If we find tombs filled with the lifeless bodies of tortured Iraqis, they will say the pictures we see are touched up.
It is their only defense in this war of moral equations. It's been worn very thin.
One of the fun things we did at my sister's shower today was to pass around paper cut-out hearts on pipe cleaner stems. Each person at the party wrote little words of wisdom on the hearts and then we put them in a vase and presented them to Lisa.
The best words by far came from Lisa's childhood friend Giselle:
Those are some very deep thoughts when you think about it.
Today is the one year anniversary of Dean Esmay's blog.
He has written a lovely entry about the history of his blog and the people who helped make him the star that he is. Yes, behind every great blogger is a whole bunch of people who said "Dude, you should get a blog."
Dean, whom I admire and respect very much, wrote this little line about me:
Michele Catalano, who is as foul-mouthed, hormonal, bitchy, mean-spirited, smart, kind, generous, thoughtful, and funny as always. What's not to love? The answer is: nothing!
I think I may cry.
Go read Dean's blog if you haven't already. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll wonder why his wife doesn't write more often. Which is not a slight to Dean. It just means that they are both equally talented, bright funny and damn nice people.
I'm back from my super secret event at the super secret location. No, Dick Cheney was not there and no, I was not at a top level meeting of some supermediawebsite that wants to buy Command Post for several million dollars. Nice thought, though.
I've been at the surprise bridal shower for my sister Lisa, who reads this blog and posts here occasionally and always leaves comments about how mean I was to her when she was little, so I couldn't say anything about it until now.
I have very damaging pictures of her wearing a hat made out of bows.
I'm going to relax for a bit. Maybe when I get back I'll post the silly pictures of Lisa if you beg me enough.
Oh, the Yankees (5-1) game for tomorrow has already been snowed out. I've been made aware that this has nothing to do with weather demons, but is in fact a curse put upon the Yankees by a deranged Red Sox fan.
What goes around comes around, bud.
I'm blogging from a super secret location right now because I am on my way to a super secret kind of thing that I can only talk about after the super secret event is over, or else I will ruin someone's day.
You'll figure it out later.
Tomorrow is Yankees opening day.
Forecast: 6-8 inches of snow.
Tell me again about global warming. What a fairy tale that has turned out to be.
A simple gesture of support has turned into a political boiling point in New Jersey. Who knew a simple yellow ribbon could cause so much controversy?
The real victim in all of this hoopla is me. That's right. Me.
If you had never heard it before I'm pretty sure you know it now. Every radio and television station that covered the Jersey story has played that song in the background.
You're damn straight I linked to the lyrics site that has an embedded midi playing. If I'm going to have that tune bouncing around in my head all day, so is everyone else.
I have several problems with the use of this song for the current cause. Even though it does have the phrase yellow ribbon in the title, and it's - for the most part - about tying that very yellow ribbon 'round the old oak tree, the sap-o-meter scale on this tune is through the roof. For that reason alone, it should never have to be heard again.
But that's not the only problem. Read the words. Go ahead, I'll wait.
See, when I was little and the song was so popular that it was played on every radio station and every television variety show and my mother hummed it day and night, I, being the pessimistic, party-pooper type of kid I was, refused to ever sing along.
The song was obviously about a guy getting out of prison. I pictured him being led out of the jail and onto the jail bus that takes you home when you've been good enough to get out, and all the other freed jailbirds (still in their prison-issue black and white pajama looking uniforms with ball and chain tied to their leg - hey I was ten!) were cheering him on to see if his pathetic, lovelorn wife, who was surely dressed in some kind of flowered mumu and had curlers in her hair, was waiting on the front porch for him, surrounded by a dozen trees all adorned with giant yellow ribbons tied in neat little bows.
And then my ten year old mind would wander and I would wonder what this guy had been in jail for. If he had been beating his wife or kids, or if he murdered someone or sold drugs or was arrested for being a communist or for not going to school, which I heard you could be arrested for.
Why would she wait for him? Why wouldn't she move or change the locks or marry someone else while he was gone? What kind of person waited all those years for a cold blooded mass murderer/car thief to come home?
Unless, of course, she was in on the whole thing. Maybe they were a husband and wife team and he took the rap for the murder and spent all that time in the hellhole for her, his wife. Then I could see why she would welcome him home with yellow ribbons and a home made meatloaf dinner.
