By Kenneth Balog

This Christmas Holiday turned out to be more pleasant than most. My wife outdid herself preparing a feast of smoked meats imported from Texas – The New Braunfels Smokehouse to be exact – and all the trimmings a fat old man could desire. The main courses, the trimmings; golly, I had no room for Texas Pecan pie, and didn’t need it, what with me having turned diabetic last year.

The day was especially good because our daughter and her husband arrived for breakfast and stayed the day, she helping her mother and he helping me fine-tune the computers with more memory, another hardrive and an 8GB stick of some type.

One thing we did was to sit and recall some of our more memorable Christmas Days, from the food angle of course. My wife, being Texas Ranch raised recalled meals prepared mostly over an open fire. The daughter recalled mostly vegetables her mother and I made her eat. Son-in-law spoke about venison taken in northern forests when he was growing up. Me? Well, for some reason or another, I remembered the year that I was fortunate enough to eat Fricasseed Pheasant under tin in a Paris setting.

Before you get the impression that I am rubbing it in – you know, bragging about dining with the elite, or being wealthy enough to afford a meal in Paris, let me explain how this took place.

First off, it wasn’t Paris in France where I ate the meal. It was on Paris Radio Relay Site, atop a mountain in the middle of Korea, the December after the war ended over there. Yes, back in 1953 when things were supposed to be quiet and bad incidents were not expected to happen anymore, and, it was a time when the troops relaxed a bit and tried to occupy themselves doing things they had done during December back home.

I went hunting that Christmas Day. Being stationed atop a mountain meant that not too many people wandered on the slopes – slopes where there were deer. I wanted to bag a deer because I hadn’t seen anything like fresh meat for almost 11 months.

I dressed for the hunt then, because none of the other guys wanted to walk outside in sub zero temperatures and a 45 mph wind, I went out alone. Going out alone in a Korean winter is not exactly a smart thing to do as I soon found out.

First off, the wind blew me halfway down the slope that I meant to quarter, looking for deer tracks. Then the wind picked up and I couldn’t face it for more than a couple minutes at a time. Then it snowed. Within an hour, I was in a whiteout and lost. The only thing I was certain about was up or down, and even knowing that, had no idea in which direction I ought to walk. Therefore, I walked with the wind in a direction where I thought I might meet the road that ran upwards to the mountaintop site.

I was walking down a defile where the wind was not blowing quite so hard, when I flushed a Ringed Neck Pheasant out of a snowdrift. The bird scattered feathers and snow as it took to the air and darted down the defile. Then another bird joined it. Right then I figured that pheasant makes a fine meal and being the weather was bad, pheasant would probably be the only wild game I would see that day.

So, I went after the pheasant. Tracked them across the mountainside hoping to get a shot. Finally, when I was starting to numb-up from the cold I spotted two birds ahead, attempting to burrow into the edge of a drift that had caught between two short pine trees. I dropped to a knee and took sight.

Crack! Went the carbine. BOOM – WOOOOSHIE WEEEE went the snowdrift, pheasants, pine trees and my eardrums.

Sometime later, I dug enough snow out of my eyes to see the crater the landmine had left after my bullet had set it off. Now I want you to understand that I was an Air Force troop back in those days and had absolutely no knowledge about land mines and such other complicated military hardware. I barely knew how to point and shoot my carbine. Anyway, when I saw the crater I remembered something I had seen in a John Wayne movie – land mines are laid in clusters – the things are concealed all over an area. I was in such an area.

I was not especially worried because I remembered something else from that John Wayne movie – to get out of a minefield, just turn around real careful like and walk over your footprints. Don’t you know it worked that day? Not only that, on my way out of the defile I picked up three pheasant that had been partly defeathered and field dressed by the blast.

That is how I came to have a meal of fricasseed pheasant under the tin roof of a hutch on a mountaintop in Korea, Christmas of 1954. Moreover, the place was named Paris. Paris Radio Relay site, 2nd Radio Relay Squadron, 5th Comm Group (Forward).

