Monday, February 28, 2005

Yankee Treachery and The Alabama

June 11th, 1864

For two long years the CSS Alabama went about the hard work of ridding the seas of the scourge of yankee commerce. She did an excellent job.

After such a long stretch though, she found herself in dire need of supplies, and service. After some consideration, she stopped at what was supposed to be a neutral port of Cherbourg France. The next day, the Admiral went on shore to obtain permission of the port Admiral to dock the Alabama and repair her. The port Admiral said-that as all the docks at Cherbourg were government property, he could not grant the request until he could gain the Emperor's consent.

The Emperor was busy.

Word had spread quickly, and soon a familiar yankee ship took up a position just outside the port.

The Admiral knew delay was unwise. The longer they waited, the more Yankees would appear. He summoned his first mate to his quarters, and they discussed their options, and the prospects of defeating the Yankee ship, which they now knew to be the Kearsarge.

An honest comparison of the two ships seemed to suggest that it should be an even fight, but as usual... Yankees ain't honest.

The Kearsarge had recently been refitted with armour, which was hidden below wood planks. The other advantages were obvious... she had a couple bigger guns than the Bama, and she had fresh powder and a well rested crew.

Not knowing about the armour, the Alabama steamed out to meet the Kearsarge. Before the battle... which can be described in but a few words... but lasted about 90 minutes... the Admiral of the Alabama said this to his crew:

'Officers and seamen of the Alabama! You have at length another opportunity of meeting the enemy--the first that has been presented to you since you sank the Hatteras! In the meantime, you have been all over the world, and it is not too much to say that you have destroyed and driven for protection under neutral flags one-half of the enemy's commerce, which, at the beginning of the war, covered every sea. This is an achievement of which you may well be proud, and a grateful country will not be unmindful of it. The name of your ship has become a household word wherever civilization extends. Shall the name be tarnished by defeat? The thing is impossible! Remember that you are in the English Channel, the theater of so much of the Naval glory of our race, and that the eyes of all Europe are at this moment upon you. The flag that floats over you is that of a young republic who bids defiance to her enemies whenever and wherever found. Show the world that you know how to uphold it! Go to your quarters !'

The battle took place at around 500 yards... with the two ships circling one another... keep their broadsides to the other... and blasting away. It didn't take long to notice the effect of the armour on the Kearsarge. The shells from the Alabama simply bounced off her and fell to the sea.

Even so... An 8 incher's shot did lodge deep into the stern of the Kearsarge... but due to old powder and a defective fuse, it didn't explode. Had it, I would be recounting the tale of the sinking of an entirely different ship.

At last it became apparent that the Bama was lost... and the Admiral gave the order to strike her colors.

After she did so, the despicable yankee, in despicable yankee fashion, fired 5 more shots into her after the colors were struck. Not only that, but after the Bama sank, the pathetic yankees simply sailed away, leaving the confederate sailors to drown. History should note that the Alabama saved every member of the crew of the Hatteras, at great cost, and great effort.

Being good rebels though the crew of the Alabama did not drown. Thanks to a Brit yacht that happen to be around watching the show, the majority of the crew was saved, along with most of the officers.

It should be known that the one limey was more helpful to the Confederates than the French who were supposedly our allies.

Maybe later we'll talk about the CSS Arkansas... the most valient ship to ever sail.
The Myth of Diversification

The mid-90s financial buzzword was without question "Diversify!" The champions of mutual funds... and by that I mean them what sell's 'em... declared that diversification was the only mature way to invest... they would have you believe that it is the answer to the age old dilema of risk vs. return.

Snake Oil.

Ya see the "thinking" goes that since you're invested in mutual funds that own many many many stocks... you're really invested in the Index itself... and the index always goes up.

Snake Oil.

I could go on and on about how wrong this is. I could offer in-depth statistical analysis... but why? That's what Vox Day is for. I'll stick to the plain and simple, though it will require some cypherin'.

Take a look at your 401k statements. Look at your yearly contribution... the total yearly contribution. If you can't find it, just look at how much they take out of your check and cypher from there, and don't forget to add your company's match. Found it yet? Good. Write it down.

Now figure how long you've been workin' where you are... and multiply that by your annual contribution... dude! Stay with me! I'm talkin' about the number we worked out in the paragraph above this one! See why I made you write it down? GAH!

Now call that number X. So if you been workin' at Widgets R' Us for 10 years... and each year you put in 10 grand... in that case X would be 100,000.

Finally... compare that number to what's actually in your 401k right now. Is X more or less than the total value of your 401k?

Assuming its more, and its probably not... head on over to MoneyChimp and put your numbers in their calculator. Compound it 1 time per year, at 1% over the number of years you've been working. That's how much you'd have if you had put your money in a basic savings account.

Do it again at 2%. That's how much you'd have if you put it in a better savings account.

In our case, not only are our returns less than they would've been in a basic savings account, they are negative. Meaning, for us, X is more than the value of our 401k.

Think about that. We'd have more money in our retirement right now, if we'd been taking that same amount and stuffing it in a box under the mattress. Worst of all, we cannot get out of the 401k. We have no choice. We're stuck with this "Investment", for our own good.

And just so you know... our "retirement plan"... the one that is losing real money, and has been for the last 4 years... is not with some po-dunk little company. In fact, its with a major firm, that you all would recognize... I'd wager that some of you are even in the same one.

You never get decent information from these people. You have to do it yourself. Please take a minute or two today and take a look at this. I'll wager it will be an eye opening experience for you.

Oh... and don't bother calling your local district attorney. Apparently they require actual physical penetration before they'll charge these scum with rape.

Friday, February 25, 2005

It's 5 O'clock Somewhere

Not that it matters. I got no job... I coulda been drinkin' since noon... and well... for all you know... I have been!

Ahh... Its Friday boys... The fire's burin'... the little lady (pregasaurus slothfulys) is curled up on the couch, and the boy (Inertius Maximus) is somehow still in the bed.

So what are we drinkin' tonight?

Res is tippin' back some Makers Mark... God knows that's tough to argue with... Jeanne is goin' with her standard wine coolers... No doubt down in Augusta ThatWhiskyGirl is gonna throw back the bottle of Russell's Reserve I left for her... yeah... she loves me...

Did I tell ya about that? I didn't?

Well shit.

See Wednesday night... and I know I know... I'm not supposed to drink on Wednesdays... for reasons we're all well aware of.... BUT...

We'd stopped off at Frugal McDougals and made purchase of some fine wine and well... I just couldn't help but snatch up some of that Wild Turkey Russells Reserve. I umm... ahem... didn't plan to drink it that night mind you...

but we did.

See Jen hadn't really had much bourbon... and she made the mistake of telling me about her stash of Crown Royal... not imported Crown either... apparently this is the real deal... yeah well...

So I poured a couple glasses... no doubt hers was fuller than she expected... but then again.. I knew anyone who'd been suffering through that damned canadian crap would take a likin' to this pretty quick.

She did.

"OOOOOH! That's gooood! Let's have a taste test with the Crown!"

hehehehe... yeah... lets...

Well she poured the Crown... took a sip... made a face and said... "Well that just tastes watered down!"

See? Chalk up another convert. By the way... You should all give Jen some respect. The girl earned the name ThatWhiskyGirl. She drinks 101 and smiles about it. No chasers required. Most chicks get all squished up after a sip! Gitter dun!!!! We ended up drinkin more than we shoulda... well.. I did anyway... Nobody got pregnant though... and we're all still friends... so I guess it worked out in the end... Least ways I didn't wake up wearin' no girls undies... but I digress...

Now its to early to start this sorta talk yet... but later on this evenin' we're gonna tell some spook stories. I don't mean fake ones either. I'll spin up a yarn or two on some of the... umm.. inexplicable things I've experienced... but I'll expect y'all to do the same. Ghosts... UFO's... BigFoot... Democrats who can add... Yankees who can cook... If you can't explain it... or it just spooked ya... its fair game.

But for now... we'll stick to booze.

I'm thinkin' I'm gonna join Res and sip on some Makers tonight. Its a classy laid back bourbon... and if feels right tonight. Have to run out and pick some up though... Oh don't get excited... I haven't run out of bourbon... I've got 4 bottles on the top-shelf as we speak... but none of them have that cool red wax on the top...

You know somewhere Vox is looking down his nose at me... Posting about booze like a common ruffian...

But then again...

Vox posts about soccer.

Ah well... if any of you others is thinkin' of havin' some Makers with us, we'd appreciate it... and just to prove it... I'll share a bit o' trivia... The President of Makers Mark goes by the name of Samuels... now... it's funny... on account a his great great grand-daddy was also named Samuels... and that particular Samuels actually started the family in the bidness... After he built up his distillery and had her makin' money... why ol' Mr Samuels married him a little woman with two young boys... He took them boys in, and raised up propper... like his own. He taught them boys to shoot, to ride, and to tell the truth.

There names?

Frank and Jesse James.

You might also like to know that the last group of Confederates to Surrender... did so only after Mr Samuels negotiated their Pardon from the Governor of Kentucky... and then... and only then.. Did Quantrill's Raiders surrender... at the old Samuels distillery.

See? This is why I love bourbon... Its so entertwined with the manly arts of History, Story-tellin', Firearms, and Courtin'.

Now... Where else but the Blogger Blaster are you gonna get all that?
Precious Metals

You should have some. In fact, if I had my way, our entire investment plan would revolve around tangible assests. To the average investor... that no doubt sounds like utter maddness. "There's no better long-term place for your money than the US Stock Market." So goes the saying.

Of course... the saying is wrong.

