From Hell's Heart, I Blog at Thee

I don’t have much time.

For the last month I have been held captive in some sort of highly-secured windowless cell. I am perpetually blindfolded, but based on the sickening odors, I have deduced that I am either downwind of a dysenteric Tibetan yak farm or somewhere in Detroit.

I cajoled a guard into allowing me to use his iPhone by promising him I could copy over all the contacts stuck on his old phone, so I only have time for a quick post and maybe three hands of Party Poker.

Do not forsake me, my Scotticus Finch acolytes. Like the heroic Balloon Boy, I will inevitably pop up inexplicably close to where you last saw me, none the worse for wear, and just as misanthropic as you remembered.

Mostly, I can’t wait to escape so I can finally find out what ingenious plan British Petroleum and President Obama implemented to quickly and efficiently stop that silly little oil leak in the Gulf. Remember that? What a slightly inconvenient nuisance that must have been for a few fish in the immediate area and absolutely no one else on Earth. USA! USA! USA!

It'd Be a Real Shame if Something Were to Happen to One of Them...

So I've got a case coming up before the local judge. Everybody says I'm going to lose, and that I better prepare for the worst. But I'm not so sure. As I explained to a reporter yesterday about the judge in my case:

"He'll see - maybe he will see the light of day. Maybe he will have an incident and he'll change his mind over night - you know, going to and from work."

You know, an incident.

OK, so that wasn't me. Even if it was me, it wouldn't be credible, seeing as how the closest I get to the city's underbelly is that one bar where the bartenders are a little surly. But it's actually a little scary when it comes from the head of Chicago's Machine himself, Richard Daley, talking about the freaking U.S. Supreme Court.

Later in the press conference Daley got tired of insinuating, or at least hoping for, violence and "jokingly" threatened to shove a bayoneted rifle up a local reporter's butt and also to shoot him with it.

Cleaning House... Or at Least Cleaning a Spot On One Rug Near the Guest Bedroom

The angry electorate has roared! The nation is gripped by an anti-incumbent furor! It's open-season on the bums!

So whaddaya think - will 40% of incumbents go down in November? 50%? 75%? Hold onto your hats, folks - 2010 will be the biggest shakeup in Washington since the Reagan Revolution of 1980 if we replace... 26% of Senators and 13% of House members seeking reelection. And don't forget that only about a third of the Senate is up for reelection in any election year; we're really getting revolutionary if we toss 9 whole Senators this year (for hardcore math types, that's 100 Senators / 3 * 26%, rounded up to the next whole powerhungry slug).

Count me among libertarians strongly in favor of a Constitutional amendment implementing term limits on Congresscritters.* Because we collectively make terrible exterminators.


*For those interested, yes, this statement is consistent with libertarian views. Libertarian != anarchist. I believe there is a short list of proper functions of a government, most of which can be summed up by its role as enforcer of nonagression. If it must exist, it must have structure (to bind it); term limits give structure just like the seperation of powers and the bicameral Congress.

DHS Asks States to Help Justify Their Bloated Budget

Jim Harper, writing for the too-good-for-a-comments-section Cato@Liberty blog, remarks on a doozy of a memo from the Department of Homeland Security:

Here’s a window onto the upside-down way government spending works. The Department of Homeland Security has sent a letter to states begging them to spend federally provided money on implementing REAL ID, the national ID law.

"DHS is regularly asked by members of Congress, as well as the Office of Management and Budget, if these funds are needed by the states, and whether these funds should be reallocated to other efforts," writes Juliette Kayyam of [the DHS] Office of Intergovernmental Affairs. "As both the states and the Federal government face increasingly tough budgeting decisions, it is more important than ever that these available funds be utilized."

That’s right: Tough budget times make it imperative to spend more money.

Check out the memo here (.pdf), and keep in mind how quickly any branch office of a well-run business would be shuttered for engaging in this kind of accounting tomfoolery. DHS isn't asking states to "use it or lose it," which is defensible; it is imploring states to dig deep into their collective imaginations and come up with ways to spend this money.

