Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Fuck Donald Trump

The last thing I thought I'd be doing is defending Sen. John McCain but here it is. Despite what Trump and pals might want you to think, McCain wasn't some panicky grunt who gave up at the first sign of trouble, but an experienced naval aviator whose plane was shot down over North Vietnam - and that three months after being at ground (deck?) zero in the USS Forrestal disaster. From Wikipedia (with cite numbers because I can't be bothered to remove them):

"McCain's capture and subsequent imprisonment began on October 26, 1967. He was flying his 23rd bombing mission over North Vietnam when his A-4E Skyhawk was shot down by a missile over Hanoi.[34][35] McCain fractured both arms and a leg ejecting from the aircraft,[36] and nearly drowned when he parachuted into Trúc Bạch Lake.[34] Some North Vietnamese pulled him ashore, then others crushed his shoulder with a rifle butt and bayoneted him.[34] McCain was then transported to Hanoi's main Hỏa Lò Prison, nicknamed the "Hanoi Hilton""

Sound like a coward to you?

Friday, July 24, 2015

The Fallen Marcher (pt 1)

One of the most grating duties Miles had on this trip was to inform Bob's wife of his demise.  He'd suggested, half-seriously, that the stuttering German detective who barely spoke English handle the job, just because Martha's frustration at being unable to understand him would soften the blow of the bad news.

But, no.  The task fell to him.  So it was he who found out that Bob and Martha had been fully divorced since 2002 and separated since 1999.  Martha was disappointed, but not particularly devastated, at the news of his death.  Miles asked why they'd divorced.

"It wasn't anything major, or not from the outside.  We liked watching the Dodgers play.  We watched their games every chance we had.  It was a ritual, really.  I never cared for baseball, but I thought it meant so much to him that I took the time to try to enjoy it.  And then..."

"And then, what?"

"And then, he made an off-hand remark about struggling through watching the games with me.  He was doing the same thing with me as I was with him.  We had been lying to each other for over 20 years about something so trivial as baseball.  Enduring something we hated only because we thought we were being polite and dutiful rather than really talking.  And when we started talking...we finally realized we were both too busy lying for face's sake and...we just unraveled."

Monday, July 20, 2015

I Love Japan

Dead or Alive 5.  A hottie in a schoolgirl outfit and glasses karate fighting a guy in a Santa suit. 

Friday, July 17, 2015

PC For Thee, But Not For Me

How much bullshit do you think Dave Chappelle's gotten away with because PC white liberals are too guilty to call a black guy out for being an asshole? He's made an entire career of making fun of white people, banking on the protection PC provides him.  If he goes after anyone else, he knows that in the PC Calculus he's guaranteed to at least come out even if anyone says anything. But if, say, Elton John wrote a song that was as racist as the average gangsta rapper was anti-gay, do you think that Mr. "PC is Bad" Chappelle would say one word in his defense as Elton is run out of show biz 5 minutes afterwards?  Blacks have gotten too used to running to the PC Police when it suited them (such as Chris Rock, who one minute lamented excessive PC and the next accused Hollywood of racism because there weren't enough good parts for black actors) to turn around and whine because someone else uses that tactic against them.

Friday, July 10, 2015

Marching On

If there was any cliche that Americans had which was sort of true about Europe it was the outside cafe.  Obviously, honking cars pouring out heavy exhaust never got mentioned, but nothings perfect.  Miles hardly noticed has he tried to understand what happened to Bob.

So lost in his thoughts, he was unaware that he'd been joined at the table.  He jumped a little upon noticing a man, roughly his age staring at him with a vague, friendly smile.  "Hello?"  He said, tentatively.

"Hello"  the man said.  "I was worried that you weren't coming back to Earth.  Allow me to introduce myself - Arcady Popalov, at your service."  He extended his hand.

Miles took it.  "Do I need to tell you my name, or are you ahead of me there?"

Popalov's smile became a bit more genuine.  "I'm a little ahead of you, Miles, but not by much.  You retrieved and now have lost a particular package, yes?  So now both of us need to catch up a little to someone else."

Miles sighed deeply.  "Yes, that's too damn bad.  Looks like the secret is lost forever."

Popalov hesitated.  "Do you mean to say that you don't know what you're looking for?"

"Never did, never will and I'll never give a damn, either way."  Miles said.  "Unless you'd care to fill me in?"

"Oh, it's nothing important - it'll just change everything we now know about the end of World War II."

"Really?  So what was it?  Hitler's brain?"

"It was a confession from Albert Speer, by way of Rudolph Hess, that Hitler escaped Berlin and the bunker."


"Maybe.  Maybe not.  Why believe the accounts of Hitler's last followers?"

"Why not?  Come on.  Why would they take the fall like that?  Not one of the bunker survivors wasn't a wee tad miffed that Hitler took the easy way out and left them holding the bag?  Miles said.  "The only possible variation is that they killed the bastard and claimed it as suicide.  Which would explain the lack of Hitler's actual body."

"There was a body.  Forensic techniques were pretty primitive those days and no front-line soldier is very gentle with fallen enemies.  But there was a body which matched Hitler well enough.  If there were some clever ruse to switch another body, it's not impossible that they got away with it.  Hence, Hess' confession"

"Hess was also a nutcase."

"Nevertheless, it is what you and I seek.  I can assure you that we will do everything we can to find it first."   With that, Popalov stood and walked away.