Silflay Hraka

10/05/2002




Unremitting verse does a great re-write of the Kipling poem, Tommy, for New Jersey. He calls it Torchy.


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Was Clinton Right?

This'll raise a few hackles. If you want to live like a Republican, vote Democratic.

And yes, I realize that the saying origintated with Harry Truman. Clinton is just the last person I remember to quote it.


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Hraka Scoops Kausfiles!

Mickey Kaus, writing in his blog at Slate at 5:31, Friday 10/04/02;

Uh, no. The worse that can happen for New Jersey Republicans is that a pro-GOP intervention into the Torricelli ballot dispute by the U.S. Supreme Court triggers a voter backlash nationwide and energizes Democrats with memories of Bush v. Gore, costing the GOP control of both the House and the Senate. (It's risky interevening before the election's been held!) ... I tend to think the MinuteMan Plan is the course of wisdom for the national GOP, and even for New Jersey GOP candidate Forrester.

Moi, two days prior.

The New Jersey decision looks loony, so the Supreme Supremes will overrule the Garden State Supremes, say 20 days before the election. And then the shit will hit the fan.

Anyone else remember the nationwide bitterness the last time the Supreme Court overruled a state supreme court on the matter of a local election law? That wound may have a scab on it, but it's nowhere near healed. You can tell people to get over it till the cows come home, but just because they stop yelling doesn't mean everything is all hunky-dory now.

Two things will happen when the Supremes overrule. One, the Democratic base is going to get really energized really quickly. Most elections, and especially off-year elections, are decided by turnout, and this will turn out the party faithful in droves.


What's interesting, to my point of view, is that Kausfiles links to this Minute Man post on the Torricelli court action, which is a page scroll or two above Minute Man's link to my post above. Do I think Kaus ripped me off? No, though that would have been cool. I don't think he even knows of Hraka's existence, though I suppose anything is possible. It's just nice to see my meme only have to travel through two degrees of separation before hitting the mainstream media.


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Soon every election will be decided in court

Five DeKalb County voters asked a federal court Friday to throw out the results of an Aug. 20 primary in which Rep. Cynthia McKinney was defeated, arguing she was the victim of a "malicious crossover" vote by Republicans that violated the Voting Rights Act.
...
"The issue is that Black Democratic voters in the 4th District had their voting rights interfered with and violated," said Atlanta lawyer J.M. Raffauf, who represents the Black plaintiffs. Raffauf said he recently talked with McKinney and that she supports the litigation.


What none of the stories have pointed out yet is that J.M. Raffauf is McKinney's lawyer, so he's not exactly a disinterested party.

The five plaintiffs are identified in this story.

Rev. E. Randel T. Osburne, an official of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. I cannot confirm this, as the SCLC website so slow as to be unusable.
Linda Dubose.
Brenda Lowe Clemons.
Dorothy Perry.
Wendell Muhammad, a McKinney campaign official, and spokesman for the nation of Islam.

I haven't been able to find out anything other than the above about them, though a search through google filtered by the zip code search for congress members at opensecrets.org gave me phone numbers for the three ladies, none of which answered my calls.


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10/04/2002




Gilligan Rocks

Something interesting posted on the Greeblie Blog is a unique blend of Zeppelin and Gilligan. Worth a listen.


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Annoying the Wife - Email (cont.)

From: Woundwort
To: My own version of sainted wife
Subject: 1st weekend in Nov.

Do we have plans?

From: My own version of sainted wife
To: Woundwort
Subject: RE: 1st weekend in Nov.

No, why? I hate when you ask me about dates, before telling me what has come up.

From: Woundwort
To: My own version of sainted wife
Subject: RE: 1st weekend in Nov.

How many jars of mayonnaise do we have, and how many do you think we could fit into the car?

From: My own version of sainted wife
To: Woundwort
Subject: 1st weekend in Nov.

Why the hell do we need a carload of mayonnaise?

From: Woundwort
To: My own version of sainted wife
Subject: RE: 1st weekend in Nov.

Possible free weekend to see Bigwig and his Sainted Wife.

From: Woundwort
To: My own version of sainted wife
Subject: RE: 1st weekend in Nov.

Oh...........probably about 37 jars of mayo. Tell him I said hello. By the way, what the hell do you do at work?


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Annoying the Wife - Email

From: Bigwig
To: Sainted Wife
Subject: 1st weekend in Nov

Do we have plans?

From: Sainted Wife
To: Bigwig
Subject: RE: 1st weekend in Nov

No, why? I hate when you ask me about dates, before telling me what has come up.

From: Bigwig
To: Sainted Wife
Subject: 1st weekend in Nov

Hmmm. How many queen size bedsheets do we have?

I thought you hated sheets, we have several, but they are good ones-WHY?

How many jars of mayonnaise do you think it would take to cover one queen-size bedsheet?

You're not f*&%ing funny

Now, see, that’s where you’re wrong. I am really f*&%ing funny.

That might be a free weekend for Woundwort and wife


I'll alert the media

What to do for dinner tonight?

Really not thinking about that now

What are you thinking about?

Taxes, uploads and tons of coal (Editor's note: The sainted wife is an accountant at a major power company. She doesn't think about coal for fun, though with accountants, it is sometimes hard to tell.)

