Saturday, April 15, 2006

Life, Death and the Uncommon Cold

(I was supposed to post this on Easter Eve, but due to illness, I am just finishing it now)
Sorry for the light posting. I have not been feeling well, lately. What started out as an annoying itch in the back of my throat has settled into my lungs and sinuses. I cough like the damned. Last night was the worst. I could barely gasp for air, and the thought going through my mind was, "I could die tonight. I don't want to die, but this is so bad that I think I could die." I then spent the night sitting in an upright position reflecting on how my death would ruin and devastate my family. I wasn't in self-pity mode. In self-pity mode, you imagine them suffering, and you get a twisted sort of kick from it, watching them suffer. But I have no reason to pity myself. I have four beautiful daughters, who love me....even the irksome middle child, Fearless Fosdick. I have a devoted husband who has been by my side and kept all the vows he made on our wedding day. I could never ask for a better man for a husband, lover and father of my kids.
I have a relatively comfortable life. I am lucky that I got to stay home and raise the kids. Other mothers have it much worse. No father at home for their kids, maybe have to work 2 jobs. That hasn't been my lot.
No. I have no complaints. But I wonder if this is going to kill me. I pray that it doesn't. I don't want to believe I am THAT sick. My mind won't accept that I am. I hope this will pass, but I had this before. I very nearly did die from it, and it left me weakened and susceptible to recurring bouts. I had to quit singing in the church choir, because of asthmatic bronchitis. My voice is broken, and I haven't been to church in awhile.
I hate going to church. The sermons have become irrelevent psychobabble. The songs, once divided among the congregation into four parts is now the same wretched pop song over and over. Music, which was performed by the congregants is now pre-recorded tracks, and no one knows how to harmonize. Everyone's a damn soloist. Christian karaoke. Uggh. I hate it.
I tried going back to church after 9/11 and the pastor blathered on and on about not one thing related to the traumas of the preceding Tuesday. Not one word about it. Nothing about a spiritual war, nothing about mourning, grief or death. My husband and I sat together, reading each other's minds: "What is going on here? Where's God in all this?"
Instead, the pastor gave a standard sermon I am sure I heard several years ago. He might as well have written ICHABOD (1) on the church doors. Many churches ought to just have the word ICHABOD (2) in large neon letters above the church.
Interesting to ponder for me, was the fact, that the associate pastor went to jail not long after I left the church for good. He embezzled over 3 million dollars from elderly folks, by persuading them that their investments would be safe...but it was just a PONZI scheme.
From this same church, a dysfunctional father with a wretched reputation for womanizing, was the the lead tenor in the choir. Where does sin enter into the sermons of the prosperitizors?
His son grew up to be worse than his father. Arrested with one of the largest caches of child pornography, in local history, his only son, gay rights activist, transvestite, former church pianist, died unexpectedly in police custody, the rotten fruit, dying at the roots of the evil tree which bore him.
So why do I out all these fine, upstanding Christians? After all, the mantra for tolerance is, "Do not judge, lest ye be judged," which is a perversion of scripture. "For ye will be judged with the same measure that ye judge." But judgment is not the same as disgust and anger. Judgment requires the passing of a sentence and the execution of that sentence. Discernment to be properly appalled by unethical conduct is quite different. Telling someone that his behavior is sinful isn't judging him, but warning him of an impending judgment...or consequences.
We confuse so many words, and by doing so, stifle the thought which needs to be said.
Having said all of the above, I wish you a Blessed Easter, and a Blessed Passover.

Friday, April 14, 2006

Weirdly interesting, yet refreshingly creepy (click on the title)

What I love about newborn babies is that their bones are soft, not yet solid. You can fold a baby in half, and it is kind of fun in a creepy sort of way....just click and hold your cursor over the "baby" and watch him fall gently from ball to ball. You can even fold him in half and pull him between the balls. It goes on forever. This game is a must for those of you with way too much time on your hands.

....like me.

Tuesday, April 4, 2006

Battle Cry of the Repugnant




Hey Mom and Dad. Go out and spend Lotsa Your Hard-Earned Filthy Lucre on the fartlings, and send them to Big State University...so's they can become just. like. him:

Now, time for a peppy College song, reworked by yours very-somewhat-truly...

Battle Cry of the Repugnant

War just ain't enough for Dr. Doom to sanitize this place,
What he wants is a disease for all the weak to be erased,
And he found the perfect pestillence that's sure to do the trick.
Herr Doom is such a dick!

Gory, gory what a death stench!
Gory, gory what a death stench!
Gory, gory what a death stench,
My eyes are bleeding out

I'll be pushing up the lilies in the grave beyond the tree,
With the pustules on my orifice that had disfiggered me,
I shall comfort self in afterlife when next to me he'll lie
Thus Doom shall likewise die!

Gwine to die f'om de Ebola!
Gwine to die f'om de Ebola!
Gwine to die f'om de Ebola!
While Doom just blathers on.

Monday, April 3, 2006

Mea Cuzzulpa I just couldn't hep mah sef, fo' shizzle





If this be racism, well then, make the most of it. Thank you, Michelle!
Racism, fascism, rape, those words have long ago lost their
meanings. Nowadays, they are hurled about with such frequency, that they no longer shock. Definitions, like education and behavior, have been dumbed down, so there no longer is a gold standard for words.
It used to be that uttering racial slurs was in bad taste, but now, meh. Who cares.

Take the lovely lady on the left, here. She looks remarkably like the cute little rascal above and on the right...the difference between them being about 70 years, and the fact that the lady is a Congresswoman(!) and the fella on the right was Billie Taylor, a child actor from the 1930s serial "Our Gang: Little Rascals" where he played the part of Buckwheat. If you are not familiar with this series, you can buy it on DVD or rent it. The character Buckwheat's hallmark quality was his incomprehensible way of speaking. And that is the only thing he has in common with Ms. McKinney.


Bob Weir also has the scathinest take on the Unhinged Demonatrix Ms. McKinney at American Thinker, and he pulls no punches. In the immortal words of William Styron, and pardon the added touch of crass:
"I'd call her a cunt, but she lacks the depth and charm." I couldn't agree more.

Saturday, April 1, 2006

The Democratic Plan for Stopping Evil: Dead in its Tracks

Warning! Links contain hilarious obsenities you would never use in front of the kids, but they are still funny anyway, so I recommend you read them, because, well, they're funny. You have officially been warned.

Meet the Dhimmicrats and their plan of Salvation!
I feel safer, just KNOWING that these guys keep talking. I just worry about the average American who buys into this spiel.

I was worried that maybe Zarqawi had assassinated Dear Old IowaHawk, since he seems to have a spy in his camp in Iraq... and it has been a very long time since he posted. So I was praying everything would be alright, and that the adherents of The True Religion of Peace hadn't issued a fatwa against yet another writer. Because, as everyone knows, terrorists don't like it when you make fun of them. In fact, it sends 'em over the frickin' cliff!

Glad you're okay, IowaHawk!