A Dixie Carpetbagger

It seems as if I haven’t posted anything today.  I blame the weather… first all stormy and stuff, then all hot and stuff, and then all so hot all you can do is odd stuff.  (Really, Faulkner was right about hot weather driving Southern writers.  Spend a few hours trying to do something outside, and the desire to be in front of a typewriter or keyboard shoots up drastically.)

It turns out that I didn’t quite add all the new blogs I read to my blogroll.  (I always forget little things like this…)  Those I forgot-

Aaron at Guns and Ammo.  Moved from his old address, and I never updated the links.

Miguel at Gun Free Zone.  Floridian, shooter, outspoken.  In short, cool.  (chuckle)

Laurel at Politics, Guns & Beer.  Told her I would link to her in November.  (Months late, dollars short…)

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In addition, I’ve been added by Jake at Curses, Foiled Again and Newbius.  Both are good reads, so… go read them.  (chuckle)

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Also, I mentioned I was trying my hand at story writing.  To pique interest, I’ll give out the recipe I’m working on: 2 parts this and this to 3 parts this and one part this, with a dash of my own life tossed in for flavor.

So, in the spirit of humor and good will, I’ll let you in on a company I like– Ranger UP.

They have some awesome T-shirts, including the Valhalla*, Saint Michael, Patriot’s Day, Sons of Liberty, and the Spectre shirts.  But the greatest of these is the You’ll Fight Tigers tee.

Why is that, you ask?  Watch and see… (WARNING!  LANGUAGE!)

I live near an area that the Rangers train in, and all I can say is… they’re tough. Not many people willingly go into the river swamps… but they do.

* My family took the long way to the U.S., with their longest stop being in Scandinavia.  So I’m actually German – Nordic – Welsh – Scots – Irish.  No wonder I can’t stand the British…

Does anybody know of a means of tracking all of your comments online?  I used to use BackType, but they’ve decided to not offer that service anymore, so I’m looking for a replacement.

The past few days, I’ve been doing some short story writing, just brushing of the cobwebs, trying to polish my skills a bit.  I’ve always been a better-than-decent story writer, and more than one of my English teachers/professors has encouraged me to submit my work… whether they actually liked my work or just wanted me to crash and burn, I don’t know… (chuckle)  So, I apologize for running one short on posts for today.

Requests for prayers:

Bob S.’s wife has cancer, Dr. Lott just got out of the hospital, and Weer’d's wife has a visit with the doc.

Support requests:

Tam and Roberta X have a tree trying to go all Entish on them.  Just under a grand (!!!) to take it down.

Last night, I had paused the T.V. so that I could go to the bathroom and not miss any of the show.  I had left the volume up a bit, since the A/C was on when I got up.  I had unwittingly also set the DVR to record two things at the same time… which makes the DVR given an on-screen two minute SILENT count-down, then turns the channel to the recorded channel.  That’s the set-up, and here comes the punchline.

So, I’m in the middle of doing my fountain act when I hear a very loud, very British voice in the next room commenting on something being made cheaply.  As I was pulling myself off the ceiling, my first thoughts were 1) I’m being home invaded by Jeremy Clarkson and 2) Now THAT’S insult to injury.

“I want it to be an international movement. This is the same battle that Ronald Reagan and millions of other people fought in the 20th century; it just has a 21st century New Media battleground. The Cold War is now a New Media War. — Andrew Breitbart

The more I hear of and from Breitbart, the more I like him– his view of the world and mine match up closely.  All too often, the pro-rights crowd tries to be nice, civil, courteous and clean… and they get walked over.  Get scrappy, take the fight to the ground, and get dirty– and win.  Anti-gunners make dick jokes?  Question why they focus on penis humor.  Leftist wants to mock your family?  Ask why they are envious of a working nuclear family.  Obama voter wants to make snide remarks and jet off?  To use the old military strategy– fix ‘em, flank ‘em, and fire on ‘em.  It’s time to stop fencing in a cage match world.

And he’s right about Buckley.  The video of Bill Buckley versus Gore Vidal warms my heart every time I watch it.  It presents the perfect engagement for a scrappy fight– the leftist tosses out insults, handwaves, tries to disengage and flee… only to get pinned down and hit.  An additional bonus for Buckley is the moderator breaking it up.

