I don’t know why you’re posting this here. We’ve seen this kind of stuff ad nauseum.
The major networks and the cable news channels show do a remarkable job of showing the work our soldiers, and the day to day reality of the war in Iraq.
Why just last week, Tim Russert and Chris Matthews were reporting from Diyala and Basra via satellite every hour on the hour. Frankly, I’m getting a little tired of their in-depth on the scene reporting about the war.
Every day it’s the same thing– 24 hour a day coverage: American soldiers and ordinary Iraqis on my teevee screen blathering on and on with their first-hand accounts of the successes and failures, hardships and heartbreaks of this long difficult war.
Maybe someday the MSM will get around to blowing the lid of some controversial comments made by a now retired preacher in Chicago.
Everyone mail this to your Congress members tomorrow,
That ought to stop ‘em.
“Armalite, street lights, nightsights
Searching the roofs for a sniper, a viper, a fighter
Death in the shadows he’ll maim you, he’ll wound you, he’ll kill you
For a long forgotten cause, on not so foreign shores
Boys baptised in wars
Morphine, chill scream, bad dream
Serving as numbers on dog tags, flak rags, sandbags
Your girl has married your best friend, loves end, poison pen
Your flesh will always creep, tossing turning sleep
The wounds that burn so deep
Your mother sits on the edge of the world
W when the cameras start to roll
Panoramic viewpoint resurrect the killing fold
Your father drains another beer, he’s one of the few that cares
Crawling behind a Saracen’s hull from the safety of his living room chair
Forgotten sons, forgotten sons, forgotten sons
And so as I patrol in the valley of the shadow of the tricolour
I must fear evil, for I am but mortal and mortals can only die
Asking questions, pleading answers from the nameless faceless watchers
That stalk the carpeted corridors of Whitehall
Who orders desecration, mutilation, verbal masturbation
I in the guarded bureaucratic wombs
Minister, minister care for your children, order them not into damnation
To eliminate those who would trespass against you
For whose is the kingdom, the power, the glory forever and ever, Amen ”
My favorite part: When the Walter Sobchak-esque SPC Moriarity walks through and films a US vehicle graveyard, waxing introspective about how, gosh, each of these destroyed vehicles has a tragic story involving somebody’s son or father or brother, all the while apparently oblivious to the fact that the entire fucking country he and his buddies are tromping around in is just that vehicle graveyard writ large.