Well I've been workin' on a coal mine,
Doin' uploads;
Workin' on a coal mine, Whoop! about to explode;
Workin' on a coal mine,
Goin' down, down;
Workin' on a coal mine, Whoop! about to explode;
Six o'clock in the mornin', I'm up before the sun,
When my work day is over, I'm too tired for havin' fun....

Lord, I am sooo tired!
How long can this go on?
I been workin’, going, workin’
Whew, about to explode!


That was good, I almost chuckled

My god, then to the rest of the world it would be an act of comedic genius!

Don't you have work to do?

Yes, tons. But my heart goes pitter-pat when I see your e-mail address in my mailbox

Oh, Ick.


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None Shall Pass

A Small Victory has another take on the Saddam/Bush duel


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Doing Our Part (and ourselves) For Peace

Finally, an effort the common man can support. Their motto is "War is Out, Pound Your Trout." God bless America!!!!


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Want me one of these

If ponies rode men and if grass ate cows,
And cats should be chased into holes by the mouse...
If summer were spring and the other way around,
Then all the world would be upside down.


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Making Mr. Creosote

Iraq may or may not have Weapons of Mass Destruction, but Fred First has confirmed the existence of Weapons of Mass Production at the local Target.


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10/03/2002

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Inquiring Minds Want to Know

Bulgaria has elected a King, which means that Simeon Saxe-Coburg Gotha joins Padmé Naberrie as the only other known elected monarch in the universe! Can marriage bells be far behind?


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Hypothesis

Cut on the Bias and Blogs4God are posting about the shootings in Maryland. Cut on the Bias notes especially the length of time between the first killing and the rest of them.

The first victim was killed last night, the other four today. What was the killer doing between 6 p.m. last night and 7:45 this morning? If the killings resulted from the killer reaching some type of breaking point, for whatever reason, that lag seems odd. It’s possible that he (and it is highly likely to be a he, statistically, from the characteristics of the crime) boiled over, killed, went home and stewed all night, then erupted again this morning. Possible, but I don’t think likely. The precision of the killings speaks against it.

My guess is that the first killing is the key. Someone wanted to kill James D. Martin. They did so, went home and decided that they needed to decrease the signal to noise ratio in order to get away with it. So he woke up the next day and confused the issue by shooting random people. Unless the apparent ease of the later shootings has turned what is certainly a well developed sociopath into a spree or serial killer, that's the last we've heard of it.

Unless the Indepundit's hunch is right, and it was terrorism.


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God help me, I've got almost all the choreography done in my head.

West Side Potty - I Made Poopies

TODDLER
I made poopies!
Great big poopies!
I made peepee and poopies tonight!
And those poopies,
created great parental delight!

I was charming,
and disarming!
It's alarming how charming I was!
When those poopies,
debuted to resounding applause!

See the pretty girl on the potty there:
Who can that attractive girl be?
Such a poopie face,
Such a poopie pose,
Such a poopie smell,
Such a poopie me!

I was stunning.
Defecating!
Feel like pooping and peeing some more!
For I didn't
miss and get it all over the floor!

PARENTS
Have you seen our daughter's urea?
It's sitting right there in the pot!
You'll know her the minute you smell her,
She will put you into an advanced state of shock.

She thinks she must pee.
She thinks she must poop.
She does it with glee,
And in one fell swoop.

It must be the heat
Or maybe the cheese,
that she had to eat
Or maybe it's peas?

Keep away from her,
Send for Lysol!
This is not the
toddler we know!

Sitting right there,
in front of the world!
Excreting with flair!
Her panties unfurled!

TODDLER
I made poopies!
Such big poopies,
That the city should give me its key.
A committee
Should be organized to honor me.

PARENTS
La la la la . . .

TODDLER
I feel dizzy!
I feel sunny!
I feel fizzy and funny and fine!
I made poopies!
And I can anytime I'm inclined!

PARENTS
La la la la . . .

TODDLER
See the pretty girl on the potty there:

PARENTS
What potty where?

TODDLER
Who can that attractive girl be?

PARENTS
Which? What? Where? Whom?

TODDLER
Such a poopie face,
Such a poopie pose,
Such a poopie smell,
Such a poopie me!

PARENTS
Such a poopie me!

ALL
I was stunning.
Defecating!
Feel like pooping and peeing some more!
For I didn't
miss and get it all over the floor!


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Public Nuisance says that if you're going to blog about Gore, get your facts straight first.

What he said. If you're going to attack someone, leaving obvious gaps into which people can attack you undermines your argument in the long run.


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Watch out, Dwarves.

Hi-ho, hi-ho,
It's off to bed you go.
And in that bed, you're infected
Hi-ho, hi-ho!


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Whitey and the Slants not welcome

In another news item virtually guaranteed to bring a couple of brickbats in to my collection, the Conference Against Racism in Barbados has expelled everyone who wasn't black. This despite their list of who should attend.

WHO SHOULD ATTEND?

Representatives of Nongovernmental Organizations (NGOs)
Workers and Trade Unionist
Professionals including those in: Engineering, International Relations, Health Care, Law, Education, Science and Technology, Business, Economics, Journalism, and the Clergy
Youth and Students
Artists, Writers, Film makers
Social Justice Activist
Human Rights and Civil Rights Advocates
Other Concerned Individuals


Racism is racism no matter who practices it. Powerless and poor is no excuse, and attending a conference in Barbados means that you're neither.


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Libertarian Smurf finally steps out of the shadows to join Papa, Brainy, Grouchy, Jokey and Smurfette on the world stage.

