but one would have had to live in a cave for the past several years, to not know who Tiger Woods is, and some of his family history ..................... after reading this, while I won't become a 'golf groupie', may I say that Tiger Woods has my utmost respect and well-wishes ............................
TIGER WOODS' SPEECH AT THE INAUGURATION:
Tiger Woods received a special invitation to speak at the inauguration. His
inviters were stunned, when he did not deliver the message they expected.
You will see why the media swept it under the rug with no further ado, who
and why of a certain element is upset with Tiger.
Below is the text of his speech, entitled: "You'll Never Walk Alone," as
posted on his Web site:
"I grew up in a military family - and my role models in life were my Mom and
Dad, Lt. Colonel Earl Woods. My dad was a Special Forces operator and many
nights friends would visit our home. They represented every branch of the
service, and every rank.
"In my Dad, and in those guests, I saw first hand the dedication and
commitment of those who serve. They come from every walk of life. From
every part of our country. Time and again, across generations, they have
defended our safety in the dark of night and far from home.
"Each day -- and particularly on this historic day -- we honor the men and
women in uniform who serve our country and protect our freedom. They
travel to the dangerous corners of the world, and we must remember that for
every person who is in uniform, there are families who wait for them to come
home safely.
"I am honored that the military is such an important part, not just of my
personal life, but of my professional one as well. The golf tournament we do
each year here in Washington is a testament to those unsung heroes.
"I am the son of a man who dedicated his life to his country, family and the
military, and I am a better person for it..
"In the summer of 1864, Abraham Lincoln, the man at whose memorial we stand,
spoke to the 164th Ohio Regiment and said:'I am greatly obliged to you, and
to all who have come forward at the call of their country.'
"Just as they have stood tall for our country - we must always stand by and
support the men and women in uniform and their families..
"Thank you, and it is now my pleasure to introduce the US Naval Glee Club."
~~~
I have never been more proud of Tiger Woods than when I heard his 2-minute
tribute to the military at the Inaugural Celebration in Washington DC .
You know he was greatly pressured to be there. Liberals have been mad at
him for a decade for not joining their ranks. You know he didn't want to
be there.
So instead of paying homage to Obama, he paid tribute to our soldiers. Not
one time did he mention Obama, the inauguration or the new administration.
He knew beforehand that his love for America , and appreciation for our
military men & women would anger them further. But Tiger is his own man;
his father taught him to be his own man.
Somewhere over that cold, gray Washington sky, old Earl Woods was smiling
down on his beloved son. And there will be one more crying hug waiting for
Tiger when he passes through the Pearly Gates into God's arms.
.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Found a song ......................................
and I don't know if the censors are in charge or what, but for whatever reason, I couldn't send the link to the folks of Crusader Rabbit ........................ ANYhoo, here's the It Ain't Your Money to Spend link .....................
*******
UPDATE: APPARENTLY, someone doesn't want this song getting out there - I can't even eMail it to folks here in the U.S. ..................... wassamatter, does someone have their knickers in a twist?????
.
*******
UPDATE: APPARENTLY, someone doesn't want this song getting out there - I can't even eMail it to folks here in the U.S. ..................... wassamatter, does someone have their knickers in a twist?????
.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
From my Colonel ...............................
The old man and the dog
"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me.
"Can't you do anything right?"
Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man
in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat
as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.
"I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving."
My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.
Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in
front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy
clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder
seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being
outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of
nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed
often.
The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his
prowess.
The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy
log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone,
straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about
his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger
man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An
ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to
keep blood and oxygen flowing.
At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he
survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He
obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of
help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors
thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.
My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We
hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.
Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed
nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became
frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We
began to bicker and argue.
Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The
clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each
session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind.
But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it
was up to me to do it.
The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of
the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem
to each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain.
Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I
just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article."
I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a
nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic
depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were
given responsibility for a dog.
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a
questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of
disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each
contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black
dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but
rejected one after the other for various reasons too big, too small, too
much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner
struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a
pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of
the breed.
Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones
jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held
my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.
I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?"
The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a funny one.
Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in,
figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago
and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.
As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going
to kill him?"
"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every
unclaimed dog."
I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision.
"I'll take him," I said.
I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the
house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when
Dad shuffled onto the front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I
said excitedly.
Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I
would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than
that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully
and turned back toward the house.
Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded
into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!"
Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed.
At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his
eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.
We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer
pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of
him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.
Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion
replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was
on his knees hugging the animal.
It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the
pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They
spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on
the banks of streams,=2 0angling for tasty trout. They even started to
attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying
quietly at his feet.
Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's
bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night
I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed
covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put
on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face
serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.
Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying
dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept
on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently
thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of
mind.
The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like
the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved
for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had
made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to
both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to
Hebrews 13:2. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this
some have entertained angels without knowing it."
"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.
For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen
before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article...
Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. . ..his calm
acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their
deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers
after all.
Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and
forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive. Forgive now those who made you
cry. You might not get a second time.
And if you don't send this to at least 4 people --who cares? But do share
this with someone. Lost time can never be found.
.
"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me.
"Can't you do anything right?"
Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man
in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat
as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.
"I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving."
My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.
Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in
front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy
clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder
seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being
outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of
nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed
often.
The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his
prowess.
The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy
log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone,
straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about
his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger
man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An
ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to
keep blood and oxygen flowing.
At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he
survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He
obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of
help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors
thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.
My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We
hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.
Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed
nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became
frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We
began to bicker and argue.
Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The
clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each
session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind.
But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it
was up to me to do it.
The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of
the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem
to each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain.
Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I
just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article."
I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a
nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic
depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were
given responsibility for a dog.
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a
questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of
disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each
contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black
dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but
rejected one after the other for various reasons too big, too small, too
much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner
struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a
pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of
the breed.
Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones
jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held
my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.
I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?"
The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a funny one.
Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in,
figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago
and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.
As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going
to kill him?"
"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every
unclaimed dog."
I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision.
"I'll take him," I said.
I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the
house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when
Dad shuffled onto the front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I
said excitedly.
Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I
would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than
that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully
and turned back toward the house.
Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded
into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!"
Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed.
At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his
eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.
We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer
pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of
him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.
Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion
replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was
on his knees hugging the animal.
It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the
pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They
spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on
the banks of streams,=2 0angling for tasty trout. They even started to
attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying
quietly at his feet.
Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's
bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night
I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed
covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put
on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face
serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.
Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying
dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept
on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently
thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of
mind.
The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like
the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved
for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had
made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to
both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to
Hebrews 13:2. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this
some have entertained angels without knowing it."
"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.
For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen
before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article...
Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. . ..his calm
acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their
deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers
after all.
Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and
forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive. Forgive now those who made you
cry. You might not get a second time.
And if you don't send this to at least 4 people --who cares? But do share
this with someone. Lost time can never be found.
.
Friday, March 6, 2009
From my Colonel, 'specially for the folks @ Crusader Rabbit ................... ;-) ;-)
One thing about blokes from Oz is that their hearts and humor are always in the right place!
T. B. Bechtel, an Oz City councilor, was asked on a local live radio talk show, just what he thought about the allegations of torture of suspected terrorists.
His reply prompted his ejection from the studio, but to thunderous applause from the audience.
HIS STATEMENT:
'If hooking up one raghead terrorist prisoner's testicles to a car battery to get the truth out of the lying little camelshagger will save just one Australian life, then I have only three things to say,'
'Red is positive,
Black is negative, and
Make sure his nuts are wet.'
.
T. B. Bechtel, an Oz City councilor, was asked on a local live radio talk show, just what he thought about the allegations of torture of suspected terrorists.
His reply prompted his ejection from the studio, but to thunderous applause from the audience.
HIS STATEMENT:
'If hooking up one raghead terrorist prisoner's testicles to a car battery to get the truth out of the lying little camelshagger will save just one Australian life, then I have only three things to say,'
'Red is positive,
Black is negative, and
Make sure his nuts are wet.'
.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
From my Colonel ................................... ;-) ;-)
Subject: National divorce
THIS IS SO INCREDIBLY WELL PUT AND I CAN HARDLY BELIEVE IT'S BY A YOUNG
PERSON, A STUDENT!!!
WHATEVER HE RUNS FOR, I'LL VOTE FOR HIM..
DIVORCE AGREEMENT
Dear American liberals, leftists, social progressives, socialists, Marxists
and Obama supporters, et al:
We have stuck together since the late 1950's, but the whole
of this latest election process has made me realize that I
want a divorce. I know we tolerated each other for many years
for the sake of future generations, but sadly, this relationship
has run its course. Our two ideological sides
of America cannot and will not ever agree on what is right
so let's just end it on friendly terms.
We can smile and chalk it up to irreconcilable differences
and go our own way.
Here is a model separation agreement:
Our two groups can equitably divide up the country
by landmass each taking a portion.
That will be the difficult part, but I am sure our two sides
can come to a friendly agreement.
After that, it should be relatively easy!
Our respective representatives can effortlessly divide
other assets since both sides have such distinct and
disparate tastes.
We don't like redistributive taxes, so you can keep them.
You are welcome to the liberal judges and the ACLU.
Since you hate guns and war, we'll take our firearms,
the cops, the NRA and the military.
You can keep Oprah, Michael Moore and Rosie O'Donnell
(You are, however, responsible for finding a bio-diesel
vehicle big enough to move all three of them).
We'll keep the capitalism, greedy corporations,
pharmaceutical companies, Wal-Mart and Wall Street.
You can have your beloved homeless, homeboys, hippies
and illegal aliens.
We'll keep the hot Alaskan hockey moms,
greedy CEO's and rednecks.
We'll keep the Bibles and give you NBC and Hollywood.
You can make nice with Iran and Palestine, and we'll
retain the right to invade and hammer places that
threaten us.
You can have the peaceniks and war protesters.
When our allies or our way of life are under assault,
we'll help provide them security.
We'll keep our Judeo-Christian values.
You are welcome to Islam, Scientology,
Humanism and Shirley McClain.
You can also have the U.N., but we will no longer
be paying the bill.
We'll keep the SUVs, pickup trucks and oversized luxury cars.
You can take every Subaru station wagon you can find.
You can give everyone healthcare if you can find any practicing
doctors. We'll continue to believe healthcare is a luxury and not a right.
We'll keep The Battle Hymn of the Republic
and the National Anthem.
I'm sure you'll be happy to substitute Imagine,
I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing, Kum Ba Ya,
or We Are the World.
We'll practice trickle-down economics, and you can
give trickle-up poverty your best shot.
Since it often so offends you, we'll keep our
history, our name and our flag.
Would you agree to this?
If so, please pass it along to other like-minded liberal
and conservative patriots and if you do not agree,
just hit delete.
In the spirit of friendly parting, I'll bet you ANWAR
which one of us will need whose help in 15 years.
Sincerely, John J. Wall
Law Student and an American
P.S.
Also, please take Barbara Streisand & Jane Fonda with you.
.
THIS IS SO INCREDIBLY WELL PUT AND I CAN HARDLY BELIEVE IT'S BY A YOUNG
PERSON, A STUDENT!!!
WHATEVER HE RUNS FOR, I'LL VOTE FOR HIM..
DIVORCE AGREEMENT
Dear American liberals, leftists, social progressives, socialists, Marxists
and Obama supporters, et al:
We have stuck together since the late 1950's, but the whole
of this latest election process has made me realize that I
want a divorce. I know we tolerated each other for many years
for the sake of future generations, but sadly, this relationship
has run its course. Our two ideological sides
of America cannot and will not ever agree on what is right
so let's just end it on friendly terms.
We can smile and chalk it up to irreconcilable differences
and go our own way.
Here is a model separation agreement:
Our two groups can equitably divide up the country
by landmass each taking a portion.
That will be the difficult part, but I am sure our two sides
can come to a friendly agreement.
After that, it should be relatively easy!
Our respective representatives can effortlessly divide
other assets since both sides have such distinct and
disparate tastes.
We don't like redistributive taxes, so you can keep them.
You are welcome to the liberal judges and the ACLU.
Since you hate guns and war, we'll take our firearms,
the cops, the NRA and the military.
You can keep Oprah, Michael Moore and Rosie O'Donnell
(You are, however, responsible for finding a bio-diesel
vehicle big enough to move all three of them).
We'll keep the capitalism, greedy corporations,
pharmaceutical companies, Wal-Mart and Wall Street.
You can have your beloved homeless, homeboys, hippies
and illegal aliens.
We'll keep the hot Alaskan hockey moms,
greedy CEO's and rednecks.
We'll keep the Bibles and give you NBC and Hollywood.
You can make nice with Iran and Palestine, and we'll
retain the right to invade and hammer places that
threaten us.
You can have the peaceniks and war protesters.
When our allies or our way of life are under assault,
we'll help provide them security.
We'll keep our Judeo-Christian values.
You are welcome to Islam, Scientology,
Humanism and Shirley McClain.
You can also have the U.N., but we will no longer
be paying the bill.
We'll keep the SUVs, pickup trucks and oversized luxury cars.
You can take every Subaru station wagon you can find.
You can give everyone healthcare if you can find any practicing
doctors. We'll continue to believe healthcare is a luxury and not a right.
We'll keep The Battle Hymn of the Republic
and the National Anthem.
I'm sure you'll be happy to substitute Imagine,
I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing, Kum Ba Ya,
or We Are the World.
We'll practice trickle-down economics, and you can
give trickle-up poverty your best shot.
Since it often so offends you, we'll keep our
history, our name and our flag.
Would you agree to this?
If so, please pass it along to other like-minded liberal
and conservative patriots and if you do not agree,
just hit delete.
In the spirit of friendly parting, I'll bet you ANWAR
which one of us will need whose help in 15 years.
Sincerely, John J. Wall
Law Student and an American
P.S.
Also, please take Barbara Streisand & Jane Fonda with you.
.
Monday, March 2, 2009
I'm not a big fan of Pat Buchanan's ...............................
