A Visit With The Pepper Dog!

Yeah, they messed up at work and gave me two consecutive days off this week. That meant a visit to Charleston to see my son's new home, and of course, the Pepper Dog!

She currently holds court at Metto Cafe in North Charleston where this picture was just taken. My DIL takes her here several times a week, and if not here, she has a city favorite cigar shop where she goes with Paul. She gets tons of belly rubs and attention. She is certainly doing well, and it's just so awesome to see her enjoying herself.

Of course while here, I had to lunch where my son works and had a great time with his wife and her friend.

Just checking in on the family and my dear Pepper is enough to make me feel much better!

On a side note, a small, paper/carton cut received at work turned into a generalized infection under my nail and I had to go to the doctor's office while here in Charleston to get a prescription, etc. It would not have been either funny or ironic to die of a stupid paper cut, okay? Damn if money isn't nasty stuff.

There's Never Been a Better Time To Be a Guy: Beer Edition

Ladies, just let me clue you in on something: if you want to impress a guy, then know all kinds of stuff about beer.

Holy.Crap.

You wanna see a man come alive and see the ol' spark in his eyes? Just say, "Chimay" or buy him a kegerator, or whisper, "India Pale Ale" and know why it's called that. Understand everything about Trappist Beers and who can actually lay claim to them. Know why 120-minute Dogfish Head in a 12 oz bottle costs the same as a bottle of table wine.

Want something special from him? Buy him a popular mini-mini Keg.

Treat him to a Build-your-own-sixpack-of-exotic-beers night. Forget the sexy negligees. Most guys consider the beer carton to be beautiful when it's empty on the floor, just like that teddy from VS. And there's never been more craft brews available, even in the grocery stores. It's a Beer World and it's where guys want to live, ladies.

Its siren call has a hold on your man and if you want him to notice you just say, Arrogant Bastard.

When I answer the phone at work and I get a guy asking about the Holy Grail of Beer Experiences, namely, The Keg, it's as though he needs a whole catechism of information about it. It is his Love, his Muse, his Destiny. Beer! A guy buying a keg is helpless in its thrall. How many servings? Can I get a tap? How many types? How much? Can I reserve it? It's important! Can I reserve one? Are you sure it'll be there? Can you do a special order?

His own first-born male child does not hold his attention as squarely as The Keg.

I worry. Guys still like the girls, but if you could see what I've seen these last few months ladies, you'd be brushing up on your hops, wheats, stouts and pales. I watch the menfolk become total pushovers when I speak beer-speak to them. I am the Bringer of Beer Knowledge and this makes me totally hawt, okay? I send them home to you with a wink and a smile, girls. It's up to you to do the rest.

Try Not to Try Too Hard

. . . it's just a lovely ride.

Turning Forbidden Pleasures Into a Form of Protest

And you thought dissent was the highest form of patriotism? Ha! Folks, I'm eating Oreos and drinking rum and playing my guitar out in the evening air. I'm off the grid, noshing naughty food and imbibing inspirational spirits and Obama and his health care toadies don't even know! Nyah!

I'm enjoying the little bit of evening I've stumbled into almost by accident having got off work early. Music, musings, munchies. I'm feeling patriotic already.

The world has turned such that I'm a natural-born anarchist at this point.

Won't you join me?

Obama Reveals Plans to Visit Robert Byrd.

We had no idea that Obama is a one-man death panel, but Cripes Suzette so nailed this one two days ago, that it's worth another link if you missed it:

Because the last old sick person he visited said aloha right afterwards.

Meanwhile, Nancy Pelosi is dragging dead Teddy through the political streets like some horrid war trophy.

Magnificent Obsessions

Go fast. Fly. Float. Zoom. Soar. Turn the music up and be free:

Gagdad Bob Answers the Big Questions

Why Is There Stupidity?

Y'know, it takes a big swingin' pair of Buddha-Bollix to tackle the perennial questions that nag at us, just in back of our daily work experience. It only takes a few minutes of interaction with the Left, with co-workers, with family to make you gnash your cosmic teeth in quiet frustration at the inexplicable.

Well, while Bob Godwin can't cure your co-workers or Obama, he certainly can diagnose the problem with delightful deftness:

To cite one particularly glaring example, there is the science of economics. And there is politics, or "political science." The former is the application of intelligence toward understanding the creation of wealth. The latter is the application of intelligence toward the acquisition of power (or perhaps we should say power misappropriating the intelligence).

