Viral Marketing of Terror

WARNING WARNING WARNING: Do not click on the link in the title of this blog entry unless you want to see a very graphic image of a dead baby, apparently shot while in its mother's womb. I include the link only for the strong-stomached who want to know what the rest of this entry is about.

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My Friends:

I usually do not talk about 'the war' in this blog. We get enough of that ever where else, don't we? You bet we do. Red state, blue state, should we or shouldn't we, and so on. And frankly, folks, I'm of mixed emotions on all of it.

However.

Last night, I came face to face with an 'enemy combatant' for lack of a better term. A person who is either actively aiding a group who want to kill all non-Muslims (and Muslims of a certain type, mind you), or they have been deeply duped into carrying out acts for those people. Either way, it is disturbing and unsettling and I felt I had to write about it.

No, Al-Qaida has not invaded North Carolina - at least, not this far inland. Well, not that I'm aware of. I'm talking about coming 'face to face' as it were, online.

Remember when AOL and CompuServe were what most people thought of when they thought of 'The Internet'? It wasn't, but they were popular services. And they sported these things called 'chat rooms'. Much abused, they remain popular, I guess, with lovers of orchids and child molesters, that sort of thing.

And someone figured out that they could pay people to advertise their products online by using these chat rooms. People are inured to much advertising - we see so much of it, we're bathed in it day and night, and it is everywhere. Advertisers constantly search for new ways to break through our mental roadblocks and get directly in our faces with their products. This is the natural product of a free-market economy, of course, even if it is a tad ugly.

So when chat rooms hit big, some advertisers figured out that they could pay soccer moms and shut-ins to chat online all day, and drop in a sly reference to certain products whenever it seemed appropriate and natural in a conversation. A little one-on-one marketing, from a person you've begun to think of as your pal, your buddy, your confidant - although you don't know them from a stump in real life. You mention your dingy front teeth and how ashamed you are of them - they tell you about how Conglergy White Sticks (TM) made their smile sparkle, and at such a low cost! You think you've been given a personal recommendation from someone you care about - the truth is, you've just been chatvertised to.

chatvertising

(n.) The act of promoting a company, etc., by insinuating its name and/or press-release-like statements into casual online chats, discussion-groups, nodes, and the like. My employer, Immortals Inc., after a recent merger with MegaSuperCorp, announced Friday it will be launching a multi-billion-dollar chatvertising PR campaign.

Now, when ol' Wiggy was in the Marines, lo, these many years ago, we had some basic training in the ways of the wily Psyopticon. Yes, it is true that not all warriors carry firearms, strange as that may seem. A demoralized enemy lacks the will to fight, and a frightened enemy thinks that they can't win, which often begets defeat in battle. Why bomb 'em into submission when leaflets can do the same job? Psy-war is about altering perceptions, and it is real. Every military organization has a psyops section, and they get bigtime budget.

No one thinks about them much. People tend to accept that soldiers exist - they wear uniforms and shoot guns and are generally pretty visible. People understand that spies are out there slinking around, gathering intelligence and generally being spooky and underhanded - they've seen the Bond movies. But people tend to discount the existence of Psyops folks. Oh, they'll admit that they've seen some History Channel story on the Psyops goofballs in WWII - didn't they make cutout cardboard tanks and bamboo planes and stuff to fool Germany's aerial recon? Didn't they put fake plans about the invasion of France into the pockets of drowned sailors and then push them towards a French shore? But they're not around today! Why, we're a bit too sophisticated for them today. We'd know it right away if Psyops people were around. We know the difference between news and propaganda, after all.

Well, maybe not.

Last night, a person showed up on a bulletin board I frequent, and they 'innocently' posted a series of vile photos purporting to show a dead unborn fetus which had been shot while still in the mother's womb. They posted the photos with the title "One Shot, One Kill."

