Thursday, March 31, 2005

Terri Schiavo (neé Schindler) - 1963-2005

All over the world and in cyberspace, the sad story of 2 families over a comatose woman has fuelled heated debate between those who wanted Terri to live and those who wanted her to die with dignity.

I'm torn between these 2 schools of thought, mainly because of the stress of keeping someone alive and praying for a cure, while at the same time trying to ease the suffering and maybe hasten a peaceful, painless death.

I've been there before whem my dad fell ill back in 1996. And I've been there when he suffered the aortal dissection that eventually killed him in 2002.

For me, it was hellish to see a previously strong-willed man suffer like that - with tubes and electrodes keeping him alive and monitoring every aspect of his most vital signs.

But in this case there was hope, and hope against hope, that Dad might recover, for he had such a strong will to live - maybe much stronger that I ever thought.

In Terri's case, things were much different and way more twisted.

I suspect that Michael Schiavo either a) gave up hope; b) assumed that his wife wanted to die anyway - many years too late after the fact; c) wanted to get his hands on some money after she expired; d) is a fucking idiot; or e) one smart, devious cocksucker.

I suspect that Bob and Mary Schindler - Terri's 'rents - either a) were too naive at the time when the courts allowed Michael Schiavo guardianship over their daughter; b) underestimated their daughter's true health at the time Schiavo assumed guardianship; c) hired some pretty incompetant lawyers to handle such a serious case; d) were too nice about the situation to be taken seriously; or e) have been taken for ignorant, senile old people by the courts that listened to their case.

And I suspect the courts either a) were caught in a serious lose-lose situation; b) were to lazy to care; c) thought they knew waht was best for everyone; d) were incompetant as fuck; e) were ignorant as fuck; or f) were played like a fine antique Stradivarius by Michael Schiavo's attorney, George Felos - who I'm quite sure was paid more than just mucho bank to represent Mikey.

To make the sad ending even worse, Michael Schiavo barred Terri's family from seeing her at the last moments of her life. That act, in itself, was cruel.

For now, there shall be an autopsy done, funeral arrangements - definitively the whole nine yards. There will yet be another dispute over where Terri shall be buried and how the final act shall be carried out - that's another sad story altogether.

But when everything has been said and done, there will be questions asked and fingers pointed in accusation. And in the very end, some heads are going to roll.

My sympathies and respects go out to the Schindlers: Terri now has the peace and happiness she deserves.

And to Michael Schiavo: here's hoping that you have had your way and you're now glad it's over and done. Have fun with you new life and your new wife. Enjoy the money. Enjoy the attention.

And fuck you.

(PS: why such surly attitude? Check out this article by the Right Wing Rocker and a list of what was very wrong about this whole, sad affair. I never really trusted Michael Schiavo in his handling of Terri: now I respect him even less.

End rant. NEXT!)

Monday, March 28, 2005

Think you're a great dancer?
Check this shit out!

Once again, the bad boys at have come up with a clip that would blow your freaking mind.

Zairean (a.k.a. Congolese) breaker Buana, a.k.a. "Junior", based in France, has been showing off his sick skills for years. ThE clip shows you how sick and nasty he really is.

If anyone could top that, then there's proof that ALIENS LIVE AMONGST US!

Sunday, March 27, 2005

Politics Make People Stupid: the Race Card vs. Michelle Malkin

(written 17 Jan 2005)

I should've known Michelle Malkin was Pinay, considering that I'm half-Ilongo.

But anyways... when it comes to the war between the Right and the Wrong, no words, diatribe, slander or invective are spared.

And when it comes to "minority" commentators and activists on either side, tribal insults get a little bit out of hand.

