Hope everyone enjoyed their Memorial Day holiday last week. I did. Went down to Ellijay, played an outdoor gig with Axo and some of the lads on Friday. Played til about three in the morning. Took Mrs. Leonard to see the new Indiana Jones flick on Memorial Day. I thought it was great. Best sequel yet and Harrison Ford looks like he’s got plenty more Indy flicks left in him. In fact, he looks amazing. He sold Indy like a pro and I bought it, I don’t care what the reviewers say.

Anyway, I hope your Memorial Day was better than Jimmie Watkins’ was. Jimmie’s a military veteran living down in Clermont, Florida who proudly flies an American flag outside his home. He wore the uniform, served his country, defended the freedoms the flag represents. It’s all good. But, of course, this being Florida (which took the title as nuttiest state back in 2000, and has worked tirelessly to hold the title ever since), the Sussex homeowners’ association, which regulates the community in which Jimmie lives, says he has to get rid of the flag or they’ll see him in court. Don’t look for justice in court, Jimmie. And don’t look for good sense in Florida.

Speaking of justice, lest anyone think the succeeding generations will be more tolerant and accepting of others than the old, stodgy racists and haters who have gone before, consider the kindergarten class at Morningside Elementary in West Palm Beach, Florida (Yikes! Again with the Florida!). They voted 14 to two to kick a five-year-old autistic kid out of the class because he wasn’t like them. I guess the little Brown Shirts don’t want no retards polluting their gene pool. ‘Course, in this case, it’s debatable who the retards really are.

Speaking of retards, last week I mentioned that some concerned citizens over in Kenya were tossing women bodily into bonfires because they were suspected of being witches. Well, not to be out-done, India has jumped on the pyro-misogyny bandwagon. In a place called Orissa, “a remote eastern village,” a woman was dragged from her home and burned alive while villagers watched. I say this because, with vacation season coming up and all, you might want to red flag “Orissa, India” in your Travelocity database. Especially if you’ve ever been mistaken for a witch.

And that guy in Austria, Josef Fritzi? You know who I’m talking about? The guy who kept his own daughter locked in the basement for 24 years and sexually abused her at his leisure? I guess he’s been feeling a little defensive because of all the bad press that stunt has brought him cause he defended himself recently by saying, “I am not a monster ~ I could have killed them all.” Okay, Josef … I can see right away you’re a cup-half-full kinda guy. And even though we’re all relieved you didn’t kill everybody, I still gotta say … imprisoning and raping your own daughter for almost a quarter of a century? Sorry, pal ~ you’re a monster.

Further proof that the end is nigh: La Scala has put a new opera into production based on the AlGore propaganda piece, “An Inconvenient Truth.” One big difference between this new opera and more traditional fare? Don’t look for the fat lady to sing. She’s been replaced by the skinny lady cause the skinny lady’s got a smaller carbon footprint. Smaller carbon buttprint, too.

And, of course, Susan Sarandon is now saying she’s going to pull up stakes and move to Canada or Italy if McCain wins the election. Yeah, yeah, Susan, blah, blah. I liked you better when you used to take off your top back in the 70s. Every election, a bunch of those Hollyweird pinkos threaten to leave the country if things don’t go their way. But then when things don’t go their way, they don’t leave. They’re all still here. What up with that? They should go if they don’t like it. Anybody remember “America ~ love it or leave it”? So leave already. Nobody’s got a gun to your head. Stop talking about it and just go.

Hollyweird pinkos. That’s comedy gold.

Our bad girl Hillary was out last week throwing Bobby Kennedy up in Obama’s face. You know, how Bobby got shot dead during his campaign. Just in case Barack isn’t taking her seriously, I got two little words for him: Vince Foster. Far as Hillary’s concerned, Obama’s got two ways to go: He can either mess things up so bad nobody will vote for him or he can die. Either way works for her. So watch your back, black man … Hillary’s in it to win it, and she ain’t particular how.

Now I’m scaring myself. I think I’m going to go find me a safe place, cling to my guns and God and hate people who are not like me. Kind of like those kindergarten kids down in Florida.

I read this week where the International Atomic Energy Agency has said that Iran might be fibbing a bit about their nuclear program. Even though Iran denies it, the International Atomic Energy Agency said Mahmoud might be closer to developing The Bomb than anyone thought. How rude is that? Accusing Iran of fibbing. Apologize, International Atomic Energy Agency. I demand you apologize right now and never impugn Iran’s integrity ever again, huff, huff, snit.

And Israel, my mouth to your ear … keep a close watch on the skies, for fiery death shall rain from above.

Not just Israel, either. The FBI is saying that al-Qaeda is calling for weapons of mass destruction to be used on civilian targets. Are you listening, all you ill-informed boneheads who still want to blame Nine-Eleven on the U.S.? Evidently, the IntelCenter ~ an outfit that monitors terrorist communications ~ came across a video, entitled “Nuclear Jihad, The Ultimate Terror.” I’m not sure, but I think it was voted best foreign film at Cannes this year.