I found it obscene and sickening. I also objected to the 'usual' insinuation that US troops are committing monstrous atrocities in Iraq with their every breath. Yes, my nephew, soon to be deployed to Iraq, has been issued a pitchfork and a Snidely Whiplash mustache to twirl while he cackles with delight about murdering indiscriminately. I'm just sorry ever body found out about it. Dang.

Now, ordinarily, I'd just think that this was the product of a sick mind, of which there are such an abundance in recent years. And not even an entertaining sick mind, but the boring ugly kind who just post nasty photos, make vague accusations, and leave.

But I did some checking. I do that, I'm a paranoid guy. Lucky me.

The fellow who did the photo posting was linking from this website:

Iraqi Rabita

Iraqi Rabita is where the photos are linked from. They 'live' on that web server, if you will. And they're not displayed or findable on the 'English' part of the website. Only for display to those who read Farsi or whatever language that is (I really have no idea, I'm not being rude).

And Iraqi Rabita is an interesting website. It doesn't openly advocate murdering all non-Muslims - but it posts 'news stories' like this one:

'My kidnappers were not criminals' 2005-12-27 :: aljazeera ::

She described her captors as "poor people" and said that she "cannot blame them for kidnapping her, as they cannot enter [Baghdad's heavily fortified] Green Zone to kidnap Americans."

Ah. Right. OK, no bias there.

And Iraqi Rabita does link to all kinds of websites that DO advocate the religious killing of ALL non-Muslims. Not just Americans, my international friends. Not just Christians, my Hindu and Buddhist pals. All non-Muslims. And even Muslims who don't cotton to their particular brand of Islam too. These are bad people BY ANY STANDARDS that I can think of. They're even worse than Republicans, if only by a little, my Kerry-loving buddies. These guys make the Taliban look like mildly cheesed-off Babtists.

And then I started looking for who has been posting these photos. Seems that a lot of 'innocent' newbies have been showing up on various chat and conversation boards and 'innocently' posting these photos with cutesy statements that allude to US atrocities - but don't appear to be the rabid, angry, anti-USA type of messages that most of us have learned to avoid. They seem to be reasonable. They seem to be innocently asking questions. And they're all alike.

Then it hit me. This is 'viral marketing of war'. These are chatvertising people, not 'concerned citizens'. They aren't trying to 'argue' with anyone - they are doing advertising and psyops. They are not interested in 'getting to the truth'. They are trying to undermine the US position in Iraq and any remaining support for the US by its allies, by use of psychological warfare.

Anyone can do what I did - Google is your friend. A few simple queries, and you see what's going on. Apparently not the most professional Psyops job - if it was, I am guessing I would not have been able to detect it. I'm plenty smart, but not that smart. I can lift heavy things, though. That's important, you know.

Listen, I just want to finish this up by saying that I'm not interested in a discussion on the justness or unjustness of the war in Iraq. I don't know who is right and who is wrong. I don't know what we should do next. And I'm not interested in having well-meaning zipperheads drift by here and post long moronic posts either PRO or CON. I won't be convinced, and I will delete your post, so just save your typing fingers if you feel the strong need to tell me how awful [Insert Name Here] happens to be. I'm not interested.

I'm not beating the drum of US nationalism here. These guys are an enemy to ALL non-Muslims, even to Muslims who are not of the same extreme viewpoint. It is not being intolerant to point out that people who want to kill us pretty much SUCK, from our point of view.

I'm pointing out that we are in the process of being spamvertised & chatvertised to by what certainly appears to be modern-day versions of Tokyo Rose.

Tokyo Rose

War, I understand. But advertising? There's just no call for that. Harrumph.

Sorry for the short detour, we will shortly return to the usual nonsense and hijinks, which I deeply prefer.

Keep Your Stick on the Ice,

Wiggy

What God Wants for Christmas

Now first, I have to 'fess up. Mrs. Wiggy pointed me at James Lileks' blog today, and I read it and laughed like a maniac for ten minutes. So you really oughta read and enjoy his blog, and then if you feel feel like not laughing, come back here again:

James Lileks' the bleat

I laughed so hard that I had to email a couple of my coworkers to let them know what was so dang funny. I emailed them the link and then waited to hear the gales of laughter emerging from their cubicles. Nothing. Wait some more more. Maybe they're slow readers. Nothing. Hmmm.

