Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Re-Designing the Israeli Flag for Hamas' Sensibilities

Hamas is absolutely giddy with victory: 76 seats to Fatah's 42, (which actually translates into this number 5000 Hamas Islamocidal but Uncorrupt Maniacs vs 50 000 armed Fatah militia, corrupt but not willing to actually die, themselves for the cause of Palestine.)

Since Hamas won so big, the leader, that is, the Beloved Leader has since gone on CNN, trustworthy stalwart of Palestinian Spin, and ordered Israel to remove the two blue horizontal stripes that border the top and bottom of the Israeli flag.

In addition, the International Red Cross, in an effort to show its Judenrein tendencies for the Palestinians, has asked that the Magen David be removed from Israeli ambulances.

Well, now, in an effort to succor favor with the new boss of the PA, Israeli leftists in government, academia and the press have designed the new and improved Israeli flag, sure to please everyone! It is a simple, yet elegant design only the French could love and fully appreciate: a white rectangle on a sea of white. A thing of beauty, non?

Put Prayer Back in the Closet, please

(first published 2002)
In California, the sensitive are out of control. It has come to my attention that 7th graders there are now required to study Islam. I s'pose it is in order to better to get in touch with their inner-terrorists. Never mind that the pimply dears are already holy hormonal terrors at this age to begin with, now we want them to learn the ways of the Holy Warrior.In Tampa, Florida, little 15-year-old Master Bishop must have learned his lessons in Islamic sensitivity class very well. He flew a stolen Cessna into a tall building and became shahid (martyred). Give that boy an A+! Unca Bin must be real proud!Meanwhile, back in California, or Khalifornia, pardon the pun, the young jihad warriors are learning how to pray to Allah.in the public school, and nary a peep from the ACLU, whose sole mission is to purge all things deemed offensively Christian from the public school and football games, and anywhere there might be a baby Jesus in a hay trough.I am not one of those protesters who want to bring back prayer into the public school. I am more radical than that. I strongly endorse playing hooky, so long as it isn't done on school property.Moslems require a lot to pray: a prayer rug, a compass which will tell them where the hell some dusty, lifeless rock in the middle of a barren wasteland is, and then they have to do this at least 5 times a day.I tried to picture the Young Mujahid after a semester of Terrorism Sensitivity Training and here is what I came up with:Our Young Warrior is standing in the lunch line, and he is overcome by the need to pray...but alas! He has no place to throw down his prayer mat and beseech Allah, because if he gets out of line, he will miss out on the day's special: Cheese Zombies, and that is the only halal meal on the school menu. Let us listen in on our formative terrorist as he asks for Allah's will and guidance.

"Most merciful Allah, hear me, Thy lowly servant Ahmed, formerly known as Alex Johnson. Give me success, O Allah, when I light the fire-cracker under Brittany Moore's desk this afternoon, because she like, totally dissed your lowly servant big time when I asked her out, and laughed at me, and besides, she is SOOO like, infidel. Help me, O gracious Allah, when I mix the Pine-Sol and the bleach and thus make many infidels sick in the science room, especially Mr. Weiss, 'cause he is a Jew, and he wouldn't let your lowly servant do a makeup test after he gave me a totally unfair C- which was SO BOGUS, and most of all, Beneficent Lord of the Universe, let there be at least two Cheese Zombies for your hungry lowly worthless maggot, and please let the Jell-O be halal, and not have any weird curds and junk in it, most Merciful Allah, your servant Alex- uh, I mean Ahmed. Amin."
What could possibly be wrong with prayer in the public school, you ask? Need I go on?

Because you made it through the column without being unduly alarmed when reading the words "Cheese Zombies" I will reward you with a delicious recipe that can be enjoyed by both terrorist and terrorized alike:

Cheese Zombies:
2 loaves of frozen white bread dough, thawed and rolled into 2 rectangles, about 1/2 inch thick.
1 pound of sliced cheese, your choice, except for Brie, and that is because it is too damn expensive, it doesn't slice and it tastes yucky. Eeeeew. We prefer American cheese at our house. Yumm.
(Update: Support Freedom of Speech in Denmark by using Danish cheeses! Havarti RULES!)

