Take it from Snee: Too much thought put into the Confederate flag

As the official SeriouslyGuys southern correspondent, it is my job to keep tabs on the former Confederate States of America. It's a daunting task because, well, there are a lot of them, and a few select ones tend to captivate the news. (I've actually delegated all things Floridian to Fark.)

But the other challenging aspect is that readers, and writers, above the Mason-Dixon line already have their own ideas about Bible-belt denizens. Yes, there's a lot of evangelical Christianity down here. Yes, there is racism, but no more so than any other place in the United States, as national publications (many based in New York and Washington, DC) demonstrate whenever affirmative action, welfare, Islam or illegal immigration are discussed.

And, yes, there are a lot of Confederate flags down here, and not just on war memorials. But the person flying the Stars and Bars on their truck usually flies Old Glory on their porches as well. And the flag-bearer/wearer isn't necessarily racist, but it's not too surprising when that turns out to be the case.

It is because of assumptions that this cringe-inducing flag has long held a spot on the ever-growing Ban List (probably somewhere between cigarettes and porno).

Assumption 1: The Confederate flag stands for resuming slavery.

Let's say we ban flags based on who flies it, and what happened historically wherever it flew. We could easily justify such a measure when the flag in question is found at Klan rallies and slave ships once flew it. But what would we look at when we sing the national anthem before any major sporting event?

Doing some quick math, the Stars and Bars flew over Dixie for about four years (1861-1865), during which African Americans were enslaved. However, the Stars and Stripes flew over slave auctions from 1777-1862: 85 years! This, of course, does not count the 400 years of slavery in colonial America under the British flag, but who flies the Union Jack anymore?

The basis for this assumption is good old wartime politicking.

The Civil War is explained away as the war over slavery, much like the latest Iraq War is about Al Qaeda now (as opposed to 2003's WMDs, 2004's Saddam Hussein's oppressive regime, 2005's democratization of the Middle East or 2006's non-running colors). It's true that slavery was abolished during the war, but not until 1862. Until the Emancipation Proclamation, slaves were still auctioned in Washington, DC and many other Union cities--all under the U.S. flag and more than a year after Sumter and the first Bull Run.

So when Lincoln needed to drum up public support for an already unpopular military adventure in the South, he courted the only people that would continue the fight: abolitionists. Hell, they had already invaded the South to free slaves before the war (see: John Brown). Whether Lincoln actually opposed slavery is immaterial: he wasn't going to touch it until his approval rating was already in the tubes.

(Ironically, this is why President Bush believes, as stated in several interviews, that history will judge him better than the current media. We'll see if anyone defaces a mountain for him, though.)

So, sure, we can ban the Confederate flag, but Old Glory's gotta go, too. As do the flags of England, Spain, Portugal, France and any other former imperial power that participated in the slave trade.

And, though many a Klansman has carried the C.S.A. banner, just as many have also beared the colors of our nation. They consider their cause just as patriotic as standardizing English or fighting the metric system, and their right to assemble is guaranteed by the Constitution of the United States. The real irony is that their headquarters included Detroit, Chicago, Indianapolis, Portland and Denver.

(The Klan and various offshoots also fly the swastika next to the U.S. flag, proving once again that Americans only "study" the Civil War and World War II.)

Assumption 2: The Confederate flag stands for restarting the Civil War.

I've often, and always from northerners, heard a reminder that the South will not, in fact, rise again. It's a funny idea, but why would the South need to rise again?

Consider this:

• How many presidents since the Reconstruction have not either been from a southern state or have a southern vice-president?
  
  
• How many Dallas Cowboy fans (ugh) are there in the entire United States?
  
  
• Why is the Mexican border considered more strategically vital to protect than the northern border we share with Canada?
  
  
• How many bands, north or south, have played a Lynyrd Skynyrd song? Likewise, how many east coast and west coast rappers' albums feature hip-hop stars from the Dirty South? And what part of the country do Britney Spears and Jessica Simpson hail from?

Like it or not, the South doesn't need to rise again. Despite losing the Civil War, we determine most of the current national trends. Unfortunately, most of those aren't terribly boast-worthy (just terrible), but "awful" and "awesome" do come from the same original meaning: awe-inspiring.

As a symbol today, the Confederate flag is as innocuous as getting a tattoo of the Irish flag or Dem Bones of piracy. It's a celebration of history that we have no real connection to here in the US. Our Irish are just as likely to dodge British military service, and our pirates are just as likely to sail the Carribbean, as our Daughters of the Confederacy are likely to retake Gettysburg.

Of course, it has no place on government property--save memorials--but no less so than the Ten Commandments. Of the two, only one is sneaking into our courthouses.

Take it from Snee: Nostalgia is for the weak

The Merriam Webster Online Dictionary defines "nostalgia" as:

1 : the state of being homesick : HOMESICKNESS
2 : a wistful or excessively sentimental yearning for return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition; also : something that evokes nostalgia

There's a few choice wordings in that definition I'd like to highlight before I ream into contemporary popular opinion.

First: "being homesick." As in, being that 14-year-old at summer camp that cries alone in his or her bunk while everyone else plays kickball. It's understandable in children, and is OK in small doses for adults. I repeat: it's OK in small doses for adults.

Second: "excessively sentimental." It's also OK to be a little sentimental about certain things, like your first HJ or table saw. Excessively sentimental means that you get misty-eyed because M*A*S*H hasn't taped new episodes since Trapper John, MD, ended.

Third: "irrecoverable condition." I'm emphasizing this part because it's obvious that dictionary writers have one hell of a sense of humor. Sure, on the surface, this refers to going back to a time when your dad didn't touch you "down there" or the Washington Redskins had a solid offensive line. But I also think this extends to wanting Journey to go back on tour, and the uncloseted love of Journey is very much a condition on par with dementia and Tourette's (see: parties when "Don't Stop (Believing)" is playing).

Alright, those points stressed, I'm no longer tired of nostalgia.

I'm combatively angry about nostalgia now. Every year, I read more and more opinions that America was "better" in one past era or another, or that the world was a simpler place when you were 6 years old.

To start off, the world was not simpler when you were 6; you were. While the rest of the world was worried about nuclear annihilation, crooked S&L Loans, Libya and (for some reason) orphans, your biggest concern was whether the Punky Brewster cartoon was as good as or better than the show. Or how you would ever convince your parents that you needed the regular G.I. Joe space shuttle with mini-combat shuttle inside, or the ginormous G.I. Joe space juggernaut with launching pad and a regular space shuttle inside the cargo bay. Or how long would you have to wait until Star Wars Episodes VII, VIII and IX (the rest of your natural life).

So taking the above into account, how could America have been better back then? Most of the same problems that existed then also exist now. The only shift in the political landscape is that we invade countries for harboring terrorists now, instead of for harboring communists. And they were both compared to Nazis, only we used the commies to fight Nazis and used the terrorists to fight commies.

A TifS Prediction: Our next war, once terrorism is vanquished, will be against Poland because we used their combat troops in Afghanistan and Iraq. Germany will help us, and then we will have to fight them again after Poland falls, which will create a vortex and transport us back to 1939.

Just this week, New York Times columnist Judith Warner wrote about The Daring Book for Girls, which she applauds for waxing nostalgic about the 1970s. Riding the wave from last week's trampy Halloween costume crisis, she believes that the "me" decade was a better time for young girls, at least when it came to positive role models.

This, of course, ignores Daisy Duke, Farrah Fawcett, Deep Throat and Debbie doing sex-things to get to Dallas, wife-swap parties, disco, Vietnam, hip-hugger jeans (but no thongs!), lower drinking ages, smoking in workplaces, socially-accepted discrimination and Roger Moore.

In this light, nostalgia for a caricature of an entire decade is like remembering an old relationship. Sure, the sex was great (the first two times), and they bought you flowers once for no reason, but they still tried to burn your trailer down. Twice.

The worst nostalgia, though, is for times and places you aren't old enough to remember or, even worse, experience.

Bill: If you could live in any decade, what would it be?

