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Rupert, he's a grouper - Diary of a Necromancer
Excuse me, I'm making perfect sense, you're just not keeping up
Rupert, he's a grouper
Having finally brought the Question of the Underpants to a conclusion that satisfied my inner Von Stroheim, I now feel prepared to tackle the mailing to Agent #2, whom I have selected by the rigorous process of pinning all of the candidates' listings to a corkboard, shuffling them into an order that seemed logical, then researching them all on-line and reversing that order completely when it turned out that the first on the list was about to take off for a month's vacation but in the meanwhile the last was currently more open to new blood than their listing had indicated. Gotta love the internet. Muse scheduled for a smacking-around session tomorrow to produce an appropriately tailored version of the Query Letter, then off to Kinko's over the weekend to run off Agent #2's requested subset of the presentation materials...

If it seems that I've been more meme-y than substantive of late, it's because I've felt completely inadequate to the task of articulating my thoughts on the fact that the question of the week seems to be "So, when is torture an appropriate mode of operation?" That people are even asking this question with apparent seriousness in the Year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Four just reduces me to a state of gibbering incoherence. Did that whole horrific century that just wrapped up teach us nothing? I've been walking around for the last week or so in a black funk of "...we told them so, damn it, we told them before they started this war that this was where this path would lead..." and wanting to smack everyone I see with the Historical Perspective Clue-Stick. It's probably a good thing that I don't have a Real Job right about now or I would be a very annoying specter hovering around the proverbial water-cooler.

I'm a little cheered up tonight, though, by the fact that the million-dollar Miss Congeniality prize for Survivor:All-Stars went to Rupert. I actively avoided watching most of the previous seasons because it sets my teeth on edge to watch people fucking each other over for money, even shitloads of money, but I finally got sucked in towards the end of the previous season because Rupert seemed like such a genuinely nice sort, and I ended up watching most of All-Stars in the hopes that he'd get farther this time around. One does wish he and Mrs. Rupert and all the little Ruperts the best.

It's also interesting, in a country where watching other people eat live bugs is considered entertainment, that when it came down to it, the majority of the 38 million people who troubled themselves to vote on the question chose the infectiously nice guy over seventeen other more calculating possibilities. So I suppose this may mean there's hope for the collective American conscience yet. We're naive about the darker sides of human nature that the more-experienced European nations try to warn us about, but we do genuinely mean well, most of the time.

Of course, 'meaning well' is the best recipe there is for disaster...

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