The Everlasting Phelps

TRIGGER WARNING: This entire site will cause massive butthurt in any precious snowflake that needs a trigger warning for anything.

Eminem’s Mosh

October 29th, 2004

I just watched Mosh by Eminem (via an Ad at Drudge.) A couple of words come to mind.

Infantile. That’s the first. I think it is telling that the only people in it that aren’t cartoons are Eminem and the President. The hoodies that star in the video aren’t people. They don’t even represent people. They are caricatures. The point doesn’t seem to be to represent people; they represent people as Eminem wants to convince himself that they are.

A soldier that says “Fuck Bush?” Only in the world that Eminem wishes would exist. Troops aren’t getting orders and getting pissed. They are getting order to go to Iraq and doing what soldiers do — going to fight because their country called. Try again, Marsh — at best, you have absolutely no understanding of what makes a soldier tick. At worst, you are shitting on everything they stand for by lying about how they feel.

“No Blood for Oil?” You say this right after you cry about someone getting evicted. I can only guess this is because you have absolutely no idea how money is made. This would make sense, given that you are paid entirely out of proportion with the effort you put forth. Don’t get me wrong — I think this is a good thing. People greatly demand entertainment, and you fill that demand. But that ability to demand luxuries like entertainment comes from a strong economy, not a weak one. An economy, especially a modern one, runs on energy. That energy comes from oil. If you really, really wanted to help that poor evicted woman, you would be screaming “more blood for oil.” The price of oil is the main thing dragging on our economy at this point. If we really had invaded Iraq to take the oil, we would have taken it and the price of oil would have plummeted.

Pointless. That is the other word. Who are you going to convince with weepy cartoons and unfunny jokes? This isn’t going to change any votes. You aren’t preaching the word. You are preaching to the choir. People who are convinced to vote one way or the other by this mindless, propagandist crap shouldn’t be voting in the first place. And people who think as shallowly and immaturely as you have shown in this work shouldn’t be part of the public discourse. Stop hurting America by shutting up politics and rapping about homosexuals and Vicodin.

Three Heros

October 27th, 2004

The Questing Cat tells a story of three heros: The CLS that treats the wounded, the wounded who doesn’t give up, and the technician in a ceramics plant that takes the final look at the trauma plate before it goes into the box, and says, “this armor is ready to save someone’s life.”

Right On

October 25th, 2004

I have a lot of issues with Radley Balko. I could even be seen as a borderline Balko basher. (I don’t see myself that way, but I can see how someone who just reads my comments on his site could think that. Libertarians are natural a’ginners, even to each other.)

On this issue, however, we are in 100% agreement:

I’ll gladly cast my ballot with the LP when the LP offers a candidate who isn’t an embarassment to libertarianism.

So the Libertarian Party isn’t serious about winning elections. I can understand that. What I can’t understand is not fielding serious candidates. If your role is to win elections, you need to field serious candidates. If your role is to educate, you do that by fielding serious candidates. If your role is to be a lampoonish also-ran money pit, you field candidates like Badnarik.

What Did He Do?

October 23rd, 2004

Lawrence O’Donnell comes unhinged on John O’Neill and keeps asking him over and over, “What did you do to stop the war?”

I’ll tell you what he did, O’Donny: He killed the enemy. He spent 12 months over there doing what wins wars — killing the enemy and wrecking its morale.

There are two ways to win a war. You kill so many of the enemy that they are unable to fight, or you demoralize them enough that they don’t want to fight anymore. O’Neill followed path #1, and killed the enemy. That is what he was told to do. John Kerry, at the same time, did many, many things that made the second path almost impossible for the US. There was no way to demoralize the enemy when they had a vocal, well publicized cheerleader over here.

O’Neill, when he wasn’t able to kill the enemy any more because his tour was over, came home and fought John Kerry’s lies. When you can’t end the war by killing the enemy, you win the war by demoralizing him. O’Neill never stopped trying to end the war.

What did he do to end the war? He worked to WIN it, you miserable piece of shit. That is how a patriotic American ends a war.

Best. Answer. Ever.

October 20th, 2004

Neal Stephenson 10 Questions on Slashdot

4) Who would win? (Score:5, Funny) – by Call Me Black Cloud

In a fight between you and William Gibson, who would win?

Neal:

You don’t have to settle for mere idle speculation. Let me tell you how it came out on the three occasions when we did fight.

