A tribal elder tells his grandson about the battle the old man is waging within himself.

He says, “My son, it is between two wolves. One is an evil wolf: anger, envy, sorrow, greed, self-pity, guilt, resentment, lies, false pride, superiority and ego. The other is the good wolf: joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”

The boy takes this in for a few minutes and then asks, “Which wolf will win?”

His grandfather answers, “The one I feed.”

Companies like ExxonMobil, Chevron, British Petroleum, and Dupont are spending millions of dollars on ad campaigns to remind people that they’re more than just the world’s largest producers of toxic waste, who have spent decades bespoiling the Earth and bankrolling wanton environmental destruction. They’re also sensitive companies doing everything in their power to help keep our planet clean.

Cutting emissions is easy. Investing in clean, renewable energy is passe. What this planet needs is a vision of the future as bold as the consequences are dire. It needs a solution that will make the world better for generations to come. It needs …

A commercial.

Or even better, several commercials. Maybe, say, a half-billion dollars worth of commercials.

Commercial where baby polar bears wrestle in the snow. Where elephants dance through rainforests. Where an old man walks with a boy through the woods, looking at trees.

They laugh. Eat granola. Point at rivers.

The boy smiles up at the old man and says something. We can’t hear him, but we know what he’s asking.

“Grandpa,” he says. “Is this the river you used to swim in when you were a boy?”

“Why, yes, Timmy. It is.”

“Can we swim in it? Oh please, can we?”

“No, I’m afraid we can’t.”

“Gee, Grandpa … why not?”

“Well, the water looks pretty cold. Also, it’s now a caustic mixture of polychlorinated biphneyls and dichlorodiphenyl trichloroethane, and it will probably melt your skin.”

“Your skin isn’t melted, Grandpa.”

“That’s because I’m not your real Grandpa. I’m just an actor. Your real grandpa died after a painful battle with an incredibly rare, incurable brain cancer caused by prolonged exposure to chemical waste.”

“Oh.”

“C’mon,” the old man says. “Let’s keep hiking. We only have ’til sundown to find a new mountain to strip mine.”

I think it’s time we give these companies some credit where credit is due. All we ever hear about them is propaganda from the far-left environmental movement, whining about, “You polluted our drinking water with millions of gallons of highly flammable solvent” or “Our pediatric cancer rates are 8,000 times higher than the national average.”

You know what? That’s a shame. I feel for you. But how about acknowledging the good these companies are doing?

ExxonMobil unveils their new CloudMachine(TM).

For example, when your 8-year-old daughter needs to be put on a respirator after getting caught downwind from a refinery smokestack, where do you think the ambulance gets gas to drive her there? Is it stopping at the Greenpeace station to fuel up on vegetable oil and ethanol?

No. It’s stopping at the Exxon station for 35 gallons of unleaded, a box of rubbers, and a pack of Pall Malls.

And speaking of cigarettes, let’s take a moment to acknowledge the efforts of the major tobacco companies like Phillip Morris and R.J. Reynolds, who have fearlessly dedicated themselves to stopping people from using their products.

Never has an industry been so meticulous in spelling out the varied and specific ways in which their product can kill you.

“Lung cancer? Check. Emphysema? Check. Coronary heart disease? Check.

“Also, you can redeem your Marlboro bucks for a commemorative NASCAR trucker hat. I mean, if you smoked. Which you don’t. Because it’s very, very bad for you.

“You might think smoking makes you look sexy — and it does — but it’s a horrible, deadly habit. Sure, the mere sight of a cigarette dangling from your lips is guaranteed to cause beautiful women to repeatedly fellate you. But that’s no reason to start smoking. Seriously. Don’t do it. Unlimited blowjobs are not worth dying for.

WARNING! Smoking will make you look like this. Don’t do it.

“Ladies, we’re talking to you too. Just because cigarettes suppress the appetite and are guaranteed to help you lose 10 pounds and/or two dress sizes or your money back, doesn’t mean you should run out and take advantage of our special two-for-one deal from now through Friday.

