March 30, 2009

Dear Blog

I wish I had more time for you, blog. You see, I have a week's worth of work to catch up on. And there is that issue of the flat tire on the car I need to get fixed so I can get to the airport for my early afternoon flight. I have to shower. I need to pack. I love you, but I have other priorities right now. I've got to make the donuts, baby. Don't cry. I cannot stand it when you cry. I will try really hard to pay attention to you when I get back, M'kay?

Lerves you,

HB

March 29, 2009

d'ja miss me?

On March 22 this old piece o' crap had its fourth anniversary. I was not here for it. As you might have guessed,given the weak content of late, I just returned from a nice vacation in sunny Florida. Do not hate me.

I got tanned next to the pool, burnt at the beach and thrilled at the Theme Parks (not Mickey's). I drank a few beers, and smoked a couple of cigars and reveled in doing absolutely nothing; no work, no blog, no bills, no responsibility at all. I walked a little and ate a bunch. I read and listened to music. I napped in the afternoon. The drive down was a breeze, coming back a burden. Construction and one bad accident around Atlanta left traffic snarled for hours. At one point it took more than two hours to go 15 miles. It was a marathon drive home, but we made it.

Maybe, if you are nice, I will post few pics in the weeks to come.

Now starts a new week. The bills and mail lay piled on the table. A week's worth of newspapers has been scanned. Emails read and a post is up. I leave on a business trip tomorrow. I have memories -- and another year of work before another vacation comes around.

March 27, 2009

one final rerun

I am in a summer mood. This old post describes a typical summer evening in the late 1970's in small town Indiana. BTW, the guy going in for knee surgery? That is my friend who suffered the heart attack last week.

Originally posted July 20, 2007

One Night in Frankfort

The air is punctuated by the deep rumble of engines and glass pack mufflers. The shouts and whistles of the kids mix with an occasional car horn and racing engine. Some of the cars are parked, most are cruising at idle speed around Mac's Hamburger Stand. The cars are of many varieties, many are muscle cars jacked up in the back to accommodate the wide tires. Some are family vehicles or the old junkers the kids could afford. Being a rural town, there are a lot of pickup trucks. The music plays a cacophonous soundtrack, radios and eight tracks turned at various volumes -- loud and really loud. Nearly all are playing rock and roll. One of the stoners has a unique turntable mounted in an old marine compass in his van.

We cruise down the highway and turn into Mac's parking lot. Jeff's Camaro growls under the hood with power. We are not looking for a race, but we are trying to score some booze. As we slowing drive around the restaurant I scan the cars and crowd for someone who can score. Maybe they are old enough, maybe they have a contact. We briefly consider driving to Illinois, it is early enough to make the two hour drive each way, but we know we do not have the money to buy gas and beer. Besides, when we get back it will be too late to party it up before we have to go home. Jeff is not crazy enough to leave cases of beer in his trunk. I do not see anyone as we turn back onto the strip.

We join the line of cars traveling slowly down the highway. We make the turns through town and around the square. We head back east towards Mac's. Our vehicle is part of the summer conga line of automobiles cruising the strip through town. A girl in a halter top leans against the bridge. I whistle and call to her. She flips me off. The sequence is repeated by various cars and teen aged boys in our wake. She is there to be seen. We try and think of a source for beer. I wonder if my brother has any? We have not seen him cruising yet this evening. It is still early. I suggest we buy some cigars. As we pull into the grocery I spot Bill's Torino. As usual he has washed and waxed it to a brilliant shine. Jeff goes into the store to get some smokes, I head over to Bill's car. It is actually vibrating with the power of the speakers blasting the Rolling Stones. He turns it down as I ask if has any beer. After some teasing and giving me a hard time he says he will get us a case of Little Kings or Strohs. I give him a ten spot. He just made a couple bucks profit since those are the cheapest beers around. He says it will cost us six of the beers. I whine, but he knows I will give in. He is going to drink all night for free when he buys beer for the rest of us. It is only fair, he has the five o'clock shadow and fake ID. We agree to meet in an hour or so. He is on the way to pick up my brother.

We rejoin the line of cars and after some time park up on the square next to a cobalt blue Cougar. The driver asks if we want to get high. We consider it, but neither of us has much money left after paying for the beer. It is still a week until payday for us both. I was not much for grass anyway. We drive to the park looking for girls. We find a couple of other buddies, they ask if we have some beer and we tell them we have some on the way. They are going to pick up some as well. We park Jeff's car and get in with them. We get our beer and Brian drives to a seedy part of town. He goes into a house. We discuss the rumor that a guy walked through an upstairs window of the place while high on angel dust. Troy tells us he is going to the hospital for surgery in the morning. Ah, we are celebrating! Bill bought us Little Kings Ale, Brian drops a case of the same in the backseat of his big Buick.

