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    Warning Will Robinson!

    Feel free to post comments, rants, or even personal attacks. It simply shows your wish for taunting if you do the latter.

    You can say anything you want here. But if you get stupid I reserve the right to point it out, call you lots of inventive names and laugh like hell.

    Blog Archive

    Blogs I Like

    In no particular order):
    Note: "right" either means this blogger is correct or that they lean right. I know what I mean by it. How do you take it?

    The Other Side Of The Street

    New York Liberals that aren't all that bad
    (for NY Libs)
    The name say it all
    (Pissed Liberals)
    Luna Kitten
    See? I told you I had a liberal friend!!!

    Iraqi Blogs

    101st Fighting Keyboardists

    The Wide Awakes

    He awoke before dawn as he usually did
    But today wasn't just any day
    He showered and shaved with shaky old hands
    And went to the bed where it lay
    A uniform worn by the passage of years
    Slightly faded, lay in all its glory
    The ribbons upon it were starting to fade
    But to him it told quite a story
    He was a kid in June '44
    Storming a beach head in france
    When the fighting was done he put down his gun
    While a french girl taught him to dance
    A few short years later he fought in the snow
    And become one of the Chosin Few
    He thinks on those days when the weather is cold
    And winter is breaking anew
    He fought them in Nam as the monsoons poured down
    While the media at home slurred his name
    Never doubting his mission he had no regrets
    He retired without any shame
    Today he will ride down the main street of town
    As the folks on the sidewalk all cheer
    Tomorrow they'll not recognize him at all
    It happens like this every year
    But he doesn't care he knows what he did
    In all of those far away lands
    And he smiles as he buttons his uniform up
    With his heroic, shaky old hands
    The weather yesterday brought to my senses, for the briefest of moments, a scent that, just for a millisecond, transported me into my memories.  Thoughts of playing touch football in the street during a midsummer rain rushed back and just for that moment I was there.  The smell of hot wet asphalt, the smiles on our faces and the pure joy of a youth unfettered with the concerns of the world mixed with a feeling of never ending security wrapped us in the completeness of the blissful ignorance of youth.

    I can still feel the wet football in my hands as the rain poured down and I hiked the ball to C.B.  Blocking Chris McPhee to keep him off of C.B. as my little brother ran a slant pattern, outrunning chris's little brother kenneth to catch the ball and head for the endzone, which was actually anything beyond the white concrete gutter that ran across our road.  I could feel the lateness of the afternoon, knowing we could play until the street lights came on, and life seemed content, our jobs of being children were secured, for now.

    Then we grew up.  Now I have a son of my own, his life very unlike mine.  Always in constant contact with authority figures via his cell phone.  His days planned out sometimes, with play dates and errands to be run with his mother. His childhood less of a child hood and more of a controlled schedule, much like a celebrity or political figure of some importance.  Our children now are too valauble to be left to their own devices I guess.  Or are we too fearful of our lack of parenting skills, the same lack of parenting skills our parents were sure they lacked, to let our precious snowflakes live a life of their choosing, hoping that between their natural intelligence and and those few skills we have imparted and the warnings we have given them over their few short years that they can make decent enough decisions to survive on their own without us hovering overhead, constantly getting updates as to where they are, who they're with and what time will they be back and do they need a ride?

    Why have we become so fearful of our world, so unsure of our kids abilities to make good choices that we simply feel we aren't being a good parent unless we are there to stop them from making a mistake?

    Mistakes are how we learn.  We learned how to build ramps to jump bikes by learning which design worked and which didn't and yes, sometimes we got hurt.  But nobody sued.  We learned how to climb trees by climbing trees, and yes sometimes we got hurt, but nobody sued.  We learned how to settle our differences, sometimes by fighting, and yes sometimes we got hurt, but nobody sued.

    We learned a lot growing up.  By dealing with each other and learning the skills which help you get along in the rel world. We learned the art of compromise, and when that failed we learned the art of persuasion. When that failed we learned the last resort was fighting.  But always, after the fight, friends made up, agreements were reached and we moved on as friends once again.

    How I long for those halcyon days of youth, unfettered by workaday concerns to be passed along to my son. So he would know a childhood unencumbered by such worldy issues as border security, taxes, islam. Instead he is indoctrinated in PCBS, multicultural claptrap and taught untruths and slanted lies.  His chil;dhood is being stolen from him by an ideology (or is it idiotology?) that states critical thinking is a hate crime, all cultures are equal and making judgments against anyone other than "rich white men" will not be tolerated.

    The carefree days of my youth are long gone, replaced with the sure knowledge that those in power are usurping our children, indoctrinating them into this new world order think, against the wishes of the vast hordes of American Patriots who understand it was not thievery or imperialism that got us here but unfettered liberty.  That free men working to better their own lives will raise up the community.  That all boats rise together.

    I fear someday one of those memories about his youth will manifest in my sons head when the weather changes just for a moment, transporting him back to cherished memories and I wonder what he will feel in that millisecond.

    Will it bring a smile to his face? Or will the fear mongering indoctrination of lurking disaster and class warfare bring a worried frown to his forehead as he digests those memories and what they meant to him then, and what they mean now?

    My memories of then were pure childhood bliss. In context of years gone by that's how they should have been, and our children today know less of the freedom of being a child running free in a reasonably safe world because we know more of the dangers of living in a world full of dangers.  Those dangers were always there, but we were trusted to not go with strangers, not to commit crimes and to be a good kid.  It didnt always work out, because youth is for learning boundries.  Childrens boundries today are too confining, and they learn precious little of the skills which would let them grow into functioning adults capable of muddling their way through life.