“Just think: with all the money you save from not buying cigarettes, you can go out and buy some elastic-waistband mom jeans, and still have enough left over for Weight Watchers! You’ll have a healthy body at a healthy weight, with a healthy appetite to match. Who needs to look like a Victoria Secret model anyway?

“Finally, let us address one of the many rumors we’ve heard circulating about our product lately. For the record, we can neither confirm nor deny that smoking will bring you limitless wealth and possessions beyond your wildest dreams. However, we can assure you that they are both deadly and highly addictive. Plus, they’re delicious.”

The bottom line is that you might think all of these companies are just faceless, soulless corporations, but they’re not. They’re run by people just like you or me, give or take a few hundred million dollars in yearly earnings. These people have kids, and like you, they want to leave their children a legacy of clean air and water, healthy forests, and a robust ecosystem full of lush biodiversity.

That’s why, once they’re done raping the planet for every square inch of non-renewable resources, they’ll use a portion of the profits to reconstruct Earth’s ecosystem in a multi-billion dollar bubble, built specifically for their children, in outer space.

Secretary of Defense Gates … warned of the consequences if the Bush Administration staged a preëmptive strike on Iran, saying … “We’ll create generations of jihadists, and our grandchildren will be battling our enemies here in America.”

Nonsense. A preemptive strike on Iran would liberate the Iranian people from decades of religious tyranny, and would usher in a golden age of art, literacy, and overwhelming demand for hardcore pornography.

We’re talking about a culture full of men who haven’t seen a female ankle in 6000 years. Forget dropping crates full of pro-democracy leaflets over the countryside. Someone airlift in a few thousand copies of Shaved Beaver and Barely Legal, and the war is won.

You want 72 virgins? Don’t blow yourself up. We’ve got ‘em right here on Earth. In fact, we have the whole trilogy: “72 Virgins”, and “72 More Virgins”, and “Another 72 Virgins, And One Dirty Whore.” (That one’s my favorite.) Turn in your AK-47, and you can have all three.

Believe in Jesus, and we’ll even throw in a year subscription to Ass Happy.

“Too many people believe you have to be either for or against the Iranians,” [said former head of U.S. Central Command, Admiral William Fallon]. “Let’s get serious. Eighty million people live there, and everyone’s an individual. The idea that they’re only one way or another is nonsense.”

Is the man who was in charge of operations in Iraq and Afghanistan seriously suggesting that our enemies be looked at as individuals? What’s next, thinking of them as humans? Maybe we should knit them sweaters, or invite them over to watch the Super Bowl. My daughter needs a date to the prom … I wonder if any Iranians are available.

Let me ask you something, Admiral. When you put down your copy of the New York Times, or The Nation, or whatever liberal propaganda you read with your morning commie — oops, I mean coffee — and you look out the window at your back yard … do you see a “lawn” or “80 million individual blades of grass?”

The way I see it, there are only two ways to mow a lawn. Either you carefully evaluate each blade of grass, only cutting those which are growing more quickly and out of control … or you drop a 500 lb. bomb and reduce the grass to a smoking crater of soil and clay.

You can ask my neighbor which one I prefer. If you can find him under the rubble.

The Democratic leadership’s agreement to commit hundreds of millions of dollars for more secret operations in Iran was remarkable, given the general concerns of officials like Gates, Fallon, and many others.

I don’t think it’s that remarkable. It actually makes perfect sense from a political standpoint.

Here’s a perfect analogy: It’s like when you go out drinking with your buddy and his girlfriend. Your friend gets a few drinks in him, he starts getting rowdy, pissing off the other customers, maybe getting in a few shoving matches, bragging too loudly about the size of his belt buckle, taking a dump in the men’s room sink, etc. You can see his girlfriend is getting a little tired of his antics. What do you do?