This is not to say that money cannot be made in the US StockMarket... I'm just saying, that you can't make it. See... there are a few people making a killing... and lots of people getting killed... and... if you don't invest for a living... If you don't recieve a salary and bonuses from some particular fund... then chances are... you're getting killed.

More and More, there are insiders who are admitting the game is rigged. Mark Cuban has written some excellent pieces on it. I submit though... that it is not nearly as complicated as most folks would have you believe.

See... there was a time when a stock's trading value wasn't as important as the dividends it paid. Generally, the stocks value was linked to speculation that those dividends would increase. This was a good time to be in stocks. It made sense. You owned stock... which represented ownership in the company... thusly the company sent you money. Over time... say over 20 years of hard work, you earn enough shares that the amount of money you recieve from the company is such that, combined with your pention, you may retire on it.

Thats not how we do things now. Stocks don't pay dividends anymore. The mention of such a thing is considered arcane. This is a drastic change. It shifts the whole game to the spacious world of "value". Now... Value is a great word, and normally is a positive one... in this case however, it is perilously linked to perception.

X is valuable... not because X does anything in particular... but because people think it may one day be more valuable.

Does that make sense to you? How did the first people who decided it was valuable, come to this conclusion?

Baseball Cards. The entire Stock Market is nothing more than the Adult Version of collecting and trading Baseball Cards.

A player gets a buzz around him... for what ever reason... and his card's value goes up. Stock is the same way.

This is critical. The only way a company can pay out dividends, is to actually make money. So when things were dividend based, performance and value were obviously, and clearly marked. Now? Performance and Stock Price have nothing to do with each other. The company's performance is less important than it's "Buzz".

Buzz is distributed.. like Mana from Heaven... by the few. They move in... make the purchase for pennies... then wait for the sheep to run along behind. By the time you hear of the "hot stock" around the water cooler... the money has already been made.

The game is rigged, and if you aint the one doin' the rigging, then you're getting hung.

Setting aside all of this... something even more sinister sits at the doorstep of the stock owner. That, is the fact that fortune 500 companies come and go every day. They just dispear. Global Crossing. Enron. Consolidated Frieghtways. They just disappear. When they go... what do you have? Nothing. You weren't allowed to sell your stock... and by the time you were allowed to sell it, it was worthless, and there wasn't a damned thing you could do about it.

But what about Gold? Or Silver? or Oil?

Well.. if the value of gold ever drops... what do I have? Well.. I've still got gold. It doesn't just disappear. Its a tangible asset. Its real. I can go pick it up and touch it. I can kiss it and call it Darlin'.

You can kiss your stocks good-bye... but that' about it.

Gold never just disappears. You've recieved something for your money. You can save it. You can horde it. If the bottom falls out.. so what? buy more! It will come back.

I offer two options... Speculators... Play in silver. It bounces around like a basketball. Watch it for a year or so.. and read up on it. You'll see the lows and highs. Pick your spot... buy in, and wait for a spike... then sell... then wait for another dip... and buy again. Fluxuation is not a bad thing. Fluxuation is how you make money. You want fluxation.

Gold on the other hand... don't play. It fluxuates way to slowly. Horde it. Build your treasure. Love it. Tend it. It shall grow and take care of you.... then one day... when all is black... and the stock market falls to its inevitable doom...

You will rule the...

Well... I will rule the world... but you can come along too.

Thursday, February 24, 2005

Dog Training

Few things amuze me like watching others attempt to discipline their animals. There is a basic component to training a dog that 90% of the human population is unwilling to accept, and simply cannot relate to.

Let me give an example...

My dog... Caster... or as we call him... "Caz"... He's about a 95lb (he's lost a lot of weight) chocolate lab. I love this dog... He's the most beautiful lab I've ever seen... and I've been around a LOT of labs. Labs on calendars are not this pretty... nor do they have muscle bulging out like this... I mean it. The dog's a freak.


Today... in a hither-to unheard of display of disobedience... Caz reaches up and takes a cheese stick out of Jeb's hand. I mean... Jeb was in the process of putting it in his mouth! The dog just takes it and tries to slink off!

Think a moment. I'd be very interested in hearing your ideas on how "Nate" would react to this. I'm sure there are those who assume I scolded the dog... took the stick... and got Jeb another one... There are probably a few more who assume I produced a large-bore handgun.. seemingly from thin air... and sumarily executed the dog right there... all over my wife's new rug.

I would like to say I considered the latter... but in fact I didn't.

See.. you don't need to kill the dog. All you have to do is make him believe that you can kill him, and you are perfectly willing to do so. That is the underlying principle I've used to train both Caz and my other lab Dixie... and both are very well behaved critters.

Of course... I didn't think about any of this when I saw Caz commit the heinous act. I simply threw down. I was furious.

I dove onto him, rolling as I wrapped my arms around his chest. This of course flung the dog over me and onto his side. Then leaving one arm wrapped around his neck I grabbed his ass with my right arm.. and stood up.

Now I'm holding a hundred pound dog like a baby. I slammed the dog down onto the floor and fell on top of him... grabbin his mouth and his throat with my hands. I got right in his face... looked him right in the eye... and then... I squeezed.

and I squeezed...

and I squeezed...

I squeezed until the dog made squishy whiny sounds... then I let go off his neck... and reminded him verbally that I was perfectly willing to end his pathetic little life... and would probably consider it sporting.

Jeb of course thought all this was hilarious.

At any rate... I let Caz up... and he quickly slunk off to the back door, hoping I would put him outside were it would be safe.

Dogs are like male humans. A pecking order must be established... and it always is.

Ya know... It's so much fun to watch liberals obey their dogs.

Oh I know.. the squishy among you feel sorry for Caz... I was to mean to him... Maybe I should remind you that the dog is stronger than I am. These extremes are required because... he probably can kill me. Barring that... he can certainly do enormous damage to me. Consequently, I have to make sure he doesn't know that.

Things I do to dogs:

- If the dog bites: First and foremost you never pull your hand away. This just makes things worse. You have two options. You either push your bitten hand deeper into the dog's mouth, gagging him... or you squeeze his lower jaw as hard as you can... I prefer the second choice... and I usually also throw in a twisting motion as I squeeze... sometimes even leading the dog around the room by his own jaw. Both will cause the dog to let go... and after a few repeats of this... he'll be convinced that you're sometype of invulnerable God. The squeezing is particularly effective.. because once the dog stops biting, he realizes that he didn't really have you at all. You had him... and in fact, you still have him. For a dog... this is a very disconcerting feeling.

- if the dog challenges you: By this I mean behavior that the dog knows is wrong, and is done just to spite you. Like climbing up on the couch the he knows he's not allowed on and staring at you. In this case... He's calling you out. Do not spank him. Grab him by the throat with one hand, grab his snout with the other, squeeze... get right in his face, and growl at him. Another good touch.. though sort of nasty... is to bite him on the throat while you're choking him. I haven't done this myself.. but I know a guy who bit his rotty once, and the dog nearly pissed itself.

You have to speak their language. They know the throat is vulnerable. It shocks them that you can grab it so easily and so quickly. Once you've got it, they freeze up... you're God at that point.

I should point out that these same training techniques work on teenaged boys, and liberals of all ages.

Wednesday, February 23, 2005


60 years ago today... 70,000 troops landed on a little island... 7000 of them died.... 10's of thousands more were wounded... and at 9:20pm EST, Old Glory was raised...

On a mountain on Iwo Jima.

In all of World War II only 57 Marines recieved the CMOH. 22 of them were earned at Iwa Jima, along with 5 sailors.

Take a moment to read the citations:

Cpl Charles J Berry 1/26 USMC
PFC William R Caddy 3/26 USMC
Col Justice M Chambers RLT 25 USMC
Sgt Darrell S Cole 1/23 USMC
Capt Robert H Dunlap 1/26 USMC
Sgt Ross F Gray 1/25 USMC
Sgt William G Harrell 1/28 USMC
Lt Rufus G Herring LCI 449 USN
PFC Douglas T Jacobson 3/23 USMC
Plt Sgt Joseph R Julian 1/27 USMC
PFC James D Labelle RLT 27 USMC
2dLt John H Leims 1/9 USMC
PFC Jacklyn H Lucas 1/26 USMC
1stLt Jack Lummus 2/27 USMC
1stLt Harry L Martin 5th Pioneer Bn USMC
Capt Joseph J McCarthy 2/24 USMC
Pvt George Phillips 2/28 USMC
Pharmacists Mate 1st Class Francis J Pierce USN
PFC Donald J Ruhl 2/28 USMC
Pvt Franklin E Sigler 2/26 USMC
Cpl Tony Stein 1/28 USMC
Pharmacists Mate 2d Class George E Wahlen 2/26 USN
GySgt William G Walsh 3/27 USMC
Pvt William D Watson 2/9 USMC
Cpl Hershel W Williams RCT 21 USMC
Pharmacist's Mate 3d Class Jack Williams 3/28 USN
Pharmacist's Mate 1st Class John H Willis 3/27 USN
Local Barbeque

Seems like in every small town in the west, or southeast... there is some place that is perported to have the best barbeque in all the world... In Owensboro, Ky for example... there is Moonlite... the fact that the place has a helicopter pad out back should lend some credence to the claim though... Its not every day that you see a redneck little resturant sportin' one of those!

Apparently in Augusta the locals flock to a place called Sconyers... Upon Porcus's request... we decided to take a look for ourselves...

Not suprisingly we found Sconyers, on Sconyers road... duh... The place has a mud parking lot... not gravel... compacted... mostly dry... mud... and a rustic lodge look that had us quite excited about the prospects of the coming meal...

An iritated looking old blue hair took us to our table... and well... things started to go downhill... For example...

The bread on the table was actually Wonderbread... I know it was Wonderbread... because it was still in the bag... and when we asked for butter... we were told... "We don't carry that".

