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        Friday, September 27, 2002

    The Towers...

    I think they should rebuild the towers exactly as they were, with the exception of incorporating modern improvements that were made and/or discovered since they were first built. This would include mounting Phalanx weapons systems and anti-air missles, staffed full time on the roof, changing watch only by helicopter (I think every large city in America should be protected this way).

    Two new towers would be the best 'Fuck You' we could say, and the best memorial for the big puddle of American DNA that would be buried honorably underneath them.

    I think we should, today, send nuclear capable cruise missles, most unarmed, into the heart of every muslum capital city and 'holy' site on the planet, televised live on CNN via 'missle-cam', with a presidential address to follow.

    Mr. Bush would just say, "you've had your warning shot, next time they're real. The next attack of any sort on American soil, the missles will be armed. The next attack on American interests any where else in the world, the missles will be armed. As you can see, all of the missles that I sent to Iraq today...were armed. Do not test my resolve, or the resolve of the American people, or I have ordered today that all American embassies be closed in every muslim country we have them in, and in any country that supports terrorism. This includes France. I have also today ordered every non-western embassy in the United States closed, and have had all of their staffs deported. Each country so effected may petition to reopen their embassy's here, with an understanding that any act of espionage from here on out will be considered an Act of War, and will be dealt with severely. All aid to these countries has been suspended until they petition us for aid, and agree to follow certain guidleines and restrictions regarding trade, human rights, and other issues as yet to be worked out with the Secretary Powell and the State Department. Any Act of War or terrorism against the State of Isreal will be considered an Act of War against the United States of America. This will be reevaluated if and when the current PLO government is replaced with a genuine, fairly elected, constitutional democracy. Hear my words, fear my country, and do not doubt that we have the will to do what is necessary. "

    Yeah...I wish.

        Wednesday, September 25, 2002

    I thought I'd learned my lesson.

    Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, I sat with other writers, and we critiqued each others work. Some of us were 'professionals', meaning we had been paid for our blitherings 'by the word'.
    One of our group was the person who wrote the adaptation for 'Escape From New York'.

    I fucked his girlfriend, and smoked some genuine Panama Red with him, for which he'd traded a brand new Maytag washer and dryer set that he'd 'purchased' with his recently ex-wife's credit card.

    What's the point? I swore then that I would never sit around in another circle-jerk of fragile egos, and give my opinion of 'works in progress', some of which made me cringe in embarrassment, some turning me green with jealousy, and some blackening my heart with the urge to steal...

    Writing is not a team sport. Masturbation, at best, includes only one other person who you must care VERY much about. Otherwise, just shut the fuck up, paint the fence, and deal with the critics afterwards, eh?


        Tuesday, September 24, 2002

    Jeez, does Larry King look like someone let all the air out of his head, or what? I think whoever did it had enough air left to go pump up Bill O'Reilly's and Neil Cavuto's heads WAY beyond their PSI threshold.

    There is not one Newsfuck worth the powder to blow them up today, except for Brit Hume...remember how he was such a non-entity, and then Bill Clinton had his kid whacked to shut him up?

    Oh, sure, the other Newsfucks reported it as 'suicide', but Brit knew better, and BOY did he come out swinging. There is one guy who doesn't give a shit, and knows how to walk the ragged edge...I don't know how he survives.


        Monday, September 23, 2002

    Man, I never realized how much I hated John Gruden until I watched that shitty game tonight...he reminds me of every little frat-rat preppy fuck I've ever punched in the face just for being stupid...Go Raiders!...especially now you've got a real adult man for a coach. Good Riddance to Bad Rubbish...

    And didn't that little baby-smacking Irish dog cunt-bitch become a media super star over the weekend? Nobody mentions how she dyed her hair so's she could run...ahhh, who gives a shit, OJ proved all you need is a sharp knife and sharper lawers to get away with...whatever.

    If we had a future, you could trace the coming fall of this country to the juxtaposition of the OJ trial with the Clinton presidency. All of the chickens from the sixties finally came home to roost...stick a fork in us...we're over. When Clinton's final perfidy is revealed, which was the sale of the cream of America's technological secrets to China...all any True Amurrican is gonna have time to do is bend over and kiss their ass goodbye...and you won't have time to wash it, either.

        Friday, September 20, 2002

    Man, I have to fart...oops! Hey, corn!


    Marital Bliss...

    Well, I'm sending my wife away for the weekend, to a quiet place in the mountains for a 'retreat', away from me and the squallin youngn's...don't need her freaking out and engaging in an act of terminal child-bathing cuz she never gets a break, and she snaps one day.

    The husband of that crazy bitch in Texas, you know the one, bitch got a 'little overzealous' while teaching her kids to snorkle... he should be thrown, bound and naked into the cage of a Viagra'd up mountain gorilla...and did you see that malignant cunt on Fox News today, slugging her four year old daughter? She goes in the cage next. First (and lesser) offenders should be forced to watch the video tape as a warning that next time it could be their ass getting reamed by Koko and his Big Pink Banana.

    Fuck privacy, I'm glad that the proliferation of security cameras is catching people like this baby-bashing douchebag...I wanna reach up her snatch and rip out her reproductive organs, like a bloody distributor cap and some spurting plug wires...some people just aren't fit to breed, and they're just gonna pass on the disease to their kids. I'm almost afraid to see how that poor little girl turns out, assuming she survived the beating.

