Lizard Brain Ranting

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2010-02-01T11:23:00.001-08:00

Old posting I made to the Firingline.com

2009-08-05T18:35:00.000-07:00

This essay is in regards to a direction the RKBA movement has taken in the last year or so. Especially on this board and others I have noticed. The County has taken a noticeable shift in the last ten years, where the perception of the reality has been altered, by various events until the long term strategic goals of the RKBA movement has been overshadowed by the daily tactical fights and mud slinging rhetoric of both sides.

When Bill Clinton was elected, the conservative movement was rocked by the loss. A good President who had only 2 years before led his county to a resounding victory in the Gulf, was defeated by a “slick” country lawyer with more skeletons then a graveyard. What drove this victory? It was the Fear of the impending “Recession”. It really was the economy and it was Fear that drove the people to vote for the Sleaze instead of the Wheeze.

The majority of Americans can care less about politics. They don’t get involved, and only can be encouraged to move there lethargic butts out of their chairs if there is something of great personal importance to them. Some people are Single-issue voters, be it Abortion, Family Values, Taxes and yes, even Gun control. These are the 20% on either side that are Republican or Democrat that vote that party and nothing else. These are the ones you see in every opinion poll, I could open a poll asking whether the Bush daughters should do jail time for their indiscretions to “Set an Example” and I guarantee to you 20% of the people would think it would be a good idea. These are the hard-core lefties and nothing will move them. On the other side there is the hard-core righties that would elect a Yellow Dog if only he could come from the Republican Party. Together they make 40% of the electorate and nobody bothers with them, because they’re a waste of time, they’ve made their decision and it is almost impossible to change their minds. Only a personal life experience with make them come around, such as a car accident, or a rape or a loved one’s suffering.

The other 60% swing right or left, this is the “Middle”. And this is who the politicians play to. A Republican can always count on their Republican vote but they need to appeal to at least 31% of the center to win. And this is where we start to get in trouble. To win in the primaries, you must appeal to your outer 20% but once you get your nomination you must swing inside and get your 31% with out losing your 20%from the outside.

This happened to Gore in 2000, his far left flank was first attacked by Bradley, where he had to jump left to secure that vote, then he found it under continuing attack from Nader and his Greens. This lost him some 3-5% from the Greens and about 5-10% of the center from Gore having to try and swing out to keep his left from leaving to Nader.

Bush on the other hand, was forced into the center by McCain, and managed to practically ignore his right, who was in no position to walk, knowing that a Gore Presidency would be disastrous to their positions.

So it was the fact that the Lefts fight for the control of their party that put Bush in the White House, by attempting to force their candidate to address their issues, Gore was in a position that was unable to allow him to win. Notice that on the Left the Anti-Gun Agenda was noticeably silent. The Anti-gunners knew that with the Greens revolting, An attempt by Gore to make an attack on Guns would leave him open to a assault by Bush claiming he was a far left radical, a problem that Gore already had because of his book “Earth in the Balance”.

The Far-left/Green’s defection was in part due to a forgetfulness of what a Republican in the Whitehouse really means. Gore was, by perception, an easy win for the Democrats over the bumbling Bush, The Far/Greens could get lippy thinking that even if they siphoned off their “End Votes” That Gore would still win. However they could not have expected the strong showing that Bush made in the debates, this turned the Center to Bush and defeated the Far/Greens plans.

The Far/Greens forgot the Strategic Goals, and Settled for Fighting the Tactical Goals of getting their issues addressed.

And thus we come to the real reason of this essay. Setting the Strategic Goals of the RKBA movement. But more importantly, setting a standard for the RKBA movement, remembering that at all times we must be playing to that 60%.

RKBA has one powerful weapon in our arsenal. That is the Truth. The facts are on our side and logic is on our side. In a straight up logical argument RKBA will win EVERYTIME. This is why our opponents do not attempt to make logical arguments. Instead an Anti’s position will be couched in lies, half-truths, appeals to emotion, and Fear. And when we deviate from the Truth we lose. The Truth is our Strength and Fear is theirs.

We can however use Fear as our own weapon, but we must make it ours first.

First, we must get our own house in order by securing our 20%. By this I’m not saying the Republican’s 20%, but the RKBA 20%. We all know why we’re here. But we must understand that just like what happened to Gore, our extremes will kill RKBA and us forever. When one preaches to the Choir, one inevitably puts the Congregation to sleep.
What is the quote? “We must all Hang Together or we’ll all Hang Separately.”

Two, we must play to our strengths. Get the facts out. When an Anti attempts to use the “Facts” slam them with the Real Facts. We all know them, and anyone reading this who doesn’t ask and we’ll tell you. Learn their arguments and the counters. Then they’ll have to move to an emotional argument, and that is based on Fear.

Fear is the final weapon, and like the Clinton win against Bush, is what will drive people to the polls to defeat or defend RKBA. There are three Fear based arguments.

Guns will Kill you. (The Gun is a Snake, capable of leaping off the table and shooting you theory). We can remove the threat if we remove the gun.

Guns Cause Crime. (Taking over the mind of the individual allowing them to do things they couldn’t or wouldn’t do without a gun.)

And, People who like Guns are bad people who want to overthrow the government and do bad things to you and yours.

The first two are the easiest, simple facts and logic will persuade people otherwise. The third however is the Achilles’ heel of the RKBA movement. Our most passionate members are the easiest to marginalize. Our opponents attempt to portray our members as uneducated racist rednecks, with radical ideas who want to overthrow our government though violent force. Or as ineffectual loners who need a firearm to overcome our own sense of inadequacy. And WE HELP THEM DO IT. When we use lines that have been co-opted we defeat our own arguments. “Cold Dead Hands” has become a national joke. Charlton Heston did us a great disservice when he played that line to give some 200 or so people a warm fuzzy, And the Press had a field day with it. When one has been labeled a stereotype, people will see action that reinforces that stereotype much more then actions that run contrary to it.

As an Example, ELF and ALF does more damage to the animal rights movement then they help. Their concept of “Direct Action” is a misguided attempt to achieve a Tactical Goal, (Recognition of their Position) At the expense of one of their Strategic Goals (Acceptance of their Beliefs). The Bunny-huggers then are perceived by the Center as radical and too extreme, and the environmentalists lose votes.

My Drill Instructor told us once, when we were very close to Graduating. That people, when they see a Marine will either see an Embassy Guard or a Jarhead, and there was nothing we could do about it but make sure our brass was always polished.

So that’s what I’m asking, Lets keep our eyes on the Strategic Goals and not lose sight of them as we fight for our Tactical Goals. Lets shy away from reinforcing the stereotypes that our opponents have portrayed us as. And when we go out in public, make sure your brass is polished.

Thank You for your Time and Attention.

The First Miracle

2009-04-10T08:38:00.000-07:00

LO, And it came to pass in the first year of the Blessed one. That the Wife of the Blessed one did go to sow the ground that had lain fallow for the 8 years of Darkness. But the very bees had been driven away by He who must be Scorned. And there was a great wailing from the people. “Our Land which has lain fallow through the 8 years of darkness will not bear fruit, and the Blossoms are not Made Full by the industrious Bees.”

And the Messiah Said “Fear not. For I shall call them unto me, and they shall serve as a living example of my plan. All working for the greater Good of the One.” And the Messiah raided his hand and Lo the Bees did Come. Thus is the power of the Anointed one.

http://politicalticker.blogs.cnn.com/2009/04/09/white-house-hit-by-swarm-of-bees/

This is Atlas Shrugging

2009-03-25T07:57:00.000-07:00

We'll what do you expect the guy to do?

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/25/opinion/25desantis.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1

Important Reading for these times....

2009-03-22T23:25:00.000-07:00

http://www.authorama.com/full/pdf/Traits-of-the-Tea-Party--Benjamin-Bussey-Thatcher.pdf

And important Buying...

http://www.cafepress.com/lizardbrainrant

Yes Still not posting.

2009-02-05T09:01:00.000-08:00

New Job, new job makes Meiji busy

Meiji Plays Travian
Travian takes Meiji's time....

Bye Andrew,

2008-08-20T23:13:00.000-07:00

Pulling Andrew Sullivan from my links. He's turned into the type of person he used to hate. Now he just hates.

Yeah, I've been seeing another site...

2008-07-27T10:05:00.000-07:00

Despite what you see on this blog I actually do a bit of writing though the year.
This is from a post I made to the site theartofmanliness.com
http://artofmanliness.com/forum/index.php?topic=243.0

A friend of mine passed away on Wednesday.
http://www.legacy.com/azcentral/Obituaries.asp?Page=Lifestory&PersonId=111899201

Two years ago in a fit of ennui I got in contact with my local Coast Guard Auxiliary. I wanted join an organization that I could put some volunteer time into, and the idea of slinging soup and hosannas at the mission shelter didn’t appeal to me..

