FLOG

Kindler, Gentler Army UPDATE

My post has led to a bit of a debate over here.

The "kindler, gentler army [sic]"*

James Madison was wrong. A standing army is not dangerous because it threatens liberty. It's dangerous because, even with two open and bleeding battlefields, it has the time and the bureaucratic dementia to devote resources to products such as these (sent by Spc. Mike):

The Army Earth Day Poster

As Mike noted, "there's nothing better for the environment than burning down a country by plugging every vehicle full of depleted uranium!"

The Baghdad Women's History Month T-shirt

In case you are confused by her absence, women's history-maker PFC Lynndie England is not a part of the 1st Armored Division.**

________________
* Quoting beloved University of Oregon ROTC hack "Sarnt" Campbell, who once turned Blog into a dam-rappeling demon.

** Not funny? As a wiser man than myself once said, "Picture Porky Pig raping Elmer Fudd."

Portland, Oregon

Just when it seemed that the public image of Portland and Oregon was doomed to forever slide into the shadows of sleaze and perversion, along comes a bit of redemption. Sort of. This time it's a good kind of sleaze.

If you haven't had a chance to hear Loretta Lynn and Jack White's new let's-get-drunk-and-screw duet, "Portland, Oregon", do yourself a favor and check it out:

Well Portland, Oregon and sloe gin fizz
If that ain't love then tell me what is
Well I lost my heart it didn't take no time
But that ain't all. I lost my mind in Oregon

Well, yeah, it is a good place to do that.

A couple of observations:

First, the song ends with Lynn and White repeating a request for "a pitcher [of sloe gin fizz] to go." Anyone who's actually gone out and lost their mind in Oregon knows that the OLCC would never permit such a thing. Of course, perhaps the song allows for this, as the repeated request is never affirmed by the bartender.

Anyway, the pair ultimately play through this error by a miraculous feat of pronunciation. She's from Kentucky, he's from Detroit, and yet they both consistently pronounce "Oregon" correctly. Cheers to that.

And cheers to Jack White for finding another way to make a perfectly straightforward song creepy. First it was the "we loved each other, now we kind of hate each other, and all these lyrics may well be aimed at my drummer" dynamic with Meg White. Now he's dueting about sex with a woman in her 60's. Right on, dude. Kinda fits Portland at the moment.

Grade: A-

Where FLOG has been

FLOG has been on safari in the middle of nowhere. Out where the, er, owl and the antelope play. Out where a dog can kiss a horse.

By the way, that sign up there totally lied.

And now, an oft-omitted verse to "Home on the Range":

The red man was pressed from this part of the West,
He's likely no more to return
To the banks of Red River where seldom if ever
Their flickering campfires burn.

And finally, I think you've earned a purty picture:

East face of Steens Mountain, May 2004.

And, because I'm feeling generous, you can have that on your desktop. Click on your size, then right-click on the popup image and save...

800x600 or 1024x768

More pics should be on the way over at my Photographic Web Area, but with a long way to go and a short time to get there, who knows?

Da Holding Pattern

Latest news from Spc. Atkinson:

I will go to Wiesbaden on June 1
for 2 weeks of Iraq readiness training. After that,
we'll wait again. By the time I get there, it might be
time to come back.

Mike was driven nuts for two years by the military's bureaucratic half-steppin'; now it may spare him, for a spell at least, a visit to the sandbox.

In the meantime, he claims to have eaten 1.5 metres (5 feet) of bratwurst at a single party, and is presently corresponding with Charlie Daniels.

In a matter of hours, FLOG will feature photos from his adventures in Germany.

Mike Loose in the Land o' Sausage

Here.

Ass . . . fart?

As I said, photos from Spc. Mike's adventures in Germany are coming really really soon, but in the meantime here is an inviting teaser:

Fixed it!

This passes for content?

I don't know why . . .

FLOG looks like this. It just does. And I know you're all staring at my memory-saving background white space. I feel naked.

Back on Briaitus

Which is, of course, "brain hiatus." Yes, finals are over, the sun is out, and for a little while I'm no longer sewed to my laptop. So the FLOGging will be infrequent. However, watch for exciting new photo features! (I know, I always say that, but f'real doe . . .)

Cooked?

Comedy Central is presently showing Eddie Murphy's Raw, in what I would call "half-baked and semi-cut" form. It's very strange.

Fuck, dick, pussy, and motherfucker are no-nos. Bleeped right the fuck out.

Ass and shit, however, are acceptable.

So I guess right now it's okay for us to embrace the back half of our pelvises, but everything the front half might want to do is really really naughty. It's weird. I know it's a trite point, but last I heard, life was not created by pooping. (Whatever Freud had to say on the matter, I pre-emptively disagree.)

Also: can we all agree now that Eddie Murphy is at least bisexual? The leather jumpsuit, the late-night "ride home" for a transvestite hooker, and the eerie onstage fantasies he had of being brutalized by homosexual San Franscisco police have me convinced.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

In contrast, Neil Goldschmidt. Holy fucking crap. There is a lot wrong with that. I'm sort of watching Absolute Power right now and it's giving me the willies, because that there Gene Hackman bears quite a resemblance.