Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Mykel's MRR Column for #318, (November, 2009)

You're Wrong

An Irregular Column

by Mykel Board

No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American people.”

--P.T. Barnum


The structure of anyone's native language strongly influences or fully determines the worldview he will acquire as he learns the language.” --The Whorf Hypothesis


I was madder than a Muslim on a hog farm. I love to play tricks on people. Every April I write a big lie column. Every April some people believes it. Ha ha! What dopes, couldn't you see that I was pulling your leg? How could you believe that I was fucked in the ass by Noam Chomsky? Come on!

Then what happens? I'm the one with the pulled-over wool. I'm the one tricked... for months... Remember how I supported Obama? Remember how I said the elections gave me a glimmer of hope that Americans have more intelligence than a dingleberry? Fooled again!

Americans are dumber than dirt. Stupider than a box of Captain Crunch. Denser than a black hole. We have a glimmer of a chance to raise our healthcare rank up from 42nd... And Americans protest. It's socialist, they say.

Of course, it's not socialist enough. But even that, they reject. Their own best interests fall victim to the basest propaganda. And worse yet, our CHANGE President (the guy who expanded the Afghan war, continues detention without trial, hides evidence of U.S. torture, and maintains a Whitehouse office for faith-based government-supported organizations) caves in to the pressure.

Jeezus fuckin' Christ! I'm moving to Denmark where people aren't afraid of a little socialism.

Factoid 1: Benjamin Whorf studied a bunch of languages and the cultures around them. He concluded that language controls how people see the world.

I never read his studies, but I understand what he was thinking. I see it in the languages I stumble through.

In English, water is a liquid. When that liquid boils and becomes a gas, we have steam. When that liquid freezes and becomes solid, we have ice. We look at water, ice, and steam as three different things.

In Thai, water is nam and a liquid. When that liquid boils and becomes a gas. It's ay nam or gas water. When it freezes, it's nam plo or hard water. Thais look at water as one thing with a range of forms from hard through mushy through liquid through boiling liquid to steam.

In Japanese, water is mizu. Ice is koori. Steam is yoki. There is another word: yu, for hot water. The Japanese look at water as one thing. Water you can make tea with is something else.

Whorf would say. English-speakers think of ice, water, and steam as different things, but hot water as a kind of water.

Japanese-speakers think of water and hot water as different materials. In Japanese, hot water is as different from plain water, as plain water is from ice.

Thai-speakers, think of them all as variations of the same thing. They feel the innate waterness in all the variations. Like in Thai Buddhism, everything is one. End of factoid 1.

In my nearly 70 years of experience, I've found: when confronted by a phalanx of stupidity, take refuge in the academic. Then, after you're hit by the stupidity of academia... travel to some other country and take refuge there.

Right now, it's academia keeping my testicles from rising to their original home inside me. I can ignore the feeble-mindedness of my fellow countrymen, if I can somehow explain it. That's what academia does. It explains stupidity.

The Whorf hypothesis is one of those explanations. I've never been a wholehearted supporter. But sometimes it... well... it just works-- or looks like it works. Let's take a look.

Insurance companies and conservatives excite the plebeians by dredging up images from the Cold War. They scare common folk by conflagrating socialism with communism. Everybody remembers that communism was bad. It takes your freedom away. Socialism is the same. Free medicine will take your freedom away.

The American people fall for it, hook, line, and healthcare. It's not logical, but it fits with the way Americans see the world.

Throw a word like socialism out there, and people use it to dismiss logic. You've got a word that acts like a symbol. The symbol replaces thought... and forms a worldview.

Ask for national healthcare? You're a socialist. Want to end the slaughter in Afghanistan? You're supporting terrorism. Criticize Israel? You're a Nazi... or at least an anti-Semite. Logic flies out the door, replaced by words that trigger a flood of unstoppable emotion.

Take political correctness... please.

