Who Says Real Journalism is Dead?



Neil Cavuto: Don't look now, but the Shiites Have Hit the Fan!

Media Watch: Human Beings as Feces as seen on Fox News

Here's the link to the transcript if you're unable to see the video for some reason (the stories on the right, starting with 'less than human media')

Me Thinks The Lady Doth Protest Too Much





"The images you are seeing on television you are seeing over and over and over,and it's the same picture of some person walking out of some building with a vase, and you see it 20 times and you think, 'My goodness, were there that many vases?' Is it possible that there were that many vases in the whole country?" he said.


Methinks the Lady Doth Know Much About Media Manipulation


Why, sir, for my part, I say the gentleman had drunk himself out of his five sentences.




Bush (very slow and somewhat slurringly as he constantly pauses to find the words and the perfect beatific expression):



That's a very speculative question about foreign priorities. My priority right now is to win the war on terror. And that means we've got ongoing operations in Afghanistan, and the Iraqi theater was a part of the war on terror. And we continue to fight the war on terror.

So that's a major priority. Beyond that, obviously, is the promotion of the health and well being of citizens around the world. I am very serious about the AIDS initiative for Africa. But we will continue to deal with it, and we'll continue to deal with issues like prolifferlliffprolifeerporlayshun...(he glows from the light of an unknown source) at home...

It is his five senses; fie, what the ignorance is!

Oh, Balm in Gilead

NBC News: The president was obviously moved by what has transpired, the toppling of the statue...

Oh, gosh, and i thought he was on drugs

Thank you, corporate media, for keeping us from the truth, for allowing us to keep our ideals in tact,
for perserving our innocence and permitting us to sleep peacefully in our pleasant dreams of happiness,
where all ugliness and ulterior motives always happen elsewhere and are always the fault of others.

New Iraqi Dinar Issued



(found at Miel's place)

Current Currency Exchange Rate

U.S. Lives 3,000 Iraqi Lives 150,000

Oops, i meant Dollars to Dinars...

Ever Feel Like You're Not Getting the Whole Picture?

Or maybe it's just me.




Nah, I'm just hallucinating.

Paranoid.

Somebody's pulling my chain.

Gotta lay off these drugs, really.

Update: Doug of Dynamic Drivel (apparently also not taking the same medicine most Americans are) adds this: 'It was a media show put on for the journalists at the Palestine hotel right across the street. maybe it was to take threir minds off the fact that US forces had just killed a couple of journalists by (a) Shelling the hotel for no reason and (b) bombing al-jazeerah's seperate accomodation, a house they had clearly marked on the roof as both media and al-jazweerah and whose GPS co-ordinates they made certain the US knew. I guess the US wanted al-jazeerah to know that the "accidental" bombing of their office in Afghanistan last year was no mistake.'

Musical WMDs


God Bless America plays. The present, past and future seem to be having a jamboree, merging into a blur. Bashar of Syria, Khatami of Iran, Crown Prince Abdullah of Saudi Arabia, Mugabe of Zimbabwe, Li’l Kim of N. Korea, Osama Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein are all marching around a set of chairs, hoping to sit in one when the music stops. There's one chair too few and the last one to claim one is out. Each time someone loses, a chair is taken away and a huge mysterious beanbag falls from the sky next to the loser.


Unembedded Reporter (as bullets whiz by his head): Who’s got the Wmds?

The music stops. Saddam is out. The mysterious bag falls next to him. He's left holding it, so to speak.

Saddam: Not me! I never had them! Except the ones I purchased from the US and European companies many years ago. (Suddenly, bullets whiz by his head) Ok, Ok..everyone knows I have them…but I whisked them off to Syria just in time to be unable to use them against the US!

Rumsfeld: You’re out, Saddam. We don’t need you anymore. Now get out of here before we use our expert intelligence on your ass and blow up several innocent citizens with our precisely precise well-placed bunker busters.

The music starts again….God Bless America…..and stops. Bashar of Syria stands, holding the bag, so to speak.