I THOROUGHLY respect his intellect and speaking/writing ability. Just for sh#ts & giggles, I 'ran the numbers' on his hypothetical couple - AFTER federal & state taxes, Medicare & Social Security, but BEFORE any state sales tax, gas tax, or property taxes, the couple would take home a blazing $226,507.00 - in federal, state, Medicare & SS, they would pay $273,493.00 - anybody else see something wrong with this picture?
Pitchfork Time
By Patrick J. Buchanan
In his campaign and inaugural address, Barack Obama cast himself as a moderate man seeking common ground with conservatives.
Yet, his budget calls for the radical restructuring of the U.S. economy, a sweeping redistribution of power and wealth to government and Democratic constituencies. It is a declaration of war on the Right.
The real Obama has stood up, and lived up to his ranking as the most left-wing member of the United States Senate.
Barack has no mandate for this. He was even behind McCain when the decisive event that gave him the presidency occurred—the September collapse of Lehman Brothers and the market crash.
Republicans are under no obligation to render bipartisan support to this statist coup d'etat. For what is going down is a leftist power grab that is anathema to their principles and philosophy.
Where the U.S. government usually consumes 21 percent of gross domestic product, this Obama budget spends 28 percent in 2009 and runs a deficit of $1.75 trillion, or 12.7 percent of GDP. That is four times the largest deficit of George W. Bush and twice as large a share of the economy as any deficit run since World War II.
Add that 28 percent of GDP spent by the U.S. government to the 12 percent spent by states, counties and cities, and government will consume 40 percent of the economy in 2009.
We are not "headed down the road to socialism." We are there.
Since the budget was released, word has come that the U.S. economy did not shrink by 3.8 percent in the fourth quarter, but 6.2 percent. All the assumptions in Obama's budget about growth in 2009 and 2010 need to be revised downward, and the deficits revised upward.
Look for the deficit for 2009 to cross $2 trillion.
Who abroad is going to lend us the trillions to finance our deficits without demanding higher interest rates on the U.S. bonds they are being asked to hold? And if we must revert to the printing press to create the money, what happens to the dollar?
As Americans save only a pittance and have lost—in the value of homes, stocks, bonds and other assets—$15 trillion to $20 trillion since 2007, how can the people provide the feds with the needed money?
In his speech to Congress, Obama promised new investments in energy, education and health care. Every kid is going to get a college degree. We're going to find a cure for cancer.
Who is going to pay for all this?
The top 2 percent, the filthy rich who got all those Bush tax breaks, say Democrats. But the top 5 percent of income earners already pay 60 percent of U.S. income taxes, while the bottom 40 percent pays nothing.
Those paying a federal tax rate of 35 percent will see it rise to near 40 percent and will lose a fifth of the value of their deductions for taxes, mortgage interest and charitable contributions.
Yet, two-thirds of small businesses are taxed at the same rate as individuals. Consider what this means to the owner of a restaurant and bar in Los Angeles open from noon to midnight, where a husband and wife each put in 80 hours a week.
At year's end, the couple finds they have actually made a profit of $500,000 that they can take home in salary.
What is the Obama-Schwarzenegger tax take on that salary?
Their U.S. tax rate will have hit 39.6 percent.
Their California income tax will have hit 9.55 percent.
Medicare payroll taxes on the proprietor as both employer and salaried employee will be $14,500. Social Security payroll taxes for the proprietor as both employer and employee will be $13,243.
In short, U.S. and state income and payroll taxes will consume half of all the pair earned for some 8,000 hours of work.
From that ravaged salary they must pay a state sales tax of 8.25 percent, gas taxes for the 50-mile commute, and tens of thousands in property taxes on both their restaurant and home. And, after being pilloried by politicians for having feasted in the Bush era, they are now told the tax deduction they get for contributing to the church is to be cut 20 percent, while millions of Obama voters, who paid no U.S. income tax at all, will be getting a tax cut—i.e., a fat little check—in April.
Any wonder native-born Californians are fleeing the Golden Land?
Markets are not infallible. But the stock market has long been a "lead indicator" of where the economy will be six months from now. What are the markets, the collective decisions of millions of investors, saying?
Having fallen every month since Obama's election, with January and February the worst two months in history, they are telling us the stimulus package will not work, that Tim Geithner is clueless about how to save the banks, that the Obama budget portends disaster for the republic.
The president says he is gearing up for a fight on his budget.
Good. Let's give him one.
.
Pitchfork Time
By Patrick J. Buchanan
In his campaign and inaugural address, Barack Obama cast himself as a moderate man seeking common ground with conservatives.
Yet, his budget calls for the radical restructuring of the U.S. economy, a sweeping redistribution of power and wealth to government and Democratic constituencies. It is a declaration of war on the Right.
The real Obama has stood up, and lived up to his ranking as the most left-wing member of the United States Senate.
Barack has no mandate for this. He was even behind McCain when the decisive event that gave him the presidency occurred—the September collapse of Lehman Brothers and the market crash.
Republicans are under no obligation to render bipartisan support to this statist coup d'etat. For what is going down is a leftist power grab that is anathema to their principles and philosophy.
Where the U.S. government usually consumes 21 percent of gross domestic product, this Obama budget spends 28 percent in 2009 and runs a deficit of $1.75 trillion, or 12.7 percent of GDP. That is four times the largest deficit of George W. Bush and twice as large a share of the economy as any deficit run since World War II.
Add that 28 percent of GDP spent by the U.S. government to the 12 percent spent by states, counties and cities, and government will consume 40 percent of the economy in 2009.
We are not "headed down the road to socialism." We are there.
Since the budget was released, word has come that the U.S. economy did not shrink by 3.8 percent in the fourth quarter, but 6.2 percent. All the assumptions in Obama's budget about growth in 2009 and 2010 need to be revised downward, and the deficits revised upward.
Look for the deficit for 2009 to cross $2 trillion.
Who abroad is going to lend us the trillions to finance our deficits without demanding higher interest rates on the U.S. bonds they are being asked to hold? And if we must revert to the printing press to create the money, what happens to the dollar?
As Americans save only a pittance and have lost—in the value of homes, stocks, bonds and other assets—$15 trillion to $20 trillion since 2007, how can the people provide the feds with the needed money?
In his speech to Congress, Obama promised new investments in energy, education and health care. Every kid is going to get a college degree. We're going to find a cure for cancer.
Who is going to pay for all this?
The top 2 percent, the filthy rich who got all those Bush tax breaks, say Democrats. But the top 5 percent of income earners already pay 60 percent of U.S. income taxes, while the bottom 40 percent pays nothing.
Those paying a federal tax rate of 35 percent will see it rise to near 40 percent and will lose a fifth of the value of their deductions for taxes, mortgage interest and charitable contributions.
Yet, two-thirds of small businesses are taxed at the same rate as individuals. Consider what this means to the owner of a restaurant and bar in Los Angeles open from noon to midnight, where a husband and wife each put in 80 hours a week.
At year's end, the couple finds they have actually made a profit of $500,000 that they can take home in salary.
What is the Obama-Schwarzenegger tax take on that salary?
Their U.S. tax rate will have hit 39.6 percent.
Their California income tax will have hit 9.55 percent.
Medicare payroll taxes on the proprietor as both employer and salaried employee will be $14,500. Social Security payroll taxes for the proprietor as both employer and employee will be $13,243.
In short, U.S. and state income and payroll taxes will consume half of all the pair earned for some 8,000 hours of work.
From that ravaged salary they must pay a state sales tax of 8.25 percent, gas taxes for the 50-mile commute, and tens of thousands in property taxes on both their restaurant and home. And, after being pilloried by politicians for having feasted in the Bush era, they are now told the tax deduction they get for contributing to the church is to be cut 20 percent, while millions of Obama voters, who paid no U.S. income tax at all, will be getting a tax cut—i.e., a fat little check—in April.
Any wonder native-born Californians are fleeing the Golden Land?
Markets are not infallible. But the stock market has long been a "lead indicator" of where the economy will be six months from now. What are the markets, the collective decisions of millions of investors, saying?
Having fallen every month since Obama's election, with January and February the worst two months in history, they are telling us the stimulus package will not work, that Tim Geithner is clueless about how to save the banks, that the Obama budget portends disaster for the republic.
The president says he is gearing up for a fight on his budget.
Good. Let's give him one.
.
Via my Colonel ..................................... ;-)
Actual 'Letter to the Editor' from the February 5th edition of the Wichita Falls, Texas Times Record News...
Dear IRS,
I am sorry to inform you that I will not be able to pay taxes owed April 15, but all is not lost.
I have paid these taxes: accounts receivable tax, building permit tax, CDL tax, cigarette tax, corporate income tax, dog license tax, federal income tax, unemployment tax, gasoline tax, hunting license tax, fishing license tax, waterfowl stamp tax, inheritance tax, inventory tax, liquor tax, luxury tax, Medicare tax, city, school and county property tax (up 33 percent last 4 years), real estate tax, social security tax, road usage tax, toll road tax, state and city sales tax, recreational vehicle tax, state franchise tax, state unemployment tax, telephone federal excise tax, telephone federal state and local surcharge tax, telephone minimum usage surcharge tax, telephone state and local tax, utility tax, vehicle license registration tax, capitol gains tax, lease severance tax, oil and gas assessment tax, Colorado property tax, Texas, Colorado, Wyoming, Oklahoma and New Mexico sales tax, and many more that I can't recall but I have run out of space and money.
When you do not receive my check April 15, just know that it is an honest mistake. Please treat me the same way you treated Congressmen Charles Rangle, Chris Dodd, Barney Frank and ex-Congressman Tom Dashelle and, of course, your boss Timothy Geithner. No penalties and no interest.
P.S. I will make at least a partial payment as soon as I get my stimulus check.
.
Dear IRS,
I am sorry to inform you that I will not be able to pay taxes owed April 15, but all is not lost.
I have paid these taxes: accounts receivable tax, building permit tax, CDL tax, cigarette tax, corporate income tax, dog license tax, federal income tax, unemployment tax, gasoline tax, hunting license tax, fishing license tax, waterfowl stamp tax, inheritance tax, inventory tax, liquor tax, luxury tax, Medicare tax, city, school and county property tax (up 33 percent last 4 years), real estate tax, social security tax, road usage tax, toll road tax, state and city sales tax, recreational vehicle tax, state franchise tax, state unemployment tax, telephone federal excise tax, telephone federal state and local surcharge tax, telephone minimum usage surcharge tax, telephone state and local tax, utility tax, vehicle license registration tax, capitol gains tax, lease severance tax, oil and gas assessment tax, Colorado property tax, Texas, Colorado, Wyoming, Oklahoma and New Mexico sales tax, and many more that I can't recall but I have run out of space and money.
When you do not receive my check April 15, just know that it is an honest mistake. Please treat me the same way you treated Congressmen Charles Rangle, Chris Dodd, Barney Frank and ex-Congressman Tom Dashelle and, of course, your boss Timothy Geithner. No penalties and no interest.
P.S. I will make at least a partial payment as soon as I get my stimulus check.
.
From my Colonel ...............................
Subj: Friday Mornings at the Pentagon
Disclaimer: my mother worked at the Pentagon, in a civilian capacity, for many years - she still loves to reminisce about her time at "the Puzzle Palace" - I recall, YEARS ago, being able to accompany my folks {my Dad was active duty Marine officer} to the Pentagon ................. sweet memories of youth .....................
Something you don’t see on the Today show!
Friday Mornings at the Pentagon
By JOSEPH L. GALLOWAY McClatchy Newspapers
Over the last 12 months, 1,042 soldiers, Marines, sailors and Air Force
personnel have given their lives in the terrible duty that is war. Thousands
more have come home on stretchers, horribly wounded and facing months or
years in military hospitals.
This week, I'm turning my space over to a good friend and former roommate,
Army Lt. Col. Robert Bateman, who recently completed a yearlong tour of duty
in Iraq and is now back at the Pentagon.
Here's Lt. Col. Bateman's account of a little-known ceremony that fills the
halls of the Army corridor of the Pentagon with cheers, applause and many
tears every Friday morning. It first appeared on May 17 on the Weblog of
media critic and pundit Eric Alterman at the Media Matters for America
Website.
"It is 110 yards from the "E" ring to the "A" ring of the Pentagon. This
section of the Pentagon is newly renovated; the floors shine, the hallway is
broad, and the lighting is bright. At this instant the entire length of the
corridor is packed with officers, a few sergeants and some civilians, all
crammed tightly three and four deep against the walls. There are thousands
here.
This hallway, more than any other, is the `Army' hallway. The G3 offices
line one side, G2 the other, G8 is around the corner. All Army. Moderate
conversations flow in a low buzz. Friends who may not have seen each other
for a few weeks, or a few years, spot each other, cross the way and renew.
Everyone shifts to ensure an open path remains down the center. The air
conditioning system was not designed for this press of bodies in this area.
The temperature is rising already. Nobody cares. "10:36 hours: The clapping
starts at the E-Ring. That is the outermost of the five rings of the
Pentagon and it is closest to the entrance to the building. This clapping is
low, sustained, hearty. It is applause with a deep emotion behind it as it
moves forward in a wave down the length of the hallway.
"A steady rolling wave of sound it is, moving at the pace of the soldier in
the wheelchair who marks the forward edge with his presence. He is the
first. He is missing the greater part of one leg, and some of his wounds are
still suppurating. By his age I expect that he is a private, or perhaps a
private first class.
"Captains, majors, lieutenant colonels and colonels meet his gaze and nod as
they applaud, soldier to soldier. Three years ago when I described one of
these events, those lining the hallways were somewhat different. The
applause a little wilder, perhaps in private guilt for not having shared in
the burden . . . yet.
"Now almost everyone lining the hallway is, like the man in the wheelchair,
also a combat veteran. This steadies the applause, but I think deepens the
sentiment. We have all been there now. The soldier's chair is pushed by, I
believe, a full colonel.
"Behind him, and stretching the length from Rings E to A, come more of his
peers, each private, corporal, or sergeant assisted as need be by a field
grade officer.
"11:00 hours: Twenty-four minutes of steady applause. My hands hurt, and I
laugh to myself at how stupid that sounds in my own head. My hands hurt.