    We do our children a disservice by clinging so tightly.  We are creating a generation of offspring who are incapable of making good decisions or following a moral path simply because it is the right thing to do.  They are told "do whatever feels good" and when things fall apart they are told "it's not your fault."

    We are failing our children by refusing to stand against those who push this claptrap.  Confront them and their only argument is "you're racist/hateful/ignorant/hate children" and a whole host of other labels those who cannot think logically attempt to place on those of us who realize life is a dangerous place, nobody gets out alive and sometimes bad luck happens.

    Let the chips fall where they may.  Let the consequences be meted out in justice. Let those who can succeed, succeed and let those who fail, fail.  It is the way of life.

    Down the other path is assured ruin as the formerly free citizens of this great country become nothing more than animals in a zoo, unable to fend for themselves and dependent on their masters in D.C.

    As for me my kid can stay out until the street lights come on, climb trees, build forts and crash his bike on a ramp which proved to be structurally unsound, for only  then will he learn

    Liberty will always trump well meaning servitude.  Liberty leads to greatness and freedom unhinged and success for those who produce. Well meaning servitude leads to despair, destruction and dependency on a hand that might not always be so benevolent.

    So which for you?

    FREEDOM?

    or

    SERVITUDE?

    I know my choice, and am willing to fight for it.  Are those so enamored with servitude willing, or even capable, of fighting for their beliefs?

    I'd wager they aren't.
    Along the sea sand lay a cottage
    Built in grandeur in the days of yore
    Once a stately manse of wealth
    It's been beaten by the harsh sea shore
    Once it shone as such a treasure
    Time has torn the shine away
    Now the treasure of the cottage
    Sits safely in the walls these days
    For within those tattered walls
    So badly in need of painters aid
    Sit rocking slowly, two old lovers
    Their debt to men and God full paid
    They raised good children, saved the country
    Paid their taxes and their dues
    She sits knitting in her rocker
    He sits painting his own muse
    They steal glances and caresses
    Sweet nothings flit between their lips
    His knee aches from cold in winter
    She has trouble with her hips
    Time is chasing these old lovers
    Aches and pains they constant bear
    She brings him coffee every morning
    Every night he'd brush her hair
    The kids come round at Christmas time
    To offer seasons greeting up
    In memory of long lost friends
    A toast they offer in a cup
    To better times when health we had
    When clothing fit us like a glove
    When Easter offered our salvation
    And all we needed was our love
    Someday soon the pair will pass
    And in some, memories will fade
    But God will not forget this couple
    Nor the cottage of love they made
    Love is timeless, manifested
    In art, or cottages or lives
    Few know love makes God smile
    And causes angels wistful sighs
    Love cures all, and love is power
    Love can make you truly see
    Even if it's only living
    In an old worn cottage by the sea
    My buddy Big Dog has an article up saying if the government seizes private pensions (which they are considering doing) it will lead to civil unrest.

    I hope so.

    If the powers that be in D.C. have forgotten who owns and runs this country (which seems to be the case) perhaps some pols swinging from lampposts or dragged through the streets behind pickup trucks might serve to remind them.  They refuse to listen to us, overstep their Constitutional bounds at will and now have become so brazen that even stealing the private accounts of the citizenry is not outside of their consideration.

    Hopefully something so brazen and illegal will cause those who still support them to stand up and finally join the ranks of those who have said "enough."

    As for me I only have one thing to say.  Keep your powder dry.
    The Gates Have Closed, your doom is sealed

    in the edges of my mind
    float words
    I want to scream
    at you
    anchored
    by rage,
    confusion and
    hatred

    the vile lies you glibly spouted,
    crocodile tears falling
    from your quivering
    lying
    lips
    you, the heartless harpy
    of the trailer park

    genetically destined to
    choose poorly
    to fail,
    it's in your injun blood
    your hedonistic blackened heart
    will lead you places
    which make that blackened heart
    glow in shame

    exposing the shallow life you lead
    drop a stone down your bottomless heart
    so you can hear the echoes
    of failure
    and the missing notes
    of emotional connections
    which haunt
    your hollow heart

    wallow in your never ending
    spiral of destruction
    which your goddess
    has set you on
    as she sits high
    in her throne
    maniacally laughing
    at
    your
    doom....

    As she salivates
    at your death
    proving once again
    the path of least resistance
    only leads to hell
    on earth

    in the edges of my mind
    float words I want to scream
    at you
    anchored by rage,
    confusion
    and hatred

    May a long life you lead
    Bereft
    May many years be yours
    neurotic
    May many moons shine down
    Upon your upturned
    tear stained cheeks
    May clarity strike
    in your final moments
    Your mistakes laid bare
    before God
    AND
    may Gods judgment
    treat you
    as you
    have treated
    so many others

    in the edges of my mind float words I want to scream at you
    Nineteen

    The mourners gathered slowly
    Through the February rain
    Toward a lonely casket
    To be laid at rest today
    A hero of this country
    Had sacrificed his life
    Defending his brave brothers
    Surrounded by the strife
    A grenade had rolled amongst them
    Without a second thought
    He yelled out one last warning
    And dove onto the spot
    His body took the impact
    Shredded, thrown into the sky
    While Marines all dove for cover
    As they knew their brother died
    They tried their best to save him
    A hero to them all
    Now he rests at God's right hand
    In the Grace of Kingdoms Hall
    He left behind a grieving wife
    And a son he'd never seen
    A Hero to his country
    At the age of just nineteen
    I met an old man one day, sitting outside a tiny barbershop in a town not much bigger than a postage stamp and barely worth twice as much. He was escaping the brutal summer heat in the shade and smoking a hand rolled cigarette, watching the traffic, what there was of it, struggle past. I happened to be walking from the gas station to the general store to grab a cold soda, this town being too small to have yet received one of the convenience stores found in every other part of the world. I was just passing through. My AC had given out 50 miles back, I was hot, tired, thirsty and just needed gas so I could get to where I was going, which was, I thought at the time, important.

