Groulxsmith posted:
p.s. what the fuck is a 'peacetime america'??
Most of the pictures are gone on the site but anyone who knows about that video gets what he's referring to.
Whoever wrote this in his wild fit of angry passion summed up the Iraq war better than anyone else I've read.
http://patriot-tv.tumblr.com/
“Please let me murder this guy … please let me kill this fucking guy before he crawls home to his family… please give me a chance to launch thousands of bullets into his body like a video game … I’m desperate for the opportunity to watch his torso explode in a pulpy mess as he continues to drag himself down the street, he’s probably crying, he’s probably in a lot of pain, I want to fire bullets into his bones and into his organs, I don’t want one big bullet I want thousands of small bullets to take his body apart while I watch on camera, I want to see his black and white blood spill out and run down the sewer because it gives me an adrenaline rush, Dear Lord please let me murder this fucking guy and turn his body into scraps.” - A U.S. Military Gunner, 2007
“I want to watch people die. I want to watch a thousand people die. When I get home from work I youtube videos of people having horrible accidents. I barely feel anything. I just got home from the movies. I saw a hundred people die. I saw a thousand people die on tv today. I want to watch people die because then they get loud and that wakes me up. I’m exhausted. I’m exhausted from watching millions of people die. I’m so tired and the person on the television is screaming and holding his stomach. He’s bleeding from his stomach so he was probably shot. He was shot by a bullet and I’m waiting for him to die. He’s waiting to die. We are both waiting for him to die but I am watching him and he is not watching me. He is on television and I am in my living room, exhausted from watching thousands of people bleed out. I want to hear his passionate speech before his death. I want to turn on closed captioning. I want to TiVo a thousand murders. I want to watch. I want to watch people die.” - An Average American, 2010
I’m terrified of brown people. I need to be protected. I need you to buy the most expensive weapons to protect me. I need you to buy missiles that can destroy people’s homes from a thousand miles away. I need you to buy helicopters that fire a million rounds of depleted uranium bullets per minute. I need you to have supersonic fighter jets that can drop laser-guided bombs on places of worship. I need gigantic steel ships that float in the ocean, waiting for the opportunity to release a storm of metal hail onto the mainland, where they live. Where they lived. I need robots. I need robots that can hunt. I need hunting robots to hunt them out no matter where they run and to launch missiles that will chase them. I need chasing, hunting missiles to hunt and chase them no matter where they run. I want robots to chase them becuase robots never get tired. I want inexhaustible solar powered flying robots to chase them across the desert where the sun never sets. I want the light from the weapons to make the sun seem insignificant. I want tireless robots in pursuit of brown people across the entire earth. I need your machine to defend me. I need you to kill thousands of brown people until I feel safe.” - An Average American, 2010
“I felt it. I traveled halfway around the world to find it and here it is. The adrenaline is nothing. The shaking carriage of the chopper is nothing. The audible in my earphones is an indecipherable language. I only speak one language. American. A heart beat. A complete absence of feeling. A silence from within my body. Silent through boot camp. Silent on the couch with my wife. Silent until now in the silence I hear it. I hear it and I feel it. I felt it snap back against my shoulder. I felt the stock shake in my hand. I felt it hit. I finally felt it hit. I finally feel my own heart. I hit my heart to start it. My heart is beating. My own heart has started firing. I traveled around the world to hear my heart backfire like a car. I traveled to the desert to feel the heat ignite my heart into a flare of bullets. I fire the bullets and I hear my own heart. I cannot hear the helicopter. I cannot hear the enemy. I am firing my heart at the enemy. I am firing at the enemy’s heart. I hear the enemy’s heartbeat and I know that I am feeling. I feel something beat back the enemy. I feel the enemy’s heart stop beating. I feel my heart firing at the enemy.” - A Teenage American Marine, 2010
“Puncture me. Lay your philosophy across the terrain. Show me your idealism, your courage from a mile away. I can hear it whistling above the treetops as it approaches. I take a step on the sidewalk. Let me hear your passion. Let me feel your heat. I can see the engine and the gasoline inside your body. From a mile away I can see your machine. Let me know that you can see me too. Your body is a machine and I want to be run over. I want to be the pedestrian. I want to be the drive-by victim. I want to be your focus. I want you to zoom in. I want to be your target. Let me feel your rocket. I don’t want to be collateral. I want to be your main squeeze. Let your thoughts be directed at me with precision. I miss you. Do not miss me.”
