Uprising In Iran 2009

Aquarian Weekly 6/24/09 REALITY CHECK

THE ALLAH STOMP How The Streets Of Iran Are Burning The Fumes of the ’79 Revolution

The large print giveth and the small print taketh away. – Tom Waits

If you have children at an age where they have a basic grasp of their place in the grand scheme of human endeavor, you must place them in front of a television or find a spot on the Internet and share with them the incredible Awakening In Tehranevents unfolding in Iran. For it is important that youth be served with uprising. It is even more important they understand what it means to fight to control their environment and to be comfortable in the total and furious rejection of all that has come before; especially when what has come before is a tired and pathetic series of atavistic oppressive nonsense perpetuated by mindless zealot thugs hiding behind laughably formed religious dogma.

You see, the riots engulfing the whole of Tehran currently have less to do with a sham of an election than it does with a “movement”. Granted, movements tend to explode from the bowels of cheap political frauds, but they also tend to have a life of their own, a violent birthing complete with a bloody, cacophonous splendor of fury. Movements also don’t necessarily need leaders or figureheads or even a singular purpose. But they always seem to regress into a fistful of backlash from the Status Quo, which more times than not see movements as a threat to what is left of their stale hag of desiccating stupidity that has subsisted way beyond any reason to keep functioning save for the greed and self-preservation of its nurtured few.

Thomas Jefferson, one of history’s most articulate dreamers, saw uprisings as a kind of spiritual right of passage for the human spirit, a Jesus/Mohammad king-hell joust with tyranny, whether religious, cultural or political. He also believed in the “world revolution” where the desire to steer one’s destiny trumps any feign designs on the collective freedom, because one man’s freedom is another man’s shackles and Jefferson, like all pie-in-the-sky types, knew instinctively that only those who’ve worn the shackles understand implicitly that things gotta change.

So maybe while you watch a world turn upon itself you can explain to your kids that not everything is shit, but a goodly portion of things are, and strange aberrations of civilization like Theocracies only work for some but not all. And when the majority of the “all” happens to be around the age of 27 and cannot recall with xenophobic blinders the Revolution of 1979, they fully realize the absurdity of their existence; that all about them is religious miasma existing only to expunge any remnants of the evil western-propped governments for a return to the Dark Ages and the headdresses of warring tribes and the muzzling of science and progress and art and social expression.

There are only so many jailhouses and so many bullets and so much upheaval the Status Quo can handle. Eventually the voices overwhelm. If not today or tomorrow, soon. No matter what comes and how our new president or the rest of the curious Middle East will deal with it when it has subsided, it will not be the same.

This is how a society becomes straddled with a bleating little troll like Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, a twisted gnome of a man whose sole purpose is the wiping away of the terrible nightmare in the mirror — the sad beady-eyed gargoyle mommy ignored and the neighborhood bullies stomped for kicks — and replace him with something “special”. Ah, but his babbling psychosis was forgiven for too long, this tour-de-force of spectacular dumbness displayed with spastic zeal, simply because the public learned that he’d been stricken from birth with a strange malady called Mesenteric Torsion, which had heretofore only been diagnosed in dogs and other creatures that regularly consume their own feces and countless pounds of diseased meat. It is literally a rotting of the intestines wherein eventually the bile invades the bloodstream and then onto the brain. Dogs usually have the decency to crawl off to die alone, but in the human, MT produces a bloated sense of self-worth and a demented lust for purpose, producing a bent sort of abject megalomania.

Modern civilized societies either quarantine these poor creatures or give them high-profile radio gigs, but in Iran there appears to be a relish for this manner of madness at the state level. But, alas, Ahmadinejad’s atavistic showbiz had begun to wear thin, not only abroad but at home, and that is a hard dose to swallow for those living in fantasyland. And it’s also how that fantasy might spill into “the process”, where campaigns suddenly become pud pulling exercises and votes are more a vague framework than reality.

And despite the fading echo of The Revolution being outnumbered by the new, wide-eyed youth to the tune of almost two-to-one and rising poll numbers for weeks for his opponent, Mir-Hossein Mousavi Khameneh, and a strong tailwind of debates in which all observers viewed Ahmadinejad’s “clock cleaned”, the election went the other way by a staggering two-thirds. Weird stories of thousands of hand ballots ignored, a media crackdown and a quickly cobbled victory speech left Iran looking to the rest of the world not as it wished — a noble nation built of tradition and allegiance to Allah — but a grotesquely anachronistic embarrassment to modern civilization.

That’s when the foreign press was kicked out and international cell phone connections were shut down and the Internet was blockaded. But this, like all revolutions, has new avenues to victory, whether they are the sword and musket or the Twitter and FaceBook.

Images of a vengeful Revolutionary Guard shooting wildly at protesting students and the capitol in flames is not the way a rogue nation wants to hang in this renewed time of diplomacy. The mockery of justice and law and the total abandon of human rights and common decency play regularly on the World Wide Web and it is all a pox on Iran’s faith and its way of life. And all the vacillating rambles of the Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei will amount to the proverbial hill of beans if order is not restored.

There are only so many jailhouses and so many bullets and so much upheaval the Status Quo can handle. Eventually the voices overwhelm. If not today or tomorrow, soon. No matter what comes and how our new president or the rest of the curious Middle East will deal with it when it has subsided, it will not be the same.

That is a Movement, brutha.

Give your kids a taste.

 

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Rove & Carville Invade Radio City Music Hall

Aquarian Weekly 6/3/09 REALITY CHECK

DINOSAURS ON SIXTH AVENUE
Recording The Death Rattle Of Karl Rove & James Carville

For me, the notion of ‘teenage wasteland’ is about waste. It’s not about getting wasted, it’s about waste; wasted life, wasted opportunity, wasted years. And I take full responsibility for the fact that my generation complained about the state of the planet and did nothing to change it. – Pete Townshend

Politics is the art of controlling your environment. – Hunter S. Thompson

Rove & CarvilleThis, I told myself, was not going to be pleasant. A rainy, windswept late-spring evening on Manhattan Island ruined by a dismal assignment to “cover” the final brain flatus of two dying breeds, Karl Rove and James Carville, once giants in a field still very much inhabited by similar groaning creatures but the likes of which will rarely be seen again. Two middle-aged southern white men, whose claim to legacy is the achievement of other men’s dreams and, in weird unexplainable ways, doomed ideologies of bygone eras.

“Mach Shau!” my friend and colleague for the evening, Master Buzz exclaimed before we entered the main room of the still gloriously stunning Radio City Music Hall. This immediately lightened my mood, for I knew it as the clarion call of soused German audiences along the grimy stages of the Reeperbahn in early-sixties Hamburg.

Make Show.

Yes, and what of this “show”; a debate series of political misfits hurled at New York audiences for a price. It bordered on the obscene: Paying to see what is widely available from all ends 24/7 online and on cable television? It was not unlike those insidious live events staged with cartoon characters to pry the last dollars from guilty parents.

