Tuesday, November 21, 2006

And the point of this being what, exactly?


Image stolen without a hint of remorse from Lucianne.com
Ahmed may be taking a picture of his wives and daughters out on a rare stroll, but the finished product will look as if he left the lens cap on.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

True free speech is costly

From the Jewish Virtual Library:

Hans Scholl (left), Sophie Scholl (center), and Christoph Probst (right),
leaders of the White Rose resistance organization. Munich, Germany, 1942
(USHMM Photo).


It is Thanksgiving week following a particularly nasty political season, and I have a few thoughts about the first freedom: Freedom of speech and the press. Something we have taken for granted...or as my kids used to say, and it is probably more accurate -"For granite." (Alas, while it is written on parchment, our first freedom is not engraved in stone.)

Being able to say whatever you think and believe without worrying about losing your life or your head is a pretty good thing. But are we really able to do that in this country anymore?

Yes and no. We may not lose our heads for saying our piece, but we can lose our livelihoods, our reputations, even our freedom. Thus, we no longer exercise freedom of speech. I say that we no longer exercise freedom of speech, because regardless of whatever form of government has all the power, the ability to speak your mind freely or not, is a choice you make.

Take the example of Hans and Sophie Scholl. As young adults in college they paid the ultimate price for exercising their ability to speak freely against Adolph Hitler and his ruinous war. They were executed by the Nazis for daring to speak out against a tyrant.

Now contrast that with today's average college student. We do not live under a despotic tyranny, as the lemmings of the left would have us believe. George Bush isn't the new Hitler-lite, and there are no death camps for the sole purpose of exterminating gay, muslim, feminist and other pouting minorities who seem to think otherwise. There are no death trains, no mass executions, no special ghettos to keep the low castes in their place while Dubya finalizes the final solution.

But to hear the left-tard academics in the university shriek, you would believe that the Holocaust is well underway. It is, of course, but it isn't being conducted by the usual whipping boys that the Mainstream press love to vilify. Christians, apostates and women in general, throughout the Muslim world would tell you where the genocides are occurring, if it weren't for the complicit, willing self-censorship of the free world's press.

It is a creepy form of censorship, a paralysis of the mind that has shackled the mouths of millions from saying what they know in their hearts to be true.

No secret police agent comes in the middle of the night and whisks us away in the Black Maria, we don't disappear down the memory hole, and we aren't denounced by our own children...yet, but we are oppressively censored, nonetheless.

We censor ourselves, WILLINGLY, because we don't wish to hurt anyone's feelings. That is the first link in the chain of tyranny.

Think of it. We have traded the right to state our most cherished beliefs, and our right to dissent from the oppressive mob, in order not to hurt the feelings of despots and terrorists!

I chose Hans and his sister to best represent the authenticity of bravely speaking freely, regardless of the outcome, because they were college kids, like my college kids and your college kids. My college kid has to muzzle her opinions in the face of thousands of lies every day, just in order to get good grades and to graduate. If she were to speak her mind on most any topic that the professors or undergraduate poseurs should find offensive, she could be humiliated publicly, denounced as a racist, extremist, or even be expelled for saying her opinions. It happens with frightening regularity!

She, like other college students, must undergo a thorough attempt at brainwashing, by being forced to take nonsensical courses in Marxist/Feminist/Offended Minority dogma, and she must confess her guilt for all the past crimes of humanity for merely being white and American.

I don't know how many kids can come through this sort of psychological abuse unscathed, but I suspect she will, because she knows her history, she has a firm grasp of her own mind and reality. Other kids are not so fortunate. Many may mouth the empty platitudes, but others will in the end, like Winston, come to love Big Brother.

One reason that Hans and Sophie Scholl were able to come to the realization that Hitler was an evil monster, in spite of the efforts of the Hitler Youth to brainwash them, is because of their parents, who were unafraid to tell their own children the truth.

This is interesting, since many kids will not veer too far from their parents' philosophies, if they have had a good relationship with them.

I don't worry too much about my college kid in that sense, but so many others lose themselves to this evil idiocy....and they always seem to wind up with power and the need to enforce their speech codes on the rest of us.

May we always be thankful for the right and privilege to speak candidly and forthrightly, and may we find ourselves emboldened to speak freely when others tell us that we may not do so.


Photo by Guillaume Louyot

Especially in the presence of cowards and tyrants.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Happy Days are Here Again!

"Motherhood" by Yihang Pan


I am glad to be neither Democrat nor Republican.

To be a Democrat is to be afflicted with the insanities of a barren life solely seen through a political glass, where every aspect of living has a political remedy that only Democrats can foist upon us all, if only they have enough power. Such a life is nothing but band-aid measures, short-sidedness and finally condemned by unforeseen consequences.

To be a Republican these days, on the other hand, is to be rudderless, having forsaken the ideals that made the party and the nation great, and well, that is even sadder.

Who throws away such an inheritance but an ungrateful spendthrift? That is the Republican party.

But I guess this is where the people want to be. It is a democracy, and I'm in favor of it, even when my guys lose.

Curiously, I find myself relieved from having to put up with all the political ads. I also find that now that the Dems are in power, I can look forward to finding my own solutions for myself and my family when it comes to security, since I know they have no answers, and people like me don't need complicated solutions, anyway, since we have common sense.

I can only imagine how the sufferers of BDS (Bush Derangement Syndrome) will revel in their new glut of power, and how they will feast on it, but I am nowhere near it, it's nowhere near me, and I don't feel the need, at least at this time, to stockpile weapons and canned goods, and move my family into a cabin somewhere in Idaho.

I want only to focus on that Eternal Country, to feed the flock, to clothe the naked, to pray for the prisoners, to be unashamed of my beliefs. There is no political route for me here, just as there was no political answers coming from Jesus to His followers, either.

I haven't spent much time in church lately, since after 9/11/01 our pastor preached nary a word about the horrific events of the previous Tuesday morning. All he talked about was raising funds for the Water Slide Outreach in Hungary. Slippin' and slidin' fer Jesus.

Being powerless is for me a good thing. Being weak, I feel strengthened. There are many people in the world who hurt and are abused living under intolerable conditions, many are Christians, like myself. I would rather identify with them than any political party in all its temporal glory.

Having said all that, I know what the consequences are probably going to be down the road, and the time I have now will be used to prepare myself and my loved ones for that possible eventuality.

I always tell my daughters that economies never stay strong forever, that justice is not always going to be a given, that truth will not win in the end sometimes, and to look into the forgotten abyss of history.

Not at the big wars, but at the calm times before the wars even started.

The one characteristic of people the whole wide world over and throughout time, is their cluelessness and irrational belief that all is well, when it isn't.

Reality is only real if we talk about it, right? If we just don't talk about the evils which stalk us the evils will never catch us... they don't exist, after all, if we don't talk about them.

People talked about "peace in our time," and treaties and agreements that were very reasonable were waved for the fawning press...we all saw where that went, now didn't we? And so we are once again governed by hypocrites and fools, who talk about timetables for quitting an active war zone, and prosecuting the president, damn the consequences, full speed ahead. Right over the cliff.

I don't plan on going over the cliff with them, people like me survive in all kinds of situations, and we will survive this, too. We just have to be courageous in stating the obvious. Courage is much easier when taken with a good snort of ridicule.

So, let us wait and watch, and occupy ourselves with better things. Let us go ahead and continue to warn our fellow countrymen, even though we know they won't believe or listen to us.

Happy days really are here, again.

God preserve the United States of America.

