Smooth as in Smoothie: My Craigslist Missed Connection

I was standing behind you in line at the Orange Julius/Dairy Queen on Saturday. I couldn’t help staring at the butterfly tattoo on your right shoulder! “How original,” I thought. You must be either be a woman who appreciates originality, or a really convincing cross-dresser who appreciates originality.

Either way, I kept thinking of ways in my head to engage you in conversation. I thought of perhaps pretending to trip and bump into you, but that’s a classic, and too obvious. I also thought it would be a good idea to place some coins on the floor, and then tap you on the shoulder and say “I think you dropped something!” but what if you weren’t one of those people that carries change around?

In any case, I finally decided on a really great line: I’d lean over to you and say coyly: “Why do they call them smoothies? Is it because they’re smooth? I guess they should call the Blizzard’s chunkies then, because they’re definitely not smooth!” You would have laughed, and then we would have chatted and exchanged numbers while enjoying our delicious *smoothies*.

Alas, it was not to be as by the time I had thought of the world’s best pick-up line, you’d already gotten your smoothie and were headed up the escalator. I’m hoping we can pick up where we left off that day! Tell me what color my t-shirt with wolves on it was so I know it’s you.

Thau Dong, Old Chinese Guy, Advice Column #9

"Good day to you dudes! I received this letter lately:
Dear Mr. Dong, I read your column long time. Much of liking. My troubles are many, and I think wife is making happy good time with other man. She act funny, leave house at strange hours, and get mad like Kochira when asked WHY WHY YOU DO? How know if happy happy fun time is behind back happening?
Suspicious in Chinatown
Dear SIC, many problems confront us in life, this is a fact that you cannot kung-fu kick yourself out of. The real challenge is, the way we confront the sonofabitches! So you think your wife is cheating? My advice is, take the path of the ninja. Next time she leaves, follow her. If you have evidence of this cheating, kill both of those bastard motherfuckers, leaving no trace that you were there."
- Thau Dong, Old Chinese Guy

Steve talks with God

Steve: Oh my god, you’re God! Sorry, it’s just….you know…man! This is crazy.....what are you doing here in the bathroom?

God: Well, I may be omnipotent, but I still gotta take a leak like a regular Job, go figure.

Steve: Wow. This is…..huge! What brings you to the 12th floor bathroom anyway?

God: I just started a new job in sales on the 5th floor. I figure, desk job, you know, gotta get some exercise at some point. That’s what, 7 flights of stairs? Ha, going up’s the hard part you know.

Steve: Oh….wow….so….you’re GOD and everything. Why are you working here? Don’t you have prayers to answer, miracles to perform etcetera?

God: You’d think so. To be honest, being God’s not much work. After I created the world and man in my image and all of the animals and blah blah blah, things just sort of started running themselves. Everytime I tried to intercede things just got kind of messed up. My worst and last mistake was sleeping with that chick…what was her name…oh yeah Mary. Man, that was awesome at the time. I was all ‘you’re dreaming…now take off those pants!’ Everything kinda went downhill from there.

Steve: Jesus.

God: Exactly.

Steve: So, you must get this a lot….but….what does it all mean?

God: Come again?

Steve: You know, why we’re here, what’s the meaning of life?

God: Oh! Ah ha! That’s a classic. I usually say something like ‘to love and cause happiness’ or some similar bullshit. I’ll level with you though, ‘cause you seem down to earth. The reason you’re here is basically out of my boredom, and there really is no meaning I guess. The most depressing part is that there’s not even a heaven. You die, that’s it. BAM. Nothingness. So I say, live it up dude!

Steve: Oh…man, that’s heavy.

God: Tell me about it man, tell me about it. So hey Steve!

Steve: Yes God?

God: Want to go grab some beers after work Friday?

Steve: That’d be awesome…but…I uh…have a date.

God: Dude, don’t do this to me, I’m GOD remember, I know you ain’t got no date. Don’t make me send a plague of locusts to your place dude!

Steve: (stunned silence)

God: Just kidding man! Wow, you should have seen the look on your face!