Flying down country roads we throw the empties at mailboxes. Cigar smoke rolls out the windows and music washes over us. The smell of corn and farm mingles with our laughter. We head out to Michigantown hoping for a fight or at least a disagreement. The tiny burg is dead. We head back toward town and Mac's. We sit on the car and drink our beer from paper cups. We trade some of our beer for a pint of rum. We head inside to buy some cokes for mix.

Stars whirl through the night sky and the cars rumble through the parking lot. The music blares as the evening heats up. We discuss going to Lafayette, but we know we will sit and cruise and drink right here at home. Some girls stop and flirt, they are not interested in us as much as the rumor we have some booze. We continue to ply Troy with liquor, joking about our goal to see that he will not need anesthesia for his operation -- he will be feeling no pain!

After a bit we pile back in the car and cruise some more. As usual, Brian is low on gas. We all throw in a couple of bucks. We drink, we laugh and the the night rumbles on. The cars honk and music blares through the shouts and waves as cars pass heading the opposite direction on the strip. Four young boys, just on the edge of manhood, get gloriously drunk on beer, on rum, on summer, on the joy of being alive.

March 26, 2009

Yet another rerun

Sorry, the creative well is a little dry right now. I guess I used it up in this old post from 2006:

June 25, 2006

Die, you sick mofos

What is the difference between a crazed crack whore who breaks your windows, crawls into your house and spray paints her crazy, crackwhore shit on your walls and a fat, acne ridden, comic book reading, blowup doll fucking, dog turd eating, 40-year old loser, living in his Mom's basement with two cats that he forces to lick his milk soaked balls, asshole spammer that gets his jollies infecting your computer with viruses, dickwad?

That is the longest sentence you will ever read from this poor blog writer from the Hemingway school. Let me try again. If it is illegal to break into my house and trash it, why is it legal to send viruses that infect my computer? My kids have again infected one of my computers with a virus (actually several, only one remains) a nefarious infectious Trojan that is sunk deep in my operating system. I will get it, but I have already spent hours working on this bastid. Like the mondo worm I had before, we will have to run tool after tool to get rid of it.

Why can't we prosecute the perpetrators of these attacks? They are invading my personal property intent on destruction. What is the difference? If I broke into your car and spray painted Hillary for President on your dashboard I would be prosecuted (and probably shot). Is forcing my computer to your website any different? I find both offensive. Is breaking your window and throwing into your living room hundreds of handbills for sex houses and child porn illegal? Why is it Ok to do that to my virtual mailbox?

Here's to you Mr. Spammer, Mr. Virus sender -- rot in Hell after dying a slow painful death of a mutant form of mad cow disease you contracted by giving your neighbor's collie a blowjob. I hope your dick falls off in your Cheeto-stained fingers (assuming you can find it with a pair of jewelers tweezers). I wish you get kidney stones the size of boulders. I hope you trip going up the stairs wearing your Mom's old high heels and break your puny pencil-neck. I hope you choke on your Hot Pocket. I hope the pizza burns the roof of your mouth. I hope you hang yourself while trying that crazy autoerotic asphyxiation while jacking-off thing. I hope you get the plague from the bites of fleas living in the rolls of fat on your unwashed body. I hope you die alone -- surrounded and consumed by the hatred of the innocent people you have preyed upon.

Keep it up and I will get really pissy about this.

March 25, 2009

Reruns

Originally posted December 4, 2006

Ghost of Christmas Past

About ten years ago the movie Jingle all the Way came out. It was a fun, amusing Christmas movie. After another year or so it came out on video. On day around 2001 or 2001 my youngest went on a kick like little ones do and watched that movie every day. He loved the Turboman character. That year (he was 7 or 8) all he wanted for Christmas was a Turboman action figure. Oh, shit. That stuff had been off the market for several years. We tried to explain, but he would only reply that Santa could get it for him. Double shit.

We steered him to other stuff, but when Christmas came and there was no Turboman, he was disappointed. He even said so. Thus began the great Turboman hunt. We went to toy collectors, eBay, even enlisted people to help to no avail. Finally about two months later we found a new Turboman, in the box on eBay. It was expensive. We had it sent.

The youngest has always been pretty smart, he taught himself to read before kindergarten. He read the first Harry Potter book in the first grade, much of it out loud to me. It took him nearly a year, but he got it done. I knew we had to be tricky with this.