Entitled “Strategies, Alliances and Policy” and moderated by PBS’s Charlie Rose, the ruse unfurled a symposium air; properly attired set of comfortable chairs, dotted with bottles of designer water and a floral arrangement. By all outward appearances it was to be an educational evening of interesting anecdotes shared between celebrated rivals, but it was Buzz who noticed right away a terrible kind of misty funk about the place. I could only describe it as the scent of death. No one around us could smell it, but it was there; a rancid pall which might emanate from discarded carcasses left to rot in the midday sun. It was distracting but also strikingly clear. Rot, I told myself, don’t forget to tell the readers about the rot.

Soon Rose was behind the podium at stage right butchering what little notes he’d taken for the evening’s proceedings. He began strongly enough, but soon looked like a man stricken by confusion. We were sure the powerful odor had taken control of his senses, cracking his otherwise impenetrable professional facade. He tried to soldier on, but soon gave up, simply announcing the names of the men he was to moderate, hoping to Jesus the onerous stench would abate and allow him to conduct the business at hand.

Rove and Carville then emerged from the wings together, smiling and waving as if geeks in a traveling carnival. I winced at the sight. Buzz had to cover his face to keep from retching. I wanted to poke the gray-haired couple in front of us to see if what we were experiencing was also giving them this inexplicable bout of inertia. When I finally did, the woman’s head slumped forward, dangling awkwardly on the end of her spinal column. A young bearded man across from us gasped. I could tell he was not prepared for what was to come next.

I can only say that it was odd to see these men paraded out this way. I had been in the room with both of them before, watching Carville from afar at a Bill Bradley media junket in the summer of 1999 and almost a year later crammed in a hotel bar in Florida with the man behind our 43rd president, George W. Bush. That night Rove sported the impish grin of bloated cat with a tummy full of canary. Eight years before, Carville never looked unsure of his place in Americana while he was ramrodding Bill Clinton into the White House. But they now appeared sad, captured in a desperate plea to be loved, and finding only disdain. Apparently unaware of the horrors unfolding around them, the crowd cheered.

It was a pathetic display on all counts and spoke volumes about these men and what they do and what they stand for in the grand scheme of America or its voting public.

Half-expecting a hooded executioner brandishing a battle-axe to follow them to center stage, I kept thinking; Why would they do such a thing? Hasn’t everything both of them hold dear on The Right & The Left been shattered by the political events of the past year? Carville’s beloved Clinton Machine beaten severely by the process and rejected outright with no hint of honor and Rove’s eight-year reign summarily mocked, debased, and sent out of the Big Town riding high on the dreaded rail?

Shit, Rove re-invented Republicanism by politicizing the entire executive branch of the federal government, while Carville orchestrated a series of improbable comebacks for a morally bankrupt sociopath. Both are pundit darlings now; Rove guests on FOXNEWS and pens a predictably smarmy column for the Wall Street Journal, Carville squeaks in when he can on CNN and MSNBC, taking cab fare and cheap bottles of wine for speaking engagements.

Only four minutes into the exercise told us the answer. Rove, dressed like an actuary in a gleaming power-suit and clutching a thick notebook of charts, graphs and stats, he immediately began defending his president’s unmatched series of incomprehensible mishaps, while Carville laughed in his barely coherent Cajun style, throwing his hands up and yawping spastically. Rove became obsessed with “protecting the country after 9/11”, and Carville equally obsessed with two terms of “peace and prosperity”. Rove crowed on about the “shifting trends” of the opening century and Carville whined incessantly about Katrina.

None of the subjects, save Rose’s blithe inclusion of the new nominee for the Supreme Court, which had been rolled out only hours before, concentrated on the present. With the exception of one segment, when both guests, reeling from the terrible realization that they’d both passed their effectiveness as human beings, began to assess the Youth Vote for the next generation.

When faced with having stayed at the circus too long, Carville stammered on about how neither Barack Obama’s electric campaign nor the internet had as much to do with the now Golden Age of Liberalism as the failure of Republicans or a Democratic Party imprimatur. Rove did nothing to explain how his plan to rule Washington for decades turned into a terminal dismantling of the modern Republican Party.

It was a pathetic display on all counts and spoke volumes about these men and what they do and what they stand for in the grand scheme of America or its voting public. It was never about “the economy stupid” or “compassionate conservativism”, “supporting the troops” or “mounting a defense against a Vast Right Wing conspiracy”. It was about looking like the winner, no matter the circumstance. It was, as it will always be for the powerbroker: What did I sweat and bleed for? Was it worth it? Was it what I wanted? And was it ever going to be any better for me again?

By the time protests began to rage in the audience, it all seemed staged and predictable, as if the former vice president were suddenly a media darling trying in vein to appear relevant again.

At least someone still thinks these men matter.

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The Sins Of Pakistan

Aquarian Weekly 5/27/09 REALITY CHECK

THE SINS OF PAKISTAN How Sovereignty & Absinthe Will Defeat The Taliban Once & For All

A victory in the fight against terrorism is in fact a guarantee for the security and protection of our coming generations. – Pakistani Prime Minsiter Yusuf Raza Gilani

It has been a dormant fifteen days since I emerged from the dark voodoo-drenched tanks in the black heart of the French Quarter, where One For The Roadnow instead of begging the kitchen help for sweet absinthe, one can purchase a glass over the bar for eighteen American, complete with a tourist-seducing fire show. Traditionally, the French frown on such activities, but this has never stopped me from blazing my own goodly share of sugarcane, and as it turned out the lovely barkeep at the Old Absinthe House on the Rue de Bourbon hailing from the suburbs “just north of Paris” exhibited the right accent and deft of wrist to best apply the ice water where needed. These flashpoints from hazy days lost in New Orleans may appear random to the untrained eye, until one realizes from time to time you need companionship when summoning the Green Fairy, and I have been blessed over the years with many a hale and hearty volunteer, but on this night it happened to be an Italian accountant from Brooklyn, NY and a former member of the Israeli Defense Force by way of Manhattan.

The accountant had come less for the wormwood than the music, as did my dearest brother-in-arms, Buzz and his engagingly erudite woman, both of whom had stayed at the hotel after weird vibrations from deceased authors took hold. This could not be properly explained then and I shall respect this edict now. As for my new Israeli friend, he was happy to discuss his mandatory “three-year duty” but was not as forthcoming about the sordid details of the World’s Finest Fighting Force, however we both agreed on two very important points; the drink and the company were pretty fine and the Pakistan Army will crush the Taliban and speedily make nice what the U.S. military and its befuddled intelligentsia have screwed royally in the deserts of Iraq. This, we also agreed, would bring about serious and debilitating setbacks to the misguided clusterfuck that represents the radical Islamic revolution against the Saudi Empire and its benefactors, Uncle Sam.

