PhilosYphia

The Associated Press and others have amply covered the recent jabs that McCain has given Obama regarding how he sees Barack’s view of the progression of the Iraq war, stating that, “…given the opportunity to choose between failure and success, he chooses failure.”  Obviously, our dear doddling Senator has forgotten his Geritol once again.   Nurse!

Senator McCain, failure is a part of life, and in some times and in some situations, far more preferable to the alternatives in hand which only start with embarrassment and humiliation and can extend anywhere as far as grave injury and writing a death sentence.   Surely you have learned from some of your failures in your life and become a better person because of them?

Maybe not.   One has to wonder how yourself, Bush, and the entire neocon movement continues to support such a farcical operation, founded on some outright lies and many half-truths and partial facts; a quest which continues to flounder about like so many chickens in chamber pot, its mission to bring democracy and peace to a nation that cannot yet fathom a dictatorless society let alone true unadulterated freedom.  Meanwhile, a great many hardworking men and women simply doing their job in the armed forces and following orders are putting themselves and their family futures on the line for a war never declared around a reason that never existed.

Stunningly, amazingly, dense.

And yet, regardless of all these stark pieces of reality, if we even partially accept that invading Iraq was necessary, moral, and justified, this does not change the fact that one option for getting out of there and returning to a life of normality is, indeed, the F-word:   Failure.

Why must it be such a frightening thing?

The most successful of businessmen will no doubt regale any listener kind enough to bend an ear in their direction with countless stories of the most spectacular and horrific moments in their lives that darned near ruined them completely and shot their dreams and hopes to hell.   You’ll probably even find a few that strongly regret some of these transgressions, no matter what the outcome was.    Failure is, and always has been, one of the best ways for life to grab the nearest sand shovel and bean us over the head in teaching us a lesson.

Sure, it can be a painful experience, but so is giving birth, from what I understand, and yet folks seem inclined to keep doing that, don’t they?   Mind you, sometimes babies happen because someone didn’t pull out in time, but….wait.   That relates rather nicely here, don’t you think?   I digress, and I think there’s a law against saying the word, “Touché,” to yourself, especially during inner monologue.

Frankly, you do not speak for me when you state that failure is not a good option.   It is a very plausible option, given the fact that we not only continue to create and/or maintain chaos in that state by our very presence, and the fact that the Iraqi government has specifically requested that we get the hell out in a timely fashion, thankyouverymuch, but most importantly because by staying in the Middle East and exerting such a bullying influence on the region will only come back to chomp us on the southward cheeks in the end.    If this is a key strategy in the War On Terror™, please don’t play Risk anytime soon for any great amount of cash.

In addition, I do not believe that having a leader that sometimes accepts failure or defeat is a bad or unworthy trait.   Rather, I am convinced that is is the character of the person’s response to such a situation that determines their ability to lead and gain respect.    Avoiding failure altogether is simply a sign of a coward, an idiot, or both.

Another very important question everyone should be asking is this:   If the U.S. pulls out of Iraq in a timely fashion, and the country collapses upon itself in howevermany months afterwards, is it truly a failed operation?   Are we artificially placing blame and responsibility on our shoulders for the entire welfare of a nation’s stability?   That is not a situation that I am comfortable with nor one that I wish to start setting a trend for around the world.   The fact remains that, despite the fact that we were the aggressors and we were the ones that shot their entire society and way of life to hell and back does not mean that we are now the permanent caretakers of their society and future to the end of perpetuity.   If they were incapable, perhaps, but they’re not — the Iraqi people are a strong and productive folk, and perhaps it’s time we let them prove it as such.  They certainly feel ready for the challenge.

So, Senator McCain — I am not afraid of failure, either in the case of Iraq, or Afghanistan, or any other failed mission.   I am far more impressed and far more respectful of an admittance of wrongdoing, a pledge to correct wrongs and prevent a reoccurrence, and a skillful and tactful withdrawal from the fray.   This is the mark of true character, success, and leadership, and you sir are simply afraid of it.

It is a mistake to suppose that men succeed through success; they much oftener succeed through failures. Precept, study, advice, and example could never have taught them so well as failure has done. — Samuel Smiles

SHEFFIELD, IA, June 16, 2008 — A local resident was seen today taking a crowbar and beating the living tar out of most passing motorcyclists.   When approached and asked what he was doing, he calmly replied, “I’m tired of these posturing pricks gunning their throttles every damned time they go around the corner.”

Nathan Pralle, 30, hefted the 4-foot implement onto his shoulder in a casual pose as he waited on the curb for his next target.    “You see, I’m a guy — I appreciate the macho things in life as much as anyone else; football, hotties, and the roar of loud engines,” he explains languidly, “but these bikers are really squaredancing on my last very last nerve in stock.”

The curve of the road that passes by his house, Pralle explained, has a fairly high traffic load for this small 900-odd person burb in central Iowa, especially on the sunny days of summer when everyone and their dog is out enjoying the few brief moments of gleeful warmth.    But such giddiness is not to be found in Pralle who has clearly had enough of the noise.

“They turn the corner and then hit the throttle as hard as they can.   Doing it once just to hear that roar is fine, ” he says as he shakes his head, “but what the fuck are they trying to prove by doing it EVERY SINGLE TIME???   ARGH!!!  And god help them if they ever wake up my baby son from his nap.   Do they have kids?   No, they have a chrome dick extension and it’s having size issues.   Time to change that stinky diaper, and I am not handling out Huggies,” he growls.

An approaching two-wheeler from the east halted our interview and the vigilante lined up to see what would happen.   True to his predictions, the Harley, complete with leather-bejeweled rider, turned the corner and started to lay on the typically loud YAP! YAP! YAP! from the straightpipes.  Pralle suddenly sprung into action, sprinting into the street, yelling like a banshee on a bender and waving the crowbar wildly over his head in a war cry.    The biker barely got turned around to inspect the commotion behind him when he was promptly beaned senseless and the bike’s exhaust was flatted into linguine before Pralle placekicked the muffler and yelled at the fleeing motorist, “Let’s hear the sound of those pipes NOW, fucker!”

Puffing heavily, he returned to his post, setting his “justice stick” down and against a
maple tree, but not before he added a small notch to a growing list on the trunk.   “Looks like today might be a great day to be me, a really crappy-ass day to be a biker,” he grinned with a smile that would send sane men scampering into the foliage.

So, if you like to surf the pavement on a crotchmobile in this lovely weather of summer, enjoying the beauty of the season before plunging back into the freezing cold of winter, a simple word of warning goes out to you — avoid main street Sheffield at all costs or at least, for heaven’s sake, don’t forget your helmet.