"My narrative fearless
My word war returns to burn
Like Baldwin home from Paris
Like Steel from a furnace"
-Rage v. Machine
"Calm like a Bomb"
I returned from the Cradle of Civilization, from Mesopotamia, from Iraq, only to find that my home had plunged into a state of chaos that was eerily familiar to the Hobbesian ooze that I had just left. More precisely, I came home to La Casa del Sucio to find my children both larger and more diabolical than at any time in our fifteen year history. If that doesn't scare you, then you should enlist immediately, by God.
Sarah has grown in size, speed, and cunning to rival that of most predatory jungle cats. I should've known something was up in my absence when the Green Berets that we worked with in Iraq were somehow familiar with her personal profile and her recent activities. They seemed shocked when I told them that this demi-god of modern Latin American Nationalist Revolutionaries turned out to be a twelve year old girl who weighs less than eighty pounds and likes puppy dogs and Hillary Duff. They were even more surprised when I showed them that they had indirectly worked under her orders on at least three occasions in both El Salvador and Honduras. She giggles everytime I mention to houseguests that she is responsible for deposing more legitimate Latin American Governments than the Monroe Doctrine...
Daniel, meanwhile, has maintained his soft stance on emotional terrorism and is still enamored of all things having to do with sanity and civility. I had a talk with him the other day about the necessity of kicking the shit out of the bullies at school who are giving him problems, and he asked me why we shouldn't just have them deposited off-shore somewhere by judicial fiat...
Joel, who you may remember once displayed potential with regards to being a sentient human-being, has apparently decided that he's determined to answer the siren call of those who live in Southern California thinking they will make it in the entertainment industry. As such, he has ceased being sentient, and is displaying neural activity common to amoeba. All attempts at causing him to act in a manner befitting those who have evolved past the stage of prehensile tails have failed, and thus he will remain in SoCal for the indeterminate future, trying to make "the Band" work. This despite the fact that he has a college education waiting on him in Texas, has no car, no driver's license, and works in the Commissary as a bagger...
As for me, I'm stoked to be back in this chair, in front of this keyboard, listening to this Tool album, with this bottle at my elbow. The added perspective gained by being where I was from July of last year to this past January just makes my observations more stark than they were before. As with many who return, my threshold for dumbasses is at an all-time low.
Look kids, I've lived years, as have you, enduring the inane at the behest of the apathetic, with little recourse. Well, I'm here to reclaim that lost time. I am Tyler Durden. I am here to verbally destroy what must be destroyed in order for all of us to continue to thrive as a species. We must recognize these idiots for who they are, and get the word out about them, lest we all become like them. It is not a right, but a duty. A duty for all who do not wish to live like the denizens of Plato's Cave, but to come back inside periodically and let the other monobrows know what it is like outside, in the light of logic and reason, without fear of being bludgeoned or stoned for our efforts. They may look at you as they stare at me...in shock and not a little disgust. But if we can just bring but one of them into the light, then we've all accomplished something, because maybe that one person will be the one who will end up being that President who can reduce the size and intrusiveness of government, or who can make Selig ban the fucking Designated Hitter, or who will keep me from climbing the steps up into that belltower. Something along those lines, you see.
We exist in a special place in history, my friends. We're among the few people who have a clue, as we stand on the brink of the modern equivalent of the dark ages. We see the twenty-first century equivalent of the medieval serf everyday. While these aren't the people who go to the chapel to pray to God for a cure for the influenza that is killing the child who lives amid the reek and filth of the middle ages, they are the ones who will worship at the altar of the modern doctor who is getting a kick back from the pharmaceutical firm to push a specific drug to treat a specific set of symptoms, irrespective of the unstudied long-term harm, any unresolved counter-indications, or the inappropriateness of the treatment. ("Do no harm" leaves a hyuuuuuuge amount of lee-way on the ol' moral spectrum when one can pull six figures.)
These modern feudal serfs are the people who think what the networks say they should. These are the people who are not informed by what they experience, but by what they read online. They consume, and are kept happy as long as they continue to do so without question. These are the people who would be ruled by the brutal, ruthless aggression of those media outlets who speak with no other authority than the fact that they are broadcast from coast to coast. At least the priest of the middle ages had authority vested by Mother Church and the Bible. This new priesthood is as false as it is pervasive, and is completely free from culpability for anything it does in the name of "public information", the "right of the people to know the facts", or their irresponsible interpretation of the First Amendment.
However, the serfs will bend to those who are aggressive enough to have an informed opinion. They will sway to those who can make an argument. They will bow before those who have lived, sensed, endured hardship, been out of the fucking cave.
