I really have let myself go....Time to find a style that says, WOMAN and LAUNDRY BAG....Time to dress up in BLACK!I think that black has a slimming effect on the figure, what do you think?
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Hmm, Time for Jauhara to get some fashion sense
I really have let myself go....Time to find a style that says, WOMAN and LAUNDRY BAG....Time to dress up in BLACK!I think that black has a slimming effect on the figure, what do you think?
Jauhara gets a new picture taken!
You can't see me smiling under all this black abayaness, but I am. I am also holding some heavy duty weaponry....the abaya is so convenient for hiding knives and Uzis...and just in case I gotta go pee...I have the Koran, written on the softest two-ply paper, for delicate 'imra's awra, you know. Who says women don't have it swell in Dar el Islam?
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Sorry for the long absence
It has been a busy week for me. I took over the very early newspaper route I used to do for five years, while the carrier went on vacation to Myrtle Beach. In addition, I have had much happening with my piano students. It has been difficult to find the time to sleep. How can anyone expect me to sleep, while Glenn Beck is on the radio? Are you people NUTS?!!! We're talking about GLENN FRICKIN' BECK!!!
There's something hilarious about this guy when you are three sheets to the wind with total fatigue. Posting something was just the last thing I wanted to do at the moment......although I may post something about going to hell, only to find myself at IKEA.
There's something hilarious about this guy when you are three sheets to the wind with total fatigue. Posting something was just the last thing I wanted to do at the moment......although I may post something about going to hell, only to find myself at IKEA.
Friday, February 17, 2006
News from the Nascent State of Vampiria
Recipe time, Keeds! Let's play pretend chef, m'kay? I will be your New Neighbor, Mrs. Hamas, and you can be the dainty, yummy luscious little Jooooo next door. Good, we are ALL set. Time for a little drinky poo! Good! Do you like Persian cuisine? Well, then, let's us have some EXQUISITE yellow cake with our drink. Make yourself comfy, darling, let me pull the shade a bit...All comfy? GOOOOOOOD. Relaxed a bit, are ya? EXCELLLENT! Now then, are you getting sleepy. Oh, that's okay. You can rest a little bit. I will go off to the kitchen and prepare the drinky poo. Meanwhile.....this. won't. hurt. a. bit.
You feel like drinking a Bloody Mary, darling? It's kosher...heh. At least, I think the bloody is....or maybe it's the salt. You look like you need a real pick-me-up! Here ya are, and here is the recipe for a delicious Bloody Mary.
Buddy's Bloody Mary
2 oz Vodka
6 oz V8 Juice
1 tsp Horseradish
1/2 tsp fresh Lime Juice
4 dashes Tabasco Sauce
4 dashes Worcestershire Sauce
1 pinch Peppers
1 pinch Celery Salt
Add several ice cubes to a highball glass,
grind some pepper on top and add some celery salt to make seasoned ice cubes. Add all ingredients to a cocktail shaker half-filled with ice cubes, and shake well. Strain the mixture over the ice cubes in the highball glass. Squeeze a lime slice over the drink and drop it in the glass.
Serves 1.
Sorry I had to do that. But when you read the statements coming out of the mouths of Hamas loons, what can you do but either laugh hysterically, or cry hysterically? And Olmert and Kadima think they can do business with these vampires! I have a message for Ehud and the politiks moving forward over the cliff: Be thankful that the Israelis don't treat their traitors like the Palestinians!
You feel like drinking a Bloody Mary, darling? It's kosher...heh. At least, I think the bloody is....or maybe it's the salt. You look like you need a real pick-me-up! Here ya are, and here is the recipe for a delicious Bloody Mary.
Buddy's Bloody Mary
2 oz Vodka
6 oz V8 Juice
1 tsp Horseradish
1/2 tsp fresh Lime Juice
4 dashes Tabasco Sauce
4 dashes Worcestershire Sauce
1 pinch Peppers
1 pinch Celery Salt
Add several ice cubes to a highball glass,
grind some pepper on top and add some celery salt to make seasoned ice cubes. Add all ingredients to a cocktail shaker half-filled with ice cubes, and shake well. Strain the mixture over the ice cubes in the highball glass. Squeeze a lime slice over the drink and drop it in the glass.
Serves 1.
