Remember those ubiquitous, cutsie "Baby on Board" signs, made to resemble a highway hazard sign, that were stuck with suction cups on car windows during the 1980s?

It was one of those innovations that seemed like a really nice idea-- until one thought about it for more than five seconds. It is farfetched indeed, to put it mildly, to believe that informing, or reminding, drivers that other cars contain fragile human life would have much of an effect on homicidally careless or inept driving.

I assign most hate crime legislation to this category. Like the well-intentioned but misguided victim's rights advocates, it is superficially attractive-- a method of reducing or eliminating bad manners, bigoted beliefs, and reprehensible, malicious criminal behavior originating in such broadly unacceptable beliefs.

Who can argue with that, any more than one can argue with a "Baby on Board" sign? But, as Glenn's comment notes, once the gummint gets into the business of enforcing standards of expression, it's promulgating the concept of "thoughtcrime".

And, as the video proves, it places accused citizens at the mercy of a Kafkaesque, self-righteous Thought Police. Unlike the "Baby on Board" signs, which presumably didn't cause more accidents, the thoughtcrime apparatus is self-inflating and self-perpetuating.

It doesn't seem so terrible at first blush that the gummint exercises power and authority in a good cause, by putting its thumb on the scale to ostensibly guarantee and promote basic civility and conviviality. But the devil's in the details, and the down side isn't always readily apparent until you are the one hauled before the Star Chamber.

By definition, an Intrepid War Correspondent like Michael Gordon, and his homogeneous cadre of Serious pro-war friends and sources, require perpetual War as a basis for remaining gainfully employed.

Without War, Gordon and his infotainwhore ilk would have nothing upon which to Correspond Intrepidly, and the circle of expert Armchair Warmongers would be bereft of a cause to anchor their lucrative self-serving mendacity.

They're going to have their Inescapable Perpetual War, dammit, and we're damn well going to like it. So stop this unseemly cavilling at once-- don't you know there's a War on?

Mark Pryor, not David Pryor

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Be that as it may, one wishes that the prior Pryor had used Pryor restraint.

Chris and the Unitard might just as well have appeared in tuxes, top hats, and rhinestone-headed canes and performed a classic vaudeville tap number like "Tea for Two".

Rather like Gene Wilder and Peter Boyle in "Young Frankenstein".

It is an index of the dumbest common denominator that such set pieces are presented Seriously, and presumably taken Seriously by a clueless and complacent public.

You're not going to see Mad King George sitting down with Amy Goodman or Seymour Hersch or Robert Fisk for an extemporaneous, unrehearsed interview.

I'm reminded of some infotainwhore in the White House Press Corpse-- Elisabeth Bumiller, IIRC-- earnestly explaining how it's hard to ask real kweschins during Presidential press conferences because, gollygeewhiz, that's the President of the United States standing up there, and it's the Big Time, and shucks, who wouldn't get a little awestruck and verklempt, plus humbled by the knowledge that asking a question means putting yourself in a spotlight with The Whole World Watching and all...

That's about the standard corporate media mind-set-- not that I'm suggesting that the Fourth Estate, with a few splendid exceptions, are pathologically biased toward power.

Geez, Glenn! Will you and your pantywaist cohort never cease your piteous mewling and face the fact that Might Makes Right?

And while you're at it, quit insinuating that the end doesn't justify the means. Don't you know there's a War on?

Not my cup of tea, but imagine how different it would have been, if only the Wingnut Warmonger Cheering Section had taken up paintball combat instead of encouraging the real thing, all for the sake of getting their tiny rocks off.

Not my cup of tea, but imagine how different it would have been, if only the Wingnut Warmonger Cheering Section had taken up paintball combat instead of encouraging the real thing, all for the sake of getting their tiny rocks off.