The War on Nuisances
We have to get back to the place we were, where terrorists are not the focus of our lives, but they're a nuisance.
As a former law enforcement person, I know we're never going to end prostitution. We're never going to end illegal gambling. But we're going to reduce it, organized crime, to a level where it isn't on the rise. It isn't threatening people's lives every day, and fundamentally, it's something that you continue to fight, but it's not threatening the fabric of your life.--John Kerry from a recent interview in The New York Times Magazine
A nuisance? He's comparing terrorism to victimless crimes? How many people were murdered on September 11, 2001?
This guy lacks the vertebracy necessary to properly address the terrorist threats we currently face. I swear, this boob wants to return to the Clinton foreign policy, which amounted to a La-la land policy of everybody pretending to make nice.
Be careful what you vote for. You just might get it.
That's really messed up. Superman died. Christopher Reeve was a vocal proponent of embryonic stem cell research, so we should fully expect to see his most untimely death overly politicized by the folks that politicize nearly everything to benefit themselves. You know, the Dems.
I think I'll fire up the 'Somewhere in Time' soundtrack. What a cool flick. What a haunting soundtrack. Superman, dead at 52.
I saw that story in the paper...
...the other day about Coal Street Park being scheduled for a much needed facelift and I was thrilled to learn as much. In fact, I thought about calling General J.J. and offering to volunteer some sweat to the project. I think we should amass an army of volunteers come Spring and beat that park into shape.
And I made wifey aware of my nascent plans. And then she made me aware of an unfinished project of mine that just got a little more labor intensive. I decided that the landfill up at the top of the street would be transformed into a scenic blip on the map before the flowers bloom again. And I've been pecking away at it. Apparently, I've got more pecking to do than previously imagined.
Somebody purchased the two houses at the top of the hill and they have been busily working away on improving them. Those of us that reside on this smallish street couldn't be happier about that development. No more druggies. No more cop magnets. No more broken windows. Only fast slipping structures saved from becoming derelict properties. Cool.
So anywho, I've worked up quite a few blisters up there removing overgrown weeds, pickers, bagged household garbage and other assorted throwaways commonly associated with our decadent throwaway society. What wifey pointed out to me had me so frickin' mad, I was wanting to blacken someone's eye, bad ribs or no bad ribs. What a bunch of f**king f**kheads!
Looky there, will you! Ancient linoleum and moisture-damaged wood. I guess one of the bathrooms is being remodeled. Just when we thought we were better off in this microscopic corner of the world, it turns out we've got yet another lawless cretin throwing whatever it may be down the freakin' bank. Some of us work to make our situation here a bit better, while others continue to work against us.
Thanks to the tireless efforts of our copper dudes, drugs no longer dominate our tiny list of things to combat on this street, but it's become obvious that we've got another battle to wage. Illegal dumping on Thompson Street? I don't f**king think so.
I think local politics are really important, obviously, and whatever the federal government can't cover, local and state government can, so it's a system that does work.--Michael Stipe, R.E.M. frontman and vocal participant of the Vote for Change anti-Bush concert series.
Ahem, Dude, take another deep toke and proceed to go away. Call Bruce Springsteen and John Cougar Mellancamp and see if the three of you folks can still produce one single decent song. Sing Michael, sing! But stick to music and leave the politics to us unwashed folks that possess a bit more than the low-IQ you've grown accustomed to. Forget the proselytizing. Sing. Dance. Strum. Get drunk. Fall over. Get bent.
Sorry, Mikey, but watching aging rock stars squirreling out is none too attractive, nor is it wanted or warranted.
Count me in...
...sign me up.
mobile speed bump (noun) A car that travels at the speed limit to force the cars behind to do the same.
The city of Vancouver is exploring the idea of sanctioning a grass-roots traffic-calming program that enlists the silent majority of reasonable, rational, law-abiding drivers to stop being so silent.
Instead they'd slap NEIGHBORHOOD PACE CAR stickers on their vehicles and set a highly visible example by rolling down Vancouver streets at lawful speeds.
Yes, you heard right: Making Vancouver streets safer simply by making a public point of driving the posted speed limit.
As I previously stated, I'm in. Sign me up. Get the police chiefie on the telephone.
