Michael Steele: Still just sayin’ stuff

Striding boldly forward onto his dick, Michael Steele told the crowd at a Republican fundraiser Tuesday that Afghanistan is a “war of Obama’s choosing.” “If he’s such a student of history,” Steele said, “has he not understood that, you know, that’s the one thing you don’t do is engage in a land war in Afghanistan?” First of all, Steele clearly watched The Princess Bride last week (4:30.) Second, I don’t know if you remember this, but the United States invaded Afghanistan in 2001, shortly after the September 11th attacks and technically, you know, seven years before President Obama took office. It’s difficult to argue from that chronology that Afghanistan is not a war of George W. Bush’s choosing or, if you have a lot of stickers on your truck, Osama bin Laden’s. It does, however, remain totally easy to say.

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Maybe it’s us

Kids: Can you spot three spelling and usage errors in this photograph? Can you circle the invidious comparison? If you haven't been there already, I get these from moronswithsigns.blogspot.com. Check it!

Whether you read the Times or the Wall Street Journal, informed consensus has it that this country is in trouble. Our monster deficit increasingly undercuts economic growth, while our mounting foreign debts threaten to make us grad students at the table of nations, disregarded except when we’re subjected to lectures on the importance of industry. We need to stop spending money, stat, but at the same time we’ve got an economy in shambles, an infrastructure wearing through and at least two major cities (Detroit, New Orleans) half abandoned. Oh yeah—we’ve also embarked on two land wars in Asia. In this time of crisis, with a new president who rode to office as the explicit champion of  American hope, we have opted to spend the past year arguing heatedly about the particulars of a health care reform package that we never passed. In the meantime, we managed to degrade our discourse to the point where the ruling party is regularly compared to Nazis, the president is accused of not being an American citizen, and even routine political appointments are ransomed for congressional pork, at least until somebody gets caught. At our time of crisortunity, when we were faced with the chance and the obligation to remake America for the twenty-first century, we as a nation have boldly stepped forward onto our own dicks, then fallen into the cat box. Which raises an interesting political question: What the fuck is our problem?

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Et in Arcadia ego: Bible verses on military gunsights

ABC News reported yesterday that Michigan gunsight manufacturer Trijicon is inscribing references to Bible verses on sights it’s supplying to US troops in Iraq and Afghanistan. The company, which has a $660 million contract to provide illuminated targeting reticule systems to the Marine Corps, has been printing chapter and verse numbers at the end of their serial numbers—for example, “2COR4:6,” which refers to the verse in Second Corinthians, “For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.” Contemporary theologians have historically interpreted that verse as being about using hydrogen isotope phosphorescence to shoot an Afghan goatherder in the face.

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Hey, what’s Meghan McCain up to?

McCain 2008

Besides wearing that one kind of hat that girls who are definitely not fat wear, I mean.

Remember the good old days, when Combat! blog was primarily about me getting angry at Victoria Floethe and other children of privilege masquerading as writers, politicians and intellectuals? That sort of masquerade is for children of the middle class, bitches, and don’t you ever forget it, but I digress. My point is, in our haste to actually address elements of contemporary American society that will be of interest to more than one obsessive man in his eerily unfurnished apartment, we at Combat! blog have forgotten our roots. Those roots are regularly dyed, and they totally look amazing and not trashy at all. They belong to Meghan McCain, the daughter of longtime senator and former candidate for President John McCain, and she is still working away at her weekly column in the Daily Beast, which has nothing to do with her being John McCain’s daughter but was instead awarded to her out of respect for her astute political analysis and talent as a writer, as demonstrated by her bestselling book, My Dad, John McCainSeriously, that’s the title of her book. According to the New York Observer, she’s also got another book in the works for Hyperion, which contract she secured with the help of “the literary agent she shares with her father, Sterling Lord Literistic president Flip Brophy.” Every time I try to understand that clause, my brain slips out of the socket. If you’re like me, you can’t wait six months for Meghan McCain to write a whole damn book, even if it does cover “topics ranging from what the party needs to do to attract others like her, to the importance of technology in reaching out to younger voters, to what needs to be done to keep young people passionate and involved in politics in the future.” I’m assuming the word “Twitter” appears in this book several hundred times, but until I find out I will have to content myself with her Daily Beast columns, which finally brings us to the topic of today’s blog: Meghan McCain is a rich little fascist who can’t think and would right now be gradually developing a cocaine problem in the the stock room of some ASU college bar had her dad not run for President. Ours is a broken meritocracy. Won’t you join me for lunch at Schadenfreude’s?

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Friday links! Airborne children edition

DW_Dining_Sausage_md

From www.dollywood.com. I'm not kidding.

First of all, check out the dude in the striped sweater at right, and what he apparently considers a facial expression that humans make when they are visually pleased. Second of all, did you hear about this kid in the weather balloon who wasn’t really in the weather balloon? That’s how I feel whenever I meet a new person. Fortunately, I have you guys, and your loyal readership keeps me going from day to day, driving my car back and forth along crumbling roads, blindly consuming energy drinks, wandering from Home Depot to Best Buy to Chili’s in pursuit of that crazy little dream we call America.