Sorry I had to do that. But when you read the statements coming out of the mouths of Hamas loons, what can you do but either laugh hysterically, or cry hysterically? And Olmert and Kadima think they can do business with these vampires! I have a message for Ehud and the politiks moving forward over the cliff: Be thankful that the Israelis don't treat their traitors like the Palestinians!
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
On Behalf of my worthy Father
My daughter and my father will be going to Japan this spring. My father hasn't seen Japan in 50 years. Tonight I wrote the people in charge of the Kawai Piano Company in Hamamatsu City, Japan, to see if it would be possible for him to visit.
This has nothing to do with jihad, protests, raging mobs or anything to do with the current state of the world. In Infidelphia, we have other loves and interests. For me, honoring my 70-year old father is just one of them. I really hope he makes this hajj. Alas, for security reasons, I have obscured any information that would identify me, my family, and our locations.
What follows is the letter I wrote on behalf of my father, who can't read this, since he doesn't have the internet.
To whom it may concern,
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is J**** M****** A*****. I am a proud owner of a studio upright Kawai piano, which my father purchased in 1974. He is a professional jazz pianist, (He was inducted into the ********** Jazz Hall of Fame in 1997) a former salesman of Kawai pianos, an accomplished piano tuner, and a piano refurbisher.
My father's name is J*** M******. This year, he will be 70 years of age. He will be visiting the family of I****-san in Yokohama, Japan with his grand daughter E****, this spring from March 22nd to April 4th. When he was a young Airman, in his early 20s, nearly 50 years ago, he was stationed in Okinawa, and learned to speak fluent Japanese. It is a great honor for me, his eldest daughter, to be able to send him on a visit to a country he has come to love as his own, in what may be the last visit of his life.
I was fortunate to be raised by my father. From him, I learned to play the piano. I learned to speak some Japanese, and above all, I learned that Kawai makes one of the finest pianos in the world, and I am proud to own the piano of my childhood.
Our Kawai piano looks and plays like a new piano, and it is because he took such good care of it. I am grateful to him that I will be able to give it to my children when they grow up.
My father asked me to write some one at Kawai, to see if it is possible for him to visit the Kawai factory in Hamamatsu. While he is staying in Yokohama, he would gladly make the trip to your factory, if a visit could be arranged.
My father has no internet, so if you would like to write to me at this email address to let me know if it is possible for him to visit the Kawai piano factory, please feel free to email me at this address: **************@*******.***
I thank you for taking the time to read my letter. I greatly look forward to hearing from you.
Very sincerely yours,
Mrs. JMA, on behalf of my father,
JM.
I realize that blacking out names and such is silly. It is a shame that we live in such strange times. That we live with a cult which shall not be named, who has declared war on music, art, dance, happiness and all people who deign to believe for themselves in opposition to the cult. In essence, the cult which shall not be named has declared war on truth and virtue. We took truth and virtue for granted, and now they are in short supply...along with courage. How long we will have the ability to teach truth, virtue and courage remains to be seen. Time is short. A fuse has been lit, and the rampaging mobs of vilest hate are on the march. Pray.
This has nothing to do with jihad, protests, raging mobs or anything to do with the current state of the world. In Infidelphia, we have other loves and interests. For me, honoring my 70-year old father is just one of them. I really hope he makes this hajj. Alas, for security reasons, I have obscured any information that would identify me, my family, and our locations.
What follows is the letter I wrote on behalf of my father, who can't read this, since he doesn't have the internet.
To whom it may concern,
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is J**** M****** A*****. I am a proud owner of a studio upright Kawai piano, which my father purchased in 1974. He is a professional jazz pianist, (He was inducted into the ********** Jazz Hall of Fame in 1997) a former salesman of Kawai pianos, an accomplished piano tuner, and a piano refurbisher.
My father's name is J*** M******. This year, he will be 70 years of age. He will be visiting the family of I****-san in Yokohama, Japan with his grand daughter E****, this spring from March 22nd to April 4th. When he was a young Airman, in his early 20s, nearly 50 years ago, he was stationed in Okinawa, and learned to speak fluent Japanese. It is a great honor for me, his eldest daughter, to be able to send him on a visit to a country he has come to love as his own, in what may be the last visit of his life.
I was fortunate to be raised by my father. From him, I learned to play the piano. I learned to speak some Japanese, and above all, I learned that Kawai makes one of the finest pianos in the world, and I am proud to own the piano of my childhood.
Our Kawai piano looks and plays like a new piano, and it is because he took such good care of it. I am grateful to him that I will be able to give it to my children when they grow up.