But maybe Obama can talk some sense into these terrorist nutjobs, huh? Get a dialogue going, convince them to take it down a notch or two, learn to play nice. I could see that working. Obama is very persuasive. Anyway, it couldn’t hurt. Maybe if Custer had tried talking things out with the Indians at the Little Big Horn, he would have gotten to go home after and have supper with his wife, instead of spending the day out in the hot sun getting killed, scalped and otherwise mutilated. You know, Sitting Bull could teach al-Qaeda a thing or two about raining down fiery death on the white man.

At a large conference in England, Colin Powell was asked by the Archbishop of Canterbury if U.S. actions in Iraq weren’t just an example of “empire building” by George W. Bush.

Powell replied, “Over the years, the United States has sent many of its fine young men and women into great peril to fight for freedom beyond our borders. The only amount of land we have ever asked for in return is enough to bury those that did not return.”

Another conference, this one in France and made up of international engineers, including French and American … during a break, one of the French engineers made the comment, “Have you heard the latest dumb stunt Bush has pulled? He has sent an aircraft carrier to Indonesia to help the tsunami victims. What does he intend to do with an aircraft carrier, bomb them?”

A Boeing engineer attending the conference stood and replied, “Our carriers have three hospitals on board that can treat several hundred people. They are nuclear-powered and can supply emergency electrical power to shore facilities. They have three cafeterias with the capacity to feed 3,000 people three meals a day. They can produce several thousand gallons of fresh water from sea water each day. And they carry half a dozen helicopters that are used to transport victims and injured to and from their flight deck. We have eleven such ships. How many does France have?”

And at yet another conference ~ a naval conference that included admirals from the U.S., England, Canada, Australia and France ~ a French admiral made the comment at a cocktail reception that he found it somewhat annoying that they were all speaking English. He said that Europeans learn many languages, whereas Americans learn only English.

He then posed the question, “Why is it that we always have to speak English in these conferences rather than speaking French?”

Without missing a beat, a U.S. admiral replied, “Maybe it’s because the Brits, Canadians, Aussies and Americans arranged it so you wouldn’t have to speak German.”

Finally, a group of retired American teachers recently traveled to France for a tour of that country. One of the Americans, 83-year-old Robert Whiting, had trouble immediately locating his passport as he was processing through French Customs at the airport.

Growing impatient, the customs officer asked him, “You have been to France before, monsieur?”

Mr. Whiting replied that he had, indeed, been to France. Once before.

“Then you should know enough to have your passport ready,” the customs officer chided.

Mr. Whiting told the officer that the first time he came to France, he didn’t have to show a passport.

“Impossible,” sniffed the officer. “Americans always have to show their passports on arrival in France!”

Mr. Whiting then calmly explained, “Well, when I came ashore at Omaha Beach on D-Day in 1944 to help liberate this country, I couldn’t find any Frenchmen to show it to.”

God bless every man and woman who had the courage to wear the uniform of the United States of America and defend the high ideals of this country ~ ideals which most Americans have either forgotten about or no longer remember.

Let’s not forget the reason we get this beautiful three-day weekend. It’s in honor of Memorial Day. Thank you, vets, living and dead … I am proud to count myself among your number. Living, of course. So far.

And I may as well apologize again for my obsession with the presidential election. I’ve been writing about nothing else for months. You should know by now this happens every four years. I go nuts, obsessing on the campaign, the partisan invective, the media (that doesn’t even pretend to be fair-minded anymore) and most especially on Hillary and Bubba Clinton ~ arguably the most mind-numbingly corrupt political entity since Boss Tweed. So, anyway, I apologize again but I really can’t control myself. So let’s get to it …

Bubba and Hillary had to sit through a sermon last Sunday that dealt with the sin of adultery. Bill and Hill were at the State Street United Methodist Church in Bowling Green, Kentucky when Rev. Paul Fry delivered a sermon that addressed “lust and the sin of cheating on your partner.” Amid the “amens” coming from the congregation, I swear I heard Bubba’s voice saying, “Hey ~ that ain’t preaching, that’s meddling.”

And I Quote: “How is your commitment level in your marriage this morning?” ~ Rev. Paul Fry, State Street United Methodist Church

Back in the ‘90s, Hillary was blaming a “vast right-wing conspiracy” for her problems. Now, 10 years later, she’s blaming a “vast left-wing conspiracy.” Hillary … pick a hand, girl. Is it left, is it right, what? But, ironically enough, she has managed to unite liberals and conservatives behind a common cause … both sides want her to go! As in away! And soon! Like, now!

And now we bring you … The Poetry Corner …

“FIRE AND ICE,” by B.S. Eliot
Some say Hillary will end in fire,
Some say ice.
From what I’ve seen of Hillary’s ire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if she had to lose twice,
The Dems will surely know her hate.
She can’t play nice,
She’ll kill the party,
And that will suffice.

