We Knew Him When He Was Just a Wee-bit Naughty Example

Harvey has hit the big-time.

He gets to work with Jeri Thompson! Oh, and Fred, too.

Congrats, Harvey! They're lucky to have you.

I'm Not Really Sure

. . . but my gut says maybe.

Talking Back to the Borg

Found at Ruining the Internet

Lullaby of the Wild

A Lex-Link! Ahwoooo!!!

Exactly.

The ever-good Bad Example, Harvey, puts it all into perspective:

I mean, if you like rectal-thermometer-wielding nanny-states with semi-civilized standards of living - hey, all of Europe awaits you. Hell, you can even try Canada if you bring your snow shovel. The point is, there are DOZENS of countries where you can live without having to do your own life-planning.

But me... I *like* planning my own life. I *enjoy* making my own decisions. And I can do that in America more so than anywhere else.

Go read the rest.

It's 2:00 p.m. on Friday and the State of Virginia is Collectively Clogging Up the Intartubes

What the Hell, Virginia? You, too, Maryland!? Does everybody even in the general vicinity of that yawning abyss of government just check out at 2:00 on a bee-yooo-tee-ful Friday and just say "aw, fuckitall" and start surfing the 'net? Sitemeter's going nuts with hits from the Beltway.

Do what I did instead: I left the building and came home.
Dropped the top on the Miata and scooted home like a Spring zephyr, and got pelted with dogwood petals all the way; lavished like the Grand Marshal of some vernal victory parade.

****

I tried to find images of Spring by googling up "vernal" cuz I'm so literary and shit. But I was not prepared for this, dear merciful Marvin! but WTF?

What the fuck, Utah? What are you people on out there? Why aren't you sharing it?

*****

Gonna go outside and bask like some lizard and consider that Florida's unemployment rate is officially 12+% which is bringing it closer to the truth: more like 20%, and be glad I have an office job where everyone loves my work and I am now licensed to do Insurance mayhem in SC, and the JR has a wonderful new job, his DREAM job like most of you guys would kill to have: working for a Porsche race car shop.

And that makes two upward moves in employment since arriving here. Maybe this town has too many doctors and students. union labor, and rich people with race cars, and not enough folks who know how to use a computer, write a letter, or manage an office.

C'mon down. We got jobs and everyone owns a gun and there's chicken n' waffles for breakfast.

Things That Didn't Suck Today:

Son Chef made us a mean, spicy batch of Thai Red Curry. It burns us, precious! Yum.

From The Conservatives Who Say Fuck: Dave C's well-reasoned response to Steny Hoyer( a name that sounds like a medical procedure)'s pussified whining about the visceral reaction to the redistribution of wealth. Yes. There is potty-mouth abundant throughout. Kinda like this post.

The caller on Rush today who noted wryly that our Vice President was only two-thirds correct in calling PelosiCare a "Big Fuckin' Deal" as it seems it's merely a "Big Fuckin."

Andrew Breitbart's offer of $10k for any videotaped evidence of the alleged racial slurs heard by the delicate delegates of the monochromatic Black Caucus. Note to the GOP: that's how you do it. That's how you spend money and support your base, your ideals, your future. You put money on the street and make it work for Truth. Not unlike I said in November of 2008, our military knows more about winning hearts and minds and more about social networking than the GOP. It takes money on the streets. Just beautiful, Andrew!

More please. . .

Meet Phil Ruse

Hi Phil!

He has a blog. It's quite nice. Heck, Phil's way too nice. I've been sporting about with his feelings, mistaking him for a wankery troll from across the pond but the deuce of the thing is, I think he's wonderfully sincere and fun-hearted. I mean, c'mon, just look at how adorable he is:

Too many American blogs and hearts are soul sick right now and Phil's place seems a most pleasant little respite from your own sad, sick life. He likes wine, women and song. And cheesecake. Can't be all bad. I think he needs to meet more people. He's a "kind of software developer" and we all know what that means.

So go enjoy Phil's blog and welcome him to the rough-house of Argghh's Pirate Palapa. If he thinks I'm a pisser he really needs to meet Dogette, LeeAnn, Froth, Laura and Daphne. He'll see I'm a harmless little fuzzball. I should have been a bit more genteel with him, I suppose, but he took it like a man and held himself above the fray. He must die. I mean, he must be high.

Click him hard!

Oh wait, how do they say it? Go 'round and knock him up.

Twilight: The Suckage!

Ungodly evil.

My Census Form States Plainly:

It is the purpose of the Census to count every person. . .Please fill out the form. . . and return it. . .

