Sunday, October 31, 2004
Gnomead
Well, Mz. Julie, aka ImpQueen, has done a fine job changing this Blog from 60's Beachside Bungalow format to something modern and dynamic. I shall endeavor to make the writing as excellent as the appearance.
I'm doing a most dangerous thing right now: Blogging fresh from a nap. I'll keep it short so as not to wander too far afield, or briefly fall asleep aian and leave a set o ujuu dsl;'kds which translates to nothing at all. So thank you Ms. J, and I'll see you when I'm lucid again.
Saturday, October 30, 2004
Prattlin & Rattlin
Soon, this here blog will be getting a tummy tuck, eyebrow lift, chin implants, enema, and general overhaul. Ms. Julie, of ImpletQueen Blogger infamy, has agreed to take some of the vanilla off the look of this place, and make it habitable.
I was having an internal debate over whether to just close this blog down; I've only got about 5 regular readers at present. My friends, however, are insistent I keep it: there could be a corner turned, sooner or later, and I could emerge as a Force in the blogger universe.
It occurred to me tonight that I'd passed up a golden opportunity recently. A medical surplus company was selling old Colon Cameras, the black and white kind, extremely cheaply! Talk about sharing! we could look up my ass, check on things, since there were 5 cameras available, I could find lovely attractive friends come by and we'd look up THEIR asses. Since I could hook these babies into my digital video camera, we could have an "Indiana Jones" type adventure! Wouldn't it be cool to see a streaming video of the camera desperately racing down my bowel, trying to find blue sky while a rumbling, thundering turd-beastie greatly resembling those things in "Tremors" comes blasting down the chute? Imagine the tension, the excitement of the chase, the laughing relief as the camera pops out my anus and dives to the side as a porcelain-cracking butt-bomb comes splashing past.
Unfortunately, my bookmarked Favorite Places file got corrupted, and I lost the link. So, we'll see if I can find it again.
I'm off.
Friday, October 29, 2004
Nigerian Scam Scum
I hate 'em. At first I ignored them, but lately...I've had it.
They NEVER learn, apparently. I get this in my email. My answer will follow.
Subj: ASSISTAT NEEDED URGENTLY
Date: 10/28/2004 4:30:03 AM Eastern Daylight Time
From: barr_khalid@tatanova.com
Reply-to: salaam_issa@yahoo.com
To: barr_khalid@tatanova.com
Sent from the Internet (Details)
FROM THE DESK OF DR.SALAAM ISSA
AUDITING AND ACCOUNTING SECTION
BANK OF AFRICA.
OUAGADOUGOU BURKINA-FASO.
Dear Friend,
I am Dr.SALAAM ISSA the director in charge of auditing and accounting
section of Bank Of Africa(BOA) Ouagadougou Burkina-faso West Africa with
due respect and regard. I have decided to contact you on a business
transaction that will be very beneficial to both of us at the end of the
transaction . During our investigation and auditing in this bank, my
department came across a very huge sum of money belonging to a deceased
person who died on October 31st 1999 in a plane crash and the fund has
been dormant in his account with this Bank without any claim of the fund
in our custody either from his family or relation before our discovery
to this development. The said amount was Fifteen million three hundred
thousand dollars (US$15.300.000.00)Meanwhile all the whole arrangement
to put claim over this fund as the bonafide next of kin to the deceased,
get the required approval and transfer this money to a foreign account
has been put in place and directives and needed information will be
relayed to you as soon as you indicate your interest and willingness to
assist us and also benefit your self to this great business opportunity. In
fact I could have done this deal alone but because of my position in this
country as a civil servant(A Banker),we are not allowed to operate a foreign
account and would eventually raise an eye brow on my side during the time of
transfer because I work in this bank. This is the actual reason why it will
require a second party or fellow who will forward claims as the next of kin
with affidavit of trust of oath to the Bank and also present a foreign
account where he will need the money to be re-transferred into on his request
as it may be after due verification and clarification by the correspondent
branch of the bank where the whole money will be remitted from to your own
designation bank account. I will not fail to inform you that this transaction is
100% risk free. On smooth conclusion of this transaction, you will be
entitled to 30% of the total sum as gratification, while 5%will be set aside to
take care of expenses that may arise during the time of transfer and also
telephone bills, while 65% will be for me. Please, you have been adviced to keep
it "confidential" as I am still in service and intend to retire from service after we conclude this deal with you. I
will be monitoring the whole situation here in this bank until you confirm
the money in your account and ask me to come down to your country for
subsequent sharing of the fund according to percentages previously indicated and
further investment, either in your country or any country you advice us to
invest in. All other necessary vital information will be sent to you when I
hear from you. I look forward to receive your email or call as the urgency
implies.Yours faithfully,
SALAAM ISSA.
