US vid on torture in iraq

[busaunit 0]

This guy has a hard time getting it out but at least he has the balls to say something.
Must be hard saying you killed women and children for your country
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-5587990522549547050&q=iraq

[akarunway 1]

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jesse_Macbeth

I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

[MarkR 0]

There's a whole lot of videos on Google and YouTube. Just do a search for "Iraq".

Here's another "nice" one. Less dramatic, but still: >>Clicky<<.

About the one posted above: Can't be sure if he's telling the truth. Some of what he's saying sounds way too cruel and inhuman to be true. But if he is telling the truth, then it's far more worse than even I thought...

»Somewhere between the lies and truths borderlines get shady.
Somewhere between the yesses and nos you can find the maybe.«

[akarunway 1]

Stop the Lies
Iowahawk Guest Commentary
by Jesse Macbeth
Iraq War Veterans Against Google
Breakfast Shift Associate, Wendys of Tacoma



As a decorated combat veteran of Bush's Iraq misadventure, I am all too familiar with the saying "the first casualty of war is truth." Because this administration sold us a war of empire on a double stack combo of lies, biggie sized them, and served them up with extra mustard. And I was there to see it, man.

My story starts in 2001. I was a sophomore at Mayfield High, a star athlete who was captain of the basketball, football, and track teams, and had singlehandly scored 200 home runs in one memorable wrestling meet against the Riverdale Archies. Obviously, this made me irresistable to girls, and I easily bagged the entire pom squad after winning my 4th straight state debate championship. No shit dude, I totally taped the whole thing, but I left it in the VCR and my stupid mom recorded it over with an episode of Wheel of Fortune.

While my incredible athletic and sexual prowess earned me accolades on the field and in the sack, it also earned me many enemies in the halls of Mayfield High. An upperclassmen named Dawson became enraged after learning I completely wanged his girlfriend Stacey, who went into a jealous fit after she found out I also wanged her totally hot mom. Then I learned a senior named Bueller had sworn his revenge on me because I smoked his Ferrari with my 600 horsepower VTEC Civic, which does 180 mph in the quarter, easy.

These lying liars went to the principal and started hurling lies. They accused me of drilling the mysterious hole in the girl's locker room. They accused me of showering in my underpants during PE, when they had no concrete evidence, and also maybe it was because of a medical condition. The accused me of lying, which was a complete lie, because in truth they were the real liars.


My Ranger School ClassIt was then I realized how damaging lies can be, even when the fat Goth poetry club chicks still believe you. I was expelled and my name was banished from the school and state athletic record books, effectively ruining my chances at the NBA. I channeled my anger into my Civic, adding a bitchin' body kit from Pep Boys, nitrous, and a sweet 4" exhaust tip, but the cops busted me for 300 mph over the limit. Without a diploma or any way to pay the $500,000 speeding fine, the angry judge gave me the hard alternatives: jail, the Army, or male modeling school.

A week later I busting my hump in basic at Fort Kill, slogging through the mud and razor wire with live gun bullets swooshing over my head. The Texas heat was hotter and crispier than a Spicy Chicken DeLuxe, but I was oddly enjoying it. Sergeant Fury, the camp's shift manager, frequently praised my natural killer instincts and tidy uniform. I had already learned the Army's two main rules: A) kill or be killed, and B) employees must wash hands after using the latrine (for you civilians, "latrine" is the name we professional Army people call the toilet).

But Fury wasn't the only one who saw my potential as a killing machine. That day the Fort had a surprise visitor: Condoleezza Rice. She was in Texas to help Halliburton plan the Iraq invasion at Bush's nearby ranch, and had decided to check out the "fresh meat" at camp. As I waded through the muck, I heard her voice ring out - "him... him... oooo, definitely him." I looked up and saw Rice pointing at me, her eyes hungrily caressing my camos. She had personally selected me for Advanced SpecOps Ranger Superkiller training at King's Island Ohio, and a number of other 'duties' which you can read about in next month's Penthouse Forum.

After our tumultuous tryst Rice had a change of heart, and begged me to stay in Washington with her, to plan American empire and for more hot wanging. "No dice, babe," I said. "Oh playa, give mama a booty call from Baghdad," she pled.

Ranger training was intense. Here I was among the best of the best - elite soldiers like Wright, and Pyle, and Bailey, rock hard mofos who were colder than an extra large Strawberry Frosty. There were even a few chicks soldiers like Benjamin and GI Jane, who I also wanged. We received training in advanced killing methods like neck-snapping and hand-to-hand spatula fighting. Although I was already buff, the rigorous training and wanging bulked me up to 145 pounds of rock solid death-bot.