I circled the word "count" and told them the number of Americans living at this address. By their own introduction on the form they outline what their Constitutional duty is, and I complied with that. They cite no other law to support the myriad of racist questions they asked.

By the way, that's the only questions they asked on the short form. How many and what color. Race-mongering social engineers.

They're going to have to cite chapter and verse beyond "count" before I give these vampires another drop of information.

I know, I know. Fear will keep you all compliant, and thus we turn down the covers and sleep one more night, merely thankful that our own blood won't be shed for Liberty.

Not yet. Not tonight. Some other day. Maybe our children will have to fight, but thank God we can just get by another day without hassle.

Don't make me quote that damn hippie Kristofferson people, because Freedom really is more than just nothing left to lose.

But having nothing left to lose seems to be what it will take.

A Law, If You Can Enforce It

Dear Obama: make me.

*****

It's your civic duty to make it as difficult as possible for the government to enforce this travesty. Non-cooperation must be in Solidarity.

Palestine In Our Midst

Because Jesse Jackson wouldn't have it any other way. The endlessly aggrieved race monger finds his cue. And like Arafat, he knows his audience and he knows the rewards for his efforts. None of them will reach his followers, lest they be enriched and unburdened and he lose a useful weapon in his race-baiting arsenal.

Reckless, reckless lies will get him his heart's desire. Why not? It's working for Nancy Pelosi and Obama. Civil war, Jesse? Only if you want it.

His lies are a hate crime.

Eyjafjallajoekull: Ice On Fire, and the Civilian National Security Force

Eyjafjallajoekull Volcano in Iceland, dormant since the infancy of our country, has shaken off its slumber.

There had initially been fears that the volcano could cause flooding, as it causes ice to melt on the glacier above it, but that scenario appears to have been avoided.

However, it could cause more activity nearby, scientists say.

"This was a rather small and peaceful eruption but we are concerned that it could trigger an eruption at the nearby Katla volcano, a vicious volcano that could cause both local and global damage," said Pall Einarsson, a geophysicist at the University of Iceland's Institute of Earth Science, Associated Press news agency reported. [emphasis mine]

Note especially that little word, global, on the implications. This is the thing that is repeatedly left out of the bogus Global Warming conversations. One volcanic blast can make a mockery of a million scientific ponderings about the human impact on our planet.

The Most High sits in the Heavens and laughs kinda stuff.

*****

Anyway, as our Ship of State steers for the rocks either by design or incompetence, what will that matter when the waters rush in? Many are positing what shall be next, because for sure, whilst we are wringing our hands about ObamaCare our overlords are three moves ahead of us.

Immigration Amnesty is the likeliest next move as many suppose. I think the Tea Party is being closely monitored and being purposefully maligned as racist to see if it will shake any leaves off the Tree of Liberty. Because we are a peaceful crowd up to this point, and because the position of Conservatism is by definition chary to commit itself to livelier manifestations of its disgust it will be dealt with at a later time. By whom, you ask?

The Civilian National Security Force, or course.

He means to do every.single.thing. he promised to his followers, and there is no moral check in his spirit to keep him from plundering the "wicked" to bring spoils to the Children of the Bringer of Light.

Peaceful volcanoes sitting next to more serious forces of nature. Something to consider in both the political and physical world.

Political Porn Circus

The frenzy to push us all the way into the Red Column is orgiastic in its fervent and shameless deal-making. It's a circus of freaks and mawkish clowns promising something worth seeing beyond the curtained entrance into Socialism by way of the Health Care antechamber. It's not even got the apologetic naughtiness of a burlesque fan dance; it's a tawdry pole-dance-- a poll trance of vote counting, texting, sexting, money and tart talk to rival a Tiger Woods fantasy. How many dampish dollars can Obama keep throwing at his gyrating thralls? Honestly, when I think upon our so-called betters there in D.C., it looks to my mind all of a H. Bosch work of fantastical horror.

Only a 4% margin peeps. That's the number I was hearing today. 46 percent of Americans are already "socialized" in one way or another, by virtue of being paid by the government or supported by the government or working for the government. That's the only number the Conservatives should have ever paid attention to.

4% -That's the only number Obama's puppet masters are aiming for. It sure seems doable.

And after all the titillation and come-ons, well you know what comes next.

Let's Play "Is My Co-worker Psychotic?"!

I am still loving my latest iteration of work, as it is mostly processing rote forms and applications punctuated by spreadsheet analysis and dynamic tracking of a project. Later it will morph into more sophisticated assignments but for now, for the changes the past 18 months have brought, I am in a Good Place.