My father asked me to write some one at Kawai, to see if it is possible for him to visit the Kawai factory in Hamamatsu. While he is staying in Yokohama, he would gladly make the trip to your factory, if a visit could be arranged.
My father has no internet, so if you would like to write to me at this email address to let me know if it is possible for him to visit the Kawai piano factory, please feel free to email me at this address: **************@*******.***
I thank you for taking the time to read my letter. I greatly look forward to hearing from you.
Very sincerely yours,
Mrs. JMA, on behalf of my father,
JM.
I realize that blacking out names and such is silly. It is a shame that we live in such strange times. That we live with a cult which shall not be named, who has declared war on music, art, dance, happiness and all people who deign to believe for themselves in opposition to the cult. In essence, the cult which shall not be named has declared war on truth and virtue. We took truth and virtue for granted, and now they are in short supply...along with courage. How long we will have the ability to teach truth, virtue and courage remains to be seen. Time is short. A fuse has been lit, and the rampaging mobs of vilest hate are on the march. Pray.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Arabs protest offensive Porky Pig cartoon, in 1941
Just remember something about this whole crazy cartoon kerfuffle. It has happened before. In 1941.
The offending toon is titled, "Ali Baba Bound." What is remarkable about this toon is what is in it. I will try to give you a scene by scene reconstruction, but I fear I will do it a great injustice. You simply must see it yourselves. Here goes:
Our Hero, Porky Pig is playing the part of a French Legionnaire, stationed at some farflung fort in the Sahara desert during WWII. While walking around and whistling, oblivious of impending danger, he is accosted by a slick and oily spy, who warns him that Ali Baba and his Dirty Sleeves brigandes would be attacking the fortress. He runs back to let the other soldiers know, only to find out that they are nowhere to be found. Of course, they are FRENCH.
He mounts a camel and heads out. Ali Baba and his knife wielding brigandes appear over the horizon....
In one scene, Ali Baba has drawn a very large and pointy knife from his sheath and is seen in shadow, threatening a baby camel, while cackling hysterically...
In the next shot, he is whistling for his men to attack the fort.
They do, using one of their men as a battering ram, and another being hoisted up to fire into the fort. Meanwhile, a short distance off....a man with a large bomb attached to his head is pacing eagerly, awaiting his turn. He is confined to the bench with the sign that reads, "Bench reserved for Suicide Squadron".....
Finally! The suicider gets his chance. He hurls himself toward the fort, and Porky Pig opens the front door, and the bomber runs in, while Porky Pig opens the back door, and the bomber runs out, blowing up his marauding band of cut throats....The final scene...so help me Jehoshephat, shows a rather pouty Ali Baba PICKETTING the fort and the cartoon for "Being unfair to Arabs!"
Just thought you would like to know. The DVD is sold, for 1 All-American dollar, at Wal Mart: Here is the title and number, if you are interested in owning it for yourselves and your posterity:
Cartoon Craze #19 Presents Porky Pig: Porky's Café
1. Porky's Café
2. Porky's Prize Pony
3. Ali-Baba Bound
4. Confussions of a Nutzy Spy
5. Pigs in a Polka
6. Joe Glow the Firefly
7. Notes to You
8. Gay Gaucho
9. The Booze Hangs High
The offending toon is titled, "Ali Baba Bound." What is remarkable about this toon is what is in it. I will try to give you a scene by scene reconstruction, but I fear I will do it a great injustice. You simply must see it yourselves. Here goes:
Our Hero, Porky Pig is playing the part of a French Legionnaire, stationed at some farflung fort in the Sahara desert during WWII. While walking around and whistling, oblivious of impending danger, he is accosted by a slick and oily spy, who warns him that Ali Baba and his Dirty Sleeves brigandes would be attacking the fortress. He runs back to let the other soldiers know, only to find out that they are nowhere to be found. Of course, they are FRENCH.
He mounts a camel and heads out. Ali Baba and his knife wielding brigandes appear over the horizon....
In one scene, Ali Baba has drawn a very large and pointy knife from his sheath and is seen in shadow, threatening a baby camel, while cackling hysterically...
In the next shot, he is whistling for his men to attack the fort.
They do, using one of their men as a battering ram, and another being hoisted up to fire into the fort. Meanwhile, a short distance off....a man with a large bomb attached to his head is pacing eagerly, awaiting his turn. He is confined to the bench with the sign that reads, "Bench reserved for Suicide Squadron".....
