Forgery!
This has even made Drudge now.
Politics is just getting wackier by the day.
UPDATE: Just got home and turned on FOX News, and they’re talking about how these documents from CBS (who has yet to respond) look forged. Referred to this being the buzz on the internet. Yay blogosphere!
UPDATE2: John Hawkins has found another memo – super authentic!
Scott Ott (Damn you, Scrappleface!) reports on more evidence of Bush being AWOL.
Archive of entries posted on 9th September 2004
Adventures in a Biker Bar with Frank J.
When I fled to Texas to escape Hurricane Frances, SarahK thought that hiding out in a biker bar would be a good idea. So I put on my best biker clothing – a white polo shirt with green stripes – and headed into the bar. It was actually full of real bikers – all mean looking and tattoo-covered and everything. Thus, we made sure to look tough to keep them at bay.
Continue reading ‘Adventures in a Biker Bar with Frank J.’ »
Our Military XXVII
Here are more military stories. I have a decent backlog of stories and am working on a special “Our Military,” but I’m always accepting more. If you’d like to give your own explanation of why you joined the military or have a military story, please e-mail me with the subject “Military”. Thanks.
Dennis writes about his past experience and how he is continuing to try to serve today:
I’m an old guy, so this’ll take a little.
Graduated High School in 1972 and knew I’d be going in the military. Oh, the draft was there but my number didn’t get drawn till the next year. There were 11 other kids in the family, I didn’t know what I wanted to do when I grew up but I did know a stint in the military would give me a chance to see some of the world and figure out what I wanted to do.
Wanted to fly helicopter gunships but the Army turned me down, said they had too many pilots already.
Found the Coast Guard was running river and coastal patrols. That looked like fun! Enlisted.
Halfway through boot camp, found out that the Coast Guard had completed its mission regarding the small boats and had turned all vessels over to the South Vietnamese Navy. Was now a waiting list for the few billets left in country. (rumored to be seven years) Shifted my sights to become a helicopter Search and Rescue aircrewman and served four years on active duty, mostly on deployments on icebreakers. Finally got out when I decided the pilots were insane. (in the wrong way, insanity on it’s own doesn’t bother me.)
After three years of being away from active duty, I was getting homesick. My evil older brother talked me into joining his National Guard Infantry unit. The following year, I paid him back by talking him into going to OCS. We became “those crazy lieutenant brothers”.
Twenty three years after our commissioning he’s retired but I’m still in, now in the Army Reserve, trying to get deployed at my advanced age.
I’m obviously insane myself, because I’ve never worked so hard to go do something that I already know I’m not going to enjoy. Duty does indeed call, now if it would only buy me a ticket………….
Rob writes about the Air Force and how it has affected his patriotism:
There are countless reasons why I enlisted in the USAF. Just a few are:
extreme love of country, college help, top-of-the-line technical training, pride in seeing a US military uniform, paid travel around the world, and need of a steady paycheck. Let me give you a bit of foreshadowing.
I was laid off from Sprint in the fall of 2001. I had a job there that I dearly loved and I wanted to continue working in the networking field.
I put the words “telecom, networking” into job search engines all over the place and in every single search the Air Force would pop up with jobs available. At the time the military was pretty far from my mind, even with the 9/11 attacks. So after months of fruitless searching for a new telecom/networking job I went to college in January of 2002. I did a year in college and did very well, but it just wasn’t what I needed to do. Just before classes ended in December of 2002 I started searching hard for jobs once again. The Air Force kept rearing its head all over my job searches. I grew tired of not being interviewed for jobs I was well-qualified for and said “screw it, USAF here I come.”
I talked to a recruiter in January of 2003 and was put on delayed entry.
I really wanted to get into satellite communications since I already had good knowledge of terrestrial communication technologies, why not branch out and expand my knowledge? My recruiter helped me find the SATCOM job, but there were no openings in it until very late 2003. So I went to basic training as an Open Electronics in the hopes I could land the SATCOM job, however unlikely that would be. I went to basic in late March 2003.