The Sandwich

“Gaze deeply into the sandwich,” said Professor Mysterio, “and tell me what you see.”

I thought long and hard about what I was seeing. Did he want me to literally describe the contents of the sandwich or perhaps, tell him how the sandwich made me feel?

“It’s a simple question!” prompted the Professor. "What's your problem?"

I panicked. “Pickles! Mayo! Rye!” ...

“You idiot, I meant it metaphorically. For this is a mystical footlong meatball sandwich, and contains none of the ingredients you've just blurted out. I'm sorry to say this, but you've flunked out of the Subway Academy.”

A Very Short Story inspired by Edith Zimmerman

“Happy Birthday Honey!” he said as he took off her blindfold, revealing the trench filled with a dozen dead hookers. “Well it’s a nice thought, but I specifically asked you for a dozen red roses,” she said, dejectedly. “I swear to God, you said a dozen dead hookers! All that work, for nothing!” he exclaimed. “Don’t take God’s name in vain in front of the dead hookers, baby.” she pointed out. “Besides,” she continued, “I’m sure we can find some use for them, wink wink nudge nudge.”

Technology as a Natural Evolution

Author: Daniel Monoogian

There are those (often from previous generations, and many from our current one) who shun humanity’s (okay, the West’s) seemingly unstoppable integration with technology. This thought conjures up mental images of the Borg hive mentality. Perhaps we are not very far off from this reality (although, you aren’t forced to assimilate)! How often have you seen people walking down the street talking animatedly to themselves, where at first we’re perplexed, then notice the small device attached to their ear? Or, how about people who get into car accidents while they are distracted by phone conversations or even texting (the thought makes one shudder)! The important question is: how did we get to this point?

This integration began with the use of prosthetic limbs which are, in fact, technological advancements. The historian Herodotus tells the story of a Hegistratus, a Persian soldier, who cut off his own foot to escape his captors and replaced it with a wooden one. In fact, several early Egyptian mummies were found to have prosthetic appendages. This integration is now at a point where the limb can be connected to tendons in the arm, and hooks can be operated in this fashion. Essentially, people who are missing both arms can still drive, cook and even tie their shoe laces. These are simple machines. Some of the more complex technology-assisted implements would include hearing aids (which can now be hidden in the ear drum) and pace-makers, which use electrical impulses to regulate heartbeats. These devices can be said to improve the quality of life for some, and even extend the lifespan of others. This is only the beginning.

While most would agree that the evolution of technological advances to improve our quality of life are revolutionary and necessary, there are many valid viewpoints which state that the constant need to be connected with technology and communication through email and text message over face-to-face, phone and more personal interactions is actually destroying the social skills and attention span of the technologically-addicted citizen. One could argue that while these communication methods are impersonal, they are still essentially interactions between two or more people.

One may argue that technology is simply an effort to copy the natural processes which we see around us in “nature”. Take computers for example. Looked at in their basic components, they essentially replicate the human brain and nervous system. The “memory” and processing components essentially work the same way as the human brain, responding to external stimuli to retrieve, sort and store information. The computer also requires energy to operate, inasmuch as does the human body. This being said, no computer has yet to be developed which even comes close to the processing power and complexity of the human brain. In fact, one could posit that the development and advancement of technology is one way to begin to unlock some of the brain’s hidden potential.

Walking by a construction site the other day, I was humbled by a giant machine which was pushing around giant boulders as a cat would bat a ball of yarn. It would have taken the strength of 30 or 40 men to move that boulder! If one looks at that machine as an organic being (which it essentially is; made with materials from the earth and given immense power by the energy released in burning fossil fuels) it becomes quite a humbling feat of human innovation. Imagine a man from early civilization whose world was ruled by gods living in the heavens – he would look upon this machine and those who operated it as gods themselves. Is this not what modern man has become? We are able to construct monstrously large structures, travel into space (beyond the realm of the gods of the earth), and even send ambassadors (probes), to other planets in our solar system and beyond. On our more moody days as gods, we have developed devices which have killed many people (atomic/nuclear weapons). We’ve even mastered the molecule.