This may be a lot to digest in two paragraphs, but there is no sane way to quickly describe being half out of one’s head on finely distilled Roquette 1797 while confronting the kind of naked truths best kept hidden from “normal” Bourbon Street revelers. Yes, my friend assured me, the Pakistani Army would not only expunge the rag-tag revolutionary horde from its Afghanistan border, but also “gut the entire operation” – again, I reminded him, a job we failed to accomplish seven long years ago.

Leave it up to the Experienced Intelligence Community in the District of Columbia to wonder how a trained fighting force, familiar with the enemy – since most of them were created by the Pakistan government to combat the ever-present threat of neighboring India – can be properly motivated.

We agreed once more that after enjoying a three-to-one ratio of men and ten-to-one in arms and cash, the highly motivated Pakistani forces will win the day, but alas fail to find Osama bin Laden among the defeated, for he has long been slain, dismembered and carefully planted along the mountainous region to keep the terrible Western Devil from apprehending him like a common criminal; de-liced on cable television and sent to the gallows like his sworn enemy, Saddam Hussein. But they will find hundreds of acres of poppy growth and chemical plants feeding the western world its taste of the Brown Master or H or as the physicists call it, diacetylmorphine. It is better known to the rest of us as Heroin.

While Pakistan hails the United States as its most cherished ally in the pursuit of “radical militants”, their enemy hails the same country as one of its best customers. It is the export of heroin that built the Taliban in the first place, not the oft-cited dedication to the Qur’an or any half-baked Jihad or parades of virgins awaiting the fallen in the afterlife. No, it’s the glorious god poppy that has put them on the map and sent them foolishly into battle with a nation heretofore obsessed with the dangers of their Hindu neighbors in India.

Not surprising, our half-assed “dismantling” of the original Taliban has reared its ugly head again, but not as surprising, even with a new commander-in-chief aboard, is the U.S.’s critique of Pakistan for “not being proactive enough in battling militants who are launching attacks from a swath of tribal areas”, despite, of course, the $10 billion handed over to former U.S. puppet, Pervez Musharraf to dick around like an Anglo-aristocrat for most of the last decade. Now he is gone, under suspicion of conspiracy to murder and other formally forgivable sins, as his successors are left to play the no-mercy IDF game. Musharraf predictably claims this will “backfire”, but anyone on the ground with any real experience with desert fighters disagree.

I learned back on ’96 to trust a member of the IDF when it came to not fucking around. This is the credo I made clear to my contacts at the Jerusalem Post in October of 2001 when I received several and varied e-mails fingering Iraq as the “bankrolling of 9/11 and the single most crucial target” in the terrorist vengeance jag we were all going to be on for the next few years. And I assured my new friend that not one of those journalists were from Texas, as he assured me that when a nation is put on alert to a gang of religious marauders breathing down its fractious democratic sovereignty, there is no use diddling around with the vagaries of an “exit strategy”. Leave it up to the Big Bad White House Chess Club to deconstruct a country defending its capitol and its nuclear arsenal.

Leave it up to the Experienced Intelligence Community in the District of Columbia to wonder how a trained fighting force, familiar with the enemy – since most of them were created by the Pakistan government to combat the ever-present threat of neighboring India – can be properly motivated.

Just the same, New Orleans is far enough away from Washington and something resembling reality to offer a more complete view of how things will go now that people who have a real stake beyond oil and strategic allies are in charge of this War On Terror. All one has to do is ask the statue of Andrew Jackson set in a vast park at the north end of The Quarter, a testament to what a motivated fighting unit can do when its cities are on the brink.

It was, however, more than an epiphany to realize all of America’s most cherished goals for most of the 21st Century’s first bloody decade has centered on crushing this so-called al Qaeda by way of the Taliban, somewhat sidetracked by the Iraq War and the gory circus hatched on the Middle East. But we were stupid and naïve then, a tough combination when dealing with Naked Truths, whether hyped up on a Euro liquid dream stomper on a balmy Friday night by the mighty Mississippi or rolling out field maps for the Pentagon Press.

Turns out Commander Bush had it right before 9/11; let the damned desert people figure this thing out for themselves.

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Obama At The Century Mark

Aquarian Weekly 5/6/09 REALITY CHECK

THE CENTURY MARK Joe Cool’s Honeymoon Epilogue

We have ten fingers and ten toes, therefore we make its denominations our benchmark; a decade, a century, a millennium, etc. But it wasn’t until FDR that we are now expected to judge the honeymoon period of a new president by his first 100 days. Okay, but when you consider that the last guy’s entire two terms hung on the events of 9/11/01, which happened long after the first 100 days, it tends to dilute its significance. However, in my lifetime alone the first 100 days have proven noteworthy. Jimmy Carter and Bill Clinton had lousy first 100 days; the former never recovered, but the latter learned valuable lessons, rallied, and hung around to be re-elected. Hard to argue with either Lyndon Johnson’s or Ronald Reagan’s success in their first 100 days, then you remember Viet Nam and the economic collapse of 1982 and it dilutes them. So, in the interest of proper pundit decorum, where does Joe Cool stand after his century mark?

New Sheriff In TownBy any count, Barack Hussein Obama has been virtually unstoppable. He has already engineered the largest federal stimulus package in the nation’s history and in the process completely neutered the opposing party, while managing to balance his approval ratings in the sixties — not to mention his personal meter, which remains in the stratosphere. People love this guy. They love his youth, exuberance, his wife and family, his dog and the near butler-like penchant to please. They like that he isn’t like the last guy, or really any guy who has held the office. He even apologizes for dumb shit and humbly passes the credit for popular moves to his subordinates.

But he has not apologized for being liberal. No, sir. He promised it during the election and has come hard on nearly fifty years of post-war liberal agenda from healthcare to energy reform to government oversight. Change is flying all over the place. I recalled last week what a Republican insider told me after Captain Shoo-In finally wrested the presidency away from his opponent; “In six months, you won’t recognize this place.” He was right, and here’s something he may also agree with: It is getting harder each day to believe there ever was a President George W. Bush.

Oh, things haven’t been all that politically sunny. There were major screw-ups in cabinet appointments and several embarrassing kick-starts to the crack economic team, not to mention weird things abroad, but the air around Washington has gone from lockdown paranoia to a drunken spending spree of love and hope, and whether it all amounts to gangbusters or plain bust does not erase the 100-Day Sprint, which has come up gold for the new guy.

Unfortunately for his detractors, feces-hitting-fan won’t happen for sometime. But fear not, it will happen. It has to. No deficit can be this bloated and not sink something somewhere. Mass foreclosures are coming. Nasty doings in Pakistan are on the way. The auto industry is weeks from completely imploding. More partisan ugliness and party in fighting is definitely afoot. But for now it is wine & roses. Feds say the economy is beginning to show signs, and unless there is a major attack on this nation, then these first 100 days, whether fairly or not, will be determined by its health.

He has come to play with an odd combination of grace and muscle; the dexterity of a ballet dancer and the brutal force of a steroid-addled wrestler. It has been a tough act to impede, and it shows no signs of slowing.

