The Pope: Condoms have tiny holes, let HIV In

[note: headline edited to moderate tone] This is not so good, I think.

The Catholic Church is telling people in countries stricken by Aids not to use condoms because they have tiny holes in them through which the HIV virus can pass - potentially exposing thousands of people to risk.

The church is making the claims across four continents despite a widespread scientific consensus that condoms are impermeable to the HIV virus.

This is simply untrue. Moreover, since some African nations are facing HIV infection rates of 20% and more, this is a mindblowingly inhumane position to take. Y'know, there is such a thing as being blinded by one's convictions.

Posted by Johno Johno on   |   § 3

An Idea Whose Time Has Come... FOR ME TO POOP ON!

The Drug Tsarina, who is apparently John Walters, is advocating pee-testing of schoolchildren.

This despite bucketloads of evidence that pee testing has no (or even a negative) result in cutting drug use in schools. Y'know, there's such a thing as being blinded by one's convictions.

Thanks to Reason for the pointer.

Posted by Johno Johno on   |   § 3

Old Car Mecca

Later today, I will depart for my annual Hajj to the great Hershey car fest, there to gaze jealously at the wonderful antique automobiles. This trip is always fun and frustrating - I love old cars, and the medieval fair atmosphere of the show - but frustrating when you see a '67 Camaro RS/SS convertible on the last day whose price has been knocked down $3000 because the owner wants to unload it. 

67 Camaro 

Or a 49 Buick Roadmaster convertible whose owner is being deployed overseas. And you just don't have the money. Damn. 

49 Buick Roadmaster 

Someday, these cars will be mine. Yes indeedy do.

Posted by Buckethead Buckethead on   |   § 1

You mean suing my customers *isn't* a good strategy?

Via slashdot, this delightful article from the pointy heads at the Wharton School. The author, G. Richard Shell begins by making the fairly obvious point that suing your customer base might not be the best idea, but then goes on to give us some solid historical precedent for that conclusion, notably the efforts of the Automobile industry to sue Henry Ford's customers.

Fascinating article, and a valuable perspective on the future of the RIAA's attempts to make itself a pariah. 

Posted by Buckethead Buckethead on   |   § 2

It's a Dark Evil Day when Horseface Makes the Hall

The NFL announced today the candidates for the 2004 class of the NFL Hall of Fame. As a proud-yet-ashamed-yet-fiercely-proud Ohioan, I'm appalled.
Lets' review.

Up once again for nomination are three "contributors" to the game of football who should make any right-thinking Ohioan (pron: "o-heeszhian") gag. They are:

  • Art Modell. A filthy little toad of a man who once held a city hostage and broke the heart of millions, for the sake of moving to Baltimore. Baltimore!
  • Art Rooney, Jr. Moneybags for the hated, hateful Pittsburgh Steelers. The Steelers make me conflicted, because my wife's from Pittsburgh, my favorite city in the USA is Pittsburgh, and Pittsburgh has better sandwiches. So, for making me feel conflicted, Art Rooney: you're a dick.
  • Ed DeBartolo, Jr. Why, do you ask, would a good Ohio boy have a hate on for the owner of the 49ers? Why, indeed? Well, I don't know, but I've been told, that Ed DeBartolo, Jr. and his father are mobsters, and I do know they are all tied up in real estate in Northeastern Ohio. It's where they're from. They've really made a mess of things up there. It's a little-known fact that Northeast Ohio is mob central. It's what brought Jim Traficant to power, and brought him down.

And finally, Satan Himself has been offered a seat at the Big Table.

  • QB: John Elway. Ol' horseface. I hate him. I hate him so much. I hate him with lead pipe fury and a righteousness that burns like a million suns. Why? The Drive. Fucker.

Posted by Johno Johno on   |   § 4

My Homework: A Homage to the Golden Age of American Comix, Pulp, and Noir

The year: 1953. As millions "mourn" the death of Josef Stalin, the Man of Steel, a funeral procession with full military honors rolls through Moscow in a heavy snow. The procession of a thousand vehicles includes an open-topped hearse with one coffin, draped in hammer and sickle. Inside, a headless body.

