Still alive and well
Suffice it to say that I am delighted with Sarah Palin. Even my ex-wife, who voted for “Bill the Zipper” Clinton, is delighted. I am much more at ease with McCain as president. Not to shill for anyone, but every time Bill O’Reilly popped the words “socialist tenet” on Obama, there was tap-dancing and muttering that gave credibility to Stepen Fetchit.
The attacks on Gov. Palin had me jacked up from the get-go. I only have one objection to “equality for women”, and that’s in combat. Even that has a stipulation; women fighter pilots have faster reflexes, and lower pain responses. As ground troops, though, they lack the upper body strength God factory-designed into men. There is also the psychological factor of guys seeing women mangled beyond recognition, and abandoning the mission in favor of rescue. I can admire women who make it through the reduced standards for qualification in the armed forces—the Air Farce actually has a “time out” card to flash in case basic becomes too intense—but the non-prejudicial fact is they don’t have the upper body strength to hump 100 pounds of junk through physically exhausting conditions, and be ready to fight after digging into a secured position.
All right, ladies, tell me how wrong and sexist I am. This is not what I am here to talk about, although Governor Palin is going to kick some serious butt. I didn’t say women are totally disqualified from combat; I say ground combat is an option they can’t fulfill.
On the other hand, if I was 35 years younger and on the ground, there is no one I’d rather see rolling in from above than a squadron of women in F-5 Phantoms or state-of-the-art F-22 Raptors.
Stephen King—in his book On Writing—points out that writing is an adventure that has an uncertain beginning and an unknown end, or something like that. He is most certainly correct; this is supposed to be a short blog post to assure my three constant readers I am alive, well, and in pursuit of something.
What I am in pursuit of is something more horrifying and sinister than a Hitchcock psychodrama.
Sorry, kids, but you will not get details online, ever. Suffice it to say that I may have discovered the motive for the bloody attack on me—see last post—and have to snap myself into a state of belief as to the veracity of said motive. I am not alone in my opinion of what happened, and it is more horrifying than anything I faced in combat in Vietnam. There, the enemy was clearly defined. This is deeper, more sinister, and while easily identifiable upon hindsight, 1,000 times more evil.
I am greatly appreciative of the comments of a faithful reader who denies it—an opponent to all things rational—for keeping it clean and actually managing therefore to get published in the previous comments section of the last blog post.
Thanks for your input, joker, but I was halfway through a cup of coffee, not a mug of bourbon. Like the British Navy, I wait until the sun is past the mainmast before I break out the hard stuff. I eat before I drink, and were I that hammered—which my health does not permit: I linger to aggravate liberals and trolls—I would have awakened on the floor, not sitting up in my wheelchair. Re-read the post. Informal forensics people have also determined that there are no sharp edges anywhere near where my head may have fallen if I had passed out, fallen asleep, or otherwise obtained unconsciousness.
I am gaining a clearer idea of what happened, and it is more terrifying than gunfire from the North Vietnamese Army. Don’t ask, ‘cause I ain’t telling.
Meanwhile, Ol’ Uncle Possum is alive and well. Scars add character to the face, for men, so thanks to my unknown attacker for making my aging self look more distinguished.
We’ll get to “Keep the Change [Part II]” eventually. (My home nurse thinks Osama Bamalama is a joke, alongside every cliché you’ve ever heard about used car salesmen.) Liger, and your proxy, saying I should lay off the adult beverages, did not read closely enough. It was half a cup of coffee. Like the British navy, I do not consume otherwise until the noon sun is over the mainmast.
A cartoon "lightbulb" has popped on this matter, and it is so horrifying that it will not be published here. You, Liger, are published here because you kept it clean. Thanks for the input, and keep reading, even though you say you don't.
The attacks on Gov. Palin had me jacked up from the get-go. I only have one objection to “equality for women”, and that’s in combat. Even that has a stipulation; women fighter pilots have faster reflexes, and lower pain responses. As ground troops, though, they lack the upper body strength God factory-designed into men. There is also the psychological factor of guys seeing women mangled beyond recognition, and abandoning the mission in favor of rescue. I can admire women who make it through the reduced standards for qualification in the armed forces—the Air Farce actually has a “time out” card to flash in case basic becomes too intense—but the non-prejudicial fact is they don’t have the upper body strength to hump 100 pounds of junk through physically exhausting conditions, and be ready to fight after digging into a secured position.