Since day one I have been sharing a large office with a salesman. He's a crazy-different sort and very sweet, the father of 4 boys and one recent baby girl so he's got a lot to work hard for. He seems a wonderful dad and husband to his family. I have no complaints really, except you know how hard it is to concentrate on your task-intensive project while the other is very blab-intensive in sales and chatty phone calls. It makes you want to scream, at times. We have our tiffs but have much in common as cell mates. In other words, we argue like family. Like an Italian family, maybe. Shaddup!

But why, sweet reader would I come to work one morning, enter the office to the usual chit-chat and how're the kids talk when Sales Guy goes off on one of his famous off-the-wall tangents from out of the blue, this time about setting rat traps in his garage. Yeah, his boys were curious and had a million questions, etc. And in some insane segue-- which shock leaves me unable to recall-- he reaches down under his desk, still talking, and pulls out a PigglyWiggly grocery bag as though he's getting his lunch to go put in the fridge. Still nattering about the rat traps. . .

Oh, yes he did! He reached into the bag and pulled out a Ziploc full of Dead Rat. A rat. That was dead. Two feet from my chair and slightly further from me since I had left my chair at a rapid rate of acceleration by that point; down the hall, out the front door, asking to have the man fired.

Ho-lee crap! WTF dude?

People that try to make work just like home (Rats! In bags!) make me want to borrow Dogette's tat sleeves just to keep the personal space voluntarily larger than normal.

Rats. In Plastic Bags. At Work. Opinion?
	Everybody does it.
	Sounds like something my brother would do.
	A Learning Opportunity.
	Payback. (What? No, I can't imagine why. . . )
	WTF?
	Joan has moved to a different office by now.
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My Only Irish Joke

Two Irish guys leave a bar. . .

A Bookmark From November 2008

Seems a long time ago, doesn't it?

I present this bookmark to you today in order that you may read the comments on the particular post about Valerie Jarrett, just after Obama's election.

Oh yes, you must simply go back less than two years to get the full impact of the powers of redirect that this President has at his command. Or just to re-certify the complete idiocy of our so-called intelligent betters:

Most of Obama's appointments are NOT Muslim. Most are Jewish or have some ties to Jews (like helping secure a pardon for Marc Rich, etc.). If anyone was the least bit afraid that Obama would serve Muslim interests in office, they should rest easy. Clearly, Obama will serve Jewish ones.

I'd tell you what he's doing while we're all het up about Health Care, but I'm tired of being ahead of the curve-- there's no future in it. Heh.

Seasons of the Soul

I'm fine.

Politics suck. Blogging sucks.

Others need me right now.

Those inclined to pray, prayers for my niece, M____, would be appreciated more than I can express. And no fuckin' wimpy prayers, either. If you can storm Heaven and wrest a blessing out of the hand of Michael himself, that might be a start and you'll have my eternal thanks. Here's a primer:

St. Michael, the Archangel, defend us in battle
Be our protection against the wickedness
and snares of the devil;
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray,
and thou, O Prince of heavenly host,
by the power of God,
Thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits
who wander through the world for the ruin of souls.
Amen

I may play around here in my blog, but when those I love are in mental pain and torment, my Patron Saint rouses me to my prayers and rebukes my inattentive faith. I am poor and needy and don't have enough to offer the guest of my heart, my niece. So I will hound you, my blog neighbor to give me some Bread of Life to sustain her in this extreme trial.

I'm overcome with grief and concern. I am stupid and worthless in my devotions and supplications. Out of practice and shamed.

help.

The Stimulant Package Party

The Coffee Party? A buncha folks looking for their next fix.

.

Carte Blanche?

Dan Riehl: Man on Fire!

Every now and again, a man finds his place in the ,National Conversation Shouting Match that becomes the unmistakable hinge on which the plot turns sharply into the clear and out of the gray fogs of war. Dan Riehl has become that clarion of Debate that sucks all the air out of the room and slaps you in the face with the cold, hard reality of where your muddy thinking is leading you:

Isn't It Time To Euthanize Reid's Wife?

I'm not sure I quite understand this, given that cost is so important as a burden to taxpayers when it comes to health care. If Democrats want so badly to abort babies because of it, why are we bothering with someone who has a broken neck and back at 69? It sounds to me like she's pretty well used up and has probably been living off the taxpayers for plenty of years to begin with. Aren't we at least going to get a vote on it?