- Anonymous Iraqi, 2007
“I wish I had the courage to be a suicide bomber. I wish I had the courage that these young men possess. I watch them from miles away on my monitors. I monitor them from drones at five thousand feet. I could never get close. I could never get close enough to smell them, to see if they are real. How can someone that is real be brave. How can someone that smells like me be braver than me. Behind my monitors I am protected by their smell, the smell of another human, a human who sweats in the desert, a human body that puts itself in harms way. A human body walking down the street. I envy you. I want to have your bravery. You fight for your family, but I can eradicate them with the click of a mouse. You fight for your city, but I have it encircled with billions of dollars in military technology. It costs the army a million dollars a month to send me here to watch you on this monitor. I am watching you for a million dollars wishing I was brave enough to go down and smell you. To smell your body and to shoot you with my gun and to smell you. This is what bravery smells like you would say to me. This is what it means to put your body in harms way. I want to be downwind of your courage. I want to smell your body defecate as you become unconscious. I want you to bleed out and I want to smell blood. What does blood smell like. What does the blood of a suicide bomber smell like. What does the blood of a father smell like. A father walking down the street is braver than me. I launch missiles of envy at him. My jealousy strikes again and again. I want to have your family. I want to have your bravery. I want to feel courage. I fire because I can’t smell you. I can’t smell you so you aren’t real. If you aren’t real you can’t be brave. You can’t be braver than me. I would never go outside on the street where a rocket could hit me. My rockets. I fire my rockets and wish I had courage. I hide behind my monitor and wish I was a soldier. I am a soldier. I am a soldier of the United States of America jealously attacking brave fathers. I don’t even know what they smell like, becuase I have never seen them. But I know they are there, being braver than me, putting themselves at risk, which I will never do. And I hate them for it. And I will make them pay for the courage that I do not possess.”
- An American Military Operator, 2010
“I’m hardly an apologist for US foreign policy in general. I opposed the war in Vietnam, or I would have if I were born back then. But it seems to me that when you enter a war zone with weapons, you’re responsible for what happens. Especially if you are an enemy combatant. And there are many enemy combatants. There are enemy combatants with whole families of enemy combatants. There are enemy combatants who go to mosques full of enemy combatants. There are schools raising a generation of enemy combatants. There are hospitals full of healing enemy combatants. If you enter a war zone then you are responsible. As the enemy combatants grow so does the war zone. The war zone is growing as the enemy combatants grow. The war zone is growing to encompass the entire city. The entire city is in the war zone and if you are in the war zone you are an enemy combatant. The enemy combatants are responsible for what happens in the war zone and the war zone is the size of an entire nation. We are at war with an entire region. Everyone in the region is an enemy combatant. If you were born in a war zone you are responsible for raising a generation of enemy combatants that we must destroy. Everyone is an enemy combatant in a war zone. Expand the war zone until all our enemies are combatants. Expand our combatants until everyone is our enemy. We are at war with every enemy. We are expanding our war against every expanding enemy combatant. We are expanding combat operations against every war zone. We are re-zoning every war to encompass every enemy. Every war zone has a child. Every child is a war zone. Every enemy combatant is responsible for what happens to their children in a war zone. Every war zone will grow until we have swallowed every enemy child.” - Someone who is not a US Military Apologist, 2010