Please! Shut up and clap. For twenty-four minutes, soldier after soldier has
come down this hallway - 20, 25, 30. Fifty-three legs come with them, and
perhaps only 52 hands or arms, but down this hall came 30 solid hearts.
They pass down this corridor of officers and applause, and then meet for a
private lunch, at which they are the guests of honor, hosted by the
generals. Some are wheeled along. Some insist upon getting out of their
chairs, to march as best they can with their chin held up, down this
hallway, through this most unique audience. Some are catching handshakes and
smiling like a politician at a Fourth of July parade. More than a couple of
them seem amazed and are smiling shyly.
"There are families with them as well: the 18-year-old war-bride pushing her
19-year-old husband's wheelchair and not quite understanding why her husband
is so affected by this, the boy she grew up with, now a man, who had never
shed a tear is crying; the older immigrant Latino parents who have, perhaps
more than their wounded mid-20s son, an appreciation for the emotion given
on their son's behalf. No man in that hallway, walking or clapping, is
ashamed by the silent tears on more than a few cheeks. An Airborne Ranger
wipes his eyes only to better see. A couple of the officers in this crowd
have themselves been a part of this parade in the past.
These are our men, broken in body they may be, but they are our brothers,
and we welcome them home. This parade has gone on, every single Friday, all
year long, for more than four years.
"Did you know that?
The media hasn't yet told the story."
God Bless America & God Bless Our Troop
Disclaimer: my mother worked at the Pentagon, in a civilian capacity, for many years - she still loves to reminisce about her time at "the Puzzle Palace" - I recall, YEARS ago, being able to accompany my folks {my Dad was active duty Marine officer} to the Pentagon ................. sweet memories of youth .....................
Something you don’t see on the Today show!
Friday Mornings at the Pentagon
By JOSEPH L. GALLOWAY McClatchy Newspapers
Over the last 12 months, 1,042 soldiers, Marines, sailors and Air Force
personnel have given their lives in the terrible duty that is war. Thousands
more have come home on stretchers, horribly wounded and facing months or
years in military hospitals.
This week, I'm turning my space over to a good friend and former roommate,
Army Lt. Col. Robert Bateman, who recently completed a yearlong tour of duty
in Iraq and is now back at the Pentagon.
Here's Lt. Col. Bateman's account of a little-known ceremony that fills the
halls of the Army corridor of the Pentagon with cheers, applause and many
tears every Friday morning. It first appeared on May 17 on the Weblog of
media critic and pundit Eric Alterman at the Media Matters for America
Website.
"It is 110 yards from the "E" ring to the "A" ring of the Pentagon. This
section of the Pentagon is newly renovated; the floors shine, the hallway is
broad, and the lighting is bright. At this instant the entire length of the
corridor is packed with officers, a few sergeants and some civilians, all
crammed tightly three and four deep against the walls. There are thousands
here.
This hallway, more than any other, is the `Army' hallway. The G3 offices
line one side, G2 the other, G8 is around the corner. All Army. Moderate
conversations flow in a low buzz. Friends who may not have seen each other
for a few weeks, or a few years, spot each other, cross the way and renew.
Everyone shifts to ensure an open path remains down the center. The air
conditioning system was not designed for this press of bodies in this area.
The temperature is rising already. Nobody cares. "10:36 hours: The clapping
starts at the E-Ring. That is the outermost of the five rings of the
Pentagon and it is closest to the entrance to the building. This clapping is
low, sustained, hearty. It is applause with a deep emotion behind it as it
moves forward in a wave down the length of the hallway.
"A steady rolling wave of sound it is, moving at the pace of the soldier in
the wheelchair who marks the forward edge with his presence. He is the
first. He is missing the greater part of one leg, and some of his wounds are
still suppurating. By his age I expect that he is a private, or perhaps a
private first class.
"Captains, majors, lieutenant colonels and colonels meet his gaze and nod as
they applaud, soldier to soldier. Three years ago when I described one of
these events, those lining the hallways were somewhat different. The
applause a little wilder, perhaps in private guilt for not having shared in
the burden . . . yet.
"Now almost everyone lining the hallway is, like the man in the wheelchair,
also a combat veteran. This steadies the applause, but I think deepens the
sentiment. We have all been there now. The soldier's chair is pushed by, I
believe, a full colonel.
"Behind him, and stretching the length from Rings E to A, come more of his
peers, each private, corporal, or sergeant assisted as need be by a field
grade officer.
"11:00 hours: Twenty-four minutes of steady applause. My hands hurt, and I
laugh to myself at how stupid that sounds in my own head. My hands hurt.
Please! Shut up and clap. For twenty-four minutes, soldier after soldier has
come down this hallway - 20, 25, 30. Fifty-three legs come with them, and
perhaps only 52 hands or arms, but down this hall came 30 solid hearts.
They pass down this corridor of officers and applause, and then meet for a
private lunch, at which they are the guests of honor, hosted by the
generals. Some are wheeled along. Some insist upon getting out of their
chairs, to march as best they can with their chin held up, down this
hallway, through this most unique audience. Some are catching handshakes and
smiling like a politician at a Fourth of July parade. More than a couple of
them seem amazed and are smiling shyly.
"There are families with them as well: the 18-year-old war-bride pushing her
19-year-old husband's wheelchair and not quite understanding why her husband
is so affected by this, the boy she grew up with, now a man, who had never
shed a tear is crying; the older immigrant Latino parents who have, perhaps
more than their wounded mid-20s son, an appreciation for the emotion given
on their son's behalf. No man in that hallway, walking or clapping, is
ashamed by the silent tears on more than a few cheeks. An Airborne Ranger
wipes his eyes only to better see. A couple of the officers in this crowd
have themselves been a part of this parade in the past.
These are our men, broken in body they may be, but they are our brothers,
and we welcome them home. This parade has gone on, every single Friday, all
year long, for more than four years.
"Did you know that?
The media hasn't yet told the story."
God Bless America & God Bless Our Troop
Sunday, March 1, 2009
From my Colonel ................................... ;-) ;-)
WORRY
Is there a magic cut off period when
offspring become accountable for their own
actions? Is there a wonderful moment when
parents can become detached spectators in
the lives of their children and shrug, 'It's
their life,' and feel nothing?
When I was in my twenties, I stood in a hospital
corridor waiting for doctors to put a few
stitches in my daughter's head. I asked, 'When do
you stop worrying?' The nurse said,
'When they get out of the accident stage'. My
Dad just smiled faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little
chair in a classroom and heard how one of my
children talked incessantly, disrupted the class,
and was headed for a career making
license plates. As if to read my mind, a teacher
said, 'Don't worry, they all go through
this stage and then you can sit back, relax
enjoy them.' My dad just smiled
faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime,
waiting for the phone to ring, the cars to come
home, the front door to open. A friend said,
'They're trying to find themselves. Don't worry.
In a few years, you can stop worrying. They'll be
adults'. My dad just smiled faintly and said nothing.
By the time I was 50 , I was sick & tired of being
vulnerable. I was still worrying over my
children, but there was a new wrinkle.. There
was nothing I could do about it. My
dad just smiled faintly and said nothing. I
continued to anguish over their failures, be
tormented by their frustrations and absorbed in
their disappointments.
My friends said that when my kids got married I
could stop worrying and lead my own
life. I wanted to believe that, but I was
haunted by my dad's warm smile and his
occasional, 'You look pale. Are you all right?
Call me the minute you get home. Are
you depressed about something'?
Can it be that parents are sentenced to a
lifetime of worry? Is concern for one another
handed down like a torch to blaze the trail of
human frailties and the fears of the
unknown? Is concern a curse or is it a virtue
that elevates us to the highest form of life?
One of my children became quite irritable
recently, saying to me, 'Where were you? I've been
calling for 3 days, and no one answered. I was worried'.
I smiled a warm smile.
The torch has been passed..
PASS IT ON TO OTHER WONDERFUL PARENTS.
(And also to your children. That's the fun part)
.
Is there a magic cut off period when
offspring become accountable for their own
actions? Is there a wonderful moment when
parents can become detached spectators in
the lives of their children and shrug, 'It's
their life,' and feel nothing?
When I was in my twenties, I stood in a hospital
corridor waiting for doctors to put a few
stitches in my daughter's head. I asked, 'When do
you stop worrying?' The nurse said,
'When they get out of the accident stage'. My
Dad just smiled faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little
chair in a classroom and heard how one of my
children talked incessantly, disrupted the class,
and was headed for a career making
license plates. As if to read my mind, a teacher
said, 'Don't worry, they all go through
this stage and then you can sit back, relax
enjoy them.' My dad just smiled
faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime,
waiting for the phone to ring, the cars to come
home, the front door to open. A friend said,
'They're trying to find themselves. Don't worry.
In a few years, you can stop worrying. They'll be
adults'. My dad just smiled faintly and said nothing.
By the time I was 50 , I was sick & tired of being
vulnerable. I was still worrying over my
children, but there was a new wrinkle.. There
was nothing I could do about it. My
dad just smiled faintly and said nothing. I
continued to anguish over their failures, be
tormented by their frustrations and absorbed in
their disappointments.
My friends said that when my kids got married I
could stop worrying and lead my own
life. I wanted to believe that, but I was
haunted by my dad's warm smile and his
occasional, 'You look pale. Are you all right?
Call me the minute you get home. Are
you depressed about something'?
Can it be that parents are sentenced to a
lifetime of worry? Is concern for one another
handed down like a torch to blaze the trail of
human frailties and the fears of the
unknown? Is concern a curse or is it a virtue
that elevates us to the highest form of life?
One of my children became quite irritable
recently, saying to me, 'Where were you? I've been
calling for 3 days, and no one answered. I was worried'.
I smiled a warm smile.
The torch has been passed..
PASS IT ON TO OTHER WONDERFUL PARENTS.
(And also to your children. That's the fun part)
.
For those of you unfamiliar with Cox & Forkum ..........................
here are some of their editorial cartoons; they no longer work closely together all the time, but have maintained occasional joint efforts ....................... few years back, I eMailed a suggestion for a 'toon - they had already utilized the idea, and were most gracious in their correspondence with me ................ John Cox's website is here.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Our progeny made what I consider a great suggestion ..........................
I have a tattoo on my left hip; I don't like it, as the 'artist' refused my request for "fine-line" work. I want to have it re-done, on my left upper arm, by an artist who listens to me, the customer. {FWIW, it's the symbol of Women Marines - a rose with Marine Corps emblem (eagle, globe & anchor) just below the bloom, on the stem}. My spousal unit has NO problem with the WM symbol - HIS issue is what I want just beneath it, "I will not submit" - originally, I was going to have it in Arabic, thanks to Michelle Malkin's article here; our progeny suggested that I consider having "I will not submit" translated to Hebrew, which I think is even BETTER - the problem I'm running into, in online translation services, is that "submit" is being translated as "serve/served" - if anyone stumbling by here could offer an assist, as to a valid translation of the full phrase, I will not submit into Hebrew, I'd appreciate it!
UPDATE: Sorry, forgot to mention the reason for my spousal unit's not wanting me to have the quote - he believes it would make me a 'target' for the multi-cultis, especially if it's in Arabic - MY theory is, the EGA {Marine Corps emblem} takes care of THAT issue, right off the bat ................... ;-)
.
UPDATE: Sorry, forgot to mention the reason for my spousal unit's not wanting me to have the quote - he believes it would make me a 'target' for the multi-cultis, especially if it's in Arabic - MY theory is, the EGA {Marine Corps emblem} takes care of THAT issue, right off the bat ................... ;-)
.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Via Crusader Rabbit, I was led to
an article @ Gates of Vienna blogspot - no, I'm not reading my 'daily reads', since I'm using my spousal unit's computer for the moment {my computer is having "issues"} ........................ ANYhoo, seems the Canadians are having some fun with 'freedom of speech' up there ................... I'm confused {not necessarily unusual for me} - as far as I know, it's pretty much been the standard that one does not falsely yell "FIRE!" in a crowd ...................... yet Mark Steyn & others have recently been taken to task through the court system, for honestly shouting "FIRE!" regarding Jihadis and their Western enablers; shouldn't the same standard be applied to those who PROMOTE the Jihadi itinerary? Doesn't the "majesty of the Law" devolve down to the premise that, theoretically, all are EQUAL before the bar of justice? I know, the reality is, one gets the 'justice' one pays for, but the IDEAL {yes, I'm guilty of being idealistic} is that, no matter WHAT one's background/culture/etc., are, in court, in front of a judge & jury of one's peers, one is evaluated as an individual ........................
.
.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
APPARENTLY, some censorship-wienies ................................
are attempting to stifle artistic endeavors in New Zealand, regarding the InterNet {via Crusader Rabbit} ..................... this is NOT a good thing - the free flow of ideas & discussions that are now possible were unimagined 30 years ago by most of us ...................... I would truly HATE to see some self-righteous prigs decide that quoting/linking someone else is an 'intellectual infringement' - as I am NOT a Kiwi, I can't sign the petition - but I CAN give voice to the issue ......................... censorship is NOT the answer .......................
.
.
My Colonel explains the 'StealFromUs' plan .............................. ;-)
STIMULUS PLAN EXPLAINED
Shortly after class, an economics student approaches his economics professor and says, "I don't understand this stimulus bill. Can you explain it to me?"
The professor replied, "I don't have any time to explain it at my office, but if you come over to my house on Saturday and help me with my weekend project, I'll be glad to explain it to you." The student agreed.
At the agreed-upon time, the student showed up at the professor's house. The professor stated that the weekend project involved his
backyard pool.
They both went out back to the pool, and the professor handed the student a bucket. Demonstrating with his own bucket, the professor said, "First, go over to the deep end, and fill your bucket with as much water as you can." The student did as he was instructed.
The professor then continued, "Follow me over to the shallow end, and then dump all the water from your bucket into it." The student was naturally confused, but did as he was told.
The professor then explained they were going to do this many more times, and began walking back to the deep end of the pool.
The confused student asked, "Excuse me, but why are we doing this?"
The professor matter-of-factly stated that he was trying to make the shallow end much deeper.
The student didn't think the economics professor was serious, but figured that he would find out the real story soon enough.