    He squinted at me with his light blue eyes against the brightness of the July sky, tipped his hat and with a smile emerging from the wrinkles said "Howdy son, bit warm today aint it?" "Yessir it is" I replied while wiping the sweat rolling down my forehead. "Sit down a bit, if ya aint in a hurry. It feels good in the shade here when the breeze comes along." So I sat down next to the old man, remembering my grandmothers words about being kind to your elders, figuring I would hang around for a couple of minutes, exchange a few inanities about the weather and be on my self-important way.

    A couple of minutes of silence followed, not really awkward, but more like he was thinking about what to say. Finally I said "nice lil town ya got here." "Yep" he muttered "but I remember when it was small and quiet." "Small?" I asked and he chuckled. "When I was a youngster, a little younger than you, this barber shop was the post office, the community center and the police station, that being on account of Harry, the barber, also being our duly elected sheriff. Of course, I don't think Harry ever arrested anyone in all the years he was sheriff." I nodded at the information, wondering what else to ask, finally settling on a question I was sure would make short work of this conversation that was taking my precious time. "So you've lived here all your life?" I asked, certain a simple "a-yep" would follow and I could excuse myself and go on my way.

    "Pretty much" he said quietly, pausing for a moment and he looked over at me. "Pretty much. Course I did go off for double you double you two, was gone six years. When I come home the whole world had changed." I could hear in his voice a wistfulness and found myself asking "What changed?" as I realized I didn't have anywhere that important to be. "Lots" he said, "ya had to be there to understand it, I guess." "We left here boys off on a great adventure, and come home men praying we could forget the bad we saw."

    His eyes took on a faraway look and I realized he wasn't looking into the distance, he was looking into the past. "We lost Albert, my cousin, and the Davis boys in France. Albert died on the beach, and the Davis boys, well, they almost made it to Germany. Charley Sassel, I heard, died in the battle of the bulge and Harry's oldest son, Harry Jr, died in Italy. I got shot 3 times, mostly they just winged me." His eyes refocused on the present, and me, as he said "but we knew why we were fighting."

    His eyes squinted and he got a harder look, his jaw firming up and through lips growing taut with anger he growled "too many people today seem too willing to let it all go. Albert, Harry Jr., Charley....all them other boys buried all over the place, and you folks today don't seem to care." He turned his head away and spit, looking back toward me his words came at me like a machine gun "Ya think there aint evil in the world? That it's all just a matter of perspective? That maybe if ya play nice enough folks wont wanna kill ya? What if we'd had folks around like that back in dubya dubya two? Demanding we come home, that it wasn't worth fightin' for? We'd be speaking German and the world would be damned short of jews is what. What kind of idiot demands their military surrender the field and slink home a loser?"

    When he quit talking I felt a shame growing in me. I had stood and protested against the war. I demanded our boys come home, never thinking about the fact that I was asking them to surrender their Honor along with the field of battle. Never once considering what it would have meant to those who came before, or to those who gave their lives in their belief that our Freedom is worth fighting for. Suddenly I heard a man shouting from the gas station and I realized he was shouting at me. "Is this your car?" he yelled, while pointing at my old beater parked at the gas pump. "Yeah" I yelled back. "Can ya move it?" he yelled, sounding more pleading than angry. Realizing I was taking up one of his gas pumps I yelled back a yeah and turned back to the old man. He was sitting staring off into the distance. "I'll be right back, gotta move my car." I muttered as I jumped up. His hand grabbed mine and the strength in those leathered old fingers surprised me as he looked up and said "Don't forget what I told ya son. Them boys didn't wanna die, but they knew they didn't wanna live if living meant they'd lose their freedom. I think too many of you young folks today have forgotten that." "Yessir" I said, the earnestness in my voice surprising me. "I'll be right back" I said, as I slipped his grasp and jogged over to move my car.

    I wasn't gone two minutes, but when I got back the old man wasn't there. Knowing he couldn't' have made it to any of the other places in sight that fast I headed into the barber shop to continue our conversation. It was the quintessential old barber shop. It smelled of barbacide and cheap aftershave and was spotless. Old magazines were strewn across the small tables between the chairs that lined the wall and the barber was sitting in his only barber chair. The barber was an old man, almost as old as the fellow I was talking to outside, and he was engaged in a discussion about baseball with yet another old fellow. They looked up as I walked in and the barber smiled and stood up from the barber chair he was sitting in, asking "What'll it be young fellow?" in a cheery voice. I looked around and didn't see my companion from outside. "Did a guy just come in here from outside?" I asked in a mostly confused voice. "Uuummm, yep" replied the barber with a bit of confusion in his voice. "That'd be you" he stated more as a question than a fact. "No" I blurted out "I mean an old guy." The barber looked toward the other man, then back my way and slowly said "nope, you're the only one who's walked in all day, 'cept me and the sarge of course" as he nodded at the old man sitting across from the barber chair. Certain I missed the old guy as he walked away and wanting to continue the conversation I decided to go looking for him. There were only about 6 other places in this town he could have been, maybe at the convenience store I figured, so I said "uumm, ok then, never mind. You guys have a good day."

