Get your war on, Louisville!
At what point in America's failed war on the Middle East does Thunder Over Louisville become tasteless even to Louisvillians? Thunder, which is to war glorification what, um, Thunder is to rednecks getting loaded, taking their clothes off, making out, and watching fireworks, has enough F-18s, B-52s, Apaches and Jayhawks every year to scare the diarrhea out of everybody from Seymour to Bardstown. I guess there are some people who hear those jets and feel secure, but it makes me think of roadside bombs and shock and awe and surface-to-air missiles and tactical nuclear warheads and Slaughterhouse Five and napalm in the morning and Dick Cheney's brainwashing eye beams.

Each year, Thunder somehow manages to top its previous atrocities, which I guess will eventually culminate in total nuclear annihilation. Or maybe the Stealth Bomber, which apparently can fly to Takrit and back under a cloak of invisibility but can't fly in bad Louisville weather, will finally careen into corporate Louisville, setting the cigarette, whiskey, pizza, fried-chicken, firearm and insurance poisonocracy aflame. Until then, we can at least keep an eye on each year's greatest Thunder atrocity, which so far this year appears to be its Thunder Funder marketing campaign.

In the past, you had to scratch your head and marvel that individuals would actually cough up their hard-earned money to help pay for a simulation of the indignations they've previously funded to kill people and steal oil in real time. Now you can see exactly who these supporters are.

(Curiously, there's a "Big Bang" donor level, which seems like it might be offensive to the Thunder-donor demographic. Wouldn't an Intelligent Designer donor level make more sense?)

And speaking of design, isn't that home page a work of fucking art? This year's sponsor, McDonald's, isn't satisfied with the rate at which it's killing the world's people with its nuggets and cowdust fries, so it's upping the ante by getting its McWar on too. This year's theme is "The Magic of Thunder," and all fireworks are going to be set to lame oldies rock songs about magic. So the whole shitstorm of American culture is flying out of a magician's hat: An attack helicopter shoots lasers but misses a large Coke, signifying military incompetence, as well as the golden, ten-minute stream of pee that's going to come out of you after you drink that 32-oz Coke and the shooting begins. Meanwhile, on the right, a bomber suddenly appears, dropping stardust daisy-cutters on the sleepy village. Hot damn, that is making me hungry for two all-beef patties and some special sauce on a sesame seed bun, with a side of Armageddon. I'm fuckin' lovin' it.