Monday, October 2, 2006

Atrocities against children (UPDATED)

"As the Crow Flies" painted by Richard Hartel ca. 1974

Here, in Lancaster County, PA, there is a whole industry devoted to telling the tourists who come here, just how blissful and bucolic life is among the Amish.

We live in a former cornfield, where once stood an Amish house and barn, where now hundreds of people are living in houses that all look the same. Not an Amish man or woman to be found in our midst.

If you want to gawk at the Amish, you have to go up the road a piece. There is a large Amish farm, and every summer I go there and buy the sweetest corn and melons...and tomatoes and celery and everything else you can buy.

If you are plug lazy, you can just sit out on my back porch and watch the Amish buggies and horses come gently clipclopping by at any given hour of the day or night.

So what, in the milkman's past set him off against Amish girls? What happened in his life to suggest that sending at least 6 - so far, at least 13 were shot - little unarmed girls to their Lord before sending himself to hell was the right thing to do?

First, he sent all the boys, aged 6 to 13 out of the room....and indeed, it was only a room. The teacher went to get help, because there are no phones in Amish homes or schools.

Then the milkman tied the girls up against the blackboard and he executed them by shooting them in the head.

I can't even fathom this man's quest for revenge. I can't even think now. I have to weep.

Update: 10 girls were shot altogether. The killer's name was Charles Carl Roberts IV, and pardon me for not saying here what his reasons were: they were vile... his motive for killing the girls is here.

Two more girls died this morning, bringing the total number of murdered children up to five, while 5 are still in critical condition in various hospitals.

Here are the names and ages of of the girls:

Naomi Rose Ebersole, 7;
Anna Mae Stoltzfus, 12;
Marian Fisher, 13;
Mary Liz Miller, 8;
and her sister Lina Miller, 7.

Here is the most chilling line, at least for me:

While Roberts' wife went to a morning prayer group, Roberts drove to the tiny Amish school to carry out his plan, Miller said.

What kind of fraudulent life must a man be living at home, to convince even his own wife that he is what he isn't? It staggers the imagination.

A belated, blessed Yom Kippur to all my best Jews at Discarded Lies and World Wide!

By Marc Chagall (Mark Zakharovich Shagal) from www.msgr.ca

The Praying Jew

Yeshua (Jesus) knew the weight of the Talith over his head, the warmth of the prayer shawl about his shoulders.
Prayer was not casual, accidental.
Prayer was intentional, deliberate.
The phylacteries may have reminded him of Joseph who may have given him
these symbols of prayerful discipline.
The two would have sat beside each other in the Synagogue at Nazareth.



From Wikipedia:

Maurycy Gottlieb (1856--1879). Jews Praying in the Synagogue on Yom Kippur. Vienna. 1878. Oil on canvas. 96 1/2 x 75 1/2 in. (245.1 x 191.8 cm.) Tel Aviv Museum of Art. The artist's self portrait is standing to the right of the seated rabbi, looking outwards. The inscription on the Torah scroll says "Donated in memory of our late honored teacher and rabbi Moshe Gottlieb of blessed memory 1878." The artist has depicted himself and his wife at various stages of life. All of the men in the painting are of the author at different ages and similarly the women are all of his wife.

(From Jewish Art, edited by Grace Cohen Grossman, ISBN 0-88363-695-6, page 199. Copied with a Canon EOS Digital Rebel with EF 50mm f/1.8 mounted on a copy stand at the UConn art department. ISO 100, f/8, 1/15s. The image was then cropped and level-adjusted with Gimp and saved with a JPEG quality of 0.95.)

May our G-d bless all of you and keep you on this, your most high and holy day. I know that the above reference to Jesus in the first picture may seem galling to you.

I am not trying to convert anyone. Jesus was a Jew, and as more evidence comes along, unlike the portrayal of him in a certain movie by a certain moonbat, the realization for me, at least, is that Jesus, the Jew - spoke Hebrew, as a Jew to his fellow Jews, first and foremost.

We Gentiles seem to think that Jesus spoke red letter King James English, and that Jesus was a bit on the Germanic side of the racial scale. Over time, we have erased his Jewishness from our minds, and as a result, he is no longer a Jew. I guess that explains why churches are ever willing to "divest" from Israel.

In any case, a great lie and evil has been perpetuated over the years.

Whether or not you believe in him as the Messiah is neither here nor there to me.
Be the Jew and I will be the Gentile Christian. Everyone else hates us anyway...sadly, many of them are Jews and Christians! Go figure.

Having long ago given up on the church as it is in this country, I have found myself most comfortable cloaked in invisibility, alongside those who are also invisible to me. I pray and think about you all each and every day. You are all more real to me than my own self! We are spiritual sojourners in a parched land. Much love to you, Annie and joem, and Rabbi Brody, Pamela at Atlas Shrugs, the Elders of Zion, Israpundit, all of you, a blessed Yom Kippur.

Did not Amos predict the coming famine? And is it not here already?

Amos 8

11 Behold, the days come, saith the Lord GOD, that I will send a famine in the land, not a famine of bread, nor a thirst for water, but of hearing the words of the LORD:

12 And they shall wander from sea to sea, and from the north even to the east, they shall run to and fro to seek the word of the LORD, and shall not find it.

In this long day of fasting, may you feast upon the words of G-d, and may He sustain you and preserve your land.

We are governed by buffoons and wretches.

Today, belatedly, I will keep a fast, from sun-up to sundown. And you invisible Jews and Christian sojourners, and all you agnostics, too....you will be in my heart and prayers and always in my one thought this day.

G'mar Chatima Tova!

(and may you all be inscribed into the Book of Life)

A fitting close: From Ocean Guy, via Elder of Ziyon:

The following true story, dramatically demonstrates the deep prayer in the heart of every Jew, for a world free of hate and violence, for a world of peace.
For Benaya Rein, of blessed memory, his prayer was not fulfilled in his life time. But he has left it for us here in the world, to meditate upon, as part of his legacy.

Benaya Rein was killed on Saturday night, the last day of the war. Benaya, along with his four young comrades, were part of the special unit that rescues wounded soldiers and soldiers in distress. Benaya became a legend even before his death, for his never ceasing, heroic, rescue efforts under heavy fire, throughout the war. Benaya and his comrades almost never slept, and he SMS'd his mother only once during the month of the war. There was no time, Benaya was saving lives while risking death, every minute.

The day after his death, his grief stricken younger sister went into labour and gave birth to her first child, a son.

The following Sunday, when the family got up from Shiva, they went first to the cemetery to visit Benaya grave, and then to the Brit Milah of their new grandson - who they tearfully named Benaya. One Benaya was taken from this world, another was given.

When the family went through Benaya's belongings, they found a piece of paper, handwritten by Benaya, with a prayer that he carried with him into war. The text is below, in Benaya's own handwriting, and translated into English. In memory of Benaya and the message that he left for all of us, with his death, let's spread his story this Yom Kippur to the world he left behind, and let us forever remember the Prayer of a Jew as he goes into battle -



"Please G-d, let there be no more war"!!

May it be your will Dear G-d, our L-rd, and L-rd of our fathers, that you erase war and the spilling of blood from the world and that a great and wonderful peace should overtake the world; that nation should no longer lift up sword against nation, nor should they learn war anymore. Rather let all residents of the Earth recognize and know the ultimate truth - that we did not come to this world for arguing or fighting - G-d forbid - and not for hatred or deceit, spitefulness or spilling of blood, G-d forbid. Rather, we have come into this world in order to recognize and to know You, the Blessed One.

Shabbat Shalom and ....
G'mar Chatima Tova!

Sunday, October 1, 2006

Al Gore: Assholian Whackjob





At some point, we are going to realize just what the source of global warming is, and it isn't going to be the Marlboro man.