And Libertarians wonder why people don't take them seriously.


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If you demand satisfaction, suh, you will find it here.

Saddam has sent his second to challenge George to a duel. Fine. As the challenged party, we get to pick the weapons. I suggest cruise missiles at 800 miles.


What, haven't got any cruise missiles? Well, use your Scuds, then.


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Who knows?

Mich. GOP Accused of Racist Ad

The ad, which began airing Tuesday night, focuses on a memo Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick wrote in August that was leaked to the media this week.

In return for his help getting Detroit votes, Kilpatrick, who is black, said Granholm should hire Detroiters to head powerful state departments and ensure that new state buildings are built in the city. He also wants 20 percent of Granholm's appointees to be black.


You can see the original news story about the memo on UPN, here. To think I lived to see the day where a UPN news team broke a story, any story. My, we live in wondrous times.

Not so wondrous of course that the memo itself is available on the net anywhere. I talked to someone at the Posthumus campaign*, and they didn't know of one. You'd think that releasing a memo where a Democratic politician with state-wide recognition calls for judging job applicants on the the color of their skin rather than the content of their character would be a pretty good defense against racism charges. Releasing it to the media doesn't count. Putting it on the net, where anyone can read it, does.

After all, it's the statement that "20% of all appointees should be African Americans" that is racist, not the act of pointing out the statement.

That's if the statement actually exists. As far as I'm concerned, if it's not on the Net or on hard copy actually in my possession, it doesn't.



*Man, that's an unfortunate name. Everyone knows the dead vote Democratic.


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10/02/2002

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The Torch Isn't Out

New Jersey Supreme Court Rules Torricelli Can Be Replaced
First, let's go get the reactions.

Instapundit
Volokh
Kausfiles
Quasipundit
Just one minute
Man Without Qualities
The Light of Reason
Silent Running

Ok, far be it from me to lecture my betters, but ya'll are missing the point. Toricelli is not going to be replaced by a 78 year old man on the New Jersey ballot. I don't care what the New York Times says. He's too old, and that would hurt the Democratic ticket in N.J. just as much as Toricelli has.

The Democrats have a plan, have had a plan since before the Torch announced his "withdrawal" Monday, and are rubbing their hands in glee right now, because it's working without a hitch.

The New Jersey Supremes are in the Democratic pocket, and the Democrats know it. Yes, there are 2 Republicans on the bench, but a Republican in New Jersey is a Democrat almost everywhere else. The decision today was expected, and the appeal to the Supreme Court that the Republicans will file tomorrow is also expected. The New Jersey decision looks loony, so the Supreme Supremes will overrule the Garden State Supremes, say 20 days before the election. And then the shit will hit the fan.

Anyone else remember the nationwide bitterness the last time the Supreme Court overruled a state supreme court on the matter of a local election law? That wound may have a scab on it, but it's nowhere near healed. You can tell people to get over it till the cows come home, but just because they stop yelling doesn't mean everything is all hunky-dory now.

Two things will happen when the Supremes overrule. One, the Democratic base is going to get really energized really quickly. Most elections, and especially off-year elections, are decided by turnout, and this will turn out the party faithful in droves. Second, Bob Toricelli will have had a week or two or three where he isn't being attacked by Doug Forrester. Just as importantly, Forrester won't have a target to shoot at, so his campaign loses focus. When Toricelli jumps back into the race after the Supreme Court bitchslaps their state brethren, the focus will no longer be on him, but on the "Republican Supreme Court trying to steal a second national election." That will play in New Jersey. That will play all over the U.S., because the media is congenitally unable to let go of an angle as juicy as that. It gives the Democrats an issue that trumps Iraq, and they will not let it go.

Predictions:
Toricelli wins handily. 58% to 40%
The Democrats keep the Senate, and retake the House.
Or
My meds get upped.

Remember, you heard it here first.


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Same Story, Different Facts.

The Durham Herald - Man, 20, shot to death at Durham apartment
The Raleigh New & Observer - Robbers kill 18-year-old in townhouse

Someone above has gotten a fact wrong. If you can't rely on the media to get the basics correct, you cannot rely on the media. Not that this is a surprise to anyone.

I only noticed this because the poor murdered kid lived right across the street from the townhouse we lived in up until last year. We moved out after the city strong-armed the neighborhood association into accepting rent-subsidized tenants from the notorious public housing development being torn down on the other side of Durham. It wasn't the only reason we moved, but it certainly spurred our heels. It's still described as safe;

Police records show few crimes there. Since Jan. 1, 2001, there have been reports of three burglaries, one larceny, two larcenies of motor vehicle parts and one incident of vandalism at the townhouse complex, which stretches across the street to 1227 Seaton Road.

but what is doesn't say is that in the years I lived there previous to that date, there was one domestic disturbance, and one car break in*. It also doesn't mention that it's located in one of the hottest housing markets in the Triangle, yet has several empty townhouses that have stood empty for months. The original owners of the townhouses are mostly retired, but they're being inundated by the subsidized tenants.

It's a bad situation. Certainly I don't think we should keep poor people and their kids in the ghetto, but when they move the ghetto comes with them. It's not as if their relationships with undesirable elements cease. They're still in the same city, sometimes still in the same school district, and they've all got cars. The only solution I can think of is pervasive monitoring of any quasi-public space, and personal monitoring of private space. There's just not enough cops to go around. In the end, I don't see any alternative to the Transparent Society.