Finally! The suicider gets his chance. He hurls himself toward the fort, and Porky Pig opens the front door, and the bomber runs in, while Porky Pig opens the back door, and the bomber runs out, blowing up his marauding band of cut throats....The final scene...so help me Jehoshephat, shows a rather pouty Ali Baba PICKETTING the fort and the cartoon for "Being unfair to Arabs!"
Just thought you would like to know. The DVD is sold, for 1 All-American dollar, at Wal Mart: Here is the title and number, if you are interested in owning it for yourselves and your posterity:
Cartoon Craze #19 Presents Porky Pig: Porky's Café
1. Porky's Café
2. Porky's Prize Pony
3. Ali-Baba Bound
4. Confussions of a Nutzy Spy
5. Pigs in a Polka
6. Joe Glow the Firefly
7. Notes to You
8. Gay Gaucho
9. The Booze Hangs High
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Fake Pearls for Real Swine
(First published 2000)
Perhaps someone can remember this incident from the annals of recent antiquity: 1998, summer, Washington D.C. (or as my former 5-year-old used to call it: Washington Disease, I kid you not.) Amnesty International was having yet another ubiquitous assemblage of anarchists, rock-n’-rollers and hygenically-challenged losers, all gathered to mourn the oppression of Tibet by Red China, the cause celebre du jour.
Of course, you wouldn’t have known that they were really upset about the treatment of the Tibetans, because if you saw this ridiculous spectacle, you would have mistakenly thought it was a rock concert. In fact, it was a giant, sweltering mass of unfocused mayhem, with the added benefit of a mosh pit thrown in for good measure.
Sigh. I used to think a little more highly of Amnesty International. From the time I was little, my father, the most articulate anti-Communist I know, instilled in me a deep and lasting concern for the oppressed of the world. Whether by communists or right-wing Central American despots, I always had a strong desire to see freedom and liberty expand, the purpose for which I believed America existed. I broach the blasphemous when criticizing Amnesty International. I just have a difficult time believing that all those college-educated boobs whose only jobs seem to be protesting something all the time could conjure up enough compassion for the oppressed folks in Tibet, or anywhere else for that matter.
But these are self-proclaimed Nonconformists. So that makes them far more righteous than you or I. These are the smug, self-satisfied Nonconformists who shout in unison: "Hey, Hey, Ho Ho, Western Civ has got to go!" In fact, these Nonconformists do everything in unison. They march together in unison, chant in unison, listen to the same lame anarchist music as one, and fall all over themselves in unity in order to be seen on camera, in order to have a parade, a party…all together now, say it with me:
(Fill In The Blank)s of the World, UNITE!!!
They are the ultimate conformists. They are insufferable, intolerant of other points of view, quick to knock down those who disagree with them or get in their way, and first to whine about being oppressed. What is so nonconformist about them? Truly, the only nonconformist in the multitude of publicity-seeking rock stars, movie stars and their worshipful dregs and lemmings was the girl in the stands who got struck by lightning that day. Do any of you remember this event? Or that while protesting the oppression of Tibet, people were collapsing in the stands and mosh pits from heat stroke and dehydration? I remember seeing this farce from the air-conditioned safety of my living room. If I were a Buddhist in a Chinese hellhole, being tortured by some Commie thug, I would find little comfort knowing that in the freest country on earth, they were having a party at my expense and Amnesty International was making money from this event hand over fist, using my plight to get rich.
Here it is, two years later and now we know what the oppressed Tibetans were actually thinking: suicide - as a result of the torture they experienced. Five Tibetan nuns committed suicide while in America, Amnesty International holds its perpetual star-studded gala events and rock concerts. Of course, these are consciousraising-fundraising-egobathing- backpatting sessions. It did nothing to stop the Chinese from driving these women to kill themselves, but by golly, we sure do feel better about ourselves, don’t we!
Someone in Holier-Than-Thou-Wood, is getting another award for being so caring, for being a better human being than everyone else, maybe he or she will take the time to thank those dead Buddhist nuns for making it all possible.
I know of only a few nonconformists. Brave men and women who never sought an audience, and I will reserve the last few phrases of this column for them: Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Rusty Jones.
Many of you will know Dietrich Bonhoeffer. He was a good Aryan Lutheran pastor who actually came to believe that assassinating Hitler was the Only Good Thing Left for any honorable German to do in order to save the world.
