Ustaše:

The Ustaše (also known as Ustashas or Ustashi) was a Croatian extreme nationalist movement. It engaged in terrorist activity before World War II and ruled, under Nazi protection, in a part of Yugoslavia after that country was occupied by the Axis powers. After German forces withdrew from Yugoslavia in 1945, the Ustaše was defeated and expelled by the communist Yugoslav partisans.

When it was founded in 1929, the Ustaše was a nationalist organization that sought to create an independent Croatian state. When the Ustaše came to power during World War II, its military became the Ustaše Army (Ustaška Vojnica). They claimed that this army had 76,000 troops at its peak in 1944. In the 1990s, there was a resurgence of support for the Ustaše, related to ethnic hatred that remained after the Yugoslav wars. Croatian law currently forbids Ustaše symbols and associated references. However, as of 2007, there is still some glorification of the Ustaše movement in Croatia. For example, a popular Croatian singer, Thompson, has been accused of celebrating concentration camp murders in Jasenovac and Stara Gradiska by singing the WWII-era song "Jasenovac i Gradiška Stara".

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Thompson (band):

Thompson is a Croatian rock band. The frontman, songwriter and lead vocalist of Thompson is Marko Perković, who is often identified with the band. Thompson is often considered his stage name. The lineup also includes Tiho Orlić as supporting vocalist and bass guitarist, while the remaining members of the bend are less prominent. The remaining members of the band (as of Bilo jednom u Hrvatskoj tour) are: Damir Lipošek Kex, Fedor Boić, Damir Šomen, & Tomislav Mandarić. The name "Thompson" comes from the Thompson submachine gun, which was Perković's nickname.

Many of Thompson's songs (such as "Bojna Čavoglave", "Lijepa li si", "Vjetre s Dinare") have become major hits in Croatia, and are played at football games and other large events. The band has won the Croatian music competitions Melodije Mostara (in 2001) and the Croatian Radio Festival (in 2006), and has performed annually on Victory and Homeland Thanksgiving Day, with all benefits going to families of Croatian soldiers.

The band promotes Croatian patriotism and sings about topics such as the love for one's country, family and religion. Dealing with such topics has made the band controversial. Perković is accused of openly promoting Ustasha ideology because he wears black clothes and salutes in corresponding way. Perković is also accused of privately performing the Ustashe song Jasenovac i Gradiška Stara until 2003 at the latest. He has been banned from performing in The Netherlands due to allegedly fascist lyrics. However, he has recently been scolding the media as well as his own fans for this, saying in an interview before the start of his Bilo jednom u Hrvatskoj Tour in Borovo Naselje, "Wear the insignia of the victorious Croatian Army. It is sad that young people go that back in history and fall for propaganda."

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Jasenovac i Gradiška Stara:

Jasenovac i Gradiška Stara is a fascist Croatian song promoting the Ustaše, a Nazi puppet organization. The lyrics celebrate the World War II genocide against the Serbs. The lyrics include words in the typical dialect of Herzegovina, where some of the worst atrocities against Serbs during WWII happened. The song has been performed in recent years by Croatian singer Thompson.

Lyrics (English):

Jasenovac and Stara Gradiška
That's the house of Maks' butchers.

There was a slaughterhouse in Čapljina
Neretva carried away many Serbs.

Hey, Neretva, flow downhill,
Carry Serbs into the blue Adriatic.

Through Imotski trucks rush
Driving black uniforms of Jure Francetić.

I am Ustasha and so was my father,
Father left craft to his son.

Who could imagine last year
That Partisans would celebrate Christmas.

Who said, his father fuck him
That Black Legion is not coming back.

Jasenovac and Stara Gradiška
That's the house of Maks' butchers.

Shining star above Metković
Send our greetings to Ante Pavelić.

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I'll tell you something: under my fascist dictatorship fearless leadership, meat thermometers will work accurately and reliably. Upon pain of death.

Really, it's a quality of life issue.

A few months back, I developed a tool at Scrutable Systems. At first it was something of a lark, just a novelty to entertain myself during conference calls. While playing with it, I began to realize that it had a potential use for my own internal knowledge management purposes within the organization. Slowly, ever so slowly, it dawned on me that this tool had uses far, far beyond managing a few servers and writing a few lesson plans. It is only recently that I have begun to understand the staggering scope of the possibilities it presents.

Somehow, over all of this time, I kept the existence of this tool a secret -- from my employer, from my coworkers, even from my friends and family. It was never exactly deliberate, per se -- there were many times I felt like showing it to others, describing it to others, gushing with excitement over its elegance, its flexibility. And yet, every time was never quite the right time to mention it. I couldn't find the segue in the conversation, I couldn't quite find the words, I would begin to raise the subject, and then a faint sense, deep in my gut, would drive me to turn the conversation towards something else entirely. It was as if I was somehow protecting it, though I knew not why. Now, however -- with the help of the very tool itself -- now I understand why I have taken these pains. My earlier attitude had been too cavalier, too negligent with something of such breathtaking scope. It is only now, now that I have just begun to understand the sheer enormity of this find, now that I have just begun to understand that something of such a magnitude cannot belong to one man or one organization, it is only now that I am ready to share it with the world.