I had a lot of time on my hands when I was ten.
Now, before you think me unpatriotic or unfeeling, I do have yellow ribbons on my trees. In fact, one of them is an old oak tree. Just because I support the troops and show that fact to my neighbors and the mailman and anyone who drives by does not mean I condone the use of that horrid song to trump this show of support.
I'm thinking the mayor of Fieldsboro, New Jersey is not so much against the yellow ribbons as he is afraid of them. Yes. He is afraid that the high school marching band is going to start parading up and down the street playing that Tony Orlando and Dawn tune, and it will drive every resident of the town so crazy that they will pack up and move, thus reducing the income of the town and causing it to declare bankruptcy. I always knew that song had evil properties.
Maybe someone could write another yellow ribbon song. Perhaps there is another tune out there that we could co-opt for the support the troops movement, one without the man-out--of-prison connotations.
I support the troops. I curse Tony Orlando.
Yes, I'm still here.
Unfortunately, Mr. Headache is here, too.
Make that Mr. BigAss Headache.
I am going to hit Mr. BigAss Headache over the head now with some Exedrin Migraine and some sleep.
When you are posting on two blogs at once, and have two separate Moveable Type windows open, be sure that you are posting the right thing in the right place.
In today's Boston Globe there is an interesting article about the legacy of PFC Jessica Lynch and how she is being/will be treated by the media.
One paragraph jumped out at me:
While Lynch lay in a hospital bed in Germany with fractured arms, legs, and spine, one talk-show host in Boston, Jay Severin - who has never served in the military - wondered if she were being mythologized as a plot by liberals to legitimize women in combat. He also introduced the notion that she might have been the driver, given that the convoy lost its way.
I wonder if Jay Severin has read or seen any of the accounts of what PFC Lynch went through. I am assuming not because, if he did, he would not have used the term "mythologized" to describe her story.
And that last bit, well that's just tasteless.
“You can go and visit those places. Nothing there, nothing there at all. There are Iraqi checkpoints. Everything is okay..”
No word on whether he has equipped the Iraqi army with light sabers, but several people have written to say that they recognize Minister Mohammed Said Sahaf as the guy who played Luke Skywalker at the last Iraqi Star Wars Fan Club variety show.
First, I would like to apologize to those with whom I was supposed to have a pantless blogging orgy last night, but I passed out rather early and rather unexpectedly. I think I was more tired than I assumed I was.
Second, the Yankees are still not crumbling without Derek Jeter.
That is all.
Those who came before me lived through their vocations
from the past until completion, they'll turn away no more.
And still I find it so hard to say what I need to say.
But I'm quite sure that you'll tell me just how I should feel today.
You're singing, right?
monday you can fall apart
tuesday wednesday break my heart
thursday doesn't even start
it's friday I'm in love
Yep. I'm talking to you.
I'm reliving my youth, for better or worse.
Boston. I had this 8-track. Are any of you old enough to remember 8-tracks? Remember how the track would skip to the next in the middle of a song and you would here the click? Way to ruin the aesthetics!
8-tracks were clunky and awkward to carry around. And oh, how the melted so easily. Leave a Yes 8-track in your car for a few hours and you come back to a Dali painting.
I knew this Boston album from start to finish. They were the only band of their genre I enjoyed. That genre being high-pitched -lead-singers-with-semi-heavy-guitars-in-the-background. Journey. Kansas. You know the type.
Who the hell thought Steve Perry was cute? My god, he looked like a deranged girl. He reminded me of Kerry Anderson in my seventh grade class who had this It's Pat vibe going on - I only knew she was a girl because she was in my gym class. When Journey came around I remember thinking, Wow, Kerry Anderson is a rock star! But it was just Steve Perry, who I still think of to this day as a girly man.
My then-boyfriend's best friend (this is about 1981 or so) had a girlfriend who loved Journey. She wore white Capezio and Jorache jeans and she flipped her back when she talked to me. I got drunk once and punched her in the stomach. My then-boyfriend was heavily into the country music and macho-man genre of being so he though that was just fine. Come to think of it, she looked like Steve Perry, too. One time, I rubbed dirt on her white Capezios. Just because.
Oh yea. The Doors station is back again.
Ride the snake. To the lake. The ancient lake, baby.