Talk about campaign jibber-jabber, Hillary told an audience in Iowa, “I know you’re going to inspect me. You can look inside my mouth if you want.” Yeah, the line’s stretching around the block for that.

Actually, I shouldn’t say anything because I took her up on the offer. I pried open her big mouth, looked inside and hello! what should I find half hidden behind some scraps from her last meal but the missing National Archive documents that Sandy Berger had hidden in his underwear. I weighed the odds of reaching in there and digging around under the mashed potatoes and bacon and retrieving them, or just burn the whole visual image from my mind with an acetylene torch and decided to … well, let’s just say it’s going to take more than a 6,000-degree jet of searing flame to erase that memory.

Quote of the Week: “I think there’s more to someone’s honor and integrity and to their public service (than fidelity).” ~ Hillary Clinton, responding to a question by Katie Couric about how important a person’s fidelity is to the voters

And, in keeping with the creepy Dems theme …

Quote of the Week: “(The war in Iraq) is lost and the surge is not accomplishing anything.” ~ Senator Harry Reid, Democrat majority leader, eight months ago

Quote of the Week: “The surge certainly hasn’t hurt. It’s helped. I recognize that.” ~ Senator Harry Reid, Democrat majority leader, last week

It’s okay, Harry … a girl’s entitled to change her mind.

I’ll go ahead and tell you what blushin’ Harry’s too shy to say: Since the “surge,” violence in Iraq has dropped dramatically, knock on wood. Doesn’t mean it won’t shoot back up again at the drop of an IED, but for now at least, it’s down.

Which brings me to the Out Of My Mind Person of the Year. After careful consideration and shifting through hundreds of suggestions, I have decided the Out Of My Mind Person of the Year to be … every man or woman who went to the wall in Iraq while all the idiots state-side distracted themselves with diva meltdowns, television reruns and a presidential race where no matter who wins, we’re all still going to lose.

And, of course, I will give a grateful Honorable Mention to General David Petraeus, Commander of the Multi-National Force-Iraq who spearheaded the surge and, I suppose, should be Out Of My Mind’s Person of the Year by proxy.

Actually, the person of the year could have been pretty much anybody but Vladimir “I Miss the Berlin Wall” Putin. The empty field in back of my house would have been better than Putin. Where’s 007 when you really need him?

Over in Korea, they’ve genetically engineered a cat that glows in the dark. Seriously. I don’t know about you, but I think that is a goldmine. Who’s not going to want a cat that glows in the dark? What cat lover’s not going to want one of those? And what does it mean for all the cats that don’t glow? And it you can make a glowing cat, I guess you can make a glowing dog. Or pretty much a glowing anything. The applications of glow-in-the-dark stuff are staggering. Not just the novelty, but practical things, like glow in the dark car keys or glow in the dark kids.

Quote to Ponder: “If human embryonic-cell research does not make you a little bit uncomfortable, you have not thought about it enough.” ~ James Thomson, the first scientist to isolate human embryonic stem cells

Age caught up with 116-year-old Ukrainian Hryhoriy Nestor, who held the title as oldest person in the world. He finally passed away this week. One of his relatives, Oksana, was quoted as saying, “He didn’t find himself a mate because he was a short man and never had money.” Heckuva eulogy there, Oksana. Good job.

Anyway, the title of world’s oldest person now goes to an American ~ Edna Parker ~ who is 114. Woops … scratch that … looks like the title now goes to Fred C. Banky, who is 110. (Hah! Not really. I was just messing with you, Edna. You’re still the oldest.)

And yes, as a matter of fact, it is Saturday and this is another one of those back-dated columns. So sue me.

A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE

Hey, I put some cool stuff in your stocking this year. Got two ~ count em ~ two columns for you this week, plus a Christmas surprise at the end. First, gonna give you a conventional column, then a “wacky” column, then the surprise. Think of it as little stocking stuffers for your enjoyment. Merry Christmas to all! And remember, I‘ve always been a lot nicer to you than you’ve been to me.

