Heave Ho

I have not watched what they put on the television for more than 25 years.

As I’ve said here before, when they started using Beethoven’s “Ode To Joy” to push dishwashing detergent, that was it for me.

Cable TV, that I abandoned some years before. Of the broadcast variety, it is true that, from time to time, tee veeover that quarter-century or so, I might now and again tune in the news, national or local. But even that ended, for good, in 2009, when they switched nationwide to digital. My television set—so old it was actually made in the United States—didn’t know from digital. And I didn’t feel like going to Radio Shack for one of those little converter boxes . . . that are anyway no doubt malevolent spy devices.

I do, these days, have a television set that is digital-compatible. But no television comes over it. It is for movies and such, that flow from the intertubes.

I spend enough time chained to the tubes. I don’t need to double my servitude by hooking up with the television programmers.

However, the other day, I did look at a television.

I was in a pizza parlor.

Apparently there has been enacted some Law that requires that pizza parlors be festooned with multiple wall-mounted televisions, all tuned to sports channels.

The sound on these televisions is muted. Presumably because the blaring babeling din from the multiple programming on the multiple sets might induce nervousness and disorientation among the humans. And this would not be wise.

Because too many of them carry guns.

On the pizza television, there in front of me, was some sort of track-and-field Reality.

I realized that I had not seen a track-and-field event in more than twenty years.

Would, wondered I, I survive?

First up, was women running. This seemed pretty Normal. Running, after all, is a normal thing for humans to do. Sometimes one must needs run. Like, when the bus is prematurely leaving. And the women on the TV, running, they did not shave all the hair off their bodies. Like these mutants around here who ride bicycles. Several even had flowing from their skulls long curly locks, that bounced fetchingly, as they padded swiftly over the dirt.

So that was okay.

But then came a man who picked up an extremely long, flexible, bouncy pole, which he ran with at top speed, until he suddenly dug it into the ground, so that it might bend him into the air and so over a metal bar placed at an absurdly elevated height.

I laughed out loud, it was so ridiculous.

Then I remembered: pole-vaulting! ye gods

After several repeats, it all seemed less ludicrous.

I was adjusting.

But then they switched to a giant bulging squat creature, bigger than two or three usual-sized humans combined, who spun around and around and around, very fast, and then heaved a small metal ball a disappointingly meager distance.

This, I recalled, must be the shot-put.

Why one would want to put a shot: always, it has beat me.

Unlike the pole-vaulting, I could not adjust to the shot-put. And so it was well that they soon cut away to some humans leaping over hurdles.

This returned to the realm of running, which, as noted above, is Normal. And the hurdling could likewise be considered a Normal extension of, when running, having to leap over shit. This is a skill that can prove useful in the real world. As when one is forced to flee, across hill and dale, nefarious ruffians, like Cossacks, or the US cavalry. Or people frenziedly bearing televisions.

But then this televised hurdling became decidedly Abnormal. For as soon as the first group of hurdlers flashed across the finish line, the finish line unaccountably became the starting line, as another group of hurdlers instantly came boiling out, to traverse the field in reverse.

First one way, then the other.

My god, I thought, it’s perpetual-motion hurdling. When this second crew reaches its “finish” line, that will become the “starting” line, for yet another burst of hurdlers. And this will continue, until every human on the planet has been rounded up and forced to become a hurdler, in this perpetual hurdling motion machine

Nervously, I looked towards the door, to see if the hurdler pressgangers had arrived, there at the pizza parlor.

It was at this point that I realized I required narcotics. I inquired of the pizza people, but the best they could offer was pepperoni.

Pity.

When I turned back to the pizza television, there was an ad.

It was for something called HyVee. Apparently this HyVee was the sponsor of the vaulters and the putters and the perpetual-motion hurdlers.

Now, “HyVee” sounds, to me, like some sort of engine additive.

But no. It seems “HyVee” is a food chain. Located in those states—Kansas, Minnesota, Nebraska, etc.—that suffer from a dearth of mountains, between them and the Arctic Circle. Meaning there is nothing to block the winds from howling straight down from the pole every winter, to turn all the humans in the vicinity into icicles.

This is why most of the cities and towns in those states bear names like “Icepick.”

From what I could gather from this ad, when the people in these states thaw out come spring, they go into a HyVee, and there obtain large slabs of meat from hugely grinning men in red butcher’s smocks.

The horror. The horror.

But that was as nothing, compared to what came next. Which was an ad that seemed to be advertising the latest nauseating Top Gun-type film glorifying the serial killers.

In slow motion, moved the serial killers, across harsh rugged scapes of land, air, and sea. Uniformed with looks of grim yee hawdetermination: shit needed to be killed out there, get broken, and they wuz sure nuff the folks to do it.

There was even a slo-mo shot of a camoed serial killer rising from out of the swamp goo, like Captain Willard come for Colonel Kurtz in Apocalypse Now.

Occasionally flashing in the corner of the screen was a text message urging the viewer to type the word “shazam” into the intertubes, in order to receive there more information on the filmic wonderment.

