Friday Land of Linkin’! Simulacrum and simulation edition

Hint: It's a secret to everybody.

Hint: It's a secret to everybody.

It’s the first Friday in September, and around here (zip code 20037) things are starting to look a lot like fall. The breeze is cooler, the last single cicadas are desperately chanting the bug version of “funny, loves wine, travel,” and all around us, nature prepares for the inevitable slide into death. Seasons change and leaves may wither, but the educated person comforts himself with the knowledge that truth is eternal. At least it was, until the invention of postmodernism, the internet, chain emails, multinational corporate ownership of all media, and Glenn Beck. Now the truth is as flexible as a mail-order bride, and just as likely to disappear with your checkbook. So pour a cup of strong coffee, settle into a comfy chair, and get ready to meet Oxana’s suspiciously handsome cousin, who lives in your house now, too. It’s the Combat! blog Friday link extravaganza, and it’s all* about grotesque parodies of the truth.

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Who’s making money from music piracy?

I'm not defending Stalinist Russia, but you have to admit it was a gift to future generations of graphic designers.

I'm not defending Stalinist Russia, but you have to admit it was a gift to future generations of graphic designers.

Gadget culture/consumer fetish pornography blog Gizmodo recently ran a fun piece about second-degree murder and six other crimes less expensive than pirating music. Obviously, you can’t go to jail for music piracy, and Gizmodo’s estimation that a year in prison is equivalent to a fine of about $50,000—the US median household income—ignores the intangible costs of spending that year married to a man named Eightball. Still, they’ve got a point. The recent finding against Jammie Thomas-Rasset—a single mother of four who shared 24 songs on Kazaa, and now has to pay Sony and other record labels $1.92 million—is laughably excessive. As usual, by “laughable,” I mean “horrifying.” I mean, come on—the woman’s name is “Jammie.” How is she not going to do whatever it takes to get the new Chamillionaire?* It turns out, though, that RIAA lawyers didn’t even have to prove Jammie downloaded any music. She almost certainly did, but the finding in the case ultimately rested on the 24 songs she had in her “Shared” folder. Whether she got them honestly or not, by making those songs available to others for download through Kazaa, Jammie violated copyright law—to the tune of $80,000 per song.

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Missouri band banned, Darwin be damned!

The ascent of man, from gorilla to Jesus

The ascent of man, from gorilla to Jesus

Phew. I have new respect for the New York Post. Not every headline writer can generate jewels like “Headless body found in topless bar”—nor, for that matter, can every town. The sleepy little burg of Sedalia, Missouri, for example, has to make its own fun. Fortunately, the local Smith-Cotton High School Marching band will soon present their Brass Evolutions 2009 show, which explores how brass instruments have changed from 1960 to today. Unfortunately, they won’t be allowed to wear the shirts they printed up for the event, which depict the Darwinian stages of human evolution from the popular “Ascent of Man” illustration above, each holding a trumpet. Those t-shirts have been repossessed by the school’s assistant superintendent, after parents complained that they endorsed evolution. Props to Smick for the link.

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The unpopular position: rape isn’t funny

I opted to not go with a rape-related image for today's post. Although, frankly, this picture may be funnier in that context.

Today's graphic will, you know, not relate to the subject at hand. Although it is probably funnier in that context.

Alert reader/irascible curmudgeon Ben Fowlkes sent me a link to this post over at the feminist blog Shakesville, in which the author lambasts Ricky Gervais. The comedian—whom you probably remember from the original British version of The Office, or from this comedy about a man whose paranoid schizophrenia leads him to become fixated on a woman in his building—recently came under fire in the British press for the following joke:

“I’ve [driven drunk] once and I’m really ashamed of it. It was Christmas—I’d had a couple of drinks and I took the car out. But I learned my lesson. I nearly killed an old lady. In the end I didn’t kill her. In the end, I just raped her.”

First of all, that is not a funny joke. Who can tell when non-John Cleese British people are being funny, though? Bafflingly, the UK press describes it as a “drink-driving joke” and seems to find it objectionable on those grounds—in response to which I refer you to the second sentence of this paragraph. Gervais, in his own defense, says that the turn is “comedically justified” because it addresses the phrase “nearly killed her.” The idea is that rape is less bad than murder, kind of, and the sudden recontextualization of the “nearly killed her”—from hyperbolic expression to literal statement—is funny. Explanations like these are why you shouldn’t talk during comedy or sex, but that’s beside the point. Gervais argues that it’s not a rape joke, which is a difficult position to maintain when you compare the joke with other jokes that do not contain the word “rape.” Shakesville blogger Melissa McEwan argues that the joke is unfunny—in fact, unacceptable—because it’s about rape. I contend that Gervais’s joke isn’t funny, not because it’s about rape, but because it’s not funny. So in fact the subject of today’s blog is that rape isn’t funny, which is why it’s such a good subject for jokes. Gotcha!

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Michele Bachman is dumb, pretty, and in Congress

Who can say how many members of Congress there are? We just don't know.

Who can say how many members of Congress there are? We just don't know.

I’m  a regular Joe. I like my beer cold, my television reality-based, and my elected representatives completely opposed to the existence of government. Ever since Sarah Palin rode away on a pegasus*, there’s been a void in my life. Where’s the high-ranking government official to assure me that the government is working against me? Who’s going to protect my precious freedoms from all enemies, imagined and domestic? Why can’t Ron Paul have prettier hair?

Fortunately, we’ve got Michele Bachmann, God’s answer to a prayer that Pat Robertson accidentally said backwards. She’s young-ish, kind of pretty, and she went to law school at Orel Roberts University. She also wants an investigation into anti-Americanism in the US Congress, thinks global warming isn’t a problem because carbon dioxide is already part of the atmosphere, and urges you not to participate in the 2010 census. And she’s from Waterloo!

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