I post an article on my Facebook page that shows statistics proving SUVs are less safe than regular well-built every day cars. I wonder in print why anyone would drive an SUV if even the last excuse (they're safe) has been proven wrong. In less than 45 seconds, I get an answer:

People should have the right to drive what they want and not be forced into little crap cars and not be forced into using inconvenient mass transit just to soothe your big pc egos.

And I shoot off my reply to his reply:

People should have the right to nail their penises to a lamppost. That doesn't mean it's a good idea. That you CAN do something stupid doesn't mean you SHOULD do it. It is STUPID, after all.

That discussion, as short and idiotic as it was, showed something about language.

Label something as PC, then you can dismiss it. The label itself is enough. If you don't have the label, you need a real reason.

So then, are the feminists, the Al Sharptons, the Christians right? Do words have such power that we have to censor them so they don't do any damage? Do we have to say The N-word or The F-word, because the real words will cause so much trouble?

Let's take a look:

Everybody knows it's taboo to criticize a person just because of religion. It's taboo to say someone is evil because they're Muslim. The tabloids tried it during the election. I remember the OBAMA IS A MUSLIM headlines. (Though the paper didn't say he was evil because of it.) But tabloid journalism is different from what you can (and should) say every day. If we avoid saying Muslim is evil, will we avoid thinking it?

My local free newspaper reports that a 25-year old Egyptian man cut off his own penis to spite his family. Why? He was refused permission to marry a girl from a lower-class family. After begging his father for two years with no consent, the guy heats up a knife and slices off his candy cane.

My question: why was this in an American newspaper? So they can say "penis?" So they can say something nasty about a Muslim without actually saying the WORD Muslim?

Them Muslims is wacky, huh? Anyone who'd cut his dick off would fly a plane into a building, right?

Factoid 2: There is a group of verbs called performatives. These are special, magical verbs. The utterance of them, creates (performs... get it?) the action. Verbs like promise, assure, warn, ask, and guarantee are performatives.

If I say, “I promise I won't cum in your mouth,” that MAKES the promise. I don't have to do anything else. The promise has been made, just by uttering the words.

Compare this to a normal verb like suck. Saying “you suck my love tube.” does not automatically give me a blowjob.Some further action is necessary. End of Factoid 2.

Take the word “Gay,” please!

In the late 1960s, the word GAY was invented to replace the word homosexual or fag. Homos used it to talk about people who have sex with the same gender. The language changers picked it because of its original meaning: happy. The idea was to lend an air of happy-go-luckiness to anal-penile fluid exchange. Homosexual was too academic. Fag besides being a pejorative for homosexual, referred to anything negative or wimpy. A pretty negative word.

The inventors of Gay thought, along with Whorf, that if you change the words people use, you change the way they think. If you make people say something that means la-de-da every time they refer to a homo, they'll come to associate the two. Homos will become nice and la-de-da.

So what happened? Did GAY become a performative? Did using the word make it happen?

You bet your anal warts it didn't. What happened was that the word completely lost its original meaning. In 1950, someone might describe their weekend at the beach as a gay old time. By 1975, that would happen only if the beach was on Fire Island.

By the late 1980s, Gay began to take on an additional negative meaning. Something like wimpy, unfashionable, or just plain bad.

This example comes from the Internet Urban Dictionary. Man, these seats are gay. I can't even see what's going on!

See? The language changed. People's thinking did not. The mental image came first. Changing the words did NOT change that image. The new words fell back into the slots that the old ones filled. Gay was no more positive in everyday speech than faggot.

This is what the N-word and the F-word people don't get. (L-word people, however, seem have a lot of fun with it.) You can change the language as much as you want. You can avoid taboo words. But, changing the words does not change people's attitude.

Take abortion. (I won't say it)

In the great abortion debate, nobody wants to be anti-anything. Both sides are pro-. Take your pick. Pro-choice or pro-life. Does that reflect the reality? Are these words performatives? You say it and then you are it?

