Wednesday, December 20, 2006

We're Doomed!

Slammer, worms, melissa...

Sometimes, you get a great idea. Then, bad news.

Shocking, just shocking!

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Get Fit to Fight

Just uploaded a new, inspirational video to YouTube and Google Video. It runs about six minutes. Tell me what you think, please!

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

The Horror!

Well, here I sit, in my home office, reflecting on the weeks events. The War on Terror has finally hit home. And, while I am not exactly Delta Force material, I have certainly seen my share of action in the past few days.

It started while I was sitting at my desk, struggling with some geeky problem or another. I noticed a subtle motion to my left, on the side of the small television set I keep nearby. I have the television, with a cable hookup, so I can most expediently receive my orders from the Vast Right Wing Conspiracy.

At first I wasn't sure what I saw, but as I peeked around the corner of the set my worst fears were confirmed.

al Rachnid. Yep, the eight-legged terrorist leader himself. I shuddered.

As I peeked, he jumped. Man, I hate those little shits that jump. I mean, eight legs and fangs are bad enough, all creepy and running around. But jumping, damn! That just freaks me out. Some critters should not be allowed to jump. It's just plain unscrupulous.

But then, that's what makes us hate them so.

Well, he got away that time, but at least twice more I saw him again, circling back to possibly launch an attack. I did my best to get him, but kept missing. As the afternoon wore on, the collateral battle damage started piling up. The "3" key on my laptop is stuck bad, now. Collateral damage, indeed.

Well, I did my best to ignore him, but I could not. Then, I got a lucky break. I received some intelligence-- I cannot divulge my source, of course-- that al Rachnid was heading to a meeting near the window.

I called in an air strike.

Using the best technology I could find-- namely, a rolled up piece of paper-- I went into reconnaisance mode. Once I spotted him, I eyed the target. My high technology weapons system provides for direct neural communication between eyes-on-target and fire control. It's basically a point-and-shoot system, so I knew I had a pretty good shot at getting the jihadi bastard.

Still, it took two hits to knock the fanatical bastard down. Even then he struggled to get away, but he at least knew who had gotten him. It was time for "boots on the ground" to take over and finish the job.

He died a short time thereafter.

Well, I know there are more out there like him. He was one of about fourteen similar terrorist groups, all with me in their sights. Still, I am truly glad to have him gone.

Later That Same Day

That very evening, as my wife and I were surveying the landscape in the back yard we noticed our horror of horrors: a sniper bunny had crept into the garden.

We have had rabbit trouble for years, but this one had gone too far. I ran down to my office and grabbed my weapon of choice: a single-shot Daisy Powerline 880 air rifle.

Projecting a .177 calibre lead pellet at 685 feet per second, would it be enough to take out an adult Sylvilagus floridanus bent on raising jihadi hell? We would soon find out.

The Daisy is a great weapon, but has some drawbacks. One, you have to practice once in a while. I had not fired that thing in nearly two years, and was a bit unsure of my residual shooting skill. Another issue is that it is single shot, and takes some time to load and pump up. Ten pumps gives you maximum hitting power, but that takes time and makes noise. I would have to act quickly and quietly.

I gently opened my office door, stepped softly onto the patio and set my ammo can on the table just outside. The sniper bunny was at the lower end of the property, arrogantly munching stems of the Hosta plants. The Hostas! My blood was boiling.

The lawn slopes downhill, so when I took my preferred seated position, arm propped securely on the table, the evil-doer was just over the horizon and out of sight.

No good, I would have to take a standing shot. And, one shot only. The evil-doers never give you a second chance. Furthermore, without a secure shooting position, an optimal head shot was out of the question. I would have to make do with a body-mass shot and hope for a solid hit and a quick bleed-out.

With steely-nerved determination, I stood quietly, quickly aimed and fired.

The bunny flopped. Stretched out supine, ears subtly twitching. Clearly he was a goner. As an act of mercy, I quickly reloaded and put another round into his body for the coup de grace. He would meet his 72 virgin bunnies soon enough.

He stopped twitching. It was over.


The next morning, I walked the now quiet battlefield as the sun rose to begin the slow warming of the sprinkler-soaked lawn. As a compassionate Buddhist, I felt compelled to say a quick prayer before I flung the stiff, dead sniper over the fence, deep into the woods whence he came.

There had been another bunny sighting shortly after the demise of this sniper bunny. I missed the second one, as he leaped-- and I mean leaped-- out of harms way into the bushes. Scared as he might be, he will return. And I will be ready.

I have no illusion about this war. It is far from over. They will keep coming, I know. And coming. And coming. The horror!

And a few might even succeed. But I will never give up. I will stand guard and protect my family from the crazy jihadis that live in those woods, who want to take over civilization and impose their ways on human kind. Those animals!

Yet, even though they will keep coming, I am reminded of the words of the Marines who stand guard at Guantanamo: "Not on my watch."

