Among them telling my college roommate Stan Buckley in 1978:
“No, I won’t get in on the ground floor on your new business venture. Not only will people NOT want to pay a buck for a cup of coffee but Starbucks is a stupid name!”
BILL
Monday, December 22, 2008
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Pigskin Point
The best reason for not instituting a college football playoff can be found in the myriad replies to: “And if we don’t?”
BILL
BILL
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Compliment or Complement???
I’ve been told by many that I am as handsome a man as Kate Beckensale is a woman. (Not Kate Beckinsale, lovely actress of “Pearl Harbor” fame, but Kate Beckensale down the street. “Big Kate,” as the street urchins taunt her.)
BILL
BILL
Monday, December 1, 2008
Looner Fact
During their 1969 trip to the moon, Neil Armstrong became so annoyed by his ill-tempered Lunar Module occupant Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin that he soon began calling him “Buzz-kill.”
(OK, this is a lie, as we all know the moon landings were in fact a cruel hoax perpetrated upon the American public, one that so amused NASA that they repeated the stunt eight more times.)
BILL
(OK, this is a lie, as we all know the moon landings were in fact a cruel hoax perpetrated upon the American public, one that so amused NASA that they repeated the stunt eight more times.)
BILL
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Kids Today, God Love 'Em!
They just don’t seem to “get” that adults my age can be as hip as they perceive themselves to be. The polite though exuberant debate went on for quite some time before the hour grew late and I told them I had to get home to listen to my Neil Sedaka records.
BILL
BILL
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
History Quiz
If John McCain had been President during the Cuban Missile Crisis, how many nuclear warheads would the United States fired upon the Soviet Union and how many would they have fired upon us?
a) 9,500 and 8,750
b) 10,250 and 9,850
c) 12, 575 and 8,750
BILL
a) 9,500 and 8,750
b) 10,250 and 9,850
c) 12, 575 and 8,750
BILL
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Calling In Is Sick
Am I mistaken or is being a United States Senator the only job in America where one can be absent from work for months at a time and, instead of being fired, have a 50-50 chance of being promoted to leader of the free world?
BILL
BILL
Friday, October 10, 2008
Sad News re The Opening of My New Restaurant
After only one week of (quite sparse) business, Gruel Junction has closed.
BILL
BILL
Thursday, October 2, 2008
At Bill Industries...
…. Theirs no excuse for error. Perfection is more then just a word. Its our goal
BILL
BILL
The Dirty Dozen Sixteen
Like many, I have mixed feelings re the posting of the Ten Commandments in a public domain. Like all men, however, I feel strongly that the sixteen line operational count-off from the film “The Dirty Dozen” SHOULD be posted in every men’s room stall. Allow me to refresh your memory:
One: down to the road block, we've just begun.
Two: the guards are through.
Three: the Major's men are on a spree.
Four: Major and Wladislaw go through the door.
Five: Pinkley stays out in the drive.
Six: the Major gives the rope a fix.
Seven: Wladislaw throws the hook to heaven.
Eight: Jiménez has got a date.
Nine: The other guys go up the line.
Ten: Sawyer and Gilpin are in the pen.
Eleven: Posey guards points five and seven.
Twelve: Wladislaw and the Major go down to delve.
Thirteen: Franko goes up without being seen.
Fourteen: Zero-hour, Jiménez cuts the cable, Franko cuts the phone.
Fifteen: Franko goes in where the others have been.
Sixteen: we all come out like it's Halloween!
BILL
One: down to the road block, we've just begun.
Two: the guards are through.
Three: the Major's men are on a spree.
Four: Major and Wladislaw go through the door.
Five: Pinkley stays out in the drive.
Six: the Major gives the rope a fix.
Seven: Wladislaw throws the hook to heaven.
Eight: Jiménez has got a date.
Nine: The other guys go up the line.
Ten: Sawyer and Gilpin are in the pen.
Eleven: Posey guards points five and seven.
Twelve: Wladislaw and the Major go down to delve.
Thirteen: Franko goes up without being seen.
Fourteen: Zero-hour, Jiménez cuts the cable, Franko cuts the phone.
Fifteen: Franko goes in where the others have been.
Sixteen: we all come out like it's Halloween!
BILL
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Smile more often!!!
If you forward this email to seven other people, good fortune will come your way by day’s end!
If, however, you send it to either six or less OR eight or more people, there is an uncomfortably high possibility that you and your entire family will be horribly disfigured for life.
BILL
If, however, you send it to either six or less OR eight or more people, there is an uncomfortably high possibility that you and your entire family will be horribly disfigured for life.