    I once assisted a DA Homicide Investigator in securing a piece of evidence from a crime scene. The evidence was the entire west wall of the home's dining room. The wall was decorated with several interesting and colorful blood-spray patterns, indicating where some animal rat bastard had bashed his toddler son's head against it many, many times.

    The DA felt that it would be an effective exhibit to wheel into the courtroom for the jury to see.

    It was.

        Tuesday, September 17, 2002

    So anyway, there I was, just a bit ago, taking a Shiite and reading the paper...I finish and check out my work, and I realize that I have made a perfect sculpture of Yasser Arafat! can almost see his fat lip quivering, and some of the toilet paper has wrapped around his head, you know, a little speckled and all, and then I get that 'just stood up piss urge', so I spatter his head into chunks 'dat dat dat dat dat'...and you know, I just felt, you know...a Global Citizen, like I had...really done my part to make the world a better place, and then I cramped again and sat back down to try another dune-coon sculpture...but I just made a mess of it. Sorry.


    Running Bear, Loved Little White Dove...

    I've decided to become an American Indian, now that some tribes will let anybody join.

    I don't know which Indian name to choose, though...maybe you can help me out? I'm thinking of 'Stands With a Boner', or 'Fucks With a Fist', or maybe 'Farts With a Lisp'. We'll see.

    I want to start my own Casino, and make treaties with foreign governments, and launder money through dummy corporations funded by the White Man's Guilt Money. I want to be able to sell time shares on my new Reservation for foreign terrorists to come and train....yeah, try to tell me that shit ain't going on right now.

    I think I would make a great Indian. I had lots of practice playing one when I was little...well I was mostly the cowboy, sure, but I can be every bit an Indian as those fat assholes that dress up in 'authentic' outfits and yodel to made-up indian songs they heard in a John Ford movie somewhere...Indian music is so you can sing when you're too drunk to remember the words...and bonking a drum with one stick don't take too much talent either, baby.

    I've worked security at more than one powwow, lemme tell you. Insurance companies insist on 'diversity' in employment before they'll cover the event, so I was always the only White Boy ('Head Up His Ass') crazy enough to volunteer.

    The Real Security, big injuns who were pissed cuz they had to stay sober, warned me to stay close to them...everybody else there just wanted to kill me...they looked at me like I was the last bonbon on the plate in a fat womans lap...fucking savages.

    We would catch the indians ('Falls With a Thud') as the alcohol shorted out their synapses, and they dropped like a wet sock. You could watch them start to shudder and sway, like a redwood with a chainsaw up it's ass...then we'd cart em off to the 'drunk tent', two of us carrying them, one at the head (I always took the stinky feet, cuz feet don't puke) to keep em from dieing from sunburn...we'd prop 'em on their side with a roll of towels wedged under their back so they wouldn't roll back, puke, and die...then we'd go out to get another one.

    Yep, I think I wanna be an Indian.

        Monday, September 16, 2002

    I can think of three words that should paralyze our enemies with fear, if they had the brain power between them to power a piss-ants moped one turn around a dingleberry...

    'All Volunteer Military'...

    Think about it: "We all cared so much about our country and our way of life that we joined up, gave up our freedoms for a time, make shit wages, put up with grande servings of bullshit, all to get the opportunity to kill you and your family members and flatten your shitty turd-world country ON PURPOSE!!!! Yeah, you little cocksuckers BETTER run...but wait, I hear yer regrouping...goody, here's another phrase I hope you intercept before a Big Scary Noise goes off over your head..."troops in the open!...Fire for effect!!"

    A zipperhead by any other name is still a zipperhead...they never learn, so every so often you gotta respray.

    Mercy is something you leave in a little box at home when you leave, and hope you can find your way back to when it's over.

    Rules are for pussies and fools.

    There is no more Marquis, and his rules merely glossed over the savagery that was going to occur anyway.

    These ragpickers...these snaggletoothed filthy degenerate boy-fucking retards in filthy nightshirts, will rape our prisoners of all three sexes. They will torture for information and amusement, but mostly for amusement, so 'just roll on your rifle and blow out your brains, and go to your God like a soldier', as was written once by one who knew.

    Boys and girls, if it won't take it's hands out of it's pockets's, shoot it full of holes...if it turns around to walk at you and makes pleading motions with it's hands, shoot it full of are the enemy, they want to die killing you, your duty is to assist them as cleanly and humanely as possible...unless, of course, you need one screaming in agony to freak out his brethren and cause them to make a mistake.

    Hey, they'd do much the same for you...

    Semper Fi



    When I see people I respect linking to articulate fruits like Andrew Sullivan, it just breaks my heart. Hell, I read and enjoy Camille, too, but I recognize her for what she is: confused, twisted, and seriously damaged goods...a stopped clock is right twice a day and blah blah blah.
    The time has come, I think, to choose decide which gang to pledge to, and wear their colors, even if you are afraid of them much of the time and don't completely agree with them...and then, never forget that the maggots from the other gang are your sworn, mortal enemies...once you are jumped in, you will kill them on sight, smash them in the face with a nail-studded bat, and disregard their cries for mercy or understanding... Because, to do differently, is to invite annhiliation to yourself...and worse, to the one's you love and care about.
    Wheat from chaff, sheep from's time.
    I watched with growing horror tonight as an American football team ran choking and gagging from an unknown chemical that was released from the CAN happen here. It HAS happened here. It will happen again....

