A lost comment

I tried to post this as a comment to my pal Hawkeye's take on 9/11. I have a lot of sign-in problems with Blogger™, dating back to their takeover by the Google™ monster and subsequent screwing of this modest blog. They require a sign-in to post comments, but when I try to comply, they tell me I already exist, and I should try again. Then we begin an endless feedback loop between my password and their mistaken reading of my e-mail address.

No matter. Rule #1 is "Don't sweat the small stuff." Rule #2 is "98% of everything is small stuff."

Hawkeye [link to "View From Above" is at right in the links column] posted about those whom I call "death cultists". As usual, he is right on with his commentary. I tried to say a few words, and got balked. Here ya go:

"First off, let me thank you for the kind words you left at my blog as a comment on reading my dad's murder file. I can only paraphrase one piece of Scrpture off the top of my head; it's the last two verses of Ecclesiastes, the part about giving my life to know madness and folly.

That would lead directly into a comment about the state of mind of the jihadists. I have more than a passing acquaintence with evil, and if I've learned anything about the nature of the beast, it's that it's an unthinking creature.

Illness and frustration have shortened my fuse. The failure of good Muslims - and I know they're out there - to step up to the plate and denounce the death cultists only results in a blanket dismissal that they're all "heathen mother%#@!$"

I live in a wheelchair, so what happened to Leon Klinghoffer aboard the Achille Lauro is never forgotten.

I have frequent flyer friends, and I always tell them, if anything untoward starts happening, fight. Fight back! Take a page from Todd Beamer's book. They're going to kill you anyhow, so go down like a gunfighter.

I keep tearing up at this week's replays of what happened at the World Trade Center. Anger mixes with sadness.

I have an exemption to weapons rules, so if someone waves an AK-47 and tries to dump me anywhere, I'll draw, and the best man wins. I can do more damage from the confines of a wheelchair than the average 21-year-old soldier.

This might end up as a lazy man's post at UPI.

Thank you again for your kind words and Scripture at my blog. It's uncharitable to wish disaster upon others, but what with the Democritter rhetoric of late, I hope they reap what they are sowing."

In the words of "Dragnet's" Dan Ackroyd: "That wasn't such a chore, was it?"

I tell myself that repeatedly, as Google™ and the AARP™ continue to take over the world. Both are sinister, obstructionist, and too closely linked to what O'Reilly refers to as the "secular-progressives" for my taste. They closely resemble Democritters, who scare the hell out of me.

I might be pragmatic if Progessive Insurance will handle my SR-22-A filings at a reasonable rate. I'm a habitual violator to the state; had I known my "Dukes of Hazzard" antics would rebound, I would have lightened up on the gas pedal of of the late, lamented Corvette. The AARP™ are "harvesters of eyes", [see an earlier column of the same name] and I would sooner consort with Satan's myrmidons in Hell than do business with these people. Christians mark their spiritual/business preferences with those little fish-things; if I see something with an AARP™ logo, a familiar voice in my head screams "Run!"

All of this has nothing to do with death cultists, remembering 9/11, or anything much except the state of what's left of my mind after yet another September 11th when we didn't suffer another terrorist attack because of bureaucratic inattention. I have a lot of trouble trying to watch the news and stay current, because every time I turn on the idiot box, some liberal eunuch is crying about withdrawal from Iraq.

Okay, it didn't work out the way we'd planned it. I live a long way from a primary urban target, but that won't lessen my pain when I see another building fall and thousands more die because some glad-handing politician said "All we have to do is talk to them."

I'm watching the drift of the country and waiting for the nukes to cross our unregulated borders. Once again, repeat after me, lather, rinse, repeat: "It's not if; it's when."