Clash of the Titans XLV: Women In Combat

08/28/2007, 1:30 pm -- by | 3 Comments

In this corner, against, is Steve!

And in this corner, for, is Djere!

Let me get the possibly offensive, yet totally true, arguments out of the way first. Women are weaker than men — significantly weaker. Till adolescence, girls can hold their own in a fight, but the same biological imperatives that turn boys into testosterone-fueled beasts of burden unfairly round women off, widening their hips and sounding the “ready for babies” alarm like a bell.

God and puberty prepare young men for battle; after all, to the species, your average dude is pretty expendable. But young women? They get the special estrogen treatment, and since that results in (for instance) a body fat percentage double the size of the closest competing gender, pretending everybody’s the same on the field of battle isn’t a harmless multicultural fantasy — it’s a dangerous, deadly mistake. Many soldiers have to carry gear heavier than the average woman.

But let’s pretend it’s somehow possible to overcome the obvious and innate advantages in speed and strength that men have over women; let’s imagine we’ve triumphed over pregnancy, menstruation, and emotion, and that our enemies will treat captive women the same as captive men. Oh glorious day!

I’d still oppose it with the same strength and fervor. For one thing, it’s not necessary. If women seem to be needed on the front lines, it’s not because there aren’t enough able-bodied young men to pick up the slack; it’s because those guys are bumming around on street corners and slouching their way through English Lit classes. A realistic look at our armed forces in the event of another (God forbid) world war doesn’t involve a battalion of Amazons — it will require a real live, straight-up draft of the men in our country, from high-achieving Harvard Business School types to no-account middle school dropouts.

China invades us any time in the next fifteen years? I’m an airman the next day, and that’s a promise. But try to sign my sister up and you might be the next casualty.

Which leads me to my next and final point. Women do not belong in combat because of what such a policy would say about our nation. Many American men are already shamefully irresponsible, neglecting their proper roles as husbands and fathers to seek their own pleasure and fulfillment. Sending women to carry out what is the ultimate male responsibility — the protection of one’s own nation and family against those who would do them harm — would lower that shame to unbelievable and sickening depths.

Combat changes people; it hardens and coarsens them, as they experience horrors the uninitiated can never understand. They are trained to kill and destroy, work no man should ever have to do — but some must. To extend that tremendous sacrifice to women would be an act of both foolishness and cowardice.

I’m not saying that we should entirely man our front lines with women. Nor am I saying that all women in the service are cut out for front line duty. All I’m saying is that there are some benefits for allowing women to serve in combat situations.

In modern combat, sure there’s still a ton of physically demanding effort: running, carrying large packs, heavy weapons, and still some hand-to-hand combat. But as time has progressed since Cain beat Abel with a club. Weapons have become lighter and more efficient.

Certainly, the strongest men will always be stronger than the strongest women. Usually average men are stronger than average women. But I’ll tell you what: I’ve seen some pretty big women in my day, and I don’t make a habit of visiting the opera. Leather jackets, tattoos and biceps the size of my head… Yet if some hulking beast of a woman rode up to a recruiting station on her Harley and wanted to enlist, Steve would smile at her and sign her up as a candy striper.

Throughout every major conflict of the 20th and 21st centuries, women have played key roles. In both WWII and Chechnya, women served as effective snipers. Though usually pressed into service when defending their homes and children, women have done more than provide aid and comfort to soldiers; they’ve served as soldiers, officers, smugglers, spies, and scouts. Women can be capable of doing the same thing a man can during wartimes, without drawing as much suspicion.

Let’s kick this thing up a notch.

The theory was first proposed by Dave Barry, but let’s revisit it. When women spend time together, their, ahem, cycles, tend to synchronize. If the US Army had platoons of just women, that means for four days out of every month, we would have the single most vicious, nasty, murderous platoon of soldiers on the face of the planet. I don’t know about Osama, but I certainly wouldn’t want to be chased through the mountains of Pakistan by PMS Platoon from Hell.