OK, I could not take the suspense anymore and wandered over to their cubes to see if they had bothered to read the thing. They had. Didn't find it amusing.

Well, it is one thing to realize that one has a 'different' sense of humor than most of the rest of the world. It is another yet again to have one's nose rubbed in it. I prepared to sigh deeply and shrug it off. After all, I still have beer to look forward to when I get home tonight. They have to go home and be themselves - a worse punishment I cannot imagine.

But one of my coworkers, a born-again type who seems to like me ok even though he is certain that as a Catholic, I am going straight to Hell, came over and told me how sad the story made him. Sad? I thought it was hilarious! He allowed that yes, it was funny in a certain sense, but that it struck a bit too close to home for him to laugh at.

Ah, now we get to something interesting! Tragedy befalls earnest coworker, film at eleven. I prepared to suppress my impending grin and asked him to tell me more. And he did.

First of all, you have to understand that in the part of the USA where Mrs. Wiggy and I live, religion is a major component of people's lives. And the religion of choice is a fundamental brand of evangelical Christianity. Not quite snake-handling (as far as I know), but not that far from it, either. I won't go into all that right now, but you might recall I once blogged on the topic of The Guardian for television - some kind of naughty word bleeper you can buy and hook up to your TV - I had laughed about it, and found out that I was surrounded by people who own several of them and and give them as gifts. Are you with me?

So, my friend and coworker, Gamaliel Mishmannah, told me about What God Wants for Christmas (TM).




You see, What God apparently wants for Christmas is for all His believers to buy a box that has a bunch of smaller boxes inside, all done up like Christmas presents, plus a Nativity scene. You buy this for your kids, and they like it.

Ever day, the kid opens a box. Inside, there is a character that belongs in the Nativity. You read the biblical lesson that goes with that character, and the kid places the character in the correct place in the manger scene, and you go on like that, day by day. The last day, of course (not to be a spoiler), is the Baby Jesus character, followed by one more surprise (I'm coming to that).

So, the first day, my buddy Gamaliel gives his kid, Nibshan, a box to open. Inside, an angel with a horn. When Gammy told me that, I thought he said "horns" and not "horn." An angel with horns? "Gammy!" I told him, "You've got demons in your Jesus-Box!" But Gammy explained to me that he meant one horn, and a musical instrument type horn at that. Ah. Much less entertaining, but more predictable, I guess. Still, seems like it could be fun - a game where UP POPS THE DEVIL ever so often to scare the bajabbers out of the little tyke. Hours of fun. Anyway. Now you see why I am not a parent.

Little Nibby is delighted. However, during the reading of the significance of the presence of angels at the Nativity, Nibby managed to break off the angel's wings, followed by his musical horn and his head. My pal Gammy remained nonplussed, and continued with the reading of the lesson, and grimly placed the remaining angel fuselage in the appropriate place in the Nativity, so he could gurgle his exhaltations at the appropriate time, I guess.

I can see it all now, "G'nork! G'nork!" the Herald Angels sing, "G'nork! to the newborn King..."

Next day, it was more of the same type of ritual abuse. The Three Wise Men were apparently not wise enough to avoid having Nibby suck the paint off 'em, so they were more or less The Wise Three Pillars of Salt. Mary was carried off by the family cat, and Joseph was basically okay until he fell on the floor and was inadvertantly sucked up by the vacuum cleaner the next day. I don't want to be struck by lightning, so let's just say that Baby Jesus was abused in a number of ways that make scourging and cross-carrying seem like the least of His worries. If He were to come today, He'd be in Holy Foster Care, and Child Protective Services would have a lot of work to do.

