This Great Nation, or, Upon Laws

Friends,

It will surely come as no surprise that this space relies upon the daily efforts of a crackerjack legal team, whose dedication to the Swill is matched only by its dedication to Justice, and whose dedication to Justice is matched only by its dedication to delivering the nightly Pro Bono, if you know what we mean.

Today, the Legal Dept. received the following letter from the President of the American Bar Association. At the request of our head counsel, we reprint the epistola in toto. We only wish to point out that the principle of habeas corpus, so recently discarded by our esteemed legislators, pre-dates John Adams by ABOUT FIVE FUCKING CENTURIES, which is a drop in the temporal bucket compared to the eternity of brimstoned ass-rape that Senator Lindsey Graham (R-SC) is going to endure if there is indeed a God, the existence of which the Swill to Power denies but whom Senator Graham paradoxically embraces.

Who thought that when the Republicans took power and promised to return us to an age of greater morality and integrity, they were talking about those halcyon days BEFORE THE FUCKING MAGNA CHARTA?

Well, we did, but nobody was listening. Enjoy.

Michael S. Greco
321 N. Clark St.
Chicago, IL 60610-4714
(312) 988-5109
FAX: (312) 988-5100

AMERICAN BAR ASSOCIATION
President

November 15, 2005

The U.S. Senate last week adopted with no hearings and with little debate Senator Lindsey Graham's proposal to eliminate habeas corpus rights for Guantanamo detainees, denying them access to federal courts. The American Bar Association urges the senators to reconsider and defeat that enormous change to our fundamental legal system.

Throughout our nation's history, starting with the defense by lawyer, later president, John Adams of Massachusetts, of the British soldiers who fired on patriots in the Boston Massacre, it has been our commitment to basic principles of justice, even for the most unpopular among us, that has allowed us to maintain the high moral ground in the world, the most strategically important territory for us to occupy as we struggle with the enemies of freedom.

Our influence in the world is directly affected by our actions with respect to those we detain. The prisoners in Guantanamo have been held there, largely incommunicado, for four years. That fact alone offends our heritage of due process and fairness. The writ of habeas corpus was developed precisely to prevent the prolonged detention of individuals without charge, by allowing those held to petition the federal courts. To eliminate the right of habeas corpus would be shocking to our nation.

As Senator Graham himself has stated repeatedly, in the battle against terrorism we cannot allow ourselves to become like the enemy. Adoption of his amendment would undermine the very principles that distinguish us from our enemies.

Michael S. Greco
ABA President

Upon a Patent and Unremarkable Anus

Longtime readers know that The Swill to Power is a safe, welcoming place where people of all persuasions can come together to share diverse opinions; a meeting point for those who seek truth and truths, and who wish to conduct their inquiries as a social, interactive process infused with the democratic spirit of tolerance upon which this great nation was founded.

Except, of course, for Christians.

It is not that the Swill promotes "intolerance." It is simply that "tolerance" is a word that doesn't really belong in this here discussion. We don't, after all, speak of "tolerating" the proposition that four plus four is twelve. Are we "tolerant" toward the idea that midgets should be gutted, stretched like stumpy salmon in the sun, pressed into little herring shapes and fed to starving seals down San Diego way?

Non est. Per contra.

Yet, somewhere along the line, it became more than a matter of good manners to avoid discussing religion and politics at the dinner table: it became a moral-political injunction to "tolerate" the most retrograde beliefs and behavior, so long as such behavior was inspired by the Gee Oh Dee.

Oh, you're a pharmacist who doesn't believe that rape victims should have access to emergency contraception? What kind of an asshole are you, and what are you still doing employed by a state-regulated industry? Oh, you're a CHRISTIAN. Forgive me for judging. Seriously, please, forgive my intolerance. Hello! What's that? You say that you don't believe Africans should have access to condoms, despite almost unimaginable rates of HIV infection and overpopulation? That's horrific! Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were a CHRISTIAN!!! Lord, how could I be so historically narrow minded? And so insensitive! Can you ever forgive me? Ha, ha, silly question.

