Australian study finds alcohol linked to croc attacks (via Drudge)

I can attest that all my interactions with dangerous reptiles can be blamed solely on sweet, delicious booze…

With the backdrop of a vaguely psychedelic Wizard Of Oz style landscape, the commercial features Darius Rucker (front man for the intolerable college-schlock band, Hootie and the Blowfish) decked out in a rhinestone encrusted cowboy suit, playing his guitar and singing a jingle while wondrous fast-food related events, mostly involving scantily clad curvaceous women, occur all about him.

It is the most wonderful short piece I’ve seen since the whacked out video for the song Frontier Psychiatrist, by Australian electronica band The Avalanches.

The full lyrics, as sung to the tune of “Big Rock Candy Mountain”:

When my belly starts a-rumblin’, and I’m jonesin’ for a treat.
I close my eyes for a big surprise, the Tendercrisp Bacon Cheddar Ranch.
I love the Tendercrisp Bacon Cheddar Ranch, the breasts they grow on trees.
And streams of bacon ranch dressing, flow right up to your knees.
Tumbleweeds of bacon, and cheddar paves the streets.
Folks don’t front ‘ya cause ya got the juice, there’s a train of ladies comin’ with a nice caboose.
Never get in trouble, never need an excuse, the Tendercrisp Bacon Cheddar Ranch.
I love the Tendercrisp Bacon Cheddar Ranch no one tells ya to behave.
Your wildest fantasies come true, Dallas cheerleaders give you shaves.
Red onions make you laugh instead, and french fries grow like weeds.
Ya get to veg all day, all the lotto tickets pay.
The king who wants you to have it your way, that’s the Tendercrisp Bacon Cheddar Ranch.

(source)

The piece was created by ad agency Crispin Porter & Bogusky, who were also responsible for Burger King’s disturbing Subservient Chicken viral marketing website. They are geniuses.

There are two versions of the commercial; a 30-second version which gets the most airplay, and a slightly saucier 60 second version which I’ve only seen late at night. You can view the 60 version here. (link via wantmoore.com)

Apparently, Hootie fans are dismayed by Rucker’s debasing himself in such a terrible commercial. I would disagree, arguing that this short piece has redeemed the man from the eternal damnation he has earned for inflicting Hootie on an unsuspecting world. But then again, I never much cared for the whole ‘Blowfish’ thing, and am, to be fair, kind of a jerk.

I wish Mr. Rucker luck on his subsequent musical endeavors.

Update:
If you had trouble with the video link above, the 30 second version can also be downloaded in Windows Media and Quicktime formats. (hosting thanks to MMMikey)

Update 2:
MMMikey, who is obviously a man of exquisite taste, is also hosting the long version in Windows Media and Quicktime formats, just in case the msn link doesn’t work.

Those who’ve read my stuff in the past know that I’ve always been more than a little influenced by HST. For those of us who enjoy strong drink and occasional forays into the domain of high weirdness, the good doctor provided a vocabulary to describe the vague and sometimes horrible recollections of lost evenings. His prose could be simultaneously fascinating and stupid, hilarious and repugnant, right and wrong.

Even for those who have never been particularly interested in wild times and substance abuse, he is a unique chronicler of mid-20th century American history. As well as being a constant assault on conservative values, much of Thompson’s works are bitter recollections and critiques of the failures and weakness of the counter culture. His excesses are, intentionally or not, as much a warning as a celebration.

If you want to know why the hippie generation has become so bitter and reactionary, just read the famous “high-water mark” quote from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. His “doomed generation” was the flower power generation collapsed on its own worthlessness. In his middle works, even conservative thinkers can gain profitable insight into the self-destruction of 60’s idealism, and see the progress of the 67’ers into obsolescence and the emergence of a more sinister and violent left in their wake.

I link the decline in his later work’s quality to the ideological collapse of this generation of peace and love. Thompson’s attacks on evil fascist Republicans become more and more farcical as the Summer of Love’s corpse progressed in its putrefaction. I believe it was more the rise and apparent victory of his mortal enemy, conservative “swine” America, than the many years of hard living that left him a raging husk of a writer.