As Harper's closing points out: "It's flabbergasting."

A Very Long Straw

Stop me if you've heard this one before. Some guys from BP walk into a bar. One of them orders a milkshake. The other pulls out a very long straw...

Freedom Loaf

Mrs Finch was out of town for a week and I was left to hunt and/or gather my own food. For six out of seven days, I subsisted mostly on packets of unsweetened Kool-Aid mix and potpourri, but on day seven -- glorious day seven! -- I reached deep into the pantry and created a meal. Gentle readers, I give you... The Freedom Loaf*:

1 lb ground beef
1 egg, beaten like Gordon Brown
1/2 cup O'Charley's honey mustard
1/2 cup ketchup
1/4 cup Frank's Red Hot sauce
1 tbsp Dale's Steak Seasoning
1 tsp chipotle chile powder
2 cups garlic and onion croutons, pummeled angrily to dust
salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mush everything into a big pale greyish lump and plop into any pan with sides (1" or deeper). Cook uncovered for one hour. Remove from oven using clean(ish) bathmat since you can't find a potholder. Scrape the fat drippings from the edges to give to your dogs, then slice meatloaf and serve with Cool Ranch Doritos or Nutter Butters.

*That's right. Scotticus Finch's milestone 100th post is a meatloaf recipe. Deal.

Goofus and Gallant, Special Illinois Edition

Gallant says, even though he is a police officer, he should be treated like everyone else.

Goofus tries to prove it by getting drunk, firing a gun outside a bowling alley, and waiting to see if he gets convicted.

He did not.

Bonus seek-and-find for the kids: Try and spot the minor drug possession arrest!

One of These Days, I’ll Give to NPR

OK, not likely, but they certainly set the clock back a few more months this morning (and I admit, I do feel a twinge of guilt every pledge drive in the seconds it takes me to lunge toward the radio and change the channel). The peoples’ radio also provided evidence that the proliferation of new media sources, and the corresponding decline of the old, allows for a more informed demos (and certainly not a crisis requiring a bailout).

Here’s how it happened: I’m rockin’ along this morning to the sweet sounds of Steve Inskeep and Renee Montagne, and find myself being informed about the trusting nature of today’s yoots toward the federal government. I’m hearing about a huge gap in trust between those under 30 and the rest of us toward Unca’ Sam. The evidently trusting Millennials are contrasted with the “never trust anyone over 30” Flower Children. For evidence we get saccharine quotes from Brittany (“I feel like they are trying to do what's best for us and their constituents.”) and Tucker ("It gives you hope, and that hope turns into trust in the government, because you believe that things can change — or like good things can happen.”) Like, indeed. Are we on the verge of a statist paradise, where Potemkin despots dance naked under rainbows with their perpetually naïve serfs?

Alas, that proud day isn’t as close as it sounded this morning. I’ve read the NPR transcript now and can see that I missed the one “it’s worth noting that” that would’ve somewhat clued me in, but it was only upon seeing the survey in question on Hit'n'Run that I discovered the results of the story’s foundational survey. In fact, NPR themselves had previously run the results under a headline of “Trust In Government Hits Near-Historic Low.” It turns out 20% of those over 30 agreed with the statement “Do you trust the federal government to do what is right?” And those youthful revolutionaries? 32% of them agreed.

I have seen our future, and it is cynical. And it is good.

(Also, if you only get your news from one source - start practicing your naked rainbow dance.)

Terrible Title, Depressing Themes, Susan Sarandon... HBO Must Hate Me

You Don’t Know Jack has been playing on a near-continuous loop on forty-two of the forty-six HBO stations lately. Starring Al Pacino as the infamous assisted-suicide advocate Dr Jack Kevorkian, Know Jack treats the viewer to an interminable* and macabre parade of heart-wrenchingly desperate invalids, each one begging Kevorkian for a means to end their suffering without leaving their loved ones to dig a bullet out of the headboard.

