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        Saturday, July 31, 2004

    Lawyers...


    "All the extravagance and incompetence of our present Government is due, in the main, to lawyers, and, in part at least, to good ones. They are responsible for nine-tenths of the useless and vicious laws that now clutter the statute-books, and for all the evils that go with the vain attempt to enforce them. Every Federal judge is a lawyer. So are most Congressmen. Every invasion of the plain rights of the citizens has a lawyer behind it. If all lawyers were hanged tomorrow, and their bones sold to a mah jong factory, we'd be freer and safer, and our taxes would be reduced by almost a half."–H.L. Mencken (1880-1956), "Breathing Space", The Baltimore Evening Sun, 1924 Aug 4. Reprinted in A
    Carnival of Buncombe.

    Amen, H.L., amen.






        Friday, July 30, 2004

    I must cartoon in my sleep...




       

    This one's for Gregg...




       

    Hey! Isn't that Vox Day?




       

    My sentiments exactly.




       

    I love this guy.




        Thursday, July 29, 2004

    Rebuttal...

    ...to all those idiots who try to win the argument by saying those 14 Syrians on the plane were 'just musicians'.

     




       

    OOPS...

    ...she did it again...





        Tuesday, July 27, 2004

    The Goddess Ann speaks...

    ...and hits it out of the park and through the windshield of Fuckface's limo.

    She has had so many good ones, but this time she has really outdone herself.

    Go and worship...

     




        Monday, July 26, 2004

    Via Alla...

    Before they disappear, My comments:

    TUA, you rock so hard...I am proud to know you...no, hold still! I want to know you!...hey, where'd she go?

    Love,

    Bane

    Posted by Bane at July 27, 2004 01:52 AM


    When coat hangers are outlawed, only outlaws will have coat hangers. BTW, don't you just hate that squeaky sound when they screech on the skull?

    Yeesh...

    Posted by Bane at July 27, 2004 01:55 AM
    What fun we have...

    Update:

    I am way too drunk and tired for this, but it seems as if the great Allah is a Playa Hata...my comments survived less than five minutes on his site. Hmmmm, chilling effect? Or wise decision?

    You be the judge.






        Sunday, July 25, 2004

    Sunday, Bloody Sunday...

    Ugh. I hate Sunday. It is supposed to be a day off, but I spend the whole of it dreading Monday. Saturday is my favorite day, because it still has the buffer of Sunday between it and Monday. I don't like Mondays.

    Friday is my favorite night.  I hate my job. Oh, it's is a fine enough job, as jobs go, but it's a job. I am doing it just for the money now. And that sucks. I spent the whole of last week 'sick', playing hooky. Oh, I was sick, to be sure, but I relished the pain, because it kept me from working. Sick.

    Ah well, blogging may become like a womans panties do once a month...spotty. Not that y'all be missing anything. Nice of you to drop by and peruse my colon spasms. If you didn't bring beer, go away.

    Speaking of beer, I have to go to my parents house this afternoon, so of course, I'm drinking. Be Prepared!, that's my motto. I plan to prepare the shit out of myself. It's my oldest daughters birthday, and those of you who've been around since the beginning know how thrilled I am with that.
    Why is it so many of our family members are people we would not otherwise let in to our homes, let alone socialize with? We got my daughter's wedding announcement today. She gave it to my wife at church to save a stamp. Cheapskate. I dread the day, oh how I dread that day. At least I didn't have to barbecue today. Her rich 'in-laws to be' took her out for a fancy birthday lunch. Then we are having dessert at my parents house. Imagine my joy.

    Yep, goin to work tomorrow with a hangover. Maybe I'll get lucky and the Boss will send me home, fearing contagion. He's just that way. Yee Haw! That cheers me up, a little. I'll stop by the store and get a six-pack of medicine, and cuddle up to it in bed. That's the bitch about being lazy and smart. I can keep my nose above water with very little effort. Money always comes to me. Not enough, but it comes. God loves me, but He keeps me poor. He knows if He made me rich that I would complete my dream of having a lawn sprinkler system attached to a gasoline tank, hooked to motion detectors, with a pizoelectric ignition system. "Burn, Jehovah's Witnesses! Burn!"

