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Barack Obama has brought to the surface the simmering issue we've all faced since the day we were born in this country: we will never view people of a different skin color from our own as our human equivalent.  To be honest, my high school education in Lincoln, Nebraska paid semesters-worth amounts of time to covering thing like segregation, "separate but equal," and apartheid.  What good came of it?  I'm not talking about myself, personally.  What does education do to improve racial equality?  What does seeing many many videos of Southern blacks being sprayed with firehoses in the '60s do to bring one's level of understanding to a new place?

It never does anything.  The biggest single hurdle Obama is facing in his quest for the presidency is that people will judge him by the color of his skin, rather than the quality of his character.  Has there ever been a politician like Mr. Obama?  A black man will be the Democratic nominee for President of the United States.  Look through your history books.  Dissect the imagery.  Give it another look beyond that.  Did you ever expect this in your lifetime?  Whitey could let a black man be ruler of the land.  It's only a few steps from happening.  Will it happen?  How bullshit is it that I need to ask these questions?

As we've seen in West Virginia, and as we'll see in Kentucky, voters are rejecting Mr. Obama outright for the most baseless reasons imaginable.  They don't think he has a way forward for our country.  They think he's secretly a MOOSLEM.  They think all kinds of things which aren't true, and they usually sit in pancake houses and breathe awful, undignified insults to his character to national news reporters through rotten teeth and bits of chewed bacon.  Their color?  White.  These folks is as white as pure snow.

There's a guy out there preaching to the choir.  Educated folks is selecting Obama by a large margin.  Poor workin' folks is exposin' our inherent racism.  No matter what education level you reach, you're a racist.  Period.  You have suspicions about other groups of races getting together and saying things about your race.  Yes, you do.

What do we do?  Why can't Obama be President?  When you sit down in the voting booth (you are white), are YOU going to cast a vote for Mr. Obama over the white war hero John McCain?  These narratives are set up so perfectly.  A secret muslim black against a fuckin' WAR HERO white.  What else can I even say?

We've been worried that the media is controlling our actions for quite some time.  Now, there's a direct application of this principle.  You've got an eloquent, fresh, brilliant man running for president in the hopes of getting to Washington and taking a Real Man look at how business is being done.  On the other hand, you've got a rotten-to-the-core old bastard running for president who eschews Cialis in favor of imagined bombings of dark religious heathens.  Yet, we're divided.  We can't see the way forward.  We are baited into our worst possible instincts.  All of our education is naught in the face of Greta Van Susteren and Karl Rove sitting in a tiny studio playing clips of a black preacher taken out of context from a 7-year-old sermon and repeating line after line after line after line of sicko hitjob politics in order to crucify the black man on a modern media cross.  For the corporate good.  To make the shareholders get that extra-special chub as they hit the golf course this Friday morning in resplendent spring sunlight.  You can't even smell the dust wafting in from Iraq's freshest smoldering child-remains-crater.

Let's go on with our business.  We can't elect a black man to president.  It's just not possible; the media just can't allow itself to tell the truth about what really might be afoot in our world.  No.  No, we can't.  We sure, sure can't.

I just bought a really big fucking external hard drive.  It's like 750 gigabytes, which is a shit ton of fuck.  It's funny, though - when I bought the components to my new PC a year ago, I was like, "hmmm, 250 GB should last me for a few years."  I'm on pace to shatter that within one year, and I couldn't even tell you how.  Not a single byte of the drive space consumption is naughty movies, and I've only installed like 4 games.  It's just getting out of control with music and funny vids and shit.

Anyhow, I was really struck by how odd it is to be buying storage in that quantity.  I mean, adding it up, HOLY FUCK I'LL HAVE A FUCKING TB SITTING ON THE CORNER OF MY DESK.  It was hard to imagine such a thing only a handful of years ago.  Shit, my fam's 1st PC was like 850 MB.  And now what do I have, like 750,000,000 kilobytes, roughly?  It's funny that a 10 KB image is still fine enough to capture a fully recognizable image of my face.  So, I could pass it to someone who knew me, on a flash card, and they'd say, "Adam!"  It's amazing that you can do that -- something so universal and undeniably powerful -- with such a comparably infinitesimal portion of a modern hard disk drive.

What I've been discussing is the simple idea of a 10 KB visual depiction of my face being dwarfed into practical nonexistence by the medium which would store and retain it.  Can you imagine that, in our lifetimes, a similar, let's say, 80 terabyte disk image of an exact replica of one's own human mind might be likewise rendered fully insignificant, by even the unfathomably large capacity storage devices we'll carry around in our front pockets?

