Labor Day

The end of summer vacation.
The cook-outs.
The abundance of Infidel juice.

Baseball games.
and not to be forgotten--- endless repeats of "The Closer". All day long. All southern accent. All bright red lipstick everytime I look at the TV.

More European Anti-semitsm on display

Yoni the Blogger reports that quite a few Euopean counties are denying landing/refuling rights to IDF planes carrying their equipment.
That means when they're comming from American bases, they can't bring in a full load of defensive arms, since they have to carry that much more fuel.
Which means that the next time they are attacked and need to defend themselves, they'll have less to do it with. The list of these countries is a who's-who of NATO members- the ones that should understand the war on terrorism, not cowtowing to their violent sepratist immigrants.

Also, in a one-way pogrom, the EU is preparing charges against members of the IDF for war crimes against moslem terrorists. There is a huge blank page in the ledger reguarding human rights violations by Hizb'Allah, Hammas, and the rest.

Happy Labor Day!



Including all of you involved in the Miller Mujado March!

"Crikey!"

Looks like Steve Irwin has gone to the big crock farm in the sky.

Bye Steve, you were entertaining at first.

If you have a You-Tube account

You may want to click on the "inappropriate" button for this video of the twin towers set to "Americas funniest home videos". I also rated it with one star.

I know you Libs will call it "censorship", but no- I think it should be age segregated. Not open for all the Anti-American drive-bys to giggle and drool over.



Via JB

SEXaaaayyyy

Just what you want to think about when sending your daughter to college.

3:02 minutes of drunk chick.

You'd certainly hope so, wouldn't you?

I was over at Incindiary Gannies just now reading her views on "Intelligent design", and the Pope's inclination to embrace that idea.

She has alot more experience than I do (and probably goes to church more, too), but we pretty much have the same views on the bible and Creationism/Evolution.

I see Genesis (not the band) as a simplification of the "Big Bang", and everything that follows to be some form of evolution. Of course God made allowances for evolution, he didn't want to be micro-managing the earth forever- that's why he gave us the business plan to use as we see fit.

I'm bored

I'm looking at Craigslist.
I'm wondering WHY anyone would ad a lift kit to a pick-up and expect someone to pay more than the truck is worth, because you decided to completly f*ck up the suspension and steering alignment?

Why would I pay good money for someone I don't know(and probably has no clue) to go in and start messing with something as essential as the steering geometry, and all the other inter-related parts that keep it moving.


And expect it not to pack-up in the middle lane of Loop 410 in rush hour?

Which army do I belong in?

You scored as British and the Commonwealth. Your army is the British and the Commonwealth (Canada, ANZAC, India). You want to serve under good generals and use good equipment in defense of the western form of life. British and the Commonwealth 88% United States 88% Poland 81% France, Free French and the Resistance 81% Finland 75% Japan 63% Italy 56% Germany 56% Soviet Union 44% In which World War 2 army you should have fought? created with QuizFarm.com

Because I prefer accuracy instead of a hail of hot steel, I bacame a Tommy.

I guess thats another reason to NOT drink Miller beer

They're sponsoring an Illegal immigrant march on Dennis Hasterts house this weekend.

Not that I like Miller that much anyway.
But I guess Hispanic business leaders do.

So, I guess I'd start boycotting Miller if I ever bought any of that p*sswater.



Hmmmm, maybe I'd better ask Bud if they support Illegals....

...or should I not ask questions that I don't want to know the answers to?

(UPDATE) Ok, I searched "Budweiser illegals" and only got a lib accusing them:
Besideds they make alot better commercials.

Hey, Freddy Mercury's birthday is comming up

His home country wants to celebrate it.

Freddy was gay.

Zanzibar is moslem.

Gee, what to do-Celebrate a great musician of world wide fame--or show the world your intolerance in the name of the "Religion of Piss"?



Happy Birthday freddy, let's p*ss of some muhamadens!

Bushwack has his redneck theme

Here's mine




Good thing they don't have guns.
Watch those hammocks, girls...

Turn about is fair play

Miriam asks a pretty good question.
One that's been evolked not only in the mid-east, but in other circumstanses here as well.

Variations of "land for peace"


And

"We were here first- give it back"

If Israel has to give up it's territories, shouldn't islam be required to give up ALL the countries they stole by the sword and forced conversions?

Liberals

Why can I NOT take them seriously?


Pic stolen from Rob.

(UPDATE Aug 31)
Now that I've had sleep- the more I look at it, the more it looks like a Reuters photoshop- only better.

Some thoughts on "Plan B"

AKA The morning after pill, and the resulting upsurge in women eating it like candy.

If I remember right, the FDA hadn't finish all their trials on it- the long term ones- if I remember correctly. Hillary was raising a stink about Bush 'punishing' women by wanting to wait until the thing was declaired safe, so she pushed the legislation through to the White House.

Tell me... in 20 years when we have an epidemic of ...whatever cancer/reproductive problems/incontinence....who's going to get the blame for it being over the counter?

Isn't the whole "Abortion-on-demand" thing always tied to the old "What if everythe male in the house is abusing the defensless girl, and she needs medical care to take care of her incestual pregnancy"? OK, Now that every male the abuser can get OTC Plan-B, you just lost the opportunity for a Dr's intervention, and the abuse will continue thanks to Hillary.


Where am I wrong?

President Bush, members of he Senate

DO you REALLY want to reward the people who approve of this to be rewarded with amnesty?
To be able to pull that off in America?

Almost 50% voted for the Communist, alot of them are probably here now, again- because you didn't keep them out when they left.

We already have quasai roits whenever they decide to demand "rights" because the don't get enought "respect", or government handouts, or they'd be expected to do something positive for America.

Do you actually think they'd vote for the good of America instead of gravy for themselves?
Why do your Corporat masters think that in 20 years, when Ameica's been socialised by your newest voters, that their businesses won't be nationalized like the rest of Mexico- south?

Boy, that really sucks

Sorry CUG ,no targets for you.
I went to the river bottom to see how bad would do with Karens guns- one handed- like this months e-postal match required.

I used Karens .22 revolver (we're starting to get it set for her) and her .380 plastic auto.
I did better with my left hand than my right.
All I can say is that I hope I don't have any RINO's charging me.

Not that that's a real worry because a RINO is just a Liberal without the cajonies.

I did better with the revolver because it was heavier (WARNING- PHYSICS LESSON).
Because it was heavier, there was more mass, and inertia to stop the wiggles.
At least I got all the rounds on the paper anyway.

It looks like I won't be doing any duels for a while- at least untill I can get the shoulder fixed.
You know- workes comp. The closest thing we have to government healthcare.