One of the arguments against putting women on the front lines is usually this: Men who see a wounded woman will be demoralized in combat. BULL! I live near an army base. I read the newspaper reports of spousal abuse. I work with army wives who were either abused themselves or have a girlfriend who was abused. So some GI Joe can see his own beaten wife, but some strange woman? I’m not buying it.

Give ’em guns and let ’em fight back.

{democracy:112}

Hang In There, Bro!

08/28/2007, 10:30 am -- by | No Comments

Best of Job, March 2006.

I trust you’ve heard the story about Abdul Rahman, the Afghan who converted to Christianity from Islam, and now might be sentenced to death just for that ‘crime.’

I told my brother Joel today, while painting at the church workday, that I was hoping that either Rome or Colorado Springs (if not Washington) would dispatch an elite helicopter unit to go and get Abdul. I think this is a great notion and perhaps even cinematic — the idea of a Protestant v. Catholic Cannonball Run, to race and free Rahman from his potentially lethal captives.

I can see Dobson making up his mind to pull the trigger and do it, then changing his shoes like Mr. Rogers.

“I should wear layers,” he thinks to himself.

On the way over the Andes, the Protestant chopper breaks down, of course, and the Catholics stop only long enough — in their bejeweled Sikorsky — to gloat over and bless them. “Why don’t you ‘wiggle around like marmalade jelly’ to keep warm?!,” a cardinal gleefully shouts out, as they fly away.

But some Wycliffe translators in a nearby village help the Protestants get back on their way, and they overcome great adversity and pesky surface-to-air missiles to somehow beat Benedict’s Boys to the compound where Rahman is being held. Dobson and Joel Osteen are trapped behind some boxes, getting shot at, and things look gravely hopeless as Rahman struggles against his binds — until Rick Warren suddenly bursts through the bay doors in his Youth Group Truth Troop van, does a barrel roll out of the driver’s seat, springs up and slays everyone in the Spirit as the van hits a Jeep and explodes into a fireball.

“Yes, Rick!” Osteen yells out, pumping his fist. “Now that’s what I call Purpose Driving.”

“Amen!,” concurs Dobson, untying Rahman. The Catholic contingent shows up seconds later.

“Well, well, well,” remarks a camo-garbed Billy Graham. “I guess you Vatican’t.”

And One More Answer

08/28/2007, 9:00 am -- by | No Comments

What did Grandma correctly sense??

If you picked “A hit man, in town to kill the preacher,” you’re a winner!!

©1984-2007 Chick Publications, Inc. Reprinted without permission as fair use (parody).

Quote of the Day, 8/28/07

08/28/2007, 7:00 am -- by | 5 Comments

“I personally believe, that US Americans are unable to do so, because, uh, some, people out there in our nation don’t have maps, and, uh, I believe that our education, like such as, South Africa and the Iraq, everywhere like, such as, and I believe that they should, our education over here in the US, should help the US, or should help South Africa, and should help the Iraq and the Asian countries, so we will be able to build up our future.” — L. Upton, Miss Teen South Carolina, explaining why 20% of Americans cannot find our country on a world map

The Council’s Ruling — Superpower

08/27/2007, 12:00 pm -- by | 12 Comments

This and every Monday, the Bweinh!tributors, having convened in secret for hours of reasoned debate and consideration, will issue a brief and binding ruling on an issue of great societal import.

This week’s question — What is the most useful superpower?

The Council was unable to issue a majority ruling on this issue.

Djere offers this opinion, joined by Josh and MC-B:

Mind control. If it can be used on a large scale, you can do whatever you want, effectively being in more than one place at the same time.

 

David offers this opinion, joined by Chloe and Tom:

Being indestructible. You can survive anything and learn how to defeat any other super power.

 

Tom offers this opinion, joined by Mike and David:

Flight. Most of my time is used up getting where I want to go, long before I can even get there.

