If you’re in the mood for a thought-provoking Veterans Day post, may I suggest these stark, elegiac, and heterodox musings from the inimitable Doghouse Riley. Any elaboration on my part would merely be texture-coating the lily, so instead, let me turn from the wind-blown poppies of Flanders fields to the trenches of Townhall, and hark as the Frappacino-stained soldiers of the War of Ideas pause to salute the living and honor the dead…
We begin with an oral history of the Greatest Generation, entitled, “The Battle of the Crabby Old Men with Short Attention Spans: Burt Prelutsky vs. Grandpa Simpson”
Still and all, there are a number of mysteries even I can’t figure out. For example, why doesn’t everyone love dogs? I’m not saying I hold dogs dearer than my wife and friends, but, on average, I like strange dogs better than I like strange people. For one thing, they’re friendlier. For another, none of them will be voting for Hillary Clinton.
Another thing that confounds me on a regular basis is when American blacks insist that whites are racist. After all, I don’t see whites marching in the streets every time some white thug is arrested. But the only reason that blacks ever demonstrate is to indicate solidarity with the likes of Rodney King, O.J. Simpson, Michael Vick or the punks known as the Jena Six.
That brings us to coffee … Recently, having to kill some time between appointments, I stopped at a Starbuck’s. Frankly, I was shocked at the prices they were asking for what is essentially colored water. I ordered either a grande, a gargantuan or a humongous, but it was, needless to say, the smallest size they had. Still, I got very little change for my five dollar bill.
You see, back in those days, rich men would ride around in Zeppelins, dropping coins on people, and one day I seen J. D. Rockefeller flying by. So I run of the house with a big washtub and… hey! Where are you going? … Anyway, about my washtub. I’d just used it that morning to wash my turkey, which in those days was known as… a walking bird. We’d always have walking bird on Thanksgiving with all the trimmings: cranberries, injun eyes, yams stuffed with gunpowder. Then we’d all watch football, which in those days was called “baseball”… … Eh, why didn’t you get something useful, like storm windows, or a nice pipe organ? I’m thirsty! Ew, what smells like mustard? There’re sure a lot of ugly people in your neighborhood. Oh! Look at that one. Ow, my glaucoma just got worse. The president isn’t Democrat! Hello? I can’t unbuckle my seat belt. Hello? [honks car horn] There are too many leaves in your walkway…
Well you’re really asking two questions there. The first one takes me back to 1934. Admiral Burn had just reached the pole, only hours ahead of the Three Stooges… … and I guess he won the argument, but I walked away with the turnips. The following morning I resigned my commission with the coastguard. The next thing I knew there was civil war in Spain… … and, that’s everything which happened in my life right up to the time I got this phone call…
Three wars back we called Sauerkraut “liberty cabbage” and we called liberty cabbage “super slaw” and back then a suitcase was known as a “Swedish lunch box.” Of course, nobody knew that but me. Anyway, long story short… is a phrase whose origins are complicated and rambling…
Nearly 20 years ago, the Berlin Wall finally came tumbling down. If Humpty Dumpty had been foolish enough to sit on it, that’s where he would have had his fatal fall.
And if he’d been foolish enough to sit on a levee during Hurricane Katrina, he would have had his fall there, and gotten wet. Whereas if he’d been smart enough to sit on the structurally stable Great Wall of China, he would have been forced to jump, which would have made it much harder to get the insurance company to pay off.
It was a defining moment for mankind, exposing the ultimate failure of the brutal and goofy Marxist economic system.
As many East Berliners were heard to remark during the heyday of the Democratic German Republic, “You know what bothers me most about the regime? It’s not the privation or oppression, the total absence of civil liberties, the choking atmosphere of suspicion and paranoia, or the constant threat of arbitrary arrest and execution. It’s just…the whole place is so darn goofy!”
For the record, I am opposed to Martin Luther King, Jr. Day as a national holiday in the month of January or, for that matter, any other month.
For the record, I’m not exactly flabbergasted.
It isn’t that I oppose a national holiday celebrating the legacy of America’s greatest civil rights leader. I just don’t believe that King was our greatest civil rights leader. I believe that distinction belongs to John Browning.
The militant abolitionist? Well, that’s sort of in keeping with the civil rights theme of the day, but I hardly think he’s more deserving than Martin Luther — Oh wait.
Since John Moses Browning was born on January 23rd, 1855, it will be easy to make the transition from a Martin King to a John Browning national holiday. And it will be educational, too. Many gun owners are unaware that Browning sold 44 guns to Winchester including the Model 94 level action repeater. Guns based on the Model 94 design and chambered in 30-30 have probably killed more deer in North America than any other model before or since.
Free at last, free at last, thank God I’m free at last to gun down free-range ungulates on an industrial scale and strap them to the roof of my Chevy Suburban!
