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        Sunday, July 31, 2005

    Once Again...

    SondraK makes my dick hard...


    She brings more goodness.



    What REALLY Happens To Terrorists When They Die…

    So, there I was this evening, in the car, picking my nose vigorously and flicking it on the floor, per usual.

    Oh, shut up, you do it. We all do it. The nostrils are wonderful, refillable caverns of mystery and delight, and we finger them more often than we do our sexual organs.

    So, anyway, there I am, driving and flicking, and the wonder of it all struck me. Why, with as many boogers as I, and doubtless my wife as well, chuck onto the floor, when I open the car door to get in, at some point, a drift of dried snots does not pour out of the car and over my feet like several bushels of dried brine shrimp and, yet, this does not happen?

    Why is that, do you suppose? Well, you pay me (hint hint) to think the Deep Thoughts, and I believe that I have come up with a satisfying and most metaphysical answer for you:


    Specifically, Islamasshole Arab terrorist bastards.

    Whenever one of them blinks out in a hail of gunfire, or the sharp bang of TNT and whizzing nails and ball-bearings and rat-poisoned screws, they end up *dink* in a drab green waiting room on some obscure plane of existence where they are handed cards by deceased yet still oddly animate former Nazi Death Camp matrons who drip and run constantly with the menses and have no pads and are, quite fearfully and resplendently naked. If you can call layers of congealed dead fat and running sores 'naked'.

    Achmed looks at his card and bursts into sad ululation like a woman, startling Abdul, who jumps from the tortured reverie of reading his own card.

    "Achmed, my brother, in Allah's name, what is wrong? What did you get?" asks Abul, with concern.

    "Oh, Abdul my brother, I am to be a parasitic fish that dwells in the anus of a creature called a sea cucumber, and feed upon its gonads, as Allah wills it...but wait, what is to be your fate, my brother?"

    "Oh Achmed!" cries Abdul, "I am to be one, among a host of others of our Muslim brotherhood who shall be reduced to becoming bacteria and forced to feed on the boogers on the floor of an infidel named Bane's automobile!"

    They both wail and weep and gnash their teeth, and Achmed cries out "I curse the day we ever listened to the lies of Osama, may he die in agony!" and Abdul, startled says "Did you not hear of his death, my brother?"

    "No!" says Achmed, thunderstruck, and driven into a startled near calm. "What fate has befallen The Sheikh?"

    "Oh Achmed" wailed Abdul, "he was struck down, and has been given the worst fate of all...he has been turned into one of the cells that eats the seed of the male before it can cause precancerous cells to form behind the cervix of a female infidel called Anna Nicole Smith!"

    "Oh, Fuck Allah!" they both cried, and beseeched the matron to let them repent and become Christians and avoid their fates, but the matron reached out a bored finger and pressed a button that most of the red had been worn off of from use, and Achmed and Abdul disappear with a small puff of smoke, and their cards flutter to the floor.





    Not sure thats a word, but I've gotten tons of it lately, so go below and check and see if I got your link in the updates, you little whores.

    Not that there's anything wrong with that...



    A Good Cause...

    ...helping out wounded Marines and their families.



    Bears Can Talk!

    She walked a quarter mile back to her home after the bear stopped attacking her and called police, the sheriff's department said.

    The damn bear called the cops!

    Quite considerate of him, in retrospect.

    What's next, thinking Liberals?

    Wonders never cease...



    Go Ahead, Punk...

    ...waste my day.

    I know I did.

    Check out the Doom trailer, among others.


        Saturday, July 30, 2005


    Sci Fi Saturday...

    I LOVE THIS MOVIE! It comes on again later tonight, so catch it!

    Bloodiest thing I've seen on regular TV. Great writing. Hot chicks.

    Must see!


    This is Natassia Malthe, the chick who played the good vampire chick:

    She also played Typhoid in 'Elektra'.


    For you horndogs, she looks a lot like my Hottie Neighbor, who has been elevated to a very high position in my Pantheon of Palm.



    Waxing Poetic...

    The little hottie
    across the way
    is out front
    waxing her car today

    She's waxed the hood
    she's waxed the trunk
    I think that I'm
    about to spunk

    Her shorts are tight
    her jubblies jiggle
    my furtive fingers
    in my shorts wiggle

    She stretched to reach
    a distant spot
    I think I see
    right up her twat!

    Oh yes, I know
    I'm being naughty
    best to step
    inside the potty

    ere I stain my shorts
    or wall
    or rug
    with quarts enow to fill a jug

    then back to stare
    at her behind
    but no more whackin
    or I'll go blind!


        Friday, July 29, 2005

    The Problem, Illustrated...

    Via Blackfive, I was reading this news story from Britain about the Tasering and capture of a terrorist in London.

    Now, while I was reading and chortling about the Brit cops making this nigro asshole shake like a dog shitting peach pits, I was scrolling along until I was treated to this abomination:

    See? What the fuck, over? The crime scene tape hasn't even been strung, and this raghead bitch, if indeed 'she' is a bitch, and not a male terrorist, is scarpering away, carrying God Knows what!
    Why isn't she being stripped down and photographed and fingerprinted and those kids being taken away and questioned and protected from their potentially highly explosive parents?

    Thus, the problem I refer to in the title of this post. We all know why she is trundling down the street in her PJ's just as fast as she can. And we have let the PC go too far. We cannot defend ourselves, because we have let these people inside of our defenses. We can't put our guard up, because we have let them slip under our guard, and now their fist is at our chin, and I really do think it is too late.

    We can only rely on the enemies own ineptitude and fallibility to protect us from our own.

    The last time I took a taxi at LAX, the cabstand was thronged with what appeared to be exclusively Somali cab drivers. My cabbie was a Skinny as well. Note: the Taseree in the news story was Somali. Note: our country is infested with them.

    And that is just one brand. One eyewitness in the news story claims to have seen a Filipino woman entering the suspects dwelling. The Phillipines are infested with muslim terrorists. Our military and our bases are infested with Filipinos. How many of those are active muslim terrorists?

    Answer: you can't tell, and even if you could, nobody would ask the question.

    Result: Wait and see.

    Note, from the story, that the neighbors had been observing suspicious activity for quite some time, and had done nothing. A girl working in a shop had even recognized the terrorist from his picture on the news, and had done nothing.

    I tell you, people, we are handcuffing ourselves to the pole, refusing the blindfold, and asking the firing squad to just shoot us and get it over with.

    Just, damn.



    Suckwatch Alert...

    Bill is back.


    I think. Wonder if he got a job?


        Thursday, July 28, 2005

    Who's Yer Daddy?

    Okay, time to fess up...

    Are there any bloggers out there who started up directly because of me?

    Conversely, and to my potential horror...are there any bloggers out there who quit because of me?

    Neither choice gives me pride...both cause some pain.

    This road, though seeming wide, and simple, has...well, I shall not cheapen the experience of those who have encountered real IED's by using that analogy...

    Suffice to say, there is a toll for travelling it.

    Those of you who know,




    Over There...

    Well, saw it last night. I'm gonna reserve judgement until I watch that episode (I taped it) again, and until after I watch the second episode.

    They all looked real enough for Army personnel, and it was explained that they were a bunch of motor pool geeks who had fallen into a firefight and had to be real soldiers for a bit (heh). So I wasn't too hard on them for realism, though the helicopter was cheesy. My daughters husband pointed out a discrepancy in their patches, but I don't know enough about unit crests nowadays to know if he was right.

    I cringed at how close they all stayed to each other in combat, and when they dug in, and their very poor noise and light discipline, but I forgave it some as possibly being part of the plot.

    The ragheads all looked like central casting Generabs to me. They just didn't 'ring true'.

    The one thing that I found troubling, and that will keep me from watching it if it keeps it up, is their focus on our wounded. And the previews to next weeks show look like they may be focusing a lot on one of the guys who got his leg blown off. If true, I'll turn it off.

    Let me let you in on a dirty little secret: Active and healthy military people do not want to see their wounded. They want them off the field and out of the way as soon as possible, and they don't want to think about it after.

    Oh, you'll go visit a close buddy a time or two, and I'm sure there are individuals who are exceptions, but a combat fighter does not want to be reminded that those could be their guts all over the place, or their spurting stump, or their shattered face.

    Once you are too wounded to be viable, everybody wants you gone as fast as possible, and wants to forget you.

    Death? The death of a warrior is a noble thing to warriors. To celebrate the death of a comrade is to embrace the possibility of your own, and face that fear, and move on. We give death its ceremony, and move on.

    If the person wounded returns to battle, they are welcomed, given their Purple Heart, and reabsorbed back into the Brotherhood. It is rarely, if ever, discussed again.

    The wounded that stay in the hospital, and are too broken to return to duty, are decommisioned like a broken jeep, and shuffled back out into the world to fend their way through the wretched VA bureacracy and back into a society that winces at any obvious sign you are crippled.