As for the sniper bunny, his cold, stiff corpse would send just the right message. 72 virgins, indeed!

Friday, March 10, 2006

Vintage Ports, Fine Whines

At first, I was terribly confused. I thought I heard Hillary had a "blocked port" or something. Well, that got some rude images rolling around my skull.

Then I saw the headline:


Which naturally sent me reeling. I worry about Hillary that way, but maybe it was a blessing. God forbid Bill finds out.

So, I read carefully, and tried to figure out what was going on. Bill Clinton doing some intimate business with the Arabs. Hillary claims she didn't know. Where have we heard that before?

A couple of businessmen actually tried to bring some lucid insight into the matter, but they were pretty much instantly shut down by Senator Chuck Schumer.

Some deal about Arabs taking over our national security. Apparently the Communist Chinese already control our entire national security apparatus from Long Beach, California. But that seems to be okay, for some reason. Nothing to worry about there-- Bill Clinton set the west coast deal up. So it must be cool.

In any case, by the time I figured it out, it was all over. Apparently, our port operations are safely back in the hands of the Mafia, where they belong. Tradition is upheld. Thanks, Chuck. Thanks Hillary.

Pictures always tell the story best:

We're always safer with American management.

Without radical Islamic influence, American longshoremen remain free to share homoerotic moments.

Meanwhile, in California, it's business as usual.

Isn't it nice to know we can sleep safely at night?

Monday, February 06, 2006

When Pork is a Verb

I happened to be chatting with Porky Pig the other day. We often chat about current political events and economics. Engaging stuff. On this day, the subject of Islam came up. Porky was agitated, apparently over the recent and ongoing riots concerning a cartoon portrayal of some religious nut. I asked Porky and his buddy Daffy Duck, who happened by, what their thoughts were. Here is an excerpt from the conversation:

Roger: What has you so bothered about the cartoon issue, anyway?

Porky: Hyp-p-p-pocrisy. Th-th-that's what. They print hateful cartoons about westerners all the time, and nobody burns down an embassy. And, they h-h-hate pigs, too.

Roger: Muslims won't eat pork, and you are, well, a pig. Don't you see just a little irony in that?

Daffy: Ironic, yes. But irony is what cartoons are all about.

Roger: I see. Well, what are you guys going to do about all this?

Daffy: Cartoon Jihad! All us cartoons have banded together to form the Cartoon Liberation Front. Pie-faced revenge on all who defame celluloid pork.

Roger: What about the insanity of those who think 72 virgins are await their martyrdom? How do you fight that kind of fanaticism?

Porky: Virgins? Who cares? I'll take a single g-g-greased pig, any Saturday night.

Roger: [chokes on coffee] Well, I see.

And so it went. While the whole matter seems silly, I suppose one could argue the Islamic reaction to a drawing on paper is a bit ridiculous as well. But then, sticking a chopped-off head back on someone's head only works in the cartoon world. So, the pig may have a point. In any case, while they conspired, I did some snooping and gathered a few glimpses of the coming storm. Here is my pictorial essay.

It's truly a "Coalition of the Squealing".

72 Virgins? Bah! These guys have a much better deal. Pork is sometimes a verb.

Leadership will win the day.

Celluloid insurgency.

Nothing more dangerous than a pissed-off duck.

Human Intelligence Operatives, eavesdropping.

Inspirational Literature.

Be Afwaid. Be Vewwy Afwaid.

With this kind of leadership, what could possibly go wrong?

Friday, January 27, 2006

Krill Me! Krill Me!

With all this worry about Middle-East oil dependency and the cry for alternate energy sources, I did some research. I came to the conclusion we ought to consider renewable sources for energy, preferably something that might double as a tasty snack.

My idea: whale oil.

As you may know, the world used to depend on whale oil until nearly two centuries ago. Then something dreadful happened—the discovery of inexpensive mineral oil, seeping from the ground. When whale oil prices peaked, it was the crude-oil equivalent to $1,500 per barrel. At its historic cheapest, whale oil commanded the crude oil-equivalent of about $200 per barrel. That’s about three times the current price of crude, which I actually find encouraging.

The Japanese love whale meat, for some inexplicable reason. They just love weird, squiggly crap. Shiokara, for example, is the pickled intestines of squid, and very popular in Japan. In any case, their bizarre taste for whale meat will help us offset the cost a bit.

Not that cost is really such an issue.

You see, the most important consideration for energy sources, according to the Leftists that form our intellectual elite, is not price or cost. Touchie-feeliness is what really counts to environmentalists. And, few things in this world are more appealing to Greenies than a breeching whale. They actually think whales are intelligent.

But, we may have a minor problem here. When a Leftist thinks an animal is intelligent, that animal is suddenly conferred greater rights than any human being. However, I think the Left is going to disappear in time, due to the notable Roe Effect, so that problem will solve itself.