For example, Michelle Malkin and her Wrong Wing counterpart Margaret Cho (who happens to be Korean, not Chinese, FYI) have received letters criticising their respective political platforms. It's one thing to say "You're wrong, Woman!" It's a brand new ballgame when you say something like this...
You're just a Manilla whore shaking your ass and waiting for the Republican fleet to come in, aren't you? You've even got the lip gloss about right. Maybe if you love sailor long time, he bring you home to big American house? I don't think so. Just like in Manilla, Honey, they'll pass you around 'til they've all shot their load in you, and then they'll try to scrub off the stench so they can sail off in their crisp, white uniforms to the land of W.A.S.P.
Or this...
Of course, these are 2 of the fine examples of political discourse in the U.S. of A. The first quote was aimed at Malkin for her support of Bush while the second was fired at Cho for her Democrat sympathies.

One thing I discovered about the comments section on politically-oriented blogs is the tendancy for everyone to run off the fingertips (vis-à-vis the mouth) in the heat of the moment. When it comes to opposing pundits with certain physical features (Michael Moore) or visible ethnic features (Cho, Malkin, Al Sharpton), the desktop pundits throw their insult generators into maximum overdrive.

But what if, let's say, 2 Pinoys/Pinays (or Jews, or Negroes, or fat guys, or queers, or dykes, or Koreans) of differing political viewpoints square off in cyberspace? Chances are that they would spare no slur to denigrate each other. So the two Blacks would call each other "Uncle Tom", "Aunt Jemima" or "dumb-ass Nigga" as part of political debate. The same would go for "disgrace to the race", "an embarrasment to the faith", "you fat fuck tub of shit" or even "race traitor", gradually straying from the original discourse until it would degenerate to grade-school-level name-calling.

In the wake of John Kerry's well-deserved defeat, the level of invective seems to have risen and conspiracy theorists run amok pointing fingers at anyone with some level of intelligence. But the political junkies inhabiting the deep dark recesses of blogdom have maintained their consistency in hurling flame after flame against their foes, both real and imagined. But what would drive those junkies to play the Race Card against the visible "minorities" in cyberspace.

I have a few reasons of my own...
  • They probably had a couple too many under the belt. As an ancient saying goes, "In veritas vino" - "Wine brings out the truth". You know... the good old liquid courage. The looser you get, the more dangerous you become at the keyboard. One small insult would become on small insult too many and then you wind up firing on all cylinders, all at once. So what if you hurt that person's feelings in the process - you're fighting the enemy, right?

  • Some of my friends are... but you're... Yes, Liberals are supposed to "love" everyone. But if you're a sober conservative, a Lib under the influence will have you for lunch. And if you're one of colour, you're game for the enemy, especially one of the same ethnic background fuelled by a few wets/tokes/rails/nasty migraines.

    But even worse... if the person were to be of a different race who have like-minded friends from your tribe, that opponent would tag you as a possible "race traitor". And yes... the same would go for Right vs. Left, Gay vs. Straight, Righties vs. Southpaws: you get the picture. The more your heart is into your rabble rousing, the more reckless you become, hence - you become your own worst enemy.

  • "I hate myself - BUT I HATE YOU EVEN MORE!" Those people who see themselves as failures tend to blame the ones who've proven to be succeses. In the world of online politics, the conflict can get bloody.

    If you were proven wrong by someone, you'd do one of 2 things

    1. apologise and stand yourself corrected; or
    2. tell the opponent to go fuck...
      • himself;
      • herself;
      • itself; or
      • a duck.

    Those who are politically obsessed would spare no effort in denigrating the enemy. Lacking any other backup plan, the junkie would degenerate into a name-calling hooligan, full of fire but empty of soul and intelligence. And speaking of intelligence...

  • "Issue? What issue." C'mon, it has always been "us" against "them". Issues don't seem to matter any especially since a member of your tribe has taken "their" side instead of "ours". Fuck the issue and slag the shitskinned papist bastard. It's much easier than attacking with facts, especially after doing the abovementioned intoxicants.