    Oh, well. Jesus left you the Bible when He took off. I leave you my archives. There's plenty of stuff in there, and some of the links still work, even.

    If you don't hear from me in a couple of weeks, I'm dead. Then my wife will find all of my dirty emails from fans, and the pictures, and piss on my grave. And I never even done nuthin. Been tempted hard a few times, but I been faithfully monogomous for 14 years. Wow.

    More's the pity.






       

    Hilarity...

    ...ensues.





       

    Words To Live By...

    Go see if the shoe fits.





        Saturday, July 24, 2004

    Ruminations...

    Fuck churches. Why should any of them be sanctioned by government by being tax free? When you can't have the 10 Commandments in a courtroom, but Scientology gets a tax break, that illogicality just nearly splits my skull.

    Stupid.

    And I don't care if it's your church, it's wrong. Stop it. Every decent Christian church in this country should take a stand right now and divest itself of any strings, any ties, and any contacts it has with state and federal government. Yesterday. Get the government out of your private schools, your home schools. If you are going to accept its lucre, and its free food, and its free curriculum, why not just go all the way and send your kids to public school and give all the money and time you save to the poor?

    All of your God-boxes are variations on a cult anyway. Get honest. Go the Elks and Moose route if you have to. If you want to have a social club, with God at its center, fine. But these posturing shamen with their 'ministries' just chill my soul. There is only one God, and His name is God, and I really doubt that The Being who spoke existence into existence gives a shit about your church building fund or your car wash or your bicycle ministry. And quit going door to door. Nobody does that anymore. It's just annoying, and I hope people put their dogs on you.

    Quit trying to figure God out. It's right there in the book. Read it. Share it with friends. Stay off my lawn. You know what He gives you, the rest is Mystery and masturbation.

    He's not the kind of God you have to call up on Sunday.





        Thursday, July 22, 2004

    Hey, Catholics!

    Don't say I never gave you anything...

    Yer welcome.






       

    Red Meat...

    Bookmark this site.

    Whether you find it funny is your IQ test for the day.

    I mean it.





       

    Filthy Old Man...

    Anybody tries to tell me I shouldn't have sex with this 16 year old girl is just going to get laughed at, or shot, so don't waste your breath.

    Here's more of the same...

    Here's her website.

    I think I've finally found someone to fill that broken, empty space in my heart that Britney left when she took up with negroes.

    I love you, Katy...




       

    Creepers!







       

    Jeepers!

    The Photoshop...






















    The Original...





















    Yowzers.


    .




       

    The Goddess Ann Speaks!

    Go and worship!

    (But no Catholics...)





       

    From The Archives...

    what do you call two homo's dancing butt to butt?
     
    A habi-trail !!
     
    From the comments to this post...see what you're missing? Haloscan shows 0 comments, but I activated comments last February. I find it interesting to see the commenters who appear to have dropped off as readers. Ah well, I don't aim to please, I guess.

    Man, I've been home sick all week, and bored out of my mind. Other blogs will be relieved when I go back to work, I am sure.

    Heh.





       

    Have You...

    ...forgotten?





        Wednesday, July 21, 2004

    An Idea...

    I wrote this in a thread over at Vox's blog:

    If you've ever flown over the California/Oregon mountain ranges during winter, you will see areas of forest that show green, even in the dead of winter. There are areas thick with game, where hot springs bubble, and the ground is fertile. If you could afford it, you could have several cargo helicopters ferry in enough supplies to start a small community, with yearly resupplies until the Last Day. Promise the pilots a safe place for their families should the feces ever hit the rotating oscillator. Shangri-La.


    Hmmmm.  If you could find the right group of people. If you could find the right kind of farm animals for the area. If you could find a couple of trained dog handlers, one for hunting dogs, and one for guard dogs. And their families. I'm thinking Wolfhounds and Rottweillers. And a couple of herding dogs for each family that comes. No man without a wife. No child over the age of ten.  Alcohol fueled ATV's and small tractors, and enough material to make several stills. Seed...corn, grains, young fruit saplings for planting.