Man, I must have been on a lot of drugs back then.
This will segue into my mescaline stories. After dinner.
Obviously John Mellencamp/Cougar/Melonhead/Whatever's career is in decline, so he figures penning an anti-Bush song will spark some interest in his redundant, sleep-inducing library of songs.
Sorry, but I've seen better thoughts scrawled on the belly of a naked anti-war protester.
I wrote this with no pants on.
Hey, you know what's playing?
The Mac Dad will make ya Jump jump
The Daddy will make ya Jump jump
It is Friday, after all.
Metafilter brings you Flash fun and games each Friday.
I bring you my Netscape radio playlist, tequila and pantless blogging.
Ok, sing along if you know it...
Friggin in the riggin....
Friggin in the riggin
Friggin in the riggin
There was fuck all else to do
The second mate was Andy
By Christ, he had a dandy
Till they crushed his cock on a jagged rock
For cumming in the brandy
Oh yea, it's going to be a long, embarassing night.
Let it be known that it is only 5:30 on Friday and I am already quite inebriated.
Please forgive anything posted from here on.
I am not wearing pants, as per Mr. Pirillo. (see post below)
You better not be wearing pants either.
As a matter of fact, I want pictures of all of you. Pantless.
Oh for crying out loud, keep those undies on. I don't want your thang wigglin' in my face.
Let's go. Pantless for Peace! Undies for USA!
That means you too, you males.
Thank you. This giant bottle of tequila is for you.
And, in a nice segue, today is No Pants Friday.
The folks at Indymedia - and that means the writers, editors, readers and contributors (most of them, at least) - are the most hypocritical bastards on the face of the earth. They claim to be peace loving. They think people who are pro-war are inhuman. They think they are above everyone else, that their morals and virtues are so above reproach.
And then you see headlines like this and you know they are just so full of their own shit:
The far left have moved themselves onto the same level as the far right that they often deride. Their anti-semitism now popular knowledge, the peace-loving anarchists have now made it clear that they are completely intolerant of anyone who does not think inside of their narrow little box.
Ok, I understand that not everyone who reads Indymedia agrees with the above-referenced post. I don't want to paint with the proverbial broad brush. However, this to me is a symptom of the disease that the far left has become and why so many liberals are trying to disassociate themselves with the new leftist ideals.
Yep, we're still killing those babies over there and practicing genocide. Why, just look at this hardened soldier committing war crimes!
NASIRIYAH, Iraq (Apr. 2. 2003) -- Chief Hospital Corpsman David Jones of the 15th Marine Expeditionary Unit (Special Operations Capable) (15th MEU (SOC)) holds the two-hour- old newborn Rogenia Katham, daughter of Jamila Katham. The infant was born in the Battalion Landing Team 2/1's Battalion Aid Station after arriving at the 15th MEU's position. U.S. Marine Corps Photo by SSgt. Robert Knoll. Link via command post.
I'm kind of busy today. Which is fine, because I think you should all be reading the vast and varied collection of Helen Thomas Limericks.
I've gathered them all here in one place!
You will laugh, you will cry, you will cringe and perhaps feel the urge to throw up.
But most of all, you will beg to be part of the Empire that appreciates Helen Thomas poetry.
"Which would cause the most shrinkage?"
A question posed after much drinkage
"Standing in an icy ocean
or considering the notion
Of being buried in Helen Thomas' wrinklage?" - Juan Gato
Helen Thomas arouses my ire,
That bloodsucking press corps vampire,
So let me be frank:
I wouldn't pee on that skank
If I walked by and saw her on fire.
Posted by: Dave
There once was a writer from D.C.
Helen Thomas, with words always P.C.
She said, "Bush is the worst,
I think FDR's first"
Which tells you she's older than Kesey
Posted by: Wylie
I once met a man in pajamas
Who asked "hey, would you bone Helen Thomas?"
I thought for a bit,
Said "Man, screw THAT shit,"
"I'd rather be raped by ten Llamas"
1. Posted by: dave
An old hag by the name Helen Thomas.
Was a writer who didn't show too much promise.
Now she's older than dirt,
Her tits hang low in her shirt
And she STILL reports all the government dramas.
Posted by: Ryan
Helen Thomas, the fossil of olde,
Asked Ari, trying to be clever and bold,
"Do you like killing civilians,
numbering into the millions?"