Landing in IraqOne afternoon I was practicing my kung fu grip on my wingman, Maverick, when the Sarge gave us the call: "Pack up your stuff," he said ominously. "It's time to cap some hadjis." Three hours later we were parachuting into Fallujah, wondering what our secret mission would be. When I landed in the courtyard of the Iraqi Montessori school, I realized the horrible truth: "Operation Iraqi Freedom" was actually "Operation Iraqis - Fry Them."

It was too late to turn back now. I waded into the crowd of screaming moppets with both machine guns blazing, cutting down row after row of toddlers as the Sarge barked orders to keep killing - "hit the A button! hit the A button!!!". When I ran out of ammo I used my bayonet to kill some more until the blade broke off, and then I began bludgeoning the remaining toddlers with other toddlers and toddler parts. Finally I collapsed on the floor in a daze, completely out of health points.

The next six years in Iraq were a basically a daze for me, because you try to put that out of your mind to keep from poignantly going crazy. As I remember, there was more toddler killing, and I think I got stabbed or something by insurgents. I don't hold a grudge, because hey, if some occupier were shooting my toddlers I would probably start stabbing him too. Besides, the stabbing injuries earned me a trip back stateside and a shoebox full of Purple Hearts. I would show you them, but my stupid mom accidentally sold them at her garage sale last month.


The disturbing face of American empireWhen I got back in the States, I thought I could put the entire Iraq incident behind me and get on with my life, but the Army denied my benefits to keep me quiet and had my Civic repossessed. I was haunted by visions of toddler-strewn battlefields. Then I was hassled at a coffee shop in Arizona, which wouldn't serve me because of my uniform, and called the police before I could call my lawyer after slipping on their dangerously slippery floor.

I was just about to give up hope when I met the IWVAG and got involved in the Anti-War movement. It was a personal catharsis. Finally, here was a group of Americans who were eager to listen to the truth about Iraq, the truth about the toddlers, the truth about the many wangings I have given to Demi Moore. Even though they haven't worn the uniform like me, these folks represent the true soul of real America patriotism - the bravery to unconditionally accept every horrid truth about America's genocidal bloodlust, and the balls to get a grant to fund a PBS documentary about it. Starring me!

I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

[StreetScooby 5]

Quote

Stop the Lies

BWAHAHAHAHA

We are all engines of karma

[skycop 0]

FAKKKKEEEE>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"Just 'cause I'm simple, don't mean I'm stewpid!"

[warpedskydiver 0]

The onion or moveon.org?

[mr2mk1g 10]

Ya know it's a criminal offence in the UK to misrepresent yourself as a member of the armed forces.

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While my incredible athletic and sexual prowess earned me accolades on the field and in the sack, it also earned me many enemies in the halls of Mayfield High. An upperclassmen named Dawson became enraged after learning I completely wanged his girlfriend Stacey, who went into a jealous fit after she found out I also wanged her totally hot mom. Then I learned a senior named Bueller had sworn his revenge on me because I smoked his Ferrari with my 600 horsepower VTEC Civic, which does 180 mph in the quarter, easy....

...As I waded through the muck, I heard her voice ring out - "him... him... oooo, definitely him." I looked up and saw Rice pointing at me, her eyes hungrily caressing my camos. She had personally selected me for Advanced SpecOps Ranger Superkiller training at King's Island Ohio, and a number of other 'duties' which you can read about in next month's Penthouse Forum.

After our tumultuous tryst Rice had a change of heart, and begged me to stay in Washington with her, to plan American empire and for more hot wanging.

I'm sure there's a name for what this guy has... anyone a psychiatrist?

[akarunway 1]

Quote

The onion or moveon.org?

http://iowahawk.typepad.com/iowahawk/>--------Paradise Is Overrated


Iowahawk Guest Commentary
by Abu Musab Al-Zarqawi
Former Senior VP, Al-Qaeda In Iraq

Howzit swingin', fagsicles? Yeah, I know all you bitzoches all seen the pictures by now. Go on and laugh it up chump, like your drivers license photo is all George fuckin' Clooney. Personally I think I'm lookin' straight GQ, seeing as I just got a 500-pound laser guided curb stomp. Shit cuz, y'all should see Kahlid, a.k.a. "Ceiling Spackle." But, hey, whateva. You kuffar haters can finally step off my nuts, 'cause I. am. outtahere. Y'all can just suck it, 'cause Zarkman got his free pass to Allah's celestial Disneyland.

