Mamamontezz's Mental Rumpus Room

Show Trial? Cool.

Let us all hope that by "Show Trial" the Commissar means one with half-nekkid dancing men, leaping into the swimming pool which occupies the jury box, synconized swimming with wild abandon in a crazy parody of an Esther Williams movie.

I could really like that show trial.

Jack's Links

Lila,
This is just off the press,
Jack

Nov. 13, 2001 Air Crash over New York Was Work of Al Qaeda Suicide, Says Canadian Intelligence

DEBKAfile Special Report

August 30, 2004, 10:30 PM (GMT+02:00)

According to a top secret Canadian government report, the 9/11 terrorist attacks on New York, had a sequel two months later. On November 13, 2001, American Airlines flight 587 crashed over Queens, New York, shortly after takeoff from JFK killing all 265 people aboard. A captured al-Qaeda operative, Mohammed Mansour Jabarah, told Canadian intelligence investigators that a Montreal man who trained in Afghanistan alongside the 9/11 hijackers was responsible, using a small shoe bomb similar to the one used by convicted shoe bomber Richard Reid for his “suicide mission.” He named Abderraouf Jdey, a Canadian citizen known also as “Farouk the Tunisian.”

This is reported in Canada’s National Post

Asked for a comment, US National Transportation Safety Board spokesman, Ted Lopatkiewicz, still insisted there was no evidence of anything other than an accident (in the plane crash over Queens.) It appears, at least the evidence we have, is that a vertical fin came off, not that there was any kind of event in the cabin.”

The same kinds of claims were made officially three years ago too. Yet on November 15, 2001 DEBKAfile’s counter-terror sources maintained that the downing of Flight 587 was the work of terrorists:

The Information accumulating opens up the possibilities of a bomb having been planted near the tail of the Airbus, or a suicide bomber blowing himself up in the rear of the aircraft. The plane came down shortly after taking off for the Dominican Republic from John F. Kennedy International airport. Another scenario under investigation is that a surface-to-air missile was fired from a boat in Jamaica Bay near the airport.

According to DEBKAfile’s intelligence sources, a number of people linked to Al Qaeda in New York behaved suspiciously several hours before the crash; some, who were under surveillance following the September 11 attacks, managed to disappear, with the FBI unable to determine how they slipped away or trace their current whereabouts.

Those sources also noted that the US F-15 warplanes, on 24-hour patrol in the skies of New York and other major US cities, were ordered immediately after the crash to search for any boats or unusual activity in the Jamaica nature reserve.

The morning after, Wednesday, November 14, divers were seen scouring the marsh area for signs that missiles had been fired at the plane, such as a launcher or a scuttled boat, on the assumption that the terrorist who fired the missile escaped in a scuba suit.

Despite adamant denials by the US Federal Aviation Authority, it is now becoming clear that prior to the crash, US intelligence did indeed receive numerous warnings from intelligence sources outside the United States that a terrorist strike was likely on Tuesday, Veterans Day, to mark the two-month anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon. (End of quote)

According to the US 9/11 commission, Jdey, 39, came to Canada from Tunisia in 1991 and become a citizen in 1995. With his new passport, he left for Afghanistan and trained with some of the September 11 hijackers. He was dropped from the 9/11 mission after recording a “martyrdom” video. Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, planner of the World Trade Center attack, claims Jdey was recruited for a “second wave” of suicide attacks. In 2002, he was one of seven al Qaeda members sought in connection with possible terrorist threat in the United States.

Care Packages from Donatos pizza?

Early this morning, while lying in bed all warm and snuggly with the Spousal Unit, I heard something on the radio that I haven't been able to verify. Or at least I think I heard it. It may have been one of those restless, half-lit dreams a person has when they're not quite awake yet not quite still asleep.

I heard/dreamed about a Donatos Pizza commercial. The commercial stated that Donatos Pizza was collecting items for the purpose of putting together care packages for our troops overseas. Interested persons could drop off these items at any Donatos in the Indianapolis area, or give them to the driver who delivers their pizza.

Okay, it sounded pretty real to me, but there's nothing on the Donatos Pizza national corporate website about it, and the radio station that's on at work hasn't run any of their ads today. And I'd really like to verify this.

If this is true, I'll be certain to order Donatos this week. I make it a point to support businesses that support our troops, and I always have liked their pizza. Nothing fancy, nothing pretentious, but it at least gets delivered while it's still hot and it's never all slid to one end of the box in a sodden mess.

Anyone else hear about this program in any other region? If this was infact a real commercial and not some dream, please let me know.

Now, what will I order? Mmmmm... Sausage, 'shrooms, and extra cheese... Oh, and Anchovies on the side for the rest of the family. NO fish on pizza for me, thank you.

Stolen Honor

This link is up at the Rottie, and was also sent to me this morning in comments by Bill of In Bill's World.

It's important. It is extremely powerful. Take the time, even if you are on Dial-up, to view this.

Convention Blogging?

Yes, the Democrats had a few bloggers sitting in the nose-bleed seats, a narrow shelf on which to place their laptops. They invited some, dis-invited others, and then sat back and watched the dog-and-pony show that emerged so that they could later, in retrospect, point at their gallant effort to include "The Little Guy" as a dismal failure.

Oh, they didn't point and say that? Well, perhaps they didn't have to, since the media did it for them.

And now it's time for the GOP to fire up the party faithful, and they, too, have invited a group of bloggers to blog in real time about what they're seeing. But will the media again cry out "Dismal Failure" as they point to the area where these men will be sitting, lit by the glow of their displays? Probably not, since they seem to have joined them in this experiment in Bloggery.

Well, speaking as one who has spoken at length over the last year or so with one of the chosen, and as one who appreciates the effort that goes into being a blogger with the kind of audience he has on a daily basis at both his personal site and at his campaign site, I can only imagine how exciting this has to be.

Matt, knock'em dead for us. I only wish I could be there to watch. I have no grand delusions about the level or quality of my blogging, but I'll have to admit that being there as a mere observer would be a great few days.

And you know what? You wanted questions you could ask of conventioneers? Well I just thought of one. Ask each of the "journalists" who comes up there to gape at you guys what their URL is. I'd be interested to know just how many of them has decided to set up temporary blogs just to prove that any monkey with a laptop can do this. To do a comparison between these well trained and impartial Journalists and you and your fellow bloggers would be interesting to say the very least.

See you in chat, if you have the opportunity.

Anarchist Court

Lila,
Kerry is a threat to our sovereignty and our freedoms, but a more insidious threat exists: legislating from the bench. I'm all in favor of holding judges accountable for breaching the law and even worse the U.S. Constitution.

This is something voters need to consider this election, more strongly than the presidential candidates. Judges enjoy more anonymity than Mafia Dons and inflict infinitely more damage.

As voters we can stop them from destroying what this country was founded on. If Kerry gets elected he will appoint anarchists to the supreme court and the Democrats will rubber stamp those appointments.

Jack

An example:

Supreme Court Sides With Pornographers Again
by Phyllis Schlafly

(Full text of the article)

July 14, 2004

Do you ever wonder why the internet is so polluted with pornography? The Supreme Court just reminded us why: it blocks every attempt by Congress to regulate the pornographers.

From its ivory tower, the Court props open the floodgates for smut and graphic sex. Over the past five years, it has repeatedly found new constitutional rights for vulgarity, most recently invalidating the Child Online Protection Act (COPA).

This latest judicial outrage happened on the final day of the Supreme Court term, after which the justices headed out for a long summer break. Lacking teenaged children of their own, the justices closed their eyes to electronic obscenity polluting our children's minds.

For decades, pornographers have enjoyed better treatment by our courts than any other industry. The justices have constitutionally protected obscenity in libraries, filth over cable television, and now unlimited internet pornography.

The flood of pornography started with the Warren Court when it handed down 34 decisions between 1966 and 1970 in favor of the smut peddlers. In mostly one-sentence decisions that were issued anonymously (the justices were too cowardly to sign them), the Court overturned every attempt by communities to maintain standards of decency.

The judges' obsession with smut is astounding. Even though five Supreme Court justices were appointed by Presidents Reagan and the first Bush, graphic sex wins judicial protection in essentially every case.

Woe to those who transgress an obscure environmental law, or say a prayer before a football game, or run a political ad within two months of an election. They find no judicial sympathy, as courts now routinely restrict private property rights and censor political speech.

But the pornographers can do no wrong in the eyes of our top justices. The most explicit sex can be piped into our home computers and the Supreme Court prevents our democratically elected officials from doing anything about it.

COPA was enacted by Congress in response to the Court's invalidation of the predecessor law, the Communications Decency Act of 1996. But decency lost again when six justices knocked out COPA in Ashcroft vs.. ACLU.

COPA was badly needed, as filth plagues the internet, incites sex crimes, and entraps children. COPA banned the posting for "commercial purposes" on the World Wide Web of material that is "patently offensive" in a sexual manner unless the poster takes reasonable steps to restrict access by minors.

You don't need to look very far to find a tragic crime traceable to the internet. In New Jersey in 1997, 15-year-old Sam Manzie, who had fallen prey to homosexual conduct prompted by the internet, sexually assaulted and murdered 11-year-old Eddie Werner, who was selling candy door-to-door.

COPA did not censor a single word or picture. Instead, it merely required the purveyors of sex-for-profit to screen their websites from minors, which can be done by credit card or other verification.

But minors are an intended audience for the highly profitable sex industry. Impressionable teenagers are most easily persuaded to have abortions, and homosexual clubs in high school are designed for the young.

Justice Kennedy declared it unconstitutional for Congress to stop porn flowing to teens, shifting the burden to families to screen out the graphic sex rather than imposing the cost on the companies profiting from the filth. His reasoning is as absurd as telling a family just to pull down its window shades if it doesn't want to see people exposing themselves outside.