Butter? You don't carry butter? You'da thought we'd requested some arcane condiment common to Tibet! Butter. How in the Blue Hell do you run a restraunt and you ain't got butter? Who eats bread without it?

Joy and Julie both ordered the Ribs... I got the Beef plate.. and well... We shoulda known something was up when the only person in our party who'd been there before went with the turkey sandwich...

Understand that Julie and Joy have been exposed to some excellent ribs in their lives... and generally.. they expect to pick up a bone, and watch the meat simply drip off of it...

What they did not expect was a Goodyear tire laced with bones and basted with a small amount of sauce. None the less... that's about what they got.

Our "food" was brought to us on large plates... The food was sorta stacked onto them.. rice on the bottom... then some nasty... "hash" that all but defies description... then what ever you ordered on top of that... Not at all an apetizing presentation...

Lets discuss this "Hash".... Hash... It's best described as yesterdays dinner regurgitated. Apparently... they take the "meat" from the head of the pig to make it... the meat... from the head... You know what that means right? The damned snout. Nasty. Think bruswick stew... 'cept really really thick... and about as tastey as dry-rotted snake.

On the upside.. my barbequed beef was average... I've had much better... but it wasn't terrible... and Jen's turkey was downright good. If it had been a little more moist.. and laced with booze... It coulda been mine!

I confess though... I wondered why they brought Jen's sandwich out already on the bread... seems they coulda just taken a couple slices of the Wonderbread on the table and slapped some meat on 'em.

My wife even made the mistake of asking the waitress about dessert... and she was once again told, "We don't carry that." Like dessert is some specific dish... I mean.. they're already pickin' up bread at the grocery store... would it be to much to ask to grab a pie or two.. and maybe some butter while their there?

Worst of all... in the middle of southron Georgia... I find a damned Yankee Sword prominantly displayed!!!

Havin' eatin barbeque in Kansas, Texas, Oklahoma, Kentucky, and Tennessee... at some of the best barbeque places in the world... I can honestly say...

Sconyers sucked. Sorry Porky. No offense intended buddy. But I've had better Barbeque at Arby's... and chain resturants like Texas Roadhouse... it pains me to say.... are much much better.

If you can't stack up with the chains... you aint got a prayer against a place like Moonlite.
Bad Joke Wednesday

- What's purple and goes slam slam slam slam?

A four door grape.

- Why do cows moo?

Because their horns don't work.

- Julius Caesar walked into a bar. He said to the bartender, "I'd like a martinus."
The bartender, a little confused, says, "Don't you mean a martini?"

Caesar replied, "If I wanted a double, I would have asked for it."

And one more... just because...

Most people know the legend of William Tell and his unique method of making applesauce, but not many know that he and his family were championship bowlers. Highly skilled, their team was sponsored eagerly by local merchants. To have "Tell's Terrors" represent your firm was a great honor.

Even now, to be able to claim that the Tells once represented your family business would be of great advertising value. Unfortunately, the old records have been lost, and today we can't be sure for whom the Tells bowl.

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

Terra... arium

No great adventure can qualify for such a description if you return without booty. No No No... not in the Sir-mixalot fashion... Booty in the Blackbeard fashion... A boon! A gift! A Prize!

We did not return empty handed.

Julie's fine sister Jenn sent us home with an already setup terrarium with 3 fire bellied toads. I confess I accepted not without a bit of trepidation.... but accept I did, and glad I am of it. Umm... that is to say... Umm... I'm happy about it.


Jeb now has the coolest playroom ever... complete with tropical frogs and crickets to feed them! All resting on custom built-in bookshelves built by... ahem... His daddy.

Now I ain't really a frog guy... but these seem cool enough. They got no tongues... so ya drop these crickets in there amongst 'em and they...well... they sorta perk up... but they sit perfectly still.... then when a cricket gets within about 3 inch...


They jump on him and bite the hell outta him! It rocks! The crickets are too big to eat whole... so they crunch on 'em for a bit before they swallow 'em! Jeb loves it! He didn't pay the frogs no mind at all until we fed 'em... and now he's blowin' 'em kisses and stuff... can't get enough of 'em.

Thanks Jen!

Any a you kids got critters like these? I don't know nuthin' about 'em... All I know is.. they like it above 60 degrees, and humid as hell.... sounds like me!

The best thing is... Kristy is sittin' in Oak Ridge reading this... just fumin' with envy! She loves these critters... even has a tat of Kermit playin' the banjo... ahem... or so I hear...
Public Use vs. Public Good

The 5th amendment sets the rules for eminent domain rather clearly. Morons on both sides of the isle however would have us believe that it is a matter for hand-wring and much consternation.

It is not.

The fact that such a question could make it all the way to the Supreme Court is testimony to the woeful state of our Nation and its people's attitudes towards freedom.

If you're confused what I am talking about is a case which involves the confiscation of private property, by a city, which the city plans on giving to a different private party, for developement. In theory this will provide jobs for the community, and therefore serve the community needs.

We have a word for this. We call it coruption.

No government ever has the legitimate power to simply redistribute private property as it sees fit. If the supreme court allows this... We've officially embraced Marxism.

Think of the doors this opens...

The Government decides what is fair market value for your home. So when you get 50 grand, for a 200,000 dollar house... well... its for the public good...

And who decides what is good for the public? The Government.

What we will see is mass corruption. Campaign financeers, Friends, and Relatives of elected officials will be rewarded with confiscated properties... All.... For the public good.

A law is never judged by the good that it can be used to do. A law is judged by the Evil it can used to do.

This type of of errosion of property rights is the only real threat to America's economic domination of the world.

Monday, February 21, 2005


First of all... I have to point out, that my brothers and I love these things like life itself. Each of us knows for a fact that he is by far the best of the three... and when all of us find ourselves on a track at the same time... well... trouble is not far behind...

Rubbin' is racin'... As the fella says.

That's good and well... so long as everyone in realizes that any of the three of us will rub your butt right into the wall and ride off laughin' about it.

That said... it's quite clear that Jeb is gonna fit right in... and aparently the Mountain Fortress is gonna need a concrete track out back!

So Friday afternoon Julie, Joy, and I had some time to kill and figured we'd take Jeb out and see what trouble we could stir up. Just off I-20 we found this place with go-carts and all manner of kids rides... for us... It was like the Holy Grail.

For a chance to ride around with Jeb in a two-seater go-cart I'da gladly paid 50 bucks.. but it actually only cost 3...

Now.. given that I was with a 30 month old kid.. the red McDonalds Go-Cart seemed quite appropriate. I got us all strapped in... but unfortunately they didn't have 5 point harnesses... this would prove... troublesome later on...

Joy was ridin' too.. and she took up the black Amoco cart a couple cars back. DrWho hung back to photo the event. Pregasuarus not allowed... that's what the sign said anyway. That's a shame to.. cause my girl can drive!

Jeb was pretty spooked at first... in fact.. I thought he was gonna climb outta the car when I first hit the gas... but we were downt he straight away, and I tucked him under my right arm, and resided myself to the fact that I was steerin' one handed for the rest of the day.

We came up to the first curve, and as soon as he felt the first G's in the turn he just cackled.

Hooked. It was all over. The boy was sold.

I took it easy for several laps... but we found ourselves behind this little mexican kid who just could drive... Joy was on our butts... This just wouldn't do... I was gettin' impatient... Matters got worse when JOY passed us... I got a run on her and took her to the outside on a sweepin' left hander and decided the mexican was goin' down.

I kept trying to go to the outside on the kid... but with the added weight... my two-seater just couldn't hold a run on him... dammit....

Finally I let the cart drift to a wide apex in a longish 180 right-hand turn... Then at the last second I stomped the gas and jerked the wheel as hard as I could. Jeb was crushed up against my side and immediately howled with glee as we blew by the kid on the inside... He tried to cut us off at the end of the straight but I gave him a little tap to remind him what was what... Jeb was lovin' this far more than I was... which.... is sayin' somethin'.

From that point... it was on. We were kickin' butt and takin names. Jeb liked it better that way anyhow. We knifed through traffic the last few laps... really smokin' some folks... and if it weren't for the fact that I was continually havin' to pick jeb up... the poor kid kept slidin' down the seat... we'd've showed all a thing or two.

Jeb was wired after the ride. He was pointin' and makin' all manner of faces... Happy as he could be... then it was off to the roller-coaster.. and countless other carney type rides...

Needless to say... The boy.... the girls... and the Daddy... all had a fine time. Steaks and Bourbon awaited back at Jen's place... but that's another story.
Back to the Grind

Back to work eh? So here I find myself... the monday after a fine vacation... Oh we all attempt to put an extra bound in our step on such days... but its for naught. One comfort I have... For the first time in ages... I am blissfully unaware of the tempests raging in the World's various tea-kettles.

Who'm I kiddin' anyway? The only difference today is the setting. Such is the benefit of early retirement!

I suppose none of you working types really want to read of my glorious days, spent in sunny south Georgia, with fine whiskey, and finer women... but alas... I shall type it just the same.

It all started when I loaded up Jeb and the Pregasaurus on wednesday. We rolled out around 10:00am... Thank God for vehicles with DVD's... that's all I'm sayin'. We made good time... and by 3:00 we started noticing that it was distinctly warmer... the thermometer on the mirror was now showing things like 65 and 67... numbers we don't see in West Virginia until after Easter!

Not to mention...there was this... bizarre thing.. hanging in the sky... and it was bright! Like... the brightest thing I'd seen in years... I seem to recall it from the bygone southron days... but I'd forgotten the name... The Sun! That's it! What a brilliant thing the Sun is... Something else we don't see in West Virginia... Ever...

