Soccer Player Killed in Iraq Receives Two Shits

n a brief ceremony Saturday, American soccer player Nathan Horne, killed in action during March in Iraq, was posthumously decorated with the Two Shits medal by a ranking Pentagon officer, Gen. Wilbur Finletter.

The Pentagon had received some criticism from soccer fans in light of recent accolades given former NFL player Pat Tillman, also killed in action, and celebrated as a god among men and all around nifty human being for giving up football to fight in a war otherwise disapproved by the public at large. Critics charged the U.S. military and national media with anti-soccer bias for its worship of Tillman while Horne went unrecognized for his valiant service and awesome death.

Horne's father, Reggie, summed up the position: "Nathan left a potentially-lucrative, at least it would have been overseas, career in soccer to serve his country. The fact he was killed in action should mean something, at least since he was a well-known athlete and not just one of the other faceless war dead."

A starting kicker or something for the Dallas Burn, which is apparently a real national league soccer team, Horne met his death when his convoy was attacked outside Baghdad March 26. Witnesses believe Horne tried to save the lives of his fellow soldiers, jumping into the air and attempting to deflect an incoming RPG with his head. Horne and the other soldiers received some posthumous awards, but Horne's father says none of them count since they weren't covered by the media and no one was invited to the ceremony.

Gen. Finletter tried to amend the error with a small ceremony in a mostly empty high school gym in Horne's hometown of Avacado, Texas. A medal known as the Two Shits, and reserved for those killed in action who appear much more important upon reflection, was reportedly not made up just for the ceremony. Finletter gave the award to Horne's widow, Iris, and two minutes of silence (one for each Shit) followed, except for the sound of freshmen playing dodge ball on the other side of the gym.

"If it didn't seem like we cared when you died, sorry and all," said Finletter, clearing his throat with a slight cough. "Let our presence here today, as well as the frumpy little medal we handed out, signify that we really do give two shits. Amen."

The reexamination of Horne's death hit everyone hard. A former assistant coach for the Burn, Kyle Hooper, was distraught upon remembering the news.

"I always knew Nathan was a pretty good guy, fun to get shit-faced with," said Hooper, "but I didn't think he was a hero until recently. When all this stuff happened with Pat Tillman, I realized hey, Nathan didn't have to go over there and defend our freedom. Or defend the Iraqi's freedom, or whatever. I know freedom was involved. He could have stayed here. Hell, he was getting axed from the Burn next season anyway, but it doesn't mean he couldn't have stayed here. He didn't have to go to Iraq, like all those guys who are in the army now. He could have went on living for plenty more years and not gotten himself killed in an unjust war. But that's the kind of guy he was—never really considering his decisions."

Donations in Horne's memory, in lieu of flowers, are requested to be sent directly to his widow and family, who will otherwise have no way to support themselves. For those who would like to do more to honor his memory, the family requests you attend a little rally with a store-bought sign exclaiming how much you support the troops.

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Isaac DePlane took off his brain
as it had grown heavy
and his neck was tired.
All filled up with stats
and soluble fats
his poor peachy brain became mired.

"Catch you later, bitch!"
he hucked his brain in a ditch
and he felt wonderfully lightheaded.
Until his eye began to twitch
as he felt a phantom itch
and he forgot about where he was headed.

He wandered into a gas station
and like a mad animation
he drank down three pints of unleaded.
He screamed out names of soups
as he ran 'round in loops
like a chicken very recently beheaded.

Isaac DePlane rode a tugboat to Maine
where he took off his pants in a hurry.
And parading through town
in a homemade mackerel crown
he told folks "They're not live, don't worry."

Speaking of fish
made him hungry and wish
he was eating a salmon-stuffed taco.
But the townspeople were quick
to tire of his shtick
and they made him call his brother Rocco.

He came with their cousin Dino
in a rusty El Camino
and took Isaac to go find his brain.
When they did, Isaac cried
since someone pissed on one side
and it had been left out in the rain.

But in the end he was pleased
he no longer shit when he sneezed
and now things didn't all taste like dreck.

Though in a week he complained
about being so inconveniently brained
and the unbearable strain on his neck.

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Freedom continues to take a back seat to corporate rule as the music industry lawyers push forward in their attempts to ban peer-to-peer file trading. This shouldn't surprise anyone; it's become common knowledge that virtually every corporation is a collection of insidious bastards who devour and devour until everything is destroyed. I mean we're not naïve here, Americans, we know how the world works.

What really cooks my goose about the whole matter is that the record companies are unknowingly shooting down the future of travel and transportation, and countless other industries, in their ridiculous holy war to end music file swapping. The technology has yet to be realized, and while it sure is nice to hear how god-awful the new Madonna album is before you buy it, let's face it—if you were going to buy the new Madonna album you were entirely deserving to get stuck with a bad CD and out $17.99. Free music is a nice convenience right now. In the future, file trading will be indispensable, or it should be if the music companies don't destroy it in the larval stages now.

The next rational step, and I have friends who are working on this as well as plenty of private cells, is the digitization of everything. And when I say everything, readers, I mean everything: Plants, dogs, recliners, trailer homes, Slinkys, bath towels, Connie Chung, wash towels, medicine, chicken feed, and paper towels. As well as all the other things I didn't mention. Like wooden chairs, Jamaican hand-carved statuettes, toy cars, magazines, silverware, real cars, Radiohead, video equipment, and others.

Sure, it's a long way off. I suspect Willie Nelson in particular will be hard to digitize. But once it all happens life as we know it will change. No more leaving the house to shop, we'll have shopping online! Items instantly delivered, and not by UPS delivery men you wouldn't trust to take out your garbage, but by the digitizer machine. This device will be no bigger than a refrigerator, unless it is a lot bigger, or perhaps smaller. The technology is still in its infancy and just speculation right now. Let's say as big as a fridge, though, it sounds more fun to talk in specifics.

Shopping, however, is just one aspect of life that will change forever. File swapping, if it can hold together another twenty years, will be an amazing tool of bartering and trading via the internet. Of course, it's unlikely someone will actually give stuff away for free as they do now with music files, but they will actually trade for something of equal value. The old capitalism system will finally die off, pleasing my friends Rage Against the Machine at least. It will please me as well, because I have this sofa bed I would love to swap for a working George Foreman grill and I refuse to move the damned thing. I have a bad back, and am incorrigibly lazy. Once I can turn it into digital information and swap it for one with someone else my life will be a whole lot easier and it will really open up my living room. I can practically taste the pork chop sandwiches now.

But all of this is a moot point, for moots only, as long as the record companies press on in their fight to kill file trading in its sleep, like Marvin Gaye's dad heading into Marvin's room. We need to stand up, figuratively, while we still sit in our chair trading Pixies downloads, and tell the record industry to fuck right off. Maybe when they apologize for the proliferation of boy bands and teen idols out there I'll let them have a say in the future of America, but until then they can go back to counting their reduced profits and let file trading stay unhindered.

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