Those who raise their voice vehemently against this technological takeover of our lives probably take for granted that most of the components of their homes were manufactured with machines, the appliances that keep their food from spoiling and wash their clothes have all been results of technological innovation. As users of technology, how are we to speak out against some branches but not others? It’s historically naïve to ignore that technological advances have a snowball effect and that breakthroughs which at the time seemed counter-productive, have led to something much greater. If we trace this back to man’s earliest development of tools, we see a pattern of exponential decreases in the amount of time between discoveries and innovations, as it seems now (the year 2011) that they are occurring every day, and some may say, every minute.

What is the future of this integration? Some have envisioned a future where technology grows out of control and is able to self-replicate with its own autonomous governance (see: The Matrix and even The Terminator series). I envision a future where technology is integrated with nature, where we will be able to harness the limitless energy all around us in a fashion which doesn’t create waste and is self-sustaining. As technology evolves, so does the human machine, however the question remains: do we need to be in constant communication for this advancement to take place?

Breathless

She said I looked like an author on the back of a romance novel she’d read in grade six
As we watched the planes colliding in a beautiful ballet up above
My mother would have said: That one looks like Baryshnikov
If she hadn’t been strangled by a velvet rope, tied to four Australian Draught Horses
Let’s pretend we’re just silhouettes when the French bellboy brings our live octopus
He used to be Jean-Paul Belmondo in À bout de souffle
Don’t leave a tip, I never liked that film; even after I watched it underwater
Her heart was an old dog, me standing in the rain with my bouquet of new tricks
My horoscope said your lips tasted like cinnamon, cardamom and
The feeling of being crushed beneath the Indian Kutralam Falls
After I received the call that my unborn twins had been arrested by Sultan Kamel
For smoking opium and pretending they were the Queen’s Nightingale cages
We pictured ourselves on a meat boat on the Tigris, picking water lilies
Opening them up to release their aroma demons
Having been artificially implanted by Ted Danson’s personal attendants
I am now entwined in a secret love octagon with the airport security cavity searchman,
A single soft boiled egg pickled in placenta, and an out-of-tune violin
The night was flippant, laissez faire as if the sunset was ancient history
We lindy-hopped wearing only kielbasa sausages
To String Quartet No. 1 in A-Flat composed by John Joubert but arranged
By the killer John Joubert played by invisible crickets
Beauty so enchantingly banal that we were suddenly whipped into a salmon mousse
And fed to a one-legged jazz pianist on his birthday.

Change is Nutricious

Freelance Writer?

My response to a Craigslist ad for a freelance writer:

"Darren,

I came across your ad on Craigslist, and it caught my interest. Only 20 500-word articles, up to $1000+ a month? It seems too good to be true. From the name "Byte Advertising," I'm led to assume that the articles should be about technology, however the subject was not mentioned in your ad.

To give you a brief bio, I was born in a small town in Western Quebec to a pair of beatnik hippies who, shortly after my birth, abandoned their counter-cultural ways in favour of the big city lifestyle. However, they did not acheive this in the end. They made it to Ottawa and settled, as we all do, ending up in Ottawa. I suppose the biggest flaw I inherited from them was an overuse of commas, a propensity for snapping both hands in lieu of clapping, refusing to give standing ovations and a sensitivity towards animals.

My areas of specialty (read: possibly imagined) include:
Technology
Capoeira (Brazilian dance-fighting)
The Arts (primarily theatre and music)
Creative writing (bad fiction, mal-formed poetry)
Musings
Running for various political offices
Dog-fighting
The Apocolypse; and
How Humanity is Ruining the World.

I realize that you're horribly impressed by quasi-resume, and rest-assured, I'm up to the challenge. If possible, please format your reply in a series of haikus, to let me know that you're serious.