Lost in all this jumbled mumbo-jumbo is fact that when someone hides behind the keyboard, that person becomes bulletproof - think of every blogging and commenting cybernaut as a Neo. Maybe this illusion of anonymity granted to the poster is the cause for all this politically-motivated racial stupidity - a drive-by using browsers and e-mail clients as weapons of mass disruption. The perceived invincibility provided by this distance between user and server only intensifies the user's level of vitriol with each blog article - I'm just as guilty of it as the next person.

Which brings me to this conclusion: try and get a life outside the confines of your desktop/notebook PC. Meet new people, even if it means going to a restaurant and trying to chat up the hottest server that you could've ever laid eyes on. Read a book. Watch t.v. Get a job - any job, even if it's temping out here and there. There is a world outside of blogspace. Get used to it and get out there.

And on that note, leave Michelle Malkin alone, will ya?

Happy Easter, you beasties!

If I weren't diabetic, I'd grab 2 big honking chocolate bunnies - 1 dark and 1 white - and a box of Cadbury Easter Creme eggs and get myself into a major sugar shock.

Since I'm incapable of surviving all this, you can all do that for me!

And don't forget to brush and floss!

Saturday, March 26, 2005

Who's worse? Scott Peterson
or Michael Schiavo?

As everyone knows too damn well, Terri Schiavo (neé Schindler), in a vegetative state after suffering a heart attack in 1990, had her feeding tube removed by a court order.

Right about now the Left and the Right are tossive missives regarding who has the right to determine Terri's fate: her parents or her husband who recently admitted to an extramarital affair and has 2 kids during this ordeal.

Of course, I find this sad, depressing soap-opera a little bit overwhelming so I checked out the timeline to sort this insane shit out.

Meanwhile, Scott Peterson is awaiting the "hangman" (California has lethal injection - is there a rope shortage in that state or what?) after being found guilty of murdering his pregnant wife, Laci. This waste of human tissue apparently did not want to work for a living and wanted to be a professional playboy.

Interestingly enough, Michael doesn't seem to have anything else on the go, either.

This makes for a little bit of a comparison between these 2 loving, caring examples of husbandry. But first, click here for something a little bit - uh - eerie.

There: y'all feeling better?

The only difference may be that Mr. Shiavo is a little more adept at sucking the right cock to get what he believes what his languishing wife "wanted": starvation.

Laci, on the other hand, never voiced any opinion on what she wanted in case something were to happen: that decision was already made up for her well in advance.

And anyways, poor hottie Scotty would never want to get on his knees to earn a better deal.

Maybe Mr. Schiavo (who shall henceforth be referred to as "S") should've given some thought about what he wanted done if anything were to happen. Maybe he should've gotten a little more sensitive about the woman he married and was supposed to cherish, in sickness and in health until death do them part.

Well, the Schindlers should've known that this S dude would turn out to be such a shithead. And I wouldn't blame them, although they also should've known better than to let the court give asshole guardianship over Terri. And of course the conservative bloggers are cooking up various conspiracy theories about Mikey, such as the one presented by some Army specialist right here...
Why is Michael Schiavo so concerned? It's not over the pain. It's over what's left of the $20 million. The day after he won that judgement, he probably started wanting Terri taken off the machinery and planted somewhere six feet under.

Now, she just won't die. Michael Schiavo is watching his lawsuit swag melt away like the sands in an hourglass. He thought he'd won it all and hit the jackpot. He must have figured he could plant poor Terri, pocket the green and take up permanently with his newest rent-a-skank.
Well if Shithead wanted to ditch his wife for some skanky tart, he could've dumped her off on the in-laws and go his merry own way.

But it's all about the money, right? That lawsuit money seemed too good to pass up, eh?

If Playboy Peterson had a fraction of the brains that Slick Mick Shiavo posseses, he would've had his floozie Amber Frye jerking off his load onto a pile of Dead Presidents. Apparently, intelligence is probably the greatest separator between these two caring gentlemen.

