Growing Antii-war Movement?
Right. The Anti-war movement has grown dramatically.
From TWELVE photographers jockeying for the ideal shot of Cindy "Who-cares-what-my-son-was-willing-to-risk-death-for" to twelve DOZEN photographers and videographers fistfighting each other for the best angle on Cindy “my-left-profile-is-more-convincingly-bereaved” as she kneels in her best Mother Theresa pose, with the knee-pads cleverly concealed behind some rosary beads and tear-soaked tissues.
Now, keep in mind that I come from the generation that LAUNCHED the Peace--LOVE--Make-Sex-Not-War Groovey “If It Moves have unprotected nooky with it” generation. I embrace otherness. I applaud the individuality of all individuals. Well, most individuals. I celebrate celebrities, and happily pay exorbitant ticket prices to see Hollywood actors speak highly-intelligent and emotionally-compelling lines with pots of cosmetics enhancing their unusually apposite facial anatomies.
But, honestly, we have to draw a line somewhere.
The pukes pretending to care about the issues in the so-called “anti-war” protests these days are truly pathetic excuses for crusaders. You used to have to have the discipline actually to *SPELL* the slogans, on accounta the signs mostly had to be hand-lettered. Now these molly-coddled little turds get fancy signs printed with soy-based inks on recycled-for-God’s-Sake-dolphin-safe paper, all spell-checked and formatted and copyright © 2005 by MoveOn.org and George Soros.
They probably have to sign’em out, and return them for recycling after the demonstration.
In *MY* day, we had to hitch-hike to protests, and believe me, there were a lot of people then that wouldn’t stop to pick up anyone with long hair, especially carrying a hand-made “Stop the War” sign.
And talk about liaison with the media as a problem~! When I was in the protest business, we didn’t have CELLULAR phones to rally everyone on short notice. It took planning and careful pre-arrangement, military-precision timing to get the camera crews and the protesters together at the right time... I mean, people, there were ONLY THREE NETWORKS!
And they had news programs only TWICE a DAY: six and eleven pee-em.
You couldn’t just show up at some street corner like you can now, and be guaranteed that there would be two hundred and fifty people with some sort of broadcast quality camera equipment just waiting for some damn thing to happen.
Oh, yeah, and in those ancient days, reporters were occasionally questioned by their editors, to determine that the sequences hadn’t been faked.
These protesters really have it so easy.
If a protest were called and they had to bring their own Evian water, could they pull it off?
Boy! If I were a flinty-eyed, calculating, Allah-fearing terrorist, eager enough to expell BusHitler’s armies of occupation from Iraq so it could be restored to a pure and holy state of subjugation, daily murder, rape, torture, brutalization, and denial of all the fundamental pleasures the evil Americans take for granted... Would I really want to have to depend on the likes of these cravens as allies to my holy cause?????? I don’t think so. You probably couldn’t send them to the corner armory for a kilo of C4, without having them get lost on the way back and forget their munitions on the seat of their parents’ car.
I can imagine a conversation taking place somewhere, wherever it is that freedom-fighting terrorists dream of their waiting virgins between anti-personell bomb assembly sessions:
Sayeed: “So, Yousef, is it your will this day to go forth and send shrapnel hurtling through the flesh of infidel women and children strolling on the public way, to glorify the blessed name of Allah the merciful?”
Yousef: “No, Sayeed. For it has come to my ears that the young of our enemies meaning to set themselves athwart the paths of the unrighteous, are gathering in the great cities in numbers beyond count. Perhaps they will accomplish our task for us, and smite our foemen a mighty blow. Let us pray to Allah.”
Sayeed: “Affendi, seat your self, and pray for strength. The pious youth who would have given aid to our cause, they have been scattered like the grains of sand before the desert wind. Our foe have distracted them from their holy duties with divers interactive video games, iPods, burgers, and free condoms. Only two-score and twelve protesters have managed to set themselves athwart the boulevards of our foe to frustrate their evil plans.”
Yousef: “Curses upon the heads of the unbelieving twits. Allah has pooped upon us, to saddle our camels with such baggage for allies. Better that we return to redouble our efforts with the Food-for-Oil scheme, which showered advantages upon our plans.”
Sayeed: “Grieve not overmuch, my friend. Now the hurricanes have subsided, we may expect any day now the baying of our allies in the U.S. media to take up again our noble and worthy cause...”
Baah. I’m disgusted with the sorry rascals. Well, I’ll show them. For decades, my critics have criticized me for being different, so from now on I'm going to be the same.
