Quagmire Stew: A Recipe for Disaster

Preemptive Ingredients:

2 bloodied handfuls of WMD seeds
2 Congressional chambers locked-and-loaded with free-range Chickenhawks
1 Military Industrial Complex armed with a blank check (and no balances)
1 slightly tattered Constitution

Ingredients*:

120,000 to 170,000 homegrown pounds of American flesh** (flak jackets not included)
2 million stockpiled missiles marinade in benzene-based napalm
1 demonic dash of despotism
Several vats of patriotic zeal
A liberal supply of recyclable right-wing propaganda
1 bottomless well of fear
A limited supply of hope

* Feel free to improvise ingredients to satisfy any shifts in political winds
**To feed larger blood-lust appetites, add more Faustian flesh as needed

Preparation:

Strategically place (but not too strategically, thus hinting any semblance of an exit strategy) a manufactured medium-sized pot on the front burner, making sure to fire heat up to hottest level of revenge, thus ensuring the backdrop Chickenhawks have ample time to rattle their limp-fisted sabers. Blindly throw in 30 to 50 thousand pounds of expendable flesh adorned in patriotic platitudes of freedom preserved in the American Way of Life. Once the pot-o’-flesh comes to full boil, drop in several marinade missiles from above, occasionally stirring in a pinch of patriotic zeal to flavor the furor. Stir liberally, occasionally tossing in a splash of fear-induced right-winged propaganda until the flesh has time to congeal. Move to back burner and let medium pot simmer until flesh is cooked through and thoroughly seasoned with rhetorical promises of hope.

After thoroughly stirring all up of the preemptive ingredients in a large two-dimensional fishbowl, pour mixture into a giant mixing bowl, shake well, and strategically (but again, not too strategically) dump into a giant melting pot on the front burner and turn heat up to Shock and Awe. That’s right: Shock and Awe. But don’t let the fireworks seduce you into forgetting about what’s cooking on the back burner.

Always keep an eye on the back burner.

Once the Shock and Awe has fully effervesced, be sure to keep feeding the pot with unseasoned homegrown flesh, adding several thousand pounds every six months or so, mixing in a demonic dash of despotism and bloodied-handfuls of fear as needed.

Stir conservatively for six years, making sure to keep a watchful eye on the back burner.

Pour in a liberal amount of hope into the giant melting pot and move to back burner until long forgotten. Take out and conspicuously dump spoiled ingredients into nearby VA hospital and pour remaining ingredients into medium pot on back burner.

Did you take your eye off the back burner?

Move medium pot back to front burner, add a liberal supply of right-wing propaganda and fresh flesh and turn heat down to: Simmer Indefinitely.

Serves, if ever fully cooked, nobody except special interests and those beholden to the Faustian pact made at the crossroads of Ground Zero and K-Street.

Rep. Boehner Just Says Hell No to "Yes We Can!"

The Obstructionist Party of No (OPN) may want to consider a new campaign strategy for November. Not too many folks like to be told "no" all of the time. Take for example a toddler who has been told "no" all day long, who in turn unleashes all of that pent-up anger in what is known as a temper tantrum. Now we have a bunch of grown-ups throwing collective temper-tantrums and calling them Tea Parties.

No You Can't (Featuring John Boehner)

The White (House) Elephant Obama Would Like to Soon Forget

While the Health Care Reform debate ramped up during the past few weeks, with arm twisting on the left and Hyperbole bombs dropping on the right, the war in Iraq celebrated its 7th birthday -- a party that flew under the radars of all parties.

BraVenew Foundation's latest new video commiserating the 7th anniversary of the war in Iraq.

Iraq: Thousands Dead, $747.3 Billion Spent And Not Any Safer

Rebranding War: What is it Good For?