There are those, and they are in the minority presently, that believe it less risky to wage war all over the place on Chinese loans than raising the tax rate three percent to prop up the banking system. They have had their say and if things continue to go badly or come up for air and then tank again, they will have their day once more. But for now, they are in the wilderness.

Case in point: One Arlen Specter, the 29-year senator from Pennsylvania, knows a good escape hatch when he sees it. He has decided to ceremoniously hitch his wagon to the winning team, knowing that local squeakers in state primaries pale in comparison to steamrollers in the national headquarters. Specter came in with The Gipper. He knows good Mojo. So he jumps the sinker for a shot at The Win. He wants to stay a senator and he doesn’t care who knows it. He doesn’t lie about his sexuality to stay around or give big speeches about morality. He wants a clear road to victory and cannot see it as a Republican anymore. Fair enough. Joe Lieberman had a similar revelation two years ago, went all independent, and then decided to sharpen his hawk talons. But he was sent back to the Democrats with a whipped tail between his legs never to be heard from again.

Soon the Democrats will have a filibuster-proof 60 strong in the Senate and continue to stranglehold the congress. The man at the top, for all the talk about his inability to lead from day one has hit the ground in a full-flail, throwing everything everywhere, and making it look like an evening stroll. He has come to play with an odd combination of grace and muscle; the dexterity of a ballet dancer and the brutal force of a steroid-addled wrestler. It has been a tough act to impede, and it shows no signs of slowing.

History tells us the storm clouds are coming. They always do. Things are tough now, but most of the bad stuff was cobbled together by someone else over a long stretch. Right now the “Not My Doing” chant works. Soon the bad smell will end up on him, as it does with all the guys in the Big Chair, and that is usually when the mettle is tested and the pudding bares proof.

I agree with conservative columnist, David Brooks when he said the other day that Obama has bitten off more than anyone could chew and that always leads to choking. But after 100 days with the majority of the public and the legislative branch of the federal government in his back pocket and a crippling economic crisis filling his sails, he’s come up aces. It is the pinnacle of civic chest-thumping — a political juggernaut whose shit has yet to stink.

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Last Words On U.S. Torture

Aquarian Weekly 4/29/09 REALITY CHECK

LAST WORDS ON THE UNITED STATES OF TORTURE

As usual, everyone has this torture thing wrong. The Right conveniently paints it as “special tactics to ensure security” and The Left predictably sees it as “indefensible war crimes”. GitmoThese simple designations have not changed in the nearly eight years that have passed since The Jihad came home to Lower Manhattan. All the denials by the Bush Administration to last week’s release of “classified memos” dealing with a host of rough-and-tumble action on the coastline of Cuba has added up to a spectacular load of shit. As is the subsequent shock, outrage, and surprise we express when faced with the inevitable truths of existence. But we’re all entitled to our opinions and our perspectives, but not so much entitled to our own facts.

Let’s get at least one of these inconvenient facts settled; this idea that the United States is above anything nasty and underhanded in the realm of warfare or just about all else one can conjure up is living a wondrous fantasy someone, maybe your school teachers, your church, your parents, or a radio talk show host has led you to believe.

No worries. This is why I’m here.

Time to curb your flag-waving Pollyanna for July 4, and leave the rest to the people who made the revolution possible. It helps take the edge off.

You know how hard it is to maintain Power status when you’ve been hit in the kisser by the Little Guy and then spend all your time and energy avenging it, only to come up broke and weakened by the terrible truth that you ain’t all that Big and you’re days may indeed be numbered? I have seen it from the playgrounds to the halls of governance. It is not pretty. And it never produces anything close to good feelings or sober responses. Humans who have felt the smooth brilliance of the Brass Ring slip off a digit tend to practice the art of crazy.

The whole notion of torturing human beings for information or a deterrent to future terrorist activities are dime-store rationalizations for the insatiable need to inflict a pound of flesh for one surrendered. It is brutally feral and a unique insight into our more bitter demons, something we have nourished like our yearning to breathe free lo these two-plus centuries. It is no more a tactic as it is for the bully in class to take your own fist and punch you repeatedly in the face, reciting the beloved query; “Why are you hitting yourself?”

Moreover, this is a nation built on the primacy of the human spirit to make one’s decisions free from the judgment of someone else’s parameters; Live & Let Live, Power To The People, Let Freedom Ring. This is a country like none other in the annals of civilization in that the rugged individualist can pursue the dreams and aspirations of what he/she strives to accomplish on his/her own merits, damned be the naysayers and full speed ahead.

We are the world’s drug; the true opiate of the masses. We’re the dangerously mercurial lover that is untrustworthy and vindictive, but so goddamned fun.

This brings me to the second and most vitally undeniable fact: Anyone signing onto a Holy War as a martyr deluxe does so with the understanding that they are not only expected to be tortured, but hopefully die in the process. That is the very definition of religious martyr. This is their sole and divine purpose. Everyone needs a Pontius Pilate to help nudge along the destiny. It is a simple Yin/Yang equation. The world at large, certainly the United States, didn’t demand that these people choose this route. It is not our place as a society or its government to deny them their goals, especially if they are doing so under their own free will, a marvelous concept protected and heralded by our forefathers and branded in word and deed for 233 glorious years.

This, of course, includes freedom to worship without hindrance. Spirituality is a funny thing; it cannot be and should not be defined. The mysteries are deep and we as an evolved and rational people need to accept this. Some go a-churchin’, some fast, some get out rugs and pray, others run around with signs or pump fists, and then there are those who go in for the hardcore theology, The Jihad. Strict Freudians call this Playing For Keeps.

Understandably, it is hard for an occasional weekend worshiper to comprehend the expanding soul of the religious extremist, no matter what the faith. These are the True Believers who use this life to attain the mystical Part II, because somewhere along the line Part I has either failed them or someone possessing enough charm has convinced them of this. It is the ticket they purchase to be part of the international mischief making. Suicide is like chocolate ice cream to these people. They have no sense of what else exists beyond The Mission. These types of creatures have given up anything resembling our empathy and certainly given up the scant refuge of The Law or what you and me dabbling in the real world might call Rights.

This is the trade off for the Holy Freedom Fighter. They want to bleed, suffer and die. Their dreams are something akin to Mel Gibson’s: Gore = Salvation. This doesn’t change when they’re busted and out of options. Religious conviction is above The Law. It is beyond our notion of Rights. It is The Truth and it will set one free, or so it goes.

So let’s stop thinking that there is anything we can do to “help” those who sign on to mass murder in a blaze of self-mutilation for a place in heaven. They don’t need to be saved. That is condescending patronization of the most elitist order.

If anything, the idea that we’re still talking about these people in the present tense is remarkable. I made the tidy suggestion seven years or so ago that we should have led them into the desert and have them dig their own graves and then shoot them. We have denied them their place in the Great Hall of Lunatics, and there is no telling what price we shall pay to The Lord God when the final screed is read, but enough about existential madness.