I'm still waiting to hear about geting an MRI to see how bad it is.
NO----I'm still waiting to know if they'll APPROVE an MRI.
Then we can schedule one and do the rest.

It's the first anniversary of Kartina !!!!!!!!

WOOO HOoo! Where are the candles and baloons?

Ok, lets go make a big deal about how the Anti-Bush media became the story.

The only thing was affected by hurricane Katrina was N'awlines- somewhere in Missisippi a white guy got a branch knocked down by the same storm.

KKKarl rove intentionally dynomited the levies (making sure that in the last 40 years that they weren;t built right anyway).

Dick Cheny was in a rowboat in the Gulf using an electric fan to force the hurricane onto N'awlines because they were 95% Democrat.

Ray Nagin was under a CIA "chocolate mind beam" and forgot about the buses that the emergency hurricane plan said would be used to evacuate the city.

The Superdome lost part of it's roof- and a B.S. story about "ex- slaves" returning to their roots was broadcast and expanded beyond any relivant fact.

All the "bodies floating in the water" were herded from one news photo-op to the next, because there weren't *THAT* many dead people.

What else did I miss?

Oh, Yeah- William Jefferson Clinton comandiered a National Guard S&R truck to grab a stash from his mansion, and when the truck got stuck- took a helocopter away from their S&R work to move his incriminating evidence to his freezer in D.C.

Third time should be a charm, right?

Lets see if Google wants to let me post now.

Because it's starting to change the rules on us barnyard animals.
I guess that'll be my your next reading assignment- exept that I'll use this-search-engine-that shall-not-be-named instead of "big Brother".
Maybe some will start to see parallels.

Anyway, Karen sent me this citizenship test from the INS study guide.
If I would have even cracked a history book to refresh myself on the founding years, I would have aced it. I missed the exact years and colonies of the questions.

I thought it was supposed to be challenging, but they're all variations of the core 10- or so questions. The only way I can see anyone failing this is that A) they slept through history, B) they took it in "Anglis" instead of Mexican spanish or C) they're a current graduate of our government schools.

Now I really need to actually get something accompished today, like put some holes in a target for CUG

And actually finish making Rhianna's trivet. I'm working on ti- really! I came inside to print out a Texas map- and got started on this post.

Instead of trying to beat Karens score of 8645 on this game.

Two more chapters to go on our examination of political animals

In which we see the usual results of not holding the leash of your leaders.
And again, how maliable poblic opinion is.


BOXER'S split hoof was a long time in healing. They had started the rebuilding of the windmill the day after the victory celebrations were ended Boxer refused to take even a day off work, and made it a point of honour not to let it be seen that he was in pain. In the evenings he would admit privately to Clover that the hoof troubled him a great deal. Clover treated the hoof with poultices of herbs which she prepared by chewing them, and both she and Benjamin urged Boxer to work less hard. "A horse's lungs do not last for ever," she said to him. But Boxer would not listen. He had, he said, only one real ambition left-to see the windmill well under way before he reached the age for retirement.

At the beginning, when the laws of Animal Farm were first formulated, the retiring age had been fixed for horses and pigs at twelve, for cows at fourteen, for dogs at nine, for sheep at seven, and for hens and geese at five. Liberal old-age pensions had been agreed upon. As yet no animal had actually retired on pension, but of late the subject had been discussed more and more. Now that the small field beyond the orchard had been set aside for barley, it was rumoured that a corner of the large pasture was to be fenced off and turned into a grazing-ground for superannuated animals. For a horse, it was said, the pension would be five pounds of corn a day and, in winter, fifteen pounds of hay, with a carrot or possibly an apple on public holidays. Boxer's twelfth birthday was due in the late summer of the following year.

Meanwhile life was hard. The winter was as cold as the last one had been, and food was even shorter. Once again all rations were reduced, except those of the pigs and the dogs. A too rigid equality in rations, Squealer explained, would have been contrary to the principles of Animalism. In any case he had no difficulty in proving to the other animals that they were not in reality short of food, whatever the appearances might be. For the time being, certainly, it had been found necessary to make a readjustment of rations (Squealer always spoke of it as a "readjustment," never as a "reduction"), but in comparison with the days of Jones, the improvement was enormous. Reading out the figures in a shrill, rapid voice, he proved to them in detail that they had more oats, more hay, more turnips than they had had in Jones's day, that they worked shorter hours, that their drinking water was of better quality, that they lived longer, that a larger proportion of their young ones survived infancy, and that they had more straw in their stalls and suffered less from fleas. The animals believed every word of it. Truth to tell, Jones and all he stood for had almost faded out of their memories. They knew that life nowadays was harsh and bare, that they were often hungry and often cold, and that they were usually working when they were not asleep. But doubtless it had been worse in the old days. They were glad to believe so. Besides, in those days they had been slaves and now they were free, and that made all the difference, as Squealer did not fail to point out.

There were many more mouths to feed now. In the autumn the four sows had all littered about simultaneously, producing thirty-one young pigs between them. The young pigs were piebald, and as Napoleon was the only boar on the farm, it was possible to guess at their parentage. It was announced that later, when bricks and timber had been purchased, a schoolroom would be built in the farmhouse garden. For the time being, the young pigs were given their instruction by Napoleon himself in the farmhouse kitchen. They took their exercise in the garden, and were discouraged from playing with the other young animals. About this time, too, it was laid down as a rule that when a pig and any other animal met on the path, the other animal must stand aside: and also that all pigs, of whatever degree, were to have the privilege of wearing green ribbons on their tails on Sundays.

The farm had had a fairly successful year, but was still short of money. There were the bricks, sand, and lime for the schoolroom to be purchased, and it would also be necessary to begin saving up again for the machinery for the windmill. Then there were lamp oil and candles for the house, sugar for Napoleon's own table (he forbade this to the other pigs, on the ground that it made them fat), and all the usual replacements such as tools, nails, string, coal, wire, scrap-iron, and dog biscuits. A stump of hay and part of the potato crop were sold off, and the contract for eggs was increased to six hundred a week, so that that year the hens barely hatched enough chicks to keep their numbers at the same level. Rations, reduced in December, were reduced again in February, and lanterns in the stalls were forbidden to save Oil. But the pigs seemed comfortable enough, and in fact were putting on weight if anything. One afternoon in late February a warm, rich, appetising scent, such as the animals had never smelt before, wafted itself across the yard from the little brew-house, which had been disused in Jones's time, and which stood beyond the kitchen. Someone said it was the smell of cooking barley. The animals sniffed the air hungrily and wondered whether a warm mash was being prepared for their supper. But no warm mash appeared, and on the following Sunday it was announced that from now onwards all barley would be reserved for the pigs. The field beyond the orchard had already been sown with barley. And the news soon leaked out that every pig was now receiving a ration of a pint of beer daily, with half a gallon for Napoleon himself, which was always served to him in the Crown Derby soup tureen.