His decline was a sad one, as when he was at his best, his writing was grotesquely sublime.

Gun-nut. Drugged-out-freak. Pseudo-journalistic hack. Drinker. He was all these wonderful things and more. Even though his politics were idiotic, he was a unique individual, unwilling to conform to society’s expectations. With train-wreck-like charm, he gained fans across the political spectrum. Like him or not, his cultural legacy will be around for a long time, and his contribution to American literature is large.

As someone he probably would have called a filthy sell-out pig, I am saddened by his loss. I always figured he’d live to be a hundred, surviving on a steady diet of bourbon and cigarettes.

As a commentator on Blair’s site says, “winners can laugh … losers are losers”.

(Just in case they fix the file in question, here’s a screenshot)

UPDATE:

As I’m sure everyone’s already seen on Instapundit, CNN and Netscape have announced that the offending filename was created by a junior Netscape (not CNN) employee responsible for posting files (which is what I figured). This person has apparently been fired.

Long ago, I tried to warn you about a particular half-mad, white-haired talk show host. You did not listen, and you thereafter suffered a disastrous ratings decline that has nearly destroyed your network. I was somewhat reluctant to say I told you so, but there you have it.

However, I now offer a bit of similar advice:

Please tell little Ronnie Reagan to shut the hell up when the adults are talking. The particular item Ann Althouse notes in this post was just one of a number of boorish, immature, ignorant, or otherwise foolish comments coming out of this man’s sloppy stem-cell hole.

Now, I know MSNBC is struggling, and perhaps cannot afford truly top-notch analysts and commentators, but Ron Reagan’s only qualification for a career in media is that he’s the loud-mouthed lefty son of the dead (and therefore now universally popular) Ronald Reagan. Did this guy really do anything beside dropping out of college and running off to join the ballet?

I suppose if your aim is to make Pat Buchanan seem far more palatable in comparison, your strategy is working brilliantly. However, whenever I see the man, I reach for my remote. I don’t need to be endlessly condescended to by this joke of a ratings ploy while Futurama’s playing on the Cartoon Network.

In short, you continue to run your network into the ground, and you are most likely going to burn in hell for all eternity as punishment for your many crimes against television news.

Your pal,

-Mojo

P.S. Please smack Matthews back to reality a bit. His perpetual whining cry-baby the war is wrong / a mistake / a lie / a conspiracy by the hawks spiel is wearing pretty damn thin. Thanks.

We drove the roughly four hours from the most western part of Virginia, stopping only for provisions in Lexington VA:

We had chosen an excellent time to visit, as a certain Hurricane Charley was slamming into the Virginia coastline, welcoming us:

After heeding countless friends advice about not driving into DC proper, we got a hotel room in Arlington, and proceeded to take the Metro subway system downtown. Metro is a surprising sane and well designed system, and served us well:

The Vietnam Memorial was partially under renovation, and, unfortunately, unimpressive. However, the statue in front of it is fantastic:

Torrential downpours began to take their toll on our weary booze and travel addled bodies. After five minutes, we were wet. After ten, we were soaked. After fifteen, every article of clothing we were wearing was sopping wet. We continued on for nearly three hours. I was lucky my digital camera didn’t explode, poor thing. Here we see Cornflake contemplating our situation as we get lost somewhere near the Treasury Department:

The World War II memorial is quite impressive. Tasteful, but not wimping out. I very much approve:

Here Mojo consults with his spiritual adviser, the great St. Abe:

Abe’s view, as one would expect for #2 on the great presidents list, is excellent. If it were not pouring water from the sky, you would have an excellent view all the way to the capital. Also, another thing you don’t realize until you’re there, the Washington Monument is large indeed. Photos don’t do it justice:

By the time we saw the White House in the distance, we were too tired to get any closer:

We called it quits after that. Unfortunately, I’ve got to fly home tomorrow, so I won’t be able to enjoy any more of the capital. I’ll have to fly back when I have more time to spend exploring all the various museums and other attractions.