Jill: The 60s! I just know I'd be a hippie! I'd go to Woodstock and watch the moon landing and lose my virginity to all of The Beatles, except George Harrison!

Bill: Pfft. I'd go back to the 40s: swing music, Bogart movies and World War II. World War II would be awesome. Unlike now, that war was so much easier.

I made that particular conversation up, but I assembled it with hundreds I've heard, read and--unfortunately--participated in. Although I do routinely run into pairings of 20-somethings with rhyming names.

Not only is this barely nostalgia, because the very meaning of the word implies that you remember it, but it's nauseating to hear periods of time boiled down to movies you've seen late at night or music you listened to for that U.S. History class.

You know how we complain about our media being full of propaganda? Whether it's Fox News or The New York Times, Hollywoodland or Hollywood or Glenn Miller or Godsmack, why would we assume that this is something that has changed over time? Most of these media examples are venerable institutions that have an established commercial history. How would they still exist if investors just now figured out that they're full of crap?

They wouldn't. And the "history" from the past is just as tainted as our own current recordings and scribblings. The only difference is that people were paid less for towing party lines back then because of inflation and today's highly-accessible nip-slip pictures.

I offer this scenario: if it is, indeed, possible to evaluate an entire decade based on popular entertainment, then what will our grandchildren think about ours? Will times seem simpler to them because our biggest concerns were with keeping our dogs locked up, wearing migets from our necklaces, being sufficiently redneck women and riding cowboys to save extinct horses?

And that's why nostalgia is for the weak: it's a mental cop-out. Instead of examining causes and effects of eons, we're cherry-picking the parts of history presented on a TV-dinner tray. It's unproductive, like crying in your bunk instead of playing kickball, because 1) time travel is impossible and 2) that time period is probably not as fun as it was when you were 6 or your grandparents.

In short, cowboy up and get with the times. And if you do alright, you can use your nostalgia to make a nice Renn Faire costume.

Take it from Snee: Keep your mitts off of Halloween

Once again, a major holiday happens to fall on Hump Day, and like last time, "Take it from Snee" will observe it. I'm a huge fan of Halloween, and like The Guys who are Red Sox fans, I've endured countless ups and downs.

In the early years, I couldn't catch a break on Halloween and suffered through embarrassing mom-planned costumes like a bunny rabbit or a clown (before everyone became afraid of both). Then, there was the phase where I chose poorly: popular cartoon characters that are sadly dated, a foray into budget sci-fi ("Space Kid?" Really?) and the occasional ninja costume. The high point of this era was Joe Theisman and a wounded soldier.

And then ... there was a crisis of faith: those teenage years where I was too old to trick-or-treat, but sexy Halloween parties were light-years away. I stopped observing Halloween, except to watch marathons of bad horror movies while handing out candy.

College, though, is when I went through a Halloween renaissance. Alcohol thankfully replaced candy, except for Candy, who dressed as a nurse. I suddenly understood why Elvira had big cans: because they're as much a part of Halloween as worshiping our Dark Lord, the Desolate One. Or maybe they were genetic. Whatever, and good for her.

Rediscovering Halloween in this light is analogous, at least to me, of my team winning the series. It's a vindication of the human spirit to know that I was right all along to think it is the best holiday of the year.

Think about it:

• Thanksgiving means spending time with your family, which means wearing a sweater, hearing the same stories all over again, and hiding your smoking, drinking and closeted sexual deviancy. It also means a mangled turkey because who regularly practices baking an entire turkey for 6 hours in the 21st century?
  
  
• Christmas is alright, I guess. There's presents, and it's that-guy-who-dies-every-spring's birthday, so everyone is nice to each other. But, once again, there's family (see Thanksgiving). Oh yeah, and you're broke from buying shower radios and foot baths for every distant aunt or uncle.
  
  
• New Year's is downright depressing. Everyone gets drunk because the year is over, but--LOOK OUT--there's another year coming up at midnight. So you make a list of everything that's wrong with you, knowing that if you've put off a diet for one entire year, you sure as hell won't do it next year. The only option is to drink yourself to near-alcohol poisoning and kiss someone that sure ain't your wife. Damn, that's really depressing. I should fix that next year.

But that's not to say that Halloween is perfect.

Halloween is when the psychos march out of the woodworks. I don't mean the goth kids or actual criminally insane that suddenly blend in, but the non-believers.

There are, of course, those fanatics that denounce Halloween as a pagan ritual designed to lure children to the devil. But then, they also use their own pagentry to lure children to their own religion, so are they really that trustworthy? It makes sense that those that push their own agenda on the public would assume everyone else is doing the same thing, I guess.

By just examining Christian rock, you can see their mistaken assumptions about rock music, as in its purpose--to play-act rebellion--and its sound--awesome. Christian rock does neither. So, of course, they make the same mistakes with Halloween: instead of rebelling for a night and look awesome, they try to scare us into accepting God ... again.

And then, there are the "What Happened to Halloween?" crowd. Most of these people are newspaper columnists, so that shows how much they've adapted to the times. Every year, they apply the latest cultural fears to Halloween and try to explain why we've perverted it.

This year's--and also for the past several years--fear is sluts. They're afraid of women dressed as naughty [insert profession here]s, and they've resorted to their usual tactics: child human shields. You see, because of adult women's whorish natures, girl children are becoming sluts, too--or, as they put it--sexualized.

This, as always, ignores the fact that children ignorant to sex cannot sexualize themselves. Adults sexualize children. I present this, with the expectation of outcry in the comments below: if you are made uncomfortable by a child with a bare midriff, you might be suppressing pedophilia.

And if you are upset by women dressing playfully, then you either (a) have your own twisted self-esteem issues regarding your body or inadequate sex life or (b) are possessive by nature and get upset when people notice your girlfriend/wife (e.g., that "Islamofascism" that these same people are normally at war with). And if your problem is b, then you also have to evaluate whether you have an unhealthy fascination with the woman that bothers you so much.

The argument is sure to be made that, by dressing down women and girls, they're protecting them from predators. Like with the Christians, I ask: how can you control other people's reactions? Pedophiles target children dressed as children, which includes Elmo costumes. If you're actually concerned about children's safety from rapists, then get involved. Escort your children while trick-or-treating. But don't sit at home and blame everyone else.

And regarding grown women, would you say that women ask to be raped, that they deserve it if they wear a little more than what they wear at the beach? The law and I agree (for once) and you have some sick punishment fantasies.

Because I am a die-hard Halloween fan, I think it's important to preserve it for what it is: one designated night per year of masquerades and ribaldry. There's a reason why people are lured to the stage or writing, and that's to pretend to be something else, which is often taboo because we get to be, as Cary Tennis put it, normal every other damn day.

Take it from Snee: Clothes are not the problem

There's this idea that's floated around since I was a bald-faced lad (I'm now a scraggly-faced boy-man) that the solution to all of societies' woes is a dress code. Until recently, it focused exclusively on children, but recent attempts to legislate baggy pants in Atlanta and other states show that we continue to look for a simple solution for a "symptom" as opposed to the problem(s).

The idea that "the clothes make the man" is probably best illustrated by the Looney Tunes. In a particular cartoon, a hats accidentally fly out of a delivery truck and land on Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd. With each hat change, their personality changes: a bridal veil turns Elmer into a blushing bride, while an Army helmet turns Bugs into General Patton.

It's a great gag, but there are a lot of people who buy into that idea in real life. It ignores the idea that people change costumes to affect the changes they've always wanted to make about themselves. A kilt doesn't make some Scottish, but that person may want to act Scottish, so the image jusitifies doing whatever it is the wearer thinks Scottish people do that is awesome.

So we characterize people based on their clothing because we assume that they interpret their clothes the same way we do. When I wear a kilt, people assume that I'm going to drink, headbutt soccer officials and shag some sheep. In reality, I'm just going to drink, but no more than usual, and I could care less about soccer. I don't plan to shag any sheep, but who knows where the night will lead? (For the sake of the public and sheep, hopefully not to a farm.)