“The hummer is exploded by the IED. What does the IED look like. That is not the same hummer as my neighbor’s hummer. This one is tan and bigger and being torn apart and my neighbors is in his garage. This is a different hummer filled with soldiers. The IED is in the ground so I can’t see it and neither can the soldiers. I don’t know what it looks like but the soldiers do. There are no garages in iraq for the hummers so they sit outside all day in the sun and become covered with dust and become tan before they are blown up by IED’s that no one can see. Sometimes they use a metal detector but it always turns up stray ammunition. No one even knows what an IED looks like. They sit around in the cafeteria in tan fatigues talking about IEDs. Have you ever seen one. No. What does it sound like? The soldiers are in the cafeteria. The IED opens up the hummer like a can of food. The IED wrenches the top off of the soldiers and puts the explosion in the hummer. The hummer keeps driving with the explosion in it. Then the soldiers die. Then the soldiers in the cafeteria take the plates to the sink. The hummer falls into the river and begins to sink. The soldiers chewed up bodies are floating in the river. The improvised explosive device is invisible except to the soldiers who see it. The ghosts of the dead soldiers come back to the hummer and find an explosive device buried farther up along the road. The ghosts of the soldiers and the ghost of the hummer go to the IED. The ghosts go to the grave and they say oh, so that’s what it looks like.” - A Soldier In A Hospital, 2010
“All you have to do is pick up a gun. Make my day. All you have to do. I need a reason. I need a reason to kill you. I can’t kill you without a good enough reason. I’ve bombed your home. Your city. Your city is rubble because of my bombs. I dropped thousands of bombs on your home but I can’t pull the trigger. I can’t kill you without your permission. I need you to pick up the gun so I know you are my enemy. I need you to be my enemy. I need you to be my enemy. Pick up the gun. I need a reason. I’m here in a helicopter, hovering above the ground with a gigantic cannon. I’m completely safe. I can’t hear you speak. I can’t see your face. Are you crying? Pick up the gun. Are you worried about your family? Pick up the gun. Do you want to go home? Pick up the gun. I bombed your home. I bombed your family. I fired rockets from a hundred miles away. Pick up the gun. This is your only chance for revenge. This is my only chance to get permission. The rockets are already launched. The bombs have already fell. I need your permission to pull the trigger. More bombs are coming. Your family is waiting for you to come home. Your family is waiting for you to come home with the bombs I gave you. I gave you these bombs so that you would pick up the gun. I gave you the bombs so that you would pick up the gun so that I could pull the trigger. I need your permission. I need your permission to kill you. I am looking at your face and I need you to say okay. okay. pick up the gun.” - A Proud American Soldier, 2010
discipline posted:
wtf is goin on with this map, half of baghdad was atheist in 2006 or sth
Increase in time of birth defects and miscarriages in Fallujah since 2003 and its association with toxic metals load in the population and in newborns and children with birth defects and their families
We have published today on the Newweapons web site ( www.Newweapons.org ) a full scientific investigation on the birth defects increase in Fallujah.
Unusually high frequency of birth defects and miscarriages was observed over the years following 2003, with gradual increase since then and with birth defects frequencies not decreasing up to November 2010.
For 2010, medical sources in Fallujah reported to us 14.7% of birth defects. This is about 10 folds higher compared to the frequencies in the same families in the years 1991-2001. Also miscarriage rates have increased considerably over the time from 2003.
The modalities of the presentation of the birth defects in 56 families studied and in their immediate kin (1256 people) indicates that genetic and epigenetic mechanisms, post-mutational, but potentially transmissible to the progeny, may be responsible of the events.
The finding suggest that continuing environmental contamination due to war associated and long lasting contaminants, like teratogenic metals, could be determining the reproductive damage.
The high rate of birth defects is associated with an increase in the hair the hair of children and adults of metals components of weaponry used in the recent wars in Iraq, but also in Lebanon and Gaza and Afghanistan. The study presented here can be seminal also for the decreased reproductive health in these countries.
From the analysis of metals in hair of 43 children with birth defects and 103 their parents, and of 11 healthy newborns and 16 their parents is shown that metal contamination is diffuse in the whole population of the town of Falluhja and is present already in newborn children hair.
The authors report that absolute levels of teratogenic and carcinogenic contaminants (Vanadium, Cobalt, Molybden, Uranium and Lead) were significantly higher in Iraqi than in controls from other areas, with Lead levels in children with birth defects and Uranium in their parents higher respectively than that in other newborns or parents of normal Falluhja children.
The composite metal load might be a major factor in the increase in time of events that lead to birth defects and miscarriages registered in the last years.