        Sunday, September 15, 2002

    I wanna do like the Lib-tards do....join shit and fuck it up from the inside...this is war, right? All's fair, eh? I wanna sign up with the communist party, the aclu, I wanna become a Libertarian, a Unitarian, a gay rights activist, a card carrying Green Party asshole, join PETA, and fuck em all up with glee and panache. I wanna eat beans and guacamole and hot links, drink beer 'til I'm kacked, and go to meetings and slip out eye searing farts until people vote desperately to adjourn. I want to donate a third party check for $1.69 that someone will have to take the time and effort to process, and it'll be on a closed account. I wanna slash tires in parking lots, spray mace into gas mask filters, leave the toilet seat down and piss on it, use all the toilet paper, and not flush my dump...I wanna throw the first rock at the biggest cop with the biggest club, and hold some sissy in front of me while he whales on him to get at me. I wanna plant evidence, microphones, condoms with holes poked in em with needles...I wanna carry a pack of clove cigarettes full of cigarette loads to hand out freely to my 'brothers and sisters'. I wanna tell PETA activists where an animal test lab is, and have them break in to a building full of cranked up pit bulls and wolverines...
    Good Night, America...


    Oh boy, quick! Go to the Drudge Report and check out Chelsea's sweet titties! Gosh, I bet they'd squeak like two balloons around my pecker, and those nips could put someone's eye out, girl! Be Careful!
    Men, I have found my next wallpaper, until my wife sees it...


    Hearing today that the Liberal-tarian Party supports 'immigrant rights' is the last straw for me. I've been skeptical about them all along for their drug stance, now they just may as well run Nader as their candidate. What limp-wristed assholes...there will NEVER be a successful third party in a nationwide election in this country, and the other two parties are nearly indistinguishable. It's been said before, if you want the job, you shouldn't be allowed to have it.
    I think every American at the age of 18 should have to take a test, kinda like a cross between the SAT's and an immigrant style citizenship test, and get a certain score to be able to participate in the benefits of society, i.e, get a driver's license, drive on public roads, etc. From this pool, a supercomputer would pick, lottery style, people to fill in every position from President on down. Then, elections will be held for every position every four years, and Americans will vote with their social security number for the candidates. Any irregularity (i.e., multiple uses of a number) will lead to that vote being discarded and a letter generated to the last known good address of the SSN holder to allow them to clear things up. Any candidate who fails to recieve a certain percentage of votes would 'lose' and be replaced by the computer. Fraud carries an automatic death sentence. Voting would last one week, and your voting receipt would give you one month out of the next twelve to be tax free, and be an automatic entry into a National Lottery where the pot is never below $50 million dollars. There would be no term limits. Every candidate chosen for governerships on up would also have to take a psychiatric exam. All successful candidates would be paid extravagantly to avoid the temptation of corruption, and would remain tax-free for the rest of their lives, even those serving only one term.
    Those pigs in Washington would never allow such a thing, of course...I think I hear the Black Helicopters already. I better go get a last beer outta the fridge before they kick in my door...goodbye...

        Saturday, September 14, 2002

    I shamelessly stole this from somewhere else, and post it here for some much needed comic relief before I go off again...

    What Really Happened at Agincourt...

    The Flower of French Chivalry had formed up in immaculate order across the field, magnificent in their finest, glittering imported armour, resplendent in highly coloured livery and equipped with other rather camp accessories so often favoured by the French.

    "Pah! Assey 'y vous 'zis peetiful band of English ros'boef jesteurs! Zey sink zey are a match for uz?" lisped the Dauphin, impatient to start slaughtering as soon as possible.

    "Hmmm - I 'av 'erd zat leetle island does produce mighty warrieurs zometames?" said the Herald diplomatically.

    "Orsefezzers and panzeur peedle - az zey sey over zere een zere feelthy countray!" snapped the Constable of France. "We shall 'ave feenished zem off before eet eze even tame for elevnensees - ah am only concerned zat zere arenot enough of ze batards for uz all to get a propere beet of carnage een! "

    The Herald bit his lip and moved to the rear. He'd been down to the English camp and had a look round. They were a scruffy bunch, that was true, but he wasn't so sure the confidence of his commanders was fully justified. But then he was only wearing a rather lightweight bumfreezer jacket instead of plate armour, and was consequently more wary of the power of the English longbow....

    At the other end of the field, confidence was in somewhat shorter supply.....

    "I've humped this bloody stick for bleeding miles!" moaned Bill, a sturdy archer with skeletal deformities, "what am I supposed to do with the fucking thing now?" The usual cheery obedience of the English infantry was obviously wearing rather thin, and Sergeant Brigand realized this was a critical moment. He thought about it for a second, then smashed Bill round the head with his rusty, second-hand gauntlet pillaged by his father at Crecy.

    "Shaddap! Just set 'em up and do as yer fucking told!" he snarled. "And sharpen the sodding end properly, ye lazy fuck! That goes for the rest of ye too!"

    Sure enough, Bill and the others got to work, grumbling quietly, but not within earshot of the Sergeant or any of the noblemen who wandered anxiously up and down the line.

    "I wish I'd never come, I really do!" groaned John the Thatcher. "I'd just be rolling out of bed with Big Nell the Milkmaid right now...."