Tomorrow, the last day of my voyage, as we head to Baltimore and I catch my flight home.

A nice little river 15 miles or so from Clarksburg:

Young natives enjoying the waters:

This spot has been a favorite of the youngsters for some time:

A close-up of the foliage I’ve been talking about:

Sunset in the Appalachians:

That’s it for today. Tomorrow we drive through the rest of West Virginia and into regular old Virginia, where again we stop for a few days.

Here we are leaving Petersburg this morning:

These sedimentary rock faces are very old. You can see the striations in the rock even in this lowered resolution photo. They were probably formed in a sea floor that existed before Europe slammed into North America ~250-300 million years ago, creating the once stupendous Appalachian Mountain Range. Cornflake claims you can find fossilized critters such as Trilobites fairly easy in these rocks:

Gravel pit somewhere on State Route 50:

Yet another adult video store in the middle of nowhere. Huzzah for clean counry living, that’s all I’ve got to say on it:

Within 200 yards of the porn shop, a very nice patriotic sentiment:

Dogs running wild on the highway:

A neighborhood in Clarksburg, with very nice houses all lined up. This is where Cornflake’s grandmother lives:

This kindly elderly woman bought us lunch, and engaged us in some nice conversation:

A farmhouse outside Clarksburg:

The forest is really, really dense out here:

Lawn bowling with the family:

Out on the porch after dinner, enjoying the evening:

One of the biggest differences between here and back home, more than the forests even, is the noise at night from insects is loud. Really Really loud.

Fortunately, my digital camera (Canon A80), has some limited audio and video capabilities, which I’ve finally figured out how to use today. Once I get some better bandwidth again, I might upload some of them.

Till tomorrow…

Today we set out late, recovering from the previous night’s festivities outside of Indianapolis. Of course, this meant it was time for the breakfast of champions:

I’ll spare you, dear reader, from any photos of eastern Indiana or western Ohio. The people, I’ve found, were lovely. However, the scenery is dreary in the extreme. Columbus was the first relief for a few hundred miles:

I’m unfamiliar with the headwear of these nice ladies. Mennonites perhaps?

A placard at this eastern Ohioan rest stop shows the route of the Eisenhower Highway, which links California with Virginia. As much as a critic of big government projects as I am, you really can’t deny the many benefits the Interstate Highway system has brought to our nation. We made it all the way across a continent, stopping to carouse liberally, in under a week. Infrastructure is good:

The landscape of eastern Ohio is far more refreshing than the west. I had no idea that the area was so densely forest. Deciduous forests still blow my mind:

Proof that, even in the middle of nowhere, somewhere on I-77, people still have the desperate need for hot transsexual on donkey action:

Crossing the Ohio river, into West Virginia:

We decided to stop early in Parkersburg, WV, where we dined on fried chicken and beer. The KFC biscuits are superior here:

We’ll be banging around West Virginia for the next few days, visiting some of Cornflake’s extended relatives. I’ll see which stereotypes I can dispel about this interesting little state, and which I can reinforce with cruel glee.

Talk to you all soon.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to hook up with my good friend Seed, from over at the Mint400.net due to a scheduling conflict. Also, the sage tourist advice given to us by Lexington Green was wasted due to poor follow-up and research, which left us lost no matter where we went in the Chicago area. However, we still managed to have a lovely time in Chi-Town.

From our suburban start we made our way to the city center:

Next, after making our way through many interesting parts of Chicago’s South Side, we made our way to the heart of this blogs namesake, the U of Chicago in Hyde Park. There was much beauty there, of which I shall only share one picture for now:

Next, we moved downtown along Lake Shore drive, which, on a day like today, is exceptionally pleasant:

Getting lost downtown, and forgetting Lex’s guidance, we ended up at one of the few Chicago landmarks Cornflake could recognize:

Here, at Pizzeria Uno, we enjoyed some delicious deep-dish pizza, some refreshing beers served by our new friend Juan (taking the following picture), and engaged in some brief conversation with Ivan, who was visiting our country from the great nation of Australia. We wish him luck on his American adventure:

