Meanwhile, in broad daylight, two does up to their shoulders in sweet, green grass

Once upon a time I had a photo, clipped from a newspaper, taped to my PC monitor. It was a picture of a young entrepreneur in some conflict region, former Yugoslavia I guess, sitting behind a big stack of open cannisters of black-market gasoline, a lit cigarette dangling rakishly from the corner of his mouth.

I threw it out along with a bunch of other crap when I moved offices, but I’ve been thinking about that picture a lot lately.

Also, complete change of topic, I’ve been wondering when we stopped calling them “mercenaries” and started calling them “contractors”. My mistake, I know, but when I first read that expression, I imaged guys with shovels, bulldozers and cement mixers, rebuilding Iraq, you know? And it turns out they’re mercenaries. Why does the US military need mercenaries all of a sudden? And what are they doing in US-run “prisons”? Rhetorical questions, I guess.

I try instead to think about the decent young soldiers who reported the abuse to their COs.

nostalgia

remember the good old days when sn*ff movies were just a horrible rumor?

Guest post: Mig’s turtle

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First off, I’m a tortoise, you moron: Testudo hermanni. Not a fucking turtle. Get it straight, finally: Greek land tortoise. Protected species. That’s why I have my own freaking passport, and papers proving I was born here in Austria and not, say, Greece and smuggled into the country in someone’s kid’s luggage. If I hear “turtle” one more time, I’m going to take another giant shit in your kitchen and step in it and do another Jackson Pollack all over your white tile floor.

Have you ever had one of those days that start out nice, you know, the sun is shining warm and a human puts you in the flower bed out in front of the house but unfortunately they put big rocks in all the holes by the fence so you can’t book the hell out of there and escape, so you make the most of it by nibbling the lettuce and catching some rays on the sun-warmed slate tiles, and then a little shade under the wilting tulip leaves or the thicket of helianthus growing wild and then you see it: the world’s biggest protein pellet? And you stretch your beak as wide open as it’ll go and take a big bite thinking, man, week’s worth of protein? Only it turns out to be someone’s dessicated turd, a dog or more likely one of those fucking cats that keep waiting for the human to turn his back so they can see what this camoflagued shell on legs is all about, or maybe that rodent-like thing that nibbles the cars’ electrical wiring systems at night? Only by the time you realize this it’s too late, and you have this rock-hard piece of shit stuck in your beak and you can’t spit it out, and you can’t bite it off and swallow it, and you can’t open your beak any wider to get rid of it and you can barely retract your head into the shell while you think about what to do other than choke, and once your head’s retracted you can’t fucking get it back out again so there you are wandering around blind, head stuck in shell, mouth stretched as wide as it’ll go around this huge piece of dried turd, bumping into things until you’re stuck there finally between a rock and a tulip stem with a red cat two paces away, watching? Let me tell you what it’s like: as much as you hate being picked up, when a human finally notices that you’re not just fooling around, but choking, and picks you up and carries you into the kitchen and starts trying to pull the turd back out, and pieces break off instead but he keeps trying and finally the whole damn thing comes out finally, you know what that’s like? It’s a good feeling, let me tell you. And when you can finally stick your head back out, and he tickles you under your throat and puts you back out into the lettuce patch, fucking priceless. The moral of the story is, if a delicious-looking protein pellet is bigger than your head, it’s probably a turd.

mission accomplished

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Looking for this picture, I found this.

101 aristocats

Pretty much everything the Bush administration has pulled so far has failed to surprise me, except for how fast it happened and how much approval it’s met with at home. Afghanistan surprised me a little, since I’d expected him to march into Iraq directly. But Iraq itself, and reestablishing the budget deficit, and hurting education etc, no big surprise. Torture, though – I can remember when the United States used to be the good guys, and stand for things like democracy and human rights. I am speechless at the moment, so will spare you any more words on that, reserving the right to pipe up at a later date, though. Still, though – torture and rape, wasn’t that what the Iraqis were going to be “liberated” from? Has anyone involved claimed, yet, that they were “only following orders”? Because claims that “we didn’t know what was happening” are really ringing historical bells, with me at least.

Anyway.

Change of topic. Here’s a fun creativity exercise next time you read a book to a kid (Gamma is sick and I got the opportunity to read a few over the weekend): when you read the book, read each page in a different voice, which the kid(s) get to pick. Yesterday, for example, I read “The Aristocats” in the following voices, as far as I can remember:

  • a mouse

  • a cat
  • a horse
  • a cloud
  • a stone
  • a bell
  • a horse
  • a heart
  • a cow
  • a dog
  • a fish

Then my wife asked me to do something so I had to quit, which was good because the dog voice really made me hoarse.