By replacing the kilt with baggy pants, people assume I'm going to earn a lower GPA, kill whitey and degrade a few women as "hos." They have no idea that I'm wearing baggy pants because my elephantitis is inflamed again. Instead, they assign the uniform of baggy pants to the thug, that black hip-hop monster that will achieve nothing more than rhyming in rhythm.

What's their solution? Send me to The Gap for some well-fit khakis, which will not help my swollen testicles. But dressing me up won't improve my grammar, ethnicity or class (in both senses of the word).

But I'm less threatening in khakis (unless my testicles grow larger from chafing), so the problem can be ignored. I'm not an example of "what's wrong with America" anymore, but instead look like the people who don't have said problem. Bill O'Reilly can excitedly compliment me because I didn't mug or rap at him.

The other basis to the dress code idea is that it will save me some grief because everyone is wearing the same clothes as me; therefore, they can't decide whether I should be beaten up or not.

As I wore a uniform for three years of Catholic school, allow me to rebut.

People don't get beaten up for the clothes they wear; they get beaten up because there are assholes who like to beat people up. Assholes will find any reason to kick your ass: your clothes, your stupid face, telling them that you'd like to (lovingly) sodomize their sister, disgraceful taste in wine, poor hygiene, the way you walk, your speech impediment and etc.

In fact, I've had offers to rearrange my face my entire life whether I was dressed in a uniform or at the height or most modest standard of fashion. Come to think of it, the only time I haven't been threatened was when I was naked, but that's because the guys that would beat me up were too nervous about looking gay by talking to or laying hands on a naked guy.

Even if everyone is dressed the same or--as the proponents call it--appropriately, we always find something to dislike about a person.

In Catholic school, we had to wear predominantly white sneakers, so we made fun of the kid in the dorkiest white shoes. Woe be to the boy who wore Keds or similar nurse-centered attire. We also had a choice between khaki pants or shorts, but, since this was in Hawaii, only losers wore the pants. And, of course, we could still judge a kid by his face, hair, athletic ability, race, nerdish qualities and whether or not he took Communion at Mass. And since we were mostly military brats, there was the inevitable division of officers' and enlisteds' kids.

That's why it is important to not forget the dual-purpose of uniforms: yes, they make everyone more or less the same; but, they also assign rank to that person. This is why we dress prisoners and servants in such a manner--to remind them, and us, of their place. Nobody cares if white CEOs wear relaxed-fit Levis, but it's an "epidemic" when young people, who frighten us, do. In fact, when guys like Richard Branson do it, they're "rogues" or "colorful."

We're fascinated by simple solutions to life's complex problems. After 9/11, e-mail messages floated around about General Pershing vanquishing Islam in the Philippines in the early 20th century by burying killed Muslims with pig corpses, which ignores the ongoing clashes with Islam in the Philippines today. Or that by buying everyone in the world a Coke, the world would "stop and chill a while." Or, my favorite, that by groggily pledging allegiance to a flag every morning, people will become better citizens.

Dress codes follow the same vein of thought. They don't really solve the bigger problem, nor do they help the person with the problem. Instead, they dress up the person in question so we don't notice them anymore or are less threatened by them. And the sad part is that it doesn't work. Ask all the pre-Civil Rights blacks that were lynched in the South despite straightening their hair and wearing ties.

Take it from Snee: 'Nice guys' deserve to finish last

Ah, yes: the heartfelt nice guy who wants you to know how much he cares about you by ubiquitously clinging onto you and telling you what's wrong with your boyfriend.
Every four months or so--basically the beginning of every semster/summer break--I get the same piece of anonymous hogwash titled "To All the Nice Guys" or some other variant. It's always the same story about a guy who keeps getting passed up by the girl of his dreams for some ambiguously evil "asshole."

The chief complaint, as if you've never read it, is that the nice guy puts in all the time: purse-watching, clothes-advising, hand-wringing and providing a shoulder to cry on. Meanwhile, the asshole, who is presumably responsible for said crying, gets to put his hand under her shirt. It's not fair! the story whines, so it begs the women of the world to quit dating the "asshole" and date the "nice guy" that wrote this.

Let's examine the roles of the nice guy and the asshole.

The asshole is the villain in this letter. He's presumed to be a jock, has perfect teeth and can "get any girl he wants," so he presumably will use that ability to cheat on the nice guy's stalkee. Do you see what I see? That's right: it's a stereotype.

The asshole isn't anyone in particular, has committed no particular crime against the woman or nice guy and simply fills the nice guy's role of "not me." This stereotype, like all stereotypes, is more damning of the speaker than the target. Therefore, if you are in a relationship, chances are very good that you (yes, you) are an asshole to someone else. You don't even have to cheat on the woman.

Granted, some assholes are actual assholes. These are typically the guys that act one way to bed a woman, and then transform into an phoneless leacher once the sex gets stale. So, although the writer of this letter is resorting to a stereotype, there could be an actual asshole he fails to mention. However, the letter is black-and-white in this regard: you are either a nice guy or an asshole.

The nice guy in this letter is the token (not-gay) male friend. He's that guy who's always hanging out with your girlfriend, buying her Christmas presents on par with/better than yours, taking her out for meals and prying secrets out of her whenever you're not around. Every time your relationship gets rocky, he's the one advising her that she "deserves better" (read: him). And why does he dote on her and pretend to be her friend? To get her in the sack.

I know, you're thinking, "But he's the nice guy. He wants a relationship."

The nice guy's complaint is that he already has the relationship, but no sex. If he was such the understanding friend, he'd realize this woman has no sexual interest in him and maintaining a relationship with such expectations is deceitful. So, by putting on an act to get sex from a girl that's in a relationship with someone else ... Sweet Ringo Starr, the nice guy is actually an asshole!

Now if you noticed a striking similarity between this and every emo song ever written, you've won yourself a cigar.

Whether it's a song by Fall Out Boy, Good Charlotte or Dashboard Confessional, it is the anthem of the duplicitous "nice guy." The protaganist is that guy who is "trapped in the unbearble sadness" of not having the woman of his dreams. He may have even had a one night stand with the woman, making him "a notch in her bedpost," but she stayed with her asshole (a.k.a. boyfriend). So what does he do? He whines to anyone who will listen that he's not getting his due; in other words, he's bragging in the locker room like an asshole.

But who's really at blame in this typical tale? The nice guy blames the asshole and maybe the woman. But if he was really a nice guy, wouldn't he have told her no?

There's an old concept that "nice guys," as emo songs and this letter describe them, always ignore: minding their own business. There's nothing wrong with being friends with a woman in a relationship, but by actively participating in the sabotage of her relationship, he's butting into a situation that will never work out for him.

With the voluntary androgyny of emo-ness, there's a pitfall: self-imposed emascualtion. The nice guy in these songs is frustrated by the very role he's adopted: the token gay friend. In fact, the woman in question might not even notice him because he's working his way in from the inside as an infiltrator.

If he wants to be an androgynous nice person, there's a better role model: Emily Dickinson. The emo kid is already on his way there by staying home, writing a lot of poetry and waiting to die alone because "nobody understands him." But nobody wants to really be Emily Dickinson (not even Ms. Dickinson, according to her poetry), so it's obvious that this is all an act--a ploy for your undue sympathy.

Let's just say, for the sake of covering all bases, that the nice guy is, in fact, better for this woman than the asshole. Now let's look at the letter and emo songs.

If you're trying to gain the affections of a woman, would you tell her how stupid she is? Both do so in this case, explaining she's stupid for not dating him.

How about telling her that she's marginally evil for "playing with your emotions" by being your friend? I'm sure that women love it when you devalue their friendship.

And do you think you'll really convince her that you're on her side by calling the man that she might very well love an asshole? Any man who's tried to tell a woman how to feel will line up to slug you just for being an idiot. Seriously, if she loves the guy, she's going to defend him and you've made the situation even more untenable.

So if you're sitting at home, IMing a woman to tell her about your latest song or livejournal entry, hoping she'll figure out that it's about her and leave her "asshole" of a boyfriend, I got news for you: you deserve to be alone. Give yourself a few more cuts so you can cry about your self-imposed shortcomings, because you don't know a thing about being nice.