The Coast Guard Aux is an all volunteer organization. It has been around since 1939 and its average membership age is about 56. At 35 I was the youngest person in the room.

It was with this organization that I was first able to truly work with the people that Tom Brokaw called “The Greatest Generation” Men and Women my Grandfathers age, Veterans of World War 2 and Korea.

They’re old, they’re frail, they move slowly. Their conversations tend to wander. But they KNOW things, They’ve BEEN places, and in each of them there is a bar of Steel that their souls are wrapped around.

These are the men that have lived the history you were taught, and the movies that you watch. “Saving Private Ryan” to them it isn’t just a 2 dimensional moving picture with a THX sound track. They felt the slaps of the waves though the steel deck. They tasted the bile in their throat and smelt the diesel of the landing craft exhaust.

A few years ago I met my wife’s Grandfather before he died. He was very old and in the hospital, so my meeting with him was a simple hello.

Later that day at his house they showed me his mementos. One of which was a campaign belt.
Stephen Putnam was a Marine stationed on the USS South Dakota during WW2 He was a plank owner, which means that he was part of the first crew during her commissioning. On his campaign belt was written the names of the battles I’ve only read about.

One name battle leapt out at me. “Second Battle of Guadalcanal”.

Imagine if you will, being on board a Battleship in combat. You have a station. As a Marine on board most likely manning a ships gun, a 5inch 38 Caliber DP gun in a twin mount. You are in a metal box with other men. Your job is to feed a piece of machinery that hurls 55 pound shells. In this cramped hot space. The gun when fired will recoil backwards tremendously fast. If you are in front of it. It will crush you. It is too loud to communicate with others, and all commands must be repeated to ensure accuracy. Our job is to repeat the same task, get rounds down range. A description of the firing process is here:
http://www.navweaps.com/Weapons/WNUS_5-38_mk12_Crews.htm

There is little armor between you and your enemy in a 5 inch mount, any of the shells being thrown at you can penetrate it. A shell bursting inside your turret will kill everyone inside; a flashing powder charge will incinerate you. If the ship sinks, you and the others in your turret will have to escape out of a single locked down door.

And now with the stage set let the curtain rise on the scene. It is November 14th 1942, and since August, American and Japanese forces in the Pacific have been fighting over a island called Guadalcanal. You’ve been under air attack before; The South Dakota has been credited with shooting down 26 enemy planes a few weeks ago at the Battle of Santa Cruz.

Last night American Forces were engaged in a night action off of Savo Island, many American ships were sunk but the Japanese were turned back. Now, Admiral Halsey has detached your ship and the USS Washington to intercept yet another Japanese attempt to attack your fellow Marines fighting on the islands. You go to action stations, ready your gun and wait. It is almost midnight.

The opening of the action is a brief firing at targets seen on radar to the north. Those soon disappear. Sunk?

Then 5 minutes later the screening destroyers get into a firefight, In 10 minutes 2 destroyers are sunk and the other 2 are too damaged to continue and withdraw from the fight. It’s just you and the Washington now.

Suddenly your turret looses power. The blowers stop and the gun no longer response to the controls. Emergency lighting is all that is left. Your ship has lost electrical power and you have no lights, radar, you can’t train the guns and the ship cannot be controlled. Racing along uncontrolled at 26 knots, you pass the burning wreckage of the sinking Destroyers, Silhouetting you to the Enemy.

Over the next half hour your ship will take some 40+ hits, coming under fire from the entire Japanese force at times. They will kill 39 of your friends and shipmates and wound another 59. This entire time you will sit in your dark box unable to reply. Some power will be restored and enough partial control will allow your ships guns to respond. The contribution will be ineffective, the majority of tonight fighting will be handled by the Washington.

My wife’s grandfather lived this, this is his story. My Friend Doug Roberts also served in the Navy and was at Omaha Beach. Once I met a man who had been with the 1st Marine Division at the Chosin Reservoir in Korea.

I would have liked a chance to talk to these men, ask them about their experiences, and compare them to my own. But I didn’t take advantage of the opportunities I was presented with when I had them.

One by one these people are dying off, their stories will be lost to time. As of this writing there is One remaining doughboy from World War One alive, And soon he’ll be gone too.

And so my purpose of this writing is to encourage you to seek out these people, and take time to listen to them. Honor them and what they have achieved, and compare their trials to your own. They have stories to tell you and lessons to teach, and their time is running short.

“And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.”
“Henry V” Shakespeare

More bad Poetry!!!

2008-02-26T20:01:00.000-08:00

http://www.intruderalert.com/cafe/index.cfm?page=topic&topicID=123870

"Prayer for the fallen rider"

May the Lord take you in his arms,
now that you’ve ridden to where the Road meets the sky
Let those of us left behind remember
There but for the grace of God go I...

C. Dawson 2008

Of Writers and Writing

2008-02-20T20:24:00.000-08:00

I get some of my best ideas in bad places. Places when I can’t write anything down, Shower, driving, that kind of stuff. I mean to carry something around with me for these moments, but I never do.

Then looking at what I do get down I tend to get a little disappointed, because it usually comes out angry. I’m angry a lot.

I get some writing done at work because I get pissed and start typing, I’m training my co-workers to not interrupt me if my typing is over 30 works a minute. Some times when they do I get pissed and hit "send". That’s not always a bad thing.

Anyway today I took time out to write an email to the son of an author that I’ve particularly admired. The Son had been releasing his fathers works on the internet, for free. I wrote him to thank him and let him know how much I liked his fathers work.

And 30 minutes later I got an email back. Thanking me and saying I’d made his day.

Which made mine.

And in finding his site I found an artist's site that had a brief attempt at making a Graphic Novel of said book. No comments though so I left one.

And between these two sites some new concepts to explore like "GTD" and "Zen to Done"

And here I was wondering what I was going to read this week

Funny how the world works that way

2008-02-02T09:46:00.000-08:00

If I ever have to really explain why I’ll never be a part of the Global left or any of the Progressive socialist movements this will be the reason why…..

Read on Dad…..

In Iraq, one of the few suicide bombs to go off lately, Two women walk into an out door market for pets…. (sounds like the opening to a joke) Then explode. Much is made in the initial news reports from the chattering classes about how it was women and even Women are members of the Global Islamic movement. But wait later on we have later news that comes out that lets us Know just how Evil, these sick fucks are.
http://abcnews.go.com/International/wireStory?id=4226818

So they’ve run out of teenage kids and others they can con into it, (“Achmed, just wear this heavy vest and go get is a couple of falafel burgers from that stand over there”) to getting a mentally retarded girl to carry the package for you.

(And people whine about waterboarding I tell ya…)

But wait the story doesn’t end there because Via wizbangblog.com

http://wizbangblog.com/content/2008/02/01/baroness-meacher-severely-disabled-children-not-viable-people.php

It turns out the girls used by the insurgents weren’t really people at all!!!
Wow how…Progressive… I love how the National Socialists are bringing back the golden oldies, how retro,

One of the Greatest Victories of the Left was they were able to disassociate themselves from their Nazi Forbears, but no mater how much Pinefresh air freshener (now 85% organic!) they spray on this turd, it still the same shit.

Fathers

2008-01-03T17:47:00.001-08:00

"Damn"

LCpl. Henderson reached out to the radio and flipped the small metal latch securing the first of two knobs. Turning the wheel to the right he stopped then set the latch back. He moved his gloved hand to the next, and repeating, except to the left this time. He settled back to his seat on an MRE box against the wall.

"…this is Charlie 5 Actual radio check."

Henderson keyed the mike. "Charlie 5 this is Charlie 3-4, read you 5 by 5"

"Nice to see you awake 3-4. Charlie 5 out"

"Fuck!" Henderson threw the mike back, "the XO sounds pissed." Looking at his watch he grimaced, 00:13 missed the change over by a bit. Enough so that anyone awake on the company net knew.

"Yeah," Came the reply from a shape against the other wall, "Sorry.""Yeah my ass. I'm going to piss," Grabbing his rifle, Henderson stomped out of the tiny bunker.

Stretching up to his full 6-foot-height he paused peering into the dark, eyes adjusting to the desert night., to notice a dark shape standing there just ten feet from him.

"Holy…Halt who goes there!" A normally baritone voice ascending the scales to a high adolescent shriek, something Henderson still hadn't out grown in his 19 years.

"Death, if I'd been a towelhead Henderson" came the reply.

Oh Fuck Gunny T.

Despite his southern upbringing, and the jokes about his accent to the contrary, Henderson was still a fast thinker. Recovering quickly he challenged, "Three".