After pizza, we caroused downtown Chicago, and snuck into the Hard Rock Café to answer nature’s call. Normally, I find this chain reprehensible, but I could not resist capturing the following moment:

This is definitely my kind of town. Chicago features some lovely architecture, which, to conserve time and bandwidth, I shall show only a few examples:

After having had our fun in the windy city, we moved on. However, I shall bitch one more time about toll-ways on eastern interstates. Entering the Chicago Skyway (I-90 east) we were forced to pay a $2.00 toll, a price which doesn’t bother me in particular, but then we were presented with an interstate in the following condition on a Sunday afternoon:

Your tax dollars (and tolls) at work…

Rural Indiana isn’t worth mentioning, considering earlier posts. However, the skyline of Indianapolis seems quite nice:

Hoping to avoid traffic in the morning, we proceeded to the outskirts of Indianapolis before stopping. In Greenfield IN, aside from finding a very nice Comfort Inn to stay, we found a wonderful drinking establishment to whet our whistle at. I forget what it was called, but a number of very nice Midwestern folks (is there another kind?) made us feel right at home.

In the following picture, we see our new friend Laurie, who, along with her husband, made us want to follow NASCAR much closer. Laurie, who had a bit to drink, cleaned our chronometers in a game a darts and then bought us shots of Triple-Sec. A simply charming couple. Here we are in a group picture:

The general good cheer of the bar was, for a brief time, nearly turned to disaster by a dispute between Laurie’s husband and the local barkeep. Threats of police calls were mentioned, but fortunately all was settled through a friendly handshake. Eric (the bartender) was a thoroughly decent fellow.

Tomorrow, we plan to cover most of Ohio and enter West Virginia. More soon.

St. Paul’s downtown, although not as impressive as that of Minneapolis, is still quite nice. Unfortunately, we were unable to get close to the mighty cathedral there or the state capital building:

The 3M building, just outside of the Twin Cities:

Crossing the St. Croix River, entering Wisconsin:

Wisconsin farmland:

Wisconsin sported far more trees than I remember from my previous visits:

More farms:

The rain hit us almost as soon as we got into the state, and lasted till we got past Madison:

These guys are pretty lame:

Dear citizens of Illinois, your toll system is blowful in the extreme. I don’t know how you people do it out here, but back on planet Earth we don’t clog up our main interstate trade and transportation channels with nuisance tolls every ten miles (we hit five between the state border the suburbs of Chicago, which is about 40-50 miles). It turned a sub-six hour drive into a seven to eight hour one. I know these are fairly common out here and further east, but there must be a better way to fund road maintenance…

Once the tolls were past, and our hotel room secured (I’ve been quite pleased with the Elmhurst Holiday Inn Express, by the way), we began our Journey to meet our very own Lexington Green in the flesh. Unfortunately, the Eisenhower Expressway suddenly became a parking lot, leading to much cursing and gnashing of teeth:

However, after this delay, we soon found ourselves at the Green household. Here we were greeted by the fine hospitality of Lex and his family. A deliciously meat-filled dinner was provided:

After a few beers and some fine conversation, a delectable strawberry cake was consumed, much to everyone’s delight:

I tend to think of myself as a fairly well-read and knowledgeable fellow, but Lex puts me to shame, with his vast library and conversational skills. He is the owner of a fine home, a lovely and intelligent wife, and four charmingly spirited children. I thank him and his family for a wonderful evening.

Now I must rest, as tomorrow we’ll attempt to catch some of Chicago’s many attractions.

Note: No spectacular American scenery today, as we were not on the road. Instead, I offer the following selection of items (sans malevolent communists) of a more personal and egotistical variety. More on the road tomorrow.

Today was a rest day. Cornflake and I enjoyed the hospitality of Agent Yogi, and his lovely wife, Agent Booboo.

The Twin Cities are one of my favorite Metropolitan areas. This was cornflake’s first visit, so our hosts were intent on showing us the full charms of their adoptive home.

