09 August 06
Motivating Shane
To qualify for hepatitis C treatment, Shane has to complete a course developed by the Hazelden Foundation. After his most recent class, I found Shane cursing his Criminal and Addictive Behaviour workbook and the course.
“I don’t need," Shane said, “to be in these stupid support groups and courses! How do I know it’s legit? The book says I sacrificed goals because drugs and crime were more exciting, but that’s not true, because after a while, drugs and crime weren’t exciting.”
“I think it’s true. My ex-wife, Amy, was at the U of A, and she really tried to get me to go there to do a master's degree. And what did I do? I sacrificed a positive goal to run round Phoenix partying and raving and doing drugs, which seemed more exciting. If you’re going to reject the whole course because you disagree with some wording, then you’re not going to benefit from what the course has to offer. People who do drugs do it for excitement – especially in the beginning – and they do sacrifice family, education, and work goals. How can you dispute that?”
“But it’s not because those goals are not exciting.”
“Maybe not, but doing drugs and crime is more exciting. Stop fighting the book. Be open-minded. Focus on helping yourself instead of finding small objections to reject the whole course. Cognitive-behavioural therapy can help your mental state. How many disorders are you suffering from right now?”
“Bipolar, antisocial, and borderline personality.”
“Don’t you want to construct a positive mental framework to deal with them?”
“What the hell’s that?”
“Don’t you want to get the most from this course to help you with your mental disorders?”
“Sure. If it’s legit info.”
“There you go, resisting again. You’re familiar with the letter of the law and the spirit of the law, right?” I asked this because Shane does lots of legal work.
“Yeah.”
“Then stop seeking problems with the letter of the course, and go with the spirit of the course.”
“I see what you’re saying.”
“It’s a cop out to focus on the wording.”
“But why should there be double meanings to things?”
“Your mind is creating double meanings. If you choose to get stuck on objections, you’ll never benefit.”
“Maybe that’s why I am who I am?”
“But don’t you want to change that? Isn’t that what this cognitive class is trying to achieve for you?”
“I need a course that’ll teach me not to resist courses. Of course I’d try and resist that course too.”
We laughed.
“The bottom line is, you’ve got to want to help yourself, it’s got to come from your heart.”
“But it’s a joke how they’re doing courses in here. It’s supposed to be done in a live-in community with in-house counsellors where everybody’s doing the same course.”
“But we’re in prison. I’d like to do yoga on a yoga mat instead of the concrete floor. I wish there was enough space in my cell to be able to rotate into the splits from headstand. Do I quit yoga because of these things? No. I adapt. I make the most of the circumstances. You should try and make the most of the course in spite of the environment.”
Shane returned in the evening, and said, “I stand corrected. I am a word quibbler. It says so in a later chapter of the book. I employed a diversion strategy – a way to divert attention rather than understand.”
“It sounds like you’re doing better.”
“Yeah. I’m gonna give it a try.”
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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
09 August
A Xena Day
“Can you describe a typical Xena day?” I asked Xena.
“When I wake up, I think about my dreams. I feed bread to the pigeons and go coo-coo. I make coffee, and don’t go to breakfast. Usually, I go to work on the farm crew, mowin’ and weedin’ grass, sweepin’ sidewalks, washin’ bird doo-doo off sidewalks, and pickin’ and shovelin’ – it’s ass-bustin’ hard work for four to nine hours. But I get to kick back and watch the birds and the bees, it’s invigoratin’. And passers-by all yell ‘Xena!’ and I never get a moments peace.
When I get home, I take off my boots outside, and get my clothes, soap and shampoo and stuff, and go take a shower. After showerin’, I put on deodorant, and cover my entire body with lotion, and usually I wait for my hair to dry before I comb it out.
At chow, I make fun of people, and they make fun of me, while my celly, Savage, looks at me thinkin’, Oh God, why me? Why this again?
At nightime rec I DM.”
“What’s DM?”
“I am a Dungeon Master in Dungeons and Dragons. I’m obsessed with D&D. My NPCs (Non Player Characters) rip heads off, rip guts out, flay Player Characters one piece of skin at a time while keepin’ them alive, inject veins with fire….
Sometimes I bug you and Frankie when you’re tryin’ to play a serious game of chess. I run around the yard sayin’ and doin’ crazy things, and watch people’s reactions, includin’ showin’ them my wasp - the tattoo on my penis.”
“Why did you get a wasp tattooed on your penis?”