But if there were hardships to be borne, they were partly offset by the fact that life nowadays had a greater dignity than it had had before. There were more songs, more speeches, more processions. Napoleon had commanded that once a week there should be held something called a Spontaneous Demonstration, the object of which was to celebrate the struggles and triumphs of Animal Farm. At the appointed time the animals would leave their work and march round the precincts of the farm in military formation, with the pigs leading, then the horses, then the cows, then the sheep, and then the poultry. The dogs flanked the procession and at the head of all marched Napoleon's black cockerel. Boxer and Clover always carried between them a green banner marked with the hoof and the horn and the caption, "Long live Comrade Napoleon! " Afterwards there were recitations of poems composed in Napoleon's honour, and a speech by Squealer giving particulars of the latest increases in the production of foodstuffs, and on occasion a shot was fired from the gun. The sheep were the greatest devotees of the Spontaneous Demonstration, and if anyone complained (as a few animals sometimes did, when no pigs or dogs were near) that they wasted time and meant a lot of standing about in the cold, the sheep were sure to silence him with a tremendous bleating of "Four legs good, two legs bad!" But by and large the animals enjoyed these celebrations. They found it comforting to be reminded that, after all, they were truly their own masters and that the work they did was for their own benefit. So that, what with the songs, the processions, Squealer's lists of figures, the thunder of the gun, the crowing of the cockerel, and the fluttering of the flag, they were able to forget that their bellies were empty, at least part of the time.

In April, Animal Farm was proclaimed a Republic, and it became necessary to elect a President. There was only one candidate, Napoleon, who was elected unanimously. On the same day it was given out that fresh documents had been discovered which revealed further details about Snowball's complicity with Jones. It now appeared that Snowball had not, as the animals had previously imagined, merely attempted to lose the Battle of the Cowshed by means of a stratagem, but had been openly fighting on Jones's side. In fact, it was he who had actually been the leader of the human forces, and had charged into battle with the words "Long live Humanity!" on his lips. The wounds on Snowball's back, which a few of the animals still remembered to have seen, had been inflicted by Napoleon's teeth.

In the middle of the summer Moses the raven suddenly reappeared on the farm, after an absence of several years. He was quite unchanged, still did no work, and talked in the same strain as ever about Sugarcandy Mountain. He would perch on a stump, flap his black wings, and talk by the hour to anyone who would listen. "Up there, comrades," he would say solemnly, pointing to the sky with his large beak-"up there, just on the other side of that dark cloud that you can see-there it lies, Sugarcandy Mountain, that happy country where we poor animals shall rest for ever from our labours!" He even claimed to have been there on one of his higher flights, and to have seen the everlasting fields of clover and the linseed cake and lump sugar growing on the hedges. Many of the animals believed him. Their lives now, they reasoned, were hungry and laborious; was it not right and just that a better world should exist somewhere else? A thing that was difficult to determine was the attitude of the pigs towards Moses. They all declared contemptuously that his stories about Sugarcandy Mountain were lies, and yet they allowed him to remain on the farm, not working, with an allowance of a gill of beer a day.

After his hoof had healed up, Boxer worked harder than ever. Indeed, all the animals worked like slaves that year. Apart from the regular work of the farm, and the rebuilding of the windmill, there was the schoolhouse for the young pigs, which was started in March. Sometimes the long hours on insufficient food were hard to bear, but Boxer never faltered. In nothing that he said or did was there any sign that his strength was not what it had been. It was only his appearance that was a little altered; his hide was less shiny than it had used to be, and his great haunches seemed to have shrunken. The others said, "Boxer will pick up when the spring grass comes on"; but the spring came and Boxer grew no fatter. Sometimes on the slope leading to the top of the quarry, when he braced his muscles against the weight of some vast boulder, it seemed that nothing kept him on his feet except the will to continue. At such times his lips were seen to form the words, "I will work harder"; he had no voice left. Once again Clover and Benjamin warned him to take care of his health, but Boxer paid no attention. His twelfth birthday was approaching. He did not care what happened so long as a good store of stone was accumulated before he went on pension.

Late one evening in the summer, a sudden rumour ran round the farm that something had happened to Boxer. He had gone out alone to drag a load of stone down to the windmill. And sure enough, the rumour was true. A few minutes later two pigeons came racing in with the news: "Boxer has fallen! He is lying on his side and can't get up!"

About half the animals on the farm rushed out to the knoll where the windmill stood. There lay Boxer, between the shafts of the cart, his neck stretched out, unable even to raise his head. His eyes were glazed, his sides matted with sweat. A thin stream of blood had trickled out of his mouth. Clover dropped to her knees at his side.

"Boxer!" she cried, "how are you?"

"It is my lung," said Boxer in a weak voice. "It does not matter. I think you will be able to finish the windmill without me. There is a pretty good store of stone accumulated. I had only another month to go in any case. To tell you the truth, I had been looking forward to my retirement. And perhaps, as Benjamin is growing old too, they will let him retire at the same time and be a companion to me."

"We must get help at once," said Clover. "Run, somebody, and tell Squealer what has happened."

All the other animals immediately raced back to the farmhouse to give Squealer the news. Only Clover remained, and Benjamin7 who lay down at Boxer's side, and, without speaking, kept the flies off him with his long tail. After about a quarter of an hour Squealer appeared, full of sympathy and concern. He said that Comrade Napoleon had learned with the very deepest distress of this misfortune to one of the most loyal workers on the farm, and was already making arrangements to send Boxer to be treated in the hospital at Willingdon. The animals felt a little uneasy at this. Except for Mollie and Snowball, no other animal had ever left the farm, and they did not like to think of their sick comrade in the hands of human beings. However, Squealer easily convinced them that the veterinary surgeon in Willingdon could treat Boxer's case more satisfactorily than could be done on the farm. And about half an hour later, when Boxer had somewhat recovered, he was with difficulty got on to his feet, and managed to limp back to his stall, where Clover and Benjamin had prepared a good bed of straw for him.

For the next two days Boxer remained in his stall. The pigs had sent out a large bottle of pink medicine which they had found in the medicine chest in the bathroom, and Clover administered it to Boxer twice a day after meals. In the evenings she lay in his stall and talked to him, while Benjamin kept the flies off him. Boxer professed not to be sorry for what had happened. If he made a good recovery, he might expect to live another three years, and he looked forward to the peaceful days that he would spend in the corner of the big pasture. It would be the first time that he had had leisure to study and improve his mind. He intended, he said, to devote the rest of his life to learning the remaining twenty-two letters of the alphabet.

