Friday, October 31, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
These are the words of The Messiah at his various speeches. These are the lofty words used to incite the masses into a massive love fest. However, the UK Times found Obama’s Auntie Onyango living in a
Auntie Onyango told the UK Times that she was sworn to secrecy until the 4th. Gosh, he can shut her the hell up so he can win the election, but he can’t help her. My GOD. The arrogance is breathtaking.
I’m all for protecting sources, but, frankly, I don’t believe the Times made any deal with this unnamed source about not releasing the tape. When the article first came out in June, there was never any mention in the article about, “gee, we’d love to release the tape, but we made a promise.” In fact, no source was ever mentioned at all. The article is here. Now all of a sudden, when things heat up, the Times whips out this Deep Throat? Sorry, I’m not buying it. What I do buy is that the Times is in bed with all the other bloated, liberal mainstream media.
So last night when we tried to cancel our subscription, I actually had to wait until today. Why? The volume was so high on the circulation desk, that they made us wait. No problemo. When we finally got a human, we explained why we were canceling, and the guy hung up on us! I had to call back today, and, yes, I got to lodge my protest all over again. She said she was emailing my displeasure up to the editorial department where I’m oh-so sure they’ll be all over my request. Uh huh.
I’ll be very curious to see what happens if The Messiah wins the election and the media finally reaches a point where The One’s sheen begins to tarnish. This will happen when our borders are no longer safe, we’ve retreated from
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Edited to add that I saw an interview of the police department, and they had the unmitigated gall to suggest that if anyone hung Obama in effigy that it would be a hate crime. WTF? Because he's black? Puh-leeeze.
Monday, October 27, 2008
He didn’t mention anything about these guys’ salaries, but their pensions. Let me say it again - THEIR PENSIONS. Now Joe has a pension, as does every other senator, and it’s backed by the US Treasury. Guaranteed. No one can touch it, no one can steal it. In fact, it’s even free from the fickle fate of the stock market. And he can dip into it anytime he wants and suffers zero penalties. Pretty cool. So Joe is sittin’ pretty. But he wants to steal someone’s pension plan because these execs, he has determined, are too greedy.
I’d like to point out that this is the private sector that Joe is planning on meddling with. In order to pull this off, he has to nationalize all the companies. The government can’t even run the dept. of motor vehicles, let alone major corporations.
Whose pensions are next after they’ve raped all the CEOs they can find? After all, it takes big bucks to feed the liberal palate – they have very expensive tastes. Heck one CEO could keep Mrs. Obama in lobsters, Persian caviar, and champagne for quite some time. Won’t be that long before they’ll be forced to set their sights on the lesser being’s pension plans. That means all you teachers, firemen, and police are next. They’ll hit up the CEOs of hospitals as well. And then they’ll come for us, and all we’ll have to look forward to is a single check from Social Security because they will have already nabbed our 401Ks – money that came from our sweat.
Will the last person who remembers what America used to be please turn out the lights?
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Just when I didn’t think the Dems would launch any further attacks on our freedoms, I see that they’re now after our 401 K accounts. Seems that a Democrat committee brought in a college professor because they were "intrigued" with his brilliant idea of nationalizing all our 401K's, tossing the money into social security and "giving" us a 3% return on our own money. Check it out here and here.
It’s real, kiddies, they really are out to take total control of every aspect of our lives and stamp out all opposition through the slobbering of the mainstream media and
**Amusing note, in googling to verify this, I typed in, “Dems taking over 401 K.” Google came back with this: Did you mean: demons taking over 401 K?
Friday, October 24, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Pahlavi was an American puppet, so he was an ally. But he was also a tyrant who ruled his country with an iron, paranoid fist. He owned the media, so Persians were only allowed to read “news fit to print.” He had a huge team of secret police called SAVAK, who were some of the most brutal element in the country. The common citizenry were snooped on, exposed, arrested, tortured, and killed. University kids weren’t allowed to associate with their professors unless it was in class or strictly adhered to office hours. Accidentally putting on a postage stamp upside down (which, of course, was his likeness), would have invited a watchful eye from SAVAK because this would have been seen as show of disrespect rather than a simple mistake. To this day, I still freak about putting an American stamp on upside down. Pahlavi’s rule was absolute.
Now I’m watching Obama and Biden tear apart an American citizen. They own the media – or at least most of it and, in fact, would love nothing more than to wipe Fox News Channel off the face of the earth because it would make their media ownership complete. Since they own nearly all the media, their minions set about tearing down all opposition – including an American citizen. His crime? Asking The Messiah what he plans to do about those taxes.