However, after the 6th trip between the shallow end and the deep end, the student began to become worried that his economics professor had gone mad.
The student finally replied, "All we're doing is wasting valuable time and effort on unproductive pursuits. Even worse, when this process is all over, everything will be at the same level it was before, so all you'll really have accomplished is the destruction of what could have been truly productive action!"
The professor put down his bucket and replied with a smile,
"Congratulations. You now understand the stimulus bill."
Shortly after class, an economics student approaches his economics professor and says, "I don't understand this stimulus bill. Can you explain it to me?"
The professor replied, "I don't have any time to explain it at my office, but if you come over to my house on Saturday and help me with my weekend project, I'll be glad to explain it to you." The student agreed.
At the agreed-upon time, the student showed up at the professor's house. The professor stated that the weekend project involved his
backyard pool.
They both went out back to the pool, and the professor handed the student a bucket. Demonstrating with his own bucket, the professor said, "First, go over to the deep end, and fill your bucket with as much water as you can." The student did as he was instructed.
The professor then continued, "Follow me over to the shallow end, and then dump all the water from your bucket into it." The student was naturally confused, but did as he was told.
The professor then explained they were going to do this many more times, and began walking back to the deep end of the pool.
The confused student asked, "Excuse me, but why are we doing this?"
The professor matter-of-factly stated that he was trying to make the shallow end much deeper.
The student didn't think the economics professor was serious, but figured that he would find out the real story soon enough.
However, after the 6th trip between the shallow end and the deep end, the student began to become worried that his economics professor had gone mad.
The student finally replied, "All we're doing is wasting valuable time and effort on unproductive pursuits. Even worse, when this process is all over, everything will be at the same level it was before, so all you'll really have accomplished is the destruction of what could have been truly productive action!"
The professor put down his bucket and replied with a smile,
"Congratulations. You now understand the stimulus bill."
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Y'know, I HAVE to wonder if there are
any ADULTS in charge anywhere, anymore ................... I'm a regular reader of VDare; I've had letters published there. So, when I read of an initially belligerent "journalist" haranguing members of the VDare consortium, it's a rather ho-hum moment ..................... but when that same "journalist" eMails the subject of her harridan-like antics, complaining of letters from VDare readers written in defense of her victim, I kinda have to wonder .................... aren't "journalists" supposed to have rather thick skins? If they're indulging in advocacy journalism, rather than TRUE journalism {who, what, when, where, how - just the FACTS, not one's FEELINGS}, one would think them prepared for SOME folks to disagree with their commentary. Ms. Prida's statement, in her original article, of "There’s no one American “dominant” culture. There never has been. Throughout history, American culture has evolved, and will continue to evolve, with the ebb and flow of immigration from different parts of the world.
It’s all a matter of time." is the exact same attitude that MY FAMILY experienced while we lived in Mexico; as my regular readers probably already know, in my rather timid and self-effacing manner, I endeavored to change peoples' minds about the 'lack' of culture that they believe true about America. {Ye-eah, RIGHT! I pretty much raised hell when such sentiments were voiced around me.}
I just have this vision of Ms. Prida, in tears, showing "mean" eMails to her editor ................... for heaven's sake, GROW UP!
Apparently, in what passes for HER mind, it's OK for her to take figurative pot-shots at anyone she pleases; when someone calls her on it, though, she's surprised ........................
Maybe she should try reading and comprehending the U.S. Constitution; yes, a free press is one of our most cherished rights - but so is the right to disagree. Just as there is NO "right" to privacy enshrined in the Constitution, there is also NO "right" to not be offended.
Initial article on VDare here; second article here; latest article here.
.
It’s all a matter of time." is the exact same attitude that MY FAMILY experienced while we lived in Mexico; as my regular readers probably already know, in my rather timid and self-effacing manner, I endeavored to change peoples' minds about the 'lack' of culture that they believe true about America. {Ye-eah, RIGHT! I pretty much raised hell when such sentiments were voiced around me.}
I just have this vision of Ms. Prida, in tears, showing "mean" eMails to her editor ................... for heaven's sake, GROW UP!
Apparently, in what passes for HER mind, it's OK for her to take figurative pot-shots at anyone she pleases; when someone calls her on it, though, she's surprised ........................
Maybe she should try reading and comprehending the U.S. Constitution; yes, a free press is one of our most cherished rights - but so is the right to disagree. Just as there is NO "right" to privacy enshrined in the Constitution, there is also NO "right" to not be offended.
Initial article on VDare here; second article here; latest article here.
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Saturday, February 14, 2009
OK, so "domestic violence" now includes beheading ...............................
Michelle Malkin covers it here, and Brenda Walker of VDare covers it here.
Now, I've been fortunate to have lived my entire life as an American {I was born @ U.S. Naval Hospital-Quantico, U.S. Marine Corps Base, Quantico, Virginia - I wasn't stamped "USDA" on my butt - I was stamped "USMC" ;-) }, growing up in a rather tumultuous period of our Nation's history. I was the first woman in my field in the U.S. Marine Corps, so I DO have some idea of what it takes to overcome prejudices. THAT being said, I have a difficult time with comprehending people from cultures so severely at odds with American freedoms deciding that THIS is where they want to be. The U.S.A. is the very antithesis of their antediluvian cultures, yet it seems a significant number of the planet's population would haul a$$ here in a New York minute, were they given the opportunity. My question HERE, then, is WHY? If they are SO ambitious, and have SO much to offer, WHY are they not making their opportunities in their own nations/cultures? I'm afraid I've become rather jaded when hearing of some folks who come here - I figure they're good at the bull$hit with bureaucrats.
In a related issue, I would also ask ANY woman who was raised in a Western culture WHY she would consider converting to such a 'religion'? Please, don't insult my intelligence by claiming "love" - the practitioners of this faith could well KILL YOU should you decide later that it's not the faith for you. Personally, I believe that it's similar to the 'rape fantasies' that vampire stories offer - a woman completely subjugates herself to some man, therefore, SHE doesn't bear any responsibility. Nice work if you can get it .......................
*****
Also, since I'm on a roll here, let me go on 'offending' - OctoMom - all 14 of her children were conceived via in-vitro fertilization - we're talking ~ $20,000.00 PER procedure; I just wonder about her abilities {or lack thereof} re: relationships, and what she'll teach her kids about relationships, if NOT ONE OF THEM was conceived naturally. AND, there was a discussion on one of the talk shows I overheard, about the cosmetic surgery she's had - another $20,000.00 worth - to enhance her similarity to Angelina Jolie {extremely questionable taste in her "heroes", IMO}. And she claims her child welfare payments aren't welfare, but "an entitlement for which I qualify". I'm sorry, but the definition of "entitle" {root of "entitlement"} is
–verb (used with object), -tled, -tling.
1. to give (a person or thing) a title, right, or claim to something; furnish with grounds for laying claim: His executive position entitled him to certain courtesies rarely accorded others.
2. to call by a particular title or name: What was the book entitled?
3. to designate (a person) by an honorary title.
Being overly fecund 'entitles' one to be called "Mom" by several different voices; being artificially fecund 'entitles' one to being called 'freak' and should be cause for some intensive psychotherapy, on HER dime ......................... I do NOT see this ending well; she's 'going to finish school' with a Master's degree in counseling - she's looking to trade on her "fame" {her children, actually} to make her appealing to clients. NEWSFLASH: The way to obtain a well-paying client base is to get one's PhD - kinda hard when one has 14 children under the age of eight.
Unfortunately, given the level of rational thought processes evidenced so far, I'm making a prediction - within 5-8 years, we will hear of her attempting some action along the lines of Andrea Yates, the 'mother' here in Texas who drowned her 5 children ...........................
.
Now, I've been fortunate to have lived my entire life as an American {I was born @ U.S. Naval Hospital-Quantico, U.S. Marine Corps Base, Quantico, Virginia - I wasn't stamped "USDA" on my butt - I was stamped "USMC" ;-) }, growing up in a rather tumultuous period of our Nation's history. I was the first woman in my field in the U.S. Marine Corps, so I DO have some idea of what it takes to overcome prejudices. THAT being said, I have a difficult time with comprehending people from cultures so severely at odds with American freedoms deciding that THIS is where they want to be. The U.S.A. is the very antithesis of their antediluvian cultures, yet it seems a significant number of the planet's population would haul a$$ here in a New York minute, were they given the opportunity. My question HERE, then, is WHY? If they are SO ambitious, and have SO much to offer, WHY are they not making their opportunities in their own nations/cultures? I'm afraid I've become rather jaded when hearing of some folks who come here - I figure they're good at the bull$hit with bureaucrats.
In a related issue, I would also ask ANY woman who was raised in a Western culture WHY she would consider converting to such a 'religion'? Please, don't insult my intelligence by claiming "love" - the practitioners of this faith could well KILL YOU should you decide later that it's not the faith for you. Personally, I believe that it's similar to the 'rape fantasies' that vampire stories offer - a woman completely subjugates herself to some man, therefore, SHE doesn't bear any responsibility. Nice work if you can get it .......................
*****
Also, since I'm on a roll here, let me go on 'offending' - OctoMom - all 14 of her children were conceived via in-vitro fertilization - we're talking ~ $20,000.00 PER procedure; I just wonder about her abilities {or lack thereof} re: relationships, and what she'll teach her kids about relationships, if NOT ONE OF THEM was conceived naturally. AND, there was a discussion on one of the talk shows I overheard, about the cosmetic surgery she's had - another $20,000.00 worth - to enhance her similarity to Angelina Jolie {extremely questionable taste in her "heroes", IMO}. And she claims her child welfare payments aren't welfare, but "an entitlement for which I qualify". I'm sorry, but the definition of "entitle" {root of "entitlement"} is
–verb (used with object), -tled, -tling.
1. to give (a person or thing) a title, right, or claim to something; furnish with grounds for laying claim: His executive position entitled him to certain courtesies rarely accorded others.
2. to call by a particular title or name: What was the book entitled?
3. to designate (a person) by an honorary title.
Being overly fecund 'entitles' one to be called "Mom" by several different voices; being artificially fecund 'entitles' one to being called 'freak' and should be cause for some intensive psychotherapy, on HER dime ......................... I do NOT see this ending well; she's 'going to finish school' with a Master's degree in counseling - she's looking to trade on her "fame" {her children, actually} to make her appealing to clients. NEWSFLASH: The way to obtain a well-paying client base is to get one's PhD - kinda hard when one has 14 children under the age of eight.
Unfortunately, given the level of rational thought processes evidenced so far, I'm making a prediction - within 5-8 years, we will hear of her attempting some action along the lines of Andrea Yates, the 'mother' here in Texas who drowned her 5 children ...........................
.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Oh, I feel EVER SO MUCH BETTER NOW ............................
first there was San Fran Nan's assertion that the U.S. is losing "500 million jobs a month"; now cretinous, crepuscular Harry Reid is saying taxes are voluntary here in the U.S. .......................... ye-eah, well, if some kind of authority can throw my a$$ in jail for non-payment of taxes, I don't see that as being too "voluntary" on my part .....................
Idiots - we've elected a bunch of blithering IDIOTS .................. what the he## does that make the folks doing the electing?
.
Idiots - we've elected a bunch of blithering IDIOTS .................. what the he## does that make the folks doing the electing?
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Tuesday, February 3, 2009
;-) From my Colonel ....................................... ;-)
Like an American
A beautiful fairy appeared one day to a destitute refugee claimant outside a
Maryland immigration office.
'My good man,' the fairy said, 'I've been told to grant you three wishes,
since you just arrived in the United States with your wife and three
children.'
The man told the fairy. 'Well, where I come from we don't have
good teeth, so I want new teeth, maybe a lot of gold in them.'
The fairy looked at the man's almost toothless grin and -- PING! -- he
had a brand new shining set of gold teeth in his mouth!
'What else?' asked the fairy, 'two more to go.'
The refugee claimant now got bolder. 'I need a big house with a three
car garage in Annapolis on the water with eight bedrooms for my family and
the rest of my relatives who still live in my country. I want to bring them
all over here.
'PING! - In the distance there could be seen a beautiful
mansion with a three car garage, a long driveway, a walkout patio with a BBQ
in an upscale neighborhood overlooking the bay.
'One more wish', said the fairy, waving her wand. 'Yes, one more wish.'
I want to be like an American with American cloths instead of these
torn cloths, and a baseball cap instead of this turban. And I want to have
White skin
like Americans.
'PING! - The man was transformed, wearing worn out
jeans, a Baltimore Orioles T-shirt and a baseball cap. He had his bad teeth
back and the mansion had disappeared from the horizon.
'What happened to my new teeth?' he wailed. 'Where is my new house?'
THIS IS SOOOO GOOD ........
The fairy said, 'Tough , Mac. Now that you are a White American, you
have to fend for yourself.'
.
A beautiful fairy appeared one day to a destitute refugee claimant outside a
Maryland immigration office.
'My good man,' the fairy said, 'I've been told to grant you three wishes,
since you just arrived in the United States with your wife and three
children.'
The man told the fairy. 'Well, where I come from we don't have
good teeth, so I want new teeth, maybe a lot of gold in them.'
The fairy looked at the man's almost toothless grin and -- PING! -- he
had a brand new shining set of gold teeth in his mouth!
'What else?' asked the fairy, 'two more to go.'
The refugee claimant now got bolder. 'I need a big house with a three
car garage in Annapolis on the water with eight bedrooms for my family and
the rest of my relatives who still live in my country. I want to bring them
all over here.
'PING! - In the distance there could be seen a beautiful
mansion with a three car garage, a long driveway, a walkout patio with a BBQ
in an upscale neighborhood overlooking the bay.
'One more wish', said the fairy, waving her wand. 'Yes, one more wish.'
I want to be like an American with American cloths instead of these
torn cloths, and a baseball cap instead of this turban. And I want to have
White skin
like Americans.
'PING! - The man was transformed, wearing worn out
jeans, a Baltimore Orioles T-shirt and a baseball cap. He had his bad teeth
back and the mansion had disappeared from the horizon.
'What happened to my new teeth?' he wailed. 'Where is my new house?'
THIS IS SOOOO GOOD ........