More Clinton hutzpa: Bubba has put the idea out there that Chelsea might be a good presidential candidate at some point on down the road. He hasn’t given up on getting Hill into the White House, but why not hedge his bets? Get out there and plant the seed, pimp out l’il Curly Red. I’m telling you, come hell or high water, as long as he has breath, Bubba ain’t never gonna stop until he’s back in the White House … first husband, first father, he don’t care, he ain’t giving up. “I’ll settle for a little apartment over the garage, anything … only please y’all just let me back in.”

Actually, Chelsea already meets the Clinton standards for high office. She went along with the lie about the sniper fire in Bosnia (she was there), and, because she was first daughter for eight years, she has the experience to lead our country “from day one.”

Of course, if proximity to Bubba qualified a person to be president, Monica would qualify because she … well, she got enough proximity in to qualify as being qualified.

And, of course ~ barring everything else ~ Bubba is trying to get Obama to name Hill as his VP pick. I’m sure Obama (and especially Michelle) think that idea is simply super. Yeah, they want the Clintons on their team. Let me put this one to rest right now … there is no way in heaven or earth that the Obama camp will ever allow the Clintons anywhere near their henhouse. Capisce? No freakin’ way. Not gonna happen. Hell could freeze over, thaw out and freeze over again, it ain’t gonna be. Pigs could fly. In fact, pigs could fly, run on two legs and live in condos, the Clintons will never be part of the Obama administration. The Arabs and the Jews could get married and have red-headed love babies … it ~ will ~ never ~ be. Okay? We good?

One idea Barack is floating if he does win the White House, they’re going to stop playing “Hail to the Chief” when he makes an appearance. Instead, they’re going to hire Arsenio Hall to come out and say, “Obama in the ‘hood!” And everybody will go, “Whoo! Whoo! Whoo!” Yeah. Would that be change enough for you?

Evidently, Ted Kennedy is dying from brain cancer. Now, I understand that the media will lionize him and all … and I don’t want to speak ill of the dead ~ or the dying … so I’ll just say fare thee well, Ted … if you get the chance, say hello to Mary Jo Kopeckne. Maybe tell her why you left her there at the bottom of that cold, dark Chappaquiddick channel to drown like a kitten in a sack so you could save your own fat, drunken butt.

And I Quote: “John McCain is kind of like Jesus Christ on the cross” ~ Georgia Republican Party chairwoman Sue Everhart

Everhart was quick to add, “I’m not trying to compare John McCain to Jesus Christ.” I believe her. To say, “John McCain is kind of like Jesus Christ …” isn’t really comparing the two. It’s freakin’ equating the two, you ditz.

Last week I mentioned that the United Nations was sending a special investigator to solve America’s racial intolerance problem … gonna pump up our sensitivity levels, get us on the right track. Meanwhile, a mob in western Kenya burnt 15 women to death this week for being witches. Said the special U.N. investigator, “I will not be deterred from my mission to bring racial sensitivity to America. That Kenyan incident was black on black, so don’t go confusing that with racism. Or intolerance. That is status quo. So don’t go trying to tell us our job.” The U.N., huh? And we thank God for em.

by The Texas Trouble Maker

Once a year, on Memorial Day, I am reminded of my military career. Yeah, the twenty-four years I did as an enlisted man in the United States Air Force. Sure, I know that Marines and Army troops don’t regard the Air Force as military, but that is because they are jealous and mostly don’t have sense enough to rise above the infantryman level. On the other hand, the older I get, the more I tend to agree with the Marines and gravel agitators. Especially, when I recall some of my adventures in the Air Farce — oops, make that Air Force.

The only thing I can say about my military experience is — I was damn lucky to have survived. I faced more danger than did the Marines and army types who served during the same years — 1950 to 1974. You see, the guys in the marines and army only had to face one enemy. We in the Air Force had two enemies, the second one being our Officers. Yep, Air Force Officers were more deadly than North Koreans, Russians or Chinese. One group tried to kill us because it was their job and the other set almost killed us because they were so damn stupid. That came about because all Air Force Officers are college graduates and we know about college grads, don’t we?

Anyway, I enlisted in the Air Force right after I graduated from High school and went to Texas for training. I was in basic when the Korean War started. Basic was cut short so I could go to a Tech School where I was supposed to be trained as an aircraft engine specialist. The fact that I was sent to a school to learn all about piston engines, when the Air Force was swiftly converting to jets, made no sense, but who was I to complain? Three weeks into training, the engine school closed down and I went to gunnery school to learn how to man the shooters in a B29 Bomber, which was the type bomber being sent to Korea. Oh yeah, the gunnery school also closed because the Air Force decided to recall experienced reserve aviators into the service. I was sent to another base, to learn how to be a military policeman.

That was a laugh. Me, a Pittsburgh boy, being trained as a policeman? My momma almost died laughing. My Uncle Ed wouldn’t even write letters to me or answer the phone when I called home.

Actually, my being kicked out of the bomber flying program worked to my advantage – especially after all the obsolete B29 bombers sent to Korea were shot out of the sky by new Russian made MIG fighter jets. I had been lucky, but not for long.

