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6/26/2004

Mighty dorks and people with brains, I have just returned from Fahrenheit 9/11.
Bore you with a review? Nope. Go read a paper for America.
I will tell you that this ex-ameri-frat boy who once went after an innocent Clemson fan with a six iron because the dude "was totally hitting on me" actually got choked up at times. That means it was a good movie, you looking-for-the-deeper-meaning dorks.
I can sum up what I felt after the movie by what happened just minutes ago.
As I drove home I realized I was angry at the world we live in and thus needed to smoke. I had to destroy something and tobacco leaves are the easiest and least federally-crime-punished thing to burn.
So, I went into the 76 station near our apartment and got me some Doral Lights in a box.
The old white guy next to me with a "Something Important to Farmers and Republicans" hat on starts yelling.
"Dammit, shit! I lost my goddamned lighter!"
Hmmm, hey I don't have a lighter either.
So, to the middle-eastern guy behind the counter I say, "Hey, man, can I get a book of matches ... and give one to this guy so he stops cursing."
The nice gentleman hands me the matches and a pack to the other guy.
"Nope, I don't use matches. The sparks jump off the match and burn my clothes. (Really?) Matches are the most unsafe thing, I only use lighters. I don't want holes in my clothes ..."
"You know, cigarettes put holes in your LUNGS," I point out to this rambling aged Americana piece of work.
The middle-eastern guy behind the counter gets the joke and we share a laugh. The old white guy doesn't.
"Lungs? I don't care about my lungs. I got clothes and they are ..."
"Take it easy," I say and I leave.
And somewhere in that story is the point of Fahrenheit 9/11. The middle-easterners and the intelligent people of America get the joke. There are no WMDs. There was no threat from Iraq. There has been no justice since 9/11.
The people who don't care about that and who blindly follow their leaders and their inanerubberist philosophies ("Building a safer world through war"/"I don't use matches") are the rubberheads who are more concerned about the guises they take on (Soccer Mom, NASCAR Dad, Compasionate Conservative, Neo-Patriot) than their lungs or the hearts of the Moms who cry because of soldiers who die.
Put on your rubberkicking boots, dorks, it's time to save some Iraqi babies.
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