21 June 2015

The Last Word on the Stars & Bars

The Anarchangel gives us an exceedingly well-thought analysis on the whole Confederate Flag debacle, and how both sides are simultaneously right and wrong.  Grab a beverage, it's long...

Yup, this is going to piss EVERYONE off... Which is OK, because hard to hear but important stuff does that.

Stay with me here... Don't just turn your outrage on and your brain off... Actually read and think about what I'm writing here OK?

"Both sides" of this issue, please, just read all the way through,  don't just react... because I'm going to piss EVERYONE off on this one... and I really mean that... Black, white, southern, northern, liberal, conservative... whatever... This post is probably going to piss you off at some point.

...but well worth reading and thinking about, if you honestly want to help put this issue to bed.  Of course, if your sole delight lies in "Being Right" and you don't actually give a damn about anything except shoving your own opinion down peoples' throats, well, as the man says, it's probably going to piss you off.

It's been done on purpose.

Call me a tinfoil-hat weirdo(you will--you always do), but I've come to think there's something sinister behind the pussifcation of America in recent decades:

Do you really think that children who are terrified by someone pointing his finger and saying “bang” are going to lead the revolution against tyranny? No, they will cower in their tiny apartments, hoping that if they behave well enough, they’ll continue to be fed.

Do you think our ancestors who fought in the revolutionary war were afraid to climb a tree or get dirty?

Those of us who grew up this way (and who raise our children to be fearless) are the resistance against a coddled, helmeted, non-offending society that aims for a dependant populace. In a country that was built on rugged self-reliance, we are now the minority.


RTWT, and follow the links.  When did camping become child endangerment?  How did cutting one's food become a felony?  What's the impetus behind this disturbing trend...

...and who, ultimately, benefits?

18 June 2015

The Joy of Painting: Director's Cut

Stolen from Angel:




(Nothing but love for ya, Bob.  Rest in peace, and thanks for many wonderful memories.)

16 June 2015

OW! Beer in sinuses...

I was quoting part of this post to Mrs Wraith:

Me:   "Personally, I’d like to divide them into two teams and put them on “Hell’s Kitchen,” because that would tell us more about them than a bunch of “debates,” which are really nothing more than interviews with scripted questions and scanned answers."

Mrs. Wraith:  But can you imagine their risotto?  Ew.

And this is why I married her.  :)




14 June 2015

Please help.

No, not me.  And unless people really pony up, this isn't going to be solved with a GoFundMe or Kickstarter page.

I ask you all this in the name of truth, justice and our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ--spread this far and wide until we can find proper legal representation for this woman who's not only being kicked while she's down by our 'justice' system, she's being run over repeatedly by a tank.

I find it so interesting that my pastor spoke on the church of Smyrna today in church.  We are studying the seven churches mentioned in the first part of the Book of Revelation right now.  I was feeling.. well, kinda low today.  I didn’t want to see anyone right now.  I get sick of explaining my circumstance to people who either can’t understand or don’t want to understand.  (For those who are only now signing onto my blog, I am being sued for slander against a colonel who raped me when I attended West Point in 1986 and now claims it never happened.  The suit is for the ridiculous sum of $3 million.)  And even if they want to help, can’t.  It is a mutual burden, not a conversation.  So I stayed home today and decided to catch the sermon online- pretty nice as I could do it with my puppy in lap, regaled in full pajama, coffee in hand.  See, I just lost my last hearing concerning my lawsuit this past week.  I must say that I am rather stunned and have been rolling it about in my mind.  I have been considering how to break it to my readers.  How do I tell thousands of people that God didn’t swoop in and save me as we all thought he would?  How do I tell them that Jesus’ words concerning standing in court and having the Holy Spirit fill our minds and bodies with the right words didn’t come true?  How do I tell them that God’s name was shamed and not honored in court?  That my enemies were licking their lips in satisfaction and gloating, patting their fat, evil stomachs in glee- at my expense, but also at Jesus’ name’s expense?  How can I express how that last part angers me?  Oh, yes, I know they are reading this and with further glee.  And that makes it all the more difficult to communicate the truth to you.  Just doing so satisfied their evil little putrid minds.