These two uses of intelligence are at odds, which is where socialism come in. Socialism -- including Obamanomics -- is the application of the will to bend the science of economics toward the acquisition of power. As Mencken said, "a socialist is simply a man suffering from an overwhelming compulsion to believe what is not true."

It's all good. I'm in a deep funk, so, yeah, I'll just keep linking better blogs. It's the least I can do.

Alternative to Waterboarding Found!

Quicker, more psychologically painful, leaves no visible scars:

h/t Innocent Bystanders.

Sunday Morning Grille

Get your fill of today's most succulent, red-meat, juicy morsels of bloggy rant goodness. You have time to click because they are all short-order dishes. But, save room for dessert because Suzette is an imaginative cook. Aw, Hell, life is short, eat dessert first.

I'm sure it's viral by now, but a Congresscritter gets served deliciously by a Marine Corp Vet in Washington State.

TJIC slings some hash with a delightful slash at the cultural neologisms being inflicted on us in the wake of Obama's ship of state. Dude.

Let's have a school lunch, just to deepen the sour mood: Mrs. Who is in charge of a little rant with a big, funny title.

Time for a palate-cleansing little morsel of absolute perfection. It seems familiar at first, a bit piquant, and then ends with a really satisfying flourish. It's a drive-in delight over at the Parkway Rest Stop.

A nice glass of Scotch after dinner? I don't think so. [The Scots, they've rrruined Scotland!]

Oh, and here's your after-dinner Meant. Some things are just as they seem.

Newfound Respect and Awe

How Helen Keller learned to speak. What a practical and intelligent teacher she had, too. And the payoff at the end? An absolutely beaming smile!

Obstacles of Unusual Size? I don't think they exist:

h/t The Presurfer.

It Bears Repeating

http://www.atomicnerds.com/?p=2688

One of the most common things I hear from people who fear guns, whether they think no one should be allowed to have a gun or just that they never could bring themselves to touch one, is that they fear what they would do if they were angry and they had a gun. They might shoot someone in a fit of pique, or take revenge on an enemy, or accidentally shoot someone while playing with it. This from innocuous people, careful drivers, people who can debone a turkey in two minutes without stabbing their spouse or cutting off a finger. With no mental map of their own capacity of violence, they project and fill in the unknown territory with what they’ve seen- dramas where some normal person loses it and kills someone in a fit of ordinary anger, action shows where someone guns down the big bad (or the big bad guns down random innocent people)- all the places guns usually appear in fiction. [emphasis mine]

h/t TJICistan, one of the best places on the web if you like things to be clear, precise, and in short posts.

Why We Love the Intartubes, Part II

Totally NSFW but I've never laughed so hard at technology:

h/t The Young Americans

Why We Love the Intartubes

Grow your own, here.

Scalp!

Caught me a dangerous criminal last night, peeps. Got a reward for it, too. Some stupid man-child didn't have the sense that Some Imaginary Being* gave a gnat, and came in with his buddy, who was buying the beer. It is our policy to card every person in the queue; i.e., if five chuckleheads come into the line together, you card them all.

This idjit didn't expect to get carded, since his buddy was buying the beer. So both presented their I.D.s and the paying customer was legit, but manchild handed me someone else's driver's license. He tipped me off by not looking at me, turning away to obstensibly view the shelf full of snacks. "Is this you?" I asked. He looked at me and said nothing. Definitely not him. Heh.

I called the manager over while I held the I.D. and for a minute there I thought we'd have an arrest, but he wised up and walked away before the manager could get there. His buddy swore he only met him earlier in the day. Yeah, right. No beer for you, either!

I'm not a fan of the 21 year-old age limit, but seriously? If you can't figure out a way to get your beer without going into the store, maybe you shouldn't be allowed to drink after all. I'm glad he was smart enough to leave when he was found out.

The hell of all of it is that the perp may spend a night in jail and a day in court with attendant aggravations, but anyone who unwittingly sells liquor to a minor will lose their job, pay a huge fine, and be unable to work in any place that sells alcohol for 5 years. You'll have more of a record than the perp.