Place cheese slices on one rolled out rectangle, onto which you have first spread garlic butter or Miracle Whip, if you like. Place the other rectangle on top and let rise till doubled in size. Brush melted butter on the top and sprinkle with Parmesan cheese and some Italian seasonings.
Bake in a 375 degree oven for 20 minutes or so, til it is golden brown. Cut into squares and serve with pizza sauce for dipping. Mmmm good! For desert, make orange Jell-O with shredded carrots. No weird junk, no curds, just wholesome goodness!

Friday, January 27, 2006

No Internet today for Jauhara

I would like to take the time to thank the following people and/or entities for today's lack of telephone and internet service: To the drunk driver who plowed into the telephone pole, knocking out electricity for 400 people and telephone service for 1500 people. Dude, you wrecked your SOB (SUV in Jauharese. Why is it that so many people who drive SUVs seem to be such SOBs?) But at least your safe and sound. In jail.
And to the archaic phone company whose antiquated dial up service for more than a million dupes, er, I mean, customers ONLY HAS ONE FRICKIN' EXCHANGE number and NO DSL in my area! Hello?! It is the 21st Century. CTSI Sucks!

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Passing Thoughts on the Sweet Hamas Victory

I don't know exactly why, perhaps it is just because I am a warped, twisted and very sick individual, but I have this little Sunday School ditty running in my haide, as I ponder a sweet Hamas (Not to be confused with Hummus) victory:

(Mmmmm. Hummus. Mmmm. If you are good, and read the whole post, Jau Jau promises you a delicious Hamas, I mean, Hummus recipe)

The Traditional song:

Give me Oil in My Lamp,

Keep me burnin' burnin' burnin',
Give me oil in my lamp, I pray, Hallelujah!
Give me oil in my lamp,
Keep me burnin' burnin' burnin',
Keep me burnin' 'til the light o' day.

Of course, a slight tweaking of the lyrics a bit will give Hamas a new victory song:

Give me nails in my bomb,
Keep me 'splodin' 'splodin' 'splodin',
Give my nails in my bomb, I pray, Allah akbar!
Give my nails in my bomb,
Keep me 'splodin' 'splodin' 'splodin',
Keep me 'splodin' in that Jew-café!

Talk amongst yourselves. Add to the lyrics if you like.

What I am amazed at is that Israelis are in despair at all over this! They have been in denial concerning Fatah, deluding themselves into believing that just a wedge more of land will bring about a permanent peace, when clearly it hasn't. All a Hamas victory means is this: Hamas is the ruling party. If Israel is to survive the next attack, She must be prepared to declare war on a sovereign Hamastan and deal with them as a nation. That way, the entire electorate will pay. Treat them as the Nazis they are. Quit listening to State Dept flunkies and our president. Strike back!

Oh yeah, I just want to say this to those liberal, Israel-hating Jews in America and Israel, who believe that Christians are to be feared more than the minions of Allah: Shame on you! You do NOTHING to defend Israel, and you seem embarrassed to be overtly Jewish. Well, if Israel can't defend herself from internal attacks on busses filled with children, cafés filled with vibrant young people, and soldiers merely defending their own country, then how can anyone justify defending one's own country from external forces?

You Jews who would like to see Israel wiped off the map, don't think for a moment that when Hamas is done doing it, that they will gladly spare YOU, fools.

P.S. The following recipe was found

Serve with cucumber rounds, red bell pepper strips, and sticks of jicama.
1 garlic clove, peeled
1 1-inch-long piece peeled fresh ginger
2 cups garbanzo beans (chickpeas; from two 15-ounce cans), drained,
3 tablespoons liquid reserved
1/4 cup cashew butter
3 tablespoons unseasoned rice vinegar
1 1/2 teaspoons soy sauce
1/2 teaspoon chili-garlic sauce*
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground star anise
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1 green onion, chopped
2 whole star anise (optional)
Using on/off turns, mince garlic and ginger in processor. Add beans, reserved bean liquid, cashew butter, rice vinegar, soy sauce, chili-garlic sauce, and ground star anise. Process mixture to coarse puree. Add cilantro and green onion; process to combine. Transfer to bowl; garnish with whole star anise, if desired.
*Available in the Asian foods section of many supermarkets and at Asian markets. Makes about 2 1/2 cups.