    So, 'Over There' is on probation with me. I must say that the pilot did not live up to my hopes and expectations, but I recommend it, on a very provisional basis.

    Another note, when I was in, we did not have any of the clothing or equipment or gear or even weapons that these soldiers had, so I have no reference to tell if they are wearing and using things properly.

    Lastly, I was surprised at what appeared to me to be a strong prejudice against women in combat.

    We'll see.



    For The Troops...

    Right now, it is hotter than a fresh-fucked fox in a forest fire here in Oregon. I like to imagine Spotted Owls bursting into spontaneous combustion all over our forests.

    But it won't be that hot come October, when the 1/24th comes back home to Fort Lewis from Iraq. You can check SondraK's and Kim du Toits blogs for the gory details.

    What I thought might be fun, would be for a bunch of bloggers to start funds for these guys before they get back, and have a big barbecue set up for them with beer and pork and liquor for them and all of their families.

    Call it the 'Annual 1/24th Pig Roast and Hippy Stomp' or something. Charge any non-soldier (or non family member) $10 to come in and get all they can eat. Anything not spent on food and fixins would go towards getting the married troops hotel rooms and champagne if they want, or getting suites and kegs for any single troops that want it for the weekend.

    Anything left over could be put into Kims 'Walter/Adam' fund, and be distributed among the next of kin of the dead and the wounded.

    Heck, I might even show up myself, anonymously, of course.

    Anybody who talks big stuff about supporting the war should be ashamed of them damn selves for not doing more of this kinda thing, anyway.

    Where are the crowds of non-relative citizens lining the concourses as these military people of ours come back home? Where's the platoons of carpenters and handymen and contractors descending on the homes of the wounded to build wheelchair ramps and widen doors and whatnot?

    Why isn't the Kiwanis and such collecting in communities all across this country, and delivering fat checks to widows and orphans and families of the wounded?

    Oh, I see some of it here and there, but maybe it's just me, I see precious little being done for our precious dead and wounded, let alone the rest of our volunteers that served.

    Restaurants should be meeting these troops and handing out free meal vouchers, bars should be handing out tokens for drinks and games. Heck, mailing them overseas so the troops have something to daydream about.


    If I knew a hotel gave out comped rooms to soldiers on leave and whatnot, I'd stay there myself, on purpose.

    I remember when our military was a big part of every citys celebration, whatever it was, and if somebody would have booed, the crowd would have turned on him.

    Now, you get more folks at a 'Pride Celebration' than you do at a Veterans Day parade.

    And that's just sad.



    Run, Dick!...


    Please? Pretty please?



    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go, and Worship!

    I couldn't agree with her more on this one. And did anybody see how she chewed that little wimp Sean Hannity's balls off on Fox last night?

    Priceless. She beat him like the retarded child he is.



    Just For You Know...

    I am all and enthusiastically for space exploration.

    I did not watch the shuttle launch this week.

    I will avidly watch its return.

    Why, yes, I do watch NASCAR only for the crashes, as a matter of fact.


        Wednesday, July 27, 2005


    The Amazing just doesn't stop!

    This kid is phenomenal!



    Go To The...

    ...Gone Too Far Side.

    Gary Larson's talent must be spinning in its grave.


    Due to massive public acclaim, perhaps I should put a warning on this link.





    For What It's Worth...

    These are people who link to me, according to The Truth Laid Bear.

    I think there's more, but whatevah. I hope you people follow the links to the blogs of some of my commenters. Doing that on this and other blogs is how I have found most of the places I read at...birds of a feather, and all that.

    Links by Source:

    Knowledge Is Power (# 165) - 1 link

    Gut Rumbles (# 231) - 1 link

    Vox Popoli (# 280) - 2 links

    Blog d'Elisson (# 392) - 2 links

    Blind Mind’s Eye (# 397) - 1 link

    Straight White Guy (# 516) - 1 link

    suburban blight (# 754) - 1 link

    Amigo's Place (# 791) - 1 link

    Velociworld (# 1021) - 1 link

    Metaphysically Wrinkle Free (# 1061) - 1 link

    Boudicca's Voice (# 1090) - 1 link

    The Crystal Lake Observatory (# 1143) - 1 link

    Animate Matters (# 1202) - 1 link

    My 2 Cent (# 1269) - 1 link

    Elshell (# 1357) - 1 link

    Key Issues (# 1575) - 1 link

    Inblognito (# 2576) - 1 link

    Sharp Knife (# 2760) - 1 link

    Primal Purge (# 2991) - 1 link

    Quality Weenie (# 3165) - 1 link

    Shadowscope (# 3636) - 1 link

    White Lightning Axiom: Redux (# 4034) - 1 link

    The Horseback Riders (# 4938) - 1 link

    Desert Cat's Musings (# 5315) - 2 links

    I don't know why you people do it, and in fact, I've warned you about it, but oh well.



    He whines, and offers manly love (See: These comments) so here's his link:

    The Fly...

    But wait! There's more!

    Lycan who is a sex hound and dirty dog...

    Blondage, who wants to fuck me...

    Billy D, who should worry about this link staining his soul...

    ajw308, who has a fine blog, but thinks he annoys me (hint: he doesn't)...

    Astrosmith, who has great taste in television, and is smart...

    Arielle, who makes me feel funny in the pants but she's married so never mind...

    Manda, who I don't think likes me anymore but I like her just fine and she, too, causes me to feel funny in the pants...

    American Drumslinger, who looks to be a violent weirdo, and is perhaps related to me from the sounds of things...

    Alnot, another crazy bastard that I like but he don't come around no more...

    Will, who needs to post more...

    BoysMom, a very nice lady...

    Matildah, whom I value more than air, itself...

    JACIII, another redneck blogger...

    Difster, who whined, but without the manly love...

    Ian McLeod, of the Clan McLeod...

    Reverse Vampyr, who recently missed a bullet...

    I miss anybody? Whine away...



    Oh, Screw it...

    I am posting this link to the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my entire life.

    Nudity ensues...


    Okay, here's the second most beatiful woman, also here.



    A Sad State Of Affairs...

    I (and my military benefits) put myself through the police academy, when I went. They paid all my fees, and I got a monthly stipend, and I was able to pick and choose which department I joined.

    I took all of the tests for Sacramento PD, and came in 11th, out of almost 3,000 candidates. I was beaten by some PhD's, and (believe it or not) a couple of MD's who were also triatheletes.

    I tested for BART, too, which was the toughest test in my life. For the Physical Agility portion, they turned a tube station into the 'obstacle course from hell', and I came in first, again beating a triathelete, who came in second. One section of the course had you going up three flights of down escalators that they had turned up the speed to maximum on. Most of the candidates just ended up in an exhausted, defeated heap at the bottom of it, and went home.
    BART started you at $3500 a month, back there in the mid-80's, and I seriously considered them (they wanted me bad) but I didn't want to move my little family to the Bay Area.

    I ended up choosing departments wrongly, of course (story of my life) spurning Sacramento and others (and no, I am not going to reveal my choice) and was nearly killed by corrupt policemen in one of the most corrupt counties in America.

    So, in the police academy, you test every Friday on what you learned that week. If you get less than an A, you go home. For good.

    Most of the people I went through with were sponsored by departments. In other words, they got to wear a badge, and had police ID, but they were just temps, depending on how they did. Oh did they lord it over the few of us who were self sponsored. Oh, how the eyes of police recruiters lit up when they encountered we self-sponsoreds. You mean, somebody who we don't have to pay for their training, and they're not the idiot son or daughter of some city councilperson?

    I was watched, closely.

    Well, near the end of the training, we came up to range week. I had learned early on who the ex military were. We were the ones who looked at each other incredulously and then dived for cover when the Cop In Charge fired the tear gas missile straight up in the air. Idiot.

    We were the ones who marched straight, looked sharp, and didn't salute like Gomer Pyle.

    So, there I am at the range. While most of the 'cops' were outfitted with the duty weapons of their departments (I swear, one little bitch had an H&K P-7) the only weapon I owned at the time was suitable as a duty weapon was a 6 inch barrel Ruger Security-Six .357 revolver.

    Of course, I had practiced with it a lot, and I had found that there is a trick to the double action trigger pull on that weapon wherein you can pull it nearly all the way through its cycle, and then it catches, and all pressure leaves the trigger (no effort for your finger, duh) and then you can just apply about a quarter pound of pressure on the trigger whenever you want and you get a nice, light, single action shot, with no barrel waver. A very quick, accurate way to shoot, and keep the weapon in battery on the target.

    So, we fired all kinds of targets, and used the shotgun, and did various qualification things, and then it was time for this Hogan's Alley they had set up. It was designed to represent several 'real life' shooting scenarios, and it started at this door they had set up, and once you went through the door you were both timed and graded on your shooting ability.

