If you have a pulse, you’ve heard this song:

J. BIEBER – U SMILE 800% SLOWER by Shamantis

Okay, so, um, I don’t want to keep this a secret any longer.

Everyone my age [30] is always so embarrassed to say they listen to Justin Bieber, and for the longest time I’ve been equally embarrassed. But this has got to stop. I have to act like an adult. I have to stand behind my opinions. Enough of this waffling. Enough of this pandering to the general consensus.

I HEART JUSTIN BIEBER!!!!!!!!

I don’t see why everyone is always denying him his due. He has talent. Not just any kind of talent, but the kind of talent that is so FULL OF TALENT, so

TALENTED

that his downy skin shines. All right,

I know he has acne now. I know he has to use the PROACTIVE. His skin isn’t the best anymore. He’s losing his smooth cheeks that every teenage girl wants to squeeze and coat with rouge.

But that’s all right, he’s growing up, puberty is changing him, so what if he has to pop pimple meat?

This doesn’t make him less talented. This doesn’t spoil his voice. Although it may spoil his image.

But his image means nothing to me! I’m all about his music. I’m all about his fucken angelic music. Yes, I can say it now without mortification, I can say it out loud goddammit,

I HEART JUSTIN BIEBER!!!!!

Tags: ::MUSIC::, bullshit, justin bieber, satire

Preemptive Ingredients:

2 bloodied handfuls of WMD seeds
2 Congressional chambers locked-and-loaded with free-range Chickenhawks
1 Military Industrial Complex armed with a blank check (and no balances)
1 slightly tattered Constitution

Ingredients*:

120,000 to 170,000 homegrown pounds of American flesh** (flak jackets not included)
2 million stockpiled missiles marinade in benzene-based napalm
1 demonic dash of despotism
Several vats of patriotic zeal
A liberal supply of recyclable right-wing propaganda
1 bottomless well of fear
A limited supply of hope

* Feel free to improvise ingredients to satisfy any shifts in political winds
**To feed larger blood-lust appetites, add more Faustian flesh as needed

Read Preparation

Tags: ::CREATIVE WRITING::, barack obama, military industrial complex, Poetry, satire, war on terror

What’s in a name? That which we call a war
By any other name would smell of death, destruction –
And a democratic resurrection
Of burning flesh dipped in oil
Buried deep in foreign soil…

FADE IN:

Uncle Sam’s hot-shot marketing machine (sponsored by the Military Industrial Complex: Where one soldier’s misery is another man’s bottom-line prophecy…), armed with the monumental task of re-branding the war in Iraq. Which begs the question:

How does one sell repackaged rotten meat
To an electorate that’s fast asleep?

That is precisely what Obama’s marketing machine intends to find out when it re-brands the war in Iraq in September with “Operation New Dawn.” A little too close to the 1984 film “Red Dawn” for my taste. That film has already branded itself into the nostalgic catacombs of my memory. Not only can I not make this marketing leap of faith, but the thought of imagining a bunch of high school students, hopped up on Molotov hormonal cocktails, running around the hills flanking Baghdad and shouting “Wolverines!” will only serve to undermine the objectives of the current mission — whatever the hell that is supposed to be.

"Red Dawn": The last line of defense standing between Capitalism and Communism (note the "Star Wars" product placement; George Lucas = merchandising genius)

more »

Tags: ::CREATIVE WRITING::, ::HISTORY::, barack obama, dear civilian, military industrial complex, operation new dawn, osama bin laden, satire, war on terror

And from the ashes of the Cold War, Confessions of a Cold War Veteran rises

Delay cadence/Count cadence/Delay cadence/Count!

One!…

I confess, dear Civilian, I am not a Catholic nor am I an activewar veteran, rather I am a veteran of the Cold War, not to mention a narcissist. Regarding the latter, why else would I create my own blog, the fifth to date? If I weren’t narcissistic, I wouldn’t be able to convince myself that there is some niche of readers floating in Cyberland who gives a damn about me and what I have to say or what thoughts are trip-wired in my brain, especially when the primary subject is Me.

Hey everyone, look at me! Over here, look at me…!

Or maybe the niche I have created is a mere figment of my imagination that consists of an audience of one? In that case, please do excuse me, dear Civilian, if at times you catch me talking to myself; the theory being that if you cannot hold a conversation with yourself, the notion of carrying on a conversation with fellow members of your species is futile. At least that’s what Therapist Bob tells me. Speaking of whom, it was Therapist Bob, my psychological and spiritual and financial adviser, who recommended that I start yet another blog as a means of publicly purging my experiences while actively serving in the Army during the tail-end of the Cold War during the late ‘80s — thus tearing down the wall erected between the right and left sides of my brain.

Moreover, based on Therapist Bob’s recommendations, Confessions of a Cold War Veteran will provide me with a safe, nuclear-free space to share my insights as a Cold War Veteran on contemporary issues, military and otherwise.

Hence, a blog was born: Confessions of a Cold War Veteran.

more »

Tags: ::CREATIVE WRITING::, ::HISTORY::, bob dylan, dear civilian, dwight d eisenhower, masters of war, military industrial complex, ronald reagan, satire, therapist bob, video clip, war on terror

“The amount of dialogue is impressive and even though I don’t always know what they are saying, it does well to add some sort of presence to my living room. Silence scares me because it makes me realize that today was supposed to be the tomorrow I was telling you about and none of my dreams came true.” —Entertainment Weekly

“The show is predictable and runs at a decent length. The man is fat and stupid and his wife is attractive. I like it when things are what they say they are going to be. Predictable is good – I can plan for that. I can understand that. Because how did I know that picking up the cat was going to make me want to squeeze him until his eyes bulged and he passed out? I never would have gone near him, but I’m a stranger to myself these days. My teeth hurt and I don’t recognize my hands. It’s like I went to sleep one night and woke up with new hands and when I touch my wife, she shivers.” —TV Guide

“I like how the laugh track helps ease me into my own laughter as if it somehow senses that I need a hand with expressing myself. I do need that from time to time because it’s good to know that I can feel things. My wife caught me pressing a hot iron against my arm and she didn’t stop me. We just stood there and looked at each other and I think that if the baby hadn’t started crying right then, I could have just kept burning my skin right down to the bone. Also, I like that neighbor character. He’s funny.” —Variety

::Tom also writes at Tom Oatmeal::

Tags: ::HUMOR::, according to jim, fat and stupid, satire, sitcom, tom oatmeal