Bon Appétit
January 2006
Epicurious.com ©
CondéNet, Inc. All rights reserved.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Special Delivery

(First published 2002)
You have probably received the following e-mail. It comes in many variations, but the object of this letter is to have you fork over your bank account numbers. If you would but do this, friend of Allah, you would be the lucky recipient of 30% of $28,000,000.00. Of course, you are not too stupid, I hope, that you have sent these trustworthy, oh, wait, I meant to say suckworthy gentlemen your bank account numbers. Maybe you have just hit the delete button, or you contacted the CIA or FBI or your ISP to complain. Dumb ideas, all. Let me explain: None of those ideas are effective, and it is boring. I have the perfect solution for this sort of spam….reply "Yes! I will do it." No, I haven’t lost my marbles, but it is a chance to play mind games with smug, egotistical Muslim men who no longer hide their contempt for the rest of us. Read the letter I received, and then read my reply. Note that I haven’t changed the vile spelling and grammatical violations, but I have left them as written.

To The President/Managing Director Dear Sir, Aslam Alukom We want to transfer to overseas ($28,000.000.00) Twenty eight million United State Dollar from a DEVELOPMENT BANK FOR SOUTHERN AFRICA [DBSA]. I want to ask you to quietly look for a reliable and honest person who will be capable and fit to provide either an existing bank account or to set up a new Bank a/c immediately to receive this money, even an empty a/c can serve to receive this money, as long as you will remain honest to me till the end of this important…. YADA YADA YADA… and at last, the kicker:
...At the conclusion of this business, you will be given 30% of the total amount, 9% for charity home, 60% will be for me, while 1% will be for expenses both parties might have incurred during the process of transferring. I look forward to your earliest reply through my Private email: (Please
send this man some of your thoughts about his banking practices.)
Bestwish and Salaam
Ali Ahmed

So. What's a war-minded 40 year old civvy to do to fight the good fight on the home front? Well, I am doing at least one thing, and I am having a ball. Who knew that war could be a hell of a lot of fun! I feel like I have accomplished something at the end of the day. What I did, was get an email address from an Arab/Islamic web site, where many devoted, deceitful manly Muslims have been writing me. .
There is an interesting history to my name: Jauhara, according to Saudi history was King Fahd's most favored and only slightly beaten 4th wife. I don't remember if he killed her in a blind, but loving rage or not, but it always piques the interest of potential green card alif males in Saudi Arabia. Here is my response:
This message has high priority. Salaam aleikum Ali Ahmed, yes, Pleas to send to me the $28 millions of dollars. We are many of womans who are illegal in saudia arabi, and the funds to be used for fight against Wahhabis and Al-qaeda. We are
10 000 of infidels womans who have turn our back on Islam, and now embrace fully the way of Infidel womans. We curse allah to her face and spit on the loins of Muhammad. May he roast in deepest fires of Nahr. I am not waring any cloths under my abaya. It feels good to be nakid under my abaya. Today i urinate on qu'ran, and wipe myself with the pages, so send to me the 28 000 000 dolars so i may wipe myself better with new qurans. Shukran jazilan. Jauhara, infidel slave in saudi royal house. Did you knkow that Prince abdullah has no manhood? He urinates like imra'a.
Final note: Of course, I don’t use my real name, nor did I register under my real name. I simply torment my Arab pen pals with letters like:
Gee, Khaleed, you would be SOOOOO nice to come home to after putting a long hard day in at the Nuclear Power plant……you get the picture? Too much fun.
Final final note: If you check out www.arabia.com at any moment of the day, you might see a flashing banner that has a picture of the WTC burning with the caption "WE MAKE NEWS AT ARABIA.COM." I just wonder what they mean by that. Just so there’s no question as to why we fight these

(The banner has probably changed since I first posted this article at EtherZone.net)