Liberty’s most basic premise is ownership of one’s body, so most of my gentle readers can likely extrapolate their own Finch-worthy argument in support of Kevorkian’s efforts. What struck me from the film, though, was the unexpected nausea induced by his methods. After losing access to the planned site for Kevorkian’s first assisted suicide at the last minute, the doctor carried out the procedure in the back of his VW van rather than pulling the plug* for the day and rescheduling. His apparatus for administering the lethal drug cocktail was jerry-rigged from secondhand bits of mismatched aluminum and binder clips, and –- in the most upsetting scene of the film -– when Kevorkian began trying to reduce how much gas it took to achieve termination, one elderly man was subjected to saying goodbye to his wife from inside a miserable-looking Scotch-tape and Saran Wrap gas-retention tent which bore striking resemblance to a grade-school astronaut costume.

Don’t misunderstand; the melodramatic pageantry of post-death rituals these days is atrocious and generally exploitative. But considering nearly every one of Kevorkian’s cases left behind the deceased’s loved ones who will forever struggle with their own decision to "let" the suicide happen, the doctor owed them a bit more effort in terms of professionalism. According to the film, Kevorkian himself reached this same epiphany from jail but was stymied by a government committed to suffocating* his plans to open an end-of-life clinic in the US.

A life so painful that death seems winsome is positively unimaginable, but an eternal solution that strips any dignity from one’s final moments manages to make it worse. Government needs to stand aside and let the market perfect this process.


*Get it?

Missouri Drug Raid Video

As promised, here is the video mentioned in (Redacted)'s post on the February Missouri SWAT raid. As the video plays out -- particularly as the man in custody realizes his family pet has been killed in his kitchen and his seven-year old son sits terrified on the floor -- ask yourself why on Earth he couldn't have just been arrested on his way to the mailbox.

Battlefield: Grover's Corners

Thanks, Scotticus, for making a little room for the O.G. freedom fighter. (Okay, okay, freedom grouser.) Let's just say I was grousing the good grouse back when Scotticus still thought GM and Goldman Sachs were run by Hank Reardon and not James Taggart. But enough with the intro and on with the show. I'll try to post something less painful in the near future to make up for this sucker punch.

First off, I strongly support the legalization of most, if not all, drugs that are currently illegal in the U.S. My fundamental reason for that position is that I believe we are not free while living under an authority that has control over our use of our own bodies in ways that do not violate the rights of others. To paraphrase Bosephus, if you get stoned and sing all night long, ain't none of my business. (Aside to make it painfully clear: I favor strict prosecution of any true crimes - those involving the violation of nonconsenting persons' rights - a person commits, regardless of their state of intoxication; that is, intoxication by any substance is no defense.) I also understand that reasonable people can disagree about drug legalization (though of course I'm right :-)

What I think is indefensible, and a point on which I do not believe reasonable people can disagree, are the tactics increasingly used in the prosecution of this "War on (Some) Drugs". Through the explosive use of SWAT teams over the past 30 years our police have become militarized and are being deployed in ways fit for a battlefield in Afghanistan, not against nonviolent citizens of Grover's Corners, USA (nor South-Central LA) who may posses intoxicating substances not granted the Big Brother Seal of Approval. Tactics include: predawn raids on family homes (yes, with small children present); teams of SWAT police armed with fully automatic rifles, tear gas, and flash-bang grenades (these ain't firecrackers - they are so bright they blind you for 5 seconds and explode with a blast louder than a 747 on takeoff, but in your living room); no-knock entry; and basing raids on the testimony of known liars who receive reduced sentences for providing information - true or not. These raids were conducted over 100 times a day as of 2006 and based on SWAT team funding have likely increased in frequency since then. They have resulted in the violent deaths of "criminals" guilty of nothing but possessing an intoxicant unapproved by our overlords, as well as people innocent of even that "crime" who were unlucky enough to live at an address raided incorrectly. Don't forget the many family pets killed, and even some of the raiding police officers. And it is entirely because the police themselves are taking a nonviolent situation and making it intensely violent.

