#795 X-it Strategy

Sometimes a story just begs me to do a commentary on it. In the end, so it was with this one.
Seems there are rumors that Denver authorities are preparing to use a new weapon at the Democratic National Convention should unruly crowds develop—angry Hillary-ites perhaps, or rowdy republicans. I’m not sure where the rowdies will come from, the anti-war movement is mainstream on the demo side, so there doesn’t seem to be a Chicago Seven sort of riot roiling in the background.
What’s controversial is the purported purpose of this noxious new crowd-control device. It controls the crowd by making them lose control—of their bowels.
That’s right. To quote a nationwide news article, it makes them “poop their pants.” There’s got to be something about the Associated Press saying “poop their pants” that has George Carlin rolling over in his seven words.
The weapon is called an intrasound weapon, which I suppose means that it focuses sounds on your interior, much like the weapon the army has that, with a brief flash of radiation, makes you feel like you’re on fire in the nerve endings deep in your skin. That weapon supposedly does no permanent damage.
This weapon can apparently do damage—to your pants.
The notion of bubbling BM bursting out your backside is pretty disconcerting. Plop plop, fizz fizz, oh what a relief it isn’t.
But I think the whole thing could backfire. One of the biggest problems I’ve ever seen actually causing mob violence has been shortages of outhouses. Lines at large events leading to the loos have loosened many a social constraint.
People get angry when they feel they have no place to go.
And consider this, if you suddenly force a huge crowd of protestors to loosen its collective bowel, they may not decide to scat. They may decide to do something other than mudslinging.
Pooping your pants is only embarrassing when you’re the only one doing so. When you’re part of the crowd—a now really angry crowd—you suddenly have new protest ammunition. And poop flinging becomes accepted social behavior.
Ask any monkey in the monkey house.
America, ya gotta love it.