Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Friday evening, I was talking to my friend, S, on the phone. The discussion veered to weekend plans. As usual, I had none. Then, he suggested, "Hey why don't you drive down to Jersey for the weekend? If you start right now, you could make it in 4 hours." Barely giving it a second thought, I said "You think so? Sure, lets do it".Thats how I used to be. Impetuous. Nowadays, with my advancing age, any kind of activity, even for example, retrieving the tv remote control from the coffee table, anything that threatens to disrupt my state of inertia involves a lot of decision-making on my part before I actually carry it out.
So I started for New Jersey, made pretty good time, crossed the George Washington bridge in 3 hours and was at the Garden State Parkway exit at about 11:00 at night. And then, I took a wrong turn. As I was driving along South Orange Avenue, I could see a lot of gangster types roaming the streets. When I reached downtown Newark instead of South Orange as I had expected, I knew I had made a mistake. I called up S to ask for directions.
"Where the fuck is your apartment man, theres a lot of shady looking people here shooting a music video or something", I said.
"Nah they always hang around there, it's what they do all night", said my friend.
"Well, I'm pretty much pissing in my pants, just give me the fucking directions", I said as I drove by the milling horde, driving under the 25 mph speed limit.
"Just turn around, go back the way you came and keep going straight. Listen, don't get out of your car to ask for directions.", said S.
Yeah, like I was gonna do that.
So, I turned around, drove back, and after a while, reached S's apartment. I parked my car on the street, and climbed up the stairs to his first floor apartment. After all the initial backslapping and WTFing was over, I said "Hey man, theres like a homeless guy or something hanging around on your front steps."
"Yeah thats my landlord.", replied S nonchalantly, "He's a pothead."
"I see", I said, "Is my car gonna be safe parked there?"
"How the fuck should I know, I don't even have a car", replied S.
"So what have you been doing all evening man", I inquired.
"Nothing really, the place was swarming with cops, you know, because of the shooting", said S.
"I see. What was that again?", I asked.
"There was a shooting here downstairs. Probably a drug related one".
"You mean downstairs as in inside the building?"
"Well, not in the building, outside on the street. Right there", he said, pointing to a spot 2 feet from my car."
"Is this place like a ghetto or something?", I asked him.
"Yeah, kind of", replied S. "You want a beer?"
Yeah, I wanted a beer. No, make that two beers. Or 10. After the drinking was done, I stayed awake all night long, keeping my ears alert for sounds of gunfire, staring through the window at my new car, making sure she was alright.
Morning dawned, crisp and clear. I couldn't believe how shit scared I had been all night. In the light of day, my fear seemed to evaporate. Suddenly, I felt very brave and gangsterish. It was probably 'cause of the ghetto surroundings.
"You know what we should do?", I said to S, over our morning chai.
"What?", he said.
"We should drive around our ghetto with our windows open, belting out loud rap music", I said. In the safety of daylight, it had become "our" ghetto.
"Yeah, I can see us doing that", said S, "Ok lets do that."
We got into my car, put on some Dr Dre and drove around the predominantly black neighbourhood, bobbing our heads to the sweet sounds of the Compton G. Damn it felt good to be a gangster. We nodded amiably at all the homies we passed on the street. Blank stares greeted us. All the good black folks going about their business could not have been more scornful of us if we had been a couple of black guys driving around, headbanging to Britney Spears.
So, to answer the question, what do I have in common with the 43rd president of the US? We are both a couple of fucking wannabes. No he is not really a cowboy. Take off his cowboy hat, peel off his cowboy boots and you will see what remains is just a stupid blithering sorry excuse for a human being, who was too much of a wimp to go to one unjustified war, but was macho enough to send other people into another war, equally unjustified. He is the fake cowboy who got his daddy to pull strings for him so he could sit at home with the National Guard, knitting sweaters, and then, after he became president, told the world to "Bring it on". So give it a rest, Mr President, no more masquerades. We know your secret. You ain't no cowboy, so stop pretending.
Wolf Walk : This is a blog of a couple who have been hiking the Pacific Crest Trail since March. The Pacific Crest Trail runs from Canada to Mexico. These guys blog everyday from the trail. I don't know how they manage it. This is actually the only good blog I found using the "Next Blog" feature in Blogger.
Canal Photos : This is a photoblog, a collection of photographs from a 4 mile stretch of the Raritan Canal Trail in New Jersey. It captures the trail in all it's moods and seasons. Since the author for some reason has decided to focus only on these particular4 miles from the around 30 miles of trail, he is able to capture extremely fine nuances of the trail, like for example, a droplet of water freezing into an ice particle. Or a leaf, just lying on the ground. The reason I like this blog a lot, apart from it's amazing photos, is because I often bike on this trail, and this trail is just so fucking beautiful.
The Rude Pundit : This actually is a pretty mainstream blog. It belongs to a liberal polemicist who is so fucking funny it is impossible to read through his posts without guffawing uncontrollably. However, if you are easily grossed out, or feel that using 4 lettered words is against the teachings of the Buddha, then this blog probably ain't for you. But then, if that were the case you probably wouldn't be reading this blog either. His first post (The Rude Pundit manifesto) gives you a taste of what to expect from this guy.
Ann Coulter : Ok, a word of warning before you go read this blog. It contains some of the most hardcore pornographic stuff in the world. Having said that, it is also one of the finest works of penmanship I have ever experienced. It is a strange blog in that it has but one post. And it never gets updated. It is about, yeah, Ann Coulter, a right wing bitch from hell, and a fictional sexual episode between her and the author, hilariously narrated, which tries to explain why she rants against liberals as much as she does in real life. But once again, beware. It contains extremely graphic language. Here is a good review of the blog by our friend at TossedMySalad.
You know what, I am gonna go against the grain here and just post 4 recommendations. That should free me of the guilt associated with celebrating a mainstream community organized event.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
The president, when reached for comment replied, "Speaking from experience as one who invades countries in search of WMDs and fails to find them, I have decided to help future US presidents avoid falling into the same logistical quagmire as I did, and militarize in advance, every country we plan to attack in the future."
The president continued, "Saudi Arabia is the world's leading supplier of terrorists and a vicious dictatorship. So, it makes sense for us to sell weapons and military equipment to this country, since it is quite possible that the US might have to invade it in the near future as part of the global war on terror. It is always good to be prepared."
Further to complement this strategy, every weapon of mass destruction, before leaving US shores, will be photographed in detail, these photographs being sent to every Democratic senator, in order to preclude any future skepticism regarding Saudi WMDs.
"Within each lesson the teacher will initially tolerate (although not condone) the use of the f-word (or derivatives) five times and these will be tallied on the board.”
So not only does the teacher have to take the abuse, he or she will also have to keep the score — and “speak to the class” if the tally is high. This is effective next week.It's f....oh wait, I already used up my 5. I mean, it's bloody insane.
Monday, August 29, 2005
"Iraq's main ethnic and religious groups made the courageous choice to join the political process. And together, they have worked toward a democratic constitution that respects the traditions of their country and guarantees the rights of all their citizens."