Best Regards and Many Happy Returns,

Daniel Monoogian"

The first thing I noticed

The first thing I noticed
When I walked in the door
Was that something had changed:
There wasn’t a pile of dirty dishes in the sink
There weren’t dirty socks and sweaters and scarves
Discarded and thrown about
I thought “This is odd”
But I couldn’t pinpoint the cause
All this in a few moments, a few moments passed
When I couldn’t hear the blare of the television
Or smell the pungent odor of Marlboros
I knew something was awry.
“Perhaps a cool refreshing drink
Will help me to sort this out.”
I said aloud
Upon opening the cupboard I was astonished
Not a cup, mug, stein or glass to be found
No microwave, no toaster, that old eccentric pair
No cutlery, no pots and pans, no plates or gravy boat
My mind began floating, reeling, a touch of vertigo
I ran outside to check the numbers on the door:
1457 Apartment 4
I ran down the block, to check the street sign
Sure enough, Cherry Lane
Had I gone mad? Was I dreaming?
My mind now restless, I became a man possessed
Running back inside the flat, breathless
I called the cat: “Peanut! Peanut! Dinnertime!”
No response, no excited mewl, no clomping footsteps
In fact, checking the pantry, there was no cat food
No kibbles, no meat, no vittles, no treats.
I went exploring through the house
I found each room bare
Except for the last few squares of toilet paper on the roll,
And the radio was there.
It finally sunk in, that I’d been wrong
I hadn’t gone mad, this wasn’t a dream
The simple fact was

You were gone.

So sudden this departure
Leaving not a trace
Not one fashion magazine
Not one long blond curly hair
In the bathtub or the sink
No trace of your perfume
Not one stick of that gum you liked to chew
No bobby pin, no shower cap
Nothing at all to remind me of you
The photo albums we’d filled up
With smiles and tears and trying times
Had also vanished in thin air
So rapidly did you abscond
A magician with a disappearing act
For goodness sake
I’d only gone to corner store
For skim milk and a pack
If I hadn’t tarried
And stopped to read the paper
Talked with Mr. Popagus
The local grocer man
Sat a moment at the café
With an expresso or two
To watch the girls pass by
In their summer gear
Maybe you’d still be here

I turned on the radio
(as it was the only thing I had left)
Found it tuned to your favorite station
WKYF
I heard the following dedication:
“This next one
Goes out to Dear Old John
On our anniversary.
Sorry I couldn’t stick around
But like the tide so I must one day go
Swim back out to the sea”

Sludge

Kitchen sink waste
Refusing to go down
Black sludge filling my dreams
Scent of decay ruining my nostrils
Seeping down, down, through the floorboards
Trying to make its escape
To infect the rivers and lakes
Ruining my floorboards,
Ruining my day
Black as night, toxic
Smell the evil, the bad intentions
Out comes the bleach, yet
It only dilutes, not penetrating
The core, only adding to its power
By any effort to destroy it
Deep, dark depths, a reflection
Of the evil within your soul
A ghost in the pipes
Made physical by years of neglect
Now roams the rooms
Free again to torment, paranoia
Bubbling up; grease, decay
Broken dreams, forgotten promises
Leaving me to clean up the mess
Bending my back, leaving this dirt
Under my skin, a scent you can’t cleanse
And this exists under all of our kitchens
A simile for improper maintenance
Of pipes and of life
The more metaphysical mess
Isn’t so easily washed away
Into the gutters
Once it is contained
You carry it with you
Forever looking for a disposal site
For the darkness, the blackness, bile
Spewing up from down below
Like Satan’s vomit
The water will flow clean
Once more
With time

A Thursday Poem

because i was worried
that the walls were collapsin
maybe i shouldn't have taken so many pills
from that unmarked bottle
i found behind the garbage bin
in the alley

For Hank

Hank, You disgust me.

When I think of you, I’m reminded of a stench, akin to rancid cat urine, sour, acrid, attacking the nostrils which remains in the fabric of my memory for days, months, years, a lifetime! I believe even dog shit to be above you. You are a ninny, a rat bastard and a fool, not worth tuppence to a soul. I’m frankly surprised you haven’t yet offed yourself and saved humanity from your evil, cantankerous, malignant, misinformed filth. I wouldn’t stop and give you the time of day if your life depended on it and I was made of clocks.

