Tuesday, March 19, 2002

I'm packed and ready for the Road Barge. This will be my last post until next Monday, unless I find a cyber-cafe in Key West between bars and Bloody Marys. I'll keep a journal while I'm there and I hope to have many outlandish tales to relate when I return, provided I survive the trip. Stay tuned.

Meanwhile, I'm off to the rodeo.
Seldom do I agree with an egotistical, dried-up fossil such as Sen. Robert Byrd (KKK, West Virginia), but in THIS CASE I do. By granting visas to two of the 9/11 terrorists six months after they destroyed the World Trade Center, the INS proved its incompetence. They may suck, but that's no reason for the rest of the government to throw in the towel and extend amnesty to illegal immigrants in this country. The reason they are called ILLEGAL immigrants is because they are here ILLEGALLY. Waving a congressional wand over their heads and excusing their crime does nothing but encourage more illegal immigration. America doesn't need that, especially not now.

If I lived anywhere else in the world, I probably would want to come here, to this land of opportunity and freedom. But there are right ways and wrong ways to do it. Swimming a river, jumping a fence or sneaking in under the cover of darkness aren't the right ways. Ignore or forgive those who do it the wrong way and some more crazed nutjobs will sneak in here for the opportunity to hijack airplanes and kill a lot of innocent people. We don't need open arms and compassion for those who don't belong here. We need to find them and throw them out.

I suppose I should start packing shortly. The "Road Barge," a nice van with captain's chairs and lots of room will be here at around 5:00 to transport me to Key West, with a stop somewhere around Daytona tonight. I'll be staying at a "clothing optional" resort in the Keys, which leaves me very puzzled about what to bring. Sunscreen is a given (although I don't know how one gracefully applies that lotion to parts of the anatomy unaccustomed to direct sunlight. Maybe I can ask for assistance and have a person of the feminine persuasion do it for me.), a few tee shirts and shorts for times when I go out to eat or slouch in a bar sucking up Bloody Marys, and a pair of sandals ought to cover it all (since I intend to be UNCOVERED most of the time). Okay, a razor and a toothbrush, too. Plus, my fix-a-flat kit just in case I get lucky.

It's been almost a month since I last administered one of those injections to myself. I refilled my prescription for the magic elixer last Friday and got the Blue-Light Special dose, which is 5.0 mlls for $150 as opposed to the 2.0 mlls for $100 I bought last time. I still have nine hypodermic needles left and I intend to take them all with me. There's no way I'm going to take nine shots in my crank while I'm there, no matter HOW LUCKY I get, but maybe somebody else will want to try it. That stuff can be a real hoot if you're the kind of person who likes an erection with a mind of its own that may last up to six hours whether you want it to or not. Talk about the life of the party? Very impressive if you can stand it.

It's going with me. I just figure it's better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it, a lesson I learned from years of backpacking.

Well, I'm going to gather my wherewithall. I believe a very small bag will do.
I spent about three hours yesterday watching "Gunsmoke" reruns on television. I had forgotten how good that show was. Now, however, I have a problem. The string of episodes ended with the first half of a two-parter, where Doc Adams and a lady friend are captured by Comancheros and Matt, Festus and Newly pose as outlaw gun runners to ride to their rescue. They encounter a mangy bunch on the trail, engage in a fearsome gunfight and kill all but three of the bad guys, who then go French and attempt to negotiate to save their cowardly asses. They say, "There's more of us than there are of you," and Newly replies, "Not anymore!" while brandishing his rifle. Matt points his hogleg .45 at the spokeman and says, "Enough talk! You were gonna kill us, now we're gonna KILL YOU!" Festus, smoking pistol in hand, sits astride his mule and stares gimlet-eyed and hostile at the bad guys.

I won't see the second half of that episode, because I will be in Key West when it plays, and I doubt I will be watching much television while I am there. I will be soaking up rays in the crystal clear tropical waters or slouched in a bar sucking up Bloody Marys. But I know one thing for sure. We need to fight the war on terrorism exactly the way Matt, Festus and Newly handled the Comancheros.

You were gonna kill us, now we're gonna kill you. Amen.

Ya gotta LOVE SGT. STRYKER. Not only does he have a picture of John Wayne on his home page, he writes some really interesting stuff. (John Wayne, by the way, remains the MOST POPULAR MOVIE STAR OF ALL TIME, even years after his death. Elvis may be The King, but John Wayne is THE MAN!)