"Kings"

"Advanced and be recognized," intoned Henderson.

"Nice to see you're not totally a fuck up tonight Henderson." Replied the Gunny as he stepped forward. "Now can you explain to me the little brain fart that brought me out of my nice warm hooch out here to see if you little love birds were paying grab ass?"

"Sorry Gunny, No excuse, I was on the NVGs and lost track of the time."

Nice one thought Gunny, Don't Blame the other guy just let me know that it wasn't your job… Gunny personally thought Henderson was a weasel. He never was the one who fucked up, but he always seemed to be there when someone else did, with a ready excuse.

"And what was your boyfriend doing at the time?"

"Don't know Gunny…"

"I smell a “but” in there"

Henderson stepped closer to the Gunny and dropped his voice. "It's Kinsley, He's really down today. I think something's wrong."

Oh course he's down, he's fucking 5000 miles away from home on Christmas eve sitting in a bunker waiting to get shot at thought the Gunny, Then the next thought; Maybe something is wrong. Henderson wouldn't tell me about it if he didn't think it wasn't important. Maybe you're not such a weasel. (Amazing what you can think of in a few seconds, all while staring quietly at a young Marine waiting to get the other half of his ass chewed off. One of the talents passed down through the generations of the Corps.)

"Well since I know you weren’t just going to get out and piss on the side of the bunker, and since I'm here to take your place so you don't have to call the Corporal of the guard over here to relieve you properly. You can get over to the shitters like you're supposed to instead of pissing out here in my desert like an animal. So why don't you amble off and go play with yourself while I have a talk with Kinsley"

"Aye, Aye Gunny" and with a year-out-of-boot-camp reflex and a scurry into the night went Henderson.

The Gunny watched him disappear into the night with a smirk. Jury is still out on that one. Well Ted, put your game face back on and lets deal with the other one. And with that he turned around, ducked his head, and went into the bunker.

Kinsley was staring intently through his NVGs at a bush. The only real thing to look at, but he was performing perfectly the skill of looking like you were busy when there was nothing to do. An instinctive reflex privates learned around SNCO's

"Has it moved?"

"Gunny?"

"That bush you're looking at, has it moved"?

"No Gunny".

"Of course not, it's a bush, but I bet you if you turn your head a little to the right or to the left you might see something else."

"Yes, Gunny".

The Gunny stared at the young Marine, sizing him up. The youngster was new to the unit, just out of SOI and pretty bright.

"Kinsley do you know what the purpose of changing radio frequencies at a designated time is."

"Yes, Gunny"

"Were you told by the Corporal of the Guard what time to change the Frequencies?"

"Yes Gunny" with a nervous glance at a sign above the CINGARS set that read, "FREQUNCEY CHANGE MIDNIGHT"

"Is your watch broken?" questioned the Gunny with a rising temper.

"No, Gunny."

A pause, a theatrical removal of the Kevlar and a hand run through graying hair.

"Then what happened?"

"I don't know…"

Oh, you little…The Gunny stared intently. Willing himself to calm down. His temper was his biggest failing, keeping him from becoming a Senior Drill Instructor at MCRD. Several times it had been pointed out to him both professionally and unprofessionally, if it hadn't had been for 9/11 he probably would have been "Upped or Out" by now. Calm.

"Then what is it son?" Quieter

"Nothing Gunny" with a guilty glance at a picture on the wall. The Gunny’s eyes followed and then reached out with a hand, and took a picture from the wall.

Oh Great

The picture, a Polaroid, showed a young woman that may have just been out of high school, holding a baby. She had the Midwest-poor look, a tried, forced smile on her face, A green OD colored T-shirt that said "My Mans a Marine" The baby, barely more then a handful, was crying, one hand up in a fist like a 60's radical as mommy shook it at the camera. Wave to Daddy Baby.

"Yours?"

"Yes, Gunny my Son."

Your son, not your “Family”, not your “Wife and Son.” But your “Son”.

It was getting clearer.

"And her?"

"My wife, Gunny. We got married after boot camp, she's living with her folks now."

That's right. One of the kids with kids.

Although the average age of a serviceman in Iraq was around 24, there were still those young ones. Some just out of a trailer park in Indiana. Making more money then they have in their entire life, and itching to marry their High school sweet heart. Most did not, some did. Commandant Mundy was right, never should let kids get married. I wish I hadn't correcting That's not true.

"First Christmas?"

"Yeah, he's only 10 months, he was born a week before I graduated SOI. I wasn't there for the birth either..."

That Math doesn't add up, there a story there…

"How's she doing?"

The finger was out of the dike and the world poured out. Phone calls and emails and letters slowly getting fewer and farther between, last week a precious phone call home, to find that she had left the baby with the grandmother and gone out. "No Randy, I'm sure she'll be home soon. Can you call back later?" Later than Midnight?

Damn, Damn Damn Damn…"

And now I don't know, Gunny. I've only seen him twice." Kinsley turned away, and the Gunny knew he was crying. Still it's more about his son.

The Gunny sat down, pulling a MRE case against the wall. He leaned back against the sandbag, and reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a cigarette. Another trip retrieved a lighter.

Flipping over the Zippo and with a practiced shake he lit the cigarette and began.

"I have a son, he's 20. I don't see much of him since his mother and me split up. I write him every once an awhile, some times I get a letter back. He's going to college, a scholarship. I wasn't there much, but I see him when I can. He's smart and strong. And everything I wanted him to be. Sometimes, I thought he hated me. Some times he was just indifferent. His mother has told him stories I'm sure. And some of them are true. But he's still my son. And the best thing me or her has ever, or will ever, do."

Taking another long drag, "I miss him, And I wish things could have been different, but they’re not. I've tried to be good to him, and to his mother, but I realized early on I wasn't going to be able be like my old man, I'd have to be something else. It's important to a man, to know he's leaving something behind in this world, something better then himself. And I know I have."

The Gunny turned his eyes on the young marine and continued; "I wasn't there to raise my son, but I've tried to be a good example. I've tried my best, because that's all any of us can do. Things didn't work out between me and his mom. And things might not work out between you and your wife. But you must always remember, the most important job in the world is being a father, and if you can't be there to teach him. Then live your life as an example for him. There will be other Christmases. He won't even remember this one. But soon he will start to remember. And that's what you really will leave him. The memory of his father. A Good Man."

The Gunny suddenly jerked, reality coming back into the bunker.

"So think about what I've said, be a Good Man,"

And picking up his Kevlar, he ducked down under the canvas and walked out, passing a quiet Henderson on the way back into the shadows.

"What he say?" Henderson asked, stepping back into the bunker.

"Nothing, a lot…"

Henderson sized him up, he wasn't going to share. "Hand me the NVGs and don't fall asleep again"

"Nah I'll take ‘em, you've had to watch enough."

The Gunny moved the flaps aside and stepped into the command tent. The XO looked up from the desk, "Get them squared away?"

"I'll be picking bits of them out of my teeth for a week" the Gunny said to a chuckle.

I bet thought the XO, I wouldn't want to get my ass chewed by the Gunny. That Irish temper is all it's cracked up to be and then some.

"I'm going to turn in now Sir, if everything is secure."

"Sure thing Gunny, I'm just finishing a letter to the family."

"Good Night, Sir."

"Merry Christmas, Gunny"

"Merry Christmas, Sir."

Trudging out, feeling much older then his years, the Gunny went to his tent. Inside on his cot was mail. A Christmas card from his sister, a couple of "To: Any Serviceman" cards And a letter marked "Return to Sender" in blue ink, addressed to a Dormitory at UC Berkley.

The Gunny stripped down to his shorts and skivvies, and pulled a battered hygiene kit out from under the cot. Fighting the failing nylon zipper, he pulled a ragged photograph out into the light.

A picture of a young woman holding a baby in her arms with one hand waving at the camera. Wave to Daddy Baby.

Wow

2007-07-09T21:57:00.000-07:00

I STILL Suck at posting.
Planning on getting a story i wrote a few Christmases ago up.

This brought me back to blogging

2007-05-21T21:04:00.001-07:00

http://www.ejectejecteject.com/archives/000157.html

That or it might have been watching the entire Firefly Series one after another.

I Aim to Misbehave.

Veterans

2005-08-31T23:21:00.000-07:00

Jimmy caught the smell of oil in the store,

Remembered the night
off Savo Island,

When his 'can took one unseen amidships
and he fell into the fire and water,

His hands failing above him
out of the water
and into the fire,
to splash the oil away

kicking up to take a heated breath
then down again
until he could not stay
then up again to breathe.

Calm, like they taught him

Once the fire caught him and he burned,
the scar's still there.
Misshaping an ear.

A bald patch in an old man's thinning hair.

But you can't tell where his hands had burned.