You fraud! Pretender! Would that I had magical abilities, I would transform you into something useful, perhaps a roll of toilet paper, as shit seems to be attracted to you. Excuse my vulgarity, but Hank, you seem to bring out the worst in people. I can barely look at you without become overcome with an unquenchable urge to find the nearest sharp object and de-octify myself! I doubt that would bring any reliefhowever, as no one can forget the pure vileness of your image. You look like someone tried to put out a forest fire on your face with a pickaxe, you humdrum kaleidoscopic human garbage disposal!

FIE! Fie on you! If there were no moral or legal consequence to my actions, I would not hesitate to strangle you in the most violent fashion and nail you to a stump in the town square, where people would come from miles away to shit and piss upon your wretched lifeless corpse. Restaurants would be invited to dump their used deep-fryer grease upon you, and you would be vomited on most riotously and finally set on fire, an outhouse built upon your ashes. May you contract syphilis and disappear, you worthless fleshbag.

Jibber-Jabber

A Pathetic Apology

I’m a sad case for a writer, considering I’ve never written anything of much value. Perhaps this admonition will embiggen your spirit (if you are a small man [and please note here I do not give in to this political correctness scam] or, if you are already inflated of ego, then it will lift you to new heights) or simply make you feel sorry for me. I don’t mind the latter, as this is how I’ve gotten into most of my recent relationships (despite their few-and-far-between characteristics). No matter what you think of me, let’s all agree upon this (and if you’re not into the prospect of blind agreement, please read no further): my correspondence to you is enjoyable, and if nothing else, provides a welcome vacation from the dullaries of everyday life listed as follows: caring about things, employment, laundry, dishes, talking and/or interacting with a significant other or family member (girlfriend/boyfriend, husband/wife, mother, brother, father, imaginary troll that lives under the bed and makes strange noises in the night [making you jolt awake terrified as you try to adjust your eyes to the darkness not daring in that instant to reach over and turn on the lamp, heart pumping, I hate that fucking troll]).

Despite my deep and intrinsic sadness, perhaps we can all find some value in these lighthearted ponderings: you, read these pathetic attempts at stringing words together in a coherent fashion and smile, perhaps, at the very least, not cry. Me, while my tears soak the paper of drafts 1 to 6 of this letter, feel a small sense of satisfaction of having made a difference. Albeit this difference is so small, so insignificant as to barely register in the annals of history, I’ll concede that it is not completely in vain. Someday, someone somewhere somehow (seemingly: a Somalian Sommelier summering south of Spain) will read these words tattooed onto the rear end of his camel (how these words became tattooed on the rear end of a camel, or why the Somalian was so closely examining its rear end I fear we shall never divine) and say “Gadzooks! This was a troubled man, let us remember him for what he was: a lazy, good-for-nothing vagabond with a poor work ethic and fear of personal relationships.”

The point of this discourse I have long forgotten, but the means by which we have gotten to this point are clear: one man, meaning to move mountains merely by mentioning miraculous memories. I apologize, I am regretful, I rescind my rights to regale you with tales of love and scurvy at sea. You’ve suffered at the behest my penstroke long enough. I have taken so many liberties with language that I should by all intents and purposes do the honourable thing and ask its father for its hand in marriage. It would, at minimum, legitimize our bastard love child borne of too many Simpsons re-runs. And it is with a heavy heart and a weathered spirit in which I leave you no better than I found you, but with this humble apology to carry you on your way.

May a Shark Bite Me,

Jibber-Jabber

Oh ye Learned Men of Olde

I'd like to share with you some insights (perhaps to make up for weeks and weeks of no affirmations you poor darlings) entitled:

Things I've learned over the last little while

1. Writing is hard. Like really goddamn hard. Don't take it up. Poetry though, is pretty much like riding a bike. Only the stupidest, most uncoordinated or lazy people are incapable of doing it. The best part of poetry is that it doesn't even have to rhyme! It's like stealing.

Or am I only telling you to give it up because I will stand out when my first novel is published? Now I just have to start writing it.

2. Most song melodies have just been re-used from older songs. It's almost as if there is simply a waiting period (say, 30 or 40 years) until it is acceptable to use that melody again. Pay close attention and you'll see. An attachment to this: it really shows Canadians' taste in music when Nickelback is the most successful band.