    "I know what you mean! The bloody catering's been a sodding disgrace. I've had the Katmandu Quickstep all the way from fucking Harfleur! It's worse than the bleedin' Glastonbury festival!" moaned Tom Carpenter, hewing away at the end of his stake as he eyed the glittering French array with concern. "It's all right for them - sodding snails and froglegs for breakfast no doubt, washed down wi' fancy wine an' stuff! Soft toilet paper - wet wipes -the works! What chance 'ave we fucking got I ask ye?" John winced and clutched his stomach. "Fucking 'ell! I've got to go again! If the battle starts before I'm back, sharpen me stake for me will ye?" he shouted, racing into the bushes at the end of Tramcourt Wood.

    "Chuffin 'eck!" cried Richard the Northener, "Me as well...." as he raced to the rear, clutching his nethers in a most undignified manner.

    King Henry looked anxious as he surveyed the position uneasily. "Hells bells and buckets of blood - there's an awful of them your Grace!?" said York uneasily. "Mmmm... never mind, I said a prayer. We'll be fine...." Henry replied coolly.

    "Ah, if only a few of the men that do no work today were here with us now, well, er, you know what I mean my liege?" said Westmorland anxiously.

    "Nonsense!" snapped the King. " Who says so? Half our chaps are in the bushes relieving themselves, that's all. Don't worry about it - chill out will ye?" Westmorland looked unconvinced. If only Imodium had been available in the 15th century he thought.... or even Kaolin and Morphine.....

    Meanwhile, the French, lusty and over-confident as usual in their pathetic, sneering, continental, arrogant, smug self-assurance, were champing at the bit and raring to go, the fools. At long last all was in order, and they slammed down their visors and charged toward the thinly manned English line.....

    The Herald, au fait with Crecy, Poitiers and numerous other battles, watched them racing in the direction of St. Ayn Desasterre and shook his head. There'd be tears before bedtime...

    Back at the English position, the mighty thunder of hooves and the clank of armour had a dramatic effect.

    "Sound the alarum! All hands man your battle stations!" shouted the King, and thousands of groaning men emerged from the bushes discarding their hose in the rush, and took up positions without even washing their hands. Stomach cramps notwithstanding, they bravely stood fast and clenched their magnificent well muscled buttocks, as the huge wave of heavy cavalry approached at full pelt, and the thunder of hooves shook the ground. Certain they were about to be smashed into the mud at any second, they nevertheless coolly prepared to face the end, as English hooligans have in the face of cavalry charges on foreign soil ever since, and brandished their weapons.....

    King Henry was hastily signing a note of surrender and agreements of safe passage to Calais, when suddenly, the thundering stopped. He looked up in astonishment to see that the French had halted dead in their tracks, some fifty yards short of the English line. What was this? Had his prayers been answered? He hastily hid the shameful documents in his sleeve and decided what to do... only one thing for it. Send in the lads!

    The first wave of French cavalry were in complete disarray, and cries of "Zoot Alors!", "Sacre Blue!", "Mon Dieu", "Au Secours" and other expressions called out by weedy Frenchmen in distress filled the air. "Phworr! What ees zis - le batards are abusing ze chemeecal warfare! Eet ees against all ze rules of chivalrey!" wailed the Dauphin, holding a lavender scented handkerchief to his enormous nose. "Mah Liege - wee must weethdraw immediately, or all ees lost! Zis stench ees from 'ell eetself - what 'ave zey been eating for fook's sake?" cried the Constable in utter horror.

    Even Sir Angus McDevastator, in charge of the Scottish contingent, was gagging and retching as he spluttered to his second in command. "Ye've got tae give 'em credit laddie - even Scotch lavvies are nae as bad as that!"

    But even as he began to solemnly salute the grim faced Englishmen ahead, the second wave of cavalry charged into the back of them, tipping everyone into the mud....Ten minutes later.....

    "Well, I'd never have thought it, but it hasn't turned out to be such a bad day after all?" said Bill brightly, ramming his bloodstained dagger through the visor of a fallen Frenchman, producing a ghastly, gurgling scream.

    "Nor me. Mind you, this is hard work - when do we get a break?" muttered John, drowning one man in the mud by standing on the back of his neck as he whacked another repeatedly on the head with a lead maul.

    "Huh! These are made for camping - time we got proper hammers! Five hits and he's still moaning..." he grumbled.

    "Stop whining you idle layabouts, and get to bloody work!" growled Sergeant Brigand, as he broke the neck of a wounded Frenchman floundering in the mud with well practised ease. "There's an hour and a half 'till lunch, and I don't want to see any slacking! Then later on you can strip your sleeves, fib about your scars and impress the neighbours... well, that's what the King said anyway. Until then, sodding pull your fingers out and look lively!"

    "Huh... work, work work..." muttered Bill as he departed, slicing the purse away from the Frenchman's neck and stuffing it into his quilted gambeston. "I tell you what, in a couple of hundred years there'll be a civil war, and his lot'll be first up against the wall..."

    And that's why I hate the French, too...


    Do you think I'm too harsh on the lower life forms America? A little too mean and crusty? Let me know what you think, America, dial 1-800-EAT-SHIT...the best caller will get the pair of my underwear with the skidmark that looks like Mother Teresa so you can charge admission for beaners to come in and look at it... (hey, I coulda said Jesus, but that would just be wrong!).

        Friday, September 13, 2002

    Need I say more????