So here's a tip: don't fuck with the sales clerks in liquor stores. They become quite humorless and unassailable, immune to your plight as an idiot because there's more at stake than your stupid sense of entitlement to respect or some such. Your sorry ass isn't worth their job.

It's been good training for me as a manager, to work the line for so many weeks. Just when I think I've seen it all. . .

Oh, and how fun it is to see so many bottles of Kim Crawford wine. Heh.

Target Practice for Conservatives

I know that many of my blog-peeps don't care for political banter, but if you want to play along, I'm shit-kicking a Concern Troll in the comments to this post: When The Best Man For the Job is a Woman.

Yes, it's an exercise in futility because said troll has no interest in truth, isn't really a conservative, and he's just clinging bitterly to his latent hate for all things Christian. If you keep poking him, the same old tired Leftist babble-on scripted arguments flow out of him. It's not like you're pulling the wings off a fly or something, it's more like you're just poking a monkey in its deluded cage of existence. He likes it there and thinks it superior to any free-range thinking that may appear silly to his fellow simians.

So, the object of this game is to pre-anticipate the Concern Troll's next goalpost and beat him with it. Mercilessly. No appeals to any sort of Christian charity will be considered. It sounds very un-Christian of me, doesn't it? Well, that's the sort of world he wants to live in, so please, give him a taste for it: no holds barred.

I'll be back later. I'm headed to the shooting range that is now only a mile away from my undisclosed mobile blogging location. Don't let me down.

That's a Load o' Croc!

Without photographic evidence, I wouldn't believe it. Some guy saved a crocodile's life and now they are best buds. Uh-huh:

It's story of salvation and . . . I dunno. Not sure this will play well in New Jersey, either. This is sure to make Jimbo cringe.

More incredible pics and story at the link.

h/t to the Innocent Bystanders

The Perfect Book For Summer

If the Borderline Sociopathic Blog for Boys had a Favorite Book for summer, it should be A Trip of Goats, by Mr. Kim Crawford.

I know, I know, Max Hardberger is still da man, the pirate's Pirate for grown-ups rendered larger-than life by his exploits. But Kim's labor of love and sheer literature has rendered a masterful work of capturing a time and place that is at once unique and ubiquitous; the coming-of-age story that every boy wishes was his own. Well, maybe not in every detail, because after all, this is ultimately a Velociman tale. It turns the familiar "running away to join the circus" story on its head in a way that only Vman could conjure from his fertile imagination. [Note: boys must be THIS tall to read this book!]

This is not just another blogger's self-published indulgence, either. It's well-crafted and expertly edited to where you are convinced you are reading a long-cherished classic. I hope that is what this becomes. It deserves it.

I'm gobsmacked at the perfection of plot and the breezy pace that never once falters or disappoints. You know you're hooked when you don't fast-forward scan a single paragraph, so engaging is the detail. The warm and soft-focused characters appear just as they should in a hazy, humid South; a melange of color and heat melted together just enough to blur the edges. Assorted foils and interlopers are artfully arranged within the plot and I found myself practically grinning in anticpation of how their paths would all eventually pile up on each other. No, I was not disappointed!

You won't be either.

You cannot read this book and not smile, or grin wryly in recognition, or laugh out loud. It's a brilliant bit of sunshine with the occasional clouds added for interest and scope. I can't even do it justice in a review because, after all, I'm a girl.

As I told Vman, ".. . damn it all, if underneath the breezy and lighter-than-air pace there wasn't lurking the most simply touching emotion, profound in its universal pangs of recognition. Just beautiful. Damn you!"

Yeah, it's all that. But this book. You go, now.

When The Best Man For The Job Is A Woman

It's pointless to keep a daily log of Obama's outrages and political hypocrisies. It really and truly is. And it has no effect whatsoever on anyone's political outlook.

The Left stimulates, the Right responds. It amuses the Left no end since they control the field of battle, the rules, and the weapons of words. They've isolated so many factions of the right with the sheer horror--still!--of appearing foolish or extreme that our responses are for our own satisfaction.

So really, the Left fears almost no one. Almost.

There are vulnerabilities in the hell-care bill to be found by the sheer magnitude of the unknowns and the push for a fiat. And it's a moving target. However, Sarah Palin hit a bullseye right out of the gate, so keen are her sights. She found the heart of the animal and took aim right at its evil core.