3. Once you hit 25, people 5 years younger than you are automatically cooler. I think this has less to do with being trendy or "scene" or whatever other retarded label people attach and more with a certain energy that comes with youth. I see it happening all the time! As time passes, many of my peers become satisfied with just living, carefully not offending anyone, and accepting the limits of our society. I do believe though that this is a result of our civilisation slowly crushing the enthusiasm out of its youth until they're forced to become "responsible" adults.

*and here I was interrupted by:

4. Nozy co-workers. There's nothing that spoils the day more than when the boss has left one of your co-workers in charge and they go on some crazy power trip and accuse you of spending all afternoon "on the internet" which is totally true but you thought you were buds. Then they say they're "disappointed in you." Sorry I don't slave away at my work like a maniac and take work home in the evening. I guess that's why the boss puts you in charge! My internet usage is not bothering anyone. and you turning your neck to look over at what I'm doing 25 times a day sounds WAY more productive. How do you be the bigger person when someone is just shitting on you? Some have said that they are just jealous because I get my work done faster and more efficiently. If I wasn't getting my work done, then there would really be cause for concern.

Sorry, ranting.

As you can see, I haven't learned too much over the last little while. Am I, like so many of my generation, drifting into conformity and complacence like so many paper ships on the ocean, driven by the wind of the younger generation, only to become water-logged and sink lazily into obscurity? I hope to God not. If I do, please slap some sense into me.

Steadfastly,

Jibber-Jabber

Design Challenges #1

This poster design involved alot of information, coupled with an image that the client wanted in its original form. Some English to French translation was also necessary.

Mr. Sting - A Poem

My desert friend; my confidant

Found in all the greatest haunts

For all the poison you disseminate

A love that won't discriminate

We humans that are brave enough

Cross species lines and pick you up

Only to quickly learn;

The biting pain for which we yearn

I feel I could shut my eyes

And rest forever here;

You could make a home

Out of my skull - Oh Stingy One!

These arid places you call home

You'll never need to roam alone

Beware the slithery devils whom

Sneak and slide right up on you

So battle-ready you must make;

How I hate those Goddamn Snakes

Inhabiting this god-forsaken place.

Mighty Crab of Land

You make me feel like quite a man;

Sting me, sting me, sting me thrice

Despite all of my mom's advice

I remain a faithful comrade

In your army

Of hard-shelled saber wielding warriors

So for now I pace these winding corridors

Waiting for my chance

To dance with death

My friend

Mr. Sting.

With egg on my face I return. I'd like to blame my move from Ottawa - the coldest place on earth - to the bustling vibe of Toronto, but I fear that certain people won't let me get away with that. I'd pretend to apologize but rather, I'll rant about the one and only thing about my new home that drives me nuts - poor sidewalk etiquette.

I'm not sure whether it was Ottawa's wider 'walks or the fact that there are fewer people, or maybe it was just that everyone still retained small town mentality (i.e. manners), but I never experienced the jostling, pushing, shoving, swearing, spitting, and general rudeness as I do now.

On a daily basis I gird myself to dodge around people that decide to stop abruptly, play Red Rover with the teenagers walking in large groups, or the people biking on the sidewalk. I mean, I know at 5'11" I'm super hard to miss, you might even be in awe of how large I am and get confused and walk into me (insert godzilla reference here), but it really does amaze me how awful Torontonians are on the sidewalk. I fear that I am turning into one of them - even if you say "excuse me" to get around one of those "slow walkers" they have no intention of moving. I find myself fighting the urge to plough through groups of people as well......I must head to the country quick to reconnect with my core pavement values for fear of turning into one of them.

Will YOU Be Ready?

I'm sure some (or all) of you have heard of the Great Ascention of 2012. Yes, that's the one. The Great one. It's the time when we humans evolve into a higher being; some would say a being of pure light, or if you play the religion angle, then maybe angels? I don't know. One thing I'm sure of though is that I'm not going to be goddamn left behind. However, many millions of people will be left on the living hell of a dying wasteland that earth will soon become.

