Troops -

Item from News of the Weird:  Death Row Living

In Orange County, CA, Billy Joe Johnson, who had just been convinced of murder as a hit man for a white supremacist gang, begged the judge and jury, in all sincerity, to sentence him to death.  Johnson knew that those on California’s death row get individual cells and better telephone access, nicer contact-visit arrangements, and more personal-property privileges than ordinary inmates. The Los Angeles Times reported that the state’s spending per death-row inmate is almost three times that for other inmates.  The current death-row census totals 685, but because of legal issues, only 13 have been executed since 1977 (compared to 71 death-row fatalities from other causes).  In fact, Johnson was so eager to be put on death row that he tried to confess to two murders that no one yet knew about.

(I now have a Plan B for my retirement.)

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Jon: It’s good to be alive.
Garfield:  I agree – not great. “Good.”

(Garfield is the most widely syndicated comic strip in the country.  Sales of Garfield merchandise is between $750 million and one billion dollars ANNUALLY.)

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From a good, thoughtful essay by Julia Baird in a recent Newsweek, a citation of Mahatma Gandhi’s list of mankind’s seven social sins: commerce without morality, politics without principle, wealth without work, pleasure without conscience, education without character, science without humanity, and worship without sacrifice.

The full essay is here, and repays a read. Continue Reading

I’m back. As you know, I been out the last few weeks. Some folks wondered if I was sick or on vacation or back in jail. But I wasn’t none of those things. I was here, watching TV, eating snacks. I just didn’t feel like foolin with y’all, so I pawned off some of the old columns on you instead. S’ara problem with that? Well, is there? Okay then, without further adieu, I bring you another original installment of “Out Of My Mind” ~ the column that’s not afraid to ask the question, “S’ara problem with that? Well, is there?”

My and your new bill for our share of the national debt is up over a hundred grand apiece now. No prob. Just put it on your credit card and forget about it. It’s working for Congress, it oughta work for us, too. Big spenders say, “Hey, it’s only money.” The rest of us say, “Hey, it’s only plastic.” Anyway, living within your means is soooo yesterday, you know what I’m sayin? If we’re gonna do that we might as well go back to horse-drawn wagons and shooting our own food and cooking it in big pots in the fireplace and doing our business in old wooden privies with half moons cut into the door. What was I talking about?

Stuart Smalley offers this assessment of junior senator Al Franken: “He’s not good enough, he’s not smart enough and, doggone it, people don’t like him.”

Went to a Muslim soirée last weekend. Invitation said BYOB, so I brought a quart of vodka. Serious faux pas. Evidently, to Islams, BYOB doesn’t mean “bring your own booze,” it means “bring your own bomb.” Other than that, the party was a blast. I say, the party was a blast. Hello? (tap! tap!) Is this thing on? Can you hear me in the back?

I want to clear something up about when Michelle Obama said, “For the first time in my adult life, I am proud of my country.” I heard Bill O’Reilly the other week say she didn’t really mean that. That it was just a “slip of the tongue.” Okay, two points. First point: Every time I hear some goofball going on about how Bill O’Reilly is a shill for the Republican party it’s obvious they only know the man through edited sound bites. Second point: It was not a slip of the tongue, it was part of her speech. And she said it twice. During a speaking engagement in Milwaukee on February 18, 2008, she said, quote, “For the first time in my adult life, I am proud of my country.” Later that same day in Madison at another speaking engagement, she said, quote, “For the first time in my adult life, I am really proud of my country.” Only difference in the two is the second time she added the word “really” … for the first time she was really proud of her country. A written speech, my peeps, does not constitute a slip of the tongue. And Bill O’Reilly? How about you stop kowtowing.

Hey, there’s O’Reilly a word for the day … “kowtow.” It’s a Chinese word, means to grovel. Naw, you’d be surprised how many folks hear that word and think it means to either tow a cow or toe a cow, depending on what part of Texas you’re from.

From the Net: “Note to President Obama….Jimmy Carter called, he wants his incompentance back!” ~ posted by Disco, hotlineoncall.com, February 8, 2010, 1:25 p.m.

Yeah, hah, Jimmy Carter. Talk about your malaise and misery index. But you can’t really blame Jimmy. Not when it’s so much easier to blame Bush.