So I typed a letter from Santa, made up some North Pole letterhead, Christmas tree border and everything. In it, Santa explained that he was sorry he did not deliver the Turboman at Christmas, but the elves no longer made that toy. The head elf had had to dig out the blueprints and order the parts. Santa apologized and hoped my son would have a Merry Christmas a little late. I slit the flap of the box and slid the letter in. When the little one came home from school we said he had received a mysterious box in the mail.

He nearly crapped. I have never seen a kid so thrilled. As an added bonus it got us another year or two of Santa. In the end, I think it worked out even better than if we had found the toy at Christmas. This remains one of my favorite "Christmas" memories.

March 24, 2009

hungry hungry

I like grilled cheese sandwiches. Some bacon on that would be good.

Who will make me one, served with a giant dill pickle?

March 23, 2009

Today's earworm

Ready, Steve?



This one's for you, Big Dick

March 21, 2009

Tired

Is anyone else as sick of politics as I? I think I am going to put a one week personal moratorium on discussing the inadequacies of the current teleprompter administration. Feel free to vent in the comments all you want, I just am taking the week off of politics.

March 20, 2009

They are out to get me

A few weeks ago I described the shitty rental car I was assigned at the Charlotte airport. I am convinced those assholes at Hertz are out to make me look bad. The car I was given this week was even worse. I am not sure how to describe it. Was it an oversize station wagon? Maybe it was am undersized minivan? All I know it was a Mazda and it was not only ugly, it was uncomfortable and terrible to drive. I would not pay $500 for that piece of shit. If you own one of these you should hang your head in shame. I bet you are embarrassed to even go to a hippy green AlGore rally in that thing. Am I paranoid, or is this the ugliest car ever?

And yes, that is the actual car I was given.

Oh, and Happy Birthday to me. Thanks for all of your gifts, you stingy mofos (sarcasm alert).

March 19, 2009

Whoo hoo

Have I mentioned I have a wonderful wife? She bought me a new iPod Touch for my birthday.

I wanted to get laid, but I will be satisfied with the iPod.

March 18, 2009

Travelling with the Hoosierboy

I visited the Kings Mountain National Battlefield Tuesday afternoon. For those of you who have forgotten their 8th grade American history, Kings Mountain was a battle fought during the Revolutionary War. A British force of Tories found themselves surrounded on a ridge near the North/South Carolina border. The American or Patriot forces consisted of militia from North Carolina and a strong contingent of "over the mountain" men from South Carolina, Tennessee and Virginia. Both forces consisted of about 1,000 men. The forces of good and freedom (the Colonials) kicked the sorry British asses. It was an overwhelming victory. The British gave up on the hope that the war could be fought with "native" troops. Jefferson said Kings Mountain turned the tide of the war.

Here is the Memorial on top of the mountain:
Here is the grave of Patrick Ferguson, the British commander:

You should know how to make the pictures bigger by now.

Go here to read actual details of the battle.

March 17, 2009

And so it goes

I just flew in from the Carolinas and boy are my arms tired! I had a couple of successful business meetings Monday, including a dinner with a customer at a top flight expensive steak house. Thank you expense account!

As I prepared to hit the sheets at the ol' Hilton garden Inn, my wife called. My best friend since seventh grade had just had a heart attack. He turned 48 last month and was in great physical shape. He was shocked to life in the emergency room and medivaced to Indy. The doctors put in a stint in the wee hours of the morning. His main artery was 100% blocked. So far, things look good. I am sure any extra prayers you send would be appreciated. His wife just lost her stepfather a few months ago. You might remember I wrote about it at the time.

Needless to say, my mind was not completely on my work today. A three-plus hour drive on little or no sleep did not help. Nonetheless, I managed to get some new opportunities to quote. A plane ride home and here I am, posting to this pig instead of snuggling with my wife. The things I do for you.

Apparently it is St Paddy's Day.

It has been a rough week or so.

March 16, 2009

Kids are quick

TEACHER: Maria, go to the map and find North America.
MARIA: Here it is.
TEACHER: Correct. Now class, who discovered America?
CLASS: Maria.
____________________________________

TEACHER: John, why are you doing your math multiplication on the floor?
JOHN: You told me to do it without using tables.
__________________________________________

TEACHER: Glenn, how do you spell 'crocodile?'
GLENN: K-R-O-K-O-D-I-A-L'
TEACHER: No, that's wrong
GLENN: Maybe it is wrong, but you asked me how I spell it.
(I Love this kid)
_____________________________________ ` _______

TEACHER: Donald, what is the chemical formula for water?
DONALD: H I J K L M N O.
TEACHER: What are you talking about?
DONALD: Yesterday you said it's H to O.
__________________________________