In a prior pro-porn decision, Kennedy cited Hollywood morals as a guide for America, but this time he relied on the prevalence of foreign pornography. "40% of harmful-to-minors content comes from overseas," he declared in holding that the other 60% of obscenity is wrapped in the First Amendment.

The Supreme Court insisted that individual internet users should buy filters to try to block the vulgarity. Should those who do not like air pollution be told to buy air masks?

The Supreme Court protects pornography in books, movies, cable television, and the internet, real or simulated, against all citizens' clean-up efforts. The Court is no longer the blindfolded lady weighing a controversy, but is dominated by media-driven supremacists forcing us down into a moral sewer.

This latest pro-porn decision was too much even for Clinton-appointed Justice Breyer. He said, "Congress passed the current statute in response to the Court's decision" invalidating the prior law; "what else was Congress supposed to do?"

The solution to these ills foisted on us by judicial supremacists is for Congress to exercise its constitutional powers to remove jurisdiction from the federal courts over pornography. The Court has abused its power, and it's Congress's duty to end the judicial abuse.

Learn more here http://www.eagleforum.org/ and here http://www.judicialwatch.org/

Jawja Blogfest

Well, I'm going to be doing something I never imagined I'd ever do: I'm going to the Jawja Blogfest.

I can hardly wait, and I've got almost 2 months for exactly that. The darned thing doesn't even happen until October 15 and 16. I have to wait that long to meet what I've been told are some of the nicest people in Georgia.

Hardly seems fair, does it, mean old me in the midst of Southern Hospitality? Acidman, Velociman, StraightWhiteGuy, Dax Montana, and a host of others are supposed to be there. I don't think I'll mind a bit being the Token Hoosier. Hell, I may never come back home.

And I've been promised Boiled Peanuts. I may even get to sample some, er, Home Made Wine from a mason jar. This definitely merits a pedicure complete with Street Walker Red nail polish.

Damn, I'd beter start brushing up on my Patsy Cline songs. Two months away! I hate that.

Jack's Link

Lila,

Thanks for posting [links for The New Soldier], I downloaded the PDF's about Kerry's "New Soldier" , I'll attempt to gag some of it down, not in the right frame of mind at present. I'll try but it will not change my opinion of him, his past and present behaviour preclude that.

Here is an article about the hero that's pretty telling, for you to read.

Have a good evening.
Jack

The Sampan incident
Pat Buchanan (archive)

The New Soldier

I have been wanting to read John Kerry's book, The New Soldier, ever since it appeared in early spring that Kerry would probably be the Democrat national candidate for president this year against George W. Bush.

Of course, copies of this book are rare and difficult to find in any venue. It has been out of print for years. A few copies came up on Ebay, and it was my understanding that one of the first copies to hit the auction went for over $500 a few months ago.

If you are like me, and follow the philosophy that you must know your enemy, perhaps you should also read this book. It is available now as a download at John Kerry's The New Soldier in PDF format. With the DSL hookup, I was able to download it in a matter of minutes.

I'll settle down to read it this weekend when I can manage some time between shifts.

Jack, Bonfire, Slagle, Mikenchi, Stevie, Bill, GOC in Winston-Salem, if you haven't read this yet, take a moment and at least read the intro. We all have a vested interest in this, some of us more than others.

And if you want a concise piece with a pretty accurate listing of his activities after his "Hit and Run" deployment, I reccommend this piece from a local paper in Dover, Maine. It lays his entire post-Viet Nam history out extremely well and in language anyone can comprehend.

Know your enemy.

Update: Also, at least in my case, know your own stupidity. And mine is grand. I'm sorry, Stephen. If I had paid attention, I would have noticed where the links were coming from, but I didn't, so I missed them, and I was remiss and so I apologize. I hate it that I did that. How very blond of me, and I'm a redhead.

I'm sorry. Forgiven?

Oh, and the rest of you, if you're not spending some time at Hold the Mayo on a regular basis, you're missing a great blog. And that's not just because he's a Munuvian.

Or because I enjoy a good spanking.

Thank you everyone.

I appreciate all the comments and notes of well-wishing and "sickness abatement" I've gotten over the last few days. You are the best readers ever, and you made this puny old fat-chick feel pretty good. I want to thank you all for taking the time to say such nice things. It went a long way to making me feel better.

And I'm feeling much better. The congestion is beginning to break up, and the cough drops are keeping that in check. I worked the full day on Tuesday, and even though I didn't think I would make it, I did. As long as my voice holds out, I'll make it without having to use any more Paid Time Off (PTO). Gotta save the PTO I can. Got something important I want to do in October. Gonna need a few days. May need a few to recover, too.

Hey, a girl can dream, can't she? Well, can't she?

Okay, a story...

I bet none of you knew that there's a "Convicted Felon National Anthem" did you? Well there is, and here's how I found out.

Probably 15 years ago, when I was young and single and care-free and pretty much stupid for not realizing just how good I had it and blowing my paychecks like a 19 yr old sailor on liberty in Bankok, I used to run with two women who were just a bit older than I. Jane and Barb were their names.

They were a blast to run with, both married with cool husbands (Jane's was so cool he even took me to an adult bookstore one time when I was in a "serious relationship" and needed an, er, accessory), and we were pretty much inseparable. We even called ourselves "Run PMS", a play on the name of the old school rap trio.

One Christmas, Jane invited Barb and I to her mom's Christmas Party. "Oh, we'll have fun. Some of her clients will be there, and some of the people from the courts and it will be fun." So we agreed, and on the night of the party Barb and I drove over to Jane's and went from there to the party.

Let me give you a little background on Jane. Jane had been a bailbondsman at one point in her varied and adventurous life. When she was writing bonds (and skip tracing), it was at her mother's office, Turner Bonding, across from the City County Building in downtown Indianapolis. Norma Turner had been writing bonds for years, and had built up a very large and loyal clientel. Her clients loved her, and she enjoyed her clients. She took a personal interest in them, and they made sure they were there when they were supposed to be because Norma expected nothing less.

So Jane and Barb and I pulled up at Norma's house, parked the Oldsmobile, and walked in.

Oh, my. The house was full of men. Men in jeans of various stages of disrepair and decay. Men in flannel shirts of every plaid imaginable. Men with mullets, crew-cuts or shaved heads. Men with facial hair configurations I had never before witnessed and some I had never even imagined. Men with far fewer than the normal requisite of teeth. Thin men and burly men. Men with sad eyes and men with anger smouldering behind their cloudy eyes. And in the midst of all of these men was tiny little Norma, middle-aged and highly inebrieated, hostess of her big Christmas party for her clientel.

As we took off our coats and settled in, a guitar was produced and one of the many men began to play. The whole assembly fell quiet as he played the introduction and lifted his voice with the first words of the Convicted Felon National Anthem:

Let the midnight special...

One by one, the other men joined in.

Shine its light on me...

Slowly, almost reverently they all began to sing.

Let the midnight special Shine its ever-loving light on me.

They sang every verse and knew every harmony. These men sang this song with the deep abiding emotion of a shared allegiance, shared experience, and the knowledge that through this they had each other.

Old Norma stood and swayed to the music, and it was hard not to join in on the harmonies. But somehow I felt I had not "earned" the right to give my voice over to their song, their anthem, their lifeline. Good voices and bad blended interestingly and no one was chided or called out for a mistaken lyric or off-key harmony.

And when the song was done, when the guy with the guitar took his last chord, the room held silent for a minute, I can only imagine in remembrance of something or someone lost forever. Then like a lightswitch was flipped the smiles and rowdy laughter and clinking of bottles recommenced and the party was back on as though it never had been interupted by that brief interlude.

After a few moments, Norma realized I was there and hollared out, "Lila! Hey, y'all, look! Lila's here. She'll sing. She'll sing us a Christmas Song."

I looked at Jane, who for some reason was giggling into her hand and wouldn't look back at me, and I knew what she had done.

I tried to beg off. I claimed I hadn't had enough to drink, whereby half a dozen of these guys offered me everything from longnecks to mason jars. "No, no, just point me to the fridge, I brought a few beers. Just let me get one in me."

Norma's clients were nothing if they weren't gentlemen, at least that night. So cussing and fuming I went into the kitchen and put down one longneck and opened another before heading out into the dining room.

"Shut-up. Shut-up. Shut-up. Lila's gonna sing! She's gonna sing." I looked at Norma and wondered what on earth was going on. She had never heard me sing. I could only imagine what that brat Jane had told her mom while she was in her compromised condition.

So I stood over by the table, and looked out in to that sea of unkempt, previously incarcerated, possibly still wanted men, and tried to figure out what song. I decided on one that I knew forwards and backwards and could "show off" with just a little bit. It's one of those songs you just can't sing in a casual voice. You have to "tone it up."

Oh, Holy night, the stars are brightly shining,

All the faces were now fixed on me. Eyes started to glass up and shine with tears, and some of them started making that choking sound a man makes when he doesn't want to let anyone know he's getting emotional.

I kept on singing, through the verses and the refrains, until I got to that one final refrain, the big finish...

Oh night divine Oh night, oh night divine.

There was so much bawling and crying and men pinching the tears from the corner of their eyes... The toughest ones let it out, and the big quiet ones turned into the corners so no one could see. Even old Norma was sobbing and crying "That's just beyooootiful! Just beyooootiful!"

Jane and Barb, of course had slipped into the kitchen and were he-hawing at the reaction it had on one of the men, Eddie Humphreys.

Eddie Humphreys was probably the skinniest, scrawniest, long-haired little con there. I doubt he weighed 130 pounds if you soaked him down with a hose and made him carry a sack of potatoes. And Eddie seemed to have a religious experience hearing that song.

