Friday, October 17, 2003

And in more Jewish related news, Jews are apparently amoral, money grubbers who place more value on the dollar than human decency.

Christ, and just because he lacked the aesthetic and intellectual development to enjoy Kill Bill Volume 1.

Lay off the 'brews, man.
Quote of the week, brought to you every Friday:

"I'm not really trying to create art, just good masturbation material."

See how good it feels to tell the truth?
Bad news for the eight Jewish Bankers who run the world: The jig is up boys.
Soundtracks to classic Sci-Fi novels.

Exceptional stuff.

Thursday, October 16, 2003

"I knew my god was bigger than his. I knew that my god was a real god and his was an idol."

Just fucking lovely.
Excellent story on the Secret Service's involvement on limiting or outright banning protestors at Presidential appearances courtesy of Salon.

Note: link goes to a preview page. You can either subscribe in order to read the article, or if you're short on scrill, you can opt for a day pass to view it. Sadly, I chose the latter.

Wednesday, October 15, 2003

This was written two weeks ago; It may be less timely than I like, but the malice is still there. Cheers.

It is an odd thing to grow old before your time; a fine line away from childhood, with maturity (or at least some semblance of it) just a short leap away, and your eyes all pupils, strange murmurings of change and arcane promises in the wind. It’s enough to make a man wander from his country, call no land his home. There is a thread pulling through the nation as of late—a tightly wound contour that colors us with anxiety and causes us to cry out for some veneer of reassurance, a soft light to push back the shapes that spill from the cracks in the closet door.

I suppose these are odd things to lay on you—guilt by association is the coward’s way out—but it is, as I write this, seemingly far too late to make brave connotations for the purposes of my arguments. If I should blame anybody, then let it be Johnny Cash’s ghost. Whiskey, strange perfume in the late hours and the sounds of “Folsom Prison Blues,” will do fearsome things to the mind.

Earlier this week, Attorney General John Ashcroft released a federally mandated directive ordering federal prosecutors to seek maximum charges and penalties in criminal cases, effectively limiting the usage of plea bargains as well as pushing the death penalty “where applicable.” This manner of intellectual lethargy has become all too common place in post-9/11 America, a collective scream for safety and comfort that draws us closer to suckle at a poisoned teat. Our fears have trumped the concerns of a country barely at ease with its own differences and our limitations. Gilded cages of our own design are slowly being sealed as we indulge in Ashcroft’s dark romance of a love affair gone sour.

“Federal prosecutors must charge and pursue the most serious, readily provable offences that are supported by the facts,” Ashcroft said. “Charges should not be filed simply to exert leverage to get a plea.”
No one can dispute the import of sealing away society’s foulest creatures; people so badly damaged that their defective wiring and emotional shrapnel slices lives to ribbons are best left to rot. But Ashcroft’s definition of “damaged” may diverge from the more cogent members of the populace. Recently, the Department of Justice altered its guidelines, lumping the production of bathtub methamphetamines and pipe bomb manufacturing as “chemical agents” and “weapons of mass destruction,” respectively, charges usually reserved for the prosecution of suspected terrorists. In addition to this uplifting news, Ashcroft has also made strides toward a hard-line approach to drugs, de-emphasizing treatment in favor of rigid prison time for offenders.

“A government which takes the resources that we would devote toward the interdiction of drugs and converts them to treatment resources … and also implements a clean-needle program is a government that accommodates us to our lowest and least,” Ashcroft said in a press conference in January of 2001. Although his comments on the matter may be nearly two years old, the virulence of his actions of late cast an ominous pall over the judicial system.

Given that Ashcroft views lesser sentencing as a Faustian bargain of sorts, it’s only a manner of time before we hear about a grisly standoff in Florida between ATF agents and a rest home full of frail pensioners busted for sipping poppy tea to soothe their rhuems; pictures plastered all over the news of octogenarians smoldering on well-manicured lawns.

Last minute revelations are ugly because there is finality to them. There is a lesson to be learned here, and it is unfortunate that I even have to tell you. You have all been warned. It’s time to batten down the hatches, pour another drink and watch this horrible spectacle unfold.


For all your sickening Moreauish fantasies.

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