internationalist posted:“Please let me murder this guy … please let me kill this fucking guy before he crawls home to his family… please give me a chance to launch thousands of bullets into his body like a video game … I’m desperate for the opportunity to watch his torso explode in a pulpy mess as he continues to drag himself down the street, he’s probably crying, he’s probably in a lot of pain, I want to fire bullets into his bones and into his organs, I don’t want one big bullet I want thousands of small bullets to take his body apart while I watch on camera, I want to see his black and white blood spill out and run down the sewer because it gives me an adrenaline rush, Dear Lord please let me murder this fucking guy and turn his body into scraps.” - A U.S. Military Gunner, 2007
“I want to watch people die. I want to watch a thousand people die. When I get home from work I youtube videos of people having horrible accidents. I barely feel anything. I just got home from the movies. I saw a hundred people die. I saw a thousand people die on tv today. I want to watch people die because then they get loud and that wakes me up. I’m exhausted. I’m exhausted from watching millions of people die. I’m so tired and the person on the television is screaming and holding his stomach. He’s bleeding from his stomach so he was probably shot. He was shot by a bullet and I’m waiting for him to die. He’s waiting to die. We are both waiting for him to die but I am watching him and he is not watching me. He is on television and I am in my living room, exhausted from watching thousands of people bleed out. I want to hear his passionate speech before his death. I want to turn on closed captioning. I want to TiVo a thousand murders. I want to watch. I want to watch people die.” - An Average American, 2010
I’m terrified of brown people. I need to be protected. I need you to buy the most expensive weapons to protect me. I need you to buy missiles that can destroy people’s homes from a thousand miles away. I need you to buy helicopters that fire a million rounds of depleted uranium bullets per minute. I need you to have supersonic fighter jets that can drop laser-guided bombs on places of worship. I need gigantic steel ships that float in the ocean, waiting for the opportunity to release a storm of metal hail onto the mainland, where they live. Where they lived. I need robots. I need robots that can hunt. I need hunting robots to hunt them out no matter where they run and to launch missiles that will chase them. I need chasing, hunting missiles to hunt and chase them no matter where they run. I want robots to chase them becuase robots never get tired. I want inexhaustible solar powered flying robots to chase them across the desert where the sun never sets. I want the light from the weapons to make the sun seem insignificant. I want tireless robots in pursuit of brown people across the entire earth. I need your machine to defend me. I need you to kill thousands of brown people until I feel safe.” - An Average American, 2010
“I felt it. I traveled halfway around the world to find it and here it is. The adrenaline is nothing. The shaking carriage of the chopper is nothing. The audible in my earphones is an indecipherable language. I only speak one language. American. A heart beat. A complete absence of feeling. A silence from within my body. Silent through boot camp. Silent on the couch with my wife. Silent until now in the silence I hear it. I hear it and I feel it. I felt it snap back against my shoulder. I felt the stock shake in my hand. I felt it hit. I finally felt it hit. I finally feel my own heart. I hit my heart to start it. My heart is beating. My own heart has started firing. I traveled around the world to hear my heart backfire like a car. I traveled to the desert to feel the heat ignite my heart into a flare of bullets. I fire the bullets and I hear my own heart. I cannot hear the helicopter. I cannot hear the enemy. I am firing my heart at the enemy. I am firing at the enemy’s heart. I hear the enemy’s heartbeat and I know that I am feeling. I feel something beat back the enemy. I feel the enemy’s heart stop beating. I feel my heart firing at the enemy.” - A Teenage American Marine, 2010
“Puncture me. Lay your philosophy across the terrain. Show me your idealism, your courage from a mile away. I can hear it whistling above the treetops as it approaches. I take a step on the sidewalk. Let me hear your passion. Let me feel your heat. I can see the engine and the gasoline inside your body. From a mile away I can see your machine. Let me know that you can see me too. Your body is a machine and I want to be run over. I want to be the pedestrian. I want to be the drive-by victim. I want to be your focus. I want you to zoom in. I want to be your target. Let me feel your rocket. I don’t want to be collateral. I want to be your main squeeze. Let your thoughts be directed at me with precision. I miss you. Do not miss me.”
- Anonymous Iraqi, 2007
“I wish I had the courage to be a suicide bomber. I wish I had the courage that these young men possess. I watch them from miles away on my monitors. I monitor them from drones at five thousand feet. I could never get close. I could never get close enough to smell them, to see if they are real. How can someone that is real be brave. How can someone that smells like me be braver than me. Behind my monitors I am protected by their smell, the smell of another human, a human who sweats in the desert, a human body that puts itself in harms way. A human body walking down the street. I envy you. I want to have your bravery. You fight for your family, but I can eradicate them with the click of a mouse. You fight for your city, but I have it encircled with billions of dollars in military technology. It costs the army a million dollars a month to send me here to watch you on this monitor. I am watching you for a million dollars wishing I was brave enough to go down and smell you. To smell your body and to shoot you with my gun and to smell you. This is what bravery smells like you would say to me. This is what it means to put your body in harms way. I want to be downwind of your courage. I want to smell your body defecate as you become unconscious. I want you to bleed out and I want to smell blood. What does blood smell like. What does the blood of a suicide bomber smell like. What does the blood of a father smell like. A father walking down the street is braver than me. I launch missiles of envy at him. My jealousy strikes again and again. I want to have your family. I want to have your bravery. I want to feel courage. I fire because I can’t smell you. I can’t smell you so you aren’t real. If you aren’t real you can’t be brave. You can’t be braver than me. I would never go outside on the street where a rocket could hit me. My rockets. I fire my rockets and wish I had courage. I hide behind my monitor and wish I was a soldier. I am a soldier. I am a soldier of the United States of America jealously attacking brave fathers. I don’t even know what they smell like, becuase I have never seen them. But I know they are there, being braver than me, putting themselves at risk, which I will never do. And I hate them for it. And I will make them pay for the courage that I do not possess.”
