Bobo and his Masters want more breeders to feed the War Machine.
Take a large, physically powerful, ignorant but ambitious white teenager indoctrinated to callous violence by endless propaganda.
Give him a weapon of mass destruction, and release him to kill as many as he can of those he is led to believe threaten his way of life.
He is guaranteed to keep the Blank Checks rolling in and Endless War rolling on.
The more wealthy and insulated the child soldier is, the higher up in the command structure he ends up.
Those suburbanites sensitive and confused enough to get involved with the Counterculture tend to succumb to drugs and/or sexually transmitted disease and are weeded out of the pool of breeders.
Sounds like an AEI/ PNAC/ Carlyle group scheme if I've ever heard of one.
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2 comments:
"Those suburbanites sensitive and confused enough to get involved with the Counterculture tend to succumb to drugs and/or sexually transmitted disease and are weeded out of the pool of breeders."
Or is our pup philosopher author the progeny of such inebriated and infected victims, one who has managed to criticize everything about which he knows not, yet speaks volumes? It is pseudo intellect which knows no discipline that finds ease in throwing stones about instead of building with them. In the lack of responsibility it is easy to shed the yoke of logic and appear to be shouting great wisdom, but on the face of it appears to be less than wise. If one wishes to change the world they should begin with perfecting self and then work on the universe at large. Until you have reached the pinnacle, how can you possibly look down on anything else?
Kisses for you, too, anon.
That's a recipe that ensures no one ever tries to improve or change anything, because the world inside each of us is like an irrational number. You can keep cranking out the significant digits ad infinitum while changing nothing.
w+fd
In each of our bubbles of the multiverse, there is an optimally effective operational range. I've found mine. You evidently haven't.
As for being a pup, when the Big Dogs are so evidently corrupt and busy taking all the bones for themselves, it becomes time for the β members of the pack to step up and bark at the wolves.
But I am no pup: I've still got my draft card from Dick Nixon.
Logic is my first love, and my love of logic enables me to say you're advancing a straw man argument. But unlike some straw men, I don't need a diploma from Oz to teach me the difference from up and down. Nor the likes of you and Bobo.
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