Look. The Swill enjoys the generous mandate of an increasingly excluded majority: those billions and billions of global citizens who object to the attempts of startlingly empowered monotheists to impose their bronze-age tribal traditions on us. We are those legion who want our babies' genitals unmutilated, our unmarital ass-reaming to remain a decision between consenting adults (or, in the case of many grammatically informed assreamers making the decision simultaneously, "among" consenting adults), our women as empowered or disempowered as our men, and our scientific methods, well, scientific.

Friends, The Swill takes its mandate seriously and with regard to no fundamental discrimination among monotheisms. In the end, we've taken the increasingly controversial position that we're against bronze-age (and Renaissance, and mid-19th-century Great Awakening) orthodoxies generally. We all are historically located subjects, however, and in order to keep our eyes on the proverbial prize (and on the most pressing forms of oppression in these U Esses of A) we try particularly hard to to make Christians feel particularly unwelcome. It's not that we object to Christianity any more strenuously than any other form of theological mystification, but rather that Christians present the most immediate threat to the American Way of Life.

We don't, as grandma advises, want to encourage them.

The Jews are doing their own thing, and while Joe Lieberman may be a murderous chump in thrall of the insurance industry, he really doesn't give a rat's ass whether you enjoy bacon or not. (Also, for very sound historical reasons, one should never write "The Jews" except ironically.) Yeah, he'd probably ban your porn, but so would my mother, and she's an atheist. When you show me a Delaware Buddhist who wants to throw my gay pals in jail (or keep them from enjoying tax benefits afforded to any cracker dipshit with twenty bucks and a syphilis test) we'll talk about expanding my "Keep Away" sign. When I see a Taoist who argues that bulldozing Palestinian houses is divinely authorized, I'll object to, well, whatever it is that qualifies as Tao. Ditto for the next time I come across a Jainist who thinks that firebombing people is sometimes a necessary, if unfortunate, action, or a secular humanist who thinks that women shouldn't have professional lives.

And please look here before you say "But true Christians are tolerant and democratic!" Right. I know. I KNOW!

For the record, we also don't support the deportation, incarceration, or sterilization of people based upon their beliefs. Those are the kinds of solutions that religious folks come up with when confronted by behavior or beliefs they disagree with. The Swill simply wants to do its part to make theists socially undesirable. You can start by saying something out loud you've been wanting secretly to say for some years now, but that years of ideological training have made you secretly kind of scared to say: "Fuck God."

Go ahead! Say it with me! OUT LOUD! You'll enjoy it. It's liberating. "Fuck God."

Nonetheless, and despite all this business, we are impressed with our pal squeezychortle's recent reflections on Pat Robertson, Saul of Tarsus, Pennsylvania, and Terry Schiavo's anus, which her autopsy declared to be "patent and unremarkable."

Read him. And may all of our autopsies say the same damn thing.

Except for the Christians.

Guest Column: from an actual Troop!

Dear Friends,

Occasionally The Swill to Power will feature guest reflections from colleagues, friends, enemies, and random thinkers whose prose is fit for The Pro's. Today, some thoughts on Military Service from a tenured scholar at a prominent national university. Professor Chirch Van Crash, a decorated veteran (pseudonym, but no joke), entered the wilds of academia after successfully avoiding nun-raping excesses whilst doing Reagan's dirty business in Central America. Enjoy......

Hola Folks!

Enjoyed MGS's sweet reflections on being a Nephew of Uncle Sam, philosophy, theory, and the role of good ol' boys in the trenches....errrr....Sands of Falluja. (Imagine if the Duke were around to make a movie about liberating the Muqtada Militia from themselves.) As a former USMC brat myself and a Veteran not only of the 82nd Airborne and all the fun shite that goes along with that, but also a VFW qualifier and National Guardsman, I can appreciate pretty much all the 11/11 hoopla in the post. Bravo. Of course I have to add a few bits-o-my-own now that I'm far removed from the rigour of military life. I should warn, though, that my status as a "former" GI is always in doubt. Afterall, who needs a draft when there are so many fit 40yr old vets rolling around Wal Mart's isles in those little electric shopping carts, eh?