Can I tell you that I never thought I would be taken down in this way?  I have written about homosexuality, gay marriage,  Obama, progressives, Mormons, Jesus, liberals, NDAA2012, the Cybersecurity Bill, the fact that all American media is owned by seven privately owned financial groups, that 80% of digital voting machines are owned by one man and his brother.  I wrote about Sandy Hook and was one of the first ones to call it a set up.  That one article brought over 2 million hits (almost all hate mail) to my site.    I have exposed people by name on this blog- I have proven, without a doubt, that these things are true.  Granted, I am small and few people have heard of me.  But I have felt the brunt of liberal wrath in any case.  I have laughed at so many creepy cretins that have crawled upon my page that I was sure that one day, a cretin would find a backer with some power.   Facebook worried enough that it attempted to shut down my page once and almost succeeded.  In fact, it has partially succeeded to this day by shutting down my ability to advertise my page.  Further, it has killed my ability to post on my Short Little Rebel page thereby killing it for all practical purposes.  When I post, about 3 people receive it although I have over 6,000 likes.  It has also refused to index my Short Little Rebel facebook page to Google, Yahoo or any other search engine.  In fact, if you every google ‘short little rebel’, you will only find the liberal hate pages dedicated to mocking me on facebook.  Even though they only have about 200 likes or less.    So I kinda figured that when the hammer came, it would come from one of those directions.   But no, the cretins are still just writhing impotently upon their own tiny…,um,.. pages, hopping about with glee as they live vicariously through me.  (note, like all liberals, they are complete hypocrites- they are cheering on the would-be general and hating the woman who was raped.  yeah, watch the liberals call the rape victim a liar and say the would be general and the military are the good guys…oh-kaaayyy…  liberalism is not the bastion of logic or intelligence- you can’t reason with these numbnuts.)

Instead, it came from the slanderous direction of the U.S. Army and one of its colonels.  And how do you like that?  I was raped and was merciful to my rapist.  I never brought charges.  Instead, I turned to God.  I owned one thing, however, and that was his name.  It was he that should bear the shame, not me.  I didn’t do wrong, he did.  Rape is a crime committed by the man, Friends.  It is about power, not attraction.  You can’t dress sexy enough or act sexy enough to ‘deserve’ rape.  No one can shame a woman into ‘deserving’ to be raped.  The reason I say this man’s name when I speak of my rape is to put the blame on him, not me.  This is part of my healing and I will continue to do so for the rest of my life.  He is the criminal and I am the victim.  That fact will remain between us until we die- and even beyond- for we will both be judged by God himself.   No court, no judge, no lawyer can remove the crime.  I repeat, no one can remove the factuality of the crime.  It remains as a bloodstain upon this man forever.  Edgar Allen Poe wrote about this spot as did Shakespeare- this ‘damn spot’ will never come out.  Man’s court is not the ultimate court.  That is what I have learned since Friday’s hearing.

RTWT.  In the name of all that's holy, let's find her some help.  This is a sick perversion of any concept of justice or fairness.  Someone out there can make this right--let's find them.

11 June 2015

Intellectual ammunition

Anyone concerned about the encroachment of Islam upon civilization would do well to explore this post and the accompanying links.

It is not 'racist,' 'xenophobic' or 'h8' to oppose Islamic doctrine.  It is, in fact, defense of our lives, our souls and our civilization.

09 June 2015

Think homeschooling is too much trouble?

Try it while jamming gears across the country.  Of course, this was a recipe for failure, since Kerry Anderson went from participating in a useful profession to attending some Ivy League propaganda mill.  But I guess some will find this interesting:

Ms. ANDERSON: A lot of our schooling actually as integrated into what she was doing. When we know where we were going, Texas to California, for instance, we had to map out the mileage. We had to map out when we had to fuel, how fast we were going to be going, where we needed to stop, rest areas, all of that kind of thing, what our fuel mileage was going to be.
That's how she got us going on a lot of it. And then there was a program that we mailed things in. So we did it at our leisure, basically.
NORRIS: So you did it right there in the cab of the truck?
Ms. ANDERSON: Yes.
NORRIS: And was your mother someone who had a teaching background? This sounds like it was a bit of an adventure for her, too.
Ms. ANDERSON: It absolutely was. She did not have an education background, but she knew that we but she wanted us to do very well academically, and so she took it upon herself to make sure we did.
NORRIS: So when you actually transferred first to Valencia Community College and then later on to Harvard, it must have been almost boring to sit in a classroom. 