Eddie followed me around that house for the rest of the time we were there. "Gee, Ma'am. You have such a purdy voice." Over and over. It was like he had never heard "the fat lady sing" before. Every time I turned around, there was Eddy again, singing my praises. Anyone stepped in my way, he cleared my path. Look like my beer was getting empty? He was there with another. I have no idea who's stash he was taking from, but I certainly did drink a variety that night.

I did have to draw the line at the bathroom door, though. I really believe he would have followed me in there if I had let him. Probably would have stood in the tub, "Ma'am, you sure do sing purdy. How come you ain't singing on records? Cause you sure do have a purdy voice."

The only time he ever left my side was to rejoin the rest of the men in re-singing "Midnight Special" whenever one of them got the urge to sing it again. And it never varied. It was always sung with the same reverence as it had been the first time we heard them singing it. Oh, and Norma grabbed my arm and made me sing "Oh Holy Night" at least twice more before we were able to find our coats and extricate ourselves from the party.

Barb and Jane never did let me live down my "fan club" for as long as we ran together. And I never forgot the night I heard the "Convicted Felon National Anthem" at Norma's Christmas party. All in all, it was a good time. Some of those guys ended up being pretty good guys caught in crappy circumstances.

What Acidman said about the law of the hills? Well, if some of these fellows had been back home in those hills instead of in Indianapolis, they'd have never had to learn that song in some confined concrete room with bars on the windows and bars on the doors. They'd have been just good ol' boys like everyone else.

Puny, redux

I can't think of the last time something this seemingly insignificant has hurt me this bad. I could have sworn this was just a garden variety sinus infection, but this has hit me hard. It feels the way I imagine that mouse feels when all wrapped up in the coils of a boa. No matter how hard I breath, it's all tight, like my lungs are full of water.

I sat in front of the computer last night, begging for sleep to finally overtake me, but no such luck. Tylenol, benadryl, nothing relaxed me or relieved my conjestion. I lay in bed for hours, feeling my heart race to compensate for my congested lungs. It was like enduring a 5 hours germ-induced anxiety attack, and by 5am I had surrendered. I called work, found a pill, took it, and went to bed. Even at that, it was almost 8am before I finally went to sleep.

After sleeping until noon, I still feel like I've been up since Friday.

Dammit, I want this to go away. It's going to take a session of good, old-fashioned croup to get all that sludge up, and I'm not looking forward to it. So tonight I'm going to start the Robitussen DM to start the process and maybe get some sleep.

At least I'd better be able to work tomorrow. I need this job. Bad. I have too many people depending on me and only me. At least the mortgage is paid. That's all that matters at this point.

Want something different to read? Maybe some old stuff? Go play in the archives at my old site and see what you can find. Some of it's pretty sad, some of it's pretty good. You just never know when you stumble in there if it will be shit or applebutter till you get close.

Template Stuff

Okay, I know some of you are awesomely talented computer types that make this novice look like a babe in the woods. (Anytime I can look like a babe in anything is a good time for me but we won't go there.) Well, it's true, I can talk a good talk and I do manage to tweak my own templates without hurting things too much, but what I want is completely beyond my skills.

My blogroll has gotten really long. It could be a lot longer, with all of the reciprocal links I'd like to get up, but the list is so long it's getting to the point that good blogs are getting lost in them.

The solution? Actually, I'd like a three column template with set-size gutters and a center column that expands and contracts for screensize, etc. I've seen a lot of three column sites where the center one doesn't contract, and text gets lost under the right gutter. Hate that. There has to be a way around that.

Any ideas? I can't just email Sekemori and ask her for a new template, as it's beyond my resources to pay for one right now. I'd even take one in the wrong colors that I could re-work in the stylesheet to get right.

Nothing fancy, no background patterns or graphics. Clean, just like what I have so that I can get some of the stuff off the bottom of that gutter up to the top where folks can see them. And expand my capabilities as far as the blogroll and other cool stuff.

I use MT v2.6sumpinorother, if that makes a difference. If you know of a place where I can get one, let me know.

I might even cook for the one what helps me. You never know. I make a mean pork roast and cornbread dressing. Green tomato pie sweet as Aunt Drucie's apple pie. Greenbeans with onions and jowl bacon. Sweet tea clear enough to read through it. Corn pudding. Hot biscuits and home made rhubarb preserves. Make it all right there in your kitchen so it's hot and fresh and delish..... Sound like a deal?

Trollage

I don't know who this turd is, but the Blogson just told him off in no uncertain terms.

There's no excuse for that. As I look at it, if some coward wants to vent and spew and is afraid to leave a valid email or URL so they fake one, that's one thing. He/She can call itself funny little names and use made-up addies all day long. It's still cowardice, plain and simple, and it's still going to get your sewage deleted and your IP banned. But don't rip-off other people's URL's or use names and addies that look so much like a valid blogger or commenter that casual readers might not know the difference.

When a person does that, they step over a line from cowardice to character assasination. You slander a good person when you do that. Even when the victim is someone I don't agree with, it's still slander and I don't condone it. Not one little bit.

Wrong is wrong, weasels. And don't try to post a comment here, Diaper Breath. I banned your IP just on good old fashioned GP.

Smothered Rabbit

We have a great little grocer in the area where you can get your meats cheap and where you can get unusual meats. That's where I get my rabbits. Kroger and the other chain stores have PetRitz brand rabbits for $10 a pound, cut up all crazy like some wildman with a cleaver just whacked them up to make the packages weigh the same. What a mess, and they just don't taste, well, like rabbits. These little beauties are whole, clean, and only cost me about $3 a pound, and they do taste like rabbit.

I dig out my Lodge™ cast iron dutch oven and set it on the stove. Drop in a few tablespoons of olive oil to cover the bottom of it, and start it to heat. Use olive oil, and you won't have to drain it when you're done unless you use way too much. You'll know.

Clean and slice a couple or three of those little yellow onions that come in the red net bags, and toss them in the pot. While they're cooking, rinse off and cut up that rabbit you've had thawing in the fridge. Cut him up a lot like you would a chicken. Set your oven for 220 degrees.

Season up some flour and dredge old Mr. Rabbit's bits through the flour to coat him good. Then slide your onions over to the side, and drop the rabbit into the oil. Take the remnants of your seasoned flower and sprinkle it onto the onions and kind of mix it in. Brown the rabbit good, turn him once, and brown him good on the other side.

While ol'rabbit is browning, grab a bag of those little finger carrots that you can get all scraped and clean, and peel yourself a couple of big potatoes and cut them in chunks about an inch or two across. You don't want too many veggies, just enough for a couple of people.

When rabbit is brown on both sides, cover him with those onions, drop the veggies in, salt them and pepper them, pour water up over the top of the rabbit but not completely over the potatoes, cover the pot, and slide it into the oven.

Walk away. Do not molest the oven. Don't be lifting that lid and peaking. You can leave that in all day if you want. Don't even think about eating that in less than 6 hours. This is the kind of thing you cook when you're going to be out working hard in the yard all day and need something that will warm your kitchen and give you something to look foward to when you've finished accumulating your monthly allotment of bruises, blisters, and scrapes, and sore muscles.

That flour you sprinkled over the onions should have set up and made you a delicious rabbit gravy. The potatoes and carrots will be tender and will have given their flavors to the pot. The onions? Melt in your mouth. And old Mr. Rabbit will fall off the bone. Mix up a batch of Bisquick biscuits and drop them on a cookie sheet to bake after you set the dutch oven back on the stove.

Don't have a deep dutch oven? Use a 4" deep iron chicken-fryer if you have a lid for it. Just remember, you don't want this piled too deep. Spread out a little bit in a bigger pan is better than cramped in a deeper pan. Got it? Knew you would.

Thank you.

I woke up this morning and realized that I had picked up the creepy-crud that the Spousal Unit and Little Anna had passed to each other earlier this week. Oh, man, talk about a take-down with extreme prejudice. It feels like my head has been used as a boot-scrape on a muddy day at the clay factory.

I thought I'd get up and fire off a quick letter to someone and while I was up I noticed my counter had gone off the deep end. I investigated. I had been linked by a "Tall Dog" and was reaping the benefits. Folks were actually here and reading who had never been before. Pretty thrilling, all told.

All these new readers running in and out has made this an exciting day for this old broad. I hardly know how to act.

Thank you Acidman. You sure did make a puny old lady feel a lot better today. That was better than daisies in a mason jar on my nightstand and a hot cup of tea and sugar.

Now I need a shot of that sinus remedy I have hidden in the freezer.

Tomorrow, folks. And for all you new folks, read around. There's lots to see.

Okay, so it's just an email joke...

Sometimes I get something in my email that's just to funny not to share. So sue me.

A powerful Democrat senator dies after a prolonged illness. His soul arrives in heaven and is met by St. Peter at the entrance.

"Welcome to Heaven," says St. Peter. "Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these parts, you see, so we're not sure what to do with you."

"No problem, just let me in," says the senator.

"Well, I'd like to but I have orders from higher up. What we'll do is have you spend one day in Hell and one in Heaven. Then you can choose where to spend eternity."

"Really, I've made up my mind. I want to be in Heaven," says the senator.

"I'm sorry but we have our rules."

And with that, St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to Hell. The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course. In the distance is a club and standing in front of it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him, everyone is very happy and in evening attire. They run to greet him, hug him, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people. They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster and caviar.

Also present is the Devil, who really is a very friendly guy who has a good time dancing and telling jokes. They are having such a good time that before he realizes it, it is time to go. Everyone gives him a big hug and waves while the elevator rises.

The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens on Heaven where St. Peter is waiting for him. "Now it's time to visit Heaven."

So 24 hours pass with the head of state joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They have a good time and, before he realizes it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returns.

"Well then, you've spent a day in Hell and another in Heaven. Now choose your eternity."

He reflects for a minute, then the senator answers, "Well, I would never have said it, I mean Heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in Hell."