Well, that is, if the terrorists don't destroy our civilization first and send all our progress back to the Dark Ages.  That's why I'm voting McCain in '08.

If you haven't been following media coverage of Benazir Bhutto's assassination at the hands of the Pakistani government, it's been pretty goddamn hilarious.  Javed Iqbal Cheema, the "Interior Ministry Spokesman" for the Musharraf government, has been busy at work making Baghdad Bob look like a patron saint of truth-telling.  Fox News has lapped up his every rezonkulous claim and regurgitated his unchecked words as "headlinable fact."  Witness:

If you look at their coverage splash from a few days ago, the following UNCHECKED FACTS become undisputed rightwinger currency:

1. Al Qaida himself sent a bomber to shoot at/frighten Benazir Bhutto
2. Benazir Bhutto was so scared by the bomb that she hit her head on a sunroof lever and died immediately
3. "The government says" is good enough, even when said government is pretty decent at routinely being FUCKING LIARS.

I honestly am a little glad that the guy who writes the headlines onto AP images at FoxNews got his chance to put over the official government (our government) line:  "Whatever the Pakistani government says is what the U.S. government's media wing reports, just like 'whatever the U.S. government says is what the U.S. government's media wing reports,' only funnier."  You decide.

Here's the video showing the shirt on Bhutto's back painted red with her own blood, in perfect sync with gunshots ringing out.  Good thing the Pakistani government has assured us that everything will be cleared up once they exhume her and send us a written transcript (no media!!!~) of the re-autopsy.  I was confused.

America is a country.  We're sick; deeply sick.  Injured.  We've suffered injurious amounts of sickness in a particular dimension of our being, amounting to the current confused state in which we all find ourselves.  Who are we anymore?

When there's some awful malady that you can't ignore, the only way out is pain or death.  Pain is suffered for the fix; the surgery.  Which part needs surgery?  The back?  Is our back figuratively broken?  No.  You will never break the back of America.  The backbone of America is embodied by some 67-year-old guy named Gus who gets up at 5:30 AM to head down to the city square and clean up your trash.  That's the American back, and it remains healthy as hell.

Legs?  A broken leg(s)?  No, those are just fine. That's our economy, sound as ever.  Cyclical, yes.  The left leg of the government moves in time with the right leg of the free market.  We would go in a fucking circle without one sweeping forward to carry the momentum of the other.  There are rough times, but these legs cannot be broken.

Maybe our country has suffered a broken arm.  Nope, doesn't seem that way to me.  We trade with other nations and we produce our own goods just as well as anyone else on Earth.  Maybe one arm takes more than the other produces, but that's not a broken arm.  That's just confusion.  Why so confused?  Hold on a sec.

I have to address the heart.  The heart of this country is not broken.  They're serving in Baghdad and Kabul and anywhere else they are sent.  They enable the flow of freedom through our circulatory system just like they always have, pumping and pumping in perfect athletic fitness.  Our defenses alone determine the ability of our arms to reach and build and destroy, all through the providence of freedom's deep crimson bloodflow.  Our blood burns hot as our heart suffers blow after blow, but it is not broken.  Not yet.

Where are we at?  What is broken?  Why, it's the brain, you see.  We've lost our conscience.  Without a journalistic media that oversees and exposes the governance put forth by the other parts of the brain, we are addled by whatever wishes and fantasies those who are in control of every other part so desire.  Corrupt and gripped with megalomania, psychotic murder-sick justifications of mass killing, and unimpeded desire to consume and alter everything within our sphere of being, we find our body out of control.

The conscience alone could correct this horrid affliction, but as such an abstract device in our body's function, it has been lost to the omnivorous greed of our brain's center: the ruling class.  With the passion in our heart and the freedom in our blood, we the people of these United States (the moral instinct) could compel ourselves to be rid of the sickness that gnaws the inner workings of our brain and drives our entire body ever further toward ruin.

Surgery could fix the conscience.  Excision of the old conscience and implanting a new one built on the moral instinct of our blood and moment could be the one fix that saves the brain, correcting the corruptive forces of the dominant ruling section.  Our overtaxed and overworked body could begin to relax again.  We could stop leaping over oceans and partitions, suffering constant bruises and infections, and we could just be again, walking along with the twin legs of economy, the arms taking and giving what is needed, and the back providing steady guidance and upright movement.

Destroy the mass media.  Fuck them all.  Let's get together and poison their efforts, check their every injustice, and lay bare their every trick.  A malfunctioning part of our figurative mind cannot poison our blood, it can only compel us toward slow suicide.  It must be our instinct to push back.