Consider my most recent escapades. Would you rather get T-boned at 25 mph, or at 50 mph? I'm just askin'.
John will never send a boy or girl in a uniform anywhere in the world because of our need and greed for oil.
Diplomacy is not about, `I'm telling you.' Diplomacy is about, `what do you think?' If you cannot have respect for the other side, you cannot have diplomacy.--Teresa Heinz Kerry
Phew! You know, there are some among us that wish to see this mostly deranged and utterly clueless person elevated to a lofty place that she has no business seeking in the first place.
If this smug snob and her phoney baloney hubby ever ascend to this nation's highest office, things are gonna get very dicey whereas our national security is concerned.
Diplomacy? Is that what we need while lunatics have designs to kill as many of us as humanly possible? Here, Teresa...I've got some diplomacy for ya.
Compared to this shrill witch, Hillary is suddenly attractive. Scary.
The Kerrys are scary.
I snagged this from The Beacon...
...the official Wilkes University student newspaper:
At 6:30 a.m. on Sunday, October 10, a resident student had her car stolen at gunpoint at the rear of Weiss Hall. The student was on her way to work and was not injured in the incident. The suspect is a white male, approximately 5'7", around 30 years old, medium build, and has possibly a shaved head. The suspect was wearing a white shirt with blue jeans. The stolen vehicle is a 2002 Hyundi Elantra 4-door hatchback, dark blue, and a N.J. Registration number CC8480. The investigation is ongoing and anyone with information is asked to contact Wilkes-Barre Police at 911 or 826-8106. Those who wish to be anonymous can call the Wilkes C.A.R.E. hotline at 408-CARE (2273).
Whatever, man. Be on the lookout.
Let's cover some of the really...
...weighty issues, shall we?
How's about those New York Jints??? Holy frig! 4-1???? I knew Tom Coughlin would deliver, but I never dreamed it'd be this quick. Hey there, hapless Eagles fans. I'm planning a trip to see the Jints in the Super Bowl. Wanna come along for the ride?
I know. I know. I do. I'm jumping the gun a bit, but I did in fact warn ya'll. Andy Reid has weighty company all of a sudden. Joe Gibbs. Bill Parcells. Tom Coughlin. Bummer, green non-dudes.
And we've got the Boston Red Sox about to do battle with the dreaded New York Mercenaries. Hell, I'd break my own ribs if it'd amount to being able to see the Red Sox celebrate, while the rapidly slipping Mercenaries stare silently from their dugout.
Joe Torre: The Phil Jackson of Major League Baseball.
And how about that Astros-Braves tilt last night. That was fun. The Houston fans packing that queer stadium were partying and whooping it up very early on. It's obvious that they thought a three run lead was insurmountable with Roger Clemens on the mound, but I was waiting for the bomb to drop on them. Seriously, you can't allow the opposing team 2, or 3 base runners every inning without eventually getting burned. Hee! Hee!
So, when the three run bomb finally dropped, when Adam Larouche homered into the upper deck in right field to tie the game, I leaped from my chair and let loose with, "I knew it! I f**king knew it!" And then I quickly reached for my ribs. It didn't help.
So, tonight's the night. Zero hour has arrived. Either the Astros or the Braves are done tonight, but last night's game was a VHS keeper. Bobby Cox is a masterful manager. Give him your tired, your poor and your uneducated and Bobby Cox will lead them into the playoffs. No matter how things eventually shake down tonight, this baseball season has been a really good ride for a team that shedded massive amounts of payroll, but never missed a beat.
Cox is certainly underappreciated, but not in this household.
Watch out for Chipper tonight.
Thanks for all of the e-mail well-wishing and such. It is greatly appreciated. It's been a weird week, but it's been easier to handle while knowing that not everyone who reads these misguided adventures in nanopublishing hates me.
I received the neatest little 'get well' card via snail mail. The front of the thing has a bowl of chicken soup, a soup spoon laying nearby and nothing else. I thought it was cute.
Inside the card was the following notation, edited by me, of course:
Sorry to hear about your accident. Hope that you are feeling better and have a quick recovery. You were there for me when I needed your help and I'll be there for you with any help that you may need.
Right about now, a Canadian import 55-pack comes to mind.