So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to Hell.

Now the doors of the elevator open and he is in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage. He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags. The Devil comes over to him and lays his arm on his neck. "I don't understand," stammers the senator. "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and club and we ate lobster and caviar and danced and had a great time. Now all there is, is a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable.

The Devil looks at him, smiles and says, "Yesterday we were campaigning...Today you voted for us."

VOTE WISELY THIS COMING ELECTION!!

Regarding Censorship: Kerry's Latest Insult to Vets

Before I left for work today, the headline and developing story at Drudge was probably one of the most frightening things I've seen in a longtime. As scared as some folks are about the Patriot act, this causes me much more concern. Members of the Democrat National Committee are attempting to have a book banned because the content of this book is detrimental to the election campaign of their candidate, John Kerry.

This isn't some group of overanxious parents trying to protect their children from our history as presented by Mark Twain. This isn't some church group asking the library board to prohibit children from reading Salinger. Nor is it a community asking for internet filters in libraries.

Today a political party is attempting to silence a group of citizens who espouse and present an alternate political opinion and an alternate version of facts as pertain to a seminal series of events surrounding their presidential candidate. Because character assassination against members of this opposing group has failed, they now attempt to silence them by demanding that their book be banned and their 527C status revoked.

This is an extremely dangerous precipice on which we find ourselves poised. What happens during the next several days could be very telling about where we are as a nation.

Will we allow a group of citizens to be silenced because of a dissenting opinion? Will such guardians of Civil Liberties as the ACLU avail themselves of this group of citizens, or will they allow their prejudices and obvious historical political affiliations to override their reason for existence? Will we as a thoughtful, informed and intelligent citizenry demand that such attempts at political censure be seen as what they truly are, as direct attacks on our constitution?

I'm afraid there are more questions than answers at this point. But from what I have seen before, if past experience is any indicator of what to expect, there will be no outrage from those who generally hide behind the petticoats of the first amendment. The press will not speak out, nor will the "main stream" broadcast or cable media. Those who do speak out against this censorship will be labeled as ideologues or reactionaries.

No one will remember the tremendous hue and cry against Mel Gibson personally or against his movie. No one will remember the organized attempts by action groups to stop production of his film, or to have his film banned by theater chains. Every reporter, pundit, editorialist and journalist, however, will point out any slight or criticism of Michael Moore's fantasy, real or imagined, and declare them the equivalent of what is now being directed at these naval veterans.

But we know better, don't we?

Does it ever end with this creep?

It seems Michael Moore is going to prey on the military again. In an announcement today by Simon & Schuster, Moore states that he has agreed to compile a collection of letters received by him from soldiers, much of it at his website. (Sorry, no link. I don't link to scum.)

Well, it is my sincerest hope that they don't vet those letters or their writers. I find immense pleasure in the snarky little daydream of him being hauled into civil court for publishing letters credited to persons who never sent them. How many of these letters were written fraudulently by staffers to bolster numbers on his website? We may never know, but I certainly hope they used the names of actual soldiers who can, in turn, screw him right back.

Better yet, let them go after him for publishing correspondence sent, pen and paper via traditional mail, with no explicit permission given for publishing. They never sought permission from Sgt. Damon after they licensed footage of him at Walter Reed Army Hospital from NBC. What makes anyone think his people will do any different with these letters.

Go ahead and publish it in November, Mikey. Leak your galleys, publish your exerpts in magazines and do your interviews all through October. We all recognize what you are doing. It won't work. All you will accomplish is another rape of men and women in BDU. It may win you friends in some circles, but in the great unwashed and ignorant heartland where people value loyalty, duty, service, and honor, you will generate little more than disgust.





Update: Moorewatch has decided to do an end-run on this crap. Go see what you can do to help out. Someone needs to call this creep for what he is, and I can think of none better than those he has injured the most.

Sic'em!

Comment Scam Spam

Well, this is a new twist on the typical Nigerian Spam letter. Now they are specifically targetting Christians and appealing not necessarily to their greed as much as to their sense of charity and faith as a means of scamming them out of their savings. And the most amazing part is that this didn't come in my email. It came as a comment on an old post here.

Name: Msr.Binta Williams Email Address: gadoassociates@lawyer.com URL: http://Following the will of God

Comments:

From: Mrs Binta Williams.

Good Day,

PLEASE ENDEAVOUR TO USE IT FOR THE CHILDREN OF GOD.

My name is Binta Williams a nationality of Kuwait. I am married to Mr.
Kazeem Williams who worked with Kuwait embassy in Ivory Coast for nine years before he died in the year 2001. We were married for eleven years without a child. he died after a brief illness that lasted for only four days. Before he death we were both born again Christians.

"Please endeavor to use it for the children of God"? You people sicken me more every day. I bet little old ladies line up to help you out and never even consider keeping so much as a dime for themselves because you want to help "the children of God."

When my late husband was alive we deposited the sum of$10.6Million (Ten Million six hundred thousand U.S. Dollars) with one of the banks here in COTE D' IVOIRE . Presently, this money is still with the bank.

Recently, my Doctor told me that I would not last for the next three months due to cancer problem. Though what disturbs me most is my stroke. Having known my condition I decided to donate this fund to church or better still a Christian individual that will utilize this money the way I am going to instruct here in. I want a church that will use this fund to churches, orphanages, Research centers and widows propagating the word of God and to ensure that the house of God is maintained. The Bible made us to understand that blessed is the hand that grivet.

Damn. Cancer and a stroke. That would go a long way toward explaining how poorly this letter is written. I bet it suckers innocent folks every day.

And what the hell is "grivet"?

I took this decision because I don?t have any child that will inherit this money and my husband?s relatives are not Christians and I don?t want my family hard earned money to be misused by unbelievers. I don?t want a situation where this money will be used in an ungodly manner. Hence the reason for taking this bold decision. I am not afraid of death hence I know where I am going. I know that I am going to be in the bosom of the Lord. Exodus 14 VS 14 says that the lord will fight my case and I shall hold my peace. I don?t need any telephone communication in this regard because of my health because of the presence of my family relatives around me always. I don?t want them to know about this development. With God all things are possible.

Oooo... Now we see we have to protect the money from the greedy relatives who would squander it all on a Mosque.

I will like you to go ahead and contact my lawyer immediately you receive this message so that he will direct you you to the Finance/bank. I will also issue you a letter of authority that will empower you as the new beneficiary of this fund which is going to be done by my lawyer

Here is my lawyer's contact.
His name is Barrister Mark Gado.
Email: gadoassociates@lawyer.com
Tel: 22507 870 268.

Feel free to contact him immediately for further directives.

Of course we want these gullible Christians to contact him immediately. Strike while the iron is hot, so to speak. Get them at their weakest. They think they're going to help you become the Kuwaiti Mother Theresa.

I want you and the church to always pray for me because the lord is my shepherd. My happiness is that I lived a life of a worthy Christian. Whoever that wants to serve the Lord must serve him in spirit and truth. Please always be prayerful all through your life. Any delay in your reply will give me room in sourcing for a church or Christian individual for this same purpose. Please assure me that you will act Accordingly as I stated here. Expecting to hearing from you.

Remain blessed in the name of the Lord.

Yours in Christ,

Mrs Binta Williams.

There's a place in hell waiting for people like this, all Roasty-toasty and ice water-free. I foresee no "cold days" for this one once he/she/it arrives, either.

Now pardon me while I go delete the original comment and ban this IP.

Tag, you're it.

Good sleep last night. It came easily, gently for a change, without being actively pursued to exhaustion. And when it arrived it was a restful sleep that recharged and restored all aspects, body, mind, soul, and even a few other things that I had forgotten could use benefits of a peaceful sleep.

Restful, tender sleep hasn't come easily to me in recent memory. It hasn't been a part of my life for many months. I can almost tell you the days that my mental or emotional gymnastics didn't keep me up, and they almost all lead back to days when I was able to open-up and share a piece of my heart or my soul, or even my womanhood. Sometimes it has been shared over the telephone.

That something as insignificant in our everyday lives as a telephone could bring satisfaction and fulfilment to a person's psyche is fascinating and frightening simultaneously. I'm amazed that I will share things with a person over the phone within very few minutes of dialing that I would not have revealed in person for hours, days, weeks, maybe even ever. But the safety of that thin little wire and tinny speaker gives me a courage, albeit probably a false one.

Sadly, I know I may never see face to face the person with whom I have had a humorous, touching, or arousing conversation over the phone. I may never have the opportunity to personally share the intimacy that we shared in my soft bed in a darkened room, alone but for the touch of a piece of electronics pressed against my ear. But the verbal intimacy we did have was sweet and genuine and felt very, very real.

It sent away my demons for just a little while and gave me a delicious little thrill. Hearing my name said with that soft accent sent a little charge of electricity through my belly and into the darkness.

And it gave me enough peace with myself that I was able to rest peacefully for a few hours. I was reminded that I was still a woman, still desirable, still able to... Well, that's for an email, not here.

I can only hope that my phone will ring. Soon. I enjoyed myself immensely.

Tag. You're it. .

Plug-o-rama!

If you haven't linked Weasel Teeth yet, you need too.

And Caught in the Crossfire. Lovely and opinionated lady. Operative word being Lady. Mind your manners.

And while you're at it, Loyal Citizen Beth, who's a lovely person all the way around. And she's such a new blogger, I don't think she has more than half a dozen links.

Go, Read, Link! Support some good bloggers. Give them a link. Remember, there's always room for one more in your blogroll.

And while you're at it, go look at the Spousal Unit's blog. Yeah, yeah, go read him and drop him a link too.

(Some folks are "link whores" but I'm a Link Pimp.) .

Tomorrow's Thursday...