The very notion that we hide from enacting vengeance and mayhem on mutants is sad and unnecessary. Whom are we trying to impress? The UN? Amnesty International? Green Peace? Bono?

Look, I have belonged to, given cash to, and worked for Amnesty International for decades. I support the freeing of artists, writers, spiritual leaders, and all other oppressed peoples across this miserable globe, but not one of these individuals have overtly positioned themselves as terrorists, despite whatever despotic regime dubs them so.

The rest are up for grabs; torture, death, you name it.

If I were a card-carrying Jihadist, I’d expect nothing less.

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Dawn Of The Ice Age

Aquarian Weekly 4/15/09 REALITY CHECK

DAWN OF THE ICE AGE

When we remember we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained. – Mark Twain

High & MightyThere is currently a heated debate on the direction of U.S. foreign policy following our president’s whirlwind European/Middle East tour; much of it regurgitated miasma from ideological handbook recital. The ultra-right wing yelps about appeasement and weakness while calling for reactionary aggressiveness, the super-left wants open forums, troop withdrawals, and a denouncing of anything approaching a tough tactic, and the poor moderates can’t decide if we have ourselves a polished statesman or a half-assed apologist. No matter. This is the fact: The United States of America is a bankrupt nation under a mountain of debt decaying from a dying economy with a weakened military and little to no credibility on the world stage. We make nothing and we can’t fight wars anymore, our two most lasting attributes for most of the last century. Our options are few and most of them are not pleasant.

It’s nice of everyone to chime in as it was for Joe Cool to glide effortlessly between diplomacy, as he did when discussing opening relations with Iran, and displaying stiff rhetoric after North Korea played their every-three-years-please-look-at-us card. But let’s face it; what do we really have to offer the rest of the world right now? Our dollar stinks, our property is under-valued and we’re on the dole. We’re into the better part of a decade fighting god-knows-what in third world countries and the guy who actually hit us is still at large, although as stated here since late 2001 is probably stone dead.

It’s not the best hand to play during international summits.

This is why nobody digs our global stimulus chicanery nor is too keen on buying into another big troop build-up on the Pakistan border. Sure, this is a new guy, but it’s the same brand; loud and proud with nothing to back it up — no money, no balls, and a track record of shitty intelligence and even shittier battle execution. We’re like a once unbeatable heavyweight champ whose time in the ring ran too long; slow punches and even slower reflexes, a ghostly image of greatness staggering through the final sad exhibition.

It is time to rebuild, not go around demanding this and reprimanding that. And part of the rebuilding comes and goes with what’s happening abroad. It’s a global economy now. Pulling in the oars and ignoring everyone else is no longer an option. And in almost every way fathomable we are in no position to advise military restraint or fiscal responsibility, and we cannot with a straight face make anymore veiled attempts at engaging in another in an agonizing series of “evil axis” rants when we’re into a tyrannical communist regime for $500 billion.

We are the world’s drug; the true opiate of the masses. We’re the dangerously mercurial lover that is untrustworthy and vindictive, but so goddamned fun.

But this is also bad news for the rest of the planet, which we have propped up like straw man for a long time, some say too long — purchasing too much crap and visiting too many miserable places and sending our best scientists and technological engineers all over the place to run things. We send a fuselage of cash and provisions nearly every time some starving nation is on the brink and lord knows we offer up our fighting forces every time some crackpot pisses off the U.N.

The party’s over folks, or it should be, but you know it isn’t. We can’t stand not being bold and the rest of the spinning sphere wouldn’t know what to do without leaning on us or hating us. They need it. We are the world’s drug; the true opiate of the masses. We’re the dangerously mercurial lover that is untrustworthy and vindictive, but so goddamned fun.

But enough of the hackneyed metaphors, we’re more than happy to play along and pretend to still have the moves, send our brand-new young and hip president to thrash together the odd syllable and appear as if we’re still in the game. Shit, all he’s done is bow to the Saudi King, he didn’t hold hands and tip toe through the tulips like the last guy or send Americans to die blowing up countries like his daddy. But we will shut down the torture chambers, sort of, and make inroads to treat the Iranian menace with something approaching respect. We’ll even get off the high horse and begin to take stock of our decades of silly transcontinental chess matches and put our own house in order.

How this will happen is anyone’s guess. Maybe outlaw investment banking or sell the rest of our bonds to Euro-trash skinheads. We could stop this ridiculous embargo against Cuba and legalize drugs so we can partner up with the Taliban. Watch how fast we have allies when they see our insatiable gorging of recreational pharmaceuticals. War on Terror, over and out.

But alas, we’re not in the solving business here. We proudly hail from the Part Of The Problem wing. We point out how things went awry and how best to run from it. This is why we welcome the new voices of the “unpatriotic” like the former vice president and whatever bleating troll is speaking for Newt Gingrich these days. And we’d also like to welcome to the other side a new member of the dissidence team, Karl Rove, who after decades of trying to silence our hobbies is now ejaculating his barely coherent twaddle for buck or two. Good for you, Karl. Good for all of you.

Our tent is large in Radical Avenue. Pull up a stool, gentlemen, there’s plenty of room. Let’s just lay off all this “we must handle ” and “we must fight” goofiness. Those days are over, or not — like the purported slicing of the military budget that bloats four percent. We’re also tightening our belts here at The Desk, cutting our energy budget by raising our beer consumption ten percent.

See you in hell.

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G-20 Summit Protest Riots Reviewed

Aquarian Weekly 4/8/09 REALITY CHECK

ANARCHY IN THE U.K. G-20 Summit Sends The Euro-Masses A-Riotin’

Nothing jacks my adrenaline like a good old-fashioned protest riot. Some of my favorite moments in TV viewing had to be the near orgasmic Rodney King mayhem of 1992, where police brutality met economic inequities in a king-hell blowout worthy of slick ’round the clock coverage. Dancin' In The StreetsIt made the Watts riots a generation earlier look like the Easter Parade. But ’92 turned out to be a weak year for anarchic spectacles when compared to the wild century-closing festivities of 1999, which managed to produce two absolute doosies; the spastically delightful eruption of teen angst at Woodstock III, where an exploited youth culture invented by TV and cola later described as “the crass commercialization of music and nudity” sparked an arson’s paradise, and who could forget the weirdly cross-ideological WTO street theater that made a war zone of Seattle.

I wrote about all three of those “happenings”, two of them in this space. Mostly, the pieces mocked the entire idea of getting that angry over outrageously-priced bottled water or finding enough armed solidarity to topple international free-trade agreements, but I must admit against the better judgment I have left that I get teary when I see kids heaving objects through windows or yanking people from their cars and beating them with baseball bats. There is a certain type of romanticism to the grouping of irate misanthropes taking on “the establishment” that gets to me, like Jesus riding the crazies from the Galilee into Jerusalem to “bring a sword, not peace” or Che Guevara telling the UN the seeds of revolution grow like weeds upon imperial corruption.