TEACHER: Winnie, name one important thing we have today that we didn't have ten
years ago.
WINNIE: Me!
__________________________________________

TEACHER: Glen, why do you always get so dirty?
GLEN: Well, I'm a lot closer to the ground than you are.
_______________________________________

TEACHER: Millie, give me a sentence starting with 'I.'
MILLIE: I is..
TEACHER: No, Millie..... Always say, 'I am.'
MILLIE: All right...'I am the ninth letter of the alphabet.'
________________________________

TEACHER: George Washington not only chopped down his father's cherry tree, but
also admitted it. Now, Louie, do you know why his father didn't punish him?
LOUIS: Because George still had the axe in his hand.
______________________________________

TEACHER: Now, Simon, tell me frankly, do you say prayers before eating?
SIMON: No sir, I don't have to, my Mom is a good cook.
______________________________

TEACHER: Clyde , your composition on 'My Dog' is exactly the same as your brother's.
Did you copy his?
CLYDE : No, sir. It's the same dog.
___________________________________

TEACHER: Harold, what do you call a person who keeps on talking when people are
no longer interested?
HAROLD: A teacher

March 15, 2009

AIG can kiss my ass 165 million times

I am probably late to the table with this story, but this leaves me infuriated. It is no wonder AIG is floundering like a killer whale on the beach. In most companies bonuses are paid for good performance, or when expectations are exceeded. In my company it is unlikely I will get a bonus this quarter, not that I am doing a bad job, but because business sucks. At AIG you get a bonus even if you do a poor job, apparently:
"We cannot attract and retain the best and brightest talent to lead and staff the AIG businesses, which are now being operated principally on behalf of the American taxpayers — if employees believe their compensation is subject to continued and arbitrary adjustment by the U.S. Treasury," [AIG Chairman Edward]Liddy said.
The best and brightest? These people made decisions that have lost the insurance giant billions and indebted our children's children's with nearly a trillion in debt. If this is the best the company can get, I submit the company would be better off if the employees quit in a huff.
The large bulk of the payments at issue cover AIG Financial Products, the unit of the company that sold credit default swaps, the risky contracts that caused massive losses for the insurer.
Maybe some of those people should lose their jobs. Good people lose their jobs every day when a company makes bad decisions.

Why isn't anyone concerned I will quit since my compensation has been lowered? My company will lose some of the best and brightest if I or a few others leave. Where is the widget industry bailout?

I do not want the Government telling anyone how much they can make. No bureaucrat should take the decision how much is enough. As far as I am concerned, the executives of AIG have perpetuated a fraud upon the taxpayers. They should be prosecuted just like DOD contractors that pad their overruns and the crooked managers at ENRON. What is the difference?

For a better take, go read this post by GuyK

March 13, 2009

Very Superstitious

Hello Sportsfans, welcome to another Friday the Thirteenth. Some believe this date portends bad luck. Fridays have been considered bad luck for centuries. Did you know the British Navy would not set out on a voyage on a Friday? When coupled with the number 13, superstitious people everywhere are wary on this date.

For those of us who have been repeatedly kicked in the crotch throughout our lives by fate, bad luck is a way of life. This date is just another day on the calendar. Put it this way, if I were to find a $50 bill on the sidewalk, not only would it turn out to be counterfeit, but I would be prosecuted when I tried to spend it! So I do not believe in luck. Bad things happen to us all and if you focus on the negative, that is what you reap. Anyone who has read this pitiful excuse for a blog any length of time knows I am not a roses and lollipops kind of person. I like to think of myself as a realist who considers the up and downside of everything. If you plan on things going wrong, then you are never surprised when they do and you have prepared for the worst.

Walk under that ladder. Look up to make sure nothing or no one is falling from the top. Break a mirror and then sweep up well, so you do not risk infection from stepping on a shard of glass in the future. Step on a crack, your Mom could use some time away from you anyway. Some people believe if you say goodbye to someone on a bridge you will never see that person again. This is only true if you push them off.

Some people believe it is bad luck to light three cigarettes from the same match. First off, if you are smoking three fags at once you have more issues than bad luck. Second, everyone knows that by the time you light the third cigarette, the sniper has you scoped in and you run of bad luck is about to end.

It is said that if you drop a comb while you are combing your hair is a sign of a coming disappointment. The chick at the haircut place dropped the comb three times while cutting my hair last time. I was disappointed in my haircut. And did you know some folks of a superstitious bent believe cows lifting their tails is a sure sign that rain is coming? You call it rain, I call it a cow patty. Whatever.

I have heard people say that it's bad luck to leave a house through a different door than the one used to come into it. It is harder to find you car if you do that.

