Jet lag

I truly am dumber than a sack of hair. When I originally wrote the previous post, I correctly named Babs Boxer as the villain who jumped Dr. Rice. Sitting in front of my chronically malfunctioning HAL-9000 computer, finally safe in the nest after days of enduring airline security, I broke stupid and blamed Nan Pelosi.

Perhaps I am too eager to want to dislike Ms. Pelosi. I suppose I owe her an apology for confusing her with Ms. Boxer.

Perhaps I can blame the mistake on jet lag. Rushing through transportation hubs, all I basically caught was a soundtrack and fleeting images of an angry, fist-shaking woman (much like my ex-wife). I knew it was Boxer, but my wrung-out brain said “Pelosi”.

I am not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

I swear, those two women are interchangeable. Give her some time, and Madame Pelosi will commit a similar outrage. I corrected the names in the previous post, but perhaps I should have left the names blank, so my Constant Readers can go back and fill them in as the insults appear.

The gist of what I said about “the honeymoon” stands on its own. Pelosi, Boxer, Murtha, Kerry, Hilly… the Usual Suspects will be lining up. “Bipartisanship” lasted about 48 hours.

The Democrat party will last about 24 months.

Thank God.

The honeymoon's over, isn't it?

I have been hiding in places that the most fevered Constant Reader’s imagination cannot conjure. Nevertheless, America is there. In the most desolate place imaginable, a group of people were huddled around a satellite TV, transfixed by a Hollyweird offering from the ‘90s: “Alien Resurrection”. Early on, before the SFX kick in big-time, a sweaty, sexy Sigourney Weaver delivers a head-snapping line: “Was it all you’d hoped for?”

Maybe you just had to be there, but hearing this offhand remark, emanating from a TV in the middle of nowhere, was a true Zen moment.

I vowed in my personal communications that I wouldn’t do a travel-blog, so we won’t. Suffice it to say that America—love us or hate us—is everywhere, and I was never out-of-touch with unfolding events here at Great Satan Central.

Stating specifically who was disgusted by the exchange between Dr. Rice and Babs Boxer would betray where I was hiding, so you’ll have to trust me; Richard Nixon’s “Silent Majority” is alive and well. That majority isn’t just Americans any longer; like the commercial about “not your daddy’s Buick” [whatever...], the silent majority is hiding out there in the greater world, waiting to see what the last superpower will do next.

I’ll be interested to see that outcome, too.

As a Nam-era baby, I’ll be transfixed by the images of millions dying if we cut and run in Iraq. I am not happy with the war, and now consider it ill-conceived, but we are committed, so there. Like “A Clockwork Orange”, I thought it would be a bit of the old in and out. (Please bear in mind that I am dumber than a sack of hair.) Do any of my Constant Readers remember Dr. Hang Nor and the killing fields of Cambodia? In Ye Olde Days, when the New York Times did journalism instead of partisan advocacy, they ran some compelling articles about the price of extremism.

Returning to Babs Boxer, I have a question. What… if I didn’t have children, I’m not entitled to formulate a moral judgment? The pundits have long since weighed in with their opinions about her denigration of feminist thought. Let’s take it a step further.

My oldest daughter is married, and rapidly becoming too old for military enlistment. My younger is headed in other directions, but in the event of War IV going totally proactive, she’d head the enlistment line.

Everyone forms moral judgments, hopefully. It’s part of being “normal”, as opposed to being some flavor of psychopath. Whether or not I agree with the essence of policy decisions by those who lead my country, I will always favor those who have the courage to form a moral opinion and stick by it. The alternative is the “form over substance” gang, and policies made by those poll-driven idiots whose concern about reelection supersedes any consideration of the welfare of the American people. You don’t have to be a card-carrying Libertarian to understand this, do you?

I have a certain moral and emotional investment in Vietnam. As a Ranger, I also have a sense of loss that Ms. Boxer will never understand because of the cut-and-run misadventures of Willie the Zipper in Somalia in 1993. Don't patronize me about war! We might not have been related by genetics, but those were my people being dragged through the streets of Mogadishu. They didn’t have to be my blood relatives for me to form an emotional bond, and make [imaginary] policy decisions in my mind.

(My decisions were fortunately imaginative, as they involved the deployment of tactical nuclear technology, in that instance.)

Ms. Boxer's ill-considered remarks to Dr. Rice echoed around the world. They were the perfect illustration of the liberal dogma of “form over substance”. People in distant, dark corners of the world howled with laughter at "the new most powerful woman in America."