So, I get horny when I hear “The whole world is watching!” from the 1968 savage assault upon college kids by Chicago cops at the Democratic Convention? Sue me.

This week, the G-20 Summit, aka the planet’s industrial masters of naked power and pecuniary foot stomping met to decide our fate. The usual transpired; Russia acted as if it still mattered, Saudi Arabia toed the tricky line between atavistic war lording and the 21st century glad hand. China complained, Japan winced, and the German/French annoy-alliance pitched minor fits. Joe Cool and his wife pissed off the royals, made with the tight-lipped diplomacy and tried to extricate the United States from the cowboy thumb-nose mantra of the past eight years. But the real story was happening on the streets of London where every lunatic from Prague to Belfast rolled up their collective sleeve for a time-honored fuselage of wig-out.

More times than not firings have a greater affect than actual fire.

It’s just not as much fun.

As stated in last week’s ramble, there is little else in the realm of human fury that rankles the masses quite like the rich and powerful getting all pomp in their finery deciding if they’ll allow us to still have a civilization. This becomes especially galling after a good year and a half of rapacious drunken regurgitation of whatever may be left of free market capitalism. It’s the kind of thing that sometimes ends in Tea Parties or powdered heads filling Guillotines, but never without at least a little torch wielding and fist pumping chants by a motivated mob made up of the had-it-with-everything set.

Normally any meeting of powerbrokers brings the pain for the gaudy numbers of have-nots that can attract a march or two. This comes in handy during wartime, which is always going on somewhere, and specifically when grossly abundant nations have to hear about starvation in India and AIDS in Africa, atrocities aplenty in half of the third world, and whatever nonsense the Iranians or Venezuelans are cooking up. However, when the world economy is crumbling beneath an avalanche of fraud and greed and those who have sunk us are lighting their cigars with taxpayer sweat, anything called the Group of Twenty Finance Ministers and Central Bank Governors is going to rile up even the most apathetic bystander.

By the time of this writing the property damage is rising and the arrests pour in. There has been one mysterious death, but that could happen at a Manchester football match, so whose counting? The pictures and video are good, though. Most of the really hardcore mania has made its way via cell phone jorunalists onto YouTube. There is even a poll to see if the damage rivals the French labor uprising of April, 2006. But it has to be rigged, because no one takes to the streets to make bloody rumble like the French.

But mass hysteria, while it has its place in the arena of entertainment, really doesn’t amount to a hill of beans in the world of big nation building and high finance. The beautiful people shan’t see the goofiness, and even if they happen to catch a few seconds on the BBC, they can switch it off like the rest of us. “It’s nice that people want to be involved,” they will snicker, “but the really important decisions have to be made in a vaccum.”

This is why our president was not screwing around when he whacked the CEO of GM before boarding Air Force One to leap the pond. He had to show muscle, become the voice of the people, show the rest of the world that although we are a country of gambling addicts forced to bring everyone down with us, this is no bottomless pit. The end is coming one way or the other, a fact made much clearer by the returning of $353 million in federal bailout funds by eight American banks late in the week.

More times than not firings have a greater affect than actual fire.

It’s just not as much fun.

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Populist Outrage Oh-Nine

Aquarian Weekly 4/1/09 REALITY CHECK

OUTRAGE SQUARED Pitch Forks & Torches, La Spring Chic

Anger is not an argument. -Daniel Webster

A.I.G.Outrage is cheap currency these days. Cheaper still then in late 2004 when it appeared as if all critical decisions at the State Department were being made by lab chimps and the Pentagon was leaking lysergamides. Now it’s a full-out poll-to-poll pogrom on both the rich and powerful and the poor and disenfranchised. Bankers to welfare moms, stockbrokers to inside traders are all on the block. This president, the last president, this congress and the last one, the Treasury secretary to the chairman of the Federal Reserve are all suspects. We’re pissed; pissed at ourselves, at capitalism and socialism, at do-nothing politicians and do-to-much politicians. We want stuff fixed but we don’t want to pay for it, all the while demanding a strange mutation of regulatory freedom. But most of all we don’t know whom to skewer first and why.

This is the American trip. We’ve been here before in too many incidents with too many origins to mention. I would say it’s less an American thing than a human trip – to want everything and for someone else to make it happen – but since I’m an American, I will be glad to represent.

I hear outrages every day from every corner of colleague to friend to passerby. I hear it on the radio and on TV and read it in the newspapers and online. Some of it is well founded and should be expressed, as it was in the 2008 elections. Almost anyone paying attention understood that the overwhelming reason for Barack Obama’s victory as well as the Republican trouncing on Capitol Hill, although not the only one, was the tanking economy. Elected officials were hardly the only guilty parties. Huge lending institutions, Wall St., greedy insurance firms, disingenuous mortgage companies, pie-eyed consumers and insatiable borrowers are all to blame for what can now be pretty accurately described as the deepest economic downturn most of us have ever seen.

But outrage is a fickle bitch goddess. It’s like the morning dew. It settles on roses as it settles on dog shit. As is our wont here at the Reality Check News & Information Desk, we concentrate on the dog shit.

Let’s begin with almost all of the punditry outrage, which is an interesting hodgepodge of the uninformed, the half-baked and the plain idiotic, ie; former Clinton advisor and present mudslinger, Dick Morris asserting there is a conspiracy within the present administration to nationalize the banks by having the toxic-asset plan fail so the need for the teat of government kindness will be in vogue. Then there is The Nation’s Katrina vanden Heuvel calling for the disgraced criminal ex-governor, Eliot Spitzer to take over the Treasury Department. Fuck it. If we’re going in the Ann Coulter bin for crazy grandstanding, why not pardon Bernie Madoff, yank him out of maximum security and have him run the U.S. Treasury. In these troubled times, who’s made more money than Madoff?

Democracy? What a sham that is. You know what fuels democracy? Money. Know why we even live in a so-called democracy? Money. You know why we won the Cold War over a decaying concept of 19th century communism? Not moral fortitude or guts or American know-how, and certainly not any doddering fossil like Ronald Reagan. It was money. We had it, the Soviet Union didn’t. Game. Set. Match.

And really, that’s what most of this outrage is about. Money. And why not? What’s more important than currency, property and assets? Nothing – not religion, family, love, sex, drugs, mom, apple pie or goddamned baseball. This is why for six long years I argued against every goody-two-shoes on both sides of the ideological aisle that wiping out half the Middle East and sending people to die for oil was far more a salient purpose than spreading democracy. Democracy? What a sham that is. You know what fuels democracy? Money. Know why we even live in a so-called democracy? Money. You know why we won the Cold War over a decaying concept of 19th century communism? Not moral fortitude or guts or American know-how, and certainly not any doddering fossil like Ronald Reagan. It was money. We had it, the Soviet Union didn’t. Game. Set. Match.

I get correspondence to this space daily on the usual falderal that angers people, not the least of which is all the psychopathic abandon this country has enacted all over the globe for a century. And not one of these atrocities, mistakes or even triumphs happen without money – solvent, liquid, hard capital.