We stopped at a Frugal McDougal's in South Carolina... where it was 71 degrees... and there was not a cloud in the sky... I don't know if you've ever been to a Frugal MacDougal's or not... but it's basicly a Walmart for Booze. That's were a snatched up the Russell's Reserve... and a fine chardonnay whose make escapes me at the moment...

Good times lay ahead....

You may not realize the point of my trip... but I assure you.... just reading the briefest description will put a smile on your face...

We were heading down for a friend's wedding ya see... a friend's... authentic... Indian Wedding.... Not a beat-on-your-tom-tom Indian... I mean a dot-on-your-head Indian. Yes. Now seriously... Can y'all picture me at such an event? yes yes there are tale to tell... Thankfully the bar was open... and the drinks were free...

Good times... There a few posts to come from this trip... No question.... From Jennifer's (Julie's other sweet and innocent sister) introduction to Bourbon, to the Indian Wedding... To the Whitey Wedding that evening... and the party there-after... not to mention the cavorting... construction... go-carts... and mini-rollercoasters!

We even ate at Sconyer's. I reckon I'll have to blog on that too...

Ah well... Have a good day work y'all.

Friday, February 18, 2005

The Ubiquitous Friday Night Drinkin' Post

What? You thought I forgot? No Faith!

I write today from the glorious state of Georgia, surrounded by fine women, corona, and fresh mostly raw meat... right of the grill. We've got Jacob's Creek Merlot... 2002 I believe... Wild Turkey Russell's Reserve... a weimereiner, a german shepard... and King George himself in the background...

All is right with the world.

Jeb rode his first roller coaster today... and I got to take him on a go-cart ride too! Ya never heard such cacklin'! The boy takes after his daddy... that's a fact.

well... hell y'all... I've girls to flirt with... a corncob pipe to smoke... filet to eat... wine, bourbon, and beer... It's my sincerest hope that y'all are havin' half as good time as I am... as I know you'll be thrilled... and hell... it'll leave me somethin' to gloat about!

God Bless ya!

Standard Friday Postin' Rules Apply

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

Bad Joke Wednesday

We're headin' to August for a few days. Dunno when I'll be bloggin'. I'll try to get on down there to give y'all a heads up... but no promises kids. Well... I'm sure I won't miss the Friday Drinkin' Post... I mean come on... What would the Bloggerblaster be without that? And of course... it wouldn't do to miss Bad Joke Wednesday either would it? So here it is... you can expect more typical blogging to resume sunday evening or monday... until then things will be kinda spastic... not that that's unusual...

Speakin' of spastic...

Mahatma Gandhi was a peculiar person. He walked barefoot everywhere, to the point that his feet became quite thick and hard. He often went on hunger strikes, and even when he wasn't on a hunger strike, he did not eat much and became quite thin and frail. He also was a very spiritual person. Finally, because he didn't eat much and when he did his diet was peculiar, he developed very bad breath. He became known as a super-calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.

And for number 2:

Veteran Pillsbury spokesmodel Pop-N-Fresh died yesterday of a severe yeast infection. He was 71.

Fresh was buried in one of the largest ceremonies in recent years. Dozens of celebrities turned out, including Mrs. Butterworth, The California Raisins, Hungry Jack, and Betty Crocker. The gravesite was piled high with flours as longtime friend Aunt Jemima gave the eulogy, describing Fresh as a man who "never knew how much he was kneaded." Fresh rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with many turnovers. He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting much time on half-baked schemes. Still, even as a crusty old man, he was a roll model for millions. Fresh is survived by his second wife. They have two children and one in the oven. The funeral was held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes.
Googling "Moron"

I typed "Moron" into God's Gift to Search Engines, and I came up with this. I could go on for days. Truely it's a trove of evidence, proving the vast unwavering stupidity of the left. Dig enough and you'll find every leftist myth propogated... including my particular favorite... Over-population.

Did you realize the world was over populated? Over population... this is how we know the liberals suck at math. What are there... 6 billion people in the world more or less? Right... and how many acres of land are there in the continental United States alone? Right. Don't tell me we're overpopulated. It's not my fault the morons in Mexico City and Tokyo are stupid enough to live on top each other.

I read this crap and I am reminded of my previous leftist neighbors... You remember... The Witch and her husband...

We had them over for supper once... and she told us all about over population... and how using land for cattle was such a waste... Because you know... growing crops produces more pounds of food per acre...

You can imagine the look on her face when I said, "Umm... Darlin', have you ever been west of the Mississippi?"

"Well... no but I'd like to"

"So you're not aware then that there are billions and billions of acres of land over there that we ain't usin'? And you're also not aware that the vast majority of that land is great for grazin' cattle, but it sucks for about anything else?"

"Well... umm... I really want to go, I just haven't had the opportunity."

Understand of course that this particular witch was the feminine studies professor at WVU. She and her husband were on my front porch when I found that out...

"Women's studies? You teach women's studies? At WVU? What's that... Like... Cookin' and Cleanin' and stuff?"

Her husband almost laughed... She didn't.

Monday, February 14, 2005

Valentines Prize

I'm not an ambusher. In fact... I'm the opposite. I'm as sly as they come. I'm quite positive DrWho was convinced she'd be getting nothing for this particular holiday.


Right. What am I? A rookie? Hardly.

When she came home from work... sitting inconspicuously on the buffet was a small box wrapped in silver, with a white bow. I said nothing.

In it, she found a white gold pendant with one of the most beautiful aquamarine stones I've seen in America.

Why Aquamarine?

It's the birthstone... Of March.

Well... it's Monday... which for the vast majority of you... means you're at work. Work. That must suck. I used to hate Monday... You know... back before I retired.

Retired... Yeah... That's what I am... Say... hold on a sec. I'm gonna fetch a cup o' coffee... hell you probly want one too...

Ahh.. that's better. Now where was I?

Oh yeah... Retired. See... DrWho wanted me to ask y'all what all ya do. I know JohnR and PapaPete are in the same lucky boat as me. Red is in the automotive industry... Res is a reformed banker... So how bout it? Where are ya this mornin'?

Me? Well... I'm sittin' here waitin for Jeb to wake up.

I know a lot mom's out there have a "I work too!" complex. Fact is... I just don't see it that way. That's why I say I'm retired. I refuse to describe the privilage of staying home with my kid as a job. A job is something you are paid to do. This is something that Julie and I pay for me to be able to do.

So that's us. Julie's in the OR right now... tryin' to keep some poor patient alive while some surgeon is doing things to them that would otherwise kill them... and I'm here in the basement... sippin' coffee... listening to Cross Canadian Ragweed sing "Sick and Tired of Being Sick and Tired..."

How about you?

Sunday, February 13, 2005


Over the last several months I've noticed another subtle change in the MP3 playlist. More and More I find these types... Robert Earl Keene... Jason Boland... The Gourds... If you're unfamiliar... it's mostly nostalgia music. If you ever sat around with a bunch of guys swappin' songs on accoustic guitars... this will take ya back there... even if you never heard played these songs.

The voices aren't pretty. They're original... and gruff... like young Cash... or David Allen Coe. Jason Boland's cover of Charlie Robinson's "My Hometown" is treasured... and The Gourds... well... everything they do is gold. If you're ever down Austin way, I suggest ya look them up... but look for a crowd to be there. They're probably still the biggest thing in town. If you've never heard their take on Gin and Juice... or their orginal classics.. like Jesus and Tequila, or I like Drinkin'... you really are missin' something. it's such a bizarre label. I mean... it's an alternative to Nashville... no doubt... but associating with "alt" is just insulting. It's way closer to country than anything Tim McGraw is putting out.

Tim McGraw... Theres a jerkoff if ever I've seen one... The guy does a duet with Nelly. NELLY! This is the guy who sings a song complaining about to much pop influence in country music. Look in the mirror ya moron.

At anyrate... the music's a lot more laid back... and story songs abound... American Pie... The Wreck of the Edumnd Fitzgerald... Hell... there's even some Jerry Reed in there...

Maybe its the weather. Maybe its just winter. No doubt when the weather changes... and the eye starts lingerin' ever more to the bike... the mp3 list will certainly take a decidedly different shape... with more Angry White Boy tunes... But for now... I'll take this.

It goes with the bourbon.

So I'll see you in Nashville,
If I ever get out that way.
and I'll see you in Austin,
But I won't have long to stay.

If you're ever out west son
And ya feel like slowin' down
Well I'll see ya around..
Around My Hometown.
Dumb Hoosier News

Wow... The Darwin Awards are gonna be tight this year.

See JAC and I have a longterm debate... which is largely stalemated... about which state is populated with stupidist people. We agree on the Top 2 of course... that's easy... but deciding between Ohio and Indiana in such context has left us vexxed. JAC is confident that Buckeyes are the dumbest people walking the earth... While I've never met a hoosier who could consistently tie his own shoes without somehow choking himself.

I'm hoping this will push things over the edge.

One should also remember... this is the same state that decided it wanted its capital on a waterway... so it founded Indianapolis on the White River... and only realized later... that the River was not suitable for boat traffic.

Now seriously? Does it take a genius to figure out how deep a river is? Is there some mystical gift that God denied hoosiers, leaving them unable to determine suitable rivers?

And does that same malady somehow effect their ability to evaluate body armor?

I submit that they are afflicted by just such a malady... one for which we in the South, have a word.

We call it....


*** UPDATE ***

Three surgeons are standin' around jawin'... The first says, "I'm the greatest surgeon in the world. I reattached a man's severed legs... He recovered... and set the world record in the 100 meter sprint."

"That ain't nuthin' ", says the second. "I once operated on a fella who lost all his fingers in a freak badmitten accident... I reattached them.. and now... he plays piano for 10 grand a night."