The fairy said, 'Tough , Mac. Now that you are a White American, you
have to fend for yourself.'
.
Color me overly-empathetic, but .....................................
I HAVE to admit to some degree of feeling sorry for Odrama with his Cabinet/Department head picks ....................... I seriously doubt that he's spent any great degree of time with these people {Richardson, Geithner, Killefer, Daschle, et al} - he "knows" them primarily by reputation and his advisors' commentaries - his 'advisors' are in you-scratch-my-back mode as far as putting someone in a position of power, so their "advice" isn't worth the powder it would take to blow it away .................... it just boggles my brain-housing group that SO MANY would have been getting away with being tax cheats - 'regular' Americans SWEAT BLOOD every year @ this time, from now 'til audit notices go out - the IRS is a monolithic creature that had it's time - it's time is now passed - what is NEEDED is to go to a straight "usage/consumption tax" - you pay tax on what you USE/CONSUME - it is then incumbent on BUSINESSES to deliver tax revenues to whichever authority, federal/state/local - if this were already in place, 3/4 of the names listed above wouldn't be going through this embarrassment ............................ ANOTHER point about usage/consumption tax - even if one is working in this country illegally, food & clothing would be subject to the tax, so illegals would be "contributing to the body politic" ........................
.
.
I can HEAR the wailing & gnashing of teeth now ...................................
ya know what? TOUGH! AMERICANS are losing jobs hand over fist - label me tribalist or whatever - I was taught from little on up - Charity begins at home - all the globalists can just back off, & let US get OUR HOUSE in order - once "we've" got things running smoothly again HERE, THEN we can discuss allowing others to come here & work toward the 'American Dream' ..............................
See also Nemesis' post on Crusader Rabbit - this ISN'T just happening here in the U.S. - ALL Western countries/cultures are under assault, spiritually, economically, socially, culturally - "multiculturalism" is being demanded of "us", yet we're expected to tug our forelocks & bow to those demanding such, with no concomitant display of acceptance of OUR ways ..................... I am all for showing respect for others - but, funny thing, respect is a two-way street - MY culture & values are just as worthwhile as anybody else's .........................
Rant {temporarily} over ....................
{Rant on} THIS is what I meant about respect being a two way street Egyptian Christians Sent to Prison after Brutal Police Raid
{Rant off}
.
See also Nemesis' post on Crusader Rabbit - this ISN'T just happening here in the U.S. - ALL Western countries/cultures are under assault, spiritually, economically, socially, culturally - "multiculturalism" is being demanded of "us", yet we're expected to tug our forelocks & bow to those demanding such, with no concomitant display of acceptance of OUR ways ..................... I am all for showing respect for others - but, funny thing, respect is a two-way street - MY culture & values are just as worthwhile as anybody else's .........................
Rant {temporarily} over ....................
{Rant on} THIS is what I meant about respect being a two way street Egyptian Christians Sent to Prison after Brutal Police Raid
{Rant off}
.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
One of my all-time favorite movies ...................................
is 1776; one of my favorite songs from the movie is becoming more & more my 'personal' anthem .................. in the scene, John Adams has just asked Congressional Secretary Charles Thomson where he stands on the question of independence - Thomson responds that he stands with General Washington, as he recently has come to feel that the general is writing dispatches directly to Thomson - Thomson then quotes from Washington's latest "Is anybody there? Does anybody care?"
Unfortunately, YouTube does not have the scene from the film {the recording is from a stage presentation}, but this photo montage kinda hits the nail on it's head ....................
.
Unfortunately, YouTube does not have the scene from the film {the recording is from a stage presentation}, but this photo montage kinda hits the nail on it's head ....................
.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Talking with SuperNova yesterday,
I mentioned Odrama's hypocrisy re: keeping the White House warm - SHE attended the same school he did in Hawaii - according to her, Punahou {or however it's spelled} KEEPS classroom temps at near-hypothermic levels - so his staff's bruiting about how he 'hates
the cold' is not only given the lie by his CHOICE of Chicago as his launch-point, but by his high school attendance ...................
.
the cold' is not only given the lie by his CHOICE of Chicago as his launch-point, but by his high school attendance ...................
.
ATTENTION ON DECK!! From the Colonel -
You are collectively hereby ordered to, at the very least, watch this trailer of the HBO production, Taking Chance. If possible, you are further ordered to WATCH said movie when it is shown on HBO.
Carry on.
.
Carry on.
.
Friday, January 30, 2009
;-) From my Colonel ....................................... ;-)
For those of you who have never been to Mount Rushmore in South Dakota,
have you ever wondered what was on the other side of the mountain?
Take a look:
.
have you ever wondered what was on the other side of the mountain?
Take a look:
.
Sorry, but I had to go to comment moderation ....................................
seems someone likes to fill the 'Net with noise, in the same manner that others fill the air with vibrations by speaking but saying nothing ........................... if anyone can explain to me how to remove the post causing this, I would appreciate the info ......................... trolls & hackers should be half-hanged, drawn & quartered!!
.
.
Nah-nah-nah-nah -- nah-nah-nah-nah - Hey, Hey, Gooood-bye
Via my Colonel
.
NOW, if we could just have Odrama prove he is, in fact and in deed, a "natural born Citizen", I'd probably shut up about this garbage & concentrate on what he's doing NOW ........................
.
.
NOW, if we could just have Odrama prove he is, in fact and in deed, a "natural born Citizen", I'd probably shut up about this garbage & concentrate on what he's doing NOW ........................
.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Michelle Malkin is promoting ..........................
Operation Send-a-Pair {no, NOT socks!} to Senate Republicans ................... seems a GOOD idea to me! ;-)
.
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Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Thanks to Gay Cynic for the code ................................
for the countdown as to when we'll have some real hope {versus 'Hope 'n' Change'} for a true change for America ....................
.
.
Crusader Rabbit's homesick ........................................
Also, I'm wonderin' ................... does anybody know of any great get-together of U.S. Marines & Diggers, 'way back in the late 50's-early 60's? {Other than southeast Asia.} Reason I ask is, my Dad was gone on a lot of cruises back then, & I remember him singing both songs to me when he returned - he was quite the Australophile {I THINK it's because his antecedents had a lot in common with Australia's British founders ;-) } - as far as we know, he never OFFICIALLY went to VietNam until '68-'69 timeframe. AND, why did it take until 1974 for Australia to choose Waltzing Matilda as their national anthem? Are Australia & New Zealand still somewhat subject to the British monarchy?
.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
From my Colonel ................................... ;-) ;-)
Baskin Robbins New Ice Cream !!!
Baskin Robbins is introducing a new ice cream in honor of
the inauguration, "Barocky Road"
It's half vanilla, half chocolate, surrounded by fruits and nuts !!!
Baskin Robbins is introducing a new ice cream in honor of
the inauguration, "Barocky Road"
It's half vanilla, half chocolate, surrounded by fruits and nuts !!!
I'm somewhat of an Anglophile ...........................
half of my heritage is from the UK; the other half is what used to be called "mittel-Europa", so I read British authors as well as American .................... one of the funniest terms I've come across has been 'quango' - Wikipedia defines it as Quango or qango is an acronym (variously spelt out as QUAsi Non-Governmental Organization, QUasi-Autonomous Non-Governmental Organization, and QUasi-Autonomous National Government Organization) used notably in the United Kingdom but also in Australia, Ireland and elsewhere to label colloquially an organization to which government has devolved power. Lack of clarity over its meaning may have contributed to a decline somewhat in its use. The acronym can carry with it an implication of poor management and lack of accountability.
Just SAY the word aloud - it sounds like a dyspeptic waterfowl .................. now, WHY that tickles my funny bone, I can't explain - I understand it is NOT a laughing matter to those who come under quangos' less than beneficent rules - about the closest parallel I can come up with are our vaunted 'community organizers', funded by Uncle Sam, and running around like firefighters with no fires to put out. But, I'm afraid that, should someone decide "we" need quangos, & their representatives introduce themselves as representatives of "our local quango", I'll be hard-pressed to NOT laugh in their faces ....................... ;-)
On to other matters - just as a straw poll, to all & sundry who might read this: HOW MANY times would someone have to studiously ignore you before you would get the idea that they don't like you? We have a neighbor I've mentioned before, for whom there is no milk of human kindness in me, and this IS a small town, with limited locations for local shopping. HOWEVER, even with the paucity of choices, I have been subjected to this individual 3 times recently. Once, the FodGuy was with me, the neighbor was with his nephew, we were all standing in line at a convenience store. The neighbor notices the FG, and announces so the entire store can hear, "Watch out for this guy, he can kick your a$$." THEN, the idiot notices me, and announces to all present that "And his wife here is even WORSE." Fine, if I have a rep for a$$-kicking, so be it.
Couple of weeks later, I ran out to the little grocery store here; yep, idiot is there, only he's special - HE doesn't have to park in a parking space {not even a handicapped space} - no, he parks HIS vehicle directly in front of the store. I'm trying to get in & out quickly - no such luck, he sees me & gets in line behind me. Attempts conversation several times - finally, after I've paid & am on my way out, I look around & did the 'oh, didn't see you' routine. Couple of days ago, again at our local grocery, he's already in line, so I go to another checkout - he's YELLING over the display cases at me ........................ I am about at the point of telling him, in front of God & everybody, that I DON'T like him, there is NO HOPE of my EVER liking him, he is a thug to his wife, and a bloviating layabout who spends whatever monies they have on gambling, while they're having vehicles repossessed, awaiting foreclosure/eviction, and if he was on fire, I wouldn't cross the road to pi$$ on him ...................... do ya THINK that would get him to leave me alone? When I came home from the latest incident, I asked the FodGuy - HOW many times, as a man with SOME degree of self-respect, would you attempt to talk to someone who was obviously ignoring you? FG says about twice. That's MY attitude, but maybe we're just a couple of stiff-necked Marines ............................
One of the kittens of the latest clutch died last night - B-Butt had been ill, and had some congenital issues like their Mom, but apparently it was more of a problem for B-Butt - s/he was a sweet, loving little kitten, and will be missed ................
.
Just SAY the word aloud - it sounds like a dyspeptic waterfowl .................. now, WHY that tickles my funny bone, I can't explain - I understand it is NOT a laughing matter to those who come under quangos' less than beneficent rules - about the closest parallel I can come up with are our vaunted 'community organizers', funded by Uncle Sam, and running around like firefighters with no fires to put out. But, I'm afraid that, should someone decide "we" need quangos, & their representatives introduce themselves as representatives of "our local quango", I'll be hard-pressed to NOT laugh in their faces ....................... ;-)
On to other matters - just as a straw poll, to all & sundry who might read this: HOW MANY times would someone have to studiously ignore you before you would get the idea that they don't like you? We have a neighbor I've mentioned before, for whom there is no milk of human kindness in me, and this IS a small town, with limited locations for local shopping. HOWEVER, even with the paucity of choices, I have been subjected to this individual 3 times recently. Once, the FodGuy was with me, the neighbor was with his nephew, we were all standing in line at a convenience store. The neighbor notices the FG, and announces so the entire store can hear, "Watch out for this guy, he can kick your a$$." THEN, the idiot notices me, and announces to all present that "And his wife here is even WORSE." Fine, if I have a rep for a$$-kicking, so be it.
Couple of weeks later, I ran out to the little grocery store here; yep, idiot is there, only he's special - HE doesn't have to park in a parking space {not even a handicapped space} - no, he parks HIS vehicle directly in front of the store. I'm trying to get in & out quickly - no such luck, he sees me & gets in line behind me. Attempts conversation several times - finally, after I've paid & am on my way out, I look around & did the 'oh, didn't see you' routine. Couple of days ago, again at our local grocery, he's already in line, so I go to another checkout - he's YELLING over the display cases at me ........................ I am about at the point of telling him, in front of God & everybody, that I DON'T like him, there is NO HOPE of my EVER liking him, he is a thug to his wife, and a bloviating layabout who spends whatever monies they have on gambling, while they're having vehicles repossessed, awaiting foreclosure/eviction, and if he was on fire, I wouldn't cross the road to pi$$ on him ...................... do ya THINK that would get him to leave me alone? When I came home from the latest incident, I asked the FodGuy - HOW many times, as a man with SOME degree of self-respect, would you attempt to talk to someone who was obviously ignoring you? FG says about twice. That's MY attitude, but maybe we're just a couple of stiff-necked Marines ............................
One of the kittens of the latest clutch died last night - B-Butt had been ill, and had some congenital issues like their Mom, but apparently it was more of a problem for B-Butt - s/he was a sweet, loving little kitten, and will be missed ................
.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
From VDare's blog ................................
I'm thinking we should send them a TON of cheese to go with this whine ..................
Immigrants Living In Caves In New Jersey
Posted By Brenda Walker On 24 January 2009 @ 10:24 In Immigration | Comments Disabled
Here’s my candidate for Sob Story of the Day…
PLAINFIELD, N.J. –- Dozens of unemployed Central American immigrants who lost their jobs and can’t afford to pay rent have moved into caves, reports El Diario/La Prensa. Immigrants have been living in the makeshift homes in Plainfield and North Plainfeld, N.J. for three months, and call their new residence the “Devil’s Cave.”[[1] Inmigrantes desempleados en la ‘Cueva del Diablo’] Their decision to move into caves is a testament to the harsh climate of the current economic crisis, which has had a greater impact on the undocumented who have more difficulty accessing government aid after losing their jobs.[[2] Unemployed Immigrants Move into Caves, January 24, 2009]
Say, why don’t they move into the nearest comfy Mexican Consulate?