Meanwhile, Terri's parents have exhausted all their appeals to have her back on the feeding tube that has kept her alive for the past 15 years. For some strange reason, Michael Schiavo and his attorney managed to convince the courts to kill her off.

As I said before, Michael Schiavo is quite the cocksucker. And don't you forget it.

Thursday, March 24, 2005

An Open Right-Wing Fan Letter
To Matthew Good

Dear Matthew:

First of all, I'd love to thank you for an excellent performance at the Marquee Club last Hallowe'en. I'm sorry that I couldn't stay for the rest of your set since I had to go to work the next morning - being in the miltary means being very punctual.

Even though your latest release "White Light Rock & Roll Review" rocks, I still prefer the moody "Avalanche" as well as the old-school MGB stuff: "Hello, Timebomb" still blows me away everytime I play it.

However, "North American For Life" is starting to be my new favourite. Here in Halifax, good music is pretty hard to get on the radio - one rock station just doesn't cut it for me (no offence, Q104!) and the local university station, CKDU, is virtually impossible to get where I'm staying (DND Windsor Park). At least in Toronto, there will always be variety whether people want it or not. I just wish that song could get played more often on the radio here.

I understand that some people have trouble understanding your lyrics - they either find them too bitter, political, sarcastic or all of the above. But I think that it takes a lot of balls to express yourself in any medium. Whether or not people love your music is moot - you will always be your own greatest fan.

Now, having said all that, I found out that you've created a bit of a shitstorm with respect to one entry in your blog asking our Yank neighbours their opinions about 9/11 (always a touchy subject), general world knowledge (a cliche we Canadians all share), their government policy (trust me, it's all the fault of Freemasons) and, of course, our most favourite subject of all, medicare (it's the new Canadian Religion - the NHL lockout is not doing Hockey any good anymore).

The problem is that, as a casual member of the VRWC, I find it a little overused and overabused to ask the Yanks variations of the same 10 questions, mostly asked either by left-wing members of the citizenery, the Europeans or Michael Moore. When asked by Canada's Most Ascerbic Songwriter, this act implies intrusion on someone else's affairs.

Currently, and you and I must agree, we really don't have much of an independant external affairs agenda. We used to be the diplomatic masters of the Postwar/Cold War world, - us being the meat in the USA vs. USSR ICBM sandwich. But nowadays we are starting to rely more on the United Nations for our foreign policy. Why is that? Since we virtually accept everyone from the ROTW ("rest of the world"), why can't we just say "Kofi, listen to us, pretty please with double-sugar-and-cream" and set the tone for foreign policy. Sure, Canadian businesses have a stake in it, but what about the people who vote parties into power? And what about those amongst us who come from despot-ruled places that don't have our QOL ("quality of life").

Instead, we are held hostage by a theory called "moral equivalence" which determines whether or not we should help our friends, make new ones, create enemies and take any kind of positive action. Yes - we do decry children getting killed in Palestine, but when some whacked-out fucktard detonates a bomb inside a Tel Aviv nightclub killing innocents and maiming more, we sit on our fucking hands? You can tell W to free Mumia - sure thing, but do you have to balls to tell China to free Tibet just as much as you can tell W to free Iraq? Little Pauly Poopypants had the opportunity to say so, but didn't - that's independant Canadian Foreign Policy?

As for CIA accountability, ask yourself this: if you were determined to bring down the one that wronged you, would you tell the world how you would do it and where? Too simple.

And for our New Canadian Religion, don't get me wrong: I do have pride in the fact that everyone can have access to basic medical services. But the grim socio-econmical reality is that it is stating to get a little more expensive to receive better treatment. And we all know that in reality, medications are that fucking expensive - nver mind the cost of medical equipment and personnel. Unless you're in the miltary, government or big-ass money, you can't get any better - even my family had to pay extra for Dad's private deathbed and better palliative treatment. If we wanted to get better treatment, we should be able to pay for it on our own and not saddle evryone else for the cost. It's all about choice, Matthew. If the Yanks are happy with their choice of medicare, so be it. The only way we could get better public medicare in Canada, in my opinion, is to make more babies - more power to us if we could. More people = more tax $ = better services. Too easy.