Calling out
He can't hear himself
over the roar if the fire
and the sound of metal
from Bethlehem
rending as the sea claims another ship,

He feels the tug
towards the doomed
and descending
as she starts her last voyage
to Iron Bottom Sound,

he kicks away
and swims

from his home for the last 2 years
for safety,

feeling her
pull him with her

a mother not wanting to let go
as she takes
her other boys away with her

Alone now,
less fire
more stars,
he calls into the darkness
and hears

A voice,

he finds Tony
from the radio room
sobbing
they hold each other,
then separate
the better to try and float.

Together in silence, they tread,
Afraid to speak,
As if giving voice to it
will make it any more so,

The loss,

The water.

The waiting

The silence

Tired now,
it must have been about 5
The eastern sky starting to pinken.
when he felt a nudge

Then Tony was pulled under
A second,
an eternity
and Tony bobs back,

Eyes wide,

Face pale

"Oh Jimmy"
quietly
was all he said

then he disappeared again
and the water turned red,

now he screams

now he thrashes

there is no training for this,
no Chief can teach you how to die,

he swims

faster then ever,

faster then the time he beat his older cousin
across the pond back home.
A thousand miles and a hundred years away.

He strikes his head,
and he grasps wood,

Pulls himself on to
a table from the mess,

or did it find him?
Pushed by an benevolent angel,
Into his flight

Climbing up

it turns under him,

Pitching him to the water again,

Screaming
Grasping
Falling
he pulls the table over onto him

Now he fights
to get out from under
it's crushing weight,
holding him under.

finally he's on,
afraid to move

And huddles,
holding himself.

In the center
farthest away from all sides.
From the water

They found him like that,
Rescued him,
And others

enough so they didn't have to write
"Lost with All Hands"

He looks up
the others are watching,

He mutters an excuse and leaves

The bell above the door signaling his departure.

"What's eating him?"

The owner didn't know,

He'd seen the look before
Worn it himself

but didn't understand Jimmy

After all

Jimmy had just been in the Navy

Jimmy hadn't been there in the Ardennes

The night the tigers came out of the snow.

-C. Dawson 2005

Idea in Progress

2005-08-10T22:08:00.000-07:00

Number of Operations Iraq Freedom and Enduring Freedom casualties as confirmed by U.S. Central Command: 2045 (AS of 8-10-05)Note: Unknown if this is only Combat related or includes accidents and other deaths including suicides.
Number of Casualties in American Civil War: (Union Side)
Union battle deaths — 140,414
Union other deaths — 224,097
Total Union deaths — 364,511

Slave Population of America at the time of the Civil war: 4,000,000
"One hundred twenty-five thousand free blacks lived in the South. There were four million slaves in the United States in 1860, ninety percent of who were in the South, owned by 350,000 slaveholders. "

Population of:Iraq: 26,074,906 (July 2005 est.)
Afghanistan: 29,928,987 (July 2005 est.)

Question:

Given that:

Currently 2045 troops have lost their lives to secure the freedom of 55+ Million people in Iraq and Afghanistan.
(26894-1 ratio)

While: 364000+ Union troops lost their lives to secure the freedom of 4+ Million slaves in the American Civil war.
(10.98-1 ratio)

And That:

All the troops that have lost their lives in Iraq and Afghanistan were volunteers.

While The Union Army in the later years of the Civil War had many Conscripts, drafted unwillingly, while a person could buy out of service by paying $300 or if they could get another to serve for them.

Was The American Civil war an Unjust War compared to the Current War against terror?

OH CRAP

2005-06-25T20:02:00.000-07:00

It Begins

Kelo

2005-06-25T19:32:00.000-07:00

You very rarely see a Supreme Court case that so many people know about then Kelo
Nearly every person I know heard about this ruling and was against it. Even those people I know purposely ignore the news. We were talking about it at work, at the restraunt, at the bar. Everywhere. And that is because this is a case that affects EVERYONE. And for the worse. The Courts ruling on Kelo undermines the entire fabric of western Civilization. Simply put, what yours is not yours, but only granted to you by the blessings of the state. With this ruling, an elected body can seize property, your property, and give it to someone else. It's as simple as that. Joe Business man can walk down to City hall, Cut a check for the mayor's re-election fund and point to your house on the map and say, "give me that." Our economy is very much based on the fact that people can own things, Property, the houses on that property, your car, clothes. You, the individual perform a service and trade that service for things you need or want. You can safely "store" wealth in such things as goods a property to use as your retirement, an emergency, or pass on to your kids. The future unintended consequences start coming into play once well meaning people start screwing with individual for the common good. Air pollution is a problem? I'll impound any car over 10 years old. Give you the blue book value (low of course), and send it to the junkyard. You now get to take your $500 dollars and walk down to a dealer to buy a new car. But you won't be able to afford one. Because the cheapest newest car runs about $8000 and if you could afford one you'd have one. Then there is the whole supply and demand thing, but I don't want to go into that.

But hey, that's what we got public transportation for.
Lenders will have to start jacking up interest rates for houses that are in urban areas. Reason? Because the house now has an increased risk. Not just because of the possibility of default. But now there is a chance that the house will be condemned. Even if the state pays the owner enough to pay off the debt, the loan gets paid off early with is not a good thing for lenders. Some times it is, because they can now lend the money out at a higher rate. But even then, they'll be lending LESS because less people will be able to afford to borrow at the higher rate.

Are you starting to see where this is going?This isn't just about Wal-Mart. This is BIGGER then Wal-Mart.The true Loons on the Left are crowing about how great this is, I wonder how many thought it was a bad idea until they saw who had voted what? I know several of my lefty friends thought the EVIL conservatives on the bench had supported this ruling. Several suddenly decided to reserve judgment until they could read the briefings. But I hate to tell them, you were right the first time. It's a bad idea, SCOTUS fucked up.I'm not asking them to take the next logical step and wonder what else they could have fucked up on.

All in all, a very dangerous direction the court has taken this year. I am lighting candles for several retirements. (Wait a minute that not a candle, it’s a fuse)

...

2005-06-13T14:45:00.000-07:00

I hate it when I'm right.

Jackson trial

2005-06-04T12:05:00.000-07:00

A couple of things before the Jackson Trial Lets out.

One: I think he's Guilty. Based upon the history of previous allegations, I think if he did not have a problem, his handlers would have reigned him in by now and told him to quit having kids over. Then there is the porn and other evidence seized at the Ranch. I think with out the testimony of the kid there would still be enough there for at least a conviction on conspiracy.

Two: He's Gonna walk. And this is the part that gets me. Take a look at the Jury. Notice how many people on the jury have ties to the Ranch. This reflects poor jury selection on someone's part. Either the defense or the prosecutor. The defense has done a good job of discrediting the witness and there is always the defense's Ace in the hole of reasonable doubt.

This brings me to some thing I really dislike about the American Legal system. That problem is that the richer you are the more you can get away with. If this had been Chester the Molester living in a trailer and having kids over and these allegations had come out, it'd be a slam-dunk case. Whether or not the man was innocent or not. But this is a Media Elite, and they're not treated as we are. They can Hire specialists, witnesses, attorneys, some times bring in more firepower then a local DA can bring. All to get their guy off the hook.

If O.J. had been a poor man, he'd have been executed by now. The guy from Beretta would be in Jail and that Kennedy guy would probably just be getting out after his rape charge. But this is America where you are guaranteed the best defence your money can buy.

In some cases, your defense can be help buy people collecting money for you. The Case of Sgt. Patrick Haab, who allegedly was almost jumped by a bunch of illegals down on the border. He drew his gun and held them until the cops showed up. I thought this guy was toast, but after a defense fund was started, the local DA backed off. I think it was a combination of public support and the fact that bail had been posted by a anonymous supported that caused the DA to back off, not the facts of the case. If it had gone to trial, it would have been a circus.

So how do we fix this broke system? I suggest this. Disallow private defense attorneys. All defenses will be handled by a Public defender. This insures a fair level of competency across the spectrum when it comes to individuals being charged with crimes.

I also would like to see a change in the professional witness programs. Where I can hire a DNA or other expert to fly out and dispute the findings of the prosecution's witnesses. These professionals are simply priced to high for a average defendant to be able to use one in his defense. But, if there was a neutral third body, that simply gathered and supplied the evidence, and gave testimony to that. Then you would have a better chance of receiving a fair equitable trial.

This is all just a thinking out loud essay; I just wanted to get in on paper before the Jackson Case lets out. I have not really been following it and I am more interested in the effects of the case then the results.

On naming vehicles of War

2005-06-02T09:58:00.000-07:00

A couple of days ago there was a couple of emails from Marines to Andrew Sullivan posted on his blog. Andrew had gotten upset because of the name of this Marine Tank.