Pro-choice is really pro-abortion. Not pro-forced abortion but pro-right to abortion. It's like saying that people who favor legalized heroin or legalized murder are pro-choice. Of course it's a choice. Do it or not. That's not the point. Abortion is the point. Pro-choice is pro-abortion.

And how about pro-life? Most anti-abortionists are Christians who favor the death penalty. They oppose free healthcare which insures that babies will have doctors to see that they don't die in childhood. It insures the rest of us don't die for lack of funds or access to hospitals. Their attitude? Let 'em be born, then don't give a shit about 'em. These people are not pro-life. They're just anti-abortion. Call it what you want.

I'm the only pro-abortion guy I know who says he's pro-abortion. There are a few anti-abortionists out there who call themselves that. If you go around shooting doctors, you can't call very well yourself pro-life, can you?

So is Whorf right? Well, not exactly.

Language doesn't make culture and emotions. There are, however, things in the culture that language can use. People with an agenda can manipulate language to nudge people into thinking one way or another. But, it's the thought, or in the American case, the lack of thought, that's the key. Not the words.

Me? I like to call a fuck a fuck. Not the F-word. But most Americans are too lazy or too stupid to realize they're being bullied. They allow themselves to be pushed around by language and in the end, just don't give a fuck.

ENDNOTES: [email subscribers ( or website viewers ( will get live links and a chance to comment on the column]

-->Some kind of artist dept: I felt it's only fair to acknowledge George Bataille as the inspiration for the beginning of last month's column. If you have a strong stomach, I recommend his: Story of the Eye. Whadda book!

-->New idol dept: I recently saw Jean Claude Van Damme's first starring-role movie, BLOODSPORT. Van Damme is okay, but he's got a lousy toupee (actually a set of toupees-- one for when he's supposed to look young, and one for when he's supposed to look VERY young) and way too much make-up. But the bad guy in that movie is a guy named BOLO YEUNG. He's a huge Chinese guy who looks more Indonesian than Chinese.

He is so evil, so full of nastiness, it was love at first sight. I want to see EVERYTHING. He's a G-d!! I Wikipedia-ed him and found out he SWAM from China to Hong Kong to get away from Communism. Now he lives in LA. I don't know how he got there, but it wouldn't surprise me if he swam when the commies took over Hong Kong.

Anybody with vids or other info about this guy, let me know!! I'm in love!

-->Cleaning out dept: In this post-print era, one of the few magazines I actually pay for is the Utne Reader. It's a liberal digest of magazines and other world publications. Since a Facebook quiz told me I am a "left libertarian," it should be right up my alley, right? Usually, it is.

But, during a recent fit of lebensraum, I started throwing out clippings. While going through the pile, I found one from U.R. Sept '07. In it, they complain about YouTube and Google Search for providing gateways to "Hate." Of course, HATE means people they disagree with, the KKK, Rightwing Skinhead Bands, holocaust revisionists etc. While the Utne Reader “provides information,” these groups "spew propaganda."

 I wonder what THEY say about the Utne Reader.

-->Pay up, you most evil corp! dept: No I'm not talking about Starbucks. This is the one you'd expect: WAL-MART. They've agreed to pay $35,000,000 to settle a suit by workers in Washington State who were forced to skip meals and breaks... and work overtime for no extra pay. Doesn't sound like enough money to me.



-->God bless dead Iraqis dept.: The U.S. Defense Department war reports, sent to the White House in 2003, frequently included biblical quotations. This was revealed in, of all places, GQ Magazine.

The magazine said that the daily briefings had covers that included photos of soldiers praying. Bible verses accompanied the photos. One cover showed a large Baghdad monument of two crossed swords with a tank beneath it. The quote?


Err... I thought Iran was the nation that keeps faith.

-->Which part of the first amendment do you like? Free speech or establish religion? dept:

A US Court of Appeals held that a Pennsylvania kindergarten teacher had a constitutional right to refuse to let a parent read The Bible to children in her classroom. The court said that: parents may reasonably expect their children will not become captive audiences to an adult's reading of religious texts.