BILL
Monday, September 22, 2008
My New Movement
call me crazy but i think the time has come for someone to take a stand and demand that some semblance of effort be made in bringing back use of common punctuation paragraphs and capitalization in emails not in some schoolmarm slap your hand with a ruler if its not perfect but just enough so the reader can appreciate that some minimum attempt was made to lay lie I get those confused ones thoughts down in such a way that allows the reader to perhaps believe that what they are looking at is not just stream of consciousness because that would be like talking and nobody telling you to shut up and you know how irritating that can be in fact I think you might be thinking that right now while i realize that yanking these golden oldies out of the closet and seeing if they still fit is in some respects a tad cumbersome for those few out there who have chosen not to use these clunky standards of yesteryear reading your unstructured thoughts is the difference between being offered a glass of water and having a garden hose shoved down your throat and turned on full force you simply have no sense of rhythm of rest of pause and to a large extent can’t really pick up what the person is saying even if it might be a question being posed the overall shape of the thought just gets blurred away into a vast alphabetical nothingness and while certain fragments of points can be discerned like spotting bits of corn in a puddle of vomit as the words seem to never stop into a mentally digestible nugget that can be read savored pondered absorbed and then allowed to slowly pass before going to the thought i realize this may come as a bit of a shock to some of you but i really do i really do respect your thoughts and find it a tad aggravating that you well some of you not necessarily you but you as in some of you out there not we as in the royal we have so little regard for your own thoughts that you choose not to corral them within a modicum of organization believe me trust me i know where you are coming from i do however understand the brutal indignity and burden of being expected to send your hand those two inches to the left to hit that barren outpost of a caps key or enduring the unspeakable agony of dropping your finger that far as in south pole far away inch down below to strike that unlabeled space bar the keyboard equivalent of hitting the broad side of a barn with a handful of peas please please mr please make use of this broad target so that i the reader can go oh i get it he she has finished that thought and moved onto the next sentiment for awhile i couldn’t tell there had he finished not finished oh i was lost there and for a moment thought i was looking at the hastily scribbled text that custer had sent for backups who of course arrived far far too late but now i see what he she is doing simply by using the space bar see how it works see how it can make me understand you but if you insist on not wanting to be understood i suppose the real question needing to be asked is why am i dealing with you at all or maybe its just me cantankerous as i can be again please don’t assume that this is intended to you the reader per se but you know who you are i mean obviously we all know who we are but i mean those who actually do this with severe regularity not the regularity like bowel regularity but the other kind of course as in making a habit of doing this these and only these few are the one i am referring to but those who don’t might get my point as well bill
Friday, September 19, 2008
Age Test
Attempting to leave work early yesterday, I spotted my boss and invoked my usual “I gotta get home to watch My Three Sons.”
“I didn’t even know you were married,” he replied.
BILL
“I didn’t even know you were married,” he replied.
BILL
And by the way...
… I can do an AMAZING impression of Uncle Charlie from “My Three Sons.” (But only while playing Twister with children under the age of six.)
BILL
BILL
"Bill, you are SO handsome, and SO funny!"
As you can well imagine, often I hear these words, to which I respond: “Please, I’m not THAT funny.”
BILL
BILL
Thursday, September 18, 2008
My Grand Epiphany
As I arose this morning, while the faint traces of a peaceful dream began a swift surrender to consciousness, it occurred to me that, with all the problems bedeviling mankind, we –
(I’m sorry; I have a call coming in.)
BILL
(I’m sorry; I have a call coming in.)
BILL
Workplace Blues
Quizzed on a psychological profile - mandatory ‘round these parts for all job interviews - I was asked once if I would rather be “loved or feared.”
“Actually, I would rather be rubbed down slowly in baby oil by Shania Twain,” I responded.
I did not get the job.
BILL
“Actually, I would rather be rubbed down slowly in baby oil by Shania Twain,” I responded.
I did not get the job.
BILL
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
It was a moonlit night...
… when Mother broke the news to me that I had been raised by wolves while a toddler. You should have heard me howl…
BILL
BILL
Monday, September 15, 2008
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Good Golly, I even multi-task at HOME!!!
Why, just last night, I was sitting on my ass and watching TV…
BILL
BILL
Wardrobe Malfunction
I once heard you should dress for the job you WANT, not for the job you have. So I came to work dressed as an astronaut.
BILL
BILL
Monday, September 8, 2008
Two Important Rules for Proper Grammar
Never end a sentence with a preposition.
