An excerpt from an interesting e-mail, sent to Iran, from the campaign of one John Kerry:
We are convinced that John Kerry is the candidate best qualified to meet this challenge. Senator Kerry has the diplomatic skill and temperament as well as a lifetime of accomplishments in field of international affairs. He believes that collaboration with other countries is crucial to efforts to win the war on terror and make America safer.
And yet, today, in Iran, we see that:
Polling is under way in Iran for disputed parliamentary elections predicted to give more control of the Islamic nation to conservative religious hardliners.
Friday's election, overshadowed by a ban on most reform candidates and a crackdown on pro-reform media, is poised to bring about one of the biggest upsets in Iranian politics since reformists promising radical change were swept into office seven years ago.
So, to recap, John Kerry wishes to collaborate with the ultra-conservative Iranian ruling class when it comes to the war on terror rather than continue to put pressure on Middle Eastern nations to gravitate toward reform.
I know, I know, it was just an e-mail from the Kerry campaign that probably went out worldwide and just happened to land in the inbox of every despotic regime as well. So, how can I possibly think it has any relevance to anything? Well. . .
If you were a Middle Eastern country that happens to harbor and support terrorism, would you be more spooked by a "cowboy" in the White House who has shown he's dead-assed serious when he says if you harbor terrorists, you're the enemy, or of a Democratic candidate offering an e-mail olive branch extolling collaboration with even the most oppressive regimes? Even when those oppressive regimes may not speak for their civilian populations.
If Kerry or Edwards can come forth and state, without hesitation, that they will continue the current administration's foreign policy initiative, they would practically ensure my vote. But, no, they talk about pursuing terrorists more like a drug raid than a war, and we all know how punishing drug raids have been in the wider world of drug trafficking.
Countries such as Iran, and Syria, and North Korea must be quaking in their boots at the thought of another four years of Bush and Co. But, when they log onto AOL and see a friendly letter from Kerry, they must be ecstatic at the possibility of having that man in control of the White House. With Kerry in power, they could rest a little easier, and be a little bolder about their under the table payments to al Queda and the like, and they can tighten their ultra-conservative religious control over their oppressed populations at their leisure because, hey, it's back to business as usual.
I don't trust Democrats when it comes to foreign policy, and right now foreign policy and the war on terror are the only issues that really, REALLY matter to me right now. Healthcare reform? Fine. Whatever. Environmental issues? Eh. Ensuring that airplanes aren't going to go slashing into buildings and that hostile nations are feeling enough heat to allow concessions?
Now we're talking.
Caroline says: Do you have change for a $5 by any chance?
Ryan says: Nope, but I do have a $1.
Caroline says: May I borrow said $1?
Ryan says: Said $1 is available for borrow, at 50 percent interest each minute.
Caroline says: yikes
Caroline says: how about we skip the interest and I provide sexual favors?
Ryan says: The Bank of Rhodes is kind of a bitch.
Caroline says: yeah, no kidding.
Ryan says: Let's see. . . $1, at 50 percent interest each minute. . . translating to sexual barter exhange. . . carry the one. . . round up to the nearest BJ. At the end of the day, you'd owe me two intercourses, three BJs and a hand job.
Caroline says: I'm a cheap lay then.
Ryan says: You have no idea.
If you spent any time at all growing up in the rural Midwest, chances are pretty good you developed a valuable instinctive fear of electrified fences. In fact, after accidently brushing up against an electrified fence even once, your mind probably rewired itself completely to ensure it would never, EVER happen again.
I was a slow learner. I didn't become totally paranoid of electrified fences until after the third or forth time I felt the juice sizzle through my limbs. Eventually, however, it started to sink in that a smooth, shiny fence wire running through the occasional insulator more than likely had electricity running through it and I should not grab that wire if I knew what was good for me.
I remember standing in absolute awe when the father of one of my friends checked to see if the electrified fence was on by grabbing it without so much as a second thought. Yes, it was on, but you'd have never guessed that by his mild reaction, like he had just been bitten by a mosquito, and a small one at that. It was amazing. He immediately made my list of the toughest guys I knew, a list that included Sylvester Stallone and that guy who lived up the street who held onto firecrackers while they exploded.
