The Imaginary Book
Gimme some love
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.
- ▼ 2010 (17)
- ► 2009 (29)
- ► 2008 (218)
- ► 2007 (74)
- ► 2006 (253)
- ► 2005 (378)
Blogs I Like
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?
- RG in The Low Country!(Right)
- Mackers World(Right)
- Ric and Georgina at Release The Hounds!(Right)
- RN at Dead Republican Presidents!
- Kat, sometimes in pajamas!
- Madtom at ThisFuckingWar! (Right)
- Michael J. Totten sets things straight!(Right)
- Maxedoutmama is a research Goddess!(Right)
- Andrightlyso! smacks on idiots!(Right)
- Where's Your Brain?(Right)
- Warm'n'fuzzy conserva-puppies>(Right)
- Crymeariverbend2 has a gnarly truth stick!(Right)
- Jeffrey at IBC is HQ for Iraqi bloggings(Right)
- The Sandmonkey cuts through the APU!(Right)
- The Lone Ranger
A Man of Rare Integrity! (Right)
- Out of the Ashes(Right)
- Tazmedic(Right) (Read the archives!)
- Amandarin(Right) (A clever friend from the other side of the street)
- Literal Lunacy
A Most Beloved Friend!
The Other Side Of The Street
(for NY Libs)
The name say it all
See? I told you I had a liberal friend!!!
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