“’Cause I don’t use it, so I figured I’d decorate it.”
“What do you do at night after lockdown?”
“Eat and talk with Savage. Read D&D books. I usually go bed between midnight and two in the mornin’”
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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
A Xena Day
“Can you describe a typical Xena day?” I asked Xena.
“When I wake up, I think about my dreams. I feed bread to the pigeons and go coo-coo. I make coffee, and don’t go to breakfast. Usually, I go to work on the farm crew, mowin’ and weedin’ grass, sweepin’ sidewalks, washin’ bird doo-doo off sidewalks, and pickin’ and shovelin’ – it’s ass-bustin’ hard work for four to nine hours. But I get to kick back and watch the birds and the bees, it’s invigoratin’. And passers-by all yell ‘Xena!’ and I never get a moments peace.
When I get home, I take off my boots outside, and get my clothes, soap and shampoo and stuff, and go take a shower. After showerin’, I put on deodorant, and cover my entire body with lotion, and usually I wait for my hair to dry before I comb it out.
At chow, I make fun of people, and they make fun of me, while my celly, Savage, looks at me thinkin’, Oh God, why me? Why this again?
At nightime rec I DM.”
“What’s DM?”
“I am a Dungeon Master in Dungeons and Dragons. I’m obsessed with D&D. My NPCs (Non Player Characters) rip heads off, rip guts out, flay Player Characters one piece of skin at a time while keepin’ them alive, inject veins with fire….
Sometimes I bug you and Frankie when you’re tryin’ to play a serious game of chess. I run around the yard sayin’ and doin’ crazy things, and watch people’s reactions, includin’ showin’ them my wasp - the tattoo on my penis.”
“Why did you get a wasp tattooed on your penis?”
“’Cause I don’t use it, so I figured I’d decorate it.”
“What do you do at night after lockdown?”
“Eat and talk with Savage. Read D&D books. I usually go bed between midnight and two in the mornin’”
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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Sunday, September 17, 2006
08 August 06
Los Betos Burritos
A benefits fundraiser for Homicide Survivors Inc. enabled us to buy burritos for $6 each.
We could choose from bean and cheese, chicken, and carne asada.
When the delivery van arrived at Yard 3, inmates mobbed Yard 4’s gate. The mob looked dangerous, so, I sat by Building A.
When the van arrived at Yard 4, Slingblade, who hadn’t ordered any burritos, began to circle the mob. Each time an inmate tried to return to his cell with his burritos, Slingblade, topless and wild eyed, stopped in front of him, and blocked his path. Slingblade, unable to form words, would howl in the inmate's face. Then the inmate, clinging to his burritos, would sidestep Slingblade and hurry home.
“Do you know why Slingblade’s going mad like that?” I asked George.
“No. Why?”
“’Cause I told him you were gonna give him some burrito.”
“It was nice of you to volunteer my food.” George said, his face turning stern.
“I’m just kidding. But I think you should give him some anyway.”
“Did George give you any burrito?” I asked Slingblade.
“Hell yeah!” Slingblade said.
"Here's some more burrito," I said.
"Gee thanks." Slingblade took the burrito and stuffed it into his pocket as if it were a secret that needed hiding.
"I like the guacamole," I said.
Slingblade grunted, took the burrito out of his pocket, and I left him to it.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Los Betos Burritos
A benefits fundraiser for Homicide Survivors Inc. enabled us to buy burritos for $6 each.
We could choose from bean and cheese, chicken, and carne asada.
When the delivery van arrived at Yard 3, inmates mobbed Yard 4’s gate. The mob looked dangerous, so, I sat by Building A.
When the van arrived at Yard 4, Slingblade, who hadn’t ordered any burritos, began to circle the mob. Each time an inmate tried to return to his cell with his burritos, Slingblade, topless and wild eyed, stopped in front of him, and blocked his path. Slingblade, unable to form words, would howl in the inmate's face. Then the inmate, clinging to his burritos, would sidestep Slingblade and hurry home.
“Do you know why Slingblade’s going mad like that?” I asked George.
“No. Why?”
“’Cause I told him you were gonna give him some burrito.”
“It was nice of you to volunteer my food.” George said, his face turning stern.
“I’m just kidding. But I think you should give him some anyway.”
“Did George give you any burrito?” I asked Slingblade.
“Hell yeah!” Slingblade said.
"Here's some more burrito," I said.
