The other half of me—the sane, sensible, sexier half--is back after a long, long flight north and a short, short stay in same. Meanwhile, Michelle, how was your trip?
A Dog for all Seasons—Lots of folks own pit bulls, I’m sure, for the same reason they stud their noses and lips, cover their hide with tattoos and say “like” five to ten times per sentence—because it’s like, you know, it’s like THE fashionable thing to like, you know, do and stuff. Hmmmm. Much easier to follow than to lead, I suppose. And, as card-carrying followers, none of these lemmings want to stray too far from the herd because, well, like, you know, no one wants to be out of step or thought different or something. Anyway, as any Mensa member who reads this blog will know, pit bulls are great at jumping the fence two or three times a day and attacking something—anything—and tearing that something/anything limb from limb. Meat grinders for defense, pits are also food blenders for offense, as witnessed this week over on the wrong side of the state.
A female cop in Miami, the Third World Cannibal Capital of America, got into a tussle with a surly fellow the other day and ended up shooting him in the leg. A menacing Third World cannibal crowd gathered—surprise--and when the riot squad arrived one of the cannibals turned his pit bull loose on the cops. The dog dutifully lunged for the largest belly available and really put a chicken lickin’ on one surprised officer’s bulging doughnut bucket. Comrades were quick to respond, however, and they promptly shot the attacking beast deader than a saw log at a saw mill. Happily, the cannibal who released the canine was found and cuffed. I regard pit bulls as lethal weapons. When some one some where sics a pit on some one or some thing that is the some thing . . . (sorry), that is the same thing as firing a deadly weapon. Wonder if the pit’s owner will be charged with attempted murder? Right!
I was pedaling by a home on the mainland the other day and outside was a very large, hand-painted Obama/Biden sign. Walking their two or three pit bulls up the drive to the home was a rather oldish, fattish, saggish, whitish-grayish couple. Since there are smaller Romney/Ryan signs all along the same street, my instinct is that this Obama-voting couple who want four more years of that good old time down home “hope & change” are disliked by their neighbors and the bulls are kept handy to ensure the integrity and sanctity of their property, the in-your-face objectionable sign, included. Which segues nicely into . . .
Don’t Vote, Won't Vote--I don't vote and so I won’t be voting this year. Long ago I decided that I won’t be a part of the sham and the scam any longer. I will no longer willingly contribute to the fraud. My “vote” in America counts for less than a vote did in the old Soviet Union. I will no longer vote for Tweedle A or Tweedle B. These two current tools—O' Romney and Romabama--are mere stooges of the system. Nothing changes. Maybe a little window dressing here or there every four years, but the fundamental corruption and decadence continues. Don’t vote, Won't vote! Any one who votes in this, the late stages of the collapse, is, in my opinion, part of the problem. Any one who votes has an indirect hand in perpetuating this fraud called voting. As long as people keep voting for these meaningless candidates, the system will keep creaking along and trumpeting that it, the system, works.
We are told during every four-year cycle that unless we vote for such-and-such the world cannot possibly survive, that doomsday is dead ahead. Well, guess what? Our condition never improves, no matter who we vote for. And doomsday is not in the distance; doomsday is at hand--America is drowning in debt, American wars to make the world safe for God’s Chosen Real Estate Developers in the Middle East—Israel--keep popping up every few weeks or so, more debt and taxes to support those wars and World Welfare (foreign aid), higher gas and food prices, lower standard of living--the candidates who are offered up to us every four years and the people who vote for these shills are clearly the problem.
We Americans were on the verge of having a REAL choice this election--Ron Paul--a man who promised to turn this train wreck around; and he would have done it too. But Ron was quickly silenced by the system when he came too close for comfort and that was that. The system unleashed the pit bulls to kill off Ron Paul and deny millions of Americans the chance to finally vote for REAL hope and change--as opposed to rhetoric hope and change--and they won; they now offer us two slick sock puppets in suits with lots of smiles and lots of air between their ears. That’s what they give us. Those are our choices. Well, that ain’t good enough for this old city boy. This taxpaying registered American voter don't vote and won’t vote and that in itself is, by my estimate, a vote; a vote of NO confidence.
Among the Savages—-Local vagabond, 43-year-old Lee Hill, was returning to his home under the bridge down by the river the other day. With him was a 14-year-old he had met a short time before and who he proudly introduced to any and all as his “son.” Gone to buy more beer were the boy’s mother and sister who Hill proudly called his “wife” and “daughter.” Well, it so happens that as the two homeless gents approached their home under the bridge down by the river they noticed a familiar figure—another homeless man. Seems at the time this 48-year-old chap was preoccupied with the sleeping arrangements of Hill's two beer-buying women folk. Turns out that the man was spotted by Hill sniffing the underwear of Hill’s "daughter." When confronted and accused, the surprised sniffer first tried to deny what he was doing, then nervously laughed it off as a joke.
Lee Hill was not smiling, Lee Hill was not amused. Like an enraged Don Quixote defending the honor of his fair Dulcinea's underwear, Hill and his “son” pitched into the pervert and gave him a curb stomp that he would never forget for as long as he sniffed panties. When finished, the two had broken every major and most minor bones in the wretch’s head and chest and very nearly used him up utterly.
Somehow the victim managed to stagger away to a nearby Race Trac convenience store. At this time of year, one can only imagine what the startled clerk thought when she looked up and saw this fellow wander in with every pore pouring . . . (sorry, couldn’t resist) every pore pouring blood from his head and face.
“Wow, now that’s the most life-like Freddy Kruger mask I have ever seen. . . . EEEOOOOOWWWWWRRRRRGGGG . . . . OH MY GOD!”
The panty-sniffing pervert survived this vigilante beat-down though just barely. Although panty-sniffing is pretty pathetic in and of itself, it is not a crime as far as I know and the perv is facing no charges. Not so Lee Hill. Although Hill defends his action, insisting that any other self-respecting “father” would defend the honor, chastity and purity of his child's underwear, the “family” itself does not seem all that impressed by the actions of this chivalrous modern day cavalier. Indeed, none have even bothered to visit their “father” and “husband” in his new home, the county calaboose.
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