Oz and the Maggot B

Here we sit in a critical historic position.

Merely three short years ago we were catapulted into a horrific awareness of our own vulnerabilities as a terrorism policy was implemented in a post-911 attempt to deal with America’s jolted conscience. And so it is that the Presidential election is resting on the horizon calling us to decide. A decision that is making us choose a leader to courageously navigate our country through this treacherous and uncertain time. Choice A is a relatively conservative middle Republican, who with the wind to his back and an elephant tattoo on his buttocks, might be able to win the imitation Reagan leap frog contest and choice B is a socialistic, leftist-liberal who has enough treasonous blood to date Jane and enough pansies in his pockets to court Hillary. And so we sit.

Through the window we see never ending ripple rats lapping up every data dribble that oozes from the cold-busted media moguls script as they pontificate as though they knew all; yet, the rats are really just victims of Oz – the grand deceiver. They live in a fantasy camp rigged with boogie men and shock waves and skewed figures and statistics all designed to paint an impressionistic landscape that masquerades as a NASA model. All pixels, no meat- all flash, no ground- all Oz, no power. And so it is.

Those of us who know that B is a dolt, liar, infidel, maggot, traitor, chameleon, and indulgence peddler are taking anti-nausea medication every time we hear his name and the non-A crowds of blinded guidance are casting cement embankments on the edges of the ditch since the blind do lead the blind. And so we watch.

Logically consistent and rational thought that upholsters true thinking has become as useful in modern minds as rabbit ears for mp3 downloads. The culture is overloaded, undernourished, and under-thought. God save the syllogism Queen! And so we think.

I only hope that the A levers actually move as tenacity and discipline seem to find a back seat to polls and predictions. One must cast their vote and not fall victim to the pressuring pessimisms that seem to so easily beset those who want A. And so we pray. And so we pray.

Delicious

Oh, how delicious is the fallacious when you eat a logical stew,
To render the tender of thoughtful persuasion and drink the harmonious brew.

Ditto.
Dot.
If then, not.
Turbo.
Up.
Big gun shot.

Indeed, it is jolly to hurdle the folly of the next assaulting crew,
Who render the tender of disconnected offenders and lap up the ‘therefores’ one, two.

Baseball's Been Berry Berry Good to Me

Okay, I lied. Truth is… I could care less about baseball.

But, do you remember that bit? It's from the old Saturday Night Live skit with Garret Morris. That's about all I can hear in my head when I see a baseball game on television and a player of an unknown ethnic origin comes hobbling along from the dugout like a half-dazed liquor store regular to the field chewing his cud. I watch as he putts out to his grazing place on the diamond and Morris' insanity echoes throughout my thoughts saying, "Baseball’s been berry, berry, good to me..."

Well, I should say so. Where else can you be out of shape, wear nerd-o-rama, two-sizes-too-small uniforms, not shave, consume large quantities of yet-to-be-illegalized Hungarian pharmaceuticals, keep pine tar in your garage, spit so much that you make a llama envious, and grab every conceivable body part known to man and get paid millions of dollars? I just don’t think I get it.

Baseball’s pace is too slow- overpaid, overweight, polyester-clad chewing knights and bishops and pawns chug around the chess game in front of overly patient fans who act as mindless as Mardi Gras spectators chasing after a Taiwanese trinket when a ball whizzes past their head. I got a sacrilege sense of blasphemy just now as I wrote that being that I’m a) a New Orleanian, and b) an American; mocking those two things can’t be good.

Now I’m craving Cracker Jack for some strange reason and I just saw a huge six foot hotdog run across my lawn and a barker is barking concessionary barkings and the smell of popcorn is whiffing past my nostrils and … I think I need a break.

Maybe I’ll go watch a round of golf.

Childhood Memories

I remember being a young boy and going to Mr. Rueben's house across the street. He played music in the cheese factory bars where lounge lizards are groomed and fabricated. Motown even made an album[*] with him which included his song "Rings" - "...ring, ring, the doorbell rings,nobody's home ... I got Jim Croce on the stereo.." I can hear it now as I type.

[* Album -that's an old piece of circular vinyl that makes music with a needle spins on it; also known as a 'record' for you youngsters out there.]

He would play these funny little dittys on the piano for us neighborhood kids. I recall two of them in particular - "It's as easy as one, two, three... sharing things that makes us free, who knows that maybe us two or three, can start the world on the way to love - Love, love, just what the world needs plenty of, we can start the world on the way to love." Hmmmm, typing that out made me feel like an acoustic hippie.

Here's the other tune: "I wish I were a squirrel with a big long tail, I wish I were a squirrel with a big long tail, cause if I were a squirrel with a big long tail, I'd put it up and away I'd sail..." Fun stuff. Catchy tunes that at thirty-six have lasted me decades;decades of grin material. They put a smile on your face and bring you back to a time of simpler things - days when your biggest worry was whether or not you were going to be force fed brussel sprouts at the chime of six.

And what of Mr. Rueben? Well, he didn't make the big time. In fact, I know he was divorced and moved around a bit from here to there and every now and then I see him at the strangest places like eating out on an all-exciting evening at Piccadily with my parents. That's the last time I saw him. We exchanged emails but I don't have it any longer.

I think I'll stake out a strange place this week and see if he's there. :)

It's only Natural

Here’s a question: Do we really need to ask whether or not a homosexual relationship is ‘natural’? Let’s put religious affections aside for a moment and examine biology.

