Operation Gratitude Care Package Weekend!

Thursday, December 25, 2014

Rule 5 Rednex— Pop in an Oak!

Rule 5 Christmas

Why Is The Greatest Christmas Movie of All Time Being Suppressed?

Grandma Got Indefinitely Detained... A TSA Christmas!

I'll Be Home for Christmas

Bubba J's Road Kill Christmas

Rule 5 Christmas

The Night the Greens Stole Christmas

Larry the Cable Guy, Night Before Christmas!



Christmas — The Prayers Don't Change....


Merry Christmas, One and All...

" It was Christmas in 1914, 96 long years ago, and World War I, the “war to end war” raged through Europe. In Belgium and France, in what in later years would come to be known as “Flanders Field,” British soldiers fought against the German soldiers.
    The conditions couldn’t have been worse for these men, on either side of this war.  The trenches were so thick with mud, so deep, so damp and cold that the soldiers could have frozen to death, let alone be killed by the constant shelling or from other weapons of war. Each soldier had but one duty: kill the other man. The very idea of peace, even a simple truce was the farthest thing from any man’s mind.
    Yet that was exactly what happened at Christmas — peace broke out. With a vengeance. The Berkshire Regiment had been fighting with the XIX Corps of the German Army. Suddenly, small pine trees began appearing on top of the trenches were the German soldiers were. Odd, the Berkshire Regiment must have thought..."

Friday, November 14, 2014

Well, Shit...

Went into the men's room in a certain chain store today that is the economic linchpin of my little town.

Turned the corner into the men's room...

...and droplets and puddles of blood everywhere; in the midle of puddles of clear fluid on the floor, on the sink counter, on the urinal...

So I extracted ASAPest and notified store personnel...who took one look and locked up the bathroom.

Remind me how we don't need to be worried again...

Some Good Medical News...

Went to the cardiologist for a follow-up on my heart ablation.  We did an EKG...and the PVCs (premature ventricular contractions, where the chambers of the heart beat out of sequence and in my case actually against each other)...were gone.  Completely.  Apparently getting a hot wire run up from my groin to the inside of my heart to burn little bits out of it worked.

Of course my heart is still badly enlarged and functioning way, way, way below normal but this is a positive sign.  They're going to keep me on the portable defribrillator for another three months, to see if the heartbeat remains stable, at the end of which we will see if the heart has regained any meaningful amount of function and whether or not I will need to go the full Cheney.  (Odds are I will have to, in any case, but still any progress is encouraging.)

Friday, October 17, 2014

Not Every Texas Hospital is Dallas Presbyterian...

So, as I've mentioned in a few places before, I've had myself a little medical adventure.

But to tell the truth, I thought I was on top of it, watching my caffeine, exercising, keeping half an eye on what I eat.  I kept seeing my doctor and my cardiologist, even got an audio echocardiogram (like a sonogram for your heart, they watch it while it's working, very cool).

But somewhere between the audio echocardiogram and two Fridays ago, something changed.

I had been having respiratory problems for a few weeks, that I ascribed to the changing seasons (Spring cedar blooming in TX kicked my ass).  But it didn't get better, to the point where I couldn't sleep at night because I couldn't lay or sit down and breathe.  Deborah finally dragged me down to our doctor, the one who had recommended our cardiologist.  He ran an EKG and promptly pulled out his telephone.

"You could probably get there alright if Deborah drove you," he said, "but I'd feel better if there were a couple of medical professionals with you..." So I wound up in an ambulance headed for Methodist Texsan (sic) Hospital in San Antonio.

Turns out that my "irregular heartbeat" was a massive dose of PVC's (premature ventricular contractions) in my lower heart chambers which were majorly interfering with the passage of  blood from the upper chambers, and my heart was working at between 15 and 20% efficiency.  Along the way it had expanded from "slightly enlarged" in CA to two and a half times its normal size and my "allergies" were in fact pulmonary edema.

So I'm flat on my back for a week with an oxygen feed up my nose while some very capable people did a hell of a job on my decaying carcass.

Their first procedure was to run a camera up the femoral artery from my groin straight into my heart, where they isolated the specific points in my two lower chambers that were sparking the worst of the PVC's.  It's a weird feeling laying there watching the monitors (I was under sedation but wakefulness under sedation runs in my family) as these wires wiggle around inside your beating heart.  They identified the specific points they were looking for, and a few days later (symmetry is everything), they went back in on the other side of the groin and up the other femoral artery.

And I lay there and watched them methodically burn out little bits of my heart that were producing the worst of the PVC's.  And I'm sorry, but sedation or no sedation I could feel some of them, as in "OK.  Ow. Ow. Ow."  Finally they were done and pulled back out.