And never, ever, start a sentence with: “Back in the wayward days of my pedophile youth…”
BILL
And never, ever, start a sentence with: “Back in the wayward days of my pedophile youth…”
BILL
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Shower The People
In the wake of LA Mayor's Antonio Villaraigosa signing into law numerous measures to save water, I decided a week ago to stop taking showers. In the interest of science, I gauged the following reactions by coworkers.
Day one: Genuine belly laughs received upon hearing my plan.
Day two: Curious expressions while passing me, as if to say: "What's that smell?"
Day three: Mild coughing followed by expressions that seemed to evoke the words: "Good God, you're serious, aren't you?"
Day four: Vexation and palpable disdain.
Day five: Poorly-veiled hostility, flagrant at times and coupled with vulgarity, accompanied by firm albeit "accidental" shoves.
Day six: Outright violence, resulting in bruises and abrasions.
Day seven: Genuine belly laughs received from others in the unemployment line.
BILL
Day one: Genuine belly laughs received upon hearing my plan.
Day two: Curious expressions while passing me, as if to say: "What's that smell?"
Day three: Mild coughing followed by expressions that seemed to evoke the words: "Good God, you're serious, aren't you?"
Day four: Vexation and palpable disdain.
Day five: Poorly-veiled hostility, flagrant at times and coupled with vulgarity, accompanied by firm albeit "accidental" shoves.
Day six: Outright violence, resulting in bruises and abrasions.
Day seven: Genuine belly laughs received from others in the unemployment line.
BILL
Monday, August 18, 2008
God, This Sucks!
Having resided on earth for lo these 49 years, I have come to believe that an absolute FORTUNE awaits the person who invents what I think should be called the “vacuum cleaner,” the name derived from the vacuum created within the device itself that creates a suction effect that would, when propelled across a flat surface, lift small foreign particles from that very surface, resulting in it being duly cleaned.
Yes, I am roundly familiar with the gratingly loud mechanical devices one pushes to and fro across a floor that do little but create a healthy layer of sweat upon the user and leave upon the carpet the faint visual trace of the wheeled device itself, said markings seen up close as one bends down repeatedly to pick up those objects easily resisting the feeble attempts of the aforementioned device. But what I am referring to is something that would actually suck up dirt and particles INTO it.
Does this device exist and, if so, where can I find one?
Thanks. BILL
PS – Guess what I did this weekend?
Yes, I am roundly familiar with the gratingly loud mechanical devices one pushes to and fro across a floor that do little but create a healthy layer of sweat upon the user and leave upon the carpet the faint visual trace of the wheeled device itself, said markings seen up close as one bends down repeatedly to pick up those objects easily resisting the feeble attempts of the aforementioned device. But what I am referring to is something that would actually suck up dirt and particles INTO it.
Does this device exist and, if so, where can I find one?
Thanks. BILL
PS – Guess what I did this weekend?
My Dumbbell Thought
I have problems not only with watching weightlifting as an Olympic "sport" but can't help thinking that the guy doing color only needs to memorize one line: "Bob, it seems THAT one was jusssssssssst a bit too heavy."
BILL
BILL
Friday, August 15, 2008
Do NOT waste your time with online IQ tests!!!
They're a FRAUD!!! I've scored on three occasions over five or six years 135, 129, and 138, putting me – in theory – of "extreme intelligence." Ask anyone who knows me, however, and they'll likely say: "Bill? Yeah, I know him. He's an idiot.”
BILL
BILL
Monday, August 11, 2008
ESSAY: Shopping for God
The other day I went shopping for a god. Sadly, I could not afford the priciest model and instead ended up getting one that, while all-knowing and all-powerful, does nothing when tragedy strikes. Little time passed before I felt the sting of buyer’s remorse, so I tried to return my god back to the store the next day. The guy behind the counter took a look at it, inserted a new pair of D-size batteries into it, and informed me that its two main features, that is to say my god being all-knowing, i.e. being aware that tragedies occur, and being all-powerful, as in being perfectly capable of stopping bad things from happening, were functioning exactly as advertised.
“But he does nothing while horrific tragedy occurs!” I exclaimed, my frustration clearly showing.
“That’s the way he’s designed,” the guy replied. “Listen, if you’re interested in the Grand Deluxe model—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, whatever you do don’t buy the Grand Deluxe!” The voice belonged to a woman in her mid-fifties, gaudy in attire and matronly in every worst possible sense of the word. Her hat looked like something conjured from the mind of Dr. Seuss and her stockings sagged as if weighted down by the noisome tenor of her own voice. None too happy, it was obvious she was returning her Grand Deluxe model. Another clerk stood behind the counter, his eyes bedeviled by his insufficiently brief encounter with her. He worked the register, doing his best to enact a speedy return.