He's hot.







Image kiped from "The Official Al Gore Page"

Saturday, September 30, 2006

A "what if" proposal: Today's what if: Muslims actually assassinate Pope Benedict




Video courtesy of The People's Cube

I put this question to Thomas Lifson the other day, and while I haven't heard back from him, I will put it to anyone who might stumble upon this site:
What if the angry seething sons of the Religion of Peace™ succeed in assassinating Pope Benedict?
What will the reaction of the world be to seeing the multitudes of joyful, ululating future shahids and shahidas dancing in the streets of Beirut, Cairo or Paris?
Will Europe grow a spine? My bet is that they will finally acknowledge that "they didn't really need a pope anyway...Really. It's no big loss "

Your thoughts and wagers, please.

I would have thought that the dismemberment of unarmed westerners and the hoisting of their body parts in Fallujah would have been the tipping point, but I was wrong. Then I figured the beheading of Nick Berg was a tipping point, but again, I was wrong. The atrocity in Beslan, I was oh so sure that that would have convinced everyone, but no, nada. Barely a whimper on the nightly news. So this is why I think that if the Pope is assassinated, Europe will bitch like a woman, but in the end, not do anything about it, because ultimately, European rulers are pussies.


UPDATE: From Mr. Lifson:

First, I pray the Pope isn't assassinated.

Europe is clearly starting to wake up. I don't look for an actual outbreak of war. Just a toughening, and maybe eventually an end to Muslim immigration. But they are already screwed.

The Pope is attending to a worldwide flock. That is his job But I am positive that he intends to change the secularization of Europe. He wasn't tithe (?) Church to lead an awakening there. And his assassination (God forbid!) might well spark this.

But he is too brilliant a man to lose. I don't know who else might be waiting in the wings. My assumption is that nobody anticipates an assassination. He may not go to Turkey.

I hope so, Thomas. I really hope so. Sometimes we have to feel the lash to wake up, though, and what exactly will be the end of Western civilization must be left for the remnants who survive and have to clean up our mess.

Fjordman has his own ideas about The Eurabian Code.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Now, for a little Cease Fire Entertainment!


On account there's a ragin' cease fire under way, I expect we has us a couple of hours to blow on a double feature!


First up, Song of the South.While it has been released in Europe and Asia by Disney, (cuz there ain't no chance no how there's gonna be any sorta race riots over showin' it privately in your own home) you are S.O.L. if you try to purchase it from Disney in the States, due to its politically incorrect and cruel insensitivity towards African Americans in the post bellum reconstructionist South.

The following is from a series of emails I sent to the Eloquent Mr. Lifson, with whom I have been corresponding on all things typographically erroneous. I have not put in his responses, out of respect for his privacy, but I will post what I wrote him, because I think it would make a great article:

To The American Thinker Editor:

Yes, they were ugly, but not appallingly so. Way off topic, i (sic, just sic) thought I would share this unnecessary insight of a movie I bought.

It was a pirated copy of Disney's Song of the South, and a mighty excellent copy of it, too, I must say. I bought it, not only because it was one of my favorite movies growing up, but I thought it was rather condescending of Disney to refrain from putting it out due to any PC concerns the company has about its naïve portrayal of blacks during the Reconstructionist era of the South.

So I sat watching my illegal booty, and what should come to mind but this: I loved Uncle Remus. I loved his wisdom, and his compassion and his wit. I didn't care if he was black. I didn't care if Aunt Tempie was black, either. When I watched the movie, the memories of wanting to be with them were overwhelming. I watched my niece who is 7 and my daughter, who is 9 watch Brer Rabbit try to get out of the tar baby, and how they laughed! But I didn't hear once that it was a racist cartoon, or that the whole portrayal of blacks in Hollywood was, well, you know, yada yada yada.

So I watched them as much as I watched the movie, and you know what? I feel no guilt whatsoever.

~Response from Mr. Lifson here~

From me:

If you try to buy Song of the South on ebay, you might pay throught the nose. If your computer has a dvd burner, you can copy it. The copy I have, while not completely flawless, is still quite a good copy, given the age of the movie.

I Googled 'Song of the South', and found all sorts of sellers for this movie.

I purchased my copy from http://www.songofthesouthdvdremastered.com/ for $18 plus S&H, and altogether it was less than $25.00.....and others sell it for even less...try buying Fantasia all nice and legal, and it will cost at least $35.00. So, legal or not, Song of the South is really worth having.

I read at wikipedia that the powers that be at Disney, having reviewed the film themselves (after being repeatedly asked by shareholders to release the movie) have decided on behalf of us all, that it is simply not a good movie for people to watch, due to its inaccurate portrayal of black share croppers in the Post Bellum south, which begs this question:

Why is this movie, released in 1946, deemed not worthy of viewing, while Gone with the Wind, released in 1939, is?

Don't expect any satisfactory answers, but somehow this ties in with many issues of the day. Hypocrisy being the number one export of the Hollywood elites. (We now import hypocrisy, thanks in large part to Reuters and AP, and all the other press vermin.)

Song of the South was released after WWII, and Gone with the Wind was released before the war started. I am not sure what point there is in noting that, but how we portray ourselves and how we see those with whom we are at war, both past and present, through the prism of popular culture is interesting in that the newsmedia - recorders of history and currently in total meltdown, are trying to convince people through manipulation of imagery, of truths that are not true, and villifying the innocent who merely wish to defend themselves.

Yet, in Song of the South - made at a low point of racial relations in this country - we see a priviledged white boy seeking a father figure in Uncle Remus, befriending a little girl whose class is well below his estate. If anything, this is a positive, healing sort of film. Uncle Remus is trusted by both black and white alike, and even by the boy's grandmother...so his worth, his dignity and equality are firmly and quietly established from the very first moment of the film. Uncle Remus is the Man, regardless of his humbled estate, regardless of his race. Perhaps it is unrealistic how black sharecroppers are portrayed, but look at the way the present is portrayed by the media.

Today, we get a glut of movies that unrealistically portray the races in continual struggle, seething hatred and constant warfare.

Class is pitted against class, often violently. But are these images any more truthful in their depictions of minorities and people of low caste? Are they any less divisive and controversial? One common element blatantly woven throughout today's media it this theme: In the culture of the Righteously Angered, Downtrodden and Oppressed, the victim may indeed get vengeance, but he will never be the Man.

Lastly, Disney doesn't seem interested at all in going after the purveyors of this pirated movie. I find that comical. Listen to all the howling from the movie industry about losing billions of dollars...

Alas! How they toil and suffer! But you...you thieving little know-nothing, just you try painting a picture of Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck on the wall of your daycare center and see what a pack of snarling Disney lawyerhounds gets released into the play yard.

I close with a review of the book:
"Brand Name Bullies: The Quest to Own and Control Culture (Hardcover) "

From Publishers Weekly
Starred Review. Society’s growing mania to "propertize" every idea, image, sound and scent that impinges on our consciousness is ably dissected in this hilarious and appalling exposé of intellectual property law. Bollier, author of Silent Theft, compiles a long litany of copyright and trademark excesses, many of them familiar from brief flurries of media coverage but, in his view, no less outrageous for it. Music royalty consortium ASCAP sought fees from the Girl Scouts for singing copyrighted songs around the campfire; McDonalds threatened businesses with the Mc prefix in their names; Disney threatened a day-care center that painted Mickey and Goofy on its walls; and Mattel sued a rock band that dared satirize Barbie in song. Nor is it only corporate megaliths that resort to this petty legal thuggery. Martin Luther King’s estate forbids unauthorized use of his "I Have a Dream" speech (but rents it to Telecom ad campaigns), and the author of a completely silent composition was asked for royalties because it allegedly infringed on avant-garde composer John Cage’s own completely silent composition. Bollier is a sure guide through the thickets of intellectual property law, writing in an engaging style that spotlights capitalism and its supporting cast of lawyers at their most absurd. But he probes a deeper problem: as the public domain becomes a private monopoly, he warns, our open society, which depends on the free, collective elaboration of a shared "cultural commons," will wither away. Photos.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

--------------------------------------------------

Our second feature is "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" which is supposed to be a satire on Homer's Odyssey.

