Abu Ghraib & my Bad Taste Reaction Syndrome (BTRS)

Besides the appropriate responses (which would be: “Nice going, sadistic dipshits”), I otherwise find myself welled up with reactions from my reptillian brain stem, as is usual when these events occur.

Those guys in hoods forced to play naked dogpile? Before my eyes could discern the image, it was connected to the memory bank where I keep Francis Bacon


And Lynndie England: anytime any woman is propelled from obscurity into either fame or infamy, one of my first realizations is “soon she’ll be naked in Playboy.”

Yes, some of the accused hail from Appalachia. So of course Specialist Charles Graner’s voice can only sound like that of Bill McGinney’s “Uh, what we re-quire is that you get your asses over here and drop them panties. Yer as fat as a sow, boy!”

Anybody else suffer from this syndrome, or is another symptom starting threads that float like a turd in a punchbowl then sink like a stone?