CONVENTIONAL, FEEL-GOOD CHRISTMAS COLUMN
a sensitive, somewhat boring, essayish take on the season

Pretty much everyone I’ve ever known enjoys the Christmas season. And I don’t mean the commercial monster it’s turned into, with some Christmas-themed TV ads actually coming out of hibernation as early as late summer. I’m referring to the old time Christmas seasons of our (of my) childhood.

Not meaning to sound like a cliché, but those good ol’ days really were, in fact, good old days. Probably because they were much less complicated. When I was a kid, Christmas was gifts and Santa and friends and family and big candy-colored lights on the tree and outside the house, and (to us kids, at least) anticipation, impatience and wonder. But central to all that, Christmas was when Christ was born.

Remember Him?

‘Course, back then nobody cared that Jesus wasn’t actually born on December 25. Only recently, with the advent of political correctness and Internet trolls and the increasing nastiness of our fractured nation, has that even been an issue. Who cares when Christ was born? The fact is, He was born, and December 25 is the day we set aside to acknowledge that. So sue us.

When I was a kid, Christ was the underlying theme of Christmas. And why not? The word itself ~ “Christmas” ~ is a contraction of “Christ’s mass.”Okay, I’ll admit that on Christmas morning, I was thinking more about what was under the tree than what was happening in a stable on the other side of the world 2,000 years ago. But behind all that, Christ was still foremost during the Christmas season, as evidenced by carols and sermons and stories of the birth of Jesus.

In those less complicated days, Christians shared the Christmas season with Jews … and Jews shared the season of Hanukkah with Christians. While I’m not, nor have ever been, what you’d call a Hebrew scholar, as a child I was always aware of the two holiday traditions. In fact, I still sort of associate the menorah with Christmas. I mean that in a good way.

But that was then and this is now, and today, as they say, is a whole ‘nother ball game. Those simple days of childhood are in the past and today we’re more mindful of other beliefs. At times, it may even seem that our own traditions are being squeezed out by all those other beliefs (and disbeliefs). Everyone is aware of attempts around the country to replace the word “Christmas” with such ambiguities as “Illumination,” “Winterfest,” “December Season,”and other banal misnomers. Certainly, I can offer no solution to that trend, as it is a debate that we will have as a society, and it will reflect our collective development (or deconstruction) as a nation.

However, I think Christmas transcends flaky societal trends. Christmas is a frame of mind. It’s a way of thinking. It’s still a time of gifts and Santa and family and decorations and anticipation, but it’s also more. It’s peace on earth and goodwill, giving and helping the less fortunate, reflection and self-analysis … and it’s when we acknowledge the human birth of the Perfect Lamb. Perhaps, at least for a few days, we can get it in our hearts that we did not make ourselves, and how meager we are when compared to His example.

So all the different faiths will know the season in their way, after their traditions. If they’re true to themselves, they’ll be true to the season, whatever they want to call it.

WACKY, OUT-OF-MY-MIND-TYPE CHRISTMAS COLUMN
an insensitive, somewhat lame, anti-take on the season

The commercialization of Christmas usually starts kicking off around July, with November being the retail pedal-to-the-metal month. And, granted, there are a lot of truly great gift ideas out there, but what about all the bad gift ideas? They’re out there. Hey ~ you don’t want to give somebody a bad gift, that’s your choice … nobody’s got a gun to your head (yet). But bad gifts should receive equal time with the good gifts, right? This is America ~ the good, the bad and the ugly standing side-by-side on a level playing field, good gifts and bad gifts competing equally with pork spending and high taxes and gasoline and, yes, lottery tickets. What was I talking about?

Oh yeah …

Here, then, is my list of bad gift ideas …

Well, right off the bat, here’s a bad idea that will also help you get rid of all that left-over Thanksgiving turkey crap you got in the freezer. Repackage it as Instant Holiday Orts, or Turkey Bone Soup (just add water). You’d be surprised how easy it is to pawn that stuff off as one of those “hand made” gifts, which gives the illusion of being more “personal.” Perfect for co-workers or your pastor.