That “bi-partisan cooperation” honeymoon lasted less than a week, didn’t it?

It’s more like “Slam the doors, arm yourselves, and prepare to repel boarders!”

I love it when people in positions of national power prove little people like me to be correct. It restores my faith in mainstream America.

This might be misinterpreted coming from a Georgian white boy; we ain’t all Klansmen. Osama Bamalama—thank you, Ted Kennedy—had better watch his six… that is to say, his butt. He’s playing power politics with the most powerful Socialist cartel on earth… the Clintons. I will credit the honorable Senator from Illinois with one thing: He is forcing She-devil Hillary to unmask her centrist lies before she could hoodwink the entire nation. Bamalama’s early deployment of a knight is forcing premature castling from the El Camino/Astroturf fun couple, a.k.a. Bill and Hilly. (You chess players know whereof I speak.) In a rare glance at some writing on chess, I learned that this ploy is actually an opening move named after some Russian.

(Checkers is more my speed.)

I’m too old to care much. I pity my children, but America is doomed, as was the Roman Empire. Electing Hilly and Bamalama as president and VP, respectively, will only hasten our demise into dhimmitude, and provide me with some vast amusement for the passing of my days. We'll need a caretaker Emperor for the death of days.

Spooky speaks

Spooky speaks. An AC-130 is also known as Puff the Magic Dragon. This thing fires ordnance as fast as you can draw breath.

Built to replace the C-47, this is the fastest meanest cat in the Air Force. I would not want to be on the receiving end of one these puppies. Spooky rains death faster than any aircraft I can think of.

Bill Clinton recalled my Rangers before we got payback in 1994. Today’s strafing is minor payback. A pass by Spooky is a minor shot. When those electric Gatling guns open, they look like lasers coming out of the night sky.

I hear that some Al Qaeda big-shots heard the voice of Spooky, and died as a result. I am not terribly concerned, and have requested that some decent Christians give some counseling. I am an indecent Christian, and have a simple solution to terrorism: kill them.

I am perhaps not right. The voice of Spooky, a.ka. Puff the Magic Dragon, was heard speaking from the night sky. That is a powerful and terrible voice, and one that has been missing from the national dialogue for far too long.

Thanks to so many...

Once again I have to thank my constant readers. The voice of the possum stretches from Australia to Germany. I never knew so many people could be reached.

Many are only in here for page views, out of curiosity. Some are in here for the long haul, to see what outrageous statements I’ll make next. I thank every one for taking a peek. I never knew that my simple words would reach so far. Germany, Australia, Japan. Wow!

I’m a simple-minded American who speaks my mind. Thank you for tuning in, even if it’s just a page view and simple curiosity. The Net has given me a voice. I must learn to use this power for good. Thank you for those one-time page visits. For my constant readers, bless you. I hope I won’t disappoint in the future. There is a lot of comedy coming down the pike with the Democrats.

Lives will be lost due to partisan negligence. We will stop laughing at some point. The ruling political party will eventually shrug and admit they have no solutions. By then a thermonuclear holocaust will have ensued. Except for the lives lost, this would make for the highest form of black comedy.

Again, thanks to my constant readers. I do not look forward to the day when “I told ya so!”

Just enjoying the holidays, thank you!

Terrible computer problems have kept me offline for several days. I have also been a victim of post-holiday ignorance, apathy, and indifference: “I don’t know, I don’t care, and it doesn’t matter anyhow.”

I am grateful to those who instantly fired off e-mails taking me to task with a [their] perceived suggestion that I meant to quit UPI. I never meant to suggest such a thing! I was simply looking for a rhetorical sign-off so I could take a break over the New Year’s holiday. On one hand, Nan Pelosi makes me want to hide under the nearest rock, and on the other hand, I can’t wait for the coming to fruition of the liberal dream.

Quitting now would be a betrayal of the wealth of comedic material that powers Rush Limbaugh’s EIB empire. Gosh, one of them big-time magazines says us little bloggers is “People of the Year”. What a cop-out! “I” is now is the biggest thing in history! What a hoot, and a corruption of an idea!

Time magazine once named Adolph Hitler as “Man of the Year”. On behalf of the world-wide staff of United Possums International, we’re certainly honored to be included in such esteemed company. We also decline the honor. Thanks, but no thanks. Speaking one’s mind is an inherent right, not a subject for a year-end magazine article.

Taking a shotgun approach to current events, I am greatly affected by the yin-yang cosmic balance of recent days.