Rusty Jones was a widow from Havre, Montana, whose home became a bastion for young men stationed at the airbase, far from home and lonely in windswept Northern Montana. Men who were 19 and 20 years old came to love this woman as a mother. When she wasn’t looking after these servicemen, she was smuggling Bibles into Iron Curtain countries during the darkest days of the Cold War. She brought servicemen hope in her small corner of the world, and hope to those thirsting for the word of God in far-flung places, where being oppressed is the mark of a true believer.
To Rusty Jones and Dietrich Bonhoeffer: You are my true Heroes. You have defined what it means to be a real Nonconformist in this world. All the rest of you are genuine insofar as you are real swine, wearing fake pearls for the entire world to admire.
Perhaps someone can remember this incident from the annals of recent antiquity: 1998, summer, Washington D.C. (or as my former 5-year-old used to call it: Washington Disease, I kid you not.) Amnesty International was having yet another ubiquitous assemblage of anarchists, rock-n’-rollers and hygenically-challenged losers, all gathered to mourn the oppression of Tibet by Red China, the cause celebre du jour.
Of course, you wouldn’t have known that they were really upset about the treatment of the Tibetans, because if you saw this ridiculous spectacle, you would have mistakenly thought it was a rock concert. In fact, it was a giant, sweltering mass of unfocused mayhem, with the added benefit of a mosh pit thrown in for good measure.
Sigh. I used to think a little more highly of Amnesty International. From the time I was little, my father, the most articulate anti-Communist I know, instilled in me a deep and lasting concern for the oppressed of the world. Whether by communists or right-wing Central American despots, I always had a strong desire to see freedom and liberty expand, the purpose for which I believed America existed. I broach the blasphemous when criticizing Amnesty International. I just have a difficult time believing that all those college-educated boobs whose only jobs seem to be protesting something all the time could conjure up enough compassion for the oppressed folks in Tibet, or anywhere else for that matter.
But these are self-proclaimed Nonconformists. So that makes them far more righteous than you or I. These are the smug, self-satisfied Nonconformists who shout in unison: "Hey, Hey, Ho Ho, Western Civ has got to go!" In fact, these Nonconformists do everything in unison. They march together in unison, chant in unison, listen to the same lame anarchist music as one, and fall all over themselves in unity in order to be seen on camera, in order to have a parade, a party…all together now, say it with me:
(Fill In The Blank)s of the World, UNITE!!!
They are the ultimate conformists. They are insufferable, intolerant of other points of view, quick to knock down those who disagree with them or get in their way, and first to whine about being oppressed. What is so nonconformist about them? Truly, the only nonconformist in the multitude of publicity-seeking rock stars, movie stars and their worshipful dregs and lemmings was the girl in the stands who got struck by lightning that day. Do any of you remember this event? Or that while protesting the oppression of Tibet, people were collapsing in the stands and mosh pits from heat stroke and dehydration? I remember seeing this farce from the air-conditioned safety of my living room. If I were a Buddhist in a Chinese hellhole, being tortured by some Commie thug, I would find little comfort knowing that in the freest country on earth, they were having a party at my expense and Amnesty International was making money from this event hand over fist, using my plight to get rich.
Here it is, two years later and now we know what the oppressed Tibetans were actually thinking: suicide - as a result of the torture they experienced. Five Tibetan nuns committed suicide while in America, Amnesty International holds its perpetual star-studded gala events and rock concerts. Of course, these are consciousraising-fundraising-egobathing- backpatting sessions. It did nothing to stop the Chinese from driving these women to kill themselves, but by golly, we sure do feel better about ourselves, don’t we!
Someone in Holier-Than-Thou-Wood, is getting another award for being so caring, for being a better human being than everyone else, maybe he or she will take the time to thank those dead Buddhist nuns for making it all possible.
I know of only a few nonconformists. Brave men and women who never sought an audience, and I will reserve the last few phrases of this column for them: Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Rusty Jones.
Many of you will know Dietrich Bonhoeffer. He was a good Aryan Lutheran pastor who actually came to believe that assassinating Hitler was the Only Good Thing Left for any honorable German to do in order to save the world.
