The race is not to the Swift Boat

According to a group called "Swift Vets and POWs for Truth," so-called Vietnam War hero John Kerry is not who he seems. Apparently, he went up river to the compound of Colonel Kurtz and participated in the slaughter of a water buffalo. He also stole Lt. Col. Bill Kilgore's surfboard.

Developing.

It hurts me more than it hurts you dept.

OK. I'm running my heart out at the treadmill at Y like the mindless hamster I am. There before my eyes, on the CardioTheater teevee, I see scenes of wicked torture at the Abu Grabass prison in Iraq. Some dude wired up like a Christmas tree. A pile of naked male bodies, black rectangles strategically placed over the naughty bits.

Call me negative, but this is not going to win hearts and minds of the Iraqi people -- or, for that matter, extract useful intelligence.

This is not intelligence gathering. This is not some ticking clock scenario out of "24."

This is more like sicko, Fraternity hazing sadism. Or S&M depravity. My apologies to my many S&M readers, but these poor bastards didn't sign up for this shit. They didn't have a safe word.

There's only one reason for this shit. It's calculated to humiliate, degrade and break the spirits of the people you do it to. It usually has the opposite effect.

As in -- creating an unquenchable, white-hot hatred in the people you've humiliated.

I think we've just lost the war.

Bush League Blues

OK, one year and counting into the Iraq invasion. Still no WMDs

Somebody needs to say this. It might as well be me.

George W. Bush (and his crew) sent a clear message to tinpot dictators everywhere with Iraq War II.

The United States of America can strike anywhere, anytime. I am specifically referring to a strike against you, Mr. Tinpot Dictator. If we don't like your attitude; if we even think you might start trouble sometime in the future, we are fully capable and willing to invade your country, topple you from power, hunt you down like a dog, humiliate you, put you on trial, and stretch out your sorry-ass neck from the business end of a very long rope. If you don't have nuclear weapons, that is.

And don't even think about bluffing. We will call your bluff. If you ain't got nukes and you claim you do, we're just crazy enough to invade your country anyway! If say you got nukes, you better damn well have 'em. 

If you ain't got nukes, you are totally at our mercy. Best watch your back, 'cause whenever you feel like it, we can put you in a world of pain. Unless you've got nukes, of course.

Something tells me Kim Jong-il will get the message.

Ahmadinejad, too.

It's ... beautiful

Jesus H. Tapdancing Christ ...

A "wardrobe malfunction." Janet Jackson and Justin Timberlake hopping about at the Superbowl halftime show. Suddenly ... SPROING! Her boob pops out.

Now, the right-wing yappers are yapping like it's one of the signs of the Apocalypse.

Aside from the incredible cheesiness of the publicity stunt, what's the big deal? It's a BOOB for chrissakes. One of nature's wonders. The sight isn't going to kill you.

I keep imagining Rush Limbaugh saying "It's ... beautiful" like one of the Nazis from The Raiders of the Lost Ark ...


Then watching his face melt like wax.

Primal Scream

Howard Dean screamed his head off like Ozzie at recent rally. Seems like the shit politicians do to whip up the crowd, but what do I know? Evidently, this does not make him Presidential material. Everyone's saying it. Perception is the only reality. So that makes it true.

EAAAGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

100 meter rise

Here's a map indicating the effects of global warming on North America. The good news is, residents of north Georgia will be blessed with waterfront property.

SF Dream

I almost never remember my dreams. But I cut down on coffee and kept a notebook by my bed. So, for your edification ...

SF DREAM

Two spies, a man and a woman, are stalking around in a futuristic shopping mall. They’re up on a high level.

WOMAN: (bored) We always come here.
MAN: Where else are we going to go?

He looks around suspiciously.

MAN: We’ve got to get out of here.

He instantly leaps off a railing and grabs onto the wall right below it — it’s a sheer drop of 90 feet or so to the mall floor. Obviously not wanting to, the woman follows him and does the same. What they’re actually holding onto is some kind of plastic film on the wall. For a second or two, they’re just holding onto it. Then the thin layer of plastic starts peeling off like an enormous vinyl sticker. Still clutching onto it, both start to fall.