For some reason this really bugged me and I felt it necessary to send him an email about it.

Well Andrew I think your Blog has sunk to a new banal low.

After reading the two “Emails of the day” from marines, I reread through your blog to find the topic of such shattering import that generated such responses and found nothing more then a picture of a tank.
A tank named “New Testament”
That’s it?
Warriors have been naming their implements of death and destruction for eons. Somewhere is the past some soldier of UR probably named his spear ”Sally” or something like that. It’s what people do. And the names will reflect the personality and culture of their owners/operators.
I take it that your response is due to the biblical meaning behind the name. Fair enough. But please point us to the sudden change in the universe that requires such a reaction.I served as a Marine LAV crewman in Desert Storm. Our vehicle’s name was “The Seventh Sign” A biblical reference to be sure, even though I came up with the name and I’m not a Christian. In fact during my deployment I was studying Zen and I currently consider myself s Taoist. But naming our vehicle “Joshu’s No” probably wouldn’t have been supported by the rest of the crew. The name simply was a reflection of our personality. We made no political statement; we simply meant it as a moral booster, since naming a vehicle helps to form pride and attachment to a 14.5 ton piece of metal. I don’t expect you to understand. But when you’re sitting down with what has been termed your “Band of Brothers” the simple thing such as picking a name can have a big meaning to you. It’s a bragging point a chance to show off and basically a way to show how much of a badass you are to the Marines around you.

I sincerely hoped that any Iraqi close enough to read and understand “The Seventh Sign” truly realized that judgment had come for him, and that he should repent of his sins and throw himself upon the mercies of the Marines.

And I’m quite sure that the Arabic script on the side of the destroyed and captured Iraqi vehicles had equally creative phrases and ideas behind them. Perhaps “Sword of Allah” or “Infidel Slayer”

I know the whole song and dance about winning the “Hearts and Minds” of the people of Iraq. But why are you getting all bent out of shape over a few minutes of bravado by scared men thousands of miles away from home?

This IS a more PC and sensitive military. Could you see a vehicle being named “Kraut Killer” or “Jap Smasher” today? How about “Towelhead Terror” or “DuneCoon Dawg”

To get all bent out of shape about something as trivial this is really beneath you, and frankly less then what I have come to expect out of your blog. But I also see it as another symptom of what I perceive as a decline in the quality of your postings. I really think your getting silly about the Christian Right, getting worked up about little things like this.

You can of course tell me to fuck off. It’s your place. I’ll just go read Maureen Dowd. At least from her I expect it.

BTW

2005-05-02T23:17:00.000-07:00

I got an A for that Humanities writing...

And when I grow up to be an alchoholic I want to write like this

Charles Bukowski bar poet extrordinare.

When I lived in Salt Lake by myself in a little shithole of a one bedroom bungalo I'd walk home from a bar drunk, lay on my futon and think those long dark 3 am thoughts. The kind of thoughts that come to you after spending a good portion of the evening pounding beer and trying to find a girl to dance with at the Blue Goat. I probably should've drank less beer and learn to swing. But I found a certain humor in watching the girls get all gooey pantied out there with the gay guy who could dance. Knowing they were going home to a night of handcramps. Just like me.

Humanities assignment

2005-04-19T00:09:00.000-07:00

Went to the museum a few weeks ago, for my Humanities class. The Phoenix Art Museum had an Impressionist showing. A particular style I've never cared for. But the assignment was to pick a piece out and write a one page paper on it. I found some stuff in the Asian rooms but a painting I saw up stairs blew me away. Not knowing what to write or how to write it, I did what I do best...

I bullshited.

Serene (1997) is a simple painting of a harvested field by Gary Earnest Smith. The six foot 7 inch, oil on canvas painting dominates the Western American Gallery on the second floor of the Phoenix Art Museum.
A harvested field takes up the bottom 7/8ths of the canvas. At the horizon, hills can be seen far off in the distance. The hills clearly set the painting in the American West.
A line at the right marks the boundary of a separate field of fallow ground. The fallow ground shows the limitations of the land, and increases the importance of the harvested field to the farmer and to the viewer. The land thus becomes a scarce resource.
In the foreground of the painting, the chaff, straw, and debris of the harvest are shown continuing up throughout the field towards the horizon. The ground is dark and silvery gray, the color of frozen mud. The pale gray sky is the sky of late fall or early winter. No signs of snow are here, but the Earth and the Sky clearly show the oncoming approach of winter. The time of day is unknown and unimportant; it is the time of year that is important in this piece. There is nothing else in the painting.
Serene shows the viewer the accomplishment of the farmer. At this point in the painting, the year’s work is completed; the harvest is in and sold. A good price? A bad price? It is out of the farmer’s hands now, it is done, the ground lies still, and there is nothing to do here until spring. The farmer can rest for now; spend time with family and friends. Have a bit of his life back.
This is the serenity of an open field in early winter. It is the serenity of a completed job, a taken test, and a finished chore.
Or even a completed assignment.

Brain Cells and Canadians

2005-04-04T23:30:00.000-07:00

Crap, and here I was thinking I was not going to have anything to blog about this month.I am a lousy blogger. And I think one of the reasons is that blogs aren’t live journals.

Live Journals are nifty ways to have a chance to whine to all your friends at the same time, instead of having to call them up and whine separately or get together in a group and fight for attention from others.

I probably just lost friends with that last statement.

Any way, I think of blogs as the Synapses of the Neuron that is me. I interact with several blogs each day, they cover a myriad of topics, and after a while, I fire and shoot a signal down the chain and on this blog snap. This hopefully stimulates other neurons to hit their threshold levels and fire off themselves snap, snap, snap.

My problem lately is although there has been a great many things going on, I can’t seem to get myself worked up enough to fire off about them.

(I do however have a theory that we might be creating Super Blog Brains. If you’re interested, read The Wisdom of Crowds and get back me)

But tonight I think I just got triggered. I like blogs, I love them, they are the purest form of political expression I know of today. They work on the most basic of human principals and that is TRUST. Trust but verify. I can post any thing on this blog. And you, the reader, will accept it not accept it based on the trust level you have given me. You can verify my statement because a good blog will have BLUE text, denoting a link to the material cited. (MLA Nazis eat your heart out!!!). So, if I cite some thing I submit a link to the source of my information. I can then follow that source hopefully to the original source.

Modern Media, MSM, Jurassic Press or what ever you want to call them doesn’t do this. They’re limited by time constraints and the public’s attention span. So a 500-word newspaper article or a 2-minute filler piece can’t back up their statements as well as a blog can. This allows certain people with certain agendas to manipulate the public in ways that would give Goebbels a chubby.

There is also a second factor based in blogs. You have the ability to respond to what I write almost instantaneously. At the bottom of this post, there is a comment line. You can click on that and reply to my blog. All blogs have them. You can link to this blog and point out how much of an idiot I am. Expose my fallacies, discredit my sources, question my bias, laugh at my penis size, pretty much anything you want. Dan Rather doesn’t have a comment page. And carefully edited letters to the editor doesn’t count. There is a reason for this.

The bottom line is, if I speakth shit then I shall be judged as shit. And no one will read or give any credit to my blog.

Anyway that is the Readers Digest version of the rant you’d get if you asked me what’s so special about blogs. Except I spray spit and my face gets really red and I start jumping up and down waving my fists in the air. You’re probably better off just reading my blog then asking me these questions.

Anyway, back to the subject at hand. I get really hyper when people start messing around with free speech. I believe that truth grows in sunlight and lies spread in darkness. Any thing ill that’s spoken will be exposed for the corruption that it is given time. So, I question when anyone starts trying to deny others the right to speak.

I mean I’m used to France and their little attempts to control the thoughts of their people. I figure the French people are pretty much happier in their own little world so lets not let them in on the Joke.

San Francisco is our next stop, They’re not just happy registering your guns now they want your tongues. EEEEEEWWWWWW

And now CANADA. Oh mighty protector of our northern border. Our dearest ally. Homeland of Gordon Lightfoot. “Et Tu Eh?” <(Say that out loud it’s funny.) Canada is denying Canadian Bloggers the right to speak out against corruption in their government. Yes you can go to jail for talking about the Brault testimony. What’s the Brault testimony? Well read for yourself!!!!

I got this from Michelle Malkin…. (Sorry I always have to pause respectfully when I say her name. I think she’s living proof that God is a man and he loves Conservatives…)

On her site she has a great follow up on all that’s going on about this little issue north of our border.

So I’ll just leave you all with this link, Spread the love and all. Post it, talk about it, spread the light, illuminate the dark…

snap

Snap

SNAP

(P.S. One of the great things about blogs is that you can find a new one to read every night. Sort of like online porn. I found two new ones just following the Brault issue. Plus some old favorites I’ve not posted about before. Like Captain Ed, BoundbyGravity, and Colby Cosh.)