You think I didn't see this martyrdom goatshit coming? Cracka, please. When we were out in the boondocks filming that recruiting infomercial last month, I told that asshole Zawahiri that it was dangerous, that Team Satan would lock in on us with one of their outer space high tech computer gizmos. But nooooooo, he's all, "don't worry, they need an NSA warrant," and then he's like, "we have to attack the mindshare gap with a high GRP, Total Quality Jihad leadership marcom message." Which apparently means I have to stand there under Team Satan's goddamn spy satellites, yelling like the goddamn OxyClean guy, burning my goddamn hand on a goddamn machine gun barrel, while that goddamn director Omar Al-Spielberg asks for another goddamn take. Yeah, that's some world class marketing strategery there, Ayman. Best ad campaign since Pets.com. Have fun training all four of those Syrian droolers that it brought in.

So yeah, I figured I'd be caught in the next round of downsizing, so I started keeping myself prepared. For example, I shaved my junk every morning this week. Okay, I know what you're thinking: what the fizzuck? But trust me, it's in the Koran, and it's not as weird as it sounds. If you're about to be banging a room full of doe-eyed virgins, you're gonna want those nards Brazilian waxed pornstar style. Plus I guess them foxy heaven hos also appreciate a couple of splashes of cologne so they don't have to smell your stanky sack. It's just common martyr courtesy, and that's why around the AQ office we call Brut "the smell of death".

Pretty good in theory, I guess, but holy dung - you try keeping your nuts Kojak-ed with a 9-month old rusty Schick Quattro and your shaving hand all bandaged from gun barrel burn blisters. Faaack, I must have used up three styptic pencils just since Saturday. And when I slapped 'em with a splash of Hai Karate? Talk about a muthafuckin' STING. Mohammed H. Prophet, I think my scream hit two octaves above a dog whistle.

So anyhow, I got my bidness clean, I got my policy with Mutual of Medina paid up, I had a final family meeting with Fatima and the kids. "Are you going to paradise, Father?" says that teenaged one, what's-her-burqqa. "Yeah, but I'll have people watching out for you," I says. "So if you're even thinking about any of that clan dishonor shit, you better watch your back."

Okay, Thursday morning. I clock in at the office, pour a mug of tea, fire up the laptop and check out the latest posts on dKos. Sure, I've had my differences with them in the past. But with morale the way it is Allah knows we need a good laugh around here, and that shit is funnier than Homestar Runner. They had a new parody up, and I swear it had me roaring so hard I was on the verge of a shit hemorrhage. It had Kahlid laughing to the point of tears, and when he goes to wipe his good eye he almost puts it out with his hook, and then this makes Mahmoud squirt tea through his nose, and then this gets the whole damn office going. We're all just fucking roaring, when suddenly there's this silence, and then a funny high-pitched noise.

Tariq says, "did you just hear th..."

Now, back in the madrassa when we studied the afterlife, I always wondered what would be the last thing to go through my head. I'm pretty sure now it was one of Mahmoud's anklebones. And if you're wondering if it was painless? Imagine a full-frontal 800 degree root canal while listening to a Neil Young record. But hey, I figure no big whoop, just the admission price to heaven's eternal ho sammich.

So Zarkman walks toward the light. No shit, it's a lot like 2001: A Space Odyssey, but in 3-D quadrophonic sensurround. And BOOM, plop, I'm in this gigantic white room, completely empty except for this hooded faceless guy and a totally sweet 47" plasma screen. So I walk across the big empy room to the guy, and I'm like, there is but one God, and Mohammed is his messenger, death to the infidels, yada yada yada. So I'm waiting for him to punch my E-ticket for Magic Ho Mountain, when he whips out a DVD and pops it in. It's the director's cut of "This Is Your Life, Zarkman." Sure, there's a lot of blooper material in there, but also a pretty badass highlight reel -- the rapes, the murders, the IEDs, hour after hour of beheadings. Good times, man. Good times.

Anyhoo, he fast-forwards through the credits and the FBI warning, pulls out the DVD, and turns to me with an empty faceless stare. Dead fucking silence, like he's expecting me to say something. A couple minutes pass, and still Chatty Cathy isn't saying a word. So I'm like, "hey, bitch, you're welcome."

Okay, good, this finally gets the guy off the schneid. He points over to a door on the far side of the room that opens up, zwwwwippitch, just like the old Star Trek noise. It's a good thing too, 'cause my bald balls were turning blue from the thought of that fine ass ho-stack on the other side. Cracka, I got my fat horny Jordanian ass into a full trot across that room and did a dive-roll through that door like vintage Shatner.