“Why not?” I inquired.
“It’s so booooooothersome,” she said, the whine in her voice rivaling a low-flying airplane. “Always trying to do good. Always trying to help. That’s not what I signed up for. I want a god who sits there and does nothing. THAT’S the god I want, not this over-officious piece of crap.”
The other clerk rolled his eyes, his expression going undetected by the woman who was now scraping her god’s base with the tip of an atrociously long nail. She seemed to be trying to dislodge a flake of paint from it. “Cheap thing,” she muttered.
I turned away and addressed my own clerk. “So you’re actually saying people BUY the model I bought?”
He gestured toward the woman. “That’s the one she wants, pal. Folks buy it by the millions,” he said. “It’s our number one seller.”
“Well, how much more would I have to pay for a god that actually steps up to the plate, helping the afflicted, defeating evildoers, and bringing justice to the world? You know, one who would have kicked Hitler’s ass up and down the block, wiping out any chance whatsoever that the Holocaust would have even happened?”
“Again, that would be the Grand Deluxe. We’ve got a floor model I could show you but… I’m pretty sure he’s out of your price range. You know, it’s funny. You’re the first person who’s lodged a complaint over this model.”
“Wait, are you telling me that people are actually SATISFIED with their purchase of an all-knowing, all-powerful god who does absolutely nothing when, oh, I don’t know, a hardcore felon videotapes himself sodomizing a toddler, later posting the images on the Internet in hopes of luring other pedophiles to do the same?”
“We haven’t had a return yet. In fact, we’ve had nothing but rave reviews ever since we started stocking him. Check out this month’s Consumer Reports. ‘God of The Year’ they’re calling him.”
“But if I acted in such a manner, blithely ignoring evil at every turn when capable of preventing it, I’d be reviled as the most loathsome, unfeeling human being who ever walked the planet!”
“What can I say?” he replied, his face having long ago tapped some vein of jaded nonchalance.
“Good god.”
“That would be the Grand Deluxe. The good god. What you bought, well, don’t tell my floor manager, but the sales staff… we all call him ‘Harvey.’ As in Harvey the Rabbit. Not really there for you. Know what I’m saying?”
“And people buy this?!”
“Like I said: our number one seller.”
“And they’re not put off by the fact that, even though he’s aware of evil occurring and is more than capable of stopping it, he just sits back and watches it happen like bad reality TV?”
“Hey, I don’t build them; I just sell them.”
“And people don’t have a problem with that?!”
“What, are you kidding? They worship him for it.”
“Worship him?!”
“They drop to their knees in droves, my friend. Build shrines to him. Churches even.” Befuddlement overwhelmed my face. “Crazy, huh?” he replied, a wry chuckle escaping his lips.
“Unbelievable.” I stood there shaking my head, my eyes weary. Finally, I looked up at him, as he handed back to me my earlier purchase. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What god do you use?”
“My friend, like a dope peddler once told me: never, EVER use your product.”
BILL
“But he does nothing while horrific tragedy occurs!” I exclaimed, my frustration clearly showing.
“That’s the way he’s designed,” the guy replied. “Listen, if you’re interested in the Grand Deluxe model—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, whatever you do don’t buy the Grand Deluxe!” The voice belonged to a woman in her mid-fifties, gaudy in attire and matronly in every worst possible sense of the word. Her hat looked like something conjured from the mind of Dr. Seuss and her stockings sagged as if weighted down by the noisome tenor of her own voice. None too happy, it was obvious she was returning her Grand Deluxe model. Another clerk stood behind the counter, his eyes bedeviled by his insufficiently brief encounter with her. He worked the register, doing his best to enact a speedy return.
“Why not?” I inquired.
“It’s so booooooothersome,” she said, the whine in her voice rivaling a low-flying airplane. “Always trying to do good. Always trying to help. That’s not what I signed up for. I want a god who sits there and does nothing. THAT’S the god I want, not this over-officious piece of crap.”
The other clerk rolled his eyes, his expression going undetected by the woman who was now scraping her god’s base with the tip of an atrociously long nail. She seemed to be trying to dislodge a flake of paint from it. “Cheap thing,” she muttered.
I turned away and addressed my own clerk. “So you’re actually saying people BUY the model I bought?”
He gestured toward the woman. “That’s the one she wants, pal. Folks buy it by the millions,” he said. “It’s our number one seller.”
