Repatriate: Now with 40% more Vitriol!
Friday, November 28, 2003
So what does he do? He flies to Baghdad to let our soldiers know how much they mean to him, and to America. That took balls. More balls than Lyndon Johnson's trip to Cam Ranh Bay, more balls than Nixon's trip to China, and more balls than Carter's trip to North Korea.
So it should be no surprise that the Democrat candidates were a bit sulky about Bush's display of courage and manliness:
"It's nice that he made it over there today, but this visit won't change the fact that those brave men and women should never have been fighting in Iraq in the first place," said Jay Carson, a spokesman for Howard Dean, one of the biggest critics of the war among the nine Democrats vying for the party's presidential nomination.
Now is that some pissy-pants pouty-lipped liberal behavior, or what? Of course, I believe liberals suffer from a courage deficit, anyway. Not just the courage of doing dangerous things because you must, but courage of conviction. And no, I don't mean the conviction that automobiles and Republicans are the biggest threats to the planet. I'm talking about the moral and physical cowardice that the protected wrap themselves in, believing that smug, effete pseudo-intellectualism is what real men use to defend their positions (see: Chomsky, Saletan, Hitchens, Dowd, Krugman, et. al). To them, NOTHING is worth fighting for - no ideal or property is worth the taking of a human life. That's not conviction, friends, that's cowardice. Especially when the enemy has already killed several thousand of your countrymen and has proclaimed the desire to finish the job. I agree with General George S. Patton's view of cowards:
"Each man must not think only of himself, but also of his buddy fighting beside him. We don't want yellow cowards in this Army. They should be killed off like rats. If not, they will go home after this war and breed more cowards. The brave men will breed more brave men. Kill off the Goddamned cowards and we will have a nation of brave men.
Tuesday, November 18, 2003
"Almighty and Most Merciful Father, we humbly beseech Thee, of Thy great goodness, to restrain these immoderate rains with which we have had to contend. Grant us fair weather for Battle. Graciously hearken to us as soldiers who call upon Thee that, armed with Thy power, we may advance from victory to victory, and crush the oppression and wickedness of our enemies and establish Thy justice among men and nations."
Gen. George S. Patton distributed some 250,000 copies of this prayer in early December, 1944, to the men of the Third Army, two weeks before they crushed the German Wehrmacht at Bastogne. He was not a pious man, but he was a prayerful man who KNEW we were the good guys.
If he were in command of our Army today, he'd be fired for "bigotry."
Monday, November 17, 2003
Black With a Vengeance
As it turns out, Whoopi Goldberg is black. Not just black, but Black. As in:
Interviewer: "Whoopi, describe the character you play in the new NBC comedy, Whoopi."
Oops, I just spoiled the entire season's plotline - Whoopi Goldberg is a Black Woman, and she's doing stuff. The stuff she's doing primarily consists of bashing Whitey and doing her part to dumb down popular black culture even further. NBC describes it as an "edgy new comedy," which is three lies for the price of one:
Edgy: Making white people seem stupid and unhip has been a staple of black comedy for decades. Henny Youngman has fresher material. If this show poked fun at, or was critical of black culture, that would be edgy.
New: What part of this hasn't been done before? (see: Richard Pryor, Rudy Ray Moore, Eddie Murphy, Chris Rock, etc.) We get it, okay? Honkies are lame! We're scared of non-whites, talk funny and can't dance. If you come up with a new angle, just slip it under my door - I'm sure it'll be past my bedtime by then.
Comedy: Besides being rote liberal honky-bashing, it's unfunny honky-bashing, which is the graver sin. I've laughed at all of the above-mentioned comics, including Whoopi. I'm not above laughing at myself, if the jest is good-natured. There are many humorous differences between popular black culture and other ethnic groups (I don't think anyone can honestly say there's any one true homogenous White Culture). True comedy leaves no one person or group holding the bag indefinitely - it is eventually all inclusive or it's not funny - it's racist. This honky is not amused.
If Mark Twain, whom I consider America's greatest humorist, were alive and wrote Huckleberry Finn today, he'd be in hiding with Salman Rushdie and Mark Fuhrman. His works would be shelved in the Hate Speech section at Barnes and Noble next to Hitler's Mein Kampf and David Duke's My Awakening: A Path to Racial Understanding.
In these politically correct times, no one is allowed to criticize black culture - but feel free to imitate and emulate all you want. White kids who wish to adopt
Witness the white-girl character on the show with the braids, garish clothing and guttersnipe vocabulary. Of course, she's the girlfriend of a black man, but wait! There's a shocking twist!
Mavis' brother Courtney, an out-of-work lawyer, is an uptight geek, a conservative whose favorite show is The O'Reilly Factor. In TV shorthand, this makes him a fool and a traitor to his race. Courtney is working on his "blackness," however. His girlfriend Rita could teach hip-hop, which is what she's doing with Courtney. Mavis might welcome this but for one thing: Rita is white.