Tomorrow's Thursday and the last official day of my short vacation. I have actually accomplished nothing on my to-do list except an extended session of "slug-o-rama" and an entire day nekid blogging. For all of you who conversed with me in IM over the week, I'll never tell whether or not it was when we were online. If thinking of that bothers you, seek counseling.

Can I hear an "Amen" for three days of complete Sloth? Thank you brothers and sisters.

Oh, and Skyy melon vodka is delightful.

Telephone talk.

This has been a week for meeting people I admire. This evening, I was able to speak with someone I've always looked up to as a writer, even though all I've ever read was his blog.

You know, it's absolutely true that cream rises. He writes like he speaks and he speaks like an old friend. He's just as comfortable as soft old jeans and an oversized t-shirt , cuddled on the couch with a hot coffee on Saturday morning.

Not to mention that I left the conversation with a renewed appreciation for him as a human being. I don't meet true, old time gentlemen very often anymore. Such a loss for us all that they have gotten rarer than hen's teeth in this self-centered, gratification oriented world.

Yes, it has been a very good week. I look forward to another conversation soon.

Write about what?

I've been through the last 24 hours of links at Lucianne.com twice, and nothing, absolutely nothing, interests me enough to put fingertips to keyboard for even an insignificant obligatory post. It's the same tired nonsense I've been reading for a week. Or perhaps I'm just a tad distracted.

Not even the Olympics can get me excited enough to write, primarily because "He Who Holds The Remote" doesn't enjoy sports of any kind and has pretty much refused to watch them. As such, I haven't seen many of the Non-Sports masquarading as Olympic sports, things like Syncronized Diving, or that pathetic team of NBA scrubs. Yeah, once it was a Dream Team, with the likes of Bird and Magic. Now? A bunch of tattooed up, thuggish, gangsta-wannabee showboats who didn't refuse to participate, as did most of the top tier players who were asked first. And that's not just me speaking. That is pretty much what Iverson said in an interview during the opening ceremonies. See? Even they recognize it.

I've already made the Baby Arrival announcement. If I write about that again, I'll get called a "dotty, old, baby-freak." Well, truth hurts, but I'm still not going to write about it. (Did I tell you he apparently looks just like Daddy?)

I did add a few folks to the blogrolls last night when Moveable Type finally decided to allow such mudane housekeeping. Take a look over there and see what looks new. There's three or four, some slick and commercial looking, some lovingly handcrafted with a few raw edges, all of them good.

Oh, something exciting did happen last night. A hero visited, a good guy who did the right thing and got hurt in a horrific accident while deployed in the sandbox. Then while on the way to finding some healing, this young husband and father was injured again, this time by Soros' Propagandist.

I feel extremely privleged to have had him as a reader, even if only for that one post. It was an honor to find his comment. Take a moment to go see what he had to say. And then say thank you to Sgt. Peter Damon for his service. Often times the greatest heroes are the ones who were just doing their jobs.

Then go visit Homes For Our Troops and do what you can do. They're trying to make homes for our returning men and their families. You'll find lots of information on their programs and needs. I know we're all stretched as tight as can be these days. Just do what you can. If you're like me, it's only a post and a link. If you're a little better off, it's a small donation. Just do something.

And don't forget the Wounded Warrior Project. They're doing exceptionally good work. Get with your office or church group or quilting bee or bridge club or some group of friends, maybe even those Jawja Bloggers, and hit them up for enough to send a backpack so a Wounded Warrior will have one waiting for him or her on arrival at the hospitals in Germany.

Make an effort. Do it because it's the right thing to do. Forget politics and do what your old Great-Aunt Beulah would have been proud of.

He's here.

Robert Adyn Michael SlagleRock arrived in this world yesterday morning. And for an earlybird, he's a honker. Over 7 pounds and a couple of weeks early? He'd have been a hoss if he had enjoyed his accomodations well enough to finish out his cruise.

New Daddy SlagleRock's rightfully proud of that boy, and of his wonderful wife. Go over to his little corner of the blogosphere and leave him a note of well-wishing.

Tuesday night...

You know, Dr. John is a genius. I've got him in rotation on my on-line radio thing through Yahoo, and each and everytime his music comes up, I have to stop and just listen. And you listen to Dr. John with more than your ears. You listen with every inch of skin ever stroked or caressed by a good lover. You listen with places inside untouched and unknown except to the music.

Amazing, underappreciated, like good lovemaking for your ears.

No, not a tease...

I have never been what most men call a "tease." Earthy? Yes. Adventurous? Yes again. But never a tease.

I have always enjoyed the give and take of a good conversation with a man. I like it when I can surprise one with a quick double entendre or a sly verbal or written "wink-wink" that he doesn't catch until a few moments later and it makes him laugh a good honest laugh. And it's even more fun when he can catch me with a little wordplay that brings up my laughter. I've been told my laugh makes it all worthwhile. It's been described to me as a ringing laugh, like a little bell. I don't know how it sounds to a man, but it seems to be pleasant enough to some men that they will do amazingly silly or sweet things to hear it.

I enjoy watching how a little honesty on my part will open a man up, peeling away the distant toughness to reveal a smooth eagerness underneath. I love it when you tell a man how much you appreciate some aspect of him and you can see his confidence build and his demeanor strengthen. But not flattery, not empty compliments thin as tissues. Facts, truths, things I have observed or experienced and appreciated as beauties, strengths, desirables in them: these are the things I tell a man, not little lies and flatteries.

No, it's not a game. It's not a tease like some women relish and instigate to gain some sort of control over a man or a situation. That's dishonest and I have no time for women like that. I watch women like that and I call B*ll Sh*t every time. It hurts to watch while they shackle the little boy that lives at the center of all of those layers in most men, imprisoning him for their own selfishness, leaving wounds that never heal, scars that never fade.

And the point to this post? Well, it's a thank you to someone for engaging me today and making this old broad feel like a pretty young woman for a while. He made me feel like a walking scandal. That and I wanted to let him know that all those little things revealed are little truths. I like all of those little details, all of those means and methods and ways, and then some. But that's for e-mail, isn't it? I quite simply love an invigoriating e-mail from a fascinating man.

Just remember, a moment or a word of flirtation isn't necessarily a tease. Sometimes a good flirtation is just a sneak peek down a person's backroad. At least this old girl can dream about taking that hilly, narrow blacktop with the yellow pines on one side and the rolling fields on the other.

Jack Finds the Best links!

Seems the man accused of molesting women children won't have to suffer a lengthy trial or jail-time in some cesspool of a third-world jail. His accusers made sure of that. In triplicate. Stamped and notarized, as it were.

I'm afraid if I had been a bailiff in that court, I'd have tipped my hat, murmered "Be careful, Ma'am, have a nice day," and held the door open for any bloodied woman or child trying to leave.
______________________________

Seems when the family holds a position in Indian society, they keep it across the generations.

Even the executioner's position.

And you know, Mr. Nata Mullick has the right attitude about the whole thing:

"I am like the police. They arrest criminals, I hang the worst of them. I am doing what the government wants me to do. It is they who will decide whether criminals should be hanged or not," says Nata Mullick.

Damned right, Mr. Mullick.

Waiting, Waiting, Waiting...

I don't wait well. I don't like waiting. Never have.

Sure, as a kid who travelled a lot, I've learned to be a good rider on cross country trips. And using the commisary on base is another way to learn patience at levels just shy those of divinity.

But for just plain waiting? Sitting at home, waiting for the IM window to pop and those few words to come across that end all the doubts and fears? The message that tells me of the beautiful new little life that's is oh, so near to joining us in the big world?

Torture! Torture, I tell you!

Hurry up, Little-bit. Make me a Great Auntie. And make sure your dad sends me a picture.

PETA has big brass ones, don't they?

President Reagan has been dead for how long now? Just a matter of several weeks, really. In the vernacular, we would even say "he isn't even cold yet" when talking about the behavior of others regarding him. We haven't even finished what we would have called a "decent period of mourning."

PETA has breeched all decency with their little ad and their letter to Nancy Reagan. PETA, of all people, has purchased President Reagan's likeness and has inserted it into an ad promoting vegetarianism as a way to end alzheimers.

First of, what a load of bunk that is. They're as far off-base as these fools that cannot admit that embryonic stem cells are never going to cure alzheimers even when the evidence is biting them in the backsides. How many things have we been told to avoid like the plague because it causes alzheimers? Let me see, aluminum cookware, alcohol, red meat, coffee, cigarettes (which now are shown to help alzheimers patients)... The list goes on.

We Do Not Know What Causes It. But that's another matter. The real matter on this is the entire attitude of PETA on this ad and the use of Ronald Reagan's image to promote their propaganda regardless of the wishes of his widow:

“We were hoping to get Nancy Reagan’s endorsement, but the truth is — because he was a public figure and because we’re not looking to sell a product or make money off his image — we don’t need her permission,” a PETA insider told The Scoop.

What a lot of nonsense. We all know that every ad these people produce is ultimately a plea for charitable donations. We all know that this ad and others like it are to sell a lifestyle change. We also know that the use of Ronald Reagan's image is a blatant attempt to pander to a heretofore untapped group of the public: aging conservatives, the people who supported Reagan politically during his lifetime and who most echo his conservatism.

Well, Nancy's not buying that line of crap:

Nancy Reagan not only didn’t send back a letter of support; her people fired off a cease-and-desist letter. “Discontinue any use of President Reagan’s name, signature, quote, image or likeness,” came a missive from Kirby Elizabeth Hanson, Director of Business Development for the Ronald Reagan Foundation. “You have no authority, license or consent from President and Mrs. Reagan (or their legal representatives or licensee) for such use.”

I'm hoping Ingrid Newkirk finds out in no uncertain terms just how big a mistake she's made on this one. She has engaged the wrong person this time.

Maybe as Nancy Reagan fights this little battle she'll shut those busy-body dietary prohibitionists down but for good.