Doctors say that if men live long enough, they will eventually develop prostate cancer. That’s the bad news. The good news is, if you have Dr. Medico’s Home Prostate Removal Kit, you won’t have to worry about it. Comes in a manly cardboard box and includes a plasma bag and six-month supply of Depends.

For baby, you have to try a L’il E.Coli Pacifer. You know, doctors say exposure to deadly bacteria at an early age helps the body build immunity. Show your little ones that you care about their future with a L’il E.Coli Pacifer.

Also for baby, nothing is more comfortable ~ well, I should say, nothing is cheaper ~ than a big bag of Lead-Based Chia Baby Diapers from China. The chia growth is wonderfully absorbent and helps control baby stink. Also available in assorted colors … which is where the lead comes into play, but you know how babies love bright colors.

A bad gift for kids three and up is Bag O’ Shards from Flake-O ~ “Broken Glass in a Plastic Bag.” Not only does broken glass offer hours of diversion for young kids, but when they tire of the shards, they can wear the plastic bags over their faces like some weird transparent Ninji mask or something. Leave it to the kids’ imagination … they’ll figure something out to do with it. And most important, they’ll be out of your hair for awhile (if you let them bleed out, a long while). NOTE: I especially like Bag O’ Shards because in addition to being a really bad gift, the idea itself was basically stolen from an old Saturday Night Live bit.)

Here’s a bad idea you’ll really like … the Pax Romana Mini Vomitoria, for your anorexic loved ones. Modeled after the classic Roman vomitoria of yesteryear, this beautiful porcelain puke trough is also perfect for alcoholics who overindulge (and don’t they all?). So if you want to binge and purge or just need a comfortable place to “call Ralph,” the Pax Romana Mini Vomitoria is ideal for all your vomitory needs.

Getting tired of your teenaged kid’s constant melodrama? Sweet Oblivion’s Peace of the Grave Suicide Rope is the perfect gift for the angst-ridden teenager in your home. Use it on them or yourself, whichever works best for you. Caution: May cause swelling.

For the man (or woman) who has everything, may I recommend a set of Hell-On-Earth® Barbed Rectal Inserts (30-piece set). This is a uniquely bad gift as it has no practical use whatsoever and no reason to have ever been invented. I’ll lay you even money right now that the man (or woman) who has everything, don’t got none of these.

For the first time ever, Bingo Charlie’s Pawn and Fence is offering cheap, unreliable handguns for sale over the Internet. These cheap, unreliable handguns are perfect for home defense, sport shooting, hold-ups and murder. Don’t be the only person in the country without a gun. Pay Pal accounts accepted. Bingo Charlie not responsible for guns that explode or don’t shoot.

My personal favorite … Itchy and Scratchy underpants. No, seriously, not the iconic Simpsons characters ~ these underpants are make from old burlap grain sacks … they truly are itchy and scratchy. Maybe not nearly as pointless and painful as the Hell-On-Earth® Barbed Rectal Inserts, but certainly unpleasant enough in their own way. Truly a bad gift idea.

Okay, I know what you’re saying … “But J.M. ~ I could never afford my own vomitoria or a set of barbed rectal inserts … that’s for wealthy people like lawyers and county commissioners and people that live in nice homes.” Friends, I hear you. If you just don’t have the budget for a truly bad gift, may I suggest a nice big crack rock? It definitely qualifies as a bad gift and you can pick up a good size rock or bag of meth for next to nothing at most any middle school. So don’t tell me money’s a problem. If you want a bad gift bad enough, you can find one.

Now go away because you’re bothering me.

A CHRISTMAS SURPRISE
accompanied by pithy, somewhat sarcastic repartee

Okay. Isn’t this fun? Kind of like a little office party. Little Christmas party at the office. After all, I am in my county office and it is county time and I am on my county computer. If they had any county coffee around here I’d be drinking it.