On Poetry

2004-12-14T22:40:00.000-08:00

As I’ve gotten older and if not wiser, at least more experienced. I’ve developed a greater appreciation of poetry.

When one is young poetry is something forced upon you, whether a school assignment or a friend notebook at lunch. It is something to be dreaded, as either another assignment or some questing face looking to you for appreciation or at least recognition. Either way it’s not going to be good.

This year however, mostly through the Internet, I’ve been introduced to more and more poems and small stories that strike chords on strings that have been tuned with time. (How’s that for a poetic line). It started with an article I was reading about the fighting in Afghanistan. It was about an officer in the army and his habit of quoting Robert William Service.

Now here’s a poet for me, his poetry! damn I just lost another 15 minutes of my life going through his works trying to find one about a dog. Not 15 minutes wasted time but time reading new and anew.

Unforgotten

I know a garden where the lilies gleam,

And one who lingers in the sunshine there;

She is than white-stoled lily far more fair,

And oh, her eyes are heaven-lit with dream!

I know a garret, cold and dark and drear,

And one who toils and toils with tireless pen,

Until his brave, sad eyes grow weary -- then

He seeks the stars, pale, silent as a seer.

And ah, it's strange; for, desolate and dim,

Between these two there rolls an ocean wide;

Yet he is in the garden by her side

And she is in the garret there with him.

THAT right there me boyos is words that will get you laid.

If that doesn’t do it for you then read his Song of the Wage Slave after a bad day at work.

Ah found it! The Outlaw

See I told you it was about a dog.

Damn so much for writing, got to much to read…

I Suck at this blogging stuff.

T'was the Night before...

2004-11-01T22:01:00.000-08:00

10:30 the night before the election and I’m up doing my homework.

My voting homework.

The First time I voted I walked into the booth and closed the curtain. Placed my happy little butterfly ballot in the machine and turned the first page. Real ballots you Florida morons. Put the fucking card in the slot; make sure you have both red tabs through the guide holes punch the pin ALL THE WAY THROUGH. I never could figure out why the Mormons in Utah had no problem bottoming out when Floridians couldn’t get it all the way in.
Any way…
Then I turned the next page, and the next and the next….No one had ever explained to me before that not only do you have the Federal and State positions to vote for, but you also have propositions and judges and dogcatchers to vote for also. So now I sit up the night before and read all the information I can on the local stuff. Just so I can drive my little voting pin ALL THE WAY THROUGH the right hole. And just so I can say I made my bet….I’m supporting Bush.
I think the race is too close to be called. But the Iowa Market closed tonight with Bush up so that’s a plus. And Real Clear Politics at the last polls I saw showed that Bush could probably lose another .5% in all the states and still win. So I’ll call it for Bush with 289 electorial votes and 49% of total votes with Kerry in a near tie and Nader and the Libertarians and what not taking the rest.
I think Kerry winning could be the best thing to happen to the Democrats in a long time.

I think Kerry losing could be the best thing to happen to the Democrats in a long time.

Either way I think this will be a good year for the country. Bush wins and we keep on fighting terrorism. Kerry wins and the Democratic Party has to realized how fucked up they are to nominate a guy like him. My bet is the man is impeached or gone in the first year. (I heard some great conspiracy theories on that one…)
Kerry looses and the Democrats have an absolute conniption trying to figure out how they lost to Bush. Hopefully they’ll look in the mirror before they start looking for the Karl Rove Konspiracy Krew.
Anyway I’ll probably be up to 3 in the morning again tomorrow. Hope to see you all there!Oh and BTW….PUSH ALL THE WAY THROUGHCLEAN OFF ANY LOOSE CHADSAnd if we have some damn state fuck this up again with little old ladies crying that they couldn’t understand the instructions or people didn’t know where to go or how to vote, I will personally drive to your state in my little black truck and execute every last one of you mother fuckers….

Bad Poetry

2004-10-22T23:19:00.000-07:00

Be careful Children as you will see
As you go surfing with fiendish glee
Scurry down the shining thread
Deeper in the Spiders Web.
Looking for what your heart may yearn
You'll never know what's around the next turn.

Still killing time at School...

2004-10-12T22:47:00.000-07:00

For those of you who don't know Steve Earle, he's a Country artist responsible for the songs Guitar Town and Copperhead Road. He's also responsible for stiring up a bit of trouble in Nashville with his album Jerusalem and his song John Walker's Blues. He is also one of my favorite artists, although I don't agree with alot of his positions. He is currently on Air America on Sunday nights at 10pm.

One of my favorite songs of his is Ellis Union One. Which always reminds me of a post I did on The Firing Line a few years ago back in my gun nut days.

please remember that this was written a few years ago. I've edited it a bit.

About 10:30 Mountain Time this morning I was going though my Morning Ritual; Cup of coffee, Three Browsers up and Running, One on TFL another on CNN and a third on http://www.realclearpolitics.com. When a Phrase from Peggy Noonan’s article on England leapt out at me from my normal scan for content mode. “(His name was Rickey Ray Rector, and he famously told his guards minutes before he was taken to the death chamber that he wouldn't eat his dessert right now, he'd save it for later.)”

Whoa

stop scanning

back up

Initiate Level 2 Liberal Media Bias screening programs, and reread the paragraph:

“Enter Bill Clinton, a man of the left who was a reformer of the left and who, having seized the Democratic presidential nomination, moved to seize the restless and prosperous middle of America."

(Cancel Liberal Media Bias Protocols, initiate Conservative Opinion Page Protocols)

"To an extent he had a clear philosophy--expressed not by him, but by the intelligent and accomplished Susan Estrich, Michael Dukakis's campaign manager in 1988, who told me in 1992 that she was tired of losing elections over the death penalty. She would now support those who were for it, such as Mr. Clinton, who made his point by sending a brain-damaged Arkansas man to his death during the campaign. (His name was Rickey Ray Rector, and he famously told his guards minutes before he was taken to the death chamber that he wouldn't eat his dessert right now, he'd save it for later.)”

“Wow,” I thought, “this man, (Rector) didn’t know what was going on, or had a sense of humor.” But the context must be remembered and if it were humor then this man wouldn’t have been remembered for an article like this. Plus there is the mention that the man was Brain Damaged.

Kill all browsers, initiate search for Rickey Ray Rector. Simply Put, Rickey was a bad guy who got into a gunfight with a police officer then shot and killed him. After the fact, he then put the gun to his head and blew himself back to the First Grade, effectively giving himself a frontal Lobotomy. When Rickey's time came, then candidate Bill Clinton flew from the New Hampshire campaign trail to Arkansas to “Personally Oversee” Rickey’s execution. Proving himself as a “New Democrat” and “Tough on Crime”. Rickey however had no real idea what was going on and during his last meal had asked for his slice of Pecan Pie to be saved so he could eat it later.

Later while he was in the execution chamber, Ricky had attempted to help the medics find a suitable vein. Only when the medics were forced to perform a “Cutdown” (when the patients arm is cut to expose a vein) did Rickey realize that he was not simply at the doctors for a check up.

There is not a lot of media play on this available but check the web to find corresponding stories of the execution.

At first this did nothing else but remind me that Bill Clinton is not a Nice Guy and I’m glad he’s not in office anymore. But then in my searching I found this account of what Bill was doing the night Rickey Died: http://mai.flora.org/forum/10984

“She told him: 'I just wanted to let you know that I'm praying for youAbout the execution tonight,' and he replied in a groan: 'it's just awful. Just terrible, terrible.' As she recalls it now, 'I heard in his voice a self - a depth of anguish - I'd never, never heard in him before.' She then told him: 'you know, he's not even dead yet.' 'What?' she remembers him exclaiming. 'What?' From his startlement, it was obvious to her that the conference in which he had been absorbed had not exactly been a 'blow by blow' account of Rector's fate Staley then told him: 'Bill, I'm so sorry. We've had two executions this week, haven't we.' She meant the Flowers allegations. 'He just groaned,' she remembers, and they moved on to discussing that topic. Ultimately, she says, the conversation wound up 'much more about the Gennifer Flowers matter' than about what was happening to Rector at that moment down at Cummins.”

So now he Really isn’t a Nice Guy and I’m Really Glad he’s not in office anymore. Then my train of thought wanders to our government in general. And how stupid a populace needs to be to elect a person like that.

How Screwed up it’s got to be to have a person like Clinton being your last hope for life and he’s off worrying about some tail that he got a few years ago and doesn’t even know whether your dead or not.

And he’s only letting you die so he can get a few more votes, and what kind of dicked up system lets a man die for nothing more than political points?