Hurricane Haiku

If you couldn't tell, hurricane Charlie was on my mind. I wasn't going to post this but I decided to go ahead. I'm just glad that none of you Florida LC's and friends were affected like they were in some areas. You all must leave charmed lives down there.

I
Cross the Gulf quickly
and probe with windy tendrils
the shore's defenses.

II
Palms rustle, anxious,
waiting for the coming surge,
roiling past their trunks.

III
Stalwart hammers drive
nails through countless plywood shields,
bracing fragile homes.

IV
Pounding breakwaters
Soaring plumes of wind-whipped foam
against rushing sky.

V
Fam'ly pets desert,
hiding in dark recesses
to ride out the storm.

VI
Quick brush of their lips.
Fam'ly packed, ready to leave.
Eyes pleading, "Be safe."

VII
Windchimes in frenzy
announce unsubtle changes.
Now it has begun.

VIII
Culverts overflow,
Impotently bear away
the murky torrents.

IX
With home reinforced,
the pick-up backs out slowly.
Garage-mate pursuit.

X
Distant friends worry,
Helpless from safer places.
Imagine the worst.

XI
Slow radar sweeping.
Reflect the fickle stormfront.
Home, untouched, remains.

How did that happen?

Somehow I managed to spring out of Marsupial Madness and into the land of Large Mammals. Amazing.

It won't last, but it sure looks good over there, doesn't it? Maybe if I got off my adipose-enhanced backside and reciprocated some links, it might stay a while.

It could happen.

Update: Well, I would update my blogrolls with lovely reciprocity, but it seems Moveable Type is having a bit of a problem and won't allow me to rebuild my templates. Well, as soon as it's functioning correctly again, I'll be back on the case.

Deployed letter writers wanted.

I know that some of you readers are still knocking the gritty remnants of the sandbox out of your boots, so I'm going to direct you to something you might be interested in as a participant.

Keystone Military News is asking active-duty deployed servicemembers to act as pen-pals for other active-duty deployed folks who need to hash out mutual experiences. This is the result of a letter from a deployed guy asking for another deployed person with whom he could correspond. And his reasoning is sound: no one but one who's there can understand what he's doing or seeing or feeling in that hole.

If this is something you think you can do, hit that link. And if you've been recently deployed or have some history in that area, maybe they could find a place for you in this project as well. I know I have some good readers here who would be welcome in this endeavor.

Troops used for Propaganda?

Sgt. Peter Damon is not happy with Michael Moore, and it seems he has every right to be unhappy.

Seems Sgt. Damon was used as a tool for Moore's anti-Bush, anti-war propaganda, and it was done without his knowledge or consent.

"I just feel it was wrong and I was violated in some way, seeing myself up there on the screen," said Damon, 31, of Brockton, Mass.

"I think [Moore] should be ashamed of himself," added Damon, who was severely injured in October in Balad, about 50 miles north of Baghdad, when a tire on a Black Hawk helicopter exploded as he was changing it. The blast killed Pfc. Paul Bueche, 19, of Daphne, Ala.

For those of you who think this is an isolated misunderstanding, think again. This is just another in a stream of incidents where Moore has appropriated interviews or other footage without the consent of the servicemembers or survivors involved. Or, it would seem, even their physicians:

Lt. Col. Chester Buckenmaier, the anesthesiologist who treated Damon at the 21st Combat Support Hospital in Iraq and later at Walter Reed, said he also was angered at the Moore film after he took Damon to see it in Bethesda, Md.

"I was appalled. This was Joseph Goebbels-type propaganda," Buckenmaier said, referring to the Nazi propaganda chief.

Sadly, there are those involved who just don't see this as wrong. Lila Lipscomb, who lost her son in Iraq, sees no problem with Moore's tactics. Sadly, we'll never have the opportunity to ask her son.

"I don't see it as demeaning in any way," she added.

Well, the vets do. And they're not happy about it. Go read the rest of the article.

Soon, grasshopper. Soon.

The Blogson and I have been working on something and we'll be announcing/unveiling it shortly. So be patient with the slow posts. This is kind of a "near and dear to our hearts" project that will take a bit of time.

In the meantime, go over to SteynOnline and read. They put up my John and T'rayza song parody the other night and I'm just tickled pink.

Hopefully I'll get Jack's awesome post up this morning, too. Keep checking.

Go read. Take the kids to church. Have a good breakfast. Enjoy your Sunday.

An open letter to Greyhound Bus Lines

A young Marine was denied his seat on a Greyhound bus, and he and his family believe it had everything to do with the fact that he was in full uniform when he tried to board the bus.

This situation bites on so may levels, I may get rabies! And it isn't easy to get rabies from a Greyhound.

To begin with, who was that driver and what in the world was going through his mind when he did this? I personally think the answer is quite obvious. This driver is a bigot, an anti-military bigot. And don't you go telling me that the only valid definition of "bigot" involves race, because I'll call BS on that so fast it will make your head explode.

This driver may have seen this as some act of defiance and protest against the war or the President or goodness only knows what. All it truly did was unmask his personal bigotry and hatred for what this young man represented during a time when others just like him are putting their lives on the line ever day. If he wanted to protest, he could have worn a button or stood on some street corner with a sign on his own time and not while on the clock for your company.

Don't try to give me some lame excuse or cooked up reason for this either, Greyhound, because I'm simply not buying it. Look into it, take appropriate and severe action against the responsible party or parties, and issue an apology to this young Marine and to all military personnel who may have been disrespected by this clown in the past but who sucked it up and let it go to keep the peace. This kind of behavior is seldom an isolated event, but almost always part of an established pattern of intolerant behavior.

These young men and women have dedicated their lives to this country. They do this for every single person who lives within this country, regardless of their outward appearance, beliefs, citizenship status or socio-economic level. They do it for nuns, school children, little old ladies who play bridge on Tuesdays, and yes, for Greyhound Bus Drivers. Marines, and for that matter all other service members, do this out of duty, out of honor, out of the knowledge that what they do is right. It certainly isn't the pay or the perks.

When they buy their ticket to use your service, they should be able to expect a level of service and respect no less than that afforded any other person who rides the bus.

If you at the Greyhound front offices don't make this better, and I do mean immensely better and quickly, I hope there's backlash of biblical proportions.

Hurricane problems

A lot of good folks in Florida stand to lose a lot today as Charlie prepares to slam into the coast near Tampa. Lot's of good bloggers and friends living in that area.

BC the Imperial Torturer and family, LC NeilV and family, Steve H of HogOnIce and his avian keepers, and all of the rest of you, take care and know you are all in our thoughts. We don't have much, but what we have is yours if you find yourselves in need.

Wounded...

Reuters is reporting that al-Sadr has been wounded in fighting in Najaf.

"He was in the cemetery at the time. He was wounded in the chest, arm and leg," Shinabi said. Other spokesmen said Sadr was being treated at the mosque.

There was no independent confirmation.

Considering what our men are using for weapons, this most likely cannot be considered merely flesh-wounds. Infinitely more serious than slivers and wayward grains of rice.

The Mehdi Army has vowed no surrender, and Sadr has urged his militia to keep fighting even if he is killed.

Good. Keep fighting. Keep pointing those weapons. That makes you legitimate targets. Good reactive targets, too.

Let's all hope for a successful outcome to this battle, and a rapid one. And I hope we can find that lump of hamburger before he gives it up so we can have his capture on film. If he bites it on camera, fine. But get his shredded remains alive and on tape.

Go! Read! Link!

You all know, if you've read more than a post or two, that I hold a special place in my heart for persons with service in the military, either past or current. I think almost all of my blog children have either a service background or are connected by blood or marriage to someone who does.

Even my blogroll tends toward these men and women and to those who support them.

As such, I want to bring your attention to a blog that needs your support for what it is doing.

Keystone Military News is a remarkable clearinghouse of information and provides a wonderful link for current personnel. I want you to take a moment and go there and see the wonderful works they are involved with.

While you're there, make sure you read the letter and check out the video at the A Soldier's Thanks post. If you don't get a lump in your throat, you have a problem.

Let's see if we can't get this blog a few inbound links and a better spot in the blogosphere than Lowly Insect. I've got my link up. Do your bit.

(Ooo... I wonder... Does this make me a Link-Madame?)

Update: You're doing good! As of today, August 16, they've reached Crawly Amphibian status. Keep up the good work. Let's find these good folks a few more links. And keep them bookmarked for updates as they post them.

Taking from the Prozac™ well.

What an interesting situation this is.

Seems they prescribe so much Prozac in Great Britain that it is showing up as groundwater contamination at measurable levels.

If this is the case, why haven't we seen a change in the levels of Moonbatterie? Arresting little old men for defending themselves, designing a memorial to look like the watering system at a high-tech hog farm (and not doing it well enough to even work correctly), the list goes on and on.

Perhaps it just hasn't built to the proper levels in their systems yet. We can only hope.

It's the end of the world as we know it.

Send the kids to the next room. You're not going to want them to see this.

Found via the DrudgeReport, we find this example of what passes for legitimate political discourse these days.

I'm sick and tired of being accused of dirty politics or of participating in the Politics of Hate when all I do is find legitimate examples of why a candidate is not worthy of my vote. And by legitimate examples, I mean things that are in the public record like, oh, say a voting record in the Senate, perfomance in public office regardless of the position held, or questions about personal integrity based on "view of the day" behaviors.

The differences between my political discourse and what I see increasingly every day is much like the difference between the Physicians Desk Referrence and High Times. There is no legitimate comparison.

Yet I am accused of HateSpeech, and this nonsense gets published as acceptable discourse.

Please.

What a nice day.