During the 6th (really, it’s the 7th) week of basic training all of us “open” career people found out our jobs. I got SATCOM! I was thrilled, ecstatic even! On a side note, I earned the name “Old Man” in basic due to my elderly age of 25 and many white hairs scattered on my head.
After basic I went to Keesler AFB, MS for basic electronics training then on to Ft. Gordon, GA for SATCOM training.
I graduated SATCOM school in December of 2003, took some leave, then reported to a USAF base in the United Kingdom in early January 2004.
I’m once again doing a job I love in networking, satellite networking to be exact, and it’s guaranteed I’ll be in this career for another three years! Well, that is unless I get killed in Iraq/Afghanistan.
But that’s ok, I’ll die doing what I love for a country I love. How many people can say that?!
It’s amazing to say, but my love for America has grown exponentially since joining the USAF. I didn’t think I could love my country any more than I did before being in the military! But it’s true, I fallen deeply, honestly, and truthfully more in love with this country. I’m proud to serve in the greatest military of the greatest nation in the world.
Robert writes about his experience of a “more sensitive war” in Germany:
Baseball Bats and Terrorists
Normally I don’t care about politics except to throw out the occasional cynical comment or two. I’ve been cynical since 1973, when they replaced a whole summer’s worth of Romper Room and Captain Kangaroo with the Watergate hearings. There’s nothing like listening to endless testimony from Ehrlichman and Mitchell– when you were expecting Mr. Green Jeans and Mr. Moose– to make a kid cynical.
I soon figured out what all these world leaders were after was power and/or money. In my arrested 5-year-old view, politicians want power over ‘the masses’, to bend them to their will, to control their thoughts to some degree. You can see this on a small scale in any family, any playground in America. So an election, to me, is about selecting the power-hungry guy whose views happen to most closely align with yours. It never feels good because you can never be totally aligned with your ‘leaders’ and you have to constantly resist their attempts to morph your thinking into their thinking–wrap your head in tin foil if you have too.
However, a post by Evilwhiteguy, pointing out Kerry’s asinine statement about running a ‘more sensitive war on terror’ brought up some suppressed memories of my time in the Army. I had intentionally blanked out those memories– from the time I got off the bus at Basic Training to that glorious last day four years later when, during the exit process, some scumbag stole the clothes out of my suitcase– but this ‘sensitive war’ thing brought back memories of my tour in West Germany.
I was in Germany, West Germany then, for 3 years– around the time when the Red Brigade and other terrorist cells were sporadically car bombing US bases in Europe. I don’t really care why they were targeting us; it’s all the same isn’t it? Some little guy feels powerless so he lashes out any way he can. Ultimately, the little guy wants to be a big guy and have some kind of power, some kind of control. Never, it seems, is any terrorist fighting for the freedom of individuals to make their own choices.
Anyway, I worked at a network control station, relaying information to a network of mobile Pershing missile units. Our site was not mobile, it was fixed, occupying of about 10 acres in a German forest, with plenty of little deer and wild boar wandering around the RLP antenna field.
Now, our leaders knew these people were out there targeting us. Every month or so, someone would drive a car up to the gate of a military base and blow it up (literally the gate and maybe a few guards). They had even bombed some radio installations, knocking down an antenna at another site. So our leaders put as on alert. They had us patrol the perimeter of our 10 acre site night and day–carrying baseball bats. I’m not kidding–BASEBALL BATS.
The thinking was that since tensions were high, if we had real guns and real bullets a dumb soldier might get jumpy and accidentally kill some poor German out hiking through the woods. I’m not saying that wouldn’t have happened; there are some dumbasses in the military, no doubt. But we were in Germany to do a job, our radio site and our lives were in danger, and we kept our weapons and ammunition locked in a safe while we walked around the fence–with baseball bats. I don’t know about you, but I doubt terrorists would have respected our commands to “Stop! Or I’ll–sswingg batter-batter sswiingg.”