Rusty Jones was a widow from Havre, Montana, whose home became a bastion for young men stationed at the airbase, far from home and lonely in windswept Northern Montana. Men who were 19 and 20 years old came to love this woman as a mother. When she wasn’t looking after these servicemen, she was smuggling Bibles into Iron Curtain countries during the darkest days of the Cold War. She brought servicemen hope in her small corner of the world, and hope to those thirsting for the word of God in far-flung places, where being oppressed is the mark of a true believer.
To Rusty Jones and Dietrich Bonhoeffer: You are my true Heroes. You have defined what it means to be a real Nonconformist in this world. All the rest of you are genuine insofar as you are real swine, wearing fake pearls for the entire world to admire.
Sunday, February 5, 2006
Danish Feast
Tonight we ate Danish. Ham and Havarti with creamy horseradish sauce with sweet honey mustard on bodillos (football shaped crusty Spanish breads). I have no photographs of the feast, but take my word....it was gobsmacking good. I would like to add this curious fact....there was a gaping hole in the deli cheese section where the Danish cheeses are...so I was lucky to grab a block of Havarti when I did. I wonder why that is?
What is up with Blogspot?
If anyone was trying to leave a post here, only to have it dissappear, you are not alone. I was trying to read other blogs hosted by Blogger.com and all I got was a 504 Gateway timeout. If Blogger could let us know what is happening, it would be greatly appreciated. I hope this wasn't a denial of service attack. It wouldn't surprise me, though, given all that is going on in the world today.
Saturday, February 4, 2006
There are no words for this
Michelle Malkin sums it up better than anyone else. Thank you Michelle.
Please view the movie. It is only 2 minutes. Pass the link on. Alert as many as you can.
Please view the movie. It is only 2 minutes. Pass the link on. Alert as many as you can.
The Merry Wives of Stepford
(First published 2000)
I answered the call of volunteering at my daughter’s school during the Scholastic Press book sale. Showing up with my toddler, a bag of graham crackers, crayons and coloring book, I was prepared to bedazzle the kids with my change-making abilities. I sat at the table, warmed up my calculator, lined up the pencils and waited for Harry Potter to fly off the shelves.
In the brief lull before the buying storm, the group of mothers began to talk politics. I was eager to talk politics, eager to say how I thought Bill Clinton will finally get his, and Janet Reno will probably go home and hang herself rather than face the possibility of being prosecuted for any number of hideous crimes. I was eager to discuss the possibility and fear of electing the first Fairy for President.
I was savoring the dialogue fantasy going on in my head. Desperate but happy to finally be among other frustrated, angry, silent voters who’d had enough and weren’t going to take anymore from this gang of thieves, butchers and tyrants. Sadly, this conversation would never take place. What followed was too eerie to be believed. Surreal. Unreal.
I was prevented from getting off the first salvo when the school librarian started the conversation this way:
“I can’t wait to vote for Gore. My mother can’t afford her prescriptions anymore. She pays $200 a month for her heart medications.” Dear Lord, I’m trapped in an Al Gore commercial!
I would have told her to take her mom over to Al’s vet, the cost would be lower, but this incident took place in early September, before we all found out that Al Gore lies about everything.
Mommies all around started piping in, singing the praises of the Boy Who Would Be Queen. I went numb, finally offering this restrained concern: “I don’t trust him. I think he broke too many laws, so I think he is unworthy of the office of POTUS.”
One mother thought I was too disrespectful because I said ‘POTUS’, and explaining the acronym would not be worth the effort. So I shut up some more and let the gaggle of dimwitted clucks quack forth their praises of Al Gore.
“He’s SO smart! And did you see the way he kissed Tipper?!”
“I heard that LOVE STORY was based on him and Tipper. That’s like, SO romantic!”
“Really? I never knew that. Wow! And at least he fought in Vietnam.”
“Yeah, that’s more than Bush did!”
“More than Clinton ever did,” I observed. Silence. Scowls. They ignore me.
“He and Tommy Lee Jones went to Harvard together.”
“He is A LOT smarter than George Bush.”
“Way smarter. George Bush never even graduated from Harvard!”
“I know! I mean, like, what makes him think he can even be president?”
“Cuz his Daddy was president!” Everyone started laughing. What rapier wit! I was conquered. I sat in thunderstruck silence. I had no comeback!
The conversation flowed and ebbed and wound around different topics without actually stopping to make sense. Life was pleasant and frothy. Life will be even better when the Queen ascends. All hearts in the room are a-twitter. Bliss.