    Now, the shooting instructor was this fat, wannabe-cop prick who never would be, but he had some power, and it had gone straight to his fat head.
    He hated revolvers, and worshipped the Colt .45 1911 automatic like a Mac user worships their Mac. He was one of those typical fanboys who take all of the fun out of gun shows and NRA meetings, and any normal gun-fan has seen the type.
    Got yer vest with patches all over it, ditto ball cap, custom yaller shootin glasses, pistol tricked out with every doohickey known to man, and talks guns like a Trekkie talks Star Trek. In other words, BO-ring.

    So, I listened to the run-through of the scenario, watched a few people go through it, realized it was going to be a long day, put in my ear plugs, and settled down in a corner of the covered break area and took a nap.

    I was sleeping, and they were sweating it. You could literally smell the anxiety in the air, especially from the women. This was pass or fail, and their careers were on the line.

    It finally came my turn. Just to be sure, I asked the instructor again if all I had to do was hit the targets, and he got snotty (of course) but I clarified that there was no particular order, I just had to hit them all and not expose myself to any danger points. There was some derisive snickering from the badges behind me, but I didn't care.

    I had been treated to the sight of some of the dumbest looking movement to contact I had ever seen, that day. Rolling, and ducking, and jumping, and all kinds of dumb shit that would have made Rambo and Dirty Harry proud. You got do-overs, too, and several had done over, until they got it right. Disgusting. Oh well.

    So, I screwed in my earplugs, stood at the door, the whistle blew, I drew my gun, opened the door, took a knee, braced my wrist against the door jamb, and shot all of the targets in the face.

    Several tactical reloads with speed-loaders, one shot per target, never moved from the doorway. I did bend down once to get the target they had set up at the end of a piece of cement culvert pipe they had in there.

    I stood up, and resisted with all of my might the urge to twirl my gun as I reholstered it.

    I turned back to the crowd, and saw a lot of lower teeth. Dead silence. One of my (very few) friends finally said "Son of a bitch..."

    The instructor looked pale, but he'd had the sense to stop the stopwatch, so I didn't care. And then, boy, if looks could kill.

    Everybody knew I'd won Top Gun of the cycle, an award I coveted, the only award out of the whole thing I cared to win.

    When they announced the award at the graduation ceremony, I was in the act of standing up when the instructor named another cadet. Who had used a .45. That cadet looked at me with a dumbfounded look on his face, as did every other cadet there. And then he rose and went up and accepted my award.

    Oh well, they all knew, and that was my first contact with corruption.

    And how cops shoot.

    And yes, I'm still angry.


        Tuesday, July 26, 2005



    I saw a guy play that way one other time in my life.




    Hammer And Tong...

    I hope the authorities are going after these guys nuts with blowtorches about now.

    I want my government to break them open and spill out everything and everyone they've ever known and then go find those people and tear them apart and so on until this whole nest of vipers we have been clasping to our collective bosoms are rooted out and terrorized and drained of useful information.

    Then I want them all hung simultaneously from the Brooklyn Bridge, for the birds to pick their dead bodies apart.

    Then I want their bones ground to powder and mixed with cement and made into a sidewalk somewhere that Americans can dishonor them with the soles of our shoes all day, every day, and spit on them.

    Yeah, fat chance.



    Use An Egg, Go To Hell...

    I read this story and just laughed and laughed. And no, it wasn't me doing the shooting, but it damn well would've been. Hit me in the head with an egg while I'm driving at 11:30 at night and I'll get every damn one of you. Nice touch with the shooting in the back thing. Hope he gets away with it, cuz a jury will crucify him.

    There was a story in our local news the other day about two little nimrods who were shooting bottle rockets into traffic, and one guy jumped out of his car to chase them, and one of the rocketeers ran into traffic and got naturally selected flat.

    Goody! Too bad the other shooter survived to cry on camera.

    If he would have been firing a rifle into traffic, the police would have quite rightly shot him dead (I hope) but everybody was whining about the Big Meanie who 'chased him to his death'.
    Fuck that little bastard.

    Ponder, if you will, Gentle (and not so gentle) Readers...

    You are travelling the byways of this fair land, or perhaps it is one of your loved ones, and you are obeying the Rules of the Road, and that unwritten contract most riders obey, to not crash into each other, so that we can travel in long lines of heavy, fast vehicles, hurtling at and past each other, in a display that would make one of your forefathers from a hundred years ago shit their pants in pure terror, but we take so for granted that we let our children get licenses to do it.

    Now, minding your own business, perhaps humming along with the radio, your left elbow up and poking out the edge of your open window, and a bottle rocket screams into the side of your head and explodes, and an additional shower of sparks burns your arm.

    I submit to you that the Unwritten Contract would become somewhat, shall we say, violated?

    That fucking kid endangered the lives of every man, woman and child in a car there, that day, and I further submit to you that every little (and big) shitstain who throws or shoots things at a vehicle does the same thing, and therefore forfeits their own life.

    A cop, seeing such activity, should stop his car, pull his gun, and say "You! Out of the pool!" and BLAM, remove him (or her) forcefully and forthwith from humanity's gene pool with extreme prejudice.

    They have placed themselves in the 'Too Stupid To Live' branch of the family tree, a branch that needs to be pruned, regularly.

    Our prisons and mental institutions could use a good nerve-gassing, as well, but that is a topic for another day.

    Go to your fridge, and get out an egg. Heft it in your hand. Now calculate what that big white pullet-bullet would do if it hit you in the head in your moving vehicle.

    And then go to their house and shoot the 'parents', for allowing such a kid to grow up the way they did.

    Kids are doing stupider and more evil shit at a younger and younger age, and I blame their families, their peers, and the fucked up public schools. With a proper moral base and compass in this country, MTV would have been smothered in its crib.

    It's too late for the country, I know, but I don't want to die because some little bastard was raised wrong.

    What is going to happen, and we are beginning to see it all ready, is that adults are going to fear these kids, and lash out, and preemptively strike them.

    Before an old man is going to get involved in a conflict with a group of teenagers in his neighborhood, and pay for standing up for himself by the reign of terror they will bring on him in the weeks to come, he is more likely now to just walk up to them and blow them open and go home and wait for the police.

    There have always been hoodlums and hooligans, as long as there have been kids. But there was also a Guardsman or a Bobbie or a cop, some authority figure who would slap them upside the head with something if they went too far. And then your Dad would likely kick your ass from here to breakfast for you, as well. I remember comparing belt marks with the other boys in the locker room.

    For all the shit I did, I wonder what I would have done, how far would I have gone, if I didn't have a good measure of healthy fear and respect for the adult males around me, and what was likely to happen to me if I cursed in front of their wives, or otherwise acted the fool.

    I think we are seeing how far it can go, now. Left to their own devices, kids can become little monsters. In places in South America, it is so bad that the police regularly kill them.

    As people see kids running amok in security cam footage on the news, and feel threatened in their neighborhoods and homes, those who are not already armed will arm themselves, and the dead kids will start piling up.

    I read news reports from all over this country. Every one of you has horror stories involving kids near you.

    And I believe it can only get worse.



    Did Valerie Plame Bomb the Chinese Embassy?

    Via the Instapuke I find this blog that links to this blog that asks, and I believe answers that particular question.



        Monday, July 25, 2005

    I Just Want Ya'll To Know...

    ...that down there, the first word I typed was 'crustules', not 'crusticles'.

    I have my standards, and I am nothing, if not a gentleman.




    ...I see you eyeballing eyeballing me?

    Get offa my lawn!

    Yer makin me nervous.

    Seriously. Email me. We'll talk. We can have a tea party and play dress-up and stuff...

    Dammit! I just checked again! You are still eyeballin me, ain'tcha, boy.

    Get back to work!



    Semper Fuckit...

    You'd think Marines wouldn't be enlisting and reenlisting in droves, from all of the boll-weevil press reporting you hear today.

    Plus, I just really wanted to say 'Semper Fuckit'.

    But seriously, if I had it to do all over again, I woulda joined the Marines, probably in aviation.

    And if your hearts desire is to get shot at, there is probably no better time and place that is not Washington D.C. to be than in todays military.

    Face it, the military is no fucking adventure, unless you happen to be in some sand intensive islamic shithole.

    It is all the same color and the same shit and the same grind day after fucking day. You can spot the patch of red on a supply guys cap from a mile away, because it is the only color in a sea of green and brown that is not a flag.

    If I know I am going to get an ass-whipping, I would at least like to pick a place and time of my own choosing. I did my Basic Training in the dead of winter. I think that is better than the heat of summer, although the cold was agony.

    Bugs don't get around much when it's cold, nor do snakes and other crawling things. You cool off quicker after a run. Black guys don't yammer as much, and you can pretend their teeth chattering are castanets, and that's kinda festive. No, the melanin enhaced individuals just huddle together like mournful sheep, wearing every article of clothing they can fit on and still button and zip up. If there is a burn barrel for warmth, you can count on one of them catching on fire every so often. That rocks.