Unfortunately, most of these incidents go unreported by the majority of our state-tonguebathing media. When they do make news, reporters almost never question the accounts provided by the police involved, regardless of those accounts' preposterousness. There are some true reporters who dig deeper (as Scotticus has mentioned, Radley Balko is exhibit A: www.theagitator.com; he also writes for Reason and for the Cato Institute), so thankfully there is some information available. But as much as all those stories can boil the blood, a video brings it home like nothing else. Presented now for your edification is a 5 minute video of a nighttime SWAT raid of a family home in Columbia, MO with the suspect - a nonviolent man suspected of possession of marijuana - and his wife and 7-year-old child at home. Please watch the video and ask yourself what crime would justify these police actions. I am going to assume possession of a small amount of an intoxicating substance far less dangerous than alcohol makes the list.

Here's the newspaper account.

Bottom line: Police are not soldiers, drug users are not an opposition force, U.S. neighborhoods are not battlegrounds. There is no war and dead citizens are not collateral damage.

"And Now I Know for Sure, I Just Added More Guys to My Wolf Pack"

The Scotticus Finch talent scouts and headhunters have been hard at work the last few weeks trying to lock down contracts on some new contributing columnists for the blog. After several false starts, the team has convinced me we cannot actually charge writers a fee to contribute here, and that somehow we should be focusing on enticing them instead.

Hrmph. You kids, with your Super Nintendos, your Huey Lewis rock and roll music, and your expectations of being compensated for work...

So keep an eye out for the "posted by" line after each post in the coming months. I am not yet at liberty to divulge the names of our most-promising targets, but let's just say that if you've spent much time loitering behind the downtown YMCA or standing in line for Rob Schneider films, you're already familiar with the type of folks we're after.

(And to Naomi Klein: Please stop sending muffin baskets to the office. It ain't happening.)

Title explained -- as if I needed to -- here.

Seattle Boy Makes a Wish, Superpowered Blogger Cries Like a Woman

I got a significant amount of flak for my rail against Cormac McCarthy's The Road last month. As an active misanthrope with pessimistic proclivities, the fledgling joy I find in life comes from those bright, unexpected moments -- your favorite song on the radio just as you start the car, clear sunny skies on your day off, a toddler cracking up at his own reflection. Those moments simply didn't exist in McCarthy's world.

Thankfully they do in ours:

Thursday was shaping up to be just another school day for 13-year-old Erik Martin, but then something extraordinary happened: Spider-Man called.

Spider-Man happens to be one of the few people who knows that Erik, too, has a secret identity — he's Electron Boy, a superhero who fights the powers of evil with light.

And Spider-Man needed Erik's help.

Erik, who is living with liver cancer, has always wanted to be a superhero. On Thursday, the regional chapter of the Make-A-Wish Foundation granted him that wish with an elaborate event that involved hundreds of volunteers in Bellevue and Seattle.[...]

Pulling off a wish like this one required a big story, and a lot of heart. And so, with a note of panic in his voice, Spider-Man explained the dilemma: "Dr. Dark" and "Blackout Boy" had imprisoned the Seattle Sounders [soccer team] in a locker room at Qwest Field. Only Electron Boy could free them.

Erik got into his red-and-blue superhero costume, and called on the powers of Moonshine Maid, who owns a DeLorean sports car. For good measure, more than 20 motorcycle officers from the Bellevue Police Department and King County and Snohomish sheriff's offices escorted Electron Boy to Seattle.

"They shut down 405 — they shut down I-90," marveled Moonshine Maid, aka Misty Peterson. "I thought it would just be me, in the car."

At Qwest Field, Electron Boy was directed by frantic fans to the Sounders locker room, where the entire team was shouting for help behind jammed doors. With a little help from Lightning Lad, the alter ego of local actor Rob Burgess, Erik opened the door with his lightning rod. The Sounders cheered.[...]