I looked into the eyes of these women for a hint. Something to tell me that they were for real. So much can be learned from looking into the windows of the soul. I am convinced they had their eyes removed, along with their brains, like so many Stepford wives, doting on every word, programmed for the purpose of serving Alpha Male.
I see these kinds of women everywhere. What is with them? These are university-educated women, too. I am, to quote something Carrie Fisher said, quoting someone else: AGHAST IN MY OWN HOUSE!
I saw something both very funny and very telling about what has become of women in the last days of the twentieth century. Having outgrown the need for men, and relegating them to the useless pile, we are willing to elect any moron with a bit of enhance manhood dangling as a substitute for marriage. Listening to Gore and Clinton before him, all you hear is wooing, promising and sighing. It must be LOVE! VOTE FOR HIM!
Not long ago, on Comedy Central’s Man Show, the crass host Jimmy Kimmel and his forgettable sidekick set up a table with petitions urging women to sign and put an end to women’s suffraging. I just about puked in my TV dinner from laughing so hard. And women were coming up to sign the petitions, outraged that their sisters in this day and age are still suffraging (sic) and were more than eager to sign the petitions to end it once and for all. Of course, these girls were university students, going to school on daddy’s dime, so it is understandable that they wouldn’t know what suffrage meant. And that’s why it was so funny to watch them eagerly signing away their right to vote. Clearly, they don’t deserve it! Occasionally, a woman would happen on the scene and try to set straight these Jell-O-brained, permanently duncified followers, but Jimmy Kimmel (How did he get as far in life with that name?) won the day by persuading the lemminguettes to hold up picket signs chanting: “STOP THE SUFFRAGING NOW! STOP THE SUFFRAGING NOW!”
A precious thing it was to have videotaped this spectacle for all eternity. I hope Comedy Central airs this episode again, just before Election Day. It might make all the difference in the world in keeping some of these women from voting, and thus doing any more harm to the country.
Meanwhile, back at the library, someone finally got around to asking me whom I was voting for. Looking around and seeing the glazed look of contented stupidity in their eyes, I took the safe road home and answered: “I don’t know, I haven’t decided, yet.”
I answered the call of volunteering at my daughter’s school during the Scholastic Press book sale. Showing up with my toddler, a bag of graham crackers, crayons and coloring book, I was prepared to bedazzle the kids with my change-making abilities. I sat at the table, warmed up my calculator, lined up the pencils and waited for Harry Potter to fly off the shelves.
In the brief lull before the buying storm, the group of mothers began to talk politics. I was eager to talk politics, eager to say how I thought Bill Clinton will finally get his, and Janet Reno will probably go home and hang herself rather than face the possibility of being prosecuted for any number of hideous crimes. I was eager to discuss the possibility and fear of electing the first Fairy for President.
I was savoring the dialogue fantasy going on in my head. Desperate but happy to finally be among other frustrated, angry, silent voters who’d had enough and weren’t going to take anymore from this gang of thieves, butchers and tyrants. Sadly, this conversation would never take place. What followed was too eerie to be believed. Surreal. Unreal.
I was prevented from getting off the first salvo when the school librarian started the conversation this way:
“I can’t wait to vote for Gore. My mother can’t afford her prescriptions anymore. She pays $200 a month for her heart medications.” Dear Lord, I’m trapped in an Al Gore commercial!
I would have told her to take her mom over to Al’s vet, the cost would be lower, but this incident took place in early September, before we all found out that Al Gore lies about everything.
Mommies all around started piping in, singing the praises of the Boy Who Would Be Queen. I went numb, finally offering this restrained concern: “I don’t trust him. I think he broke too many laws, so I think he is unworthy of the office of POTUS.”
One mother thought I was too disrespectful because I said ‘POTUS’, and explaining the acronym would not be worth the effort. So I shut up some more and let the gaggle of dimwitted clucks quack forth their praises of Al Gore.
“He’s SO smart! And did you see the way he kissed Tipper?!”
“I heard that LOVE STORY was based on him and Tipper. That’s like, SO romantic!”
“Really? I never knew that. Wow! And at least he fought in Vietnam.”
“Yeah, that’s more than Bush did!”
“More than Clinton ever did,” I observed. Silence. Scowls. They ignore me.
“He and Tommy Lee Jones went to Harvard together.”
“He is A LOT smarter than George Bush.”
“Way smarter. George Bush never even graduated from Harvard!”
“I know! I mean, like, what makes him think he can even be president?”