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

The Neutered Perversion of the Bible

(First published in 2002)
Before I weigh in on my topic, I would just like to take a moment to set the record straight for Mistrix Julia Roberts. When she said that she looked in the dictionary and found Republicans between the words REPTILE and REPULSIVE, I was, as were so many conservatives, indignant. After all, my kids have lizards, and they can hardly be likened to Republicans. They don't have a particular odor, and they just sort of sit there, doing nothing at all. In fact, they are more like Democrats, in that they like to bask in the bright light, but tend to hide under rocks when it comes to doing the vile, reptilian, repulsive things that lizards sometimes do when they don't want to bask. I think Mistrix Roberts would have better luck finding Republicans between QUISLING and SPINELESS. If not in the dictionary, then in Congress.
Well, it seems that the feminists are up to more shenanigans again. This time, however, they've taken their knives to the Very Word of God and castrated the Holy Bible. Not that they would ever read it, themselves. They are more interested in making everyone else feel guilty, and the Bible points out clearly that everyone's guilty.
I realize that lately, everyone has had something to say about the Scriptures. We are living in the age of a paper doll Jesus. He manages to emerge as the guru for every conceivable cause du jour. Whether Jesus is the Post-Modern intellectual's vegetarian homosexual who married Mary Magdalene, had kids and "swooned" on the cross, but then got all better, thanks to the dampness of the tomb reviving him, or the Incarnate Son of God who died for the sins of the world and rose again the 3rd day for fools like myself, Jesus and his Father are now fully emasculated, thanks to the brain trust of psychobabblers who call themselves linguists. This in the name of "inclusiveness". Feminists should explain what they mean by inclusiveness, when they have banned all the boys from this version of the Bible.
I am not sure what to do about this particular onslaught of bad and impotent English, since this cult has permeated its mindset into every aspect of our lives. Feminists seem to be immune to ridicule, though. I had hoped that their doom was sealed when they made their "see no hypocrisy" pact with Bill Clinton. Maybe this latest attack is just a dying gasp. I wish.
My King James Bible looks so inviting these days. And even more comforting since September 11th. Are not the two most powerful words in English "Jesus wept"? Anyone who has read the Psalms or Ecclesiastes in the King James Version must come away with a sense of awe at the power and depth of beauty that is the language of the King James Bible. I hope that there will be a surge in sales of the King James Bible. For all of its flaws, it proves one thing well: Feminists are irrelevant. And Mrx Julia Roberts can find that word in the dictionary between the words IMBECILE and KOOK.

Saturday, January 21, 2006

Why I am a member of PETA (a membership to be proud of)

(First published in 2000)
Chris Weinkopf had an excellent article in the Los Angeles Daily News about Jesus being a vegetarian and therefore a good role model for everyone except school kids who might be corrupted by His religious leanings. Okay, so Jesus, the role model vegetarian has now become the new Poster child for P.E.T.A. (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.)
A while back, in all the Jesus-kitsch outlets, they were selling little pins and bracelets with the initials WWJD on them: "What would Jesus do?" Supposedly this was to help the wearer ask himself what would Jesus do in any given situation, though I got the impression it was mostly a fashion statement for the evangelical crowd.

The crucial, more important question, according to Ingrid Newkirk, exalted, self-appointed spokescritter for PETA is this: Where would Jesus dine? And now, my answer and explanation of Why I am a Proud Member of PETA (Presbyterians for the Edible Treatment of Animals): In My Humble Opinion, Jesus would be having a pita (excuse the unfortunate pun) stuffed with lamb and feta cheese and incurring the wrath of PETA (Pharisees for the Execution of The Apostate).

As a member of Presbyterians for the Edible Treatment of Animals I whole-heartedly support the eating of only FUR-FREE animals. I want to stress the fact that I have NEVER EATEN FUR, and I don’t have any plans to start eating it in the future, so please don’t ambush me with a bottle of catsup.

Too bad Ingrid Newkirk (Scots for New Church, oddly enough) didn’t spend more time in Sunday school, she would have learnt the New Testament more thoroughly, except if she was a Unitarian, and then that would explain everything.