Now, like I said, old Salaami there just TICKED ME OFF, so I let him have it:
Salaam, you old Ass-licker! Long time no hear from. Who've you been lying to and stealing from all this time? I would call you a used bag of douche-water, but I doubt that douche is a real familiar item in your neck of the slime pit.
Still up to the same old variation on the "Nigerian Scam", I see. Is that still working? You bleed a few thousand off of them, finally get them to travel to Nigeria to finalize things, and that big, hulking, mystery African man beats them up and steals their money, leaving them hurt, broke and terrified in a foreign country? How about you and your lard-ass lackey come by the states? I'll help YOU get it shape. It's called a "Louisville Slugger Tune-up". Make you feel like a new man.
I hope people around the world are getting wise to you dung-beetles the way we are in the states. Or does dung-beetle insult you? Is Shiteater good for you? How about pigfucker? That shouldn't bother you. Your mother was one of those, or you'd have never been littered.
So, my wish for you is great, oozing pustules all over your groin, so that everyone is so repulsed by you, you die diseased and alone.
Even though you're too stupid to get it, I got a joke for ya, too. Well, not really a JOKE, since it's true...but I bet my SALAAM ISSA bigger than yours!
Saturday, October 23, 2004
Xena, Warrior Kitty
What cracks me up is her relationship to paper bags. Dad saw her one day on her side, scratching, biting, ripping at this bag, occasionally pulling it on top of her then fighting it off, then suddenly leaping to her feet and racing off to the kitchen to attack yet another bag.
"What," asked Dad, "the hell is that cat doing?"
"My theory is," I replied, "that somehow paper bags, when left lying about, fill up with evil only cats can see. Xena might ignore that bag for 2 or 3 days, then suddenly notice it's all full of evil again, so she attacks it and drives off all the evil."
He laughed, but then she gave a mighty yowl, came racing back in the living room, again savaged the bag, paused, laid down and went to sleep on it.
"You know, son, it could just be that she's crazy as hell."
"Could be," I conceded, "most cats are."
Thursday, October 21, 2004
The Fowl Whisperer
Another "farm fact" I learned from my folks' having chickens: the chickens make a specific sound that, once you learn it, identifies the threat they perceive. "Snake" is one, "cat", whether bobcat or feral domestic, another, "rat" is unique, "fox, coyote and dog" are all one, and "hawk" is a very specific noise, followed by dropping to the ground, head down, I assume to make a harder target. I know the females with chicks also spread their wings and the chicks race under them.
We had a gigantic Rhode Island Red rooster, "Big Red" naturally, who we loaned out to the local college and thespians when they needed a scene involving fowl. He was locally famous for pulling out of a kid's hands onstage at the community college, and walking the perimeter of the stage staring at the audience, followed by an incredible chase scene which he'd have won if my brother hadn't had a cast net in his car. The other thing Red featured was 2" spurs on his legs. He had killed a feral cat with them; I had to pull the spurs out of its skull when they stuck. A neighbor's White Leghorn rooster had come over to expand his mating base, and Red almost beheaded him. Since he bled out well, Mom made fried chicken. I made Foghorn Leghorn voices all through dinner.
Anyway, the first time I heard the "hawk" warning, I had NO idea. Suddenly the hens were down, and Red was six feet in the air, upside down, his spurs making clicking noises as he tried to impale the hawk as it came into view. The hawk, for his part, spread his wings, which made an audible popping sound, and flapped hard for height to get away from the spurs. He made it by inches. He made another sound I'd never heard, and the hens got up and began foraging again. A few minutes later, Red made the "hawk" call himself, the females dropped, and again, he met the hawk upside down in midair. It was even closer this time, which seemed to inspire both birds to continue. I went in the house, got the .22, and told Mom there was a hawk after her chickens.