Now, I reckon there's some o' that in thar, but the great thing about dish heah movie, is its language and musical soundtrack.

The art of story tellin' and tall tales and suchlike is lifted to sublime heights of celestial glory in this movie.

The fun of watching this film is all the quotable lines in it, which is just about every line in the film.

I always manage to come away from watching it with a renewed hunger for hocks and beans and corn pone, and with a lasting southern lilt in my voice, that has a way of plaguing my kinfolk for hours on end...which is like gettin' new toys for a language person, such as myself.

Go thou, brer readers, therefore, and watch these homages to the South, and be quick about it, lest you miss yon renewed outbreak of the Cycle of Violence™ sure to come.

Yours very truly, Brer Jauhara.

Monday, August 14, 2006

Doing it for the children...and the puppies..


To the commentator I mistakenly called "Brett"...let's get real, shall we?

Beckett, you are definitely NOT going to like this, but I am posting it anyway, since this is the reality we all face with the Religion of Peace™ and the Sons of Allah™ and Followers of the False Prophet™. It is a most grim read, but a truer vision of the hell we all face can't be stated well enough by me, so I will let others more knowledgeable do it, instead.



On the Virtues of Killing Children
Posted By Grim


You are not going to like this.

On the demonstrable virtues of not caring if children die, on hardening your mind for war, and other things we can no longer avoid discussing.
Beware that you are ready before you pass this seal.

Let us begin with a debate between a peaceful, gentle soul, and me. The topic could be Israel's war, or ours in Iraq, or -- if they have the heart for it -- the one to come.

The gentle soul -- how I respect her! -- will begin by pointing out how many innocents have died in the recent wars, and especially the children, who are the most obviously innocent. She will point out figures for Iraq, for Afghanistan, for Lebanon, and ask: "How can you justify this? These poor children, who might have been good men, good women, lain in the cold earth?"

We have all had the conversation that far, have we not? We are accustomed to reply:

"But the enemy is the one that targets children. We try our best to avoid hurting children. That makes us better. Furthermore, the enemy hides himself among children. As a result, in spite of our best efforts, sometimes children die on the other side also. But again, it is not our fault -- it is his fault. He endangers them."

She replies: "But how can you justify their deaths? Regardless of how hard you try, will you not kill them? Some of them? Should we not choose peace instead?"

Let us consider that.

What if we asked her, "Let us speculate that our enemy -- say in Iran -- seeks to kill our children. If we attack them to stop it, we may or may not kill any of their children -- and we will do everything in our power to avoid it. If we do not, they certainly will kill ours. Should we attack them or not?"

She will answer: "That is a false example. Nothing is certain, and it is said that hard cases make bad law."

"Fair enough," we reply, "but where will you find the parent who will sacrifice her children for the possibility of keeping another parent's child alive?"

"It would be impossible," she will agree, but add, "However, nothing is that certain."

"Then let us make it conditional," I continue. "Let us say that there is the possibility we shall kill a child -- but we shall do our best not to do so -- and only the possibility that they will kill our child, but it is their aim. Now, should we try to stop them -- though risking their child? Or should we refuse, and take the increased risk that they will succeed in their murder, since no one dares disrupt them?"

"It is always wrong to take the risk of killing a child, whether we do it or they do," she will say.

"Why so?" I ask.

"Because it endangers the innocent," she replies.

"If that is the reason," I answer, "then you are wrong. It is best that we bomb without fear."

Her eyes grow wide. "You are mad," she says. (Read the rest)

Now, look at this photo of Green Helmet Guy...trophy hunter, extraordinaire. Do you know of any EMTs who would pose a child's body this way for the cameras? I know of fishermen who would, but no fireman or ambulance attendant would. This child is mere fodder in Iran's Proxy War.

I hope Salam Daher (Green Helmet Guy) gets a missile up his vile Hezbollah sphincter.

I will say this for Salam, though. He is one masterful son of a bitch, and I predict he will get an Oscar for both best direction and manipulation of the whoring adoring press, as well as best actor in the same movie.

But now, let's look at Lebanon, that innocent people who never did anything to deserve the rain of death falling on their innocent children and innocent puppies.

I could say plenty about this, but as I stated earlier, there are better, more knowledgeable people actually there who are better prepared to comment on what is going on in Lebanon.
Via the evil Elder of Zion and Israel Matzav (Don't forget the protocols. THE PROTOCOLS!)

Michael Béhé: The Most Hypocritical People on Earth.

The politicians, journalists and intellectuals of Lebanon have, of late, been experiencing the shock of their lives. They knew full well that Hezbollah had created an independent state in our country, a state including all the ministers and parallel institutions, duplicating those of Lebanon. What they did not know – and are discovering with this war, and what has petrified them with surprise and terror – is the extent of this phagocytosis.

In fact, our country had become an extension of Iran, and our so-called political power also served as a political and military cover for the Islamists of Teheran. We suddenly discovered that Teheran had stocked more than 12,000 missiles, of all types and calibers, on our territory and that they had patiently, systematically, organized a suppletive force, with the help of the Syrians, that took over, day after day, all the rooms in the House of Lebanon. Just imagine it : we stock ground-to-ground missiles, Zilzals, on our territory and that the firing of such devices without our knowledge, has the power to spark a regional strategic conflict and, potentially, bring about the annihilation of Lebanon.

We knew that Iran, by means of Hezbollah, was building a veritable Maginot line in the south but it was the pictures of Maroun el-Ras and Bint J’bail that revealed to us the magnitude of these constructions. This amplitude made us understand several things at once : that we were no longer masters of our destiny. That we do not possess the most basic means necessary to reverse the course of this state of things and that those who turned our country into an outpost of their islamic doctrine’s combat against Israel did not have the slightest intention of willingly giving up their hold over us. (Read the rest)

And Beckett, so that there is no more misunderstanding who the enemies of humanity are, please take note:

From the Daily Telegraph


Bottle and baby used as bomb
By Fiona Hudson

August 14, 2006 12:00
Article from: The Daily Telegraph

A HUSBAND and wife arrested in the British terror raids allegedly planned to take their six-month-old baby on a mid-air suicide mission.

Scotland Yard police are quizzing Abdula Ahmed Ali, 25, and his 23-year-old wife Cossor over suspicions they were to use their baby's bottle to hide a liquid bomb.

The theory is one of the reasons security chiefs are now insisting mothers taste babies' milk at check-in desks before allowing them to take bottles aboard flights.

The pair are among up to 23 suspects being questioned over a plot to bring down nine airliners over five US cities, killing thousands of people in the air and on the ground. (Read the rest.)

Finally, Beckett, I just don't get you. Are you in Israel? Because, dude, they are finally starting to understand the deadly magnitude of believing the sort of imbecility that intellectual braintrusts like you have been spoon feeding them for the last 20 years, and now they are paying a heavy price for it.

