Terrorism

No, I'm not going to be all political, calm down.

Terrorism is a concept that’s thrown around HEAPS these days. I’ve heard everything ranging from forest fires to interest rate rises blamed on terrorism. I’ve heard of terrorism supposedly affecting the theatrical industry, I’ve seen droughts blamed on terrorism… Makes me think of the episode of Family Guy where Lois won an election just by repeating 9/11 over and over again.

So amid all the hoo-ha of the War on Terror, what are the real effects of Terrorism on people? I don’t mean the effects of a terrorist attack on the people involved; I mean the aftershocks, if you will. The consequences. I’ll tell you, by sharing a few little anecdotes with you. First, the Commonwealth Games.

The Commonwealth Games, for the uninitiated, is a sporting competition similar to the Olympic Games, the only difference being that only countries who are, or who have been, members of the Commonwealth can participate. Last year, they were held in Melbourne, which so happens to be the city I live in. So, as you can imagine, I had a very nice view for all the commotion it caused.

The point I’m trying to get at, however, is that security was tightened one-hundredfold, and all because of the global bogeyman who is supposedly haunting our every step, the Terryrists. NINE ELEVEN! NINE ELEVEN! People were actually avoiding the central business district, because they were paranoid that there would be a terrorist attack during the games. My family was all set to go to see some professional level athletes competing, but then my mother “remembered” the global threat of terrorism, so she didn’t end up going. She’d been looking forward to these games for over a year, she’d bought tickets, and the mere THREAT of terrorism kept her from attending.

That’s right. Despite the fact that statistically, there is less chance of being killed by a sewing needle than being killed by a terrorist in Australia, less chance of being killed by a pig than a terrorist in Australia, less chance of lightning striking you one hundred times in a day than being killed by a terrorist in Australia, it’s the FEAR that is their real tool.

Terrorism in the modern sense is violence or other harmful acts committed (or threatened) against civilians for political or other ideological goals.

Source

Threatened is the key word here, if only because the global population is threatened by the possibility of a terrorist attacking them.

My second and final example is my school. Last week, our school had an “Out of Uniform” day, where students could pay to come to school in casual clothes. My friends and I always treat these days as a “Dress Up” day, and this time we decided to come as Ninjas (I did Piracy the time before, so I had to even the scales). I was all dressed up as a Ninja, I had my face mask, black turtleneck, I looked wicked. When I walked out of my bedroom that morning, my parents immediately suggested I take the mask off on my walk to school. Of course, being the petulant teenager I am, the first question that came to mind was “Why?”
My dear mother’s answer said everything I’m trying to say here quite eloquently:

”Because you look like a Terrorist.”

So, I assuaged their fears, took the mask off, and promptly put it back on as soon as I reached the school. Almost immediately, I was accosted by a teacher, asking who I was and demanding I take my mask off. I was then escorted to the Principal’s office with one of my friends to explain my actions. Thankfully, he was absent from his office, otherwise I could have been “suspended.” Suspended for dressing up as a Ninja?

When I questioned the teacher who was leading me to the Principal’s office, he replied that “a bad guy could see you doing that, and then could get the idea to come in here with a mask on.”

Is this the kind of thing we have to live with now? Are we just to accept that it is no longer acceptable to go out in public dressed as a Ninja? Are we to accept that the fear of Terrorism looms over us as an ever present bogeyman?

I say, that if we can’t let ourselves laugh in the face of this fear, then we’ve let the terrorists win.

The Ronan of the 19th Century

In 1897, a little girl named Virginia was pissed off that her friends were trying to teach her something about the facts of life, specifically that (ZOMG SPOILER) Santa Claus doesn't exist. Shock horror, she shat a brick and went to her dad, Dr Phillip O'Hanlon. Thanks to recent time travel technology, I've been able to uncover the conversation that transpired that day:

Virginia: Daddy..?
Dr Phil: Shut up, you little brat, I'm as drunk as your mother was when you were concieved.
Virginia: Daddy, the other little girls at school tried to tell me that Santy Claus wasn't real, but I was able to almost completely ignore their obviously true statements. However, I know feel a slight sense of disillusion towards the Christmas Season. Can you assuage my fears?
Dr Phil: Alright, Vaginia, here's what I'll do. Instead of playing the "good parent" and telling you exactly what your frail, spongelike mind needs to hear, I'll refer your question to the editor of a newspaper, because I am still under the mistaken belief that newspapers exist to inform us of what is true, not to sell papers.
Virginia: Okay Daddy, I'll go wager the innocence of millions of children in New York on your drunken gamble. Thank you for being so honest.
Dr Phil: *grunts and passes out*

