By the alphabet
I may have a burning desire to stay drunk through the Obama administration, but it has not clouded my judgment to the point that someone can sign in to this blog as my “significant other”. That dog don’t hunt, as we say down here in Dixie.
(A) My soul mate and I have a simple arrangement. We don’t discuss politics. She can be a bit of a bitch under the best of circumstances, and I can be a bastard at the drop of a hat. I mentioned the other night that when America—under the astute leadership of gray people like Harry Reid and the most dangerous woman in America, Nancy Pelosi—goes completely to Hell, I will be there to gloat. I look forward to screaming “I told ya so!” That’s my political agenda, past, present, and future. Someone left a comment under a pseudonym “significant other” at my last exasperated rant. I appreciate all feedback; my readership is down
(B) You cannot, in good conscience, brand me a racist based upon stereotypes of the Southern male. I disapprove of bad behavior, regardless of skin color. I say things about people of different ethnicity, gee, apologize me, I disapprove of bad behavior. My family led liberation in South Carolina. Under the historical precedent of the times, we never owned slaves. Look up the sharecropper system. It ain’t pretty, it ain’t perfect.
(C) My “other” is from Yankee land. She grew up in Detroit. I can not imagine a more perfect Hell. She has years of maturity in Georgia, and cannot visualize a better place.
For the first time ever, I woke the other morning with the feeling that my humble abode is crashing down upon me. I have an ongoing conflict with my local tax commissar; he says I owe, I say not on my watch. We need to get out and go to Bubba's Bar-B-Que, the Rib Shack, or Pizza Hut.
(D) I am (so) amused by the person who posted a comment on the last blog as my “significant other”.
I published your comment. I have track back tracer; secret technology enables look backs that defy imagination.
(E) I never look for “payback”. I post a blog so’s I can get response. Most of my Constant Readers are friends of a like mind; I am preaching to the choir, as the saying goes, and this is not my intent. I love challenges to my points of reason. I arrived at my personal point of view through a life of blood, pain, and death. I appreciate the name-callers. Call me a “wing-nut” or worse. I relish it; it’s truly shooting spitballs at a battleship. I would like more dissenting discourse at UPI. I want to know where I am going wrong.
(F) My readership has declined. People from all over the world have less interest in what I have to say. I say things that are unpopular, so sue me. My voice means little. I influence no one. I am some crazed United States citizen crying against darkness. I suppose opposing incipient socialism and opposing a rock star president makes me some kind of bitter old man.
(G) My significant other—the real one—left for her job at 0700 this morning. I asked “Are you leaving?” Her reply: “F--- you!” Life is beautiful.
Otherwise, spitballs at battleships. Bring it on!
(A) My soul mate and I have a simple arrangement. We don’t discuss politics. She can be a bit of a bitch under the best of circumstances, and I can be a bastard at the drop of a hat. I mentioned the other night that when America—under the astute leadership of gray people like Harry Reid and the most dangerous woman in America, Nancy Pelosi—goes completely to Hell, I will be there to gloat. I look forward to screaming “I told ya so!” That’s my political agenda, past, present, and future. Someone left a comment under a pseudonym “significant other” at my last exasperated rant. I appreciate all feedback; my readership is down
(B) You cannot, in good conscience, brand me a racist based upon stereotypes of the Southern male. I disapprove of bad behavior, regardless of skin color. I say things about people of different ethnicity, gee, apologize me, I disapprove of bad behavior. My family led liberation in South Carolina. Under the historical precedent of the times, we never owned slaves. Look up the sharecropper system. It ain’t pretty, it ain’t perfect.
(C) My “other” is from Yankee land. She grew up in Detroit. I can not imagine a more perfect Hell. She has years of maturity in Georgia, and cannot visualize a better place.
For the first time ever, I woke the other morning with the feeling that my humble abode is crashing down upon me. I have an ongoing conflict with my local tax commissar; he says I owe, I say not on my watch. We need to get out and go to Bubba's Bar-B-Que, the Rib Shack, or Pizza Hut.
(D) I am (so) amused by the person who posted a comment on the last blog as my “significant other”.
I published your comment. I have track back tracer; secret technology enables look backs that defy imagination.
(E) I never look for “payback”. I post a blog so’s I can get response. Most of my Constant Readers are friends of a like mind; I am preaching to the choir, as the saying goes, and this is not my intent. I love challenges to my points of reason. I arrived at my personal point of view through a life of blood, pain, and death. I appreciate the name-callers. Call me a “wing-nut” or worse. I relish it; it’s truly shooting spitballs at a battleship. I would like more dissenting discourse at UPI. I want to know where I am going wrong.
(F) My readership has declined. People from all over the world have less interest in what I have to say. I say things that are unpopular, so sue me. My voice means little. I influence no one. I am some crazed United States citizen crying against darkness. I suppose opposing incipient socialism and opposing a rock star president makes me some kind of bitter old man.
(G) My significant other—the real one—left for her job at 0700 this morning. I asked “Are you leaving?” Her reply: “F--- you!” Life is beautiful.
Otherwise, spitballs at battleships. Bring it on!
posted by Robert at 12:32 PM
1 Comments:
As the Chinese have been saying for a while:
"May you live in interesting times."
They're interesting, all right...
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