Well, you and I have been out of the fucking cave, my friends. You're damn right, we have. We have lived, done, experienced, endured, overcome. We are all in positions of responsibility. Where we can influence, even in small doses, the way that people think. We cannot give into the temptation of simply going along because the world is down at the stern 45 degrees and sinking fast. We don't have that luxury, because ours is a larger responsibility.
We know the way. Most people do not.
We know our asses from holes in the ground. Most are still pawing at the earth with a handful of Charmin.
I am back, my friends. Impassioned to a level that I hope you're prepared for. I have two CDs worth of Tool, a full bottle of single malt scotch, a full-up six pack of Fosters, and seven months worth of utter venom to get on this Goddamn page before it kills me. I may not survive the fuckin' end...
BILE
VOL. XXXVI
Life Outside the Cave
1) "In response to your question, I think that being a whore makes me an even better candidate. After all, this job is about gratification, and gratification has been my business."
Check out the this shit. From the Dallas Morning News:
Candidate worked as prostitute
Democrat for House cites religious conversion, has no regrets
11:20 AM CST on Friday, February 17, 2006
By GROMER JEFFERS Jr. and BROOKS EGERTON / The Dallas Morning News
The Web page touts the "hot uninhibited" services of a male escort identified as Todd Sharpe, displaying a blurry beefcake photo and listing a Dallas phone number.
But the number belongs to a salesman and former actor named Tom Malin, a Dallas Democrat who is seeking election to the Texas House.
Mr. Malin acknowledged Thursday that he once worked as a prostitute.
"I've made mistakes in my life, and I've stood before my Creator and I've accepted responsibility for my behavior," Mr. Malin said. "I've also accepted his grace and his redemption and his love and his forgiveness, and that's what's important."
Web pages that have been used to advertise the sexual services of "Todd Sharpe" say he previously worked in the New York City and Los Angeles areas. His rates ranged from $200 to $600, according to graphically detailed reviews from men whom the pages described as satisfied customers.
Mr. Malin said he no longer works as a prostitute.
"I knew that if I continued on with that, I would die," Mr. Malin said. "God spoke to me, and I knew I had to make a different choice in life."
Mr. Malin, who was once a member of the Dallas Citizens Police Review Board, said he hoped his mistakes would not cost him a chance to serve in the Texas House. And he said he would remain in the race.
"I don't regret my past, nor do I wish to shut the door on my past," he said. "I think anyone who has made mistakes in their lives can be a viable member of community and society."
But he acknowledged that his previous life could cost him the Democratic nomination in the March 7 primary.
"I know that there are people that can benefit from my experience," he said. "This is not about winning an election; this is about empowerment. There is a higher calling and a higher message involved in this."
All the "Todd Sharpe" Web sites are now defunct. The Dallas Morning News found archived versions online after receiving a tip this week that Mr. Malin might have worked in the sex industry.
The tipster, a fellow gay Democrat who knew the candidate, said he had heard rumors about Mr. Malin's past but had no direct knowledge. He said he feared that if Mr. Malin won a primary race next month and the rumors turned out to be true, their political party would be embarrassed. The tipster asked not to be identified because he didn't want to be dragged into a political fight.
Mr. Malin is running for House District 108, which covers much of central Dallas and the Park Cities.
On Thursday, he received a key endorsement from the Dallas Tejano Democrats, a Hispanic political group.
"We were not aware of this, and he never mentioned it to us during the screening," said Domingo Garcia, chairman of the local Tejano Democrats. "Obviously we will have to reconsider our decision based on the new information." The Dallas Morning News editorial board also recommended Mr. Malin, but in light of this new information, said it was reconsidering that recommendation.
I have seen the seventh bowl opened, my friends. I've now seen a gay prostitute running for a State House seat from Dallas, Texas. Jesus, Mary, and jumped-up Joseph, how in the blue fuck has it come to this? The history of Texas politics is rife with corruption and licentiousness, but this is rather over the top, is it not? I was sitting there at work, minding my own goddamn business and checking out the Rangers latest failure to sign a quality fuckin' left-hander, when this story popped up. I spit about a half cup of coffee at my monitor, by God.
The double entendres are as daunting as the aspect of Thanksgiving at my Aunt LaDell's house. "I know that there are people that can benefit from my experience," he said. You know that's right. This jack-off worked for Mary-Kay cosmetics, for the love of God. He drove a pink Cadillac. He currently works as "a direct sales organization and the marketing arm of Stream Energy." . Yeah...I'll bet he does.
This dude is lucky that he hasn't met with the bidness end of the brush guard of somebody's pickup truck. Why in the hell hasn't someone who doesn't work for the Morning News checked this asshole out? Here we have the most respected publication in the third most populous state in the Union acting like a bunch of kids writing for the college newspaper. No back check. No asking the obvious questions. They've succeeded in looking like the New York Times is what they've done.