Could Shazam be the name of the film? This I wondered. Intriguing me, because—as there are no coincidences—“Shazam” was the title I had recently selected for one of my periodic jeremiads, here on red, in re the serial killers.

But no. Ad’s end reached, I learn that the thing is not for a film at all. It is, instead, an ad for Reality.

For, comes the slogan: “America’s Navy. A Global Force For Good.”

I sat stunned. These people, they can’t be serious.

For some moments, I waited, in vain, for some smirking Bill Murray or Dan Aykroyd to arrive on the screen, to expose it all as an ice-nine daggering parody.

But no. It was real. They’re serious.

Seriously full of shit.

For, in truth, America’s Navy is a force for global jingoistic-religio death and destruction.

Let’s take just one example. The freakazoid Jehovah-controlled nutbag Navy Seals who blew the head off Osama bin Laden.

The assault on bin Laden’s home in Abbottabad was quite definitely an assassination mission. When bin Laden was shot (in the chest) and killed (bullet blasting open his brain), this is how it was:

A second SEAL stepped into the room and trained the infrared laser of his M4 on bin Laden’s chest. The Al Qaeda chief, hoo rahwho was wearing a tan shalwar kameez and a prayer cap on his head, froze; he was unarmed.

And the barking-mad Seal who assassinated bin Laden was a foam-at-the-mouth religious nut, a latter-day crusader:

The first round, a 5.56mm bullet, struck bin Laden in the chest. As he fell backward, the SEAL fired a second round into his head, just above his left eye. On his radio, he reported, “For God and country—Geronimo, Geronimo, Geronimo.”

“For God and country.”

So what, exactly, makes this crusader, who killed bin Laden, any different from a Muslim, who takes life with “Allahu Akbar” on his lips?

Nothing. There is no difference.

They are the same.

One kills a human being, who did exist, on behalf of one variant of the Almighty Beard-Winged Celestial Paperweight, who never existed. The other kills a human being, who did exist, on behalf of another variant of the Almighty Beard-Winged Celestial Paperweight, who never existed.

But perhaps—maybe you’re thinking—this nutbar Navy crusader who killed bin Laden was some sort of rogue element, a non-representative Christianist whackwagon, not reflective of the Navy as a whole.

No.

So sorry.

For the Navy unit containing the slipped-neuron slaphappy Seal who killed bin Laden consists of but 300 people. Nearly 50, or one-sixth, were deployed, in some capacity, on the mission to assassinate bin Laden.

And on May 6 of 2011, President Obama met with all those slavering Jehovah-encrusted smoothbrained Navy serial killers. At which time they presented Obama with an American flag—three-by-five, stretched, ironed, and framed. The Seal serial killers had affixed their signatures to the back. And on the front were the words: “From The Joint Task Force Operation Neptune’s Spear, 01 May 2011: ‘For God And Country. Geronimo.'”

And so we see: they’re all crusaders. Every one. Indistinguishable from those waging war with souls aflame for Allahu Akbar. Crusaders killing for one variant of the Almighty Beard-Winged Celestial Paperweight. Jihadists killing for another.

No difference. None at all. They are the same.

Obama told the Navy crusaders assembled that he would stashfitting their relic “somewhere private and meaningful to me.”

Wrong.

What he should do, is stuff their relic into an old tire, haul the tire out onto the White House lawn, douse it with lighter fluid, and set it on fire.

“America’s Navy: A Global Force For Good.” Jeebus wept. Praise be, that country, as with its Navy, is over.

In the meantime, right and meet that the serial killers should ooze forth their ads during sporting events. For, as George Orwell long ago, and rightly, observed: “sport is frankly mimic warfare.” 

Win. Kill. Win.

Nein. No. Nada.

Live. Love. Life.

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21 Responses to “Heave Ho”


  1. 1 Elva May 5, 2013 at 11:54 am

    How about making a trip to my house and we can watch baseball. This is what I watch along with tennis. I mute the ads or go get something to eat..Maybe I make a trip to the bathroom. The ads are for the birds, as my Father use to say. True the ads are to pay for the programs. If you watch PBS they have a few ads, but they are educational. I believe your brother was not a fan of TV. This must run in the family.

    • 2 bluenred May 5, 2013 at 12:10 pm

      As I have written here before, my brother “was once so enraged by the drivel flowing from his television he first hurled the set into a rice bog and then drove his pickup deep into the mountains so he could purify himself by sleeping a week in the snow.”

      On an earlier occasion, outraged by the Wrongness and Lies flowing from his tv screen, he heaved up the thing, and then weaved with it up the steps to the farthest regions of his barn, depositing it into the large cardboard box from which it came.

      Said box, unbeknownst to him, having, in the intervening years, become the home of a sizable contingent of hornets. Who, experiencing the TV crashing down upon them, boiled up out of the box to, thoroughly maddened, inflict many painful stings upon any and all creatures within range. Which, unfortunately for him, was only my brother.