Get it?! This brother sold out to The Man! Get me a Tupac box set and some malt liquor, STAT! We've got to work on his "blackness."
And to further drive home the point of Whitey's squareness, we have the scene where Whoopi and her Iranian cabdriver friend are competing to see who the white store detective will suspect more of shoplifting. Even after the Iranian gets on his knees in the middle of the store and loudly prays to Allah, Whitey still has target-lock on the Black Woman. And the money quote:
Whoopi: "A confirmed black trumps a suspected terrorist every time."
And alone in his living room, Sharpton wept.
The most problematical is Omid Djalili as handyman Nasim, an Iranian who drops frequent hints that his background includes working with Middle East terrorists. Back home, he brags, he was trained how to launch missiles -- "which we do not have," he adds quickly. What's more, he still has friends "spread out across the country." Very funny, especially two days before 9-11.
But the point is made with blunt force - Whitey's job is to oppress blacks. Whoopi's job is to point out how unfair, uncool and stupid Whitey is. It's the path of least resistance for the network - it keeps them from having to pay top dollar for writers with true comedic talent. Well, this white-boy has had enough. I need entertainment that caters to the more sophisticated conservative palate.
Maybe I can catch a re-run of "Hee-Haw."
Wednesday, November 12, 2003
Jessica Lynch Speaks! Well, actually she kinda mumbles...
Some call Katie Couric "America's Sweetheart." If that's true, then I guess I'm guilty of wanting to smash in the skull of America's Sweetheart with a claw hammer.
In another thinly-disguised Bush administration assassination piece, Couric runs her seditious yap while Jessica Lynch provides insightful and poignant commentary such as "Yeah," and "Mm-hmm." Forty of Lynch's seventy-four responses were either "yeah" or "mm-hmm."
Couric: “...named that. I know your rescue was videotaped and you know that and was considered a huge accomplishment. You know, it was a real morale booster during the height of the war, but some people thought the tape gave the impression that the U.S. Special Operations unit was met with serious and tremendous resistance, and that it was this grand, heroic rescue.”
I wanted to yell "Objection! America's Sweetheart is leading the interviewee!"
The gist of the interview is that Lynch can't remember shit. How can you write a book about that is beyond me. Seems like a leaflet would have about covered it. Couric and Bragg do their best to nudge Lynch down the garden path: Army bad, Bush bad, sympathetic Iraqi civilians and doctors good. In five separate instances, Couric asks Lynch if she "felt used" by the Army or the administration, or she just plain floats the idea and prays for Lynch to pick it up and run with it.
Couric: “And it’s not to say that they’re not heroes too for getting you and you’re not grateful, but that is just one controversial aspect of your story. Do you think that somehow this — your rescue was manipulated by the government in order to sort of gin up support for this war?”
If I was being rescued from a nightmare complete with rape and the threat of torture and death, I wouldn't care if my rescuers were sponsored by Nike and they made me put on one of their fucking logo baseball caps before they took me out of there - I would make damn sure the world knew how grateful I was to those brave men.
See, this is what pisses me off. By her own admission, when the shit hit the fan, Lynch curled up into a heroic Combat Fetal Position, squeezed her eyes shut, and prayed that the Bad Men would stop. Her only true grit lay in holding on until help arrived. By the way, how the FUCK could she not clear a jam on an M-16? Apply S.P.O.R.T.S., soldier - every basic trainee has clearing procedures hammered into them from day one of Basic Rifle Marksmanship. Or is that just her lame-assed excuse for letting her buddies do the fighting and dying?
In war, shit happens, and it happened big-time to Jessica Lynch. What is rare is that we are able to rescue one of our troops in a daring nighttime raid. Those Special Ops fire-pissers risked their asses to get this girl back, and they did. Not one of them curled up in a ball on the floor of the rescue chopper when it was go-time. They sucked up their fear, went in, kicked ass and got one of our people back. Did they get a parade? No, they got criticized because there was only "light resistance." Good thing for the Iraqis, too, because these men were prepared to stack some bodies. Where's their parade?
Jessica Lynch was ambushed, shot at, crippled and raped - BY IRAQIS. Yet she's a victim - OF THE BUSH ADMINISTRATION! Fuck you, Katie Couric. You too, Rick Bragg. You both make me sick.
Lynch, I would say, "Soldier on," but that would imply you acted like a soldier in the first place. General George S. Patton would have backhanded you across the face for your cowardice and ingratitude.
And he would have been justified.