    When it's ten degrees, and your company has run five miles, and you stop in formation, the steam coming off the group is so thick, you can barely see the guy in front of you.

    In Korea, that steam smells like formaldehyde, from the preservative they put in the beer. I used to love watching guys fall out of a run and puke. I loved looking over and seeing the guy next to me trying to hold it in. I'd fake a big YAK! and he'd blow, staggering out and puking up a lung.

    Good times.

    I can truthfully say that I loved every minute of it, and never once looked back when I left. Stupid assholes could have kept me in and had the smartest damn cripple they'd ever made, and I'd have stayed until they threw me out.

    Instead, I get the boot, and they send me money every month for the rest of my natural life.

    Go figure.

    I've said it before, the military needs to take its cripples and puttem to work, and free up the able-bodied to fight, and get these damn mexican and flip parasites the fuck off of our military bases.

    Did you know that some swarthy little cocksucker wouldn't give my son seconds in the messhall the other day? One extra piece of chicken? I'da bitten that motherfucker in the neck as a warning to all the others. FUCK that pisses me off.

    When I was in, they fed you until you were done, and then ran your ass off, and then fed you again. Buncha chickenshit lily-livered faggots we got running our military today, bean counting butt-fuckers.

    Ah, fuckit. Join anyway. There's always gonna be assholes wherever you go, but you won't always have the opportunity to shoot some camel fucker who really needs shootin.

    Hoo Rah!



    Nothing More... say.

    As far as I'm concerned, he said it all, and if I knew how to disable comments on this, I would.

    The horses are out of the barn, people.

    Like it, or not.



    From My Email This Morning...

    Everyone seems to be wondering why the Muslim terrorists are so quick to commit suicide. Could this be the reason!!

    No Wal-Mart.
    No television.
    No cheerleaders.
    No baseball.
    No football.
    No basketball.
    No hockey.
    No golf.
    No tailgate parties.
    No Home Depot.
    No pork BBQ.
    No hot dogs.
    No burgers.
    No lobster.
    No shellfish, or even frozen fish sticks.
    No gumbo.
    No jambalaya.
    More than one wife. (HELLO, ARE YOU CRAZY?)
    Rags for clothes and towels for hats.
    Constant wailing from the guy next-door because he's sick and there are no doctors.
    Constant wailing from the guy in the tower.
    No chocolate chip cookies.
    No Girl Scout cookies.
    No Christmas.
    You can't shave.
    Your wives can't shave.
    You can't shower to wash off the smell of donkey cooked over burning camel dung.
    The women have to wear baggy dresses and veils at all times.
    Your bride is picked by someone else.
    She smells just like your donkey, but your donkey has a better disposition.

    Then they tell you that when you die it all gets better!
    I mean, really. IS THERE ANY MYSTERY HERE???????????

    It's gonna be a good day...


        Sunday, July 24, 2005

    I Wish I'd Written This...

    But what I can't look past is the fact that every new movie in America comes preloaded with an idea that's been pounded into the ground like a casket buried by a necrophiliac cemetery worker.

    Whether it be via an earlier theater release (Bad News Bears, The Longest Yard, etc.), a TV show (Dukes of Hazzard, Bewitched, etc.), a video game (Tomb Raider, Resident Evil, etc.), a comic book (Spiderman, Hulk, etc.), or sometimes ALL FOUR (Batman, Superman, etc.), it's all been done before. And you're going to tell me Internet freeloaders are the ones pirating movies?

    Sounds like a lot of these weren't even Hollywood's to begin with.

    Go here, and scroll to the second post.

    Dat's sum good shit...



    You're Once, Twice, Three Times A Raghead...

    ...and I'll shoo-hoo-oot you...

    Fuck a damn Brazilian.

    Because of that asshole in London, I can't go to my favorite (only) bar anymore. I will slap a surly bartender.

    The other customer, a former Marine (I'm not positive, but I could tell by the cut of his jib) dumped his drink out on him, after.

    Stupid hippy bartender. Yeah, run your lips now, hippy dipshit.

    Folks, the shit is on. Wheat from the tares time. For us, or agin us.

    Vote with your feet, or vote with your fists.

    A couple times a week, I pass by some good Americans who are waving American flags and waving at traffic. I wave back, and salute my flag. They seem to like that. I know it makes me happy.

    Not having all that much, I did not spend all that much in that bar, but they shall not recieve another shekel from me. And if I see that cocksucker again, I will deliver a beat-down of biblical proportions.

    Well, that's what I'll want to do, but I'll probably just hold him by the hair and twist his nipple until he cries, and then kick him in the ass into a good face-skid.

    Fuck, I hate people.



    Use Your Illusion...

    Let's get something straight.

    I may lose my readership over this post, but it needs to be said...

    Unless you give me money, I really do not give a fuck what you think about anything. Give me money, and I'll pretend. I'm a whore that way.

    I have said time and time again that this blog is about me, and what I think, and stuff. Have I ever lied to you? No. Not once.

    Some of you seem to appreciate this, and some of you don't. Excuse me while I lift my cheek and cut a squeaky little fart.

    No, sorry, that would require too much effort, and I value the pristine state of my underwear more than most of your opinions.

    And lest you think I'm grumpy, or out of sorts, I am not.

    There are three kinds of people who comment here. Those I 'like' (my little cyberfriends), those I tolerate, and those I delete and ban.

    If you think you can change my mind about anything, you are wrong. If you disagree with me, I don't care. And you are still wrong. If you agree with me, you are right, and we can do that smiley thing that seems to mean so much to you monkeys and pick each others nits and be all social and stuff.

    In the end, I'm still gonna bend you over and ass rape you at will, because I am the dominant male in this particular clearing. Get it?

    We now return you to your regular programming.



    Once Again...

    ...he says it all.

    Anybody who blames the London police should be horsewhipped. They didn't generate the atmosphere in which acts like this became possible.

    Amen, brother.

    We hope the loss of liberty is temporary and narrowly tailored to the circumstances, and we submit to it, because the alternative...well, we saw the alternative in 2001, as people leapt from the flaming ruins of the World Trade Center, hand in hand.

    People, get your heads screwed on straight. The kind of stinkin thinkin I am seeing on your blogs endangers us all.


        Saturday, July 23, 2005

    The Devil's Rejects... this space...

    I'm going to see it here in a little bit. I'd sooner jack off with a handful of cockleburrs, but I feel it is my duty to observe and report, for some reason.

    I'll be surprised if I make it all the way through.

    God Bless me.


    Go see this movie. Buy this movie. Show this movie at church (you might want to keep anybody under 12 in the Rec Room).

    This may be the best movie I have ever seen. This is not considering the content.

    This is the movie Quentin Tarantino keeps trying to make, but he can't, because he is a jagoff who can only get laid when he pays for it.

    Rob Zombie has the biggest pair ever, nearly as big as mine. He makes this shit casually, because it is second nature to him. He doesn't even break a sweat.

    Sadly, this movie is where old movie stars go to die, which is a huge part of its charm.

    Run, don't walk, to see this movie. I cannot hardly wait for the unrated DVD to come out...I know damn well the marketing fucks at Lion's Gate said "Oh, nope, that right there will never fly in Jesus-Land"...


    This was the best movie I have ever seen. This was the worst movie I have ever seen...nope, sorry, that would be 'Seven'...damn, I hated that fucking movie.

    If you want a training film, this movie is it. What to do, and what not to do, when faced with a murderous psychopath with a gun and a hard-on...
    guess what! He's not collecting for the Red Cross! (dipshit)

    Go see this movie. Then go see it again. Then buy it.

    I had total flashbacks. I have partied with people like everybody you will see in this movie. I've had sex with them. Heck, I married one. Some of my kids carry these genes...this curse. God Bless them.

    I rode for a while with a motorcycle enthusiast group that called themselves 'The Devil's Rejects' (and the Jolly Jokers and the Hell's Angels and blah blah misspent excuses).

    I used to be the favored bouncer/doorman for a really good bar band. Their lead guitarist cut pictures of pussies from Hustler, and glued them all over the front of his guitar. You kinda had to squint to figure out his collage, but then...

    He told me, one night, in a drunken stupor (both of us) that he would really like to cut some chicks outer pussy off and preserve it and make it into a keychain...kind of a 'Pussy Foot' as opposed to a rabbit's foot.

    You really need to see this movie.

    For your own good.


    Yeah, what he said.

    I bet you never thought I'd agree with anything that fat, stroke-faced fruit ever said.

    Surprise! He and I nearly always agree on horror films. He tries to hide it, but he's a fan.

    Now, that other thumb Siskel?...I am very glad that faggot's dead.



    Here We Go...

    Off to the races.