Poor Helen, her mind's turned to mold.
Posted by: JohnO
With a nod to "Frank's World" at IMAO:
Helen Thomas got into it with Rummy
Who thought she was just some old dummy
He said "Yes, I would shoot her
Condi, bring me my Luger"
After that she was made into a mummy
Posted by: Ian S.
Helen Thomas is sure she is right.
Thinks her questions have quite a sharp bite.
But she just makes no sense
She looks silly and dense
We all wish she'd just go fly a kite.
Posted by: Kathy K
Helen Thomas and dave went a' courtin'.
It was a date dave was desperate to shorten.
He cut to the quick,
Said, "you ain't gettin' my dick."
And he gestured frantically down to his organ.
Posted by: Ryan
There once was a press-troll named Helen,
whose mouth could make her a felon.
Once she forgot her depends
and the smell from both ends
caused poor Ari to gag from the smellin'.
Posted by: Nothus
There once was a Thomas named Helen
Conspiracies hatch in her melon
to prevent her attack
Ari puts her in back
So Georgie can't hear all her yellin
C'mon. Not many rhymes for that name.
Posted by: Sylvain
I hate that old bag Helen Thomas
A friend of Hussein's and Osama's,
So ugly is she
People quite often flee
And grown men cry for their mamas
Posted by: Dave
A quick update on Thomas, Helen
Who is reportedly gellin' like a felon
She has new insoles
That feel soft on her toes,
I mean, she's like Magellen she's so gel. . .
Fuck it! I hate that commercial!
Posted by: Ryan
Helen Thomas of the Whitehouse beat,
Quite quickly would rise to her feet.
Her temper ignited,
When by George she was slighted,
Now on the back row is her seat.
Posted by: CC
Tis the truth of the matter I promise
That the flatulent wind bag, Helen Thomas
Let one out at the briefing
Left us queasy & wheezing
As the dark cloud descended upon us
Posted by: TX Vet
Helen Thomas, that media vermin,
She's older than Strohm freakin' Thurmond
I really do hate her
that backstabbing traitor
Surely she's French or she's German
Posted by: Dave
It's a story that's painful to tell
Helen Thomas: Reporter from Hell
At a Press Corps briefing
Started pooting and queafing
And four people died from the smell
What I hear is really quite ominous
About that journalist hack Helen Thomas
It's said her vagina
Could be stretched out to China
That would be something to see, I can promise.
Posted by: Ryan
Helen Thomas soiled her diaper
And she got rather angry and hyper
Until Peter Arnett
Who was himself soiled and wet
Stepped forth and offered to wipe her
Posted by: Ryan
There once was a bitch, Helen Thomas.
Who inflicted stupidity upon us.
Clearly her head's up her ass,
Cuz she's full of hot air and gas,
With a face that makes us all nauseous.
Posted by: Venomous Kate
The once was a scribbler named Helen,
Noone wanted the tripe she was sellin'
Ari booted the ho
To the very back row
She replied "That's not my breath he was smellin'!"
Posted by: Joe
Today's media condition is quite fretful
Geraldo and Arnett are regretful
Helen Thomas they say
Was okay in her day
But now she's just old and forgetful
Posted by: Ryan
A savvy young press sec named Ari
Had concocted the ultimate parry
"Helen Thomas, you skank!
You old windbag, you're rank!
And your face looks like raw calamari!"
Posted by: schmed
I watched that old hag Helen Thomas
And this vow I make as a promise
If she doesn't shut up
I'll beat her right up
That's right, I'm screaming "No Mas".
Posted by: Veeshir
Columbus sailed the ocean blue...
Only to find that stupid hag, Helen Thomas, trying to thwart any progress of the western world for the sake of her own petty ideology.
Posted by: Anthony Davidson
Hickory, dickory, dock
Helen Thomas is as dumb as rock
If I had my way
She'd've died yesterday
From a painful yeast infection
Posted by: Anthony Davidson
There once was a hag from the press
Who exclaimed in dismay and distress
'That Bush is the worst.'
'It must be a curse.'
'It's too damn bad, that I, Helen Thomas, couldn't fit my head any farther up my crusty old ass.'
Posted by: Anthony Davidson
I don't know which is funnier; Dave, or Anthony's utter failure to get the last line right.