    As I turned for the door I saw a picture high up on the wall. It caught my eye because it was the barber, the old guy he was arguing with and the fellow I was talking to outside and it couldn't have been more than a couple of years old, showing the three of them standing in front of the barber shop. I pointed to the picture and asked "Do you guys know that guy?" The barber looked at me with a wariness I knew well. It was the same look you give a panhandler as they lay their sob story on you. Disbelief mixed with scrutiny. "Yeah" he said slowly. Then with a tone that bordered on distrust he asked "Do YOU know him?' "I was just sitting outside talking to him. I want to talk to him some more. What he said really made me think." I said as I looked from one man to the other, their looks of confusion growing by the moment. Suddenly the old man stood up, much faster than I would have thought he could move and yelled, "I don't know what kind of joke you're playing son, and I know you look at me and see an old man, but by God I can still whup a youngster when they need it." By now his face was turning red and he took a step toward me "THAT" he yelled as he pointed at the picture "is John Singleton and he's been dead more'n a year and I should smack your mouth for playing such a stupid game. He was a hero to this country and a better man than you. Now get the hell outta here afore I whup you all the way up to Mable's honey stand."

    "Whoa whoa whoa" I said as I backed up and placed my hands up in front of me. "I swear to you I was talking to him a few minutes ago. He-he told me about Harry Jr, and-and, ummm, the Davis boys and his cousin who died in France. I swear I'm not making this up." The old man backed away now, and the barber reached into a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of scotch, took a swig and passed it to the old man. The old man took a gulp and held out the scotch bottle to me and asked if I wanted a drink. Realizing what had just transpired I took the bottle with a trembling hand and had a good pull myself.

    "John always was one for a joke" the barber said as he took the bottle and set it into the cabinet. I stared for a long moment at the old guys and muttered "have a good day guys" and walked slowly from the barber shop to my car. The drive home is still a blur in my mind, as I had a lot to think about and still to this day I am not sure if it really happened, or if it was a product of an overheated mind.

    I no longer protest against the troops, for that is what I was doing I realized. I wasn't protesting the war...I was protesting the troops. I don't know why I was either. I'd like to think it was because I really didn't want my fellow citizens killed for what I considered a war for oil. In all honesty I think I may have been protesting simply because they were better men. Better men whose actions shone a light on my hollowness and fear. I know now that these better men have sacrificed so much so I could stand on a street corner and say what idiots they were.

    Now I know who the real idiot was.
    Dear America,

    You're 234 years old today, and in some ways you are showing your age I am sorry to say. The heart of your existence is us, the people who live within you and struggle to keep you alive. I am sorry to give you this prognosis but you're in serious danger of dying.

    There are many people who no longer remember how you were born, or more importantly, WHY you were born and as much as it pains me to say this, those of us who remember the why and how are dwindling in numbers. Too many people say your time has passed, that you're evil and always have been. Those, of course, are the blindly ignorant among us. Unfortunately those are also the people who are, by and large, in the main stream media and academia. They teach our children and bombard your people with these blasphemous thoughts, and frankly, Ma'am, many of us are worried.

    But don't you worry Dear Lady. You may not remember this, but back when you were born it wasn't due to a large group of people demanding your birth, but a small, tireless, dedicated group of Patriots who didn't know you would grow up to have such an impact on the world, but knew they wanted The Freedom you promised nonetheless. Sure, there were those who stood against those men, but your time had come, and your birth would not be denied.

    There are those who say your time has passed, but I don't believe that for a moment. You're timeless, and your promise of Liberty Unbound has drawn men from around the globe since before you were born. You may be getting a tad long in the tooth, as they say, but you're just as attractive as ever, maybe even more so given the condition of so many others these days.

    So don't you fret Mi'lady. Even though there are some here who don't remember your greatness, why or how you were born, there are more than enough of us still here, ready to fight in your defense, refusing to let you, and all you stand for, die.

    Your light has shown brightly for all who craved Liberty for over 200 years, Reagans shining city on a hill still shines, though somewhat dimmer in this age, but given the time we will wipe away the grime which has covered that shine and dimmed it, so that future generations will once again proclaim this land the greatest on the Earth.

    Just know this.....if you do pass into the dustbin of history, a mere footnote in a scholarly tome gathering dust on a bookshelf somewhere, it won't be because we let you go gently into that goodnight, we will, I promise, rage against the dying of the light, and we'll take a good many of those rotten socialist sumbitches with us.

    God Bless You Dear. We love you, Your Patriots
    A Saudi Cleric declared, while giving a talk about Islam’s position on mice during a program on al-Majd TV, an Arab television network, that mice are unclean and must be killed. Extending his remarks Sheikh Muhammad Munajid claimed even Mickey Mouse and Tom, from the comedy team of Tom and Jerry should be killed. Claiming Mickey Mouse is “one of Satan's soldiers” he said these cartoons have taught children that mice are, in fact, lovable.

    Speaking from a safe house in an undisclosed location Mr. Mouse, longtime front man of the Disney Corporation and star of countless cartoons said “I challenge Sheikh Munajids claim that mice or not lovable. Now, I am not speaking out of class here but I have personally known several extremely lovable mice, myself not included, and just last night was privileged to be in the company of an extremely lovable mouse named Veronica.”

