Povert

Check out this fascinating (and depressing) story about veterans of the Iraq wars who are very sick, probably due to exposure to depleted uranium. An excerpt:

Now 29, he’s had growths removed from his brain. He has suffered a small stroke — one morning he was shaving, having put down the razor to rinse his face. In that moment, he blacked out and pitched over. “Just as quickly as I lost consciousness, I regained it,” he said. “Except I couldn’t move the right side of my body.” After about 15 minutes, the paralysis ebbed.

Terrible.

I should mention that my grandfather (actually, my grandmother’s last husband) died of cancer due to exposure to Agent Orange.

I was right. Minnesota is screwed up when it comes to alcohol. One of the more screwed up states, in fact.

Check out this little Q&A.

Choice quote: “‘The liquor lobby has got their hand in the pocket of the DFL caucus,’ Hesse argues. ‘They’ve got a relationship that has been going on forever.’”¹

Fuckers. Seriously. Read that whole thing. There is some serious irony in there.

So who wants to make a Sunday Wisconsin beer run with me?

“Federal judge throws out Minnesota’s video game law”

While I have mixed feelings on whether or how to enforce age restrictions on video games, statements like this confound me:

“One of the most popular games in America teaches a little boy how to have sex with a prostitute and then beat her to death, and then rewards that,” said Rep. Jeff Johnson, who sponsored the bill in the House. “I think some small restriction on that is reasonable.”

What?

GTA does not teach you “how” to have sex (with a prostitute or otherwise). Or how to beat her to death. Unless watching a car rock counts as sex ed. And pressing a button in order to cause an on-screen character to mercilessly beat a prostitute (or, again, other people), while disturbing, does not teach anyone “how” to do it.

Then again, Star Fox taught me how to fly space ships and speak in a frog-like tongue (sup Slippy). I never would have got my driver’s license were it not for Mario Kart. Oh, and Resident Evil taught me how to get eaten by zombies. That’s come in handy. Final Fantasy VII? Taught me how to race chocobos. I owe my fortune to that quaint little game.

But I like the specificity — “a little boy”. Which little boy? And never mind the big boys. Or any girls, for that matter. I know many little girls who have, after 8-hour GTA marathons, beat the ever-loving shit out of prostitutes. After banging them, of course. I would have stopped every one of those girls from doing that, but hell. Law and Order was on.

All right, I’ll relax. Someone give me my goddamn happy pills.

I have to share this.

A cousin of mine sent out an interesting email. It had this article. Read it. It’s good.

My uncle, whom I used to get in fierce political arguments, replied. He basically complained that these scientists are scum-sucking liberals, that they are wrong, etc.

I died.

My response was something along the lines that I wasn’t sure if he was being sincere, ironic, or ironically sincere. Or any other combination of sincerity and irony.

Made my day.

You really have to read the article to get it. Too perfect.