Dr. David W. Overbey - Ah, Cupid was in the air this past week, but he wasn’t shooting arrows of passion into the hearts of lovers . . . he was firing rounds of machine-gun bullets into the evil Taliban! Indeed,
the NY Times tribute to the annual celebration of love and romance was one of the most blatant pro-war propaganda pieces I’ve ever read not translated from German.
Once again it is obvious to me that America’s mainstream war-mongering, psychotic zeitgeist marches on, unfettered, undaunted, and popular as ever! Here I thought Valentine’s Day was a time to focus on love and romance, the magic of two human hearts coming together, the dizziness and ecstasy of warm vapors tingling our veins and sex organs. What a forlorn Romantic I am! As it turns out, once again I’m wrong: Valentine’s Day is a day to pander to the majority cross-section of American women whose clits throb at the sight of face-painted big muscle soldiers spilling blood in a never-ending corpse fest, the flag and Christ-child transposed on the heavens above a precious sea of oil denied the good Christians of America by a bunch miserly
sandniggers.
No wonder I never I get laid.
The piece is a narrative depicting Company K as a group of young heroes who become men by facing combat for the first time and wiping out sinister and cowardly Taliban who bait them into an open field rigged with explosives and attempt to ambush them . . . but are outdone by the good guys fighting for freedom! The last line of the “article” says it all: the nurturing commanders make sure their nascent professional killers in the company are all accounted for (so cute!) while they traverse a field littered with Taliban corpses. As always, the Americans are the winners! Which is good, because after all, if you want to get laid on Valentine’s Day (or any other time of year) you can’t be a loser! Losers don’t get pussy, understand? The Times piece is obvious propaganda disguised as journalism, appealing to the huge cross-section of Americans—especially women—who love and are apparently aroused by war, e.g. “Navy seals rock!”
Don’t tell me the high school I’m-gonna-kick-your-ass pro-war mindset is relegated to the white trash hotspots of the Midwest and South. The NY Times knows its audience and demographic, and the fact it would publish pro-war propaganda on a holiday traditionally inspired by love (you know, the opposite of war, as in “make love not war”) betrays what really turns Americans on: glorifying systematic mass murder. What it took Jeffrey Dahmer years to do, without CIA clearance or tax payer dollars, Company K accomplished all in the course of a “cumming”-of-age afternoon.
Obviously, this kind of propaganda is a symptom of America’s collective September 11 complex: a mass denial of epic proportions. The sad truth is that the war of terrorism lasted for about an hour and a half: the time it took for the hijackers to get control of the planes, veer them toward their targets, and blow them up . . . with the additional half hour encore of watching people jump out of windows a hundred stories above ground, and the crescendo of the towers falling and a whole city of people running for their lives away from a monstrous swath of debris about to devour them. That was the end of it, and America got its ass kicked. It was a huge loss on our home turf—horrifying, humiliating, and the beginning of the end of the American dynasty. So the collective, typically dumbass American response has been to drag out that awful morning until, apparently, the end of time, the idea being that if that horrible moment is never allowed to end, then we can somehow still rescue victory from the smoldering heap of burnt flesh and jet fuel left at ground zero, the graveyard of a nation. Dragging out and drawing out the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq is like continuing to jack off over a hot woman who dominated you instead of fucked you. It’s sick and sad. It’s something somehow even worse than war: a perpetual surrender that turns everything—even a sappy holiday of overpriced dinners, chocolate, and condoms—into a codified ritual where the only way to be sexy is to put on that uniform and keep on killing.