The third just shook his head...

"You boys are outclassed. This one time... I was drivin' down the interstate... and I came upon a horrific crash... there was fire everywhere... Boys... all I found left was an rectum and a red sweater...

I sewed 'em together... and it coached basketball at Indiana for 20 years."

Friday, February 11, 2005

Friday Drinkin' Post

Well kids its 5:00pm on the East Coast... and By God that should be good enough. I always figured if was drinkin' time anywhere in the Continental US, it should count for the whole durn country.

So saddle up to the bar y'all. What'll it be?

Ol' Nate is gettin' predictable in his old age. It'll be 1792, and Buffalo Trace for me. Though later on this evening I may sneak out for some Makers Mark... or maybe some breed of Wild Turkey... I have a hankerin' for something sweet tonight...

Since I've got this Jim Beam Black... and I wouldn't even wish something this bad on Bane... I suppose I'm gonna have to go collect some ingredients for some mixed drinks... As bad as it is, it should still be ok in a Whiskey Sour.

Now there's somethin' we ain't covered... Mixed drinks... that has me thinkin'...

First of all... Margarita is a flavor people. You don't get flavored margaritas... and they ain't supposed to be frozen either. At least not in the hands of a man. Good lord, have a little self-respect.

But now that that's outta the way... What's your favorite mixed drink? Mine of course is Bourbon and Ice... and very light on the Ice I might add... but short of that... I'll take a Whiskey Sour, or a Top Shelf Margarita... Old Fashioned... I like some Vodka mixed drinks but it has to be made with some damned high quality vodka. Kettle One... or Vox... there are a few others I like to. For me... Vodka needs to be like good clean water. It should have a great deal of clarity. It should be like drinking alchoholic water. It should be both cold and hot at the same time.

I'll check back later with the smokin' talk. Johnny Cash is in the changer. "When the Man comes around."

Ok kids... topics on the table:

What're your favorite mixed drinks?

What's your favorite Vodka, and what do you look for in a Vodka?

As always... standard Friday drinkin' rules apply...
Favorite Movies

This is as good a Friday Topic as any. In no particular order...

Tombstone: Everything a movie is supposed to be. The good guys are good, the badguys are bad, and there ain't no in-between. Val Kilmer should've won an oscar for his Doc. Beyond it all though, the movie can teach exactly what friendship is about.

Forrest Gump: So many people write this off as a flippant comedy... about a dumb guy who gets lucky. In fact its a morality play. The movie compares and contrasts its two most important characters... Forrest and Jenny. Forrest is neither handsome, nor smart. He is born with screwed up legs... but his mom loves him, and throughout the movie, all he does is what is right. Jenny on the other hand is beatiful and smart. She spends the whole movie being selfish, and giving no thought to right and wrong. By simply doing what's right, Forrest encounters all the success in the world. Jenny dies of aids. To this day... you can say the words, "You died on a saturday" with a slight southern drawl, and anyone who hears you knows instantly what you're quoting.

Jaws: The old timer is worth the price of admission by himself. "Farewell and Adieu, ye fair spanish ladies..." The scene with the three men on the boat is still one of my alltime favorites... Back when pure masculinity was still allowed on the silverscreen such things weren't so remarkable as they are today. This was a modern-day Moby Dick... and they nailed it.

Armageddon: Bruce Willis plays John Wayne saving the world. What else do you want? Billy Bob Thorton plays a great smartass NASA chief. "He's pretty much the smartest guy on the planet, so you might consider listening to what he has to say." Its just a great action movie that leaves you tired from just watching. Its a guys movie, about men being men, and women loving them for it.

Equillibrium: Cross japslappin' and firearms... The fight scenes make the Matrix look cheap. That's all there is to it... and thats more than enough.

The Professional: Assassin teaches 10 year old girl the business. Nuff Said.

The Outlaw Josey Wales: The greatest western ever made... save maybe Unforgiven. I probably give this one the nod though, as Josey is a Confederate. So many great, quotable lines... So many memorable characters... Love it.

Under Suspicion: Put Gene Hackman and Morgan Freeman in a room for 2 hours and let them go at each other. The movie is brutal, honest, and perfectly executed by two of the best actors of their day.

Sling Blade: So much to love... Dwight Yokem plays the best drunk redneck in history... and in a prime example of "He needed Killin' " Billy Bob does just that. This is another story of Right and Wrong... Just and Unjust... and its another story that most people miss.

The Apostle: One of the surest ways to distinguish a true yankee is to show them this movie. Yankees just don't get it. It means nothing to them. Flies right by their heads. The movies is about Faith, and impection, and The South.

Secondhand Lions: It's this generations Princess Bride. I offer no spoilers for this one. If you haven't seen it, go now. Understand that the two main characters could easily be JAC and I when our wives finally wise up and leave us.

Hell... I could go on all day... I'll stop for now though.

Thursday, February 10, 2005

7 Days in the Future at the Mountain Fortress

Zod has an excellent piece of at his place on the way things may go down when the excriment and the oscillatory cooling device meet. So with apologies to him, I offer you a look at that same event from Nate's place.

Event - 1 month: Checked food. Resupplied .308 and .45acp. All is well.
Event - 1 day: Nasty rumors abound. Wonder if something's up.

Event+ 0: Saturday morning. I learn over the internet that the rest of America is without power do to some sort of massive failure/attack, shortly before my satalite provider shuts down. I don't really care since I provide my own power with a huge battery bank supported by solar and hydroelectric generators. Piss on 'em. check the system and clean the guns. We're havin' steak and potatoes tonight. man.. no internet acces? How am I gonna blog?

Event +1: After contacting some friends and family its determined that they should make there way here. They should arrive later tonight. The rest of the America is freakin' out. I take the truck out to do some scouting... after all, I've got plenty of gas in the tanks at the Mountain.

Event +2: Internet still down. No blogging... this sucks. Friends and family have arrived with news of chaos elsewhere. We laugh and enjoy a nice meal and hot showers. Over some bourbon we discuss defensive positions, and armaments.

Event +3: My daily drive reveals moderate panic begining to set in. Time to sure up the defenses. Deep within the fortress at night, we sleep securely.

Event +4: Shot a couple would-be looters today. Dangled their carcasses out by the gate. Going to start leaving the Schultzhunds out at night. Still no blogging... dammit.. Ah well... JAC and I have a grand dispute over the appropriate way to cook chili.

Event +5: The bodies at the gate seem to be doing the trick. Either that or some of JAC's chili... No tellin'. Kids are loving havin' all the company. Big fun. Still no blog though... dammit.

Event +6: A semi-organized full scale assault was levied in the a.m. We killed at least 25... 29 if you count the 4 the dogs got lastnight. Tonight we can see light from what appears to be massive fires elsewhere. Neighbors have come by to check on us a few times. All is well.

Event +7: Saturday... Jeb's pissed cause cartoons aren't on. Shortwave brings rants of chaos everywhere. whatever. The routine is working well. We're living like its 1900, except we have modern conviences and power. Thank God JAC brought some stoges with him. We may have run out. Unfortunately...

The blog is still down.

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

Cockroaches, Crows, and The Limit

One thing about America... we got a whole mess of laws. You can't have more than 5 gallons of water in your toilet. You got to wear a seatbelt. You can't sell cigarettes in a liquor store... and God help ya if ya sell booze on Sunday.

You can't shoot a Bald Eagle... or catch a Rainbow Trout... Hell... You can only shoot deer a couple months a year... Shoot an Elk in Kentucky or Tennessee and they'll throw in the Hoos-Cow and you'll never see the light of day again.

In fact.. there are only choice few things you can kill anytime ya what. Crows... Coyotes... Bugs... Rats... That's about it.

And its even worse for domesticated animals. Throw a match on a kitty? Fines will be the least of your worries...

Hell... in San Fransico, dog owners are legally required to have fresh water in a spill proof dish, and while they haven't yet outlawed tiein' the critters up, they are workin' on it.

Now... all these critters... before we passed these rules and laws to protect them... Did anyone stand up and require them to prove that they were human before we stepped in? Did you see Diane Feinstein stand up and scream for hunter's rights? After all... these things aren't human! They're just a bunch of cells!

Of course you didn't. We don't require proof of humanity... we only require proof of life. We loudly proclaim that all life is worth protecting!!!

All life...

All life... except the life of the unborn. Of them, we require proof of humanity. They, and they alone, are required to prove their worthiness.

The PETArds say that violence in the name of protecting animals is justifiable.

Then I say its almost time to start shootin'. Because, if you can kill a human to protect a pig, then I can kill an abortionist to protect a baby.

Those are some harsh words... and its an extreme view. I ask you this though;

Is it right to kill a would be murderer to protect an innocent life? The bad man has a knife to a kid's throat... I shoot the bad man. Bad man dies. Did I just commit murder? There is not a state in the Union that defines it as such.

Were I on a jury, there is no way I would find the killer of an abortionist guilty of murder.

What I ask myself is... does such action do any good right now? The answer is no. Not right now. It's not time yet. But... we should be aware that there could well come a time when the political fight is lost... when there is no longer any hope of peacefully ending abortion.

When that time comes... Then... it will be time to starting playing Cowboys and Baby Killers.
Bad Joke Wednesday

Why didn't the grizzly wear any shoes?

He wanted to go bear foot.

Whats blue and looks like a bucket?

A red bucket in disguise.

From DrWho: Who's the king of the classroom?

The Ruler.

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

My Favorite

Fact is, you just can't beat Bookers... but who really goes out and spends 50 bucks for a bottle of whiskey? It's just to damned expensive.

