You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy!
Mind control on the battle field.
Sound like something from a sci-fi movie? Sound like something Arnold Schwarzenegger would have starred in?
“I’ll be back! Hasta lavista, baby.”
Well it’s no longer the wet dream of movie makers like James Cameron, this technology could be playing at a battlefield near you very soon.
According to Published reports; the U.S. Army’s “mad science department” is attempting to engineer helmets that can influence a soldier’s brain.
Influence it how?
Is the U.S. Army going to be able to plant a suggestion in a soldier’s mind? Can they make a grunt think they see Pamela Anderson jogging up and down the battle field in a bathing suit in slow motion?
Not exactly. The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency — otherwise known as DARPA — says it is researching technology that stimulates the brain through implants, allowing it to relieve stress during combat and boost a soldier’s battlefield awareness.
The technology is all ready used in a slightly different capacity to help patients with severe degrees of Parkinsons.
But mind control on the battlefield? Well every General since Napoleon has been trying to add that to his arsenal.
The idea is to send ultrasound signals into a soldier’s brain telling him to calm down, relax, those explosions aren’t so bad. The signal might also reduce the amount of pain a soldier feels.
“Hey was that a bullet that just pierced my shoulder?”
The man in charge of developing the technology, Dr William Tyler of the Arizona State University, said the implants “remotely and directly stimulate brain circuits without requiring surgery.”
Can you imagine?
It’s a real life Play Station game for the new millennium battlefield. Soon, pimply faced Geeks who have never touched the inside of a woman’s bra, or put their finger on a live weapon, will be able to sit in some dark lair and move icons across a video screen. These new age cyber warriors, covered with potato chips and Mountain Dew will sit in their underpants while they manipulate the war machine inside a Pentagon control room that looks a lot like your mother’s basement.
But in real life, those video icons on the screen have names like Bill and Pete. They have neural probes sending messages to their brain telling them to make a right at the next IED.
How do you calm a soldier’s adrenaline rush when Triple-A is lighting up the sky? Is the signal armed with elevator music designed to soothe even the most agitated soldier?
And when is this technology going to be available for the every man? As David Letterman would say, “where can I buy me one of them neuro transmitter caps?
Why are soldiers the only ones who get to suffer less pain?
I need less pain in my life. I’d love to have a neural cap the next time my wife screams at me about why I ate the children’s last piece of salami in the crisper drawer. When she’s crazy, i can just stimulate myself with some groovy cranial calm.
“Yes dear,” I will say, the pain floating away as she dissolves from the crag she has become into the playmate model my brain can imagine.
I would turn up the amps on my Neuro-transmitter past it doesn’t hurt any more, to “hey that feels good”.
Suddenly I’m on a beach. The waves are crashing and the sun is sinking into the turquoise water, like a glowing orange scoop of gillato ice cream. I’m laying on my back enjoying a Mai Tai with an umbrella and pineapple garnish.
Suddenly I look over and I see the heaving cleavage of Pamela Anderson running at me in slow motion.
“What the…”
Before I can finish my words, she drops down to her knees and stares deeply into my eyes. She pushes my slightly wet hair back over my beautifully tanned forehead and then, in somewhat of a surprising move, she places her entire hand in my mouth.
“waaaa the faaaa,” I gurgle trying to suck in air around her massive 50 carat diamond ring that Tommy Lee once had pierced to his private area.
Why is Pam Anderson sticking her hand in my mouth, I think? But before I can answer that question, the buxom super life guard grabs my tongue like a dental hygienist on crack and begins whipping my tongue left and right like it is the controller of an old Atari video game.
This isn’t Pong, I feel like screaming.
I begin to gag on her diamond as she says, “Must render CPR”
Her deep concern for my life is admirable.
Suddenly Pam Anderson’s gigantic fake bosoms are smothering me as she begins blowing hot air into my lungs.
I should like this moment. I should be saying, “Thanks Magic Military Neural-transmitter. But sadly, Pam Anderson smells like that salami sandwich I took from the crisper drawer. Her breath reeks of rancid mustard and vinegar pudding. She nauseates me as I try and adjust my neural transmitter to a higher setting.
“Need to calm my nerves,” I frantically think to myself.
Whoops! Too high a frequency.
Suddenly Pam Anderson turns into an Iraqi sandal salesman.
In some foreign diatribe that sounds like a mouth full of salami sandwich and grits, the Iraqi man begins shouting at me. I believe he is saying that he can improve my posture with some orthopedic pads made of dried camel dung.
Whoa Whoa, shut it off, shut it off.
Suddenly the mind control signal stops and I’m laying on the front lawn of my house.
The lawnmower is on its side, having consumed most of the front hedge.
Wow that neural pulse is a Mike Tyson left hook. Good luck soldiers.
All I can say is, if you’re on the battlefield and you see Pam Anderson coming at you with an AK 47 in slow motion. Shoot first and ask questions later. The enemy you are mowing down might just be trying to sell you camel dung as a homeopathic foot remedy.
And that is crazy