However, the previous night’s celebrations had left us slightly “out of sorts” in the morning, as you might imagine, so we started the day with a nourishing and stomach settling breakfast:

This was followed, of course, by some quiet reading time:

Before we knew it, the time was ripe for a trip downtown for some fine dining and entertainment:

Here we see Cornflake enjoying his meal at the Capital Grill in downtown Minneapolis. Notice the deliciously bloody hunk of cow flesh he is consuming, which he claimed was the finest Filet Mignon he has ever tasted. I can personally attest to the porterhouse being excellent. Also the wine list:

Here, the whole crew is seen enjoying the good life at the Capital Grill:

After dinner, we sought a quiet place to regroup and enjoy a few refreshing beverages. The News Room, again in downtown Minneapolis, served our needs wonderfully. Unfortunately, the flash in the following photo misses what I was trying to capture – that being the fact that Minnesotan women can be quite fetching:

Here’s another group photo from The News Room. I believe that my recent over-exposure to solar radiation has added some lovely, if painful, color to my face:

More News Room. How a statue of a mermaid and a nautically themed bar match with a newspaper-themed establishment is beyond me. However, I do seem to be enjoying myself:

Cornflake moves in on my action, as is his want:

The road back to the suburbs:

My thanks to Yogi and Booboo for their wonderful hospitality. Tomorrow, the road to Chicago itself, and hopefully an in-person meeting with the fabled Lexington Green…

Celebrations of our arrival have led to a large number of Martinis, so I must keep things brief.

Dead bugs on the open road of central South Dakota (we shall crush them!):

Cornflake looking calm:

The Missouri River:

Corn!!!:

Kerry sez, “this is the result of those Bush tax cuts!”:

God is a force in rural South Dakota:

However, strange, pagan, deities still make their presence felt:

On crossing the Minnesota border, the conversation of the day emerged:

Mojo: “Man, I wish Jesse Ventura was still governor…”
Cornflake: “Huh?”
Mojo: “Oh yeah, I always wished Washington could have ‘the body’ as our governor.”
Cornflake: “Well, I lived under Arnold for a couple of months. It pretty much rocked.”
Mojo: “Yup, it’s the Predator effect. Everybody in that movie would be a great governor.”
Cornflake: “Even that lady who played the commie rebel woman?”
Mojo: “Sure, in a democratic state, I guess. I’d prefer Carl Weathers, myself. Yeah. Carl Weathers in ‘04!”
Cornflake: “Hell, why bother with that crap. I nominate the Predator himself!”
Mojo: “Yeah, the old female genitals face! The legislature would be all, ‘we are not voting for your bills!’, and governor Predator would be all like, ‘the hell you are not’, and then he would throw his death Frisbee at them, cutting them in half and nicking the state supreme court in the process. That would totally rock.”

Minneapolis is the first traffic we’ve seen since Seattle, and arriving at rush hour was definitely inconvenient:

Freeway onramps are exceptionally poorly marked in downtown Minneapolis (the Reds I’d wager). Thus, nearly an hour was wasted. The city is one of my favorites, despite the madness…

A big damn flag, outside the city:

Agents Yogi and Booboo, debriefing us:

Mojo and Cornflake, enjoying the fine rewards of a long drive:

More tomorrow…

Today was a learning day for Cornflake and me. Our elders had warned us not to underestimate the raw size of Montana. We scorned their advice, thinking to ourselves, “My what great time we made today. There’s no doubt we can get through the rest of the state in mere hours. We are truly as mighty as the gods themselves.”

If you cannot guess the result of such hubris, we leaned proper respect for these wise old ones’ great experience. Montana, east of billings, becomes monotonous and sedating, an endless path of hilly shrubland and miniscule farm towns. We greatly underestimated its length and suffered a moral hit as a result. Thinking we could drive hard and reach Minnesota was pure folly.

Communist Saboteur activity was limited to unnecessary road work and a few suspicious tails. I think we had them running scared.

As a note to potential travelers, northern Wyoming along I-90 is one of the most tedious tracts of road you can take outside of Nevada.