Nope... I'm about to shock you boys. For all my talk of Woodford's and Knob Creek and 1792... my favorite bourbon is actually little ol' Makers Mark.

See... even though you might see 20 or even 50 different labels out there... there are actually only nine distilleries that make bourbon. Of those distilleries, only 2, Wild Turkey, and Makers Mark, put their name on every bottle they make. There's a lot of folks out there that just don't know that Booker's, Baker's, Knob Creek, and Basil Hayden's are all made by Jim Beam.

But that's what I love about Makers Mark. Every bottle is the same. Every bottle comes from water from the same spring... through the same ancient cypress ferminters.... goes through the same beautiful copper still... and finally into barrels that are aged quite a bit longer than the industry standard... to prevent any green spots or God forbid, sap infecting the bourbon.

While the Four Brothers are Jim Beam's best... there is no "best" of Makers Mark. It's just Makers Mark. While Jim Beam is turning out thousands of barrells per day... the boys at Makers painstakingly produce 40.

Makers is the only brand that has seen its demand increase every year since 1958. So much so that now, they find themselves hard pressed to meet it. They kicked around the idea of building a new still right next the old one... but they couldn't be guaranteed the product would taste the exact same... plus... their production is limited greatly by the limestone spring that provides their water. It only comes so fast ya see.

When it's all said and done Makers Mark produces a smooth... incredibly sweet whiskey with hints of toffey and butterscotch... It's highly refined. So much so that one could call it borderline snooty. Is it better than Knob Creek or Bookers? Nope. But then again... it's half the price ain't it?

If you've never had bourbon... or you don't know much about it, and ya want to buy it for a gift... Make it Makers Mark. There is no better bourbon for the money. You can pick it up for 17 or 18 bucks. For that price... you have no reason to expect bourbon this good...

But ya get it just the same.

I think its time I posted a basic primer on just what makes bourbon bourbon. How bout it? Y'all up for some history and a few old shiner's tales? Yeah... I thought ya would be.

Lets start out with the basics. Bourbon is a type of whiskey, and to be classified as such, the whiskey needs to meet some pretty strict criteria.

1) The mash must be at least 51% corn. Now most distilleries use much more than that... even up to 75-80% corn. The other most common ingredient is Rye. In fact the only distillery that doesn't use Rye is Makers Mark. They use no Rye at all. They use Wheat.

2) Bourbon must be aged in charred oak barrels. Most all distilleries use White Oak. It's usually aged 6 to 10 years. Understand that in Kentucky's heat, that's like aging it 12 to 50 years elsewhere.

3) It's possible to make bourbon outside the state of Kentucky. But its illegal to put it on the bottle. Now that said, Jack Daniels is made with exactly the same processes as the bourbons of Kentucky. The only difference is the Charcoal filtering that ol' Jack insists upon. While this clearly changes many characteristics, it's really the only difference.

Now... If you know other booze, but know very little about bourbon... perhaps I can clarify a bit. In terms of quality Bourbon is the Single malt of Whiskey... and well... if bourbon can be compared to single malt scotch... then the permium bourbons you've read about here are simply beyond compare.

I've sipped whiskey from $1000 bottles of scotch... and frankly... I was unimpressed.

So what makes it so durned good?

Well... there are 1000 different opinions on that... but most folks agree that one of the most important aspects is the charred barrels... and well.... how that came about is a bit of tale in and of itself.

It seems that we owe that discover to Elijah Craig himself. Ol' Elijah made money makin' whiskey and haulin' it down the Mississippi way back when. Apparently one day there was a fire... most likey one of Elijah's own making... and the boy found himself with a bunch of burnt barrels. Bein' a good Scottsman, he wasn't one to throw anything away... he filled the barrels up and headed down river.

With all that sloshin' around, by the time he got to New Orleans... the whiskey inside had turned brown... and according to Elijah.... and his bank... it sold like wildfire.

Now the barrels are only used the one time. After that, they are sold as planters, or chipped up and sold for smoke chips... or... and this is a special jab for all your scotch fans out there...

Apparently a number of famous scotch makers... many premium scotch makers in fact, buy the used bourbon barels to age their scotch in.

Yup... you're scotch is being aged in barrels that we Southrons think ain't good enough for anything but holdin' dirt or smokin' meat. No wonder the stuff is flavorless. It's bein' aged in reject barrels!

It ain't friday... but I sincerely hope ya sneak off to take a nip tonight just the same. Nothin' takes the chill out of a cold winter night like a sip of your favorite bourbon... whatever that should be.

I'll be providing some tasting notes here directly.

*** UPDATE *** I cant believe I left this out... but the man who is credited with inventing bourbon.. Elijah Craig... That's.... REVEREND Elijah Craig... Preacher... and Mississippi Rum Runner.

Monday, February 07, 2005

Repost #2: Fun with Mormons

This is one of my favorite posts, partially because it really pissed a couple folks off... but mostly because I just crack myself up. I know that's not really a good thing... but come on... this is good stuff. Anyway... enjoy... May was obviously a real good month.

*** Disclaimer *** This is where a lesser man would say, "I don't mean to hurt anyone's feelings ect ect..." Whatever. I figure, if you are minding your own business, and someone randomly mocks your faith, then you have a gripe, but if your faith sends folks around harassing people in the middle of the day, then you got it coming. If you are a mormon, and this is offensive, then you must have wanted to be offended, so I don't give a damn. After all, if you didn't want to get offended, you wouldn't have read it.

So it's monday. Julie's off at work... It's like 4:30 or so. Jeb woke about a hour ago, and he's runnin' around with his train. I'm sittin' in the rockin chair, listenin' to George Straight and wonderin' just what I was gonna post to follow up that eyeliner story...

Knock Knock Knock.

Door? Hrmm.. Who could that be...

HEY! I'll be damned! Ask and you shall recieve! It's the Mormons!

Three fine lookin' young women, looking very respectible in their flowered dresses.

How cute.

Now I don't mess around with these people. They start in with their practiced closed questions and the first thing I do is break the pattern. I wanted to shake them up before we got started so I went inside, grabbed Jeb, and a corona, and came back out to the front porch. I plopped down on the swing, and while Jeb started playin'... One of the ladies said, "Ummm sir..."

"Aw! I'm sorry girls. I really am! That's just rude as hell, can I get you a beer too? No? It sure is hot... well suit yourself... So lets start with these tablets."

They were all still shocked that I had offered them a beer, but the short blonde in the gang pulled herself together enough to say, "You know about the tablets?"

I looked at her and started smiling. Then I chuckled a little and took a drink. "Well sure! I tell ya, old Joe must've been important though... I mean... Moses just got rock tablets. Joe rated Gold! Must've been some good stuff written on them tablets too... I mean if rock is good enough for the 10 commandments, what do you put on gold? Say what ever happened to those things?"
The oldest girl, spoke up then, "The lord recalled the tablets and.."

"Recalled them? Like they were defective? This don't make any sense to me. Moses got to keep his. I mean... Did Mr Young see these tablets? Did anyone see them? Moses didn't have tablets when he went up to the mountain, but when he came down, he had something to prove that some crazy voodoo mess went down up there, he had the stone tablets. I mean you don't start tellin' people you talked to a burnin' bush without some kinda proof. The Jews even got this special box to carry their tablets around in... Y'all got a special box?"

That came out rapid fire, and you can imagine the effect. There was some stammering, and I figgered if I had them on the ropes I may as well throw a haymaker.

"Y'all don't seem to know much about your religion. Say... are you girls wearing your holy underwear?"

Now we've got three red faces.

"Oh come on ladies.. don't be embarrassed, it's just like my son wears, sept no body said no prayer over his."

So the oldest one of the bunch made a comment about the cool motorcycle in the front yard. The equivalent of begging for mercy. She needed a break. Hey... I had plenty more ammo. Why not? so I played along and let them get back on track. They prattled off some stuff about this and that until the young blonde said, "How do you know something is true?"

Once again I smiled at her.. then laughed... then took a drink. "True? Well... First there is observable reality. I drop a rock, it falls. That means gravity is true."

Now here I was playing nice and the little wench went and interupted me. She started rambling about God offering wisdom and truth to anyone who sought it in true faith.

I smiled at her... then I laughed... then I took a drink. "Darlin' if it were that simple, we wouldn't have baptist, methodists, and catholics. Someone would've just prayed and asked, 'God, do I HAVE to be dunked or will just a sprinkle do?' and that would've been that. You're boy Joe... Was a prophet alright. You can others prophecying just like him too, in any bar in this country."
One got a little offended now. "Why don't you judge a faith by its fruit."

"Why yes ma'am. Let's see... My best friend in highschool was a mormon. In fact, he's a big cheese in your church. Judging by him, I'd say y'all ain't peddlin' fruit, you're peddlin' poison. This man was an elder in the church. He made frequent trips to the temples in atlanta and salt lake. funny though.. this prick was a flat out pervert. Hell.. one time I went to see his son, and this crazy old bastard answered the door nekkid! Have you ever seen a nude 300 pound polack? It's not pretty! Now I figure sure, every faith has bad apples, but this bad apples flourishes in your church. You ladies belong to a very young religion. The word people use to describe young religions is 'cult', and I can assure you, that word has a negative conatation for a reason."

They were wantin' to go at this point... but I figgered.. no way... you knocked on my door, and interupted my time. I'm having some fun.

"I could never be a part your sick cult. That man's wife had to work two jobs to support that family, on account of he was such a lazy good for nothing piece of crap. One job she had was a retail job, so she had to work some sundays. Now... Since she worked some sundays, she had to miss church on those days, and because she did, your cult refused to let her be present at her own son's wedding! Oh.. but the lazy pervert was there, no doubt wearing a nice new suit, that he charged on a credit card that she was bustin' her butt to pay off!"