I'm giving the nod to Dave. And it's not just because we have the same first name. Although that helped a little.
Posted by: David Perron
There once was a man from Columbus
Who wanted to shag Helen Thomas
He looked up with chagrin
Picking pubes off his chin
And said "my life began with such promise"
Posted by: jack
I remember Helen Thomas from DC
Who was born in early years BC
She said what she wanted
And became quite a pundit
Damn - who says limericking is easy?
Posted by: jack
Helen Thomas was once a reporter
(Back in FDR’s first term’s first quarter),
Now, while looking like Gollum,
She’s joined the fifth column.
It’s a shame her career wasn’t shorter.
Posted by: Gregg the obscure
Helen Thomas, in Washington’s webs
Since the Yankees were fighting the Rebs,
Gets some press when she says
Dubya’s our worst-ever prez –
Because she wants old Eugene V. Debs.
Posted by: Gregg the obscure
A limerick on media primers
includes Helen, the last of old-timers
it's just not good fun
matching rhymes with our puns
as she clearly suffers from Alzheimer's
Our crazy old aunt in the attic
as she rambles pretends she's emphatic
She cackles a promise
it's signed Helen ThomasIs Bush Hatred just symptomatic?
Posted by: Jim
I once had two babies mommas
One, was a bitch name Helen Thomas
I lied to get the ass
Now she's in court after my cash
I shouldnt have broken my promise
Posted by: D_TOWN
I once had two babies mommas
One, was a bitch name Helen Thomas
I lied to get the ass
Now she's in court after my cash
I shouldnt have broken my promise
Posted by: D_TOWN
A young man who showed little promise
began to screw Helen Thomas.
He felt his cock burning,
To ground meat it was turning.
Her twat was so dry 'twas like pumice.
Posted by: md
White House press had a crazy old aunt
whose 'questions' were more of a rant"Helen", Ari would say,
"would you please go away,
or just shut the fuck up, if you can't?"
Posted by: Wylie
That bitter old battle-axe, Helen Thomas
Has suffered many frontal lobe traumas.
A screeching hag of a bore,
Yet a correspondent no more,
She oughta yield to a scribbler with more promise.
Posted by: Shiloh Bucher
Helen Thomas was once an old hack
her 'questions' were really just 'smack'
So Ari said, "Helen,
we don't buy what you're sellin'"
So he sat her old ass in the back
Posted by: Wylie =
Once we heard the words of old Helen
And we listened to what she was yellin'
But she made no sense
And she made Ari tense
So Rummy beat her till she screamed it was Orwellian.
Posted by: Melissa
Why do we let Helen be seen?
Her chromosomes are missing a gene.
Her agenda is all
That she seems to recall
And she thinks she is writing a zine.
Posted by: Melissa Zogby
The author of the website explains:
JAPAN -- While flipping through the channels last Saturday night trying to pick up news on the war, I came across a show that was teaching kids about the conflict. It looks like the show (or segment) is called Kodomo Nyusu (Kid's News). They were using toy props and cartoons to show a trio of very glum-looking kids what was happening in Iraq. While well-intentioned, it was too bizzare to pass up, so I grabbed my camera and started snapping photos.
Basically, what the show seems to be telling kids is this:
In the center of Baghdad lies a very big head. The head is known as Saddam Hussein. Saddam's great defense in this crazy war lies in two things: soldiers that shoot bullets out of strap-ons and obliterating the sun in Super Mario world.
While that is going on, goofy Saddam prints out all of his Nigerian scam emails and drops them on his people, in the hopes that they will all head to Nigeria to get rich and leave him alone so he can he watch a badly dubbed version of Saddamzilla v. the Bearded Soldiers.
Oops, someone has got to go pee-pee! Time out!
After the giant man finishes his business the war resumes, and we see a giant hand getting ready to roast Saddam's head on an open fire.
Oh, not so fast kiddies! First you have to open your math textbooks to page 17. Now, using this chart as an example, calculate the number of journalists that will be kicked out of Iraq before the war ends.
"Mommy, I miss Geraldo. Please bring him back!"
Yes, I could have done so much more with this if only it wasn't so early.
Sure it's a "kid's" book, but that didn't stop me from thoroughly enjoying it. In fact, I read a kid's book at least every two weeks, ranging from fourth grade adventure mysteries to high school teen angst books. They're good for your soul.