Rahm Emanuel had to apologize for calling liberals “f—ing retarded.” I think he might’a been on to something, but he could have chosen his words better. Anyway, it’s not Rahm’s fault, he suffers from short guy syndrome, so cut him some slack. Guy spent his whole life getting his head shoved into a toilet so when he grew up he decided the best way to prove his manhood was to become a ballerina. He’s using that same logic today to advise the president. You know his brother, Ezekiel, is one of those uberliberals who would see the mentally challenged ~ “retards” to Rahm,  “valueless citizenry” to Ezekiel ~ sent to one of Sarah’s death panels. Good times, good times.

You know, if I was gonna grade the 21st Century, I’d have to give it a C. Ten years in, first decade down, I gotta say I’m not that impressed. Started right off the bat with 9/11 and it’s been downhill ever since. I give it a C so far. No, you know what? Make it a C-.

It is amazing what you can find when you have a few inside sources. Here, Congressional candidate Robin “Medusa” Smith seems very chummy in the old days before the passing of the most liberal guy in politics; aka, the “Lion of the Senate.”

Now she extols how “Republican” she is and that not one of the candidates is as Republican as she is. She cloaks herself as a working mom that has been in the business community and helping Republicans for 20+ years.

Truth be told, she has been an active member of the Big Medicine team and for years has been contributing to the overwhelming cost of medical care, peddling overpriced drugs to senior citizens and families that have been bankrupted by the high price of insurance and medical costs.

Phony,  ill-tempered, label-wearing Party Bosses need to go back to their Big Medicine. In the infamous words of Hillary Clinton: “Go home and bake some cookies.”  Oh, I forgot, Robin can’t cook. But she sure can stir the pot.

The above comment and all “Ear To The Ground” articles are submitted by our readers and in no way reflect the views, opinions or flavor preferences of HTC.

This report by the HTCNewshound has urgent news regarding local Bradley County Politics.

Lisa Stanbery, candidate for Bradley Mayor is brought to light as well as Congressional Candidate Sheriff Tim Gobble.

by Kenneth Balog

The latest project of the Clueless City Council to bite the dust concerns the traffic cameras that were supposed to end accidents and other violations on city streets.  Also, it has apparently become evident that the project has cost we taxpayers another bundle of money, rather than ease the burden of paying taxes in the first place.

So, are we going back to the days when police officers and deputies and constables issued traffic tickets for violations?  If so, wasn’t the idea of the cameras a waste of time and money?  Sure it was, and I wonder if the cuckoos on the Clueless council will admit that they made a mistake.  I wouldn’t bet on it.

I am not surprised that the Camera project failed, but I am surprised that no one has yet called for an audit or investigation of the financial part of the operation.  For some reason or another, I, being a suspicious sort of person, got a whiff of something rotten as far back as when members of the Council started batting the camera idea around.  Back then I wondered how the anticipated revenue would be spent or wasted.

Maybe waste is not the word needed to describe what happened to the money – that will take an audit, because, for some reason, when it comes to talking about the number of violations that were recorded by the cameras, city officials want to talk about speeding violations, which have nothing to do with the cameras.

Aside from the fact that confusing information has been published in a local newspaper, there hasn’t been much put out by the Council.  It is probably because the members of the Council don’t know what is happening, but I think someone has been manipulating the system.  The same way that the Mayor and the Council members have manipulated things to fund an airport, Greenbelt, mitigated wetlands and a bulldozer.

Like I say, I am not going to be surprised should an audit indicate that someone has dipped a finger in the Traffic Camera funds.  I am going to be surprised should an audit indicate that our local Utility is not somehow involved in funding part of the Camera Project.  Camera Collusion would be a fitting term.  Then again, maybe the Utility has ear-marked its surplus funds just for the Airport project, the Greenbelt project, a tree project or Wacker or Olin or  … !

I really don’t know.