Ok.. the girls were shook up now... but I let it go on like this for a little while longer. I continued my game with the little blonde. Every time she talked I would smile at her, then laugh, then take a drink, then rip apart what ever she said. By the end she wouldn't talk at all, and every time I looked at her she'd just look straight at her feet. hehehehe

Eventually I let them go. I had my fun. I apologiesed for being rude... but they thanked me and said, "no no.. everyone has an opinion..we enjoyed it."

yeah.. I'll bet you did.

As they were about to leave I reached over and ruffled the little blonde's hair and said, "If you ever want a ride cutie, come back any time... On the motorcycle I mean."

The Game sucked. McNabb sucked. If McNair and the Titans played that way in the fourth quarter of a Superbowl, I'd be shouting for the coaches' collective heads.

But I'm used to terrible Superbowls. The trouble is, this year the comercials sucked to! GAH! Seriously... did you laugh out loud at any of those?

So what did we learn?

1. Ford is not introducing the new Mustang until spring. Repeat... Ford is not introducing the new mustang until spring.

2. Honda has built a half-ton truck... and it's a Honda. Note they didn't mention anything like... horsepower... or torque... or towing capacity. There's an excellent reason for that. That's because its a Honda. A half-ton truck that tows 5000 pounds? The Trooper tows 5000 pounds! Chevy, Ford, and Dodge all make cars that tow 5000 pounds.

3. Monkies think whoopie cushions are funny.

4. There was something about Rugby and... Some black singer... but it was just a train wreck...

5. Andy Reid missed the day they discussed the 2-minute offense in coaching 101.

6. So did everyone else in green.

That's all for now... I have to think of something more entertaining to write about... You poor saps are at work... Someone has to look out for ya.

Friday, February 04, 2005

Obligatory Friday Drinkin' Post

I don't have a whole lot of time. Y'all are probably gonna have to carry the torch on my behalf... at least until later on this evening. Normally I would be deep in the drinkin', or at least planning stages by this late hour (it's almost 3pm!) but alas, there are some things that must be dealt with.

I'll be sippin' 1792, and the new Jim Beam Black alone tonight. I'll let ya know how it goes. Expect an at least one update later tonight. God bless y'all. Turn 'em up!

Standard Friday Posting Rules apply. What're ya drinkin'? What're ya smokin'? Who're ya drinkin' and smokin' with?

MINOR UPDATE: Superbowl Haiku!!!

Androgenous Pats
Might They Be Men or Women?
Or are they Mannens?

UPDATE II: I'm sad to report that Jim Beam Black is utterly unsatisfactory. In fact, unsatisfactory is far to generous a term.... It is.... Swill. It's filth. Its discusting and vile. Its like bourbon colored anti-freeze. After three sips of its rude, harsh, flavorless wretch... it took three shots of 1792 just to regain my composure. Believe me... Normally three shots of 1792 in rapid fire succession will do anything BUT give you composure... unless by composure... you mean semi-conscience dilerium... which is about where I am now. Do not take this to mean that I'm simply a bourbon snob. Makers Mark and Wild Turkey 101 are both cheaper than Jim Beam Black, and both are several orders of magnitude its superior. When the same company produces a 120 proof bourbon that is smooth as silk (bookers) and a 86 proof bourbon that is harsh as battery acid, one can only conclude that they just ain't tryin'.

This is about the most bizarre thing I've read in some time. I mean... what exactly possesses someone to attempt such a thing? And assuming you did want to attempt it... how do you broach the subject with the other participant?

"Say honey... ummm.... you know what I think might be fun?"

I mean thats just wrong people. I'm pretty much an anything goes kinda guy myself... but filling someone up with a bubbly achoholic beverage... or any type of liquid for that matter... isn't covered under my definition of "anything".

And not just wrong, but it is also quite possibly the most humilating death I've ever read about. Call off the Darwin Awards folks. This one is all wrapped up.
Ghost Story

I've thought long and hard about postin' this. After all, while some blogs are populated with a bunch of names that mean little more than a series zeros and ones, there are a lot of folks here who actually know me. If some guy 3000 miles away thinks you're crazy, it don't matter much. If your wife, brother, best-friend, girlfriend, or Dad think you're crazy... well son... now ya got a problem.

Either way... There's something's in this world ya just can't explain, and I happen to experience one of 'em.

About a year and a half ago, just after I bought the CBR, I found myself at home with some time to kill. Julie and Jeb were off galavantin' all over the South, and I had the weekend to myself. Me and the CBR hadn't quite made friends yet. Fact is I had only ridden it around town and on a couple short loops through the county. It's a big bike, and easily has 3 times the horsepower of my old bike.

Friday afternoon I found myself lookin' around tryin' to figger out what to do with myself. Julie had suggested I go down and hang out with Kristy for the weekend. Heheh... Now how many guys have a wife who makes suggestions like that? Finally I thought ta-hell with it, and climbed on the big bike. Sure I was leavin' late... and Knoxville was 7 hours away... and I wasn't really comfortable on the new bike... figured it was as good a way to get comfy as any.

I suited up, said my standard pre-ride prayer, and threw a leg over the big black cbr. She apparently knew she was gonna get to stretch her legs because she fired right up. She wanted to roll. Fair enough.

We hit I-79 south and I was takin' it easy. I had been riding a little cruiser, so this was an entirely new experience. It's strange to have a motorcycle that turns with a thought, stops so hard you feel like you're flying off the front, and accelerates so hard if feels like God just hit you in the chest.

Of course I didn't know any of that back then... I was babyin' her, and in return, she was babyin' me. This was foreplay.

Miles went by. I was makin' good time, and the grin on my face was startin' to get a little wider. south of Clarksburg I was catchin' up with a semi. I figured it was time to loose the reigns a little bit. I looked back over my shoulder to see the left lane was clear... then in one motion I whipped the big bike over and twisted my right wrist. My shoulders stretched. The bike leaned left... then stood up straight... then the front wheel started gettin' light. The corners of my vision blurred and the Semi made an audible ***THUMP*** as I blew by it.

I let up on the throttle... laughin' like a fool inside my helmet. Oh this was gonna be ride I'd never forget. Boy howdy...

The ride down 79 came and went... as did the stretch down 19... and I found myself on 77 south. Now the road between Charleston, WV and Wytheville, VA heads through what we in the east call mountains. They ain't the Rockies to be sure, but they are trecherous just the same. The wind howls through the passes, and even on a big bike, it can blow you into the other lane. It was a harrowing experience, but I did ok. I rolled on.

I was havin' a lot of fun to be honest. Between the tunnels I met up with another fella It was dark as a politician's soul but for some reason I could still see a lot of details on his bike. It was an old Ducati 916... one of the most beautiful bikes ever made. What struck me though... man... it was the reddest... the reddest anything I'd ever seen.

We rode together until we passed the second big tunnel, then he looked back, gave me a salute, then hit the throttle and left me like I was sittin' still. I just shook my head. He was gone before I even hit the throttle.

Or was he? I had the throttle pegged, but the bike wasn't doin' a damned thing. Well it was doin' something... it was slowin' down. Shit. Outta gas. I reached down to turn the petcock. I knew my reserve would take me on to Wytheville no problem.

Shit again. It was already on reserve. Officially outta gas.

I coasted her over the shoulder, hit the kickstand, and climbed off. Here I was in the middle of nowhere. It was dark as it could be, to far to walk anywhere, and my cell had no service. Dammit.

For about a half-hour I sat there tryin' to figure whether to walk north or south... by now I was gettin' a little creeped out. It was dark... and I kept hearin' some pretty bizarre sounds comin' outta the woods around me. For a fella who believes Big Foot is real, that's not a good combination.

Just when I had made up my mind to head south I heard that Ducati. But it was coming from the North again... that didn't make no sense... Either way, shore enough there it was... and HEY! He's stoppin'! alright!

The fella pulled over, and sat up on his bike, but he never got off or even looked back at me. I didn't really think about it at the time, I just trotted up to beg for help.

I told him about my perdicament, and he just motioned for me to climb on.

He rode me down to Wytheville... but stopped short of the truck stops. I climbed off and thanked him, and for the first time he raised his visor and spoke.

"Go to the diner in the big struck stop. Give this to Kelly, and tell her Aaron sent ya." With that he handed me a piece of paper, folded around a wad of cash. He dropped vison, made quick U-turn and was gone just like that.

Well... that last bit was a little bizarre, but the fella had just shortened my walk considerably, so it didn't bother me none.

I walked into the diner, found a seat at the counter and laid down the note. I was takin' off my jacket when I heard this gruff voice say, "You lookin' for Kelly buddy?"

"Umm... well... actually I'm" but he interupted me

"Easy buddy. I know you probly got bike trouble. We'll get ya squared away. But first, that package is for Kelly ain't it?"

"Yeah.. yeah it is."

"Ok... lemme get some coffee. Kelly's on break. You sit tight while I go fetch her. She'll wanna talk to ya."

All this was pretty bizarre I can tell ya. Frankly the idea of buyin' a gas can and hikin' 20 miles in the dark was sounding better and better.

Before I had taken my first sip of coffee Kelly showed up. She was in her twenties... short blonde hair... prettier than I expected. She smiled the saddest smile I've ever seen, took the note and the money, and sat down next to me.

"Where did ya see him?" she asked... and I told her what had happened. She smiled that same smile again... then told me the cook would give me a ride back to my bike if I wanted... and just like that she was gone.

I finished my coffee and decided, while I probably would regret it, I better ask if he knew just what the hell was goin' on.

He did.

"Come on buddy. It's slow around here. Let's head out to the truck. I'll take you to your bike and fill you in on the way."