Besides which, whales really aren’t that smart. What sort of animal allows barnacles to grow on its skin? Not a smart one, for damned sure. And how often do we have to see a beached whale to realize they actually want to die. Suicidal idiots don’t deserve a break, in my book.

Boil ‘em down for fuel, toast their meat and coat it with cheese powder. Ship the crunchy bits to Japan, toss the greasy part into the gas tank. We eliminate the Arabs and put our trade balance into the black in one fell swoop. Best of all, we beat the environmentalists at their own game.

So, there we have it. Kill a whale, screw a Greenie. Could it get any better?

Thursday, January 26, 2006

A Splendid Little Plan

We keep getting strange reports from across our northern border— apparently Canada doesn’t like us. It never ceases to amaze me how individual Canadians can profess more disdain for the United States than love for their own country:
“I’m not so much proud to be Canadian as I am glad not to be American”, posted one such blogger recently.

Apparently, hating America is an obsession for many of our neighbors in the Great White North. Do they have any clue how seldom Americans actually think about Canada?

I said “Americans”, as though we own the name. We do, of course. Canadians cannot claim to be Americans because they do not possess American passports. Besides which, they aren’t even a real country. Go watch South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut. That movie explains it all.

One thing we Americans do think about is our own security. Clearly, with Canada’s open-door policy for terrorist immigration, our northern border is anything but “secure”. I propose not that we close that border, but eliminate it altogether.

We annex Canada, immediately.

Think of all the problems this would solve.

Canada, while still not a real country, would become a territory of the greatest country of all time. Being the property of a great and powerful nation like America is reason for genuine pride. I’m sure lots of Canadians have been secretly hoping for annexation for a long time. Some of them have even acquired American accents. Well, sort of.

Most important, Canada has enough oil and gas to provide for their needs and ours for the next century, based on projected demand. That gives us decades to settle Mexico and work our way toward Venezuela.

Of course, some will suggest the Canadians will be less than receptive to the idea. What are they going to do? Object? I wasn’t exactly planning to put this to a vote. I mean, really, what would they do? Their navy is basically a salmon fishing fleet and a couple of ice breakers. Our navy could probably put those ice breakers to pretty good use up in the Arctic.

Which brings up another subject. Recently, some irresponsible Canadian politicians have been making noise about our submarines patrolling in Arctic waters, as though that is Canada’s domain, and off limits to the American Navy. So, with the election of a new Prime Minister, there is some discussion of building up Canada’s armed forces.

We better act quickly. If Canada gets the idea it has a real army or navy, someone could get hurt when we effect the takeover. We aren’t looking for a fight, just a neutral buffer zone and a little oil. Oh, and the whiskey is pretty decent, too.

No fight needed, however. I propose a simple deal: we exchange Canadian “dollars”— such as they are— for real American dollars, one-for-one. If I’m right, pretty much every Canadian will be taking their oath of allegiance by next Tuesday.

Oath? Yes, definitely an oath. A blood oath, in fact. Look, these people have been practicing socialism for a long time now, and it will take generations to get that Communist sympathy out of their bones. And no voting for at least two generations. We will administer Canadian Territory as fairly as we can.

Oh, and to be clear, no French need apply. That’s right, Quebec stays behind. We erect a giant barbed wire-topped fence around Quebec, with a big gate on the southern side. All that Canadian money we collect gets bundled and strapped onto pallets and we drop the entire boodle off at the entrance. Slam the gate and padlock it.

The French will think they are rich, for about a week. Enough time to secure the perimeter with our newly recruited bi-lingual Canadian Territorial Brigade. Volunteers, all, as I am sure Canadians will be proud to defend their newly adopted fatherland. For the first time, Canadians will have a reason to exist: to defend America from enemies, foreign and domestic. After a couple of generations of patriotic exercise, we might consider citizenship privileges for the more loyal troops.

With all that oil securely within our new borders, we can turn our attention to solving the Middle East problem. The solution? Pull out, once and for all. Without oil dependents, the Middle East is nothing but camels, dates, and some weird angry guys with beards. Let’s just leave it all behind and let the Muslims pound sand, so to speak. I’m sure they can sort out their differences in time, and if the crazies want to join the civilized world and actually produce something other than bloody sand for the first time in their existence, we might welcome them some day.

Of course, we cannot abandon our ally, Israel. I have a solution for them, too: Newfoundland.

Simple, and obvious, don’t you think? I know, there is that sticky “promised land” thing and all, but think of this as a “promise kept”. I mean, nobody is going to kick them out of Newfoundland. Ever. Plus, there is all that salmon. Lox, man, lotsa lox. And your favourite New York deli is just a shuttle flight away. Oh, and Israelis will get American citizenship long before the Canadians.

And to sweeten the deal for the Israelis: an option on Cuba. Sunshine, rum, fine beach babes and a very interesting history.

You think Canaan can compete with that? Such a deal!