"Gee thanks." Slingblade took the burrito and stuffed it into his pocket as if it were a secret that needed hiding.
"I like the guacamole," I said.
Slingblade grunted, took the burrito out of his pocket, and I left him to it.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Friday, September 15, 2006
07 August 06
Peanut Butter Fart Thoughts
Now that Smoker is here my days of basking in the odour of peanut-butter farts are over. As I write this I’m holding several strong ones in. Prison etiquette requires that I don’t launch them off the top bunk onto my cellmate. I’ll liberate them when I next take a leak. It seems to be an accepted practice to fart while peeing. Sometimes you can’t stop this from happening. I’m assuming its an accepted practice to fart while peeing because of all my cellmates I’ve heard do it. It seems to happen more times than normal gas slippage could account for. After hearing it happen so many times it became an accepted practice of mine. What is not an accepted practice is lying on the top bunk and running my feet along the ceiling in a kind of yoga position with my posterior close to my face then letting one rip. I won’t be doing any of that with Smoker here.
Smoker is taking a leak right now, and he farted. I took advantage of the situation by following suit with a silent one that is redolent of peanut butter.
I think I’d better concentrate on writing the philosphical piece I started yesterday…
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Peanut Butter Fart Thoughts
Now that Smoker is here my days of basking in the odour of peanut-butter farts are over. As I write this I’m holding several strong ones in. Prison etiquette requires that I don’t launch them off the top bunk onto my cellmate. I’ll liberate them when I next take a leak. It seems to be an accepted practice to fart while peeing. Sometimes you can’t stop this from happening. I’m assuming its an accepted practice to fart while peeing because of all my cellmates I’ve heard do it. It seems to happen more times than normal gas slippage could account for. After hearing it happen so many times it became an accepted practice of mine. What is not an accepted practice is lying on the top bunk and running my feet along the ceiling in a kind of yoga position with my posterior close to my face then letting one rip. I won’t be doing any of that with Smoker here.
Smoker is taking a leak right now, and he farted. I took advantage of the situation by following suit with a silent one that is redolent of peanut butter.
I think I’d better concentrate on writing the philosphical piece I started yesterday…
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Thursday, September 14, 2006
06 August 06
Coming to Prison
“Arriving at jail and then prison were two of the most nerve-wracking experiences of my life,” I told Two Tonys.
“I remember,” Two Tonys said, “at the Walls when the big grey bus drove up with the fish in it. Twenty-five guys from Alhambra would get off the bus, get their chains undone, and walk to Cell Block 1 for orientation. Everybody – the white gang members, the eses, and the blacks – would be lookin’ at the herd of fish. Checkin’ out who’s who, who’s weak, who’s fearful, who’s strong. A fish with fear radiatin' from his eyes, with his shoulders humped and his head down, they’d know they could prey on. A swaggerin’ motherfucker, with his head held high, and all tatted down would be a potential comrade. The gang leaders are always lookin’ for new gang members. If I’m Dubya, I want more Christian conservative Republican members, but I’m not gonna just let anyone in. It’s just the same in here.”
Bomba, a Chicano friend of Two Tonys who’s almost completed a twenty-year sentence, said, “The gang members look at fish as furniture for all corners of the room. Each fish fits in somewhere, whether he’s a chair or a table. A fish may get punked out and be a piece of ass. If he’s comin’ in with jewellery or a Sony Trinatron TV then he’s a source of money.”
“Imagine,” Two Tonys said, “the gang members watchin’ the fish come in as wolves on the side of a grassy hill on the plains of South Dakota watchin’ a herd of elk. The wolves are layin’ there lookin’ for any signs of weakness in potential prey. Maybe a limp in an elk, an old-timer trottin’ behind the herd, or a young elk that’s strayed too far from its mother. Gang members are lookin’ for the same. Maybe a guy with an aura of fear who won’t make eye contact is a cho-mo they’re gonna shank. They’ll approach the fish friendly at first. A probate from the same race will roll up to the newcomer and say shit like, ‘Wassup! Where you from? Let’s go eat.’ Over days and weeks the fish will divulge certain information to his new friend. Whether he’s in for murder, rape, burglary. Whether he’s doin’ two years, five, or life. Whether he likes or hates the other races. If he’s a white guy with a Mexican wife, they’ll know he’s not for them. But maybe he has other uses. Does he get a weekly visit from some sweathog in Chandler who’ll bring in to the prison a pussy full of dope? How much money does he have on his books? And they’re always lookin’ for sexual prey, punks, someone to turn out. At the Walls they were lookin’ for bleeders, people who could bleed twice a week for $6.50 from Cutter Lab International.”