The premise of the reading, though, was for adults to read a passage from their child's favorite book. So what if The Bible WAS the kids favorite book?

 I say, read it. What's censorship is censorship, and I'm against it.

Of course, that means OTHER parents should be able to read the MARQUIS DE SADE. That was MY favorite book in kindergarten.

-->Proof: Church makes you more Christian dept: The Pew Research Center found that 49 percent of the public overall said torture can "often" or "sometimes" be justified. Among white evangelicals, the number was 62 percent. The survey also found that support for torture increased among those who reported attending church most often.  Mighty Christian of them, I'd say.

-->Ich bin ein Berliner dept: The population of Berlin voted strongly against (only 14% support) a referendum that would give public school students the choice between taking religion or ethics classes. 16 German states have such a law. It allows students to choose: Catholic, Protestant, Jewish or Muslim. It's like I was allowed to choose, French, Spanish, German or Latin when I was a kid.

The smart folks in Berlin threw out the proposal. I hope they're enjoying their Latin classes.

-->Ich bin nicht irisch dept: The Irish minister for justice has proposed a "Blasphemous Libel" law that would fine up to $130,000 any speech that is "grossly abusive or insulting in relation to matters held sacred by any religion." As of this writing, the law has not yet passed, and God damn it, I hope it doesn't.

-->But pornstore bans are legal? dept: A local business group asked the city of Broadway Virginia to ban churches in a three-bock downtown area. The merchants said that the churches would be bad for business and they asked the Town Council to ban them. The City Attorney said NO GO. It would be illegal, the constitution and all that, you know?

 I donno. Since when do people care about the constitution and all that?

--return to Mykel's homepage

Monday, September 07, 2009

Mykel's MRR Column for #317, (October, 2009)

NOTE AND WARNING: This column was written for the MRR Queer
. It is addressed to the "gay punk community," although
anyone can understand the criticism. It is somewhat
more graphic than usual.If you're squeamish, or have just
eaten, you might want to think twice about reading it.


All the ugly things, the things people expend so much energy denying, have more permanence than the sweet sucking-candy lies about equality and justice and everlasting happiness. Ugliness is God. --Jim Goad

First there's the rose. I don't know who put it there. But there it is. Lying like a sash across his chest. I didn't expect that. Agim was not the type to go in for roses. He was a punk rocker-- and now I find out-- a junkie. Punk rock, junk and roses don't mix.

Next to me is an older woman. His mother? An Aunt? I donno. She's dressed in black. Equally black circles surround her eyes. She forces a smile as I introduce myself and tell her how sorry I am.

I am sorry. Agim was the cool kid. A cute punk rocker with a weird name. He came from someplace in East Europe. He had a high squeaky voice. He often came out of the mosh pit bruised and happy. He'd shake his head and say nothing more than WOW!

About 20 years old, he had a smooth face that'd take years to grow even a jazz spot. I'd often had fantasies about burying the bologna between his light brown buns. It ain't gonna happen now.

This is my third open-casket, Catholic funeral. I'm not getting used to them. There's something creepy about looking at a dead person you knew when he was running around doing things. Like having your pet dog stuffed, mounted and set in the livingroom... with a bone in her mouth.

Weirder is the girl now standing by the coffin. I've never seen her before. Somewhat goth, with a long black dress, but it is a funeral after all. Still, she's got black fingernail polish and lipstick... not exactly Catholic. Her long flowing hair is NOT black, though. It's somewhere between brown and redhead- like Lindsay Lohan's.

She's not beautiful in the classic sense. A bit too thick in the rear. Tits petite and free hanging. Because of the way she faces the coffin, I can only see her in profile.