“Well, how much more would I have to pay for a god that actually steps up to the plate, helping the afflicted, defeating evildoers, and bringing justice to the world? You know, one who would have kicked Hitler’s ass up and down the block, wiping out any chance whatsoever that the Holocaust would have even happened?”
“Again, that would be the Grand Deluxe. We’ve got a floor model I could show you but… I’m pretty sure he’s out of your price range. You know, it’s funny. You’re the first person who’s lodged a complaint over this model.”
“Wait, are you telling me that people are actually SATISFIED with their purchase of an all-knowing, all-powerful god who does absolutely nothing when, oh, I don’t know, a hardcore felon videotapes himself sodomizing a toddler, later posting the images on the Internet in hopes of luring other pedophiles to do the same?”
“We haven’t had a return yet. In fact, we’ve had nothing but rave reviews ever since we started stocking him. Check out this month’s Consumer Reports. ‘God of The Year’ they’re calling him.”
“But if I acted in such a manner, blithely ignoring evil at every turn when capable of preventing it, I’d be reviled as the most loathsome, unfeeling human being who ever walked the planet!”
“What can I say?” he replied, his face having long ago tapped some vein of jaded nonchalance.
“Good god.”
“That would be the Grand Deluxe. The good god. What you bought, well, don’t tell my floor manager, but the sales staff… we all call him ‘Harvey.’ As in Harvey the Rabbit. Not really there for you. Know what I’m saying?”
“And people buy this?!”
“Like I said: our number one seller.”
“And they’re not put off by the fact that, even though he’s aware of evil occurring and is more than capable of stopping it, he just sits back and watches it happen like bad reality TV?”
“Hey, I don’t build them; I just sell them.”
“And people don’t have a problem with that?!”
“What, are you kidding? They worship him for it.”
“Worship him?!”
“They drop to their knees in droves, my friend. Build shrines to him. Churches even.” Befuddlement overwhelmed my face. “Crazy, huh?” he replied, a wry chuckle escaping his lips.
“Unbelievable.” I stood there shaking my head, my eyes weary. Finally, I looked up at him, as he handed back to me my earlier purchase. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What god do you use?”
“My friend, like a dope peddler once told me: never, EVER use your product.”
BILL
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Male Pattern Baldness and the Caveman
It is said that even the caveman suffered from this dreaded affliction. Crude and barbaric, however, the cure was worse than the "disease" itself, the caveman's primitive “tools” being limited to – sadly -- the club.
A village elder, steeped in the ways of Neanderthal medicine, would inflict the “cure” upon the thinly-haired "patient," the wooden club landing solidly atop the cranium, the blow intended to spur the pattern of male hair growth along more traditional lines, preferably without killing the poor man.
Thus was born: the Hair Club for Men.
BILL
A village elder, steeped in the ways of Neanderthal medicine, would inflict the “cure” upon the thinly-haired "patient," the wooden club landing solidly atop the cranium, the blow intended to spur the pattern of male hair growth along more traditional lines, preferably without killing the poor man.
Thus was born: the Hair Club for Men.
BILL
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Hurricane Names
If any one of the following hurricanes was headed my way, I’d pull up a lawn chair and fly a kite:
Alfie
Babs
Cletus
Dick
Enos
Fredo
Gomer
Hymie
Izzy
Jesus
Kelly
Lily
Mo
Norm
Opie
Prudence
Quigley
Ricky
Sissy
Timmy
Ulva
Vivien
Wally
X – (Sorry, I'm afraid of any hurricane starting with an X.)
Yogi
Zippie
If any one of THESE hurricanes was headed my way, I’d make out a will:
Attila
Barnabus
Constantine
Diablo
Euclid
Fidel
Guido
Hannibal
Ichabod
Judas
Karma
Lucius
Misery
Nero
Oswald
Pandora
Quentin
Rory
Sonny
Trinity
Ulysses
Vlad
Willard
X (See above.)
Yuma
Zachariah
BILL
Alfie
Babs
Cletus
Dick
Enos
Fredo
Gomer
Hymie
Izzy
Jesus
Kelly
Lily
Mo
Norm
Opie
Prudence
Quigley
Ricky
Sissy
Timmy
Ulva
Vivien
Wally
X – (Sorry, I'm afraid of any hurricane starting with an X.)
Yogi
Zippie
If any one of THESE hurricanes was headed my way, I’d make out a will:
Attila
Barnabus
Constantine
Diablo
Euclid
Fidel
Guido
Hannibal
Ichabod
Judas
Karma
Lucius
Misery
Nero
Oswald
Pandora
Quentin
Rory
Sonny
Trinity
Ulysses
Vlad
Willard
X (See above.)