"Evil" is a word that the Dems hate, and cannot use, having thrown all morality to the winds of situational ethics. It was the small, smooth stone that Sarah Palin chose for her sling. Found it in a well-thumped Bible, too. Imagine that.

And you know what? The Left fears her. They're not slinging mud at Romney, Jindal, or Barr or Steele because they control them already. You know I'm right on that one, too. The good ol' boys on the Right want to leave Palin to the likes of beltway pundits and media elites and even some insecure Conservatives to be vilified and to twist in the winds of political war.

"Evil" was the correct ammunition for the target. It's effectiveness is in the fact that it resounds on an intangible level that cannot be corralled by political ploys and turns of phrase. Like pornography, people know it when they see it. It just takes a pretty brave soul to give it voice. And it was not directed at the man, but at the idea itself. Nobody's going to show up and physically threaten Zeke Emanual for his evil ideas. But they are going to attack such ideas loudly and relentlessly until sleepy eyelids snap open in recognition: This is evil. Don't touch it!

But take note: it doesn't matter one bit what the Left says about anything. Watch who they are now targeting, if you wanna know how to play to your strengths. You can analyze and cry foul and keep pointing the fingers everywhere at all the wolves in the forest, but I don't want you in my hunting blind if you can't shut up and watch how it's done; whether or not you like the ammo, the gun, the sights, the equipment, or the stinging media mosquitoes. And that's just one way to hunt.

Just wait until Sarah gets airborne with some more heavy artillery. She knows how to hunt ravenous wolves that would decimate our livelihood.

Does that seem simplistic and barbaric?

Just wait until you see your new national healthcare plan in action.

Who the 'eff decides who is a "participating citizen"?

You know, the brothers Emanuel share a surname that means "God with us" but I'm not quite ready to bow the knee to such perfect examples of irony. For if ever there were a Devil, his ideas brood and grow in the minds of both men.

Meanwhile, the doublespeak and coinage of terms in the ongoing debate are making me more sure than ever that "non-participating citizens" is the broadest and most diaphanous of terms with Supreme Court-like penumbras of meaning that mean nothing good for that actual participating citizenry. You know, the ones paying taxes.

If there really were a policy of withholding government support programs to the non-participating individuals in our midst, the Democrats would lose their voting base.

Feh.

My Classmate, Scott Speicher, Returns Home Today

Being a member of the largest graduating class in the history of the State of Florida means that Scott Speicher's remains will be received by large number of my classmates tomorrow. His memorial procession will trace through my childhood streets and high school, past the familiar bastions of Naval Bases--familiar but never taken for granted-- and to a final home of rest in his native country.

Although I may have had a passing acquaintance with Scott within the walls and classes of my school, I cannot claim a long-past connection with him in the close confines of a small west-side community school. My connection with him is more far-flung; by an extra 2,000 miles removed from Desert Storm. From Mexico City, Mexico.

I lay awake in the wee hours of the morning, listening the the English language ABC radio affiliate giving news of our effort to rescue Kuwait from Saddam Hussein's rapacious appetite for expansion. It was very tense, being in a foreign country amidst many neighbors who were not happy with the U.S. "imperialism" never mind the Kuwaiti people's real fear for their lives. The radio reporter droned the heightened military activity and the strain of not having a body count to gleefully report was certainly giving the newscasters no blood-money to send their market share numbers up. But you knew the inevitable number ONE would be reported breathlessly at some point and it made one tired.

I snapped alert and awake at the mention of "first casualty" and his hometown. My hometown. So far away and now so real in my imagination; I missed home, my school, my friends and vicariously felt the pang of loss reverberate amongst my classmates, their faces long faded in my memory now parading in front of my thoughts. It was sobering and sorrowful all at once. And has been for all these long years since.

I am considering going to meet Scott Speicher's procession tomorrow, and show my respects for him and take the time to realize that the community that I felt so far away from on that day, was there then. They'll be there today and tomorrow, too. The solidarity of support and profound respect is just a part of this city. And likely in your city, too. And in a thousand other cities around the country the same connectivity, awe, and gratitude keeps us together.

There will be no need for formal organizations or clubs or government subsidies to compel us to hold the line of honor for our sacred dead. We are bound to bow the head, doff the cap, hold our hands to our hearts in humble gratitude for such an unfathomable and selfless act of freedom.