Behind the chairs that face the coffin, is some food. I head for it. Laid out on a small card table, there's Merlot wine and cheese, like at an art opening. There are also a bunch of little strawberry tarts and crackers next to a pile of meat-- maybe chopped liver. A plastic spoon sticks in the meat at an odd angle, like a chimney in a fairytale house. I use it to scoop some of the meat onto a cracker and then shove the combo into my mouth.

“I think that's not such a good idea,” suggests a voice behind me, to my right.

I turn. It's the girl who stood at the coffin. Her face is plain, slightly freckled.

“Why not?” I ask her, taking another meat-on-cracker in my biological urge to DEFY.

“Funeral meat is always bad,” she says. “I think they make it from the remains of other funerals.”

“That's disgusting,” I say, reaching for yet another cracker and meat. I spoon it on thickly, as if I were teaching her a lesson.

During our short conversation, the girl moves forward. She now stands with her hand tangling centimeters from my leg. She bridges the gap, stroking the inside of my thigh.

“My name is Wanda,” she says. Then her voice becomes a whisper. “Let's stay. Whatisname would like it.”

“You mean Agim?” I ask. “You don't know him?”

“I go to funerals,” she says, rubbing my leg less subtly than before, “and I want to know you... Follow me.”

I don't get a chance to introduce myself. I just follow as the strange girl leads me through the hallway to a small storage closet. The only possible way she could know about it is from being here before. I begin to wonder.

Wanda opens the door and gets in, sitting on the floor. She extends her hand. I take it and enter. Wanda reaches up and pulls the door shut.

In the dark closet, she presses her body close to mine. I press my hand on the inside of her thigh. Then, run it downwards. I smell an oceanic mix of bread and tuna. She tightens her thighs around my hand. The warmth radiates through my body. Agim, you're gonna get me laid... but it won't be you!

The faint light under the door goes out with the last footsteps of the funeral guests. We are alone.

“Let's go,” she whispers.

I start to unbutton my shirt. But that's not what she's talking about.

Slowly, Wanda opens the door, looks around and heads out. We're back at the coffin. It's closed now. Wanda pushes up on the lid and it creaks back to open. There's Agim. Looking eerily shiny in the tiny bit of light that comes from the streetlamp outside the window. The rose, slightly crushed, still lays across his chest.

“He looks fake,” says Wanda.

I reach in to touch his face. It has a waxy feel, like an apple on a supermarket shelf. I have the urge to scrape and see if the wax will come off under my fingernail. I do. It does.

Under that wax is a small spot, maybe brown. It's impossible to see color in the dim light. It looks like what I imagine cancer would look like. I quickly pull my hand back.

I look back at his face. His closed eyes. What's under those lids? Are the pupils staring straight out like a vampire? Or, are the eyes rolled back in the head, showing only white... like a zombie.

I again reach into the coffin, putting my hand on his left eye, thumb on the bottom lid, forefinger on the top. I tug on the lids but there's a kind of stiffness, as if Agim is trying to force his eyes shut against my effort.

I'm distracted by a fzzzz sound. I turn. Wanda is at Agim's crotch. She's opened his belt and now unzips his pants. Reaching into the open fly, she pulls out his penis. It's the first time I've ever seen the penis of a dead guy. Maybe it was proud in the day, but now it's shriveled and worn, with what look like bloody stripes up the side. The head looks like a mushroom-sized scab. I can't see it for long, though, because Wanda takes it into her mouth. She suck up on it, pulling the skin taught, stretching it. I think I'm going to be sick. I begin to choke. To heave.

“Here! Here!” whispers Wanda, pulling up her skirt and taking down her panties. “Do it here!”

She grabs my head and forces my face between her legs. That powerful Neptunian smell adds to the nausea.

That chopped liver. Those strawberry tarts. That glass of Merlot. Like a movie run frame by frame, I feel the slow motion rise of the vile mixture, from my stomach... to my throat... to my mouth... forced into my nose... and out. Out from my mouth. Out from my nose. Out into the hairy crater in front of me. The smell of vomit added to the smell of yeast and the smell of sea bass make me even sicker, I puke again and again, until I'm stuck in dry heaves.