However, Benjamin and Clover could only be with Boxer after working hours, and it was in the middle of the day when the van came to take him away. The animals were all at work weeding turnips under the supervision of a pig, when they were astonished to see Benjamin come galloping from the direction of the farm buildings, braying at the top of his voice. It was the first time that they had ever seen Benjamin excited-indeed, it was the first time that anyone had ever seen him gallop. "Quick, quick!" he shouted. "Come at once! They're taking Boxer away!" Without waiting for orders from the pig, the animals broke off work and raced back to the farm buildings. Sure enough, there in the yard was a large closed van, drawn by two horses, with lettering on its side and a sly-looking man in a low-crowned bowler hat sitting on the driver's seat. And Boxer's stall was empty.

The animals crowded round the van. "Good-bye, Boxer!" they chorused, "good-bye!"

"Fools! Fools!" shouted Benjamin, prancing round them and stamping the earth with his small hoofs. "Fools! Do you not see what is written on the side of that van?"

That gave the animals pause, and there was a hush. Muriel began to spell out the words. But Benjamin pushed her aside and in the midst of a deadly silence he read:

" 'Alfred Simmonds, Horse Slaughterer and Glue Boiler, Willingdon. Dealer in Hides and Bone-Meal. Kennels Supplied.' Do you not understand what that means? They are taking Boxer to the knacker's! "

A cry of horror burst from all the animals. At this moment the man on the box whipped up his horses and the van moved out of the yard at a smart trot. All the animals followed, crying out at the tops of their voices. Clover forced her way to the front. The van began to gather speed. Clover tried to stir her stout limbs to a gallop, and achieved a canter. "Boxer!" she cried. "Boxer! Boxer! Boxer!" And just at this moment, as though he had heard the uproar outside, Boxer's face, with the white stripe down his nose, appeared at the small window at the back of the van.

"Boxer!" cried Clover in a terrible voice. "Boxer! Get out! Get out quickly! They're taking you to your death!"

All the animals took up the cry of "Get out, Boxer, get out!" But the van was already gathering speed and drawing away from them. It was uncertain whether Boxer had understood what Clover had said. But a moment later his face disappeared from the window and there was the sound of a tremendous drumming of hoofs inside the van. He was trying to kick his way out. The time had been when a few kicks from Boxer's hoofs would have smashed the van to matchwood. But alas! his strength had left him; and in a few moments the sound of drumming hoofs grew fainter and died away. In desperation the animals began appealing to the two horses which drew the van to stop. "Comrades, comrades!" they shouted. "Don't take your own brother to his death! " But the stupid brutes, too ignorant to realise what was happening, merely set back their ears and quickened their pace. Boxer's face did not reappear at the window. Too late, someone thought of racing ahead and shutting the five-barred gate; but in another moment the van was through it and rapidly disappearing down the road. Boxer was never seen again.

Three days later it was announced that he had died in the hospital at Willingdon, in spite of receiving every attention a horse could have. Squealer came to announce the news to the others. He had, he said, been present during Boxer's last hours.

"It was the most affecting sight I have ever seen!" said Squealer, lifting his trotter and wiping away a tear. "I was at his bedside at the very last. And at the end, almost too weak to speak, he whispered in my ear that his sole sorrow was to have passed on before the windmill was finished. 'Forward, comrades!' he whispered. 'Forward in the name of the Rebellion. Long live Animal Farm! Long live Comrade Napoleon! Napoleon is always right.' Those were his very last words, comrades."

Here Squealer's demeanour suddenly changed. He fell silent for a moment, and his little eyes darted suspicious glances from side to side before he proceeded.

It had come to his knowledge, he said, that a foolish and wicked rumour had been circulated at the time of Boxer's removal. Some of the animals had noticed that the van which took Boxer away was marked "Horse Slaughterer," and had actually jumped to the conclusion that Boxer was being sent to the knacker's. It was almost unbelievable, said Squealer, that any animal could be so stupid. Surely, he cried indignantly, whisking his tail and skipping from side to side, surely they knew their beloved Leader, Comrade Napoleon, better than that? But the explanation was really very simple. The van had previously been the property of the knacker, and had been bought by the veterinary surgeon, who had not yet painted the old name out. That was how the mistake had arisen.

The animals were enormously relieved to hear this. And when Squealer went on to give further graphic details of Boxer's death-bed, the admirable care he had received, and the expensive medicines for which Napoleon had paid without a thought as to the cost, their last doubts disappeared and the sorrow that they felt for their comrade's death was tempered by the thought that at least he had died happy.

Napoleon himself appeared at the meeting on the following Sunday morning and pronounced a short oration in Boxer's honour. It had not been possible, he said, to bring back their lamented comrade's remains for interment on the farm, but he had ordered a large wreath to be made from the laurels in the farmhouse garden and sent down to be placed on Boxer's grave. And in a few days' time the pigs intended to hold a memorial banquet in Boxer's honour. Napoleon ended his speech with a reminder of Boxer's two favourite maxims, "I will work harder" and "Comrade Napoleon is always right"-maxims, he said, which every animal would do well to adopt as his own.

On the day appointed for the banquet, a grocer's van drove up from Willingdon and delivered a large wooden crate at the farmhouse. That night there was the sound of uproarious singing, which was followed by what sounded like a violent quarrel and ended at about eleven o'clock with a tremendous crash of glass. No one stirred in the farmhouse before noon on the following day, and the word went round that from somewhere or other the pigs had acquired the money to buy themselves another case of whisky.

THAT's the result of a missile hit???

You know, the armored "press" truck that supposedly got hit by an Israeli missle by being in the middle of a firefight.

What did they do? Remove the warhead first?

How.........Orwellian- or should I say 'Googillian', I can't find any links to the story by searching Yahoo for "Israeli missile hits press truck". I'm sure there would be stories all over if it wasn't "Fake but accurate"

Speaking of "Big Brother", did you hear about the merger between Google and E-bay? Right now it's just ads outside of America. When will it be inside and telling you what you can and can't buy? You need to start getting worried.

In another story this weekend- hardly related at all, was a comment that was neither fake- nor accurate.
"Chocolate Boy" Nagin responded to a reportes question about the lack of clean-up a year after the hurrican by saying something like 'you people in NYC still have that hole in the gound after five years.' That's right Ray Wonka, but they DID have it cleaned up within a year. Alot more debries and lives lost than your pathetic attempts.

-And they did it when it happend without warning.
-And without a pre-prepaired disaster plan (which you used for toilet paper).







Pic stolen from Dr. Rusty

I'm surfing with Comedy Central in the background

They're doing a roast of Willian Shatner.