There's a lot more that I'd love to say, but having been through the US quite a few times and having Yanqui relatives gave me some new insight with regards to the 'murrican Way of Life™, and sometimes I just say "what-ever". Sure: the Yanks are not the most perfect people around, but in many aspects, neither are we Canucks, even though we pride ourselves in being globally, environmentally, socially and spiritually aware. If we are that great, why is everyone not listening to us? Why are the Yanks prosperous, proud confident and prolific, and not us? Why, in spite of all the flaws that get aired once in a while, do many people choose to move there rather than move here? Why are we, the second largest democratic country in the world, with a plethora of resources both natural and human, not getting enough, if not any, respect? And to take it one step further, when you add all the flaws and ugliness together, can we still be a happy people? When you add all the good things together, is it still possible to be an unhappy people?

I don't have all the answers to these questions, and I doubt very much if you have enough of them as well, but like some members of the Conspiracy, I do have an open mind. And in the end, after all the statistics have been flung around, after all the invectives, accusations, slanders and innuendoes have been flung around, all that remain constant are mind, body, sprit and rawk 'n roll.

Feel free to answer me. Next time you're in town, let's get together with some coffee/tea/beer/vodka/single-malt and sort this mess out, eh?

Looking forward to your next magnum opus, Matt.

Sincerely, without regrets, Jacques Dray.

Sunday, March 20, 2005

"The future's uncertain and the end is always near."

If There Was A Single Day I Could Live,
A Single Breath I Could Take,
I'd Trade All The Others Away.

- "Laid to Rest", Lamb of God
Friday, 18 March, 2005: my ship HMCS Shawinigan, along with my old ship HMCS Goose Bay, left NC Jetty, HMC Dockyard, Halifax, for Loyal Mariner 2005 in Europe.

For many, this 2½ month deployment would be the moment of truth, the point where the children get separated from the adults, where the limits of Canada's maritime coastal defence vessels could be tested to their limits and beyond, and where those participating could take advantage of the free travel that could only be offered through the Canadian Forces, Maritime Command, Naval Reserve.

But for me, I've been landed, possibly for the last time.

As soon as Shawiningan left the wall, it was all over. My time as a sailor might soon come to an end.

All this due to diabetes and my struggle to control it.

The Forces are cracking down on those with medical problems like mine, and rightfully so. In spite of my due diligence in getting my diet and blood sugars under control, the A1C level turned out to be a bitch to tame.

It was this level that made me unfit for sea for over a year.

It was this level that cost me valuable training time and work in my trade.

It was this level that cost me valuable deployment opportunities last summer.

Eventually, diabetes might cost me my carreer, my future, my life.

The worst thing about diabetes it that it could be controlled by diet, drugs and exercise. I'm already practicing better living through chemistry with the following goodies...
  • Metformin (metformin HCL): 2500mg/day - 1000mg in the morning; 1000mg at noon; 500mg at bedtime

  • Avandia (rosiglitazone): 8mg/day - 4mg in the morning; 4mg in the evening

  • Lipitor (atrovastatin calcium): 40mg/day - usually at noon

  • Altace (ramipril): 10mg/day - usually at noon

  • Aspirin: 80mg/day

  • Apo-Glyburide: 5mg/day - 2.5mg at breakfast; 2.5mg at supper
This last drug had done so much in lowering the glucose in my bloodstream, and had it been prescribed much earlier, I wouldn't be here writing this at all. I would've enjoyed time with my shipmates as they struggle through different passages, exercises, evolutions.

