THE REST OF THE STORY...IS UNAVAILABLE

I usually have pretty low opinion of generals myself. Too many of them are political yes-men who worked their way to the top on their knees. As a certain Iowa patriot would say, the difference between a brown-noser and a shithead is that a brown-noser at least knows when to stop.

Regardless, with the firing of General McChrystal, the fawning media, once more showing the integrity of intestinal parasites and the objectivity of Beria, is peeing all over itself to spin this as Barack “the Duke” Obama showing some real kick-ass decisive he-man leadership. Wa-haw.

The Propaganda Ministry keeps comparing this (over and over and over and over) to President Harry Truman firing General Douglas “Dugout Doug” MacArthur during the Korean War. MacArthur was loudly advocating dropping atomic bombs on Red China; McChrystal’s staff said things that hurt poow wittle Bawack’s feewings. Yup, exactly the same situation.

Of course, if Obama smoked a bowl of crack and took a flame-thrower to a bus full of orphans and nuns in the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue, the Ministry of Truth would somehow find a way to spin it making Barack the victim and the nuns at fault.

We’ll never know what really happened, especially from a Rolling Stoned reporter. Thrice in my own life have I been personally involved in events that, when portrayed by the media later, did not in any way, shape or form remotely resemble what I had seen with my own eyes.

Many moons ago, when there were still two Germanys, our mechanized infantry battalion attempted to cross a river on engineer barges. As I recall, the operation took literally all night and, in that time, we managed to get maybe two or three Bradley Fighting Vehicles out of the entire battalion across the river. Of course it was raining--If it ain’t rainin’, we ain’t trainin’. Anyway, we were using barges because by the time, even the Army had given up on pretending that the Bradley was even remotely amphibious.

When AFN (Armed Forces Network) ran the press release, it told how that if the Russkies blew up all the bridges, the rivers would not be even a minor obstacle to our mighty American battle forces, who could cross them at will. Well, you would kind of expect that spin from AFN. The Soviets were pretty good at rigging and faking river crossings using tanks themselves, with accompanying heavily-edited propaganda film footage. One would expect more objectivity from the so-called Mainstream Media. One would be wrong.

Later, while dispatching for a police department, all local network affiliates and newspapers ran a hysterical series of reports on the mean, nasty, evil out-of-control trigger-happy cops who stormed a man’s property and sprayed the whole neighborhood with bullets to kill some childrens’ favorite little pet dog “Fluffy” right before their eyes. They made it sound like more ammunition was expended than at Normandy Beach and that people for blocks around were diving for cover and pulling their children indoors in fear of their lives as the bullets sang overhead. This story was, of course, constructed entirely from statements from “the victim”. The press did not in any way, shape or form attempt to verify, fact-check or confirm the story from any other sources. The guy played them like a fiddle.

Turns out poor little “Dad of the Year” had a criminal record as long as your arm, including two prison terms for drug dealing, and was an abusive drunk no stranger to restraining orders. The ramshackle white trash conditions of his home and yard, his loud parties with his unsavory friends, and furtive visitors coming and going at all hours of the night had pretty much enabled him to single-handedly destroy property values for the entire block. He was the source of frequent calls and complaints to the police from neighbors and the public at large. Poor little “Fluffy”, the kids’ cute cuddly little puppy, was an aggressive full-grown Rottweiler that was pretty much allowed to run wild. It had chased and attacked pedestrians walking by on more than one previous occasion, sending one guy to the ER.

The cops were responding to yet another dog attack on yet another passing pedestrian. At that time and place, these guys were still “Peace Officers” rather than the growing new breed of militant young “Law Enforcement Officers”. As the pair of officers walked up the sidewalk, Fluffy attacked them. The “trigger-happy maniac who sprayed the neighborhood with bullets with no thought for public safety”, subject to so many harangues by the press, was an officer well known for his marksmanship. He fired two shots right into Fluffy’s head, at a downward angle so that any over-penetrations or misses would go down into the bare dirt of the “lawn”. Too bad all those intrepid muck rakers of the media just happened to miss all this information in their in-depth investigations.

The last instance involved a Support the Troops rally. There were about 300 of us pro, and THREE counter demonstrators. Guess who was shown on the evening news by all three local network affiliates and in all the newspapers. Myself, my fellow blogger, and a close friend were all observing the events in question from quite literally within spitting distance as the “incident” that garnered so much media hype took place.

The main female counter-protester, apparently going for that timeless cross between a Chinese peasant woman and Cyndi Lauper look so popular with college radicals, made sure she was right in front of the cameras. A calm, quiet lady in her thirties stepped up, deftly pushed Comrade Cyndi’s placard sign to the ground and then stood firmly on it. Glancing out the corner of her eye at the cameras to make sure they were on her, Comrade Cyndi fell to the ground, curling up in a semi fetal position, rolling around between peoples’ legs, with much lamentation, rending of garments, ashes and sackcloth, gnashing of teeth and wailing and the whole nine yards. “Stop hitting me! Stop! Help!” I have to give her credit; it was an acting performance worthy of an Oscar.

Once more, the press were sucked in like turnip pickers gaping at a carnival huckster at the State Fair. Comrade Cyndi got all the face time press coverage as the media spoke of how “The peaceful demonstration turned ugly against the counter-demonstrators” and showed highly edited snippets of film that made it look like a Biblical stoning.

So then it was no big surprise what happened at the last event I was involved in. There had been prison break and the fugitives had fled up to a popular recreation area on the National Forest. Several prison guards, deputies, and Forest Service types were gathered on the road discussing the situation as a team of trackers searched for signs of the escapees’ trail.

Then a young lady and her cameraman from one of the local network affiliates drove up in a van emblazoned with the news channel logo. Everyone in uniform scattered like a covey of quail, cars and trucks firing up and fleeing in every directions, looking like a scene right out of the Blues Brothers. Who can blame them; no doubt all of them had been misquoted, misrepresented or negatively spun by the press at one time or another and wanted no part of any news story.

It always cracks me up when the so-called journalists of this country still seem think of themselves as old style hard bitten investigative muck-raking terriers with press passes sticking out of the band of their fedoras and cigarettes dangling from the corners of their mouths. Let’s face it, the media hacks didn’t get into their line of work because they were too smart to be nuclear physicists, too brave to be soldiers, or too hard-working for the high steel. Even when they’re occasionally putting on one of their weak facades of “objectivity”, they’re still more gullible than a cat chasing a laser pointer. Any liberal can make them dance like puppets. “Investigative journalists” remind me of a nest full of baby birds, peeping away with their up-turned mouths wide open, squawking to be satiated with press releases spoon-fed them by the Whitehouse.

What really happened with the whole McChrystal deal? Honestly, I don’t really care. But if I did, I would sure as hell never find out from our intrepid journalistic professionals.