What’s in a name? That which we call a war
By any other name would smell of death, destruction --
And a democratic resurrection
Of burning flesh dipped in oil
Buried deep in foreign soil…

FADE IN:

Uncle Sam’s hot-shot marketing machine (sponsored by the Military Industrial Complex: Where one soldier’s misery is another man’s bottom-line prophecy…), armed with the monumental task of re-branding the war in Iraq. Which begs the question:

How does one sell repackaged rotten meat
To an electorate that’s fast asleep?

That is precisely what Obama’s marketing machine intends to find out when it re-brands the war in Iraq in September with “Operation New Dawn.” A little too close to the 1984 film “Red Dawn” for my taste. That film has already branded itself into the nostalgic catacombs of my memory. Not only can I not make this marketing leap of faith, but the thought of imagining a bunch of high school students, hopped up on Molotov hormonal cocktails, running around the hills flanking Baghdad and shouting “Wolverines!”will only serve to undermine the objectives of the current mission -- whatever the hell that is supposed to be.



"Red Dawn": The last line of defense standing between Capitalism and Communism (note the "Star Wars" product placement; George Lucas = merchandising genius)

By the way, the current US occupation in Iraq is known as Operation Iraqi Freedom, for those of you dear Civilians who did not know about the third re-branding since our troops were deployed to this oil-enriched wasteland. President Bush’s Marketing Team, deeply couched among the hidden branches of its Spin Machine, had initially branded the preemptive attack on Iraq “Occupation of Iraq,” which later evolved into “Second Gulf War” (a serious blunder, given the fact that everyone knows the sequel rarely lives up to the novelty of the first, not to mention the box-office profits tend to take a nose-dive). The D.C. Spinsters quickly realized their sinister marketing SNAFU and quickly plagiarized itself by pilfering its other major campaign in Afghanistan, “Operation Enduring Freedom” by replacing “Enduring” with “Iraqi.”

Read rest of post at Political Fallout's new Axis-of-Evil-Sister Site: Confessions of a Cold War Veteran

Pssst…Don’t Tell Anyone I’m Hetero

Never in a million year did I imagine myself agreeing with former Vice President Dick Cheney, but I confess dear Civilian, I recently found myself taking my first step into the Dark Side by agreeing with Cheney that the military should repeal its “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” (DADT) policy. However, truth be told, which is not an option for gays currently serving in the military, it was Cheney who agreed with me -- since I opposed this half-baked (but not exhaled) policy the moment President Bill Clinton bent over on his campaign promises in 1993 and let the homophobic Congress have their way with him. (I know: bad pun; but in my defense, I am not writing about the unwritten “Don’t Ask, Don’t Pun” policy.)

Now I entrust that you, dear Civilian, will not tell anyone about my dirty little secret, for public knowledge of my foray into the Dark Side will not only disrupt the unique conditions of my civilian service to humanity but will undermine the unit cohesion of my community, which includes but is not limited to my fiancé, three impressionable sons, extended progressive political family, fellow Cold War veterans, substitute mail carrier, the neighbor’s dog Pookie and my spiritual and economic adviser Therapist Bob. Most of these folks are still reeling from the psychological ripple effects from the day I jumped out of the closet and scared the crap out of them by outing myself by finally coming to terms with my repressed heterosexuality. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Since I served in the Army during the rear-end of the Cold War (yeah, yeah, sue me...the courts always side on behalf of bad puns) during the latter part of the ‘80s, before DADT kicked in and the wall in Berlin fell, I’m not sure what it’s like to serve under this policy now -- especially while the current metaphorical war, “The War on Terror,” is being waged. You know, the kind of war where people actually get killed, rather than the metaphorical death by boredom while sitting around waiting, waiting for something – anything to happen.

Read more at new Axis-of-Evil Sister Site Confessions of a Cold War Veteran

Sen. “Tough Shit” Bunning: Get a REAL Job

I don’t imagine the 1.2 unemployed Americans waiting to see if their benefits will be extended another 30 days were amused by the latest episode of C-SPAN’s latest episode, “A Democracy of One,” on The Obstructionist (a spin-off from Seinfeld’s “show about nothing”) that aired the other night. If Seinfeld is a “show about nothing,” then The Obstructionist is “much adieu about nothing.”