I wish I could take much credit for it, but I simply can't. As with many others throughout history, I am no genius, no sage, I am merely a courier of the divine. While some might say that I have harnessed the power of the gods, I prefer to consider myself a simple technician who merely happened to have the blind luck to be at just the right place in history to have the opportunity to forge genius into a tool accessible to all.

I am but a servant.

It is an ontological tool capable of modeling not just the sum total of all human knowledge, not just the sum total of all possible human knowledge -- it is a tool capable of modeling no less than the superdomain of all possible knowledge. I realize that's a pretty heady claim. "Impossible!" you cry. But such a tool is all too possible, and is now a reality. That reality has a profound moral dimension which has weighed upon me, and it is for that reason that I now offer it to you, to all of you, to humanity. No one man should wield such awesome power.

Use it freely, but use it reverently. Never lose sight of the moral burden placed upon the wielder. Use it only to enlighten ignorance and alleviate suffering. Use it only as a beacon unto the darkness. Never use it in a foolish or shortsighted or selfish manner, for surely the full fury of your hubris will turn not just upon you, but upon us all.

Behold... The Rumsfeldian Knowledge Matrix!








Use this tool wisely, my friends. Do not allow yourselves to become corrupted by its power.

You know, this may sound like a radical notion, but I'm going to suggest that maybe we should consider dropping this whole "war" thing. I mean, I understand what a great time it is, to stand up and buy a magnet and be counted amongst your countrymen. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to deprive you of that joy, I'm just suggesting that maybe we could just stop this whole "killing" thing and just start flinging our shit at each other.

Yeah, seriously, we should just start flinging our shit at other. Imagine it: we start hearing about threats from, oh, I don't know, Iran. We gather up a bunch of our folks -- everyone, bankers, accountants, housewives, kids, college students, college professors, the elderly, construction workers, Libertarians, everyone -- and load them onto a bunch of C-130 cargo planes and fly them to Iraq.

Hell, you can go too, if you want. Just be down at the bus station by 8am, sharp.

We amass along the Iraq-Iran border, just as close as we can possibly get to it, and we just start yelling. We just start screaming insults, obscenities, gibberish, just whatever so long as we do it really passionately. Once the Iranians recoil in reflexive horror we drop our pants and start shitting in our hands and throwing. Just shitting and throwing and screaming, flinging with murderous lust, just crying to get that shit all over them, just plastering them with as much as we can squeeze out. Maybe some of them drop trou and manage to dribble one or two to send back at us, but they're routed. I mean, their morale is pretty much immediately broken and they run. We fling at their backs, screaming wildly, until they're out of eyeshot, and then we stand around for a while, huffing triumphantly. Once our blood cools, we wash ourselves off at cutting-edge, lightweight, heavy-duty man-portable field cleaning stations. We load back up on the planes and head home. We receive lots of pats on the back and congratulatory praise. Maybe not so many hearty handshakes. We feel drained but elated, like we're floating on electric clouds, and we go out and have a nice steak dinner or something. Then we come home and have a good night's sleep, maybe take off the next day to lounge around the house and read the paper, and then it's pretty much back to life as usual.

Oh, sure, there will be reprisals. The Iranians will gather up their people and take shots at us somewhere. Possibly an embassy. Possibly some downtown business district during rush hour. Possibly Israel. Possibly in, you know, Iraq. And it'll be really frightening, really truly unnerving to have them yelling at us and plastering us with their shit. We'll freak out and run and be intimidated and honestly kinda creeped out about it for weeks, possibly even a few months. And then you know what'll happen? Guess what'll happen. We'll get over it. We'll get over it -- excuse me, "summon our courage" or whatever -- and plan our next flinging raid against them, because God knows they've got it coming.

Honestly, doesn't that sound like an improvement?

And before you say we couldn't do it, it's too silly, it would be weird, we could never do it.... Yes, yes we could do it. You get the right people to buy in, and you give the religious leaders and the cable news networks ten years, and it'll happen. Imagine, stories of how our bravest citizens are on the front lines, pinching and flinging. You get sermons about how "Jesus said to turn the other cheek, my brothers! And, lo! The day is nearly upon us when He shall return, casting down His displeasure upon the enemies of Righteousness!" You get elaborately computer-animated eagles screeching and flying across your screen, letting loose twenty pound turds. Don't even get me started on Uncle Sam. It'll be spectacular. And of course, once we start flinging shit at our enemies, they'll be forced to respond -- as will our allies. Clearly, the only way to counter the threat we pose will be to use our own tactics against us. Oh yes, you can have global shit-flinging in ten years. For the Middle East... twenty, tops. You can have global shit flinging.

Imagine it, my friends: Peace at last!

Take a minute (or sixteen) to watch Patrick Fitzgerald's opening statement. Notice how he's pursuing a case which implicates government officials, but he refuses to help turn it into a media circus because it would be unfair to the accused if he was wrong. Notice how he seems to understand the weight of his responsibility and of his actions. Notice how seriously he takes that.

This is my America. These are the kinds of people who give me faith in the future of this country.