Several hundred miles outside Moscow, a small caravan of trucks speeds through the night towards the distant foothills of the Ural Mountains. Their quest: deliver the frozen head of Josef Stalin to the mountain lair of Dr. Josef Mengele, evil genius and fugitive from world justice. Cut scene. The truck pulls up outside a dilapidated hut tucked in the angle between two sheer cliffs which rise like giant's hands toward the stormy sky. A light appears briefly in the night, then goes out.

In Doctor Mengele's underground lair, bright lights glare off a tangled forest of beakers, hoses, pipes, the hulking silhouettes of vacuum-tube computers, and other more exotic equipment. A low throbbing hum rises through the octaves into a high-pitched squeal, and then… ZARK! A brilliant flash of purple light. Several guards fly backwards from a plain steel table heaped with unidentifiable parts, their hair and clothing smoking.

For an excruciating moment, nothing happens. Assistants begin to fidget, envisioning the unthinkable punishments visited on those who fail. A groaning and creaking returns everyone’s eyes to the table in the center of the cavernous room. Involuntary gasps are heard as a giant metal figure rises slowly to a sitting posture. Everyone but the Doctor recoils in horror as a voice grates through a speaker recessed in the beast's chest - "Congratulations, Herr Doktor, for now I truly am the man of steel!" Joints whine and hydraulics hiss as the giant robot with the head of Stalin drives a titanium fist through the torso of a convenient guard. "And how goes the space vehicle?"

For months the world of cloak-and-dagger trembles as the finest men on earth battle the new enemy from the Urals. The heroes of the War are called back from their plows. The mettle of the free world is tested. Good men and women die, and evil rises triumphant. But slowly, slowly, the tide turns in the clandestine war. As the US Army battles the Communist menace in Korea -—a mere sideshow to the main battle raging furiously across the steppes, Premier Kruschev, advised by a cabal of the greatest minds ever assembled, brings Stalin, the Doctor, and their minions to ground in the very place of his birth: Doctor Mengele's underground lair. One ten-megaton blast, and the world is safe once again.

The year: 2002. The oldest of the cold warriors have long since retired, and the great minds of the Twentieth century have given way to younger, eager, yet callow figures. Few remain who were privy to the most horrible secrets of fifty years before.

January 2003. Several nuclear warheads go missing in Kazakhstan. A week later, Pakistan can't find some of theirs. Thousands of pounds of anthrax disappear "just disappear!" from stocks hidden deep in the Iraqi desert. Gradually, like a nearly cold fire catching once again in the ashes of the past, old contacts are restored, long-dormant ciphers carry cryptic messages, and a steady stream of refugees show the Urals have become a perilous place once again.

September 2003. A force of Russian army regulars guarding a mobile orbital launch platform fail to check in. Investigations go nowhere and reveal nothing but that the platform is gone without a trace. The Putin government can say nothing to the world. North Korea, growing ever more belligerent, announces it has nuclear weapons. Disturbing chatter is heard between terrorist groups in the Middle East long thought to hate each other.

Cut scene: An underground bunker cut from solid rock. A long black table in the center of a murkily lit room. Pairs of figures filter in from the four corners, guards leading bound "guests." The guests are seated and their bonds removed. Some can be immediately recognized as Saddam Hussein, Osama bin Ladin, Kim Jong Il, and Idi Amin (looking much the worse for wear). Others are nondescript: a cluster of unshaven men in orange hunting camo, a few round-faced men in green fatigues, and a well-groomed man who may or may not be a member of Ace of Base.

A giant metal figure enters the room, trailed by a smaller, wheeled cart topped by a glass dome containing what appears to be a human head. A voice grates from a speaker. "Gentlemen, I imagine you are wondering why I called you all here. Please make yourselves comfortable as the good Doctor explains all....

What horrible menace awaits the world as the combined forces of evil plot their secret deeds? And what force of men, living or dead, could hope to stop such stupendous perfidy from coming to pass? What force indeed? Well, the A-list wasn't available so we had to go with these: 

  • Paul Muad-dib, (Dune): strategic commander
  • John Rambo (First Blood, Rambo II): arms master, righteous anger, and implausible immunity to bullets
  • John MacGuyver (the television show of the same name): technical advisor
  • Indiana Jones: intelligence coordinator, bullwhip, and Middle East specialist.
  • Philip Marlowe (from the novels of Raymond Chandler): narration, surveillance, shakedowns, and mordant humor.
  • Molly Millions (from William Gibson's Sprawl Trilogy): Wetwork.
  • The Escapist (Michael Chabon's The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Klay): languages, disguise, daring rescues, and Eastern Europe/Russian specialist.
  • Captain Benjamin Willard (Apocalypse Now): infiltration and Asian specialist. 