        Friday, July 22, 2005

    Firefly In Thirty Minutes!!!


    Limey Fruits...

    I read this story from Fox and it struck me how all the point-blank eye-witnesses could say is that they saw 'big black guns'.

    If a gun is used in a movie, no matter how dark it is or how quickly used, I know what type of gun it is, how many and what type of rounds it can hold, and, if the director is any good, how many rounds the person has left.

    I can do that in real life, too. I can spot your gun under your clothes, and almost always tell what type of gun it is, even if I can't discern the brand.

    Can't everybody do this? It is my opinion that you should not even consider getting into a gunfight if you do not have this skill. If you can't tell, in the dark, what kind of weapon is being charged and/or cocked, buy a bat.

    I've only ever been caught once, and it was at work. Some guy cocked a bolt action rifle behind me and I dropped and whirled and he's gawking at me with a big steel gate bolt in his hands. When he worked that bolt, it sounded just like an old Springfield battle rifle being cocked.

    Folks, there are books on guns, there are silhouette flash cards for guns (and cars, too, a handy thing to learn).

    If you are ever considering the potential use of a firearm in a tactical situation, you need to know these things. Just as having a drivers license doesn't mean you know how to drive, having a gun permit doesn't mean you know how to survive in a gun fight.
    And not kill or maim the poor innocent bastards who happen to be around your little gunfight.

    No, that is your responsibility to learn, and it is a process of continuing education.

    Get on it.



    My Razor Smells Funny... open letter to my wife...

    Dear Wife,

    Please quit using my razor to masturbate with.

    Yes, I know the handle is ribbed, but that is not for your pleasure, it is so I can keep a good grip on it in the shower and not drop it and nick my weiner a good one.

    Yes, I know it vibrates. I have been tempted to tickle the old prostate a time or two myself, but just stop it. You're killing the battery.

    And if you must use it for such clitidigitation, please remove the crusticles from between the ribbing when you are done.

    And the hair.

    Thank you, your

    Loving Husband



    Okay, Dipshit...

    You do not consent to getting on my train.


    Is there a sale on morons I missed? Fuck, everybody's got one now.

    The 'Pet Rock' of the 21st Century.


        Thursday, July 21, 2005

    Gun Porn...

    Right now. Military Channel (274 for me).

    Gun camera film from fighter planes, with an ace narrating.




    It's All Reruns, Now...

    So, Johnny is up at the hospital again.

    I know what yer sayin...'where have I heard that one before'.

    That's pretty much what he has been saying for the last week, li(s'cuse me, I just heard brakes squeak) a dog who got his nuts cut off the last time he went to the vets, so just try and get that fucker in the car, now.

    So, he has been showing some (some?) anxiety, and some (some?) weird emotional ideation. He has been trying to keep his spirits up by giving himself running pep talks that, quite frankly, drive me nuts.

    Yes, I got tired of that shit, the little whiner. Hey! It's for your own damn good! Can't you see that? Fucking little cripple...Lord, I apologize for that...God Bless all them little pygmies down there in New Guinea...

    So, I bought his little ass a disposable flash camera today (thanks, donors!) while I was picking up my jug of wine (thanks, donors!) and I brought it home to him (the camera, numbnuts) today and gave him a solemn quest. A Solemn...Quest.

    He was already agoggle at the camera, all thoughts of his pending vivisection whisked away. I abjured him to go forth, during his stay, and take pictures of the surgical waiting room where the wife and I have spent so many hours waiting for someone to come out and tell us he is dead.

    To take pictures of the nurses, and maybe a doctor or two, which are the most elusive of creatures, except for perhaps the unicorn, or a straight male hairdresser.

    To take pictures of the Skybridge that he has taken so many rides across in wheelchairs, trying his best to grin and show his joy, while blood still runs from various intrusions, and bags of fluids sustain him through cruel holes in his hands and arms.

    To take pictures of his beloved elevators, log trucks on the highway, and bridges, always mit da bridges.

    Bridges speak to him, some Euclidian thing I do not understand. Whether he is crawling under a card table, or driving under an overpass, he is having some sort of epiphany that I may never be privy to. A 'Johnny' thing.

    Since Nat and I are at home, you may have divined that this trip for him is 'no big deal', which, in fact, it isn't.

    They are just doing a sleep study to observe how he breaths during his communion with Hypnos, perchance to avoid Thanatos, praise the one true God.

    Just an overnight thing.

    Thank you, God.

    Unless they 'find something'. And want to tinker. It is a 'teaching hospital', and oh how they love to tinker. Think 'barber school', in its truest sense.

    One way or another, all roads lead to future incisionry, sooner, or later. My Little Science Project.

    Hey, we get free medical care, and they get a walking talking Surgical Dummy...Reslice-a Johnny.

    Fair dinkum, right?

    I...think so.



    I Get A Boner When...

    ...her brakes squeal.

    I have a little hottie across the way, who is small and sensual and white-skinned black-haired Spanish perfect. Sloe-eyed, sensuous little goddess, but her brakes squeak like a muhfukka as she turns into the lane.

    This alerts the eye-bone coordination, and allows me to rush to the window and ogle her as she decants from her vehicle like the succulent little grappa she is.

    I would snarf a mile of her doots just to determine from whence they came. I am positive that her used maxi-pads taste like strawberry Fruit Roll-Ups...though I have (yet) to dumpster dive, that I might ascertain that particular conjecture to be true.

    She is as hot as any female creature I have ever posted here. I told my wife yesterday that she looks like my wife looked when we got married. Got the 'fish eye'. All that keeps me alive, methinks, is that I am an awesome lay.

    How many boners that someone else started get finished off in your wife? I say that is better than no boner at all! can I get an amen...hallelujiah!

    The little neighbor-minx is a coquet of the first order, used to bending men to her will with a well turned ankle, a subtle shrug of the shoulder, a jut of the breasts. If she ever drops her pants in the parking lot, and looks back over her shoulder at me and bids me mount her, I am well and truly and deeply fucked.

    Cuz I would.

    But that is just my fantasies talking. She sees the furnace behind my eyes, and wisely averts her gaze. And keeps her dog between us.

    I hate that dog.




    All right, I've done had about enough of this shit.

    Whenever someone links directly to one of my posts, and you follow the link, it looks all fucked up when you get there. Going to my main page, no problem. Link, fucked up.

    If someone can help me with this, I'll email them a Word copy of my template, and they can fix it and send it back.

    Blogger says it is something about the Blogger ad header conflicting with my title and such, and I tweaked around with it the other day and made things move around, but when I went to any individual post links, they still looked like shit.

    It may have all started when I added my tip jars, but I'm not really sure.

    If someone wants to donate an hour of their valuable time and has the mad skilz to fix HTML, I'd be grateful.

    It's for the children.


        Wednesday, July 20, 2005

    Die, You Fat Fuck!


    I wrote down my diet plan last January 3rd:

    I could write my whole weight loss book on one line, on a business card. It would go like this:


    Why, yes it is that easy, thank you. If you can't do it, you don't want to. The End. Shut up. It is not glands. You don't have an imbalance. You are paying doctors to tell you that, and they tell you that so you'll keep coming back. No, you are a weak, spineless fat-body, and you should just be honest and cry in shame as you fist those handfuls of grease and sugar into your fat, weak blubbery pie-hole.

    Is any of this helping? on.

    Calculate the amount of calories you need to survive and function with, and only consume them between the hours of 9am and 3pm. Eat one meal a day of real food, between 11am and 2pm ...ANYTHING YOU WANT!!... as long as you don't go over the daily calorie amount. Take one day off on your second weekend of this, you pick the day (Friday night counts) and eat as much of whatever you want on that day, then, back in the saddle. You are allowed two protein shakes of your choice (I chose Slim-Fast because I like the strawberry and it was cheap) a day in addition to your one meal. NO JUNK FOOD!! McDonalds should forget your fat face. Pizza is okay, for your one meal. Heck, a solid cube of butter is okay. You will starve. You will feel pain.

    Never mind, pain is just fat leaving the body.

    Yes, of course you may drink. Drinks count towards the days calories. If you go over, die you fat fuck (which shall be the title of my sequel).

    I recently went from 260 to 220 doing this. I hit 220 today, and I feel just fine. Hornier than ever.
    I can see the black pencil lead in my stomach (where my mother stabbed me when I was five) for the first time in several years.

    I never nagged the wife to lose, but seeing me doing it got her on it, and now she gets to buy new clothes. I am at the weight I joined the military at age 27 with. Back in my 38's from the 44's. Getting jeans pegged.

    Once the loss starts rolling along, it just falls away. Feeding the kids is a hurdle, cuz Mac & Cheese is God's perfect food, and it smells so good at six O clock at night and just step away from the pan, you fat fucker.
    Make enough for them, only, unless you want some for your meal tomorrow. People frown on you not feeding your kids, and after a while they stop moving and begin to smell bad. Feed them per usual, and drink plenty of water (or, like me, red wine) while you are doing it. You can have one piece of toast with butter if you get whirly, or blend a raw egg (or one scoop of shake powder) into your wine.