Troops:

Uh oh:? ?I hope we shall crush in its birth the aristocracy of our moneyed corporations which dare already to challenge our government to a trial by strength and bid defiance to the laws of our country. – Thomas Jefferson

Did you notice a recent Supreme Court decision?? ?Actually, this points to the tragedy of the Tea Partiers. They have misdiagnosed the problem and misdirected their rage.  They think gubmint is the problem [the gospel of Saint Reagan]. ? ?The real problem is that “our” government is, at least by now, almost entirely owned by the corporations, via legal bribery: campaign financing, a problem made worse by the recent, hideous Supreme Court decision.? ?The Congress is to blame too, of course, by being willing to be bought off, right in front of God and everybody.  Totally shameless.  [And there ARE a few decent public servants in amongst them.] ??But the motive for the crimes being committed by government, against us, we the people, comes from Big Business. In the form of BIG MUNNAY.  ? ?In case you hadn’t noticed.

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Gubmint is the Problem

This morning I was awakened by my alarm clock powered by electricity generated by the public power monopoly regulated by the US Department of Energy.  I then took a shower in the clean water provided by the municipal water utility.  After that, I turned on the TV to one of the FCC-regulated channels to see what the National Weather Service of the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration determined the weather was going to be, using satellites designed, built, and launched by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration.  I watched this while eating my breakfast of US Department of Agriculture-inspected food and taking the drugs which have been determined as safe by the Food and Drug Administration.

Continue Reading

(JML should be back next week, but knowing him, there are no guarrantees. In the meantime, we dipped into the archive and pulled a column from October 12, 2005. It’s obviously a rip-off of a bit Dana Carvey used to do on Saturday Night Live, but JML don’t care. He lives by the credo, if stealing gags was good enough for Milton Berle it’s good enough for him.)

These kids today.What a bunch of spoiled rotten, mamby-pamby, ipod-toting, cellphone-talking sissies. They think they’ve got it soooo hard … bah! They don’t know what hard is! Why, when I was a kid ~ that was hard.

When I was a kid, we were raised on a diet of war, famine, pestilence and physical abuse and we liked it. When I was a kid our parents beat us bloody every morning just on general principle. Then we had to milk the cows, plow the back forty, paint the barn, re-shingle the roof, sew our own clothing and recite the Old Testament ~ all before breakfast. And we liked it. We loved it. Those were wonderful times and we didn’t care that life was hard.

Why, when I was a kid, I use to walk three thousand miles to school every day in the snow barefoot because I wanted to learn. I only lived two blocks from school but I intentionally walked in the opposite direction until I reached Poland, then I’d turn around and walk back because I was disciplined. I had moxie. Not like these spoiled brats today, always wanting somebody to do something for them, always complaining, always bored with their lives.

In my day we were never bored. We knew how to entertain ourselves. We didn’t have DVDs or computer games or big screen TV. No we didn’t and we didn’t miss them either because we had radios. Big old musty-smelling radios with the knobs falling off and we’d gather around them for hours listening to scratchy static and freezing to death because we also didn’t have any heat. And we didn’t care that we didn’t have any heat. It suited us fine. It suited us to a T. Heat was for sissies and we for sure weren’t no sissies.

Not like these sissies today with their bulimia and anorexia, worrying about being fat all the time. In my day we didn’t care if we were fat. Why, we wanted to be fat. The fatter the better. Big, bloated, cholesterol-choked slobs dying by the age of twelve with clogged arteries and we loved it. We weren’t afraid of death in those days. We welcomed it. Why, when I was a kid we tried to die, we wanted to die so our bodies could be left in the woods to be mauled and chewed by animals, and we took it like a man. Even the girls took it like a man.

Pets? Why, when I was a kid the only pet my parents could afford was a sack of hair. A little paper sack of hair and I named it Prince Hairy and it used to sleep with me in my little cardboard box. Yeah, I slept in a cardboard box and was grateful to have it. Did I say sleep? Why, when I was a kid we didn’t sleep, we just lay awake all night, rigid as little Supreme Court judges, because when I was a kid we had respect. Not like this bunch of little know-it-alls today, always talking back, always full’a sass.

When I was a kid if we spoke out of turn, our tongues were pulled from our mouths with old, rusty blacksmith tongs and we liked it. If we didn’t do our homework, we were covered in chicken gravy and thrown into the hog lot and we were glad to be there. It was no picnic when I was a kid, believe you me. We were beaten, slashed, eviscerated, flash-frozen, shot from canons  and eaten by hogs and we liked it. We loved it. We couldn’t get enough of it.