Bahar: No, not me! I don’t have the WMDS! (Bullets whiz by his ears) Ok, Ok, I have them now. But I got them from Hussein! And I whisked them off to Iran just in time to be unable to use use them against the U.S. invasion.

Rumsfeld: You’re out, Syria. We don’t need you anymore. Now get out before we use our expert intelligence on your ass and blow the rest of your country away...(Much of Syria is in flames and several Syrians are seen thanking Marines for liberating them)

The music starts again. ..God bless America…it goes on a while and stops. The men scramble for the empty chair.

Khatami of Iran is left standing, holding the bag, so to speak.

Khatami: No, not me! I don’t have the WMDS! (Bullets whiz by his head) Ok, Ok, I have them now!
But I got them from Syria and whisked them off to Osama bin Laden just before we were able to use them against the U.S. Invasion.

(Bullets whiz by his ear) I mean Liberation…sorry.

Rumsfeld: You’re out, Iran…We don’t need you anymore. Now get out before we destroy more of your country with our......(Much of Iran is in flames and several Iranians are seen thanking Marines for liberating them.)


The music starts…God bless America..It goes on awhile...

Hey, stop pushing.

I'm not pushing.

Who farted?

I didnt fart.

You farted.

Good God, was that the smell of human flesh coming out your ass?

I'm not a cannibal!

You are too!

Who's the cannibal here?

The president's men giggle. The music stops. They scramble for the lone chair.

Osama bin Laden is left standing, holding the bag.

Osama: Not me! No, I’ve never had WMDs. I didn’t need them to take down America. Just a little looking the other way and some finely trained killers with 17 virgins on their mind. (A bullet whizzes by his ear) Ok! Ok! I have them now! But I got them from Iran and whisked them off to Saudi Arabia just before I could use them against the U.S…..(bullets) liberation.

Rumseld: You’re out, Osama. We’ll let you know when we need you again. Now go work on a tape. That last one was pathetic.

The music starts…God bless America…it stops.

Crown Prince Abdullah of Saudi Arabia is left holding the bag.

Saudi Arabia: Hmmm…wait…we don’t have…we never had…We are allies.

Rumseld: It’s ok, Saudi Arabia…we no longer need you. You’re not nearly as powerful as you were. Your oil is no longer worth what it used to be. Now that everyone has been liberated. So get out of here before we decide to liberate your women.

The music starts…God bless America…it stops.

Mugabe of Zimbabwe is left holding the bag.

Mugabe: No, not me.

Rumsfeld: Who the hell’s this guy?

Cheney: Not sure. Do you have WMDs?

Mugabe: No, sir. But I do have an impressive resume of atrocities against civilians. I think if you hold it up to Hussein’s that….

Rumsfeld: Get out of here! (Bullets whiz by and Mugabe runs out)

Cheney: How the hell did he get in here?

Rumsfeld: I don’t know…some dictator from some African country.

Cheney: Wolfowitz? Is he on the map?

Wolfowitz: Not yet, Dick. We have our guys working on just how we might exploit the African situation.
At the moment, we’re making a lot of money on selling weapons…

The music starts up….God Bless America…the cd begins to skip. Castro and Lil Kim look at each other, confused.
No, it's a DJ sampling a hip hop version...Castro and Lil Kim eye each other, but keep walking, circling the lone chair.
Finally, the music stops. Castro lands in Kim's lap. The mysterious bag hits him in the head.

Everybody starts laughing, wondering what Castro is doing there.

Kim: You can get off me anytime, Fidel.

Castro: Wow...whoever called you Lil Kim never played Musical Chairs with you.

Kim: Get off me, Castro!

Castro: talk about the Battle of the Bulge.

Kim: Get off me or I'll call China!

Castro: We should stick together! Just like the old days.

(The President's Men are still laughing)

Rumsfeld: Castro, are you still alive?

Castro: No sir. (he rises; bows and leaves quietly.) Think about it, Big Kim (winks)...

North Korea is the only one left; surrounded by the mysterious bags.