Or here's an idea: find a woman and tell her how you actually feel. If you can do so without getting maced, you might actually be a nice guy.

Take it from Snee: Impatience is no virtue

Thanks to impatience, rush hour is the slowest time to drive to and from work. Thanks a heap, irony.
To quote your grandparents (let me pull my pants up real quick), what happened to patience? Halloween costumes have been on display since Labor Day; Christmas was apparently pushed forward to February; and election primaries will likely start November this year. Why the rush on profits/screwing that will happen inevitably as scheduled?

Don't get me wrong, though. You will hear the full fury of my whiny Toyota horn if you sit at a green light. I'd kill my neighbors if it meant my Internet would run faster, which is one helluva feat since it's cable--tomorrow's New York Times today! And I get irritable when sitting in the McDonald's drive-"thru" for 15 minutes, grumbling impotently every week that "I'll never eat here again." I also blame my fiance if she doesn't orgasm in the first 30 seconds of sex; she missed her chance, and that train is flown and sagging.

So maybe I'm just observing my own impatience, but I'm pretty sure everyone else is just as pissed off at slowpokes and hopped up on caffeine as I am (because I was too impatient leveling my LOTRO champion to sleep). I know, I know: I'm taking too long to write this. Calm down and do your breathing exercises.

Here's an example we're all familiar with/guilty of: speeding and running red lights.

Just last week, I watched two cars collide head-on right in front of me in an intersection. How close was I? I almost shrilled like a little girl, put my car in reverse and rear-ended the car waiting behind mine at our red light. Fortunately, I didn't, mostly because I, too, was running late for work, so I was ready for the light to turn green and swerve around the twisted metal. The accident happened because on person was trying to make a left turn before the oncoming traffic reached him. Obviously, he didn't make it. (Not like that: he was still alive and got out of his car to check on the crying woman in the other car.)

In fact, most of the accidents I've seen are because of impatience. That car that inches too far into the intersection, waiting for their light to turn green. The very important person who doesn't observe red lights. The driver that changes lanes without looking because they missed the turn for Taco Bell, but doesn't have the time to drive on and turn around at the next light.

Taco Bell, McDonald's ... There's another example. We're so impatient that we'd rather eat fast "food" than pack a lunch, eat at home or go to a restaurant with actual biological food bits.

Once that diet makes us fat, we then complain that it's too hard to get back in shape (e.g., it takes too long). "6 Minute Abs" used to be fast enough, but that's old news. Duct tape some electrodes to my nipples, staple my stomach to the size of a raisin and lipo off the excess; whatever it takes, make it snappy because my reunion's next week!

And let's not forget miracle-bodies by "flaxseed oil." Body-building is barely a sport anymore if anyone can get the results of years of training (not to mention a roll of the genetic dice) in months. High school athletes are even doping up now to play like professionals, impatient with the natural growth cycle of adolescents.

Do you realize that, at this very moment, a high school freshman is signing an obligation statement to play basketball for a university? The parents are too impatient to let the kid grow up and decide on a career that doesn't involve a ball and Nikes. The school's too impatient to wait for atheltes that have spent four years of high school being, well, high schoolers. And the kid's too impatient to become a millionaire, though who knows what will happen to him in three years. Of course, this is all because the college knows that if they wait too long, he'll sign his NBA contract before his first blowjob.

Everyone I know from college is getting a huge letdown. We aren't managers or making six-figures yet. Nobody's put us on the big screen or published that novel we're too impatient to type up right now. (Yeah, I should start working on that again.) We're financing cars and other big ticket items to pay for them later, while paying off student loans, instead of--holy crap--waiting until we can afford them.

So we work overtime and weekends because we were impatient for debt, and our bosses were too impatient to give a realistic deadline to an impatient customer. And if that customer is the government, then they're impatient because we hastily elected an president in November 2007, who had to rapidly expand the government because he or she was too impatient to wait for weapons inspectors in Sandistan.

Finally, there's cheating in marriage. I don't care about cheating in unmarried relationships because the aren't real commitment other than wishful thinking. But cheating on your spouse because the magic is dead or you want to date again is about as impatient as you can get. Take a note from the past and get a divorce, or--even more patiently--wait for your spouse to die. Hell, even killing your spouse shows more patience because you'll have to make plans to cover up the body and DNA evidence.

There's a national barometer for figuring out which human aspects we hold ideal: little girls' names. Hope, Charity, Constance, Prudence and etc. were names chosen by parents to inspire such behavior in their own lives and/or that of their newborn. If we continue to celebrate and reward haste, it won't be long before we actually met Impatience.

Don't worry if you're too impatient to get to know her. She'll be drafted because we were too impatient to let democracy naturally evolve in Glassistan (formely known as Sandistan).

Take it from Snee: The flag's still fabric

From my understanding, the American flag is something to really rally under. There are a number of theories to explain this:

1) Flags are bright and festive, and our flag is no exception. Since it flutters in the wind, too, its spectacle is comparable to television.

2) People died for it, proving that Capture the Flag is really an exercise in patriotism.

3) It's taller than everyone else, so it's more prominent than, say, Dabney Coleman. (Does that mean that people would rally under Dabney Coleman if he were as tall as an American flag? Undoubtably, yes.)

So, as the focal point for every gathering in this country, including Cub Scout pack meetings, super-saver sales at Wal-Mart and Klan rallies, the flag has become a sacred object. So sacred that some people in Reno took offense when "a business [...] was flying a Mexican flag above an American flag."

Warning: the article includes a picture of this act, so it might not be safe for work.

In case you aren't outraged yet, NBC affiliate KRNV-4 was kind enough to also link to the U.S. flag code to prove flying another flag over the American flag "is illegal."

There are a few problems with this assertation.

First, these laws are about as enforceable as sodomy laws. In fact, no flag desecration case has ever been upheld by the Supreme Court, thanks to the First Amendment. While the current outrage is a symptom of rabid zenophobia of Mexican illegal immigrants, other abuses continue to escape media attention, including those commited by country music stars wearing flag shirts and do-rags.


OMG! An illegally displayed flag on the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Adminstration's "Ocean Explorer" Web site. In other words, a violation of the United States flag code by the federal government!
Second, the amendments signed by Dwight D. Eisenhower in 1954 apply only to "all buildings, grounds, and naval vessels of the Federal Government in the State, Congressional District, Territory, or Commonwealth." So any private citizen can fly any flag they choose over their property, much to the dismay of Homeowners' Associations everywhere. And they don't have to fly it half-mast everytime a congressperson goes to the great soapbox in the sky.

Third and finally, it's a piece of fabric. Despite what video games tell us, exchanging flags does not make this business part of Mexico. It makes it the target of off-duty minutemen that haven't kicked enough brown people around today.

In other words, this really isn't a big deal. Thanks, NBC, for scaring us over nothing.

Take it from Snee: HPV vaccine enables sinners

But the other 50% deserve it, too.
There's an ongoing debate about whether to administer the HPV vaccine to young girls before they become sexually active. While this could eliminate one of the primary causes of cervical cancer, which affects moral people who get married and raise preferably Christian kids, there is an undeniable consequence: that is, there is one less consequence for having sex.

That's why I'm not just against inoculating the young from this disease, but inoculating anyone else for that matter. By treating sexually transmitted diseases, our nation's health care providers are deliberately undermining our tax-funded abstinence-only sex education.

But the HPV vaccine is the tip of the iceberg. At this very moment, doctors are giving deviants antibiotics to treat syphilis, gonorrhea, Chlamydia and a variety of other non-viral STDs. They are prescribing topical creams and pills to control sinners' outbreaks of herpes and genital warts. They are even courting Bono and spending further research dollars on a cure for HIV/AIDS, which wouldn't exist if people had sex with only their spouses.

It may seem inhumane to allow people to suffer from their afflictions, but let's look at history, which is always on the side of those telling it and, in this case, I'm a-tellin'.