A penis is an anatomical device that fits ‘naturally’ in the female vagina. We know from our reproductive research that the sperm swims his little Mark Spitz-ness up the loving life canal and finds the ovum of choice and zim-bang-ramma-lang-a-ding; we have intercourse.

Now…
Two men attempting to have intercourse? How can something that is designed to be P+V=I suddenly and ‘naturally’ accommodate P+P=I? The propositional calculus doesn’t add up nor does the biology. And what about two females?

V+V=I? Not quite. The Vs end up manufacturing fake Ps so that they can accomplish the sameness of P+V=I, but all they accomplish is not I.

Do we need a scientist and a religionist to define the ‘natural’ I? I don’t think we do. We know what it is and we know what it looks like when we see it.

Funny how propaganda mixed with progressive-culturalism breeds fantasyland.

Blah Da Blah La Da Blah Day

Today was one of those blah da blah days. You know the kind where you feel sort of blah and your response to it is a blah da blah la da mode; the kind of mode that precipitates a furthering of apathetic motor oil greasing down and lubricating your tongue. It's a gee-I-don't-quite-think-that-I-care-about-today mode married in congenial union with a gee-I-know-I-should-care-about-it mode that gives birth to the blah.

Ah yes, the ever present blah. Sometimes we love him and other times we would like to see the Mexican motivational firing squad shoot its highly efficient bandito rounds straight into his pathetic sounding lungs. And at the end of the day or sometimes in the middle of the blah da blah la da blah day, I come to realize an important truth.

I don't whine very well.

The Right Stuff

So he made it back. My first cousin, John, made it back from Iraq and I got to visit with him today. This was his second tour of duty as a reserve Marine MP spending most of this tour patrolling the Syrian border.

Here is a young man acutely aware of God's divine hand, in his early twenties, with no wife or children and yet, truly loves his country and is willing to lay down his life for our privilege to eat grilled chicken on a Sunday afternoon without worrying about picking RPG fragments from our potato salad.

He's got the right stuff - Semper Fi !

Fly

I saw a fly go by my eye
and when I caught it
he no die.

He dance and jangle,
He spin and fangle.

He mix and mangle,
He limps the tangle.

I saw a fly go by my eye
and when I grip him
he no die.

Ipse Dixit

I discovered a new phrase today - ipse dixit. This Latin expression is quite fun to say, "ip-see-dix-it". Say it out loud. Go ahead. Try it.

(Insert pause here for a brief time so that said word may be recited)

Cool, huh? :) It means literally "He himself has said it". It is used when someone makes a mere assertion without necessarily backing it up with facts- just putting the claim out there in thin air to dangle on the thin thread while mimicking a rope. This brings me to my post on Kerry.

Oh, how I loathe the unsubstantiated ranting of political chameleons that spend most of their time memorizing their next fabrication!

I can almost hear the KKK [Koncerned Koreans against Kerry] chanting, “ipse dixit he no fix it! … ipse dixit he no fix it!” I think I’ll go eat some Kim chi.

Life under the Rock

I go to a guy's house today and he tells me that the Virgin Records guy has a competition going on and that the Microsoft guy has teamed up with the genius guy with long sideburns and that they went into outer space with this really strange and crazy looking pseudo-airplane with a rocket thing on top of it making them we-just-won-the-contest-and-made-world-history guys. Not knowing made me feel like the under-the-rock guy. Where on earth have I been?

Man. We are information hounds and Lord help you if you miss the news or don't have cable television because you are liable to find your poor pathetic non-info hound nose being covered by moss as it sticks out from the granite.

I Googled up this outer space newsflash story and became a now-I-know-what-you-were-saying guy. And then I see that tonight is the Cheney/Edwards 'debate' [cute talk with media guy (gal) about political bickering and benign brouhahas] All I could see was that Cheney looked crooked and Edwards is crooked. Crooked in the sense of leaning in high inclines and descents in the former and crooked in the sense of regurgitated Pinocchio noses in the latter.

Maybe being the under-the-rock guy isn't so bad after all.

Hail to the Chief

The Presidential election is fast approaching. Our wonderfully unbiased media outlets have reigned supreme as Dan Rather has shown himself to be a nimrod, Brokaw is finally going to graze grass at the glue fields in December and Kerry continues to dodge, parry, spin, and twist like a marionette inhaling ether.


This election truly transcends party lines for anyone who is actually able to reason and see clearly can observe that there is a chasm the size of the elastic band on Oprah Winfrey's Speedo swimsuit between Bush and Kerry. Certainly they are both politicians and as such will disappoint when meander gives way to purpose. However, the caliber of both men cannot be weighed within a hundred thousand kilograms of comparison.

Those who vote for the socialistic infested Chihuahua mouthed Democrats should be ashamed of themselves and make one wish that public flogging were instituted as law for incorrigible stupidity.

I pray that those who even bother to vote do so with a bird in the Bush rather than the schnitzel in hand.

Never a Dull Moment

Just when you think that the road you are on has laid out a huge pit for you, to consume and maul and grapple you into an unwanted position of complete submission, another one is laid down before you. A foreign path and one not chosen, but all arrows point forward.

We don't like to be unenlightened and yet that is our lot. We are not omniscient. We are not fortunetellers. We live hour-by-hour and tic-by-toc. Our supposed independence is dependent upon God for His decretive will remains secret.

New opportunities are quite frequently paved on the back of despair, pain, and blindness.

May we all come to know that truth and live as if we believe it.