6:57 pm CST
Lycos.com informs us in this story that the exposure of Janet Jackson's breast at the Super Bowl made not only television history, but Internet history as well; it is the most keyword-searched event in the history of the World Wide Web, surpassing even the terror attacks of September 11. I am not surprised, because over the past few days the stats for my site have revealed more than one search string on the subject--and all I did was list a few headlines in a previous blog entry.

A lot has been written about this tawdry episode, but so far no one has gotten to the heart of what it was really about.

To understand why a thing happens, we must often wait to see the results. And what were the results?

First, the "conservative" pundits began to squawk, complaining about immorality on television and the need for censorship. This empowered the FCC to launch an investigation, and also led the television networks to announce that they will now institute broadcast delays at both the Grammy and Academy Awards.

Thus, we will probably never see another truly live broadcast in this country again; from now on, we will all be protected, not only from the "unplanned" sight of a woman's breasts, but from any unplanned political speeches at the Academy Awards as well.

Like most crises, then, this one was contrived by the elites, who had the "solution" ready--the solution in this case being Censorship.

And that is not the only result. The television program ER, which had by "coincidence" planned to show a woman's breasts in an upcoming episode, has now been forced to censor the scene.

Which will cause the "liberals" to squawk: What's wrong with a woman's breast? Why can't we see a woman's breast on television when we can see violence all the time? Give us the freedom to see women's breasts! Stop censoring women's breasts! Squawk, squawk, squawk.

And, after they have squawked long enough, and loud enough, they will get the freedom to see women's breasts. We will, eventually, get to see women's breasts on television all the time. And everyone will be happy, thinking they have won some great freedom, when in fact they have won nothing.

In Brave New World, Aldous Huxley wrote: "As political and economic freedom diminishes, sexual freedom tends compensatingly to increase. And the dictator ... will do well to encourage that freedom. In conjunction with the freedom to daydream under the influence of dope, movies and the radio, it will help to reconcile his subjects to the servitude which is their fate."

Viacom's MTV, which produced the halftime show, has long been at the forefront in the mainstreaming of kink. Oh, how free we all will be, when at last their noble cause succeeds. We will not have the freedom to speak our minds, the freedom to bear arms, the freedom to live without fear of unreasonable search and seizure, or any freedom that is worth a damn. But, at least, we will have the "freedom" to choose between rubber and leather, AC and DC, Sadism and Masochism, or spike heels and handcuffs.

Or, to put the mainstreaming of kink in Orwellian terms: We will learn that Bondage is Freedom.

6:33 pm CST
Today's News Roundup:

Why does the following Boston Globe story not surprise me? :

Bush Intel Probe to be 'similar to the Warren Commission'

Speaking of phony investigations:

Cheney Designs Commission to Evaluate Cheney

Big Brother:

CAPPS gains in TSA request

State running background checks on new parents

UK Home Secretary Blunkett Proposes Dept. of Pre-Crime

Blood for Oil …

U.S. Troops Dying at Rate of Over 1 a Day

6:26 pm CST
LOS BRAZOS DE DIOS
Part One

It was the sixth month of my New Life.

After 24 years of marriage, I had gotten divorced and was single again. The first two months after divorce had been hard: heart-pounding panic attacks in the middle of the night, my breathing shallow, a suffocating sense of imminent doom and a vision of the universe as cold and lonely, devoid of love, devoid of God--these things only sweet illusions, clever delusions, lies we tell ourselves to deny the hideous truth of our lives, the pointlessness of existence.

Well, if it is a lie, I told myself, so be it. I will lie to myself because it's better than blowing out my brains.

Thus, lying in bed, stricken with panic, I would imagine the Voice of God. I was creating God, in a sense--serenading myself with the things I would want to hear God say, if God existed and could speak.

"You will get through this," God would say. "This hard time will pass, and you will know a better life than you have ever known."

And so on, in this vein.

