Worse Than My Apartment

I don't even know where to begin today. Ten soldiers killed in Iraq, violence erupting in Thailand, the two chickenhawks in chief are making their tag team appearance before the 9/11 Commission in a non-disclosed smackdown that will never see the light of day...

The Supreme Court is hearing arguments on whether or not the Bill of Rights means anything at all, US Troops are treating Iraqi prisoners like fraternity pledges needing a good hazing, and this article at MSNBC paints an awfully grim picture of what it means to be "wounded in action."

So...uh...how 'bout them Lakers? Is this really the year for the Mailman and Gary Payton?

Damn. I need to clean up my apartment. It looks like--well, it looks like the Bush foreign policy: a complete wreck. At a certain point--I call it my six month rule--it's important to rid yourself of stuff that is really no longer useful. The only issue with that is actually finding and taking the time to part with what is essentially junk. Or shit, as in "get that shit outta here." I think folks like Richard Clarke and Paul O'Neill see this, but the BushRoveCheney monster continues to gaze longingly at the detrius while claiming somehow that maybe, just maybe, there's something useful amongst the clutter of boxes, papers, old clothes and shoes, etc. etc.

But there isn't. Time to put it on the curb, let the dumpster divers have their pick, and hope the rest gets hauled away to the landfill where the archeologists of the future will wonder how we managed to store all the shit we ended up tossing. That is, if we don't toxify ourselves into extinction...