Let us leave aside, for the sake of this argument, the fact that none of the Sunni assembly lawmakers have come out in support of this constitution and that the fact that Sunnis won't support it basically assigns this constitution the same status as a wad of used toilet paper. And let us also, for the purpose of maintaining focus on the subject of our discussion, gloss over the fact that President Bush himself, somewhat intelligently, gauging the worthlessness of the document and it's ratification, and realizing that a Sunni backlash is on the horizon, has warned Americans that :
"As democracy in Iraq takes root, the enemies of freedom, the terrorists, will become more desperate, more despicable, and more vicious."
No, fuck all that. Bad as all that may seem, that is not within the scope of this discussion. Right now, all we are concerned with is this one article (via Rude Pundit) within the Constitution. Article 17, Part 1 states :
"Each person has the right to personal privacy as long as it does not violate the rights of others or general morality."
This is what it means in layman's terms : You are free to engage in personal private acts, as long as the rest of society feels that those acts are not not morally reprehensible. You see what they did right there? They set up a facade of freedom and liberty, but left a giant gaping loophole in it, which would allow the government, or even ordinary members of society to mangle it beyond recognition. But what does the word morality mean? In most civilizations that pride themselves on their high standards of morality, it usually means just one thing, namely, they pride themselves on being sexually repressive.
Historically, time and time again, when societies have followed a policy of sexual repression, the first casualties usually have been the women in those societies. Because, these societies do not look upon women as productive individual citizens, but as temptresses and purveyors of sin. The moment laws that bind societal behavior are based upon a loose definition of morality, then it pretty much means everyone in that society is allowed to have his or her own definition of morality. Usually, it's his.
And once that happens, it is a legal free-for-all. You don't like to see bare female ankles? Heck, call it immoral and publicly stone anyone who dares defy your personal edict. Your wife left you for another? Call her immoral and justify her murder by naming it divine justice. A constitutional loophole such as this is nothing but a recipe for obliterating whatever rights Iraqi women had possessed till now, transforming them into gender slaves like in the rest of the Islamic world. And in this respect, this statement of George Bush made on August 23 now seems even more ironic.
"The fact that Iraq will have a democratic constitution that honors women's rights, the rights of minorities, is going to be an important change in the broader Middle East."
Less than a week after that statement, minority Sunnis have rejected the constitution and women are in danger of losing their status as equal citizens.
Lets give the last word to an anti-Saddam female Iraqi activist, who previously had celebrated the Iraqi election with the now famous purple finger, was invited to sit with the first lady, Laura Bush, and listen to the President's state of the union address, where he claimed that success was being achieved in Iraq. This is what she has to say now :
"When we came back from exile, we thought we were going to improve rights and the position of women. But look what has happened: we have lost all the gains we made over the past 30 years. It's a big disappointment."
The trouble started when a member of the group "Whores for Bush" (WFB), put up a sign proclaiming "How to wreck your family in 30 days by ‘bitch in the ditch' Cindy Sheehan.”, at the site of a pro-war rally by the group "Fanatics for Bush" (FFB). Cindy Sheehan is the mother of soldier Casey Sheehan, who was killed in Iraq, and is now encamped outside President George W Bush's ranch in Crawford, Texas, demanding to get an explanation of the real reasons behind the Iraq war.
A spokesman from FFB, effeminately named Kristinn Taylor, noticed the sign and deemed it to be too offensive, even by FFB standards. He requested the member of WFB to take the sign down, saying “This is our rally and you can't do that here”. The WFB member then asserted his First Amendment right to be as big an asshole as he wanted to and refused to take it down. The FFB spokesman then requested him to make himself scarce, since he was intruding on their rally. The WFB activist, in turn aimed a kick at the FFB spokesman, and matters came to such a head that police had to be called to handcuff the miscreant and take him away.
On being asked to comment on the ideological differences between the two groups, the FFB spokesman stated,"We believe in Bush's infallibility and equivalence with the Divine Creator, but that is where we draw the line. Unlike the members of WFB, we do not believe in Bush's unilateral right to fuck us whenever, wherever and however he chooses to. That can only be carried out on terms agreed upon by mutual consensus".
In other news, President George Bush has assured Americans that he is still in constant communication with God and that God is pleased with the job he is doing.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
This message was brought to you by the good folks at Desi Pundit : Ash, Patrix, Vulturo, Vikram, and Kaps.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Then the speeding bastard in front of me, lets call him Bastard1, suddenly brakes and reduces his speed drastically. I brake too, swerving a bit, going into the shoulder, 'cause what's more rational than avoiding hitting the guy in front of you by hitting the concrete breaker instead? It just makes so much sense. So anyways, I see in my rear view mirror that the bastard behind me, lets call him Bastard3, has also braked and swerved. And then he throws up his hands to express his exasperation. I say to myself "Hey don't be blaming me buddy, I was just following Bastard1's lead, he's the one you should blame. So, I throw my hands up in reciprocation in order to express my exasperation with his exasperation.
Then, as I look ahead in front of me, I see Bastard1 has also thrown up his hands. I wonder to myself, "Damn, is he expressing his exasperation at my hand-throwing? But I was expressing my exasperation at Bastard3, not him. And then I wonder if Bastard3 was actually expressing his exasperation at some hand-thrower behind him, say Bastard4, and not me?
And then, I imagine an entire line of cars full of bastards, along the PA turnpike throwing their hands up, expressing their exasperation at the guy behind them, just because they mistook him to be hand-throwing at them when he was actually hand-throwing at the guy behind him.
A chain of exasperation, stretching for who knows how many miles. Makes one think. At least if one has nothing else to think about.
Friday, August 26, 2005
Welcome to the domain of Blog Jesus. He, who is omniscient, omnipotent and omnivorous. He, who will see through the facade of your outer shell, glare at your inner sinful subconscious and steal a peek at your ungodly genitals on the way. He, who is here, there and everywhere, yet at the same time, nowhere to be found. Come unto his arms and he will accompany you to the river of faith and forgiveness.
This king among men will help you answer your questions regarding life, love, lust and the proper way to unstrap a double-ended dildo without injuring your partner in the process. All you have to do is ask. But be respectful. He likes to be respected. On second thoughts, let him have it. Yell at him. Ask him questions you wouldn't ask your mother. He will reply. He will lead you to the universal truth and in the process, you might even come to comprehend the meaning of life. Or you might end up living on the streets of Hoboken, New Jersey, jerking off hobos for crack cocaine. But ultimately, it will all have been worth it. So go on, embrace the love of Blog Jesus. Welcome him into your life. And he will welcome you into his.
Here are some ways he has helped your fellow men.
Dear Blog J
Is eating eggs being pro-choice? I laid them myself.
Blog Jesus answers:
Yes, eating eggs is being pro choice. You choose to eventually get high cholestorol and die just so you can eat chicken babies.
If one had a compulsive desire to wear nothing but a loin cloth in public, how would one refrain from repeatedly touching oneself inappropriately?
Blog Jesus answers:
Hire a whore and have her touch you inappropriately instead.
Dear Jog Blesus,
How can I make my parents realize that Aol instant Messenger will not kill our computer?
Blog Jesus answers:
Ever since your parents saw Yahoo! Messenger kill the cat, I don't think anyone could convince them to trust an IM again.
Dear Blog Jesus-
Is my priest breaking his vow of celibacy by appearing in my sex dreams?
