Medea Benjamin correctly points out that Julia Ward Howe intended Mothers Day to be a protest against war. In that spirit, I am offering the following Mothers Day meditation. It may be that there is one issue the women of this country can agree on, including feminists, stay-at-home moms, soccer moms, NASCAR moms, evangelical moms, single mothers, and women in general: That it is time to acknowledge that the Cold War is no more, and it is high time the men got over it! Sixty years of institutional paranoia have curdled our spirit to the point that we can no longer live without a threat, and it is imperative that we learn how to do so if America will ever again be a decent place to live.

Here's another post from that cuddly meth-head, Belacqua Jones. Dear George, At the end of the day, policy is a guy thing, and the nastier the policy, the more fun guys have formulating it. It’s downright stimulating to hash out strategies for containment, neutralization, or collateralizing damage. He needs a nasty policy to implement because the manly virtues have all become unfashionable. For this, I blame the nation's female school teachers. They are the ones who make the boys stay in their seats or send them to the principal’s office every time display the testosteronic energy that is their birthright.

Here's another letter to our President from that misogynous neocon, Belacqua Jones. Dear George, Stop the presses; I have a hot nominee for the Medal of Freedom. George, there are Christians and then there are Christians. However, the one I have in mind makes all the others look a bunch of crack whores turned loose in a boys’ locker room. I am speaking of none other than the pastor of the Landover Baptist Church, Pastor Deacon Fred. He first came to the public’s attention when he uncovered the homosexual motif in Disney’s Finding Nemo, warning America that the bright colors and hues of the fish were, “trails of poop leading right up to the rabbit hole of homosexuality.”

I came across this snippet from Robinson Jeffers' poem, "Perishing American Republic" in Morris Berman's excellent book, "Dark Ages America." While this America settles in the mould of its vulgarity, heavily thickening to empire, And protest only a bubble in the molten mass, pops and sighs out, and the mass hardens, I sadly smiling remember that the flower fades to make fruit, and the fruit rots to make earth. Jeffers wrote this in 1925.

I have a blog on Salon.com titled "Open Letters to George W. Bush (http://blogs.salon.com/0004024). The letters are written by Bush's shadow advisor, Belacqua Jones who is a Karl Rove on Methamphetamines. I am cross posting one of his letters which explains why this country went to war with the Taliban. Dear George, The most exciting thing about war is not the adrenalin rush of combat; nor is it the euphoric high that comes from killing the other son of a bitch. No, George, the most exciting thing about war is that we become what we fight. We are like the warriors of old who ate a vanquished enemy’s heart that they might ingest his spirit. It is an erotic admixture of attraction and revulsion in which we are drawn to enemies who mirror us even as they repel us. When two countries clash, it’s a marriage from Hell.

When you were young, I am sure your mothers told you that girls develop faster than boys do. What they didn’t tell you is that the boys don’t catch up until their 50s or 60s, if at all. Many old codgers go to their graves still trying to figure it out. I mention this because it is an undeniable fact that if you scratch any world crisis you will probably find a group of men carrying on like a gaggle of eighth graders, so it is possible we could be looking at a unified theory that explains everything that is wrong in the world. Simply stated, the world is going to hell because we’re the poor bastards who have to get it up. That’s the long and the short of it, both literally and figuratively. There’s no way we can fake it, so we pose and posture as we swing our gonads as if they were weapons of mass destruction. It’s the crotch that retards our emotional development. Couple that with the fact that after sex we need a cigarette and twelve hours of sleep while a woman can go on and you see why men need human sacrifice, slaughter, and big belt buckles to feel whole.