No Contest.

Kennis the Menace
is not safe for work.
His blog's a pastiche
of South Afrikaan jerk.

But if you're a glutton
for bloodsport in rhyme
Go see what you'll find there
and then vote for mine.

Remembrance is Survival

Richard Fernandez has a sober post about memory and surviving our "selfish mutant":

In a society without traditions the “free riders” may gain ascendancy and even suppress history to aid their increase. Gradually they may destroy a society’s capacity for mutual altruism and take it over for themselves. Yet even so their victory may be short-lived. Within their mutation lie the seeds of their own downfall. For “if the pathogen’s virulence kills the host and interferes with its own transmission to a new host, virulence will be selected against.” Eventually they kill the host and then themselves die.

I was pondering that post again as Gerard Van der Leun linked it, when out of the blue my long-estranged brother emailed me this fine example of teaching children to remember the vital lesson of liberty's cost. I hope you enjoy the simplicity of what an amazing teacher gave to his students when he taught them to sing this song:

Even after many years of disconnect, it's important to remember family. And to survive you may want to add God and Country. The Enlightened Elite may scoff at such simplicity and backward sentiment, but they will not live long enough to see their Utopian dreams fulfilled. Ever.

We already have, in the glow of Freedom's holy light.

May we all be worthy of the sacrifice.

A Bikini Brief Encounter With Hell's Angels

Sheri is blogging about her Harley-ridin' badassery and it's a great fun bit of cultural clashing of stereotypes.

Unfortunately, as much as I love the idea of my Peggy Hill dream of a Harley, I must say that my earliest encounter with them as a young teen left me scarred for life. An image seared. . . seared in my memory.

Rogers Park on the Weeki Wachie River was one of those pristine and undisturbed little gems of old Florida. Weeki Wachie was a jungle-like river that had attracted lots of homesteaders and was graced with a small park made with lovely beach sand and carved into an area where the main road crossed over the river. We spent our summers in our own little fish camp just around the bend from the three-acre park.

Brown as a berry and in no small danger of growing gills, I lived at that park for several summers. I swam until my ears grew fungus and would slay me with pain and fever. When not there, I was to be found fishing from our dock, hanging out with my cousins at their dock, or rowing the boat upriver only to splash over the side and float back down with it, diving amongst the silky river grass and ogling the mullets and bream and crabs. Could I have sprouted fins by dint of sheer oneness with the silent deeps I would have.

Every summer a group of bikers would descend upon the park for a weekend. My little Catholic girl/river-rat self regarded them with equal parts pious umbrage and redneck curiosity. My older sister and her friends were quite intrigued by the spectacle and would hike down to the park and laugh at all the mysterious "old guys" and their wrinkly girlfriends. My dad assured us all that most of them were businessmen and lawyers and thus upstanding citizens (my dad was full of mixed messages), but in my imagination they were Hell's Angels and one stop away from breaking bad on some unsuspecting citizenry that looked at them sideways. Bad people for sure.

But it would take more than the prospect of unsavory types to keep me from my appointed morning at the beach and so I went to the park that fateful Saturday to behold the party animals. Beer, music, cigarettes, weed, and various states of dress were all there waiting for my 14 year old self to witness. I wished to appear unmoved by the mob so I coolly laid out my towel to bask in the sun for a few minutes to get properly braised before leaping into the 74-degree water. I was enjoying the warm sun, I remember how it felt on my stomach when the warmth would reach way down into my insides and sooth my nerves and synapses into a malleable state of emotional nirvana.

So, I was handling the situation pretty well, I thought, until I heard a man's voice saying lewd things to me while his girlfriend laughed. I kept my as-yet innocent eyes closed for another moment, but when I opened them to espy my tormentor I saw that he was wearing a tiger-striped fur bikini. With some sort of huge misshapen lump in the front! Not! Not! No! He was about 40 years old. . . old. . . with a deep tan, gold chains and a small beer belly over long, skinny legs. And a tiger-striped fur speedo.