Talk about a nice day. Went to Mooresville, IN and had a wonderful dinner at Gray's Brothers Cafeteria, a place that Steve H would love. Chicken fried the way it was intended by nature: in lard. Amazing home made pies. Good eats all the way around, and really nice servers with coffee and soft drinks before you even realize your cup/glass is empty.

On the way home we did a bad thing, however. I pulled into the parking lot at Bradis Firearms. Always a mistake. You'd think I'd learn. I cannot leave that place without buying something. So far, on different trips, Spousal Unit and I have purchased my Mossberg model 500 home protection .410 shotgun, his Mosin-Nagent Soviet 7.62x.54 carbine, my Mosin-Nagent Soviet 7.62x.54 long rifle, scads of ammo, and various cases.

And today was no exception. Today, I was just looking. Really. I was looking at a gorgeous Yugoslavian SKS, unissued, pristine condition, still in the cosmoline goopey shit for $169, and there, hidding in the big honking macho military guns was this pretty little rifle. So being a girlie girl and liking cute little things tucked in amongst the big honking things, I picked it up.

Another major mistake. Marlin .22LR, "Glenfield" model 60, self-loading tubular magazine. Lists for $189 new. $89. Yes. $89 for her, and she's beautiful. The ones on the Marlin site new don't have the laser engraved embellishments on the stock. So I carried her around for a while, just to see if she spoke to me (which she did), and walked to the counter and bought her.

Oh, and a box of ammo. Can't have a new gun without new ammo. Didn't matter that I have a box in my bedroom at home of the same stuff for my Ruger .22LR Mark II handgun. No. Had to be new just for the rifle. Shoot, like they can tell, right? Leave it to me to anthropomorphize my weapons.

Well, what to do with the rest of the evening... Don't want to go home, nothing going there but the computer. Don't want to go shopping. I've already done my shopping... Sounds like Range-Time to me!

So off we head. Spousal Unit a prisoner in the bucket seat to my right, my new rifle laid securely behind the front seat, we take off to PopGuns, home of the nicest indoor range in town. And lo and behold, they will let me have range time with the rifle. Can't shoot the Mosin-Nagents in there: too big. But the Marlin? Just right.

Plop down the ID, pick up 150 rounds and a set of muffs for Spousal Unit, and off we go into the range.

I don't want to brag (ha!), but for someone who's never fired a rifle of any sort, I didn't do too bad. This is 10 rounds at 12', 10 at 20', 10 at 30' and 20 at 50' and nothing outside the 9 ring. Can't scan in the entire target, but here's the business section with a pencil for scale.

Not bad for an amateur with cokebottle glasses. I wanted to use the NRA targets that all the guys are using for their little Postal Match competition at Neanderpundit just to see how I measured up, but I couldn't find any. I figured a big place like PopGuns would have them. There weren't any out on racks, but I guess I could have asked. But considering I had never fired this rifle, I don't think I did too bad. >

Suggestions for the GOP Convention

I've been thinking about how the GOP could stage an entrance for the President that would rival, nay top, the one by Kerry on the final day of the DNC convention. I've been trying to come up with something so big, so Texas, so completely over that top that Bush-Haters would go completely out of their minds just watching it.

If you remember, Kerry broke with long-standing tradition by entering the convention from the lobby, walking through the crowd of screaming delegates to the stage.

How does one top that... Well, let me try. I'm a pretty creative chick. I just wish I knew where to go to submit this, but it's probably too late. I'm sure they already have something planned.

Scenario 1: The Flying Entrance.

After an evening of music and inspiring speeches and testimonials, the crowd is anxious and prepped for a grand entrance. A lone trumpet sounds the first few notes of the flourishes that preceed "Hail to the Chief." Then silence.

Suddenly, the lights cut to black and brightly colored spots spin and whirl over the crowd, much like the opening effects of most NBA games.

Music with a strong, steady base starts and builds. From a distance, you hear the sounds of jet noise. A jet approaching from a distance. A fighter jet. A fly-by. The jet noise roars across the Gardens and fades out over the stage. The hard bass line contines on.

Then, all the spots quit their whirling and snap to focus high overhead in the back of the crowd on a person... a person in a flightsuit... in a full parachute harness and rigging. He is suspended from wires which hold him aloft and slowly lower him in a gentle arc from the back of the Gardens to the stage at the front. The music cresendos as he reaches the stage, gently touches down and takes his first few steps. With his back to the crowd, he releases his harness, steps out of it, does a quick turn on his heels to face the crowd and gives a huge thumbs-up.

At this point, he walks to the podium, and after a moment of cheers says to the crowd, "When I report for duty, I come prepared for duty."

(of course, people will completely freak, and talking heads will dash for their duct tape to keep their heads from exploding. This alone would make this worthwhile.)

Okay. Sound good? You ain't seen nothing yet.

Scenario 2: The Flight-crew.

The initial set-up is identical to Scenario 1 to the point just beyond the sounds of a fly-over. At this point, all spots hit a point at Stage Right. Towed onto the stage, to the sounds of a taxi-ing jet is an actual Fighter Jet. Ideally, it would be one of the same make as the one flown by the President in the Air National Guard. Sure, it would have to be a shell with no real weight, but it has to be a real jet with functioning canopy. Not to mention, it would have to have an amazing example of nose-art.

Built into the place where once there was a Jet Engine is now a huge fan which blows red, silver, and blue mylar confetti strips out the rear of the plane.

A flight crew runs out, chocks the tires, puts up the ladder, raises the canopy, and the "pilot" removes his helmet to reveal the President, who again waves and gives an enthusiastic "thumbs-up" to the crowd before standing, climbing down the ladder, and taking the podium. After a salute to his flight crew (who would all have to be retired or discharged personnel to avoid all charges of politicizing military personnel), he turns to the crowd and begins his speech.

Ah. Can you imagine the reaction to that? Heck, I'd buy a ticket to sit in the studios at the alphabet news networks just to watch the apoplexy.

Wish I had thought of this months ago. Would have been fun to submit these.

Thanks to Pudgy Pundit for laughing with me and egging me on in IM while we brainstormed this for our own personal amusement the night of Kerry's acceptance speech. I could have never done this without his ROFL's and incitements. Mrs. Pundit is one lucky woman.

We've got spirit, Yes we do!

Wow. School is getting ready to start in most cities and all over America, Yearbook committees are forming.

Ah, the yearbook. A motley connection of photographs of groups in straight lines, incomplete lists of names, bad-hair pictures... A slice of life from four of the most miserable years of most peoples' lives.

And bloggers are no exception. Yes, we too have our embarassing yearbook, and the Commissar has what is probably the last remaining copy of it. And he was kind/cruel enough to post a few gems from it.

Go check out the Blogville HS Yearbook of 1965.

Untitled

The little frog sings from his place
along the sluggish stream,
his hopeful voice a beacon
in the fading evening light.

I understand his yearning
as he sings into my dream
of you there in the desert sands,
in starshine silverbright.

His song carries me to you
Across the midnight realm.
I settle down before you.
My heart stirs with the sight.

Your BDU's are crumpled
And stubble lines your jaw.
Your eyes are hard and searching.
You hug yourself so tight.

I reach my hand to touch you.
You close your eyes and smile
as though you feel my fingers
in the desert breeze so slight.

You wrap me in your empty arms
and cradle me back home
with candles glowing amber
on sheets, bright summer white.

Your cheek is smooth, your brow unlined.
Your hands are strong and firm.
They touch me to my very core
And give my heart delight.

The crickets seranade us
in your dream and in mine
and martens wheel above us
in never ending flight.

We share our lovely dream-time
a universe away
from loneliness and heartache
and battle's you must fight.

Sadly even this sweet dream
Must fade as morning builds
Her kingdom, and the rising sun
Destroys the weakened night.

I'll live my day as always
until the sunset's glow
brings promises of touches
in dreams so good and right.

Make you cry...

Momamontezz,
Here is a good story, hope you enjoy it.
Jack

Well, I'll vouch for it. It's a lovely story, and very touching for a marshmellow such as myself.
________________________________


As she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children an untruth. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same.

However, that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.

Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he did not play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. In addition, Teddy could be unpleasant.

It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big "F" at the top of his papers.

At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child's past records and she put Teddy's off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.

Teddy's first grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners... he is a joy to be around.."

His second grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is an excellent student, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle."

His third grade teacher wrote, "His mother's death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best, but his father doesn't show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken."

Teddy's fourth grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is withdrawn and doesn't show much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and he sometimes sleeps in class."

By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy's. His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one-quarter full of perfume..

But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist. Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, "Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to." After the children left, she cried for at least an hour.

On that very day, she quit teaching reading, writing and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children. Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one of her "teacher's pets.."

A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in life.

Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he had ever had in his whole life.

Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer.... The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, MD.

The story does not end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he had met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit at the wedding in the place that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom.

Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. Moreover, she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.

They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson's ear, "Thank you Mrs. Thompson for believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference."

Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, "Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn't know how to teach until I met you."

(For you that don't know, Teddy Stoddard is the Dr. at Iowa Methodist Hospital in Des Moines that has the Stoddard Cancer Wing.)

John and T'Ray-za

Since John Mellancamp is so enamored of the Kerry/Edwards ticket, I'm sure he won't mind my using one of his tunes for them.

(sung to the tune of "Jack and Diane")

Little ditty 'bout John and T'ray-za
2 priv'leged kids politic-ing cross the heartland.
John, he wants to be a big Lib'ral Star
T'ray-za's dillitante-medicated Dill Pickle Czar.

T'ray-za's hanging out the bus window at the local Wendys
Never even had a Chili, just points at what she sees.
John say "Hey T'ray-za, let's be annoying as Sand Fleas.
Pissing of the local Marines, I'm just doing like I please.

Do you know who I am?
I'm a war hero from Viet Nam.
Do you know who I am?
I'm a war hero from Viet Nam.