So, little Virginia, full of hope and naïveté, wrote off a letter to the New York Sun. Here's the transcript of her letter, preserved with all the original Christmas Spirit:

Dear Editor:

I am 8 years old, and still too young to see through the veil of innocence that every other child my age has torn through already. Some of my little friends have attempted to tell me that there is no Santa Claus, but me being so quite sincerely dull, I'm refusing to listen to them and instead relying on the proprietor of a commercial newspaper to tell me what's right or wrong. Papa says, "Why the hell can't you stay at your mother's more often?" Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O'Hanlon

Obviously, with a letter like that, any editor would have the balls to crush this little girl's dreams. Unfortunately for us, Francis Church (the editor in question) failed to have the guts to kick the shit out of this poorly worded letter, and instead fed her little naïve mind. His response is here:

Vaginia, your little friends are just trying to rationalise their own self doubt. They believe that it is impossible for a fat man to fly around the Earth in an enchanted sleigh, pulled by magical reindeer, visiting the home of every Christian, in one night. Clearly, they are wrong. Of course he can break into the house of every single child in the world in one night."If it's in the Sun, it's so." That's our slogan, and so help me God if you don't believe it.

Yes Vaginia, there is a Santa Claus. He lives at the North Pole (the South Pole when the Easter Bunny decides to throw a wicked Kegger), and commands a massive slave army of Elves (in time, they shall prefer to be called "Little People"). He really makes millions of toys each year, and carries them around in a single sack.

How DARE your little friends suggest that there is no Santa Claus. They might as well suggest that your Mother never made a drunken pass at your father eight years ago. Without the tantalising thought of "I'll get presents if I'm good", how else would parents be able to keep their bratty children in line? The shining light in the eyes of parents everywhere after using that line to get their kids to shut up is testiment to the miracle of Santa Claus.

You might say "but if he's real, how come I can't see him?" Why don't you try getting your dad to pay men to sit inside your house all night looking for him? It's as good an idea as any I've ever heard, and it will definitely work. Just remember, though, "he knows when you are sleeping, he knows when you're awake."

No Santa Claus? Of course he's real. I'm a journalist, I don't make stuff up.

Needless to say, our buddy Francis got laid, bigtime, after that, and Virginia was harassed for the rest of her life by people who'd read the letters in the Sun. Merry Christmas, everyone!

How to Cure an Emo

The Emo: a blight upon our society. We've all met or been in contact with one at one point. What would happen, however, if someone you loved or cared about were to be stricken down with the terrible ailment? Will you know what to do?

Preparation

1. Punch them in the crotch, hard.
This is mainly to vent some anger at having to cure them.

2. Wash off all that fugly-ass makeup, burn any left over.
As awesome as this will look, be careful otherwise a fire could start (who knows, they might be pyrophillic as well as being Emo).

3. Smash up any My Chemical Romance CDs.
If you find them, smash any CDs by the following artists:

AFI, Alexisonfire, Brand New, Bright Eyes, Coheed and Cambria, Death Cab for Cutie, Fall Out Boy, From First to Last, Funeral for a Friend, Hawthorne Heights, Panic! at the Disco, Senses Fail, Something Corporate, The Starting Line, Story of the Year, Taking Back Sunday, Thursday, The Used, Underoath.

4. Punch them in the crotch again.
While this will be good for your venting, it's also to determine whether 5 is necessary. If they are a boy (as their pain from the crotch punch is the only way to tell), then proceed with 5, else go to 6.

5. Burn their precious skinny jeans in front of their eyes.
Skinny Jeans are for girls. Not for you. Just because you made out with 3 guys doesn't make you a girl.

6. Destroy the rest of their Emo-suit, pay special attention to the old Converse shoes.
If you think it'll make you feel better, paint a flower over the "Blood" or "Death" scrawled on the toes of the Converses. Then burn them.

7. Find the razor blade they’ve been using, keep it safe.
This'll be the thing that'll piss them off the most. For the love of god, don't put it in your back pocket.

Psychological

8. Sit them down.
That way they can't run.

9. Ask them why they’re so down all of a sudden.

10. Laugh uproariously at whatever they say in response to 9.
You don't actually care what they say, you're just mocking their ignorance.