Chris Weinkopf brilliantly points out from the scriptures that Jesus could not have been nor would he have advocated vegetarianism, listing various events that showed Jesus eating meat, even after PETA and the Romans crucified Him. (Talk about CHUTZPAH!) The only item Mr. Weinkopf left out of his well-documented piece is this somber and ominous warning about the end times that comes from I Timothy 4:1-3 and II Timothy chapter 3. I am not going to quote scriptures here. Get busy and look it up yourselves.

I can now understand how Ingrid NewChurch got her degree from Divinity School. In case you have forgotten, divinity is a nut-filled, sickeningly sweet white fudge you only eat at Christmastime.

Here is this white, rage-filled nut trying to appeal to us by fudging the facts about the baby Jesus, and that makes me sick. People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals is nothing but an organization for veggie-terrorist nags who have nothing better to do than force-feed me soy-on-a bun, and then offer me seconds. I am going to celebrate my Presbyterianness by having Chinese….and by the way Ingrid, Presbyterians don’t have sacred cows, it’s against our religion. Gag on that awhile, why don’t ya.

Friday, January 20, 2006

The Secret Language of Chihuahuas

(First published in 2000)
Feminists are fun. Especially since Clarence Thomas was burned at the stake by them in 1991. They were minimally fun back then, and mostly just shrill, but now, they are an endless source of mirth and ridicule.I began to realize openly just how silly these brainless twats were when I encountered one who had just become hyphenated, that is to say, married. She had one of those cumbersome 11-lettered Teutonic names, onto which she anchored her new, equally cumbersome, Polish, married name. She insisted everyone call her Ms Teutonic HYPHEN Polish. We tried at first, but she soon stopped insisting when I pointed out what a loving tribute it was to the most important men in her life that she tack her Mother's Husband's name onto Her Husband's name.Just what is it with feminists and their need to be outraged over so-called linguistic oppression? I think it is because feminists are actually descendants of Chihuahuas. I am going someplace with this, so bear with me.My newly hyphenated friend had confused gynecology with linguistics. She honestly believed there were men out there trying to keep women in second class roles through the medium of English. Conspiracies to suppress the memories of women in HIStory, for example, and metaphors referring to Mother Nature and Father Time. For Ms Hyphen, stamping out these wildfires of linguistic chauvinism had become her personal crusade.I once played a good practical joke on her. I told her that I'd just read a book with the title "Silent E: Silent No More - The Most Abused, Oppressed and Violated Letter of the Alphabet Finally Speaks Out!" Like humorless morons everywhere, she swallowed it hook, line and sinker.She pestered me for days about letting her have this tome to read. I caved and told her that I'd made the whole thing up, and that's when I noticed her reaction.she looked, well, like a Chihuahua.If you take the time and analyze the Chihuahua, you have a pretty good idea what it takes to be a typical feminist: bulging, fearful eyes, flaccid helpless bodies shaking with every emotion that they possess: Fear and loathing, and not much else.Chihuahuas are also lapdogs, and they have a REALLY annoying yap that becomes a high-pitched howl when they get offended, which is all the time. And while they have been known to bite, the bite of the Chihuahua is almost impotent and futile. Left to their own devices, they spend a lot of time on newspapers whining.So, what to do? Feminists will never be happy until the whole damn English language is thoroughly emasculated. I have, therefore, decided to help the feminists out. I would like to reintroduce the Latin feminine suffix -IX back into the language as a suitable ending for words denoting femaleness, since English is a gender-neutral language, something lost on these women.The first word with the -IX ending that comes to mind is DOMINATRIX. (Janet Reno) If you apply that ending to the word DEMOCRAT, you get a more suitable word: DEMOCRATIX. And with just a few more alterations.VOILA! You get DEMONATRIX! Does this not aptly describe the Democratic Party, whips, chains and all? If we re-examine the Republican Party in this light, we could honestly call it party of the pussy-whipped.I will start applying the -IX ending to as many words that need feminine endings as I can. Let's do away with the AWFUL Ms and start using Mrx, pronounced mistrix, and with the leftist leanings of most feminists, you can just make out the name Marx. Hillary Gotham Clinton is definitely a Mrx.A waitress who will flirt with you while your wife of 25 years is sitting at the same table would be a waitrix. Maureen O'Hara, who is my favorite actress (Don't nobody be sayin' nothin' bad 'bout Miss O'Hara) is definitely an ACTRESS, implying that she's a heck of a fine lady, too, while SKANK HO-BAG COMMUNIX Susan Saranwrap is an ACTRIX.I urge all of you language purists like myself, who are concerned about the emotional well-being of feminists to begin at once to use this improvement in your daily discourse.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Welcome to the Insolent Infidels of Oz