The procedure was a success, insofar as the number of PVC's was drastically reduced.  I spent another week in the hospital while we watched to see if they had stabilized and getting fitted with a Zoll Life Vest, an external defibrillator/monitor you wear.  If my heart gets too far out of line, it will give me one minute's warning and then tase my ass, resulting in a) my heart stabilizing at least long enough for emergency treatment and b) dropping me like a pole-axed steer.  I won't be driving for a while.

I wear the vest for three months while we evaluate the heart's progress, (there's a slight chance I might even regain some heart function) at the end of which, either it will have improved enough to control with medication, or we go to an implanted defribrillator and the full Cheney...
Needless to say, I am grateful beyond words to the staff of Methodist Texsan, and even further so to Deborah for dragging me to the doctor when she did.

The staff was absolutely outstanding, I cannot say enough about their skill and professionalism.  If I had had this experience at County USC in LA, I'm reasonably sure I'd be dead by now.

Tuesday, September 23, 2014


While I was at the Medina County Fair down here in Texas this weekend, I happened to pass the Texas Democrats' campaign booth, where bitter looking older folk were lecturing puzzled adolescents.

They have apparently adopted the slogans of  Battleground Texas, the "grass roots" organizing movement that is campaigning for and funneling out of state money into campaigns like abortion diva Wendy Davis's, to save the womenfolk and children from being slung out of public school by their hair or something.  That slogan: "Turn Texas Blue."

Well, the simple eloquence of that just won me over, and it got me to thinking, how else could we help these plucky underdogs and babykillers with their noble quest.

So I came up with a few ideas;

Our devoted readers are invited to add suggesttions in the comments as to what other things the Texas Democrats might turn Texas into (the first person who says "a newt" gets sent to the border to watch for incoming Priuses and Subarus with "Coexist" bumper stickers).

Sunday, September 21, 2014

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Saturday, September 6, 2014

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Tuesday, August 26, 2014


Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Deborah Leigh: Good News and Bad News...

"Sleep well, America... Your TSA is on the job!"

Well, we got Deborah Leigh to the airport, at least (LAX, United terminal).  Thank you so much to everybody who chipped in to get Deborah home for the funeral.

Then the TSA stepped in.

Now understand, Deborah Leigh is about four and a half feet tall.  She can walk maybe fifty feet unassisted because of knee injuries she sustained in the Army (second to last cycle of WAC's before they phased them out.)  She's in an airport wheelchair being pushed by an airline attendant.

So TSA descends on this obvious security threat, pulls her aside for a search... and discovers, to the nation's horror, that she's carrying a nonregulation amount of toothpaste.  This offense against All That Is Decent and True and Paid Too Much to Wear a Cheap Blue Blazer cannot stand.  So they want her to wheel all the way back down to check in, secure the menacing hygiene product in an approved manner, check the bag in, and then get trundled back through the whole security process all over again. Apparently the task of securing the toothpaste and the luggage then and there is beyond the skills of our crack gate guardians, and besides, they don't keep the security zip ties up where the security searches are actually done.

How do I know this?  I know this because I got a phone call from Deborah half an hour before her flight as she's sitting there literally surrounded by these dimwitted dogberries and cloth-headed catchpoles, loudly informing me that she's not giving up her toothpaste and loudly informing them that her boyfriend's a blogger and he's going to tell the world about this (Note: Hello, again, Janet Napolitano) while I tell her to just throw the toothpaste away.  But Deborah's very particular about her toothpaste...

UPDATE: After a fun evening without a word after that, I learn this morning that Deborah is safe on the ground in Philadelphia.  We did our job, gang.  Philadelphia.... well, Philly's on its own.

In retrospect, I feel a little guilty now about joking, "She's Homeland Security's problem now," after I finished scheduling and booking her flights...

I'm keeping the bleg going for the time being.(UPDATE: BLEG FINISHED.  THANK YOU)  Deb's tickets are squared away coming and going, but I'd like to see if we can't put up a couple of bucks to help balance lost work days she really can't afford — also, in case any of you in the tiny minority that's ever been hassled by TSA wants to show a little solidarity...

Yes, sleep well, America...


Sunday, June 1, 2014

Sunday, May 25, 2014

Saturday, March 29, 2014

Saturday, March 22, 2014

Monday, March 17, 2014

Another Eurosocialist Success Story -- Paddy Goes A-Begging! — UPDATED

The Irish, who once described themselves with bitter defiance as "the niggers of Europe", have decided to up their game.  Now they want to be Europe's Mexicans, as Ireland, once the economic success story of the new Europe in the 80's, is reduced to begging its 70 million emigrés to send money back to the mother country impoverished by its statist, collectivist government policies.
"Welcome to my world, amigo..."
Now sure and one's heart is warmed, achushla, by the notion of shamrock-bedecked cambios springing up around the world, offering Erse Gaelic international phone cards and easy money transfers to the Gaeltacht, just as the dear little NORAID boxes littered the tops of every Mick bar from New York to Boston and all the rednosed sots would gladly chip in a few bucks for 'the lads', er, the distressed folk of Belfast back in the 70's, yet it's hoping I am that the Irish Goverment has something in the way of a plan with more meat to it.