    EL PASO, Texas — About a dozen railroad bandits ambushed two FBI agents during a sting, kicking them and beating them with rocks, authorities said Friday.
    The agents were hospitalized in critical condition with head injuries and were in induced comas Friday, said agent-in-charge Hardrick Crawford Jr.
    Other agents arrested 16 people after the attack Thursday in the Sunland Park-Anapra area of New Mexico, just across the Texas line and yards from the Mexican border. The charges included train robbery and assault.
    The agents were investigating thefts of interstate shipments from the railroads, which have cost the railroads more than $1 million a year, FBI spokesman Al Cruz said.
    The FBI said the suspects jumped onto the train where it had to slow down for a sharp bend in the tracks. Tipped to a possible theft, agents confronted the alleged bandits, and 10 to 12 of them attacked agents Sergio Barrio, 39, and Samantha Mikeska, 38, the bureau said.
    "Two agents were overwhelmed by Mexican nationals who had already mounted the train," Crawford said. "Those agents were dragged into Mexico, kicked and beaten, hit with rocks."
    Gangs from Mexico have been robbing trains in the area for years, Crawford said, and law enforcement agencies regularly conduct sting operations.
    The suspects were in federal custody in a Sunland Park, N.M.

    Man I hate mexicans, the palestenian dog-turds of the Norte Americano hemisphere...


    Man, I Hate Mexicans...

    Brown Americans (or any other color American, for that matter, 'cept ragheads) are okay, but damn furriners piss me off...especially the illegal ones.

    And any foreign cocksucker who comes here and won't assimilate (and I include whites in this, too) should be killed as well. I hear bullshit about how illegals are breaking the law to 'better themselves' or their families, and I wonder what would happen to me if I commit a crime to help out my family?

    What about an omission, like not paying my taxes? Illegals don't file income tax returns, why should I? They benefit from the taxes I pay, shouldn't I be able to grab one and say "C'mere, fucker, mow my lawn"? Or maybe screw his wife to make up for how long I've been getting screwed by the IRS so spics can come here and screw out pillsbury popup 'citizens' and screw up our medical and educational systems?
    These little brown turds are why a fucking Tylenol costs $40 in the hospital and my kids don't use the lunch room at school anymore...because, forget it, if there's a spic in line ahead of you, and he gets near the front, he motions for twenty-five other little cockroaches to get in front of him, and lunch is over before you ever get there, so your kids either don't eat, or use their hard earned wages or allowance to go down the street and buy something at the store.

    Check out the average cafeteria'll see nothing but spic food, cuz those are the only assholes that eat there anymore...and God help you if you fight one of them, cuz then you gotta fight every fucking spic who ever lived, and their sisters.

    I normally think sexual harrassment is mostly bullshit and made up, but my daughter had two little spic fucks during PE class that were openly ogling her and touching her and driving her so crazy she was about to drop out before I came in and intervened. I had to do it extremely slyly and carefully, so the little bastards didn't know where it was coming from and try to hurt her.

    I have knocked mexicans on their asses in stores because they walked straight at me as if I was expected to move...surprise, assholes, I carry guns!! Pukes.

    And it ain't just the spics. When I was a cop (yeah, ponder THAT for a minute), we had a problem with the local Hmong who would heat coins red hot and press them into their kid's flesh to 'chase out demons', or decapitate a dog and nail it's head to your door as a warning of some sort.

    But spics rule for being fucked up. My Mom was an RN in a psych ward, where one of her patients was an elderly Mexican woman from a wealthy Mexican family.
    She'd had a breakdown and attempted suicide because she was tired of her male relatives fucking her all the time.
    She got an attorney and was trying to get asylum to stay here, but her family got the US State Dept involved, and one day they came and took her 'back home'.

    It seems that a spic family tradition is to have the older women of the family be obligated to let the younger males fuck them whenever they get the urge...oh, yeah, and in the Napa Valley of California, it is a routine event for a Mexican male farm worker, on the way back to Mexico, to kidnap a young (8-13) year old white girl, rape the shit out of her all the way there, hook her on smack, and have her working in his field somewhere like a fuckin donkey til she dies. Or he sells her to a pimp.
    The whole community is in on it, because they turn her back over to him when she tries to escape.

    Man, I hate Mexicans...


        Wednesday, September 11, 2002

    The following is my tribute to the firefighters of New York City. It was written by Steve Dunleavey in the Post today, and I shamelessly cut and pasted it because those venal cocksuckers wanted $250 bucks for copyright permissions...fukkem. This story just about says it on