“What if you refused to give blood?” I asked.
“They’d bust your fuckin’ head in.”
“So what kind of body language would you recommend a fish portrays when he arrives at prison?” I asked.
“Make eye contact. Talk to motherfuckers. Keep your head up. Try not to show fear or apprehension – although everyone feels it. Don’t be too polite, but don’t be too disrespectful. If somebody fucks with you, get busy.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Coming to Prison
“Arriving at jail and then prison were two of the most nerve-wracking experiences of my life,” I told Two Tonys.
“I remember,” Two Tonys said, “at the Walls when the big grey bus drove up with the fish in it. Twenty-five guys from Alhambra would get off the bus, get their chains undone, and walk to Cell Block 1 for orientation. Everybody – the white gang members, the eses, and the blacks – would be lookin’ at the herd of fish. Checkin’ out who’s who, who’s weak, who’s fearful, who’s strong. A fish with fear radiatin' from his eyes, with his shoulders humped and his head down, they’d know they could prey on. A swaggerin’ motherfucker, with his head held high, and all tatted down would be a potential comrade. The gang leaders are always lookin’ for new gang members. If I’m Dubya, I want more Christian conservative Republican members, but I’m not gonna just let anyone in. It’s just the same in here.”
Bomba, a Chicano friend of Two Tonys who’s almost completed a twenty-year sentence, said, “The gang members look at fish as furniture for all corners of the room. Each fish fits in somewhere, whether he’s a chair or a table. A fish may get punked out and be a piece of ass. If he’s comin’ in with jewellery or a Sony Trinatron TV then he’s a source of money.”
“Imagine,” Two Tonys said, “the gang members watchin’ the fish come in as wolves on the side of a grassy hill on the plains of South Dakota watchin’ a herd of elk. The wolves are layin’ there lookin’ for any signs of weakness in potential prey. Maybe a limp in an elk, an old-timer trottin’ behind the herd, or a young elk that’s strayed too far from its mother. Gang members are lookin’ for the same. Maybe a guy with an aura of fear who won’t make eye contact is a cho-mo they’re gonna shank. They’ll approach the fish friendly at first. A probate from the same race will roll up to the newcomer and say shit like, ‘Wassup! Where you from? Let’s go eat.’ Over days and weeks the fish will divulge certain information to his new friend. Whether he’s in for murder, rape, burglary. Whether he’s doin’ two years, five, or life. Whether he likes or hates the other races. If he’s a white guy with a Mexican wife, they’ll know he’s not for them. But maybe he has other uses. Does he get a weekly visit from some sweathog in Chandler who’ll bring in to the prison a pussy full of dope? How much money does he have on his books? And they’re always lookin’ for sexual prey, punks, someone to turn out. At the Walls they were lookin’ for bleeders, people who could bleed twice a week for $6.50 from Cutter Lab International.”
“What if you refused to give blood?” I asked.
“They’d bust your fuckin’ head in.”
“So what kind of body language would you recommend a fish portrays when he arrives at prison?” I asked.
“Make eye contact. Talk to motherfuckers. Keep your head up. Try not to show fear or apprehension – although everyone feels it. Don’t be too polite, but don’t be too disrespectful. If somebody fucks with you, get busy.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
04 August 06
Guida asked the following questions:
Do you have any plans for when you get out?
I intend to live with my parents in Cheshire, England. I'd like to back to university.
How does it feel as you approach the end of your sentence?
Exciting. I feel as if I’ve accomplished a lot, and I can’t wait to apply what I've learned. It’s as if I’ve been shaped into a new person by this experience. I view things differently. I realise how precious things are that I previously took for granted. I want to make the most of the life I have remaining. Thinking about being around my family puts a smile on my face. As my release date nears, I’m sure my excitement will grow. Although there is some anxiety over the prospect of being in a different country, I’m confident that the euphoria of freedom will override my anxiety when the time comes. The day I am free of living under this microscope, and I can exercise my free will again, will be one of the best days of my life.
If you could do absolutely anything you wanted when you get out (after seeing your family and stuff) what would you do (money no object)?
With unlimited wealth and power, I’d retire all world leaders and replace them with yoga-practicing women. That would make the world a safer place for all of us.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Guida asked the following questions:
Do you have any plans for when you get out?