Yuma
Zachariah
BILL
Friday, August 1, 2008
NASA's Phoenix Mars Lander
Finding ice I would have predicted; the liquor however surprised me.
BILL
BILL
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
When in doubt..
… use “I would, but I’m too cheap and lazy” as an excuse. Not only does this handily cover a broad number of scenarios, but is thoroughly believable, serving also as the “preemptive strike” of excuses, rendering one invulnerable to nearly all rejoinders.
BILL
BILL
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
ESSAY: Of Torture (Excuse Me, I Meant "Enhanced Interrogation Techniques")
The other day, I asked my six-year old son why he loves America. He responded thusly: "Because we torture." OK, I'm lying. I don't have a son, but I thought it best to start out with a bang.
But if you were to ask a six-year old child why he or she loves America, would you not be taken aback even slightly if the response was: "Because we torture?" Yes, from the mouths of babes, even a fool can discern that torture, and all it represents, rings out as ghastly, barbaric, and an unquestionable violation to the conscience of a civilized people.
To defend this sentiment, I hereby assert the following:
Rule #1: If you have to rename it in order to clean it up a bit, it's wrong. Don't believe me? Try these on for size. "Genocide." Good gosh, it even sounds nasty. What say we use "ethnic cleansing" instead? After all "ethnic" is good, right? Think "multicultural." Better yet "cuisine." And "cleansing?" Who but a slob would object? So "ethnic cleansing" it is!
I'm certain "forced prostitution" conjured up all things sordid in the minds of the Japanese military during World War II. "Let's call them 'comfort women' instead" was their likely reply. Ahhhhh, "comfort." Isn't that so much nicer? Cozy, in fact.
Let's try "final solution" shall we, in honor of the Nazis? "Solutions" are always great, are they not? And a "final" one? Even better! No more being mired in "What to do? What to do?"
Which, of course, leads us to "torture." Why, I get shivers up my spine just thinking about it, smacking as it does of barbarism. Let's call it "enhanced interrogation techniques" instead, shall we? "Enhancements" are always good, right? Whether of the pen*ile variety or what have you. "Interrogation?" Hey, we're just seeking the truth here, are we not? And as for "technique?" Be honest now. Doesn’t the term itself evoke images of the most highly skilled artisan? Who could argue against that? "Enhanced interrogation techniques" it shall be!
Rule #2: Torture is, how shall I put this, not very Christian. File this one under "Duh," unless of course I somehow misheard my childhood Catholic teachings about "turning the other cheek" and "loving one's enemies." Am I wrong here? Was I asleep during catechism, thus missing the part where the flock of wide-eyed innocents nestled at the knee of Jesus were regaled by the Son of God as to the virtues of water-boarding or stripping one's enemies naked and piling them into fleshy photo-op pyramids? Maybe I am wrong about this. Seriously, correct me if I am.
Rule #3: Barbarism begets barbarism. If you care about American soldiers, truly care about them, ask yourself this question. Which scenario imperils U.S. forces more should they be captured by our enemies: one where their captors know THEIR fellow soldiers have not been mistreated by U.S. forces or one where they know they have been? Simplifying it even further: who would you yourself (hypothetically of course...) lean toward torturing: someone who treated you decently while you were held at their absolute mercy or someone who took every opportunity to brutalize you, oftentimes solely to amuse themselves? The answer should be clear.
Rule #4: The "ticking bomb scenario" is born of fear and fear alone, shaming the "home of the brave." Far too often, this limp hypothetical is tossed out as if somehow it represents reality as we know it when it should be readily recognized for what it truly is: the frightened conjurings of someone watching far too many episodes of "24." For starters, has the ticking bomb scenario ever once occurred in our nation's history? Have we ever once been faced with a situation wherein we know we have only so much time before the ticking (dirty? nuclear?) bomb explodes, thus requiring us to torture the apprehended scoundrel who (and here's the really laughable part) has, in true Snidely Whiplash fashion, readily acknowledged a bomb plot already underway, thus inviting himself to be tortured in order so that we might learn both when the bomb is set to explode in addition to its location? The entire situation is too ludicrous to even warrant serious discussion.