Blog Jesus answers:
No. He's breaking his vow of celibacy by making you think what you're doing is only a dream.
Lab Boy asks:
Last minute... Sorry. One night stands, yay or nay?
Blog Jesus answers:
I prefer two night stands. That way you can have two lamps near your bed and that allows for more reading light.
No one likes my new pet :( What can I do to make people understand that spiders won't hurt a person on purpose?
Blog Jesus answers:
Stab them in the chest and explain how that is an intentional act and a spider is incapable of having such thought therefore any biting would be the result of purely mindless activity rather than purposeful.
Dear Blog Jesus,
Can you find me a nice trophy husband? That's all I really need, but I really don't have time to do that myself...
Blog Jesus answers:
Okay, go eastbound on Washington St. until you hit I-465. Go south on I-465 and exit on Southeastern Ave. Take that until you pass Brad's Show Club. Stop there and work you're normal shift. Then go next door to Arties Trophy Emporium - he's got trophy husbands out the ass.
This Gatorade tastes like hell. Is it because it's bad or is this actually what Hell tastes like? If it is, I'd be surprised, because I always thought "Riptide Rush" was less "Hell" than "sorta grape".
Blog Jesus answers:
No. You just got some bad Gatorade. Hell actually tastes like Dr. Pepper.
Will I make any money selling my pictures, or am I just pissing in the wind?
Blog Jesus answers:
The only way you will see a dime is if you sell pictures of you pissing in the wind.
Da Buttah asks:
Can you improve my orgasms?
Blog Jesus answers:
I have a series of exercises that can improve your orgasms in several easy steps. I will need to see multiple examples of your orgasms in order to determine which exercises will work for best for you. If you want a quick response just post them on the internet, otherwise just send me the tapes.The Snakehead asks:
People don't believe I'm gay. Why?
Blog Jesus answers:
When you're just a snakehead no one can fucking tell if you're male or female. Get on about grow the rest of your body out to end the speculation.
So now that your alter ego is scaling back his ridiculously long blog, does that mean that we will get longer thought out answers to our burning questions?
Blog Jesus answers:
"I'm here with a gentleman who's a survivor of 9/11, he worked on the 52nd floor when it was hit. He's here supporting the troops."
Since when did supporting the war miraculously turn into being equivalent to supporting the troops? If you supported the troops, wouldn't you, like, you know, not send them there to be killed for no reason?
"Freedom just isn't for Americans. It's Americans' responsibility as the torchbearers of freedom, [Iraqis] want it... they're happy we're there. Don't get me wrong, they have the people who don't want it."
Is that why America, throughout the years, has had a history of undermining democratically elected governments, while at the same time propping up vicious dictatorships as long as it serves her purpose? Give me a break.
Well lets see...Let me make you a list of countries you should have gone to before you went to Iraq if you really wanted to spread freedom. How about Pakistan? Saudi Arabia? Syria? Iran? Sudan? China? Do you have any knowledge of the rest of the world, old man, except what Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity feed you everyday?
Force-feeding democracy to a people is kinda like being undemocratic, you know what I'm saying? If they like democracy so much, they should work for it themselves. It's kind of like a political free market. If there is a demand for democracy, then supply will work itself out.
"Should people be persecuted and have less of an opportunity because of their race, their religion and their creed?"
Yes, and creating an Islamic nation where there used to be a secular nation is going to help.
"Have you run into protesters?"
"Some... and it's just amazing the reasons they say that we should end the war. If we pull out, every death would be in vain."
Well, the word "amazing" has different connotations for everyone, I guess. For me it is "amazing" that the reason for continuing the war is that "a lot of people have already died." So what you are saying is, since a lot of people have already died for this cause, we need to sacrifice some more. Painfully twisted argument, if you don't mind me saying that.
"We have to stabilize the government. The war is over; we defeated the Iraqi army."
There have been more coalition deaths after the Iraqi army was defeated than before. So I will leave it up to you to decide which part was / is the war.
"Another thing that I'd like to discuss with them is equal rights, racism, suffrage. Shouldn't everybody in the world have that same right? Shouldn't all women have the right to vote, and to be educated, and have their own choices?"
Newsflash : The new constitution is going to kick women's rights back to the stone age. Again, read the newspapers. Don't just get your information from Fox News.
"What are your thoughts on the justifications for the war, about WMDs?"
"We found the trail, I believe it was moved, or destroyed."
Well, make up your mind. Did you find it or not? And yes, WMDs were destroyed. After the first Gulf war.
"We found the factories, but the machines were out of there. Where did the machines go?"
If you didn't find anything how do you know there was anything there to find? That's kinda like saying "I know there is a God. The question is why he doesn't show himself to the world."
"It’s not for oil, it's not a vendetta"
How do you explain the first thing the US army did on winning Baghdad was that they allowed widespread looting throughout the city while making sure the oil ministry was heavily guarded?
" I gotta get up to Indiana before I head back to Kuwait."
Indiana? I should have guessed.
Snickers has come out with a television commercial that goes like this :
A group of hunters are stalking a deer. The deer, suddenly aware that it is being stalked, looks up and spots them. The hunters immediately take out a number of snickers bars from their pockets and start throwing them at the deer. The deer, bored of the proceedings, wanders away.
Voiceover Guy, reminding the hunters : It is only satisfying when you eat it.
So after watching this ad, a question comes to one's mind. Did Snickers perform some kind of market research involving customer usage patterns and realize that most of it's customers were actually utilizing Snickers bars for purposes other than ingestion? But if they did, then it is reasonable to assume that other chocolate bar manufacturers, in order to stay competitive in the field, would also have carried out the same research. And since no manufacturer other than Snickers has ever felt the necessity for airing a customer education commercial like this, it leads to the inevitable conclusion that this propensity for using Snickers bars as projectiles and such, is a behavioral pattern peculiar to patrons of Snickers bars alone. And this, in turn leads to our final conclusion that since the only constant parameter among these good citizens is that they eat Snickers bars, it would be fair to conclude from all this analysis that consumption of Snickers bars causes brain damage and makes you retarded.
Our professional recommendation is that you switch to KitKat bars.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
"Is it right to call for assassination? No, and I apologize for that statement. I spoke in frustration that we should accommodate the man who thinks the U.S. is out to kill him."
Ok, so he's apologized. But is that enough? Should his audience continue to hold him up on a pedestal after what he's said? What he said was not a mistake. It wasn't like he wanted to say something, and the words he used didn't come out the way he had meant them to. He meant to say he wanted the guy killed, and he said it.
Now, the question is, if Pat Robertson wants a guy killed, is he a good Christian? Absolutely not. He has spent all his life preaching Christianity, which asks you to turn the other cheek, which preaches non-violence. My question to his followers is this : Now that he has shown his true feelings about murdering people (that too, for oil), will you still consider him to be a representative of your religion? This is the question you have to ask yourself. And when you do this, you have to keep aside for a moment, the years and years of unquestioning belief you held in him and be rational. You have to be strong and disassociate the man from your religion. Because that is what I think people do. They associate a particular individual with their religion to such an extent that they fail to see the flaws in him, because in pointing out the individual's flaws, they feel they are questioning their faith, their religion.