Al Capone murdered his way to the top of a crime syndicate to spread demon rum to the masses, yet he only served time for tax evasion. Fortunately, the good Lord gave him syphilis for his wrong-doing, making sure Al wouldn't outlive his sentence without a bout of raving lunacy and leprosy symptoms.

After trying to kill the Almighty, Frederick Nietzche was smote from above with syphilis. Guess who's dead, and, more importantly, who's still alive.

Jazz legend and the Devil's contractor, Robert L. Johnson also died from syphilis. If he was so keen on Faustian bargains, you'd think he'd negotiate for a cast iron willie.

And let's not forget all of the adult film stars that the Guy in the Sky punished with AIDS. God gave us cameras to film picnics and potty training, not the filthy act of fornication.

In conclusion, as every valid point is wont to have, it is vitally important that we maintain a viral/bacterial deterrent for sex. As long as we can point to people suffering from God's wrath, we can ignore our own natural misdeeds and enjoy a world without sex.

Take it from Mister Snee: We all be needin’ Talk Like A Pirate Day

Happy International Talk Like A Pirate Day, me hearties!

I've been celebratin' this pro'ound holiday for several years, includin' two columns in The Guys' old prov'n ground, Radford University's newspaperrr, The Tarrrrrt'n. It's been gainin' interest since the release o', from all sources, Disney's and Bruckheimer's Pirates o' the Caribbean; but now that the series be over, what perchance should happen to our favorite holiday?

It be a terrifyin' prospect for considerin'. Once Marilyn Manson became passé, Halloween became all about the infernal Powerrr Rangers again. Christmas only witness'd a massive cultural upswing with the release o' Reindeer Games, but now ye'd be lucky to find decorrrations as early as June. On the other hand, The Passion o' the Christ scar'd the bilge out o' so many lubbers that Easterrr feels like celebratin' yer first keelhaul. (In other words, undesirable.)

Aye, the faithful shall remain, but be that enough for maintainin' a sense o' dignity every September 19?

Some would argue for keepin' this day exclusive, but it be more important to be sharin' the buccaneerin' spirit with mateys at all four corners o' the charts.

For instance, do ye think the Chinese be free to express their piratical natures? It be laughable to think so. Why, these poor rats be forc'd to shanghai (har!) their way into the Interrrnet for pornography. Yarr, it aggravates the senses further to think that this be happenin' in plenty other countries to boot!

And take into further consideration the plight o' the moderrrn cube rat. Most pirates got their start workin' for The Man (o' in this historic case, The British Man). They were flogg'd into submission to autocratic rulin' and had no liberties to speak o', save their evenin' ration o' grog. What did they do? They got fed up and turn'd pirate, they did. But there be no sign on the horizon o' anyone today takin' a stand and sayin' no to extra unpaid hours when they’d rather be home watchin' Survivorrr.

And, o' course, there be the recent case of Andrew Case, the young lad that the University o' Florida Police felt in need of a taserrrin'. Case ‘tis the very example o' why the old salts left the British Navy in the firrrst place, or why another group o' lubbers pitch'd tea off o' diversities into Boston Harbor--"diversities" be meanin' old, old wooden sailin' ships.


'Twere briny depths that day indeed!
I’d be remiss to not point out that the constables were already settin' Case in shackles b'fore even makin' him dance with Jack Ketch--all because he broke a rule about not speakin' out o' turn in a "town meetin.'"

It be a sign o' the times. We’d rather be goin' 'bout our business then be inconvienc'd for one second of unsettlin' liberty. And why? Because we want to follow the rules and not be getting' the boot. We'd rather be acceptin' our pint o' grog than to be takin' 40 lashin's in the public square.

So that's why it be so blast'd important that this day survive Johnny Depp and Kiera Knightley. It be a fun day o' confusin' classmateys and office crewmemberrrs, but it also be a celebration o' the spirit that originally found'd this nation: captainin' our own fates, rather than lettin' some other lifeless lubber do it for us. International Talk Like A Pirate Day cannot remain in our exclusive lot's coffers, but shar'd with the disenfranchis'd all around us.

Take it from Snee: Heroes are meant to be destroyed

I scanned the news all week to find a topic to skewer. Unfortunately, all I could find were stories about the VMAs, fallen politicians and opinions on why the surge is/isn't working. But I did notice a theme, one that is always in the news, but not always at the same time.

We embrace people for a variety of reasons as icons, emulate/support them for a bit and then dig up the dirt to bury them.

The obvious example here is Britney Spears. I've endured her songs in the dorms for the past four years, so I found it fitting that her career was killed not long after I graduated. And maybe most of her downfall was through her own panty-less fiascos, but the American people got tired of her after a near decade and now she's a has-been.

Then there's the politicians. We elect these people to office, and then wait for a scandal to get rid of them. Even now, we're pushing primaries ahead of schedule to send Bush back to his ranch on a permanent vacation ... as opposed to all the time he's spent there so far.

Let's not forget how high his approval rating was on September 12, 2001. Five years later, he's no longer a hero. Is that statement incredibly simplistic? You bet. There are a million reasons we don't like him anymore, whether those are a million illegal immigrants, a million million dollar budgetary defecit or a way overestimate million lives lost in the Iraq War. My point is that within five years of being a hero, he overstayed his welcome in the good guy light.

Heroes never last long because, although they may inspire us to become more, they remind us of our own shortcomings. We appreciate them at first, but then we look at our own lives and wonder, "Why not me?" At first, "why not me" means, "I could do that, too." But after a while and being sexually molested by a bogus modeling school, "why not me" turns into "I'm not that great, and neither is that person."

Going back to Britney Spears, we saw a tasty bit of jailbait that swore she was a virgin. She sang, she danced and she gave men guilty boners. Girls wanted to be like her (though I don't know why), and boys wanted to hit her one time at least, if not once more. She didn't have a great voice, but she had everyone's attention. She made me believe that I, too, could be an onstage tease with snakes and back-up dancers.

Like Britney, I'm not a great singer, but people don't want to see me in pigtails (really, handlebars). The bitch had to go down.

And go down she did, on people that I had grown to dislike for similar reasons: Justin Timberlake, Kevin Federline and Chriss Angel. They're more celebrities that seem as mildly talented as the rest of us, but why do they get million dollar paychecks and private jets? Why do they get to sit next to Jodie Foster at awards shows when the rest of us have to kill a president for her?

So I enjoyed a bit of schadenfreude when I saw the pictures from the VMAs and read the reviews, announcing her pop tart career over. My dislike of her was vindicated: she's not as good as me. In fact, now she's worse than me. Hooray! The hero is dead!

President Bush? Same story, only he has no public speaking ability yet won debates for the presidency. Basically, just re-read the Britney Spears part again, but insert "invade other countries" instead of "Justin Timberlake, Kevin Federline and Chriss Angel."

That's how we like our heroes, dead and buried. We need them to become obscure references at parties to seem funny. We need new heroes so we can dress ourselves differently. (Can you imagine if MC Hammer still set the bar on fashion today?) Even Beowulf had to die doing what we loved him best for: killing scary monsters.

And what happens when they finally die and we're happy again? We eulogize them as if they never did wrong. Try looking up the Nixon obituaries if you don't believe me. And that's the role of the hero.

Take it from Snee: 40 is not the new 30

I have a couple of announcements before launching into my usual, slanted hyperbole.

First off, I am writing a year-long column for Radford University's Whim Internet Magazine. Titled "From the Outside," it will feature stories from me and other alumni about our time at RU and how it has impacted our lives after graduation. If you are an RU alum, feel free to send your stories my way.

Second, if it wasn't official already, you can Take it from Snee every Wednesday here at SeriouslyGuys. It's my favorite way to celebrate Hump Day, and it should be yours, too.

Okay, those are out of the way. On to the rant.

I'm tired of hearing about "40 being the new 30," "30 being the new 20" and etc. It's bad enough that we kid ourselves into feeling younger than our actual years, but now we're trying to justify it with euphemistic self-delusions?