Obama is pissed at being cornered like this. How dare a small, insignificant bug question The One about ANYTHING? And look at Joe now. The media has torn this man’s life apart, snooping into his background, hoping to turn up something heinous. And Obama and Biden have cheered their media every step of the way. The union has turned on Joe, and now he can’t get work. The media camps on his doorstep and follows him wherever he goes. Is this what America has become, and why in hell are we allowing it? Is the media our Persian version of SAVAK, or will Obama hire those separately? Are there so many who are furiously jealous of others’ success that they can’t wait for Obama to get his grubby, undeserving hands on our money so they can now live better without having to work for it? Does anyone remember Evita, for goddsakes? Castro?
I’ve done nothing but despair the loss of my own country and fear for my and my family’s future should Obama prevail. Lord knows they’re working very hard to steal it. After all, they have the help of Ohio’s Supreme Court who will allow Acorn’s voter fraud to stand.
I’ve already lived in a tyrant nation, and I don’t want to do it again. My only solace is that, unlike the Persians, there remains a cadre of independent fighters whose ancestral blood still flows in their veins, and they will not yield to life with The Messiah and his minions. Thank God for Joe the Plumber.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Joe Biden and Barak Obama have been telling me for two years that we need to be afraid.
That was before he told me it’s my patriotic duty to pay taxes:
“It’s time to be patriotic…time to jump in, time to be part of the deal, time to help get America out of the rut.”
Does Joe not know that the “rich” don’t pay taxes, but rather they pass those increases on to the consumer that will result in higher retail prices and layoffs?
Obama tells Joe the Plumber that it’s not his intention to punish the wealthy, but that it’s important to spread it around to others to make it more “fair.” If Obama is going to force me to do my “patriotic duty,” then what is my impetus for working so hard and successfully? Maybe I'll just kick back and accept the government handouts. But then wouldn't America run the risk of being like Hawaii, who found out after only seven months that their universal health care imploded because those who could afford it dropped their old inusrance to get the freebie? Sure they would. Soon all of us ex-"richies" will kick back for the free ride. Then who will you force to do their patriotic duty, Mr. Obama? Have you read Atlas Shrugged? It used to be science fiction. But now it's reality, thanks to your great vision.
Getting back to Joe the Plumber, the man asked an innocent question about his dreams, and, as payback, Obama and Joe Biden have reviled, and mocked him in their speeches and allowed the media to uncover every teensy bit about him. Is this how we now treat free speech? Is this what the “Fairness Doctrine” is all about? Do Joe and Obama not realize that the Joe the Plumbers are the majority of
Then Joe Biden said this:
“Mark my words. It will not be six months before the world tests Barack Obama like they did John Kennedy. The world is looking. We’re about to elect a brilliant 47-year-old senator president of the
Given the provocative nature of this statement, I have to ask Joe Biden about the prudence of electing this inexperienced young man. Obviously our enemies see Obama as a weak, untested entity. Joe, you never said anything about how the world would test McCain, so I have to assume our enemies are more certain as to his reactions should anyone threaten our country.
In this critical time of so much uncertainty, is this the time to introduce an inexperienced man who is friends with some very questionable people, and allow him to impose his Marxist ideas of taxing the rich to give to anyone else, along with being the object of a guaranteed provocation of our national security?
So Obama and Joe have convinced me. I’m officially scared shitless. In fact, I don’t remember ever being more scared shitless.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Oh. You were serious about that?
So then I go into writer overload and begin pulling 12-hour marathons. By 8 at night, my brain is a puddle of goo, and I can barely put a conversation that doesn’t contain a dialog tag – as in, “ ‘Pass me the peas,’ Lynn said while trying to keep her nose out of the mashed potatoes.” Like, who talks like this? Even that annoying Suede from Project Runway, who spoke in the third person, didn’t use dialog tags in his own speech.
My sleeping patters also go haywire when I’m under a deadline. My usual dreams of Antonio Banderas sweeping me off my feet and whisking me away to the Bahamas are replaced with comma splices, voice, pacing, and the occasional witticism.
Sometimes I’m driven to clean. Or order one of my kids to do it. I think it derives from the fact that I need something in my life to contain order and cleanliness because it’s a sure bet my unfinished tome has none of these elements.
But I’m good now, back to writing with fervor and direction. What happened? I ran into a doc who was reading my first book stop. “I am so loving this book!” she cooed. I blink. This is a balls-to-the-wall surgeon, so I’m speechless and let her prattle on. She likes me. She really, really likes me. I bask in my Sally Fields moment before rushing back to my office. I take the phone off the hook and order my kids to make dinner.