My introduction to the world of electrified fences came about while I was staying over night with my friend, John. I suppose I was eight years old at the time. Well, John was a farm kid with a warped sense of humor, and he also knew that I had an incredible fear of bulls. In order to get to John's tree house to play, we had to go through a pen inhabited by cows. John seized the moment once I was alone in the pen and yelled that a bull was charging at me. Of course, there was no bull, except for that coming out of John's mouth, but the simple mention of the word "bull" had me running as fast as my little legs could carry me.
I ran headlong into my first electrified fence. I ran into that electrified fence so hard, I snapped it in half. I also endured an electrical shock so big, I'm willing to bet my hometown's power grid briefly went offline. I never actually saw the fence, but I sure felt what it did, and what it did was jolt me so hard, I think I tinkled just a little bit in my underwear. Unfortunately, because I didn't see what the fence looked like, I had no mental reference to ensure I wouldn't touch another one.
My next sojourn into the world of electrified fences came via courtesy of my older brother. As an older brother by four years, Reg adhered to the unwritten decree that all older brothers should torment their younger siblings both physically and mentally. I, on the other hand, adhered to the decree that all younger brothers should adore and try to emulate their older siblings and follow them around relentlessly, hoping for a scrap of older brotherly wisdom. It was a recipe for disaster on practically a daily basis.
Well, one day, when I was about nine, Reg took me out for a walk in the countryside, by which I mean I begged and pleaded until my mother ordered him to spend some time with me. Shortly into our hike, we encountered a fence, and Reg instructed me to hold the fence up for him while he crawled underneath. Ever the dutiful youth, I did as instructed, and I was rewarded for my efforts with the most surprising and sustained flow of electricity to course through my body since I broke that one fence about a year before. My brother, meanwhile, fell on the ground laughing and was unable to compose himself for about 20 minutes, which was about the same amount of time it took me to stop crying.
I steered clear of electrified fences for a few years after that, until one day when I was visiting a friend of mine, Andy, or at least I thought he was a friend of mine. We were walking along an electrified fence, when eventually Andy got a strange gleam in his eye. Suddenly, Andy reached out and grabbed my arm, and then he grabbed the fence, and that's when I learned that one human body can conduct an electrical charge to another human body simply through contact. I felt a considerable jolt, while Andy, it seemed, felt nothing at all. Although I didn't cry that time, I still don't entirely trust Andy all that much.
And the moral of this story? I'm not sure there is one, except that maybe I should get out there and find some better friends, and maybe a better brother, if that's possible.
UPDATE: Oh yeah, I almost forgot, I see via SiteMeter that a lot of blogs not listed to the right apparently are linking to my blog. I like to reciprocate on blog links when I can, but in my old age I just can't keep on top of every link. Therefore, if you're out there linking to my blog, but I have not yet included you, please leave a comment here or drop and e-mail my way (keeping in mind, of course, to include your URL), and I'll get you up and over there.
Maybe he's just in a state of Deanial?
Thank you. I'll be here all week.
So, um, yeah, I owe $4,500 in taxes this year. I think I need a drink or something. Maybe a gun. I should really stop doing freelance writing projects so this shit doesn't come back to haunt me come tax time. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go off and cry just a little.
What the heck is up with Howard Dean? First, the once-former Democratic frontrunner basically says he'll hang up his presidential bid if he loses in Wisconsin, and now he's apparently steamed at his now-former national chairman, Steve Grossman, for saying pretty much just that in light of nasty looking polling numbers in the dairy state.
Said Dean, "I have not talked to him (Grossman) since this came out in the newspaper. I'll speak for the campaign."
Well, fine man, but stop being so dillusional about your campaign. Thus far, his metrosexual ass has been handed to him more times than he has fingers to count. I mean, I'm all for a can-do, never-say-die attitude, but Dean's obstinance is just looking more and more creepy and narcissistic every time I visit his Web site or see him on TV, basically saying that the voters thus far just haven't been smart enough to vote for him.
There's reality, and then there's being detached from reality. Dean repeatedly looks like he's choosing door #2. I guess it's not too surprising. Dean always struck me as a candidate that thought a whole bunch of himself, a trait present in most candidates, yes, but to a bigger degree in Dean. I can relate, seeing as how I like myself a whole bunch (see previous post). But still. Even I can see a lost cause when it's happening to me.
I guess it's just creepy to me, watching Dean suck up all those Web-based donations from college-age Deaniacs and then throw the money at windmill after windmill. It's Dean Quixote, and his Internet groupies are his Sancho Panza.
It's sad, but in a funny yet head-scratching sort of way.
