I remember something after the incident where the public was asked NOT to use nine-one-one simply because the terrorists win if we referred to it as that, somehow.
Chalk another one up for evil!
Of course they're trying to be cute! "Nine Eleven" is big business, and you can't do business with an unwieldy name like "September 11th!"
For whatever reason, until I read this, I never realized anyone could be attracted to Dubya.
I mean, sexually attracted.
I was going to take a nap, but now I don't want to chance the nightmares.
And for whatever reason, I've taken this as a challenge to find websites detailing unhealthy obsessions with Dubya. More later.
It's not easy, given his suggestive name. But here is what I've found.
This passage:At a breakfast meeting during the 1997 legislative session, Bullock told Bush he planned to back a bill Bush opposed. "I'm sorry, Governor," Bullock said, "but I'm going to have to fuck you on this one." In front of staff, Bush stood up, grabbed Bullock by the shoulders, pulled him forward, and kissed him. "If you're going to fuck me," Bush said, "you'll have to kiss me first."
And this story:The world was falling apart. Society was crumbling in every single way imaginable. The Jews had seized control of the Newspapers, the Television stations and were slowly taking over the internet. Still, he could walk down the street without fear, as long as his supply of aluminium foil was safe he could not be touched.
As he began to wrap his head in the protective metal (totally different to the way those dirty Muslims do it), he heard a knock at the door. It was far too early to be the anti-abortionists, and the Palestinians weren't due for a light lunch until the early afternoon. He decided to exercise discretion and tiptoe towards the door slowly, so as to not give away that he was home. As he put his eye up to the mail slot to peek through, he saw a giant black size 12 boot smash the door into his face. As two stocky bodyguards walked over him, pushing their way into his house, he heard a voice that made him wince.
"Well howdy there, Mr Bigglesworth. It sure is damn fine to meet you."
It was President George W. Bush.
"Mr B-B-Bush..." he stammered. "Such an... unexpected visit".
"I was just in the neighbourhood and decided to check up on my favoritist person in the whole entire world".
Mr Bigglesworth blushed, the most powerful man in the world was standing right there in his living room. Never before had he been in such a position. While he hated the man with all of his heart, he couldn't help but admire him for all the things he had done right in order to get to such a high level of authority.
"Please, ha- have a seat, Sir", he managed to get out in a series of short, nervous breaths.
"Thank you, thank you kindly" came the reply as Bush took the largest seat, his bodyguards standing either side of the giant armchair. Bush looked like he was made for the giant Italian Leather bound chair, as he relaxed back into it and put one foot on top of the opposing knee. "We've been watching you for some time". Bush's voice brought with it a sense of authority, the kind that your grade three teacher uses when you've just been caught eating the glue. "It seems that you have found a way to escape us, but now that we've tracked you down, we can fix that for you".
As Bush's security agents walked towards him, Bigglesworth shrank back in his seat.
"NOOO!!", he screamed. "YOU CAN'T TAKE MY HELMET!!! WITHOUT IT THERE IS NOTHING TO STOP THE EVIL ZIONISTS FROM CONSUMING MY BRAIN!!!"
"We know", came the nonchalant reply. Bush's eyes lit up as his bodyguards tore off the shiny metallic hat, then his shirt, and finally his pants.
Bush undid his belt, unzipped his fly and let his pants fall to the ground as he slowly stepped out of them.
"Everything's bigger in Texas", Bush said to himself as he licked his lips, moving in for the "kill" with a grin on his face.
As Bush thrusted in an out of his raw anus, Mr Bigglesworth couldn't help but enjoy these new sensations that he was feeling. Even if he had wanted to resist, it was useless, the government's mind control rays had seized his brain and made it one of their own.
"Unh, you're even tighter than Saddam", panted Bush as he continued to dive in and out with his mighty American cock.
His eyes were glazed over, but he could still think. Bigglesworth imagined that this must have been the same way that the Afghani people had felt in 2002 and the Iraqis in 2003.
It hurt at first, but he soon got used to it. Bush would come over every day and unload his "bombs" onto his newest playmate's face. Mr Bigglesworth now knew what it truly felt like to be part of the modern world.
I just heard a C-SPAN caller say 9-1-1, and I have come to the think that Americans are taught 911 so early and often that it overshadows any later knowledge or pronunciaton. Especially if it is reinforced by our national alpha male.
So anyway you slice it... 9/////1//////1 = 9/1/1 = 91/1 = 9/11 = 911 = Nine-one-one.
A demonstration of the supreme power of education? A viral attack on one's intellectual immune system?
I hate sounding this pretentious, but I am really interested in stuff like this.
I've always been annoyed by the term "nine-eleven." I make it a point to always write and say "September 11th", because it's not a number, it's a date. We don't call Independence Day "six-four" or Cinco de Mayo "five-five".
I don't know. It seem to be to be cheapening things to call things by some number. Heck, the convention outside America would be for 11/9, so why can't we just stick with saying the date? I saw one article about the London bombings which mentioned in aside that happening on 7/7 would at least avoid Anglo-American disagreement over month-date order (this was erroneously assuming Americans would care about the London bombings for more than a week...)
Agreed on all points.
One of the first headlines I saw about the London bombings was So, what about us?
We really are a country of unapologetic assholes.
And I'm getting really tired of it.
Maybe after Kansas, I'll be an expatrioted asshole.