*I'm checking this with the Durham PD, which I did not know I could do until I called them to see how the reporter did it. I'm relying on the tenant grapevine for that statement, which makes me nervous, even though it is normally a pretty reliable source.


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A Trick For Husbands

This article shows how men can pretend to listen to their wives while still continuing to do what they want. It is pure genius.


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Carnival of the Vanities, #2

I was talking to a another blogger about traffic the other day. It doesn't matter which blogger. We all talk about traffic, and most of us have the same lament. "My traffic's too small." Never mind the ubiquitous penis ads. If spammers really wanted to make money, we would get e-mail in our in boxes advertising magic gels and devices to make our unique visitor numbers go up.

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The only secret I know is quantity. Post something everyday, and someone will come to read it. Posting something twice a day is even better. Post as often as you can. Eventually, quality grows out of the sheer mass of quantity like roses from beds of manure. The collected correspondence of Mark Twain runs to nearly five thousand pages. Not all of it is going to be the literary equivalent of Huckleberry Finn. Out of those 5000 pages there are bound to be a few where Twain whines about the typewriter, or curses a few politicians, or talks about the cute thing his daughter did that day. I'll bet you at some point he even complains about how small his readership is.

So post, and post often. It's the only way to get to Carnegie Hall. No, you're still not likely to be the next Mark Twain. But if you practice, you might be the next Bret Harte. Myself, I'm aiming for Booth Tarkington.

This Week's Roses

Art
Ipse Dixit - It Should Be Shocking
Where Worlds Collide - Twelfth Night

Humor
Solonor's Ink Well - The Art of Being Frugal
South Knox Bubba - I Made the Switch
Silflay Hraka - Birds of the Middle East

International
Glenn Frazier - Russia, Azerbaijan, Iran and the U.S.
Silent Running - Think of the Children

Life
Sour Mash With A Twist - Tomorrow will be an amazing day
Northwest Notes - Youth regained through Rollerblading
a small victory - she's a pinball wizard Such a supple wrist!

Natural History
Fragments ~ from Floyd - Tiny Links in a Delicate Chain and Turtle Encounters of the Third Kind Looks like the Intimidator to me
Weck up to Thees - Scientific Progress Goes Boink

The Net
File 13's Amish Tech Support - Amber Alerts

Parenting
Blogatelle - Spare The Lecture, Spoil The Child?

Politics
Heretical Ideas - Bulworth, Ralph Nader, and the DNC
Whigging Out - Long ago and Far away
skippy the bush kangaroo - let's hope they never disappear skippy
Philosoblog - Your Degree in BS

Pop goes the Culture, 'cuz the Culture goes Pop!
The Kitchen Cabinet - Superman

Ripping the Media a New One
Sine Qua Non Pundit - The Scourge of Richard Cohen, Vol. LV
The Road to Surfdom - PRESS ADMITS THEY are IDIOTS EASILY BLUFFED by the IDIOTS in the WHITE HOUSE.
Poet and Peasant - Nastygram to ABC

The Carnival of the Vanities is published every Wednesday at Silflay Hraka and Blog Critics. Information on how to join the Carnival is available here.


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10/01/2002




Piquant Sauce

Somehow this was my fault. When we first started toilet training the Ngnat, I developed what to my eyes was a perfectly straightforward system. If any member of the family pees on the floor, they get a time out. On the other hand, if any member of the family makes pee or poopies in the little plastic potty on the floor in front of the television, well, that person gets a couple of M&M's as a reward. I thought it would work perfectly well, but was informed that the first part of my master plan was unnecessarily cruel, and would likely result in psychoanalysis bills totaling hundreds of dollars later in Ngnat's life.

So we dropped the time outs, and kept the candy. M&M's were only handed out for a very successful potty trip, one that resulted in poopies. The first one was especially exciting--not that anyone was expecting it. Toilet training is like combat, hours and hours of boredom sprinkled with a few seconds of excitement. Ngnat sat on her potty, and we sat on the couch, and Ngnat sat on her potty, and we set on the couch, and Ngnat sat on her potty until finally she jumped up.

She pointed at the potty. "Daddy! What's that?"

I leaned over. "Oh my God! That's a gigantic turd!"

The wife was not especially pleased with me. It didn't help that Ngnat began to dance around the potty, chanting.

"dantic tud! dantic tud!"

Still, she got her first potty training M&M's that night, and really hasn't missed a chance at them since. The problem with the M&M's is that they are essentially toddler crack. Less than a minute after she understood that she only got the little candy pellets of bliss for successful poopies, she immediately started working on the slippery slope.

"Look, daddee! pee pee! mememems?"

"I wass hans daddee. mememems?"

And bit by bit she broke us, until she got mememems at least once a day, poopies or no poopies. She'd get them, run back to the potty, and immediate start work on producing more.

Which brings us to today, when we, and by we I mean the parental unit as a whole, and not one of us in particular, absent-mindedly gave her M&Ms just as we got home from daycare, before any potty actions had been attempted. We, and by we I mean both parents, not that it matters in the end which parent gave her the candy, went upstairs to change.

A cry of "pee pee, daddee" floated up the stairs, but we didn't really pay too much attention. We get eight or nine of those a night. I changed, and went downstairs, and strolled over to the potty to dispose of its contents.