He and his chick kept walking and I tried not to gape in horror and a little fear as they walked away. In all my years growing up and living near water in Florida, I had never witnessed such a sight to dismay all my prudish and proper avoidance of all things sexual. I am not sure I even knew about such things at that time except for a few whispered amazements from my older sister. of a night while we drifted off to sleep. I didn't believe any of it anyway, and yet here was disturbing proof of Hell's Angels just waiting to drag my soul to perdition!

I gathered up my towel and my bare feet fairly flew over the stony road back to home, a short block away. Decidedly, it was a day to scurry back to our place around the bend and catch some bream and mullet for supper. I did see the sight once again as I was riding my bike to the store. As I crossed the bridge and looked down at the revelers I was safely far enough away to take in the scene and there was tiger-fur-speedo man laughing and swilling beer amongst all the other old people and gleaming chrome and leather and right there and then I felt sure that I had met an unnamed disquiet and I had escaped with my soul intact.

I would go on that summer to be approached by all sorts of guys with all sorts of intentions to distract my virtue, but the drugs were declined and the kisses scorned and I already knew about alcohol and didn't enjoy it. I still knew little or nothing about sex, except that it was Wrong. My encounter with tiger-fur-speedo guy just confirmed it.

No, my youthful rebellions were always much more idealistic and principled. They still are, I guess, but I came pretty damn close to buying a sweet little Harley a few years ago. And I would have gone and bought it but for that first and unfortunate imprint still rotogravured into my psyche.

Oh hey there, Conservative Carnivores! Welcome to the Slack.

Tweeting The Chavez

Hugo Chavez is tweeting!

Big Government is sending you on a mission.

You know what you must do: Tweet him until he blocks you.

Go. http://twitter.com/chavezcandanga

May the Force be with you. Or something.

Point of order: In Spanish, the letters "ch" together are called the "Che". It is always pronounced with the hard sound, like Chuck. And the "z" is always an ess sound unless it's after an em sound. And the "h" in Hugo is silent.

If you can't remember all that, just pronounce it grapesqueezer, asshat, Idi Amin of the New World, Sean Penn's Wet Dream. . .

"Unlike the USofA, the state of NJ can't print money"

Sexiest man in politics, here for your viewing and voting fantasies:

h/t Hot Air

The Landscape Game

Gerard Van der Leun, the Poet Laureate of America, is playing an age-old game with us. With you, and with me.

Go see if you want to play.

No. I never have played it before.

Shall I Put That Down as a No?

Or as a No, but with a nodding approval and sympathetic understanding for the plight of the SEIU's thugs? Like Saul of Tarsus, I'm guessing he'll just hold everyone's cloak while they stone me.

Since I've begun asking questions, and since 'mouse has been checking in here more and more as his President's plans are taking form and taking over, I was not surprised that he finally had enough.

That's the good of finding out where the lines are drawn. From what I can ascertain, 'mouse himself is not beholden to the public sector for his income and is quite content with his taxes, as he counts them:

Y'know, Joan, you got me thinking about bloated government and how I'm supporting all these deadbeats and stuff, so I looked at my extremely large tax bill for 2009. I'm in that ugly stratosphere where most of the write-off and deductions have phased out and I'm paying at least 10x or 20x or more compared to the government services I use directly or indirectly. I'm self-employed so I get to pay both sides of the Social Security contribution.

Y'know what? My combined state and federal bill, comparing total taxes paid to raw, gross $ made is a mere 21% This is far less than I paid under your Ronnie Raygun when I was a starving college student.

I just can't get real offended that someone can do 20 years in the military and 20 years in the police force and then retire comfortably or that teachers can work in shitty jobs for years but in exchange get a reasonable retirement package. (I am offended with dumb tenure rules and hate unions for that stupidity but that's a different rant).

Greek taxes are 40% in the upper brackets on top of a 10-20% VAT.

I'll believe Obama has turned me into a Euro-socialist-pussy the moment I decide not to work harder and earn an extra dollar because 50% of what I make goes to The Man. At 21% I'd happily pay more for shorter lines at the DMV and better salaries (and even pensions) to attract good teachers judges, prosecutors, etc.

Seriously, Joan, what was *your* total raw tax rate (gross income to actual taxes paid) for 2009?