Sarge noticed that a lot of pundits are writing similar opinions about expanding the war on terrorism to include Iraq, and he wonders whether it's the result of a PR campaign by the Bush administration. He says, "a set of people with the same political philosophy would naturally say the same things, but I've always found it odd that they almost always choose to say it at the same time."

That's not a remarkable phenomenon. As a minor-league blogger, I often am frustrated when I find and interesting nugget in the news and expound upon it, only to discover that INSTANTMAN, the unmentionables at SAMIZDATA and a host of other bloggers found the same story, expounded upon it, too, and wrote opinions very similar to mine, so that it appears I COPIED THEM. I didn't. We just "naturally say the same things," except they usually say it better than I do.

I hate it when that happens. That's why I hope I cornered the market with the nipple-biting story I stole from Drudge today and posted below. Being unique is difficult in Blogdom.
POP GOES THE WEASEL. That gentleman, scholar and mealy-mouthed gasbag Sen. Pat Leahy (Dork, Vermont), still dripping slime from his performance in the Charles Pickering affair, has decided to cease his obstructionist tactics and actually have his Judiciary Committee fill a vacancy or two on the federal bench. "By moving first on the non-ideological (read OUR KIND OF IDEOLOGICAL) and qualified (read LIBERAL) candidates of President Bush's nominees we can fill the most vacancies in the least amount of time." Ah, the things a statesman does for the good of his country.
Here's a different kind of SICK PERVERT who might even make a deviant Catholic priest blush. I like nipples as much as anybody, but some people just take a good thing too far. We live in a crazy world.
As if Catholic priests weren't already hip-deep in sex scandals, a couple more make the news in a CHILD PORNO RING busted by the FBI. The Pope cannot be happy.

When I was in college, my roommate and I somehow got our names and address enshrined on a porno mailing list and received a plain brown envelope stamped "Adults Only!" about once a month. We couldn't wait to open it and peruse the literature inside, which usually featured a lot of interesting photographs of filthy people doing filthy things to each other. It sure beat reading the electric bill.

In those days, I argued that obscenity laws were for the self-righteous Puritans of society who spent sleepless nights worrying that somebody might be somewhere doing something of which the Puritans disapproved. I thought they were a bunch of fuddy-duddies who should butt out of my business. If filthy people chose to do filthy things to each other, have photographs taken while they were doing it, and then send those pictures to me, I saw nothing wrong with that arrangement. This is a free country and both exhibitionists and voyeurs have rights.

Then my roommate and I opened a plain brown envelope one day and discovered something revolting. It was child pornography, the first and last time I saw that stuff in my life. At last, I finally understood the concept of obscenity, because the pictures made my skin crawl. My roommate felt the same way. We didn't just throw that shit away; we burned it first.

If adults want to engage in group sex, play with whips and chains, commit homosexual acts, masturbate in front of a camera or screw like wild dogs while swinging on a trapeze, that's fine with me. Hell, I might like to watch. But I am the father of two children and I cannot understand the sexual fascination some people harbor for youngsters. Anyone who can look into the innocent eyes of a child and become aroused is one sick puppy. I hope they throw every one of those perverts UNDER the jail.

Now adults with whips, chains and a swinging trapeze is a different matter...

Monday, March 18, 2002

Somehow, while all the media big guns were concentrating their attention on David Letterman and Ted Kopple, the lightweight drone "Politically Incorrect," piloted by smirking Bill Maher, was SHOT DOWN IN FLAMES. (Hmmm... it appears that this link does not work, even though it should. What the hell, the story isn't worth reading any more than the show was worth watching.) No one seems particularly concerned about this casuality, which is fitting, since the show pretty much sucked. I watched it occasionally just to practice hurling my "TV Brick" at the screen. It was anything BUT politically incorrect. The usual format featured three blithering liberals, abbetted by Maher, who teamed up to ridicule, insult and shout down the one sacrificial conservative provided for ritual beheading each evening. Maher found himself in hot water with some of the advertisers over a few thoughtless remarks he made playing star of the show, but I'll defend him on those charges. That's about as close as he ever came to actually being politically incorrect on his show, and we have a First Amendment that protects even a witless jerk's right to free speech. The show should not be cancelled for offending advertisers. It should be cancelled for insulting the intelligence of thoughtful people, which it did for six years.
A long time ago, I read a book by Robert Heinlein about identical twins with telepathic links. One went on a starship voyage and the other stayed on earth, and they communicated telepathically because radio waves would take too long to travel the vast distance involved. The twin on earth grew old while his brother, travelling in space at near the speed of light, remained young because of the relative time differential. It was a great book and I always knew which brother I would rather be-- the one on the starship, of course, not because he aged more slowly but because he was sailing in space. I always wanted to go there.