Tuesday, November 11, 2003
Fishing For Compliments
I am a cheap S.O.B., that's true. I refuse to pay for photo hosting, so I took the piker's route and opened a Yahoo! account just so I could show you fine folks a picture of my baby girl. Here She Is in all her newborn LSU Tigers fan glory! (Just click on the thumbnail of my girl - it's the only one in there).
"Hurricane" Camille - a Category 5 sweetheart. I promise to return to my regularly scheduled ranting and raving, but it's hard to whip up a fresh batch of vitriol when you're holding God's own blessing in your arms.
Friday, November 07, 2003
IT'S A GIRL!!!
Allow me to present my daughter, Camille Lisette. 7lbs, 5oz. of squirming pink perfection. Absolutely the most perfect and pure thing I've ever seen. I told my wife that she had just made every last one of my dreams come true, and I meant every word.
Wednesday at 3:30 pm they gave my wife a suppository to ripen her cervix and hopefully induce the baby into dropping lower, but the contractions started coming continuously, with no breaks in between them. After hours of this, my wife STILL didn't want any medication. I've never seen someone consciously suck up such a tremendous amount of pain for such a long time. And with no complaint. The baby's heart rate was dropping with the contractions, so they gave her a shot to slow down the labor. Later, they started her on Pitocin, which is also supposed to bring on labor, but it had the same effect on her and the baby, so they turned the drip off.
Now it was about 10:00 pm and after all those contractions, she still wasn't dilated more than a pinpoint. Her doctor ordered her to get an epidural, which she did at about 10:45 pm, and then she felt NOTHING. I watched her contractions come and go on the monitor, and she didn't even notice she was having them. At about 12:00 midnight, the doctor decided to do a cesarean and told us he was on the way in. Things started to move quickly as they prepped her for surgery and I and her mother changed into scrubs.
My wife was already on the table when I got to the operating room, her arms on supports straight out from her shoulders, looking like she was being crucified. A drape was erected, blocking her view from about the collarbones on down. I took a seat at her left side and tried to calm her (and myself) down.
We were both trembling with fright as the operation dragged on for what seemed to me like an eternity, but what I found out later was only a few minutes. I crouched behind the drape, not wanting to see my wife's face and connect it with the bloody mess on the other side. We were both surprised at how violent of a procedure it was. They were pushing and tugging her back and forth, causing the table to rock heavily.
I have never felt more frightened or powerless than when I was sitting at my wife's head, watching her grimace in pain and shake with fear at what was being done to her. This is definitely not how we saw the deal going down.
And then I heard the doctors say they were pulling the baby out. We still did not know what sex the child would be - we wanted to be surprised. I raised my head above the drape as they pulled our baby out and announced "It's a girl!"
"Are you sure?" I thought to myself. I had a view of my baby's bottom as they pulled her out, and what I saw looked swollen enough to pass as a set of testicles. Apparently, the baby's genitals get swollen because of hormones or some such sorcery. The pediatric nurse whisked our baby off to clean it and cut the cord.
"Dad, come see your daughter," the nurse called to me. "I'll be right back, honey, I love you so much, you did do good, we have a little girl, I'm so proud of you, I'll be right back, I love you, okay?" I gushed like an idiot. I could barely make out where I was supposed to go through the film of tears in my eyes.
And then I saw her. She was squirming around, not really crying, but letting out a quiet grunt once in a while, arms and legs kicking, sticking her tongue out at me. I lost it, feeling tears roll down my cheeks, taking a minute to thank God for my wife, my baby, MY LIFE.
I was told I could go to the nursery with our baby, and I did, stopping to cover my wife's face with kisses and tell her how much I love her again. Camille weighed 7lbs, 5oz, which just goes to show that ultrasound lady doesn't know what she's talking about. Her time of birth is officially 12:31 am, November 6th, 2003.
The next day, yesterday was a blur of relatives visiting, nurses coming and going and just plain staring at my daughter and marveling in her purity and perfection. This is really the first significant amount of time I've left my wife's side - she is still on the IV and needs help moving around and going to the bathroom. Her mother is spelling me so I can run home and shower, eat, and unknown to them, jot these thoughts down while they're fresh in my mind.
I don't think I have ever felt more happy or blessed in my entire life. I just can't wait to get those two gals home and play house. And start thinking about having a boy, maybe.
There's going be a serious testosterne imbalance around here.
Wednesday, November 05, 2003
It's Go Time!
I just left my wife at the hospital, where they are inducing labor. I just am grabbing our alert bags that we've had packed for weeks, and then I'm back at the hospital for the long haul. According to the nurses, my wife should deliver sometime in the wee hours tomorrow. On the ultrasound, the baby was 8lbs, 3oz. Nice chunk of baby! (I myself was a manly 9lbs8oz).
I am SO excited! Tomorrow I'll be a FATHER, with strange and terrible powers.
Wish us luck!