Now the first thing that hit me was the projection of his personal anecdote onto such as myself. I'm not sure what he imagines my lifelong fiscal status to be, and I'm not sure it matters, anecdotes being, well, anecdotal to the larger issue. [If I were to venture a guess, it would likely be that my entire rented living space would fit into 'mouse's rec room. See how that works as a self-righteous and indefensible dig? Who cares what the issue is? 'Mouse is a well-heeled lawyer! See how easy this guilt-tripping crap is?]

Second, we apparently must leave off the myriad hidden taxes paid by every citizen who buys a car, house, DVD player, electricity, or fuel, and pays impact fees, zoning laws, property taxes, vice taxes, sales taxes, commuter tolls, farm subsidies on products, and notwithstanding the larger personal taxes that that mean old Reagan exacted from him while his skull was still full of mush. Even so, 'mouse is still quite comfortable.

Now he trots out the military and police and every worthy and vital part of our public sector workers as proof that I'm a cold-hearted lass that has no understanding of their selfless dedication and work. As if I personally would deny them the comforts they've earned.

Well, even if that straw man bit were true, does it make me worthy of having SEIU thugs beat me up when my money is gone? I'm guessing it will be useless to call my lawyer. I'm obviously guilty because. . . ? Moreover, I am supposed to open my wallet, up to 50% worth apparently, with nary a complaint as to how the money is spent, and nary a question as to the intent of anyone who has use of it. 50% seems to be 'mouse's threshold of pain. I hope his clients find that out! I'm sure he would never pass off his tax burden to his clients and it has no bearing on his price scales. And I'm sure they would never consider paying his myriad business taxes with their hard-earned money.

If having met a payroll from both sides of the tax tables is an example, then I'll see his RR pout and raise it with my father's working two jobs to raise eight kids on an Navy CPO salary and finally having to close his private business during the days of LBJ and Jimmy Carter because it cost more to pay taxes on his longstanding TV repair business than was feasible. Oops! That was an anecdote, but it was repeated by the hundred-thousands back then.

My question, as it remains, is to people of good service or bad, vital necessity or adjunct corruption jobs, who are beholden to the corporate weal of our nation. I've asked it before, making quite clear my appreciation for the real use of my tax dollars: potable water, waste treatment, and a bit of order and protection. And even those could be private-sector provisions.

But there is one glaring, humongous, gaping, yawning abyss in 'mouse's argument. And just take his argument it for what it is, accept the ludicrous premise, accept that he is sympathetic to soft terrorism of private citizens (as evidenced in St. Louis, New Orleans, and now in PA) and think about where his comfort level is at this moment.

Anyone want to help out my dear detractor? What HUGE thing is he omitting (because I know he knows what it is, it's no lapse of thought, it's a sin of omission.)

And feel free to help Rob out, too from the same comments. He seems to think that redirecting the argument to Iran . . .

Now then, there was a whole lot of silliness here earlier that I have deleted along with the attendant comments from someone named Rob, about whom I made a flippant and feeble attempt at satirical humor. I deleted it not to cover up, but to amend a wrong and end it. I do not know Rob in any way, shape or other communication and any statement I made concerning his personal conduct was nothing more than a tired attempt at silliness. It was an attempt to play the disprove a negative card that failed. It offended him for real, and that was never my intent on that level. My intent is not important, what he took it to be is, and I am not so unfeeling as to not understand that. I apologize to Rob and hereby delete any and all comments or reference to the same.

I have offered to link to any argument of his own about Iran that he would wish to bring up on his own blog, where it would be more appropriate than in the comments of my blog post on a totally different topic. I will let you know if he so chooses.

[Update: Simple question: you gonna hit me when I run out of money? I just want to know. I have a feeling the good people on the Left are having a bit of a problem seeing themselves in the mirror of their ends-justifying-the-means philosophy. That whole cracking a few eggs thing. Nasty business.]

Here's What It's Gonna Sound Like

[Update: I was looking for this link while writing this because it is what set me off. Dr. Zero's The Feral Vanguard.] A must-read.