Sunday, August 6, 2006

We are all Hezbollah, now! or...Why Britain is doomed


In case you're wondering why I have put up a picture of
Sir Pat/Locutus of Borg-scroll down , it is because he and his folk are about to become assimilated, and resistance would be futile. Patrick Stewart left the US, not long after Dubya stole the throne from His Epicene Highness Al.

(Apparently, Sir Pat got his tights in a bunch over the Republican coup and left Hollywood in a snit. Not sure what make and model the snit was, but I hear she's gorgeous, and just a scosh over the legal age and even
has a job! Way to go, Sir Pat!)

Let's just take a look at his beloved England to see how things are faring in the future.

Personally, I have little or no hope for this once great culture, since it has developed a severe case of Historical Amnesia.

Where once we had the bastions of rigorous intellect and reason, and a center for reformed Christian thought, we now see Teletubbies and BooBah, and chavs and one-eyed Abu Hamza al Masri and his wives and welfare checks.

Really, blokes, you've brought this on yourselves. You say we're all Hezbollah, well then fine. I'll play the game with you. I will be a Hezbo, too. First thing, come September 11th, I am going to set a Katyusha rocket launcher up on top of the elementary school and fire me some hot Jew hate toward the newly built House of Joooz (synagogue) down the road, a piece.

If and when they fire back, and they almost certainly will, because they are Zionazi Joo baby killers, I will be long gone, and they will kill all the little kindergardeners inside. YAY! Prop-O-Ganda coup! Dude, does it get any better than this?

Oh yeah, because I'm Hezbo, the local press will want sympathetic pics of dead and disfigured tots for the afternoon paper, so they'll send over a pliant photog, who will take pictures where I tell him to shoot, and you know why?

Cuz I'm the beeyotch wearing the orange emergency worker vest and wearing the green helmet. Cuz I'm Hezbo, now.

Well, I doubt things will come to it as badly in the US as they have in the Old Country, but here's a glimpse of their future Utopia in Sharia Paradise:



Yes, we are all Hezbians, now. Hezbian. I like that. Kind of emasculating and easy to say. Hezbians. Rhymes with Lesbians. And looking at some of the femmes in here you can see why I would say that.

Did you hear the Dumb Blonde joke about the Dumb Blonde who was identifying herself as a Hezbian, and therefore really into misogyny, and female genital mutilation, and using children as suicide bombers? No? Well, here's a picture of the punchline for you.




Dollies! Getcher red hot dollies right here, folks! What little girl wouldn't want a bloody amputated doll on Death to Israel Day?


And what red hot dolly would be complete without accessories? Those shoes are to DIE FOR! Really.


If you truly want to see why England is so doomed, look at the Dhimmified Police Farce that is England's. Nothing to see here, folks, move on.



And now the hoisting of the New Improved Union Jack! Not quite as easy to draw as Ye Olde Union Jack, but why dicker about that? As far as I am concerned, Locutus has hoist himself on his own Picard.

All photos were posted at Moonbatmedia.
Except for Locutus. But that's just a matter of time. Heh.

Thursday, August 3, 2006

An Infidel commemorates Tish'a B'av (The Ninth of Av)



Video can be found at You Tube and Solomonia

Today is the Ninth of Av. It is a day of sorrow, fasting, weeping and remembering.

We don't have anything like it in Christendom. Not Good Friday. Not Ash Wednesday.

Tish'a B'av is a day of historical calamities.

Please click the title link for a a definitive explanation of this important holiday.

How do we, in the rest of the world even begin to understand the evil that surrounds Israel? How do we begin to contemplate what their enemies have in store for us, if we don't support the Jews?

We must look at their enemies, because their enemies are children.

An unfortunate truth. A hideous truth.

The cowardly adults have taken their own children and sacrificed them to their evil god of death.

From American Digest




Child Care

Children are easy.
One gun will rule dozens.
Shoot one, the rest will obey.

Children are easy
To keep and control.
No need to water or feed.

Children are easy.
Their tears are quite tiny.
No need to hear them or heed.

Children are easy.
They gather in schools.
It's simple to beat them en masse.

Children are easy.
Their bones are like sticks.
You can snap them in two if you please.

Children are easy,
And much cheaper to kill.
One bullet can blow away three.

Children are easy.
There will always be more
For the bags, for the bags, for the bags on the floor.

And please read this article from American Digest as well.

As non Jews, we have an obligation to commemorate Tish'a B'av:

We must weep for the children who are so callously sacrificed with wicked glee by their evil parents and teachers, and we must weep for the children who were taught, "Thou shalt not kill" whose parents tearfully and painfully must relinquish them to God's care, in order that civilisation and with it the whole world survives.

Pray for those who sacrifice themselves for a greater good.

Pray for their enemies, that God would lighten their darkened and foolish minds, and heal their souls.

Pray for their children.

Monday, July 31, 2006

Yalla ya Nasrallah!




Time to start kicking in with the Psy-Ops part of the ongoing war on Terror, that is, Islam...

Curiously, the one element lacking in this war is the ridiculing of your enemies. It was a given that in wars past, in order to ramp up support in the effort, ridiculing the enemy was important. It was also cathartic.

Political Correctness has put the kibosh on that once hallowed tradition, at least in this country.

This is the new media, and we can all participate in the trashing of our enemies!
Everyone can be a psy-ops agent provocateur. Why should we leave the fun to the professionals?

On a related note, the enemies of humanity make full use of the useful idiot media.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Just when we were beginning to lose hope

Could the news be worse for Israel?

Only if you believe all that you read in the newspapers or watch the news on television.

One thing is clear: Everyone hates Israel.

Israel is the whipping boy of the world. He can do nothing right.

Now, as in the past, it's the smallest flame of light which pierces the darkness, the still, small voice which silences the roaring demons of ignorance.

Follow the links and read about an amazing discovery in an Irish bog.

Israel Insider has some good insights on this as well.

Here is the 1200 year 0ld message found in an Irish bog... some people would do well to heed it.

Psa 83:1 Keep not thou silence, O God: hold not thy peace, and be not still, O God.
Psa 83:2 For, lo, thine enemies make a tumult: and they that hate thee have lifted up the head.
Psa 83:3 They have taken crafty counsel against thy people, and consulted against thy hidden ones.
Psa 83:4 They have said, Come, and let us cut them off from being a nation; that the name of Israel may be no more in remembrance.
Psa 83:5 For they have consulted together with one consent: they are confederate against thee:
Psa 83:6 The tabernacles of Edom, and the Ishmaelites; of Moab, and the Hagarenes;
Psa 83:7 Gebal, and Ammon, and Amalek; the Philistines with the inhabitants of Tyre;
Psa 83:8 Assur also is joined with them: they have holpen the children of Lot. Selah.
Psa 83:9 Do unto them as unto the Midianites; as to Sisera, as to Jabin, at the brook of Kison:
Psa 83:10 Which perished at Endor: they became as dung for the earth.
Psa 83:11 Make their nobles like Oreb, and like Zeeb: yea, all their princes as Zebah, and as Zalmunna:
Psa 83:12 Who said, Let us take to ourselves the houses of God in possession.
Psa 83:13 O my God, make them like a wheel; as the stubble before the wind.
Psa 83:14 As the fire burneth a wood, and as the flame setteth the mountains on fire;
Psa 83:15 So persecute them with thy tempest, and make them afraid with thy storm.
Psa 83:16 Fill their faces with shame; that they may seek thy name, O LORD.
Psa 83:17 Let them be confounded and troubled for ever; yea, let them be put to shame, and perish:
Psa 83:18 That men may know that thou, whose name alone is JEHOVAH, art the most high over all the earth.