Unembedded Reporter (bullets whiz by his ear, just for the fun of it): Do you have WMDs?

Li’l Kim: Yes, I believe we do.

Cheney: Hmmm…diplomacy or liberation?

Powell: Diplomacy!

Rumsfeld: Liberation!

Powell: Diplomacy!

Rumsfeld: Liberation!

Powell: Diplomacy!

Rumsfeld: Liberation!!!!

Powell (getting in his face) Liberation!

Rumsfeld: Diplomacy!!!!!!!!

The two begin to scuffle. Victoria Clarke, dressed in full Dominatrix garb, with a pretty little pink sweater over it; apparently, she’s just come from a Pentagon briefing to the Media.

Victoria Clarke: Ok, boys…who wants to show me their MOAB?

All the President's Men immediately fall to their knees, waiting to be liberated.

Unembedded Reporter (bullets whiz by his heads just for the fun of it): Victoria, what’s your secret?

Victoria: (shoots him) Oops… I’m not at liberty to say. We wouldn’t want to put the troops in harm’s way, would we? And don't worry about the silly WMDs...I've already planted a few. Now, heel, boys…

All the President's Men: Yes, Ma’am!

(Inspired by comments by Mike; don't have his webpage at the moment)

Happy Birthday, Ailina

And thanks for your beautiful, inspirational words.

Here are just a few:

Fitful

Testify, testify. But the mute rooms deny the stifled discontent curled deep in the pit of my stomach. All is well with blessings both modest and grand, but like the wet surface on a dry highway, belying.

Neither aspiring, nor ambitious. Neither ailment nor regret. It gapes then swallows the whole of the undefined, congeals in veined lethargy.

Testify. Bring the accused to center, to light. Let me face the question and put aside sleepless nights.

From Heavenward

Tonight, humanity, the world over, faded down like flowers in the night. All flesh and concrete, and voices and sounds, and colors and lights drew back to stand beside me, and I felt all power and authority held by mere humankind lose its relevance, and priorities and ambitions and inheritances and territories all became meaningless and vain. And we became so, so small.

I am reaching again, with every part of myself, toward Heaven, and in feeling His face at my fingertips, I have hope.

Beautiful Minds (At Home with Barbara Bush)


He sits and listens to the TV
And I read books
How neat it looks on TV
The American Marines
On the banks of the Tigris
The oh-so-funny visits
To the presidential palace
Video of Saddam’s golden loo
Exciting unreality TV
Pictures for Bush and Blair’s
Boastful talk of victory.
He watches the news
and I read books
They lay in lines,
the car salesman
who’d just lost his eye
his feet still dribbling blood,
the motorcyclist who was hit
by a shell fired at him
by bullets from American troops
near the Rashid Hotel,
the 50- year-old female civil servant,
her long dark hair spread over
the towel she was lying on,
her body pock-marked
with shrapnel from an
American cluster bomb.

Oh but why oh why
should we hear of body bags
of death and how many,
how irrelevant it surely is
Why oh why should I
Waste my beautiful mind
On something like that?
I married well
Saddam is Evil
We’re gonna free ‘em
It’s good to be an American.

I saw one little boy
in the Kindi Hospital
his mother and father
and three brothers shot dead
as they approached
an American checkpoint
outside Baghdad.
I watched a two-and-a-half-year-old
Ali Najour lying in agony on the bed,
his clothes soaked with blood,
a tube through his nose,
until a relative walked up to me.
“I want to talk to you,” he shouted,
his voice rising in fury.
“Why do you British want to kill this little boy?
Why do you even want to look at him?
You did this — you did it!”
The young man seized my arm,
shaking it violently.
“Are you going to make
his mother and father come back?
Can you bring them back to life for him?
Get out! Get out!”

He watches the news
and I read a book
Oh but why oh why
should we hear of body bags
of death and how many,
how irrelevant it is surely
Why oh why should I
Waste my beautiful mind
On something like that?
I married well
Saddam is Evil
We’re gonna free ‘em
It’s good to be an American.