I can't believe how unfunny it is.
They must have either free "hash brownies" or THC enhanced ventalation for the audience to laugh hysterically at those lame- like a horse with a broken leg is lame- jokes.

Not to mention that I'm not so hip as to enjoy sexual innuendoes aimed at overage actresses, and the complete lack of class going into any microphone.

Oh, yeah- and the four letter bleepouts every other word.

No wonder I don't watch alot of popular TV.

Betty White is actually being funny with her roast- I guess that's from being comfortable with multi-sylable words and a complex sentence structure.

Conversation with a member of the reality biased community

PETA: Hypocrites At Their Dumbest

Not long ago I was having a discussion with several persons whom represent PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals). I asked them several questions which they were unable to answer, and it got me to thinking just how hypocritical these people really are. A couple of them were vegetarians and that's where it really got twisted. It went something like this:

Me: You believe that killing animals for food is wrong?
Them: Yes, it's cruel to kill animals for any reason.

Me: Do you have any pets like cats or dogs?
Them: Sure, I love animals and enjoy their companionship.

Me: You take good care of them don't you, I mean take them to the veterinarian regularly and feed them well, right?
Them: Oh yes, absolutely. I love my pets like I love my own children!

Me: What do you feed them?
Them: Mostly canned foods, like Alpo or Purina. They like the soft foods better than the dry, so that's what I give them.

Me: So you're saying you feed your pets meat?
Them: I guess so, that's what they like.

Me: So then it's okay to kill other animals for food?
Them: No, killing animals is cruel for any reason!

Me: But you just said you feed meat to your pets.
Them: --silence--

Me: It seems to me if you feed meat to your pets then you're advocating the killing of animals for food.
Them: That's different though!

Me: How so? You already said that killing animals for any reason is cruel.
Them: Umm, uhh, well you see, uhh.. dogs and cats are omnivorous and need meat in their diet.

Me: Actually most dogs and cats are carnivorous by nature and are forced omnivorous diets when domesticated, but you bring up a good point. Humans have always been omnivorous for all of recorded history, and you're trying to force vegetarianism on people saying it's ethical, while saying that it's wrong to force vegetarianism on animals. Seems a little bit hypocritical don't you think?
Them: It's would be unethical to force animals to eat a diet un-natural to them!

Me: Isn't that exactly what you're trying to force on people though?
Them: Well, yes, but...

Me: Look, you said earlier that it's wrong to kill animals for any reason. Then you said it's okay to kill animals to feed other animals. Which is it, either killing for food is right or wrong, which side of the line are standing on?
Them: --silence--
Me: That's okay, your saying nothing is answer enough.




Read the rest.
...And yes, he's going on my blogroll whenever I get around to updating afgain.

And, NO-I'm not tired

Why do you ask?
I'm used to considering this an "early" time to head home- and get here about 45 minutes later.

So, come along with me on a magical mystery tour...

Lets see what E-Bay has in relation to a general PORN search. sorry, it's not NSFW.

And to you with a "size issue"- move over Hummer; HEEeeeerrrrrressss the Gurkha, which makes the over-priced hummer a nanny-boy in comparison.


Down here we'd call it a 'Dust Devil', and they happen on cloudless days.... Just say'in is all...


How about an honest candidate for Congress....... Yep, Pirates all the way- they're alot more honest and trustworthy than the critters there now.

Boy, do I feel sorry for you with dial-up

Because you have to wait 30 minutes to download...



John Novar, , , space adventurer

and all the academic acting that it involves.

,,,,,Or this wonderful juxtapostion of Star Treck, Monty Python and Bill Gates


Just kidding,,,,,I'd have dial-up because I'm cheap--exept that out here dial-up is like 26K.

Chapter 8- in which the societal evolution continues

Yes, dear readers we're getting close to the end.

It's a shame that in the '70s and '80 it was required reading in some states; but why should the teachers and other Socialists social reformers tell those that will be manipulated- just HOW they'll be manipulated?


VIII
A FEW days later, when the terror caused by the executions had died down, some of the animals remembered-or thought they remembered-that the Sixth Commandment decreed "No animal shall kill any other animal." And though no one cared to mention it in the hearing of the pigs or the dogs, it was felt that the killings which had taken place did not square with this. Clover asked Benjamin to read her the Sixth Commandment, and when Benjamin, as usual, said that he refused to meddle in such matters, she fetched Muriel. Muriel read the Commandment for her. It ran: "No animal shall kill any other animal without cause." Somehow or other, the last two words had slipped out of the animals' memory. But they saw now that the Commandment had not been violated; for clearly there was good reason for killing the traitors who had leagued themselves with Snowball.

Throughout the year the animals worked even harder than they had worked in the previous year To rebuild the windmill, with walls twice as thick as before, and to finish it by the appointed date, together with the regular work of the farm, was a tremendous labour. There were times when it seemed to the animals that they worked longer hours and fed no better than they had done in Jones's day. On Sunday mornings Squealer, holding down a long strip of paper with his trotter, would read out to them lists of figures proving that the production of every class of foodstuff had increased by two hundred per cent, three hundred per cent, or five hundred per cent, as the case might be. The animals saw no reason to disbelieve him, especially as they could no longer remember very clearly what conditions had been like before the Rebellion. All the same, there were days when they felt that they would sooner have had less figures and more food.

All orders were now issued through Squealer or one of the other pigs. Napoleon himself was not seen in public as often as once in a fortnight. When he did appear, he was attended not only by his retinue of dogs but by a black cockerel who marched in front of him and acted as a kind of trumpeter, letting out a loud "cock-a-doodle-doo" before Napoleon spoke. Even in the farmhouse, it was said, Napoleon inhabited separate apartments from the others. He took his meals alone, with two dogs to wait upon him, and always ate from the Crown Derby dinner service which had been in the glass cupboard in the drawing-room. It was also announced that the gun would be fired every year on Napoleon's birthday, as well as on the other two anniversaries.

Napoleon was now never spoken of simply as "Napoleon." He was always referred to in formal style as "our Leader, Comrade Napoleon," and this pigs liked to invent for him such titles as Father of All Animals, Terror of Mankind, Protector of the Sheep-fold, Ducklings' Friend, and the like. In his speeches, Squealer would talk with the tears rolling down his cheeks of Napoleon's wisdom the goodness of his heart, and the deep love he bore to all animals everywhere, even and especially the unhappy animals who still lived in ignorance and slavery on other farms. It had become usual to give Napoleon the credit for every successful achievement and every stroke of good fortune. You would often hear one hen remark to another, "Under the guidance of our Leader, Comrade Napoleon, I have laid five eggs in six days"; or two cows, enjoying a drink at the pool, would exclaim, "Thanks to the leadership of Comrade Napoleon, how excellent this water tastes!" The general feeling on the farm was well expressed in a poem entitled Comrade Napoleon, which was composed by Minimus and which ran as follows:

Friend of fatherless!