For a toddler it was truly prodigious pee, at least the equivalent of a juice box. It looked weird, though. It had dark little swirls in it, like...like...like chocolate.

I stared in horror at my daughter. Wet smears of chocolate were all over her face and hands. Please God, no.

"Honey, did you drop the M&Ms in the pee pee?"

"uh-huh"

"Did you eat the M&Ms?"

"uh-huh"

Ick.Ick.Ick.Ick.Ick.Ick.Ick. Oh, it was just the grossest thing. Melts in your mouth, not in your hand, and tastes great with urine! She started licking her fingers.

"Ahhhhh! Let's go wash our hands! Don't touch the couch!" I marched her into the bathroom, stood her up on the stool, lathered her up. "You stay there."

I went upstairs, found her mother.

"You know those M&M's you just gave her?"


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Bekaa Valley Girl

I ride the bus to campus each day with two Muslim girls; sisters I think. One wears a black headscarf each day, the other a white one. I don't know if they always wear the same one, or if they switch back and forth. The amount of staring involved in figuring that out would be a little obvious.

I did overhear this conversation fragment today, though.

White headscarf: I got a 93 on the test she handed back yesterday.
Black headscarf: I got a 94.
White headscarf: You bitch! My T.A. took points off for like, grammar? It's a Poli Sci course!
Black headscarf: My T.A. is like, the Devil. She is totally two-faced.

I don't worry as much about bombs on the bus any more.


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The Shrill of it All

The anti-war left is starting to realize that they're losing the Iraq debate. Since it cannot possibly be that the quality of their arguments are failing to sway the people, it must be because they are getting "Outshouted". Note that Ms. Lay fails to actually argue against the war through anything other that the shallow debating trick of an "Appeal to Authority".


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Deleted Scenes from Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Head Knight: You must return here with a shrubbery, or else, you will never pass through this wood... alive.
Arthur: O Knights of Ni, you are just and fair, and we will return with a shrubbery....but...
Head Knight: No buts!
Other Knights of Ni: Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni!
Arthur and Party: Ow! Oh!
Arthur: O Knights of Ni, you are just and fair, but what if our shrubbery fails to please?
Head Knight: Then....
Another Knight of Ni: Boil then in oil!
Another Knight of Ni: Flay them.....alive!
Dingo: You must tie her down on a bed and spank her!
Girls: A spanking! A spanking!
Head Knight: Here, where did you come from?
Dingo: Why, the Castle Anthrax!
Head Knight: The Castle Anthrax?
Dingo: Yes... oh, it's not a very good name is it?
Knights: Aaaaugh! Aaaugh!
Arthur: Excuse me...
Head Knight: Don't say that word.
Arthur: What word?
Head Knight: Not you. Her!
Dingo: What word?
Head Knight: I cannot tell, suffice to say is one of the words
the Knights of Ni cannot hear.
Dingo: How can we not say the word if you don't tell us what it
is?
Knights: Aaaaugh! Aaaugh!
Dingo: What, `is'?
Head Knight: No, not `is' -- we couldn't get vary far in life not
saying `is'.
Arthur: We were trying to have a discussion here!
Dingo: And who are you?
Arthur: I am Arthur, King of the Britons!
Dingo: Oooooooo, a King? Command me, my Lord!
Girls: Command me! Command me!
Arthur: Er, ah, yes. Very well then. Go home!
Dingo: Go home!?
Arthur: Yes, afraid so. Holy Quest, you know.
Dingo: Oh, shit.
Arthur: Now, where were we?
Another Knight of Ni: The word!
Knights of Ni: Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni!
Head Knight: Quiet!
Another Knight of Ni: Neee-wom!
Head Knight: You had questioned the result if you returned with a inferior shrubbery.
Arthur: Yes, that's right.
Head Knight: We knife you in the heart through the collarbone and leave you to decay by the edge of the sea.
Knights of Ni: Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni!
Arthur and Party: Ow! Oh!
Arthur: Please! Please! No more! We will find you a shrubbery.
Head Knight: One that looks nice.
Arthur: of course.
Head Knight: And not too expensive.
Arthur: Yes.
Head Knight: Now... go!


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U.S Guilty of Biological Threat From Iraq?

This story is now being run and was pulled from the internet:

By MATT KELLEY
.c The Associated Press

WASHINGTON (Oct. 1) - Iraq's bioweapons program that President Bush wants to eradicate got its start with help from Uncle Sam two decades ago, according to government records getting new scrutiny in light of the discussion of war against Iraq.

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention sent samples directly to several Iraqi sites that U.N. weapons inspectors determined were part of Saddam Hussein's biological weapons program, CDC and congressional records from the early 1990s show. Iraq had ordered the samples, claiming it needed them for legitimate medical research.

The CDC and a biological sample company, the American Type Culture Collection, sent strains of all the germs Iraq used to make weapons, including anthrax, the bacteria that make botulinum toxin and the germs that cause gas gangrene, the records show. Iraq also got samples of other deadly pathogens, including the West Nile virus.


My God, were we really that stupid? I find it unbelievable that we did not realize the potential dangers of sending all types of biological material to Iraq as early as 1990. Hadn't the man proven himself as dangerous prior to this time? Shouldn't some red flags have been waved when the guy was writing the mailing address onto the box of anthrax? If this is true, and it appears to be, then aren't we to blame for the current situation we claim to be faced with in Iraq? The idiotic nature of this is astounding. Perhaps our government should also send botulinum toxins to Korea, gangrene to Iran, or automatic weapons to a group living outside of Buffalo that are of Middle Eastern decent and claim to have research they need to conduct.