Knowing that I was going to end up in Korea, the Air Force made it a point to make certain I was properly trained as a policeman. You know, to direct traffic, to arrest drunks, to make certain troops wore their uniforms properly and things like that. My total military combat training involved one hour learning how to use a carbine and a pistol — on paper targets set up at 50 feet distance. As soon as I mastered those tasks, I was boated to Korea.

I went in the dead of winter. In Korea, I was assigned to a cop outfit charged with protecting the perimeter of an Air Force Communications Unit north of Seoul City. We Air Force cops had to do that work because the Army and Marines were busy doing real combat stuff. The fact that we Air Force types had never been trained to do that type work made no difference. The army gave us tons of weapons and ammunition and told us to learn by watching John Wayne movies.

Have you ever tried to soldier or do anything else when the temperature is 25 degrees below zero and your heaviest clothing is an Air Force dress uniform? Those rotten marines and army quartermasters wouldn’t even give us proper clothing. I had to write home and ask someone to send me long johns, wool stockings and a proper pair of boots. My mom sent me the gear I had used as a youngster ice fishing on Lake Erie. I also learned that I could buy clothing on the local black market with my cigarette rations.

I managed to make it through a year of Korea and later spent three years in Germany, one in southeast Turkey, months on Temporary duty in parts of North Africa, Pakistan and finally a year in Vietnam.

All in all, it was an interesting time and it seems just like yesterday because the newspapers are printing the same daily articles that they did back when I was a green pup. (We never should have started this war, Too many troops are being killed or maimed, The strategy is wrong, The tactics are wrong, The politicians don’t know what they are doing, We should be spending all this money on education or health issues, The cost of living is going up, The troops are using the wrong kind of ammo)

Yep. Memorial day and all the hoopla about how we should honor our dead is the same today as it was when I was young, and my father was young and my grandfather was young and – - – - – ! So far, it has only been a lot of talk — mostly by politicians.

Maybe, just maybe, one of the politicians will dream up a program to take care of the troops who make it back home after being in combat. I mean a real program and not just a half-hearted thing. Now that will be something to remember.

And I Quote: “It would be futile to hold a birthday ceremony for something which is already dead.” ~ Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, referring to Israel’s 60th birthday

Yeah, Mahmoud, we get it. You, Palestine and the rest of your heathen brethren are going to wipe Israel out. You black hearted devils are too blind to realize you’ll have to go through Jehovah first. So good luck with the whole annihilation thing.

As for me and my house … Happy Anniversary, Israel! Long may you wave.

But, hey ~ Dan Rather loved that little Mahmoud pipsqueak. Seriously. Even described Mahmoud as a very attractive man with beautiful eyes. I kid you not. CBS has never met a scumbag they didn’t like.

Maybe Dan Rather and Mahmoud could go on a double date with Jimmy Carter and Khaled Meshaal. They could even go out to California now and be legally married. Then, afterwards, Mahmoud and Khaled could really impress their new brides by murdering all the gay people and Jews in the wedding party. You know … something old, something new, something borrowed and something dead.

What? Who is Kaled Meshaal? Google him if you don’t know … I didn’t take you to raise.

Obama says he’s not afraid to sit down and talk with terrorist in an effort to foster better communication. Yet, he’s a’scared to go on Fox News and sit down with Bill O’Reilly. What up with that?

Aww, Barack’s alright, I guess. He’s just a green whippersnapper what don’t know his left from his left (get it?). McCain may not be my first choice, but considering the hand we’ve been dealt, I think he’s probably the only choice.

But McCain’s going to have trouble with his wife. Jackie O, she ain’t. Cindy McCain just don’t seem all that accommodating to me. Kind of got that ice queen thing going on. Those eyes. Man, those eyes are arctic. My body temperature drops ten degrees just when I see her on TV. In real life I bet she could turn your boys to icicles with no more than a glance. Could be wrong. Could be wrong. Been wrong before.

No, seriously, I have been wrong before. I remember once back in the ‘90s, I called a Coke a Pepsi. I’ll never live that down.

Favorite Hillary Clinton nickname: “Shrillary.” Perfect … it sounds like what she is.

In the May 19 issue of Newsweek, one of their Conventional Wisdom blurbs asked the question, “Will (Hillary) go down classy or go down ugly? Her legacy, and Bill’s, depend on it.” Is it just me, or is that question moot? Isn’t the Billary’s legacy already written in stone? They’ve only been at it for something like three decades.

Go down ugly. That’s gold. That’s like Jeremiah Wright talking about Bubba “Riding nasty.” She’s going down ugly, he’s riding nasty. If only they were Republicans Oliver Stone would have another movie.

But for those of you who have been concerned about the turn this presidential contest has taken (read: race baiting), fear not for yonder comes the United Nations to our rescue. That august body is sending a special UN human rights investigator to the United States to get to the bottom of these allegations of racism. Thank you, UN. I feel more tolerate already. And anyway, it’s a lot easier for the United Nations to play up racial issues in America than it is to address the problem of genocide in Africa.