    In a few weeks, you will not want to eat. Your mom can make fresh bread, and you will stop, full after one piece. There will be less bullshit leftovers in the fridge, and then eventually, almost none.
    When I worked, I took a plate of whatever they had had the night before to work and nuked it for lunch.

    I let this fat shit sneak up on me, we both did. We're beautiful people, and we carried it well. And then, one day, you notice you are one big fat fuck, and you didn't get that way from other people shoving food up your ass.

    Never, again. Never...

    The only fib I told was that I started at 260. I was closer to 270. Today I weigh 213. Yesterday I ate an egg salad foldover, three chicken tacos, and about a gallon of beer and wine.

    Today, I've had three beers so far, I'm mowing the yards and sweating them off like a pig, and I may or may not have a sandwich later.

    I may have gone too far.

    When I really want to eat, like at a restaurant or some other special occasion, I can only eat to a certain point, and then I literally cannot eat any more. The idea of another bite sickens me, and I likes my food.

    I said I ate three tacos last night...I hit the last third of the third one, and that was it. The old me would have stuffed it in anyway, and might have had a fourth, because they were damn good, but I threw the rest away.

    Like I said, if you can't do it, you don't want to do it.

    Now, my wife and I know a heck of a lot about anatomy and food and I didn't do any of this just on a whim. If you don't know the caloric values of foods by heart (like my wife does, she lived on Pritikin for years) you may want to get some reference materials and speak to a health professional.

    I didn't do this overnight, I didn't crash, I didn't want stretch marks or flaps of deflated skin. I set things up so that my body would literally digest itself, and it did.

    You wanna stay fat, fine. Just don't bitch about it.

    I am walking proof that you can reverse a lifetime habitual lifestyle at the age of 50 and not get sick or die or backslide. Nobody ever told me that I couldn't/shouldn't eat like a fifteen year old when I'm 50. Yes, it took me a while to figure that out, but now I am sharing hard learned knowledge with you. Stop The Insanity! (sorry...flashback)

    I think I actually started this whole process last July, so it has taken me a whole year to get to the point where I am gonna say 'Stop' and hold right here. I am happy with how I look, I have entirely new habits (or eating rituals, if you will), and I'm just gonna coast.

    You know what my biggest hurdle was?

    Getting the wife to quit trying to feed me all the time, and not get hurt feelings because she made a lovely dinner and I wasn't participating. Knowing I would eat my dinner for lunch the next day mollified her some, but she doesn't offer me food anymore, and that's a good thing.

    I have mostly quit drinking the shakes. I sometimes have a huge bowl of cereal in the morning around nine or so (Usually Rice Chex, my favorite). A few times a week, I may have a sandwich for lunch, with maybe some chips.

    I never eat after seven, and eat as much as I want during the evening meal, now, which, like I said, is not too damn much.

    Did all this hurt? You bet! I spent about two to three weeks in genuine agony last winter, when I really buckled down. But the agony was sporadic, and once my stomach realized I was just going to tell it to fuck off when it whined, it just settled down to a grumble. I haven't eaten a bite since 6pm yesterday, and the sensation inside my gut is like when you stand in a big, empty warehouse, and it is a little cold, but you can handle it. A certain hollowness and discomfort, but nothing to worry about, and you only feel it when you think about it.

    I have gone two days without food more than once recently because I forgot to eat, and the wife thought I was taking care of myself. Of course, there was the alcohol intake, so it's not like I was calorie free...I just didn't think about food.

    Pretty cool, huh?

    So, there you go. Fuck Jarod.



    The Goddess Speaks!

    Kneel, and worship!

    I violate my long standing rule and post this on Wednesday, instead of Thursday, because not only is she dead on, as usual, she is even more topical than usual.

    It has gotten to where I judge Bush by the same standards I judge the libtards by...if he is fore it, I am agin it.

    If Ted Kennedy comes out for air, I figure it is time I start holding my breath, because air is a terrible idea.

    If Charlie Rangel comes out against homosexuality, well, I better go find me a dick to suck.

    Yes, it is that bad.

    The Goddess is my bell-weather. She is the canary in the coal mine. Your attitude towards her is the standard by which I judge you.

    Be warned.


        Tuesday, July 19, 2005


    Sweet Muslim girl, the way they oughta be...

    Tough to work with where Blogger slaps the photos down, not too customizable.

    I'm just fooling around with this new Blogger 'add a picture thingy' I just discovered that has been there since June. Sue me.

    Wow, pretty cool. But clunky.




    Tonight at 9pm, on The History Channel. Be there. Must see. They do Fallujah, first.

    Speaking of 'shooting out', I just shit one that had them running for high ground at the sewage plant again, I bet.

    The guy they hired to watch the radar since the influx of the 'mystery missles' began some years ago screams "INCOMING" and slams his palm down hard on the alarm button and men grab gas masks and bail out of the pond area as the aooga horns and warning claxons began to bray...

    ...they clamber up the banks to the relative safety of the road above and stare in dread fascination as the groaning pipes deliver what appears to be a nuclear powered giant brown alligator and the bow wave crashes up and over the retaining walls and God help those who have left their car windows open in the parking lot...

    ...and one of them keys his throat mike, choking even with his gas mask on, and gasps "What the fuck did he eat?"

    ...because they all know, they just know, that it takes a man to make a shit like that.



    I Already Hated Her...

    ...and this just throws gas on the fire.

    This isn't funny anymore, folks. Never was, now that I think about it.

    I have quit watching my favorite video game review show, X-Play, because of the constant, unfunny leftist, anti-war diatribe on it. Imagine that, video games with war in them. Sessler and Webb consistantly ding any game that has a remotely patriotic theme, or that has a war theme in it now.

    I can only assume that they are sucking up to the vile liberal Paul Allen who has torn up what was once a wonderful tech program. Sessler and Webb want to keep their jobs, so they mouth liberal platitudes...or were they always that way, and now feel free to let it out?

    Betcha a nickel Allen paid for Webb's boob job, and gets to play with them, too.

    Oh well...

    Bye, X-Play.

    Hat-tip: Hog On Ice.


        Monday, July 18, 2005

    I Did Not Know This...

    ...but I should have suspected.



    One For The Ladies...

    I hear all sorts of crap from people, especially ignorant Leftist-Americans, about how most of the Muslim world is peaceful, and if it weren't for the radicals and the Wahabists, the Muslims, especially their women, would throw off their shackles and live free and in peace with the world.


    I beg to differ. And that was written by a Muslim woman, who would surely cut of the head of your infidel child in front of you if you gave her half a chance.

    We are at war. Literal, physical war. And George W. Bush did not start it.

    If 9/11 didn't wake you up, I don't think anything can.

    You are still living in 9/10, and I pity you



    I think Kipling said it best:

    When you're wounded and down on Afghanistan's plains,
    And the women come out to cut up what remains,
    Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains,
    An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.

    Folks, these 'people' play polo with human heads. You have no idea what you are dealing with, but...
    ...if it bleeds, we can kill it.



    Hey, Black Americans!

    Does this shit piss you off? If not, why not?

    Oh well, we're gonna need cotton pickers, so go ahead and let yourselves be turned back into slaves.

    Funny, how when a mush-mouth talkin Southern white decides to go to school to better themselves, they don't get any textbooks written in mushmouth, isn't it?

    Fuck you. If you can't keep up with Whitey, you deserve to have his boot on your ignert-ass neck. And it is human nature for him to put it there, too.

    A man respects a man who rises up and stands as an equal, not some fucking whiner who wants the table lowered down to their level, where they are choosing to lay on the floor and fight for scraps with the dogs.

    As long as these stupid-ass black kids can look up and see these 'Role Models', these multi-millionaire pimps and playas, and the few hundreds or so of professional black athletes, and tell themselves the lie that they, too can achieve such, we will continue to have to deal with this rotten black subcultcha, one that is taking our own white teens down in droves along with it.

    All of the many black Americans who have made progress in joining the mainstream of America, to walk proud and equal beside their white American brothers and sisters, are stained by decisions such as that mentioned in my link.

    And until the skidmark of Affirmative Action is removed from the underwear of the Body Politic, I will continue to, when I walk into a doctor's office and see a black physician, turn on my heel and say "No thank you..." and leave.

    Life's too short to put it into the hands of someone who may have only gotten where they are because of the color of their skin, and not because they clawed themseles as close to the top of the class as they could get with hard work and determination.

    Got a problem with that? Call 1-800-BIT-EMEE. You can live your life in whatever misty-eyed fantasy fugue state you wish, but you're not taking me into that opium den with you.

    Black people should be dragging people like those mentioned in the article out into the street and setting them on fire.