Okay … so here’s your surprise gift …

Back in the days of old time radio there was a show called The First Nighter Program. “From the little theater off Times Square,” brought to us by Campana balm and fine beauty aids. Ran from 1930 up through the end of the ’40s, I think. They broadcast a Christmas story in1936 entitled, “The Little Town of Bethlehem.” That episode was such a hit it became a Christmas tradition and was aired every year for the rest of First Nighter’s run.

So take your seat “fourth row center” and enjoy this special First Nigher Christmas broadcast of “The Little Town of Bethlehem” … and “May your Christmas be the merriest on record and your New Year brighter than ever before.”

What’s that you say? A what? A dusty old radio show? Oh, I get it … you’re saying a dusty old radio show from 70 years ago is cheap. It’s not enough I give you two columns and a radio show, you want more. What am I, your benefactor? I should get you an iPod or something, maybe take you in and raise you? When you start paying to get in here, we’ll talk. Until then, merry yada, yada and happy yada.

A POSTSCRIPT
in which i succumb to your collective, somewhat feigned charms

Ohhhh, how can I say no to you? You plaintive, wide-eyed knuckleheads ~ how can I say no to you? So, okay … I have one more gift and that’s it. One more gift and it’s off to bed with you. Click HERE for your Christmas card.

Been a lot of stuff kicked up this past week, huh? I can now tell you it was all my doing. It was a big scheme I put together in an idle moment and I must say, everyone played right into my hands. I did it to win a bet.

See, I was sitting around with a friend last week and we got to talking about how “Out Of My Mind” ran every week for eight years in the Bradley Weekly, and how since I left the Weekly in July of ’04, and started writing “Out Of My Mind” for HomeTownCleveland.com, the Weekly won’t even acknowledge that I still exist, let alone that I’m still writing my column and where people can find it.

My friend said, “It’s like you’re Israel and the Weekly is the entire Arab world. They hate you.”

Anyway, make a long story short. I bet my friend a dollar that I could trick the Weekly into not only running one of my columns, but also including my little logo in the paper with it, and even going so far as to give their readers my website address.

My friend said, “Wait a minute … you’re telling me that after all these years and as much as they hate you, you could trick the Weekly into running one of your columns, with the logo, and then give out your website address, too?”

I said, “Yep.”

“And you’re putting a dollar on it?”

I said, “Yep.”

He said, “Let’s make it two.”

I said, “Let’s make it three.”

He said, “You’re on.”

If you would all be so kind as to go out and find a copy of the latest Bradley Weekly and turn to page 4, I think you will see that Axo owes me three bucks.

And, since the question of my “deleted” column has more or less been rendered moot, I shall repost it in its entirety.

CLEVELAND/BRADLEY/PEYTON PLACE

Dateline Cleveland/Bradley/Peyton Place: Judge John Hagler has resigned from the bench, citing a compromising audio tape where he is allegedly talking in graphic detail about his sexual fantasies. I know this news traveled fast because I was still reading about it in the Chattanooga paper this morning when I received a most interesting email: “Well,” (the email read) “now we know why Hagler ruled against every single thing the sheriff asked for in his budget request. He was being blackmailed.” I don’t know if that’s true or not but it would go a long way in explaining how a judge who has been complaining for years that Bradley County was in dire need of more court security, could turn around and say the Sheriff’s Office was adequately staffed. And that doesn’t even take into account the fact that several new courts have been added this past year.

Let’s revisit a Quote of the Week from last week … “What will come out eventually must come out immediately.” ~ Henry Kissinger

Was the fix in when Hagler made his contradictory ruling on the budget petition? Was he given a promise of recompense, or a threat of blackmail? ‘Course, this is just hypothetical speculation, I don’t know one way or the other. But I will take the opportunity to offer some friendly advice to the many bad guys running roughshod over this community: You give the devil a ride, he’s gonna end up driving. Because what will come out eventually will come out … if not in this life, definitely in the next. Take it to the bank.

Actually, just between you and me, it’s said that tape isn’t the only skeleton the Judge was hiding. And for what it’s worth, the quote-unquote law enforcement people who have been sitting on the tape are neither Cleveland City nor Bradley County. You got to remember, the 10th Judicial District covers a lot of territory. And not to give the culprit away, but their initials are Chattanooga.