If you are 40, but act like a 30-year-old, you aren't 30 years old. You're a 40-year-old who's acting like a 30-year-old with bad knees and/or a bad back. Besides, what's the difference between 30 and 40 anyway (, asked the 26-year-old)? Is there some magical transformation in those 10 years? Is it okay to impregnate teenagers at 30, but not at 40? Does hang-gliding come with an age limit? Does your hair not fall out because you feel 30?

For those playing at home, the answers are "very little," no, no, no and "it's not really a factor because not everyone loses their hair at 40."

We secretly know that the idea is ridiculous: just look at "30 being the new 20." This statement implies that it's okay if you're 30 and still living at home because it's the new 20. It's "perfectly normal" that you're waiting for your peers to divorce so you can date people your own age for the first time since college. Your lifeguarding job is "building up a resume" while you wait for the job market to improve. Those toys you're bidding for on e-bay are collectibles, not evidence of your virginity.

It's, for the sake of being SFW, balderdash.

Years are nothing but numbers. They're a unit of measurement in the fourth-dimension, which is much bigger than how we feel. Complaining about our material journey through time and space makes as much sense as complaining about the mass of your molecular structure. (Okay, so we're worried about being fat, too.)

And sure, age runs our bodies down. And maybe with modern health practices, we don't deteriorate as fast, but you're still 40 years old. And that's where the real bull puckey comes to play: instead of acknowledging our years of growth, experience and wisdom, we're trading it in to act like self-absorbed teenagers again.

Remember how you acted as a teenager or 20-year-old? And look around at the actual 20-somethings around you. Do you really want to be like that again, or even just associated with them? And perhaps that's why our generation doesn't recognize a need to grow up: because you have refused to.

Like most widely-accepted relations, we're associating two dissaparite facts and blowing them out of proportion. Age, in our case, is merely an indicator of years. While our bodies wear down with age, there is no set schedule, and it varies based on genetics and health. Unfortunately, because we are consumers, we equate age with "time to buy a new one," whether one is a new car, trophy wife or egg salad sandwich.

Take it from Snee: Hollywood has been RAMed

At this point, 75 heroes have lent their names on The Facebook to claim their right to bear any and all arms, as afforded by the Constitution of the United States. That's not a drastic surge from two weeks ago's total of 71, but the Rick Snee Antidisestablishmentarian Militia picks its battles.

(Maybe a Switchblades-for-Lunchboxes Drive in front of elementary schools? Let me know.)

Today, I'd like to switch focus from our own efforts to those of an unlikely ally: Hollywood. For all of its over-the-top liberal idealism, the film studios of Lala-land have routinely put out movies that stress that all Americans have the right to bear the most "dangeous" of weapons that would place the average citizen on par with our Department of Defense.

I don't mean movies that glamorize guns: they're the tip of the C-4 laden iceberg. I mean movies that feature heroes welding arsenals above and beyond what the wimpy NRA can stomach.


The Astronaut Farmer
I haven't seen this movie, but I've heard about it, which is more than enough to praise or pan a film according to opponents of The Passion or Dogma.

Apparently Billy Bob Thornton reprises his role from Armageddon: the astronaut with some crippling flaw that prevents him from flying into space, whether its a public school education or actually being crippled. Instead of sticking with his cushy desk job (or cushy plough job), he builds a rocket capable of reaching orbit in his barn. The government, trying to hold him back, decides that civilians shouldn't have rockets, but he builds it anyway and, presumably, goes into space.

This movie is important to our cause because an orbital rocket is really a balistic missile, minus the balistic. Billy Bob, who doesn't take guff off of bears with bad news, has better ideas than to let The Man take away his pride and arms.


The Manhattan Project
Not only does this movie feature a reasonably hot Cynthia Nixon (the vaguely annoying/sexless redhead on Sex and the City), but also lasers, homemade nuclear bombs and a cool remote control truck.

The main character is a high school student who protests a secret government plutonium lab with his own nuclear bomb made with self-taught derring-do ... and plutonium stolen from said secret lab.

This movie's importance is dictated by arguably attractive Nixon in an article for her school paper: Paul Stevens is the first private citizen to enter the nuclear club.


Evil Dead 2
When evil is poised to usurp our bodies, what is our only viable option? Stopping said evil with a chainsaw.

Although this movie and its more popular sequel, Army of Darkness, augment Bruce Campbell's arsenal with a sawed-off shotgun (ho-hum), the chainsaw is iconic. Sam Raimi cleverly realized that the right to bear arms includes lawn tools in place of hands, and RAM thanks him for it.


That's only three examples out of thousands of films Hollywood has made to bolster our effort. With the Michael Bays of the world at our side, there's no way we CAN'T win the hearts and minds of the popcorn-munching public.


UPDATE: Hollywood has very important news for us! Today is the 10 year anniversary of SkyNet blowing us all to smithereens, which is yet another reason to arm ourselves with anything at hand.

Take it from Snee: There's nothing wrong with 'flip-floppers'

My age group barely votes, and the most common arguement is that "there's no one I want to vote for." They base this on the most common political arguement since John Kerry's failed campaign: they're hypocrites who flip-flop. Politicians accuse each other of this, and the media looks for this evidence like it's the Pentagon Papers. Take, for instance, The Daily Show: every weekday, Jon Stewart features a recent quote from some notable politician, and then plays video of said politician saying the opposite weeks or years earlier.

Is it too much to ask our leaders to stick to their guns year-in and year-out? After all, the government should be able to resolve all of the problems we have yet to settle after too many mojitos at Ruby Tuesday: poverty, war, taxes, race issues, abortion, time travel flaws in Back to the Future, whose round is it, global warming and so on.

What these non-voters fail to realize is that politicians are an extension of our own indecisiveness:

• We want to catch terrorists before they kill people, but we don't want to be monitored by the government.
  
  
• We want cheaper oil, but don't want to invade more oil-producing nations. And we want to drill more oil here, but we also want cleaner water and otters.
  
  
• We want to see less poor people during our commutes, but we don't want to pay more taxes, and killing them all is, apparently, out of the question.
  
  
• We don't want gays in the military or women in combat, but we had better not get drafted when recruiters can't fill their numbers.
  
  
• Gay sex is gross because it involves anal and oral, but (heh) we want to do that stuff with our girlfriends.
  
  
• We want 17-year-olds to be tried and punished as adults, but we don't want 18-year-olds to drink. (How come we don't want any adults to be tried as minors? It'd make a great defense for teachers who have consentual sex with their students.)
  
  
• We want our entertainment to be chock full of sex and violence, but we don't want our children to see it. And we want to control what our children see, but we also want to work at high-profile jobs and go on vacations without them.
  
  
• We want fast food that tastes disgustingly good, but we want it to be healthy like a home-cooked meal. On a related note, we love spicy food, but hate diarrhea.
  
  
• Communism is evil, but so is capitalism.
  
  
• Our president is an idiot, but is nefariously deceiving us to strip away our rights, fly planes into buildings and invade other countries.
  
  
• We accuse the media of covert political bias ... at the insistance of openly biased sources like Bill O'Reilly, Rush Limbaugh, Michael Moore and Arianna Huffington.
  
  
• We want to know everything about our favorite celebrities ... until they become political. We also want those celebrities to be normal, good people, but we also want to hear about their DUIs, bigotry and infidelity.
  
  
• To paraphrase Chasing Amy, men want their women to be sluts in bed and virgins everywhere else. On the other hand, women want predictable sensitive men, but also want unpredicatable jerks.
  
  
• There's no more racism or sexism, but white men are still uncomfortable watching black male porn stars (especially with white women), and we ask questions every election like, "Is America ready for a [insert minority status here] president?" Oh, and immigrants can come to this country, but they had better speak English right away; stay out of our neighborhoods, schools and hospitals; and not take our jobs. And despite all of this, we think people who are openly racist are worse than those who look both ways before telling a joke.
  
  
• And who can forget this everyday gem: "I think abortion is morally wrong, but I wouldn't take away anyone's right to it." At the moment of personal crisis, this thought turns into, "I don't want to have a child, but I don't want to put it up for adoption because that will ruin his or her life."

