… the GOP Establishment consults a new strategist.
… the GOP Establishment consults a new strategist.
Huh. If memory serves, when a bunch of smelly hippies, Injuns and uppity colored people tried pulling this seditious shit they got shut down right fast, shot all to be damn, jailed, and vilified for decades afterward.
Even candidates for office were derided for having “palled around” with them.
Ah, but I was so much older then. I’m younger than that now.
The prez made his statement last night, and good for him. I made mine on Thursday, when I turned over my Ruger Mini-Thirty to the Albuquerque Police Department crime lab.
My intention was to have the weapon destroyed, after deciding that an untrained civilian really doesn’t need a 7.62x39mm semiautomatic rifle lying around the crib. But the weapons wizards at the Metropolitan Forensic Science Center said they didn’t have a Mini-Thirty in their collection — which includes the worst machine gun in the world — and asked if they could keep it for use in their work.
I could’ve sold it on consignment at one of the local dealers, I suppose. Made a little money. But after Bibleburg and San Bernardino I decided I wanted to take this one out of circulation. One less gun.
It’s not much of a statement — “One less gun” — but I was sick and tired of writing about the issue and it felt right to actually do something for a change, however feeble the gesture might be.
It’s Monday, and my social-media feeds, as usual, are full of football.
Frankly, I’ve never understood how the rabidly antidoping cycling crowd can go so gaga over the NFL. It’s an inconsistency that I find amusing, like listening to a vegan extol the pleasures of watching a good cockfight on Sunday afternoon.
Yesterday’s terrorism in Bibleburg is getting the usual reaction across the Innertubez — shock, horror, dismay, etc., plus the usual elbows being thrown in pursuit of sociopolitical points. Seems everyone has a dog in the fight, including Your Humble Narrator.
A friend asked if it was official “that Colorado leads the nation in this sort of violence,” and it’s true that my old home state has generated more than its share of headline-grabbers.
But maybe we should be paying less attention to wholesale bloodshed and more to the steady drip, drip, drip of retail homicide that somehow eludes us.
It’s just too easy for Americans to kill each other. And while we wait to add a bit of insight regarding cause to what we already know about effect, we can be certain of one thing right now: Gun sales will skyrocket, in Bibleburg and elsewhere.
It’s like watching the fire department fighting a five-alarm with a tanker truck full of gasoline.
“Black Friday” got a whole new meaning in Bibleburg today.
It’s certainly too early to speculate about motive, and probably too late to do anything about the shite job the Founders did on that Second Amendment, though we do have options in that regard.
But I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that for sure a whole bunch of folks got shot, again, and taking off our shoes at the airport, letting the NSA peek in our digital windows, and keeping Syrian refugees on the other side of the Big Water don’t seem to be keeping Americans safe from terrorism.
I bet a few people within rifle range of that Planned Parenthood center felt terrorized today. That’s one product we don’t need to import from overseas. Not even for Black Friday. We make it right here at home.
• Late update: The Dumbass is strong in this one. From The Gazette: “There was a moment this afternoon when a man walked up to the scene with a handgun strapped to his waist and ammunition vest around his chest. He appeared to be asking police if he could help. Officers told him to leave immediately because appearing at the scene while wearing firearms and that equipment was a bad idea.”
My old man was a Republican. Onliest D he ever pulled a lever for that I know of was John Fitzgerald Kennedy, because like him JFK was a Mick and a mackerel-snapper.
But I’m starting to think that if I dug the auld fella up, and reanimated him with a shot of Edison medicine and another of Viktor’s va-va-voom-vodka, Zombie Col. Harold Joseph O’Grady would find it very challenging indeed to support any of the shower of bastards on show tonight in the People’s Republic of Boulder (where, I might add, he said I would never go to school, calling it “Hippietown, USA.”).
I think he’d sooner unload a B-24 over the St. James’s Gate Brewery in Dublin, or call Maureen O’Hara a wagon.
I mean, I’ve never seen a junkyard that was all dumb, mean dogs and no junk. Where the hell’s the junk?
Normalcy is beginning to rear its ugly head again (yeah, I know, I’ve said like this before and we all remember how long that generally lasts).
But for the moment, anyway, I’m back to practicing my trade (making shit up); cooking tasty and nutritious meals (tonight it’s either pasta al cavolfiore from “The Moosewood Cookbook” or pasta with smoked salmon from ‘The Feed Zone Cookbook”); and striving mightily to get some friggin’ exercise (short shakedown cruise on a new review bike yesterday).
Now and then I take a peek at the political news, which mostly makes me want to ring up the queen and beg her royal forgiveness. Does anybody really want to be president? Besides the Hilldebeast, I mean? Florida Man hates governing, The Donald and The Doctor keep trying to out-stupid each other, and it just keeps going downhill from that point, which in a sane country would be the bottom. Not here.
I have a soft spot for Bernie, because he’s at least half a pinko, but he’s asking America for a helluva lot more than a job, and you know what that means. Shiny object! Squirrel! Say, what was the old guy on about again?
Ah, well. The moon is full, the sun is shining, and if the stars seem slightly out of alignment, we’ll just have to live with it. America needs proctology, not astrology. Call it a headhunting expedition.