Normally I wouldn't accept such an offer, but hey... it was late, I was late, and I was armed. The folks had been nice so far... so I figured I'd take a chance. Besides... at this point, I was curious.

On the ride back to the bike the old cook told me all about Aaron and Kelly. Apparently they were married and had a little girl together... but now he's her ex...

"Anyway", the cook said, "When Kelly's really fallen on hard times, or that little girl needs something, a stranger always seems to show up at the diner... just like you did tonight. He always has note, and some cash for Kelly... and that cash always seems to be just what she needs."

We road a while in silence... and when we found my bike he poured about 5 gallons of gas in for me, but refused to let me pay him.

"Man... this place is full of good folks. I can't imagine what led to divorce for people like Aaron and Kelly."

The old cook got in his truck, rolled down his window... then he leaned over and said...

"Nate, Aaron and Kelly never got divorced. Aaron died in an accident right here on this same stretch of road. He left Kelly with that little girl to take care of, a mountain of debt, and a broken heart."

I've ridden that road several times since... and I've stopped at the diner since... Neither Kelly, nor the cook have ever recognized me though... and I've never seen that red ducati again. To this day... It's the only time I've ever run out of gas.

Thursday, February 03, 2005

The Truth Shall Chain You

As this general has apparently learned. See, there are things you just don't say. You don't talk about it being fun to shoot some people. Even if you're the commander of an organization who's job is in fact to shoot people and break things.

While the press and similar feminine types all over the country wet themselves over the general's statements, allow me to commend them.

It is fun to shoot some people. Its fun to read about some people being shot. Justice is good. Is it fun to beat the shit out of a guy who hits women? Damned skippy. Would I take pleasure in blowing some bastard's head off if he hurt Jeb? Oh I would. Check the Archives. There's a story in there labeled "Hyper-vigilance at the Post Office". I wanted to break some little freak in half just for lookin' at Jeb.

Liberals today... and in particular women, would have us believe that violence is never acceptable under any circumstances. Fools.

Violence is justifiable in many cases. In some cases, not only is violence justifiable, it is the only honorable course of action.
The Medal of Honor

It sickens me that every 5th grader can tell you all about scum like Eminem and Brittney Spears, but its doubtful they can name even 1 Medal of Honor(CMH) winner. I'll do my part though. For the first time since 1993, the CMH is about to be awarded... of course... as is so often the case, it will be the wife of the hero accepting the award. Actions that lead to the granting of the CMH always save lives... but they almost always kill the person who takes them. There are only 129 CMH winners alive today.

How can we have classes on J-Lo and pop-culture non-sense... meaningless as leaves on the wind... Yet there are no classes on the stories of the mere 3000 winners of the greatest award in human history?

Remember the name; Sgt. 1st Class Paul R. Smith. Another God Fearin' Southron who died while kicking ass and takin' names.

Some folks just don't think of what will happen. They only think of what must be done.

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

Repost #1:

We've got lots of new folks around these parts... so after talkin' with some long time readers, I've decided to take their advice and repost some of the earlier stuff... to sort of get everyone up to speed. I don't know how often I'll post these.... maybe once a week... maybe more... maybe less...

I think you'll all enjoy these, even if you've read 'em before... hey... we've all seen the Holy Grail 57 times right? So here we go... oh.. and you newbies... strap yourself in.

This Crap Only Happens to Me

Sometimes my life reduces itself to a Charlie Daniels song. This was one of those times.

A couple years ago I was looking to buy my wife an over-under shotgun for Christmas. I saw an add that described a peach of deal, but it was in Parkersburg, WV, about a 90 minute drive. This was back before I retired. Julie was late-call, meaning she wouldn't be home until about 11pm anyway. I called her up and told her I had somewhere to go and that I wouldn't be home until late.

Now I realize that practically every other wife in the world would piss herself at those words. Julie ain't like most wives. When I told her I was going to Parkersburg, and refused to tell her why, she just responded, "well ok. Have some fun. I'll be home late anyway." The next thing she said is where the trouble starts. We chatted a little more and just as I was about to hang up she said, "Seriously, go have some fun. Stop and grab a beer or something on the way home."

I didn't really think anything of it at the time. I left work and drove off down the road. As expected the fella who posted the ad about the shotgun was full of crap. It was junk. I didn't mind though. It was a nice clear night. Great night for a drive.

About 30 minutes outside of parkersburg I remembered Julie's words. I thought to myself, "Sef. You're 29 years old, and never once have you just up and stopped for a beer." Then and there I made up my mind. By God I was gonna stop some place.

Drivin' down hwy 50 I finally see this neon sign and I figgered what the hell. So I pulled off, got outta the truck and, against my better judgement walked inside. As soon as I opened the door I knew something was amiss. See there were lots of girls, and well... they weren't wearin' very much at all. There were chrome polls here and there, and there was some half drunk nekkid broad dancin on a stage. Not at all what I had signed up for.

Well, I was there, and there was in fact a bar, so I figured I'd grab one Corona and head on down the road. I sat down at the bar, got my beer and tried not to draw attention to myself. Of course, a couple girls came around and wanted to chit chat. They flirted quite a bit, but hey, that's thier job at a place like this. So I played nice, but I mostly was trying to finish my beer and get the hell outta there before something bad happened.

That's when something bad happened.

I was just about to kill that beer, and I hear, "Just whut tha hail da you thank yer doin' with my wife?" Well shit. This is just what I need. I turned around to see this mountain standing behind me, and he looked like he'd like nothing better than to squash me like a bug. I said, "Whoa! Easy partner. I'm just sittin' here drinkin' my beer. The girl's came up to talk, and I wasn't gonna be rude to 'em." The mountain growled, "Are you sayin' my wife was hittin' on you boy?"

Boy? For you who don't know, you do not call a man from the South "boy".

So now I was startin' to get a little pissed, but thankfully the bartender chimed in, "Harlen leave the man alone. He was mindin' his own business."

"Yeah? Sounds like the little pissant was hittin on my wife to me, and I think I'm about to bust some ass."

Ok... now the cockly little bastard in me was really startin' to rise up. I said, "Look, if you got a problem with guys hittin' on your old lady, you should consider that before you dress her up like a whore and take her to a titty bar. In fact, why don't keep her tied up outside the trailer. She could keep your mom company."

Granted that was a stupid thing to say. Even while I was sayin' it I knew it was. Tactically I was screwed. I was pinched between him and the bar, he had at least 150 pounds on me, and the .357 was in the truck. Not good.

Well apparently he didn't like the trailer comment. He got red faced and I knew the world was just about to come to an end. That's when Christ himself showed up. Well actually it wasn't Christ. It was in fact a cinderblock shaped bouncer. Probly only 5'6" but he had to weigh 250 pounds. Guy was huge. Bulldogs don't look this freaky. He snatched the mountain up like a rag doll and pushed him up against the bar beside me. The cinderblock said, "Dammit Harlen, I just beat your ass on Tuesday, do I have to do it again?"

The mountain now suddenly resembled less a mountain and more a mole hill. He suddenly had a much different tone. "Yeah whatever. I gotta piss." and off he went.

I ain't the smartest guy around, as this story proves, but I ain't stupid enough to hang around a place of a near death experience either. I paid the bartender, thanked the cinderblock, and headed for the door.

That's when I saw ol' Harlen's wife. I just couldn't resist. I walked over to her, patted her on the ass, and said, "Now you tell Harlen I said bye now." I heard a lot of laughin' as I left. And well...

That's the story of why you shouldn't stop for a beer on Highway 50.
Bad Joke Wednesday

Today I offer you Julie's favorite bad joke. In fact, it quite possibly could Julie's all-time favorite joke period! At least its the one she tells the most...

Pie are not squared.
Brownie are squared!

Tuesday, February 01, 2005


I am a pilgrim and a stranger
travelin' through this wearisome land
I've got a home in that yonder city, good Lord
And it's not, not made by hand

I love this old hymn. As Christians we pay lip service to the concept. We develope catch phrase theology. Like drones we repeat, "In the World, but not Of the World". We repeat this while we mortgage our souls to buy a bigger house. While we take out loan after loan for new cars, new this, and new that.

We say this... While we send our children off to be raised by minimum-wage workers, who have no vested interest in their outcome.

Are you a stranger?

Seems to me... the World knows many of us quite well.

I hate new hymns. I hate them because invariably they relate Christ to Dr Phill. Then again... at the ripe old age of 31, I hate pretty much everything that's new. It all seems souless to me. Looking back... even at in my teens I didn't listen to new music. If it wasn't written in the 70's or early 80's you can bet that I really didn't think much of it. I preferred Led Zeplin to Nine Inch Nails. So much for blowing this all off as merely my growing old early.

As DrWho is fond of pointing out... I was born old. My body is just starting to catch up.

For the young, there is always a better way. There is always something new to try. It never occurs to them that millions have come before them, and millions have tried.

Of course... they're still young. Failure takes time.

There is a new song book in the pews at church... Contemporary crap... There's a 5 piece band... A drumset and base guitar... in church.

I'm gonna be a Southern Baptist before long.

The most infuriating thing about Time is it's wretched habit of marching on. Things change and change until that which we hold dear is hardly recognizable. Even as I know that the best years of my life lay before me... I view the future with barely concealed contempt.

One would think such a prevailing attitude would relate to my surroundings. After all... my feelings for Morgantown are well known and documented... but that's not it...

In the end I realize my contempt is not for Morgantown. Whenever I have relaxing thoughts... or peaceful dreams... they are always devoid of others beyond my family and close knit friends. In them I'm always off in the middle of no where... alone... or nearly so... happily apart from this wearisome land.

It's the World I hate... for its damnable existance.