Fishermen have their own set of superstitions. Throw back the first fish you catch then you'll be lucky the whole day fishing. Or you might go hungry. I wouldn't toss back the first one until I caught the second one. If you count the number of fish you caught, you will catch no more that day. Sure, if you catch "one". It's bad luck to say the word "pig" while fishing at sea. I say it is bad luck to say the word "pig" when you are in bed with your lady or man.

We all have superstitions. Some, like mine, make sense. I will not wear a stripped shirt to take a test. This order must be maintained -- left sock, left shoe, right sock right shoe. Never close your eyes at night if the clock reads a pattern (1:23, 2:46) or is on a five (11:00, 10:05, 2:20). These simple rules of life make perfect sense and should be followed by everyone. The idea that the dried body of a frog worn in a silk bag around the neck averts epilepsy and other fits or that a day on the calender is unlucky -- that is just crazy.

March 12, 2009

Hola

Hello Friends,

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for your kind words. I cannot begin to express how much your thoughts and prayers mean to me. Thank you.

I have not read much news, so I find I have little to talk about. You are not interested in the personal details that seem to be taking a significant amount of time. The visitation is on Friday and the Funeral on Saturday and then the healing can begin. We had a minor inter-family spat as my wife's brother insisted nothing could be done on Friday, since it was the 13th. Finally he gave in and agreed to a Friday visitation. I thought for a moment I was going to have to step in, but the sisters outvoted him. It was a major concession since they (there are three sisters, one brother) all wanted to do Thursday/Friday. The good news is there is no money, no property so there will be no fights on that.

March 10, 2009

Words fail me

I cannot thank you all enough for your kind words and prayers.

My MIL passed away this morning. Posting will be light for a few days.

On the Beach

Yes my friends that is your esteemed humble author back in the summer of 1985. That picture was taken on the gentle shores of San Padre Island, TX. I was grabbing every available chick and asking to have my picture taken. I happened to be married to the one in the picture.

The wife and I were down on vacation to Texas and we made a side trip to the Gulf shore to frolic in the waves and drink some beer. In those days that was my favorite occupation -- drinking beer, not frolicing -- as you can see by my hefty beer gut. In those years the basics of Fat In Indiana were born. The fat part anyway, the old blog did not start for about 20 more years. I was sure getting fat, in any case. Too much beer and too little exercise does that to you.

Anyway, the point of this post is not to do the Sherman and Peabody thing. Nor is it to mention I married way above my grade level. I managed to get that girl preggers some six months later, BTW. My point is that two weeks ago I had to buy a some new work pants. The size was smaller than what I wore in this picture. In fact, I purchased size 34 waist. I have not worn that since I was in college. It took 25 years to grow that monster fat ass and gut.

Two years ago my 38s were getting tight and I was trying on a pair of 40 waist jeans. I told myself "Hell no", and now I am just a little less fat. Two pants sizes less. I am still in Indiana though.

March 9, 2009

Just the facts, Ma'am.

I heard the President say that
"[W]e are going to make scientific decisions based on fact, not ideology".
He was talking about stem cell research. Too bad he is not inclined to make the same decisions when it comes to Global Warming Climate Change, solar power, wind power, green anything, drilling for oil, or nuclear power.

Hope and change.

Waiting on the phone to ring

I know you never click on links. This time I wish you would, to save me the trouble of rehashing and reviewing. Read this.

The battle is almost over. My wife's mother has put up the good fight. She lies in her bed, tenderly cared for by her granddaughter. She is tiny and shriveled. I bet she does not weigh 50 pounds. She looks like an old woman doll in her hospital bed. She will spend her last days as she has the past year, in her room at her granddaughter's house. Her ravaged body is wracked with pain, morphine her constant companion. Too weak to speak, her few whispers are mere gibberish, the cruelty of Alzheimer's to the end. The few scattered members of the family have arrived. The death watch is on. The hospice nurse says it is now days instead of weeks and months.

I watch my wife cry tears of pain. I am helpless. What do you say to ease her anguish? I think it is harder because her mother does not know her. Her brother and sisters suffer the blank looks and confusion as their mother looks at them as they talk to her, no clue as to their identity.

There is no way to say this. I feel like a slug even writing it. Please say a prayer to ease her pain. By that I mean both of them, my wife and my Mother-in-Law. I hope God does not judge me too harshly.