Few Colt owners have had a chance to shoot the .30 and .50 caliber machine guns or 37-mm aircraft cannon.
But those who have will tell you quite frankly that it kicks passive resistance in the nads!
Today’s “civil rights” movement has become a disgrace largely because it is based on the idea that people are entitled to things they did not earn through the fruits of their own labor.
How many of those crybabies who were unlawfully struck from the voter rolls in Florida in 2000 actually put quill to paper and wrote the 14th Amendment?! Huh? I didn’t think so…
Dr. King was a success largely because he relied on the ideas of his predecessors. And, indeed, his reliance on the teachings of Jesus and Gandhi were responsible for stopping a lot of unnecessary bloodshed. But Browning was a true innovator. Indeed, when Winchester was insisting that his first shotguns should be of lever action design, Browning was pushing hard for the mass production of his pump action design.
Remember kids, the auto-loading shotgun beats Jesus every time. Think about that the next time you’re playing Quake and uncertain about which one to pick up.
It should go without saying that the fully automatic weapons of John Browning helped to win World War I. Years later the Associated Press would reveal that Browning accepted $750,000 from the government for his inventions and time combined. Had he charged the government the standard royalty rate he would have earned over $12,700,000. How long has it been since an American civil rights leader placed his country’s interests above his own financial well-being?
And when we recall that Dr. King sold the movie rights to Letter From Birmingham Jail for a cool million to Universal Pictures (which adapted it into the 1969 Don Knotts vehicle, The Love God?), it’s not too hard to see who’s occupying the moral high ground here.
Dr. Adams will speak at Bucknell University on Thursday November 15th, at 7 p.m. in the Olin Science Lecture Hall, room 268.
Following the presentation, Dr. Adams will be mobbed outside Olin Hall by angry feminists, dogmatic liberal academics, and ugly lesbians, who will verbally assault him with straight lines that he will greet with devastating and witty ripostes later in the evening as he masturbates back in his motel room.
I’ve already had enough of Hillary. I’m sick of seeing that chick.
I’m totally gonna break up with her in a text.
Forget her communistic bent, her virulent anti-Americanisms and her anti-Christian crapola.
Oh, she’s a communist now? I thought the problem was that she made too much money in cattle futures and shady real estate deals. And I’d be genuinely interested in seeing a litany of her “anti-Christian crapola,” because from all appearances, Doug, she spends more time in Church than you do. And you work there.
She’s become the OJ of DC to me (i.e. way too much of her mug and machinations on my TV) … The OJ comparison was a bad analogy though, eh?
Actually, it was above average, for you. But since your ear for analogies and metaphors has been lovingly hand-hammered from the finest Bolivian tin, there’s got to be a “joke” coming…
There were only two people who died around The Juice. I believe the Clintons have around 40 plus and counting who have mysteriously dropped dead around them. Anyway, back to my angst with Hillary.
Yes, Ms. Clinton has been an uninvited guest in my life for far too long. I cannot imagine having to stomach her and her blah blah blah for another decade. Another %$#@&% decade?!? Argh! Please God . . . don’t let it happen! I swear I’ll be good . . . I wont cuss anymore . . . I’ll up my tithe. C’mon Yahweh. Show some love.
I’ve just been handed a note from God…He would like us to remind Doug that you get love when you give love. Also, that He’s not fooled by the random-symbols-in-place-of-profanity thing, and He’d really like it if Doug would stop taking His name in vain, because it sets a bad example for Doug’s flock at Our Lady of No Services Today Because An Herbalife Conference Has Booked The Room.
Seriously, I experience physical pain when I see her. Yep, when she queues up and starts her soulless, monotonous monologues about how she wants to trash our nation like Mickey Rourke is doing his liver, I get that same feeling that I had the other day after I ate that last bean burrito that had been under a heat lamp for 37 hours at the Chevron gas station.
Fortunately, Doug doesn’t believe in evolution, so he knows that salmonella is just a myth pushed by the refrigeration lobby.
Having said that, I really don’t want to see Bill again unless it’s at an anti-Hillary rally after he’s been freshly divorced from Rodham, he and Monica have gotten back together, and he’s smoking a big fat stogie down here on Lincoln Road.
I understand why Doug calls it “a big fat stogie,” but I don’t quite get “Lincoln Road.” Don’t they usually call that “the Hershey Highway?”
None of my liberal male friends down here in Miami are even remotely excited about voting for Hillary and having her shrill backside wielding a whiny scepter over the United States.
Backside, scepter…we get it, Doug, we get it!
If they wanted that they’d go home to their yarbling liberal wives.
Doug is jealous because his wife won’t yarble.
Posted by scott on Monday, November 12th, 2007 at 10:54 pm.