"See if you can scare it off instead of kill it," she suggested. Mom liked hawks.
Happily, he set himself up. He was sitting on a dried branch high up in a yellow pine tree.
When the bullet smacked the branch, it blew into powder, the bullet slammed into the tree so I didn't have to worry about hitting anyone far away, and the hawk make a most chicken-like squawk as he went tumbling down through the pine needles. When he ran out of branches, he had a good 15 feet left to fall, so he got his wings going and got the hell out of dodge.
Mission accomplished, all birds alive and well. And now I spoke fluent Chicken.
Weird Flashings
This thing just posted a blank blog. VERY weird. Every time I'd type a letter, it would flash the screen black, and when I went to check on what weird program may have been active and interfering, I get returned to a "Message Posted" screen. WHAT MESSAGE? I'm almost afraid to look.
Ah well.
I think I menitoned before, I passed fatness up recently and joined the ranks of the obese. I moo when I have to get out of a chair. I grunt and oink when I open the fridge door.
I have put myself on the little-known Lanie diet. Lanie's real name is Melanie. She's in her mid-30s and thinks she's fat when her waist gets over 22".
The diet is this: eat anything you want for breakfast. Once in a while really indulge and stuff, otherwise just have a few healthy sensible things with all your fatty stuff. Do not eat from 8 am till noon. You get an hour. That's it.
The rest of the day, you may eat all the fat-free, low-salt pretzels you want. You may drink unsweetened iced tea. When you are SO sick of pretzels just looking at them gives you the dry heaves, you can dip them in dressings, sauces, whatever you wish (except cream cheese), just enough for a bit of flavor as you munch them.
Skip the scales every few days, but when you've lost 10 pounds, reward yourself either with a restaurant dinner or junk food dinner, then back on the diet. Last time I was a hog, I lost 35 pounds in 3 months doing this. I hope I don't need to donate skin from this, but I damn sure will. Burn centers everywhere need skin anyway.
Worst part of being this fat is going to the beach. Some damned old sailing ship keeps showing up, and this one-legged one-eyed goofball keeps screaming "Thar he blows! The white whale!" and pitching harpoons at me.
I'll probably keep you posted whether you want to be or not.
Monday, October 18, 2004
Blowout
This will probably be easier for smokers to get. You ever been sittin' on the toilet dropping a nasty-growler and suddenly cough? It's like you're issued Turdo-Boost!Wow! Say you're flowing along at a steady two inches a minutes, you hack out a quick lunger and zzzzzz00000m! Two inches in half a second!
I may experiment, see if faked or induced coughing can speed up the overall process. i'll let you know how it works out.
I FUNCTIONED today! So proud of my fat butt for once! Trash dragged out, some of the dishes washed, multiple loads of laundry done, more tree branches dragged out of my yard and stacked by the roadside, meals cooked, medications given to father and self, plus I went to a former neighbors' and shoveled about 500 pounds of dirt and Chattahoochie gravel onto a tarp in the back of my Dad's pickup. Driveway fill, you understand. Then I'm trying to find who exactly will dump a free load of ground-up road asphalt for me. Run over it enough times, it flattens out just like it was originally. Hard to beat free home improvements. Wonder if they'd cover my entire YARD? Off to contemplate...imagine mowing with a bottle of Roundup!
Friday, October 15, 2004
Great Moments In TV Law Enforcement
Carroll O'Conner as Chief Gillespie: "Tell 'im his rights, Bubba. I keep losing that little card I read 'em off of."
Alan Autry as Bubba, whom every rookie southern cop aspires to be: "You got the right to keep your mouth shut. You open it, I'll hang you out the window."
Third Gear (It's all right)
Ever noticed when you get a taste of your own medicine, it seems like it was previously tried as a suppository? Don't ya just HATE that brown taste on your tongue?
My friends have been SCREAMING it at me, in all their various loving ways. Some have waited in patient silence, knowing I always crawl back from whatever dark space I crawled into to heal or die, whichever came first. Some have got in my face, some have sat me down and tried reasoning.