Was in the City of Brutherly Luv last summer and ran into one of my bros from my dayze in Central America, way back during Ronnie's reign in the CW. Strange for all kinds of reasons, but we hit it off pretty well. That is until I drank six martinis and called his wife--former Air Force officer and current right wing crackpot--a "stupid whore." Ooops. Oh well, she was an officer after all. (Or maybe it was my wife, although she's on our team; GW Haters.)

So yesterday, 11/11, he sends me an email and wishes me the best. Nice. Also hooks me up with the webpage of our former unit. Gotta tell ya and I hate to say it, but checking out the images from our modern day real American heroes left a lump in my throat. Felt like I was one of them, which I suppose I am, and easily put myself in their boots. I remembered how great it was being hazed by my comrades. Doing a million push-ups, butt-ass naked in the shower. To be young and strong! Duct taped into a sleeping bag and swung like a giant pendulum from the third floor of the barracks back at Fort Bragg, slowly carving "DEATH FROM ABOVE" into my psyche like "PRISON" so gently inscribed the flesh of Kafka's imagination. To build unit integrity is no clean task.

When I'd done my time as a "cherry", it was my turn to do the dirty work. By early 1987, I'd been hardened by toilet cleaning, swamp sleeping, bug bites, countless hangovers, dope-dazed C130 jumps at 3AM, 72 hours stretches of physical engagement, too many “that’s a really nice foxhole…now move it ten feet to the left”, blah, blah, blah, I was well prepared to condition my protégés to follow in my footsteps. My contribution to those hoping to "Be all that [they could] be" as one of "America's Guard of Honor" was something we decided was best called "mopping." Get an 18yr old shit-faced drunk, strip him naked, hang him by the wrists under a cold shower, and beat the living shit out of him with a wet mop surely hardened him as it would any "man" for the travails that lay ahead.

Now, looking back with a nostalgia I have a difficulty expressing, kicking someone to death seems reasonable enough. No pain, no gain, after all. Eh? That's why they put steel toes on jump boots, right? They say our troops aren't equipped. Ha! Did you see the dog leash in Newsweek’s coverage of Abu Grahib? I walk my pet with an old extension cord and I’m happy to have it! Thank you, VA.

So as we reminisce and look back at the sacrifices our vets have made and continue to make for the nation, remember, when I was earning that free beer no one has ever bought me on Veteran’s Day, we couldn’t afford the porn that MSG so kindly proposes we send to our fine young cannibals in the Middle East today. With the weekend and 10 bucks, we had a choice. A tough choice. Two nights of fisticuffs at the Flaming Mug, or a quick doggie style with a toothless slut behind a milk truck on Bragg Blvd., followed by a $10.00 paycheck from the Plasma Center—often on the table immediately next to the proprietor who earned your ten bucks the night before—so you could still make last call. Besides, at least Lynddie England was getting laid, right? Didn’t cost her shit.

Right’o!
Chirch van Crash

Day for Veterans!

Just a thought for veteran's day:

"The soldier is an anachronism of which we must get rid. Among people who are proof against the suggestions of romantic fiction, there can no longer be any question of the fact that military service produces moral imbecility, ferocity, and cowardice, and that the defense of nations must be undertaken by the civil enterprise of men enjoying all the rights and liberties of citizenship, and trained by the exacting discipline of democratic freedom and responsibility. For permanent work the soldier is worse than useless, such efficiency as he has is the result of dehumanization and disablement. His whole training tends to make him a weakling."
-- George Bernard Shaw

When asked to support the troops, I invariably recall what I like to call Wittgenstein's Playskool. You remember the moment in Die Philosophische Untersuchungen when, asked to teach a child a game, Wittgenstein teaches the child to shoot craps. "No, no!" comes the response. "Not that kind of game, Ludwig!"