Fountain of happiness!

Lord of the swill-bucket! Oh, how my soul is on

Fire when I gaze at thy

Calm and commanding eye,

Like the sun in the sky,

Comrade Napoleon!


Thou are the giver of

All that thy creatures love,

Full belly twice a day, clean straw to roll upon;

Every beast great or small

Sleeps at peace in his stall,

Thou watchest over all,

Comrade Napoleon!


Had I a sucking-pig,

Ere he had grown as big

Even as a pint bottle or as a rolling-pin,

He should have learned to be

Faithful and true to thee,

Yes, his first squeak should be

"Comrade Napoleon!"

Napoleon approved of this poem and caused it to be inscribed on the wall of the big barn, at the opposite end from the Seven Commandments. It was surmounted by a portrait of Napoleon, in profile, executed by Squealer in white paint.

Meanwhile, through the agency of Whymper, Napoleon was engaged in complicated negotiations with Frederick and Pilkington. The pile of timber was still unsold. Of the two, Frederick was the more anxious to get hold of it, but he would not offer a reasonable price. At the same time there were renewed rumours that Frederick and his men were plotting to attack Animal Farm and to destroy the windmill, the building of which had aroused furious jealousy in him. Snowball was known to be still skulking on Pinchfield Farm. In the middle of the summer the animals were alarmed to hear that three hens had come forward and confessed that, inspired by Snowball, they had entered into a plot to murder Napoleon. They were executed immediately, and fresh precautions for Napoleon's safety were taken. Four dogs guarded his bed at night, one at each corner, and a young pig named Pinkeye was given the task of tasting all his food before he ate it, lest it should be poisoned.

At about the same time it was given out that Napoleon had arranged to sell the pile of timber to Mr. Pilkington; he was also going to enter into a regular agreement for the exchange of certain products between Animal Farm and Foxwood. The relations between Napoleon and Pilkington, though they were only conducted through Whymper, were now almost friendly. The animals distrusted Pilkington, as a human being, but greatly preferred him to Frederick, whom they both feared and hated. As the summer wore on, and the windmill neared completion, the rumours of an impending treacherous attack grew stronger and stronger. Frederick, it was said, intended to bring against them twenty men all armed with guns, and he had already bribed the magistrates and police, so that if he could once get hold of the title-deeds of Animal Farm they would ask no questions. Moreover, terrible stories were leaking out from Pinchfield about the cruelties that Frederick practised upon his animals. He had flogged an old horse to death, he starved his cows, he had killed a dog by throwing it into the furnace, he amused himself in the evenings by making cocks fight with splinters of razor-blade tied to their spurs. The animals' blood boiled with rage when they heard of these things beingdone to their comrades, and sometimes they clamoured to be allowed to go out in a body and attack Pinchfield Farm, drive out the humans, and set the animals free. But Squealer counselled them to avoid rash actions and trust in Comrade Napoleon's strategy.

Nevertheless, feeling against Frederick continued to run high. One Sunday morning Napoleon appeared in the barn and explained that he had never at any time contemplated selling the pile of timber to Frederick; he considered it beneath his dignity, he said, to have dealings with scoundrels of that description. The pigeons who were still sent out to spread tidings of the Rebellion were forbidden to set foot anywhere on Foxwood, and were also ordered to drop their former slogan of "Death to Humanity" in favour of "Death to Frederick." In the late summer yet another of Snowball's machinations was laid bare. The wheat crop was full of weeds, and it was discovered that on one of his nocturnal visits Snowball had mixed weed seeds with the seed corn. A gander who had been privy to the plot had confessed his guilt to Squealer and immediately committed suicide by swallowing deadly nightshade berries. The animals now also learned that Snowball had never-as many of them had believed hitherto-received the order of "Animal Hero7 First Class." This was merely a legend which had been spread some time after the Battle of the Cowshed by Snowball himself. So far from being decorated, he had been censured for showing cowardice in the battle. Once again some of the animals heard this with a certain bewilderment, but Squealer was soon able to convince them that their memories had been at fault.

In the autumn, by a tremendous, exhausting effort-for the harvest had to be gathered at almost the same time-the windmill was finished. The machinery had still to be installed, and Whymper was negotiating the purchase of it, but the structure was completed. In the teeth of every difficulty, in spite of inexperience, of primitive implements, of bad luck and of Snowball's treachery, the work had been finished punctually to the very day! Tired out but proud, the animals walked round and round their masterpiece, which appeared even more beautiful in their eyes than when it had been built the first time. Moreover, the walls were twice as thick as before. Nothing short of explosives would lay them low this time! And when they thought of how they had laboured, what discouragements they had overcome, and the enormous difference that would be made in their lives when the sails were turning and the dynamos running-when they thought of all this, their tiredness forsook them and they gambolled round and round the windmill, uttering cries of triumph. Napoleon himself, attended by his dogs and his cockerel, came down to inspect the completed work; he personally congratulated the animals on their achievement, and announced that the mill would be named Napoleon Mill.

Two days later the animals were called together for a special meeting in the barn. They were struck dumb with surprise when Napoleon announced that he had sold the pile of timber to Frederick. Tomorrow Frederick's wagons would arrive and begin carting it away. Throughout the whole period of his seeming friendship with Pilkington, Napoleon had really been in secret agreement with Frederick.

All relations with Foxwood had been broken off; insulting messages had been sent to Pilkington. The pigeons had been told to avoid Pinchfield Farm and to alter their slogan from "Death to Frederick" to "Death to Pilkington." At the same time Napoleon assured the animals that the stories of an impending attack on Animal Farm were completely untrue, and that the tales about Frederick's cruelty to his own animals had been greatly exaggerated. All these rumours had probably originated with Snowball and his agents. It now appeared that Snowball was not, after all, hiding on Pinchfield Farm, and in fact had never been there in his life: he was living-in considerable luxury, so it was said-at Foxwood, and had in reality been a pensioner of Pilkington for years past.

The pigs were in ecstasies over Napoleon's cunning. By seeming to be friendly with Pilkington he had forced Frederick to raise his price by twelve pounds. But the superior quality of Napoleon's mind, said Squealer, was shown in the fact that he trusted nobody, not even Frederick. Frederick had wanted to pay for the timber with something called a cheque, which, it seemed, was a piece of paper with a promise to pay written upon it. But Napoleon was too clever for him. He had demanded payment in real five-pound notes, which were to be handed over before the timber was removed. Already Frederick had paid up; and the sum he had paid was just enough to buy the machinery for the windmill.