We have been so quick to point the finger at other nations, what are we going to do to clean up our own backyard? Should we implement a series of sanctions against ourselves so that we don't do this again? With all of the checks and balances that our government must have in place to get anything done, doesn't it seem amazing that one person, JUST ONE DAMN PERSON, in an authoritative position didn't stop and say, "Hey, should we be sending this stuff over there?"

Many people have been demanding that President Bush prove his case against Iraq to the U.N. and provide evidence that Saddam has the potential to create biological weapons. My picture of this occurring now goes something like this:

Kofi Annan: So, President Bush, what evidence do you have that Saddam Hussein has access to materials to make biological weapons?

Bush: Well, um, I know because we sent them to him. Now I want him dead or alive. I’m a patient man. We have resolve. He is an evildoer.

Kofi Annan: You did what? You sent them to him? Were you high?

Bush: Actually, I might have been high, but my daddy was in office then, not me. I was busy making money with the Texas Rangers. How about that Alex Rodriguez, he can really play, can’t he?

Annan: Mr. Bush, that is off topic. You are out of order.

Bush: I’m out of order? You’re out of order!! This whole United Wild Kingdom of Omaha is out of order. You guys don’t do any real hunting any more……….


I digress, my random thoughts spilling onto the page. The fact is we sent biological materials to Iraq, yet we condemn other nations for doing the same thing. I’m sure we aren’t sending these materials today, but I can’t imagine that Hussein’s record on human rights was much more glowing a decade ago. Maybe Reagan did it as his mind began to fade, or the elder Bush did it because the economy was going in the tank and he needed some extra cash. Whatever happened, I expect somebody will have some explaining to do. Wouldn’t it be classic if the younger Bush discovered mistakes his father made through this? Time will tell.

Come on America, wake up and smell the coffee. Don’t send hazardous materials to dictators who hate everyone and are quite capable of killing their own people.


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The Fun Ship Carnival

The deadline for this week's Carnival of the Vanities submissions is 5 pm, EST, Tuesday. Traffic was quite good for the first one, attracting links from The Daily Pundit, InstaPundit and Cut on the Bias, among others. It also reached a fairly high position at Blogdex (#32), and was posted at Blog Critics as well as here. Come one, come all.


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9/30/2002




Born in Babylonia, moved to Arizona, King Tut.


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A Left to the Chin

We read Puss in Boots for Ngnat's bedtime story tonight. Given my unfortunate chemical makeup (I'm a man), I've always felt that there was something vaguely porno about the title. Aside from the obvious, all it really needs is a consonant switch and you've got the title of a Terence and Phillip movie. For those of you now helplessly confused (Hi Mom), that would be "Bussin' poots", the simple, gentle story of a man and his gas fetish.

But to Ngnat it wasn't "Bussin' poots", or even "Supping Toobs". It was "Shoo kitty." So we read that, instead. About halfway through, with no obvious catalyst that I could see, she suddenly sat up in the bed and turned to face me, her right hand balled up in a fist. She drew up close to mine, widened her eyes so that she was making a face, and, ever so gently, punched me in the nose with the side of her fist. Girl fist though, not a boy fist.

Aside: Having exhaustively searched the web for an illustration of boy first versus girl fist and finding only Shotokan and porn, I find I must explain this myself. It was common knowledge in my elementary school that boys made fists with their thumb across the front of the first, and girls made fists with the thumb at the side of the fists. Various other thumb positions were heavily debated, including thumb under pointer and thumb inside fist, but dismissed as dangerous to the digit. God help the boy who made girl fists.

Certainly it didn't hurt. If anything, it was a caress. If so, it was the weirdest caress I can recall, and I spent a good part of my life dating repressed church girls yearning to break free. Thanks Dusty, I owe you. She popped up another couple of times as I read to her of the adventures of the canny Puss and his dimwit master, looked deep into my eyes, gave her impression of Susan Sarandon being goosed by Pat Buchanan, and tagged me with the world's softest right cross.

It's not the only thing she's picked up. She saw a shark on television earlier tonight, immediately turned away and buried her head in my chest. When and where did she learn to be scared of sharks? How does she even recognize a shark? She's not even three. Every color in the world to her is "wed", "boo" or "lullah", but she recognizes dangerous fish. She also knows the Lord's Prayer, which makes me suspect that the nice ladies at the Baptist daycare she attends put on habits and lead the children in daylong catechism lessons as soon as the parents are all gone.

We spend all of our time worrying about exposing her to different experiences, but we're stunned as soon as she gives us proof that she's been exposed to them. I guess we still expect to be the primary filters through which she sees the world.

So much for that.


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U.N. Weapons Inspectors Seek Open Access in Iraq

Chief inspector Hans Blix told reporters at the Vienna headquarters of the International Atomic Energy Agency that the talks would operate under the assumption that nothing in Iraq -- including Saddam's palaces -- will be off- limits to inspectors hunting for nuclear, biological and chemical weaponry.