Now, of course that firebrand of hot, burning Irony was too much for the Alanis Morrisette Party, so after their hue and cry, he doubles down:

I wish I knew those babies way back when. I'd have taken a coat hanger to them! I guess that's more their style. Still, they front for the bastards that will allow our loved ones to die at 69, or 70 because it costs too much to save, or care for them.

These people have no principles. They have no right to take exception to my post. You can not advocate killing children to save money while allowing severely injured 69 year-old people to live. The actuarial argument actually benefits the young. Unless, of course, they figure it will be mostly poor black and hispanics, so what the hell!!

A most satisfying Saturday morning, courtesy of a man who is taking the fight right down to the mat. Go give him your hearty support. The InternTrolls are so cute to watch as they gasp for air!

***

Update: A Sissy Link!

***

Don't you dare tut and gasp at the debating device that Dan has used, or I'll be very disappointed in the I.Q. of my readership!!

Besides, until Velociman is thoroughly filtered and pure and back to blogging, we'll have to let rough men like Dan Reihl do the hellish job of holding up the mirror in a Congress full of vampires.

***

Update the 3rd: A Dan Link!

Previously Uncharted

Now usefully charted for your next commute:

h/t Last of the Few

Good, Bad, Ugly. . . Delightful!

Now for a cold beer and a cheroot.

I Woke Up In a Tub Of Ice and Discovered My Fat Ass Was Gone!!

Peruvian fat fetches five figures, apparently. And people will kill you to get it. Why? Why would this happen?

There's more fat sucked outta Southern California women in a day than these hare-brained murderers could dream, but they had a plan:

He said the suspects, two of whom were arrested carrying bottles of liquid fat, told the police it was worth $60,000 a gallon.

Now, come to think of it, I have a plan, too. Liposuction costs way less than 60k a gallon. And usually nobody has to die.

Surely the cosmetic trade could use someone with the skills to help the supply meet the demand for considerably less. Or are California's plastic surgeons already subsidizing their profits with a little back-room deal for the back-fat? Y'know . . .

I see a whole industry utopia here. We have too much fat, and we pay dearly to rid ourselves of it while there in Peru they're killing people in the most gruesome way for a few gallons. Hello? It's silly and makes no sense, especially when folks would line up to sell their liposuctioned ass-fat on a free market to offset the expense. Might even solve the trade deficit if we can get China to manufacture these cosmetics and sell them our fat. Then they could sell the cosmetics to Wal-Mart. It's recycling at an optimal incentive. It would work.

I don't know much about European demand for this resource. Is it that maybe Peruvian fat is preferred for its organic qualities? Corn cakes and beans and llama milk--could be. Who'd wanna put cosmetics on their face or in their hair knowing its genesis was Krispy Kremes and Grand Slams?

Bam-Wow!

Yes, it's a Sham and a Shame. But Stoatweasel's got the goods on this con:

Blog It and It Will Become Real

Speaking of spider monkeys on crack, North Carolina is receiving federal stimulus funds, i.e., your money, to study the long-term effects of cocaine on monkeys.

But, let's just say that you're the Magical President who avers that ObamaCare will save everyone money. As if just saying it makes it so, (channeling moms from the world over.) Time for an informal discussion/poll.

What will you do with all the crazy money you'll be saving with ObamaCare?
	Buy a suit for interviews at those stimulus-created jobs!
	Save up for a bus ticket to the Welfare Office.
	Plant a Victory Garden. (google it, young people!)
	Buy a paperback version of The Grapes of Wrath.
	Buy a Sham-wow! to soak up all the Congressional pee that we were told was rain.
	Stock up on herbal remedies.
	Well, just one herb, actually.
	Other. Discuss in the comments. My comments, youse guys! Not pollcode's comments.
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It's Good To Have A Plan

Laura's plan just happens to be grounded in reality:

I, for one, am going out like a fucking lunatic spider monkey on crack.

The worst bit about Statism and Socialism?

All the jokes will be about the government. Well, they already are, pretty much.

However, the coming blandness of our national scene will allow only for the artistic sensation that is contrived by the Official Entertainment Diktat otherwise known as Hollywood. Alien love child michael jackson hobbit serial killers from Las Vegas or some such. We shall look to the Enquirer for our daily bread.

Even sports will not be spared. College or pro. Roundball or Football. And wherewith the XGames? Will they be banned as dangerous and costly to Health Care?

Irony, that last bastion of intellect that separates us from the uncivilized, will disappear as well because we will be swimming in the vast sea of it, breathing it like the very air until we are dulled to its presence.

The only bright spot will be that we can really filter our cynicism into a fine vintage that galls the soul and numbs the senses. We'll have to clamor for less restrictions on alcohol and weed, like in Cuba, so that we may better subject our sleeping will to the Wons who would rule us.