WOMAN: We’re not going to make it.
MAN: Yes we are.

The plastic film is peeling off faster and faster. The man and the woman go down with it. Sliding down the wall faster and faster …

But, just as they’re about to hit the floor, they leap off, do a tuck and roll, and walk away unharmed. The mall crowd seemes rattled, edges away from them. The two exit the mall into a outdoor courtyard. It’s bright daylight, a blue sky.

MAN: Try not to look suspicious.

She rolls her eyes.

Out of nowhere, instant nanotech skyscrapers start popping up out of the ground all around them and bursting up into the sky. They start running like crazy trying to avoid these.

A guy in a mall takes off a pair of VR glasses. It’s ME.
We start seeing things from my POV.

SALESMAN: And that’s just one of the exciting games going on right now at NanoCon24. If you …
ME: Thanks. Just give me the MDDs.
SALESMAN: Of course.

He hands me my two complimentary anime-action discs. These are like DVDs, only smaller. I take these and leave the mall. I walk out onto a platform where a floating, futuristic bus stops in front of me. (Its roughly cube-like proportions are more like a small movie theater; it looks more like a building than a vehicle.) I enter.

Inside the bus/building, I start looking for a seat. Everybody else is watching floating display screens in front of their faces. On one, an enormous buzzsaw cuts a car in half. A man inside screams.

VOICE: What’s in your wallet?

Two black soldiers, both dressed in the fatigues and berets of the Urban Anti Terrorist Squad, enter and start asking people for money.

SOLDIER: We’re collecting for disadvantaged inner city kids. All of your money goes to buy some poor damn kid a new pairs of pants. You can’t get anywhere in life without pants.

He holds up a jar with a sad kid’s face on it. It's actually a scanner. People start sliding rings and bracelets across it. Virtual coins and bills seem to drop inside the jar. The SOLDIERS continue down the aisles. Being cheap, I avoid them and sit down in my own seat. I’m the only one without a floating display in front of me.
An OLD MAN sitting next to me smiles.

OLD MAN: Not addicted, I see.

I shrug.

OLD MAN: (indicating the soldiers somewhat derisively) Urban Anti Terrorist Squad. You know what this bus needs? (leaning and whispering conspiratorially) A good detective. Like me.
ME: What the hell are you talking about?
OLD MAN: (whispering) What these soldiers fail to realize is that two terrorists are already on board.
ME: Where?

He nods up at the luggage rack where two Arab guys are lying sprawled and smiling beatifically. They seem hypnotized.

OLD MAN: And a bomb.

In front of me, a floating 3-D display graphic helpfully shows me a cutaway diagram of exactly where the bomb is.

ME: You mean you’re … so why don’t you?
OLD MAN: Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen. We have them conditioned. They’re not going to do anything.

Cut to their smiling faces.

MAN: We just need to know where … it’s all part of the big picture, see? The big picture. You know.
ME: Right.

He winks, makes a button lip gesture, nods, and closes his eyes as if falling asleep.

From another aisle, a woman in her late 50s looks at me. She seems dignified, has long black hair.

ROYAL WOMAN: I am Spanish royalty, you know. But in another life I was a Hindu saint.
ME: Sure you were.

Irritated that I don’t believe her, to prove her point she gets into a yoga posture, and does a good job of it. Perhaps she’s the real deal. Another woman – a SLOPPY DRUNK – notices this.

SLOPPY DRUNK WOMAN: Yoga? Yeah, I also do yoga. Watch me do yoga.

She gets into a yoga posture herself, embarrassingly putting her leg behind her head and wobbling in her seat in torn, stained stretch pants. It is not so dignified and impressive when she does it. The ROYAL WOMAN looks away and ignores her. I do the same.

The floating bus/building stops in front of a funeral parlor. I get out of the bus/building and enter.

FUNERAL DIRECTOR: (rushing up to me) I’m sorry, sir, you’re too late for the cremation. (holding up a pair of black men’s shoes, still smoking) But we saved you the shoes.

In the distance I hear an explosion.