      The problem, at present, about watching baseball, is that our team is playing like a collection of clubfoots.

      Remember why I stopped going to games live? Because I was no longer willing to invest that time and energy into a result I could not control. And that, odds were, would come up: Loser.

      Here, in my dotage, I just don’t want to go there.

      Still, and all, a visit is a Right idea. ; )

  2. 3 nancy a May 5, 2013 at 9:34 pm

    If it is any small consolation, i suppose they could have been featuring — not track and field – but the Kentucky Derby on those pizza parlor TeeVees.

    Then you would have been challenged — as i was — to make sense of munchkins with whips, the on screen sing – a-along to a santized version of “My Old Kentucky Home”, drunks rolling in the in-field mud, and a barrage of bad celebrities in even worse hats.

    All sponsored by Yum! Brands : (

    Surely it would have driven you to Hunter S. Thompson ( remember this ?? http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/7887639/looking-back-hunter-s-thompson-classic-story-kentucky-derby ) or the most decadent era of the Rolling Stones..

    Or maybe both?? : )

    • 4 bluenred May 6, 2013 at 7:44 am

      The Thompson piece let everyone know that the Derby is a definite Danger. I hope you were sufficiently medicated. ; )

      • 5 nancy a May 6, 2013 at 3:33 pm

        Alas, i was not.. But trust me, 90%+ of the horses were :/

        on a brighter note, Orb, this year’s eventual winner, was – for the first time in eons – one of those who was probably not fueled by a bute/cobra venom/EPO cocktail.. Just a stellar pedigree and an old horse whisperer kind of trainer..

        Sorry.. TMI..

        Elva ^^^^ up there is right.. Better to stick with baseball.

        And Rafa : )

        • 6 bluenred May 7, 2013 at 8:15 am

          Orb is kind of a cool horse name.

          I would think a horse named Orb is probably naturally medicated. ; )

  3. 7 poco May 6, 2013 at 3:40 pm

    One of your best, blue! Loved reading this. “For God and Country!” Hah! I cope by hitting the bottle–your way is so much saner.

    • 8 bluenred May 7, 2013 at 8:14 am

      Hi poco. Good to see you here. ; )

      I actually first railed about the slappy Seals and “God and Country” over on the Orange Place, just about a year ago. The piece was so long and wandering nobody much read it. Else it might have been deleted, too. ; )

  4. 9 Julia Rain (the deviant daughter) May 30, 2013 at 5:49 pm

    Shot-put is pretty weird and wrong. Not nearly so weird and wrong as the navy, however.

    Those ads really have slo-mo swamp goo rising now? Wow. They really are getting worse. Whenever these military ads come on, I usually can’t pay attention to them over the sound of my own inward swearing.

    Why is it that military types always lament that the military is comprised of only 1% of the population, and yet it seems like myself and nearly everyone I know, associates with at least one military person?

    • 10 bluenred June 2, 2013 at 11:37 am

      They are everywhere, like lice, and ticks, and fleas. The goal is to make them rare, like bleeding string warts.

    • 14 bluenred June 2, 2013 at 5:39 pm

      Bhutan has no military.

      This is because the people, and the leaders, are Sane.

      Instead, they have a deal with India.

      If they ever feel like they might need a military, they’ll call up India, and ask India to send over some military.

      The Americans need to strike a similar deal.

      They should get rid of all their military—snatch the guns, and strip off the uniforms, and send all the people off to get Real Jobs, while meanwhile melting all the materiel into ploughshares.

      If, at some time, they decide they need a military—like, if some drunk Canadians get a little too boisterous, and reel down out of Manitoba to occupy the Ace Hardwares—they can call up India.

      Since there are about 786 trillion humans in India, a few can certainly be dispatched to the US, to drive the Canadians back to the Ace Hardwares of their own.

      Then everyone can go back to Peace.

      • 15 Julia Rain (the deviant daughter) June 2, 2013 at 8:39 pm

        That sounds like an excellent plan. Well, maybe except for India.

        • 16 bluenred June 2, 2013 at 9:01 pm

          India is the Key to the Plan. They are by far the oldest civilization on Earth. Even the Chinese were hooting grubbing monkeys, when first the Indians came to the fore. Let them, now, be the Rulers.

          • 17 Julia Rain (the deviant daughter) June 2, 2013 at 9:09 pm

            Oh, I just meant it would be sad for India to have to have a military. But they can be the rulers. Sure. 🙂

            • 18 bluenred June 2, 2013 at 9:43 pm

              Well, sure, India shouldn’t have a military, either.

              But the essential task, at present, is to get the military out of the United States.

              Americans have no sense, or control, when it involves the military.

              They are like meth-heads, when it comes to the uniformed stab and strafe and slit and shoot.

              They need to go into rehab.

              No military. Around. Or ever.

  5. 20 Hildegarde April 7, 2014 at 6:36 am

    I savour, lead to I discovered just what I was taking a look for.
    You’ve ended my 4 day long hunt! God Bless you man. Have a great day.
    Bye


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