The first time was a year or two after SNOW CRASH came out. I was doing a reading/signing at White Dwarf Books in Vancouver. Gibson stopped by to say hello and extended his hand as if to shake. But I remembered something Bruce Sterling had told me. For, at the time, Sterling and I had formed a pact to fight Gibson. Gibson had been regrown in a vat from scraps of DNA after Sterling had crashed an LNG tanker into Gibson’s Stealth pleasure barge in the Straits of Juan de Fuca. During the regeneration process, telescoping Carbonite stilettos had been incorporated into Gibson’s arms. Remembering this in the nick of time, I grabbed the signing table and flipped it up between us. Of course the Carbonite stilettos pierced it as if it were cork board, but this spoiled his aim long enough for me to whip my wakizashi out from between my shoulder blades and swing at his head. He deflected the blow with a force blast that sprained my wrist. The falling table knocked over a space heater and set fire to the store. Everyone else fled. Gibson and I dueled among blazing stacks of books for a while. Slowly I gained the upper hand, for, on defense, his Praying Mantis style was no match for my Flying Cloud technique. But I lost him behind a cloud of smoke. Then I had to get out of the place. The streets were crowded with his black-suited minions and I had to turn into a swarm of locusts and fly back to Seattle.

The second time was a few years later when Gibson came through Seattle on his IDORU tour. Between doing some drive-by signings at local bookstores, he came and devastated my quarter of the city. I had been in a trance for seven days and seven nights and was unaware of these goings-on, but he came to me in a vision and taunted me, and left a message on my cellphone. That evening he was doing a reading at Kane Hall on the University of Washington campus. Swathed in black, I climbed to the top of the hall, mesmerized his snipers, sliced a hole in the roof using a plasma cutter, let myself into the catwalks above the stage, and then leapt down upon him from forty feet above. But I had forgotten that he had once studied in the same monastery as I, and knew all of my techniques. He rolled away at the last moment. I struck only the lectern, smashing it to kindling. Snatching up one jagged shard of oak I adopted the Mountain Tiger position just as you would expect. He pulled off his wireless mike and began to whirl it around his head. From there, the fight proceeded along predictable lines. As a stalemate developed we began to resort more and more to the use of pure energy, modulated by Red Lotus incantations of the third Sung group, which eventually to the collapse of the building’s roof and the loss of eight hundred lives. But as they were only peasants, we did not care.

Our third fight occurred at the Peace Arch on the U.S./Canadian border between Seattle and Vancouver. Gibson wished to retire from that sort of lifestyle that required ceaseless training in the martial arts and sleeping outdoors under the rain. He only wished to sit in his garden brushing out novels on rice paper. But honor dictated that he must fight me for a third time first. Of course the Peace Arch did not remain standing for long. Before long my sword arm hung useless at my side. One of my psi blasts kicked up a large divot of earth and rubble, uncovering a silver metallic object, hitherto buried, that seemed to have been crafted by an industrial designer. It was a nitro-veridian device that had been buried there by Sterling. We were able to fly clear before it detonated. The blast caused a seismic rupture that split off a sizable part of Canada and created what we now know as Vancouver Island. This was the last fight between me and Gibson. For both of us, by studying certain ancient prophecies, had independently arrived at the same conclusion, namely that Sterling’s professed interest in industrial design was a mere cover for work in superweapons. Gibson and I formed a pact to fight Sterling. So far we have made little headway in seeking out his lair of brushed steel and white LEDs, because I had a dentist appointment and Gibson had to attend a writers’ conference, but keep an eye on Slashdot for any further developments.

A filthy lie to bind all other filthy lies and drag them down into darkness. The Lie of Lies, the art of lying in its penultimate expression, by a truely skilled and professional liar. I bow my head humbly to you, sir, and bask in the glory that is your lie.

Hooray for Hollywood

October 18th, 2004

In the comments to a Fantastic Post by Michael J. Totten on the Totalitarian state of Syria vs. the Totalitarian State of America, I was intrigued by this comment by Johnathan:

Michael, I have a suspicion about the extreme Left (and perhaps the extreme Right). The suspicion is that they view the world through a filter of movie scripts. With John Kerry, they do not see policies or his record, they see “Seabiscuit”. With regards to the Patriot Act, the script goes: US gets attacked on 9/11. Evil Bush, who stole the election, uses that to create a totalitarian state in America and invade other countries for his rich oil buddies. And one lone senator shall oppose him. This Evil President does everything possible to deny people to vote, spreads lies and falsifications, but the people unite and bring the Good Senator to a victory, ending the Evil.

I’ve noticed this myself. In many (many) ways, John F. Kerry is the archetypical leftist, and he shows this over and over. He started his career in the military seemingly from a movie. He is well known for telling everyone over there that he was going to be the Next JFK from Massachusetts. Maybe this was because he had spent too much time watching PT 109.

When he gets back, he starts telling his Magic Hat stories, about how he took some CIA guys into Cambodia on his boat. I think he watched Apocalypse Now too many times. He seems to want to base his environmental policy off of The Day After Tomorrow.

Why is Fahrenheit 9/11 such a big deal to the American Left? Maybe it is because the American Left has a hard time telling the difference between Reality and Hollywood, and thinks the rest of the country does too.

The Everlasting Phelps

TRIGGER WARNING: This entire site will cause massive butthurt in any precious snowflake that needs a trigger warning for anything.