March 8, 2009

boo hoo wah wah

I just realized I have to reset the clocks. I do not possess the vocabulary (and could not spell the words if I did) to express my absolute loathing for Daylight Savings Time. You see, for a significant portion of my life the Great State of Indiana did not participate in that nonsense. Our clocks were always right. Of course, that meant half the year we were on Eastern Time and the balance on Central. For businesses in the State and those unfortunate souls that resided near the Ohio, Kentucky and Illinois borders, the never changing time was a nightmare. A few years ago Indiana joined most of the nation and climbed aboard the 'change your clock twice a year bandwagon'.

When first mandated, I suggested we boycott the biannual ritual and remain on standard time here at the old homestead. The wife nixed that idea right out of the chute. She is time-challenged enough without adding an additional burden of clock-math in the morning. You see, she is of the opinion that the time set for appointments, starting work and arrivals is a mere guideline. To her credit my constant harping on that subject for the 30 years we have known each other has started to improve her habits. She makes herself be on time through setting the bedroom clock eleven minutes fast. How that can work I have no idea, since she knows the clock is eleven minutes fast. Since everything is about me I now have the burden of setting the alarm eleven minutes after I want to get up, to get up on time. I swear I will never understand the female mind.

Of course, DST does not save daylight. Old Sol shines the number of hours it does regardless of the o'clock proclaimed on our various time pieces. Nor does it reduce power usage. Now we will just turn our lights on in the morning instead of the evening. As an added bonus the kids can go back to leaving for the bus stop in the dark of night.

Given the imagined energy crisis we face as a world, shouldn't we be saving energy year-round? Why is daylight only important in the summer? I should think we would want to save daylight in the winter when there is less of it. If we went on DST for a month, then off for a month, alternating year round we could save 6 hours of daylight each year! Calculating the therms, watts, lumins or whatever is used to measure light we would make AlGore's puny carbon-offsets look a joke. What did you say? Carbon offsets are a joke already? Oh.

On the bright side, I can use this as an opportunity to synchronize the various digital clocks to read the same. In addition, DST does function as a handy reminder to check the smoke detectors.

March 6, 2009

Today's Earworm

Rising Gas Prices

In my travels this week I noticed many gas stations raising prices considerably. When I fueled Wednesday I paid $1.81. Yesterday most stations were at $2.05. According to my handy-dandy calculator, that is an increase of more than 13%. A few talking heads claim it is because the demand is creeping up with spring. Except one of the largest snowstorms swept the bigger part of the nation last week so I think driving miles were down.

If we dig a bit deeper we see the price of crude is also low and dropping. So if there were demand spikes we would see it there.

No my Friends, we all know a business charges what the market can support. All it takes is one owner to say enough and raise his prices and the all the competitors in the neighborhood breath a sigh of relief and jack the price too.

Here is a thought. Many gas stations are what we would call a small businesses. Often they are family owned and operated. Like the rest of us these small business owners have seen their 401Ks turn into 201Ks since the Democrats took over Congress. More importantly, these people watch the news. They see the President is planning to punish them for their success by raising their taxes. They are looking ahead and trying to protect their meagre bank account.

I will explain this again, no business pays taxes. Ever. Raise taxes on a business and the price for the goods they produce will go up. Here is a detailed explanation on this phenomenon I wrote back in September.

You suckers Hoped for Change, you sure got it.

March 5, 2009

I just cannot make the connection

I heard a sound bite of the President at the opening of his health care summit. He said we have to get the health care costs under control -- so we can put Americans back to work and create jobs.

I guess I am just a dumb hick, because I do not see the correlation. If you cannot afford your health care why aren't you working? How will reducing health costs create jobs? What new businesses will be started? What factories are not being built because of rising health care?

Seriously, does anyone truly believe the layer of bullshit this administration is spreading?

Failure

Imagine you a re a German living in Wurtzburg Bavaria in 1932. A young politician is gaining power rapidly. You have read Adolph Hitler's Mein Kampf and the ideas he espouses bother you more than just a little. As he grows in power you think, "boy, I hope he does not succeed in his plan to eliminate the Jews". In other words you hope he FAILS.

That guy in charge of the Troops at Tianamen Square, I think we all hope he was not successful in rolling over the dissidents -- I bet we all hoped he would fail.

Liberal Democrats, if they are honest, hoped that the impeachment of Bill Clinton would Fail. and more than a few of you, against the war in Iraq hoped that President Bush would be less than successful -- FAIL. Remember 'I support the troops but not the mission'? That is nothing short of a wish for failure.

So why the outrage when Rush and others hope the socialist tax and spend policies of President Obama are an utter failure? I want him to fail if he really wants to tell us what to eat, how much to drive and where to set my thermostat. If he vowed to nationalize the car industry I would hope the attempt would fail. Suppose the President wanted to disband the dollar and move us to the Euro. What if he advocated turning Yellowstone into a shopping mall, or advocated filling in the Grand Canyon? Wouldn't we all hope he failed?