Teachers, all public union workers, civil servants, government employees and every postal worker I meet henceforth will be cheerfully asked if they plan on firebombing me when I can no longer support their greedy pensions and fat paychecks. I want them to think about where their union leaders are leading them.

My neighbors will be asked as well, "will you firebomb me, or attack me when I run out of money and energy to support your welfare, your children, or their education?" I want them to consider where their support for class warfare is taking them; the logical end of such madness is chaotic violence. Real warfare. Like we've seen in Greece. Like we're seeing such already. Planned, supported by, and carried out by agents of our overlords in D.C. and seemingly directly(or indirectly, like it matters) connected to our President. Didja ever . . .?

I just want to know where the lines are falling, as fall they must.

I plan on asking. I plan on making some people think. They're not going to read it here, but they're going to hear it there, on the street, in the store, at work, wherever.

I'm not gonna be silent.

Charleston RiverDogs and a Fox in the Outfield

Local minor league baseball in a great little field last night was the best baseball in years. The Charleston River Dogs [co-owned by Bill Murray, Director of Fun] were teh awesome! In the sparkling little stadium on the banks of the Ashley River and trailing 6-2 in the bottom of the ninth, the 'Dogs were struggling and half the crowd had already gone home. The pitcher barely held on in the top of the ninth and everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the comically named Savannah Sand Gnats were retired.

Seriously? Naming a team after stinging little gnats is like naming your boy Sue. Tends to make them a bit scrappy.

After a disasterous middle inning the fans were glad to have the 'Dogs hanging in there at bat, and sometime during the 6th inning a rather large red and grey fox bolted into right field! The Gnats outfielder had to shoo him back to the swampy reeds and marshes just outside the stadium but for a few moments the crowd was smitten by the Real RiverDog!

The Gnats outfielder put on a pretty good show all around, winning admiration from the friendly crowd as he slammed into the first baseline wall after a foul ball. We were not too far away away to hear the crunching of body parts, but he was A-okay after all. Everyone gave a good effort and the crowd was very sportsmanlike to pass along accolades to the visitors when merited.

Oh yeah, bottom of the ninth, and the first home-run of the game goes sailing over left-centerfield fence and the crowd wakes up. Then, with two runners on base, a solid, sweet home-run in just about the same spot absolutely makes the crowd nuts! 6-6 and we're into extra innings!

10th inning was almost a three-up three-down for both sides. Tension mounts. The jumbo-tron operator puts on the Kid Vid before the bottom of the eleventh, and the crowd is perplexed at first and then cheers in agreement. This is OUR time! A flawless performance by the Gnats falls apart when their pitcher goes wild, the bunts are sacrificed and an instinctual foul-ball catch on a single out sent the runner home after the tag.

RiverDogs win! And the crowd goes wild!

I just love America.

The Gift of the MadGuy

Oh, darlings! If you are sick and tired of the Internet and politics and shallow things, never forget that transcendence and beauty may still be only a click away. If your curiosity hasn't been completely jaded by link after disappointing link, if you click nothing else today, please click over to The Doorway Buck and read The Gift of the MadGuy. Just. oh!

It is especially for anyone with a loved one who is serving, or has served in the military. But it is for the boy in every man.

CM Sackett is the same of The Art of Manliness website forum.

I hate myself for having lost track of this wonderful writer. I attempt redemption by linking him now. Go.

Friday Night Feel Good

h/t: Ace

You Know What We Must Do:

We all have to move to Arizona, New Mexico and Texas, and secede from the Union and start building a new country from scratch. I wonder what sort of international support we could could get for that.

Key West doesn't have the huevos to actually secede, unless Jimmy Buffet funds their Slack single-handedly. I think he'd turn into a flaming racist when the ungovernable shores of the Keys turn it into a haven for drugs and crime.

But I think AriTexiMex would be a great country with good food, great hunting and fishing, offshore drilling, cotton, agriculture, cattle and tourism. And a space program. We could devise a way to finish off the San Andreas Fault and send California out to sea, thereby gaining passage to the East for trade with Taiwan and Singapore and Vietnam.