And then it hit me. I don’t believe that any system that could allow a man to be put to death based on whether or not it is politcialy expedient or beneficial to the deciding individual has the moral authority to condemn a man to death.

I believe in the death penalty. I don’t believe that our government is sufficiently evolved enough to make these decisions. Our courts are over crowded; our Public Defenders are over worked. Our Juries are made up of 12 people who couldn’t come up with a sufficient story to get out of duty. Our District Attorneys are out to make names for themselves to further their careers. The FBI will hide evidence from the case and actively cover up the investigation. And our Governors are too busy dealing with the problems their dicks got them into, to give sufficient thought to the matters at hand.

When I was a child in Colorado I was taught that the beauty of the American Justice System is that we’d rather let 50 guilty men go free, then to let one innocent man be falsely imprisoned. I believe now that 50 guilty men should live so that one innocent man should live also.

Illinois Governor Ryan last year announced a moratorium on executions until he could "be sure with moral certainty" that there would not be any more wrongful executions. I think this is a good idea, and it should be nation wide. I also think that the best way to catapult this issue to the center ring of our political circus is for President Bush to order a stay of execution for Timothy McViegh. If the man is to pay his debt to our society, let him start by being the catalyst of change. Comments? Suggestions?

Mea Culpa

2004-09-28T09:27:00.000-07:00

Well if anyone has been paying attention, you’ve just gotten a great example of why I shouldn’t be allowed to have pets. I’m easily distracted by bright shiny objects which is pretty much the reason why I’ve not been posting.That and school. In fact here’s a story I had to write for a class, modified to the way I wanted to write it instead of how they made me do it.

When the Student is Ready, a Teacher will Come.

After High School and before college I joined the Marine Reserves. My job was “LAV Crewman”. This means I drove and operated armored vehicles. I had been in for a few years and had my own vehicle and crew. I had also taken on the position of trainer for new drivers. This is a job that requires patience and understanding, and the ability to find the best way to get the needed skills into the brains of people. I like to think I was pretty good at it.

A Marine that joins our unit comes out of school with a basic understanding of how everything works. He knows how to steer, shift, and maneuver the vehicles. But they don’t really know how to drive it.

An LAV is a 14 ton vehicle with a 25mm Chain gun. It’s designed for reconnaissance and scouting, which translates as driving around and seeing what’s going on. They have very little armor. Just about everything bigger then a machine gun will punch right through it, destroying the vehicle and killing everyone inside

The best defense of an LAV is that they are fast. They can travel up to 60 mph off road. This means that despite anything you might have heard about the Marines, we spent a lot of our time learning how to run away. Driving the vehicle is one of the most important skills on the vehicle. Everyone’s life depends on the driver to operate the vehicle safely and skillfully.

My Driver for our two week summer camp name was Green. And he lived up to his name. He was right out of LAV school, and he had come back to the unit two weeks before. He understood the vehicle, he knew the mechanics of it, but didn’t have a lot of time behind the wheel actually learning the skills. That’s why we have our two weeks to train.

Through out the two weeks my only complaint about Green was a lack of aggression. When we moved from position to position you need to move FAST. He drove like my Grandmother, crawling along on a Sunday drive to church.

For two weeks I worked with Green, trying everything I knew to get him more comfortable with driving. I kept trying to encourage him to learn the limits of the machine and himself. Even getting to the point where we were drag racing other vehicles and taking extra time to go out driving with just the two of us to test his skills. But what ever we did, nothing seemed to work.

After Two weeks I was getting pretty frustrated. Green was too, and he was getting sulky since I was hounding him so much. I was starting to think he’d do better in the Scouts and was considering getting him moved into that position.

On one of the last days, we were running an exercise. Green was having a hard time keeping position with the other vehicles, which resulted in a lot of radio calls from my platoon leader to keep up. Finally I lost it.

“Damn it Green! If you don’t move it I’ll rip you out of that seat and let one of the scouts drive!” is what I think I yelled. I probably cursed more. I do that.

For the first time all week, Green found the gas pedal and we went off like a shot, passing up the other vehicles in a cloud of dust. This was fine. What wasn’t fine was the fact we were headed right towards some rocks and ravines. Some of these were big enough to roll the vehicle.

”Slow Down Green”

No response.

”Green look out for the ravine”

Nothing.

“Green STOP!”

Now I know to this day, Green heard me, but he was going to show me something. And he had had enough of me griping about his driving and he was going to teach me a lesson. I know this because I was a smartass driver once myself.

BOOM we hit the first hill.WEEEE we went flying.

SLAM went the hatches on the Scout Compartment. ”STOP!” I screamed.

At this point I know I swore, but in the interest of keeping the story brief and family friendly I won’t use the language I used right then. ”UFFFF” the sound we all made when Green slammed on the breaks, throwing us againstvarious hard parts of the vehicle.
At this point I was probably the maddest I’ve ever been before in my life. I reached up and ripped my helmet off my head and threw it at Green.

The Crewman’s vehicle helmet differs from the military helmet you’re used to seeing on the news, by the fact that it has a headset and microphone built into it. This attaches to the communication system of a vehicle by the use of a Yo-yo cord, which is springy and bounces like its name. It also has a small connector on it that allows the cord to be removed from the helmet so people can get off the vehicle without taking their helmet off. I had forgotten all of this when I threw the helmet at Green. The helmet flew at the back of Green’s head like a lighting bolt from an angry god stretching the cord until the connecter gave way. And like any good Greek tragedy, my weapon became my downfall. The yo-yo cord reversed its direction and flew back at me, hitting me square in the Adam’s apple.

Now I was pissed.

I leaped out of the turret and jumped down to the driver’s compartment. I wound up above Green’s compartment on top of the vehicle, straddling the drivers hatch.I yelled at him, asked if he was stupid, if he wanted to get people killed. And that he was going to do just that if he didn’t learn to drive. I yelled at him that his job was the most important job on that vehicle. If he drove too slow we’d all die, and if he drove stupid, he’d roll the vehicle and we’d all die.

Calming down, I explained that every time he got behind that wheel, he was responsible for the other six people on the vehicle, and we depended on him to drive the vehicle well because we were a team. And the team is what keeps you alive. I could tell I said something that finally registered with him. I could see it in his eyes. It was no longer a sullen look I was so used to seeing from Green, but something else.

I recovered my helmet and got back into the turret and made him turn around and do it again, And again. And Again. This did not impress the rest of the people in the vehicle that much, but he did get better. By the end of the two weeks I had a driver.

Next year when we were out on our two week exercise, I drove by another vehicle. There was a Marine on top off the vehicle yelling at a new driver. Sure enough, it was Green.

Just a quick jot...

2004-09-01T22:38:00.000-07:00

I want to be the first on the record to say that I think the Republican's are making a full court press for the Security Mom vote. Laura Bush last night, Zell Miller's fire and brimstone speech tonight, both seem to be running under the "Vote Bush: He'll protect your children". Watch for more from Bush tomorrow.

Well Well Well

2004-08-31T16:47:00.000-07:00

Looks like there’s a ministorm going on in the old Blogosphere today. Andrew Sullivan is bemoaning the “smear campaign” that the Swift Vets have unleashed, and is reciting almost chapter and verse Kerry’s speaking points. Adding to his Blog is two letters to him he’s posted. One is a response to his posting of earlier, and the other a response to that letter. I’m starting to think that Sullivan is suffering from the same burnout that Den Beste is. But since his blog isn’t a labor of love, or a hobby, so he needs to respond in a different way. In his case, a bad case of Helsinki Syndrome. He even posts about Den Beste earlier in today’s writings.

On Beste’s site he posts a link from another blog from a guy who refers to Beste as a “pious dink”. Lovely.

My favorite:

“I've been at this a long time. I know what's important, and a pompous ignoramus like Den Beste doesn't qualify. He's a run-of-the-mill, rote, conservative, which means: when it comes to politics and the whole cultural and philosophical underpinning of the thing, he couldn't think his way to the nearest light-switch on the wall with the earnest intent to flip the thing on.”

A quick perusal of his site shows me my greatest fear as a blogger. He’s got a good blog, and a lot of nice little essays. But with one off the cuff remark he comes across as an idiot. I was tempted to just take one look at his post and his picture and click on my merry little way. But I found another blog to add to my readings. This is my little life lesson to you all today. Don’t run your fool mouth off about someone else’s blog until you know what the fuck you are talking about. And Never judge a Blogger by his latest writings.

Oh and yes, I tend towards being a hypocrite.

I’m going to run though this blog tonight, and reserve my opinion about the man till I’m done. Then I’ll probably post my opinion here.