 

Connie offers this opinion, joined by Chloe:

The USA. Because we are a fair and democratic country with a good system of checks and balances.

 

Steve offers this opinion:

Immortality, a guarantee that you will dance on your enemies’ graves.

 

Next week: Which medium is the best source of news?

Ask Bweinh! Poll — Least Favorite Insect

08/27/2007, 10:00 am -- by | 1 Comment

Today’s Ask Bweinh! poll is brought to you by summer, aging and shriveling, passing away before your very eyes, extending its gnarled hand to you for one last bittersweet dance.

To the beach!!

This is a list of our least favorite insects, and to be fair, we used somewhat of a loose definition of insect, which includes all types of creepy, crawly creatures that just happen to rub one or more of us the wrong way.

Without further ado —

Rank Insect Points
1. Mosquito 23
2. Wasp 14
3. Flea 13
4. Cockroach 9
5-8 (tie) Spiders; Lice; Flies; Yellowjackets 6
9. Hornet 5
10-12 (tie) Ladybug; Wood Roach; Water Scorpion 4
Other Scorpion; Mealworm; Moth; Centipede; Gnats; Termite; Water Millfoil Weevil; Caterpillar; Locust 1-3

Joke of the Day, 8/27/07

08/27/2007, 7:00 am -- by | No Comments

The nun in school stood over a five-year-old girl and asked her what she was drawing.

“God,” the child said simply.

“But no one knows what God looks like.”

They will now!

Clash of the Titans XLIV: “Fantasy” Games

08/24/2007, 12:00 pm -- by | 1 Comment

In this corner, backing OGame.org, is MC-B!

And in this corner, on the side of fantasy football, is Josh!

I’ve got nothing against fantasy football; I’m sure it can be very engaging. However, I’m a person who likes to keep fantasy truly fantastic. If I didn’t have to be who I am right now, is participating in American football in any way, even at the uppermost echelons, really my ideal? Almost certainly not.

On the other hand, if I could choose to be someone else, would being the emperor of an empire spanning several galaxies be my top choice? Quite possibly, especially if I didn’t have to deal with those nasty coups and uprisings that have plagued empires since their development.

Enter the fantastic world of Ogame.

I don’t think I would enjoy fantasy football very much because I imagine it takes a good deal of prior knowledge and statistical research to be successful, yet much of what determines your team’s success is out of your control. On the other hand, Ogame throws some chance elements your way (the actions of other players), but there is nearly always something you can do to protect yourself, or at least get them back pretty well.

You can never actually lose in the sense of being forced to quit, so a season of hard work is unlikely to come to nothing after a large attack. Finally, Ogame is very quick to pick up; all you have to know is how to tell time. In short, Ogame puts you in almost complete control of your own destiny, and with good strategy, you can reap the rewards of your success or suffer the consequences of your failings, learn from it all, and rebuild.

In a text article, I can’t give anyone a good sense of what Ogame is really like. I will say, however, that the best reason to play is the friendships you can make. Recently I was in an alliance with people from the US, the UK, Australia, New Zealand, and Lebanon, and while we don’t talk to each other that often, it’s satisfying to know that, because of one silly browser-based game, I now have at least a few friends in countries all over the world.

I wish I could explain it more thoroughly, but my fleets have just delivered resources to a planet of mine, so I’ll see you later.

I just got finished with my fantasy football draft. It’s one of the more polarizing events of the year, as those who take part in such things eagerly exchange strategy and war stories, and those who do not look at the others as though they’re crazy, or the world’s biggest losers, or both.

For those of you who began shaking your head the moment you read the title of this clash (yet for some reason are still reading) let me explain why fantasy football is one of the greatest leisure activities known to man. For sports fans, it’s absolutely indispensable. You’re going to watch the games anyway, so you might as well have a rooting interest, especially for games late in the season when your favorite team is languishing.

Not to mention, every sports fan has always wanted to be a general manager. As we watch the personnel decisions made by real teams, we love to criticize and postulate that we could do better. Well here’s the chance to prove it! Not against actual general managers, sure, but against your friends.