Feh.

Addicted to Power

Of all the addictions nowadays, it strikes me as peculiar that there is no 12-step program for the Politician. I suspect because the heady fragrance of sweet control is more powerful than crack, and we all know the recidivism rate for crack users is dismally sad. It's hard for the drug counselor to resist the temptation to just tell the crack user that their life is over and they may as well make what peace they can. It's pretty hopeless. But even the crack addict has better hope of recovery than a politician.

All the sins of the flesh can be flagellated by prayer and fasting, with tangible results that redound to the resilient spirit of a good man gone bad, and redeemed. But the permanence of power's mighty siren call is a call to damnation, it seems. Who can be redeemed? Who in recent history, save for Chuck Colson, has eschewed the elitism once earned and moved into the saving grace of obscure service?

Even the vaunted Christianity of Jimmah Carter hasn't yet saved him from that lure. Al Gore's theological training is serving him well in his own delusions of grandeur. And there hasn't been a scandal yet that kept a bad man down as it ought. They spring back up like goatheads and crabgrass.

I think the voting populace is also delusional if they think merely voting out the bastards will cure them. Power once handled and lost drives the politician to the second level of hellish addiction: lobbying. King making. Puppet mastering.

Our forefathers knew this well and so recommended a 2-step program: tar and feathers.

Tempting, I know.

When Moms Come to Visit

My mom showed up in the wee hours of the morning last night because she had something important to ask. Before I knew it she plopped comfortably on our soft leather couch and was softly distant. But it was Mom, and so her middle of the night visit was somehow quite natural. It seemed silly of me to get too excited.

"Why are you here, Mom?

"Oh, we've come to see the little curly-headed one," she replied. We? I didn't see my Dad with her. I put that aside for the moment.

"Chuck? You've come to see him," I surmised matter-of-factly. The oldest of my five brothers, he alone inherited curly, thick, blonde locks. The Cherokee bloodline failed to reach him through all the German thickness of head and heart. But he is by far the tallest of us all. To me he is almost a stranger, the difference in our years meant he was gone from our home before I was old enough to be aware of his presence. I was pondering this when she continued.

"Yes," she said. And then she grew even more distant, not looking at me but saying plainly, "You must pray for him, you know." She said it in that halting and serious manner she has when she is uncomfortable but determined to broach the difficult topics.
_____

At that moment I awoke and sat bolt-upright in my bed and began to pray, first for my own astonished soul to see if it could be fit to pray for my obstinate and proud brother.

I flashed to several years ago and remembered how angry I was with my brother, when he lashed out at my mother just days after her passing. "Fuck off and die!" was my answer to his emails that wanted to blame her for allowing so many of my Father's shortcomings. For knowing what she knew. For not being a stronger woman. As if raising eight kids and being entirely dependent on their father for their sustenance wasn't her only option back in her day. As if my heart wasn't broken at her passing. He didn't understand, and he callously wanted to defend our father when the rest of us were just short of wondering if Dad's narcissism hadn't killed our mother in some Munchausen-by-proxy way.

I had heard some months back that my brother now has cancer. The VA isn't giving him solid answers or options but my brother is placing all his hope in positive thinking and the power of his profession of health. Which had me thinking, while praying for him, that our words carry weight, even those spoken in the heat of heartache.

So it came about in my midnight meditation that it was I who needed forgiveness for rash curses before I could pray properly for my equally proud and rash brother. I could but mutter, "Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner." And then I could muster a pittance of prayer for my poor brother.

I called my sister, the eldest of us all, and related the visitation. She didn't doubt for a moment that Mom had indeed, come to ask for prayer for her son. I swear, we could all be the Devil's own footlings and she would still believe, speak the best, cover for us, excuse us, and still want the best for us.

I talk to my Mom in my thoughts and heart all the time. I suppose I shouldn't be astonished that she would talk to me, and indirectly lead me to my own absolution, helping me to feel the spiritual deficit of my own soul in a fervent need to pray for my brother's very life and soul.

Moms never let go, it seems.

Flying Hovercraft. Want.

h/t Last of the Few

Thank me later.

Go here for a smile.

Yes, you need to see it. And read the brief narrative.

You're welcome.

Lindburgh Still Captures The Imagination

There's a nifty little 4-part series being offered here.

I only had time this morning to watch the first installment but it's a fine history lesson and a less-than-glamorous approach, which is how I like epic tales of manly derring-do. Enjoy.

h/t The Presurfer.