Good thing, too, because sitting in my inbox was a threatening letter from my distributor demanding the cover design, tip sheets, and, oh yes, the damned book. Guess they have nothing on those witches…
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
~Thomas Jefferson 1801- who has just asked God to transfer his spirit to Mars
thanks to 'cat for the reminder
Monday, October 13, 2008
Thank you, Mother Nature.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Well, to hell with the both of you. I have lived responsibly, and this means I didn't sign on to a home loan that I had no ability (or intention) to pay back. I made sure to get a good education that would allow me the freedom to make good career choices. I have medical insurance and pay bigger premiums so illegal aliens and the poor can have free health care.
So, Mr. Obama and Mr. McCain, just who the fuck am I working for? My own future or your financial whims? Where does personal responsibility enter into your world view? I just went up and checked my passport, and yes, it does say American. Not Russian.
I feel like Dagny Taggart in Atlas Shrugged, which should be required reading for every American citizen, lest they forget this country's original foundations. Like Dagny, I'm clawing my way through the muck in order to keep my head above water. But the damned government is making this effort more difficult each year as congress passes pork bills faster than bunnies procreate.
At what point do I shrug under the weight? At what point do I say no to your stealing nearly 60% of my income? At what point do I give myself permission to discontinue working for you and instead begin working for myself?
Lastly, just who are the real terrorists? The ones who hide in caves or the ones who smile and hand out balloons while reaching into my bank account? At least Al Queda is honest about their intent to destroy me by bleeding me dry.
To protest this brand of terrorism, I just bought three "Who Is John Galt?" bumper stickers. One for each of our cars. Yes. We have three cars. So fucking sue me. We earned those cars and enjoy driving every one of them. I'll continue to do so until you force me to sell them so my family can eat. In the meantime, Mr. Obama and Mr. McCain, pick up a copy of Atlas Shrugged so you can prepare yourself for the revolt that's sure to happen. And may all Reiki practitioners send their energy to our leaders. They need help.
Friday, October 10, 2008
5:30 a.m. – at computer writing madly, trying to meet deadline
8 a.m. – cockatoo screams that it’s time to get up. Leave computer and go downstairs to uncover her.
8:02 – swearing ensues. Mine. Kids left shoes, glasses, napkins on coffee table, along with huge blog of brown blorch that I instantly set about cleaning.
8:05 – take glasses and napkins into kitchen. Toss shoes over the Great Divide (boxes that prevent cockatoo from escaping back half of the house to eat whatever antique wood crosses her path in the front half of the house) so cockatoo won’t eat them. Consider briefly allowing cockatoo to go ahead and eat the shoes, until motherly heartstrings wrap themselves around my neck and choke off my air supply.
8:15 – put glasses into dishwasher, convinced children don’t have a clue as to the purpose of this mysterious machine beside the sink. More swearing ensued. For the love of all that’s holy, these brats are 21,23, and 26…who broke their damn fingers? Clean hubby’s dirty dinner dish from last night. Only mildly pissed. After all, it was my idea to whip out a bottle of wine and sing old Three Dog Night songs in the backyard.
8:30 – Eating breakfast of toast and scrambled eggs…cooked to perfection. Ungrateful, piggish cockatoo eats half. Doesn’t clean up the kitchen, so I do the honors.
8:40 – stuff pill down dog’s throat. She hacks it up, and it goes skittering under the couch. Expensive medicine. I move damn couch to retrieve pill, which is now gooey and has hair sticking to it. Wash off pill and stick it and half my arm down dog’s throat.
8:42 – I give in. Give damn dog damn after-the-pill treat. I’m such a sap.
9:30 – got a good few pages written before son #1 needs me to follow him to drop off his car for an oil change. Consider telling him to take my bike – I’m hot on the trail of this chapter. I relent. I’m a mom. I do these things.
10:30 – back to writing after stopping off at store for emergency supply of tampons for daughter. How does this happen? I always had sixteen boxes of those puppies back in the days when such things occupied my frontal cortex.
11:30 – oh for crying out loud. Do I look like I know how to sew a hem? Just because my DNA marks me as a chick doesn’t mean I’m handy. I’m a writer and, therefore, given a pass from anything remotely passing as domestic. Do what all God’s children do, and take the jeans to the cleaner. They know how to hem. Cripes. Fine. I’ll iron the damn shirt because it’s my shirt you’re borrowing, and I don’t want iron burns on the front.
12:40 – finally on a big roll. The words are pouring out of my brain like Hemingway on crack. I’m brilliant, by golly. I'm smellin' the Pulitzer from here! I should…
“Uh, can I take you out to lunch?”