I may get a chance if RUSSIA pulls off this totally capitalist concept and I hit the lottery so I have $100,000 to spend on a thrill ride. At the current projection, that is $33,333.33 dollars per minute to experience weightlessness and see the stars above the atmosphere. I believe it's cheap at the price if I had that kind of money to throw around. It beats a three-story garage full of sports cars.

Proponents of bilingual education and Ebonics should take note that some people seriously are examining the language of future space travel and ENGLISH appears to be the winner. "For better or worse, it's the closest thing we've got to international language today... even the French recognize that." Oakland California doesn't, but I'm not certain those idiots have ratified the law of gravity yet.

Want to teach your children well? Teach them ENGLISH.
RED ALERT! RED ALERT! Republicans have a "secret plan" to destroy Social Security if they regain control of both houses of Congress in the November elections. How Dick Gebhardt discovered this secret plan before even the Republicans knew about it remains a mystery, but it's certainly frightening enough to make senior citizens pluck their dentures from the glass next to the bed, strap on their Depends undergarments and march straight to the polls to vote Democrat. At least, Gebhardt hopes so.

The Republicans always have a secret plan to destroy Social Security whenever an election looms. Republicans controlled both houses of Congress for years, until that spineless amoeba Jim Jeffords jumped the fence, and they never executed this nefarious plan when they had a chance. Why not? Could it be that Gebhardt is LYING? Could it be that Gebhardt is attempting to FRIGHTEN SENIOR CITIZENS? Yeah, could be.

That's what I like about Democrats. They want a constituiency of slack-jawed, mouth-breathing, witless drones who believe whatever bullshit they are told by their masters, who gladly do all the thinking for them. By and large, the strategy works, because that's what most Democrats are today.

I believe they may have played this string right out to the end. This "scare 'em, then save 'em" scam on Social Security is becoming awfully stale, since it's been used so often. My grandmother will be 91 years old in May and she doesn't buy that big, brilliant lie. Maybe other old folks do, but I'm beginning to wonder.

It all smacks of desperation to me.
I started collecting football cards when I was six years old. I lost a lot of my worldly possessions through tumultuous life upheavals in subsequent years, but somehow I managed to hang onto those cards. I have a 1959 Johnny Unitas, crew-cut and on top of the world at age 26, after the famous sudden-death championship victory over the Giants. I have Frank Gifford, Bobby Layne, Pat Summerall, Y.A. Tittle, Bart Starr, "Big Daddy" Lipscomb, "Night Train" Lane, Raymond Berry, Alex Karras, Jim Brown and Gale Sayers. I also have Brian Piccolo, which is the most valuable card I own, according to a catalogue I checked recently.

Old football cards aren't worth the kind of money old baseball cards are, but that's okay with me. I'll never sell any of them. Those players were my heroes when I was a boy. I enjoy looking at my cards and remembering when I still believed in magic, and those men were gods. Incredible waves of nostalgia wash over me.

Some of the cards still smell of bubble gum, too.

The always entertaining writer and altogether sexy wench ANN COULTER has an interesting take on NYT reporter Frank Bruni and his new book about bumbling bozo George Bush. I agree with her thesis, but I believe she missed a few key points.

Bush may be "ambling into history," but at least he's not groping his way there with his trousers at half-mast the way William Jefferson Clinton did. Through eight years of constant, windy speechifying, Clinton will be remembered for three statements: "The era of big government is over," (because the era of REALLY HUGE government is upon us) "I did not have sex with that woman," (Yes, you did, and with a lot of others, too, whether they wanted it or not) and "that depends on what the meaning of is, is." (which shows just what a slippery weasel Clinton is, is) Even Richard Nixon's "I am not a crook!" has more dignity than anything Clinton ever said. Bush has "the axis of evil" to his credit already, so he's done okay for a man who is supposed to be rhetorically challenged.