Here's a prediction. By this time next week, Hans Blix will announce that the Iraqis have agreed in principle to allow U.N. weapons inspectors open access to any and all sites within Iraq. He might even wave a piece of paper in the air. Russia, China and France, perhaps joined by other members of the Security Council, will argue that this abrogates the need for new resolutions on the matter. The NYT and the WaPo will run headlines like "Saddam outmaneuvers Bush; agrees to open inspections." The Bush administration will act like it has taken a shot to the knees for a day or so, come out with a response on the order of "Liar, Liar, pants on fire," and go back to beating the war drum. The Senate Democrats will accuse Bush of leading the U.S. into war at all costs, and some leftist celebrity will call Saddam a "Man of Peace"*. The blogosphere with thrash through another round of debate on the topic of "does Bush have a plan or is he making it up as he goes along." before returning to pretty much the same divisions it has today.

The week after that, Iraq will object to the makeup of the inspections teams, arguing that they are providing cover for U.S. spies. Blix returns to the negotiating table for more talks, and Saddam is a week closer to his bomb.

If they do have a plan, then Bush & Co. have gamed out all the possible variations of delay that Saddam is going to use, and has figured that he'll exhaust those avenues sometime in January. Coincidentally or not, that's one of the times most bruited about for the attack. If they don't have a plan, they maybe we will see an attack in October or November, before Saddam has finished with his delaying tactics. You can expect the howls of protest to drown out the sound of bombs, at least at the beginning.



If it's Babs, it will be "Man of Piece"


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Money Dance! Thanks to our Amazon tipster! Another $5 in the tin for the communal beach house.


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Sign of Armageddon

Dammit, we have to put an end to the insanity that is television programming. The idea of reality programming is no longer interesting and tv executives are spending way too much time sitting around thinking this stuff up. I realize that Survivor has been very successful, and I admit that I did watch the last 15 minutes of the first run through of the program (“not help you…..you suck….evil bitch….bitter I didn’t win….blah, blah, blah), but who is still watching this crap which is causing everyone to continue generating these shows?

Survivor, Big Brother, The Osbournes and the Anna Nicole Smith Show (which basically is an advertisement for Twinkies) were enough, now we have crossed the line. Coming soon is The Surreal Life which is going to place a number of celebrities……..I’m sorry, ex-celebrities in a house to live together for two weeks. The amazing line of has-beens put together for this extravaganza includes ex-Motley Crue singer, Vince Neil, M.C. Hammer, and the little guy who played Webster (I know, I thought he was dead too).

We should have stopped with COPS, where at least someone might get shot. We will just wish we could shoot someone if we watch this crap. I am going to put a bumper sticker on my car which read “Don’t Blame Me, I Only Watch Sports.” The thing that really frightens me is that I do not see an end to this madness. We will continue to put any number of people in a house together and watch them live with or kill each other. WB, for the love of God, please don’t do this. Let’s keep Webster on Nickelodeon, M.C. Hammer on the religious channel, and Vince Neil in rehab. This idea makes Mama’s Family look like sheer genious.


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9/29/2002




Double Trouble

The trio strode down the vaulted hall. Two men dressed as palace guards, Kalashnikovs on their shoulders, trailing behind another, a stocky mustachioed figure, wearing green fatigues and a black beret. The sound of their footsteps echoing off the marbled floor and ceiling would have given them a suitably purposeful "men striding to meet their destiny" air were it not for the contortions of the leader, as he alternated between yanking at the seat of his pants and his facial hair.

"This Allah be-damned mustache is slipping again!" Ahmed pressed at the mass of hair atop his upper lip. "Whatever you used to make it stick smells of sheep anus!" He gave the coarse hair another tug, then started picking irritably at the sides of the green uniform he had struggled into a half-hour before. "And the cursed uniform is too tight."

The palace guard on his right smacked Ahmed's hands away from the cloth they were tugging at, and smacked them a second time as they rose again towards his face. Shamir glared at him. "Quit that! It is sheep anus, boiled for two days in the open sun, and probably goat anus and camel anus and rat anus and a thousand and one other anuses. Omar made it. I do not care if it smells like the pustulent hole your mother shat you of. If you tug at it again, it will fall off in the middle of your speech. Whose anus do you think they will boil after that?"

Ahmed, rubbing the sting out of his hands, gave the other guard a dark look. "It might be preferable to wearing these pants." He gave them another ineffectual yank. "My ass looks like a giant camel's toe. I liked it better back in the armory."

Omar gazed back, phlegmatic. "The error is your own. Were you not as vain as a Saudi princeling with his first boy, you would not be in such discomfort. You told me you measured 32 inches in the waist, so I made the pants 32 inches in the waist. It is not my fault that your waist hasn't seen 32 inches since your madrassa days." They turned a corner, heading towards a distant portico, through which the murmur of a distant crowd could be heard. "I will let them out tonight, if the Effendi Ji'ivsa approves of you, and you make it through your speech without stuttering like a mullah in a synagogue."

The Effendi Ji'ivsa was a small man with a tonsure of brown hair around a truly stupendous bald spot; stationed at a desk in an alcove off the hallway a few tens of yards away from looming portico. Four Republican guards flanked him. Distaste oozed from their cold black eyes as the trio halted in front of the desk. It was piled high with papers, a copy of the Koran, and a dog-eared paperback novel, surprisingly not one of the ones written by HIM. There was a time when Iraqi bureaucrats had taken to leaving copies of Zabibah and the King on their desks, until a number had been executed for reading during work hours. Each man did go to his grave with a personally autographed copy, however.