Article printed from VDARE.com: Blog Articles: http://blog.vdare.com
URL to article: http://blog.vdare.com/archives/2009/01/24/immigrants-living-in-caves-in-new-jersey/
URLs in this post:
[1] Inmigrantes desempleados en la ‘Cueva del Diablo’: http://www.impre.com/inmigracion/2009/1/12/inmigrantes-desempleados-en-la-102803-1.html
[2] Unemployed Immigrants Move into Caves: http://news.newamericamedia.org/news/view_article.html?article_id=3b0a1a5aa1c07f6bf6a541b6e0caeb9c
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Immigrants Living In Caves In New Jersey
Posted By Brenda Walker On 24 January 2009 @ 10:24 In Immigration | Comments Disabled
Here’s my candidate for Sob Story of the Day…
PLAINFIELD, N.J. –- Dozens of unemployed Central American immigrants who lost their jobs and can’t afford to pay rent have moved into caves, reports El Diario/La Prensa. Immigrants have been living in the makeshift homes in Plainfield and North Plainfeld, N.J. for three months, and call their new residence the “Devil’s Cave.”[[1] Inmigrantes desempleados en la ‘Cueva del Diablo’] Their decision to move into caves is a testament to the harsh climate of the current economic crisis, which has had a greater impact on the undocumented who have more difficulty accessing government aid after losing their jobs.[[2] Unemployed Immigrants Move into Caves, January 24, 2009]
Say, why don’t they move into the nearest comfy Mexican Consulate?
Article printed from VDARE.com: Blog Articles: http://blog.vdare.com
URL to article: http://blog.vdare.com/archives/2009/01/24/immigrants-living-in-caves-in-new-jersey/
URLs in this post:
[1] Inmigrantes desempleados en la ‘Cueva del Diablo’: http://www.impre.com/inmigracion/2009/1/12/inmigrantes-desempleados-en-la-102803-1.html
[2] Unemployed Immigrants Move into Caves: http://news.newamericamedia.org/news/view_article.html?article_id=3b0a1a5aa1c07f6bf6a541b6e0caeb9c
.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Via Crusader Rabbit, an
online petition to protest the persecution of Geert Wilders for his willingness to speak the truth re: Islam ...................
.
.
Monday, January 19, 2009
It's about damn time ...................................
Michelle Malkin notes that Dubya is FINALLY commuting the sentences {that should NEVER have happened in the first place, IMNSHO} of Ramos & Compean - congratulations to them & their families!!
.
.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Bill Faith, Smalltown Veteran, died today ....................................
his self-description was: Baby boomer, nerdy kid, Viet Nam veteran, engineer, daddy, grandpa. Politically incorrect. Proud anti-idiotarian.
In her homage, Michelle Malkin noted a couple of articles that are, God help us all, extremely timely - first is an article from BlackFive; the second was inspired by that BlackFive post .........................
From BlackFive:
The following essay (an extract from the book, 'On Combat') was written by Lieutenant Colonel Dave Grossman, U.S. Army (Ret.) Director, Killology Research Group (www.killology.com). Colonel Grossman is a somewhat controversial figure - he authored the book - "On Killing: The Psychological Cost of Learning to Kill in War and Society" - a very interesting topic that our politically correct society would rarely discuss. (Thanks to Tom and Mark for sending the article)
On Sheep, Sheepdogs, and Wolves
By Dave Grossman
One Vietnam veteran, an old retired colonel, once said this to me: "Most of the people in our society are sheep. They are kind, gentle, productive creatures who can only hurt one another by accident." This is true. Remember, the murder rate is six per 100,000 per year, and the aggravated assault rate is four per 1,000 per year. What this means is that the vast majority of Americans are not inclined to hurt one another.
Some estimates say that two million Americans are victims of violent crimes every year, a tragic, staggering number, perhaps an all-time record rate of violent crime. But there are almost 300 million Americans, which means that the odds of being a victim of violent crime is considerably less than one in a hundred on any given year. Furthermore, since many violent crimes are committed by repeat offenders, the actual number of violent citizens is considerably less than two million.
Thus there is a paradox, and we must grasp both ends of the situation: We may well be in the most violent times in history, but violence is still remarkably rare. This is because most citizens are kind, decent people who are not capable of hurting each other, except by accident or under extreme provocation. They are sheep.
I mean nothing negative by calling them sheep. To me it is like the pretty, blue robin's egg. Inside it is soft and gooey but someday it will grow into something wonderful. But the egg cannot survive without its hard blue shell. Police officers, soldiers, and other warriors are like that shell, and someday the civilization they protect will grow into something wonderful. For now, though, they need warriors to protect them from the predators.
"Then there are the wolves," the old war veteran said, "and the wolves feed on the sheep without mercy." Do you believe there are wolves out there that will feed on the flock without mercy? You better believe it. There are evil men in this world and they are capable of evil deeds. The moment you forget that or pretend it is not so, you become a sheep. There is no safety in denial.
"Then there are sheepdogs," he went on, "and I'm a sheepdog. I live to protect the flock and confront the wolf."...
If you have no capacity for violence then you are a healthy productive citizen, a sheep. If you have a capacity for violence and no empathy for your fellow citizens, then you have defined an aggressive sociopath, a wolf. But what if you have a capacity for violence, and a deep love for your fellow citizens? What do you have then? A sheepdog, a warrior, someone who is walking the hero's path. Someone who can walk into the heart of darkness, into the universal human phobia, and walk out unscathed.
Let me expand on this old soldier's excellent model of the sheep, wolves, and sheepdogs. We know that the sheep live in denial, which is what makes them sheep. They do not want to believe that there is evil in the world. They can accept the fact that fires can happen, which is why they want fire extinguishers, fire sprinklers, fire alarms and fire exits throughout their kids' schools.
But many of them are outraged at the idea of putting an armed police officer in their kid's school. Our children are thousands of times more likely to be killed or seriously injured by school violence than fire, but the sheep's only response to the possibility of violence is denial. The idea of someone coming to kill or harm their child is just too hard, and so they chose the path of denial.
The sheep generally do not like the sheepdog. He looks a lot like the wolf. He has fangs and the capacity for violence. The difference, though, is that the sheepdog must not, cannot and will not ever harm the sheep. Any sheepdog who intentionally harms the lowliest little lamb will be punished and removed. The world cannot work any other way, at least not in a representative democracy or a republic such as ours.
Still, the sheepdog disturbs the sheep. He is a constant reminder that there are wolves in the land. They would prefer that he didn't tell them where to go, or give them traffic tickets, or stand at the ready in our airports in camouflage fatigues holding an M-16. The sheep would much rather have the sheepdog cash in his fangs, spray paint himself white, and go, "Baa."
Until the wolf shows up! Then the entire flock tries desperately to hide behind one lonely sheepdog.
The students, the victims, at Columbine High School were big, tough high school students, and under ordinary circumstances they would not have had the time of day for a police officer. They were not bad kids; they just had nothing to say to a cop. When the school was under attack, however, and SWAT teams were clearing the rooms and hallways, the officers had to physically peel those clinging, sobbing kids off of them. This is how the little lambs feel about their sheepdog when the wolf is at the door.
Look at what happened after September 11, 2001 when the wolf pounded hard on the door. Remember how America, more than ever before, felt differently about their law enforcement officers and military personnel? Remember how many times you heard the word hero?
Understand that there is nothing morally superior about being a sheepdog; it is just what you choose to be. Also understand that a sheepdog is a funny critter: He is always sniffing around out on the perimeter, checking the breeze, barking at things that go bump in the night, and yearning for a righteous battle. That is, the young sheepdogs yearn for a righteous battle. The old sheepdogs are a little older and wiser, but they move to the sound of the guns when needed right along with the young ones.
Here is how the sheep and the sheepdog think differently. The sheep pretend the wolf will never come, but the sheepdog lives for that day. After the attacks on September 11, 2001, most of the sheep, that is, most citizens in America said, "Thank God I wasn't on one of those planes." The sheepdogs, the warriors, said, "Dear God, I wish I could have been on one of those planes. Maybe I could have made a difference." When you are truly transformed into a warrior and have truly invested yourself into warriorhood, you want to be there. You want to be able to make a difference.
There is nothing morally superior about the sheepdog, the warrior, but he does have one real advantage. Only one. And that is that he is able to survive and thrive in an environment that destroys 98 percent of the population.
There was research conducted a few years ago with individuals convicted of violent crimes. These cons were in prison for serious, predatory crimes of violence: assaults, murders and killing law enforcement officers. The vast majority said that they specifically targeted victims by body language: slumped walk, passive behavior and lack of awareness. They chose their victims like big cats do in Africa, when they select one out of the herd that is least able to protect itself.
Some people may be destined to be sheep and others might be genetically primed to be wolves or sheepdogs. But I believe that most people can choose which one they want to be, and I'm proud to say that more and more Americans are choosing to become sheepdogs.
Seven months after the attack on September 11, 2001, Todd Beamer was honored in his hometown of Cranbury, New Jersey. Todd, as you recall, was the man on Flight 93 over Pennsylvania who called on his cell phone to alert an operator from United Airlines about the hijacking. When he learned of the other three passenger planes that had been used as weapons, Todd dropped his phone and uttered the words, "Let's roll," which authorities believe was a signal to the other passengers to confront the terrorist hijackers. In one hour, a transformation occurred among the passengers - athletes, business people and parents. -- From sheep to sheepdogs and together they fought the wolves, ultimately saving an unknown number of lives on the ground.
"Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself after that?"
"There is no safety for honest men except by believing all possible evil of evil men." - Edmund Burke
Here is the point I like to emphasize; especially to the thousands of police officers and soldiers I speak to each year. In nature the sheep, real sheep, are born as sheep. Sheepdogs are born that way, and so are wolves. They didn't have a choice. But you are not a critter. As a human being, you can be whatever you want to be. It is a conscious, moral decision.
If you want to be a sheep, then you can be a sheep and that is okay, but you must understand the price you pay. When the wolf comes, you and your loved ones are going to die if there is not a sheepdog there to protect you. If you want to be a wolf, you can be one, but the sheepdogs are going to hunt you down and you will never have rest, safety, trust, or love. But if you want to be a sheepdog and walk the warrior's path, then you must make a conscious and moral decision every day to dedicate, equip and prepare yourself to thrive in that toxic, corrosive moment when the wolf comes knocking at the door.
For example, many officers carry their weapons in church. They are well concealed in ankle holsters, shoulder holsters or inside-the-belt holsters tucked into the small of their backs. Anytime you go to some form of religious service, there is a very good chance that a police officer in your congregation is carrying. You will never know if there is such an individual in your place of worship, until the wolf appears to massacre you and your loved ones.
I was training a group of police officers in Texas, and during the break, one officer asked his friend if he carried his weapon in church. The other cop replied, "I will never be caught without my gun in church." I asked why he felt so strongly about this, and he told me about a cop he knew who was at a church massacre in Ft. Worth, Texas in 1999. In that incident, a mentally deranged individual came into the church and opened fire, gunning down fourteen people. He said that officer believed he could have saved every life that day if he had been carrying his gun. His own son was shot, and all he could do was throw himself on the boy's body and wait to die. That cop looked me in the eye and said, "Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself after that?"
Some individuals would be horrified if they knew this police officer was carrying a weapon in church. They might call him paranoid and would probably scorn him. Yet these same individuals would be enraged and would call for "heads to roll" if they found out that the airbags in their cars were defective, or that the fire extinguisher and fire sprinklers in their kids' school did not work. They can accept the fact that fires and traffic accidents can happen and that there must be safeguards against them.
Their only response to the wolf, though, is denial, and all too often their response to the sheepdog is scorn and disdain. But the sheepdog quietly asks himself, "Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself if your loved ones were attacked and killed, and you had to stand there helplessly because you were unprepared for that day?"
It is denial that turns people into sheep. Sheep are psychologically destroyed by combat because their only defense is denial, which is counterproductive and destructive, resulting in fear, helplessness and horror when the wolf shows up.
Denial kills you twice. It kills you once, at your moment of truth when you are not physically prepared: you didn't bring your gun, you didn't train. Your only defense was wishful thinking. Hope is not a strategy. Denial kills you a second time because even if you do physically survive, you are psychologically shattered by your fear, helplessness, and horror at your moment of truth.
Gavin de Becker puts it like this in "Fear Less," his superb post-9/11 book, which should be required reading for anyone trying to come to terms with our current world situation: "...denial can be seductive, but it has an insidious side effect. For all the peace of mind deniers think they get by saying it isn't so, the fall they take when faced with new violence is all the more unsettling."
Denial is a save-now-pay-later scheme, a contract written entirely in small print, for in the long run, the denying person knows the truth on some level.
And so the warrior must strive to confront denial in all aspects of his life, and prepare himself for the day when evil comes.
If you are warrior who is legally authorized to carry a weapon and you step outside without that weapon, then you become a sheep, pretending that the bad man will not come today. No one can be "on" 24/7, for a lifetime. Everyone needs down time. But if you are authorized to carry a weapon, and you walk outside without it, just take a deep breath, and say this to yourself... "Baa."
This business of being a sheep or a sheep dog is not a yes-no dichotomy. It is not an all-or-nothing, either-or choice. It is a matter of degrees, a continuum. On one end is an abject, head-in-the-sand-sheep and on the other end is the ultimate warrior. Few people exist completely on one end or the other. Most of us live somewhere in between. Since 9-11 almost everyone in America took a step up that continuum, away from denial. The sheep took a few steps toward accepting and appreciating their warriors, and the warriors started taking their job more seriously. The degree to which you move up that continuum, away from sheephood and denial, is the degree to which you and your loved ones will survive, physically and psychologically, at your moment of truth.
Inspired by the above:
The Sheepdogs
Most humans truly are like sheep
Wanting nothing more than peace to keep
To graze, grow fat and raise their young,
Sweet taste of clover on the tongue.
Their lives serene upon Life’s farm,
They sense no threat nor fear no harm.
On verdant meadows, they forage free
With naught to fear, with naught to flee.
They pay their sheepdogs little heed
For there is no threat; there is no need.
To the flock, sheepdog’s are mysteries,
Roaming watchful round the peripheries.
These fang-toothed creatures bark, they roar
With the fetid reek of the carnivore,
Too like the wolf of legends told,
To be amongst our docile fold.
Who needs sheepdogs? What good are they?
They have no use, not in this day.
Lock them away, out of our sight
We have no need of their fierce might.
But sudden in their midst a beast
Has come to kill, has come to feast
The wolves attack; they give no warning
Upon that calm September morning
They slash and kill with frenzied glee
Their passive helpless enemy
Who had no clue the wolves were there
Far roaming from their Eastern lair.