Meanwhile the timber was being carted away at high speed. When it was all gone, another special meeting was held in the barn for the animals to inspect Frederick's bank-notes. Smiling beatifically, and wearing both his decorations, Napoleon reposed on a bed of straw on the platform, with the money at his side, neatly piled on a china dish from the farmhouse kitchen. The animals filed slowly past, and each gazed his fill. And Boxer put out his nose to sniff at the bank-notes, and the flimsy white things stirred and rustled in his breath.

Three days later there was a terrible hullabaloo. Whymper, his face deadly pale, came racing up the path on his bicycle, flung it down in the yard and rushed straight into the farmhouse. The next moment a choking roar of rage sounded from Napoleon's apartments. The news of what had happened sped round the farm like wildfire. The banknotes were forgeries! Frederick had got the timber for nothing!

Napoleon called the animals together immediately and in a terrible voice pronounced the death sentence upon Frederick. When captured, he said, Frederick should be boiled alive. At the same time he warned them that after this treacherous deed the worst was to be expected. Frederick and his men might make their long-expected attack at any moment. Sentinels were placed at all the approaches to the farm. In addition, four pigeons were sent to Foxwood with a conciliatory message, which it was hoped might re-establish good relations with Pilkington.

The very next morning the attack came. The animals were at breakfast when the look-outs came racing in with the news that Frederick and his followers had already come through the five-barred gate. Boldly enough the animals sallied forth to meet them, but this time they did not have the easy victory that they had had in the Battle of the Cowshed. There were fifteen men, with half a dozen guns between them, and they opened fire as soon as they got within fifty yards. The animals could not face the terrible explosions and the stinging pellets, and in spite of the efforts of Napoleon and Boxer to rally them, they were soon driven back. A number of them were already wounded. They took refuge in the farm buildings and peeped cautiously out from chinks and knot-holes. The whole of the big pasture, including the windmill, was in the hands of the enemy. For the moment even Napoleon seemed at a loss. He paced up and down without a word, his tail rigid and twitching. Wistful glances were sent in the direction of Foxwood. If Pilkington and his men would help them, the day might yet be won. But at this moment the four pigeons, who had been sent out on the day before, returned, one of them bearing a scrap of paper from Pilkington. On it was pencilled the words: "Serves you right."

Meanwhile Frederick and his men had halted about the windmill. The animals watched them, and a murmur of dismay went round. Two of the men had produced a crowbar and a sledge hammer. They were going to knock the windmill down.

"Impossible!" cried Napoleon. "We have built the walls far too thick for that. They could not knock it down in a week. Courage, comrades!"

But Benjamin was watching the movements of the men intently. The two with the hammer and the crowbar were drilling a hole near the base of the windmill. Slowly, and with an air almost of amusement, Benjamin nodded his long muzzle.

"I thought so," he said. "Do you not see what they are doing? In another moment they are going to pack blasting powder into that hole."

Terrified, the animals waited. It was impossible now to venture out of the shelter of the buildings. After a few minutes the men were seen to be running in all directions. Then there was a deafening roar. The pigeons swirled into the air, and all the animals, except Napoleon, flung themselves flat on their bellies and hid their faces. When they got up again, a huge cloud of black smoke was hanging where the windmill had been. Slowly the breeze drifted it away. The windmill had ceased to exist!

At this sight the animals' courage returned to them. The fear and despair they had felt a moment earlier were drowned in their rage against this vile, contemptible act. A mighty cry for vengeance went up, and without waiting for further orders they charged forth in a body and made straight for the enemy. This time they did not heed the cruel pellets that swept over them like hail. It was a savage, bitter battle. The men fired again and again, and, when the animals got to close quarters, lashed out with their sticks and their heavy boots. A cow, three sheep, and two geese were killed, and nearly everyone was wounded. Even Napoleon, who was directing operations from the rear, had the tip of his tail chipped by a pellet. But the men did not go unscathed either. Three of them had their heads broken by blows from Boxer's hoofs; another was gored in the belly by a cow's horn; another had his trousers nearly torn off by Jessie and Bluebell. And when the nine dogs of Napoleon's own bodyguard, whom he had instructed to make a detour under cover of the hedge, suddenly appeared on the men's flank, baying ferociously, panic overtook them. They saw that they were in danger of being surrounded. Frederick shouted to his men to get out while the going was good, and the next moment the cowardly enemy was running for dear life. The animals chased them right down to the bottom of the field, and got in some last kicks at them as they forced their way through the thorn hedge.

They had won, but they were weary and bleeding. Slowly they began to limp back towards the farm. The sight of their dead comrades stretched upon the grass moved some of them to tears. And for a little while they halted in sorrowful silence at the place where the windmill had once stood. Yes, it was gone; almost the last trace of their labour was gone! Even the foundations were partially destroyed. And in rebuilding it they could not this time, as before, make use of the fallen stones. This time the stones had vanished too. The force of the explosion had flung them to distances of hundreds of yards. It was as though the windmill had never been.

As they approached the farm Squealer, who had unaccountably been absent during the fighting, came skipping towards them, whisking his tail and beaming with satisfaction. And the animals heard, from the direction of the farm buildings, the solemn booming of a gun.

"What is that gun firing for?" said Boxer.

"To celebrate our victory!" cried Squealer.

"What victory?" said Boxer. His knees were bleeding, he had lost a shoe and split his hoof, and a dozen pellets had lodged themselves in his hind leg.

"What victory, comrade? Have we not driven the enemy off our soil-the sacred soil of Animal Farm? "

"But they have destroyed the windmill. And we had worked on it for two years!"

"What matter? We will build another windmill. We will build six windmills if we feel like it. You do not appreciate, comrade, the mighty thing that we have done. The enemy was in occupation of this very ground that we stand upon. And now-thanks to the leadership of Comrade Napoleon-we have won every inch of it back again!"

"Then we have won back what we had before," said Boxer.

"That is our victory," said Squealer.

They limped into the yard. The pellets under the skin of Boxer's leg smarted painfully. He saw ahead of him the heavy labour of rebuilding the windmill from the foundations, and already in imagination he braced himself for the task. But for the first time it occurred to him that he was eleven years old and that perhaps his great muscles were not quite what they had once been.

But when the animals saw the green flag flying, and heard the gun firing again-seven times it was fired in all-and heard the speech that Napoleon made, congratulating them on their conduct, it did seem to them after all that they had won a great victory. The animals slain in the battle were given a solemn funeral. Boxer and Clover pulled the wagon which served as a hearse, and Napoleon himself walked at the head of the procession. Two whole days were given over to celebrations. There were songs, speeches, and more firing of the gun, and a special gift of an apple was bestowed on every animal, with two ounces of corn for each bird and three biscuits for each dog. It was announced that the battle would be called the Battle of the Windmill, and that Napoleon had created a new decoration, the Order of the Green Banner, which he had conferred upon himself. In the general rejoicings the unfortunate affair of the banknotes was forgotten.