Now, something WAY off-topic for you on these hot, sweltering summer days:

Expect a line to form when you unveil this stunning dessert. It's swirled throughout with tangy lemon curd, which amplifies the richness of the surrounding cheesecake.

Lemon Curd Marbled Cheesecake

For lemon curd
1 teaspoon finely grated fresh lemon zest
1/2 cup fresh lemon juice
1/2 cup sugar
3 large eggs
1/2 stick (1/4 cup) unsalted butter, cut into small pieces

For crust
1 1/3 cups finely ground graham cracker crumbs (5 oz)
1/3 cup sugar
3/4 teaspoon salt
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

For filling
3 (8-oz) packages cream cheese, softened
1 cup sugar
3 large eggs
3/4 cup sour cream
1 teaspoon vanilla

Special equipment: a 9- to 91/2-inch (24-cm) springform pan
Accompaniment: blueberries


Make lemon curd: Whisk together zest, juice, sugar, and eggs in a 2-quart heavy saucepan. Add butter and cook over moderately low heat, whisking frequently, until curd is thick enough to hold marks of whisk and first bubbles appear on surface, about 6 minutes.

Force lemon curd through a fine-mesh sieve into a wide shallow dish, scraping bottom of sieve, then cover surface with wax paper. Cool completely, stirring occasionally, about 30 minutes.

Make and bake crust: Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350°F. Invert bottom of springform pan (to make it easier to slide cake off bottom), then lock on side. 3Stir together crust ingredients in a bowl, then press onto bottom and 1 inch up side of springform pan. Place springform pan in a shallow baking pan and bake 10 minutes, then cool crust completely in springform pan on a rack.

Make filling and bake cheesecake: Reduce oven temperature to 300°F.

Beat together cream cheese and sugar in a bowl with an electric mixer at medium speed until smooth, 1 to 2 minutes. Reduce speed to low and add eggs 1 at a time, beating until incorporated. Beat in sour cream and vanilla until combined.

Pour two thirds of cream cheese filling into crust, then spoon half of lemon curd over filling and swirl curd into filling with a small knife. (Avoid touching crust with knife to prevent crumbs getting into filling.) Repeat with remaining filling and curd.

Bake cheesecake until set 1 1/2 inches from edge but center trembles when pan is gently shaken, about 45 minutes. (Center of cake will appear very loose but will continue to set as it cools.) Transfer springform pan to a rack and immediately run a knife around top edge of cake to loosen. Cool completely, about 2 hours, then chill, uncovered, at least 4 hours. Remove side of springform pan before serving.

Cooks' Notes:
• Lemon curd can be made 1 week ahead and chilled, covered.
• Crust (without filling) can be made 1 day ahead and kept, covered, at room temperature.
• Cheesecake can be chilled, loosely covered, up to 2 days. Cheesecake must be completely chilled before covering to prevent condensation on its surface.

Makes 10 servings.

Gourmet
July 2006
Maggie Ruggiero

Epicurious.com © CondéNet, Inc. All rights reserved.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Spritual Interruptions

Christ granting the request of the Canaanite woman

One of the things I would like to state about myself is not a boast. It is a simple truth.

I have perfect pitch and can pick out tunes on the piano and play them after one hearing, including all the complex chords and basslines. This is a knack which doesn't necessarily make me a very good pianist, but it is helpful.

Another thing is that I have memories of my life as far back as the age of three, some centered around scary childhood experiences, and some not so scary experiences.

It would be a mistake to leave everyone with the impression that I have only memories of traumatic experiences and that is all I would write about. Not at all.
Concerning my mother, I have some very lovely and tender memories. I also have some hilarious ones as well.

Things I remember about Mom before 1969:

Lucid Moments

Mom liked to make lemon meringue pies. She made the flakiest crust and most delicious lemon meringue I have ever eaten. I don't eat lemon meringue pie but once in every five years or so, because the taste always evokes a strong and whistful memory in me about her.

Mom read to me as a child. All the time. I have tried to do this for my children. One of the greatest joys was being taught to read by my mother. Before I was 5, I could read. I cannot remember not being able to read before entering school.

Mom always prayed with us at bedtime. We also said grace at dinnertime. She didn't tolerate thievery. She caught me once having pilfered a handful of grapes and marched me back to the store with them to apologize for stealing them. I sobbed on the way home, filled with shame at my first petty crime.

She always forgave, freely. She had a temper, but was never brutal or violent. She never ever used her words to belittle or degrade us. But she did fight with Dad. All the time.

She was devoted in her faith. She sat me on her knee as a tyke and read the story of Adam and Eve, and made me understand at a tender age what the meaning of sin was, and what the price paid by Christ for our sins.

She washed out my mouth with soap whenever I said I hate you!

Once, at eight years of age, when I thought she was completely unfair, I threw a tantrum and was sent to my room. " I HATE YOU!" I screamed.

My grandmother on dad's side was visiting. After I said those harsh words, she came in and gently admonished me that once you say something, it can never be unsaid.
It was a bitter memory, and I desperately wished that I'd never said those thoughtless words. They have caused me endless grief and remorse since I said them.

Mom was a prankster. One Christmas, my dad was trying to put our new bikes together, and he needed his drill. She reminded him it was back at the music store, and Dad got into his car, in 10 below weather, with a bitter wind, and drove the icy roads to his store, got his drill, and at four in the morning, managed to put the bikes together, with his drill motor finally burning out.

On Christmas morning, the last present he opened was a brand new drill! Mom could have saved him the trip to the music store the night before, but the look on his face was too good to waste.

Now, back to finishing this part of my life. When my aunt told my mother that she was seeking full custody of my sister and me, and the state was granting the adoption of my brothers to their foster parents, she became utterly hopeless and distraught.
Her whole life's dream was to have a large family and a big house. It was all about to come to nothing. She was at the brink of utter dispair, and felt she would die. Literally.

In the meanwhile, my father had been driven off by her family for the last time, and it appeared that the divorce would become finalized. He was sending child support checks to my aunt, and that would prove to be her undoing.

The welfare department contacted my father, and let him know that he would be billed for the welfare money my aunt was receiving on our behalf, because he hadn't been paying child support. My father showed her his cancelled checks, and proceedings to remove us from my aunt were begun.

My aunt was an eccentric. Her house was a combination of unbearable odors. Linseed oil and animals. All kinds of animals. Chickens, cats, dogs, and snakes. Possibly there might have been monkeys, since there was a hurdy-gurdy she often played.

In 1968, while in first grade, my sister and girl cousins, with whom we shared a room, all came down with a deadly strain of Hong Kong flu. Our room was quarantined, since the boys didn't get it. Only the doctor and our aunt were allowed to come in.
We stayed in this room for weeks, through the Christmas holidays and it was at this time when the welfare department paid my aunt a visit. They gave her an ultimatum: "Return custody of the girls to their parents or be prosecuted for welfare fraud and have your own children removed from you. And you will go to jail."

It was after the new year. We were barely over the flu when we suddenly found ourselves bundled up and bags packed, standing in front of our parents.

I recognized mom, but who was this guy with her? It was my own father, whom I couldn't recognise. I didn't recognise my own dad.

My sister and I didn't want to leave, since it was the only stable home we'd had for awhile, but we said hasty goodbyes and then went to my father's house and said goodbye to gramma and grampa.

I was angry at this man I couldn't even recognise, and angry at my mom for being in league with him, and all the way to our new house, I wept and wouldn't talk to either of them.

Oh yeah, our new house was in Montana.