I intend to live with my parents in Cheshire, England. I'd like to back to university.
How does it feel as you approach the end of your sentence?
Exciting. I feel as if I’ve accomplished a lot, and I can’t wait to apply what I've learned. It’s as if I’ve been shaped into a new person by this experience. I view things differently. I realise how precious things are that I previously took for granted. I want to make the most of the life I have remaining. Thinking about being around my family puts a smile on my face. As my release date nears, I’m sure my excitement will grow. Although there is some anxiety over the prospect of being in a different country, I’m confident that the euphoria of freedom will override my anxiety when the time comes. The day I am free of living under this microscope, and I can exercise my free will again, will be one of the best days of my life.
If you could do absolutely anything you wanted when you get out (after seeing your family and stuff) what would you do (money no object)?
With unlimited wealth and power, I’d retire all world leaders and replace them with yoga-practicing women. That would make the world a safer place for all of us.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Sunday, September 10, 2006
02 August 06
Two Tonys Responds to One Tony and Native Lou
Two Tonys and I were discussing the reaction to the blog Two Tonys Philosophizes.
“We were accused of whiny-arsed, left-wing claptrap straight from the factory," I said. "For the record: I think that most politicians, left and right, are liars, and should be replaced by yoga-practicing women.”
“First of all,” Two Tonys began, “whodafucks this One Tony think he is throwin’ out words like arsed and tosspot? Arsed is spelt assed, and if this motherfucker ever ends up as my celly, I’ll show him tosspot. He’ll be washing my boxers, and I’ll be Mr. Tosspot to him. He’d better pray that he don’t get caught doin’ nothin’ wrong. Who is this One Tony guy any fuckin’ way?”
“He’s a Brit. A Cockney living in Phoenix. His family own the George & Dragon pub. He’s actually a cool bloke, and he can give as good as he gets, so I don’t think he’ll be too phased by anything you throw at him.”
“If he’s such a fuckin’ patriot how come he isn’t with the British SAS or paratroopers in Basra shakin’ down Muslims on the way to the mosque, tearin’ off burqhas and burnooses lookin’ for AK-47s? Why isn’t One Tony defendin’ the Empire that the sun never sets on? Whoops. That was last century. Or was it two centuries ago? Why isn’t he chargin’ with Tony Blair’s light brigade? He’s probably kickin’ back in Phoenix while the British boys are holdin’ back the Muslim tide from invadin’ Cockneyland. He sounds like the type of Brit who has pictures of Tony Blair, Dubya, and Rush Limbaugh strategically placed around his home. Not to mention a portrait of Rummy Rumsfeld on the wall above his British loo. He’s probably the kinda guy who’d go on a campin’ trip with John Ashcroft and Donald Rumsfeld, and want to clean their latrine and .44s. So One Tony works in a pub does he?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m wonderin’ what pictures he has on the dart boards. Lemme guess: Hilary Rodham Clinton.”
“So how do you feel about Native Lou’s comment?”
“He wasn’t real vicious.”
“He said some positive stuff as well as calling us lefties.”
“If Native Lou wants some facts why doesn’t he just jump in his pickup truck with the AMERICA LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT sticker on the bumper and ride to the nearest Veterans Affairs hospital and check out the no-nuts section. There’s the true facts. Does this guy really think we are fighting for free speech in the Middle East? If he thinks Iraqis and Kuwaitis are enjoyin’ free speech he should talk to the sheikhs of the government of Saad al-Abdallah al-Salim Al Sabah who, during Operation Desert Storm, were hunkered in the bunkers of London by which I mean eatin’ tea and crumpets at the Ritz Hotel. Ask the sheikh what freedom of speech he allows his poor camel herders. Just like the Iraqis they have never had and probably never will have freedom of speech unless they check in with General Casey or Premier Maliki first, who are puppets for the US who probably call Rummy Rumsfeld to get top secret clearance to take a crap. Maybe Native Lou should check a few facts himself. I’m sure his nuts weren’t lost to an IED."
“You do have some good points about freedom of speech. And it’s clear that oil is a big factor in the equation. At the end of World War 2, Churchill claimed that peace would be held for fifty years, and that the next world war would be over natural resources. The UK and the US rely heavily on foreign resource extraction. It’s that policy that has generated such high standards of living in the West. And I appreciate our standards of living. But we have so much now. People in poorer countries should be benefiting from their own resources. They’re worried about food and survival, whereas our minds are on iPods and what Paris Hilton is up to. When the USSR invaded Germany they wondered why the wealthy Germans had ever wanted to occupy their poor country. It’s the greed that we’re seeing signs of in Big Oil and Big Defence that leads to much bigger problems for everybody when war escalates.”