I woke one morning with a sense that the world was a cleaner place. Out of touch with the news, I lit up the satellite and heard Saddam Hussein had taken his third swing, this time at the end of a rope. Good riddance to bad rubbish; we may get into the politics of his taking a swing, but I really don’t care. There are people who deserve to die, and when they reach that point, they are road apples on the path of life. I don’t care about the circumstances that led him to that final point, and I most certainly don’t care about his defenders at the New York Times.

I take the simple, legally-defensible-in-Georgia attitude: “He needed killing.”

The death of Gerald Ford supplies balance. Like many other Chevy-Chase-fueled children of the ‘70s, I thought the man was a clown and an oaf. He was neither.

Gerald Ford was a patriot, and I don’t care about the contrived controversy of the Nixon pardon. Ford was a simple man, which endeared him to my [at the time] liberal self. He provided me with a transition between Tricky Dick Nixon and the future of the White House. Who can forget "Whip Inflation Now"? Let's "WIN!"

Being a simple man, I like kindred spirits. Gerald Ford was one of those. I have a question mark about what he learned on the Warren Commission into the JFK assassination. I’ll let that go; it’s a secret for my children to unravel.

I am genuinely grieved to see President Ford go. It is the end of a political era. He pardoned a scoundrel, but Nixon was a grand scoundrel, and would not have destroyed America. Perhaps, recognizing this, President Ford Pardoned the man we loved to hate. We no longer have grand scoundrels; we have little mongrels like the incoming Speaker of the House.

I once offered to hold a dog for a woman who sought to enter a public building while leaving the critter locked up in a van. I was smoking a cigarette outside the public building, and will not tolerate animals left inside cars and trucks while their owners seek personal gratifications within.

I have a bad habit of breaking vehicle windows to make sure dogs are breathing, drinking water, and otherwise all right. Notes to owners and insurance agents read: “Bystanders think I am leaving my phone number under your windshield…they are wrong.”

While assured that the dog was peaceful, this lady’s creature urinated on me, defecated on me, and bit my hand to the point of drawing blood. Little dogs behave that way.

Looking back, I consider that dog a metaphor for Islam. The owner kept crying “she doesn’t bite!” I was bloody and struggling to control the critter, all because I’d sought to do a good deed.

No dogs were harmed in the formation of this analogy.

My homeboy, Jimmy “Mr. Peanut” Carter, swung into office on a promise of bi-partisanship, balances of power, and a “healing” of the nation. He promised great ethical reform. He then proceeded to do more damage than external aliens until 2001. As a fellow Georgian, I can do nothing but hang my head and mutter.

Having lost the mid-terms—although no one took me up on my standard $100 bet—I have a new one: an office pool-type thing.

My birthday is 11 February [hold the cards, please!]. I made a private wager today, and I’ll take it public, with permission. Despite Dem rhetoric of bipartisanship, before my birthday of 11 Feb 2007, some Democrat will introduce articles of impeachment against the President of the United States. That’s the bet. One sitting Congressperson has already done so. I win, off the jump. The deck's stacked. Any takers for this wager?

Queen Pelosi says this is off the table; I have another vision for the coming view of America. A friend gave me some jive for America moving forward; "let’s not get mired in some prehistoric vision of nuclear disaster."

I don’t believe a word Dems say. This is a party mired in hatred of the “stolen elections”, and the prospect of power will have them wetting their pants faster than crack cocaine offered to a six-year-old. They have no solutions, so they will claim to atone for past “ethical” sins by seeking imaginative legislative and civil sins in their imaginary "Kumbayah"world.

If a simple man, and someone as graceful as Gerald Ford stood for president today, I would have no hesitation in my voting. I am on record as supporting Joe Lieberman, a Democrat, and, my shameful vote for Carter. Nevertheless, I am a conservative libertarian. You have to decipher what that sort of assertion means. I suggest starting with Ayn Rand and thinking.

Acting upon personal knowledge is a challenge, but one my faithful readers can achieve. All you have to do is challenge lifetime beliefs.

President Ford will be greatly missed. In what was misapplied as his bumbling ways, he healed my country in the wake of a grand scoundrel. Joni Mitchell said it best: “You never know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.”

We will miss Gerald Ford, our former president. Given a year or so for his Ba’athist children to stop squalling, no one will miss Saddam. Dead is gone in the religion of the sword.

Saddam no longer counts. Gerald Ford counted for everything. History judges all. Gerald Ford wins. Saddam Hussein loses.