Conversation of the day, focusing on space exploration and river systems:

Cornflake: “Man, when I finally get a planet to colonize, I think I’ll name the biggest river Asshat.”
Mojo: “The Asshat River, huh? ”
Cornflake: “Yeah, and I’m going to recruit all foreigners as colonists, so they won’t know what it means.”
Mojo: “That’d be pretty sweet. Hell, you might as well name the whole star system Asshat…”
Cornflake: “Why the hell not!”
Mojo: “I can hear it now, ‘Red Alert! Ensign, maximum warp to the Asshat system!’”

As I said, it was a long drive.

South Dakota, somewhat to my surprise, is a delightful state, and boasts some tremendous sights. The Badlands in particular are quite stunning, and served to raise our spirits greatly from their previous lows.

I’m currently in Murdo, South Dakota, paying far too much for a room in the local Days Inn, stuck on dialup access. In the interest of brevity, I shall attempt to present the following images with a minimum of commentary.

First, we have some images from west-central Montana:

Past Billings, this is it:

Cornflake, mildly amused by the sound of Captain Kirk coming to the rescue to the residents of the Asshat system:

The most interesting site in northern Wyoming:

The rest of northern Wyoming:

Cornflake: “In Sundance Wyoming, Robert Redford guarantees you full reception…”

I was able to resist a visit to Little Bighorn, Yellowstone, and Mt. Rushmore. However, thousands of signs placed in a 100 mile radius convinced me that I had to see the infamous Wall Drug:

I should have enjoyed it, but found it far too self-aware to be truly amusing.

I shall post several pictures of the Badlands later, along with some panoramas I need to stitch together in photoshop. For now, here’s a taste:

And the long twilight drive to Murdo:

Tomorrow, Minneapolis or bust!

Our initial fears of a terribly prolonged rush-hour exit from the Emerald City were unfounded. Traffic moved smoothly, although we were given a fond farewell by the traditional Seattle weather.

Contrary to common perceptions, clouds and rain are rare in Seattle in the later summer months.

Once out of the city, we proceeded to cross the majestic cascades.

Nearing Snoqualmie Pass on I-90, we were pulled over by a state trooper. This is no great surprise, as we obviously appear to be dangerous men, our vehicle has California plates that have had expired tabs for nearly a year (which we explained to him with good cheer), and we were speeding egregiously. After taking my comrade’s ID for a moment, he miraculously asked us to slow down and bade us good day.

I am unsure whether he was one of the communist saboteurs I discussed earlier, keeping tabs on us, or a previously unknown ally. I remain troubled by the incident. Unfortunately, I was unable to photograph this curious man.

After this, we crossed the pass with Jumping Jack Flash blaring through the car’s speakers. This is a vastly different landscape from western Washington, both physically and politically. As Cornflake so eloquently put it as Bush signs raced by, “we ain’t in a blue state anymore.”

Soon we were in the small eastern Washington town of Vantage. Here we consumed dead animal flesh and enjoyed the view of the Columbia River.

Next came Spokane, which is an interesting city in terms of old architecture, but a dreadfully boring one in terms of everything else. Here is a picture of a train going through downtown for your amusement.

The Idaho panhandle boasts some beautiful scenery that I will spare you for now. However we did take the opportunity to stretch our legs at the Idaho-Montana border.

Your humble narrator, Captain Mojo

His stalwart compatriot, Commander Cornflake

Once past the Montana state line, we were immediately greeted by a rainstorm of near-biblical proportions. Strange weather for early august… I think I smell pinko weather control technologies at work.

As we barely survived this massive storm, we were greeted by an even greater danger: lack of fuel! I was sure we filled up not that long before, but here was the fuel gauge disagreeing. More evidence for perfidious communist saboteurs? I report. You decide.

It’ll take more than those filthy little tricks to derail us Uncle Joe!

Soon we were cruising through the wilds of western Montana, enjoying the magnificent scenery. If you’ve not been through this country, I highly recommend it.