This has become the norm for the news outlets, my friends. We have churned out so many journalism majors that there is a glut of informers, but a corresponding pall of discipline to check out the truth behind things. Deadlines are everything, accuracy or truth is secondary. Gotta get the scoop. Even in the realm of opinions, like who to support and why they are worthy, we see newspapers and television journalism try to "compete with the speed of the internet" and have, as a result, ended up selling their professional reputations, and that of the publications that they work for, down the river on a raft made of leaky research and criminal disregard for the actual facts. A good answer has been replaced by a quick answer. And thus we struggle now, like no other time, to try and discern what the facts really are.
Witness:
-Newsweek has reported false or shoddily researched shit on several occasions...and has been caught.
-Dan Rather was forced into retirement for running a bullshit story about the President.
-The New York Times has had so many problems with the truth that their entire editorial board checked into the Betty Ford Clinic back in January.
Read those bullets again. We're not talking about the National Enquirer or the World News here. We're talking about the most respected sources of information in the entire Republic. Now, the Dallas Morning News has proven itself unreliable by endorsing a homosexual prostitute for a State Office. Who the fuck is in charge of these publications, and why is nobody screaming for their fucking ouster? Heh? Every time the administration of this nation is suspected of covering up, or milling about the facts, we see the hue and cry of the left, begging for an inquest. Where is the hue and cry in the case of media incompetence? Why is nobody saying shit about this except my drunkass? You and I know why, and that makes it more vile than anything. FTFF.
People, don't believe a damn thing that you read. Play heads-up ball and check facts before you allow yourself to believe anything. These assholes are out after a buck, and they are messing with our collective minds in the process. Because they could give a shit about the truth. They have agendas. They have bottom lines. Everything else runs a distant third.
2) "Fuckin' Zawahiri. That guy never ends up on working parties..." I just found out that West Point has released two different studies claiming that al-Qaeda has fallen into the modern bureaucratic banality that the rest of us suffer under. No shit. They have to apply for their postitions online, and thus there is an administrative recruiting hierarchy just like any other American company. They have bureaucratic requirements to operate that are not unlike what we suffer under. So, apparently, this war on terror has become a war against an organization that has managed to hire more incompetent motherfuckers than we have. Hmmm...for any who have been out there and submitted resume`s as I have recently, this may come as a pleasant surprise.
No, seriously. I've seen first hand how we work at the Regiment-and-Higher levels with regards to Intelligence, and I know of domesticated turkeys who are much more likely to make a Denver Omelet than for the CIA to be able to actually vector the good guys onto the target while disregarding the local expertise of the intel section from the battalion that has run that area of operations for months. Most of it is a tendency for the macro-levels of command to attempt to do micro-level work without the input of us down here on the factory floor. I'll bet that is exactly what al-Qaeda is running into. Some asshole, in some cave in Pakistan, is trying to make tactical level targeting decisions in Iraq. Betcha. Just Betcha.
That's kind of an odd way to count on winning a war. Isn't it?
Wait a minute, though. That maybe kinda cool. I can see it. The al-Qaeda equivalent of the battalion commander, who insists on approving the location and mission of every fireteam on the battlefield, is thwarted time and again, as his teams keep getting crushed by coalition fireteams getting similar direct guidance from an American battalion Combat Operations Center. He fires his subordinates on a whim, thus fomenting unrest in them. Unable to find qualified leaders, he loses again and again...
We've got the command and control assets, and the trained personnel, to allow for that and still get by (been there/done that...T-shirt etc.) . I guarantee you that the bad guys don't.
Think about that for a second, though.
The tradition of the American fighting man has traditionally been his ability to work within the framework of commander's intent through a chaotic situation. We're on the path to shitcanning that, however, because the expectation from Regiment and higher is for the battalion staff to be on top of every single unit in the battlespace, due to the capabilities that we have now, to get a common operational picture down to the Corporal's level. The bad guys can't do that as well as we can. We can directly influence every engagement within unit boundaries, whereas the undertrained mohammedan cannot. So, we'll win every engagement because of our ability to more efficiently micromanage subordinates. Hmmph. Weird way to win a fuckin' war, no?
3) Five ways to know that you've just returned off of a post-deployment max leave period
A) You try to "color up" a $100 bill, and put twenty on the "Pass Line" at the conference table at the Monday Command and Staff meeting.
B) Delirium Tremens cause you to stab your laptop with a letter opener after it "bit" you.
C) Your golf score is better than most retirees, but your run time is slower than most retirees.
