A Dixie Carpetbagger

Years later, 5 of the 6 battleships present at the last battlewagon meeting had been bloodied at Pearl Harbor.  “Win through to ultimate victory,” indeed.

Happy 235th! To all of the Marine Corps brotherhood– those serving, retired Marines, and those who are no longer amongst us– I have to say “Thank You” and Semper Fi.

Good riddance to bad rubbish… and here’s to him not being brought back…

All I have to say is…

Six years ago, I voted in my first election and pulled the lever (actually, filled in the little bubble, but, hey, apparently many of my fellow Floridians can’t figure out them there complicated votin’ machines) for Mel Martinez for Senator.  He turned out to be just shy of a disaster, who resigned early (to become a lobbyist!) and was replaced by Pepe LePew George LeMieux, he of the never-ending emails.

So, I pulled the lev… err, filled in the bubble for Marco Rubio with just moderate hopes.  At the very best, I was hoping for a kinda-likable guy who wouldn’t burn the country down until 2016.  Then he goes and does this:

(Blinks)  What?  Actually agreeing that people with (R) behind their names could share in the blame?  Talking about American exceptionalism?  Invoking God’s name?  Maybe this guy won’t be a forgetful ass when he gets to Washington…

Oh, and as far as President Rubio?  Please, please, I beg you, rest of the country… don’t open a vacancy… Charlie Crist might wrangle his way into it…  You can have him in 2016.  Maybe 2022.

(H/T iOwnTheWorld)

I love to tell the story
of unseen things above,
of Jesus and his glory,
of Jesus and his love.
I love to tell the story,
because I know ’tis true;
it satisfies my longings
as nothing else can do.
Refrain:
I love to tell the story,
’twill be my theme in glory,
to tell the old, old story
of Jesus and his love.

I’ll be short, sweet, and to the point.*  Tuesday night was a spanking– the Dems got themselves taken to the woodshed and beaten for a bit.  Then they went back in the house and Momma took the fly-flap to their bottoms.  Now they’re in their room, whining and crying about how unfair it is, and how Mama and Papa are just so cruel and unfair.  Keep this up, Junior, and you’ll get more of the same…

Now, for a few of the things I’ve seen here and there that make me giggle.  From MacBourne:

From iOwntheWorld, a visual representation of what just happened.  (If you don’t catch that drift, Kevin can clarify.)

From Lagniappe’s Guy: “Oh–and Rubio will be the next Senator from Florida. Nice. Suck on that, Crist.”  You know, if I were Rubio, I’d be in the Governor’s Mansion right now, blowing cigar smoke in Suntan Boy’s face while yelling: “SAY IT!  SAY MY TITLE!  SAY IT!”  But then, I’m just cruel like that– heck, I’d love to escort Charlie out of this state… I just need 7 more guys and a railroad tie to do it…

Then, from Miguel: “… with the inevitable “I am moving out of here” for good measure (And they never move, damn it!)”  No, they never do move… like human-sized ticks, they just burrow in deeper, draining blood the entire time.

On a side note, this is an anniversary of sorts for me.  Two years ago today, I walked into a gun store and purchased my Springfield XD.  (No CCW permit, so I went back and brought it home the next Friday.)  It’s been a fun two years– I’ve added plenty of company to the gun cabinet, and I’ve went from RINO to radical libertarian.  Oh, yeah, and I blog now, too.  Sometimes.

Now, i just have to get used to saying “Senator Rubio.”  (Lights cigar)

*Yeah, you thought I was to the point before?  Well, that presentation I was talking about?  Turns out we went 20:59, not 19:59– the professor gave our female teammate a minute.  Seeing as we got not question and answer time, our “A+” presentation was graded “B+.”  So, to keep us from being docked a letter grade the next time, and to please the mademoiselle, I’m working on being as quick as possible.  (Wait, that sounded wrong…)

Yes, I’m still alive (kinda, sorta, okay I just check my pulse to make sure).  Unfortunately, the institution of my educational improvement is experiencing a wave of sickness, leaving me the only functioning member of three different class groups I belong to.  So, I’ve been doing a lot of writing, just not here.

Oh, and here’s a completely unrelated but awesome music video via MacBourne:

Just on a treadmill… that keeps going and going and going…

Lately, I’ve found myself saying “Self, there’s no way things could get any more surreal.”  Then things get more surreal, and Self simply shrugs his shoulders.  Lessons to learn?  One, talking to yourself isn’t a great sign of mental stability.  Two, when life hands you apples, make apple juice.

Warning: naughty, naughty language warning.  Viewer discretion is at the viewer’s discretion.

If you don’t recognize the group that did it, I present you with the video that made the rounds a while back.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go put on some Zeppelin and eat cheddar cheese.

My family came from a diverse set of places on this Earth– if I were to turn over enough stones, I could claim relatives from Scandinavia, Mongolia, the river valleys of Germany, the mountain slopes in Northern Ireland, and the highlands of Scotland.  I do claim these relatives, and I claim their legacy… and their legacy was a search, a struggle to find a free land.

I am an American.  Why would I wear the oppression my ancestors bore as part of my identity?  Should I wear the scars my German ancestors gained from the Romans?  Or perhaps the ones gained by my Irish ancestors under the care of the British?  Or should I simply leave off all hyphens, prefixes and suffixes and say that I’m from here?

(H/T I Own The World)