“Cuz his Daddy was president!” Everyone started laughing. What rapier wit! I was conquered. I sat in thunderstruck silence. I had no comeback!
The conversation flowed and ebbed and wound around different topics without actually stopping to make sense. Life was pleasant and frothy. Life will be even better when the Queen ascends. All hearts in the room are a-twitter. Bliss.
I looked into the eyes of these women for a hint. Something to tell me that they were for real. So much can be learned from looking into the windows of the soul. I am convinced they had their eyes removed, along with their brains, like so many Stepford wives, doting on every word, programmed for the purpose of serving Alpha Male.
I see these kinds of women everywhere. What is with them? These are university-educated women, too. I am, to quote something Carrie Fisher said, quoting someone else: AGHAST IN MY OWN HOUSE!
I saw something both very funny and very telling about what has become of women in the last days of the twentieth century. Having outgrown the need for men, and relegating them to the useless pile, we are willing to elect any moron with a bit of enhance manhood dangling as a substitute for marriage. Listening to Gore and Clinton before him, all you hear is wooing, promising and sighing. It must be LOVE! VOTE FOR HIM!
Not long ago, on Comedy Central’s Man Show, the crass host Jimmy Kimmel and his forgettable sidekick set up a table with petitions urging women to sign and put an end to women’s suffraging. I just about puked in my TV dinner from laughing so hard. And women were coming up to sign the petitions, outraged that their sisters in this day and age are still suffraging (sic) and were more than eager to sign the petitions to end it once and for all. Of course, these girls were university students, going to school on daddy’s dime, so it is understandable that they wouldn’t know what suffrage meant. And that’s why it was so funny to watch them eagerly signing away their right to vote. Clearly, they don’t deserve it! Occasionally, a woman would happen on the scene and try to set straight these Jell-O-brained, permanently duncified followers, but Jimmy Kimmel (How did he get as far in life with that name?) won the day by persuading the lemminguettes to hold up picket signs chanting: “STOP THE SUFFRAGING NOW! STOP THE SUFFRAGING NOW!”
A precious thing it was to have videotaped this spectacle for all eternity. I hope Comedy Central airs this episode again, just before Election Day. It might make all the difference in the world in keeping some of these women from voting, and thus doing any more harm to the country.
Meanwhile, back at the library, someone finally got around to asking me whom I was voting for. Looking around and seeing the glazed look of contented stupidity in their eyes, I took the safe road home and answered: “I don’t know, I haven’t decided, yet.”
Thursday, February 2, 2006
The Cartoonist's war is ON, baby!
The war on civilisation is escalating, thanks to this wicked funny site, and Rusty is also fanning the fatwa flames.
If you are not familiar with this rare bit of American History, let me refresh your memory: In the late 1790s, cartoonists were having a heyday ridiculing the ruling elites. Many of them were being portrayed as animals, and the Congress decided to pass a law banning the depiction of any political figure as an animal....which provoked such an outburst of ridicule and mirth in the cartoonists, they started portraying their august statesmen as vegetables......and soon, the law was repealed. That is the power of satire and ridicule.
In Jolly Old England, Jonathan Swift satirised the corrupt political scene in "Gulliver's Travels". Thomas More satirised the powerful and corrupt in 'Utopia', and the list goes on and on.
In every society where the intolerant begin to dictate to the rest of us just what it is we may and may not laugh at, it is our solemn duty to laugh at them. And for the record, there is one more famous Danish satirist many have forgotten......Hans Christian Anderson. Read the 'Emperor's New Clothes', for a clue.
If you are not familiar with this rare bit of American History, let me refresh your memory: In the late 1790s, cartoonists were having a heyday ridiculing the ruling elites. Many of them were being portrayed as animals, and the Congress decided to pass a law banning the depiction of any political figure as an animal....which provoked such an outburst of ridicule and mirth in the cartoonists, they started portraying their august statesmen as vegetables......and soon, the law was repealed. That is the power of satire and ridicule.
In Jolly Old England, Jonathan Swift satirised the corrupt political scene in "Gulliver's Travels". Thomas More satirised the powerful and corrupt in 'Utopia', and the list goes on and on.
In every society where the intolerant begin to dictate to the rest of us just what it is we may and may not laugh at, it is our solemn duty to laugh at them. And for the record, there is one more famous Danish satirist many have forgotten......Hans Christian Anderson. Read the 'Emperor's New Clothes', for a clue.
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