Vote Republican. Cling to your God and Guns.

27 April 2006


Go to this place for a good laugh.

I went there on the advice of Lee, over at Right Thinking. He kills me...


I was talking to a buddy today who lives outside of Houston and he told me about this story ...

As I said before, you cannot make shit like this up...

While the article did say that it was a PVC pipe, it did not say that it was a 2 INCH PVC PIPE!!!

The victim is not expected to live; I can only hope that the perpetrators get a similar experience in prison... Young boys like that = new meat...


Help a guy out

Go here, and you will have done your job.

That's it! Of course, after reading why at the site, you'll feel good aboutyourself for performing a vital service...

Thanks to Kim, who is one of my heroes, anyway.

How true!

Got this from MREeater. Some have some humor, but the truth sometimes hurts!!!

The New Holocaust by Ben Shapiro

is here. If you are not going to Townhall on a regualr basis, you are pretty much not getting all the information you need...

Mike S. Adams, Ann Coulter, Michelle Malkin are just the tip of the iceberg there.

The article by Shapiro tells us what happens when we sit by the sidelines and watch...

I saw first hand the tools the Nazis used when I was in Germany. I visited Dachau 3 times (with 3 different sets of friends/relatives), and it never failed to both move me and literally give me chills (I swear it dropped 10 degrees as soon as I walked through the gates).

Never Again, indeed.

15 April 2006

I lost a friend

I found out today that one of my best friends I had while I was in the Army was killed last week.

Ironically, I had sent him an email yesterday to wish him a Happy Birthday (he would have been 37 Monday). His wife, Janna, saw the email and called me to let know the news. Devastated does not begin to describe how I feel.

SFC Richard Flick was a great guy, and an unbelievable soldier. He took care of his men, without fail. When I deployed with him to NTC in 1992, he and I had to clean one of the vehicles that we used during the rotation. He and I waited in line for about 6 hours (in the middle of the night) to get a shot at the wash rack, just talking and sleeping. It was so cold that night we used the heating tube from the HMMWV inside out flight suits to warm up.When he found out that I would not be on the flight crew going back home immediately, he made sure that I would get a flight the next day, just so I could get home to my wife sooner, so I would not have to ride in the 5-day convoy. He would go and get doughnuts for the platoon when in garrsion, and make sure that everyone got fed when in the field. There are other stories too numerous to tall. But SGT Flick (I knew him when he was an E-5; he made SFC just before he deployed to Iraq) was one hell of a fine soldier and cavalryman. His loss to the Army cannot be measured.

We kept in touch over the years after I got out, and just last month I gave him a call to see how he was doing. He returned from Iraq in December, to be with his wife, Janna. They had 4 months together before his accident. As she said to me, "He was too young to die, and I am too young to be a widow." 4 months; a lifetime. His last words to me on the phone were, "I'll email you and let you know what is going on, I promise. Great talking to you, Stu".

A story all to f***ing familiar: Soldier (Hero) comes home after serving honorably in a theater of war only to be killed Stateside.

I was looking forward to seeing him, as well as meeting Janna.

Mr. and Mrs. Flick, I am so sorry for your loss. I hope that hearing how fine your son was will somehow dampen your sorrow.

Janna, if you ever read this, know that I am with you in prayer. I look forward to meeting you someday, and we can talk about the times we had with him together.

Drinking beers the whole time. He wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

Rich, I know that you will be waiting for me and the rest of the Platoon at Fiddler's Green. I cannot wait to see you there...

Fiddler's Green
Halfway down the trail to hell
In a shady meadow green,
Are the souls of all dead troopers camped
Near a good old-time canteen
And this eternal resting place
Is known as Fiddler's Green.
Marching past, straight through to hell,
The infantry are seen,
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marine,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
Dismount at Fiddlers' Green.
Though some go curving down the trail
To seek a warmer scene,
No trooper ever gets to Hell
Ere he's emptied his canteen,
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddlers' Green.
And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge or fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,
Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head
And go to Fiddlers' Green.
God bless you Rich. I will miss you, my old friend.

UPDATE: I thought this other picture would be better; him and the love of his life.

14 April 2006

Man Murders Girlfriend over Sandwiches

You just cannot make this shit up...

What is this world coming to...

I read this yesterday, but also found it over at mAss Backwards, one of my favorite blogs. Massachusetts makes California almost look like Texas. Well, not really. Go there. Often..

03 April 2006

My opinion on Illegal Immigration

Has been somehow stolen from my brain and sent here. Since he lives in Dallas, I think it carries a little more credence, but as I am in the Northern PRK (People's Republik of Kalifornia), not a whole hell of a lot.

The Texican Tattler is a good read; go there often...

Yogi! Yogi!

One out, men on First and Second, one out. He bounded to the plate as graceful as could be.

He got in the Batter's Box, and looked that the pitcher with that steely gaze.

The pithcer, undaunted, glared back, and threw the mighty fastball at the catcher. The batter leans his body back as the incoming ball screams past him. Ball one, inside. Smiling, he go back in the Box, waiting for the right pitch.

The pitcher, again, hurls one at the plate.

Looking, the batter is thinking, "Another inside pitch," when he hears the dreaded scream from the umpire, "STRIIIIIKE ONE!"

A little miffed at the call, he gets ready in the box again, waiting for the right pitch. On cue, it comes, a little low and outside, but it is a good pitch. Swinging hard, he misses badly.

"STRIIIIKE TWO!!" from the umpire.

Then he hears it. From the dugout, his teammates screaming at the top of their lungs, "YOGI! YOGI! YOGI!" The constant chant of his name. Over and over. Incessant, they cheer him on, knowing he can do it: drive in at least one of the runs on base they so desperately need to get back in this game. "YOGI! YOGI! YOGI!" They just won't stop.

More determined than ever, he gets back in the box, steely resolute in the fact that They need Him. His Teammates are depending on him. He. Cannot. Will. Not. Let. Them. Down.

The pitcher, smug about the situation, cannot wait to deliver the Death Knell to this brazen guy. He looks at the catcher: Fastball, down and inside is the signal. Okay... No Problem. He winds up, as he has thousands of times before, and throws.

A beautiful pitch, screaming down the pipe, 60 feet, six inches away....

He swings.

And connects! It flies right over the pitcher's head and into the shallow outfield behind Second. The runners haul, the man on second easily running home and the man on first sliding into third.

The crowd, in the meantime, goes wild! Screaming, the fans tell the players what to do: "Home! Run to Third! Stay at First!!!!"

His teammates are ecstatic; they scream and tell the runners where to go, but knowing the base coaches will do the job. They continue to chant, "YOGI! YOGI! YOGI!"

But a single is not goos enough for him; he doesn't even stop as he rounds first. He is running as fast as he can and makes a perfect slide into Second, ending the slide by standing up after the slide just like a pro..

Except he is not a pro. He is my 9 year-old son with the Minor Yankees, and his idol is Yogi Berra. He even wears the #8 jersey for his team, the same one Yogi Berra wore those many years ago. And at taht moment he is the happiest little boy on the planet. A one-run RBI that also moved a runner to Third.

Not bad. And the rest of the season to go...