But you gotta take the partisan bickering … nay, not bickering ~ hatred … you gotta take the partisan hatred in this country seriously because it’s a portend. The Big Two ~ the Dems and the ‘Publicans ~ are both sounding the other’s death knell, but they can’t recognize the cancer eating away at their own bones. Ironic, isn’t it? Both sides are too arrogant, blind and corrupt to realize they’re both dinosaurs who are just waiting for that final extinction event. The Democrats and the Republicans have become obsolete and incapable of dealing with ~ let alone solving ~ the problems that face this country in the 21st century.

And, of course, when speaking of dinosaurs on the edge of extinction, go ahead and include the chattering little media dinosaurs who scamper mindlessly along behind the big two carnivores, feeding on their droppings.

Two little words for you, my friends: “End Times.” Now hie thee unto purity and get your house in order, for the end is nigh.

by The Texas Trouble Maker

During the summer of 1943, my family moved out of the huge old house we had been living in, down in the Ravine of West Mifflin, and moved into a brand new apartment in the government projects on the bluffs overlooking the Monongahela River and the Braddock Steel mills. This was all in the suburbs of Pittsburgh, mind you.

The move was quite a change for us. The old house had been a huge place with surrounding yards and gardens, orchards, pigeon coop, tool shed, outhouse, spring house, ice pond, coal mine and whatnot. The apartments had indoor plumbing, central heat, gas fired kitchen stoves, refrigeration and were located within walking distance of shops, stores and saloons. Oh, and a bus line ran past the front door.

I was scheduled to attend sixth grade the coming term of school so was at the age of exploring. I already had my own rifle and was used to walking the woods of the township as a matter of growing up. What changed, was that there were a lot of strange kids who had also moved into the projects. Kids from everywhere.

Henry Lasser was a boy who had grown up in a place called West Virginia where there was apparently lots of open country, streams and rivers. Henry took to me because he had noticed that I had a rifle and roamed the woods.

We palled up and roamed together. He telling me about his woodsy experiences and me telling him about mine. We had a lot of things in common, however, there was one thing he liked to do that was just not common in and around our township. Fishing. There were no places to fish.

Folks who might look at a map of the Pittsburgh area are hard to convince that back in the 1940s there were no fish in any of the rivers, streams and ponds of the area. No game fish, no minnows and not even carp. That was because all the waters were polluted by the toxic wastes from the mills and mines. Near as I knew, there had not been a fish in any of the waters within 20 miles of Pittsburgh since 1885. Nope, no fish at all.

Henry did not believe that there were no fish and constantly dabbed a baited line in every patch of fluid he saw, hoping to get a bite. He insisted that I guide him to every pond, stream, and creek and down to the banks of the Monongahela, just so he could try his luck. We kept that up all the way through Junior High and Henry never got a bite, nor did anything ever make his homemade bobber bob.

I gave up on Henry and went off to do other things. Just so happened that a weird cousin of mine, named Steve, took up with Henry and darned if the two of them didn’t keep looking for a place to catch fish.

Well, to make a long story short, the spring of 1947 Henry and Steve caught something. Yep, one day they had gone down to the banks of the Monongahela to fish in the overflow at the base of the Braddock Locks low dam, because the mills were all on strike and the river water was flowing greener than normal. Steve later told me what happened.

Henry was all het up about fishing in the cleaner waters. He had baited up his hooks, attached a bobber, and had flung the rig out towards a swirly pool below the dam. He and Steve sat on the bank sneaking smokes and trading stories when suddenly the bobber went and bobbed.

Neither Henry nor Steve believed their eyeballs. A bobbing bobber. First time in three years of fishing. Henry got excited and watched to see when the bobber went under, so he could set the hook. Under went the bobber and Henry raised his pole to set the triple hook.

“Hooked it. I done hooked it”, he yelled, as he tried to drag his catch ashore. Steve watched as Henry hauled back on his pole. The line stayed tight and since there was no reel on the pole, Henry yelled for Steve to come grab the line and haul in the fish. Steve was glad to oblige, grabbed the line and started tugging.

Imagine their surprise, when instead of a fish head coming up out of the murky waters of the Monongahela, came a man’s face. A drowned man, all blue and bloated and with the eyeballs bugging out staring at Henry and Steve.

Well now, Steve let go the line and Henry flung the fishing pole half across the river. I was way the hell on the other side of Kennywood Park Boulevard playing baseball, with some kids from Duquesne, when we heard Henry and Steve coming. Yep, they ran past, screaming at the top of their lungs and kept on screaming as they raced for home.

It is a three-mile stretch from the ball field to the projects and some of it is up the side of a rather steep hill. Didn’t even slow the scared pair down. Folks told me later that Henry hit the front door of his apartment yelling ‘Momma’ and Steve, who didn’t even live in the projects, went in with Henry.

Neither one ever went fishing again. In fact, they didn’t even look in the direction of the river. Both quit drinking water and by the time they entered high school they were confirmed alcoholics. It is the only instance I know of where fishing did not have a soothing effect upon a person’s mind.