Flying solo, Sen. Jim Bunning, R-Ky, hosted the show and, using an anti-democratic procedural maneuver, vowed to repeatedly block any attempts by the Senate to pass a bill that would extend unemployed benefits set to expire this weekend, despite overwhelming support from both sides of the Red-Ink Sea.

During a recent Congressional Hearing about nothing, Sen. Bunning of Kentucky uses hands to exaggerate size of his latest obstruction

But lo and behold, T.S. Bunning took the altar, stuck to his guns and objected to every attempt at trying to move forward with a vote on the bill – despite all the guilt trips left at his self-anointed feet. In fact, Sen. Jeff Merkely, D-Ore., even lowered himself to beg the Self-Anointed One, but ol' Bunning would have none of it and replied: “Tough Shit.”

Others joined in with T.S. Bunning’s “Crusade on the Desolate,” claiming an extension of benefits will merely serve as a disincentive for these desolate people to actively seek employment. If there is a will, there’s a way right? All these folks have to do is find the Holy Grail and they will discover a stack of job applications weighted down by this glorified paper weight.

Ironically, what T.S. Bunning does not realize is that sitting on top of this illusionary heap is a stack of applications for “Do-Nothing Congressman.” Now there’s a job I would like to get my hands on. Who needs a REAL job when we can get paid to do nothing, not to mention we would get face-time on the TV to help market ourselves for a revolving-door lobbying job when we get tired of doing nothing all day long. Although as a lobbyist, we would have to shift from doing nothing to ensuring that other people do nothing.

It’s the “ensuring” part that sounds so exhausting, but when you consider your salary will grow exponentially and you’ll be able to abandon your measly Cadillac Health Insurance benefits for a Rolls-Royce policy that requires providers to pay you a co-payment every time you use their services, “ensuring” doesn’t sound so exhausting after all. So while the Desolate are out giving blood and donating plasma to help make ends meet, these fat cats are making bank on routine checkups for their kids. Unfortunately, T.S. Bunning is merely a cancerous speed bump in the current Obstructionist Movement that has spread through Congress and plagued the democratic process, which has evolved from Majority Rule to Super-Majority Rule.

Congress have become so dysfunctional (“How dysfunctional has it?”), Jerry Springer has requested to air his show live on the chamber floors as both sides of the aisle air their dirty laundry out on cable television while lawmakers in the peanut gallery flash their nipples (Don’t do it Barney, we’re begging you Mr. Frank…) for a set of beads and 15-minutes of fame on Jerry Springer’s uncut DVDs. Although no meaningful legislation will ever get enacted, at least Americans get a chance to watch old people smash chairs over each others' heads and get restrained by formerly unemployed bouncers at D.C.’s swankiest gentlemen clubs.

After shoveling shit for 7 hours during a filibuster on the Senate floor, Mike Rowe of "Dirty Jobs" take a break off-set during a recent shooting of an upcoming episode

I wish I worked for a company that had a policy wherein if one employee doesn’t like the direction the company is moving, he or she can call in sick and the rest of the employees get to stay home as well. I mean, do we really need a full-time Congress anymore? Couldn’t we get by with hiring temp politicians, so we could cut out all their benefits, beginning with health insurance?

Better yet, like rural communities who depend on a volunteer fire department, shouldn’t we turn to a volunteer Congress to keep our citizens safe – not only from what they do do but what they do not do as well. Either way, given the way Congress is currently run, it’s like playing Russian Roulette.

Another remedy to the current Obstructionist Movement would be to give Congress a transfusion and replace all of the obstructionists with scab politicians who are willing to cross the line and make money to feed their families. With around 10 percent of our workforce unemployed, I’m sure we could find plenty of qualified people to fill these seats. What job skills do you need besides saying “aye,” “nay” and occasionally having to read aloud a script composed by a team of lobbyists?