- An American Military Operator, 2010
“I’m hardly an apologist for US foreign policy in general. I opposed the war in Vietnam, or I would have if I were born back then. But it seems to me that when you enter a war zone with weapons, you’re responsible for what happens. Especially if you are an enemy combatant. And there are many enemy combatants. There are enemy combatants with whole families of enemy combatants. There are enemy combatants who go to mosques full of enemy combatants. There are schools raising a generation of enemy combatants. There are hospitals full of healing enemy combatants. If you enter a war zone then you are responsible. As the enemy combatants grow so does the war zone. The war zone is growing as the enemy combatants grow. The war zone is growing to encompass the entire city. The entire city is in the war zone and if you are in the war zone you are an enemy combatant. The enemy combatants are responsible for what happens in the war zone and the war zone is the size of an entire nation. We are at war with an entire region. Everyone in the region is an enemy combatant. If you were born in a war zone you are responsible for raising a generation of enemy combatants that we must destroy. Everyone is an enemy combatant in a war zone. Expand the war zone until all our enemies are combatants. Expand our combatants until everyone is our enemy. We are at war with every enemy. We are expanding our war against every expanding enemy combatant. We are expanding combat operations against every war zone. We are re-zoning every war to encompass every enemy. Every war zone has a child. Every child is a war zone. Every enemy combatant is responsible for what happens to their children in a war zone. Every war zone will grow until we have swallowed every enemy child.” - Someone who is not a US Military Apologist, 2010
“The hummer is exploded by the IED. What does the IED look like. That is not the same hummer as my neighbor’s hummer. This one is tan and bigger and being torn apart and my neighbors is in his garage. This is a different hummer filled with soldiers. The IED is in the ground so I can’t see it and neither can the soldiers. I don’t know what it looks like but the soldiers do. There are no garages in iraq for the hummers so they sit outside all day in the sun and become covered with dust and become tan before they are blown up by IED’s that no one can see. Sometimes they use a metal detector but it always turns up stray ammunition. No one even knows what an IED looks like. They sit around in the cafeteria in tan fatigues talking about IEDs. Have you ever seen one. No. What does it sound like? The soldiers are in the cafeteria. The IED opens up the hummer like a can of food. The IED wrenches the top off of the soldiers and puts the explosion in the hummer. The hummer keeps driving with the explosion in it. Then the soldiers die. Then the soldiers in the cafeteria take the plates to the sink. The hummer falls into the river and begins to sink. The soldiers chewed up bodies are floating in the river. The improvised explosive device is invisible except to the soldiers who see it. The ghosts of the dead soldiers come back to the hummer and find an explosive device buried farther up along the road. The ghosts of the soldiers and the ghost of the hummer go to the IED. The ghosts go to the grave and they say oh, so that’s what it looks like.” - A Soldier In A Hospital, 2010
“All you have to do is pick up a gun. Make my day. All you have to do. I need a reason. I need a reason to kill you. I can’t kill you without a good enough reason. I’ve bombed your home. Your city. Your city is rubble because of my bombs. I dropped thousands of bombs on your home but I can’t pull the trigger. I can’t kill you without your permission. I need you to pick up the gun so I know you are my enemy. I need you to be my enemy. I need you to be my enemy. Pick up the gun. I need a reason. I’m here in a helicopter, hovering above the ground with a gigantic cannon. I’m completely safe. I can’t hear you speak. I can’t see your face. Are you crying? Pick up the gun. Are you worried about your family? Pick up the gun. Do you want to go home? Pick up the gun. I bombed your home. I bombed your family. I fired rockets from a hundred miles away. Pick up the gun. This is your only chance for revenge. This is my only chance to get permission. The rockets are already launched. The bombs have already fell. I need your permission to pull the trigger. More bombs are coming. Your family is waiting for you to come home. Your family is waiting for you to come home with the bombs I gave you. I gave you these bombs so that you would pick up the gun. I gave you the bombs so that you would pick up the gun so that I could pull the trigger. I need your permission. I need your permission to kill you. I am looking at your face and I need you to say okay. okay. pick up the gun.” - A Proud American Soldier, 2010
guidoanselmi posted:shit i cant find the shitty bush photoshop with the sunglasses