From TWELVE photographers jockeying for the ideal shot of Cindy "Who-cares-what-my-son-was-willing-to-risk-death-for" to twelve DOZEN photographers and videographers fistfighting each other for the best angle on Cindy “my-left-profile-is-more-convincingly-bereaved” as she kneels in her best Mother Theresa pose, with the knee-pads cleverly concealed behind some rosary beads and tear-soaked tissues.
Now, keep in mind that I come from the generation that LAUNCHED the Peace--LOVE--Make-Sex-Not-War Groovey “If It Moves have unprotected nooky with it” generation. I embrace otherness. I applaud the individuality of all individuals. Well, most individuals. I celebrate celebrities, and happily pay exorbitant ticket prices to see Hollywood actors speak highly-intelligent and emotionally-compelling lines with pots of cosmetics enhancing their unusually apposite facial anatomies.
But, honestly, we have to draw a line somewhere.
The pukes pretending to care about the issues in the so-called “anti-war” protests these days are truly pathetic excuses for crusaders. You used to have to have the discipline actually to *SPELL* the slogans, on accounta the signs mostly had to be hand-lettered. Now these molly-coddled little turds get fancy signs printed with soy-based inks on recycled-for-God’s-Sake-dolphin-safe paper, all spell-checked and formatted and copyright © 2005 by MoveOn.org and George Soros.
They probably have to sign’em out, and return them for recycling after the demonstration.
In *MY* day, we had to hitch-hike to protests, and believe me, there were a lot of people then that wouldn’t stop to pick up anyone with long hair, especially carrying a hand-made “Stop the War” sign.
And talk about liaison with the media as a problem~! When I was in the protest business, we didn’t have CELLULAR phones to rally everyone on short notice. It took planning and careful pre-arrangement, military-precision timing to get the camera crews and the protesters together at the right time... I mean, people, there were ONLY THREE NETWORKS!
And they had news programs only TWICE a DAY: six and eleven pee-em.
You couldn’t just show up at some street corner like you can now, and be guaranteed that there would be two hundred and fifty people with some sort of broadcast quality camera equipment just waiting for some damn thing to happen.
Oh, yeah, and in those ancient days, reporters were occasionally questioned by their editors, to determine that the sequences hadn’t been faked.
These protesters really have it so easy.
If a protest were called and they had to bring their own Evian water, could they pull it off?
Boy! If I were a flinty-eyed, calculating, Allah-fearing terrorist, eager enough to expell BusHitler’s armies of occupation from Iraq so it could be restored to a pure and holy state of subjugation, daily murder, rape, torture, brutalization, and denial of all the fundamental pleasures the evil Americans take for granted... Would I really want to have to depend on the likes of these cravens as allies to my holy cause?????? I don’t think so. You probably couldn’t send them to the corner armory for a kilo of C4, without having them get lost on the way back and forget their munitions on the seat of their parents’ car.
I can imagine a conversation taking place somewhere, wherever it is that freedom-fighting terrorists dream of their waiting virgins between anti-personell bomb assembly sessions:
Sayeed: “So, Yousef, is it your will this day to go forth and send shrapnel hurtling through the flesh of infidel women and children strolling on the public way, to glorify the blessed name of Allah the merciful?”
Yousef: “No, Sayeed. For it has come to my ears that the young of our enemies meaning to set themselves athwart the paths of the unrighteous, are gathering in the great cities in numbers beyond count. Perhaps they will accomplish our task for us, and smite our foemen a mighty blow. Let us pray to Allah.”
Sayeed: “Affendi, seat your self, and pray for strength. The pious youth who would have given aid to our cause, they have been scattered like the grains of sand before the desert wind. Our foe have distracted them from their holy duties with divers interactive video games, iPods, burgers, and free condoms. Only two-score and twelve protesters have managed to set themselves athwart the boulevards of our foe to frustrate their evil plans.”
Yousef: “Curses upon the heads of the unbelieving twits. Allah has pooped upon us, to saddle our camels with such baggage for allies. Better that we return to redouble our efforts with the Food-for-Oil scheme, which showered advantages upon our plans.”
Sayeed: “Grieve not overmuch, my friend. Now the hurricanes have subsided, we may expect any day now the baying of our allies in the U.S. media to take up again our noble and worthy cause...”
Baah. I’m disgusted with the sorry rascals. Well, I’ll show them. For decades, my critics have criticized me for being different, so from now on I'm going to be the same.
posted by Mad Fiddler at 12:23 AM
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