Yeah, we learned hard lessons in those days, lessons that lasted a lifetime and it never did us any harm. We never complained because we knew it was done out of love. Besides, complaining only got us 8,000 volts upside the head from a cattle prod. Back then, parents wanted what was best for their kids. Not like these girly man, SUV-driving, latte-drinking, soccer mom sissies today. So just quit your bellyaching why don’cha. You’ll get no sympathy from me. Bah!

Troops:

I know how much you enjoy being privy to my every passing thought.
["Privy" might not be the best choice of words.]

However, this will be a video heavy Bulletin.

Let’s start with this bit of craziness

As you listen to the German, “der Turm” means “the tower”, and “einen kopfstand” is “a headstand”….

Just watch.  You have to admire the commitment to conceive, and BUILD, and then actually execute this stunt.

This is very German – trust in engineering!  The announcer stands below the stunt the whole time.

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Darwin Was Wrong

I think Rickie Gervais pretty much destroys Evolutionary Theory in parts One and Two of this dissertation.  It’s Friday, so we have time.

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Phil 101

OK, seriously, this is my wheelhouse – Philosophy 101. [Call me butter, 'cause I'm on a roll.]

This series, via Harvard, is Excellent:  It’s a full-on, pointy-headed course about ethics and justice and moral reasoning.

If you watch nothing else, watch the first 30 minutes of Episode 1.  We first entertain a few hypothetical moral dilemmas regarding runaway trolleys and cannibalism, and then the prof delivers a Wonderful Warning about the Dangers of philosophy.  He is quite right.  God love him.

Episode 1. part 1, not to be missed

The entire course is here, and I’m totally loving it.  But it’s not everyone’s cuppa.

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There IS hope for the endangered species of the world, if only we humans will do our part.  Give until it hurts.

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Pottery

Now a wee smite o’ reading.

Remember poetry?

Ever been moved by it?

Here’s a poem from Hillary Anne Farley, age 5:

THIS IS A POEM
This is a poem about God looks after things:
He looks after lions, mooses and reindeer and tigers,
Anything that dies
And mans and little girls when they get to be old,
And mothers he can look after,
And God can look after many old things
That’s why I do this.

Here’s one from Debora Ensign, age 7

MIRROR!  MIRROR!
As I look into the mirror I see my face.
Then I play like I am in jail.
I pretend that I am bad.
I pretend sometimes that I am on a stage.
I sing to myself.  I introduce people.

From Ngaire Noffke, age 12

I shook his hand
I touched him
How proud I felt
He said, “Hello” softly
I lost my voice,
But in my mind I said everything.

Now comes one of my favorite poems of all time.  Read it and mull it over before you read my wee note that follows on it.

“Corbies” are ravens or crows ["cormorant" = "cor," crow, plus "mare," the Latin for sea [maritime, mariner] cor + mare = sea crow].  “Twa” is, of course, two, and a “hause-bane” is a breast bone.

THE TWA CORBIES  [by Anon]

As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies making a mane;
The tane unto the t’other say,
“Where sall we gang and dine today?”

“In behint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new-slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.

“His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady’s ta’en another mate,
So we may make our dinner sweet.

“Ye’ll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I’ll pick out his bonny blue een;
Wi’ ae lock o’ his gowden hair
We’ll theek our nest when it grows bare.

“Mony a one for him makes mane,
But none sall ken where he is gane;
O’er his white banes when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair.”

Now THAT, brethren and sistren, is some serious pottery!  [If you want a real treat, like dark chocolate, read it aloud, wi' yer best Scots accent.]

Nicely unsettling, and a fine, cold meditation on death.

But there’s more.

Here’s a wee note about what’s unspoken:

Naebody knows that our gowden-haired knight lies dead, hidden behind a dyke, except “his hound, his hawk, and lady fair.”  Well, if the knight went out hawking, his hawk and hound would be with him.  That’s how they’d know where he lies dead.  But his lady fair?  Who has ta’en another mate already, while the corpse of our “new-slain” knight is still fresh?  How would his lady know she was a widow, fit to marry again?