    The uproar in the toon community this morning is cacophonous with several well known toons coming out of retirement to speak at a press conference this morning in front of Paramount Studios. Foghorn Leghorn, joining forces with Yosemite Sam led the collected toons and the reporters in a rousing version of God Bless America before giving statements to the press.

    “This is, I say, this is the most obtuse statement I have heard, listen to me, boy, I aint talking to hear my lips flap, I say this is the silliest thing I have heard since Huckleberry attended the Oscars in a tutu.” Said Mr. Leghorn

    Yosemite Sam, defying the call for his longtime friend and favorite fishing buddy Mickey to be killed said “Why, if one of them varmints comes around here lookin’ to hurt a hair on his head he’s agonna hafta go thru me and afore I start to shootin’ you’ll be hearing me a hollerin "GET OUTTA HERE YA RACKIN' FRACKIN' NAZIT-TRAP OR I'LL....." at which point Mr. Sam shot off several rounds into the ground causing him to rise several inches in the air.

    Reached at his backwoods Montana retreat, Tom the Cat, of the Oscar winning Comedy Duo Tom and Jerry called into question the sanity of those who would listen to someone calling on others to kill toons. Mr. Cat issued a statement this morning;

    “While I certainly am willing to give Sheikh Munajids a chance to speak his mind, I would like to remind him that without any Dip to destroy toons his words are simply empty rhetoric.”

    Dip, the only liquid known to destroy a toon outside of bad ratings or Embassy destroying protests in third world countries, has been banned by treaty since the late 1940’s. In late 1947 Judge Doom, a renegade cartoon, attempted to use Dip to kill all of the toons and sell Toon Town to developers. A Department of Defense analysis of Saudi Arabia’s Dip Production capability claims it is “highly unlikely” the Saudi’s are producing Dip. An unnamed source in the Pentagon who requested anonymity said "Shiekh Munajid's call to kill Mickey Mouse is simply rhetoric as the Saudi's don't have the capability to produce Dip much less deliver it".

    While toons are up in arms and making defense plans for Toon Town it seems most Muslims aren’t paying attention to this story. Reached for comment regarding the Sheikh’s words, Mohammed Al Mohammed Al Fitwadi Al’aMode, a Hollywood ice cream vendor, said “Muslims do not consider cartoons to be unclean or in need of killing. In fact some of the old cartoons in the newspaper when I was growing up not only reflected the culture but were highly educational. Without them I would never had known the Holocaust was a media ploy from the Jews.”

    While the Muslim world has an ever expanding history of protesting cartoons and calling for the deaths of those who create them it is believed this is the first time a cleric has actually called for the death of the toon itself. Several prominent toons, including the President of the Toon Actors Guild, Bugs Bunny, idly wondered if protests against Islamic cartoons calling for the death of America and Jews would be perceived as hateful. Calling on Muslims everywhere to stand up for the good in their religion, Mr. Bunny said “Ya’ know Doc, these fellows is a bunch of maroons, some real pathetic palookas and what I don’t understand is why they can have cartoons saying Jews use the blood of gentiles in their holiday meals but Mickey can’t drive a steamboat. It just makes no sense is all.”

    Ever since the story broke in the China News toons all over have been heading back to Toon Town for safety. Perceived as a safe haven for toons and other Animated Americans, Toon Town exists in a quasi-parallel universe in a corner of Hollywood, California, somewhere between Saks Fifth Avenue and Tony Romas. Some toons have said they wouldn’t go down without a fight and rumors swirling in Hollywood gossip circles have G.I. Joe supplying the more militant toons with arms. Wile El-Coyote al Adhidri, former partner of The Roadrunner and a long time convert to Islam, said orders for giant mousetraps and portable holes are up 87.5% since last night. Mr. Coyote, head of Acme Toon Supplies called the panic uncalled for and overblown. Stating those who follow Islam do not hate toons, he said one clerics denunciation of Mickey Mouse is simply one clerics opinion.

    “He’s not my cleric, and enshallah he won’t be anyone else’s for too long. Myself and several other well known toons who converted to Islam after realizing the Inner Peace it brings have realized Islam must have its’ reformation. In fact we’re holding a conference on it next week in Djibouti” said Wile El-Coyote al Adhidri.

    The Toon Union is planning to send a delegation to Saudi Arabia to speak on behalf of toons everywhere. Their spokesrabbit, Roger, issued a statement on behalf of the 30 thousand strong International Toon and Animated Workers Union, “Calling for the death of any toon is unacceptable. This union wishes to remind everyone that without the groundbreaking work by toons not only in the entertainment industry but in several fields we have cures for diseases which were unable to be studied using traditional methods. Toons have played, and will continue to play a vital role in furthering humanity and toondom and calling for the death of toons who have done so much for humanity is unacceptable behavior.”
    SO you wanna knock the American flag out of someone's hand?  Alrighty then...you say the southwest U.S. is "occupied mehico"?  Fuck you....your ancestors lost a war to my ancestors and took a bunch of money and signed over what is now the southwest U.S.....face it...the mehicans lost a war (they've never actually WON one...the one against france doesn't count because we paid france off to leave) and ceded all this land to los estados unidos....quit being whiny punk ass bitch sore losers and go the fuck back to mehico if you don't like it here...quit trying to make it mehico norte.....pendejos...

    with a tip o me tam to smoky 

    The tree lies in the grave shallow
    Cars sun in the parking lot always
    Burning never tanning
    Open cans in my shoes dance
    a cocaine induced ballet
    Can the orange ride a bike
    in blue jeans while singing?