But Pat Robertson is not a good Christian. He is not even a good human being. Be strong and be aware of how you have allowed yourself to be manipulated by this scoundrel who claims to represent your faith. Lose the guy, but keep your faith. If it really is that important to you.
August 22, Monday : Pat Robertson, self professed man of God to a few and self-aggrandizing douchebag to many, says this about Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez, on the 700 club, on television :
"You know, I don't know about this doctrine of assassination, but if he thinks we're trying to assassinate him, I think that we really ought to go ahead and do it. It's a whole lot cheaper than starting a war."
August 23, Tuesday : The very foundations of heaven and earth creaking under the weight of this hypocrisy, Pat Robertson's earthly body becomes the site of an epic, eternal battle between the forces of Good and Evil. Evil initially has the upper hand, since, well, it's Pat Robertson we are speaking of.
August 24, Wednesday morning : The forces of Good, having been temporarily defeated and banished to Wolf Blitzer's five week old stubble, plan a retaliatory attack, while Pat Robertson goes on camera, claiming that the Associated Press misinterpreted him and that he never used the word "assassination", but only suggested that "Special Forces take him (Hugo Chavez) out via kidnapping." This blatant mendacity perpetrated by a man of the cloth causes angels in heaven to weep, flowers to wither and die and a plague of locusts to engulf the land. God, who has been watching CNN all day and has personally witnessed Pat Robertson say the very words he is now denying having ever said, takes matters into His own hands. Amassing the armies of heaven, he marches into battle.
August 24, Wednesday noon : Satan, having been notified that God has joined the battle, gathers his minions, takes off his Walmart manager's apron and jumps into the fray, along with his menagerie of devils. Pat Robertson's torso is observed heaving and billowing, the only outward manifestation of the war being fought within his innards.
August 25, Wednesday afternoon : Under the weight of these two collosal opposing forces, Pat Robertson's body explodes, belching forth a screaming, gnashing succubus that had been residing within. Freed from this evil spirit, Pat Robertson's dismembered and bloody carcass issues a press release apologizing for his comments, and says he was out of line.
August 25, Thursday morning : God returns to heaven, Satan goes back to hell, taking Pat Robertson's succubus along with him. Amity and Benevolence return to a tortured earth. The skies open forth, pouring a cleansing deluge, which washes away the residue of evil still lingering in the air. George W Bush continues to fall off his bike. Flowers bloom, crops flourish and Wolf Blitzer decides to take a shave. All is at peace in the world. Except at the ranch in Crawford, Texas. Evil still lurks there.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
The article goes on to say :
"In the wake of a recent drop in the sexual-interest rate, Labor Secretary Elaine Chao announced Tuesday that blowjoblessness in America has reached a record high."
"The historically fluid blowjob market reached its climax in 1996, when millions of wives and girlfriends vigorously stimulated the privates sector."
"'For many of these orally disenfranchised men, a hand-to-mouth existence is but a dream,' Cochran said."
And that is why my friends, you should bow to the mighty Onion.
Are you fucking kidding me? Way to go Katherine DeBrecht, thats really what we need right now, children training to be future Ann "SkinnyBitch" Coulters and Sean "PrettyBoy" Hannities.
Hey, I got a nice little book for all you conservative little bastards "Help!Mom! There's a cocaine-sniffing, warmongering, squinty-eyed little monkey hiding under my bed. Wait wait, it's just our president."
"Ripe Melon Productions", a prominent reality show producing company, which has a number of mainstream shows to it's name like "Flaming Virgin Parts I, II and III", "Gobble-the-Gook" and "Bust-ahh!", plans to produce this reality show, which critics are already calling revolutionary. "No one has ever done this", said Fred Smith (not his real name), the executive producer of the future show. "We are still shopping around for networks. Fox is the obvious choice, but if we don't find someone, the show will go directly to DVD. We are sure it will be a big hit."
A Fox Networks spokesman, on being asked for comment replied, "Yes, we have received this interesting idea for a reality show. It is still in a planning stage, but prospects for this show to make it to production are above average."
On being asked what the actual structure of the show will be like, Mr Smith replied, "Well, basically it will be like a home video, albeit with better production values. See, this show is about this lady who cannot have a baby, but she is not willing to give up. It will be a narrative of how the lady goes about approaching potential sperm donors and after carefully evaluating their physical ability to donate sperm, engages in the actual act of sperm donation itself, sometimes even lending a helping hand. Or a mouth. In many cases, a vagina. See, this story has a tremendous human interest side to it. People will empathize with the woman, because many have been through this scenario."
The new reality show is expected to premiere this fall on Fox, where it will share television time along with other reality shows like "Pick Dad a Hooker" and "Necrophiles Anonymous".
The sky was overcast. The air was so saturated with moisture that one would be reluctant even to flare a nostril in the fear that it would disturb the delicate atmospheric equilibrium and start a downpour. I looked at my watch, I still had 10 minutes to kill. I opened the door and raised the stereo volume. Clapton was on. Layla, the mellow version. I wondered why I had never bought that album. I resolved to correct this deficiency in my music collection as soon as possible.
Waiting always makes me restless. To me, life consists of 3 parts: the part when you are doing something, the part when you are on your way to do something and the part when you are waiting to do something. I have trouble handling the waiting part.
I had forgotten to bring a book again. I rummaged through the junk on the backseat for reading material. As usual, the only thing I found was my trusty friend, the Rand MacNally road atlas. I have had it for 6 years now. I haven't had any use for it ever since I tore the Pennsylvania page. All it has been used for since then, is as a companion during these train station waits. I opened up the page on Idaho. I had watched Napoleon Dynamite the previous day and I wanted to see if there really was a town in Idaho called Preston. Sure enough, there was. Keeping the atlas on my steering wheel, I looked around.
I saw a tall American teenager standing by the station with a rucksack. He appeared to be not of these parts. His ambiguous position with respect to the railway track made it difficult for me to guess whether he was waiting for the train, or for someone to pick him up. He was looking at me with sporadic interest. I closed the atlas and placed it on the passenger's seat, not wanting to look like a tourist. After all, this was my domain, my hood.
There was a girl, dressed in pink, walking around the platform, speaking into a cellphone. She looked worried.
A beat up Corolla rolled up into the parking lot and stopped in front of the tall American. The door opened and a shapely blonde female, looking strangely incongruous with the dilapidation of the car, walked up to the guy. She had the deliberate walk of a woman who knows that wherever she goes, she is going to commandeer the gazes of all those around her. As she made her way to the guy, hips swivelling, hair waving around in a lazy arc, I noticed something I haven't seen ever since I arrived in this country. It was, what could only be described as female ass-cleavage. I was entranced. However, it was not to last. Pulling her shirt down, she cast a supercilious look behind at me as if to say, "I hope you enjoyed it brown boy, but your time's up", and proceeded to envelope the waiting teenaged guy in a bearhug. I wasn't sure if I had enjoyed it or not. What I was sure about was that the near future held plenty of sex for the couple. Gobs and gobs of it. The two of them got into the car and drove off.
Deprived of ass-cleavages to look at, I started noticing other people in the vicinity. There were a couple of kids, possibly in their mid-teens, who looked like they had missed the 80s hair metal boat and caught the next one. One had hair painted red, the other was wearing a black t-shirt with some kind of a musculoskeletal inscription upon it. Both had rings embedded in various parts of their body.