What, you're asking yourself, is he babbling about?
I've had a bad half decade. A stepfamily I was prepared to dedicate the rest of my life to maintaining fell apart. My mother died. I got laid off from yet another job. I bought a 1984 Pontiac Firebird Formula, one of the cars I'd dreamed of owning, and not only smashed the front end into a Toyota, but ripped the transmission apart.
I moved my father, Senior Packrat of the family, into my house, where we became partners in packratting. He is old, was going blind (just had one eye repaired, the other soon to follow! I'll have a SIGHTED father soon, which means we'll be watching the babes on the Spanish channel non-stop. I'd better get him some Spanish language tutor CDs for his computer.)
What I'm babbling about is, I went into a major deep depression, attempting to maintain my online persona, but in my personal life, sliding down a slick mud shaft into a deep dark place. Could be my own colon, who knows? And in this place, I let myself fall apart to the point where my legs, once engines of destruction from 25 years of karate training, hurt every time I stand, where a body that's fought off most forms of sickness without even bothering with a doctor suddenly is being pumped full of antibiotics and various medications just to get it somewhere close to normal again.
I gave in to a lifetime penchant for corpulence. Instead of a hard, strong body, I became a slug-creature, a Jabba-like THING. I didn't lean on the love others offered; I crawled into my little cave-space and stayed there.
That was a Wrong Thing; I wasn't given this life to piss it away in self-indulgent self-pity. Now, finally, it has to stop. I have to get back to someplace where I like living, where I like other people, where I like ME again.
Somewhere in this mess, I have to be a pretty good person. How do I know? Mainly because some of the finest, most decent people I know care very deeply about me, and aren't afraid to show it.
One of those friends told me I'd become so dark, being around me was an energy drain. He just flat told me to stop, to quit declining before my body decided to die, and get myself right. Considering he'd come over after a 10-hour workday roofing new houses, cut off a few hundred pounds of oak branches threatening my roof, took measurements and laid out a basic design for a ramp in front of my house for Dad and his walker, I was inclined to listen. He's also the half-Chinese son of a Tai Chi master, and we call ourselves Zen Bastards. If he says I'm too dark, well, I'm too dark.
If you read the rant before this one, you'll see what I told that kid. Now it's time to take my own advice. It's just life. You'll take it seriously sometimes whether you mean to or not. Just quit doing it ALL the time. Instead of looking in the mirror and despairing, I can meet those tired brown eyes with a smile, and say, "Look, you silly ass...we did this. We can fix it." Or, as Rick, my old Karate School Partner used to say, "Suck it up, Buttsauce."
Monday, October 11, 2004
Upshift
I love digging through my memories for little bits and pieces that held special meaning for me. I love woolgathering, then rolling it out for others to read. Well, when they like it I do.
My parents belonged to a Fundamentalist church years back that nearly got itself declared a "Cult". I decided that it was NOT, as it claimed, the One True Church which could guarantee salvation. It was in my early teens, when I was willing to rebel against damn near anything anyway, so this was fuel for my fire. When the other kids showed up for church in dark pants, dress shoes, white shirt and tie, I came in gold wide-wale hiphugger bell bottoms, dayglo green socks over what we called Desert Boots, also known as Chukkas, a forest-green military style shirt and gold, blue, red and green paisley tie. Since long hair was verboten, and I wanted LONG hair, I glued it flat to my head with about a quarter-pound of Dippity-Do.
Some of the poor brainwashed children were convinced God was gonna wham me with a lightning bolt one day. God didn't.
I wasn't sure about God for a long time after that. I lived for surfing anyway, and if there was one Holy Place I could find, it was out in the ocean. Paddle past the breaking waves, out at the very edge of the deep, and it was another world, with its own rules, its own beauties and uglinesses. Sometimes it seemed as I grew to understand it better, the ocean was a living being, perhaps with a consciousness I couldn't fully understand. But I could learn the rules. I knew where the tourist-drowning rip currents were, and used them to rush me out past the waves. I knew to ALWAYS look for sharks. Most people who were bitten said they never saw it coming. I never got bitten, but I saw more than one shark looking me over, and very gingerly departed the area. I paddled out one morning with my faithful surfing companion Eric, in fog so thick you couldn't see ten feet away, and as we were calling each others' names and trying to find each other, a pod of bottlenose dolphins was suddenly all around me, rolling on their sides to look at me, squeaking in their strange dolphin language. A baby came up and bumped my board. His mother bumped HIM, gently, and pushed him a short distance away. It was between wave sets anyway, so I stopped paddling, sat up on my board, and tried to imitate their squeaks, which REALLY got them chattering. We had a couple of minutes of communing, then Eric's voice came from not so far away, and in a flash, they were all gone, popping back up somewhere in the fog.