Welcome home, Captain Scott Speicher, to the real meaning of home and freedom and unity. It can't be created or bought or organized into being. It resides in a place so deep and primal, so tangible to the Spirit, that it is hidden in plain sight, safe from the petty politicians and ivory-towered ideologues.

Safe in our hearts, the memory of our fallen.

If a little bit is good . . .

. . . a lot more is better. Right?

Moving to Honduras

Sounds like a reasonable "out" of this crappy hand we've been dealt. God bless the brave people of Honduras who got rowdy, loud and unafraid of OUR President and his toadies!!

I'm sure they didn't like where History smacked them in the face, but their reaction to the loss of the rule of Law and their rights was exactly appropriate. Exactly. Appropriate.

Meanwhile, Velociman has a post up about "Poker For Dummies." Don't miss it.

Why Breitbart hasn't selected Vman to post over at Big Hollywood is a mystery to me.

That Goes Double For Me

From Bruce Kesler at Maggie's Farm:

I wasn’t a proponent of street violence then, nor am I now. I abhor it. And, just let any one of the Democrat thugs try to physically attack me or silence me or anyone nearby and they better stand the f*ck by for a real thumping. At 61, I still fit in my Marine Corps uniform, and know well how to defend myself. I’m just one member of a rapidly expanding, reluctant force of ordinary Americans who will. Those who have spent their lives cloistered in ivy and Congress have never met our resistance before, are shocked, and are in for more rueful surprises if they keep on their vile attacks on our democracy, peace and prosperity.

Ocean Guy brings further insight by calling up Confederate Yankee's post of April 2006 regarding Sheep, Sheepdogs, and Wolves.

Not a bad morning's reading if you need a good reminder of who you are, and what your place is in this political climate. Hint: it's not where the Democrats think your place is, and it's not what the MSM has labeled you, you mobster. It's ultimately where and what history seems to be handing to you simply because of the life and liberty you have enjoyed up until . . . well, this year.

A life and liberty hard-won by hard men who shrugged off labels, lies, and the mewling judgments of foppish aristocrats and other footling rulers.

Organized? Astroturfed? What the evil tide of the Left's ocean of officialdom cannot fathom is a people who are far beyond the need for organization or payoffs in order to move them to action. Liberty is in our DNA, defense of the silly flock is our calling. We move among our brothers and sisters as the very picture of meekness: strength under the control of the Author of our liberty. That is why it is somewhat breathtaking to see the ferocity of our passion. The masters of disingenuous display have run up against something of real substance and it will only dismay them for so long. When their words run out, let's see if Soros will fund something more substantive and indelible, like thugs leaving marks on the heads of their fellow countrymen.

Make note, dear reader and ObamaSnitches, our passions are NEVER directed toward the sheep, even when their foolishness calls us into action. There may be startling consequences, but the sheep never need fear us. Devouring wolves may want to slink back into their dens of decay and realize that they've overplayed their hand.

Did you quietly watch the contrivances of a besotted Media determine to fan the racist flames of passion out of all reason and solemnity? I spotted it dead-on in my own little town over 30 years ago, and have watched it grow unabated through the glorification of the Press and its triumph over a President. A press that has grown bold and lazy since then, falling back to "racist" at every point, no matter what reason demands of a functioning mind. Did you notice the problem 30 years ago, and more, that academia goes hand-in-hand with the Media? And for at least that long, someone has been feeding that problem with generous portions of cash, influence, and ideology-- all very organized and astroturfed.

That someone, that ideology, that fund, where ever it finds us, is where our defense of Liberty must be concentrated. It's that simple.

In closing, let's go over the list one more time, courtesy of Folly, whose blog title says it all:

Ballot, Soap, Jury, Ammo
Please use in that order.

They've taken away the ballet box through convicted fraud. They're in the process of taking away the soap box. And they're in process of taking away the jury box. Do they really want to keep whittling away our choices in the defense of Liberty?

A New Home For the Pepper Dog

Look, this is shitty enough, but it's like this: The Pepper Dog needed a new home. In North Florida, preferably, but that was just my broken heart wanting to keep her nearby. So, my son insisted that he and his bride give her a home in Charleston.

