Detainees

A refreshing perspective on how politics run amok has left us devoid of common sense.

http://www.nypost.com/postopinion/opedcolumnists/a_deadly_kindness_opedcolumnists_richard_miniter.htm

Beat them, strip them, stack them in pyramids. Leave them in a dark room with no idea which direction to kneel when they pray. Their rights died when they decided to make us their enemy. Why there is so much indecision on how to treat these guys boggles my mind. Guns and knives should be in their faces, not burgers and fish filets.

Too soon?

It's never too early to start listing the things I want for Xmas:

A puppy that doesn't shit.

A car that doesn't require a parking spot.

A cookie that doesn't make me want to brush my teeth after eating it.

A computer that appreciates in value.

A cable news network that only comes on the air when there is actually news to report.

A religion that gives me money and gives others guilt.

A pop star that doesn't donate to charity.

A Playstation 3.


Shouldn't be too tough to find me one of those things, should it?

My Super Power

There is a new show debuting on NBC this month called "Heroes". It looks promising because it does for X-Men-The Movie what M*A*S*H the tv show did for the movie M*A*S*H. "Heroes", however, has a refreshing twist: no costumes. The everyday individuals with superpowers haven't bought stock in the world's spandex manufacturers. At least in the previews they haven't. I hope it continues that way because I prefer believable storylines. Spandex clad superheroes are way less believable than Banana Republic clad ones.

By a stroke of luck, today I discovered my own superpower. While surfing YouTube, I stumbled across a news/propoganda clip produced by that crazy cult leader Fred Phelps. I listened to his diatribe against America and its people until I noticed one of the signs he holds up at his protests. It simply said "Fags Doom Nations". Funny stuff huh? Or is it . . . I know my sexuality is viewed by some as being a threat. But I had no idea I had the power to disrupt the very foundations of national sovereignty.

If, as Fred Phelps says, I have the power to doom nations, I feel that I must use my power for good. Even though it is cooler to be the bad guy, and I'm sure that being a bad guy would let me wear a cooler costume, I don't think I could use my powers of doom for anything but good. I freely volunteer to enlist in the Army, or the Secret Service, or the CIA . . . whatever it takes to help America defeat its enemies. Just get my ass to North Korea, or to Iran, or to Syria. Let me doom them. Let my dooming power bring them to their knees. Better yet, form a legion of doom-capable men like me. Let's make sure we get the job done right the first time. Charter a 747 and ship 500 of us super humans to North Korea. After a few cocktails on the flight over, surely our combined powers of doom will bring about said doom more quickly. We promise to stay focused on the task and not to doom all over each other.

Unfortunately, those that publicly embrace their doom aren't allowed to fight for this nation with guns, much less something as powerful as doom. Nonetheless, I encourage all my friends to embrace their inner-doom. I also want to remind Freddy Phelps that everyone is doomed; stressing about it just makes it happen faster.

Gym Terrorism

All morning I debated whether to go to my local Washington Sports Club (WSC) today. I went. I should have listened to my inner couch potato.

Upon returning to the lockerroom after 45 minutes of elliptical bliss, I found my blue and silver MasterLock dangling from its broken latch. I immediately inspected the area around me for IEDs. Seeing none, I sniffed the air for biological agents. Detecting none, I approached my locker.

Inside, my Victorinox gym bag was not. I experienced a brief moment of panic/a rush that I want to legally experience again, wow. I searched for a ransom note. There was none. Not that I would ever negotiate with kidnappers, but it would be nice to know my bag wasn't in some dumpster somewhere alongside an abandoned baby.

My brain frozen and unable to immediately recall the vast inventory of items contained in my gym bag, I came to a huge realization. My phone and wallet were not in my bag - I had left them in my jeans pockets. Hoping the thief was less than thorough, I pulled my jeans from the locker and felt that wonderful relief that comes with knowing your life has not been totally ruined. My phone, my wallet, my life, were still mine.

Two hours later I had successfully filed a report with the gym manager and the police. It is a commentary on what I hold dear when I consider myself lucky to have only lost a pair of designer sunglass, an ipod, and a flashdrive with enough information to reconstruct my life. The two other guys who had their lockers busted into were not so lucky - both had their wallets stolen, and one lost his phone.

This whole experience made me realize we need to be tougher on terrorism. Yes, this is terrorism. Any crime in Washington, DC is terrorism in my book. I'm not saying it was Al Qaeda . . . but if the terrorist is never caught and his true identity revealed, he will eventually be an Al Qaeda operative by the 70th time I've told this story. And I think I'm going to vote Republican this fall. Most of the nation believes the Republicans are tougher on terrorism, so I might as well believe it, too. As a victim of terrorism, you can't argue with my political views . . . you just have to accept everything I say lest you disrespect the memory of my beloved gym bag. If you would like to donate to this victim of the WSC terror attack, please leave a comment about how much you are willing to donate and I might get in contact with you.