In the yard outside,
where the ambulance drivers
deposit the dead,
a middle-aged Shiite woman
in black was thumping her fists
against her breasts
and shrieking at me.
“Help me! Help me!
My son is a martyr
and all I want
is a banner
to cover him.
I want a flag,
an Iraqi flag,
to put over his body.
Dear God, help me!”

Oh but why oh why
should we hear of body bags
of death and how many,
how irrelevant it is surely.
Why oh why should I
Waste my beautiful mind
On something like that?
I married well
Saddam is Evil
We’re gonna free ‘em
It’s good to be an American.

Flies cluster around the wounds
In the Kindi emergency rooms
Blood drips and cakes
on dirty sheets
Streaks onto the floor

He watches the news
I read books
How neat it all looks
On unreality TV
No charred corpses
No shriveled children

I was going to see my family
the phone exchanges
had been bombed
to make sure they were OK
There was a family,
a husband, wife and kids,
in front of me.
Then I heard this terrible noise
there was a burst of light
and I knew something
had happened to me.
I went to try to help
the family in front
but they were all gone,
in pieces.
Then I realized
I couldn’t see properly.

He watches the news
and I read books
Oh but why oh why
should we hear of body bags
of death and how many,
how irrelevant it is surely
Why oh why should I
Waste my beautiful mind
On something like that?
I married well
Saddam is Evil
We’re gonna free ‘em
It’s good to be an American.

I only saw the Americans
at the last moment.
They opened fire and hit me
and I managed to stay on the cycle.
their second shell sent
bits of shrapnel into
the bike and I fell off.

Dr. Al-Rahimi peels the bandage
back from Alwani’s side.
Next to his liver
is a vicious, bloody,
weeping gash,
blood still runs down
his legs and off his toes.
“Why do they shoot civilians?”
he asked me.

He watches TV.
I read books.

Saadia was leaving her home
in the Baghdad Jdeidi district
when an American plane
dropped a cluster bomb on the estate.
There were some neighbors of hers.
They were all hit.
From one, a leg flew off,
from another, an arm
and a leg went
flying into the air.
She’s pin-cushioned
With bloody holes.

Safa Karim is 11 and dying.
An American bomb fragment
struck her in the stomach
she’s bleeding internally,
writhing on the bed
with a massive bandage
on her stomach
a tube down her nose
a series of four cheap, dirty
scarves tie her wrists
and ankles to the bed.
She moans and thrashes
fighting pain
and imprisonment
at the same time.
She has been given
10 bottles of drugs
vomited them all up
Through the mask
The drip tube
makes of her face,
she moves her eyes
toward her mother,
then the doctor,
then the journalist,
then back to her mother.

He watches the news
and I read books
Oh but why oh why
should we hear of body bags
of death and how many,
how irrelevant it is surely
Why oh why should I
Waste my beautiful mind
On something like that?
I married well
Saddam is Evil
We’re gonna free ‘em
It’s good to be American.

The man opens
the palms of his hands,
the way Arabs do
when they want to
express impotence.
“What can we do?” they always say,
but the man is silent.
And I’m glad.
How, after all,
could I ever tell him
that Safa Karim
must die for Sept. 11,
for George Bush’s fantasies
Tony Blair’s moral certainty
Paul Wolfowitz’s dreams
of “liberation”
the“democracy”
which we are blasting
our way through
these people’s lives
to create?

He watches the news
and I read books
Oh but why oh why
should we hear of body bags
of death and how many,
how irrelevant it is surely
Why oh why should I
Waste my beautiful mind
On something like that?
I married well
Saddam is Evil
We’re gonna free ‘em
It’s good to be an American.

Adapted from Robert Fisk's 'Killing Civilians, The Immoral Face of War' and Barbara Bush's own words:
'But why should we hear about body bags and deaths and how many, what day it's going to happen, and how many this or what do you suppose? Oh, I mean, it's, not relevant. So why should I waste my beautiful mind on something like that?