Now, I'm going to finish my fifteent reading of From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.
Hmm..perhaps it's time for a new reader's list of favorite children's/young adult books?
Yes, I think it is.
Yesterday, a guest speaker came to Natalie's school. His name was Mick Foley. Better known as Mankind.
Mick Foley grew up on Long Island.
I dated this big dork named Mick Foley once. On Long Island.
I wonder if....
Well the Mick Foley I dated wanted everyone to call him Micke-elobe. You get it? Michelob? Beer? Clever, eh?
And the Mick Foley I dated was with me on that fateful night that we spotted the UFOs on the Wantagh Parkway.
Only it wasn't UFOs. Or aliens.
It was several piles of newspapers lined up on the parkway.
Which is stranger than UFOs when you think about it.
Mick Foley thought we were going so fast that we hit a time warp and ended up in the future where people built huts out of newspapers dated 1980.
I thought there was something in that nickel bag besides pot.
I think Mick Foley cried.
I never saw him again.
Actually, I know it's not the same Mick Foley, but it was fun to fool Natalie for a little while.
That's no mufti, that's a comedian!
Two weeks ago today, Alan and I launched Command Post with no great expectations.
We reached the mark of one million visitors just a few moments ago.
We have over 50 contributors who make the site what it is, and I'd like to thank every one of them, as well as every one of you who stop by to see what's new at the post.
I'm seeing some long time dreams realized by venturing into this. It's been hard work, but that good kind of work that makes you feel useful, productive and proud of what you are doing.
So, thanks to all. We've got lots more in store for you.
Dear John Kerry,
We do have a "regime change" process around here. It's called an election. It is something you will never be on the winning end of.
It is probably not a wise decision to suck up to the anti-war protesters at this point, as they will be eating the same crow as you in a few weeks time. By using their "regime change" mantra, you are in fact aligning yourself with a group of people who think socialism is a good thing.
When you say "''I don't think they're going to trust this president, no matter what. I believe it deeply, that it will take a new president of the United States, declaring a new day for our relationship with the world, to clear the air and turn a new page on American history," what you are saying is that the job of the president is to appease, beg and suck up to countries that will only give you their hand when you are offering something. If that is the case then you would probably fit the bill perfectly, Mr. Kerry. However, I - and I believe most of the population of this country - do not see the role of the president as that of a wimpy kiss-ass, so you are shit out of luck in that respect.
Have a nice run at the White House. Enjoy the travel, the sights, the press attention. I bet you five bucks that by this time next year you will be wishing you never uttered the words "regime change" in such a manner.
This post was written in conjunction with Todd the Empirical* Hot Tub Overseer.
*I'm using the word Empirical instead of Imperial so as not to rip off or piss off Misha.
So, Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam has joined the "George Bush should be beaten" crusade.
Incensed fans walked out of Pearl Jam's concert Tuesday after lead singer Eddie Vedder impaled a mask of President Bush on a microphone stand, then slammed it to the stage.
Most of Vedder's antiwar remarks earlier in the Pepsi Center show were greeted with mixed cheers and scattered boos. But dozens of angry fans walked out during the encore because of the macabre display with the Bush mask, which he wore for the song Bushleaguer, a Bush- taunting song from the band's latest album, Riot Act.
The real interesting part of this story is that just as I opened up the email from Carol that contained the news article, Pearl Jam's Alive began on my Winamp.
Ok, I guess you had to be there.
I think the point here is not that Vedder is against the war or against Bush or that he chose to speak his views at a concert, I think it's just that people don't want to hear it anymore.
When you pay 40 bucks to see a band live, the last thing you want is someone playing Wartime Puppet Theater starring George Bush. Regardless of whether Mr. Vedder speaks for those in the audience or not, I would say that most of them were pissed that the band was probably going to have to cut off their encore of "Jeremy" because Vedder wasted all that time acting out his misguided fantasies.
The US Secretary of State Colin Powell says the United Nations will have a role in rebuilding Iraq after Saddam is gone.
He said the exact role "remains to be seen" but added that discussions were continuing and "resolutions might be appropriate as we move forward".