“Now fuck me,” says Wanda. “Fuck me hard!”

She tears at my proper funeral pants, pulling open the belt, pulling down the pants and boxer- briefs in one fell swoop. I step out of them. But, I'm not quite ready yet. Ninety degrees. I'm looking for forty-five.

Wanda reaches between her legs and scoops up my fresh vomit. She rubs it back and forth on my ninety degrees. The smell cuts to my throat and sickens me. But it doesn't sicken my little friend who pops up like popsicle fresh from the deli case. Wanda sucks on the popsicle. Rubbing the vomit around my testes, Wanda sucks, then reaches around to press me deeper into her face. A puke-lubricated finger slips into my little brown hole in back.

I tighten the sphincter around her digits. That's the trigger.

“That meat.” I say.

Wanda makes some MMMMMMMMing sound around my penis. Then my bowels contract.

“Not THAT meat,” I say. “The meat that we ate. It's hitting now. I'm getting sick. I think I've got the shits. You were right!”

She removes her mouth from my medium-on.

“Shit!” she says. “Shit on me! Shit on Agim. It's the least you can do... and it's the most punk rock.”

She's right, of course.

I climb onto the coffin. Resting one knee on each side, I fear I'll lose my balance and the whole kit and caboodle will come tumbling down. Tough. I can't hold it anymore. I'm going to explode. I position my asshole directly over Agim's face. Wanda squeezes his cheeks. His mouth opens. I let go. A torrent. Not water, but not turds either. More like a thick paste. Brown toothpaste, with globs of this and that. Direct hit. Right over that mouth. Filling it. Spilling over. Up his nose. Onto his eyes. A great thick brown mass. The joy of emptying my stomach raises my staff. Pain released calls for joy.

“Suck me!” I breathe. “Suck me now!”

Wanda scrapes her hand against the corpse face, bringing up my fresh fecal paste. She rubs it up and down my hardness.

“Suck me!” I say, “I can't stand it.”

“Wait,” says she.

Suddenly, she is at the garbage can where we scraped the plastic cups and dishes from the funeral food. She reaches inside. I can't make out what's in her hand until she returns to the coffin. I climb down to take a look. It's a plastic spoon, probably the same one I used to eat the tainted meat.

“Share!” she commands, scooping some brown paste off Agim's face. Open wide.

I open my mouth and she pushes the spoon in. It's a foul taste... like... well, like shit. I gag, but swallow it down. She scoops some more, and puts it into her own mouth.

Gagging to hold down my own excrement, I choke out a, “More!”

Wanda answers by shoving another spoonful of shit into my mouth. And then returning to the shit-covered face of Agim's corpse.

Taking the plastic spoon, she presses the end against the dead kid's eye-socket. It slips, spraying shit onto the coffin lid. She tries again. This time the spoon sinks in, behind the eye, underneath. She pries upward. The handle bends. Then, with a little PTTT sound, the eye falls loose and hangs by a nerve along the side of his face. A few grains of shit fall into the empty hole.

Wada grabs the eyeball and gives it a tug. With a snap, it pulls loose.

“Yes!” I hear her whisper.

She takes the eyeball and inserts it in her cunt. Squeezing shut, she closes her eyes and moves those internal muscles that only girls can move. Her face is the picture of bliss.

“Now you,” she says, taking the eyeball from insider her vulva.

I know what she's asking for. I rest my hands against my knees and feel a light pressure against my anus. It opens and the eyeball is inside.

The new pressure against my prostate propels the little soldier between my legs to full attention. Wanda pushes me to the floor and straddles me. I push her off and climb back onto the coffin. Pressing hard to keep that organic dildo inside me. I again squat with my feet on either side of Agim's head. I lean forward, lower myself, and insert the head of my penis into the empty eye socket.