But at this point, I am still a cursed person, hounded by demons, both external and internal. Some of them are of the most mundane sort: financial, smoking, drinking. Others are much darker and sinister - ones that I cannot share with you at this time because of the damage that they might inflict, directly and indirectly. All of these add to my increasing bitterness of my situation as it stands in the here-and-now. As much as I have cultivated a considerable amount of respect and sympathy from my shipmates and the rest of the Navy, I feel that I have let them down because of my inability to participate and contribute to a greater cause. I have let them down partly because of my initial problems adjusting to different routines and responsabilities at the beginning of my contract here on the East Coast, partly as a result of my struggles against diabetes, but mainly because of my somewhat inherent lack of an attention span - I either get bored or frustrated too easily. Maybe that's why it's taking mee too long to upgrade my website and to do my taxes on time. Maybe that's why have too many hobbies to run off to in case of boredom. Maybe that's why I couldn't be bothered to do the laundry, head off to the gym, cook meals or do the dishes. My search for new thrills and kicks is endless, and some diversions have gotten me in some trouble.

Sometimes, I ask myself: "Why me? Why am I what I am and am unable to change it? What the fuck is going wrong with my world? Why am I still alive and in this situation? Why can't I find any stability? Why can't I stop being set in my ways and move on?" As much as I (along with my therapist) struggle to find the answers, the situation shifts from hot to cold, from extacy to agony, from sunlight to darkness. Just like the Earth in Her infancy - struggling to find an identity, a purpose, a reson to continue to exist.

I could still try to be optimistic about the life I had lived before and the road ahead of me, but in my view there is a fine line between optimism and delusion, and that too many people either cross it too often or erase it outright. I have decided on not being an optimist at all. I am most happy in the role of a cynic, a skeptic. Pessimism is too overrated and depressing since most bad things can be averted. With skepticism, ther is always a faint hope that something will work, even though any attempt in improving a situation may be met with yet another situation. With cynicism, there is caution with every move that I make and that others make on my behalf. There is a reason why I've decided to take my existence online: I want to be myself, without any question, without any judgement from others, without fear, without any obligation to conform to a paradigm that I could never accept, without the limitations imposed on my physical self and without the intrusions of self-appointed, well-meaning arbiters of my existence.

So, as you can plainly see, all is not really that well in my neck of the woods, yet the sun still rises and sets, the winds still blow on their own volition, the tides still ebb and flow and the world keeps turning. For now, my writing and my undying passion for living a better life are all that I have to show. And tomorrow, I shall make the next move that will determine the rest of this mortal coil that is my life.

Fair seas to battle and a safe trip home, Shawinigan and Goose Bay. Dr. Dray will always be there for you.

LAZY BOY: going beyond Barbie Girl

You all remember the mid/late-90s Danish pop-pop group Aqua with Lene Nystrom and René Dix and that obnoxious song "Barbie Girl" that virtually destroyed any hopes of a true rawk revival because every record exec loved it so much that they decided to sign up any novelty act that could put out the same type of provocative novelty pop-pop tune at least once before they would all fade into obscurity and irrelevance (hello, T.A.T.U.?)

Theres another member that should now take seriously - keyboardist/producer Søren Rasted, who decided after years of reaping mucho bank from "Barbie Girl's" royalties to get back into the electro business with his latest project, Lazy Boy. I got hooked after listening to the first single "Underwear Goes Inside Pants" featuring the styled rantings of Greg Giraldo. Their second single is called "Facts of Life" which features a monotonous yet cutting commentary by Julie Berry.

For all you fans of downtempo pop, this one's for you. It may not rawk your world or ease your mind too much, but this shit is sure to erase any memories of René lasciviously crooning "C'mon Barbie / Let's go party".

Thumbs up from me.

Monday, March 14, 2005

Ketchup: Oil for Food? We did it, too!

A tip o' the hat to "Woe Canada" for something that got way under the radar, thanks to our revered mainstream press.