    Bleach stained dogs meow
    At passing bums on trains
    Of straw bales shivering
    In the heat of summers juice
    A flea screams rock and roll
    In perfect pitch
    With bombs over London
    Playing the bagpipes
    Can you hear Amazing Grace?

    The grass on the roof
    Needs mown sunday
    Else church will let out early
    The sheaves of winter
    Hang heavy on ears
    Of apple bunches in earnest
    The days flow backwards
    When the nights run marathons
    Of drunken revelry
    A DUI earns you an office
    In Congress

    Living underneath the Hollywood sign
    Is as close to stardom as I'll ever find
    For this old bum
    But I don't mind
    I had my 15 minutes of fame
    When I saved that woman from the mugger
    In the alley I was sleeping in
    Back in '89
    But I don't mind
    Cuz I wake up every morning a free man
    Able to come and go at will
    In the City of Lost Hopes and Shattered Dreams
    Living on a dime
    But I dont mind
    And while you fly by in your beemers
    Or crawl by in traffic in your Hummers
    Living your hurried life
    Not seeing me or my kind
    We don't mind
    Cuz Freedom rides proud on our shoulder
    Not tethered by the burdens of payments
    Weighed down by the demands of bosses
    Or harried by the ever present deadline
    And we don't mind
    So think about your shackles
    Never mind our freedom
    And throw away your pity
    When you do notice us
    When you're stuck on San Vicente Boulevard
    Waiting for a light
    If you don't mind
    Because the only time we cross your thoughts
    Is when you avoid us as you leave the store
    Your cart over flowing
    Your deadlines pressing
    And your guilt fleeting
    And maybe, just maybe
    You toss us that dime
    And we say God Bless You
    Idly wondering
    If God minds
    Some very well meaning folks have sent me several links lately after my explosion regarding the health care bill. I have spent the past few days reading them and re-reading the parts of the bill I had trouble with and with the exception of a couple of points which I will cover in a moment it really doesn't look like such a bad thing after all.

    It will of course drive private insurers out of business eventually. However I see the good done by this and when eventually we do have a single payer system the numbers actually add up quite nicely for being able to cover everyone at what is paid in insurance currently.

    It works like this. Currently people pay for insurance and the insurance companies use that money to administer policies, pay out claims and make a profit. Even though the health insurance business has a lower than average profit margin those profit margins are more than adequate to cover the uninsured IF they were actually used for medical services and not profit.

    Of course we would have to give the employees working in the industry preference in hiring for the government run program administering this program but they already know the business so that's actually a benefit as we wouldn't need to train millions of people before they could do their job.

    With the profit motive taken away from insurance, doctors could get a fair wage for their work, everyone could have access to the medical treatment they need and we will show those french how it's done.

    I want to thank everyone who sent me links and insisted I at least read them. You have opened my eyes and I apologize for being such an obstinate jerk. Thank you, kender
    I have a very close friend named Shelby who is in dire need of your prayers.  That's all the detail I can give.  She's in grave condition.  Thanks...
    Throughout mankind's history people were born at home, where their mother lived when the moment came.  No matter where they lived or who ruled the land they lived in, they lived with a reality in which being born at home was only the first of many trials one would face. There were no sterile delivery rooms, gown clad medical professionals or medications.  The truth of the matter is you were pretty much on your own.  Life's a rough deal, nobody gets out alive and it's not by any stretch of the word 'fair'.  The more successful folk would have midwives attending, or if they were lucky enough they would have women around who had already gone through childbirth and could help, but for the bulk of humanity it was a do it yourself project for the most part.

    Now the bulk of us, at least in the developed world, are born into sterile delivery rooms with experienced professionals, modern medical equipment and a whole host of other goodies to make the experience much safer and much less painful.  And we live our lives with this mindset, that there will always be someone around with the experience and equipment to make our lives safer and less painful.

    If you think about these two situations it is the perfect metaphor, when you consider the implications of both situations and what expectations they give us, for a major problem we face in America today.  Namely the idea that life should be safer and less painful, for everyone, and it's the governments job to provide that for us.  The problem is this; even though we have these experienced professionals and these wondrous drugs and tools, for all of our technology and wisdom life is essentially the same.

    Life is inherently not a safe endeavor, nor is it painless, and no matter how badly we wish for utopia the truth of life makes it impossible.  Humanity thrives only when challenged.  Hand humans a life of safety free from pain and you will end up with caged animals, unable to take care of themselves in even the slightest capacity.  Like animals born into captivity they become dependent upon their keepers.

    Where would we be had we, as a species, enacted some sort of socialist utopian vision where the government took care of your essential needs in, say, the 17th century?  Would we have automobiles? Most likely not.  Would we have gone to space? Almost definitely a no. Telephones? Televisions? Modern medical equipment or drugs?  Almost certainly none of the advances that make living in the developed world in the 21st century would have happened had we lived in a society where all you needed was handed to you.

    As I said, humanity thrives only when challenged.  I, for one, prefer the challenge of standing on my own two feet, seeing what I can accomplish without it being handed to me.  The pride in success, the self esteem from accomplishment, the rewards of overcoming obstacles and reaching goals chosen, and met, of my own accord cannot possibly be outweighed by becoming a kept subject, reliant upon those in power, trading my liberty for the surety of a bed and a meal.  Of course there is always the possibility of failure.