The only setback would be the Musica Norteña, but I think it would fairly easy to outlaw such an offense to the ears.

Like you have a better plan.

Imagine Tyranny. I Wonder If You Can.

A comment left elsewhere. Seriously, I should've just written a blog post. I never know what will set me off:

Much of the unspoken pseudo-religious intent of the progressives is John Lennon's ImagineNation of no borders or boundaries. Ever. At all. Anywhere. Even personal ones. (Can we all agree to stay clothed, please? At least that?)

Their Ultimate Utopia is one that makes no demands on the individual and dreams of everybody just getting along, flowing into and out of each others' bank accounts, houses, relationships and bodies. The idea of ownership is anathema unless they are the ones doing the owning-- er, . . . "caretaking" of all the resources. So borders, ownership, and personal accrual of goods or property are all concepts that will be targeted in their quest for power over the individual. So consumed are they with their self-delusional vision that sexual age limits will be the next boundary to be conquered, for they truly imagine no limits to their licentious nature. Indeed, that area is already under assault, thanks to our educational system and NAMBLA. [Update: it has begun in our courts, naturally.]

The opposing and equally dubious power struggle by those who want it all for themselves and could care less how they come by it works from the other side much more quietly and perhaps more effectively. At some point in the last decade, these two forces have allied themselves against the middle, who were busy minding their own business-- which, it turns out, was silly and wrong of the middle. Wrong and wasteful and narrow and bigoted and evil and stupid.

If I'm exhausted just thinking about it, think of how long and how many hours and days and years of devilment and planning it has taken to get us to this point.

I don't think that, among people who just want to be left alone to pursue their own lives, there is that much patience and dedication to running the lives of others. I think that by our nature, we are subject to suffer at the hands of those who have nothing better to do or think about, but how they may control and manage the lives of others.

You meet these sorts every day: they never once give an inward thought as to why they are unhappy, so assured are they that all of their problems flow from people they can't control. When these naifs meet up with political puppeteers who know how to properly groom such shallow minds, the result is Congress.

God help us all.

Too Soon For Candy Corn?

You may very much like Motel Zero's depiction of the term. Most satisfyin'.

Click it and smile. Verrry shiny!

Who Knew That Ag Commissioner of Alabama Was Worth This Sort of Awesome?

Damn!! That was all I could say after watching this "take no prisoners" political ad. Just see for yourself. Crank up the sound for full body impact:

May his kind increase!

h/t to Allahpundit.

Update for the trigger-happy in the comments.

Obama Invokes "Trust, But Verify." Tempting, isn't it?

In his latest iteration of The Daily Excoriation From the Office of the President, Obama dared a thing he should have been more chary to consider. He invoked Ronald Reagan's famous "trust, but verify" as a weird addition to his amalgam of finger-pointing-as-decisive-action.

Oh, it was aimed at the Oil Industry and their cozy partners in government. Or something. As it was pointed out by others, Oil and Government haven't mixed in a long, long time. Oil money and politicians have dressed more than a few greens, to be sure, but our satraps and governors have seen fit to leech as much from the industry as possible without killing it. At best, they've left it weakened enough that it may not be able to withstand a concerted government effort to end its corporate life.

But Obama, like Prince Humperdinck, waxes officious with stern warnings and trots out what he thinks a killing grace: trust, but verify.

I would not say such things if I were he.

Time for a poll!

Sure, I trust Obama. But let's verify:
	Where he goes when he ditches the Press.
	That his golf game has improved with so much practice.
	If he can function one day without Valerie Jarrett.
	That he's made enough money at this point.
	His birth certificate. (Not that I care, but that he does.)
	Other (detail in the comments).
pollcode.com free polls

*****

Dreaming

Feh. What to write, and why would I? I need to quit dreaming and get back to my art. Here's a saucy number for a Friday night. She sold as soon as I framed her and put it on the wall in my long-lost studio/gallery:

Click to get entire pic. (Fixed the embiggen issue.) I bet that some of you didn't know that if you click on my sidebar picture you can see that I haven't added a thing to my portfolio in almost five years.

Sigh.