    This would require the wealth of a Paul Allen...maybe. Proper planning could use less money. I would like to be one of the communities huntsmen. Bringing in game, and culling predators.  I would roam the woods with a H&K in .308, and a small, scrappy dog, and shoot stuff and shit in the woods.

    I see 10-20 families, at least 50% ex military.  Minimum 10 acres per plot, initially, until the land is turned into a Shire. One man as Shireff, elected, each year. Everyone sits on the Council, but his vote can veto.

    Whaddaya think?





       

    Hmmmm...

    Ain't this some shit. Go, read, and despair.

    Once you get past all the hyperbole, you only have two choices. It's a lie, or it isn't.

    If it's true...

    Thanks, Barb.





       


    Take the What High SchoolStereotype Are You? quiz.




        Tuesday, July 20, 2004

    This Is Just Hysterical...

    Read it and weep...

     




       

    Comics I'm Currently Reading...
     
    Screw all your damn book lists. I have about 15 books on my headboard, and rarely do the energy and time to read them converge as one. Comics are each a nice little bite of time, and I have loved the art form since childhood, and have enjoyed watching it mature and grow.
     
    Without further ado:
     
    Anything by Steve Niles. 'Freaks of the Heartland' is wowing me. My supplier subscribes me to everything new Niles comes out with, and he is delightfully diverse and prolific. I am particularly fond of his Cal McDonald series. An alcoholic drug addict private eye with a ghoul for a partner who kills monsters...what's not to love? And the '30 Days of Night' series is a mind-ripper.
     
    Anything and everything by Garth Ennis. He's a blasphemous piece of Irish dogshit, and one of my few guilty pleasures.
     
    Judge Dredd. Any writer, any artist, any time.
     
    Conan (the new series, though I own all of the old ones, too).
     
    The Walking Dead. And just about any other zombie horror that has a story. 'Remains' is also a good one.
     
    Anything Punisher related, by anybody. I own at least one of every Punisher comic/book/toy ever made.
     
    100 Bullets.
     
    Powers.
     
    Fuzed.
     
    You'll note a dearth of Marvel titles, except for Punisher. Stan Lee is a stupid old queen who makes stupid decisions and writes terribly and just happened to come up with a few classic ideas at the right time. He is the Bill Gates (God Bless His Name) of comicdom, stealing the ideas of others and using them to feather his own mad cuckoo's nest. I'd love to snap his old wattly chicken neck.
     
    Well, that's enough for now, but you can be assured that there are more...many more.
     
     




       

    Calling All Dykes!
     
    Go on over and check out this blog. She seems to be foundering a bit, though I haven't spent enough time there to be sure.
     
    She may be a Baby Conservative, so I will be disappointed with you if you are not gentle, folks.
     
    Here there be homos, so be warned. 
      
    Update:

    Bane may have been wrong. She is a proud Kucinich voter. Oh well. She seems to be a little conflicted and confused, but who wasn't (besides me) at that age? I say give her 10 years and she'll straighten out...at least politically.

    Update #2:

    Bill says that she deletes posts, so I wouldn't bother. It appears that Little Miss needs to learn some manners.

    Too bad...





       

    My Worst Vengeance Story...
     
    They are nattering on about vengeance over at Vox's girly blog, and I've got one too rude for such hallowed halls.
     
    Back in the 70's, I had poached a couple of doe's (that's lady deer to you city slickers) and after letting them hang at the butchers for a week, he cut them up into steaks and ribs and yummy parts for me and I threw one of my Famous Bacchanalia Barbecues.
     
    I made a barbecue pit, filled it with madrone and manzanita wood, threw a grate over it, and one of my Hell's Angel buddies who had been a Navy cook did the honors. People brought food and fixins and huge amounts of varied alcohol products, and here is where the vengeance part comes in.
     
    My roomate's brother was still a senior in high school, and he'd been dating this little hottie for four years who had just dumped him. This chick looked like that little brunette from 'That 70's Show', but less coarse and more porcelain, if you get my drift. She was a cheerleader, and she came to the party from practice with several of the other cheerleaders, and this made my roomate's brother, who had been drinking all day, crazy. He kept glowering at her, but much  fun was being had by all, and there were guys there who would cheerfully torture him to death behind my barn and skullfuck him after if he touched that little thing, and he knew it, or so I thought.
     