    September 11, 2002 -- ON THAT day, there were 8 million stories in this naked city. One year later, I merely offer one.
    "Change? Oh yes, I have changed," said firefighter Brian Harvey of Engine 236.
    "I don't get angry any more about small things. Small things you get angry about? Ridiculous."
    Tony Palmentieri, one of his partners, was saying: "Keith Glasco, who died there, comes back in a strange way.
    "You see someone who might look like him or someone uses some phrase that he would use - and it comes back."
    "At his funeral, his 2-year-old son, Nolan, was playing around, not knowing what was going on.
    "How do you tell a 2-year-old kid, his daddy, a firefighter, was gone.
    "His wife, Veronica, was pregnant at the time of the funeral. Sure it changes you. God.
    Battalion Chief Hugh Mulligan says: "I relive so many moments of my comrades who passed on. Not only firefighters, cops - all of them. Of course you change. Honestly. Haven't you? I pray a lot more."
    Harvey. Palmentieri. Mulligan. The fourth horseman of that apocalypse, Peter Strahl, was not at the firehouse of Engine 236 in Brooklyn.
    He is retired on disability with a serious throat condition. I wonder how that happened?
    Firefighters, cops, military men cringe at the word "hero" - so that is the last time you will hear it from me.
    Just the facts, ma'am:
    Under the command of Mulligan, Harvey shinnies down an ash-covered gash in the ground, 35 feet deep.
    Down below, he sees a tiny hole, a tunnel down there in the abyss. No gas mask, no oxygen tank, nuttin', honey.
    "I just kept shouting out: 'Anyone there?' "
    Harvey is about to give up because of the silence.
    Suddenly, Lenny Ardizzone from Staten Island, trapped for eight hours in the hell hole, shouts back: "I'm here! Over here!"
    Harvey yells to his three comrades. They come down that ash-laden, gas-ridden 35-foot hole to that little tunnel.
    "We figured if we could get through the small tunnel, in front of us, 35 feet down we might get through to this voice."
    Trouble was that little tunnel was 2 feet wide and about 11/2 feet high.
    Everybody had been warned that No. 7 at the World Trade Center was about to collapse . . . right on them, making that tunnel their tomb.
    Lying on their backs to get maximum clearance, like Vietnam-era tunnel rats, they use their heels to propel themselves.
    That little tunnel is 300 feet long. And when they see Lenny from Staten Island, he's 20 feet above them on a sheer cliff.
    "We got up there, and Lenny was in bad shape," said Brian.
    "To get down and through that tunnel, we put Lenny on Brian's back," said Chief Mulligan.
    Brian, on his stomach, carries Lenny on his back, like a human sled, through that awful, nasty little tunnel.
    His partners have to hold on to Lenny, who is suffering multiple fractures, in case he can't keep his grip or just passes out.
    Three-hundred feet later they get Lenny to a clearance and then organize the help to lift him up that 35-foot well under No. 7.
    "Lenny just kept saying 'Thank you,' - as he does to this day when he calls," Brian was saying.
    Tony Palmentieri and Peter Strahl, while waiting for Lenny to be lifted from that well, start searching for other possible survivors.
    But they come back with some news.
    "There was an expanding fire below and noxious gas coming to our area. Those men didn't move before Lenny was lifted to safety," said Chief Mulligan.
    Twenty minutes later, No. 7 collapses. What can you say about that?
    Well, I promised not to use the "hero" word, but what the hell, sue me.


    Do you know what gunfire looks and sounds and smells like in a dark room? Do you know what it feels like to hit someone in the face so hard you break your fist, and the only way you know you didn't kill them is the snuffling scarlet bubbles that are foaming out of the tear duct of their good eye when they breathe? Have you ever been burned on the face by a hot empty cartridge that has briefly stuck to your cheek and left a small scar that you touch every so often through the years when you're thinking about something else? Have you ever seen brain-steam curling out of a close contact head wound, while fresh brain chunks steam on the bedside table lamp's lightbulb? Then just shut the fuck up...


    Hey, I Gotta Tell You...

    These cunts who marry Ay-rabs, and then whine about losing their kids, like that major whiner-cunt Pat Roush, can just go fuck themselves as far as I'm concerned.


    What did you expect, you raghead wannabe douchebags!!!

    Ooooh, lessee, "I sold myself to this dark-eyed romeo (gad, go fuck a spic...they'll be greatful, and mexico is a lot closer to get your kids back from) and now I'm whining because because he, following his religion, beats me with a stick, and takes my kid back home where I have no rights at all?"

    These loser sluts who apparently can't get a decent Amurrican to fuck them, so they start bottom feeding...well, they can all just go hang.

    By the way, if I see another fucking firefighter or cop memorial today, I'm gonna puke.

    Where are the monuments and ceremonies for all the janitors, pizza guys, secretaries, and hot dog vendors?

    I am SO conflicted by this whole 9/11 thing...if you would have asked me before 9/11 if I would have liked to see those shitheads in those buildings get blowed up...I would have enthusiastically said "Hell Yes!!!"

    The Pentagon? Why not?

    Congress and/or the Senate? Fuckin A!!!

    Then it happens, and I gotta pick which victims make me sad and which don't...

    Every time an angel farts, another faggot croaks, that's my philosophy.

    One of my sons was almost in the Pentagon that day, and I'm glad his meeting was canceled, but I can shed no tears for that bloated military industrial bureaucracy getting center punched...

    I regret the loss of the passengers and crew, and I hate it that the tools used against us were these subhuman wastes of chromosomes and skin we label as 'ragheads'.

    But, my basic philosophy still holds...don't bitch about the ride when you bought the ticket.

    Eight years of Clinton and her Whore, and thirty years of escalating decadance...

    Yeah, we bought and paid for our future.