"Did you SEE them, Eric?"
"See what?"
"Never mind. Here comes some waves."
Eric is a Baptist Minister now. I have no idea how that fits into this story.
************************************
I hung out once upon a time in the same AOL Message Board as the Grand Mystic of Bloggers, BigHo. We compared definitions of Animal Husbandry, mostly sheep, sometimes expanding into wild creatures. He feels that an impaled squirrel is appropriate attire, so long as your schlong doesn't protrude past the head. (Not to worry on my account, as long as the squirrel isn't, say, under six inches butt-to-tooth.)side note: I made the mistake of setting this blog up while talking to Julie. She knows my password. I may have to take care of that situation very soon. Play with your own damn blog, woman.
*************************************
During my Board days, a young lad whom we castigated for being a dork gave us all the following reply, restoring our faith that there will ALWAYS be ditch-diggers available:
U get mad when I take what u guys r saying personally and then u
turn around and do the same thing. And I said chit and azz originally. Thats not cussing at all. But Im done with u, be a child.
The boy INSPIRED me, I tell ya, and while he didn't understand word one of my reply, it seemed to make sense and give pleasure to the mentally functional members of the board:
Youngun', this board is for grownups to have grownup fun. Young folks are welcome, we'll even tone it down for them sometimes, but the point here is to be funny. I've said it before and got 10 tons of argument, but humor is based on PAIN. If you don't think anything in here is funny, get out, live, gain some experience about what life is and isn't, then come back in and you'll be taken seriously.
Son, you got to get OUT of that little coccoon of havin' Mommy and Daddy take care of you. You got to get on the STREETS, you got to be pounded on, lied to, cheated on, messed up, messed over, you got to see things that aren't right, things that shake your life views to pieces so you gotta rebuild from the ground up, you gotta nearly get killed a couple times, bleed, hurt, find out half your friends will walk away from you in a hot second if you're not filling some need of theirs, you gotta pay your way and sometimes sweat having too much way and not enough pay, you need to love HELL out of somebody and find out they don't love you back, you got to cry sometimes and you got to NOT cry when you need to BAD, you got to find out that when life just slaps you FLAT you get up, dust yourself off, smile at how strong you are so life can slap you flat AGAIN! And WHEN you have been there, done that,when you understand that it's all one big joke and you're NOT going to survive in the end because NOBODY DOES, when you quit taking yourself seriously, then you find you can laugh often and easy. There's dues to pay first, though, and you ain't paid 'em.
Arnie
~sermonizing again
**********************************************
I can't believe I'm saying this, but people, this is a JOKE I wrote. Do NOT try this at home, work, anywhere else, ok?
HOW TO WASH YOUR OWN BRAIN
Rather than being alleged, it has often and loudly been stated that I have a filthy mind. My supervisor introduces me to new employees as the "Shop Pervert".
My mother, the few and minor examples of how my brain works she's seen, blames my father. He grins. Guiltily.
I can keep a room's undivided attention (any room, any group of people from a Board of Directors to a crew of gravediggers) with my description of doggy-style with an obese lover.
Enough set up.
There are times when your brain is simply TOO dirty to go on.
Head for the local drug store.
Find the enema bags. You need one with a long tube, a serious insertion nozzle, and a big bag, preferably with a threaded cap.
Now for a thorough cleansing, you need the Special Mix. Forget those flakes who use coffee, water, prepared mixes.
Now. Alcohol is a necessity. Pour in a miniature bottle of Wild Turkey 101.
Next, half a bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide. Two tablespoons of Witch Hazel.
Crush and add four aspirin, tylenol, whatever.
Add a dropper of kerosene, two of Woolite.