According to a journo by the name of Steel... Kevin Steel of the "Western Standard"...
Just a month before the Canada Free Press revealed that (Paul) Volcker, a former Federal Reserve chairman, is a member of Power Corp.’s international advisory board–and a close friend and personal adviser to Power’s owner, Paul Desmarais Sr.–a U.S. congressional investigation into the UN scandal discovered that Power Corp. had extensive connections to BNP Paribas, a French bank that had been handpicked by the UN in 1996 to broker the Oil-for-Food program. In fact, Power actually once owned a stake in Paribas through its subsidiary, Pargesa Holding SA. The bank also purchased a stake in Power Corp. in the mid-seventies and, as recently as 2003, BNP Paribas had a 14.7 per cent equity and 21.3 per cent voting stake in Pargesa, company records show. John Rae, a director and former executive at Power (brother of former Ontario premier Bob Rae), was president and a director of the Paribas Bank of Canada until 2000.
Can you feel the plot thicken? If you click on the the link, you'll find out that the Power Corp., for all it's modesty and diffidence, is one of Canada's most influential companies with links to Parliament Hill powerbrokers.

And somehow... while the U.S. was asking Canada if she was willing to contribute to liberating Iraq, Power Corp. was working behind the scenes laundering cash and materiel between the Euro oil companies and So-damn Hussein's Ba'ath buddies.

Why didn't the National Post or the Toronto Sun pursue this story? Are there any skeletons running around their corporate offices as well?

It sorta makes you wonder why Canada said no to W. Hmmmm...

Ketchup: 4 Mounties in Alberta

Over a week ago, these 4 men were investigating a farm in Rochfort Ridge, AB.

The rest is history.

Click on the link. Read the bios. Look at their faces.

Don't think of them as law enforcement officers, policemen or even government employees.

Just look at them as men who gave their lives for something that they loved to do.

This is coming from a Mountie's brother. 'nuff said.

Sunday, March 13, 2005

Ketchup: Brian Nichols should've been shot!

I'm just wondering why police in Atlanta, GA didn't take this "human" refuse out when they had the chance.

This steroidal fucktard shot up a courthouse, killing a judge and 2 more people, then killed an immigration officer during a carjacking.

Here's how it supposedly ended...
Chief Charles Walters of the Gwinnett County Police Department says Brian Nichols offered no resistance when he was arrested today at a suburban Atlanta apartment complex, where he'd taken a woman hostage.

The woman somehow managed to get away and call police.

The chief says Nichols saw the overwhelming police presence and decided to surrender, waving a white flag or t-shirt.
Had the police arrived earlier and been a little more discreet, they would've stopped Nichols permanently.

But they didn't and all we get is this bastard being led away in handcuffs, smirking away like the arrogant punk-ass bitch that he is.

Had the swat team been a little quick and stealthy, Brian Nichols would no longer have a head to smirk from.

From my POV, that cunt has forfeited his right to live. He has reneged on a chance to get a fairer trial on a rape and kidnapping charge that he originally received. Now, he's more likely to face the death penalty, but I suspect that he will soon tie it all up with appeals and more appeals until he winds up getting a life sentence. "Yo, I's the real gangsta n---a in da house, now, y'all. Give it up, y'all. Woot woot." And it's all because the cops had to make it so obvious that they were closing in on his worthless, forfeited punk-ass.

Get it together, wusses! No justice... no pizza!

BTW: Michael King has a more sober account right here. I'm just in a pissy mood, that's all.

Ketchup: Dan Rather goes bye-bye, bu'y!

Well, this past week (or something like that), CBS's Dan Rather said sayonara to the masses using his "Courage" signoff.

I figured that a more approprate sendoff should sound like this.