    I just learned from one of the scarce few I call friend, that his 15 year old daughter from a broken marriage is pregnant and getting an abortion today or tomorrow. She's lucky...the sperm donor is lucky, that I am not my friend. I would have a trunk full of guns and be on my way, robbing muslum businesses along the way for money, supplies, and quite frankly, to make me feel a little better. If the sperm donor was a spic, or a relative, or a rapist, I wouldn't bother...heck, I'd stomp the little blob of protoplasm myself...but if this was my daughter using this procedure for simple birth control, there would be some sincere trouble coming. I am glad that I am not in this position, and that girl is lucky I have nothing to do with her. I regret, and repent, that my generation who came of age in the sixties and seventies, have allowed this country to come to such a state as it is in. God Bless Eric Rudolph, current world hide and seek champion, I would welcome him into my home like a brother...and fuck you, Carnivore! Take us, God, we're ready...


    Well, Florida...

    ...has served us up another big ole plate of it any wonder I kneel by my little bed every night and pray for nuclear war? This planet needs an enema, and I hope God sticks the nozzle right in Florida. What a pack of dipshits...and it's the same three counties that fucked up during the Gore/Bush fiasco.

    Can't we just have a nice, benign military dictatorship? Please? Fuck democracy...we're a Republic, anyway. When 'Politician' and 'diseased, runny anus' become synonyms, I think it is time for a change. Let's use my aforementioned 'raghead removal method'...if everybody went out and shot just one politician, from dog-catcher on up, we could all start over, eh?

    Oh, and I had a thought last night...why do we let foreigners buy controlling interests in American companies? The Saudis and whoever else could foreclose on this country and cripple us without firing a shot. What fucking lemmings we are...

    And FURTHERMORE: is it my imagination, or is every single gun company in America now wholly owned by a foreign corporation? Correct me if I'm wrong...sad, too, because now the only 'deals' I can find in gunshops and gunshows are shitty foreign made police pistols...fuckers rattle when you shake em.

    Oh well, at least all of my Colts have tripled in value...


        Tuesday, September 10, 2002

    This is a copy of an email I sent to Col. David Hackworth, my former hero, the other day in response to his article from last Saturday...

    Subject: When did you become such a pussy?

    Man, you used to be my hero. I’m an ex infantry grunt, and damn proud to have been ready to die for whatever dumbshit reason I was sent to die for. Soddom is a piece of garbage that needs to die, and I only wish that I could be the one to have my foot on his throat when I blew his brains all over my boots.

    Me and my boys were the point of the sword, and we didn’t question who gave the orders. Remember Hanoi Jane? Now we have Baghdad Scott...that traitorous fuck should be locked away in a deep dark hole. Aiding and abetting was never more clear. I always wondered how you could sit next to Colmes and not chop him across the throat, and now I’m beginning to see. It scares me when Geraldo (tonight, Sunday 9-8) starts to look like a stud and a True American, and you start to sound like a spineless Libertarian.

    Colonel, Sir, I have always honored you, and directed others to your writings...make me a believer again, I beg you.


    I will try to make it through a Rant without using the word cocksucker...dammit, blew it all ready. Actually, I think I'm too tired to rant today. I caught my 17 year old daughter and her 19 year old boyfriend last night parked in front of my house playing tonsil-hockey. They didn't see me they were so interlocked, like snakes mating, so I went back into the house to fetch a weapon, preferably bone-breakingly blunt...I planned to beat him senseless and then rip off his Holiday Balls and mount them on his aerial in a festive display. My better angel had me go upstairs instead and fetch the Bushnell's and I watched them grope for over 30 minutes, so when he came to apologize to me at work today (oh, yeah, I confronted her when she came in last night), swearing that he "hadn't touched her below the neck", I could say in happy confidence "yes, I know, I was watching you with my binoculars." I thought he was gonna faint. But he was a Man about things, apologized, and, since he is going to become a doctor and it is almost enevitable that he and my daughter will one day marry, I forgave him.
    Tomorrow is 'The Day', and I actually have a friend (hereafter known as 'dumbass') that has chosen to fly somewhere on 'The Day'...I outta call in a bomb threat when she's been in the air for awhile, just for grins, but I won't (honest, Mr. Carnivore Sir!). I believe I will avoid the news...I only watch it for the pictures, anyway. Were I Bush, tomorrow is the day I would launch Operation 'Subdue The Dervish'...a few well tended mushroom cloud farms could bring us relative peace for a long, long time. And don't hand me that shit about how 'one nuclear bomb can ruin your whole day'...we all used to pop those fuckers off right and left...until the test ban treaty, and I don't see any 'nuclear winter', or any other bullshit happening...Pussies...with cruise missles and other technologies, we could have surgical nuclear strikes happening all over the world within one hour, and no one would need to know where they came from...kinda like Uncle SamQaida...pussies...give ME that fuckin button!

        Sunday, September 08, 2002

    Remember Hanoi Jane Fonda? Now we've got Baghdad Scott Ritter...that traitorous fuck should be knelt down on the tarmac of whatever American airport he touches down in and shot in the medulla oblangata.

        Saturday, September 07, 2002

    Men and women...

    ...are two alien species that just happen to be able to interbreed, and achieve a little enjoyment whilst doing so.

    Each species is dependent on the other or it would die off, so they’ve formed a sort of give and take truce over the ages in a mutual contract for survival.

    Men are thoughtless, unfeeling idiots; Women are thoughtful, all-feeling idiots, and it’s a wonder either one can make it across a room without falling and sticking a fork in their brain and swallowing their tongue and dying.

    All of their offspring are self-centered little ‘tards, until they begin to gestate and become dangerous to themselves and everyone around them by causing the most car accidents, shootings, surprise pregnancies and bad movies and music.