Then from the carnage, from the rout,
Comes the cry, “Turn the sheepdogs out!”
Thus is our nature but too our plight
To keep our dogs on leashes tight
And live a life of illusive bliss
Hearing not the beast, his growl, his hiss.
Until he has us by the throat,
We pay no heed; we take no note.
Not until he strikes us at our core
Will we unleash the Dogs of War
Only having felt the wolf pack’s wrath
Do we loose the sheepdogs on its path.
And the wolves will learn what we’ve shown before;
We love our sheep, we Dogs of War.
Russ Vaughn
2d Bn, 327th Parachute Infantry Regiment
101st Airborne Division
Vietnam 65-66
Rest in Peace, Bill Faith ...................
.
In her homage, Michelle Malkin noted a couple of articles that are, God help us all, extremely timely - first is an article from BlackFive; the second was inspired by that BlackFive post .........................
From BlackFive:
The following essay (an extract from the book, 'On Combat') was written by Lieutenant Colonel Dave Grossman, U.S. Army (Ret.) Director, Killology Research Group (www.killology.com). Colonel Grossman is a somewhat controversial figure - he authored the book - "On Killing: The Psychological Cost of Learning to Kill in War and Society" - a very interesting topic that our politically correct society would rarely discuss. (Thanks to Tom and Mark for sending the article)
On Sheep, Sheepdogs, and Wolves
By Dave Grossman
One Vietnam veteran, an old retired colonel, once said this to me: "Most of the people in our society are sheep. They are kind, gentle, productive creatures who can only hurt one another by accident." This is true. Remember, the murder rate is six per 100,000 per year, and the aggravated assault rate is four per 1,000 per year. What this means is that the vast majority of Americans are not inclined to hurt one another.
Some estimates say that two million Americans are victims of violent crimes every year, a tragic, staggering number, perhaps an all-time record rate of violent crime. But there are almost 300 million Americans, which means that the odds of being a victim of violent crime is considerably less than one in a hundred on any given year. Furthermore, since many violent crimes are committed by repeat offenders, the actual number of violent citizens is considerably less than two million.
Thus there is a paradox, and we must grasp both ends of the situation: We may well be in the most violent times in history, but violence is still remarkably rare. This is because most citizens are kind, decent people who are not capable of hurting each other, except by accident or under extreme provocation. They are sheep.
I mean nothing negative by calling them sheep. To me it is like the pretty, blue robin's egg. Inside it is soft and gooey but someday it will grow into something wonderful. But the egg cannot survive without its hard blue shell. Police officers, soldiers, and other warriors are like that shell, and someday the civilization they protect will grow into something wonderful. For now, though, they need warriors to protect them from the predators.
"Then there are the wolves," the old war veteran said, "and the wolves feed on the sheep without mercy." Do you believe there are wolves out there that will feed on the flock without mercy? You better believe it. There are evil men in this world and they are capable of evil deeds. The moment you forget that or pretend it is not so, you become a sheep. There is no safety in denial.
"Then there are sheepdogs," he went on, "and I'm a sheepdog. I live to protect the flock and confront the wolf."...
If you have no capacity for violence then you are a healthy productive citizen, a sheep. If you have a capacity for violence and no empathy for your fellow citizens, then you have defined an aggressive sociopath, a wolf. But what if you have a capacity for violence, and a deep love for your fellow citizens? What do you have then? A sheepdog, a warrior, someone who is walking the hero's path. Someone who can walk into the heart of darkness, into the universal human phobia, and walk out unscathed.
Let me expand on this old soldier's excellent model of the sheep, wolves, and sheepdogs. We know that the sheep live in denial, which is what makes them sheep. They do not want to believe that there is evil in the world. They can accept the fact that fires can happen, which is why they want fire extinguishers, fire sprinklers, fire alarms and fire exits throughout their kids' schools.
But many of them are outraged at the idea of putting an armed police officer in their kid's school. Our children are thousands of times more likely to be killed or seriously injured by school violence than fire, but the sheep's only response to the possibility of violence is denial. The idea of someone coming to kill or harm their child is just too hard, and so they chose the path of denial.
The sheep generally do not like the sheepdog. He looks a lot like the wolf. He has fangs and the capacity for violence. The difference, though, is that the sheepdog must not, cannot and will not ever harm the sheep. Any sheepdog who intentionally harms the lowliest little lamb will be punished and removed. The world cannot work any other way, at least not in a representative democracy or a republic such as ours.
Still, the sheepdog disturbs the sheep. He is a constant reminder that there are wolves in the land. They would prefer that he didn't tell them where to go, or give them traffic tickets, or stand at the ready in our airports in camouflage fatigues holding an M-16. The sheep would much rather have the sheepdog cash in his fangs, spray paint himself white, and go, "Baa."
Until the wolf shows up! Then the entire flock tries desperately to hide behind one lonely sheepdog.
The students, the victims, at Columbine High School were big, tough high school students, and under ordinary circumstances they would not have had the time of day for a police officer. They were not bad kids; they just had nothing to say to a cop. When the school was under attack, however, and SWAT teams were clearing the rooms and hallways, the officers had to physically peel those clinging, sobbing kids off of them. This is how the little lambs feel about their sheepdog when the wolf is at the door.
Look at what happened after September 11, 2001 when the wolf pounded hard on the door. Remember how America, more than ever before, felt differently about their law enforcement officers and military personnel? Remember how many times you heard the word hero?
Understand that there is nothing morally superior about being a sheepdog; it is just what you choose to be. Also understand that a sheepdog is a funny critter: He is always sniffing around out on the perimeter, checking the breeze, barking at things that go bump in the night, and yearning for a righteous battle. That is, the young sheepdogs yearn for a righteous battle. The old sheepdogs are a little older and wiser, but they move to the sound of the guns when needed right along with the young ones.
Here is how the sheep and the sheepdog think differently. The sheep pretend the wolf will never come, but the sheepdog lives for that day. After the attacks on September 11, 2001, most of the sheep, that is, most citizens in America said, "Thank God I wasn't on one of those planes." The sheepdogs, the warriors, said, "Dear God, I wish I could have been on one of those planes. Maybe I could have made a difference." When you are truly transformed into a warrior and have truly invested yourself into warriorhood, you want to be there. You want to be able to make a difference.
There is nothing morally superior about the sheepdog, the warrior, but he does have one real advantage. Only one. And that is that he is able to survive and thrive in an environment that destroys 98 percent of the population.
There was research conducted a few years ago with individuals convicted of violent crimes. These cons were in prison for serious, predatory crimes of violence: assaults, murders and killing law enforcement officers. The vast majority said that they specifically targeted victims by body language: slumped walk, passive behavior and lack of awareness. They chose their victims like big cats do in Africa, when they select one out of the herd that is least able to protect itself.
Some people may be destined to be sheep and others might be genetically primed to be wolves or sheepdogs. But I believe that most people can choose which one they want to be, and I'm proud to say that more and more Americans are choosing to become sheepdogs.
Seven months after the attack on September 11, 2001, Todd Beamer was honored in his hometown of Cranbury, New Jersey. Todd, as you recall, was the man on Flight 93 over Pennsylvania who called on his cell phone to alert an operator from United Airlines about the hijacking. When he learned of the other three passenger planes that had been used as weapons, Todd dropped his phone and uttered the words, "Let's roll," which authorities believe was a signal to the other passengers to confront the terrorist hijackers. In one hour, a transformation occurred among the passengers - athletes, business people and parents. -- From sheep to sheepdogs and together they fought the wolves, ultimately saving an unknown number of lives on the ground.
"Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself after that?"
"There is no safety for honest men except by believing all possible evil of evil men." - Edmund Burke
Here is the point I like to emphasize; especially to the thousands of police officers and soldiers I speak to each year. In nature the sheep, real sheep, are born as sheep. Sheepdogs are born that way, and so are wolves. They didn't have a choice. But you are not a critter. As a human being, you can be whatever you want to be. It is a conscious, moral decision.
If you want to be a sheep, then you can be a sheep and that is okay, but you must understand the price you pay. When the wolf comes, you and your loved ones are going to die if there is not a sheepdog there to protect you. If you want to be a wolf, you can be one, but the sheepdogs are going to hunt you down and you will never have rest, safety, trust, or love. But if you want to be a sheepdog and walk the warrior's path, then you must make a conscious and moral decision every day to dedicate, equip and prepare yourself to thrive in that toxic, corrosive moment when the wolf comes knocking at the door.
For example, many officers carry their weapons in church. They are well concealed in ankle holsters, shoulder holsters or inside-the-belt holsters tucked into the small of their backs. Anytime you go to some form of religious service, there is a very good chance that a police officer in your congregation is carrying. You will never know if there is such an individual in your place of worship, until the wolf appears to massacre you and your loved ones.
I was training a group of police officers in Texas, and during the break, one officer asked his friend if he carried his weapon in church. The other cop replied, "I will never be caught without my gun in church." I asked why he felt so strongly about this, and he told me about a cop he knew who was at a church massacre in Ft. Worth, Texas in 1999. In that incident, a mentally deranged individual came into the church and opened fire, gunning down fourteen people. He said that officer believed he could have saved every life that day if he had been carrying his gun. His own son was shot, and all he could do was throw himself on the boy's body and wait to die. That cop looked me in the eye and said, "Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself after that?"
Some individuals would be horrified if they knew this police officer was carrying a weapon in church. They might call him paranoid and would probably scorn him. Yet these same individuals would be enraged and would call for "heads to roll" if they found out that the airbags in their cars were defective, or that the fire extinguisher and fire sprinklers in their kids' school did not work. They can accept the fact that fires and traffic accidents can happen and that there must be safeguards against them.
Their only response to the wolf, though, is denial, and all too often their response to the sheepdog is scorn and disdain. But the sheepdog quietly asks himself, "Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself if your loved ones were attacked and killed, and you had to stand there helplessly because you were unprepared for that day?"
It is denial that turns people into sheep. Sheep are psychologically destroyed by combat because their only defense is denial, which is counterproductive and destructive, resulting in fear, helplessness and horror when the wolf shows up.
Denial kills you twice. It kills you once, at your moment of truth when you are not physically prepared: you didn't bring your gun, you didn't train. Your only defense was wishful thinking. Hope is not a strategy. Denial kills you a second time because even if you do physically survive, you are psychologically shattered by your fear, helplessness, and horror at your moment of truth.
Gavin de Becker puts it like this in "Fear Less," his superb post-9/11 book, which should be required reading for anyone trying to come to terms with our current world situation: "...denial can be seductive, but it has an insidious side effect. For all the peace of mind deniers think they get by saying it isn't so, the fall they take when faced with new violence is all the more unsettling."
Denial is a save-now-pay-later scheme, a contract written entirely in small print, for in the long run, the denying person knows the truth on some level.
And so the warrior must strive to confront denial in all aspects of his life, and prepare himself for the day when evil comes.
If you are warrior who is legally authorized to carry a weapon and you step outside without that weapon, then you become a sheep, pretending that the bad man will not come today. No one can be "on" 24/7, for a lifetime. Everyone needs down time. But if you are authorized to carry a weapon, and you walk outside without it, just take a deep breath, and say this to yourself... "Baa."
This business of being a sheep or a sheep dog is not a yes-no dichotomy. It is not an all-or-nothing, either-or choice. It is a matter of degrees, a continuum. On one end is an abject, head-in-the-sand-sheep and on the other end is the ultimate warrior. Few people exist completely on one end or the other. Most of us live somewhere in between. Since 9-11 almost everyone in America took a step up that continuum, away from denial. The sheep took a few steps toward accepting and appreciating their warriors, and the warriors started taking their job more seriously. The degree to which you move up that continuum, away from sheephood and denial, is the degree to which you and your loved ones will survive, physically and psychologically, at your moment of truth.
Inspired by the above:
The Sheepdogs
Most humans truly are like sheep
Wanting nothing more than peace to keep
To graze, grow fat and raise their young,
Sweet taste of clover on the tongue.
Their lives serene upon Life’s farm,
They sense no threat nor fear no harm.
On verdant meadows, they forage free
With naught to fear, with naught to flee.
They pay their sheepdogs little heed
For there is no threat; there is no need.
To the flock, sheepdog’s are mysteries,
Roaming watchful round the peripheries.
These fang-toothed creatures bark, they roar
With the fetid reek of the carnivore,
Too like the wolf of legends told,
To be amongst our docile fold.
Who needs sheepdogs? What good are they?
They have no use, not in this day.
Lock them away, out of our sight
We have no need of their fierce might.
But sudden in their midst a beast
Has come to kill, has come to feast
The wolves attack; they give no warning
Upon that calm September morning
They slash and kill with frenzied glee
Their passive helpless enemy
Who had no clue the wolves were there
Far roaming from their Eastern lair.
Then from the carnage, from the rout,
Comes the cry, “Turn the sheepdogs out!”
Thus is our nature but too our plight
To keep our dogs on leashes tight
And live a life of illusive bliss
Hearing not the beast, his growl, his hiss.
Until he has us by the throat,
We pay no heed; we take no note.
Not until he strikes us at our core
Will we unleash the Dogs of War
Only having felt the wolf pack’s wrath
Do we loose the sheepdogs on its path.
And the wolves will learn what we’ve shown before;
We love our sheep, we Dogs of War.
Russ Vaughn
2d Bn, 327th Parachute Infantry Regiment
101st Airborne Division
Vietnam 65-66
Rest in Peace, Bill Faith ...................
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Wednesday, January 14, 2009
The recent dearth of posting was due to ............................
my being 'temporarily' employed ..................... I started on my birthday at a local gas station/convenience store. SuperNova trained me, & we became very good friends .................... anyhoo, on Monday, I went in to pick up my pay {"paydays" are ostensibly Sundays} - but it was $40.00 {5 hours} short. Please bear in mind, in order to open the store Monday through Friday, one gets up & out of bed by 0330. Also, due to a dead starter on one of our vehicles, I had to WALK to work at 0430 {this town doesn't waste a lot of money on streetlights} along a two-lane country road TWICE last week.