Ji'ivsa looked up from his papers, running his fingers through thinning black hair. "This is the new one?"

Omar stepped forward. "Yes, if you please, dragoman.'

He looked at Ahmed. "Memorized the speech, have you?"

Ahmed swallowed nervously. "Yes effendi, as if it were the blessed Koran itself."

Ji'ivsa slid back from the desk, the chair shuddering against the wood. "Well, let's have look at you. Had some idiot bring me a blonde last week." He walked in a tight circle around Ahmed, who had broken out in a sweat with the effort of keeping his recalcitrant belly sucked in.

"Nice attention to detail. Sweat is a good touch. HE always sweated like an ox in the oven before a speech. Mustache a bit off. Face not nearly broken out enough. Still, shouldn't matter from the distance. The pants are perfect."

Ahmed stifled a groan.

"Excuse me?"

"Pardon, effendi. I had lentils for breakfast."

"Method actor, I see." Ji'ivsa completed his inspection and returned to his desk. "Let, me see…What's the bit after ‘And hear the lamentations of their women?'"

Ahmed was silent for a moment. Omar paled, and the four guards shifted stance, every so slightly. Their eyes gleamed.

Shamir felt panic rise with the gorge in his throat. If I shoot him now, he thought, perhaps I can convince Allah that he was an enemy, and perhaps jew him out of one or two houris after those four bastards over there gut me like a lamb.

His thought was interrupted by Ahmed's smooth baritone.

"These our brethren the faithful and the Arabs, are the calls made by your sons and brothers in Iraq, the land of faith, as they confront the enemy who wants to harm Iraq, with total disregard to God and man, despite all the resilience and resolve with which the Iraqi people have faced this enemy who has refused to listen to any Islamic or Arab voice, and indeed rejected all the initiatives and calls for peace, which we had proposed more than once, name of the people of Iraq."

Ji'ivsa nodded. "Very good. You have acted before?"

Shamir thought frantically at the effendi. Don't ask him for his credits.

Ahmed nodded. "Yes effendi, in my younger days."

Don't ask him for his credits!

Ji'ivsa glance at his watch. "We still have five minutes before the CNN feed is up. Anything I might have heard of?

Lie about your credits. In the name of all that is holy, lie you fool!

Omar made a frantic gesture in his direction, to no avail. Ahmed beamed. Perhaps there was a fan to be made here! "My first roles were in the Riyadh production of Oh! Calcutta! After that I played Kenickie in the Sanaa Players Company production of Grease, effendi. The South Yemen Examiner said that my performance was ‘luminous'. My last role before Allah called me to Jihad…..

I wonder how many other calls Allah made were to wrong numbers, thought Shamir sourly. Omar was rapidly paling.

"was in the The Merchant of Venice, where my…." Ahmed stumbled to a halt, realizing too late that he had follwed the rascally rabbit over the edge of the cliff, and nothing but open space lay beneath him. "My…performance….was called ‘surprisingly tender and nuanced…'"

Ji'ivsa glanced at his watch again, picked up the paperback. "Which role did you play?"

Ahmed glanced at his friends. Their faces were as pasty white as he presumed his was. He swallowed. "Jessica, my lord."

Ji'ivsa was once again engrossed in his reading. "Well, I'm sure it's all to the good. Not much of a theatre man myself. See me after the speech, we'll arrange to get you and your entourage some decent quarters. There's a couple of chairs they can sit in just inside the balcony. I know my crew always cry like little girls after they've been on their feet a while." The four around him slumped ever so slightly, and glanced at the trio guiltily.

Immensely relieved, Ahmed started down the hall, then turned back, a question in his eyes. "Will HE be watching, effendi?"

Ji'ivsa, glanced up from his book. "What, Saddam?"

"Yes, my lord."

"I should think not. Been dead for years. Shot himself cleaning his pistol. The doubles have been running the country since then. You'll make number six, and I should think you'll be quite popular. New boy always gets the shit jobs, you know. "

He lowered his book, glanced at the 3 pairs of eyes goggling at him. " I know it's a bit of a shock, but I've found that the initial speeches each double makes are lot less stilted when they aren't worrying about HIM writing the reviews. No, he's long gone. Pissed in his eye sockets myself. Now, how do they say? Go break a leg." He waved them away, returned to his book, looked up once again. "All of this is on the hush-hush, of course. Otherwise it'll be your eye sockets getting the irrigation. Run along now!"

Ahmed, Shamir and Omar walked slowly down the remaining fifty yards. Omar held the dog-end of a cigarette to his lips, which he lit and inhaled of deeply before passing it along. Shamir greedily accepted, but Ahmed waved it away.

"Cuts my wind, makes it harder to do the monologues." His eyes were far away, calculating. "What was the book Ji'ivsa was reading?"

Omar shrugged. "Something by a ferengi named Heinlein. I didn't see the title."

"Double Star." Shamir said. "I saw the title when he picked it up. I wonder what it is about."

"Who knows?" Omar settled into a chair, just inside the balcony. "The Americans write millions of books. Perhaps it is a treatise on baldness." He motioned Ahmed forward. "Don't fuck it up, and tonight we can sleep in beds. With sheets." His eyes shined. "And women."

Ahmed strode forward into the light, his shoulders pulled back, becoming a bull of man.

"Saddam!" shouted the crowd. "Saddam!"


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