Suggested roles for the U.N.:
Serving meals and drinks to those rebuilding Iraq
Washing the Humvees
Working the PX
I'm sure you have more
Many of the over-forty blogs kept by women have this same anxiety running through them. Instead of fighting for that authorial voice, the "eye," by playing with the "I," which is the hallmark of teen blogs, the over-forty blogs cast their "eye" only as far they can see: their immediate domestic environment. Having lost that sense of invincibility that comes from being a young adult, the over-forty is thrown in that same breath-choking cold current of doubts that he or she navigated as a teen. That is why a middle-aged woman's blog description of getting a haircut sounds the same as a teenage girl's account of the same event.
I still don't know what to make of this yet, except that it angered me in the same way that the media treatment of PFC Jessica Lynch has angered me.
I'm not a feminist by an stretch of the imagination. However, I do not subscribe to the notion that women are just bigger versions of little girls that so many people still cling to.
More on this later. Consider this a lead-in.
It's obvious that Dave has won the position of Poet Laureate of the Empire with No Name. Congratulations, Dave. The job comes with a small stipend and all-area access to the Empire's home base, including that room where I keep all the hard liquor.
And the next person who uses the words Helen Thomas and vagina in the same sentence gets their IP banned.
Before I commence with the naming of the Poet Laureate of the Empire with No Name, I must show you what I have been doing the past hour or so, thanks to Kevin Parrot (who, with Jim Treacher, will soon be named Empirical Speech Writer)
Yes, I made my own customized Space Invaders Game:
Nix Blix! Blix Nukem Forever!
No one has yet applied for the position of Comic Book Collection Overseer or Video Game Purchaser
Obviously, you all have a thing for Helen Thomas.
No more entries. Voting begins now. Take a look at the Helen Thomas limericks in the post below and leave a comment as to which person you think should be the Poet Laureate of my Empire With No Name.
UPDATE:Wait! We have a late entry from Juan Gato who, if he doesn't get named Poet Laureate will probably take on the job of the Drinking Buddy.
"Which would cause the most shrinkage?"
A question posed after much drinkage
"Standing in an icy ocean
or considering the notion
Of being buried in Helen Thomas' wrinklage?"
Robyn has been
coerced convinced to put up screenshots of last night's warblogging segment on CNN.
* I can see the calendar now....
In my effort to do all I can from being serious today, I will continue with the Empire Building.
I am holding auditions for poet laureate. All poems must be in the form of a limerick and contain the name Helen Thomas.
"Something slightly profound if not downright splendid about this photo is right this moment hurling long hot strands of partially cooked pasta of meaning up against the purple glimmering walls of your subconscious to see if it sticks which in turn relates the message to your slippery awareness that everything you think you know for sure is probably wrong and that's usually a very good thing." - Mark Morford, in his Daily Fix email.
Here's your job. To rewrite what Mark meant to say in ten words or less, without using the words pasta or purple.
And then tell me why he has a paying writing job and I don't.
Last part optional.
What the hell have I spawned??
Part I, Scene I of War: the musical undead space comedy
Written, directed, produced and composed by LB of Adventures in Bureaucracy
Playing the part of Helen Thomas is Nathan Lane
Playing the part of Ari Fleischer is Bruce Willis
Scene One: The curtain rises on the White House
briefing room. Ari Fleischer is answering questions from the White House press
corps. Helen Thomas waves her hand
wildly, hoping to attract the press secretary’s
attention, and sings: “Ari can you hear meee?”
Ari also responds in song: “I see you Ms. Thomas /
Behind that big fern / There’s a lot going on / So
just wait your turn.”
Helen is undeterred: “Ari, Can you hear meeeeee?”
Ari: “I’ll answer your question / With truth and verve
/ But listen, old lady / You’re on my last nerve.”
Helen: “Ari, Can you hear meeeeeeeee?” Helen hits a
high note, and Ari's water glass shatters.
Ari: “All right, Ms. Thomas / Just give your speech. /
What is your question? / I’ll bet it's a peach.”
Helen Thomas sings the rousing “Guantana-Me,
Guantanamo”, a mambo musical question asking about
prisoners of war, the Geneva Convention and all those
guys from the Afghanistan campaign, as the first big
dance number begins. The rest of the press corps
dances behind her, forming a high-kicking chorus line
at the end of the song.
Ari: “I’ll always tell you / As much as I know / But
what’s with you / And Guantanamo? / That’s all the
time / That we have for today. / This conference is
over / Now please go away.”