As this mission will involve countering multiple, shifting threats in uncertain territory, I chose to favor individual prowess, scrappiness, and ability to adapt over brute force or sheer intellect.

Paul Muad-dib is the most brilliant military commander I have ever encountered, and several factors work in his favor here: his Islamic roots; his unparalleled ability to raise partisan guerrilla forces; and his ability to contain egos.

Rambo apparently can't be killed by bullets; that's a plus. He will serve as the moral center of the mission, and also as military equipment specialist. He will be an independent operator in the Russia, Asian, and Latin American theatres. He will also serve as tactical commander, jointly with Captain Willard. 

MacGuyver will be a roaming independent operative without portfolio, and will serve as technical advisor to the rest (duct tape! rocketry! fluid dynamics!). He and The Escapist should be unstoppable in tandem.

Indiana Jones will be an independent operator in the North African and Middle Eastern theatres, and coordinate intelligence efforts gathered by the others. After a massive crash course, he will be the resident Middle East expert.

Philip Marlowe will be an independent operator, as well as the narrator of the ongoing struggle. He will be responsible for US operations as well as diplomatic operations to Europe and the UN.

Molly Millions will kill lots of people quietly.

The Escapist will do advance undercover recon and undertake the most intricate search-and-rescue missions. As he has experience in Russia and Eastern Europe, that will be his theatre, and he will assist Capt. Willard and John Rambo in Asian affairs as necessary.

Finally, Captain Willard will penetrate the forces of Stalin, and engage him in morbid conversation. He will then kill Stalin in slow motion with a machete while music plays. Failing that, he will serve as an independent operator in the Asian sphere.

The team will be supported by three small cadres: one, a stable of MIT and ex-CIA pointy-heads, working to neutralize the threat of robot Stalin. The second, an elite cadre of the best elite forces from around the world: Special Forces, SAS, Israel. They will provide muscle, expert military advice, and tactical support for larger-scale operations. The third, for comic relief, will be a ragtag bunch of legitimate diplomats, working feverishly to cover up, explain, or justify any sudden shifts in global power, nuclear blasts, or local outbreaks of horrible disease.

The fate of humanity hangs in the balance. Can our heroes stop the nuclear and biological threat in time, and make the world safe for democracy, whisky, and sexy?

Tune in next week, when you will hear John Rambo say, "gueahhh, gremm bagabble. Adrian!"

Posted by Johno Johno on   |   § 3

Libertarians perform well in CA

Looking over the election results from the recent unpleasantness in California, I was reminded of a comment thread we had here a while back. In that discussion, we pondered the utility and viability of the Libertarian party.

I think that this result supports my argument:

Candidate Party Votes Percentage Rank
Arnold Schwarzenegger Rep 3,552,787 48.1 1
Cruz M. Bustamante Dem 2,379,740 32.2 2
Tom McClintock Rep 979,234 13.3 3
Peter Miguel Camejo Grn 207,270 2.9 4
Gary Coleman Ind 12,443 0.2 8
Ned Fenton Roscoe Lib 1,941 0.0 33

Posted by Buckethead Buckethead on   |   § 1

The Predator Effect rolls on

So far, every person who acted in the movie Predator who has run for governor has won the election. Sadly, Carl Weathers lives in Los Angeles, and will have to wait for the Governator to move out of office, or else move back to his native Louisiana.

Posted by Buckethead Buckethead on   |   § 0

More on China's space plans

Here. Looks like nothing before the middle of the month.

[Update] Reports are conflicting, but it looks like the mission will be longer than the first missions of either the US or USSR. The yahoo article linked on Drudge is saying 14 orbits, which would be nearly a day in orbit. (Gagarin did, iirc, three orbits, and Glenn did one.)

Posted by Buckethead Buckethead on   |   § 0