Movin’ on …

Okay, it’s official ~ AlGore is a prima dona. After receiving a Nobel Peace Prize (!!!) and an Oscar for his global warming propagnda film, AlGore was in London this week for a big charity gala at the Fortune Forum summit. Only thing, he demanded his own VIP room, wouldn’t let the press attend, even refused to allow some of the VIP guests in and received a stipend of $205,000 (or $6,000 a minute) to deliver a speech that was a rehash of all his other speeches and left his audience restless, bored and talking among themselves. People always show their true colors eventually, don’t they? And even before global warming became a cash cow, “green” was still slang for “money.”

But hey, you think the whole green thing ain’t turning into a monster of epic proportions, consider this … Australia’s looking at a “baby tax” of over five grand for every young’un born into a family that already has two kids … plus an annual $800 “carbon footprint tax” for said young’un. That makes China’s one-child-per-family-preferably-a-boy law look positively altruistic.

Carbon footprint. Gimme a break.

A fancy Greenwich Village food store offered up Hanukkah hams for … well, Hanukkah. Major faux paux, though ~ ham is a big kosher no-no … pork is considered unclean under Jewish law. I guess the gourmet store owners can be forgiven, though, as there are so few Jewish people in New York City, not much is known of their culture. And it could be worse, I guess. If the guy had made the mistake in Islamoland, he’d of been beheaded by now.

Now, look … I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but I think we have a new champion for the title, “World’s Biggest Idiot on a Cell Phone.” Out in San Leandro, California, a guy talking on his cell phone evidently didn’t realize he had walked onto the railroad tracks ~ past the flashing lights and around a crossing gate that was down. Big surprise, he got creamed by an Amtrak train. I wonder if he ever even knew what hit him? Rest in peace, poor guy … I guess you were just too dumb to live. Again, no disrespect.

Speaking of California, two gypsy clans out in Orange County have gone to court over which has the fortune-telling rights for affluent Newport Beach. Of course, being fortune tellers and all, I’m sure they already know who’s going to win that one.

But gypsies, huh? We view them with curiosity because they’re a strange and swarthy people who are different from us.

Speaking of strange and swarthy, Andrew Young, civil rights pioneer and former U.N. ambassador, proved just how irrelevant he is this week when he made the statement, “Bill (Clinton) is every bit as black as Barrack.” He also said Clinton had probably “gone with” more black women than Obama. Hmmm ~ gone where, I wonder. But, Andy, I’ll tell you this for free … it’s a good thing you’re black, because if you were a white guy, your career would be over now. Worse, you’d be in counseling with Al “Tawana Brawley” Sharpton and Jesse “Hymietown” Jackson.

Man … just saying Al “Tawana Brawley” Sharpton and Jesse “Hymietown” Jackson makes it hard to breathe.

You know, I no more than get done saying (last week) how the U.N. has been overstating the number of AIDS cases around the world and that, in fact, the number of cases have actually been in decline, than the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention comes out and says the number of Americans who become infected with the AIDS virus each year are 50 percent higher than previously thought. Yeah? Well, what do you know, CDC&P? Anyway, who made you the boss of disease?

You may remember 10, 15 years ago the outrage de jour sweeping the country was black church burnings? Remember that? According to the media hype back then, black churches all across the land were being burned, thereby confirming that racism was not just alive and well, but rampant and out of control. Bad whitey! Bad! Bad! But turned out the claim was totally bogus. In fact, most of those arson cases were actually white churches. And after investigation, the arsonists turned out to be black, white and in some cases even fire fighters. Mental disorders are no respecter of persons. Anyway … now we’re sort of back there again. Only this time it’s nooses and knotted ropes. It began with the Jenna Six (Oh, don’t bother me … you don’t know the story, Google it), and now there’s nooses popping up all over the country, thereby once more confirming that racism is not just alive and well, but yada, yada, yada. Last week a noose turned up in a Baltimore fire station and turns out the guy who put it there was a black firefighter. I got no punch line, no gag, just reporting the thing. Do with it what you will. Maybe the moral is, don’t believe everything you read. And fo shizzle don’t tumble to media-driven crusades, my nizzle.