And that’s why fantasy football can appeal even to those who aren’t big sports fans. Everyone loves the chance to gain bragging rights over their friends, be it for a victorious season or just fleecing them in a trade.

The biggest reason to love fantasy football in the internet age is the chance to stay connected with those friends. During our draft, I had phone conversations with my former roommate, my uncle, my brother, a childhood friend and my dad, all decidedly out of town but completely connected through the league. I actually had a conference call with the latter three, a conversational combination unseen since my brother’s wedding.

Listen, I’d love to tell you more, but I’m off to propose a trade.

{democracy:110}

A Short History of Violence in America (Pt. 2)

08/24/2007, 10:15 am -- by | No Comments

Read part one here.

Being a baby boomer (born in ’61), I have had ample time to study the development of macho stereotypes in our culture through the various mediums of the past 4.6 decades. I have learned this about the ideal American man — he is quiet, strong, honest and hard-working, a loving husband and a tender father — and a homicidal maniac when pushed beyond a reasonable point of provocation. It’s been a common theme in movies, TV shows, comic books, novels; even popular music at times. I grew up fully expecting that one day I might have to kill to defend myself or my family. Then I got saved.

A pivotal moment arrived in my new Christian life when, as a 20-year-old college student living in the country, I found myself stranded and had to walk a couple miles back home on a winter day. When I turned down my road, I heard the barking and howling of a pack of dogs that I knew ran up and down our road tearing up garbage and terrorizing people. I grabbed a large stick and headed off for my house, only to hear God say distinctly, “My rod and My staff will comfort you.” I was young enough as a Christian that when God spoke I simply obeyed, so when he said, “Throw down the stick,” I threw down the stick. I heard the dogs the entire way home, but I never saw them, and I learned a lesson about where my protection comes from.

Oddly enough, over 20 years later I had a dream that my son Philip and I were walking down a back road, and became surrounded by dogs. I picked up a stick in the dream and was warding off the dogs when I noticed that my son was not obeying my yells to stay close, but rather moving ahead, trusting God for protection. I was ashamed of myself. It was a significant dream in that I had picked up the stick again in my life — not for me, but for my family — and yet God’s answer was the same. If you can’t trust me to defend your family, what good will your little stick do? Or your gun?

Don’t get me wrong. Like anyone, I have lain awake at night imagining all the worst things that can happen to my family, invariably drifting into some Clint Eastwood, go-ahead-make-my-day fantasy, where I either gun the perpetrators down or search them out afterwards to get revenge. Then I repent.

Don’t think, though, that I wouldn’t go to war for my family — I’ve done it every day since we’ve been a family. I just know that we “war not against flesh and blood, but against principalities and powers, against the rulers of darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.” If you have a gun that kills that type of stuff, I’ll buy one. Until then, I’m sticking with what works: His rod and His staff.

Read Ezra 8:21-23. Ezra was ashamed to ask for protection from the king for his journey back to Jerusalem, because he had told the king, “Our God protects all those who worship Him, but His fierce anger rages against those who abandon Him.”

I’m not speaking this about anyone but myself, but I would be ashamed if I ever broke down and purchased a handgun to defend my family. I know where my protection comes from.

Quote of the Day, 8/24/07

08/24/2007, 7:00 am -- by | No Comments

“Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too truly to be fearful of the night.”
— S. Williams

Why I Will Not Ride

08/23/2007, 3:30 pm -- by | 10 Comments

Another summer week, another fatal motorcycle accident.

More than half of the Bweinh!tributors drive through this intersection several times every week, if not every day. It’s not an unsafe intersection, not at all, if you’re paying attention. Visibility is nearly unlimited. After somebody died there a few years back, they even put up special signs to remind those who are stopped that the cross traffic keeps going.

But this week, because some idiot turned left without looking, a young woman was thrown off a motorcycle and run over by a teenage boy, guilty of nothing but being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He literally could have been one of us, and if Mom (Connie) had decided to bring Rose dinner that night, it might have been her.