    But I will take failure and freedom over servitude and surety anytime.
    Dear Obama-pelosi-reid-et-al, I don't know if you have noticed what's up around here but folks are mighty angry. Just so we get off on the right foot so you realize I am not simply informing you of this but that I am one of those who are angry let me start off by saying we got ourselves an uppity negro in the White House. You and your cohorts have some idea that YOU run this country.

    Let me enlighten you folks with two things.

    One: What you have forgotten is you SERVE us, at our pleasure to run this country FOR US.

    Two: Thomas Jefferson said ""Whensoever the General Government (Washington) assumes undelegated powers, its acts are unauthoritative, void, and of no force."

    So with these ideas in mind I want you to realize a couple of things. That census form you're sending me? You will get how many folks live in my house and that's it. It's all the Constitution calls for and it's there to apportion seats in the House, so race, creed, sexual orientation and number of toilets makes no nevermind, unless of course my toilet can now vote.

    Lemme tell ya something, if I find out my toilets can now vote I will smash them and dig holes in the yard because, as a toilet they've basically been eating nothing but shit for years and we all know that anyone who is full of shit votes democrat, so they're out.

    Secondly, all those taxes you heap on us? Come get 'em....I am doing everything in my power to not give you one damned cent, and amazingly it's rather easy to do. It's called choking the beast.

    That uppity negro in the White House said bring it, so I am bringing it.

    Whacha gonna do now, bitch?
    Do you believe in angels? They do exist you know. Not many people know this but there's a story from long ago which proves it.




    Angels watch over us. Most of us never see them, never know they are there or even give them a second thought but they are there, watching over us, helping lead us, protect us and guide us. In a way they serve as guidance counselors and proctors, reporting to God who, omnipotence notwithstanding is actually quite busy these days talking to the Pope.

    If you don't believe me just ask the pope.

    Now, occasionally in the grand scheme of things due to natural variations and simple random chance some small thing will go awry and unintended consequences will occur that cause things that were never supposed to be. We see this now and then in the four leafed clover and other oddities of nature. Remember this because it becomes vitally important to this tale in mere moments.



    Another thing most good folk do not know is our personal angels are with us from birth. They, like us, grow as we do. So the guardian angel of your precious child is the soul of some other womans' child who died at or before birth. People lament the death of a child in birth, but they shouldn't because each person gets one Angel and each Angel gets one person, so God needs these angels to watch over us. Now these angels, if they do their jobs well and keep you safe and help lead you through this chaotic life, they earn a special place in heaven. As you grow so does your angel, watching over you and doing their job of protecting you as you do your job of growing up into a person worthy of the gift of life.



    As I said, once in a while in the grand scheme of things something goes awry. In one particular case the thing that went awry was a boy who was born with a gift which allowed him to see his angel. As this young boy grew, and his angel grew, he spoke with his angel, played games with her and spent his days with his guardian angel who quickly became his best friend. As all adults are wont to do they thought the boys imaginary friend was adorable and he had a great imagination, never once realizing the lads special gift.



    As the young man and his Guardian angel grew their friendship grew and as they grew into their teen aged years the lad realized his imaginary friend was not so imaginary a friend after all. He held his secret friend close, no longer playing games or having conversations with her within earshot of others. As they grew into adulthood another unintended consequence of the quirk of the young mans gift of being able to see his guardian angel was he fell deeply in love with her, as did she with him.



    They both realized their love for one another and knew it could come to nothing.



    In the grand scheme of the world men cannot fall in love with, marry and grow old with their guardian angel. The man knew this so he lived his life as a bachelor, occasionally being courted by the women of his village and rebuffing their advances because he loved his guardian angel and knew he could never love another. After a few years the women simply considered him odd and quit courting him altogether which suited him fine as it left him more time alone with the one creature who held his heart completely.



    One day while making his supper he suddenly turned to his guardian angel who was sitting in the corner humming and asked her a simple question. "Do you" he asked quietly "speak to God?"



    She stopped humming and cocked her head to the side and asked him "Why would you ask me this? You know I am of Him and he knows my thoughts. I hear the song of Heaven in my head and His voice in my heart always." He set his supper pot to the side of the fire and slowly walked over to her. Kneeling before her " he whispered "I know that you are not of this earth, and I know that none but I can see you and I know this goes against it all that has ever been but I Love you. I wish to spend the rest of my life with you. I wish to marry you and for you to grow old with me."



    "This cannot be my love" she whispered back, taking his hands in hers, "as it is my charge to simply watch over you and help you lead a life worth living." He looked down at the floor, as he knelt before his love, her hands gently wrapped around his, and slowly looked back up. His voice shaking he whispered "I cannot live like this, ask Him......He who has created all can make you human. I cannot live another day without you as my wife."



    She smiled gently and slowly her eyes looked toward the roof of the small cottage the man lived in and for many long moments, with her eyes closed she sat in silence. Finally she looked back down sadly and said "it simply cannot be, it has never been and it is simply my charge to protect you and watch over you. He has said no."



    With tears in his eyes he slowly stood up and walked over to his small cupboard. Taking a small vial from behind a jar he looked at his guardian angel and said if "If I cannot have your love in this life, then perhaps the next" and quickly uncorked the small bottle and in one swift movement swallowed the amber liquid within.



    Horrified his guardian angel rushed across the room and shrieked "What have you done? What was that?"



    Before he could speak his hands started shaking as the vial dropped to the floor and shattered. He smiled and said "it was a poison I secured from the old chemist in Ulster. If I cannot have you in this life then the next. My heart belongs to you for eternity, and creation be damned I shall spend it at your side."