Electron Boy seemed a little dazed by his powers. Out on Qwest Field, the Sounders gave Erik a hero's congratulations, posed for pictures and gave him a jersey and autographed ball.

Everyone was startled when, overhead, the Jumbotron crackled to life.

"Electron Boy, I am Dr. Dark and this is Blackout Boy," sneered an evil voice, as the villain — Edgar Hansen, and his sidekick Jake Anderson, both of Discovery Channel's "Deadliest Catch" — taunted the young superhero. "We are here to take over Seattle and make it dark!"

On the Jumbotron, a video showed a Puget Sound Electric employee Jim Hutchinson trapped in the top of his bucket truck in front of PSE's Bellevue headquarters. Only Electron Boy could save him.[...]

More than 250 PSE employees gathered outside the company's headquarters and cheered as Electron Boy freed the trapped worker. "It was so loud, people in office buildings were looking out the window," said Make-A-Wish communications director Jeannette Tarcha.

But Dr. Dark and Blackout Boy were still at large. Electron Boy got a tip that the evil duo were at the Space Needle, where they had disabled the elevator and trapped people on the observation deck. Racing back to Seattle, Electron Boy stepped out of the DeLorean to a cheering crowd of dozens of admirers, and confronted his nemesis.

"How did you find us, Electron Boy?" Dr. Dark demanded.

Erik wordlessly leapt at Dr. Dark with his lightning rod, freezing the villain. Then he unlocked the elevator and freed the people trapped upstairs.[...]

Seattle City Councilwoman Sally Bagshaw stepped forward with a key to the city and a proclamation that Thursday was Electron Boy Day. Afterward, Erik posed for the TV cameras, flexed his muscles and spent some time astride a Bellevue police motorcycle.[...]

Watching her son run across the plaza in front of the Space Needle, mom Judy Martin said Erik goes to school when he's able, but is often too tired. "He hasn't had this much energy in a long time," she said. "They called it the power of the wish, and they're right."

Like any good superhero, Electron Boy kept his innermost thoughts to himself. But he did have one important thing to say:

"This is the best day of my life."

From the Seattle Times here. Cormac McCarthy's powers are no match for Erik.

No Title, Just a Sigh

I give up.

Scenes From Fallujah Quincy

Sometimes images really can do more to drive a point home than all the words in the world. Just ask Janet Reno. Or Janet Reno. Or Janet Reno.

On Wednesday, Quincy (Ill.) Deputy Police Chief Ron Dreyer was called upon to bravely show his teeth in response to an imminent threat against President Obama. Jim Hoft of BigGovernment.com has the pictures:

Excuse me, officer? Yes, you -- the one dressed to combat Maximus Decimus Meridius or possibly a Rancor. You look ridiculous. You, your boss, your boss's boss, and especially your boss's boss's boss, are cowards. Please look deep within yourself (I'm sure you signed up with the best of intentions.) and beg the chief to reconsider next time he wants to send a squad in full riot gear to intimidate a peaceful assembly.

Jonathan Swift - Sarcasm = California

Ask any Tea Partier; there is plenty to dislike in the details of health care reform.

But we of the tinfoil hat brigade have long insisted that the principal problem with government-subsidized health insurance is broad: When government pays for health care, government will inevitably regulate anything and everything that can be even tenuously linked to health.

By ceding the responsibility for the cost of health care, we have sacrificed the freedom to make our own decisions about our health. A nauseating argument to be sure, but that doesn't make it any less true. We saw it happen with seat belts; we saw it happen with motorcycle helmets; we saw it happen with cigarettes. Now, just to prove that no caricature or paranoia could ever be as asinine as reality, we will witness within our lifetimes the end of Happy Meal toys.