I was not delusional. I knew the Voice was a product of my own mind--that I was only manipulating my internal monologue to give myself some minor comfort. And yet, though I was conscious of the self deception, the technique worked. I would feel soothed, my heart would slow down to a normal rate, I would relax and drift back to sleep.

As I say, I was not delusional. I was aware it was myself controlling the Voice, like a ventriloquist speaking through a dummy. As a child, I had practiced ventriloquism—had even performed with my dummy in talent shows. And I had always been able to differentiate between myself and my dummy, unlike the ventriloquist portrayed by Anthony Hopkins in the film Magic. I was able to control my madness, and I controlled it now, speaking to myself with the Voice of God.

But, one night, as sleep took over and the hypnogogic phantoms of the early phase of sleep began flitting through my brain, the Voice kept on talking. It had taken on a life of its own, no longer directed by me; it spoke with authority and compassion, and I listened, no longer directing.

The Voice said, loudly, You will be reborn. Which shook me awake, as if a thunderclap had sounded from above.

And, from that moment forward, I suffered no more panic attacks. I kept my Xanax handy, just in case, but never needed it again, and finally threw away the entire bottle.

I also ceased to feel that my divorce meant the end of something. Now I felt it was a beginning, a second chance--the chance, at 43, to turn back the clock to the day before I was married, and become a lad of 19 again.

Thus, I was reborn and embraced my New Life.

I took great pleasure in my new apartment--my Space Age Bachelor Pad, as I called it. I began dating for the first time in 24 years, and also spent a lot of time with my friends—much more time than I had been able to spend with them when I was married. I partied hearty, enjoying certain vices with gusto--vices that, while never given up during my years of marriage and parenthood, had at least been minimized. There was a full bar in my Space Age Bachelor Pad and I smoked grass extravagantly, savoring each lungful of the Devil's Weed, without a care in the world. I had done it--done the impossible: I had been reborn and was a teenager again.

Meanwhile, the Voice grew fainter, and, in time, could no longer be heard at all. I was having too much fun to notice its absence, and if I had noticed, would have said it did not matter. I no longer needed it; I could get to sleep without it now, and was no longer wanting guidance.

Then, in the sixth month of my New Life, eager for adventure, infatuated with my rediscovered youth, drunk with the wild joy of youth, and possessed by the recklessness and invincibility of youth as well, after decades of common sense caution--the awareness of my own mortality, learnt with maturity, the understanding that between life and death lay a boundary line finer than the edge of a razor--I went on a canoe trip down the Brazos River.

It had been an unusually rainy spring, with floods throughout the state. The lakes of Texas were high—so high that many lakeside parks had been closed because they were underwater—and the rivers were high as well, and running fast. Conditions were so bad, in fact, that the week before my canoe trip a man and his son—both experienced canoers—were drowned in the San Marcos River while practicing for a canoe competition.

But this did not deter me. I was, as I say, possessed by the recklessness and invincibility of youth. Which would have been understandable had I been a genuine youth, and not a middle-aged man on a mad quest to recapture youth.

Thus, I went canoeing on the Brazos River. Full name: "El Rio de los Brazos de Dios." Translation: "The Arms of God" …

(To be continued)

4:25 pm CST

Meet the homeland security blimp, flying high by 2006

Blunkett to Enact PreCrime Terror Law

U.S. 'volunteers,' journalists photograph mysterious Mexican militia crossing border

Patriotic Super Bowl?

CBS Execs Approved Janet Jackson's Crude Display at Super Bowl

The disgusting Super Bowl halftime show

TV Mind Control: Has the IMAGination been under a SPELL?

6:09 pm CST

Everyone's wondering: WHAT'S NEXT?

Great site: BushFlash.com

12:54 pm CST
Blog has returned after a two-day absence. Here is Today's News Roundup …

BlackCommentator.com: White People Pulled off Planes / "Canaries Are Dying"

Russia planning largest nuclear maneuvers in two decades

Ex-congressman's aide has video of OKC explosion?

Skull and Bones Society aims to get members into positions of power

London Telegraph: Broadcasters: Daytime TV harms children