“And Bush is pushin’ us that way in the name of oil. I hope Native Lou pities the poor eighteen- year olds who have left their nuts on Saddam Hussein Boulevard, duped to fight in the names of Iraqi free speech and democracy.”
Two Tonys Responds to One Tony and Native Lou
Two Tonys and I were discussing the reaction to the blog Two Tonys Philosophizes.
“We were accused of whiny-arsed, left-wing claptrap straight from the factory," I said. "For the record: I think that most politicians, left and right, are liars, and should be replaced by yoga-practicing women.”
“First of all,” Two Tonys began, “whodafucks this One Tony think he is throwin’ out words like arsed and tosspot? Arsed is spelt assed, and if this motherfucker ever ends up as my celly, I’ll show him tosspot. He’ll be washing my boxers, and I’ll be Mr. Tosspot to him. He’d better pray that he don’t get caught doin’ nothin’ wrong. Who is this One Tony guy any fuckin’ way?”
“He’s a Brit. A Cockney living in Phoenix. His family own the George & Dragon pub. He’s actually a cool bloke, and he can give as good as he gets, so I don’t think he’ll be too phased by anything you throw at him.”
“If he’s such a fuckin’ patriot how come he isn’t with the British SAS or paratroopers in Basra shakin’ down Muslims on the way to the mosque, tearin’ off burqhas and burnooses lookin’ for AK-47s? Why isn’t One Tony defendin’ the Empire that the sun never sets on? Whoops. That was last century. Or was it two centuries ago? Why isn’t he chargin’ with Tony Blair’s light brigade? He’s probably kickin’ back in Phoenix while the British boys are holdin’ back the Muslim tide from invadin’ Cockneyland. He sounds like the type of Brit who has pictures of Tony Blair, Dubya, and Rush Limbaugh strategically placed around his home. Not to mention a portrait of Rummy Rumsfeld on the wall above his British loo. He’s probably the kinda guy who’d go on a campin’ trip with John Ashcroft and Donald Rumsfeld, and want to clean their latrine and .44s. So One Tony works in a pub does he?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m wonderin’ what pictures he has on the dart boards. Lemme guess: Hilary Rodham Clinton.”
“So how do you feel about Native Lou’s comment?”
“He wasn’t real vicious.”
“He said some positive stuff as well as calling us lefties.”
“If Native Lou wants some facts why doesn’t he just jump in his pickup truck with the AMERICA LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT sticker on the bumper and ride to the nearest Veterans Affairs hospital and check out the no-nuts section. There’s the true facts. Does this guy really think we are fighting for free speech in the Middle East? If he thinks Iraqis and Kuwaitis are enjoyin’ free speech he should talk to the sheikhs of the government of Saad al-Abdallah al-Salim Al Sabah who, during Operation Desert Storm, were hunkered in the bunkers of London by which I mean eatin’ tea and crumpets at the Ritz Hotel. Ask the sheikh what freedom of speech he allows his poor camel herders. Just like the Iraqis they have never had and probably never will have freedom of speech unless they check in with General Casey or Premier Maliki first, who are puppets for the US who probably call Rummy Rumsfeld to get top secret clearance to take a crap. Maybe Native Lou should check a few facts himself. I’m sure his nuts weren’t lost to an IED."
“You do have some good points about freedom of speech. And it’s clear that oil is a big factor in the equation. At the end of World War 2, Churchill claimed that peace would be held for fifty years, and that the next world war would be over natural resources. The UK and the US rely heavily on foreign resource extraction. It’s that policy that has generated such high standards of living in the West. And I appreciate our standards of living. But we have so much now. People in poorer countries should be benefiting from their own resources. They’re worried about food and survival, whereas our minds are on iPods and what Paris Hilton is up to. When the USSR invaded Germany they wondered why the wealthy Germans had ever wanted to occupy their poor country. It’s the greed that we’re seeing signs of in Big Oil and Big Defence that leads to much bigger problems for everybody when war escalates.”
“And Bush is pushin’ us that way in the name of oil. I hope Native Lou pities the poor eighteen- year olds who have left their nuts on Saddam Hussein Boulevard, duped to fight in the names of Iraqi free speech and democracy.”
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