Yeah, homeschooling is way too inconvenient.  Better to leave your kids in the care of Real Professionals, who give them important and relevant coursework.

08 June 2015

I haz virus?

Is anyone else trying to browse and being redirected to some 'gardening club' site?  Anyone?

07 June 2015

A blast from the past

Both her Blogger and Wordpress blogs seeming to be defunct, I shall repost this awesome story in full.  Just in case, ya know.

Submitted for your inspection, the story...of Jim.

This is the story of Jim. Jim was an average young man in an average American town. He earned above-average grades in high school, and went on to attend an average American college. Jim's parents, while not destitute, were in no position to help him with finances, so Jim worked full-time at an average college job to support himself, riding his bike to school, then to work, and then back to his far-below-average studio apartment to study, eat average college food, and fall asleep. The next day began the whole process again.

One day, while Jim was enjoying a rare free moment, his uncle paid him a surprise visit. Jim's uncle was a wealthy man, though no one quite knew what he did to amass his fortune. He entered the tiny rented room with a warm greeting, and sat on the edge of the bed. After exchanging pleasantries and small talk, Jim's uncle asked if there was anything he could do to make Jim's life easier. Jim didn't want to impose, so he politely declined. Jim's uncle pressed his point, saying, "Jim, I've known you for longer than you remember, and it pains me to see you having to struggle this way. Here," and he pulled a small black card out of his jacket pocket. Jim tried to refuse, but his uncle insisted. "Use this as you see fit," he said to the young man. They talked awhile longer about various family members and Jim's classes, and then, after affectionate goodbyes, Jim's uncle left.

Jim followed his uncle to the door, and shut it after him. He then turned over the small black card in his hand. It was a credit card. . . sort of. There was a sixteen-digit number on it and a magnetic strip , but no expiration date, no name, no logo, not even a signature bar. Just a wholly unremarkable, glossy black card. Jim wondered how it could even work, and then decided that he would not find out. He was determined to go it on his own, just like his parents had taught him. "Earn what you get, or there's no joy in having it," his father liked to say. Jim went to throw the card away, but hesitated. It couldn't hurt, after all, to have options, could it? That's really all he was doing, was being careful, he told himself as he put the card in his desk.

For months, Jim rarely even thought of the card. Then, one day he noticed a letter from the college in his stack of mail. Times had grown tough not just for Jim, but for everybody, and money was tight all around. Though Jim had carried his above average grades with him to college, they were no longer enough to maintain his scholarship. Jim sat crumpled in his chair, head in hands. He would have to delay his schooling and spend the next semester saving for the following term. The thought was not at all appealing -- hadn't he suffered enough? He worked his heart out and sacrificed so much; how could this happen? Suddenly, that little black card loomed large in Jim's mind. Surely it wouldn't hurt to use it for his living expenses. Not luxury items -- just the stuff he was already using. Then he would work even harder, improve his grades so he could get his scholarship back, and then put the card away. Other students lived on credit -- was it really so wrong?

Jim put his plan into action, knowing full well that he might regret it when the bill came. He determined he would cross that bridge when he came to it. He was a little nervous the first time he swiped the little black card, but it worked just fine. All he needed to do was sign. He stayed true to his word, using his credit judiciously. A month passed. Then two. Jim checked every day, but no bill came to him. Worried, he called his uncle. "Don't worry about it, my boy, it's all taken care of," Jim's uncle reassured him. "But..." Jim started to protest, but his uncle cut him off: "It's all taken care of. I meant what I said -- use it as you see fit. I'll tell you what: I'll arrange with your employer to automatically deduct payments from your paycheck, alright?" This eased Jim's mind, and he let the matter go.

In the ensuing months, Jim came to rely on the card more and more. He asked his boss to move him to part-time hours: With all his needs paid for, he could start focusing on his wants, and one of those was more leisure time. The money he earned could also go to wants, rather than needs. Jim felt as if the weight of the world had been removed from his shoulders. His wants, however, soon outstripped his income, and he found himself pulling out that little black card more and more often. The card seemed to have no limit; though his purchases grew progressively larger, the card was never declined.