Ah geez. I suck. I’m navel lint. I’m an ungrateful hosebeast. I have the most beautiful kids and husband in the world, who adore me in spite of my tunnel vision during deadline time. They stop their own lives just long enough to remember the little things that will remind me of why I love them. Yeah, dirty dishes and shoes lying around pisses me off. But how can that possibly eclipse a warm, sweet smile, an infectious laugh, a tender hug that says I’m the center of their world, an out-of-the-blue invite to lunch? I swear, writing can make you crazy.
5:00 p.m. – “Yes, sir, I’d like to pick out that lovely straightjacket. Yes, the pink one with lace and pearls.”
Thursday, October 09, 2008
I blinked, feeling my left eye twitch. Finally. I was confronted with my worst nightmare. I knew it would happen one day, only I never expected it would come from the fruit of my womb. My son held up a clear plastic box that held roughly twenty crickets with their evil little antenna twitching to the tempo of their cricket-y symphony. I’ve lovingly called the box Dragon McDonalds for their easy pickin’s. Or Jiminy Cricket’s Last Chance Diner.
Regardless of the box’s name, I was to feed these grotesque monsters to his three bearded dragons while he took off for a concert in San Diego.
Doesn’t that sound something like a cross between Puff the Magic Dragon and Ethel Merman? Oddly enough, they’re cute in a scale-y sort of way, and I love to hold them.
What I will not hold is a freaking cricket. My son showed me how I wouldn’t have to touch a single cricket during the feeding. I. Hate. Crickets. To say they scare the shit out of me is an understatement. I’ve been known to jump on my husband’s head when I saw one skippy skapping across the kitchen floor. Mom tells me crickets in the house are a sign of a happy home. They never came to my home, where shrieks can be heard from down the street.
At the appointed hour of the morning, grossly under-caffeinated, I entered the sanctum santorum with my boxful of Jiminy Crickets and began channeling Princess Bride. “Hallo. My name is Indigo Montoya. You are dinosaur food. Prepare to die.”
I took the little tube out of the McDonald’s box and dumped ten Jiminys into the big mama dragon’s lair. She was in Nirvana. I began feeling pretty good about myself. A breakthrough, perhaps. I went over to the baby dragon’s tank and repeated the process. Hell yes, thinks I. I am woman, hear me roar. I am invincible. I am Sheena, Queen of the Jiminy Crickets. Eat me, you little worthless begga…holy shit…!
As if on cue, an escapee from the slaughterhouse came waltzing up the wall, winking his antenna at me. I haven’t sped out of my kids’ rooms that fast since the time my daughter barfed all over my new suit. I locked the door and thought seriously about torching the place. No worse nightmare could invade my dreams, let alone my waking life.
Never, never, never ask me to feed your damn dragons again.
I’m certain I’ve lost five good years of my life. Now my son must die. Send all Reiki hugs my way.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
A friend of mine was being treated for breast cancer. She was just beginning the chemo/radiation bit when she asked me for Reiki treatments. Hell yes, sez
Tell your doc what you’re doing, I told her. Why? she asked. After all, it’s not like you’re writing out a Reiki prescription that I need to get filled at my local Reiki Mart. Very funny, I say. Tell your doc because he needs to know everything you’re doing. For example, you’re taking pain meds and anti-nausea stuff, and the Reiki could mess with those doses. Shaddap, she says. Really?
So my friend does the exact opposite and doesn’t tell her doc about the Reiki. Embarrassed, she tells me. He’s one of those guys who would roll his eyes at me. I can’t take that kind of judgment right now.
She got to the point where she no longer needed the pain and anti-nausea stuff, which was totally cool because she was finally able to keep food down, gain some weight, and return to work. When her blood tests started going wonky, the doctor made numerous adjustments to her chemo and finally asked her what the hell was going on. She came clean about the Reiki.
I’ve always questioned whether it was possible for someone’s eyes to truly bug out of their head. I mean really bug. But apparently they can. At least that’s what my friend says. But her doc did something that she didn’t expect. He told her he respected and supported her efforts to take an active role in controlling her destiny. He knew squat all about Reiki, but he allowed as how that since she was back at work, eating, off her pain and nausea meds that perhaps there was something to it. But he wished she’d told him.
And I guess that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? We have faith in our docs to take care of us and keep us medically safe, so shouldn’t we extend that faith and believe they’ll be supportive of our efforts to survive and thrive? If they dare to laugh, call them an insensitive scum-sucking bovine. But definitely take The Chairman’s advice and start spreadin’ the news, ‘cause they really need to know.