Well the writers are coming back to Blogistrano

2004-08-29T22:39:00.000-07:00

Andrew Sullivan is back from his vacation. His first post of his visit to the Cape instantly reminded me why I like reading him.
His follow up postings however makes me wonder where he's gone. There's been a lot of negative commentary about him since his leftward fall. Filled with that special venom reserved for those who have tasted salvation, then turned away from the true path.
As I see it, he hasn't really left the Republican's. The Republican's left him. The upcoming Civil war in the Republican party is starting. With the Social Conservatives attempting to further an agenda that the Moderate and Liberal Conservatives feel uncomfortable with. The Libertarian Wing of the Republicans will take umbrage with this I'm sure. I hope. With the Democrats fielding their farleft bench warmers as their primary candidates, And the Santoums coming out of the closet on the Right. It's no wonder the nation is as polarized as it is. Fact is, I'd probably be following him but the Democrats managed to pick the one person out of the field that I'd never vote for.

USS Clueless is back. And he's a broken man. The bastards finally got to him. Reminds me of one of my favorite bumberstickers.

"Never argue with an Idiot. They drag you down to their level, then beat you with experience."

Woke Up this Morning...

2004-08-25T09:54:00.000-07:00

Got your self a Gun...

Actually this morning was NPR talking about the resignations of people from Bush's campaign for working on 527's. As found here on Drudge. I wondered to myself how long it would be until someone found MoveOn and crew working for Kerry.

Not long it seems,

someone who is rapidly moving into my morning reading lineup is NZBEAR. I don't know his story yet but he seems to do more research and fact checking then the whole staff of the NEW YORK TIMES. Read his story here.

I have an essay rattling around in my head about blogs taking over the Old media's job of being the 4th Estate and what not. It's a biggie and ties into a couple others I'm working on. Maybe if I wait long enough someone else will write it for me.

Hattip COLD FURY for the guide to Da Bear.

Starting on our Search for Content.

2004-08-23T23:34:00.000-07:00

The Posting below was a short little ditty I started a while back. I had recently come back from a yuppie bar watching Plastic Women chasing Plastic Men and was in a snit. Take that night; add in a six-pack, some self-pity and a personal Philosophy that states that some people are only alive today because Saber-tooth Tigers are extinct, and you get that story.

To the Right you’ll see I’ve made some modifications to the sidebar. First Addition is my favorite Blogs, in no particular order. More will be added as time goes by, but as of right now these are the ones I hit every day.
The list is messy right now because I’m having problems with the HTML action behind the scenes. If I try and get one per line, it screws it up and starts adding extra characters. Don’t ask me why, I’m not much of a computer guy.

A Brief Review of the Blogs.
First Off we have USS CLUELESS by Steven Den Beste. If you ever heard of some idea and think to yourself: “That probably can’t work”. Search his site to see if he’s written on it. Well written and fun to read you WILL wind up learning something. I spent a week going through every single page I could get on that site and my brain grew by 2 hat sizes. Satisfaction guaranteed. My girlfriend is Much happier now! I no longer have to feel ashamed at the gym knowing people are looking at my small head. Thanks Mr. Den Beste!!!
He’s been on Hiatus for a while; I check back everyday waiting for my new fix.

Next we have EJECT EJECT EJECT by Bill Whittle. Pilot and Bard the man is a Master of the Gut Punch. That magical feeling when the author waits to the last few lines to really lay it on you. But you never saw it coming because you were too caught up reading the story. It’s called a Gut Punch because when it hits all you can make is a gasping sob sound. Don’t believe me? Try COURAGE to start.
Also been off for a while, Posts Bi-weekly or so.

ANDREW SULLIVAN was my first. And that’s a very loaded statement. A Gay Catholic Conservative, his writings on the Church and current events are striking. Yet another blogger who’s taken August off, but he always does that. Go and read his published essays. He’s the only one I have up that’s actually a real writer. (That I know of.)He’s been slipping off the left side of the charts since Bush started supporting the FMA. But he was loosing his support for Bush back when the deficit started growing.

Michael Gene Hendrix runs COLD FURY. He’s a musician and badass out of North Carolina. He’s about Cars, Women, Motorcycles and generally kicks ass. His rants on politics are great. He doesn’t talk a lot about himself, which is rare in the Blogosphere. If I had to pass out awards I’d give him the Bukowski Medal of Honor. His format is pretty much the way I see this blog winding up, A lot of posting, mostly referencing other blogs or articles on the Web, with color commentary. I did however, like his blog better when he had the Pinups on it.

PHANTOM OF CRANK WHORE is the last on the list. It’s new, very new, and was started by a guy I work with who wanted to comment on my blog. I don’t know how much info he wants out on the web, or if he’s even going to start really posting. But he is my first ever comment so I’ll put his blog up and leave his name off. I’m hoping he starts movie or book reviews. A topic of much of our smoke breaks at work.

The reason Sabertooth tigers are extinct.

2004-08-22T19:11:00.000-07:00

It is my belief that Society started going down hill when the Sabertooth Tiger got itself extinct. But the funny thing is it’s only been in the last few years that We have understood WHY Saber’s went out of business, and the true horrifying effects of this tragedy. Anthropologists have discovered that the reason that Sabertooths are no more is because of two reasons.

Sex and Fashion

Yep ladies and gentlemen one of the greatest predators ever to prowl the jungle got whacked off by man’s desire to not to have to.
(Read that again, you’ll get it)

Sex is a pretty powerful drive and men will do some pretty stupid things for it. Like tricks on motorcycles, or bungee jumping or listening to Celine Dion. But it was in the earliest times that men would do REALLY stupid stuff, like going after 1 ton man eating cats with sharp little pointy sticks.

It is hypothesized that the first “kill” probably wasn’t an actual kill but an accident. Grog the caveman got lucky running for his life from one of the big kitties. Cat probably missed and impaled himself on a tree or something dumb. For no SANE man would go after one. (Note this statement for future reference.) But Man being a scavenger, and an opportunist, quickly deprived the Tiger of his fur and strolled back to camp decked out in his new duds. Which must have been quite a scene. So Grog got him self a new set of clothes and a reputation for being a badass. Now do you really think he could’ve told the truth when some little cavegirl thing looked at him with those big round firm eyes and asked him where he got his fur from? Bastard lied though his teeth, that’s what he did. And like all men have since.

So Grog got the girl. Sounds like a nice story, happily ever after, blah, blah, blah roll credits, fade to black.

But it doesn’t end there.

Because Grog’s buddies noticed what happened. And what was happening, every night when they were trying to sleep, but couldn’t what with all the moaning, yelling and screaming going on. And they were pretty smart people too, figuring out that if they wanted to be doing some moaning, yelling and screaming they should be looking to find some of those Tiger Fur coats too, because the girls really liked them, and they could be found hanging around with Grog. (Who up to that time had been sort of a geek.) So the Best and Brightest went out trying to find some of those coats. And some of the Worst and Dimmest too. Which things being as things are, tend to make for Fat Happy Tigers, and a whole lot of moaning, yelling and screaming going on from the survivors.

But after a while, the children of the survivors got smarter. This being a direct result of all the yelling and screaming going on. And the Cats got Fatter until it really was no contest. Smart survivors, (Real ones, not the television show ones, Ever try and Vote a 1 ton kitty off your chest? Ain’t gonna happen.) And the Cats became extinct. So Man had to move off to other furs, then to cotton and other fibers and eventually to Plastic. Which doesn’t run at all, is relatively non-threatening, and makes for Fat Happy People.

Unfortunately we ran out of Tigers before we ran out of the Worse and Dimmest. Who quickly, with the discovery of Plastic, invaded bars and lounges waving their plastic around, in a pathetic attempt to prove that they can function, (if not as a provider then at least as a borrower), in what can barely still be recognized as the ancient mating ritual. The Best and Brightest stumbled around in confusion, unable to tell Which was Which and Who’s was Who’s. Then the Plastic really started working and enhanced the individuals by creating Breasts where there were none and Hair where it was once barren. The Worst and Dimmest (WDs) were able to fully integrate themselves with the Best and Brightest (BBs).

And then the BBs bred in with the WDs. Increasing the population of the WD’s. (WD being a dominant gene). Soon the world was over run with Salesreps and Midlevel Managers, Used car salesmen, Mall Security guards and Realtors.

Which is why Sabertooth tigers are extinct.

And why it’s still called “Pussy” today.

First Virgin post and a look at our Upcoming Highlights

2004-08-22T18:53:00.000-07:00

And on the 22nd Day, of the Eighth Month, Of the Year 2004 AD. (Note "AD" none of that "CE" crap here!) Being the 4th year Of the Holy Reign of George the Second, Infidel Slayer. I set Fingers to Keys in a vain attempt to leave my mark in the world. To step up and Fight the Good Fight. And add my self to the great subconscious that is the Net...