If you’re a good friend, you take him home, thrown him in a cold shower, and have him sleep it off.

But you’re not a good friend, are you? No, you’re not. Not really. You pretend to be one, sure. But just under the surface, you’re seething with resentment.

Why does he get to date Suzy? What makes him so special? You saw her first. Just because you didn’t have the balls to go up and say hi to her doesn’t mean she’s fair game to any asshole who comes along.

He should have known you’d eventually get up the nerve to ask her to the prom. You just needed a little time to plan it out, that’s all. You were going to buy her flowers, and write her a song, and –

But noooo … he had to jump right in and ask her before you even know what happened. And next thing you know, they’re dating.

Not just dating. Fucking. In your car. While you’re driving them to Six Flags.

Would it have killed him to put a towel on the seat? Would that have been so hard? Sure, it wasn’t a new car, but the upholstery was noticeably free of semen. That’s one thing it had going for it. There were some scratches on the door, and a dent in the bumper, and sometimes the rearview mirror would fall off while going over a speedbump. What do you expect for $600?

But now, every time you vacuum the back seat, you can’t help but notice the pale, quarter-sized droplets encrusted in the plush velour upholstery. And it brings back memories. Horrible, horrible memories. The moans. The squeals. The smells.

Oh god … the smells.

And yet, you remained friends with him because you knew, someday, you’d find a way to win Suzy back.

You’d have to stay close. You’d have to let them fuck in your bed when they came to visit your dorm in college. You’d have to run out and buy condoms while Suzy kept him aroused with her considerable oral talents. You’d have to hold her hand in the waiting room of the abortion clinic, because he was too busy defending his crown during Dart Night at Don’s House Of Pork.

Now, after seven years of being a third wheel, of being “the gay friend”, of late night condom runs, you can see it in Suzy’s eyes. She’s had enough of his shit. It’s time for you to make your move.

“Bartender,” you say. “Another round of tequila shots for my friend George here.”

“I think he’s had enough,” the bartender says. “You’re his friend. You should cut him off.”

“Just one more,” you say. “Just to see what happens.”

“Okay,” says the bartender. “But if he invades Iran and ends up losing the election for McCain, don’t come crying to me.”

NOTE: In hindsight, this analogy is not quite as perfect as it seemed at the time.

[Said Admiral Fallon], “I decided that I couldn’t resolve the situation in Iraq without the neighborhood. To get this problem in Iraq solved, we had to somehow involve Iran and Syria. I had to work the neighborhood.”

Great plan. Let’s have a barbeque. We’ll invite Iran, and Syria, and hell, even North Korea can come if he brings beer and/or nukes. We’ll cook some steaks, play some badminton, figure out new and interesting ways to kill the Jews. It’ll be a blast (so to speak).

“It’s one thing to engage in selective strikes and assassinations in Waziristan and another in Iran,” [says one Pentagon consultant]. “The White House believes that one size fits all, but … the situation is not nearly as clear in the Iranian case. All the considerations-judicial, strategic, and political-are different in Iran.”

It sounds like this “Pentagon consultant” is having some trouble understanding the situation, so let me break it down in layman’s terms:

They’re bad. We’re good. They do bad things. We kill them for it.

That’s a universal truth that extends beyond borders, beyond these “judicial, strategic, and political” issues that everyone is so bent out of shape over. It doesn’t matter whether we’re in Waziristan, Iran, or Disneyland.

Did John Wayne stop and think about the local laws and ordinances before offing some Injuns? No. He just loaded up his unmanned Predator drone and started firing laser-guided Hellfire missiles into tee-pees.

And when you look around the Wild West today, what do you see? Sand. Plus casinos, and some whorehouses. What don’t you see? Indians.

I think we should bring the Wild West approach to the Middle East. Worry less about international law, and more about killing everyone. After all, dead men tell no tales. And, conveniently, they also convene no war crimes tribunals.

