Where Does It All Start?

It starts, of course, where everything else does today, with some poor bastards walking down a fucking Baghdad street carrying AK47s nothing at all RPGs either nothing at all or video cameras, depending on their preference. Then they get shot blown to fucking bits by some cracker fuckers in a fucking helicopter gunship. Then the fucking crackers in a fucking helicopter gunship zero in on the one poor bastard carrying a RPG video camera, except he wasn't any more because he had been shot by some fucking crackers in a fucking helicopter gunship, wait for some people to try to help him, and then blast the fucking shit out of him, the people who try to help him, their van, and their children who happen to be in the van, all while giggling and laughing that the helpful people trying to help a guy who was fucking wounded shouldn't have brought their children into the war zone that is the neighborhood where they fucking live.

I'm pretty fucking disturbed by this, beyond the massive swelling of pride in my own white Americanness that this footage instills. So disturbed that it'll be a while before I can get to the point, which is actually about other persons and their effect on my life, in varying degrees of what I do and don't care about. Because when I see cracker fuckers in a fucking helicopter gunship blowing pretty clearly nonterrorist people the fuck up because they think that the video camera that hasn't made any attempt to shoot down their fucking helicopter gunship is a fucking RPG, I get pretty fucking pissed off. I'm pissed off at them for being stupid fucking crackers with no sense of professionalism, despite all I hear about how wonderful and cool and professional our all-volunteer military is, and despite having to stand up and applaud some lucky soldier, airman, or squid who just got back from some horrible place for about five fucking minutes every time I go to a hockey game, just to avoid the stigma of remaining in my seat and applauding for about 10 seconds, which is what the thing actually merits, and despite none of the friends who I've seen off to the war and, thankfully, back home safe, being dumbass cracker motherfucker pigs who jizz their fucking shorts over fucking killing people. In fact, what I'm thinking is what an insult to my friends these stupid fucking pieces of hating fascist shit are, and about how glad I am that my friends do not appear to have lost control of their essential humanity to such a remarkable and reprehensible degree when they went off to war.

Would I like to consider the possibility that the footage is somehow faked? Yes. Yes, I would. But that's not really possible, because it appears that military sources have conceded that the footage is genuine.

But this post isn't about cracker murderers. It's about some people and how they are affecting my life, which is to say that some are, and are very much in the news, and some aren't, really, except in ways that piss me off in a way that is sort of a relief from the kind of pissed off I am about illiterate fucking cracker murderers in fucking helicopter gunships emblazoned with my country's flag, and are very much in the news also. In fact, the whole theme is just an excuse to lump some shit together in one post, a post that was going to be just about various riffs on people who happen to be persons of color until I realized how very, very pissed off I am about murderers in my country's uniform.

Let's start with TBogg, who tells us about dumbass innumerate Teabaggers who think that some Gallup Poll supports a calculation that half of African-Americans are Teabaggers. You see, according to this poll, six percent of Teabaggers are Negroes, and 12 percent of Americans are Negroes, and therefore, half of Negroes are Teabaggers. Punchline: the fucktards to whom TBogg refers are Harvard professors. Fight fiercely.

Let's move on to Michael Steele. Usually I just tell you to throw Oreos about him and gloss over the details. But it appears that Mr. Steele, who was once a footman at my state's Governor's Mansion, is in a big old hurting sack of shit-trouble. This is because it appears that Republicans like kinky sex, and in this case, it really appears that appearances are true. So Mr. Steele approved some expenditures of party money on Republican activities related to watching kinky sex, and now his staffers are getting thrown under buses and the Republican Party appears to have suddenly realized that its leader is a Negro. Not being possessed of helicopter gunships, they're trying to get Mr. Steele hoisted up on a cross, because that way they get to martyr him and blame our side all at the same time. My friend Sasha claims that they're afraid to crucify Mr. Steele; I disagree, because I think they're dumb enough to think they can have it all. In fact, Steele is such a fucking moron that he's probably helping them plan it. The longer this goes without Steele noticing the zombie-like odor wafting from his political corpse, the funnier it's going to be.

The last person, who happens to be of color, of whom I would like to take note is one Donovan McNabb, a man of whom I have some severe internal conflicts of opinion. You'll never hear me say a nice word about a Dallas Cowboy, and my DNA-level hatred of the Philadelphia Eagles approaches my DNA-level loathing of the Dallas Cowboys. Don McNabb, however, is a standup guy. I have noted in these pages that he once threw four touchdown passes on an actual broken fucking leg. He has weathered years of the kind of shit that players only get when they play for Philadelphia teams, and done so graciously and remained a very fine particpant in that community and the national community. I probably have more respect for Don McNabb than I have for any other football player on a team I hate.

Yeah, let's keep that in the present tense. The Redskins' trade for McNabb is bizarre. He's older than Jaime Moreno, in football (pick your flavor) years. The Skins coughed up two draft picks for him. The trade is no less bizarre from the Iggles' perspective; why the fucking fuck would you trade, to a division rival, a player who could very well destroy you, playing for that division rival? Pile onto this some ancient Philadelphia-DC karma: the last quarterback trade between the two teams involved Sonny Jurgenson, who certainly made the Iggles pay for that shit. Why the fucking fuck do you take a chance on a thing that potentially laden with karma?

So, even though the evidence is here, in writing, my official position is that the thing doesn't exist. It's the simplest conclusion. I don't know what day it is, or what time it is, but I'm asleep, and this doesn't exist. In fact, let's just wave a hand and apply it to everything in this post. Mmkay? Yeah, mmkay. Buh-bye.