    She was one of those little chicks that drink one beer and pass out, and he knew this, too. Somehow, he got her to drink that one beer, near the end of the festivities, and she did her part and passed out. He draped her over the front seat of her car, stripped her panties off, and screwed her in the ass. Then he took a long-neck Bud bottle and screwed that in her ass and left.
     
    Someone in one of the groups that was leaving screamed and I came running. All of the party goers that had left up to that time had been treated to the sight of her white ass up in the air, with a beer bottle wiggling along with her heartbeat.
     
    I decanted her and pulled her down and hollered for her girlfriends. They came running and got her drunk, underage ass out of there and the party pretty much broke up after that except for the hardcores.
     
    My vengeance kept on giving. I beat his ass to a pulp the next day in front of a bunch of his friends. One of those rompin, stompin, 'Clint Eastwood in Unforgiven' style ass whippings. His brother did the same after he healed up. I hear several others took advantage of the sale over the last half of his senior year as well.
     
    And it kept on giving...years later, I arrested him for heroin possession and got to kick his junkie ass one more time, legally. Yep, he'd gone over to the Dark Side and was a hopeless drug addict.
     
    I don't know or care, but I hope he's dead.
     
     




       

    Unbelievable...
     
    This story just pisses me off.
     
    It's not the death threats to wildlife officers. Killem all as far as I care. Ditto for all tigers. Fish cops and tigers all need to be killed. Especially the tigers. It irks the fuck out of me that We The People allow the private ownership of large, dangerous predators. You wait until there's a big, widespread disaster, and all these fuckers get loose. You'll see big cats racing off with infants in their mouths. It's what they do.
     
    If I find out one of these big cats is being housed near me, I will preemptively go there and shoot that animal dead, along with its stupid owner. And so should you.
     
     




       

    Wow!
     
    These are paintings?
     
     




       

    Nice Tit!
     
    I got to read a serious story, and see a tit at the same time.
     
    Such a deal!
     
    One wonders at the minds of people who work in these newsrooms.
     
     




       

    Sandy Burglar...
     
    Ya gotta love Rush. If I wasn't home sick, I'd have missed this.
     
    Viva la Barfe.
     
     




        Monday, July 19, 2004

    Cut It Out...
     
    I don't mind you bloggers whoring and blegging, and I'm all for Capitalism, but...
     
    I must have a touch of the ADD, because all these wiggly ads you've got on the sides of your blogs drive me nuts when I'm trying to read. I turn them off as quick as I can.
     
    I hate them. I also hate cute colors. I go to your blog to read your stuff, and that's hard when your 5pt green text is against a black page and your ads are flashing like a street of Thai whorehouses.
     
    Great, you're an individual, and you like money. We get it.
     
    Just cut it out.
     
     





        Sunday, July 18, 2004

    Dead Babies Can't Take Things Off The Shelf...
     
    Some ads have seeped through the garbage liner of radio and are dripping into my television.  It starts with some droner who sounds like Michael Douglas, and then perky, chirpy yet sad, overacting little snots start whining about pulling down their crappy 'art' from school room walls. 
     
    Then the droner makes claims implying that the populations of several American city's worth of American children have been decimated by AIDS.
     
    Bullshit.
     
    I daresay that actual AIDS has killed less than a short-bus load of kids in America. Send me a link proving me wrong and I'll recant in public.
     
    The vast majority of child AIDS deaths are little African Negroe and Asian children. Dammit. From a preventable disease. Double dammit.
     
    AIDS and Dysentry kill more kids around the world than any other cause, and they are both so simply preventable that I can only believe either no one really gives a shit, or it is some sort of Dark Plot to keep the colored in line.
     
    What we need is more misplaced compassion, and more money hungry bureaucracies, and to give more money to corrupt African regimes. And the UN.
     
    That has worked out so well for all of these dead little kids, hasn't it?
     
     





        Saturday, July 17, 2004

    The 'State Of The Blog' Address...
     