I was startled to find people actually reading and leaving comments on this blog. As it turned out, the fine, upstanding folks from Democracy Frontline blog found this site, derelict, all but abandoned, and with kind words and encouragement, persuaded me to fix the joint up a bit.

We often feel lonely in the war on Civilization. Let's not kid ourselves, that is what we are in. We come from all points on the planet. We come from all walks in life. We are unique individuals, contributing what we can to our families, to our neighborhoods, to our communities. We aren't pretentious enough to believe that we will change the world. That is the delusion of the fabulist and the indoctrinator.

The one thing that brings us together, when we weren't even looking for each other, is the common enemy of us all. He has invaded our lands, while we thought we were rescuing him from his tyrannies. He has poisoned the minds and hearts of his children against his benefactors, and sent them to murder themselves and as many of us as he can. He is the follower of Mohammed and his vile deity.

His allegiance is to no country, or to laws and customs that are considered decent courtesies. He is the Troll King of Peer Gynt fame, where good is evil, evil is good, darkness is light, ugliness is beauty....and all the Troll King requires of us is to bow and acknowledge his superiority. His truth, with its ever-shifting definitions. To surrender and submit.

His peace treaty is endless humiliation and subjegation of those who are not his kind. His law is the punishment of one sex, while the other is trained in rabid hatred. His Peace is a constant state of war.

We see the results of life in his kingdom of Submission. It is a culture of ignorance, a wasteland of disease and hopelessness. His fields are dust, his pursuits are idleness and war. His denizens have no memories of who they once were, before they became trolls. Only the ever present now, with its constant blame and rage.

In the kingdom of the troll, beauty is banished and the beautiful are violated and hung from lightpoles. Hands are chopped off. Eyes gouged out. Women lashed and stoned. The doomed are beheaded in a fevered orgasm of hideous worship. Children are sold as toys for the ravenous, lustful appetites of troll emirs, and troll princes. Unsuspecting naifs are lured into their kingdom with promises of wealth and leisure, and there they become impoverished, enslaved, forgotten by even their own families.

There remain but a few precious outposts of Liberty left. The dark ages are once again upon us. It is now the age of the circuit rider, the hidden monastery, the pamphleteer. The hushed whispers and fear of being discovered.

Those whom we have entrusted with the training up of our minds, the girding of our hearts and souls have abandoned us and are in service of the Troll and his god. They would deny it, but they spin about in a universe they create anew each day, expecting us to spin with them, to see what they have created as real, as true. Every day we are met with new disappointments, as those we count on to protect and to serve the innocent ignore the realities and order us to agree with them.

Our leaders dine with the trolls and tell us that they are our friends, as their teeth and claws drip with the blood of our bravest defenders.

We are beheaded, we are kidnapped, we are raped, over and over and over, and the only solace we find is each other. It is so easy to believe we are but a few, in the roaring presence of their boastful billions.

Welcome to the War, soldier. Rest here awhile before you have to go back to whatever front you fight in.

Remember, our weapons are not merely guns and bombs, though they work a marvelous cure, but rather, truth unchanging, words, keyboards, computers, and above all, resolve. Thank you for visiting.