Holy smokes, kids.  Look at old Fred Thompson, courtesy of Reuters:

Every time this guy articulates a sentence, his entire body jolts like he's jerkingly undulating in and out of a state of full rigor mortis.  "I'm alive!  I'm dead!  I'm alive!  I'm dead!  I can't stop talking about 'down home American values!'  I'm alive!"

I thought you had to be an attractive man to win the presidency in this day and age.  You know, like women more or less decide the prezzinents because they (not you, you specific woman, if you're reading this) tend to vote with their engorged clitorii more than they vote with their heads or their pocketbooks.  Someone find me that poll.  Anyway, Fred Thompspoon is dead in the water if he can't stop photographing and videographing like a reanimated cadaver, with all the color and pallor of the walking embalmed.  The fact that he sounds vaguely cranky can't help too much, neither.

Vote Corpse for Prez '08 fuck the world!

News hodgepodge y'all:

Larry Fuckin Craig (R - Idahomo)

Sorry, that was in poor poor taste, but I can at least apologize for something.  Larry Craig has only apologized for pleading guilty to charges he now claims are false.  Fabricated.  He's essentially calling a veteran police sergeant a liar.  We LOVE our law enforcement, and we feel that they answer our nation's call to serve, often plunging headlong into danger and uncertainty.  They are the real heroes of this country.  You know, until they catch you cruising for bathroom blowjobs at an airport; then they're lying scum, not to be trusted.  I personally don't feel he did anything wrong.  If you can't solicit a stranger for sex in a very nonchalant sort of secret cruiser code, then what can you do?

My only problem is the lying.  Just stop with this "he said, he said" balderdash.  When the cop showed you his badge, Mr. Senator, you screamed, "NO!"  Nothing else you say explains that away.  It's the key to this entire case.  Why did you cry out in negatory anguish when some guy next to you pulled out his badge and pointed at the door?  I wouldn't say "NO!!!!!" if I wasn't doin' nothing.  I would, of course, ask, "what?"  It seems to me that any sort of rational person would start with a question or something.  Let's take a look at some more rational responses than "NO!":

1. "What the fuck is that?"
2. "Um, can I help you?"
3. "I swear, I'm not stealing toilet paper!"
4. "What are you, the Feces Police?"
5. "Hey!  Cut that out!"
6. "A little privacy, please."
7. "Oh, shit.  And here I thought you wanted to help me get rid of this raging 62-year-old boner.  Well, let's step outside so you can book me and end my political career.  You caught me red-handed, old sport!"

The Reaper

The U.S. military has had some pretty cool recent advances in remote warfare.  Since 9/11, we've been employing Predator drones (the terrorists are the PREY!), fully loaded with Stinger missiles (ooh, I bet that stings, motherfucker).  We recently introduced armed robots to the battlefields of the war on terror, codenamed SWORDS.  Bad fuckin ass.  Now, we've got a fully-loaded super drone that's on par with a real fighter jet in terms of the payload it carries.  According to USA Today, that's 3,750 lbs. of joystick-operated bombs.  The name?  How about "Reaper," ladies and gents?  You will reap what you sow!  You sowed violence on 9/11, and the fucking Reaper is coming to your home and killing all ur dudes, Usama!  Sorry, this is all a bit out of control.  If we name our next robot "Angel of Death," I'm turning in the keys to my blog.  For reals.  Why don't you just call the next one "Martyrmaker," and get it over with?  I'm sick of this zealous hard-on for blowing people to fuck.  Just because some of their crazies have it doesn't mean my tax bux need to have it. 

One fucking Reaper costs $69 million, btw.

You Would Slit Your Wrist Too, If You Were Owen Wilson

I hate to revel in the pain of others, but someone needed to stop Owen Wilson from turning in a relentless stream of diarrheal movie performances.  Good on him to step up and take care of that.  Maybe the knife he put to his wrist and the pills he guzzled will serve as a wake-up call that it's not too late: he used to be funny about 7 years ago (yep, that's when Meet the Parents came out).  I only have trouble imagining how he lived so long with the turmoil of being what he had become.  That he finally tore at his own circulatory system in a fit of substantiated self-destruction might assure that we'll never see another "YOU ME AND DUPREE."  Honestly, stop being surprised this happened.

I do want to say that my thoughts are with him and his brothers, as well as all of their family.  I wish him a speedy recovery, and I hope the blood he lost is the blood that was flowing in his brain when he read the script for "YOU ME AND DUPREE," and thought, "fuck it, let's go."

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