    I been busy...
     
    I 'donated' to Haloscan, and got all of my old comments back. The free version limits how much they archive, and you get annoying hippie ads on your page. Fuck that noise. For $12, I like the new features I got just fine. I'm a cheap bastard, but this was worth it.
     
    I posted this on Feb 17th this year:
     
    Keep Your Hands Where I Can See Um!
     
    Okay, kiddies.  Bane is trying out comments, in spite of all of the ragging he has done about never having comments.  Actually, I am looking forward to banning people who disagree with me. I will also ban you for spoofing as someone else, using any racist language you have not seen me use, especially against any American, or just pissing me off in general.
    In lieu of money, adulation is always appreciated, but not neccesary.  I may also ban you for being too nice.
     
    My speech is free...yours could cost you.
     
    Watch it.
    I haven't regretted doing it...so far. I have banned two nitwits, after repeated warnings. I don't like how some blogs do, where the site owner goes in and fucks with their trolls comments and has them say stupid shit. I don't post comments on those blogs, because I lose all respect. I am considering replacing text that offends me with asterisks...we'll see. If you're going to throw a turd up against the wall, I get more satisfaction from leaving it there for others to judge you by, in most cases.
     
    I love the 'new' blogger look and interface. I expect they'll be charging for it soon, and I'll have to decide if this little hobby is worth it.
     
    Like Gypsy says, "BaneRants sucked anyway..."
     
     




        Friday, July 16, 2004

    Hot Sexy Video!
     
    See here!
     
    Enjoy!
     
     




       

    Dead Blog Walking...

    Oh well.






        Saturday, July 10, 2004

    What Mighty Grogan...

    ...doth from yonder sphincter break?

    I love the ones that expel so forcefully that your nostrils slap shut and your throat closes. I must admit to some startlement upon looking back and noting the Mighty Buttaconda, rearing it's head proudly from the water. I have a childhood fear of a snake rising up through the plumbing to fang me in my dangly bits, and for a brief second, my sculpture manifested most reptilianishly.

    When I fired the launch handle, the thunder mug groaned under its burden, and my masterpiece began to slowly circle, going a bit faster with each turn, biting its tail in the eternal circle of birth and rebirth, then dropped into hyperflush to travel through Colonic Space to tomorrow.

    "Energize, Scotty!"





        Thursday, July 08, 2004

    The Goddess Speaks!

    Kneel, vermis, and worship.

    She is always good, but if you can vote for, or remain friends with anybody who votes for Kerry after reading this, get off my fucking blog.

    Mooreon.





        Wednesday, July 07, 2004

    I Shit You Not...

    I haven't mentioned this, because it was none of your business, but now something bizarre has happened, and I'd like to know if I am alone in this or not.

    Several months ago, fresh out of the shower, I noticed in the mirror that I had a perfect pink circle approximately 4 inches below my right nipple. It wasn't a rash, the skin felt normal, there was just this perfect pinkish dot, about a quarter inch in diameter, right there on my chest. It has remained the same since then, and I have shown it to several people.

    Tonight, fresh out of my shower, it caught my eye because it had changed, otherwise it has become so much a part of me that I hadn't noted it in weeks.

    There is a perfect wedge missing from it. On a pie chart, it would represent nearly 25%, or 15 minutes on a clock face. It looks like Pac Man now.

    I can't say that I'm weirded out, but I can admit to feeling a little weird about it.

    Anyone?





        Monday, July 05, 2004

    Words To Stay Alive By...

    1. Do not eat or use products from any animal that is fed and eats parts of its own dead.
    2. Do not kiss or have intimate relations with anyone you do not know.
    3. Learn basic sanitation and water purification.
    4. Be comfortable around firearms. Learn to shoot and clean a gun.
    5. Get a good first aid kit and learn to use it.
    6. Find 5 people within 100 miles that you trust with your life and stay in contact with them.
    7. Get a copy of the US Constitution and read it.
    8. Eat less.
    9. Get a bicycle and two sets of spare tires. Ride it 10 miles a week.
    10. Consider what you would bring with you if you had to leave your home in 10 min. and never return.