And if Sen. Bunning has a problem with scab politicians from Kentucky crossing the line and taking his non-job, I have two words for him: “Tough Shit!”

Jon Stewart's Take on Sen. Bunning: The GOP’s Next Top Obstructionist

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Senate After Dark
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Health Care Reform

Iowa Congress Spares Masturbatory Drivers

Masturbating motorists across Iowa were relieved to hear that the Iowa Senate did not include “masturbation” as part of its bill outlawing texting-while-driving. Unlike the Iowa House’s version, the Iowa Senate passed a tougher bill that would not only ban texting while driving but would put the kibosh on reading text messages as well (although the bill made no explicit distinction between texting and sexting).

Despite lawmakers pleas for including other dangerous activities while driving, the Senate spared the following language from its bill: masturbation, playing Suduko, paddle ball, thumb wrestling, changing baby or senior citizen’s diaper, spinning records on turntable, juggling, balancing checkbook, doing laundry by hand, thumbing through seed catalogues, playing Guitar Hero, journaling, tying a Windsor knot, opening CD packaging or using common sense.

(This is a dramatization: The driver is a professional actor and certified stunt man and you should not try this in you own car while driving, even though it is not illegal.)

Lobbyists representing MAMD (Mothers Against Masturbatory Drivers) said they were disappointed neither bill included masturbation but vowed to keep up pressure on lawmakers. “How many victims of auto-eroticism will it take before lawmakers realize that driving and masturbating don’t go hand-in-hand,” one lobbyist said.

Opponents of adding “masturbation” to the bill argued that there’s no significant difference between masturbating and driving a manual transmission, admitting, however, that the former may lead to carpal tunnel.

Political Fallout Public Service Announcement:

Remember: Friends don’t let friends masturbate and drive. Reach out and give a hand; the life you're saving may be your own.

‘Confessions of a Cold War Veteran’ Sounds Off

Surprise, surprise: I've launched yet another blog, "Confessions of a Cold War Veteran."

Part memoir, part humor/satire, part pop-culture, and like our government's annual budget -- 50 percent Military Industrial Complex.



Delay cadence/Count cadence/Delay cadence/Count!

One!...

I confess, dear Civilian, I am not a Catholic nor am I a war veteran, rather I am a veteran of the Cold War, not to mention a narcissist. Regarding the latter, why else would I create my own blog, the fifth to date? If I weren’t narcissistic, I wouldn’t be able to convince myself that there is some niche of readers floating in Cyberland who gives a damn about me and what I have to say or what thoughts are trip-wired in my brain, especially when the primary subject is Me.

Hey everyone, look at me! Over here, look at me…!

Or maybe the niche I have created is a mere figment of my imagination that consists of an audience of one? In that case, please do excuse me, dear Civilian, if at times you catch me talking to myself; the theory being that if you cannot hold a conversation with yourself, the notion of carrying on a conversation with fellow members of your species is futile. At least that’s what Therapist Bob tells me. Speaking of whom, it was Therapist Bob, my psychological and spiritual and financial adviser, who recommended that I start yet another blog as a means of publicly purging my experiences while actively serving in the Army during the tail-end of the Cold War during the late ‘80s, thus tearing down the wall erected between the right and left sides of my brain.

Moreover, based on Therapist Bob’s recommendations, Confessions of a Cold War Veteran will provide me with a safe, nuclear-free space to share my insights as a Cold War Veteran on contemporary issues, military and otherwise.

Hence, a blog was born: Confessions of a Cold War Veteran...

Read rest of debut post at Confessions of a Cold War Veteran and don't forget to bookmark page and tell all of your friends, your IRS agent and the neighbor down the street who is described as a quiet, lonely man who keeps to himself (but does not live in his mother's basement, where he spends his waking hours blogging).