    They are their real enemy.



    Cool Link... rare books, and rare comics, and whatnot.

    I could spend hours in there...



    Welcome To Monday... fuck off.

    Yep, it's that kind of day. Gonna go over 90 again, and I hate that shit. I have two air conditioners. On the floor. In the garage.

    Where we live, we are only subjected to a couple of really hot weeks, the rest of the time clouds keep things cool, and/or we get lovely breezes, fresh from the ocean. Spritzes of rain, here and there.

    So the AC's stay unhooked-up, and we periodically lie dormant, in front of fans, like somnolent lizards. Keeps the kids quiet. Our dwelling becomes an underwear intensive area, where we keep clothing handy in case we have to answer the door.

    Nat is currently entertaining me from around the corner with a puppet show. She has two pink plastic spoons upon which she has drawn faces, and she is doing their voices.

    One of the spoons is the boyfriend of the girl spoon. I am not comfortable with the fact that, at four, she is cognizant of the concept of 'boyfriend'. Slut.
    Time for a shopping trip to Burkhas-R-Us, I think. Perhaps I can consult the Holy Koran to see how to go about this genital modification I keep hearing about. No, wait, that's for the pleasure of men...scratch that idea.

    So, according to Kim du Toit, The Anarchangel has gone and gotten a gen-yu-wine Fatwah issued against him by The Religion O Peace. Go to both blogs and enjoy. I'd love to see an overhead helicopters eye view of that little encounter. Probably look like in the cartoons when Yosemite Sam goes berserk, and there is just a big cloud with bullets and gunflame coming out of it.

    I'm out of the high blood pressure meds I'm supposed to take. VA fucked up, and I've been out for a few days. The drugs come with dire warnings about not stopping them, and I must confess that I feel kinda puny. Kind of whirly...peaked, if you will.

    Oh well.

    Until They start racial profiling and close the borders and begin mass deportations, I know nothing is serious. It's all crap. Smoke and mirrors for the rubes.

    I read the list of nine US cities today that are scheduled to be nuked by Al Queda and I said to myself "So?" Great idea. Good riddance to bad rubbish. If you care, move.

    I want all you bloggers to quit talking about the Constitution. It is irrelavant. People pay about as much attention to it as a Mexican busboy pays attention to the 'Wash Your Hands Before Returning To Work' sign in the restroom.

    We, The People, have been isolated down into our component parts, and marginalized into irrelavance. Your family is your country, now, and it's all you've got. You can form into tribes, along with other families, but history shows us how successful the Government is at dealing with tribes.

    We are all on our own personal Trail of Tears, and most don't even know it. Move along, Whiteskin, you'll be safe until we want the land you're on, or your money, or your children.

    Resistance is futile.

    Nat couldn't get the crayon to stay on the smooth back of the spoon while she was trying to draw the faces on, so she snagged a piece of sandpaper from the hardware drawer, roughed up the surface, and put the faces on. Smart.

    If we are gifted with any more generations, it is they who will have to pull us up out of the abyss we are walking over the cliff and into, wide-eyed and smiling.

    They won't have us to thank for anything except procreating them. That's what we're good for...all we're good for.

    Fucking everybody, including ourselves.

    Happy Monday!


        Saturday, July 16, 2005

    Another Saturnday Nacht...

    In case you are dying to know where I'll be at 9pm tonight, I will be plopped in my room, in front of my TV, my headphones on, a jug of wine at my side, and watching 'The Forsaken' on Sci-Fi.

    In my day, we called this kind of movie 'Drive-In Fare'...good luck finding a Drive-In, now. Sadly.

    This was the kind of movie guaranteed to keep your more sensitive cheerleader girlfriend's face in your lap through most of the movie.

    If you're not poor, like me, I suggest you rush out to Blockbuster and rent it, and we can share the Saturday Night Bad Movie Experience together...and you'll get to see all of the good parts. Think 'The Hitcher' (where Rutger Hauer made his bones) with fangs.

    'Jeepers Creepers' is on Sci-Fi right now, a movie I really enjoyed, but its sequel was very very very good. For a sweet night of popcorn and murder, might I suggest you rent all three.

    A pony keg of beer, a gallon of whiskey, some friends you can trust to shut the fuck up when drunk, and some greasy salty snacks, and you can relive the Drive-In Experience in your own living room or, preferably, your basement.

    Sci-Fi is advertising a vampire movie for later this month that looks like it really rocks.

    I'm stoked.


    Another one for the B+ movie list:

    'Dog Soldiers'...



    Well, Isn't This Cool...

    The Comic Characters Database.

    Via Backwards City, a blog I don't visit enough. Did you know there is a comic tie-in series called Serenity#1 that covers the time period between Firefly and the upcoming movie? Huh? Huh? I didn't, until today.

    Now, to go sell some blood so I can buy it.


    I had this link on swordfighting, but lost it in a hard drive crash. Thanks again, Backwards City!


        Friday, July 15, 2005

    Oh, Man...

    Sci-Fi Channel is rocking my world tonight.

    The cast of Farscape? Together again? That's why I've been avoiding previews. What a nice surprise.

    Fuck, can I hate Rodney any more? And his retarded twin sister on the Daedelus, who works with the Asgard?

    I can't figure out if Battlestar Gallactica is the stupidest show on the planet, or if its characters are just written as the stupidiest motherfuckers in the universe.

    How many rounds do those weapons hold? Why can't anybody, including the bad guys, hit anything?



    Go, Read...


    And bring kleenex.


    From the comments:

    SSGT Walter Gaya is the Walter from Kim Du Toits Walter and Adam Fund. The Adam part of the fund was Adam Plumdore who was killed a few months ago, he is the friend "Plum" mentioned in the story.If anyone is interested Kim, after sending a number of packages to Iraq for the Duce Four, is passing the hat once again for these troops and hopes to get somthing for Walters wife JessicaThere is a paypal link at Kims blog if any of you is so inclined.
    Mordwyn 07.16.05 - 12:50 am #



    Dead Modem Walking...

    My modem and/or my router went to shit last night, and I am waiting for Comcast to drop off another modem at their convenience.

    It is just luck that it went back on for a bit, and it will be a wonder if I can post this.

    I hope my router isn't dead. Can't afford to replace it, so no more Disney Interactive for Johnny on Mommy's PC. And I ain't lettin the little squirrel peck at this one. Oh well.

    Hey, I hear Karl Rove got off the hook big time today. I guess the libshits will be fartin out crow for a few days.

    Well, ttfn.


    Yay! I'm alive. This new modem screams. I thought the old one was fast. Oh, there were annoying glitches, which are now explained. This new one is smooth as silk and slicker than snot.

    Guy sold me the Comcast Tivo service for $10 a month I can't afford but will quit eating if I have to so I can pause a 'live' show and take a piss or put a kid to bed and then come back and take up where I left off.

    Now that's something science is good for. Fuck vaccines and bullshit like that, I can now watch a show and record two others, and maybe even rip them onto a DVD with my computer(!).

    Life is good.

    I better watch out for the hammer.


        Thursday, July 14, 2005


    ...Now! And then North Korea.

    If I tell someone I am going to kick their ass, I am going to make every effort to do so, and it won't bother me a bit if they swing first...preemptively.

    Sooner or later China is going to jump. They themselves say so, and it is inevitable. Either we are too weak to attack first, too afraid too, or our government is in collusion with other governments and this is all a charade.

    On a similar and slightly related note, and placed here because I don't want to make another post...


    Or just fucking stupid?

    I suspect the latter.



    I Yahooed 'Nice Titties'...

    ...and that is precisely what I got.







    Hoo-Raw, Nasty Guard!

    An example of big balls, and why 'peace activists' should all be rubber-bulleted to death in front of their kids as a warning.

    Who the fuck is letting these quivery cunts anywhere near any sort of military intallation at all, anyway?

    What's next, Al Queerda Open House Day?

    How I am gonna be able to keep from gunning down the next hippie I see is beyond me.

    It is good to see that the National Guard has become invested in this war. They know it's real, and they have transformed beyond their former 'weekend warrior' image.

    Those of you who can, could do a lot worse than to join up. Even at my advanced age and disability, I am seriously considering trying to get some sort of waiver so I can do something.

    America is dying, if not outright dead, but taking the fight to these Islamassholes is still a noble effort, any day of the week.



    Rock On!

    Why we will win.

    Bet that lucky fucker needs new shorts, though.

    Via SondraK, who still needs to change her evil ways.


    Fucking medics...always fixing people.

    I'da pumped a syringe full of air into his carotid.



    Yeah, That's What I'd Do (NOT!)...

    Spot a missle-like looking object in the water, haul it aboard, and then bang on it with hammers and chisels for awhile, based on a decision I'd formed from watching a television show.




    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go, and worship!