11. Explain exactly why what they just said is stupid.
Example: "Nobody understands me."
"Maybe if you'd stop writing such fucked up poetry, people would understand you."
Example: "Everyone thinks I'm weird."
"And dressing like a girl is going to help? Moron."

12. Tell them to stop being such a drama queen.
Mainly for your own satisfaction.

13. Pull out the razor blade you ninja’d in 7, ask them why you found this in their room.
In theory, they should pale, but odds are if you found a razor blade they don't have enough blood for you to tell the difference.

14. Tell them firmly that they won’t be cutting themselves anymore (no matter what their response to 13 is).
Then look them squarely in the eye and say "Deal with it." Then laugh.

15. Snap the razor blade, melt it, then throw it away.
The melting is to ensure they don't fish it out of the garbage and use it on themselves again.

Final

16. Get on their MySpace (they have one, trust me), delete any friends that are named “xXx*name*xXx” or similar.
These people will be at odds to your curing process. They must be removed from the vicinity of your patient.

17. Don’t let them talk to ANY of their friends until they’re cured, unless you are 100% certain that said friend is not Emo.
You can't risk re-infection.

18. Show them how great their life is.
Alternatively, show them how much worse it could be.
I recommend locking them in a basement for a week, then pampering them for a week to emphasize the contrast.

19. Punch them in the crotch one more time.
For them wasting so much of your damn time!

20. Unleash your creation upon the world.

Should this procedure fail to work, repeat 18 until they're cured. If they're STILL acting like an Emo little bitch, then they're a lost cause and probably don't deserve your help.
Ben

My First Emo Playset

Coming home on the tram today, there was a large congregation of Emos. I have no idea why they were there, usually at that time of day they're at the steps of Spencer Streed "expressing themseves." So, I did my civil duties, and tried to ignore them, while slipping in a glare or two. Naturally, it didn't work, so they all massed en mass around me. One of them, clearly their leader (I could tell because his hair was greasier than the rest, and he had so much makeup it wasn't funny) came up to me and presented me with a strange box. He said to me "If you're interested, open this when you get home."
How on earth can you resist a statement like that? It naturally incites interest. No fair, emo.
So after glaring at them once more, I stuffed the box in my bag without really looking at it, then got off 6 stops early and waited for the next one. While I waited, I opened the box. *wham* Instantly I was hit with the stench of death.

"Oh god," I thought, "an Emo recruitment package."
I picked up the brochure on top.

The following information is what was inside the brochure:
"Do you find that people don't understand you? That life is hard, and that it's especially hard for you? That your parents don't understand you? That you wouldn't be adverse to the occasional amount of self-inflicted pain? Then congratulations! Emo may just be for you.
The items in this box will help you on your way to becoming a fully fledged Emo, but the real change is within. You've got to understand that if they (whoever 'they' are for you) don't understand you, they are wrong. You are always right. If your parents want you to do something, sigh and go sit in your room. The items in this box will give you some idea on what to do there. To help you, lets go through them:

My Chemical Romance CD:

The best music you'll ever listen to. Play this as loud as you can to drown out unecessary noice, whether it's from you or your family. Silence is golden!

Horn-Rimmed Glasses:

Despite a certain boy-wizard ruining things for the movement, these glasses will give you a distinctive look. If people laugh at you, sigh and walk off.

Converse "All Stars":

Preferably well worn. Feel free to write dark words on the toes to show everyone what kind of mood you're in. Suggested words:

• Death
  
• Blood
  
• Maim
  
• Darkness
  
• Torture
  

Grease:

If your hair simply isn't greasy enough to get the full effect going, pour a little bit of this into your hair to start the day. Rub it through completely. We suggest not washing it out, as it will excellerate the natural grease manufacturing nature of your own hair.

Mascara:

To make yourself look effeminate. Or express yourself through your look, whatever you're going for.

Eyeliner:

To give your eyes that sunken, shallow look. Or whatever it is you want to say through your eyes.

Inkwell:

Two fold purpose:
A) Use to write powerful, moving poetry expressing your feelings.
B) Change the colour of your hair.

Razorblade:

Caution: Advanced item. Use with care.

We'll let you figure this one out.

The look you're going for

You're trying to get a sensitive, yet strong and silent look going. Therefore, the best way to do that is to look effeminate. That's where the greasy hair and makeup come in. Try and portray to everyone around you that you're fine, yet secretly you want them to realise that you're not. Let everyone know how non-conforming you are, even though you and your new peers are aiming for the same look.