    With a look of utter terror on her face she screamed "NO, do you not know it is forbidden to take your own life? You will be damned, your soul will no longer exist because the wages of sin are death, the death of your soul...and never will I look upon you again, please, PLEASE tell me there is an antidote." As his legs buckled and he fell to the floor a sadness came across his face as he whispered "there is no antidote. I would rather exist not at all than live without your love." Tears welled up in his eyes as he hoarsely whispered "I am sorry my heart. Please forgive me."



    His breath rattled for a few more moments as she knelt over him and held his hands. Tears welled up in her eyes as his eyes slowly closed, his life slipping from his body. She knelt over him for several minutes with God's voice in her head.



    Finally she asked "Why?" "Why" she asked Him stridently in her head "would you NOT make this exception. He Loved me. Your greatest gift is our capacity to love one another as You love us.......why would you be so cruel?"



    "MY CHILD, HE HAS PROVEN HE WOULD RATHER NOT EXIST THAN TO EXIST AWAY FROM YOUR LOVE. YOUR LOVE IS MY LOVE, WHICH MEANS HE WOULD RATHER NOT EXIST THAN TO EXIST WITHOUT MY LOVE. LOVE IS LIFE. LOVE TAKES EXISTENCE AND TURNS IT TO A LIFE WORTH LIVING. I AM SORRY FOR YOUR PAIN, BUT I HAVE GIVEN FREE WILL AND HE HAS CHOSEN."



    "But I LOVED him" she screamed aloud. "Why could I not have his love too?"



    Angrily God said "YOU WOULD CHOOSE THE FRAIL LIFE OF A HUMAN TO KNOW HIS LOVE AND NOT KNOW MINE?"



    "I know your love....it is eternal and I cannot lose it. But I have lost his love and my heart is broken."



    "THEN WEEP FOR YOUR LOST LOVE, MY CHILD" said God sadly



    At these words and the realization that she would never again look upon her love, kneeling over his body, she wept.



    The tears flowed freely. They ran down her cheeks, dripping onto his tunic, staining his chest with her tears. Her sobs wracked her body, shaking every fiber in her and her wails reached to the very gates of heaven itself.



    It is said angels have no reason to cry so the tears of angels do to not exist. This is, of course, not true. And angels tears are the tears of God. The tears of angels possess the very power of life, but only God knows this.



    The tears of the angel stained the tunic of her love. They soaked thru to his skin. They soaked thru his skin into his chest. They soaked thru his chest and bathed his heart. The angels tears, bathing the heart of her love touched the Heart of God.



    Suddenly the man, who moments before had watched the crying face of his guardian angel, the creature he loved more than all else fade from his sight as his life left him found himself standing before God.



    "YOU HAVE ASKED THE IMPOSSIBLE" He said simply, quietly to the somewhat surprised man standing before Him.



    "Nothing is impossible for you, all I asked was what you gave, Love." He retorted, somewhat harshly.



    "SHE IS NOT FOR YOU TO LOVE" said God "SHE IS SIMPLY THERE TO HELP GUIDE YOU."



    "It is not for you to decide who I love. You gave me free will and I willingly chose to love her. You sent her to me, she is OF you, there is no more perfect love than one sent from you."



    His voice rising God asked the man "TO BE AWAY FROM THE LOVE OF HER, AND ME, YOU WOULD CHOOSE DEATH?"



    Looking down atthe floor the man, almost inaudibly whispered "Without her death is preferable. To live without her love is not a life. It is living in a garden of the most succulent fruits and lacking a mouth. It is a life of living as a soulless creature. Why exist if I cannot know a love so pure?"



    God stared at the man for many long moments and finally, quietly said "YOUR DEVOTION IS ADMIRABLE. PURE LOVE AND FAITH IN THAT LOVE IS THE GIFT OF EVERLASTING LIFE. IT IS YOURS."



    The tears of the angel that stained the tunic, that soaked the chest, that seeped through the bones and bathed the heart of the lifeless body of the beloved of the guardian angel who knelt over her love soaked finally through that lifeless heart and with a gasp the man awoke, his eyes flying open with surprise as his breath came in ragged gasps.



    The angel, kneeling over her love, gasped also and arched her back, her arms flying wide as she screamed. Her wings spread out, reaching across the entire small cottage as her scream continued and the feathers fell to the ground and turned to dust. Moments later, wingless, she collapsed. The man went to her and held her gently in his arms as her eyes opened and she looked into his eyes and said "it's so quiet." "What do you mean?" he asked.



    She looked at her hand and pinched the back of it until it ran red with blood and she winced. Quietly, in a slightly surprised voice she said "I can't hear Him" and her hands began to shake. Tears sprang to her eyes as she shakily whispered "I am human."



    Realizing the woman he loved gave up being an angel, became a mortal and surrendered God's special favor for his heart, for his love, caused the tears to pour from him as he held her tightly while kneeling on the floor of his small simple cottage.



    They lived a quiet life of pure love for many years, both of them passing in their sleep peacefully, and not completely coincidentally, on the same night. It has been many years since the man who could see angels and his once angelic love lived upon this earth. Their graves are marked by two stately trees, an oak and an ash, the branches of which twine together, deep in a forest far from the cities of man. Legend says if lovers join beneath these trees during a rain storm when an Angels tears drip from the leaves that their love will live forever, blessed by God and watched over by guardian angels who will sing gently in their dreams of the man who could see angels.