This is the queer issue of MRR. What you just read is queer. You? You're as queer as a one-dollar bill. You had your chance. Your homosexuality could have been a ticket to queerdom. Being a homo used to be special, different, weird... Queer.

I remember people pointing and whispering He fucks boys. And now, Home Depot shows a couple of guys cooking breakfast together, plain as the cum on your lips... and it's your fault.

You've sacrificed your queerdom on the altar of “gay marriage,” and “gays in the military.” You prefer equality to queerdom. You can't have both. You've made your choice.

Your decision disgusts me more than a loose eyeball up my ass. You are more repulsive than vaginal vomit. How could you do it? Several years ago, I wrote You cannot be a man until you've been fucked in the ass. That was controversial... Queer.

These days, everybody and his mother's been fucked in the ass. Stockbrokers discuss anal lubes on their coffee breaks. It is not queer.

Queer doesn't say, accept me, I'm just like you. It says, watch out, buckaroo, because I'm NOTHING like you.

Yeah, I admire people like Matt B who are trying to make homotude queer again, but it's a lost cause. Like making Obama radical. We may wish it. But it ain't gonna happen.

We need a NEW queerdom. We have it. The necrophiles, the bestials, the coprophiliacs, the S&Ms, the pedophiles (who are so queer they can't even post their fantasies without being arrested!). The new queers should be in the face of every homosexual saying,

“We're here. We're REALLY queer. Get used to it... because you're not anymore.”

ENDNOTES: [email subscribers ( or website viewers ( will get live links and a chance to email comment on the column. Subscribers will no longer get the columns before anyone else.]

The honeymoon is over department: Speaking of marriage. Slack-cutting time is over. Obama is proving himself to be just another Democrat, maybe the next LBJ... or worse. He takes over General Motors, allows the company to shift jobs overseas. Says the government wants a “hands-off policy.” Huh? That's my money you're using, I sure as fuck want a hand ON!
   Worse is Afghanistan. That war is getting bigger, and I wouldn't be surprised if we saw a Pakistan invasion soon. It's time for that big Washington anti-war rally!
    Hey hey Oh-baman. How many kids did you drop a bomb on!

-->Homos yes, Nazis no dept: While homo activists push for more gays in the military, other liberal groups push for exclusions... of "white supremacists.
    The liberal Southern Poverty Law Center is complaining about allowing "white supremacists and Neo-Nazis" in the military. Seems like these points of view are "bad" and shouldn't be tolerated. They are HATE.
    On the other hand, homotude is LOVE. So it SHOULD be allowed in the army. Makes a lot of sense in an organization whose main purpose is to kill people, huh?

-->Elsewhere on the homo front dept: A federal appeals court has upheld an Ohio law that limits picketing at funerals, preventing an anti-gay church from protesting at military funerals.
    The Rev. Fred Phelps believes God is punishing America for accepting homosexuality by killing soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan. He argues it is people's free speech right to carry signs with messages such as "Thank God for dead soldiers."
    The court said the anti-picketing law "serves an important governmental interest... at a funeral the mere presence of a protestor is sufficient to inflict harm."
    Sounds like the same rationalization they used for the round-up of demonstrators at the Republican National Convention in New York. Actually, it sounds like the same rationalization for the round-up of ANY demonstrators anywhere.

-->Elsewhere on the free speech front: The “Combating Defamation of Religion” resolution was passed by the UN Human Rights Council with 23 votes in favor and 11 votes against with 13 abstentions.
    The resolution was passed in spite of huge opposition from rights groups. The measure calls on the UN to "effectively combat defamation of all religions and incitement to religious hatred, against Islam and Muslims in particular."
    The Bush administration strongly opposed this resolution. It's unclear what the position of Obama is... but that's par for the course.

-->Partial memory department: The religious right wants Americans to remember that for some years Congress printed copies of "The Life and Morals of Jesus of Nazareth" for its new members. But what's not mentioned is that this was Thomas Jefferson's version of the bible with all reference to Jesus' divinity and claims of miracles cut out.


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