ON VACATION - BLOGGING WILL BE LIGHT - IF AT ALL
And The Carnage Continues...
The Left LOVES machineguns –– in the hands of terrorists, dissidents, pirates, thieves, and marauders of all kinds –– ANYONE who UPENDS GOOD ORDER and DESTABILIZES the STATUS QUO –– , but absolutely CAN'T STAND the idea that any decent, law-abiding Americn Citizen should have guns in his home to PROTECT HIMSELF and HIS FAMILY from ATTACK by those very fiends whom the Left so ADORES. FreeThinke 2/15/18 Yesterday another mass shooting occurred at a Broward County Florida High School. 17 studends lay dead, senselessly cut down before they had an opportunity to fulfill their promise, start a family, enjoy life, and grow old. America, alledgedly the greatest nation on earth also has approximately 350 million guns in circulation. Not surprising, the death rate due to firearms in the U.S. is nearly double the global average . In the aftermath of each and every terrible gun related tragedy the nation grieves, politicians offer their heartfelt condolences, then politicians debate the ...
pppppffffffffffffftttttttttt....waz this 'vacation' schtick? Youse probly just in the basement drinking beer and eating crackers and sardines.
ReplyDeleteGosh, how did ya guess? Planned to do that after arriving back home from the beer and sausage fest. :-)
DeleteIs it a VAcation or a STAYcation?
ReplyDelete1/2 and 1/2.
DeleteOr a praycation? Like not, given your stance on religion.;-)
ReplyDeleteI plan to pray to the gods of reason and logic over beer and sausage that republicans, democrats, conservatives, and progressives start looking beyond the absurd.
ReplyDeleteI know, this will happen when the god of lslam and the god of christianity start getting along.
Looking forward to the beer and sardines.
Sardines? Reminds me of this poem by Frank O'Hara:
ReplyDeleteWHY I AM NOT A PAINTER
I am not a painter, I am a poet.
Why? I think I would rather be
a painter, but I am not. Well,
for instance, Mike Goldberg
is starting a painting. I drop in.
"Sit down and have a drink" he
says. I drink; we drink. I look
up. "You have SARDINES in it."
"Yes, it needed something there."
"Oh." I go and the days go by
and I drop in again. The painting
is going on, and I go, and the days
go by. I drop in. The painting is
finished. "Where's SARDINES?"
All that's left is just
letters, "It was too much," Mike says.
But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, of how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven't mentioned
orange yet. It's twelve poems, I call
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery
I see Mike's painting, called SARDINES.
--Frank O'Hara
I like the ones with mustard.
Deleteya, I like dem mustard sardines too, but Shaw, was alla dis Orange stuff?
ReplyDeletesee, I am not a painter, I am not a poet.... I am a jokester
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Orange.
Orange who?
Orange you going to let me in?