And Jesus, Mary and Joseph set a flower upon my head if they do not indeed.  It's a grand meeting they've hosted, and wasn't it chaired by the Taoiseach himself, Brian Cowen, and Minister for Foreign Affairs Michael Martin. Out of the 70 million expatriates in the Irish Diaspora, they've gone and summoned home no less than 180 of them, all "leading figures" in philanthropy, education, arts and "culture"... oh, and about 20 men of business... to solve the Old Sod's financial woes.

And while true it is that the grand affair was closed to the press, it's nevertheless known that some of those grubby-handed tradesmen, the likes of Intel's blackhearted former Chief Executive Craig Barrett, missed the point entire so they did with their complaints about Ireland's levels of education and investment in research and development, yet didn't the rest of them come up with some grand plans!

Ireland must build a website!  The Irish around the world are sorely needing reminding of their Irish culture in the minds of these great men (and a whole 20 women, such a grand ornament the little dears made), as though the Irish were not the only people in the world Deadheads and Trekkies can say need to broaden their interests more.

Ireland must build the world's greatest university of the arts! cried International Investment and Underwriting Chair Dermot Desmond, for sure and all it's true there's nought in more demand in the world's job markets than art majors.  And after all, it's not as though the bards weren't having the bankrupting and ruining of Irish culture the last time they were in power.

We should sell Irish bonds, as the Israelis do! was the cry, but Minister Martin demurred, on the grounds that Israel had an economy that could actually pay bonds back, and, after all, weren't they Israelis? Surely we had to keep up some standards!

We must monetize Irish culture! cried Dermot Desmond, and doesn't that just conjure up marvelous visions of Michael Flatley leading a line of stepdancers past the carbombs down to the police station where they can inform on each other?

And so and all, the artists said we must give more money to the artists, and the educators said we must give more money to the educators, the men of "culture" said we must have more money for "culture," and the men of business, the black thieves and the back of my hand to them, were excoriated for not making more money for the artists and educators and the men of "culture".

And in the end, the grand government and intellectuals were left with some idea of asking the Irish in the rest of the world to pay for their mistakes.

The only problem with that grand plan, do you see now, is that thanks to the grandest Irishman of them all, Barack O'Bama, there's no more money to be had...

Oh, well, no doubt the EU will bail the wee lads out.  It's strange they didn't ask them first...

UPDATE: The Irish Prime Minister himself has proudly come to the United States, hat in hand, bravely begging Mr. Obama to grant amnesty to 50,000 Irish illegal emigrants heroic emigrants.  Pandering Paul Ryan, everyone's favorite  RINO and apparently the Senator for County Cavan as well and all, has promised Irish immigration emigration activists that he will work towards that goal as forthrightly as he represents the people who voted for him, the gallant fellow.

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Seems Like Old Times...

— Casey Stengel

Thursday, February 6, 2014


Thousands of Texans went to work and school today in defiance of a night of frozen hell as hailstones the size of hail punished this once-temperate state.

The brutal Arctic storm tormented the residents of placid Medina County, long in the throes of a drought, with a, well, hail of water too hard and cold to farm with.

 Hailstones the size of hail—mothers, avert your eyes!

The embattled Texans responded by climbing into their pickups, semis, tractors and schoolbuses and going about their business with a puzzling lack of media attention, filing the Gaian affront under "If it ain't one damn thing..."

Sunday, January 26, 2014


Female Interrogators Want You To Stop Hitting On Them, It’s Getting Out Of Hand Now

By  | 
Sierra Vista, AZ – From dealing with uncooperative detainees during interrogation to piecing together critical intelligence, military interrogators have experienced it all. But the experience for female interrogators is sometimes even tougher. Some have said they’ve had enough.
“Look, I know we’re supposed to be all about human behavior, but this is getting out of hand,” says SPC Holly McWhite, a 23 year-old 5’8” 36-24-36 blonde-haired, blue-eyed,  Human Intelligence (HUMINT) Collector with the 309th Military Intelligence Battalion.
McWhite expresses a common complaint of a female typically practicing the craft of a HUMINT professional: Male soldiers cannot apparently distinguish between illicitation from a female to a female ”being into you”, as McWhite phrases it.

Read more: http://www.duffelblog.com/2012/04/female-interrogators-want-you-to-stop-hitting-on-them/#ixzz2rjCM0wop

For rest of article, read Duffelblog!

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

List of Information, Implication and Insinuation

Three Beers Later!

    follow me on Twitter

    Blog Archive