...[C]ounty officials in Silicon Valley [Calif.] are poised to outlaw the little toys that often come with high-calorie offerings.
...
Believed to be the first of its kind in the nation, the proposal would forbid the inclusion of a toy in any restaurant meal that has more than 485 calories, more than 600 mg of salt or high amounts of sugar or fat. In the case of McDonald's, the limits would include all of the chain's Happy Meals — even those that include apple sticks instead of French fries.

Ken Yeager, president of the authoritarian nitwits Santa Clara County Board of Supervisors, knows unequivocally that you are too stupid and/or incompetent -- all of you -- to spurn the siren song of a Shrek IV wind-up toy, so he is stepping in.

"People ask why I want to take toys out of the hands of children," said Yeager.... "But we now know that 70% of the kids that are overweight or obese will be overweight or obese as adults. Why would we want to burden anybody with a lifetime of chronic illness?"

Did you see that leap? Fast-food toys are responsible for a lifetime of chronic illness. Unless the McDonald's in Yeager's neighborhood has been offering polio pops or asbestos action figures, then he can take his hyperbole and insert it posteriorly.

Even then, whence does Yeager draw his justification for the crackdown? You guessed it:

"We're responsible for paying for healthcare in the whole county," Yeager said. "We pay close to $2 billion annually on healthcare, and the costs have done nothing but rise." A big part of the increase, he said, is costs related to obesity.

The slippery slope is not a logical fallacy; it is the undeniable nature of government power.

The Simpsons Proudly Declares Cowardice

The Simpsons has a running gag in the opening credits where Bart repeatedly writes something pithy on the blackboard at school.

Here was last night's:

If you are not familiar with the recent South Park controversy, get caught up here.

I don't know what to make of the Simpsons statement. My initial interpretation is that the writers -- and not necessarily the FOX network -- admire South Park creators Matt Stone and Trey Parker's courage, but admit they have none of their own, which is a decidedly odd message to advertise.

So far FOX has not commented, and judging by the implied message I assume they never will. Were I Stone or Parker, my response would have to be "Thanks... for nothing."

Banks Collapse, Kleenex and Jergens See Record Profits

Most people wouldn't say they "enjoy" their jobs. That is to say, most people wouldn't continue filing TPS reports, fielding customer-complaint calls, inseminating mares, or whatever if there were no compensation involved. Add to that reality the fact that most people plug away at their jobs for at least forty hours every week, and it's no wonder folks occasionally find themselves seeking out cubicle-based diversions. A quick mission sweeping mines, pithy social-networking updates, riveting and hilarious cultural observations -- you get the picture.

But what kind of job must one have that enables him to -- ahem -- jerk around for eight hours a day? Why, a government job, of course!

A senior attorney at the SEC's Washington headquarters spent up to eight hours a day looking at and downloading pornography. When he ran out of hard drive space, he burned the files to CDs or DVDs, which he kept in boxes around his office. [emphasis added]

Eight hours a day?! I know pornographers who don't see eight hours of porn in a day. Fortunately for the hoarding horndog, there were plenty of other locked office doors in the building:

The SEC's inspector general conducted 33 probes of employees looking at explicit images in the past five years, according to a memo obtained by the Associated Press.

The memo says 31 of those probes occurred in the 2 1/2 years since the financial system teetered and nearly crashed.

One amorous accountant attempted (and failed) to access restricted sites more than 16,000 times in a single month, then -- displaying that never-say-die government moxie that won the War on Drugs in the '80s -- the accountant settled for changing his Google Images search settings and "managed to amass a collection of 'very graphic' material on his hard drive" that way instead.

The report surfaced on Thursday, but the story seemed to suffocate quickly, practically dismissed as novelty News of the Weird. But before the sordid tale of the Bishop-Bopping Beltway Boys dies off completely, keep a figure in mind:

$222,418

That is the salary of "senior level" SEC employees, seventeen of whom were implicated in the probe. That's $9.45 million you and I spent since mid-2007.

Talk about fiddling while Rome burned...