His next point is that Christians shouldn’t let things slide… and I agree with him.  One of the Biblical doctrines is for Christians to “be always ready to give an answer” when you are questioned about your faith, and the word used in that passage meant to give a legal rebuttal to the accusations of a court.  (It’s also the word from which we get apologetics.)  You are being tried in the court of public opinion… so defend yourself.

The reason I chose the title of this post is because we need to draw a line, or we’ll keep backing up.  “Compromise” to a leftist means you giving them what they want and shutting up so they can brag about it.  The solution is simple– don’t give them what they want, and don’t be quiet about it.  Working with someone who wishes to destroy you and your way of life isn’t a value, it’s a lapdog mentality.  Plus, there’s no satisfaction like seeing the blank expression a leftist gets when you get a really good zinger in on them– it’s like they lose connection with the hive mind for a moment…

There are people out the who will do anything.  Having been really fat– and working my way down to just kinda fat– this woman is pretty much the embodiment of my arch-nemesis.  Whereas I got to XXXL and realized that custom clothes are expensive, this woman is in XXXXXL… and gaining.  Worse yet is her baby-daddy egging her on: “You look at her curves and see her full belly and generous hips, it’s very sexy.”

To who?  Heck, at my high point, I wasn’t sexy to myself.  I can only imagine what a half ton of… errgh… uggh… (shudder)… okay, I need brain bleach.  Worse yet is something no commenter has picked up on.  Read this sentence:

“I’m very healthy. I go to the doctor every three months,” she said.

How does a 600 pound woman who has problems standing up long enough to shower go to the doctor?  Oh, wait, they call Fire/EMS, and the rescue squad helps them out!  (Which, of course, ties up the team in the event of, you know, a serious call… but hey, she’s gotta get her book deal!)  Meanwhile, she has Type II diabetes… and she’s still hoggin’ out.

(H/T Wyatt Earp)

This ain’t my fault… blame Jay G. for gettin’ me started.

We in the South see humor in anything– we pretty much have to.  Any large gathering (weddings, funerals, reunions, meetings) quickly breaks down into groups “swappin’ stories.”  The same thing happens when friends meet… “got any news?”  “Nah, no good’n's.”  It’s built into us, telling the stories we were told… because story telling is the best teacher.  (Yankees, please take note– I know you’re thinking “oh, Mr. Rogers” right now.  Yeah, he went to college in the South and married a Southerner.  You’re welcome.)

I can remember being a small child and listening to my mother’s mother telling stories to me– everything from the family history (her father was blind but grew a large garden by touch) to her life experiences (she was a small girl when the Titanic sank, and she’s the one that influenced me to love history) to humor.

A boy finally got the nerve to ask his sweetheart to the picture show, and as they were watching, she gently lay her head on his shoulder.  Moments later, she looked over at him and saw he was furiously twiddling his thumbs.  Lifting her head, she gently whispered in his ear “can’t you do anything better with your hands?”  The guy looked at her, stunned… and then began twiddling his thumbs in opposite directions.

I remember this for two reasons: one, it reminds me of some of my dates, and two… man, my grannie told naughty stories.  (Heck, I got the PG-13 ones.  My brother and cousins re-tell some real knee-slappers.)  Even my father and mother passed some on (one day, I will have to write about my dad and the panther…).

The professional comedians who come from the South typify our story telling… for the most part, clean, decent, with a good message… and uproariously funny.  Some have become popular recently (Foxworthy, Engvall, White), but the grand-daddy of them all was Jerry Clower.  The first stand-up comic I ever heard, I’ve been trying to find the routine of his I heard… to no success.  Needless to say, it involved scuppernong wine, grassers (geese that eat weeds out of gardens), a feather-tick mattress and the punchline “look-a yonder, look-a yonder, comin’ up the hill… SEVENTEEN NAKED GEESE!”

For some examples, three of Jerry’s skits:

Jerry’s version of the story Jay G. told above.

The “banana joke.”  My parents loved it, because they used to get fruit (but never a banana) for a Christmas gift.

The talking chain saw.  My favorite, because my father pulp-wooded from the time he was 15 until he went to work with Fairchild Aircraft in the late 1970′s.  Also, a note– in the skit, Jerry references McCulloch as a saw brand.  In the old days, McCulloch and Poulan were the two brands found most in the loggin’ woods.  I’ve spent more time servicing saws of both brands than I care to admit.  (They’re both crap, and both have been bought out by Husqvarna.)

Now, if ya’ll’ excuse me, I gotta go see if I can’t find a mess of peas and butterbeans to shell.