I know you're skeptical right now. You're saying: this sounds crazy! How do I know for sure that this "ascention" is going to happen anyway? Well, you don't know. The same way that people believe in God! It's called Faith, read up on it.

I suppose a more apt explanation would be Pascal's work with probability (after spending a lifetime as a mathematical genius then suddenly finding God and abandoning all earthly tribulations) in which he reasoned that the effort it took worship and devote his life to God had a much bigger paying payoff than taking the chance of God not existing - I mean, who wants to end up in Hell?

I hope this sheds some light on the whole situation for you. I feel that it's my duty to prepare as many people as possible for this (but only the cool ones that I like - who wants to spend eternity with some joe-schmoe?). Here are several things you can do to prepare:

1. Meditate for 5-6 minutes per day...imagine collecting all of the sun's light in an ever-expanding ball above your head - see how long you can keep it there.

2. Detach yourself from your earthly possessions; they can't come with you! Neither can your little kitty Sniffles, sorry. Try to make peace with that.

3. Try to be as physically fit as possible so that you'll be prepared for any eventuality.

I know we can do this. Together.

Yours in Ascention,

Jibber-Jabber

So THAT's Why We Fight!

Does anybody actually believe that the U.S. was ever trying to bring democracy to Iraq? If so, you were misinformed. Intentionally.

The saddest part in my opinion is that hundreds upon hundreds of thousands Americans believe that Operation Iraqi Freedom still has something to do with terrorists and defending the liberty of America the Great. These so-called "Patriots" defend their ignorance vehemently, complicit in a war crime.

And believe me, invading Iraq IS a war crime.

They claim to be trying to rebuild Iraq, giving the Iraqi people the opportunity to be involved. But this is not the case. Shortly after Saddam was toppled, the U.S. taskforce actually disbanded the Iraqi army (where do you think all of these insurgents are coming from)! They then proceeded with a "de-baathing" of the government, firing thousands of employees who had linkages to Saddam's Baathist party, many who joined the party simply to gain employment.

If this wasn't enough, the U.S. decided to USE U.S. CONTRACTORS to lead the rebuilding effort, at super-inflated costs. In fact, contractors include all secondary army services (food, electricity, lodgings, water, waste), private military contractors, construction companies...the list goes on.

One of the biggest criminals here is Haliburton (of which Cheney was recently the CEO, and still holds shares), who was given a NON-COMPETITIVE, MULTI-BILLION dollar contract for services in Iraq. This is a cost-plus contract, which means that anything they spend will be reimbursed, along with a 20-40% bonus! So, you better believe that they are cutting corners. When a transport truck breaks down, they leave it in the road and torch it. Why should they care...their profit just went up! Unaccounted-for funds, over-equipping EVERYONE! It's a culture of waste for profit. I wonder if Cheney sleeps on a mattress made of gold fibers?

If you dig a little deeper, the plan for the invasion of Iraq and control of its resources began during the Bush Sr. administration (if not before). However, when asked about the possibility of invading Iraq during the Gulf War, Bush got straight to the heart of the matter. If we go in and invade, the logistics of taking over and restructuring will be unimaginable, financially and in the cost of human life (specifically soldiers). However, Wolfovitz, Cheney, and Rumsfeld (serving in Bush Sr.'s administration, already old hands at the war game by this point) never lost track of their original plan. They wanted Iraq. It was just a waiting game.

During the Clinton administration, Wolfovitz, Cheney, and Rumsfeld, among others, even LAID OUT THE SPECIFICS of the invasion in the charter of the Project for the New American Century. Their objectives were clear. Remain THE dominant superpower in the world through pre-emptive military force, including not only acces to, but CONTROL over its natural resources. They even called for the invasion of Iraq but this could not be realistically carried out without a "catalystic major event or crisis in the near future." About a year after these words were published, guess what, 9-11 happened.

Rumsfeld is one of the culprits of this disaster, I'm not surprised that he got fired.

What saddens me most is the patriotism Americans feel towards their country. The blind ignorance of the facts that are readily available at their local library. Sadly, many, many, many Americans DO NOT READ. AT ALL.

Keep fuelling the war machine, fuckers!