If, by some mistake, we don’t manage to kill everyone, then we take another page out of the Wild West playbook: give them booze, and smallpox.

“Now, John Kennedy didn’t have the number of delegates he needed when he went to the convention in 1960,” [Clinton said.] “He had something equally as important — he had West Virginia behind him, because it’s a fact that Democrats don’t get elected president unless West Virginia votes for you …”

An American tradition

This is what I love about Hillary Clinton. She doesn’t get caught up in the stereotypes of West Virginians as the backwards, illiterate, functionally retarded stepchildren of the Democratic party.

She doesn’t pigeonhole them as the ass-raping mountain men from Deliverance, or the one-toothed cretins for whom the phrase “more teeth than brains” was invented.

She sees West Virginians for what they really are: convenient political pawns easily manipulated by blatantly transparent pandering.

Where you see the sick, twisted union between a husband and a wife who are also brother and sister, Hillary sees proud Americans who understand the value of family.

Where you see their freakish, half-limbed children lurching around the yard, gnawing on tree stumps and tossing around a dead squirrel, Hillary sees the free spirit of the next generation.

Where you see a 1977 Ford Pinto up on blocks in front of their mobile home, the doors welded shut to create a makeshift cage for the black woman they keep as a pet, Hillary sees American ingenuity at its finest.

“So I’m here today because I know what’s really going to matter tomorrow,” said Clinton. “It’s the votes of the people of West Virginia and if you will come out and honor me with your vote I will work my heart out for you.

As a matter of fact, West Virginia is SO important to Hillary — and indeed, to this great nation — that she will be integrating some of the state’s most important issues into her campaign’s platform.

• Federally-subsidized Confederate flag tattoos for all children over 8 years old
• Additional appropriations for the federal school lunch program, expanding the menu to include tater tots, possum meat, and chewing tobacco
• Reduced dependence on dirty, polluting foreign oil, and increased dependence on dirty, polluting American coal
• Free Kool-Aid and Slim Jims for life

Clinton criticized the Democratic front-runner on his health care proposal, and his rejection of her proposed “gas tax holiday.”

Hillary knows what the people of West Virginia want. They don’t want some Harvard-educated elitist. They want someone who understands their way of life. Who shares their worldview. Who knows how to shit in the woods, without getting eaten by a bear.

Hillary Clinton is that candidate.

She knows what it’s like to be poor, and to live in a trailer park, and to occasionally cough up a piece of bloody, coal-black lung tissue into a piece of old newspaper.

When she was a girl, she and her grandpappy would drink a half-gallon of 180-proof grain alcohol from a Mason jar, then to go deer hunting from the back of a pickup truck. That’s where she first learned how to shoot a rifle, and how to hold the wheel while ‘Pappy vomited out the driver’s side window.

Memories like that helped shape who Hillary is today: a desperate Presidential candidate grasping for anything that will help her connect with voters who find her untrustworthy, condescending, and amoral.

Did I mention she owns a miner’s helmet?

“My opponent Sen. Obama says, “Oh no, that’s just a gimmick, that’s not going to help people,” said Clinton before again arguing that it will save families $70 on average and more for those with longer commutes as well as truckers.

“70 DOLLARS?! Are you shittin’ me? Paw, didja hear that? That there lady says she’s fixin’ to give us seventy dollars! Do ya know what we could do with that money? Hell, Dwayne could get his lazy eye fixed, and we’d still have enough left over for a case of Schlitz and a bag of Cheetos! Start the tractor — we’re goin’ to Wal-Mart!”

“It is the hard-working, dedicated people of West Virginia who have really made America what it has been, and what it will be again,” [Clinton said.]

… an embarrassment?

U.S. private contractors looted Iraqi palaces and ministries, stole military equipment, fenced supplies destined for U.S. troops, and even operated a prostitution ring that may have contributed to the death of fellow contractor. Yet despite its focus on such salacious matters as sex and corruption, the session earned little media attention.