This is why your federal government is taking your tax dollars, which is the bedrock of this fancy democracy, and throwing it around like a soused sailor on leave. Without all of this money, there is no government representing the people, who are then out on their asses, left to pitch dime store Christianity and social injustice overboard for a burka and a Qur’an.

Why do you think the president has gone on what can only be described by the sane among us as a Brangelina-level media junket. The Tonight Show, 60 Minutes, ESPN, town hall tours, special hit-and-run prime-time press conferences, a friggin’ op-ed in 30 major newspapers across the globe, Joe Cool has gotten in front of this thing, putting a likable face to a mass fiduciary tourniquet, something the congress not only lacks but willfully destroys.

What has Nancy Pelosi done that has not circumvented the White House at every turn? Churning populace fodder out of daily angst, like dragging the CEO of A.I.G. into the chamber for a Roger Clemens time-wasting lynching or heading this unconstitutional wrist-slapping 90% taxation on further corporate bonuses, which literally had the president, a constitutional lawyer, laughing like a school girl on national television more than once. Not to mention the shameless fan dance House members – led by poster boy for bad loan central, Barney Frank – unfurled in the face of Treasury Secretary Tim Geithner and Fed Chairman Ben Bernanke, the former of whom makes less sense than a shock-treatment outpatient and the latter of whom continues to illustrate his spectacular lack of reasoning by telling the American public he wished to sue A.I.G. for disgraceful bonuses when the company had every right to proffer them.

Lord knows I do not begrudge outrage. I’d skip like a giddy schoolgirl if some proactive miscreant were to extricate the CEO of Cablevision from his post with a butterfly net and a polo mallet, but where would that get us? It’s just not constructive.

Our best bet right now is to bury our remaining funds in the backyard, barricade the environs, and wait for the carnivorous fiends who put us here to clear out the mire. They always do, and we always pay, and there’s always another buck down the line.

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The Great Leap Of Faith

Aquarian Weekly 3/4/09 REALITY CHECK

THE GREAT LEAP OF FAITHGovernment For The People And By The People Buys The People Economics

The social science concerned chiefly with description and analysis of the production, distribution and consumption of goods and services. – Webster’s Dictionary

Economics is the science which studies human behaviour as a relationship between ends and scarce means which have alternative uses. – Lionel Robbins

I think I coulda landed on a dime. I really do. – Evel Knievel

No KiddingAfter a mere 35 days in office, the president of the United States placed his nearly two-year, almost robotically orchestrated rise to power on the slimmest of reeds. There Barack Obama stood, defiantly confident in front of a joint session of congress, scaling the most ambitious mountain of far-reaching, nut-crunching populace agenda this nation has seen in close to a century. With the dexterous oratorical skills that put him there, he stomped the terra with the unflinching audacity of a man backed by a 70% approval rating facing down the seemingly unstoppable implosion of the free market system. In the malleable parlance of political analysis, this was a Whiz-Bang rousing yawp, part ego-stroking patriotic nonsense artfully mixed with a parental-like scolding, topped off with the obligatory schmaltz needed to bring it all home. Indeed, this is the rise-to-the-occasion candidate nearly 60% of the country voted for, hitting the high notes, working the room, kicking the ass.

But no one, least of all Barack Obama, can argue that financially manipulating a crisis, stopping the bleeding, and halving the deficit simultaneously is anything more than a gamble; it is more likely the political equivalent of Evel Knievel, a rocket, and Snake River Canyon.

Forget the economic future, near or far, it is bad and about to get worse, and when it returns to something approaching normalcy it will forever deconstruct the way we do business, buy stuff, sell stuff, make stuff, and cheat the tax man for decades to come. All of this has nothing to do with speeches and bills and congress or the president. It never has and it never will. It is about biting off more than one can chew, and even a child will tell you this leads more times than not to choking.

Money problems, be they debt, investment, purchasing or selling of goods, has two ways to roll, throwing more money at it, or ignoring it and letting it do what money does. The latter theory has brought us here, to the brink.

Doing nothing can sometime be as serious a crime as doing too much in the realm of governance. Two of the worst presidents in our history live in infamy for lack of action; James Buchanan, who floundered around as a bumbling caretaker while the country plunged towards Civil War and Herbert Hoover, who managed to deftly rephrase “Let them eat cake” all the way into the Great Depression.

However, history is also littered with examples of governments doing something working in the adverse. Take the recently doomed Bush Doctrine of restructuring the Middle East in the form of faux democracy, an outsourcing of ideology that has tanked in every century since the keeping of records. It turned out, as predicted by anyone using a fair portion of their brain, to be a spectacular bust and sucked the president and his band of cronies into a political quagmire in which they were never again able to emerge.

Even if civilization evolves by government intervention as in our aforementioned Civil War, there is likely a mass of blood, destruction of property, plundering of fortune, and decades of fallout in which to deal.

It is important to point out that although this current economic meltdown is without refute a crisis more threatening than any terrorist attack, nowhere in the annals of objective descriptions regarding the concepts of economics does the word “government” appear; to find this anomaly one most head to political manifestos. Yet, in the checkered history of the civilized world, there are countless examples of governments mucking around in “the social science of production, distribution and consumption”. This is tantamount to governments jamming its business into all “the human behavior” as well, be it personal, sexual, racial, familial, etc. In almost all cases, okay, let’s be honest, in all cases things go badly. Even if civilization evolves by government intervention as in our aforementioned Civil War, there is likely a mass of blood, destruction of property, plundering of fortune, and decades of fallout in which to deal.

But these are queer times. This is a president and a congress, Democrats-all, that have overwhelmingly taken power on the strains of an anti-rich, anti-deregulation, anti-greed, and anti-stupidity revolt. They have been given a blank check, a collective open-hand of goodwill from the majority of a republic desperate for The Turn-Around. This is their time, as it was for the Republicans after 9/11. In fact, it was the sum of the Republican reaction to 9/11 that put these people where they are. They know this. The American people have told them as much.

This is the same electorate which spoke clearly after 9/11, as Bush rightly pointed out in his last press conference; “Does anyone remember what things were like right after it happened? I do.” Vengeance and Jingoism ruled the day. It was not some kind of master plan by the commander-in-chief, as has been the sloppy history of revision. It was a clamor, loud and long, from every corner of this nation; to get the bastards, make them pay, show our pride and force and renew our sense of security. Why do you think a refined hippy like Hillary Clinton voted for all-out war, which doomed her run for the presidency eight years later? It was all the rage, that’s why.

And Recovery is all the rage now; the American people are screaming for these people who made all the speeches about saving our ass for over a year to DO SOMETHING! These will likely be the same people, and you can already hear them, that will be whining and crying when the whole thing goes belly-up. And it will go belly-up, because that’s what history tells us, even recent history that continues to perpetuate the myths that the New Deal saved the nation and that Ronald Reagan never raised taxes or ceased the bloating of the national budget any of the years he was in charge.