Poetry:

Depressing poetry is a staple of Emo society. You're expressing yourself through your words, and they must reflect your new bleak outlook on life. See the list of words for the toes of shoes for examples of handy words.

The future?

The future is currently unknown for the direction of Emos. Try and find a group of Emo buddies to congregate with, and collectively make up your minds about which direction you'll take your new non-conforming lifestyle."

The pamphlet ended here.
By the time I'd finished reading that, the tram had arrived. I chucked the box onto the road infront of the tram, and watched it get crushed before I got on.
Ben

How to NOT piss Ben off.

1. For the love of god, don't be blatantly stupid.


2. If you ask me to entertain you, I'm going to pay lots and lots of attention to you. Don't abuse that attention.
   


3. Don't call me any of the following:
   
   
   • Harry Potter
     
   • Benny
     
   • Benny Bunny
     
   
   
4. Seriously, in case you didn't get it before: DON'T BE STUPID!
   


5. Ask me to do something, I'll do it. Therefore, when I ask you to do something, I'd really prefer if you did it.
   
6. There is a difference between funny and stupid. Learn said difference.
   
7. If I don't know who you are, odds are either:
   
   
   
   • I'm not going to talk to you
     
   • I don't have an opinion about you
     
   • If I'm making a general statement, it's not about you.
     
   • I probably won't respond well to being touched, either.
     
   
   
8. Calling me names is not a good way to get me to like you.
   
9. Subtlety only works if you can do it well.
   
10. Don't get pissed off with me if I'm not supporting you, usually there's a good reason and if you shut up for a second and let ME talk, you might find it out.
    

Ben

Gripefest '07

Or, Purge Writing 6: The Return of the Ben-i
(I was gonna call it that, but it's not past midnight, so I can't really call it an official PurgeFest)
I'm gonna complain about 3 things today.

1. People who assume that other people who know how to use Computers can fix anything electronic, just by snapping their fingers.
   
2. People Schools who constantly ask for help without doing anything in return.
   
3. "Rolling Blackouts" WTF?
   

So, here we go.
#1. People make this assumption SO much. "Get (blank) to fix it, he's good with Computers."
Just because he can make a Powerpoint presentation that kicks your ass, it doesn't mean he can fix whatever the heck you spilled in the computer tower. If it's shooting off blue sparks, and he's not a registered electrician, he is allowed to tell you to *LONG string of expletives deleted. Trust me, it's for your own good.* Now lets bring this discussion back to me. Just because I spend an unholy amount of time on the computer, does not mean that I know how to get a DVD out of the DVD player if it's stuck. There will be NO difference between me pushing the Eject button, and you pushing the Eject button.

#2. We had an out of uniform day on Wednesday, and naturally about 80 people didn't pay the $3 to have the privilege. Which IS a load of crap, but still. The principal decided to be an ass about it, hauling people in for an afterschool detention (on a Friday, too). Of course he didn't go around to the 80 students himself, though. No, that's work for the serfs students! So guess who got "chosen" to help? (I say "chosen" because it wasn't so much a "Ben, come help us," as it was a "Ben, get the *bleep* up, stop Studying Privately.") Once dragged to the staffroom, I was informed that Mr Sgroi was very angry about losing $150 dollars (nowai!) and that we all had to go around nailing these little brats. So after waiting around in the staffroom for 20 minutes, we were given lists and sent on our merry way. It took me 5 minutes to finish my list, and after getting abused in both of the classrooms I was sent to, I went back to the library and tried to sleep, because I didn't feel like doing any work. Of course, that's not allowed in the library. Pre-empting the "THIS IS A LIBRARY! NO TALKING! NO BREATHING! STOP LOOKING AT EACH OTHER!", I sat up. My reprive from work was short lived, though, as I was dragged back to the staffroom AGAIN, for no apparrent reason. Gah.

The main thing I'm getting at here is that if the school wants students to assist with their administrative procedures, they should at least say THANK YOU. Not once did I get thanked for giving up my valuable private study.

#3. There's been talk recently of Victoria having rolling blackouts, due to a lack of Hydroelectric electricity. This sounds remarkably similar (to me) to what happens in California. They have
Bleckh. I can't be bothered finishing that, it's definetly the least boring of the three.
Ben

Purge Writing 5: Don't you wish you'd copyrighted this?