Rule #5: If anything qualifies as unforgivable, torture might well be it. I have seen footage of sailors who survived the bombing of Pearl Harbor making peace with the former Japanese pilots who dropped the very bombs upon them, killing their shipmates. Why do they do it, you ask? Because they know that the very nature of war is to kill your enemy. It is, dare I say, a soldier's duty? They understand that they, too, would have dropped bombs on the Japanese if given the chance. (I can recall two rather large ones offhand.…) Yet, I have seen December 7th anniversary programs wherein survivors of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor (granted, not all of them and probably not the majority) have made peace with their onetime enemy. Now ask yourself this: do you think the poor fellow who has been tortured is, assuming he survives, going to be in a "forgiving mood?" I think not. In fact, his GRANDchildren won't be in a forgiving mood! And on this one you can bet the proverbial farm, if you're not sure an "enemy combatant" is a terrorist and you torture him to find out, guess what? If he wasn't a terrorist bent on America's destruction before you started, I assure you he is now. Congratulations! In your "war on terror" you've just created that which you fear most: a terrorist!
Rule #6: It is fallacious reasoning to assert that torture is warranted when done "to protect America." Why? The answer is found in the premise itself. "To protect America." And what exactly is America? It is, I assure you, much more than a land mass between Maine and California. It is a set of ideals -- one of them not being the most inhuman of acts, i.e. torturing another person -- fought and died for by generations past, all of whom have their memory urinated upon every time one claims that torture is in the best interest of a presumably civilized nation.
In the end, the argument by certain powers-that-be that they are engaging in torture -- excuse me, "enhanced interrogation techniques" -- to protect Americans should be met with the following reply by anyone clinging to even the most jaded sense of decency: "Stop. As a brave American, I'll take my chances."
BILL
But if you were to ask a six-year old child why he or she loves America, would you not be taken aback even slightly if the response was: "Because we torture?" Yes, from the mouths of babes, even a fool can discern that torture, and all it represents, rings out as ghastly, barbaric, and an unquestionable violation to the conscience of a civilized people.
To defend this sentiment, I hereby assert the following:
Rule #1: If you have to rename it in order to clean it up a bit, it's wrong. Don't believe me? Try these on for size. "Genocide." Good gosh, it even sounds nasty. What say we use "ethnic cleansing" instead? After all "ethnic" is good, right? Think "multicultural." Better yet "cuisine." And "cleansing?" Who but a slob would object? So "ethnic cleansing" it is!
I'm certain "forced prostitution" conjured up all things sordid in the minds of the Japanese military during World War II. "Let's call them 'comfort women' instead" was their likely reply. Ahhhhh, "comfort." Isn't that so much nicer? Cozy, in fact.
Let's try "final solution" shall we, in honor of the Nazis? "Solutions" are always great, are they not? And a "final" one? Even better! No more being mired in "What to do? What to do?"
Which, of course, leads us to "torture." Why, I get shivers up my spine just thinking about it, smacking as it does of barbarism. Let's call it "enhanced interrogation techniques" instead, shall we? "Enhancements" are always good, right? Whether of the pen*ile variety or what have you. "Interrogation?" Hey, we're just seeking the truth here, are we not? And as for "technique?" Be honest now. Doesn’t the term itself evoke images of the most highly skilled artisan? Who could argue against that? "Enhanced interrogation techniques" it shall be!
Rule #2: Torture is, how shall I put this, not very Christian. File this one under "Duh," unless of course I somehow misheard my childhood Catholic teachings about "turning the other cheek" and "loving one's enemies." Am I wrong here? Was I asleep during catechism, thus missing the part where the flock of wide-eyed innocents nestled at the knee of Jesus were regaled by the Son of God as to the virtues of water-boarding or stripping one's enemies naked and piling them into fleshy photo-op pyramids? Maybe I am wrong about this. Seriously, correct me if I am.
Rule #3: Barbarism begets barbarism. If you care about American soldiers, truly care about them, ask yourself this question. Which scenario imperils U.S. forces more should they be captured by our enemies: one where their captors know THEIR fellow soldiers have not been mistreated by U.S. forces or one where they know they have been? Simplifying it even further: who would you yourself (hypothetically of course...) lean toward torturing: someone who treated you decently while you were held at their absolute mercy or someone who took every opportunity to brutalize you, oftentimes solely to amuse themselves? The answer should be clear.
Rule #4: The "ticking bomb scenario" is born of fear and fear alone, shaming the "home of the brave." Far too often, this limp hypothetical is tossed out as if somehow it represents reality as we know it when it should be readily recognized for what it truly is: the frightened conjurings of someone watching far too many episodes of "24." For starters, has the ticking bomb scenario ever once occurred in our nation's history? Have we ever once been faced with a situation wherein we know we have only so much time before the ticking (dirty? nuclear?) bomb explodes, thus requiring us to torture the apprehended scoundrel who (and here's the really laughable part) has, in true Snidely Whiplash fashion, readily acknowledged a bomb plot already underway, thus inviting himself to be tortured in order so that we might learn both when the bomb is set to explode in addition to its location? The entire situation is too ludicrous to even warrant serious discussion.