The other thing I do, of course, is put my finger in women and tell my friends about in on Twitter. That’s essentially the new marketing campaign for Pepsi Amp, the energy drink with an iPhone app to help you score with chicks. The app breaks women down into 24 types, like “aspiring actress,” “book worm,” “punk rock girl,” “treehugger” and “married.”* Screen shot 2009-10-16 at 10.38.20 AMOnce you’ve classified the woman whom you briefly thought might touch you, the app suggests restaurants and offers primers on things that might interest her. The ad shows an explanation of punk rock, though presumably if you pick the “married” type it’ll tell you about stain remover and babies. Best of all, it provides a handy link to your Twitter or Facebook page, so you can type “OMG slept w married grl shot in stomach r u hspital?” without having to launch Safari. My favorite part of the Pepsi Amp HPV Acquisition App is the degree to which it encourages us to think about people the same way marketing thinks about us. It’s got 18-35 year-old women broken down into 24 types, each of which is connected to known preferences in restaurants, popular music, movies and television. Those of you familiar with Marxist theory might remember the principle of commodification, the process by which previously unowned or un-salable goods—land in the middle ages, clothing in the eighteenth century— become components in economic transactions. Marxism is totes irrelevant to the modern era, bro. Now it’s all about how previously unbranded human experiences—like getting drunk and making out with your Improv 301 classmate—become instruments of marketing. First person to come up with a name for this process wins a Combat! blog t-shirt.* Screen shot 2009-10-16 at 11.02.34 AMAlso, unrelated to the contest, but you must not drink a bunch of energy drinks immediately before sleeping with a woman for the first time. I cannot emphasize that enough.

Not all applications of Apple computing technology are evil, though. Some of them are powerful, exciting, and changing the way we think about our world despite the complete lack of evidence for their existence. Just like God, and like the new, possibly imagined Apple tablet PC that Daniel Lyons is writing about over at Newsweek. The iTablet, as he calls it, isn’t actually in production yet and may not even be in development, but that doesn’t stop Lyons from assuring us that it will be a media revolution comparable to the invention of television. Lyons envisions what is basically a very big iPhone, with screen space to hold “multiple panes of information,” video playback capability, and the power to “display text.” My god, this text-displaying supercomputer will make Steve Jobs like unto the new Prometheus. Lyons story is almost hypnotically absent of information, but he does make an interesting point about the recent hysteria over the death of print journalism. (You can almost see him looking at his word count at that point.) The internet seems like an unsatisfying way to do the job of the printed New York Times in part because the medium doesn’t work the same way. Much like the way early television shows were basically radio shows with pictures, and therefore sucked, the developing internet is going to take a while to figure out its natural forms. When it does, according to Daniel Lyons, it will rule.

Until then, we’ll have to content ourselves with Lexis-Nexus searches, the transistor-radio-held-up-to-the-ear of information technology. Ben Smith at Politico has put the venerable search tool to good use, in order to analyze just what sort of pressing threats to America Glenn Beck has been warning his audience about. On Monday, Beck accused the White House of being “more worried about the war on Fox than the actual war in Afghanistan.” Beck’s own references to Afghanistan, however, are outnumbered by warnings about ACORN at a rate of about 12 to 1. Second on the list is “czar/czars,” followed by “socialist/socialism” and “communist/communism.” In fact, “community organizer” beats out both “Afghanistan” and “Iraq,” which should give you some idea of just how much Glenn Beck cares about the United States of America. I realize that Combat! blog harps on this guy a lot, and maybe more than he deserves—in both senses of the term—but man. The most popular political commentator in America thinks working for social justice in your community is worse than war. At this point, I would like to formally offer to fight Glenn Beck in a racquetball court or earthen pit—possibly one that contains a mean dog. Seriously. You’ve got seventy pounds on me, buddy. Come over here and be somebody.

Of course, Beck’s ichor is made necessary by the vituperations of his enemy. Just look at the cruelty of Barack Obama, whose supporters booed Bobby Jindal at an Obama town hall. “No, no, Bob is doing a good job,” the President said, before joking that he gets that a lot, too. “Even though we have our differences politically, one thing I will say is that this person is working hard on behalf of the state, and you gotta give people credit for working hard.” Then the crowd cheered for Bobby Jindal.  So A) town hall audiences be fickle and B) is this really the President who has launched a concerted war against his political opposition, who rules by dictate and who resembles no one so much as Adolf Hitler? Or is the American right laboring under such a dearth of ideas that it has decided to abandon objective reality entirely?

Fortunately, in these times of twisted rhetoric and inverted values systems, somebody has some sense. That somebody is Colt Harris-Moore, the eighteen year-old “Barefoot Burglar” who stands accused of stealing and crashing a series of small planes belonging to rich people. He’s like Robin Hood, only instead of giving the bag of gold to the poor he slams it into a clearing and runs away. If you for some reason don’t have time to read the whole CNN article, you can pretty much get the sense of it from one transcendentally beautiful sentence: “Harris-Moore has not been charged in any of the plane thefts. But authorities are testing vomit found in the cockpit of one plane to see whether they can place the teen inside.” Probably I will never own a Cessna, but if I do, I think it’s a safe assumption that it will one day be found crumpled in the wilderness of Washington State with vomit in the cockpit. According to police, young Colt seems to have been moving from vacation house to vacation house, living in them for a while and moving on when he, you know, figures out on Wikipedia how to fly the plane. We here at Combat! know that stealing is wrong and all, and that Colt Harris-Moore is probably not such a cool guy when you actually sit down and talk to him, but just now it seems like he’s hit on a bold new way of living. Colt, if you’re reading this, crash land in Montana and do an interview for Combat! blog. You’re not reading this. That’s probably just as well.