John sits back, consults the polls for a moment
waffles back and forth and tries his best JFK
Says, "We gotta campaign in a bunch of Hick Cities."
T'ray-za says "EggoBoy, as long as we don't have to stay.
John says, uh,

Do you know who I am?
I'm a war hero from Viet Nam.
Do you know who I am?
I'm a war hero from Viet Nam.

Gonna ride the bus, Gonna let let it roll
E'en though Bible Belt's an Abysmal Hole.
Dragging up the 60's, long as I can
Trashing other vets so I can be the President.

Do you know who I am?
I'm a war hero from Viet Nam.
Do you know who I am?
I'm a war hero from Viet Nam.

Little ditty 'bout John and T'ray-za
2 priv'leged kids politic-ing cross the heartland.

NYT Discounts Current Terror Preps

The New York Times seems to have a problem with the fact that some of the information used to determine the current elevated risk status was years old, some of it from before September 11, 2001.

What tweaks my yayas on this is the very notion that the numbskulls at the NYT are openly trying to politicize the latest threat preparations/precautions because the "info was 3 years old" and in our possession but not acted on for that long.

These people have got to realize that a lot of this data was incomplete or inconclusive until they got the hard-drive from computer in Afghanistan/Pakistan last week. I guess that drive was like the mother-lode of corroborative information. Not to mention the common knowledge that Al Quaida is a very patient and methodical enemy.

Al Quaida and their affiliated groups do nothing without intense preparation, regardless of the amount of time it takes. Look at the time-frame involved in the multi-pronged attack that brought down the World Trade Center, damaged the Pentagon, and took the lives of the passengers and crew in that open field in Pennsylvania. That wasn't something cooked up overnight. Those people were actively involved in planning, preparation, and execution for years.

The fact that this information is three years old says nothing except that it is more immanent now than it was when we first received it. It is like a poisonous fruit that ripens over years, and it is reasonable to believe that it is ripening now.

The very thought that someone, anyone, at the NYT doesn't realize that or is trying to cast such blatant dispersion for purely political reasons is truly appalling. It's irresponsible journalism, and an egregious abuse of the public trust. Millions of people in the potentially affected area use that paper as their main source of information. Thousand, no, tens of thousands of people could be directly affected by any attack on the New York City proper, Newark, or DC, and the NYT owes it to these people to relegate its politics to the Editorial Page, not Page One.

Jack's Report

Not much news on the U.S. media.
FOX is starting to look like one of those tabloids you find at the store checkstand. "Will Mark Geragos be free from the Peterson trial in time to take on the Hacking media event in this ongoing soap opera?"

Jack

IDF: Palestinian ambulances used to transport bombs
By JPOST.COM STAFF

An advanced IDF explosives-detection device employed at the Hawara checkpoint near Nablus discovered that a Palestinian ambulance was being used to transport explosive material.

The device found scent traces of explosives material inside the ambulance, Israel Radio reported Monday. The ambulance driver was arrested.

IDF forces have started employing advanced explosives-detection technology at checkpoints and roadblocks in the Palestinian territories, Israel Radio reported Monday.

The devices are based on advanced X-ray and measurement technology. In their testing stages, they will be deployed at every checkpoint if found to be effective.



Aug. 2, 2004 13:04 | Updated Aug. 2, 2004 15:05
Terror plans found on al-Qaida computerBy ASSOCIATED PRESS

ISLAMABAD, Pakistan

Pakistani intelligence agents found plans for new attacks against the United States and Britain on a computer seized during the arrest of a senior al-Qaida suspect wanted for the 1998 twin US embassy bombings in East Africa, the information minister said.

The plans were found in e-mails on the computer of Ahmed Khalfan Ghailani, a Tanzanian arrested July 25 after a 12-hour gun battle in the eastern city of Gujrat, Information Minister Sheikh Rashid Ahmed said Monday.

"We got a few e-mails from Ghailani's computer about (plans for) attacks in the US and UK," he said, adding that the information has been shared with Pakistan's allies - a reference to the United States.

Ahmed said authorities have also arrested another top suspect believed to be a computer and communications expert, and that that man was cooperating with investigators.

"He is a very wanted man, but I cannot say his name now," Ahmed said. He said the man was a militant, but refused to say if he was part of al-Qaida.

Interior Minister Faisal Saleh Hayyat confirmed that Ghailani was sharing "vital" information, but he would not comment on what it was.

"He has given us vital information, but we cannot share specifics," Hayyat said. An intelligence official said the information about a US attack appeared to be centered on New York.

Hayyat said Ghailani remains in Pakistani custody.

The Home Office in London, which is responsible for policing and security in Britain, had no immediate comment on the computer seizure.

Two AK-47 rifles, plastic chemicals, two computers, computer diskettes, and a "large amount" of foreign currency were recovered from the home in Gujrat where Ghailani was seized. More than a dozen others, including his wife and several children, were also arrested in that raid.

Officials believe the group was making plans to flee Pakistan on false passports. Gujrat is a center for document forgers and human smugglers in Pakistan.

The intelligence official also confirmed the arrest of a computer engineer who would send messages using code words to al-Qaida suspects. Pakistani television reported that his name was Noor Mohammed, but the official said that was just an alias.

Ahmed would not confirm whether the information from Ghailani or the computer expert is what prompted US Homeland Security Secretary Tom Ridge to issue a warning Sunday about a possible al-Qaida attack on prominent financial institutions in New York, Washington and Newark, New Jersey.

Ridge specifically thanked Pakistan for its help in the war on terror during his press conference Sunday.

Ahmed said that Pakistani forces are still acting on the information the computer expert is supplying, and that it is an ongoing investigation.

the Blogson's Project

SlagleRock has had a great idea that I hope you all will participate in.

He has a co-worker at his base who will be deploying in days. He would like to take a whole sheaf of letters from readers and bloggers overseas with him. This, of course, is where you come in.

Write a letter post on your site and track back to his post at the link above. If you are not a blogger, but are a dedicated reader of blogs and would like to participate, leave your letter as a comment to his post.

Please take a minute and put a few words down. They don't need to be elaborate or anything. Sometimes just the simplest "Thank You" is the best.

I know you're up to it. Now, go write.

An Open Letter

To the members of the Armed Services of the United States currently serving overseas in and around Iraq:

I have read the letter from Spc. Joe Roche regarding the impact of Michael Moore's film on the morale of young men and women who have served or are currently serving in Iraq.

The motives of any person who would download this film, burn it to a disk, and mail it to a young, exhausted, and vulnerable man or woman far from home doing what has to be the world's most difficult and thankless job have got to be questioned by sane and rational people. Any person who would do this is nothing less than thoughtless and cruel. I liken this behavior to telling "dead baby jokes" to a couple who has recently lost an infant, or amputee jokes to someone who is still learning to use his newly fitted prosthetics.

Michael Moore has an agenda, a very specific agenda, which he promotes with this film: The overthrow of a sitting president for the purpose of weakening this country and her military. He is Jane Fonda in a fat suit. He very obviously cherry-picked those he interviewed and then edited what was said in such a way to make their words as damning to their fellow fighting men and women as possible, and to undermine all sense of duty, honor, and patriotism in each of you, as well as in as many of us who remain at home as possible.

Spc. Roche is right that the youngest of you is the most vulnerable to his deceits, and because of this, you have been targeted for his venom. By undermining your confidence in yourselves, in your NCOs, in your officers, and ultimately in your Commander-in-Chief, he forwards his agenda and comes ever so much closer to accomplishing that which he prizes and seeks so openly. By turning your pride and spirit into despair and anger, he destroys you and all who depend on you. He knows and depends on the fact that when you begin to question yourself, you become a danger to yourself and to the man or woman who stands beside you, and you become a liability to your comrades, to your unit, and to your mission.

"Farenheit: 911" is a web of half-truths and outright deceits spun together for no other purpose than to become a rallying point for the anarchists, pacifists, and appeasers in this country and abroad. It gives them purpose and puts the fire in their bellies, instigating them to do such contemptible things as phoning the wives and mothers of servicemen, impersonating the Red Cross to give false death notifications. It gives them the nerve to confront returning military personnel at airports and on the streets for the purpose of abusing them much in the same manner as a great many veterans were abused during and after the Viet Nam war.

You may look at this film and feel that this nation views you as so much "cannon fodder" for a war about oil. Nothing could be further from the truth. My family and I are proud supporters of each and every one of you, and of your efforts to make our home a safer place. We are not the exception, but the rule. Our support is quiet. It takes the form of a box of snacks, a letter to a stranger, the anonymous picking up of the check when we see a man in uniform eating alone at a restaurant. It is the envelope with a 4th grade child's hand drawn card saying "I Love You" to a person she's never met.

We don't have the media voice given to those like Michael Moore or his followers, but we are not silent. We write on weblogs such as this one here, and those you find listed on this site. We are appreciative, we are informed, we are supportive of you and of your mission, and we are Legion.

I can only hope that when you see one of those disks being passed about on an installation, you get that disk, find the person who received it and didn't have the good sense to either send it back or destroy it, and bring that person up to speed on what they are doing to the very men and women they are supposed to be supporting. They have become by their actions a cog in a machine that has no purpose other than the destruction of all you have accomplished, and the discrediting of you and your mission and your entire chain of command.

There is little we can do to take away the pain of what this man and his propoganda have caused you, except to tell you that his movie and his agenda in no way represent the prevailing sentiment of the men and women who remain here at home. We do what is right, we support you and your efforts, and we welcome the day when you can return. We do what we can to counteract the damage he has done over here, and hope that you can do the same where you are, so many thousands of miles away.

A Call to Action: It is up to each of us to counter what this man has done, and to heal those who's hearts and minds bear his bitter wounds. Do what's right. Send your support. However small or insignificant you may think it is, there is no such thing. Tell someone you support them and the job they're doing in your name, in our names.