Rule #5: If anything qualifies as unforgivable, torture might well be it. I have seen footage of sailors who survived the bombing of Pearl Harbor making peace with the former Japanese pilots who dropped the very bombs upon them, killing their shipmates. Why do they do it, you ask? Because they know that the very nature of war is to kill your enemy. It is, dare I say, a soldier's duty? They understand that they, too, would have dropped bombs on the Japanese if given the chance. (I can recall two rather large ones offhand.…) Yet, I have seen December 7th anniversary programs wherein survivors of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor (granted, not all of them and probably not the majority) have made peace with their onetime enemy. Now ask yourself this: do you think the poor fellow who has been tortured is, assuming he survives, going to be in a "forgiving mood?" I think not. In fact, his GRANDchildren won't be in a forgiving mood! And on this one you can bet the proverbial farm, if you're not sure an "enemy combatant" is a terrorist and you torture him to find out, guess what? If he wasn't a terrorist bent on America's destruction before you started, I assure you he is now. Congratulations! In your "war on terror" you've just created that which you fear most: a terrorist!
Rule #6: It is fallacious reasoning to assert that torture is warranted when done "to protect America." Why? The answer is found in the premise itself. "To protect America." And what exactly is America? It is, I assure you, much more than a land mass between Maine and California. It is a set of ideals -- one of them not being the most inhuman of acts, i.e. torturing another person -- fought and died for by generations past, all of whom have their memory urinated upon every time one claims that torture is in the best interest of a presumably civilized nation.
In the end, the argument by certain powers-that-be that they are engaging in torture -- excuse me, "enhanced interrogation techniques" -- to protect Americans should be met with the following reply by anyone clinging to even the most jaded sense of decency: "Stop. As a brave American, I'll take my chances."
BILL
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
New Rule (with apologies to Bill Maher)
New Rule: Let’s finally admit it. Man has no clue how to build a safe and reliable crane. Just today, in Miami another came tumbling down as if it’s metal were a junkie clamoring for its Viagra fix. The end result? Killing two and maiming four, the “center of gravity” concept proving ever elusive to the cabal of geniuses bent on designing these things that should now officially be renamed “Lohans.”
Why, if cranes keep crashing down upon us I’m going to start confusing them with my 401(k).
Perhaps it’s all semantics and those who design these things have evidently confused the old phrase “bend not break” with “bend then break.”
Now I attended a technological university and while I gained no diploma there I did do my fair share of vomiting. And even then, awash in liquor-addled befuddlement, I remained keenly aware that you just don’t test the strength of metal beanpoles by asking them to lift something like, oh I don’t know, five ton steel bars. It’s like asking Paris Hilton to remove a manhole cover. Sorry, bad example.
I would wager money that if you pointed out a crane to a six-year old and said, “Now Tommy, see what they’re going to do there? They’re going to lift those thirty sheets of ten by ten exterior glass alllllllllllll the way up to the tenth floor.” Little Tommy would respond “It’ll break Daddy.” To which I would respond “I’m not your Daddy. Your mother and I are just friends.”
I know what you’re thinking. “You’re good at pointing out a problem, Bill, but do you have solution?” Three words that never seem to have troubled the Amish: “rope and pulley.”
BILL
Why, if cranes keep crashing down upon us I’m going to start confusing them with my 401(k).
Perhaps it’s all semantics and those who design these things have evidently confused the old phrase “bend not break” with “bend then break.”
Now I attended a technological university and while I gained no diploma there I did do my fair share of vomiting. And even then, awash in liquor-addled befuddlement, I remained keenly aware that you just don’t test the strength of metal beanpoles by asking them to lift something like, oh I don’t know, five ton steel bars. It’s like asking Paris Hilton to remove a manhole cover. Sorry, bad example.
I would wager money that if you pointed out a crane to a six-year old and said, “Now Tommy, see what they’re going to do there? They’re going to lift those thirty sheets of ten by ten exterior glass alllllllllllll the way up to the tenth floor.” Little Tommy would respond “It’ll break Daddy.” To which I would respond “I’m not your Daddy. Your mother and I are just friends.”
I know what you’re thinking. “You’re good at pointing out a problem, Bill, but do you have solution?” Three words that never seem to have troubled the Amish: “rope and pulley.”
BILL
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