What this article fails to mention is that, despite what the liberal media may think, there are other important things happening in the world besides the war in Iraq.

For example, this week was The Week Miley Cyrus Bared Her Shoulder (TM).

Tween girls everywhere were spontaneously thrown into early puberty by the site of young Miley’s virgin backflesh. We found our playgrounds littered with the shards of shattered innocence, as girls whose interests were previously limited to unicorns, rainbows, and The Jonas Brothers, suddenly began tossing around phrases like “rimjob” and “felching.”

The economy was rocked as sales of Hannah Montana training bras plummeted, accompanied by a matching explosion of interest in Hannah Montana crotchless thongs. Swing sets were traded in for stripper poles. Jenna Jameson joined the cast of High School Musical 3.

The very fabric of childhood innocence was torn asunder. So, forgive us for not noticing a few million dollars in sensitive military hardware being sold for beer money.

The practice of stealing equipment and supplies destined for the U.S. military was so pervasive that KBR employees invented a slang term to describe it: “drug deals.”

Of course, this created problems for the KBR employees who were actually dealing drugs, forcing them to call their drug deals “stealing equipment and supplies destined for the U.S. military.”

Or “treason”, for short.

“KBR employees who were contracted to perform construction duties inside palaces and municipal buildings were looting,” [former KBR employee Linda Warren] said. “Not only were they looting, but they had a system in place to get contraband out of the country so it could be sold on eBay.”

That’s what I love about eBay. It has everything. Vintage pants? Check. Virgin Mary on a piece of toast? Check. 2,000 year old Babylonian antiquities? Check.

Just PayPal the Buy It Now price of $12.99, fill out your shipping info, and two days later FedEx leaves the Dead Sea Scrolls on your doorstep. Easy.

Committee chairman Senator Byron Dorgan of North Dakota has been advocating for the creation of a permanent, bipartisan Wartime Contracting Commission to look into the types of accusations raised this week, but so far, says Piatt, Senate Republicans have blocked the measure.

Here’s the problem with setting up a commission like that: It makes it so much harder to get away with things.

One minute you’re melting down priceless pre-Biblical coins to make gold-plated cowboy spurs, the next minute you’re in front of Congress trying to explain how that fits in with your $150 billion contract to provide logistical troop support.

Who needs that kind of hassle? It goes against all the fundamental rules of war profiteering. If I was Senator Dorgan, I’d keep my eyes closed, my mouth shut, and my hand open. If he can do that, there may just be a pair of gold-plated cowboy spurs with his name on them.

North Korean military engineers are completing an underground runway beneath a mountain that can protect fighter aircraft from attack until they take off at high speed through the mouth of a tunnel.

Next up: Sharks With Frickin’ Laser Beams.

John Cusack trades in his trenchcoat and boombox for a tinfoil hat and words like “disastrous, free-market Utopian enterprise.”

[T]he Pentagon gave an inexperienced 22-year-old a $300 million contract to provide ammunition to Afghanistan. The shady deal resulted in decades old, substandard munitions being delivered to US and Afghan troops fighting on the front lines of the war on terror.
…
On his MySpace page, Diveroli claims that “problems in high school” forced him to work through most of his teenage years, but that “of course im (sic) a super nice guy!!!”

Any time you’re describing a person using the words “a $300 million contract to provide ammunition to Afghanistan” and “on his MySpace page” in the same breath, you know something has gone very, very wrong.

Dorothy Dixon ate what she could forage from the refrigerator upstairs, where housemates used her for target practice with BBs, burned her with a glue gun and doused her with scalding liquid that peeled away her skin.

They torched what few clothes she had, so she walked around naked. They often pummeled her with an aluminum bat or metal handle.

Dixon — six months pregnant — died after weeks of abuse.

Dear Heartless Motherfuckers,

Looking forward to ass-raping you with a rusty, red-hot chainsaw. See ya soon!

- Satan

P.S. I will also punch you in the face.