I’m big on justice. I want to blame the guy who turned left, and I wish there was more that could be done than just citing him for ‘failure to yield the right of way.’ Obviously he’s at fault here; his carelessness took a woman’s life, shattered her husband’s, and drastically affected yet another. When do you get over — when can you forget — running over another person?

But aside from the obvious, there’s one more thing I want to say about this tragedy.

Don’t get on a motorcycle.

I have become totally convinced that riding a motorcycle is not safe — in fact, it’s recklessly unsafe. It’s probably the most dangerous form of travel that’s still legal.

Don’t be upset with me; this has nothing to do with your skill or ability. Even if you’re the most talented rider in the world, two things are still true: (1) you’re traveling 88 feet each second with only leather between you and the road, and (2) you’re surrounded by morons in massive cars who care more about their incoming text message than your life.

I worked at a Harley dealership for a few months, home from college one summer. It was not my favorite job, for boss-related reasons, but it was valuable life experience and the source of many interesting stories. One of the tasks I had was organizing their customer files, then calling bikers whose bikes had been serviced, to make sure they were satisfied. I made a lot of phone calls. I read a lot of names.

I immediately started to see those names again, one or two at a time, in the pages of the newspaper. They were crushed by semi trucks, or they were injured by deer, or they were (most often) victims of their own stupidity or drunkenness.

We lost about a customer a month.

Those motorcyclists didn’t do anything wrong at our intersection this week. I don’t blame them for this tragedy. But put them in a car, even my cardboard box of a Chevy Cavalier, and chances are they’re both alive today. They’d have been a lot easier to see and far safer in a crash.

Actuary tables say you have a 7% chance of being in a car accident in the next 20 years.

The National Highway Traffic Safety Administration says motorcyclists are 16 times more likely to die in one of those accidents.

Odds like those just aren’t worth it.

One More Excerpt

08/23/2007, 2:15 pm -- by | 1 Comment

©1984-2007 Chick Publications, Inc. Reprinted without permission as fair use (parody).

{democracy:109}

Ask Bweinh! Poll — Wood

08/23/2007, 11:15 am -- by | 2 Comments

This edition of the Ask Bweinh! poll is sponsored by Earth First! Are you tired of “namby-pamby environmental groups” that don’t, say, kill anyone? Do you long for an organization committed to the blind and awkward worship of nature, best expressed by driving spikes into trees and destroying heavy equipment?

Earth First! is the radical fringe environmental terrorist group for you!

We honor trees by using their wood. Wood like…

Rank Wood Points
1. Cherry 24
2. Cedar 15
3. Oak 14
4. Maple 12
5. Pine 11
6. Bamboo 6
7-10 (tie) Apple; Ash; Balsa; Hundred Acre 5
Other James; Mahogany; Teak; Ply; Juniper; Three; Acacia; Toothpick; Elm 1-4

Thursday’s Tract Answer

08/23/2007, 9:30 am -- by | No Comments

Who or what is on trial here??


If you picked “The little girl, for witnessing,” you’re a winner!!

And remember! Reincarnation is a LIE!

©1984-2007 Chick Publications, Inc. Reprinted without permission as fair use (parody).

Joke of the Day, 8/23/07

08/23/2007, 7:00 am -- by | No Comments

A wealthy lawyer was riding in a limousine when he saw two men eating grass on the roadside. He told his driver to stop and got out to investigate.

“Why are you eating grass?,” he asked.

“We don’t have money for food,” one man replied.

“Oh, come along with me then,” instructed the lawyer.

“What of my wife? My children?” The other man agreed, as they pointed to a small throng of family members huddled down the road.

“Bring them all!”

They all climbed into the limo. Once they left, one of the men said, “Sir, you are too kind. Thank you for taking us with you.”

The lawyer replied, “No problem. The grass at my house is almost a foot tall.”

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