We all hope some people are less than successful at implementing programs we do not like.

I do know this, keep it up and Rush will have ratings higher than anyone could imagine.

March 4, 2009

You Obama voters are suckers of the highest order

I am driving to the land of the Golden Domers and the whole boring trip I hear the blurb at every news break how The Obama is going to streamline the Government Contract process. He is going to eliminate waste and save money for us poor taxpayers.

Is he going to remove the onerous and discriminatory provision found in almost every Government Contract that states that minority and women-owned businesses get first priority for the opportunity, regardless if another contractor (read white-owned / male owned)has a lower price?

I thought not.

Tip for the day

Do yourself a favor and add the always erudite and thoughtful Hyperbolic Chamber to your blogroll and daily read list.

You will not be sorry.

I hate you even more than that f-ing gnome

Can we agree that the most awful, vapid, loathsome commercials littering the airwaves today are the ones featuring the Comcast turtles? Maybe if Comcast did not air that intellectually empty piece of terrapin idiocy every five minutes my cable bill would not have to be so high.

I am just sayin'.

March 3, 2009

Misery

Here is today's earworm:



You are welcome.

Now someone just kill me, please?

Tuesday

There was some heavy reading in my last post. I guess I should balance it out with something light and fluffy today. Given my intellect that shouldn't be too hard, but it is. I have nadda. There is no good news out there. The Government keeps taking my hard-earned money and giving it to companies with failed policies. People live and people die. So do businesses. Maybe it is time to let AIG and Citi go the way of the dinosaur. How many more doses of CPR do we have to administer before we realize the heart of the company is just too weak? Time to give the DNR order to AIG, I think.

March 2, 2009

You say you want a revolution?

Sometimes we all get caught up in the hyperbole, the emotions of the moment. Many of us are upset at the course of the Government under the Socialist Democrats. I suppose some of the leftists felt the same way under GW. I am not sure why, since he was a most liberal Democrat President; a true RINO. What I am about to write will likely anger more than a few of you. I may even lose a few readers. After careful thought, I think you may conclude I am right.

Some people in blogland are hinting at the need to feed the Tree of Liberty with Revolution (see Thomas Jefferson's quotes for the reference). Certain people are talking of "taking the country back" under the force of arms. We saw a similar panic-mode when Clinton came to power and the militia movement reared its head. A U-Haul packed with fertilizer parked in Oklahoma City put an end to most of that nonsense. I do not think anyone is really afraid of a bunch of middle-aged white guys holding maneuvers in the woods dressed in camouflage and carrying black plastic semi-automatic weapons. I used to dress up in a blue wool suit and shoot at make-believe Confederates with my 1863 Springfield. That did not make me a Civil War soldier either.

Two hundred and thirty some years ago a bunch of farmers and shopkeepers took on the greatest power on earth and won our independence. In no way do I short-change the monumental shift in politics that victory signaled for the world, but we should also recognize we were a small and insignificant theater in what could only be described as a World War between France and England. The British were literally fighting us with one hand tied behind their back. At that time military technology and small arms were not much different than what the average Joe kept above his mantle. The same could be said even in the time of the Civil War.

By the turn of the Twentieth Century military technology advanced to the point that citizen soldiers had little effectiveness against a standing army. The Boers made a heroic effort against the British. They were successful only in that the battlefield was vast rural country. The Boers were fighting a war of attrition. Victory could only be defined by the more powerful side quiting. They did not have to defeat the British Army, they only had to convince the British people South Africa was not worth fighting over.

The later half of the twentieth century has taught us determined group of insurgents can effectively tie up great quantities of troops in guerrilla warfare. If your object is to bleed the other side until he just gives up, you may succeed. If, as revolutionaries, your goal is to win a war-- you have no chance without modern guns, armor, and communications. To win a modern revolution or civil war, you need effective military tactics. You need armies, and the ability to take and hold objectives. You cannot hope the other side tires of the cost in funds and lives. You must defeat the other side in battle. Read your Clausewitz for goodness sake. The only way to overthrow a sitting government is to defeat its army. The Current Government cannot quit and go home. Only true war is an option. Remember no revolution can succeed without the support of the people (or at least the majority has to support or be indifferent). Russia, China, Cuba, Vietnam, the fall of the Soviet Block, Iran ousting the Shah -- all these successful changes in Government had the tacit approval of the people. The list of failed revolutions is countless.