When the door close behind me, zwwwwippitch, I guess you could say I was a little surprised, maybe a little disappointed. Turns out paradise is dumpier that you'd expect. A lot dumpier. In fact it's a lot like the Iraq boondocks; sandy, dusty, seemed like 150 degrees in the shade. I always figured paradise would have better climate control, but hey, Allah has the thermostat and He works in mysterious ways. I start looking around, and looking around. No virgins, no figs, no raisins. Now, I'm horny, hungry, and annoyed. Okay, I figure, I guess it's up to Zarkman to cherchez la poontang himself, so I start to walk down this dusty street, and BOOOM!

Get this: some asshole planted an IED right in the middle of goddamn downtown Paradise, and I take my first step right on the cocksucker. As I was flying through the air, I'm going, what the dung? It must have been planted by some Jew or Crusader, but how did one of those bastards slip into paradise in the first place? It was giving me a headache. Then I got another headache when the schoolbus ran over my head.

I was laying there trying to figure it out, when my various limbs and torsos and gonads and such started to reassemble, sort of like that liquid chrome cop in Terminator 2. Pretty cool, but it hurt like a mofo. So SPROING! I'm back on my feet, and start out again and BOOM! And I'm like, another fucking IED? I mean, what are the frigging odds? Then shhhklorrrp, bus over the head, reassemble SPROING. The next couple of hours was a blur of step- BOOM- shhhklorrrp - SPROING, lather-rinse-repeat, and I'm like, dude, fuck this shit. I had only made it 50 yards and wasn't all that horny anymore.

Anyway, I'm standing there trying to figure out my next step, when this badass crew of straightup masked assassins comes around the corner. Talk about a relief, I was beginning to wonder if Allah had made some sort of mistake. And I'm like, "yo, cuz, which way to the virgina?" Then the assholes start eying me up and down, lauging. And then I'm like, "come on, holmes, don't bogart the cooch," and then you know what those douchebags did? Throw a friggin' burqqa over my head and drag me into an abandoned warehouse. I'm goin' finally, some action.

I will spare you the ribald details, but let's just say after that 12 hour train bang I know how Marilyn Chambers felt after Behind the Green Door III. Dude, I can't even fart anymore, I hoot. And I'm so bowlegged they call me Hopalong. But, hey, I'm thinking it was just part of the Paradise Club for Martyrs initiation, because we sometimes did the same thing with AQ recruits. Not gay or anything, just to make sure the new jihadis knew who the boss was.

I pulled up my trou, and they were sitting there smoking cigs, and I'm like, okay homeslices, you had your fun, bring on the bitches. And then you know what the bastards did? Pull out the scimitars and start slicing off my fargin' head. What the flock??? If you've never been beheaded, let me clue you in: it. hurts. like. a. muthafuka. And being the ball in an alley pickup soccer game is no picnic either. Man, I'm telling you, you Omega Q-dogs ain't got shit compared to this initiation ceremony.

Anyway, they just got my head half sewed-back on, and broke for lunch. Right now I'm at some shitty internet cafe. Nothing but AOL dial-up, and for some reason the the only sites I can access are HuffPo and Iowahawk, and nothing but Dixie Chicks on the jukebox. I ordered the raisin & date plate, but I'm pretty sure that ain't dried fruit.

Gotta go soon, I guess I'm scheduled for some more beheadings after lunch. Just between us, I'd have to say that so far Paradise has overrated. Don't get me wrong, Allahu Akbar, blah blah blah. But if this initiation thing doesn't end soon, I'm thinking about filling out a complaint form.

In the meantime, I'm trying to keep thinking positive. It's been a little rough here so far, but at least I haven't noticed a single Marine.

Peace Out,

Zarkman

I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

[StreetScooby 5]

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I'm sure there's a name for what this guy has... anyone a psychiatrist?

It's probably very difficult to pronounce, though

We are all engines of karma

[StreetScooby 5]

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http://iowahawk.typepad.com/iowahawk/>--------Paradise Is Overrated

ROFLMAO!!!!

We are all engines of karma

[akarunway 1]

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Quote

http://iowahawk.typepad.com/iowahawk/>--------Paradise Is Overrated

ROFLMAO!!!!

Bump. I thought it was pretty funny too

I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

[Hawkins121 0]

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This guy has a hard time getting it out but at least he has the balls to say something.
Must be hard saying you killed women and children for your country
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-5587990522549547050&q=iraq

Fake.