The vast expanses gave us pause and led to the following, typical, conversation:

Mojo – “Man, we’re never gonna fill up this country.”
Cornflake – “You think?”
Mojo – “Yup. Hell, in 50 years there’s gonna be 500 million people in America, and this place’ll still be empty.”
Cornflake – “Hmmm, 500 million of us. I’m not so sure that’s going to be good.”
Mojo – “What? It’s bound to be totally awesome. With 500 million Americans, we’ll, like, rule the world… I mean, more than we already do.”
Cornflake – “You bring up an excellent point…”

Cornflake is a good man.

After stopping off at Missoula for a Hops and Barley based refreshments, we made our way to Butte, where we decided to rest for the night. Dinner could be obtained from a fine establishment known to the locals as the “Bonanza Freeze”. The burgers look foul, but are in fact quite palatable, edible, and nutritious. The fries receive a B-, however.

Our temporary home, the Butte Budget Motel is a fine establishment, if you define the term “Fine” to mean squallid, poorly designed and built, and in a crappy location. I think you can guess who I blame. The price is right however, and smoking is allowed, so I guess it’s OK.

Now its time to sign off. Tomorrow we attempt to make it all the way to Minneapolis, where a safe house awaits us, in a single day.

I will be in contact when I can.

-Mojo

Today marks the beginning of what looks to be a fine summer road trip. Starting from my homebase here in Seattle, I’ll be accompanying my stalwart comrade and former co-blogger, Commander Cornflake, on a great cross-continental trek.

My destination: Washington D.C.

As a service to you, the fine Chicago Boyz reader, I shall endeavor to document this journey (internet access permitting) as I avoid the dangers of the American wilderness and outwit a countless stream of communist saboteurs.

Talk to you soon…

Todays Telegraph has an article by Rachel Sylvester that brings that home to me once again:

…whatever happens in the United States in November will speed back, like a ricocheting bullet, to the British general election next year. There is an agreement across the political spectrum in Westminster that this presidential election is the most important for decades…

The American election will also have more influence on a British general election than any previous US contest..

Usually, there would be no question that the Labour government would want its “Third Way” American allies, the Democrats, to win. But the war in Iraq has complicated everything. There are some Labour strategists who think that a Kerry victory could damage Mr Blair’s own chances when he goes to the polls next year. If Mr Bush becomes the second pro-war leader to lose power (after the former Spanish prime minister, José María Aznar), then his main ally, Mr Blair, will look increasingly isolated. The Prime Minister’s position will be further weakened if John Howard, the Australian premier and final member of the “Gang of Four” war leaders, is ousted in October. “Three down, one to go” is the slogan already being prepared by the anti-war lobby.

If, if, if. I already have doubts about her analysis. True, the Iraq war was unpopular in Spain, but Aznar was ahead in the polls until the Madrid attacks. His politically motivated desire to lay the attacks at the feet of Basque separatists is what caused his defeat. The pundits, at least, claim so.

In addition, Australian Prime Minister John Howard’s polling numbers look pretty solid, with Roy Morgan reporting:

More electors now approve of the way Mr Howard is handling his job as Prime Minister (55%, up 7%) than Mr Latham’s handling of his job as Opposition Leader (50%). Mr Howard’s approval rating is still 10% below the high of 65% in mid-April 2003. In April 2003, only 28% of electors disapproved of Mr Howard’s job performance, compared to 38% saying they disapproved in the latest telephone poll.

When asked to choose between Mr Howard and Mr Latham on nine specific issues, preferences for Mr Howard have either risen or remained steady on all issues. Mr Latham’s approval has dropped on all fronts, most significantly, more electors now think Mr Howard is more ‘honest and trustworthy’ than Mr Latham (36% Mr Howard cf 33% Mr Latham). Mr Latham is equal with Mr Howard only on ‘showing more fairness to everyone’ (39% Mr Latham cf 39% Mr Howard) and as ‘better at looking after families’ needs’ (42% cf 42%).