       

    Wow!

    This is cool!

    Some quotes that floored me:

    Throughout the debate, physicists who argued against any change in alpha have had one set of data to fall back on. It comes from the world's only known natural nuclear reactor, found at Oklo in Gabon, West Africa.

    The Oklo reactor started up nearly two billion years ago when groundwater filtered through crevices in the rocks and mixed with uranium ore to trigger a fission reaction that was sustained for hundreds of thousands of years. Several studies that have analysed the relative concentrations of radioactive isotopes left behind at Oklo have concluded that nuclear reactions then were much the same as they are today, which implies alpha was the same too.


    and...

    Some physicists would happily accept a variable alpha. For example, if it had been lower in the past, meaning a higher speed of light, it would solve the "horizon problem".

    Cosmologists have struggled to explain why far-flung regions of the universe are at roughly the same temperature. It implies that these regions were once close enough to exchange energy and even out the temperature, yet current models of the early universe prevent this from happening, unless they assume an ultra-fast expansion right after the big bang.

    However, a higher speed of light early in the history of the universe would allow energy to pass between these areas in the form of light.

    Variable "constants" would also open the door to theories that used to be off limits, such as those which break the laws of conservation of energy. And it would be a boost to versions of string theory in which extra dimensions change the constants of nature at some places in space-time.

    But "there is no accepted varying-alpha theory", warns Flambaum. Instead, there are competing theories, from those that predict a linear rate of change in alpha, to those that predict rapid oscillations. John Barrow, who has pioneered varying-alpha theories at the University of Cambridge, says that the latest Oklo result does not favour any of the current theories. "You would expect alpha to stop [changing] five to six billion years ago," he says.


    We are getting close to Star Trek, folks...very close.





       

    A New Old Blog Is Borne...

    Go here and read. This woman delights me. I am trying to supress any thoughts of her whispering dirty nothings into my ear with her British accent.

    It would probably horrify her to know she has me as a reader. Oh well.

    I found her via Kim du Toit, who may turn out to become a good person if he could only change his Godless ways. Funny how furriners turn out to make better Americans than most of us native born's, i'nt it? I read Kim every day, and twice on Sundays (and Saturdays).

    It's 11:30am...too early for a whiskey and a nap? Methinks not!





       

    Blast From The Past...

    I dated cheerleaders in high school, and I didn't play sports. That is just how cool I am. Deal.

    I got the leader of the cheerleaders stoned before The Big Game with our Arch Rivals (doesn't every school have an Arch Rival?).

    I had made up this cheer I thought was funny, and I got the girls to practice it while we were smoking a bowl before the game. I also provided them with little white pills that made them extra perky. It's okay, though, because their were little crosses on them, so the Pope thinks they're good for you.

    Anyway, the cheer went:

    Beatem up!
    Fuckem up!
    Hittem with a stick!
    Knockem down to their knees
    and makem suck your dick!

    Our team was ahead, it was the last game of the season, and our cheerleaders were stoned. I kept egging her on from the stands, and they finally did the cheer.

    The fans from both teams fought in a riot that seemed to last for hours, but that may have just been the pot.

    I loved high school.





       

    Breakin The Law...

    Vox and Nate hold forth on The Law here and here.

    Now, jury nullification is fine and all, but I wouldn't want to bet my life on the decision making capacity of twelve people who were too dumb to get out of jury duty. The murderer OJ walks free to this day because of a jury, and the fear of another Rodney King riot has influenced juries since then in ways we can only speculate upon.

    I am always amused when people who show general contempt for laws get all righteous while claiming its protection. Suddenly The Law has become the dearest, most sacred thing there is to them...until they win the lawsuit or are freed from jail.

    I must say that I am very pleased in the No Smoking ordinance in my town. It is so nice to come out of a bar or a restaurant not smelling like a cigarette's butt. The food tastes better, and I enjoy passing the huddled, angry smokers outside, segregated in the back of the bus at their little plastic tables, puffing furtively on their little smoky penises.

    Ahhhhh...so it IS okay to discriminate. That must really grate on black smokers. Black gay smokers. Ha! A trifecta of payback!