I often wonder what kind of bait Henry was using that day.

The Billary. It just won’t go away. Nobama has spanked its fanny a dozen ways from Tuesday, but the Billary just won’t stop. It slinks back into its lair-slash-warroom to plot and plead and offer blood sacrifices to the dark gods in the hope it can still pull this thing off through some combination of evil, stubbornness and/or arcane magicks. “After all,” the Billary snarled, “we didn’t sell our soul to the devil just to lose!”

Brrrrrr … I got a chill …

It couldn’t have been an accident that Bill and Hill found each other lo those many years ago. They’re two peas in a pod. Or two slugs in the garden. Something. And I do believe they’ve even anted up their own fair haired daughter’s soul as well ~ tossed it onto the table with their own just to stay in the game. She’s been out there looking and sounding just like her parents, lucky girl. No, the Billary will never go away. Put a stake through that foul creature’s heart, lop off its head, burn its body and rocket its ashes into the heart of the sun ~ there will still be no guarantee that it won’t return … that it won’t rise from oblivion and return, to lurk like your worst nightmare in the dark recesses of popular culture just waiting for us to drop our guard, waiting for an opportunity to leap, biting and snarling, back onto the public stage. It lives by destroying everything that’s good and decent and then defecating the result onto the American spirit. But you know, other than that, they’re good people, those two.

And I Quote: “(Bill Clinton) is like the creepy guy who graduated last year but still hangs around the high school cafeteria chatting up sophomores.” ~ Ann Coulter

And I Quote: “I have no idea what (Bill Clinton’s) real instincts are, in terms of race.” ~ Toni Morrison, who originated the quip that Bubba was our first black president, furiously back peddling from said quip

And I Quote: “We cannot win (the election) with eggheads and African-Americans.” ~ Paul Begala, Hillary strategist, calling for Obama’s “typical white people” to get onboard the Hillary bandwagon

And for what it’s worth, Hamas has come out strongly in support of Obama. You know Hamas, don’t you? World’s foremost terrorist organization? Wants to kill every Christian and Jew on earth? Hates the U.S., hates women, hates freedom? Yeah, them. They want Obama in the White House. And it ain’t because his middle name is Hussein either.

Eggheads and African-Americans. That’s gold.

Cleveland City Council member George Poe questioned why the council had voted to award the city’s trash contract to the highest bidder instead of the lowest. Oh, I dunno, George … maybe for the same reason the Bradley County Commission wants to pay $837,500 for property that sold for $469,000 in January?

Oil passes $126 a barrel. Look for truckers to pull the big rigs over and park em. You think ethanol has destroyed food prices, wait’ll the truckers get in the game. And FYI … over in the Middle East, gas is a quarter a gallon.

According to the National Climate Data Center we’ve just had the coolest April in 114 years. Maybe AlGore needs to remind the earth it’s supposed to be heating up, not cooling down.

Edward Harbinson’s been sitting on death row since 1983 for killing a St. Elmo man. He’s languished for 25 years while the debate rages as to whether lethal injection is “cruel and unusual.” Folks just can’t get on the same page with that ol’ death penalty thing, huh? Reminds me of an episode of that old TV show In the Heat of the Night where Sheriff Gillespie witnessed an execution and afterwards they were discussing cruel and unusual. The argument was, considering the mental anguish of sitting in a tiny concrete cell counting down the days ‘til your own execution, how can the death penalty not be cruel and unusual? Sheriff Gillespie nailed it, though. He said the only real way for an execution to be humane is to tell the condemned guy that he’s been pardoned and is free to go. Then when he turns to leave prison you put a Magnum up to the back of his head and pull the trigger. No harm, no foul.

Speaking of shuffling off the mortal coil … my buddy Emata C. Rucker left us this past week. He was something like 89, 90 years old, I don’t know for sure. I can’t keep up with my own age, let alone somebody else’s. Mr. Rucker was the model for the Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B. ‘Least he said he was. I wrote a story on him a number of years ago for the Weekly. He played blues harp, guitar and trumpet, and back during WWII he blew all manner of calls (revelry, taps, assembly, call to quarters, etc.). He saw quite a bit of combat in the Pacific Theater and carried around the shrapnel in his leg to prove it. He was always kind of a hound dog, too, and whenever we saw a pretty girl we used to get into arguments over which one of us was going to go over and talk to her. That’s pretty good, huh? Arguing with an old man over who’s got dibs on the girl. He and I used to play a little blues music from time to time, him on guitar, me on harp. If we were riding in the car, one or the other of us might break out with an a capella version of “Drifting Blues” or something, and the other would join in. I bought him his last blues harp. He always enjoyed a good jam. My buddy Axo would come up from time to time and sit in with us on bass. Mr. Rucker lost his eyesight a couple years ago and I helped take care of him until he just became too much for me to handle. Crotchety old blues man making all these demands on time I just didn’t have any more. I was getting ill with him one time over something or other and told him if he didn’t settle down I was going to pull the car over and give him a good old fashioned butt kicking, and he told me, “Well, pull it over then, cause that’s a butt kicking I’ll just have to take.” I knew better than to actually get into a fight with him, though, cause he was a boxer in the old days and was still lean and rock hard all the way up to the end. He finally went up north and spent the last few months of his life in Detroit with his family. They brought him back down here for his funeral. I went out to Patton’s on Fair Street and saw him last Thursday. Man just looked so dead it broke my heart.