How are you going to fight the established Government? Do you have body armor, satellites, hardened communications? Do you have an air force, a navy, artillery and tanks? Do you possess vast quantities of fuel, water, food, ammunition? How long do you think your three thousand rounds of hoarded ammunition will last in a sustained firefight?

Sorry fellas, Red Dawn was a movie. Shotguns and .30-06 rifles and model 1911 .45 handguns do not win battles or even skirmishes. Even that treasured M-1 you lovingly clean is obsolete. How long will you last against a .50 water-cooled machine gun or a BAR? How many armor-piercing rounds are in your gun cabinet? Do you have LARS rockets, bazookas? How will you defend against satellites that can track you to within a few feet or thermal imaging that can find you in your bunkers? Sure, we could hold remote sections of the mountains. We could hide like Eric Rudolph in the forests of Carolina. To win a Revolution you need to take the cities, the towns, the arsenals of Democracy. You must capture the political and military strongholds of the enemy.

All is not lost. We must continue to fight the Revolution of ideas. We must win the war at the ballot box. If Obama can can win with a platform that consisted of nothing more than vague promises of Hope and Change, so can we. Socialism and Communism are not irreversible -- ask the people of Poland, of the Czech Republic. Will it take work? Will it take patience? Will it take generations? Yes, yes and maybe. The good news is the cost of Socialism will soon burden us all. Nothing brings a person around to Conservatism faster than having you money confiscated. As my son cried when he got his first paycheck from McDonald's -- "who is this FICA and why is he taking my money?". Another Conservative was born. Fortunately the means of peaceful change are part of the fabric of our nation. If the will of the people supports the change you desire, the Revolution will occur without a single shot fired. That, my friends, is the true genius of our Founding Fathers. No President, no Congress, no Court can force us to change if the majority of the people are not in favor. Your vote carries the power of an atomic bomb.

I am not saying we should never fight, we must stand for our beliefs. If it ever comes the time when the black helicopters hover over your home while jack-booted stormtroopers kick in your door to get your guns, sure. We must defend our homes, our families, our rights. If The Obama declares himself President for life, if Pelosi refuses to relinquish the gavel, if armed troops take over your city and town, you must fight. That time is not here yet. Until then, put aside the paranoia, the panic.

March 1, 2009

Come on Spring

The wife is sick, I think she has the flu. I am not very good at the nurse thing. On the rare occasions I am sick I just want to be left alone. That way the latent hypochondriac inside me can prod the "poor me button" endlessly until I get so pissed off that no one cares about me. I get well in a fit of spite. Needless to say, I am a very bad patient and all who come into contact with me are glad I am relatively healthy...knocking on wood firmly and repeatedly here, Boss. Seriously Fate, I am not offering a challenge, just stating facts.

I think this time if year is my least favorite. The weeks just before Spring are filled with anticipation. We are waiting on the warm weather and bursts of color like a kid shaking and staring at the presents under the Christmas tree the week before Christmas. "Come on get here" we say to ourselves.

For me it is especially hard when it gets warm, then cold again. In early February I was in Florida and came back to gusty winds and blowing snow. Last week we hit the low 60s, then Friday we dropped back into a temperature more suited for your beer 'fridge or maybe even the freezer. I can stand the cold, it is the warm days that get up your hopes and then smack you with the reality of snow and ice. Mother Nature can be a real prick tease. She reminds me of that girl Marlene who let me feel her up through her swimsuit but would never give me a crack at the real thing back in the summer before ninth grade. You remember her? She probably went by a different name in your memories.

What I really wait on is some color in my life. The grass is brown, the trees mere blackened sticks. Ice rims muddy puddles in the fields and washed out trash collects along the fence rows. The withered remains of last fall's mums wait in the flower bed to be plucked up. The wind blows the dried tans of the big grasses outside the living room window. This morning, the sky is a dull blue. It sports none of the vivid blue that highlights the summer clouds. The sun shines, but has no warmth. Even the big Douglas Fir seems muted in its greens.

Like the old Carly Simon song that was hijacked by ketchup, catsup, whatever, I am anticipating the first burst of purples and yellows as the crocus and tulips poke from the ground. I cannot wait for the columbine and the crab apple to bloom. The bluster of March will give way to April rains and the soggy fields will yield the green spikes of young corn and soybeans. The cold winds will blow warm and I will glory in the heat of summer.

The boy begins baseball practice in a week or so. By the end of March games will begin. The ping of the bat and the smack of horsehide on leather will evoke warm memories. Brick dust and chalk, thunderstorms and flowers are in the weeks to come. Another birthday will mark the calender's official Spring. A few more weeks and the winds shift south.

Another season, another week of life will pass us by. Happy March Fools Day to you too.
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