Rockets' Red Glare

Sunburn crept down my unprotected scalp, its progress imperceptible save for the stinging pain left behind every time I wiped the sweat from my forehead. Shaving my head was a dumb idea this time of year; forgetting the sunscreen was even dumber. Just ahead of me, a man in full woodland camouflage struggled to walk -- likely a symptom of the enormous cantaloupe-sized growth protruding from his ilium. A combat shotgun hung taut on a strap across the cripple's back, and I absently fingered the .38 special on my belt. It felt strange to be envious of him.

Sharp, overlapping machine-gun blasts vibrated in my foam earplugs with regularity, but no one in this area was paying any attention. They were here to buy. A hand-drawn tag Scotch-taped to the leviathan rifle in front of me read simply "$56,000" and was set directly behind an upturned Nazi SS helmet overflowing with brass knuckles: "$6 each". A rack of silk-screened t-shirts caught my eye -- the classic Che Guevara design re-imagined with President Obama in relief and letters added to spell "douCHEbag". Noticing my line of sight, the vendor piped up, grinning with half his mouth as he drew me in.

"A colored fella' looked at that one earlier. He said he loved it! Said he hated liberals!"

I've no reason to believe the t-shirt and brass-knuckle salesman was in any way representative of the hundreds of friendly, freakishly-knowledgeable vendors hawking their hawk-wares at the Knob Creek (KY) Machine Gun Shoot last Saturday. In fact, beyond the anachronistic (and innocuous) use of the term "colored", there was nothing terribly offensive about his observation or his shirts. And while crazies were out in force -- I can't shake the image of a man enthusiastically greeting an eight-year-old boy to his booth with a crisp Hitlergruß -- in aggregate the event was more Paula Dean than Anarchist Cookbook.

Firearms unquestionably outnumbered attendees by a factor of ten, both for sale and in personal possession, and I'm fairly certain I've never felt so safe in all my life. Vendors routinely turned their backs on unsecured items worth tens of thousands of dollars; after all, who would try to rob these people? Even US Senate candidate Rand Paul made an early appearance, pressing the flesh with hobbyists and kooks alike with no visible security entourage of any kind.

Had MSNBC been on the scene (like the New Zealand Herald?), it would have been easy to cherry-pick a ratings-grabbing hodgepodge of militants and racists, but the reality is that Knob Creek was ideal family fare. Between rich historical displays, a live band, "feel-free-to-touch!" meteorites, a light-and-sound show that puts fireworks to shame, and a swiftboatload of genuine experts teaching respect for and healthy caution toward weapons, the Machine Gun Shoot is exactly the kind of event Washington, Adams, and Jefferson would have enjoyed.

At eighty-seven degrees, less parking than your average Hawaiian Shave Ice hut, and no beer for sale, 8000 people certainly didn't come all this way just to whisper about "colored" people.

The Road I'd Rather Not Have Traveled

What are the most horrible things you can imagine? Loneliness? Helplessness? Unceasing mortal fear from morning to night?

What about specifics? A human newborn baby roasting on a spit at an abandoned campsite? A cellar full of naked human livestock, some with cauterized stumps where limbs have been removed as food for their captors? A solemn promise to murder your small child -- to smash his brain with a stone -- rather than let him be captured by sodomites and cannibals?

These are the essential elements of Cormac McCarthy's post-apocalyptic novel The Road, without doubt the most terrible, beautiful, miserable, punishing book I have ever read.

Because I care for my readers, I beg you to skip this book. The Road, a Pulitzer winner, has been called the best book of the last twenty-five years and the best book of the decade, but I call the reading of it masochistic. There is no levity. The anemic tendrils of hope are short-lived and emphatically dashed. Even the vast sections of tedium are laced with shivering omen.

Whatever McCarthy's grand intended message, it vanished like so much sugar in a ladleful of ipecac. This is no Diary of a Young Girl; this is exploitative horror from whole cloth masquerading as social commentary -- a literary Marilyn Manson album.

An Amazon Kindle looms large on my Christmas list this year. I know now I'd pay a hefty premium for an "Un-Read This Book" feature.