The undead and the space parts will be produced later.
It doesn't matter where the anti-war or anti-America people hail from. They are all the same. The same people who claim to be about peace and world harmony practice isolationism and hatred on a daily basis. They deface, degrade, demoralize and vandalize. They call for blood of those who oppose them. They shout slogans of death. Their impractical push for peace at all costs has turned them into vile, treacherous creatures who have lost all sense of common decency. They are to be pitied, for they are so blinded by their misplaced rage and fear that they no longer know what they stand for or how to make a stand at all. They are lost and a lost cause.
By now you all know that an American P.O.W., Jessica Lynch, has been rescued. That is the best news I've heard in a while. I can imagine her family must be overjoyed.
And now, if you allow me this small moment of gratuitous back-slapping, Command Post broke the story first.
I'd also like to point out that CENTCOM handled this announcement horribly.
Let's just put the tanks in reverse and bring the boys home. Say we're sorry and ask for forgiveness. It'll be a lot easier than playing it out. This war is just plain wrong.Dave Winer, idiot savant.
The above words are probably the stupidest thing ever uttered anywhere in the world about this current war, including anything said by Ted Rall.
Take it away, Andrea.
I am mired down in seriousness on command post. I'll have none of that here
I often wished that life was like a musical. People break out in song at random, little kids dance their way to school, instruments sound out of nowhere and everything is solved with a rhyme or two.
I am going to make a musical version of this war, except the Iraqis are the undead, sort of like the skeleton guys in Army of Darkness. Saddam is an alto, of course, and gives all his speeches in song. He has a bevy of dancing beauties standing behind him at all times and they do synchronized dance routines to his rhymes.
Rumsfeld, the Centcom guys, Helen Thomas - they all sing. And dance.
And then there are laser beams and death stars and funny looking creatures with beady eyes that hide in sand dunes. And robots. And monkeys. Lots of monkeys.
Seriously, let's plot and cast this thing and get it going. We could fund the empire with the box office receipts.
Great news! Nathan Lane has agreed to take on the part of Helen Thomas and Tammy Faye Baker will be portraying Dick Cheney.
Also, scantily clad slave-boys are meant to perform for Keith, so please keep that in mind when you volunteer.
To everyone who offered to be a scantily clad slave girl: please send photos.
Everyone else, you can be whatever you want but it will cost $100 in registration fees.
My empire, my rules. Now cough up or get out.
the registration fee also pays for your very own slave girl/man, all of whom are over 21 years of age and were stolen from the contortionist school on the next island
A political unit having an extensive territory or comprising a number of territories or nations and ruled by a single supreme authority.
Depsite the fact that the U.S.A. is not an empire, some people still insist on throwing that word around like a football.
However, in order to give those people something to bitch about, I am going to start my own empire.
Yes, there will be scantily clad slave-girls.
Join now before it's too late and I take over your life with hostility instead of peaceful negotiations.
I am Empire. Hear me roar!
In trying loosen himself from the noose he fashioned around his own neck, Columbia University Professor Nicholas De Genova only served to tighten that rope further when he clarified his earlier statement by saying that he meant America should suffer another Vietnam.
In his latest remarks, Assistant Professor Nicholas De Genova said he believes that ultimately what has to happen in Iraq is "more like another Vietnam."
"Vietnam was a stunning defeat for U.S. imperialism," he declared in a letter to the editor of the Columbia Daily Spectator.
He'll be swaying in the wind before long.
Holy shit, I won an Anti-Bloggie!
It should come as no surprise that I won the award for "Biggest Whiner After Being Delinked."
I'd like to thank the committee (I hope you liked the suitcase of cash I sent you), everyone who voted for me (the promise of sexual favors expires August 2003) and those who delinked me, without whom this award would not have been possible. And I'd like to thank those whose words of wisdom kept me going through the long, dark nights; Snoop Dogg, Tammy Faye Baker and The Great Kazoo. You guys rock the hizzouse, you are my inspiration. Fo shizzle.
I'd just like to add, We live in a time where we have fictitious contest results that elect a fictitious contest winner, who's sending us to competition for fictitious reasons, whether it's the fiction of awards or the fiction of better stats. Shame on you, Mr. Davezilla!"
Daily Mirror, Daily Onion, same difference.