Monday, January 16, 2006

The Joys of Edurbation

(First published in 2002)
Oh, just give everybody a gold medal, and we can call this biannual farce the "Everybody's Special Olympics".since it is coming to that, anyway. But I digress. I want to talk about the only sport I played in school. Hooky.
I started playing hooky in the third grade, when I was a student at Longfellow Elementary in Scottsbluff, Nebraska. I had believed there was some sort of invisible force field around the schoolyard that would prevent me from slipping the bonds of the tyrannically tedious Dick and Jane apologists, but it was actually my conscience and the fear of my father's wrath. His wrath was an orange Hot-Wheels racing-car track, which he called 'The Orange Stick'. He employed the orange stick whenever we needed a good lickin', which was almost every night. There is nothing more humiliating than being beaten with a toy you whined about wanting for 364 days before Christmas.
My older brother and I realized that there was no force field, when we heeded the irresistible call of nature, and traded our schoolbooks for blue skies and open fields of tulips. We ran and ran and ran, until we were sure that no one was coming after us. We only stopped to catch our breath and look back to see who might be following, when we discovered the wondrous sight of tulips blowing gently in the late April breeze. This was The Perfect Day. The adrenaline high we got from our escape and joyous romp in those tulip fields salved our well-beaten bottoms later that night when our father found out. And having tasted of the forbidden fruit of liberty, no amount of lickins could keep us from skipping when the opportunity beckoned.
The question was where to go skipping. Most kids start out playing hooky by feigning illness...only to confine themselves to bed at home. How stupid is that?! We decided that the best places to avoid the school patrols were those places where they never think to look for you. I can't say where my brother found his hooky post, but mine was the Public Library. No one ever thought to look there, and it was there that I educated myself. Or edurbated myself, if you like.
Picture a young lady, curled up in a comfy, overstuffed arm chair with a far-away, dreamy look in her eyes. Her fingers caress the pages of an eagerly spread open book, and after hours of pleasant mulling, she is brought to the apex of happy realization with the knowledge of some new fact about a foreign country, or Bix Beiderbeck, and there you have the proper definition of edurbation. Is there anything more contentifying than the company of dead, white European males? Aaaaaaaah. They ask so little, and yet are so satisfying

in bed.
It was in libraries I learned to speak Russian, which I began to teach myself at 11, because they don't teach foreign languages properly in this country. From there, I learned French, listened to all the best jazz, read everything I could find by Nat Hentoff and Leonard Feather, Solzhenitsyn, C. S. Lewis and James Michener. My knowledge of languages, literature, history and jazz became vast, and in the library, I read the Village Voice and Christian Science Monitor, National Review, and American Spectator...which, sadly, has reemerged as the New George. At least I can read the Old Gang at American Prowler online.
Basically, I learned everything they don't teach you in the public schools. When I did graduate, I had a 2.28 GPA (practically a 2.3!), and an honorary high school diploma.
What I did learn in the schools is that you need a Frickin' form for everything. You needed a Frickin' form to go to the can. A Frickin' form to be in the halls, and a Frickin' form when you were late, when you were sick, to go on a field trip. Sadly, our field trips at school never involved actual fields of tulips.
When my kids come home from school on the first day, their homework consists mainly of Frickin' forms. One of the Frickin' forms I have to fill out in detail, is the idiotic "Title IX Frickin' form: What language do you speak in the home other than English?" The whole form is in English, but it is a Frickin' form, and thus MUST be filled out, signed and dated, otherwise the kid gets a ZERO for the day.
Twenty years out of high school, and things are only worse. My children don't play hooky, but I am sure they would benefit from playing it on a regular basis. Except that nowadays you can go to jail if your kid gets all truant. Back then, the lunches were palatable on certain days of the week, but now, thanks to federally funded school lunch programs, the food is dreadful, AND inedible! Oh yes, when we had lunch, we had about 45 minutes to eat, which was necessary on days when the food was inedible, and now, my kids MIGHT get 15 minutes. They come home hungry every day, because they didn't have enough time for lunch, or there were no tables.
My 15-year-old daughter, Julia, was so eager for high school. She looked forward to it all summer. During her summer break, we studied Latin, in order to prepare her for the difficulties of Latin 1.
When school finally started, she was bitterly disappointed. Her math teacher is a boy not much older than she is, and he has no grasp or passion for his subject. Her science teacher is no better. The only classes where she learns anything are history, English and Latin.
The other day, in tears, she came to me, and asked not to go to school. And I found myself saying, "I know that school isn't what you thought it would be, but you can't run away from your problems by playing hooky." I can't believe I said this! Yes, hooky would solve so many problems, and I would gladly risk jail to rescue her from the tyrannically tedious Dick and Bruce apologists in order to help her escape to that happy field of tulips I found in my youth. Unfortunately, automated snoops dial your house nowadays if your kid misses too many schooldays, so hooky is out of the question.
Thankfully, the State has given us an out without meaning to: ZERO TOLERANCE POLICIES. So, tomorrow, she is going to bring a knife to school and use it to butter a piece of bread.in front of terrified witnesses. Then she will clip her nails, all while singing "Onward Christian Soldiers". That should be good for a year-long suspension, and then, tulip fields, here we come!