by The Texas Trouble Maker

You would think that a gang of supposedly wise councilpersons could figure out a way to resolve the garbage issue without offending good citizens by raising their rates for garbage collection. But, no, a common sense approach to any problem is apparently beyond the mental grasp of council members, especially the ones who own stock in 96 gallon garbage cans.

Therefore, I offer them a simple solution to what they consider to be a pack of messy problems.

First — Retain the present form of garbage collection because a driver and two garbage handlers can operate the rear loaded trucks. One handler working each side of a street, which means the truck does not have to go up one side of a street and then down the other. In addition, the present system collects more things than household garbage, which means that there is less litter on the streets or at illegal dump sites. Also, the system employs locals who need a job and the handlers can work around parked vehicles, pick up litter and overturned cans and generally provide better service.

Second — Since there seems to be a problem about people using plastic bags, rewrite the garbage ordinance to require that garbage and household slops must be placed in a non leaking garbage can with a lockable lid. If folks continue to place garbage in plastic bags or unapproved containers, have the truck driver take a photo of the violation, have the Utility Department include an “additional services” fee in the monthly utility bill and if the property owner fails to pay his bill, cut the services (This cannot be a problem because we are already doing a similar thing with the traffic cameras).

Third — Have the Utility Department send out a flyer explaining the new services to customers. Use the pages of the current, mostly wasted, newsletter.

There is one thing about this garbage issue that I have not been able to solve: Do the same councilpersons who own stock in the 96 gallon garbage container also own land located near the new airport?

by The Texas Trouble Maker

For those of you who use the pumps at the northside Wal-mart — have you paid any attention to the audio commercials that are played, as soon as you touch the pump? If no, then listen to those things.

There is one about purchasing cigarettes. Yeah, buy discount price cigarettes. PRESUMABLY to light up and smoke while you are pumping gas. Isn’t that smart? Anyway, the paradox almost flushed my kidneys.

The best of the commercials you will hear at the pump is the one about purchasing, right on the spot, some additive to toss into your fuel tank. Yeah, listen to that one – it claims that the additive will clean up your engine that has been dirtied and messed up by poor fuel – EXCUSE ME!

The question I wish I could ask, considering that I only purchase fuel at Wal-mart is: WHY DID YOU SELL ME CONTAMINATED FUEL IN THE FIRST PLACE?

Can I ask for a rebate or something, being they have been pumping bad fuel into my car?

Oh, this reminds me of another current commercial – the one about ‘Head On”. The ad says, go ahead and apply the product to the aching area of your body AND shows a gal dabbing stuff on her forehead. I always want to ask, if the stuff is so effective, wouldn’t it impair the model’s vision – maybe penetrate her sinus and cause her to sneeze out her brain? Anyway, I just thought I would ask.

And now for something completely different …

Maana is Here!

Maana (Is Soon Enough For Me) — by Peggy Lee

The faucet she is dripping and the fence she’s fallin’ down
My pocket needs some money, so I can’t go into town
My brother isn’t working and my sister doesn’t care
The car she needs a motor so I can’t go anywhere
(maana, maana, maana is soon enough for me)

My mother’s always working, she’s working very hard
But every time she looks for me I’m sleeping in the yard
My mother thinks I’m lazy and maybe she is right
I’ll go to work maana but I gotta sleep tonight
(maana, maana, maana is soon enough for me)

Oh, once I had some money but I gave it to my friend
He said he’d pay me double, it was only for a lend
But he said a little later that the horse she was so slow
Why he give the horse my money is something I don’t know
(maana, maana, maana is soon enough for me)

—— guitar solo ——

(maana, maana, maana is soon enough for me)

My brother took a suitcase and he went away to school
My father said he only learned to be a silly fool
My father said that I should learn to make a chile pot
But then I burned the house down, the chile was too hot
(maana, maana, maana is soon enough for me)

The window she is broken and the rain is comin’ in
If someone doesn’t fix it I’ll be soaking to my skin
But if we wait a day or two the rain may go away
And we don’t need a window on such a sunny day
(maana, maana, maana is soon enough for me) Oba! Oba!
(maana, maana, maana is soon enough for me) Oba! Oba!

Peggy Lee sang that song in 1947 when Americans had a different view of Mexicans and folks who lived south of the border. I doubt that anyone could sing that song today and not have their piñata busted. Times have changed.

Whoever said that Mexicans were a lazy people probably never met a Mexican and watched him work. Never saw him construct a house from odds and ends, tend family gardens, become a self-taught mechanic, learn English by listening to radio programs, raise close-knit families, take on menial jobs until he could find something better, and to brave the ardors of walking from one nation to another to find work and a new home.