    Then they get old enough to where most movement hurts in some way so they do less of it, tend to cause less trouble (except for the ones who circumnavigate the country in steroidal, goiter-like ‘motor-homes’, blocking traffic for hundreds of miles) and wait for whatever dreary death that was inevitable from the moment they jumped through the love-ring and into their first experience with latex.

    So, there, get used to it, deal or not.

    No woman can be trusted in a jewelry/Costco/clothing store, and a man in a hardware or electronics store will come out feeling like every fleeced rube leaving a carnival has ever felt...guilty and a little flushed, like he just tongue-kissed Gramma for his allowance.
    The jewelry will sit in a box, the reciprocating saw will sit in a box, and your kids will bitch about having to try to unload all your crap at the garage sale they will throw after you’re dead.

    Hope this helps! Your mileage may vary...


        Friday, September 06, 2002

    Well, the war has started...I think 100 jets constitutes a declaration of war, eh? Praise God, and fuck allah and mohamud up the ass with a nail studded, pigskin dildo. Kill all those lice infested motherfuckers, their women, their children, their animals...stomp a motherfuckin mudhole in their chests, shoot em in the mouth so they can't scream and hurt your ears, and staple a 3x5" american flag on their foreheads so any raghead cocksucker who survives knows who came a-callin. Any American troops that give any of these motherfuckers a drink of water or a candy bar cuz the cocksucker has his hands up and a white flag should be shot on the spot...those ragheads with their hands up make a perfect fit in the sights of an M-16, if you think about it...two wings on the side, their little burnt-raisen head right on the post...BUST that melon! Have fun with it! Use your pistol...offhand...make em dance, play grenade tag...BOOOM, you're it! God Bless America, and FUCK ALL lower life forms!


    I'm glad Matthew Shepherd is dead...

    There is hardly a week that goes by where I don't hear someone mention that little fruits name, and I just smile inside, happy in the thought that now only worms can crawl up his ass.

    Of course, you can't say that sort of thing, unless it's in private with a group of people who have all been properly vetted for confidentiality. The infestation of PC and faggotry into our society has gone too far...they've won. They have taken over the mass media, and raised enough hell that people who are dependant on votes to keep their jobs cower when they speak.

    I'm not talking about dykes...for the most part (except for those who make their living doing 'activism') they are harmless, and they hate faggots, private. More than once in college I went to this gay bar with my dyke friends and watched them retch when two guys would kiss...and it finally got to where even the free booze and drunken bi-curious sex those ladies plied me with was not worth me seeing that, either.
    Anybody remember the mass retching that went on in the theatre during a certain scene in The Crying Game? Blecccchhh!!!!

    Nope, the only thing I hate worse than a raghead, is a faggot raghead. Now, I expect some bunch of faggots to email me using their favorite word...'spewing'...with faggots, everything is always 'spewing' ejaculatory. I'm 'spewing' hatred...I'm 'spewing' bigotry...blah blah blah blah, and all I have to say is, "well, DUH!!" Ignernt faggots, of COURSE I hate hate yourselves or you wouldn't be so nasty, with your nasty 'sub-cultcha' and your nasty practices and your nasty diseases, and don't try to play that shit that AIDS is a heterosexual disease, cuz it's not, it is always the result of someone somewhere doing some sort of deviant fucking, end of story.

    I just wish you faggots would all have a Big Giant Deviant Fuckfest, get infected, and die, so I can have my TV back. Get going!!!


    Who DOESN'T hate muslims?

    They even hate themselves...suicide is the sincerest form of self criticism.

    I hope we clear up this muslim infestation soon before it spreads to my groin area. I hear islam has a pretty nasty effect on the female crotch, too, what with the Love Button getting snipped off and all.
    I've always wondered if those faggot muslims defeminize their women like that because their women are just screaming writhing slut-dogs if you leave their clit on? Ya think?

    Or maybe it's cuz the muslim 'men' (and I use that term loosely because I don't want to offend pigs, which are actually clean, well-behaved animals who can be quite tasty) don't wan't any horny women interfering with their sodomizing of young boys?

    Oh well, Uncle Sam will be bombing those rat bastard camel humpers back to the Sand Age any day now.

    I may have to rethink my disdain of the British as well. I hope they are smart enough to send their raghead population on a long walk down a short pier after the festivities start.

    I think every sand-nigger we capture, especially palestinians captured by Isreali's, should be spayed and/or neutered, and then let go...sort of a catch and release program.

    Don't you just love it when one of those slingshot swinging, rock throwing little bastards catches a rubber-coated steel bullet right between the eyes? I sure do.

    I'd like to see a Safari system invented where you could take hunting trips to Israel or Afghanistan, ride with the troops, and bag as many of those little motherfuckers as you can tie to the hood of your Land Rover.

    Now THERE's an entrepernurial idea!


    Ya know, if every red-blooded, true red white and blue American just went out and shot one raghead today, many of our problems would stop right then and there...hey, save one for me!

        Wednesday, September 04, 2002

    George Carlin had the seven words you can't say on television...I believe I've heard all of them now, even if some were just slips during football games. But if I suggest that it's okay to punch in a Palestinian baby's soft spot with a claw hammer, I've just committed 'Hate Speech', and my government can make me pay dearly, and even shut me up. Unelected beauracrats (sp) wipe their asses with my Constitution every day, and...whoa, wait a minute, my wine glass is empty...gotta go!