2002-06-18 - 11:38 p.m.

There is much to discuss, my children of the night, and less time in which to discuss it. The world is merrily tap-dancing on the brink of Sheol, with a song in its heart and sedition in its ears. So let's hurry and get to it before things go too far and I have to update my entries from my secret underground mecha-fortress deep in an unnamed range of European mountains.

My first note has to do with the phrase I've wanted to say for all my born days: "I'm going to see World War II cryptography double-feature." Bam. In letters of fire a thousand feet high it could not be more impressive. Society and the cinema have advanced far enough, with all the vast weight of history and culture behind them to give impetus and strength, that we, as American citizens with $4.25 in our pockets, can go to an air-conditioned multiplex and see TWO films about cryptography efforts during World War II, from both the Atlantic and Pacific Theaters! GADZOOKS! And even better, one of them is directed by JOHN WOO! As legendary professional wrestler and future governor of North Carolina Ric Flair might say: "WOOO!" :: karate chop :: "WOOO!" :: karate chop ::

Now, unfortunately for you members of the Woo-tang Clan, in a phone interview with free press columnist and general snotnose Lance Goldenberg, Woo said of Windtalkers:

So, we won't be seeing Nicholas Cage walking down any cathedral hallways in his black longcoat with the twin golden dragon pistols and white doves flapping at his feet.

The movie should prove interesting enough if, for nothing else, because of its fairly nifty subject matter. World War II cryptography is something hard to botch.

At least that's what I'll be hoping when I see Enigma, an epic about Bletchley Park. Most people who own a media source of some sort or another are at least vaguely familiar with the nifty story of the deranged mathematicians, sodomites, and drug-addicts of Bletchley thanks, if nothing else, to the good graces of the History Channel, who devote half their airtime to World War II. The cast looks un-sterling, but I figure any movie about cryptography is good enough for me.

If I could wade through the interminable Stephenson epic Cryptonomicon, I can sit in buttery-flavored chilly air and watch Kate Winslett be charmed by a maniacal British theorist for 90 minutes.

Have you ever knowingly bought a great deal of hotcakes?

If not, what makes them so special in terms of retail volume?

I am gravely concerned.

I knew that when the War on Terorrism started, there would be certain sacrifices made in terms of personal liberties. I lost my Swiss Army Knife, which had given me eight years of loyal service and was two days from retirement, to the National Guard in San Francisco, as well as the butter-knife from my mess kit.

I became mildly alarmed when I heard about The American Taliban. Poor sucker kid from the north side of San Francisco, up in Marin County. God only knows what he was doing there. WELL certainly never know, because hes got a gag order as wide as the Pentagon on him and hes bound to swing beneath the cherry trees on Pennsylvania Avenue long before he gets his 15 minutes of confession.

I became slightly more alarmed when I heard of the Guantanamo Bay Internment Camp, where dozens of hundreds of people are arriving by ship and plane and being dumped behind concertina wire and forgotten.

And of course I passed out from shock when I got to read about the Domestic Surveillance Bill and the Presidents plan of First-Strike Defense all in one day. Now while America lashes out like a thermonuclear Scylla at everyone who has ever looked at us cockeyed, all we happy little consumers will be safe in our Garden of Eden, all watched over by machines of loving grace with American eagles stamped onto their sheetmetal sides, high in the sky with the pie where well hie when we die.

And then I got to read the positively Illuminating account of the young man named Jose Padillo, who has since been accused of calling himself Abdullah al-Muhajir, who was picked up in the Midwest and accused of plotting to set off a dirty bomb in Chicago. Normally I am all for the apprehension of black-lanternists who intend to ravage civilization, but I have a few peccadilloes regarding this particular case:

1. The only people to bring charges against him of any sort are the federal government, who have assured all concerned parties that he is indeed a vicious terrorist. All evidence has been handed down by the federal government, and the federal government has kept a really disturbingly strong leash on the whole event.

2. The only people allowed to talk to or see him are the federal government, because he has been declared an enemy combatant, which is practically unheard for American citizens (unless they happened to be Japanese-Americans who lived during the 1940s).

3. I dont think anyone, even Cassius Clay, would change his name TO Abdullah al-Muhajir.

4. Dirty bombs dont work any better than wads of plastic explosive with cans of Raid stuck into them, and I think even a dirty yellow-dog terrorist collaborationist seditionist with a stupid alias would know that.

And then came the real thing that struck me starkers. A little line, otherwise unnotable, in a strange little story in the New York Times.

The story was about a press conference held by Aziz Ahmed Khan, the spokeman for the Pakistani Foreign Ministry. He stated that Pakistan had two American citizen in its custody, captured while crossing the border from Afghanistan. The article went on to state that Pakistani officials suggested that the process of verifying the prisoners' claims of American nationality was slowed down, with American concurrence, to give the Pakistanis time to interrogate them.

The story was rife with quotes from unnamed American officials (a nasty habit the once-reliable Times seems to have picked up from its cohort, the Washington Post) all claiming dumbstruck befuddlement.

Never heard of any such thing! What Americans? What the hell are you talking about? We cant find anything in OUR records. Are you sure they said AMERICANS? And not, Australians or something?

Well, thats not too alarming. Letting the Pakistani, who are renowned for their abilities with rubber truncheons, thumbscrews, and garden hoses, handle the nasty work of interrogating American citizens on foreign soil makes good political sense. I was slightly ... well, infinitely ... more disturbed by this little gem of a quotation:

Congratulations, my fellow freebooters. Open season has been declared thanks to the good graces of the Pakistani Foreign Ministry. American freebooters! By the GOOD LORD! Abroad, roaming the world, tainting the good name of America in all the democratic nations! Or worse! RIGHT HERE IN OUR OWN BACKYARDS! Careful going down the alley, Citizen! An AMERICAN FREEBOOTER will come for your wallet, a scimitar clutched in his yellowed teeth, his hands still bloodstained from the last nun he butchered, dressed in the ragged finery of a looted Wal-Mart! Well, theres only one solution to this!

EXTREME FORCE!

Whats that? Well, of COURSE theres a contingency plan available for this! Dont be a frigging idiot! Ronald Reagan God bless his Alzeheimic, addled, and purely evil shrivelled hide saw to it that PROJECT REX 84 would be there to protect the interests of the good citizens of America in just such an occasion!

A series of 23 (I shit thee not) massive internment camps spread all across the wildernesses, back beyond the amber waves of grain and in the foothills of the majestic purple mountains, stretching between both shining seas. Each camp can hold 5,000 to 10,000 prisoners, and they were built under the auspices of an executive order which warned of the possibility of an :: gasp! :: an INTERNAL INSURRECTION!

And who better to lead an insurrection than FREEBOOTERS?

Stow the gab, me hearties. Theres a grim game afoot. Well all be tastin steel and not free air afore long, but Ill be down in Davey Jones Locker long before the damned bluecoats get their dainty paws on my hide!

Be careful what you do. How you step. Who you talk to. What you read. Eyes are in the sky and ears are in the walls. The woman down the road works for the Fibbies and the man at the deli is in the employ of the Langley boys. The blue helmets are coming, marching like an enfilade of supra-patriotic ants, ravaging the land beneath their bootheels, and everyone who doesnt catch the beat and take a number will be part of Ronald Reagans decaying dreamscape.

Arrr, mateys.

Arrr.

Capn Wheel

Now comes the mystery.

Last words of Henry Ward Beecher

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