I could see one of them sitting on the pavement with a rolled up newspaper over his mouth. I wasn't sure what he was up to, so I lowered the volume of my stereo to find out. He was doing an amazing impression of a race car revving up. Probably the best I'd ever experienced.
The girl in pink standing on the platform was looking at the two with a bit of trepidation. I could have told her they were pretty harmless, but girls will be girls. Another car pulled up, someone stepped out, was kissed goodbye and left. Just another itinerant. By this time, both the metalheads had aquired rolled up newspapers of their own and were duelling it out on the street. Every step they took closer to the girl in pink, caused her to look more worried. Amidst the battle cries, blood, gore and shards of flying paper, I looked at my watch. The train should be arriving anytime now.
Weary of their fight and possibly having reached a compromise, the two metalheads were now concentrating their attention on the free newspaper dispensers scattered around the platform. Having decided to live an unsheltered life no more, one of the metalheads was trying to cram himself into one of these. Various methods were tried, head first, legs first. With his friend pushing and prodding, the metalhead finally achieved his objective. However, their ecstasy at their success was short lived.Yielding to gravity, the newspaper dispenser, along with it's cargo flipped over, spilling it's contents into the street. The resultant crash made the girl in pink jump. She had wandered out upto the far end of the platform. She was almost crying now. She was still speaking on her cell. I wondered if there was anyone on the other end of the line.
Just then, a clang clang clang signified the arrival of the train. The blue and silver Amtrak locomotive made it's way to the station and squealed to a halt. I was ready to go home. I had beer on my mind.
You ride around your white castle, On your little white horse
You lie to your people, and blame it on your war of course
You call yourself a Christian, I call you a hypocrite
You call yourself a patriot, well I think you’re full of shit
Oh, sweet Neo Con, What path have you led them on?
Oh, sweet Neo Con, Is it time for the atom bomb?
You parade around in costume, Expecting to be believed
But as the body bags stack up, We believe we’ve been deceived
The horror you’ve unleashed, Will backfire with more grief
When will you ever learn, Sweet Neo Con, as the world burns?
Oh, sweet Neo Con, What path have you led them on?
Oh, sweet Neo Con, Is it time for the atom bomb?
Oh, sweet Neo Con, What path have you led them on?
Oh, sweet Neo Con, Is it time to drop the bomb?
How come you’re so wrong?
My sweet neo-con, where’s the money gone, in the Pentagon.
It’s liberty for all, democracy’s our style, unless you are against us, then it’s prison without trial.
(Courtesy Raw Story)
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
No film industry professionals were available for comment, all being busy taking crash courses in singing.
Nah, I'm just kidding. Although a law did pass in Turkmenistan. Apparently, it will only affect no-talent Turkmen bathroom singers lip synching to their noisy neighbours.
Shut the fuck up. No, you may not speak. I do not want to hear what you have to say. No, you do not know about Casey Sheehan's opinions about the Iraq war. And if he did have an opinion, his mother was in a much better position to know what it was than all you fucktards. She was the one who wrote him letters when he was in Iraq, not you. She was the one who spoke to him on the phone while he was in active combat, not you. You have no opinion here, no leg to stand on. Simply put, this is none of your fucking business. This is between a grieving mother and the asshole who sent her son off to war under a false pretext. So stop sucking on your great leader's cock and fuck off each and every one of you. Go hibernate under a fucking rock. Only come back once this is all over, and the bastard in the White House (currently getting fellated at a resort in Idaho by a Mexican geisha) has apologized to the grieving mother. But till then, put a sock in it. There is no place for you right now in Crawford or anywhere else. Fuck off. Now.
Now, I've seen this show many times on television. In fact, after Seinfeld and the Daily Show, that is my favorite show on tv. They air it around 11:30 at night on what else .. the Fox Family Channel, after the children are safely tucked into bed, although I would have thought they would want the children of this country watching this marvellous, magical, educational heap of piety.
The show consists of the good Reverend, talking about God and love and reaching out to Jesus, making Jesus a part of your life and being a good Christian and so on and so forth. Intermittently, there are news breaks, where current events are analyzed through a Christian point of view. And by his side sits this angelic looking woman with a halo, wearing a skirt demurely reaching just upto her knees (for anything higher, that would not be a Christian thing to do), who looks as if she were entirely at peace with life and the world, and who you assume has been fed on freshly churned butter and red apples and everything else that is nice and good and decent in nature. And sometimes, there is also a freshly scrubbed, cherubic young man in a suit and tie, emanating a healthy glow, who in spite of being in the throes of wild and unGodly youth, looks as if he would be more at home going around door to door selling bibles to brown people. And everyone radiates such harmony and benevolence towards all mankind, that while watching, I frequently weep uncontrollable tears of joy and faith into my beer.
But the section of the show that is the most interesting and on the cutting-edge of modern scientific technology is where the Rev. Pat seems to go into a trance and somehow communicates directly with God (or one of His Minions), and God (or the minion) informs him that there is a woman in Ohio whom, in his infinite compassion, He has now cured of diabetes. God might or might not give the Rev. Pat her name, although the Rev Pat does not give us her name, no sir, he would much rather keep that to himself. Then, he broadcasts the breaking news of the miraculous cure of this woman on his show, the audience learns that there is a woman in Ohio who does not have to watch her blood sugar level anymore, cries of "Hallelujah" and "Praise be unto the Lord" ripple through the land, all the poor suffering female diabetics in Ohio, who are watching the Rev. Pat Robertson pontificate, run to their cookie jar in a wild post-diabetic orgy of glucose celebration, polish it all off, mysteriously fall into a hyperglycemic coma and die.
I can sense that some of you might not believe this actually happens on American cable television. All I can say to that is, welcome to 21st century America.
So, that was a brief introduction to the wonder of medical science that is the Rev. Pat Robertson. But that is all beside the point. The point here is that the Rev. Pat, who has a sizeable number of followers in this country and appears to suggest to us that he is a good decent Christian, is encouraging President Bush on-air to assassinate the President of a sovereign nation. Check out his reasoning:
"You know, I don't know about this doctrine of assassination, but if he thinks we're trying to assassinate him, I think that we really ought to go ahead and do it. It's a whole lot cheaper than starting a war."
The doctrine of assassination? Assassination isn't a fucking "doctrine", you self-righteous prick, assassination is murder, plain and simple. Pray do not, for the love of God, bestow upon it an aura of respectability by calling it a doctrine. But ranting apart, what he is saying is, it's economically more sensible for the US to just kill some guy than start a war. Note that he doesn't justify the killing of this one guy by saying it might save a number of innocent lives, he is just concerned with saving money.
"This is a dangerous enemy to our south, controlling a huge pool of oil, that could hurt us very badly.".....We don't need another $200 billion war to get rid of one, you know, strong-arm dictator. It's a whole lot easier to have some of the covert operatives do the job and then get it over with.
Mmmm oil...my favorite food. And green, my favorite color. A combination so wholesome, so delectable, it could only be divine. Christian compassion, trumped over by a country's addiction to black gold. And the greenback. You know that a country's lost all sense of perspective and moral direction, becoming a whore to capitalism when it's religious leaders masturbate to amorous visions of flowing rivers of cheap gasoline and a booming economy.