If (and that’s a big capital ‘IF’ that depends on many factors and should be weighed very carefully), but IF you’re going to commit to fighting a war, even a war on terrorism, then fight likes it’s a war. Don’t make it more sensitive– war is not sensitive. Don’t make it safe for the enemy– make it as safe for your troops as you can.
(Ah, if only there were blogs back then. Now back to my real pastime, commenting on how the proliferation of Half-Baked technology will soon lead to an 8 hour work week.)
Chomps Would Be Proud
I miss having a dog, and I think I’d like to adopt this one. I’d name him “Shooty,” and we’d have ever so much fun together.
Almost Gone
The Know Thy Enemy: Terrorists t-shirt has sold out in all sizes except large. If you were planning on getting one, do so soon as there are no plans for another reprinting.
While you’re at it, get your Chomps t-shirt.
In My World: Chomps, the World’s Angriest Dog
Chomps was angry.
Chomps was always angry.
Everything around him begged for destruction. Their existence was a mockery to him. An affront. All must be destroyed, but time dictated to Chomps that he must choose his targets carefully.
Some things were moving in front of him. Smelly things, with long unkempt hair. One made the sound, “Bush is like Hitler, and he needs to be stopped!” Chomps did not understand the meaning of such sounds, but it made him angry.
Very angry.
He could not stand living in a world where these things existed. The rage boiled inside him until it came out as a low growl and then evolved into a bark as he charged forward. The moving things shrieked and ran away.
That made Chomps even angrier.
He was almost on them, ready to destroy them, when he heard a loud noise. Loud noises made Chomps angry. He turned to see something big and metal moving his way. Chomps opened his maw ready to destroy it.
But it was too large.
“How is my dog?” Rumsfeld shouted, “I’ll strangle you if you don’t cure Chomps! Rarr!”
“Strangling me isn’t going to help your dog,” the veterinarian said as he backed away, “now have these elephant tranquilizers and calm down.”
Rumsfeld swallowed the pills and felt the murderous rage subside. “So how is he?”
“He’s currently in the world’s angriest coma,” the veterinarian said, as Chomps lay unconscious, growling and snapping his teeth randomly in the air. “The truck that hit him was totaled, and the cinderblocks it was carrying were all destroyed. This dog shouldn’t be living, but his extreme anger seems to keep him going.”
Chomps started snapping more violently in the air, his eyes still shut. “I wonder what he’s dreaming of,” Rumsfeld mused.
“So Betsy had a whole litter of pups, eh?” Zeke asked.
“Yep, cute little rottweilers they are,” his cousin Clyde answered.
“All just so blind and helpless,” Zeke said as he stared at the little pups lying there. He then spotted one trying to move as it snapped its toothless jaw at what it could hear. “‘cept that one. He looks angry.”
“Yeah, it almost seems like he’s mad ’cause his eyes are closed and is trying to bite them.”
“Cute little guy, though.” Zeke reached down to pet him, but the puppy immediately clamped on his finger. “Ow!” Zeke yelled as he pulled his hand back.
“He’s got quite a bite,” Clyde said, “Won’t be fun when he gets teeth. We call that one Chomps ’cause of how he bites so much. ‘Chomps’ means ‘bite.'”
“I reckon that’s a good name for him,” Zeke answered. Suddenly, Chomps started biting in the air even more fiercely as he tried to move towards the T.V. On it was Bill Clinton giving a speech. Since Chomps’s legs weren’t quite working, he just kept flopping and rolling in the general directions as he growled and bit at it.
“Must not like the President,” Zeke said.
“Nope. He surely doesn’t. Gets in a frenzy every time that lying bastard is on T.V.”
Chomps had made it to the T.V. stand and was now trying unsuccessfully to jump up and bite the T.V. screen.
“He has spirit in him,” Zeke stated, “I think he’ll make a good guard dog. You think I can have him when he’s old enough to be taken from his mother.”
“Don’t think his mother will mind.”
“Good. I have a job for him.”