My new job is going to pretty much shut out any sort of life beyond survival, and the long hours away while she waited for me was killing me. And unfair to her.

Hell, it took her almost a year to warm up to me after she was adopted, so it will likely be a daunting task for a new master to win her affections. I bet yummy snacks will help. Still, she's fiercely loyal to me-- a loyalty won through fun places to visit and special attentions-- and she deserves better structure than my job will allow. Retail schedules are a nightmare of days, nights, no two days off in a row, and long, long hours.

She's the sort of dog that needs a job: herding cats, squirrels, kids or cattle or whatever. She won't chase a ball or a stick, she doesn't see a need to expend the energy on inanimate objects. She's all about people, socializing, belly rubs and naps. When she's not given an assigned task, she just patiently naps and waits. No barking, yapping or whining, she just deals the guilt out passively with reproachful looks when you return.

She's the best dog in the whole, wide world, and it's killing for to let someone else provide her with everything the Best Dog in the World deserves . . . because I no longer can. I'd like to think I could at a later date. . .

But, my son came yesterday to take her to his newly acquired home in Charleston. She's having a new adventure with active young folks and, hey, a CHEF for a master is every dog's dream, right? I hope she's dreaming of soup bones, even now.

I sure do miss her, already.

Random Rants

Social conventions apply to nominal transactions involving the exchange of money for goods or services rendered. That means, TURN OFF THE EFFIN' PHONE WHEN YOU'RE IN THE CHECKOUT LANE! It is amazing how many times it happens that a cell phone rings while a person is checking out. Suddenly, the person on the phone is more important than your money leaving your wallet, which is just stupid, and time-consuming for everyone.

Gum-cracking will get you carded. I'm just sayin'.

If you're a middle-aged man buying booze, wearing baggy b-ball shorts, a ball-cap turned backwards and oversized tennis-shoes, I'm gonna card you just on mental age alone. It's a matter of principal.

Drunken, hunky young soldiers think I'm sexy. Come to think of it, that's not a rant. But it is a worry that they'll drive home that drunk.

Ya'll be safe out there. I have a 12-hour shift tomorrow and don't want you to think I'm ignoring you.

Work. It's great to have a job. *sigh*

It's Thursday. Make a Big Splash!

Just because you can, maybe you should:

h/t Last of the Few

Objectivity cont'd...

[Note: reposted from Nov. 08. It's tough being ahead of the curve. Like The Gunslinger, who nailed the Joker deal months ago.]

I know, my chopping skills are rudimentary at best, I only have MSPaint, but I kinda like it. I've been LMAO at shit like this for the last eight years, haven't you? It's hysterical!!

I know that the 52'ers can see it too, and will want to laugh with us now that we can all come together in one voluntary Camp Meeting and sing "O-ba-ma, My Lord, Come by Here."

Because the objective and enlightened know how to take a joke.

Those christers are unfunny peeps, though, I tell ya.

Blessed Event! Er . . . New Arrival!

Must be the full moon or some other alignment of the universe, but Kim Crawford, aka, Velociman, has finally given birth to his firstborn novel, A Trip of Goats.

Go congratulate him, (and Key, as midwife) and then buy his book. You've spent twice as much on some crappy movie that you'll never watch again. But this is a friggin' book, peeps. It'll be around until someone emails Vman's blog address to the "fishy" Col. Flag at Obama headquarters.

You go now.

A Metaphor for ObamaCare

First of all, this video was swiped from Vman's post about Cash for Clunkers where he so artfully expounds on the heartless Left's policy of destroying perfectly functional cars, and the resultant burden on the poor. You go now!

Second, I would hope the sane people in this country take up the cause of this poor Volvo and it's very apt metaphoric application to socialized health care. I don't think I need to spell it out for any of my astute readers:

Hmmm. . . will the government put a price on granny's head? Will grandchildren step up to trade in their families for a chance to survive economically? There's an old Russian story that speaks to this and I aim to find it or re-write it from my 5th-grade literature book memory.

And to wrap up today's menu, we have a tasty little just dessert for Arlen Spectre:

See, that's what a REAL town hall meeting is supposed to look like. Not the nicey-nice scripted things you've been fed by the media. Kinda fun! Now, that's what politics used to look like. People unafraid of power. Bring it back.

I'm unafraid of power, but I do fear hunger. Off to work again, peeps.