And hey, when the religious leadership is so bewitched by the voodoo of oil, can you blame the political leadership of the country for being so too? After all, the president claims to be a man of faith.
Update : Funny, but in recent days, the Rude Pundit and I seem to be having our rants perfectly synchronized. Here he is, as usual, raising the art of polemic to a whole new level.
"Robertson wants the U.S. to assassinate legally-elected Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez. Ain't that what we call a 'fatwa' in other contexts? Or should we just call it more bloviation and bullshit from a man who's been buggering Jesus on live television for decades?"
Couldn't have said it better myself.
Monday, August 22, 2005
So as I sat there, engaging and disengaging my stick-shift, fuming at the world, I saw something that caught my eye. From the right concrete breakers of the freeway there emerged a butterfly. Not an ordinary one, not one of those small yellowish white flitters you see racing around meadows, but a big daddy. A beautiful black butterfly with all kinds of red, white and blue markings on it. The kind you see hovering around flowers in the wild, wings flapping almost in slow motion, those fat fuckers who are so humongous and lazy that as they land on a flower, they don't even bother moving their wings, just sit there still like narcissists, inviting you to admire their plumage and take a picture.
So it was one of these guys that I saw entering the freeway. The first thought that passed through my mind is where the hell did this guy come from right slam bang in the middle of a concrete wasteland? And the next was, are you fucking kidding me butterfly, you've got to be pretty arrogant to think you'll be able to cross the freeway and reach the other side in one piece.
It was obvious that the poor bastard had already been pretty banged up while crossing route 422. Now, it entered my side of the freeway, lurching around, getting walloped by car exhaust, rising and falling periodically perhaps with the wind, the exhaust, or just it's cyclically fluctuating energy. Finally, it reached the divider, paused in mid-air, fluttering above the concrete median as if to take a last deep breath before diving into the fast moving traffic on the other side. And then, it plunged in.
Here, cars were screaming past. As every car raced beneath it, the butterfly would be thrown up by the wall of air that preceded it. Then, it would tumble down like a stone almost to street level where it would again beat it's wings furiously and rise up, only to be pummelled again. Every moment I expected it's odyssey to end with a final sickening splat into the windshield of some vehicle. But, against all odds, it slowly moved from lane to lane, progressing past all the cars and 18-wheelers flying by. Finally, it reached the edge of the freeway and with a last, triumphant shimmy, went out of sight, and hopefully, into a better world.
Nature had won today. I went home feeling happy.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
This is what he says :
"Juan Cole, quoting the London-based Arabic newspaper al-Hayat, reports that the constitutional negotiators in Baghdad have taken at least a half step towards the creation of an Iranian-style system of clerical rule."
Without the details it's hard to be sure, but this sounds like at least a partial copy of the Council of Guardians -- the Iranian body charged with reviewing all laws passed by the Iranian parliament, the Majlis, to make sure they are consistent with the officially approved Iranian brand of Shi'a fundamentalism.
Jesus Christ. So it actually IS a copy of the Iranian constitution. Don't look now, but I see a career in punditry approaching.
Or maybe not.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
"Enforcement of Islamic law, stoning to death of women accused of adultery, it's all in there", said US officials comparing the two documents placed side by side. "We were somewhat suspicious when the Governing Council declared that it would be ready with a new Iraqi constitution within 7 days when nothing had been achieved for the past several months. But we believed that the Iraqis were just going to put in extra hours of work, drink lots of coffee, you know, just regular overtime stuff. Little did we know all they were about to do was go to Kinko's and make copies."
US diplomats overseeing the constitutional negotiations between the Shiites, the Sunnis and the Kurds said that Iraq and Iran had been observed passing love notes for some time now, but no action had been taken since the general thought process was that a little love between the two Islamic neighbours wasn't necessarily a bad thing, as long as it didn't get ugly.
President Bush, who was briefed of the affair inquired, "Its a constitution right? It has laws n stuff right? What is the issue again?"
In related news, Osama Bin Laden, speaking via videophone from Pakistan, has expressed satisfaction with the progress being achieved in the drafting of the Iraqi constitution and lauded the work of the Constitution Committee saying "Nope, I don't have any suggestions for them, it's just perfect. Good job".
Then, I walked into this tree. All over the tree, hikers and lovers had scrawled their names and love oaths. But the funny thing is, this was the only tree that had been defiled in this manner. Not a single tree around it had been touched. It was as if somehow every hiker and lovelorn soul walking in these woods had been drawn to this one particular tree and channeled his / her emotions into it's bark.
In other words, this tree had taken upon itself the suffering of all other trees in the neighbourhood. The martyr. It was a Jesus Tree.
I was torn between being irritated at the excrement scrawled on the tree and being comforted that this was the only tree that had been treated this way.
I did not add to the tree's misery. I walked on.
Friday, August 19, 2005
1. "Newly declassified State Department documents (via Atrios, via AllSpinZone) show that government experts warned the U.S. Central Command (CENTCOM) in early 2003 about "serious planning gaps for post-conflict public security and humanitarian assistance," well before Operation Iraqi Freedom began."
Again, there are two things here. One, that these documents show that experts warned CENTCOM that they had done a shoddy job of planning for post-regime change in Iraq. That, in itself is big since it shows the sheer incompetence, haste and mismanagement of the Iraq invasion. But wait, there's more. More you say? What could be more damaging than this? How about this :
"The new documents, released this month to the National Security Archive under the Freedom of Information Act, also provide more evidence on when the Bush administration began planning for regime change in Iraq -- as early as October 2001."
So the men in the dark suits had already started planning for post-war Iraq in October 2001...One month after the 9/11 attacks. When they should have been invested in finding Osama Bin Laden, these bastards had already said "Bin-fucking-who? Fuck him. Lets go for say....Who's this guy here sittin on top of all this gasoline? Yeah Saddam ... Much easier to destroy palaces than caves, whatdyathink?". So Bin Laden was destined to escape right at that moment itself. Not yet convinced? Okay then, here's the second thing.
2. A former top aide to Colin "I got anthrax in my hands and a Texan up my butt" Powell has come forward with the accusation that the nice little speech Powell gave in the UN, in his expert opinion, was nothing but a bunch of baloney. "It was the lowest point in my life", says the man with penitence.
"(Powell) came through the door ... and he had in his hands a sheaf of papers, and he said, 'This is what I've got to present at the United Nations according to the White House, and you need to look at it,'" Wilkerson says. "It was anything but an intelligence document. It was, as some people characterized it later, sort of a Chinese menu from which you could pick and choose."
Fascinating. But you know what the best part is? They accepted so-called intelligence from a guy the defence department knew was a liar. Frankly, their codename for him "Curveball" speaks for itself. And they did know he was a liar. How do I know? Because thats what a curveball does. It misleads the hitter by appearing to do something and then doing something else. So if they called him a curveball, THEY KNEW HE WAS GIVING MISLEADING INFORMATION.
Then, after the war began, George Tenet, CIA head honcho and future NBA all-star, repeatedly called up Powell and informed him that many of the claims he had made in the speech were not true. Something not being true, is also known in most parts of the world as being A LIE. Powell had lied. Is transmitting information from a source you know to be untrustworthy a lie? The answer is YES. Especially if thousands of lives depend upon it.