    If there is to be a successful revolution in this country, certain people are simply going to need to be killed. Someone once said that we start with the lawyers. He was right hundreds of years ago, and he's right now. Kill the lawyers, especially the ones who legislate from the bench. Kill the lawyers who sentence people with bad laws. And kill those who willingly enforce the decisions of bad judges. By that I mean those with the power to unjustly arrest you or take away your children or property...and kill those who collect illegal and unjust taxes.

    If there is to be a successful revolution in this country, certain people are simply going to need to be killed.

    If there is to be a successful revolution in this country, certain people are simply going to need to be killed.

    If there is to be a successful revolution in this country, certain people are simply going to need to be killed.

    This new commandment I give unto you.

    Talk is what?





        Sunday, July 04, 2004

    Do Ya Think...

    ...that Ben Franklin could have envisioned, when he obliged Americans to mark this day by setting off fireworks, that our Overlords would have completely restricted and controlled our use of such by now?

    Okay, there are still places in America where any type of firework is legal, no matter how explosive, or how high it flies. Those places must be inherently fireproof, and have no need even for a fire department, being so asbestously inclined...or so the ninny-nannies that pass laws restricting our celebration of the Constitution and our freedoms would have us believe.

    Well, the Mexicans amongst us don't seem to give too big of a shit about our laws. I swear, I heard an 81mm mortar going off in the apartment complex next door last night, and star shells lit up the night...I was scrabbling frantically for a bunker before I realized it was just good old fashioned south of the border 'fuck you-ism'.

    Maybe Mexicans are the hope of whatever new country rises from the ashes of this one that we let small men burn down around us...kill me now.

    Oh well. Costco sells a huge pack of fireworks, all varying sizes of fountains, and most of them huge. I calculated that it would cost me $300 to buy at firworks stands what they managed to stuff in a four foot square (by a foot and a half deep) cardboard box for $65. And I have yet to set off a dud. Beauty. And the fact that they were all made by chink slave labor just sweetens the deal!  Every chink making party poppers is one less chink carrying a rifle, I always say. Wal Mart is just our subtle strategy to keep the yellow horde busy, and off our ass. "Cannah invade Amelikka now, mus feel fiewohk odah!"

    Well, family's coming over, so I am applying the sweet balm of bourbon to my frontal lobes. I have a Ruger P-85 (and 3 mags) stashed by the back door, my 10mm stashed by the front door, and a chrome .25 full of Glazers in my back pocket. We have one of the largest mosques on the West Coast in my town, and rumor has it that they may want to get froggy.

    Good...this is the best time of year to shoot someone and get away with it, next to my other favorite holiday, New Years.

    Hey, pretend yer independent, and have some fun!

    Now we ALL know how a frog gets cooked.





       

    Follow...

    ...this link. This is why I blog, for the pure enjoyment of writing, and hopefully pissing off the right persons in the right way.





       

    Blast From The Past...

    I wrote this some time ago, on a dark and stormy night. I represent it here as just another part of my mood-theme for the day. Yer welcome:

    Sunday, December 29, 2002

    This is all just too depressing...people going on like anything matters...like there will ever be a Christmas again, at least one where many of the presents say 'made in China' on them.

    This is like watching a movie where a burning fuse is racing towards a keg of TNT, and no one in the film notices, no matter how loud you yell at the screen. We are living in those last few seconds in Terminator 2, just before SkyNet drops the hammer on 'life as we know it'. Pundits are prattling about their usual empty-headed nonsense, people care whether some frog twat made a pop'n fresh baby...even I care about the Raider's chances to be in the Super Bowl, when I know in the back of my reptile brain that there is an excellent chance that Oakland will be under several feet of radioactive mud come this time next year.

    Don't agree? Doesn't matter...the trees whisper, birds migrate, spreading their virii...Norwalk, West Nile, maybe even Ebola, scientists say...doesn't matter...the birds are getting lost, flying down chimney's, emerging looking startled and surprised...whole flocks of them.
    Grown men have sex with little babies, film it, and then trade the pictures to other grown men. Some of these babies were sold by their mother's for drugs...and then those babies sometimes survive to become adults themselves... Children are being taught from kindergarten on up to accept evil as good, perversion as the norm, and we act surprised when they grow up and kill us in our beds.

