Patriotism confuses means with ends. The 19th century German philosopher, Immanuel Kant, tells us that it is never moral to use people as means rather than ends. Thus people and the good of people should be part of our goals and not merely a way to achieve our goals. Captain Willard and I were having a conversation the other day during which he said, “You should be patriotic about the things you do, not do things because you are patriotic.” I think these two statements sum up the crux of my argument.      We should be proud of our nation’s actions, provided they are just, moral, and prudent. We should not do things merely because we are proud of our nation itself. Using people’s enthusiasm as a means to achieve immoral ends cannot be justified; neither can it be just to play off patriotism to fulfill a political agenda. Blind patriotism is woefully unprotected against such exploitations. Instead, we as a nation should have policies and actions of which we may rightly be proud…and sadly this is not often the case.      Tune in next week to hear my revelations about kick ball, banana pudding, and marrying your cousins…		your typical wide-brimmed 65 year old Southern tourist. I didn't want to go inside and view the setting of the glorious Mexican-American war. I wanted to go to the place..............WHERE OZZY OSBOURNE PEED!       We pulled up to the Alamo in a limo (A completely different story, but we got a free ride in a limo) at what I guessed to be about 12:30 A.M. The place, was obviously closed. However, that did not deter me since Ozzy obviously peed at a very late hour and it would have been the outside wall. I looked at it and noticed nothing special. Then, I had an idea.       "Hey, Monica," I shouted. As I shouted, I was facing the wall, and leaning back with my head turned around and my hands at my crotch, giving the APPEARANCE of urination, though my pants were completely zipped. "Take a picture," I said. She laughed and snapped the photo. Another boy that was there said, "Hey, do this," as he unzipped his fly and stuck his index finger through the hole. I said, "No, it looks funnier if you use your thumb." As I had my hand down my pants and my thumb, well, erect, I looked up and it was too late. Jim Bob security guard with a bad moustache was already heading my way.       The security guard yelled across the large cement walkway, "Hey, you." I raised my eyebrows. "Yeah, you," he replied, "get out of here, now!" "What," I asked. "You know what," he said. I shrugged and walked away, leaving my party behind me. The others hung around for a minute and started walking away but towards the other side. I walked back to join them, but met the security guard again along the way. "Hey, get over here," he said. "Where are you from, son?" I proudly replied, "Fredonia, Arizona, sir!" "Oh, yeah. Well how would you like it if I came and did that to....Something....in.....Arizona?" Here, he stuttered, grasping terribly for an Arizonan parallel to his beloved Alamo. Now, I thought of many things I could say, but intelligently replied, "I don't know." "Well, I don't know how they do things in Arizona," he stated dramatically, nearly making me lose all composure. He concluded, "But, here in Texas, we take our monuments seriously. I mean, who do you think you are out there? Some kind of Ozzy Osbourne?" I grinned slightly at the honor of being compared with metal's Lord of Darkness. "Now if I catch you doing that again, I will arrest you. Now get out of here!" I said, "Ok, I'm sorry, I didn't mean any disrespect, officer." Then, I started walking away, slowly. Before I had gone a few feet, I started singing the chorus to Crazy Train. Then, I raised my hands high in the air, making heavy metal signs, and yelled defiantly, "Long live rock n' roll."
	WRITE IT! By Mr. Schweenie they are watching show your whit quick they'll forget make your soul perform again pat on the back scratch behind the ears dance on the corner with your broken mug fuck you
Inexpedient Urinals And Other Reasons I Hate Texas by Cpt. Willard      It has been almost exactly a year ago that my close call with hyper-sentiment took place. Yet so vividly does the event remain in my head that I can retell it with the utmost of precision.       It was Fall Break 2000 at the lovely JBU and I was headed to San Antonio with two of my favorite people, Monica and Jessica, and one that I had just met, Carol. I decided, like all people, that I should probably visit the most notable San Antonio landmark, the Alamo. However, my motives were slightly askew from those of