D) You ask your armorer to cash in a stack of $25 poker chips at the armory window instead of checking out your rifle.
E) In order to be understood, your company 1st Sgt has to pass word at formation in whale-song.
4) The inevitable return of the Cull List.
Oh-so many people have used my absence from the Continental United States as an excuse to become a boil on the ass of this fine nation. Below, please note the list of these folks, who will be beaten with a sock full of ten-penny nails as soon as I can contrive it:
A) Howie fuckin' Mandel. No deal, asshole. Grow some hair, shave the goatee, and go back to doing voices for "Bobby's World". Thanks, asshole. Nice try.
B) Alphonso fuckin' Soriano. Hey Al, you couldn't make Daniel's coach-pitch league, playing 2nd Base as bad as you do. I personally know of at least two quadriplegics who can catch a baseball better than you can. My one-legged aunt Mildred has turned more double plays since the 2000 season than you have. Nobody cares about the 30+ homers if you can't field any better than my border collie. Go to left field and shut the fuck up. Thanks.
C) Matt fuckin' Lauer (the Today Show dumbass). Somehow, the cull lists of the past three years have missed this galactic dipshit. Master of leading questions, vilifier of personal freedoms, apologist for liberal fascism, and worshipper of Katie-on-the-Cross. This guy weeps more than Dick fuckin' Vermeil on Oprah. Anybody who has suppressed his manhood for this long may as well show us his boobs and be done with it. C'mon Matt, unbutton that shirt and bare 'em. You know you've been wanting to for years. Just do it and be done with it.
D) Dan fuckin' Rather. Oh yeah. Sorry. Missed this asshole last year. Hey Dan, howzit feel knowing that your end came about because someone actually caught you in a lie? The irony here just causes me to giggle like I killed the fucker. Here's an asshole who made himself a name by exposing random scandals on 60 Minutes only to become exactly like the lying assholes that he used to expose on prime-time. Lesson: don't fuck with Karma. Hey, Dannyboy, have fun on the lecture circuit, bragging about how many ambushes you compromised while trying to get air time as a correspondent in Vietnam, you fucking hypocrite...
E) Cindy fuckin' Sheehan. Yeah, might as well get this over with. Look, when she first hit the top forty, I told Mike Cochran to leave her alone. I mean, as far as I knew, she just lost her kid...Little did I know that she got more than her share of red-carpet treatment from the CinC before she turned on him. Look lady, your kid took an oath. Same as we all did. He didn't make it. It ain't GWB's fault. He didn't kill him. Some motherfucker behind a rock with a cordless phone did. I'm sorry it happened, I really am, and I feel sorry for the fact that the liberal media have gathered around you like a pack of bottom-feeding assholes, but it ain't the CinC's fault, it ain't the fault of your son’s Commanding Officer, and it ain't the fault of his squad leader. Your son, madam, with full knowledge of the dangers that lay before him, deployed to a combat zone in defense of the Republic of the United States of America. Once there, he performed duties commensurate to his rank and seniority. He upheld his oath, and as far as we know, performed in a manner commensurate with all the other young men who have sacrificed themselves for the cause of liberty. I understand your cynicism, but I have met many more family members of fallen servicemen who chose not to engage in sedition following the sacrifice of their loved one. You have been seditious, and it dims the sacrifice of the young man for whom you are mourning. You are being used by a media who relishes in the plight of those who suffer. Not because the cause is unjust, but because blood has been let. You, Cindy, have become the pawn of those who would see the values of your son become something trivial and quaint. They do not care for you, for your son, for his sacrifice, for his cause, for his oath, for this Republic. They care for their own influence. They care for their ability to sway the public policy of this Republic. Wake up, for the love of Christ, and realize that you are pissing on the memory of your son, and that all your fame will be remembered in contrast to his sacrifice. Find Lisa Clay and walk in her shoes. She is a hero. You are a schmuck.
5) Epilogue.
It may cause most of you to shudder as you read this and calmly reflect that I was approached by the Marine Base youth sports department and asked to serve as head coach of Daniel's Coach-Pitch little league baseball team. It will undoubtedly cause all of you consternation to know that I accepted the offer. We will be a hard group. Grinding it out. First to Third on singles, baby. We'll steal your lunch, pal. And it's coach-pitch...can you say "brush back"? I knew you could. Make Pedro look like a wallflower. My goal is to have at least one pre-pubescent child charge the mound.
Make no mistake, these kids will carve out your fuckin' liver for a run, once I'm done with 'em. Today was Training Day One. I got buy-in. These kids are excited, they're hungry, and they want to play. Stand the fuck by...
Anger is a Gift,
Unclean
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