Come on, Republican dominated Congress. I know you have to stick to those on your own side and all, but doesn't the welfare of the country and the world as a whole matter to you at all? Not even one tiny bit?
"When Republican Sen. Chuck Hagel of Nebraska traveled around his home state (via Raw Story) this week, citizens at every stop brought up Iraq policy and the inexorable rise in fuel prices."
"Is there anything the United States can do to get some stability in crude oil prices in the world, because it affects everything we do?" Larry Ahlers, a manager at medical device manufacturer Becton and Dickinson in Broken Bow, Nebraska while filling up his 20 foot gas-guzzling Ford Excursion SUV at the local gas station. "I mean, come on, surely there must be something we can do?"
Earlier the same day in Lincoln, an elderly woman asked about Iraq. "Why are we there in the first place?" she asked. "And more importantly, what were we high on when we all reelected that Ivy League cracker as president?"
Hagel, a possible Republican presidential candidate in 2008, is reportedly trying to distance himself from George Bush and the current administration. "I don't think there's panic, I don't think there's cynicism", said Hagel of the general sentiment among Nebraska residents. "I think there's a general sense of agreement among the people that they really fucked up when they elected the yellow-bellied, drug-addled bastard to office. The sentiment is there, and it is genuine."
Hagel said Bush faced a growing credibility gap. "He talks through his anus, figuratively speaking. We now know that most of what came out through that orifice ever since he assumed office was bullshit. But I guess, since we swallowed it whole and asked for more, we are the ones to blame."
In other news, President George W Bush has expressed some reservations about allocating government funding for building a time machine that could allow Americans to go back in time and elect John Kerry as president.
How the Rajya Sabha spends it's time at work :
1.> Demand banning of a motion picture because you do not agree with how it is picturized.
2.> Express concern over the abuse of the National Emblem by a London-based alcoholic beverage company.
3.> Express concern over the photographs of Gods and Godesses printed on lingerie and ladies footwear.
4.> Express anguish over decline of the Hindi language in the country.
5.> Break for lunch.
5.5.> Express anguish over the quality of the food while preparing for siesta.
5.> Demand a new urban transport policy.
6.> Demand that trishuls henceforth only be used to slay actual demons and not be used in movies to show the vindictive hand of God.
7.> Demand a law explicitly forbidding people from entering temples without removing footwear.
8.> Demand interlinking of rivers and developing of roadways.
9.> Demand that movies always contain at least one recitation of the national anthem integrated into the story.
10.> Go over next days demands and anguishes to be put forth, making sure none of them is remotely constructive.
11.> Break for the day.
My proposal for all you Rajya Sabha members : How about we do this. We only require you to come in for lets say 2 hours a day, process items (5) and (8) and then leave, to spend the rest of your day as you wish. If nothing else, the country will at least save money on the air conditioning bill. Oh, and bring your goddamn lunch with you. We cannot afford to feed you for just 2 hours of work a day.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Boss (going over health insurance coverage requests from his employees) : (to female employee) You've specified that you want your vagina to be covered under health insurance.
Female Employee (hesitantly) : umm...yes.
Boss : I thought they removed your vagina.
Female Employee (mortified) : Excuse me?
Boss (puzzled) : Didn't you have a hysterectomy where they removed your vagina?
Female Employee : They removed my uterus.
Boss : So they did remove it then.
Female Employee : A uterus is different from a vagina.
Boss (unconvinced) : Really? I thought ...
Female Employee (utterly embarassed) : No. I still have a vagina.
Boss (still a bit puzzled) : Oh ok. Alright.
So apparently a Brooklyn indie band (bless those New Yorkers) called Kids against Combs, decided to name their latest album (via Democratic Underground) after Hannity's home phone number. They were also planning to add Hannity's home address to their cd liner notes.
Hannity apparently sued these good folks who, realizing that even though this would provide them a lot of free publicity, would not be very productive since Hannity since then has changed his phone number anyways.
So now, our enterprising youngsters have changed the name of their album to "The Album Formerly Known As Sean Hannity’s Phone Number ... Currently Sean Hannity Is a Democracy Subverting Douche-Bag." God I love New Yorkers.
In the words of Nelson Muntz, "Ha Ha".
He continued, "Cindy never had a son. If she never had a son, how could he have been killed in a war? And which war is she talking about anyways? Are we fighting a war? in Iraq? What's an Iraq? Is it an animal, vegetable or mineral? Iraq doesn't exist, ladies and gentlemen, this whole thing is a left-wing conspiracy to slander our good president George Bush."
Doctor Sanjay Gupta, CNN's resident physician, when asked to comment on Rush Limbaugh's detachment with reality said, "Rush Limbaugh, as we know, has been abusing prescription pills for a long time. What happens with these drugs is, they kill all your brain cells and pretty soon, the person is left with nothing but hallucinations and a total disconnect with the living world."
Rush Limbaugh, on being asked to comment on this diagnosis ranted, "Sanjay Gupta? Isnt he Indian? What do these Indians know about anything? All they do is live in teepees, blowing smoke rings and collecting cash from their casinos. In fact, Indians do not even exist. Sanjay Gupta is not real, ladies and gentlemen. It is all a liberal illusion."
In other news, President George W Bush, when asked for comment on the Cindy Sheehan situation, closed his eyes, put his fingers in his ears and repeatedly chanted "I'm going biking, I'm going biking, I'm going biking."
Update: The Rude Pundit's views on the Cindy Sheehan affair.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
This magnanimous gesture of Congress did not go unnoticed by President Bush, who issued a statement saying "For too long have American soldiers paid out of their own pockets for the privilege of representing America in an overseas conflict that might require them to lay down their lives for their country. This will allow these courageous men and women in uniform to save some money for the purpose of purchasing their own armor, which in turn, will make their stay in Iraq safer."
Following this gesture from the US Congress, many American companies have jumped to the rescue of American troops, caught in the Iraqi quagmire. A spokesperson for GM said "For every soldier killed in combat, GM will donate a free Humvee to his division. This will save a lot of time for our infantrymen, who today have to build their own vehicles from discarded spare parts lying around in junkyards." ExxonMobil, the oil conglomerate, in turn, has proposed that the company will provide free fuel for these humvees upto a maximum of 50 miles a day assuming no casualties and increasing it by 10 miles a day for every soldier killed on that day. "For every blood dollar we get, we give 5 cents back", said an Exxon Mobil spokesperson, gravely. "It is the best we can do for our troops. I mean, the least."
In other news, President Bush has increased Barbara and Jenna Bush's daily allowance, citing rising gasoline prices in the country and encouraged all American parents to follow suit.
Ever since the US presidential election in 2000 and CNN's coverage of the two candidates, there was always a doubt in the minds of media critics that there had to be a reason other than sheer journalistic incompetence behind CNN's exaggeration of ex-vice President Al Gore's "lies", while at the same time glossing over George W. Bush's history of alcoholism, drug abuse, DUI record and suspicious business transactions. However at the time, anti-virus technology, being in a nascent stage of development, did not detect the virus thereby exacerbating the problem.