Jim was coming out of the store after one of his larger purchases when he saw a man standing at a nearby intersection holding a cardboard sign. Jim walked over to talk to the man, and found that the man, Andrew, had fallen on hard times. He had lost his job, could not find another one, and had a family to feed, so he stood on the corner begging strangers for money. Andrew's story troubled Jim; he'd experienced hard times himself, and could not imagine having to face unemployment with a family to feed. Jim quickly told Andrew about his little black card, and offered to use it for Andrew's family's expenses as well. Andrew, overcome with emotion, threw his arms around Jim and sobbed thanks into his shoulder.

Word of the miraculous card spread quickly, and soon Jim was inundated with requests for help. Some seemed more legitimate than others, but who was he to judge? Jim accepted them all, and it seemed that in no time half of the town was dependent on the card Jim's uncle had given to him. Jim was thrilled that he could help so many people. Gone were his days of counting change for food; now, because of him, those days were gone for so many others, too. "This," Jim thought to himself one night, "is freedom."

Jim's philanthropic ventures weren't the only thing on his mind. There was a young lady he'd met in class. Sharla. She was beautiful, intelligent, kind -- everything Jim was looking for. And, though he could hardly believe it, she reciprocated his feelings. It wasn't long until he had a ring on her finger. Money no longer being an object, he made sure that their wedding was everything she had ever wanted. He thought nothing could have made him happier, but he had to admit he was wrong on that point on the day that Sharla gave birth to their first child, a darling baby boy who they called Sam.

Sam was just a few days old, sleeping in his mother's arms in their comfortable home, when there came a knock at the door. Jim ran to answer it and found a delivery man standing there with a package. Jim signed for the package, thanked the man, and went back in the house. He turned the box over to see not his name, or Sharla's, but Sam's. Thinking it was a gift for the new baby, he opened it. He was puzzled to find not gifts, but a stack of official-looking pages. He grabbed the first one and began to read.

Jim could feel the blood draining from his face. His hands began to shake. This had to be wrong, this could not be possible. He raced for the phone, punched in his uncle's number, and demanded that the old man get there NOW. Jim paced the floor while he waited, unable to continue perusing the pages in the box. Not possible. Not possible.

Jim's uncle knocked on the door in short order. Jim nearly wrenched the door off its hinges, grabbed his uncle by the arm, dragged him to the box, and thrust the first paper into his face. "How?" bellowed Jim. "How is this possible?!"

Jim's uncle stepped back, stroked his white goatee thoughtfully, and calmly said, "Jim, I told you it was taken care of. You never asked how."

Jim's eyes grew wide. "How could you do this to me? To him? My son, he's just a baby! How on earth can he pay this off?" Another thought gripped Jim, turning him paler still. "Half the town is living on this card! They depend upon it! I can't just cut them off! But if I don't..." His sentence trailed off as he stared in anguish at his son, who had somehow slept through Jim's outburst.

Jim's uncle nodded gravely. "I'll tell you what, Jim. I can help you with this problem as well." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out another card, just like Jim's, but with a different number on it. "Give him this when he's of age."

Jim was flabbergasted. "You cannot be serious," he said. Another thought occurred to him, and he grasped at it like a drowning man lunging for a piece of driftwood. "What about the payments that were being taken from my paychecks?"

Jim's uncle laughed. "My boy, surely you don't believe you made this much?!"

"Well, no," admitted Jim, clinging to this last tiny piece of hope, "but it's got to count for something, right?"

Jim's uncle laughed again. "My boy," he said again, slightly shaking his head from side to side, "how do you think I've made my fortune?" He stuffed the second card into his stunned nephew's hands, nodded to an equally stunned Sharla, and escorted himself out, leaving a horrified silence in his wake.

And now I will ask you the question that was surely running laps around Jim's beleaguered mind: If you have to steal from and enslave your own children to achieve it, can you truly call it freedom?

Fortunately, this story is fiction.  After all, this sort of abandonment of common sense could never be possible in the real world.  An entire nation could only subscribe to this sort of twisted logic...

...in the Twilight Zone.