The New Standard For My Vote: Chris Christie

So, you want my vote, do you Mr./Ms. GOP or Tea Party or Independent? Until you can know who you are and what your constituency wants as clearly as this man, and can stand up to stupidity and a hostile media as fearlessly, you can just "go play with yourself".

It's time to quit fucking with people's lives and start serving the public that elected you. In case you've never seen what that looks like in action :

This Blog is Dead, But the Hills of Italy Are Alive

EEEeeencredeeeeblay!

h/t to the Internet Caretaker.

******

Talk about plummeting property values! And disappearing lot divisions. . .

Whatever happened to the psychology of boundaries? Don't we all remember the self-help books and Dr. Phil episodes and even Cesar Milan's dog whispering?

We could argue, like Robert Frost's neighbor, that good fences make good neighbors as a template for border security. It doesn't mean we don't like or interact with or even share with our neighbor on the other side of that fence, it means that we are a sovereign individual with a sovereign Will that must be entreated, befriended, tolerated or warred with, whatever the other side chooses.

Have you met adult people without social boundaries and suffered their ministrations to your unspoken needs, shortcomings, bad habits and intrusions? Then you've met a Progressive Liberal Marxist Communist.

******

The exhausting energy it takes to control everyone is what keeps government hacks and the East Coast intelligentsia occupied. No wonder they feel like they're doing something. They have to stay up at night to devise so many ways to make people miserable. That's why they think it's what the rest of us are doing. But we're not. We're just trying to mind our own business and work and raise kids and stay out of the Eye of Sauron.

Not for nothing did your grandmother say, "an idle mind is the devil's plaything." Is it any wonder that the Tea Party flag is the Gadsden Flag? "Don't Tread On Me" is all we ask. It's not about getting along, it's about being left alone to merely exist according to our individual dictates and our common necessities.

******

Mongol. A really cool flick available on DVD. It's kind of like Batman Begins for Genghis Kahn.

******

So, Does a $4/hr. Raise Help?

Why, yes, it does. And with a second job I'll soon be able to afford health insurance! I'm clawing my way back up into a living wage. It's been a strange and awful two years.

My employment contract with the placement agency was fulfilled and my new employer is paying me the extra cash they were paying the agency. Sweet! Not only that, but they treat their employees like grown ups and professionals. Plus, nobody knows how to manage the million-dollar project I've undertaken and nobody wants to learn it. So I'm in like Flynn.

Now, to study for the Series 7 and 6 exams. While the world still has money.

Ameliorating Puppy Love

Jaded Haven, true to the mind of its mistress, Daphne, alternately alights on a theme like a dragonfly on the water, or rends it stem to stern with a ferocity to dismay the stoutest troll.

It's more than a talent to write like that. It's a channeling of Something Beyond, and I'm glad-- most very pleased-- when she yields to that prompting and writes a thing that has never been written so well:

I’ve been watching my boy, this second son of mine, venture into a place where soft hearts get crushed on the inevitable steps to manhood. I remember a raw-boned girl, Appalachia singing off her young skin with a sharp tang, a splash of freckles crossing her tawny cheeks, take my firstborn by the throat and slay him with her sweet love. A girl twelve years old, more capable and swift out of sheer, natural-born instinct, commanded his heart with fluid ease and treated it gently. She hadn’t yet learned to do otherwise.

I like where she goes with this, taking on the pervasive derogatory attitude some adults tend to have toward a young man's first brush with love. If you're the mother of a son, you will appreciate her tender care for her man-cubs.

Yeah, just go ahead and put her on your RSS feeds and you can bypass the schlock here for something a bit . . . more.

Happy Ending to Piracy Attempt

Dead pirates floating in the water.

Western officials were very surprised when the Russian authorities dropped plans to put the pirates on trial in Moscow, the BBC's Richard Galpin reports from Moscow.

Now there is even more surprise the pirates were set adrift in the Indian Ocean to make their own way home, he adds.

I'm sure the boat was a sound vessel. I'm sure the batteries in the signal beacon were fresh. I'm sure the C4 charge was dry. . .