It was a few days later than this that the pigs came upon a case of whisky in the cellars of the farmhouse. It had been overlooked at the time when the house was first occupied. That night there came from the farmhouse the sound of loud singing, in which, to everyone's surprise, the strains of Beasts of England were mixed up. At about half past nine Napoleon, wearing an old bowler hat of Mr. Jones's, was distinctly seen to emerge from the back door, gallop rapidly round the yard, and disappear indoors again. But in the morning a deep silence hung over the farmhouse. Not a pig appeared to be stirring. It was nearly nine o'clock when Squealer made his appearance, walking slowly and dejectedly, his eyes dull, his tail hanging limply behind him, and with every appearance of being seriously ill. He called the animals together and told them that he had a terrible piece of news to impart. Comrade Napoleon was dying!

A cry of lamentation went up. Straw was laid down outside the doors of the farmhouse, and the animals walked on tiptoe. With tears in their eyes they asked one another what they should do if their Leader were taken away from them. A rumour went round that Snowball had after all contrived to introduce poison into Napoleon's food. At eleven o'clock Squealer came out to make another announcement. As his last act upon earth, Comrade Napoleon had pronounced a solemn decree: the drinking of alcohol was to be punished by death.

By the evening, however, Napoleon appeared to be somewhat better, and the following morning Squealer was able to tell them that he was well on the way to recovery. By the evening of that day Napoleon was back at work, and on the next day it was learned that he had instructed Whymper to purchase in Willingdon some booklets on brewing and distilling. A week later Napoleon gave orders that the small paddock beyond the orchard, which it had previously been intended to set aside as a grazing-ground for animals who were past work, was to be ploughed up. It was given out that the pasture was exhausted and needed re-seeding; but it soon became known that Napoleon intended to sow it with barley.

About this time there occurred a strange incident which hardly anyone was able to understand. One night at about twelve o'clock there was a loud crash in the yard, and the animals rushed out of their stalls. It was a moonlit night. At the foot of the end wall of the big barn, where the Seven Commandments were written, there lay a ladder broken in two pieces. Squealer, temporarily stunned, was sprawling beside it, and near at hand there lay a lantern, a paint-brush, and an overturned pot of white paint. The dogs immediately made a ring round Squealer, and escorted him back to the farmhouse as soon as he was able to walk. None of the animals could form any idea as to what this meant, except old Benjamin, who nodded his muzzle with a knowing air, and seemed to understand, but would say nothing.

But a few days later Muriel, reading over the Seven Commandments to herself, noticed that there was yet another of them which the animals had remembered wrong. They had thought the Fifth Commandment was "No animal shall drink alcohol," but there were two words that they had forgotten. Actually the Commandment read: "No animal shall drink alcohol to excess."

Oh, how utterly heartbeaking

I found this while doing a snopes search on G/S's post about Budwieser.


I am a very sick little boy. My mother is typing this for me, because I can't. She is crying. Don't cry, Mommy! Mommy is always sad, but she says it's not my fault. I asked her if it was God's fault, but she didn't answer, and only started crying harder, so I don't ask her that anymore. The reason she is so sad is that I'm so sick. I was born without a body. It doesn't hurt, except when I go to sleep.

The doctors gave me an artificial body. My body is a burlap bag filled with leaves. The doctors said that was Billy Evansthe best they could do on account of us havin' no money or insurance. I would like to have a body transplant, but we need more money. Mommy doesn't work because she said employers don't hire crying people. I said, "Don't cry, Mommy," and she hugged my burlap body. Mommy always gives me hugs, even though she's allergic to burlap, and it chafes her real bad.

I hope you will help me. You can help me if you forward this e-mail. Dr. Johansen said if you foward this e-mail then Bill Gates will team up with AOL and do a survey with NASA. Then the astronauts will collect prayers from school children all over America and take them up to space so that the angels can hear them better. Then they will go to the Pope, and he will take up a collection in church and send the money to the doctors. The doctors could help me better then.

Maybe one day I will be able to play baseball. Or maybe just use my lungs and heart, when the doctors make them. The doctors said that every time you foward this letter, the astronauts can take another prayer to the angels. Please help me. Mommy is so sad, and I want a body. I don't want my leaves to rot before I turn 10.

If you don't foward this e-mail, that's OK. Mommy says you're a mean heartless person who doesn't care about a poor little boy with only a head. She says that she hopes that you stew in the raw pit of your own guilt-ridden stomach. What kind of wretched person are you that you can't take five lousy minutes to forward this to all your friends so that they can feel guilt and shame for the rest of their day, and then maybe help a poor, bodiless nine-year-old boy?

Please help me. This really sucks. I try to be happy but it's hard. I wish

I had a puppy. I wish I could hold a puppy.

Thank You.
Billy 'Smiles' Evans,
The boy with just a head.
And a burlap sack for a body.


FYI, it's a satire on ALL the other "Fel sorry for me" e-mails in your junk mail.
Just thought I'd mention that- you know, in case someone wanted to blame Bush for the lack of "good" insurance.

Moslem Trekkies?

The Syrian Ambassador to the UN had just finished giving a speech, and walked out into the lobby where he met President Bush. They shook hands, and as they walked the Syrian said, "You know, I have just one question about what I have seen in America".

President Bush said, "Well, anything I can do to help you, I will."

The Syrian whispered "My son watches this show 'Star Trek' and in it there is Chekhov who is Russian, Scotty who is Scottish, and Sulu who is Chinese, but no Arabs. My son is very upset and doesn't understand why there aren't any Syrians or Arabs on Star Trek."

President Bush laughed, leaned toward the Syrian ambassador, and whispered back, "It's because it takes place in the future."




Gleefully stolen from Guy.

Sometimes you just gotta wonder

I was over here looking at some advanced doggy tech thingies, and after shaking my head in wonder (at the assinine doggie bag) I looked at the comments.

I know alot of them were tongue-in-cheek, but some of the more idiotic ones must have been from PETAphiles. I could have sworn Dr. Phat Tony was doing alot of commenting there.

I guess it's true what "they" say about Walmart

And the way they depress prices of the mom and pop stores around them.

We had a new semiSuper Walmart open in Hondo this week. As normal they are having opening sales, including VERY cheap less expensive gas than anywhere around. $2.66/gal at the fuel island. All the other gass stations around had to drop their price to $2.69/gal. Which is really reasonable, considering the cheapest I saw it in San Antonio is $2.76/gal at Valero.

I wonder how long it'll stay that low?