Tag Archives: dick cheney

Some fighting words

I’d like to take a moment, in light of the third anniversary of the Iraq War, to thank my readers in the military forces over there. Apparently it’s a pleasant surprise that they’re able to access my site despite some filters on their servers over there. Well, it’s pleasant for us both, I assure you.
I’ve had a few letters from guys in the Marines that have just made my day in the last few months. While I disagree violently with the premise of the war, and the execution thereof, and the lack of transparency from the powers that be, and despite a few bad apples in the bunch over there, I think most of the soldiers are just men and women doing their job — for a government that lied to them. The blame should always go on the heads of any organization, and the buck stops with Bush and the Dark Lord himself, Cheney. Make no mistake about it.
I hope that those great guys who’ve taken the time to send me letters find their ways home to their loved ones. I hope you find a way to keep from being too jaded about your government when you return. I hope you get the fuck out now, before it gets much worse.
Three fucking years already. 2,300 (American) dead (and counting), and no progress to really speak of. Last throes indeed, Dick. Fucking twit.
A comment was left elsewhere on the site this morning that got me thinking (my email notifier doesn’t specify which post). I believe it’s by a fella I think is one of those nifty Marine boys who’s written me, about the power of communication, particularly when absent from a loved one. If it’s the same guy who’s contacted me in the past, then his story is fairly simple. He and his wife had a nice relationship, but she was always very restrained in their lovemaking, and always had a lack of confidence in her body and her ability to express what she wanted.
Through constant validation and repeated wishes to know what she really, really wanted, she has finally found the way to open up. During his time stationed across the seas, they’ve been exchanging emails as often as events would allow, and it appears to be transforming their relationship in every way. Fantasies are being discussed, envelopes are being planned to be pushed, and the landscape of their relationship — with an ocean and a desert between them — is morphing into something much richer and more open. He’s counting the days before his return home is to happen, which, if I recall correctly, is in three weeks or so. (Here’s hoping it’s everything you’re dreaming of, J.)
There is nothing more powerful in your relationship than the power to communicate. The ability to express your needs and desires will transform every relationship in your life, but it will boggle the mind if you are able to express your sexual needs with a partner who’s open to hearing (and providing) what you truly desire.
Using tools like email, even when you’re living in the same town, or even the same house, can provide you with a safer means of expressing what you need. As time passes, you will learn to better express those desires in your voice, and eventually, what was once the ultimate act of vulnerability will have simply become a great, great trust shared by two people who know how to be on the same page.
Well, boys & girls, get home safely, and do your jobs with integrity. It’s time that chapter in your country’s history come to a close. Let’s hope that day comes soon.

Love Will Conquer All, Baby

I was reading something just before bed, stated by the venerable clothing designer Karl Lagerfeld, in answer to the soon-to-come fashion onslaught of heavy, dark clothing that’s to be replacing the light, fun, and airy lines we’ve been enjoying of late. Lagerfeld said, “If you read the daily papers, you are not in the mood for pink and green.”
If you are what you wear, are we as a society becoming depressed? Valium and Lithium and Prozac, oh my.
I’d lay my cash on a big, fat yes, but hey, what do I know? I’m just a formerly depressed not-even-yuppie who’s an observer, not a player.
Depression’s out there. Hell, even the upcoming ankle-length hemlines are screaming it. We’re depressed. As a people, we need to get happy. This war shit’s bringing us all down. We got Vice Presidents running around shooting good citizens. Gas prices are nuts. The Canadian economy’s strong enough to be a steamroller. Clearly, it is the end of times, and our nerves are a tad frazzled.
Me, I say the cure is sex.
Okay, let’s look at this, then. Stress and self-esteem issues, as well as external factors (thus the stress) cause depression, as do biochemical issues. Right? Sex is good for the nerves, great for the self-esteem — (especially if you can get ‘em to scream your name. Hmm. I really have to stop falling for the strong, silent types. My ego’s taking a hit.) – and releases endorphins.
In all seriousness, studies have shown we’re all at an all-time touch deficit. I’ve been hooking up with some guys of late, lots of great dates, no seconds, but I’ve kissed (uh, to coin a phrase) every one of ‘em. Life’s too short not to share a kiss (or something) or stretch it out over three or four hours. Sex? Nice but not needed. Making out does wonders for the self-esteem. Gets the juices flowing, the pulse racing. It’s the very definition of alive. No one should have to go without. I’m going into withdrawal, days without a kiss. A necking session would hit the spot, but I know what else would, too.
In a world where there’s famine and war and natural disasters and poverty and stupid religious extremism and pettiness… shouldn’t you at least be getting laid?
I for one applaud the relatively recent revival of the “Make Love, Not War” campaign. I need to get me a button, man. I’m willing to sacrifice myself to the cause. I will have sex in the name of peace, and soon. Afterwards, we’ll spoon, smoke a joint, drink some absinthe, and listen to Imagine, followed by White Rabbit, and some Dark Side of the Moon. Is there anybody out there?
Maybe this whole Iraq thing was just what the Sexuality Movement needed. Drop some bombs, shed some innocent lives, get the tempers flaring back home, have the pacifists realize they’re really pissed off but since they’re pacifists, they can’t go out back and shoot beer cans off the fence, so, instead, they smoke fatties and fuck.
Who knows. Maybe Bush did the right thing after all. I don’t fucking know. I do know that everyone getting a little more action would probably be not such a bad thing. Me, I always liked the fact that Clinton was getting head in the Oval Office. I figured he’d at least be relaxed enough to make the rational choice in any scenario that unfolded.
I think anyone in power with lives in their hands should absolutely be on a sex quota. They must be gone down on once every eight days, minimum, and are entitled to sex twice per week, minimum, with no less than 28 minutes foreplay each time. Sure. As a start. With time on the job, age, and increased responsibility, the sex allotment increases. Like a health plan or any other benefit.
Yeah, I don’t know what the hell the problem is, but I know sex is the solution.
Pity the new fashion scene’ll be here soon and skin will be a thing of the past. But, brothers and sisters, we shall overcome. Right?
*Yeah, I’m a pinko lefty with a loathing for the war and a disdain for both the American and new Canadian regimes. I mean, does it sound like I have conservative sex? C’mon! Get real. You knew this. You like me anyway. I’m the good kinda libertarianish type.