So of course politicians like John Kerry, Mitt Romney, Dick Cheney, Hillary Clinton and all the others flip-flop. We do it every damn day, so how else can they win our ever changing votes?

Take it from Snee: Beliefs and science don't mix

So I was watching the National Geograpic Channel last night, and I wound up catching a special on Atlantis.

I have nothing against people searching for mythical places. It's this kind of dreaming that led to the eventual discovery of the actual city of Troy.

My problem is with leaps of logic that were featured on the show.

Leap #1: Atlantis can be found because Plato wrote about it as a real place. Sure, and John Milton wrote about Heaven and Hell as real places, but that doesn't mean that we can dig our way to Hades or fly a spaceship to Heaven. And let's not forget that, although the classic Greek and Roman thinkers were pretty smart, they weren't always right. Cases in point: believing bees come from dead bulls and art should be censored if it doesn't instill positive morals (Aristotle and Plato's Republic).

The launch-point for this disasterous base jump is that Plato's name is on it. Certain names are given carte blanche to pretty much say anything and have it interpreted as fact. For instance, when Mr. T says he pities fools, we automatically assume said fools are pitied. However, we're ignoring the overwhelming evidence that, while they are pitied, they are not exempt from a pitiless ass-whooping. While Plato certainly stated a lot of "facts," the proof is often lost because we don't have YouTube videos of him contradicting himself in real life (from which no one is exempt).

Leap #2: Hieroglyphics depict a helicopter, submarine and flying saucer. Hieroglyphics are a written language that was only translated as recently as 1822. Any attempt to interpret these symbols without understanding how to read them is akin to looking for pictures in the phone book. "Look! There's curious dots hovering over certain characters in this book! They look like spaceships over the Washington Monument! That must mean Americans got their government from space aliens!"

Leap #3: Atlanteans left evidence of their existence that we haven't found yet. The people looking for Atlantis keep describing the ancient Atlanteans as a superintelligent race, yet they couldn't leave a single record anywhere? Why would displaced survivors of a continent-ending catastrophe not want to leave a historic record somewhere? And if they did, why would they hide it? The answer is simple: they wouldn't. If fourth-graders are smart enough to create time capsules, these people should have done better.

Leap #4: Aliens or displaced Atlanteans must have taught the Egyptians and Mayans how to build pyramids. This last one is pretty much veiled racism. In the mostly white, all western eyes of Atlantis hunters, brown people can't build monumental structures out of stone. This, of course, ignores their own contributions to (read: our patent stealing for) our own culture: rockets and gunpowder, pasta, math, writing, money, and Jesus.

And what is their smoking gun on this suicide plunge? It's a sculpture on a Mayan pyramid that depicts a slightly elongated face with a big nose and lip whiskers. Not only is it incorrect to assume all Mayans were round- and flat-faced and couldn't grow facial hair, but it doesn't account for the one universal presence in all cultures: bad artists. Even if we use their (ignorant) evidence, how many bad sculptures have we seen that do not capture their subjects?

It's okay to believe in places that aren't proven to exist. That's the fun part of beliefs: nobody can tell you what you can or can't believe. But beliefs are not hypotheses, theories or laws. Once you try to apply those to a belief, then you have to wonder why you believed in it in the first place. The results of such attempts result in the entertaining and often insulting leaps in logic listed above. Take it from Snee: just like women and seamen, beliefs and science don't mix.

Take it from Snee: Fight terror with terror (and RAM!)

After two weeks, I'm proud to announce that the Rick Snee Antidisestablishmentarian Militia has really taken off. Already, 70 heroes have pledged to defend the entire Second Amendment, unlike the NRA and similar groups.

Which brings us to our first order of business: our name. Personally, I love the name, but it's a little ... how do you say? Long. It's time to shorten that puppy down into one intimidating abbreviation. After much deliberation and some Harry Potter-inspired nominations, the group's press name shall be RAM. (The "Snee" is silent.)

Not only is RAM shorter, but it bears double significance as an acronym that lets the nation know that our movement is a ram, beating at the gates of fear-mongering by those who would disarm us. At least until they pour hot oil on us (the use of which we also advocate).

Next up: what issues shall we tackle? After much brainstorming at my think tank (me, Johnny, Jack, Jim and Jose), I've realized there's one thing I hate more than anything else: terrorism. Yes--not to risk going against the grain, but--I hate terrorists, terror and terrifying things in general unless I'm the terrible one.

If it weren't for terrorists, we wouldn't have to stand in lines at the airport. Lines to give them our baggage, lines to get in the terminal, lines to sit down and put our shoes back on, lines for random body cavity searches (would they just search me already?!). Lines and terrorism have to go.

And so my collegues and I have devised a plan.

Everyone knows that most violent crimes could be prevented if more people were armed. It is a proven fact that armed crime rates could hypothetically go down if there might be more weapons in the streets, potentially maybe. That's right: I'm not afraid to use facts.

It's time for action, and that is why we will lobby the FAA to permit all passengers to carry their constitutionally-protected arms on aircraft. No searches equals no lines. And if all passengers are armed, then terrorists will never be able to carry their weapons on board, thanks to terror. Bingo, terrorism solved. You're welcome. Our aircraft will become the safest in the world, other than Quantas.

This plan doesn't just apply to aircraft. Believe it or not, there's domestic crime, too. The sure-fire way to prevent Americans from maiming each other with weapons is to guarantee their right to carry as many weapons as they want. Could bank robberies happen if anyone could walk in with a gun? Absolutely not. What about at public schools where weapons could be traded like sack lunches? Not on your life. Why live our lives with coulds when we should be living with shoulds?

Terrorism can only be prevented with more terror; armed crime can only be prevented with more arms. And those are arms that the Second Amendment and RAM will fight for.

Take it from Snee: VCDL hampers Second Amendment rights

So I read an article yesterday about some guy bringing his gun to Haborfest in Norfolk, Va. When it turned out he wasn't a cop and didn't intend to take his .45 and go home, the police arrested him. Since this is Virginia, the news has been greeted by armed citizens and the Virginia Citizens Defense League, who are arguing for the man's Second Amendment rights and claim that state carrying laws trump an event's wish to ban firearms.

I'm not going to argue for or against the man's arrest. The gun ownership advocates will give that argument greater (or lesser) justice. My argument is against guns rights groups and their half-assed interpretation of the Second Amendment.

If you read the Second Amendment, it grants the right to bear arms--not just guns--in order to maintain a militia. The question is not whether groups like the NRA and the VCDL are endangering the rest of us by handing out guns with mortgages, but why aren't they fighting to uphold the Second Amendment's real meaning as the framers intended?

The whole point of the Second Amendment is to allow citizens to form militias to protect all of the other rights in our constitution should any government--foreign or domestic--attempt to take those rights away. Ignoring the fact that any repressive government would repeal the Second Amendment, rendering any gun owner unconstitutional and the NRA and VCDL moot, these arms must deter or combat essentially any standing army, including our own.

(For those already snickering, this isn't a literal satire advocating the amputation of arms from infants. Jonathan Swift was so-o-o 262 years ago.)

Guns are not enough to stop Army Strong (even if it is an Army of One). Our individual owner's rights should include all arms for waging war on the United States, including--but not limited to--swords, crossbows, howitzers, tanks, plastic explosives, stealth bombers and tactical nuclear warheads. Anything less would abridge my Second Amendment rights to keep and bear arms for my antidisestablishmentarian militia.

(Now recruiting: the Rick Snee Antidisestablishmentarian Militia. Join our Facebook group!)

Since the NRA and VCDL focus only on guns, I can only make one of two logical assumptions about them: either 1) they're in the pocket of anti-nukes politicians and special interest groups in order to keep us from uprising, or 2) they can't read.

The NRA has an out, of course: they're the National Rifle Association. However, they also advocate private ownership of handguns and shotguns, so my assumptions apply.

The VCDL has no excuse. Virginia's citizens need every possible arm attainable to once again gloriously uprise against the wussy liberal North. No one wants another embarassing Appomattox because the Antidisestablismentarian Militia didn't have an adequate missile shield.