    Don't worry, though...because it's too late to worry. Arm yourselves, store rations, it won't matter...just save the last bullet for yourself.

    Sweet Dreams...because you have been dreaming, haven't you? Dreams like you've never dreamt before...do you wake at odd hours in the night, listening? Were those hoofbeats you heard? Do the dead ones from your past appear in your dreams as if it was perfectly natural for them to be talking to you? Do you wake because you just struck out in your sleep at something you were sure was peering intently into your sleeping face with a knowing smile? The trees whisper secrets to each other...the house moans in it's sleep, everyday things you've always taken for granted look somehow...different.
    The end is not near, my friends, it is almost here...

    Good night.

    posted by Bane at 11:06 PM


    Tick...Tick...Tick...





       

    Dear Liberals...

    I hate you. Worse, I fear you. This is a lethal combination...to you.

    You are a clear and present danger to me, my way of life, and the continued future of my progeny, and I am not sorry at all to tell you that you must die. I would cheerfully saw your head off with a dull cutlass myself.

    I heard today a news story about a politician involved in a motorcycle accident, and my heart leapt with joy when they announced he was a democrat, and then fell when the story didn't end with his gory, agonizing death.

    Do not misconstrue this in any way to be hyperbole or a joke. On this Fourth of July, in the year of our Lord 2004, I declare war on you. I am actively seeking ways, opportunities, and methods to kill you, cause your death, render you extinct, and maim you if that is all that I can accomplish.

    Thank you for making it so easy. You identify your cars with your rhetoric on bumper stickers. You pack together in noisy, filthy groups, and I know full well that if the shoe was on the other foot, you would do the same for me. Prepare to die.

    Know something funny? I'm not alone with this. What is needed is another 'Shot Heard 'Round The World'...I'll try to come up with something.

    Dear Americans: The Powers That Be may stop me, but they can't stop us all. If you hear something on your car radio about the police chasing someone who has just shot up a grocery full of ragheads, or bombed an anti-war event, and you see a grinning madman flash past you in his car, pull your car across the road in front of the pursuing federales and stall it, won't you?

    Thanks.





       

    We Can Still Dream...

    ...can't we?





        Friday, July 02, 2004

    10cc's Of Epi And A Cardiac Needle, Stat!

    This guy needs a kick in the ass to kick-start his brain. I enjoy reading his stuff, and I don't want him to languish.

    Be a dear and scamper over there and spam the shit out of his comments with praise and pithy observations...turn his little daisy face towards the sun, that he may thrive, and keep on keeping on.





       

    Blast! I'm Stung!

    My nigger knocked over a yellow jacket nest first thing this morning, and one of the little bastards got under my shirt and stung me a couple times in the spine. Then he toodled on up and stinger-fucked the back of my neck until I finally squished his little ass. He was trapped under my sweaty mullet (just kidding, I only have mildly shoulder length hair) and I couldn't get him out. He finally fell down to my shoulder, stung me again, and I was able to knock him to the floor and stomp the shit out of him.

    I may have looked temporarily like an epileptic dancer, overcome by the disco ball, and frantically worshipping St. Vitus.

    I had told my nigger to run up to the shed and fetch me the can of hornet spray. It was a cool enough morning that whatever wasps were in the nest were staying in to keep warm. There was enough liquid in the can (I thought) for me to be able to defend myself, but the one second burst it gave me before it quit was just enough to piss them off, but good. It made them mad as, well, hornets.

    My nigger ran his little white ass away, with me not far behind.
    It's his first job, and he's green as grass. He's a high school kid, and his pasty self is getting a good 'farmer's tan', and it's like training a puppy. Somewhere he missed the 'don't hit the hornet's nest with a shovel' lesson, so I'm home, feeling sickly, and chasing Benadryl with beer.

    Hey, the wife is right, I need to keep hydrated.





        Thursday, July 01, 2004

    The Goddess...

    ...never gets old. Go and worship.