Anyway, I think the indictment is that we’re talking about “white” churches and “black” churches. You know ~ as opposed to just “churches”?

Venezuela breathed a collective sigh of relief as Hugo Chavez’s bid to become “president” for life and take the country down the abyss of hard Socialism failed at the polls. Meanwhile, back in the USSR, ex-KGB spook Vladimir Putin put his trust in the old Cold War tactics of “Do as I say, not as I … uh, scratch that ~ do as I say or I’ll have you shot.” So … Caracas: winner; Moscow: loser.

And Georgia’s always on my mi-mi-mi-mi-mi-mi-mi-mi-mi-mind.

Read a mind-boggling piece at YahooNews this week ~ the national debt is increasing by about $1.4 billion a day … that’s almost $1 million a minute! But it’s okay ‘cause we’re pawning that balance off on our children and grandchildren ~ and their children and grandchildren ~ cause boomers don’t want to waste their money on trifles like the national debt. Seriously. There’s too many important things for boomers to spend their money on. Like high def TV and hybrid cars and … well, weed.

Researchers at the universities of Wisconsin and Kyoto, Japan now say it’s possible to use skin cells to do everything science once claimed could only be done using embryonic stem cells. That means instead of harvesting the cells of dead babies, they can perform their medical miracles with ordinary skin cells. In this, at least, Bush was right not to cave. Had he done so, there would be a profusion of highly profitable dead baby mills-slash-abortion clinics operating today, and the lawyers and lobbyists would probably be thwarting the skin cell alternative. It’s like assisted suicide. Kovorkian’s motives may have been pure, but if assisted suicide were legal, old people, sick people, deformed people, mentally retarded people and people we don’t like would be dropping like flies. ‘Cause we always got the lawyers and lobbyists to turn any good intention into a bad result for the sake of a buck.

Like Jesus said … the lawyers and lobbyists will be with us always.

Quote of the Week: “NAFTA is a mistake to the extent it did not deliver what we hoped it would.” ~ Hillary Clinton, admitting to one of the many fiascos of hubby Bill’s presidency

I love those quotes of the week. In fact, I’ve built up quite a backlog of them. Let me close out this week with some Quotes I have in reserve …

Quote of the Week: “There seems to be a pattern here. It takes a Clinton to clean up after a Bush.” ~ Hillary you-know-who

Quote of the Week: “To give a woman power is like to give a monkey a gun.” ~ Borat, fictitious Kazakhian

Quote of the Week: “The ultimate Democrat constituent would be a public schoolteacher on welfare who needed an abortion and was suing her doctor.” ~ Ann Coulter (I like Ann … let’s do some more of her …)

Quote of the Week: “You can make 30 times as much money as doctors by becoming a trial lawyer suing doctors. You need no skills, no superior board scores, no decade of training and no sleepless residency. But you must have the morals of a drug dealer.” ~ Ann Coulter, once again articulating perfectly why the U.S. is going to heck in a handbasket

More of that quote … “I can’t resist,” Coulter went on to say (speaking about her old college roommate who became a doctor). “She makes $380 for an emergency appendectomy, or one-ten-thousandth of what John Edwards made suing doctors like her, and one-fourth of what John Edwards’ hairdresser makes for a single shag cut.”

Quote of the Week: “The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.” ~ Dick the Butcher, Shakespeare’s Henry VI

Quote of the Week: “When the search for truth is confused with political advocacy, the pursuit of knowledge is reduced to the quest for power.” ~ Alston Chase, philosopher and author

Quote of the Week: “What will come out eventually must come out immediately.” ~ Henry Kissinger, former Secretary of State

Quote of the Week: “Be kind one to another but don’t take no crap.” ~ J. Michael Leonard, adventurer and bon vivant