So maybe there’s a bit of wishful thinking on Rachel’s part. Still, the following statements ring true to my ears:

“Tony doesn’t understand how much the British people hate Bush,” said one. “He thinks it’s anti-Americanism but it’s much more specific than that.” For cultural as well as political reasons, the British public cannot stand the gun-toting Texan, Mr Bush.

I say they ring true because I’m hard pressed to recall ever hearing a single Brit saying anything positive about George Bush. Not the Republicans mind you, George Bush personally. The only person I can think of that garners the same level of universal contempt on this side of the Atlantic is Jacques Chirac. I’m also under the impression he’s none too popular in Europe either, and appears to be absolutely despised by many British, judging from my reading of British newspapers and watching the occasional PM’s Questions.

Then Rachel goes on to make this astounding statement:

Whatever the outcome of the American presidential election, the parallels for the British general election are clear. The result in November will be far more important for British politics than the recent local and European elections. In an age of globalised trade and globalised terror, democracy has become globalised too.

Has democracy become globalized or only American politics? German left-wing magazine Spiegel Online keeps a Bush Meter running from week to week. Can you imagine an American magazine keeping a Schroeder Meter, or a Chirac Meter or even a Blair Meter? I can’t.

It all strikes me as rather unhealthy. It’s a way of saying, ‘If only the right folks were in power in Washington, everything would change here.” Well, it won’t. What the US does or doesn’t do can only have tangential effects on the lives of Europeans or Middle Easterners or Asians. Ninety-nine percent of the time, they are the masters of their own destinies. If only the right folks were in power in Washington, the Palestinian-Israeli conflict could be settled. If only the right folks were in power in Washington, all those jobs and all that investment wouldn’t be flowing into China and India. If only the right folks were in power in Washington, Middle Easterners wouldn’t be living impoverished under dictatorships. If only the right folks were in power in Washington, Germany’s economy would be doing better. If only the right folks were in power in Washington, the North Koreans would see that we South Koreans are their brothers and sisters, and we’d be whole and happy again. If only the right folks were in power in Washington, the climate would improve, our jobs would be secure, our lives would be happier, corruption and poverty would end. If only we could all vote in American elections, it would be springtime in the world once again. Would it be, really?

]]> http://chicagoboyz.net/archives/2187.html/feed 28 http://chicagoboyz.net/archives/1844.html http://chicagoboyz.net/archives/1844.html#comments Wed, 10 Mar 2004 21:20:18 +0000 Captain Mojo http://www390.pair.com/chicagob/blog/001844.php What do you get when you mix these three things?

The Heckler & Koch G36 Assault Rifle (currently fielded by the German and Spanish armies)

The M41-A Pulse Rifle (used by Colonial Marines in the movie Aliens)

The Lazer Tag StarLyte Pro Toy (used by me in my 80’s childhood)

The answer is the Army’s new XM-8 Carbine / Assualt Rifle.StrategyPage says the new rifle is getting good reviews. It currently fires NATO standard 5.56mm rounds, but may be rechambered for the new 6.8mm ammo the Army is considering.

Now the M-16 / M-4 family looks cool and all, but the XM-8 looks like the guns we were promised for “The Future”, along with all the flying cars, despotic coporate police states, and zero-G brothels. The rest of civilization may be failing us, but at least the military is keeping up its end of things. If only they could get those orbital weapons platforms working, we’d be all set…

The new record, produced by alternarock piano-man and sometime pop-genius Ben Folds, will feature a guest appearance by former black flag front-man, and long-time professional angry person, Henry Rollins.

For those of you unclear as to this event’s importance (how can you be so uncultured!?!), please visit William Shatner Sings for examples of the man’s great talent. My personal favorite is his rendition of Lucy In The Sky, but they’re all… well, how do I put this… let’s just say they’re all entertaining.

*In using that adjective “Fantastic” in this context, I am perhaps twisting its meaning a bit. Although the dictionary does have fantastic defined as “Quaint or strange in form, conception, or appearance” that doesn’t quite get the meaning I was after. I was really trying for a word that meant, “so fundamentally terrible that the brain rejects it and latches onto ironic humor as protection.” I apologize for any confusion.