This multifaceted computer virus has also reportedly been responsible for impaired judgement on the part of CNN's management, which sanctioned the emergence of CNN's flagship shows like Crossfire, which consists of two "political pundits" verbally abusing each other in the name of debate, with the audience cheering them on.
The virus reared it's head again during the buildup to the Iraq war when it caused a breakdown in CNN's fact-checking machinery, causing America to go into war based on false information and costing thousands of lives.
The virus was finally detected when a system administrator noticed an unnatural rise in CNN's coverage of superficial news items like the Terri Schiavo case, the Michael Jackson scandal and the missing white girl in Aruba, and ran a virus check through the system.
Since the virus was detected and cleaned, CNN has cancelled Crossfire, fired it's host Tucker Carlson and reduced it's missing-white-girl-related news coverage by 75%.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Jeanine Pirro, the Republican who is running against Hillary Clinton for the New York senatorial seat, was giving a speech at a campaign rally or something. She started her speech, saying, "Hillary Clinton .....", and then fell silent, and started rummaging through her notes. After quite a bit of rummaging, she whispered to the guy standing near her, "Where's page 10 .. I don't have page 10 .. do you have page 10?" The entire fiasco played out for 32 seconds, and was a pleasure to watch. Nothing like seeing a Republican make a fool of herself on television.
Jon Stewart's take on this : "Jeanine Pirro started her speech, then observed silence for the next 32 seconds to commemorate her failed future senatorial campaign."
Where is part II you ask? Well, I just haven't got around to documenting it yet. Summer time, it's a lazy time. Here is part I for newcomers.
I started this section at Warwick County Park in Knauertown. I was going to do the east-going part of the trail. The park itself consists of a vast grassy meadow on the edge of Warwick woods, which were once the site of a furnace. The woods themselves were the source of all the charcoal that was used to fuel this furnace. And, the French Creek, passing through these woods, was the source of waterpower.
I parked my car on the meadow (The parking lot was closed since it was being paved). There was a ruckus occurring in the pavilion and picnic spot at the end of the meadow. A large group of people were picnicking along with stereo system in full blast mode. I don't understand this. People travel to the far reaches of the world in search of wilderness and natural beauty, and when they find it, they sit at the edge of the wilderness with their loud music boxes and smoky barbeques and defile the very wilderness they came in search of. Stupid humans.
After blowing a few curses in their direction, I started looking for the location of the Horseshoe trail. It was supposed to be in the vicinity. Soon, I saw the two yellow markers that denoted the presence of the trail. As I was walking outside a house along the trail, I heard a barking sound. I couldn't see any dogs though. So, I whipped out the magnifying glass I usually carry for emergencies and looked at the road. Sure enough, there was a dog at my feet making as if to attack me. It was tiny. Probably the size of my fist. Ok, it was a bit larger, but not a lot. As I kept walking it kept threatening as if to run after me, but the moment I stopped and looked in it's direction, it ran away. It probably ran on batteries. A cat, sitting 5 feet away, watched on unperturbed.
The trail skirted the boundary of the meadow and the woods, finally plunging into some long grass with a path cut through it.
Then, it entered the Warwick woods and shared space for some time with the Charcoal Trail. Tall trees, large mushrooms, the works.
Here, I saw some curiously small sunflower-like flowers. I took a picture.
The trail then passed through the woods for about a mile or so, after which this meadow appeared to the side.
Then, from nowhere, the French Creek materialized beside the trail. Creek and trail then went hand in hand for the next mile.
As usual, I saw a number of strange things lying around in the woods, one of which was this bale of hay which seemed to serve no purpose at all.
This ghoulish looking tree trunk scared the bejesus out of me. I sure as heck wouldn't want to be here during the night, when it comes alive and swallows unsuspecting hikers. Just look at that hungry mouth.
The trail then passed through some marshy land, and to the right of the trail was this strange canal-like conduit. I stopped there for a while wondering what it could have been. It looked man-made. Then, I realized it was probably a dam race. In the 1700s and 1800s, most of the forges and furnaces in this area ran on hydropower. They dammed up the creeks, let the water out through a race, just like in modern hydro electric power stations, and the race passed through the forge or furnace, where the water rotated wheels to provide power. As I looked around, I could see signs that all the area to the left of the trail might have been under water once upon a time. Interesting.
The guide book had informed me that along the trail, I would have to cross the French Creek on a rope bridge. It also gave detailed instructions on how to avoid falling off the bridge, as well as a disclaimer of any liability in case someone did. All this hype had increased my anticipation and I was eagerly awaiting the appearance of the aforementioned bridge. However, I was disappointed to see that the rope bridge was no longer there, and I would have to cross the creek on large boulders sitting in the water. Gah, everytime I seek adventure, adventure flees from me.
Just before I started to cross, a huge moth-like insect landed on my back and very unmoth-like, proceeded to devour me. I flailed around in a macho kind of way, not knowing what it was that was poking me through my shirt. It left me alone after I crossed the creek. It probably was a direct descendant of the Nazgul.
The trail then climbed up some distance through the woods and came out into a field. Here, I saw this guy sniffing around in the grass. He ran away into the undergrowth on my intrusion into his property, giving me dirty looks through the brush.
These old, rusted tractor ploughs were lying on the side of the field. They looked sad and forgotten, probably having worked hard, who knows how many years ago, and now, were being allowed to rust away, having earned their retirement.
The trail then descended down the field, through a couple of gates and smacked into a paved road. The trail then followed this road for a while.
Coming out of the gates, a beautiful rural vista greeted me. I stook there for a while, drinking it all in.
There was an elementary school on this road, which I started photographing, before I realized it was probably not a good idea for a brown stranger to be photographing elementary schools in rural Pennsylvania.
After following this road for a while, the trail again entered the woods.
I saw some beautiful lichens growing on this rock.
At this point, I began to realize that my body had assumed the role of a natural transportation system. All kinds of insects were clinging to my clothes. As I passed through cobwebs on the trail, spiders and flies, the predator and the prey, having momentarily buried the hatchet, were enjoying the ride together.
After again climbing up another ridge, the trail bumped into a powerline right of way, which I had to cross. The trail disappeared into a forest of shoulder-high grass. And to my dismay, it looked like that vile weed back in India that for some obscure reason we used to call "Congress grass". I remembered that this grass used to grow in every untended bit of real estate in my neighbourhood and I was extremely allergic to it. Nonetheless, being an intrepid explorer, I decided to take my chances and dived in.
It was actually worth it. As I emerged from the grass, I had a great view of the countryside below.
Some more woods, and then I emerged out into what the guide book calls a horse pasture. Again, some more nice views of a farmhouse and a grain silo.
Some more brush beating.
Finally, I stopped at the edge of this field and decided to take a leak. My bladder was bursting and I'm sure it if hadn't been under contract for the next 40 years, it would have parted ways with me right then, citing inhumane working conditions.
I trudged through the thick mud of this field for a while, observing a number of insects and small animals going about their business, who, in turn, were watching me quizzically as I went by.
Finally, I decided at this point to turn around and go back. My legs had started to itch, no doubt, from the evil congress grass I had passed through.
All in all, a nice section of the trail, bursting with country fresh flavor and goodness.My legs still itch though. Note to self : Next time, do not wear shorts.