Cue it, Michael!
"What's the frequency, Kenneth?" is your Benzedrine, uh-huh
I was brain-dead, locked out, numb, not up to speed
I thought I'd pegged you an idiot's dream
Tunnel vision from the outsider's screen
I never understood the frequency, uh-huh
You wore our expectations like an armored suit, uh-huh

I'd studied your cartoons, radio, music, TV, movies, magazines
Richard said, "Withdrawal in disgust is not the same as apathy"
A smile like the cartoon, tooth for a tooth
You said that irony was the shackles of youth
You wore a shirt of violent green, uh-huh
I never understood the frequency, uh-huh

"What's the frequency, Kenneth?" is your Benzedrine, uh-huh
Butterfly decal, rear-view mirror, dogging the scene
You smile like the cartoon, tooth for a tooth
You said that irony was the shackles of youth
You wore a shirt of violent green, uh-huh
I never understood the frequency, uh-huh
You wore our expectations like an armored suit, uh-huh
I couldn't understand
You said that irony was the shackles of youth, uh-huh
I couldn't understand
You wore a shirt of violent green, uh-huh
I couldn't understand
I never understood, don't fuck with me, uh-huh
Kudoes to for the words.

Let's give Dan a good beatdown, just for old time's sake, eh?


Well, the old coffee banana fruitcake himself, U.N. tsar Kofi Annanaramalamdingdong, has decided to take a nice little Mideastern holiday, with the hope that he could broker some peace between the Is-raw-eelies and the "Palestinians", while possible getting a little piece of the action on the side.

In addition to trying to save a piece of the world, he intends to check out the opening of the expansion of the Yad Vashem Shoah memorial, as well as visit the tree planted in honour of ill-fated Swedish diplomat Raoul Wallenberg, who just happened to be the uncle of Bananarama's wife, Nane.

Of course, one must realise that Kofi is the head of an organization that resolved during the 1970's under the leadership of ex-NSDAP lackey Kurt Waldheim that Zionism was racism.

Take also into account that even though the U.N. originally passed the resolution that eventually created the State of Israel, it had supported, in various forms, groups dedicated to it's destruction. Forget the irony that most of them originated from the genocidal "Arab Higher Committee", formed in the 1920's by future Hitler protegé, the Mufti Haj Amin.
The secretary general hopes to help both sides "sustain the momentum that has been generated in the past few weeks," UN spokesman Stephane Dujarric said.

Annan cited the Feb. 8 summit in Egypt, where Sharon and Abbas declared an end to four years of bloodshed, and the international show of support for the Palestinians at a March 1 conference in London.
The problem with such an initiative lies in one's definition of peace.

To the Israelis (read: Jooz), it is the peace of not getting blown up and prospering.

To the "Palestinians" (read: Islamist Jihadis), it's mostly the peace of the Jooish graveyard, all dug up and sown with salt.

I would strongly recommend reading the whole article regading the Israeli/"Palestinian" conflict at the Emperor's Clothes site and decide whether Kofi should even bother wasting his time playing world saviour.

One shouldn't hesitate to add that the U.N. has not been doing that well in maintaining world peace and security for a long time. If it had given a single damn about what was happening around the world, there wouldn't be a Darfur, Kosovo, Beslan, Saddam, Medak Pocket, Rwanda...

Oh... and don't forget the little girls in the Congo and the former/once-and-future Yugoslavia who were forced to sell their bodies to all the caring U.N. workers on R'n'R, eh?

If Kofi were to give a single flying fuck about peace in Israel (not fucking "Palestine", BTW!), he should've stayed home and let Nane go instead.

And one more thing - don't you get the feeling that all the Euro leaders who attended Shoah commemoration ceremonies were not being too sincere in their reverence, as if their attendance was a way to say "STFU" to the Jooz wrt their support of murderous Islamist freedom fighters? Think about it, eh?

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Pet Names for Little Pauly Poopypants

Paul the Martian.

Mr. Dithers.

Paul Dithers.

Paul Who?

Millionaire Paul.

PM2 / PM PM.

Paul Muddle.

Missile Martin.

Pauly Bagman.

Paul Waffle.

Paul Conundrum.

Baby Paul.

Pauly Boy.

Paul Bedwetter.

Paul of Syria.

Prime Minister Paul Martin.

(add your own pet name here)