On Sunday, December 20, 2009, and emergency rally was held at the Omaha Music Hall. Sponsored by Americans For Prosperity, the rally was in response to the outrageous betrayal of Nebraskans by Senator Ben Nelson over the insane "health care reform" bill.
The keynote speaker was Mike Huckabee, who flew in from New York for the engagement. While I am not a huge Huckabee fan, I must say his speech was impassioned, eloquent and damned impressive.
The Music Hall holds about 2,000 or so, and was packed. This was shot from the balcony with my Handycam, so it shakes at times. Nevertheless, the sound quality is not bad. Entirely watchable.
This is the last of 5 parts, and runs about 3:48. I have been having trouble uploading all the sections, but this last part is truly the best. I'll upload the rest as I am able.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Thursday, March 06, 2008
She's Alive!
Our brave Hillary has struggled against the brutally unfair attacks of the press, conspiratorial right wing fanatics, talk radio hosts, comedians everywhere, and worst of all, her own fellow Democrats.
Recorded covertly at her secret campaign headquarters in Ohio, this video reveals the truth of her struggle and resurrection.
Recorded covertly at her secret campaign headquarters in Ohio, this video reveals the truth of her struggle and resurrection.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
We're Doomed!
Slammer, worms, melissa...
Sometimes, you get a great idea. Then, bad news.
Shocking, just shocking!
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.
Epilogue
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!
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.
Epilogue
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?
Then I saw the headline:
DUBAI PULLS OUT
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:
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?
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?
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