All right, ladies, tell me how wrong and sexist I am. This is not what I am here to talk about, although Governor Palin is going to kick some serious butt. I didn’t say women are totally disqualified from combat; I say ground combat is an option they can’t fulfill.
On the other hand, if I was 35 years younger and on the ground, there is no one I’d rather see rolling in from above than a squadron of women in F-5 Phantoms or state-of-the-art F-22 Raptors.
Stephen King—in his book On Writing—points out that writing is an adventure that has an uncertain beginning and an unknown end, or something like that. He is most certainly correct; this is supposed to be a short blog post to assure my three constant readers I am alive, well, and in pursuit of something.
What I am in pursuit of is something more horrifying and sinister than a Hitchcock psychodrama.
Sorry, kids, but you will not get details online, ever. Suffice it to say that I may have discovered the motive for the bloody attack on me—see last post—and have to snap myself into a state of belief as to the veracity of said motive. I am not alone in my opinion of what happened, and it is more horrifying than anything I faced in combat in Vietnam. There, the enemy was clearly defined. This is deeper, more sinister, and while easily identifiable upon hindsight, 1,000 times more evil.
I am greatly appreciative of the comments of a faithful reader who denies it—an opponent to all things rational—for keeping it clean and actually managing therefore to get published in the previous comments section of the last blog post.
Thanks for your input, joker, but I was halfway through a cup of coffee, not a mug of bourbon. Like the British Navy, I wait until the sun is past the mainmast before I break out the hard stuff. I eat before I drink, and were I that hammered—which my health does not permit: I linger to aggravate liberals and trolls—I would have awakened on the floor, not sitting up in my wheelchair. Re-read the post. Informal forensics people have also determined that there are no sharp edges anywhere near where my head may have fallen if I had passed out, fallen asleep, or otherwise obtained unconsciousness.
I am gaining a clearer idea of what happened, and it is more terrifying than gunfire from the North Vietnamese Army. Don’t ask, ‘cause I ain’t telling.
Meanwhile, Ol’ Uncle Possum is alive and well. Scars add character to the face, for men, so thanks to my unknown attacker for making my aging self look more distinguished.
We’ll get to “Keep the Change [Part II]” eventually. (My home nurse thinks Osama Bamalama is a joke, alongside every cliché you’ve ever heard about used car salesmen.) Liger, and your proxy, saying I should lay off the adult beverages, did not read closely enough. It was half a cup of coffee. Like the British navy, I do not consume otherwise until the noon sun is over the mainmast.
A cartoon "lightbulb" has popped on this matter, and it is so horrifying that it will not be published here. You, Liger, are published here because you kept it clean. Thanks for the input, and keep reading, even though you say you don't.
posted by Robert at 7:55 AM
4 Comments:
I'm fired up about Gov. Palin too...and so are a lot of people.
As for trolls? Please don't feed the animals!
I, too, am happy about Palin. I am also amazed at the media treatment of this woman. They seem hellbent on carrying the DNC's water on this matter. Obama can't criticize her, his surrogates can't, either. So he's gonna get Charlie Gibson to do it!
Glad to hear you are alive and well. I keep getting "bounce-back" when I try to send you an e-mail. The message usually reads something like: "Undeliverable after 48 hours". Sometimes it's 49.1 hours, etc.
I like Palin too. The feminists hate her guts because she is everything they are not. She is: intelligent AND good-looking; successful AND conservative; a career woman AND a mother of 5; married to a good-looking, snowmobile racing, union labor, oil-field working, commercial fisherman; a gun-loving, religion-clinging, small-town, moose-huntin' kinda woman.
For me, what's not to like? For feminists, what's there to like?
(:D) Best regards...
Ohh, pretty please, tell us, the only people in the entire world who pretend to care about what you write, what if happened. More horrifying than the North Vietnamese? No!
Sheesh.
Let me ask you: if you write a post, and nobody cares, do you really exist?
Time to tell the doc to cut pack on the pills.
Love always,
Liger
Post a Comment
<< Home