Sunday, January 15, 2006

Leg Cramps from Hell

I am somewhat disabled today, as a result of severe leg cramps. I woke up shrieking in pain, while my husband rushed to my side and began pressing on my foot to straighten out the muscle. This is the worst cramp I have had. Not sure what to do about it.

Friday, January 13, 2006

Tweaking the Blog

This blog has undergone a number of changes since yesterday. First change: I am actually writing new posts on it. Second change: I changed the name to The Infidelphian Outpost....I think it best expresses my infidel sensibilities... and Third: I thought I would settle on a nice Israellish blue. Kinda soothing. The other colors weren't working too well for me.
I hope to redirect the blog from just yakking about myself to actually commenting on issues of the day....and when I figure out how to use the wacom pad and corel painter...I am going to post my cartoons as well. I miss cartooning. The process of submitting cartoons to editors, who tell me the "average schmuck" wouldn't "get it", and that is why we aren't going to publish it - those days are OVER! Sweet Freedom!

Thursday, January 12, 2006

The family tree is a stump....

Tonight, the brother in law came over for dinner. A very simple dinner, but he so seldom comes over, that it was special, just because he was there.
While getting reacquainted after the holidays, Denny brought up the painful topic of his cousin's New Year's Eve suicide. Of course, this was my husband's cousin as well, and we sort of tip-toed around the topic with our youngest, not wanting to upset her.
The following story is horrifically indicative of where we are as a society:
Mel had committed suicide in his girlfriend's cabin, north of Williamsport. 6 months earlier, her father likewise topped himself in that same cabin.
Mel had always been a drunk. A man whose life is marked by abject failure. It is remarkable that he was born the same month and year as my husband. It all boils down to parentage and personal choices, I am sure.
Even though my husband's upbringing was far from stable, he, himself has made choices and sacrifices in order to provide for his family and to be there for his children.
Not so with Mel. His mother, tired of the physical abuse she received at the hands of her husband, left him...for another woman, with whom she has been living for more than thirty years.
Before you go "Awwwwww" and everything, keep in mind that Mom and her girlfriend are heavy smokers and drinkers, themselves, that their whole family is somewhat dysfunctional...we can argue why later.
The horror of finding out your son has killed himself, I would think, cause you to crumple to your knees and say "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" But you would be giving his mom way too much credit.
Denny paused to collect himself at this point in his story, because he was so angry. "She didn't even want to spend the thousand dollars to cremate him. She wanted him dumped into a pauper's grave. She wouldn't even spend the $250 for a nice obituary in the paper. She put a notice in the Merchandiser, (a classified penny paper) but there was no funeral. When the ashes were delivered to her in a cardboard box, she wanted to pour them out into the yard. The. Yard....where their dog shits.
I was going to send her a card of condolence, but I think I will send her a card that goes something like this:

"Congratulations on your BIG, BIG savings! Human life has never been CHEAPER than NOW! Let us know how we can make your final exit


Green Ham and Eggs!

I will not eat them, Sam I am,
I will not eat eggs with green ham.

I will not eat them wearing socks,
I won't eat them with schmear and lox.

I will not eat them here or there,
or standing in my underwear!

I will not eat green ham with eggs,
don't ask again! (She feebly begs).

Tunku Varadarajan Weighs In!