We were being moved far from the only reality we had known. In the dead of winter.
The trip there was harrowing. I told myself over and over that I wouldn't like it therealive and that we were all going to die, and even if we got there alive, I was going to hate it. But by morning, seeing the Rocky Mountains for the first time in my life left me quietly in awe. I had never seen mountains in Kansas before. I had never seen deer, or elk. My defiance was giving way to anticipation and wonder.

We arrived at our house late at night, after nearly falling over a cliff with the U-Haul and stationwagon on an icy mountain road, after finding the victim of a car crash on the road, and watching my mother tend to his injuries, and in spite of the fact that my dad had to turn around and go looking for me, because Mom was sure I was still at the rest area. (I wasn't. I was asleep in the back under sleeping bags and pillows, but hey! What's an extra 50 miles in Montana, right?)

So here we were, on a cul-de-sac....the first time I ever heard that word. We entered our house, not yet furnished, but bustling with activity at midnight.

All four of us kids were taken downstairs to find a wonderland of playthings and all our favorite toys. The basement was huge. There was a bedroom on one side, with a large place for my sister's dollhouse under the steps. A toy racetrack with cars was being played with by kids. Four children, our ages. What a wonderful homecoming.
We had our own house, filled with toys and new friends.

The new year proved a good omen for mom and dad. Mom never had another moment that year where she was under the care of a psychiatrist. She didn't need the drugs they'd convinced her to take. She was, like Christ sending the demon out of the child, clothed and in her right mind. The woman I saw at the mental institution was replaced by a mother who knew me, who knew where she was. Who was happy for possibly the first time in her life.

Later in the month my dad brought us a puppy, whom we name McGee. Mom's cat DumDum wasn't happy. But I think I already told that story.

By July, mom was pregnant with her fifth child. She was in the peak of lucidity. She became the favorite mother on the block, and our house was always filled with everyone's kids. She arranged games for us to play, and quickly became known as the Kool-Aid Mom. In October, she and dad renewed their marriage vows. Mom was resplendent in her fashionable powder blue dress which complemented her red hair so well and we had met some new cousins for the first time. It was a happy celebration.

By the middle of January she was ready to have the baby. For an agonizing two weeks, we waited for her to come home, while she was getting over a staph infection.
Our new sister had already preceeded her home by a week and gramma and grampa were with us, helping out with the new baby. Finally, the day for mom to come home had arrived. We occupied ourselves with play til we heard her steps on the basement stairs.

It wasn't her. It was the preacher. "Your Mom has gone home to be with the Lord"
This was the euphemism for death.The other word the grownups all used was, "She passed away". Mom had lost her battle to the infection that ravaged her following a botched caesarian section, performed by a doctor who had never done one before. Her bowel had been perforated, and thus her blood poisoned.In the rush to save her, more mistakes followed. She was overmedicated just before the final operation to repair her bowel, and on the operating table, she died. She was only 29.

My father, wracked with grief, all but stopped living. Following mom's death we became poor, and the state paid for a live-in housekeeper to take care of us. Dad never sued the hospital or doctors. It is the one mystery that I can't figure out. I won't even begin to try now. It is all in the past.

There are times I feel like an amputee. My mother never lived to see her children grow up, to give them the kinds of memories that I cherish and share with my own daughters. There are so many times I would have liked to simply call mom up on the phone and ask her about the care of babies. It is the only lack I have in my life.

I am grateful to have been able to give my children good memories, and I hope they treasure them as much as I treasure the memories I have of my mother.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Priceless Kodak Moment

Get used to it, chinless wonder. The wheels of justice may turn slowly, but they are mighty weighty. Oh, but let's not leave
your big sister out of the picture. Oh, I know, It's so easy to forget when you are so frickin' busy with the end of the school year graduation festivities!
Apparently, much to everyone's relief, the chronic shortage of little boys has been erased! Great news for the class of 1384! Seems like they have just enough boys to make it an official war! Hoo waah! but ain't grampa the smart one! If you are a male in your 40s, you won't have to go to war....just send the snot-nosed 9-year old boys to do the work. And where they once sent in all those shining, fresh-faced boys with plastic keys to clear the mine fields, storm the gates of Heaven, the boys have graduated as their OWN mines! The 1380s have proven to be a time of complete modernization for Iran.
But hey, thanks for telling us what your plans for summer vacation are. Be sure to send us lots of pictures! Bubbye, now, and take care!
Major blog-grovelling to GateWay Pundit and the Prairie Pundit for their better analysis on these unfolding stories.
Your featured source for Israel news today is Ynet News
and your featured Israeli blogger for news analysis is Aussie Dave!

Monday, July 17, 2006

The Best Sources for News from Israel

Photo appears at www.nicejewishboy.net

Note to the following people: Annie and Joem @DiscardedLies, and all the Jews and Israelis who comment there, to Sarah from Beit El, Israel @ Arutz Sheva, with whom I had the pleasure of talking to on the phone, Sarah who sounded so dejected and alone in the world: I wanted to let you all know how much we care about Israel, and that we fully support you in your suffering, and that you are in our hearts and prayers.

Sunday, my brother and his family were having dinner with us, and apparently drunk on the vodka sauce, he let slip his inhibitions and spoke freely about a topic that many of us find too embarrassing to talk about.

That's right.

I am talking about blogging.

He is of the opinion that people who blog must lead pathetic lives, are narcissistic, and have nothing to say worth reading.

Well, that may be true of Yours Very Truly here, but remember:

Necessity is the Mother of Invention.

Without a propagandizing state-owned and subsidized press and Marxist proseletyzers of state-funded universities, there would never have been a need for independent and reliable sources of information.

Without the blatant invention of the news by state-owned television stations and national dailies, there would be no need for a blogosphere.

The revolution in media started in America in the late 1980s with the repealing of the "Fairness Doctrine".

Enter Rush Limbaugh, and a window was opened with a fresh breeze of needed
news analysis and debunking.

Limbaugh is a gurgling fount of opinions that most Americans held under their hats, and his daily program allowed for the release of all that pent-up frustration with the press, the culture and our government.

I know, because I was priviledged to be one of his regular callers from 1990 to 1994.

He was the first conservative to be funny, to fight the lefttards with weaponry that only they thought they possessed: parodies and comedy.

In other words, he ridiculed their ideas, and we loved him for doing it!

Rush ventured out to television, but in my mumbled opinion he wasn't very good at it. His milieu is radio and always will be. He is the "voice".

Following Rush came others, most notably Sean Hannity and Glenn Beck. (My personal favorite of the three at this time is Glenn Beck, but only because he is funnier than Rush and Sean) and of course - let us not forget the perpetually angry Michael Savage, whose theme is Anger: it is good for you.

But now, for the last two years, but not limited to them, a new source for reliable information has arisen from the smoldering carcass of a defunct press:

The Blogosphere.

There are many kinds of blogs.

Those that are the best aren't necessarily conservative. Some are written by libertarians and former Democrats.

Many of the most excellent blogs are written by experts in particular fields, such as defense analysis, law, high tech fields, and of course, why not? Journalists who are actually good journalists.

Some of the blogs deal mainly with debunking shoddy journalism, digging deeper into the investigation aspect, while others, like myself, simply comment on the scene around us in our own small corner of the world.

The Iraq and Afghan fronts in this war are being covered by excellent milblogs.

And the Israeli front is being brought to us by the Israeli and Jewish blogs!

And WHAT a breathtaking supply of excellent writing and analysis coming out of Israel and the Jewish blogosphere there is, today!

The press who used to faithfully flog the Palestinian dead horse of Israeli occupation, Israeli terrorism, Israeli persecution, are no longer finding any willing takers anymore. Pallywood is burning.

The press-generated myth of disproportionate response is a colossal failure, and a prime example of just how ineffectual the mainstream press has become these days.