    She wraps up this tedious Wilson affair quite nicely, then puts a bow on it, and kicks it into the dust-bin of history, where it belongs.

    I hate Bush, and Rove makes him possible, but I still dig Rove. I can't help it. I still dig Dick Morris, too, for some reason I still don't understand.

    I bet The Goddess could rip a libtards head off with her labia. Any criticism of her diminishes only you.


        Wednesday, July 13, 2005


    Fuck you, Michael J. Fox, you fucking little has-been midget cannibal, I hope you die, and then I hope your family dies, you cannibalistic little fuck.

    So, you wanna harvest the cells of murdered babies, to keep your sorry, one-trick-pony ass perambulating?

    I want to pour gasoline over you and set you on fire so bad I can smell the hydrocarbons...and I want to see Glenn Reynolds twitching in the flames beside you, too, the Instafucker...

    And Nancy Reagan? You vile witch. You and your homo kids can just shut up and die, too. You are the reason I never took your husband seriously. Lincoln had his Crazy Mary, and Ronnie had you. He never had a chance, and good Marines remain unavenged because of him. Fuck all you Reagans.

    Thank goodness Christopher Reeves is dead. I despise horses, but the one that snapped his foul liberal neck should have statues erected to it all over the country.

    The only thing I hate worse than a liberal, is a crippled liberal, especially one that they roll out to try to intimidate the rubes, every so often.

    You hear that, Max Cleland, you fake-ass 'Viet Nam Veteran'?

    Yeah, roll a grenade off a jeep, outside of a bar while drunk, and make hay on your self-inflicted wounds for decades, you little torso. Fuck you, you crippled cunt. I hope you die...I hope you choke on some pudding, and your handler runs off in a panic, and you choke your miserable life out into the rug while your eyes bug and...

    ...well, I just really fucking hate you.

    All you cocksuckers who want to continue your worthless existences by stealing the lives of innocents...

    Just fucking die, you worthless whores. You vampires. You ghouls. You mindless, greedy, shuffling zombies.

    If a cure for Johnny came to us from the detritus of murdered infants, I would kill my own wife before I allowed her to use it to restore him.

    Ponder that, fucker.

    Yeah, go ahead on and justify your baby raping. Give me a good reason.




    Jose, Can You See?

    I get these cool address labels from this disabled veterans group I donate to whenever they ask me.

    The labels are really nice, all foily and patriotic, with flags and stuff, and very handy for when I send the occasional snail mail.

    So, I am sending in this letter to the unemployment department, essentially begging them for more money (yes! your tax dollars! thanks!), and the State has already voted on the extension, but as I peel off my favorite American Flag sticker with my name and address on it, I hesitated as I went to stick it on.

    What if I get some La Raza Vos Aztlan beaner who this lands on their desk, and they 'lose' it or fuck with it because they hate America and its flag and veterans like me?

    And how fucked up have we gotten that I would even entertain such a thought, even for a moment?

    I just shook my head, and stuck the label on, and I'm still pissed that I feel even the slightest bit of trepidation.





    Bored, again. I could blog on my kids, but Lileks has the corner on that market.

    Steve H has the corner on food chat.

    Everybody hates muslims and Libtards, so where's the fun in repeating stuff about that?

    I turn off Rush when he allows any of them to speak, in his sound-bites. Some days I can't listen at all. Just seeing their faces makes me sick, hearing them is a special torture.

    I guess I'll go force myself to finish reading this book that I really really hate and won't tell you the name of so don't ask. But trust me, it is another special kind of torture.

    I couldn't do what Eberts does, I'll give him that much. I couldn't sit through a movie I know in advance that I'm going to hate. I'd rather shovel pig shit than see anything made by and/or with certain people. I would probably literally die, at some point, from the stress of it.

    Bored. Me. Today.

    Anybody watching that new series on Rome called 'Empire'? I've never studied much about the Roman Empire, because I don't much give a shit about dead wops, other than Cicero. So, I don't really know how accurate the story they are telling is, but it's rollicking good fun, and about as sexy and violent as prime time TV can get.

    I love Roman names. Erectus. Crappicus. Penus Maximus. Maximo Stinkumus Fartumus. Clavius Patellacus.

    I think about suicide every day. Oh, no morbid dwelling, but more like 'Fuck, we're out of Marionberry jam, you know, I could just end it all now' sort of thinking. A passing thought, like the pilot caressing the ejection lever of his seat for comfort, glad to know it's there.

    If you really want to hurt the people who love you, that's the way to go. People who do it are fearless cowards of the first order. I admire their sincere self-criticism, while I sneer in contempt at them.

    I have experienced intense physical pain, and intense emotional pain, and they both hurt just as bad, and can drive you to the same depths of despair. I know what a cold front sight feels like digging into the roof of my mouth, believe me.

    The hush that falls over the world is amazing. You can smell the bullets. Did you know that? When you pull the hammer back and the technology is primed to rip your soul away in a flash, the senses become so tuned that you can hear the click of a Death Beetle in the wall.

    I don't want the last thing that goes through my mind to be a bullet.


    No, we slog on. The pain stops, and is mostly forgotten. The mind forms a scab, and then a callous. You rub that callous occasionally, reflecting, and then move on, always on, because no matter what you do, the world moves on.

    Over, through, past you, whatever, it moves on, and like it or not, you are turning with it, even if you try to stand still.

    When I was little, when told that the world was spinning very fast, I would jump up in the air and try to see if I would come down in a spot further away than from where I had jumped.
    I also dug holes in the yard, fully expecting to get to China. It would not have surprised me to see my next spade-full of dirt let in exotic light from the Orient, and to have a startled little Chinese boy gawping back at me.

    I never had days like today, back then, bored, looking back, all my sins remembered. Oh, I believe I have been forgiven of them, but still they lay, dead and heavy, a weight upon my tattered soul.

    Man, I need a drink.


        Tuesday, July 12, 2005

    As True Today... it was a year ago this month...

    And now she's 17! Cool!

    Filthy Old Man...(Repost)

    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...

    Oh man...I shiver



    Get Your Laws Off My Television!

    This bullshit just crisps my ass-hairs.

    I am perfectly happy with the TV's I have, now, thank you very much. If you fuckers want High-Def and all that other bell and whistle bullshit, go buy the shit, and leave me the fuck alone.


    I do not need to see their nose hairs. If I have to buy new equipment, I believe that I will just opt out of television altogether. Unless 'Firefly' is back to being a series, in which case I will pay a minority $100 to go steal me a digital television. From his mom.

    It figures that buttgina McCain has his cancerous paws in this. Just when I think I can't hate that fucker any more than I do.

    Legislating television is like legislating beer, or sodomizing a little blind boy...a vile crime against nature.

    Speaking of crimes against nature, is/are one of you fuckers sending me viruses or something today? My Spamfighter inbox is getting shit-hammered by weird bullshit, which I then delete with the click of a button. Quit it.

    So, we clear? Let's vote every damn incumbent the fuck out on the street with a startled look on their page-sucking pusses. Every chance you get, vote against them. No, no, no, and no.

    Fire those assholes.

    And they want to SUBSIDIZE television buying for the American public?!?!?

    Insert Primal Scream, here.

    Makes me want to Rolf.



    It Pains Me... see a vile liberal acting more of a man than our President, or anybody else in this milquetoast Administration.

    Christopher Hitchens kicks ass, yet again.

    The money quote:

    It is a big mistake to believe this is an assault on "our" values or "our" way of life. It is, rather, an assault on all civilisation. I know perfectly well there are people thinking, and even saying, that Tony Blair brought this upon us by his alliance with George Bush.

    A word of advice to them: try and keep it down, will you? Or wait at least until the funerals are over. And beware of the non-sequitur: you can be as opposed to the Iraq operation as much as you like, but you can't get from that "grievance" to the detonating of explosives at rush hour on London buses and tubes.

    Don't even try to connect the two. By George Galloway's logic, British squaddies in Iraq are the root cause of dead bodies at home. How can anyone bear to be so wicked and stupid? How can anyone bear to act as a megaphone for psychotic killers?

    The grievances I listed above are unappeasable, one of many reasons why the jihadists will lose.

    They demand the impossible - the cessation of all life in favour of prostration before a totalitarian vision. Plainly, we cannot surrender. There is no one with whom to negotiate, let alone capitulate.

    Amen, brother, amen.


        Monday, July 11, 2005

    Alarmist, To Be Sure...

    ...but, if this is true, we are fucked.

    I, for one, believe it is true.


        Saturday, July 09, 2005

    Fuh-Huck! Jews Kick Ass!

    Go here, enjoy. Turn off the dumbshit music, and jam some Rammstein while you watch.

    I would dearly LOVE to see those guys go head to head against our Abram's crews. I would hate to bet on the outcome, though.

    Thanks to the Drumslinger for the link I stole. Dumb fucker really needs to move, I tells ya.