Maybe then the Republicans won’t look as silly as they do now, former spend-fiends thumbing their noses at every turn to appear a the genuine loyal opposition and sending a goober car-salesmen like Bobby Jindal before the public stammering on about “people” over “government” as if two-thirds of these “people” he speaks to aren’t already begging for a hand-out. Jindal, a political butter knife sent into in a mortar exchange, represents the very disconnect the Republicans have with the zeitgeist; “Let’s send the young, brown guy in to regurgitate the same tired falderal and we’re golden!”

But the Republicans no longer have a say. They are window-dressing. They fart into the gale and call it ideals. But their sad wander into the wilderness has just begun. This is all on the Democrats and Joe Cool now, and if it works, great, if not, it’s the shit house for the whole lot.

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Vox Stimuli

Aquarian Weekly 2/11/09 REALITY CHECK

VOX STIMULI

Are you taking over Or are you taking orders? Are you going backwards Or are you going forwards? – Joe Strummer

What is transpiring throughout the world economy is about survival now. It is not about ideology or theory or political one-upsmanship. There is no longer room for heroes, only villains. There certainly will not be any winners, only those left to tell the tale to future generations, who will no doubt repeat the same mistakes we have repeated. Pork It Up!But make no mistake about this; the time for claiming anything resembling victory or a shot at sainthood has passed. What is in front of us, as a nation, as a people, as a globe, is dire, immediate, and possibly devastating. Thus, what congress and the president of the United States currently propose, debate, and eventually put forth as a Stimulus/Recovery/Relief/Reconstruction whatever will either be nothing more than a band-aid on a hemorrhaging wound, a stop gap for deeper measures to come, or a complete reevaluation of the self-preserving concepts offered by a free market capitalist democracy.

In other words, this is some serious shit.

And when the Serious Shit comes, no one wants to hear about Political Capital or Fiscal Responsibility or Socialism or Earmarks or Staking Claim to Righteous Indignation or Blame. These are tools for historians and fodder for fence sitters. But even those on their lofty perch are down in the muck now. This is Go Time, folks. No one is exempt. It is the bottom of the ninth with two outs — the final set, the final match. For the government it is 9/11 all over again, only this time the enemy is not from without, but within. This is why I humbly propose that whatever bloated garbage has coagulated into our life-preserving Stimulus Bill by House Democrats be exposed, that names and earmarks be listed and collated, and ultimately impeachments handed out. Then, perhaps, if warranted, criminal charges levied.

Too harsh?

Has anyone bothered to notice the job loss numbers? Does anyone realize the ramifications of this imploding housing crisis or what is left of solvency on Wall St.? Does anyone remember what the word BANK means anymore?

The old rules no longer apply. We are through the looking glass. Twentieth Century thinking is debunked. Everything you have known and loved is shredded in an avalanche of desperation. Armageddon is for pikers. This is Apocalypse Now. Those in charge should act accordingly. Anything less deserves the stocks.

Picture if you will your house aflame and your frantic calls to the fire department. Then picture their arrival, and as they crash into your burning home, each proceeds to avail themselves of your valuables, as your children scream from the top floor and your very existence goes up in smoke. You are forced to sit and watch in horror as each firefighter tries to get his, while also deftly maneuvering to save themselves from the lapping tongues of fire.

This is a fair analogy of what we face today in Congress. This is why those who saw fit to save the day by adding a ridiculous amount of government pork and personal perks for their states to the tune of billions of tax dollars into what could very well be a fatal or emancipating bill must be expunged from office. We cannot have greedy, selfish future candidates festooning our lifeboat with vats of bilge, while desperate people cling to subsistence. It’s not personal or political. We are beyond that now. It is merely a matter of survival: Not Revenge For Eight Years Of Baby Bush or The Second Coming Of Clintonia. This is about willing applicants sent to Capitol Hill to make hard and binding decisions, but instead are fist fucking us into oblivion.

The old rules no longer apply. We are through the looking glass. Twentieth Century thinking is debunked. Everything you have known and loved is shredded in an avalanche of desperation. Armageddon is for pikers. This is Apocalypse Now. Those in charge should act accordingly. Anything less deserves the stocks.

This is the real deal now. All talk about irresponsible Republicans is true. It was true during the campaign and it remains so. But we put an end to all of that in November. We did not send Joe Cool to Washington to pussyfoot around with lifers. He’s there to take The Baptist’s blade and begin to cut at the weak roots, saving us from this insatiable mismanagement that has put us on the verge of collapse.

All the posturing by cretins like Nancy Pelosi, who suddenly thinks it is 1994 and she is Newt Gingrich decrying the stank of power mongering ideologs while slowly erecting the greatest abuses of fiscal sanity known to the modern world, has to be put in her place. There is nothing left for the New Regime to do now but take this screeching twat aside and make her beg for a crumb. She must be made example.

The Democrats didn’t win. Barack Obama did. They rode the coattails of Joe Cool into masking an 18 percent approval rating. Pelosi is, as is her Congress, a wretched failure. They ran in ’06 on stopping a “war” that still rages. Fuck her. Fuck Harry Reid. And fuck every goddamned Republican who tries to grandstand. Their way of doing things were run out of office on a rail. Oh, they’re day of final reckoning is nigh. Believe me, jack.

If this is the New Dawn in American politics, if there is to be a future around here, never mind Super Power, then there has to be pit bull tactics applied to our so-called legislative watchdogs.

Because, let’s face it folks, like it or not the only thing that stands from total and utter annihilation of our monetary system is the federal government. It is not 1982 or ’87 or 2002 or God helps us all, 1929. There are far more people now with far more wealth and property and far too many countries with their fingers in our pie to close borders or declare world wars or rebuild the government. This is about action of pre-Civil War proportions. This is about nationalism of either tyrannical measures or socialistic uprisings. Tax cuts? Bank loans? Bail outs? These are ships that have long left the harbor, never to return.

This is a new world order with and a new guy in charge and I demand he begin to kick the ass and take the names.

To his credit our president has done what the two previous dolts refused to do, and that is to go on every television network and claim responsibility for the pathetic series of nominations to his cabinet that culminated in the abortion known as Tom Daschle, whose credentials in the field of hypocrisy is now legendary. Never mind his name being stricken from public service, by all rights he should be deported to an island and made to eat roots and berries and forge his own demented society from scratch for the period of time in which he would have EARNED the $130,000 of tax he “failed” to pay.

Failed?

Daschle just didn’t pay them. And like Pelosi and her gang of fiscal marauders hijacking our lifeline, this is the political equivalent of a cop killing. It shows an utter disdain and rejection of our social fabric. And with such a disregard for civilization, they deserve to be rendered incapable of playing along anymore.

After 9/11, George Bush had the entire country and world at his feet and proceeded to act like a petulant dunderhead. Barack Obama is sitting in the same seat during an even greater threat to our survival.

The bell tolls.

Who has the balls to answer it?

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