The bozo accusations simply are the way leftists attack their enemies. Their intellectual arguments are so bankrupt that no one with the brains of a sand gnat can abide them, so personal insults are all that remain in their arsenal. "Rush Limbaugh is a Big, Fat Idiot." "Stupid White Men." For a party that embraces the doctrine of non-judgmental tolerance and multiculturalism, Democrats behave like bullies and sadists when they don't get their way. Always the first to bemoan "mean-spirited" behavior from their enemies, they would be the first to kick a crutch from under a cripple and laugh when he fell down. When Alec Baldwin appeared on television during the Clinton impeachment hearings and suggested that Henry Hyde be stoned to death and his wife and children killed, these people cheered. I call that pretty damned mean-spirited. But I'm a stupid white man, a bozo and a member of that vast, right wing conspiracy that lurks in the shadows and fails to understand how higher taxes, more bureaucrats and less freedom benefit me. I suppose I'm a big, fat idiot, too.

Sunday, March 17, 2002

OH, THIS IS RICH. What do you get when the zoology department at the University of California-San Diego teams up with the Women's Studies department? You get a study finding that female wild animals "routinely fall victim to everything from stereotyping to exclusion from pack activities to sexual harassment." Obviously, lions and tigers and bears (Oh, My!) need diversity training and a heavy dose of political correctness.

This study proves once again that all men are swine, even in the animal kingdom, where they might actually be... well, swine.
In case you haven't noticed by now, I don't like many politicians. I believe most have the backbone of an invertebrate and the conscience of a hyena. They disgust me.

Prostitution is illegal in this country everywhere except Nevada and Washington DC; the difference between those places is that in Nevada the prostitutes admit what they are. In Washington, they call themselves "Congressmen."

That's why I hate to see a man as worthy as Fred Thompson leave the Senate. He is a rarity in politics today-- he's honest-- and I wish we could produce more individuals like him in government. I believe he is the sort of person the Founding Fathers envisioned when they laid plans for their republic and a government of the people, by the people and for the people. The fact that he walks away from a guaranteed reelection is confirmation of his character. The majority of those clowns on Capitol Hill are dug in like ticks on a dog's belly, bloating themselves with power and prestige, putting their petty self-interest above their duty to the country and the Constitution.

I will miss Fred when he is gone. So will the country.
I have a slight sunburn this morning, thanks to wrestling the BASKETBALL GOAL FROM HELL into submission yesterday. It stands tall and proud by my driveway now, but I was one inch away from using chainsaw and shotgun on its excreable self before Sherry walked over from across the street and helped put it together. I will never buy ANYTHING again that isn't ALREADY ASSEMBLED. I swear.
SOMETIMES YOU JUST HAVE TO STAND BACK AND MARVEL. Senator Partrick Leahy, chairman of the Judiciary Committee that just committed the political lynching of Charles Pickering, kept a straight face when he said, "I don't look at judicial nominations through a political prism. That is not my thing." Of course not, you lying weasel. You looked at Pickering through the crosshairs of a high-powered political rifle scope and pulled the trigger with the cold blood of an assassain.

I never voted for Zell Miller when he was governor of my beloved state of Georgia. "Pell-Mell" Zell ticked me off numerous times by pandering to various special-interest groups in the state, giving the famous "He feels your PAIN" speech about Bill Clinton in 1992, and grandstanding with some really obnoxious legislation, such as fingerprinting anybody who receives a Georgia driver's license. My prints are on file somewhere in the bowels of a computer in Atlanta thanks to Zell. (Well, they already were on a couple of police blotters, but that was a long time ago, and I was guilty as hell at the time. I was innocent when I got my driver's license.) When Governor Roy Barnes appointed Zell to fill the senate seat once held by the late Paul Coverdale, I cringed.

But Zell surprised me. The ex-marine grew a set of testicles on his way to Washington and has been a refreshingly independent gadfly among the lockstep Democrats. The son of a gun is doing a good job and I am proud of him.

I believe he is correct about the potential backlash over the Pickering smear Leahy and his cohorts orchestrated. Down South, we remember insults. We don't get mad; we get even.