It's 7 to 1 in the morning. I am bored out of my skull, yet don't want to go to bed right now. I'm just finished Sling (Miniclip) on hard, got top of the high score board again (20k higher than last time), and now I'm writing something for the second time this month. No idea what about, no idea for how long, lets just see how long it takes for me to fall asleep.
Ready... GO!

So, for English this week, we've got to do a creative piece on either a childhood memory (or sibling rivalry), or an idea of utopia. Utopia is defined as "An ideal place or state."(thank you Google), and that's what I've decided to write about. Who really gives a damn about childhood memories, anyway. Why bother, I've got social commentary to make! As you may have guessed from that outburst, I'm gonna write something kinda political, not jabbing at anyone in particular but more at the human race in general. I'm thinking of having either A) A bunch of robots running the joint, set in the year 10 thousand, or B) a "Last Man on Earth" situation.
I'm leaning more towards B, it'll be way more fun and there's much more scope for social commentary. Example:

He wandered through the wreckage of yet another skyscraper, the twisted steel pylons that once help up this ivory tower of capitalism now rusted, corroded and weak. A tattered, molding newspaper blows in the breeze, its headline proclaiming "War to be won without Nuclear force."

You know, something like that. Then of course I'd have the obligatory:

As he gave his last breath, and collapsed to the scarred dust of the earth, last of his kind, the planet was finally at peace. There were no more to rape the land, no more to befoul its waters and forests, finally, the world was perfect.

Bam. It's meant to be suggesting that as long as man survives, the world cannot be perfect.
Aren't I subtle? Lets hope that the teacher gets it.

Most of the other English classes at the school were asked to draft their responses over the weekend. I wasn't, but I wouldn't anyway.¹ Why bother? I think I write best when I'm under pressure, or making it up as I go along. Like I'm doing now, and I did for those two pieces of prose up there. I'm lucky like that, I guess, that I can turn a phrase so exquisitely, and do it so effortlessly too. I'm so modest, too.

School at the moment, it's kinda boring. We don't do anything in English, Maths is laughable, Chemistry is interesting, but not being taught well, Italian is fun (and pretty much a bludge, shhh), and Psychology is really interesting, but only because I'm intrigued by human behavior. That just leaves my distance IT, which isn't going too well. 29/50 for the first SAC is not fun. I'll live, though.

On human behavior, though. I find it so interesting, watching people², listening to their conversations³, etc. I love finding out the motivations people have for things, especially when they're questionable. It's really fun, especially when I get it right. Example: I'm normally the first to pick when someone's gonna go bad. Peter Harvey, for instance. I was the first one to suggest that maybe he wasn't as nice as people thought, and it turned out (*shocked*) that I was right. In a less biased example, I was also the first to not like Josh Chang. To all these posers who've started hating him in the last year or so, I say "Meh!" Way to jump on my bandwagon!

Now, watch me draw a link between them and Dante's Divine Comedy.
Peter Harvey --> Ben's Enemies List --> 9 Circles of Hell --> Dante's Inferno --> Dante's Divine Comedy.

I really want to read that book. It looks like an interesting insight into religious beliefs of the time. I'm kinda interested in that, too. I wouldn't really call myself a member of any religion (technically I'm an Uniting Church-er), so that means I can comment on them all! *evil grin* Not the weird and socially unacceptable "You are *blank*, I don't like *blanks*, enjoy your persecution." No, not like that. I mean, finding out what they believe, and why they believe it. I'm interested in that. I might as well start with the Uniting Church, I mean, if you can't laugh at yourself, you can't laugh at anything.

Since Wikipedia sucks, it's refusing to tell me anything directly about the religion, so I've had to go to "Mainline Protestism" in the USA to have a look at the religion's beliefs. Since they're not Unitarians, and they're not the Unity Church, and.. GAAH. I can't be bothered searching through 1.7 million pages to find stuff about a religion I don't know if I believe in or not. It's too freaking late (1:23), someone's just asked me "would you like to go to bed with you?" to which I of course replied "would you like to go to 'rephrase that so it makes sense?'" (Apparrently, she was referring to my PM, “In Soviet Russia, 'Voulez-vous coucher avec TOI!'”)⁴.

I reckon that'll be enough for now. It's too freaking late.

Ben

---

1: Ok, I probably would. Shut up.
2: Not like that, you weirdo.
3: See #2
4: Leave me alone, I'm very tired.