Get one of those square batteries, very carefully insert two wires through the bag, attach to the battery posts.
Now you're ready. Place the bag flat on the floor in front of the toilet. Make sure the seat's down. Stand on the toilet.
If you smoke, better burn one before you go any further.
Ready?
Three deep breaths. Bend forward. You know where the nozzle goes.
Darn. I apologize. Forgot to tell you to lubricate that thing first. Bet that hurt!
JUMP!
Try to land both feet squarely on the bag.
You'll experience a RUSH of sensations.
There will be bubbling. There will be pain and euphoria mixed. There will be fire.
There will be liquids spraying out your nose, ears and mouth. Don't worry. It's all part of the cleansing process.
The bleeding out your tear ducts will stop in about 3 days. It's not a true coma. You'll wake up in two hours. The rainbow effect in your vision is temporary. The roaring in your ears, too. Your brain will swell slightly, but the new holes in your sinus cavities will drain off excess fluids, so the swelling won't last.
If you can walk, fill a cooler with ice and stick your head in it for an hour.
Don't smoke. Oh GOD don't smoke.
You'll find your mind all fresh and clean, ready for reloading. Enjoy.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Letting Go, Hanging On
I keep her around because when she's not insane, she's a fun person to hang with. Sometimes when she IS insane, she's a fun person to hang with. And when she has these high-maintenance moments and needs to be indulged, well, I let her indulge herself till they pass. Perhaps it's not fair to the other women who dream of me worshipping them, like I'd ever subjugate myself to a breast-bearer's wiles again. Yeah, that goes for breast-barers, too.
I cannot quite believe I've become a blogmonster. I have read other blogs, some so bizarre their excessive usage of slang renders them readable only to a narrow audience, I have read blogs by people far more brilliant than me; There is the infamous Hairy Chasms by BigHo. He carries religious arguments to heights I personally don't care to go, but has the education and insight to do battle there. He's also rather trapped in rectal humor world, but has made an art form of it, too. His cartoons are superb, and his "alien" is a thing of wonder.
I've noted, through links from him and others, that expatriate Americans are often great bloggers. They have the knowledge of how it is to be a native American, and the opportunity to live in a foreign land and gain a perspective of their homeland you can't get any other way. The really excellent ones remain Americans, and don't assimilate into whatever culture they're surrounded by. Someone who turns muslim, of course, has lost both perspective and humanity. I cracked up when the American government wouldn't let Cat Stevens into the US. I also agree with them.
He's not that sensitive young songwriter he was decades ago; he's chosen the way of butchery, savagery and murder, let him immerse himself in it and stay the hell out. Besides, he's not American anyway; he's English, technically. His father was Greek, his mother Swedish, and he was born and raised in England. They can keep him.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
My Monarch, and why I love her.
Oh my Goddess, the World Monarch speaks and I am her servant.
Go! See her blog, her lovely form, her articulations which stir my loins to ever more mediocre heights of passion! She is, in fact, my Angel of Light, my very Lucifer, the impish redhaired grin my salvation and my doom.
Laugh if you will; I care not. I know for whom the belle tools. She tools for me, the biggest tool I know. The Eiffel Tool! The Leaning Tool of Pizza! Nay, even Anduril, Flaming Tool of the West!
My heart kathuds when I spy her voluptuous cleavage, and I beg: REWIND, DAMMIT! REWIND!!
NO WMD? TFB
Look, they didn't find the stinkin' weapons. There is STILL the possibility that whatever Hussein had stockpiled is now stashed in Syria, and that the report is correct; he was focused elsewhere. He wasn't going to make anymore for a while.
So now Kerry and the Crackpots are just howling with glee, wanting this bum out so that their bum can get in. So did Bush LIE, or was he wrong? If he lied, that would explain why the Democrats are screaming their lungs out now; he made complete, moronic asses of the lot of them. I don't think he deliberately lied. I DO think he had personal reasons for wanting to kick Hussein out, those reasons being the hit squads sent after his father by Hussein.
But, and unless you're retarded, you know this already, Hussein was THE most troublesome, disruptive figure in the middle east. He's murdered over FIVE MILLION PEOPLE. He started a war with Iran, where he used biologicals and chemical weapons. He attacked and conquered Kuwait, ignoring their sovereign right to govern themselves, and attempted to rob them of every last valuable his troops could carry off.