People who hunger for the truth don't like the taste of dead horse, anymore, and we can now see for ourselves how the press has lied, lied, LIED!

And THAT is a very good thing~ also sprach Martha Stewart

Today's featured J-blog is Atlas Shrugs. Be sure to download the mp3 of Pamela's on- air conversation with Rush Limbaugh, and follow her many links to other excellent bloggers.

I only WISH I'd had an mp3 of the many times I spoke with Rush.

The Hippies are going to get a wake up call from hell, and I feel to laugh!


I hope at last the 60s are finally over.

Finally a grown up is calling this WWIII.

Good. I like the sound of that.

I, for one, would like to see all those academically sheltered JewHaters find an alternative to Israel.

How loudly will they applaud when the Evil Zionist Entity is finally dismantled, dismembered, disbursed and vanquished?

How long will the clapping continue until the Happy Fun Religion of Peace and Misunderstanders of Islam™ then turn their sites on their useful idiots?

Who will come to their aid?

Where will they hide?

Meh. I could care less. Seeing the sharks have at them is pure catharsis for me.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

Bob Dylan Got it Right, back in the day

Whatever you might think of Bob Dylan's music, and I must admit to not being a big fan of his, the song "Neighborhood Bully" is a brilliant piece of truth. Seldom heard today, if at all. It is just not safe to have this sort of opinion about Israel.

Published in 1983, when Israel was just beginning its proxy wars with Hizbullah in Lebanon, the song rings especially true today.

I first read the lyrics at Aish and then at An Unsealed Room, but the song is going all around the Jewish blogsites at this time.

Let this be the war cry for Israel and America.

Neighborhood Bully (from the album Infidels)

Well, the neighborhood bully, he's just one man,
His enemies say he's on their land.
They got him outnumbered about a million to one,
He got no place to escape to, no place to run.
He's the neighborhood bully.

The neighborhood bully just lives to survive,
He's criticized and condemned for being alive.
He's not supposed to fight back, he's supposed to have thick skin,
He's supposed to lay down and die when his door is kicked in.
He's the neighborhood bully.

The neighborhood bully been driven out of every land,
He's wandered the earth an exiled man.
Seen his family scattered, his people hounded and torn,
He's always on trial for just being born.
He's the neighborhood bully.

Well, he knocked out a lynch mob, he was criticized,
Old women condemned him, said he should apologize.
Then he destroyed a bomb factory, nobody was glad.
The bombs were meant for him.
He was supposed to feel bad.
He's the neighborhood bully.

Well, the chances are against it and the odds are slim
That he'll live by the rules that the world makes for him,
'Cause there's a noose at his neck and a gun at his back
And a license to kill him is given out to every maniac.
He's the neighborhood bully.

He got no allies to really speak of.
What he gets he must pay for, he don't get it out of love.
He buys obsolete weapons and he won't be denied
But no one sends flesh and blood to fight by his side.
He's the neighborhood bully.

Well, he's surrounded by pacifists who all want peace,
They pray for it nightly that the bloodshed must cease.
Now, they wouldn't hurt a fly.
To hurt one they would weep.
They lay and they wait for this bully to fall asleep.
He's the neighborhood bully.

Every empire that's enslaved him is gone,
Egypt and Rome, even the great Babylon.
He's made a garden of paradise in the desert sand,
In bed with nobody, under no one's command.
He's the neighborhood bully.

Now his holiest books have been trampled upon,
No contract he signed was worth what it was written on.
He took the crumbs of the world and he turned it into wealth,
Took sickness and disease and he turned it into health.
He's the neighborhood bully.

What's anybody indebted to him for?
Nothin', they say.
He just likes to cause war.
Pride and prejudice and superstition indeed,
They wait for this bully like a dog waits to feed.
He's the neighborhood bully.

What has he done to wear so many scars?
Does he change the course of rivers?
Does he pollute the moon and stars?
Neighborhood bully, standing on the hill,
Running out the clock, time standing still,
Neighborhood bully.


Copyright © 1983 Special Rider Music

Saturday, July 15, 2006

So Many things to say, so little time to say them


It is time to take sides.

It is time to realize that we are truly in a world war.

Some are calling it World War III, yet others are calling it World War IV.

Doesn't matter.

What history will record is whether Western Civilization survives and Islam be utterly defeated, or is it just a given that Islam will succeed because we lack the desire to survive?

I don't know whether or not we have the will to win this war.

It is so discouraging to listen to the navel gazing press interview each other about this celebrity or that celebrity.

And their frickin' babies.

Shut UP! Get serious!

It is even more discouraging to listen to our President and State Department tell a righteously aggrieved ally to "show restraint".

In other words, don't respond.

Enough is enough, already!

It is time to fight back, and it is time to stand with the righteous.

This is a war between utter evil and good.

Choose whom you will this day serve.

As for me and my household we will serve the Lord.

We will support Israel. We will stand with her, pray with her, fast with her, support her in whatever way we must, but this isn't only an Israeli conflict.

Israel is only the "Littlest Satan".

We are the bigger fish they so badly want to fry.

If Israel can be tempted into signing yet another worthless peace treaty, she can be destroyed, one inch at a time.

Any of you taking the side of the State of Vampiria, please note: Your head is next on the chopping block, so consider not being useful idiots for a change and recognize that the world is finally at war.

Pick a side, and if you choose the losing side, don't come running to my house....

I ain't hiding your yellow ass in my attic.

Item number Two:

To those people in my family who have a problem with me talking about my past, put your trembling hearts at rest. I am not scandalmongering, and I am not showing disrespect to my mother. If anything, I have tried to treat Mom's life with sympathy.

I write from my memories of her as a child, with a child's puzzlement about mental illness. I am going to continue to explore this topic, from my memories, and my perspectives.

I am not blogging to humiliate, shame or scandalize anyone. I love my family. I am writing vignettes about my life. That is why it isn't in chronological order. These are just stories about my experiences. I am not writing about your experiences, m'kay?

Finally, these stories all have a common thread. It is this: You need a good sense of humor to get through life. If you look at the billion seething muslims in the world, the one characteristic they display is a galling lack of a humor gland. Which is why they are so damned funny. Not.

Now, if you don't like what you read here, post a comment! That's why the comments section is there. And please, don't go complaining to other family members. They have read this blog and don't have a problem with it. It is in poor taste to not come forth and share your problem with me.

Last Item of the day:

I hope you find this as useful as I did. Implementing these rules will make your writing fresh and crunchy and oh so finger licking yummy!


How to write good

1. Avoid alliteration. Always.

2. Prepositions are not words to end sentences with.

3. Avoid cliches like the plague. (They're old hat.)

4. Employ the vernacular.

5. Eschew ampersands & abbreviations, etc.

6. Parenthetical remarks (however relevant) are unnecessary.

7. It is wrong to ever split an infinitive.

8. Contractions aren't necessary.

9. Foreign words and phrases are not apropos.

10. One should never generalize.

11. Eliminate quotations. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "I hate quotations. Tell me what you know."

12. Comparisons are as bad as cliches.

13. Don't be redundant; don't use more words than necessary; it's highly superfluous.

14. Be more or less specific.

15. Understatement is always best.

16. One-word sentences? Eliminate.

17. Analogies in writing are like feathers on a snake.

18. The passive voice is to be avoided.

19. Go around the barn at high noon to avoid colloquialisms.

20. E ven if a mixed metaphor sings, it should be derailed.

21. Who needs rhetorical questions?

22. Exaggeration is a billion times worse than understatement.


There, I think that just about covers everything I wanted to say today!