The Russians may be many things, but they have historically never suffered an identity crisis. At their core, their blood runs quite chilly.

*****

One person at the book-signing asked the good captain if the piracy problem wasn't due to over-fishing in the ocean leaving people with no other choice of survival. He answered very straightforwardly that it was not destitution, it was thuggery. As an example, he cited the fact that Haiti, in all its penury, has never resorted to piracy as a state policy. Somalia uses it because it is a small-risk investment with large returns. Max noted that dead bodies in the water is likely the only deterrent.

h/t to the SeaBlogger.

Secret Mission: No duct tape or zip ties involved

Unlike Laura, I have respect for my fan-girl crushes and no delusions of running away with them to live happily ever after. Plus, the Miata is too small to hide a hostage.

More details by Tuesday.

Van Morrison and Verizon Wireless Amphitheater: Can you hear me now?

Van the Man was awesome. Incomparable and peerless, relaxed and . . . awesome.

The VWA venue in Alpharetta sucked canal water. Seriously. It was a lousy venue for the likes of Van and his promotions team should be canned for it. I do hope they made loads of money off of sardine-cramming as many people as possible into the most uncomfortable arrangements since the Black Hole of Calcutta.

Plus, the sound team couldn't get the sound up and balanced, or keep it from feedback until about halfway through the 90-minute concert.

Van had it dialed up to 11. Maybe I shouldn't blame mere mortal Union thug stage hands for not understanding that kind of genius.

What You Didn't See On The News: Nashville Under Water

One of the first few pics just made me gasp! It's heartbreaking and inspiring, however to see this compilation:

"If anyone asks, I'll be over here buried in biscuits and gravy until late May. "

That's the latest email I got from LeeAnn, who writes from a secret location where she is a victim of forced labor. However she is only being held hostage by the fringe benefits of pampering and sawmill gravy so how bad can moving furniture be? She's mostly out of contact and I suspect she's enjoying it way too much.

Seems there's a plethora of anti-social behavior out in the blogs:

The Hippie Cops are coming for Sheri. She has touched the third rail of corporate branding offense: mockery. So if we don't hear from her, I'll suspect she's shopping a lawyer. Or being roughed up by nancy-boys in their khakis and crocs. Hey, if the Mormons can find her house behind all the privacy hedges, I'm sure the patchoulie patrol can, too.

Laura is planning on a restraining order from George Clooney's lawyer. Hilarity or habeas corpus --or maybe both-- are in play.

Jean is just plain breakin' bad. Rules are for fools and Jean is tired of both.

Froth is toeing the line of domestic tranquility by outing Mr. Froth's sesame seedy past.

The Trooper's Gal is reveling in non-conformity. She's definitely not a joiner. It's a Texas thing?

Daphne is under the influence of too-many-idiots-so-little-time syndrome, but as she also is from Texas (almost seeing a pattern here). Her antipathy is well-aimed at the Pacific Northwest.

Go click 'em or don't. As if I care.

Nancy Pelosi Has Alzheimers

Or else she's just a liar. You decide. Just a quick little YouTube memory enhancement for her benefit. This is sooooo sweet to watch again, after all that has happened:

Nothing to see here, either.

.

Lux Aurumque sung by Internet Choir

For your Sunday morning:

.

Two Bad Guys 1.5 Miles Away. Two Shots. Three Seconds. Two Kills.

A new record from a British sniper hot-shot:

Craig Harrison, a member of the Household Cavalry, killed the insurgents with consecutive shots — even though they were 3,000ft beyond the most effective range of his rifle.

“The first round hit a machinegunner in the stomach and killed him outright,” said Harrison, a Corporal of Horse. “He went straight down and didn’t move.

“The second insurgent grabbed the weapon and turned as my second shot hit him in the side. He went down, too. They were both dead.”

The shooting — which took place while Harrison’s colleagues came under attack — was at such extreme range that the 8.59mm bullets took almost three seconds to reach their target after leaving the barrel of the rifle at almost three times the speed of sound.

He's apparently had an "interesting" tour of duty. Read the rest at the link.

"He teacheth my hands to war. . ."