I've heard the screaming about "Why didn't George Sr. kill that sonofadiseasedsheep?" Because Colin Powell and Bush, among others, were anxious to show the middle eastern countries and the rest of the world that we were NOT being arrogant bullies, we were simply righting a wrong, then we were outta there. Bush Sr. also promised help to Iraqui rebels if they'd stand up and go after Hussein, and like we've done before, when they did what we asked, we didn't come through. THAT kind of crap is what makes us look like horses' rectums around the world. They were being TOO politically sensitive and politically correct. Remember when they made all the Americans pull the flag patches off their uniforms? Didn't want to offend anybody? The Saudis finally said, "Look, nobody cares, put 'em back on so we know who's Americans and who ain't."
George Jr. is guilty of the same crap every time he babbles about Islam being a peaceful religion. It's no more peaceful than the old testament version of ours and the Hebrew religion. But, it keeps some of the pinkos thinking maybe he's not ALL bad, so if he has to talk that garbage to accomplish that, well, goferit, Dude.
We CANNOT put John Kerry in the whitehouse. He is NOT smarter than Bush, he is no more in touch with us "middle class" types than he is native South Americans. He marries rich women, for cryin' out loud. Has no big money of his own, so he finds hobbies like the Senate and the Presidency to keep him busy.
Bush, if reelected, will KNOW he's not getting a clear mandate from the people to stay the course. He's been on the defensive too much about the economy, especially about jobs, to think that, and even though I hope SO badly he's reelected, I don't think it will be by a huge margin, nor should it be.
Wow. I just took a huge dump and the entire mood for blogging went away. There COULD be a clue there!
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
Let Us Begin
Lettuce Prey....
This may be the only time I post on this thing. This may be the beginning of hours of insane ranting. Time will tell.
I fear for the planet. I fear for America. I fear for the wonderful decadent lifestyle I have. And there is no real solution. An election is coming soon that is going to shape the world for decades to come. One candidate is more or less going to maintain the status quo, the other has tons of well-meaning ideas, and if elected, is going to fall on his face and take us with him. Neither is an ideal president.
I was hoping someone had quietly cloned Teddy Roosevelt, familiarized him with the original, and helped him translate that strength of character into modern terms. I get silly ass dreams like that.
I don't really give a damn what the world thinks of us. Germany has become a land of whining pussies. France always was. Had they thrown their weight behind us, fighting in Iran might be over now. German troops, when led by strong leaders, are quick, deadly foes.I keep hoping the Koreans get ticked at the way those useless oxygen wasters butchered that poor terrified young Korean guy and send in some of THEIR special forces. These guys used to hunt Viet Cong with NO WEAPONS. The reason they weren't better known and more effective was anywhere they showed up, the VietCong and North Vietnamese forces LEFT. Didn't want to tangle with the Koreans.
I'm tired of political correctness. I'm tired of politics period, but humankind loves to do that to themselves, and monarchies are less than an improvement.
I hate that communism has seeped its way into acceptance in much of our society. It's the same thing it always was, and it's no way for humans to develop into something better. Same with socialism. They're variations on a theme, and that theme is a dedication to controlled mediocrity, with a ruthless bureaucracy assuring things remain as much the same as possible. I know people who would do well under a system like that. You do NOT want them in charge of you.
We can't go back to 1911 America, like Walt Disney recreated on Main Street, USA. It was a beautiful time. It was a hopeful time.
But neither do we have to become yet another reflection of the inbred imbecility of the European nations, or listen to the derision of Islamic enemies while they prove their cowardice by butchering innocents.
Maybe you don't ever want an SUV and a quarter million dollar house. Neither of those are goals of mine, either. But do you want to give up your car because the Kyoto Protocol says to curb your lifestyle so emerging nations can catch up? Restrict your lifestyle so others won't be so jealous of you?
Before you vote, think of what YOU have, what YOU want. Look at these two men vying for office, and ask yourself which one comes closest to giving it to you. When you cut out all the extraneous crap, when it comes down to YOU, perhaps your perspective will be a bit clearer.
Best of luck.