I called the owner at 0800 Monday {SuperNova was working the store, but we'd both been up since zero-crack-tweet}, & left a voicemail about the missing $40.00 {due to time off over the holidays, the FodGuy's checks were shorter - we were looking to MY pay covering the costs of replacing the starter} - the owner calls, not me, but SuperNova - HE doesn't appreciate being called "so early" about pay issues, & tells her to fire me. So, I hand in my keys. In the meantime, SuperNova is going through familial issues {a terminally ill parent, in Hawaii} - emergency surgery was performed last night, an ileostomy was introduced, and the family is left with palliative care. 'Nova didn't sleep for the past couple of nights, due to worries about her family - she asked the shirttail relative of the owner who's the nighttime cashier, to come in an hour early, so she can leave early today - for the past EIGHT MONTHS, she's been staying at least an hour late on Fridays, so this ................ individual ...................... can "go pray" {nevermind that the first question this missing link asks about a new female employee is "will she f*** me?" When I learned he'd asked it about me, I made it a point to stop by with the FodGuy .................. heheheheheheheh, ain't I evil?} When 'Nova brought up the FACT of her covering for his supposed attendance at mosque, he told her the owner wouldn't like her bringing that up - which got me thinking - THEY CHOSE to come to America - they had to have SOME idea of what America is about - first & foremost, that little idiosyncrasy of ours called "freedom of speech" - 'Nova seems to think the owner will eventually call me to ask me to come back - the FodGuy initially suggested that I call & apologize for having called 'so early' {I think he interpreted "the Look" very well}, but now agrees that, if the owner calls & offers a half-assed apology for his behavior, I go back but actively seek something else. Also, once we get some money ahead, I'm having my rose & EGA tattoo done on my left arm - underneath it, in Arabic script, will be "I will not submit".
Please keep SuperNova & her family in your thoughts & prayers, as they travel this very difficult road ..................
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I called the owner at 0800 Monday {SuperNova was working the store, but we'd both been up since zero-crack-tweet}, & left a voicemail about the missing $40.00 {due to time off over the holidays, the FodGuy's checks were shorter - we were looking to MY pay covering the costs of replacing the starter} - the owner calls, not me, but SuperNova - HE doesn't appreciate being called "so early" about pay issues, & tells her to fire me. So, I hand in my keys. In the meantime, SuperNova is going through familial issues {a terminally ill parent, in Hawaii} - emergency surgery was performed last night, an ileostomy was introduced, and the family is left with palliative care. 'Nova didn't sleep for the past couple of nights, due to worries about her family - she asked the shirttail relative of the owner who's the nighttime cashier, to come in an hour early, so she can leave early today - for the past EIGHT MONTHS, she's been staying at least an hour late on Fridays, so this ................ individual ...................... can "go pray" {nevermind that the first question this missing link asks about a new female employee is "will she f*** me?" When I learned he'd asked it about me, I made it a point to stop by with the FodGuy .................. heheheheheheheh, ain't I evil?} When 'Nova brought up the FACT of her covering for his supposed attendance at mosque, he told her the owner wouldn't like her bringing that up - which got me thinking - THEY CHOSE to come to America - they had to have SOME idea of what America is about - first & foremost, that little idiosyncrasy of ours called "freedom of speech" - 'Nova seems to think the owner will eventually call me to ask me to come back - the FodGuy initially suggested that I call & apologize for having called 'so early' {I think he interpreted "the Look" very well}, but now agrees that, if the owner calls & offers a half-assed apology for his behavior, I go back but actively seek something else. Also, once we get some money ahead, I'm having my rose & EGA tattoo done on my left arm - underneath it, in Arabic script, will be "I will not submit".
Please keep SuperNova & her family in your thoughts & prayers, as they travel this very difficult road ..................
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Wednesday, December 31, 2008
OK, I admit a fascination with language ............................................
I LOVE researching etymologies {hey, small town, no airport, whatcha gonna do? ;-) }
I also TRY to gear MY language to whomever I'm talking to; I don't discuss the theory of relativity as I was finally able to understand it, with someone who gives me vacuous stares & either a grunt or a "Hunh?"
There's a group of young men who come in every morning for coffee; there's horseplay, sugar/creamer all over, but the language is what gets to me - I asked them Monday morning if they kissed their mothers with those mouths.*
THAT being said, I do NOT agree with censorship of the 'Net - this is the greatest facilitator of communication ever developed by man - when one is able to instantly "talk" with someone in Australia or New Zealand or the UK, when one is able to research ANYTHING that interests one, the idea of censoring this source sends chills up my spine. Maybe it's because I've had the idea of 'freedom of speech' given to me from birth {it's one of those quaint American ideas}, but, due to the nature of the 'Net, there is NO comparability to shouting "Fire!" in a crowded theater. {If someone is stupid enough to act on the first thing they view, consider it Darwin in action.}
VDare has an interesting article of something I had not been aware of, but will be following closely: UK Censorship in league with Obama.
They link to the wonderfully erudite Martin Kelly: Human Stains.
If this doesn't concern you, you've NO IDEA of what "freedom of speech" means.
*One of the favorite words of these young men is the "F-word" - DID you know, WERE you cognizant, of the origins of this word? It's an acronym, for For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge, or Fornication Under {meaning without} Consent of the King ........................ Thus endeth your trivia lesson for the day ............................ ;-)
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I also TRY to gear MY language to whomever I'm talking to; I don't discuss the theory of relativity as I was finally able to understand it, with someone who gives me vacuous stares & either a grunt or a "Hunh?"
There's a group of young men who come in every morning for coffee; there's horseplay, sugar/creamer all over, but the language is what gets to me - I asked them Monday morning if they kissed their mothers with those mouths.*
THAT being said, I do NOT agree with censorship of the 'Net - this is the greatest facilitator of communication ever developed by man - when one is able to instantly "talk" with someone in Australia or New Zealand or the UK, when one is able to research ANYTHING that interests one, the idea of censoring this source sends chills up my spine. Maybe it's because I've had the idea of 'freedom of speech' given to me from birth {it's one of those quaint American ideas}, but, due to the nature of the 'Net, there is NO comparability to shouting "Fire!" in a crowded theater. {If someone is stupid enough to act on the first thing they view, consider it Darwin in action.}
VDare has an interesting article of something I had not been aware of, but will be following closely: UK Censorship in league with Obama.
They link to the wonderfully erudite Martin Kelly: Human Stains.
If this doesn't concern you, you've NO IDEA of what "freedom of speech" means.
*One of the favorite words of these young men is the "F-word" - DID you know, WERE you cognizant, of the origins of this word? It's an acronym, for For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge, or Fornication Under {meaning without} Consent of the King ........................ Thus endeth your trivia lesson for the day ............................ ;-)
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Wednesday, December 24, 2008
New job is right on a major north-south interstate ............................................
we were getting a LOT of folks over the last week headed to Mexico, Guatemala, etc. This morning, had a young, VERY sweet young Mexican with limited English proficiency in, getting coffee, etc. As he was leaving the first time, I wished him Feliz Navidad; apparently, he's not too used to kindness/respect from most folks he deals with - he came back & tried chitchatting - asked my name, asked if I was married {bear in mind, he's late 20's/early 30's - I'm 52 & LOOK it! ;-) } - he wanted to buy me a Coke, or a beer - I think it was merely loneliness, in that he was unable to go "home", wherever that might be, and a little bit of kindness was interpreted as something more - no biggie, I can pretty much handle "situations" ......................... but he's most likely illegal, and I AM vehemently opposed to illegal immigration - don't care where you come from, as long as you come here legally ........................ but I have to admit a certain sympathy for people such as this young man ................... if Mexico & other places spent as much time FIXING their countries, as they do haranguing the U.S. to leave their illegal citizens alone here, folks such as this young man wouldn't NEED to come here as economic refugees .........................
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Tuesday, December 23, 2008
I started a job 8 December ...............................
clerking in a convenience store - the lady who trained me {if she stops by here, her handle is SuperNova} is THRILLED that she's able to take some time off to visit family in CA & rest assured that at least "things" will be pretty well taken care of, while she's gone {she's been there over a year, so is pretty much the owner's right hand} - she initially was friends with the FodGuy, when he'd stop in on his way home from work in the mornings - HE gets really upset when I refer to her as his 'girlfriend' - here's the thing - they're both Harley aficionados, so they can talk cams, gear ratios, shifting issues, etc. - they're both VERY well-versed in how to put computers together {her degree is in IT} - which is a WONDERFUL outlet for him, as I'm not too into such, & any men around here who are into Harleys, can be rather snooty about the whole matter - 'Nova is just a really cool lady {built HER OWN BIKE, thank you very much!} - anyhoo, she's just so tickled that I'm there, that as a Christmas gift, she bought me a box of .380 ammo, that I can practice with, & save the expensive stuff for when I'm proficient & carrying on a regular {read: everyday} basis ........................... ;-) ;-)
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Just washed my hands with Baby Magic .........................................
but one can STILL smell the {gun} oil on them ......................... YES, I got my .380 today - now, from all the horror stories re: background checks, waits, etc., I was thinking it'd be next week, if not into January, before I was permitted to bring it home - I asked a county Constable yesterday who he'd recommend for gun purchases - he recommended a shop dedicated to guns, ~ 20 miles distant - I called them this morning, they HAD the .380 in stock, so I hied myself up there - chose the pistol, filled out the paperwork {had to come home & renew my driver's license online, as the feds would've claimed it was expired, even though Texas would give me to the end of the month}, took the printout back up there, he filled in HIS part, called & within five minutes, I was OK'd to bring it home - NOW, for "potential gunnies" out there, I have to provide a caveat - 6 years ago, I purchased a Mossberg 12 gauge shotgun, & went through a half-hour wait, while they ran my name & SSN background check - since THAT one came back clean {I was able to take the shotgun home the same day, too}, and I've no charges/convictions/etc., in the intervening 6 years, this second check was very quick ............................. got a box of expensive ammo {20 rounds for $14.00}, but will get some cheap for use on the range. {For comparison purposes, picked up a box of "regular" ammo (50 rounds/$20.00) for my spousal unit}
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Thursday, December 18, 2008
Don't hate me, Crusader Rabbit ......................................
my "big" Christmas present is going to be {drum roll, please} .......................
That's IF we can find one - Academy Sports is having problems getting them from Bersa ....................... pawn shops are selling them as soon as they come in ........................ I'll be going for my concealed carry class/certification in January, once I HAVE the pistol ....................
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That's IF we can find one - Academy Sports is having problems getting them from Bersa ....................... pawn shops are selling them as soon as they come in ........................ I'll be going for my concealed carry class/certification in January, once I HAVE the pistol ....................
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Friday, December 12, 2008
I had started avoiding WalMart for our day-to-day needs .............................
I can get cat food for less @ Sam's Club or Costco, OUR needs can be met at either the local independent grocery {spousal unit prefers their meats}, or the absolutely fabulous HEB in Kingwood - but, our prescriptions have been filled at WalMart for 6+ years now, so, when I needed to drop one off yesterday, I decided to check the cookie aisle & end caps, for Archway's Cashew Nougat cookies.
Now, LAST year, they were on the shelf before Thanksgiving; when I saw them then, I grabbed a pack - when I got to the checkout, the cashier couldn't get it to scan, so according to HER, they weren't in the computer, so she refused to sell them to me ....................... fast forward to yesterday - NO Archway Christmas cookies at all on the shelves - I went to one of the store managers & told him that his bean-counters were idiots & why {WalMart has a reputation for cancelling orders of products that don't produce a high volume of sales} - HE referred me to his grocery manager - I explained to her what I was looking for, etc., etc. - she realized then that she hadn't received ANY Archway Christmas products, so would be calling her reps ................ now, the REASON for my worrying about something as ultimately inconsequential as cookies - my Dad LOVED the cashew nougats - even after he was diagnosed with diabetes, he'd still indulge in them, and Breyer's Butter Pecan ice cream, in a serving bowl, "schmeared" with Hershey's syrup & Jif peanut butter - I just can't get into the ice cream/Hershey's/peanut butter routine too often - but I CAN {WHEN I can find the da## things!} enjoy Archway's Cashew Nougat cookies, and feel closer to my Dad for a bit .................... the grocery manager allowed as how HER Dad's favorite gnosh was cornbread soaked in milk; every once in while, she'll have some cornbread {even though she doesn't LIKE it too much}, and think of her Dad .....................
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Now, LAST year, they were on the shelf before Thanksgiving; when I saw them then, I grabbed a pack - when I got to the checkout, the cashier couldn't get it to scan, so according to HER, they weren't in the computer, so she refused to sell them to me ....................... fast forward to yesterday - NO Archway Christmas cookies at all on the shelves - I went to one of the store managers & told him that his bean-counters were idiots & why {WalMart has a reputation for cancelling orders of products that don't produce a high volume of sales} - HE referred me to his grocery manager - I explained to her what I was looking for, etc., etc. - she realized then that she hadn't received ANY Archway Christmas products, so would be calling her reps ................ now, the REASON for my worrying about something as ultimately inconsequential as cookies - my Dad LOVED the cashew nougats - even after he was diagnosed with diabetes, he'd still indulge in them, and Breyer's Butter Pecan ice cream, in a serving bowl, "schmeared" with Hershey's syrup & Jif peanut butter - I just can't get into the ice cream/Hershey's/peanut butter routine too often - but I CAN {WHEN I can find the da## things!} enjoy Archway's Cashew Nougat cookies, and feel closer to my Dad for a bit .................... the grocery manager allowed as how HER Dad's favorite gnosh was cornbread soaked in milk; every once in while, she'll have some cornbread {even though she doesn't LIKE it too much}, and think of her Dad .....................
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Sunday, December 7, 2008
On Tuesday, 9 December, it will be 9 years since my Dad's death ...................................
he is missed, every day; I completely understand Kinsley Penny's sentiments
I don't know HOW many times over the years we said 'goodbye' to my Dad, as he went where the Marine Corps needed him; from a child's perspective, it was always too many, for too long ...................... I miss you, Daddy
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I don't know HOW many times over the years we said 'goodbye' to my Dad, as he went where the Marine Corps needed him; from a child's perspective, it was always too many, for too long ...................... I miss you, Daddy
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Thursday, December 4, 2008
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