“Oh, poor Chomps,” Laura said as she came in the room with President Bush, “He looks like a little angel there.” Chomps thrashed about some more on his bed. “A very violent angel.”
“Like Michael,” Bush suggested.
“Don’t you two have some campaigning to do?” Rumsfeld said irately.
“We’re supposed to make Kerry look an idiot,” Bush replied, “but right now, no one is doing a better job than John Kerry. So now I don’t have much to do.”
“And we brought Barney to help cheer up Chomps,” Laura said as he held up the Scotty dog to Chomps.
“Yipe! Yipe!” Barney said.
Chomps made a slight movement of his head and swallowed Barney whole.
“That could be a choking hazard!” the veterinarian yelled as he leapt into action.
“Now, Chomps,” Zeke said, “You stay by this tool shed and keep the students away. These Berkeley kids don’t know right from wrong, and I don’t want them stealing my tools. Do you understand?”
The little puppy gnawed at the rope that tied him to the shed.
“No. You stay on your leash,” Zeke told him, “Just keep those people away from here.” Zeke motioned to all the students walking buy.
Chomps barked violently at the students.
“Good puppy,” Zeke said and then walked off.
After a while of barking, Chomps got tired of not being able to bite them. He then went back to chewing on the rope.
“Look at the poor dog tied up,” said a Hippy as he walked up to Chomps, “People don’t own animals.”
Chomps watched silently as the hippy untied the rope.
“There you go, little animal.” The hippy reached over to pet the puppy, but all he saw was teeth.
“Now can anyone tell us the advantages of the just system of Communism over evil Capitalism?” the professor asked. He looked around the students seated in front of him. “How about the small hippy in the back.”
The small hippy ran towards the professor.
“You don’t need to come forward,” the professor said, “Wait, you kind of look like an angry puppy.” The hippy was only a yard away. “A very angry puppy.”
Chomps shed his hippy outfit and then got up the professor’s pants leg. “AHHH!” the professor screamed, “DON’T BITE ME THERE!”
“Here’s your dog back, ma’am.”
“Yipe! Yipe!” Barney said as the veterinarian handed him over to Laura.
“Next time, bring a dog easier to swallow so you don’t choke Chomps,” Rumsfeld grumbled, “Now what can you do for Chomps, doc?”
“He’s simply too violent to do any procedures on,” the veterinarian said, “We just have to wait and hope he gets better.”
“Wait, I know someone wise who may be able to help us,” Bush said as he took out his cell phone.
“Your dog has constantly attacked students and professors the whole time he is here!” the president of Berkeley yelled at Zeke.
“He only attacked those who deserved it,” Zeke responded.
“He attacked a lamp post.”
“One that was poorly placed,” Zeke asserted, “I know he seems like a bad dog, but he’s good in heart. If you just give him another chance…”
Chomps broke through the door, reducing it to splinters. He then tackled the president to the ground and repeatedly bit him. “AHHHH!”
“This isn’t going to help Chomps’s case,” Zeke sighed.
Zatoichi slowly entered the room, tapping his cane on the ground in front of him.
“What does a blind samurai know about comatose dogs?” Rumsfeld demanded.
“What doesn’t he know?” Bush responded.
Ichi set a candle on a table near Chomps and lit it. “Dog’s anger is like fire. It needs fuel to burn, or else it dies out. When flame is gone, so is the spirit of the demon dog.”
“So how do you make a dog in a coma angry?” Rumsfeld asked.
“I already gave you wisdom,” Ichi answered, “Now you give me 30 bu.”
“30 bu!” Bush shouted and then turned to Laura. “Do you have any silver on you, honey?”
“What gives you the idea I keep around pieces of silver,” Laura chided.
“Fine.” Bush took a leather pouch from under his suit jacket and paid Ichi.
“Keep fighting, boy,” Rumsfeld said as he pet Chomps on his side. Chomps continued to bite randomly in the air but slower now as the candle near him burned away.
TO BE CONTINUED…
If you buy Chomps t-shirt!