The Mexican wave is just the latest in a history of immigrant waves that have washed over this country. In the past, the immigrants settled in, became Americans, and made the nation stronger. Whether the latest wave will do that, is a serious question. I, for one, do not think so. I think the new wave has found its land of Maana and means to make America dance to the music of a Mariachi Band.

Greetings and salutations, heathens. Hope you all enjoyed the National Day of Prayer. Did you get what you asked for? Well, the man upstairs ain’t Santa Claus. How about you making an effort sometimes.

Okay, I guess it was bound to happen ~ I read this week where Bill Moyers and Jeremiah Wright have announced that they are getting married. When asked if it was true that he was pregnant by Wright, Moyers smiled coyly and said, “Well, I’d be surprised if I’m not.” For those who would like to send a gift, they are registered at Big Lots under “Mandingo and the Wus.”

As you all know, the Right Rev Wright said 9/11 was God’s judgement for slavery and the U.S. bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Of course, Rev. John Hagee said Hurricane Katrina was God’s judgement for homosexuality. What’s wrong with preachers that they don’t have any better sense than that about God? I ain’t even a preacher and I can tell you that when God chooses to exact His judgement against us ~ when His quote, unquote cup of wrath is full ~ there will be no doubt in anyone’s mind as to what is happening or from whence it came.

And following with our Biblical theme, we now bring you Hymns of the Dyslexic …
My God’s better than your God, my God’s better than yours
My God’s better cause He eats Kennel Ration, my God’s better than yours

When asked who she would like to go out on a date with, Hillary Clinton said her dream date would be Abraham Lincoln. When asked what he thought of the idea, Honest Abe replied, “Well, fortunately, I’ve been dead for 143 years, so I guess I dodged the bullet on that one. So to speak.”

And, of course, when asked what her ideal menage a trois would be, she said it would be her, Rosie O’Donnell and Eleanor Roosevelt.

And yes, I do believe I just planted an image in my mind that will give me nightmares at least through the end of the year.

But isn’t it interesting that Hillary’s dream date didn’t include Bill.

Speaking of Abraham Lincoln, five years ago, George W. strode across the deck of the USS Abraham Lincoln with a red, white and blue banner flying from the conning tower that read, “Mission Accomplished.” When he leaves office next January perhaps they’ll fly another one reading, “Nevermind.”

I came, I saw, I dithered, I ruined things for everybody, I left, I have a big cowboy hat, so sue me.

Speaking of clueless …

And I Quote: “Our government is run by idiots and escapees from mental institutions.” ~ Chicken farmer and Bradley County Commissioner Mel Griffith

Oh, wait a minute. Mel … you are our government. So which are you ~ an idiot or a mental case? Maybe … both?

By the way, Mel, you gonna have your lips, boobs and butt done, too?

And there ~ that’s twice now in the same column I have created an image in my mind that will give me nightmares.

Bumper Sticker of the Week: “Fish tremble at the sound of my name.”

Deborah Jeane Palfrey, the so-called “D.C. Madam,” is dead. She hanged herself at her mother’s mobile home in Florida this week rather than go to jail. A former employee of Palfrey’s, Brandy Britton, hanged herself to death a little over a year ago for the same reason. Meanwhile, there are a whole bunch of wealthy johns out there somewhere who continue to live large and pay well. So much for the victimless crime, Huh?

Al-Hayat, an Arab newspaper, now reports that Saddam Hussein wrote in his diary that he was concerned he’d get AIDS or some other disease after he was pulled from his spider hole and clapped in jail. He should have been concerned he’d get his picture slapped on the cover of The Sun of him standing around in his drawers …

… and I’ve gone and done it again. Nightmares.

This just in … oil has passed $123 a barrel (this figure changes by the hour) … $200 a barrel on the horizon. Enjoy your Hummers (or have I already done that joke?).

Big breakthrough in global warming … the earth is indeed heating up, but it’s not from greenhouse gasses or even cow poots. The hot air is being generated by Hollywood celebs who have gone green. The end is, indeed, near.

Okay, okay … Hollywood celebs, with the exception of Ed Begley, Jr. The guy was green when green wasn’t cool.

Oh, wait a minute … green still ain’t cool.

I want to close this week with an example of idiocy personified (Mel Griffith not withstanding). A guy in Texas wanted to start a record company so he wrote himself a check for $360 billion. Yes I said billion. On his girlfriend’s mother’s bank account. Now, I’ll go ahead and tell you this for free ~ it’s pretty much a given you won’t get away with a harebrained scheme like that. Odds are real good you’ll end up going to jail behind it. But if you’re going to try it anyway, here’s a tip: Leave your weed at home. Or at least leave it in the car. Don’t bring it into the bank with you like the guy in Texas did cause if you ask a teller to cash a check for $360 billion, the cops will pull you out of line and shake you down. And you can take that to the bank. So to speak.