Well, that's just how I feel about supporting the troops, and I should know from troops. I've lived on both an Army base and an Army post (the fact that I know the difference between the two--and you don't--lends all sorts of credence to my reflections). Until yours-truly bucked tradition by going to college instead of into the military, my family had mixed it up in two centuries worth of American bloodshed: from great-great-etc.-grandpa Colonel Angus MacDonald, who put off paying his taxes (and got some sweet payback for the family massacre at Glencoe in 1692) by hacking the shit out of some 18th-century Limeys, all the way to my father, who served two tours in the First Air Cavalry in the Vietnam of 1968-69.

I myself stared down a Russian trooper as my family drove into East Berlin in 1983, having our documents checked and re-checked as we went slowly through Checkpoint Charlie. He was a heavily armed teenager, though, and he didn't seem so threatened by my twelve-year-old bellicosity. I assume he was a Marxist, and he seemed mostly sad that history hadn't progressed quickly enough for him to be dating my teenaged sister rather than standing in the bitter cold wearing a very retro uniform while a zitty shithead from Oregon gave him the patriotic stinkeye.

But that's another story, and my point is simply that Americans attach all sorts of moral and political authority to the statements of military parents, and I reckon I deserve a little bit of that authority in reverse. And if supporting the troops means sending them a beer or a pack of smokes or my used porn, or nationalizing the oil industry to make sure that they don't have to join the military as a way to keep off welfare only to find that they still need foodstamps to feed their families, well, okay.

But what about the guys kicking people to death in basements in Kabul? What about the guys raping fourteen year olds in prisons in Baghdad? For that matter, what about the people who follow orders to drop cluster bombs on the heads of people going about their business?

This is an honest question: Why are you a bad apple if you rape and sodomize a little kid in a prison cell, kick somebody to death in a tent (have you thought about how many times you actually have to kick somebody in the legs until they die? I'll bet it's a lot), or pose for a Polaroid next to a few corpses, when you'd get a fat sloppy hero's blowjob and a Hickory Farms gift basket if you had simply burned those same people to death with white phosphorus or destroyed their sewer system so their kids died of dysentary? I really want to know.

Not those kinds of troops, Ludwig!

So here's a shot and a beer and a porn mag and a pack of smokes for the poor sons-and-daughters-of-bitches who are doing the dirty work so that you don't have to take the bus to work. At least, here's a shout out to the ones who are doing their best not to commit atrocities. And here's one to you, and the broader your definition of atrocity is, the louder the shout.

p.s. Next time: if we found out that one of the people who was killed in the World Trade Center was a child rapist or marijuana smoker, would we still describe that person as an "innocent" victim?

yes, a web log.

To state the obvious, I now have a blog, and defeat is the only word that springs to mind. How else to describe the fact that I am now part of that which I have so frequently and publicly denigrated? Had any of those twenty-something Harvard autobiographers been just a bit brighter or better educated (remember Elizabeth Wurtzel?), they might have reminded us of this inescapable fact: true horror lies in recognizing that your putatively personal pain is actually quite average. Witness the proof, witness my blog.

Not that I will ever refer to myself as a "blogger." The confusion of action and identity is, after all, one of the more irksome symptoms of an individual and a culture desperately in need of low-grade, taxonomic affirmation. Look at me! I ride a bike and am therefore a "biker" -- I write songs and am therefore a "songwriter" -- I jog and am therefore a jogger! I execute an everyday function of the world, give myself a title to commemorate the fact, start sentences with the locution "As a," and am therefore a tall, frosty, mug of please shut the fuck up.

I frig myself thrice daily and am therefore quite average. Quod erat demonstrondumb.

But here I am, King Concession! Rub my thighs, Princeps Jejeune! Suck it, Queen Quotidian.

Perhaps I'm emboldened by the fact that my Hero over at commoncrofts.blogspot.com reckons that it's good enough for him. Perhaps I'm intrigued by the notion of formalizing my own ineffective voice; I've been shouting at walls for years without anyone paying attention, so I might as well shout at bigger walls and multiply the number of people who are ignoring me. Or perhaps I'm just trying to distract the words in my head from fucking up my grocery lists.

Please, welcome me to your world.