God be praised, ain’t poetry grand?
Nothing’s new ‘neath our good sun.
gh

(As you know, J. Michael is on holiday, as the Brits say, so we’re pulling some of his “classic” columns from the archives and re-running them. This column is from November 2000, right before the Bush-Gore presidential election. At that time, the Clinton administration had just announced an end to the long and costly War On Drugs and an emergency congress that convened in Geneva to negotiate the terms of surrender. As this column begins, the Drugs have already arrived and are waiting impatiently for the U.S. delegates …)

“Can you believe the nerve of the Americans,” snarled Cocaine, “making us wait like this?”

“Chill out, man,” said Heroin. “The war’s over …  snort another line …”

“We been twisting the DEA’s stick for over 30 years (snort!), through six administrations (snort!), and this lame duck Casanova in la Casa Blanca doesn’t even care enough to show up in person ~ just sends  that twitchy, Elian-nabbing Janet Reno. And she’s late.”

Marijuana nudged LSD and whispered, “Who’s he talking about, lame duck Casanova?”

“The U.S. president, you dork,” replied LSD.

“Oh,” said Marijuana thoughtfully. “You know ~ he was telling the truth … he really didn’t inhale.”

“Shhhyeah right,” scoffed X-tasy. “Pot, you are such a loser.”

“Well,” said Marijuana defensively, “At least I can lead to the hard stuff.”

LSD patted Marijuana on the back. “Look at it this way ~ at least you’re not Methadone.”

“Methadone,” snarled Heroin. “I’d like to kick his sorry …”

But at that moment, Janet Reno and the DEA entered the room and were seated. Getting right down to it, Reno said, “Well, I guess you know why we’re here.”

“Yeah,” snapped Cocaine. “We’re here to clean up Nixon’s mess. He’s the one started this war. Man even had Elvis working for him and you know that ain’t right.”

“I miss Elvis,” replied Reno wistfully. “But as to the matter at hand, the terms for your surrender are unconditional. You are to lay down arms and cease all hostilities immediately. Your cartels will be dismantled, your weapons destroyed and your ring leaders prosecuted before an international tribunal …”

“Hold on a minute,” Cocaine interrupted. “What are you talking about, surrender? You think we’re here to surrender?!”

“Haven’t you heard the official announcement?” Reno asked him. “We’ve won the war on drugs.”

“Izzat right?” snarled Cocaine. “You trying to clown me? You tell your boss we won this war. We’re here to accept his surrender, not the other way around.”

“Oh, be reasonable,” pleaded Reno. “The poor man needs a legacy. So what if he’s a philanderer? He didn’t do anything that every other man in the world hasn’t done a thousand times before.”

“What do I care for some gringo putz’s legacy?” sneered Cocaine. “Your country can’t function without drugs and you know it …  hell, half your government’s on something. You think we’re here to surrender, you’re dumber’n you look.”

“Yeah,” snickered LSD, “and you look pretty dumb.”

“Alright,” sighed Reno. “Things are getting a little tense … before we say something we’ll regret, maybe we should take a smoke break … have a cigarette and relax.”

“Talk about your double standard,” said Marijuana.

Cocaine motioned everyone down. “We’re not taking any smoke breaks …  we’re going to settle this now.”

“Well, how about a cease-fire?” suggested Reno. “Just until the first of the year. Clinton’s gone, you can do what you want.”

Cocaine smiled. “We already do what we want. You got to come up with something better’n that.”

“We’ll throw in Nancy Reagan.”

“I believe I’ll Just Say No.”

“Well,” said Reno. “I’m all out of ideas.”

“How about we arm wrestle for it?” suggested the DEA.

Heroin laughed. “What do you think we been doing the last 30 years?”

“Well,” said Reno, getting up from the table. “I knew this wouldn’t work. I’m sick of Clinton’s crap. The election’s over and I’m out of a job anyway.”  She left the room.

“The election’s over?” asked Marijuana.

“Hah,” jeered Crack  “That makes seven administrations.”

“Now what?” cooed X-tasy.

“Well, we’re in Geneva,” winked  Cocaine. “Might as well do the town …”