It's time to stop giving groups like the NRA and VCDL any form of legitimacy. They aren't really fighting for our Second Amendment rights, not completely. They're just like liberal environmental groups that want to promote hybrid cars for cleaner air, yet let the cows and their methane farts--the real culprits--live. Until they win my right to own my own fully-armed Apache attack helicopter, they're just hogging the spotlight and accomplishing nothing for the rest of us.

Take it from Snee: Shut up about spoilers

It never fails: for every writer that posts a "spoiler" about a movie or book, there is one jerk to immediately post, "Where's the spoiler alert???"

(To answer that question, one need only read the link, and immediately above and below the offending article.)

Spoilers don't exist for the man-children that wait to read a certain book after an all-night book store party with a sorting hat. They exist for those that are more interested in the entire work instead of some usually trite "surprise" ending.

That's right, I'm defending spoilers and pissing on J.K. Rowling. She's hyped up an inevitable ending so much that she's dared people to steal her thunder ... and by thunder, I mean the typical ending of any cliche magical world where apparently all the adults are idiots and only children can save them.

Seriously, does anyone get tired of this genre of fantasy? From Peter Pan to The Neverending Story, more stories about children saving fantasy worlds get made every year than all of the Christmas movies combined (not including Christmas movies where children save the North Pole).

So the fans wonder why we spoil the ending for everyone? I'll retort with why read the spoiler? It's not forced on you. Hell, it's usually locked away in the section of the Internet reserved for grown-ups and real users. If you're such a dedicated fan, why can't you resist ruining what might sadly be the greatest literary moment of your life?

The truth is that you can't avoid reading spoilers because you've already discussed it to death on your message boards. You need to know if you're right. And that's the love-hate relationship with spoilers.

The ongoing argument that is called the Internet would cease to exist tomorrow if all fights were resolved today. I mean, does anyone still visit the Web site for "The Village?" No, because everyone's seen the movie. Spoilers end arguments, and that's bad for the Internet.

Spoilers also prove you're right or wrong. It's great when you're right, but how often does that really happen?

And perhaps that's why fans hate the more pervasive (and hilarious) spoilers: the ones posted on their chat boards. It ends their debates, possibly proves them wrong, and at the very least ruins their book.

But do spoilers really ruin the book? My argument is only if you've never read a non-Harry Potter book in your life, which seems to be a common trend. That's why timing is the essence of this book's success. Everyone's reading again, which means they have no clue what other books are like and how much Rowling borrows from them. And it's okay that she does that, but she's no genius, nor are her stories thoroughly unique.

To test this, I submit this ending to show just how much Rowling cribs from others. I haven't read it yet, but I'll tell you exactly what will happen. Snape will die a hero because you can't invite the double-agent to family reunions (see the MI-5 Family Handbook). Harry will live, because, well, that's what he does: he lives. That's his schtick. Voldemort will die because he's fighting a child. Anyone else who dies is inconsequential or already dead.

Oh, yeah: SPOILER ALERT.

Take it from Snee: Protest effectively or kindly go home

Environmental protestors struck a blow for clean air by asking others to drive their cars on "Honk If You Hate Smog Day."
Internet radio stations struck a heavy blow to the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) by broadcasting dead "air" (dead bandwidth, really). The stations are protesting a royalties hike that could effectively drive most Web stations out of business.

In other words, they gave the RIAA a preview of exactly what they want: Internet radio should either pay up or go away--not mad, just away.

This reminds me of a similar protest in the 1970s when women across the nation refused to collect paychecks to protest their income disparity with male coworkers. Instead, they stayed home and baked pies ... scorn pies.

In the 1960s, African-Americans also drank from "blacks only" water fountains for a day to protest Jim Crow laws. That same decade also witnessed National Armed Forces Enlistment Day when all of the hippies signed up for infantry duty in Vietnam.

Long before that, teetotalers gave out free whiskey for a day in the 1920s, encouraging Irish and German immigrants to vote for candidates supporting Prohibition. They followed up with a similar event in the 1930s to prevent the repeal of the 18th Amendment.

Even Martin Luther used the same tactic when he encouraged Protestants everywhere to hold masses in Latin a day after posting his infamous theses.

So, of course, National Day of Silence is a good idea. Although, they ripped the name off from gay and lesbian equal rights organizations.

Take it from Snee: Radiation is radical!

Summertime is what movie studios refer to as blockbuster season. That is, when they’re not preoccupied with consuming the blood of virgins on stacks of $10,000 bills. The staple for the summer blockbuster has been superhero flicks. Courageous men and women in tights--the most courageous of outerwear--fight crime and insane Ph.D’s (most likely from universities) while preserving truth, justice and the American way.

When we think of superheroes, superpowers and origins come immediately to mind. In almost every superhero's case, their super powers come from radiation: The Hulk, Spider-man, Daredevil, the Fantastic Four … the list goes on and on.

Even Superman can credit his superpowers to cancer. Consider this: he is powered by UV rays--much like malignant melanoma--and his superpowers diminish from exposure to the radiation from pieces of his home planet, Krypton. In the medical world, that's called aggressive treatment. Still doubt it? Most of his radiation treatments are administered by Lex Luthor, a rival of any doctor, even House.

Finally, consider the real-life example of Lance Armstrong. As soon as he got cancer, he started winning simultaneous Tour de France races.

But do the liberal media celebrate their cancer and encourage the rest of us to follow in their footsteps? Emphatically no. They don’t want people to fight for the American way, so they use smear tactics and fear-mongering to keep us away from radiation.

The latest yellow journalism is trying to implicate cell phone radiation as the cause of bee and bird disappearances. The media doesn’t agree with the War on Animals; they wish it would go away so they can get back to their Paris Hilton coverage. Of course they’ll accuse radiation of killing animals. All this really proves is that radiation is--in itself--a superpower, and we need more of it to “disappear” the lions, tigers and bears (oh my!).

They’ve gone further by saying it can kill humans with their latest report on a woman who wears a metal net to save her brain from electromagnetic radiation. This media darling, who we’re calling the Cindy Sheehan of radiation, is supposed to be a sympathetic role model. But would the media say the same if her magic hat was made from tin foil?

Our government, however, has listened to Hollywood, and they have the right idea. Unfortunately, they’ve been giving radiation away for free to other countries since 1945. Write your congressman and ask for--nay, demand--more domestic radiation immediately!

Take it from Snee: Defense experts predict renewed biological attacks

The War on Animals is a complicated affair, sweeping battlefronts large and small. The smallest enemies are, of course, mosquitoes. We've fought mosquitoes for over 2,000 years at this point in an ever-escalating biological and chemical weapons arms race.

It wasn't always this way. We waged the majority of this war using conventional weapons (fly swatters, open-fists, the bug zapper), being the bigger men in spite of mosquito's preferred biological weapon: itchy venom.

However, once they introduced weaponized malaria into their arsenal, we could no longer fight a reactionary, defensive war. The chemical weapon DDT almost wiped out all malaria-armed units, but we scaled back once we received accusations of war crimes from Rachel Carson.

The war cooled off, returning to defensive tactics and aggravating bumps, but mosquitoes stepped up biological weapon production in 2003 when they unleashed West Nile. And our top defense experts predict another attack any day now.

To date, West Nile has killed six American humans. That's six too many. The blame-America environmentalists refuse to allow a return to the good old days: the days of DDT and other industrial chemical weapons. They call these weapons cruel and dangerous.

That's the point, pinkos. We kill enough of them so that they don't mess with humans. If they didn't want to vomit up their tiny, burning lungs, then they shouldn't have started this war. We cannot afford to wait until they strike again--that doesn't save lives. But preemptive attacks do save lives ... well, ours.

... Except for the smaller animals. And children and the elderly. But small animals and children are animals, and this is a War on Animals. Elderly, we'll miss you, but thank you for voting Republican.

If you do not support the War on Animals, then you are aiding the enemy. And that makes you a traitor.