So, you come to the last box, when the child is supposed to open it, revealing What God Wants for Christmas. Well, not to ruin the story, but it's a box with a mirror in it. The kid is supposed to look inside and twig to the fact that what God really wants is him. But kids are kinda literal, in my experience. Nibby opened the box, and saw the mirror. Gammy said, expectantly, "So...what do you think God wants for Christmas?" Nibby immediately replied "A box with a mirror in it. So God can see what He looks like."

Gammy told me this story without a twinkle in his eye - no, to him, it was a serious retelling of a sad event in his life, and the reason why he didn't find James Lileks very amusing. He was even afraid to retell this story to his less blasphemous friends, as they might burst into flames or something just for hearing about this sacrilege committed by the seed of his loins.

And me, I'm thinking of a Nativity scene with Three Wise Pillars of Salt, a headless Angel gurgling Exhaltations, Mary ascended bodily into Wherever The Cat Took Her, Joseph discovering that life really does suck, and Baby Jesus tortured beyond endurance by a small child and his mouth - while God Demands to Know What He Really Looks Like in a Mirror. I tried not to laugh, I really did. Well, I held it in too hard - ended up farting. And then I laughed anyway, 'cause you know, farts are funny. And at work, yet. Sigh. This is not going to look good on my permanent record.

I am going straight to Hell, because God help me, I found the entire thing a tad amusing. And if you laughed at this at all, you're all going there with me. You're welcome.

Merry Christmas,

Wigwam Jones & the Eternally Suffering Mrs. Wiggy
Fiona, Zone Five, & Diarmuid (the cats - fluffy, sneaky, and huge, respectively)
Molly & Milo (the Dogs of the Apocolypse, floor-eating dibolical cat-poop-eating slobber machines)

A Perfect Christmas Tree

They brought in the office Christmas tree today. It is sitting in the box it came, totally unassembled.

But it is a PERFECT Christmas tree. I know this, because it says so in two-foot high letters down the side of the box. "PERFECT Christmas Tree," it says. It goes on to mention that it is a 6 and 1/2 foot tall tree made of "Manhattan Pine." You know, from the vast forest of Manhattan Pine trees that dot Wall Street. No wonder traffic sucks in NYC. Yeah, perhaps in precambrian times. But hey, I'm being a Grinch. And we all know about his freaking enlarged heart. Nobody wants that, trust me.

The tree is 'pre-decorated' which means that the lights are already on the thing. One has merely to take it out of its box, shake it, stand it upright, and plug it in.

It rotates, for God's sake. BOTH DIRECTIONS! Now that's holiday entertainment.

I'm frankly surprised it doesn't hop up and down, wiggle suggestively, whistle, or sing. Maybe we could get one that talks, like those disturbing soda vending machines of a few years ago. Maybe I've had too much caffeine this afternoon.

Speaking of Grinches, do you know who narrated "How The Grinch Stole Christmas?" Boris Karloff, that's who. Do you know who sang that basso profundo rendition of "You're a Mean One, Mister Grinch?" Thurl Ravenscroft, that's who. He also did the voice for "Tony the Tiger" saying "They're GRRRRRREAT!" Think about it - same voice.

Thurl Ravenscroft. Man, that's a name. Not even a 'stage name', I looked it up. That's the real deal. I'd love to have a name like that. Thurl Ravenscroft. I get shivers. Shivers, I tell ya.

Holiday Eggnog Smooches,

Wiggy

They Say the Grinch's Heart Grew Three Sizes That Day...

I could mention that my trouser waistline has grown three sizes, but nobody is cheering me on; no Whos down in Whoville are singing odes to my giant butt or my new-found prediliction towards pants with stretchy fabric in the waist. Never mind the freaking Grinch, when I climb a flight of stairs, I oughta get a medal or a twinkie or something.

Or, I could mention that an enlarged heart is really not a positive medical condition.

In either case, this is troubling news. Troubling, I tell you.

Smooches,

Wiggy