The chaps over at The Big Feed have dug up what could possibly be archaeological evidence of a new language. The only problem is, only one person speaks it and she's from Ruleville, Mississippi.
Read more...The NAACP chapter of Alabama, when not chasing ambulances or white cop on black suspect injustice, is always looking out for black people and something to rattle the rusty chains of the past about.
Today, they found it.
Smart, beautiful women dressed in 150 year old dresses are racist. Clearly.
Unfortunately for the backward looking NAACP, the rest of the planet has agreed to move on from slavery and the victimization game that the NAACP and black leaders like Farrakhan, Jackson and Sharpton like to play.
A comment from "Marie of Mobile" at the WSFA website sums up the ridiculousness of the charge by the NAACP:
To clarify a few things, our future President Obama's team chose these worthy young ladies for the parade as part of their "Lincoln theme". They weren't chosen by anyone in our state to represent us. On another point, hoop skirts weren't exclusive to "the South". They were worn by ladies of northern states as well. They were indicative of an era, not an area. As for the colorful adornments on each costume, those were & are embellishments meant to represent Mobile's azaleas.Amen Marie, well said. Read more...
As a first generation Mobilian as well as first generation non-hyphenated American of Caribbean ethnicity, I've met racism and bigotry on more than one occasion in my sixty odd years. Be they black or white, it seldom if ever came from locals. However, bigotry against Southerners is gleefully condoned and promoted by media, Hollywood and one particular political party.
With one minor change, will reiterate my previous post in the hope of enlightening a few fellow citizens:
Racists exist everywhere...not just in "the South". However, in "the South", greater strides have been made to change hearts & minds than in many other places. It is far more difficult, and therefore far more redeeming, to reform one's heart and behavior than it is to have never been caught in the sin.
"Back in the day", my sister-in-law was chosen from the best & the brightest to be an Azalea Trail Maid. The young ladies were & are chosen on the basis of scholarship, achievment, etc. These young women deserve to honor their new president as much as anyone else. Only a bigot would maintain otherwise.
Furthermore, to quote the Mobile County Commission, "The Trail Maids have been ambassadors for Mobile County for almost 60 years. Competition to become a Trail Maid is extremely selective with only the brightest, most accomplished girls being chosen"..."Mobile is a place that strives to be inclusive and represent the needs of all citizens. The City of Mobile has a majority white population but has a popular African-American mayor"..."22% of the current Trail Maids are minority. How sad it would be if these girls especially were denied the opportunity to witness history as Barack Obama is inaugurated as our 44th president". Twenty two percent...hmmm, let's see the House of Representatives, the Senate or the NAACP match that statistic. Welcome to Mobile & happy Twenty First Century, ya'll!
My New Year's Resolution is. . .well honestly, I don't have one. And who cares really!
Maybe this year I will engage in more positive thinking. Like I'm positive that today will be terrible great, I mean. See, it's easy.
Normally on a Tuesday I'd be ranting about some world injustice, some infraction against my sensibilities that I find unacceptable, but from now on I will hate tolerate ignorance as I never would have before.
Take for example the City of Jackson, Mississippi. Once deemed the "Bold New City" now it can be called, "The Place Where You Don't Need a License to Operate a City Vehicle." Or, proudly we can proclaim that Jackson is "The Place Where We Spend $84,000 on Bus Tires that No One Can Find." Or the two I like most, "Jackson: We Have 29 Missing Police Cruisers! and Jackson: Free Gas?? Lemme Get My Fa-Shizzle!"
Ah Jackson. Once a fair city of diversity. Now, a bloody war zone run by crooks and criminals, saturated with cronyism, nepotism and irresponsibility. A bloody joke. The people that are running this city are getting what they deserve, in spades. You wanted it, now's it yours. Run with it. Or run it into the ground, whichever comes first.
On a happier note, let's all give a slap on the back and a kind word to Greasywrench, who today faces his own confrontation, with the city of Long Beach, California. Good luck buddy, I know you'll do well!
From today's Zen Calender:
"Meditation is not a means to an end. It is both the means and the end." - Krishnamurti
Uh. What?
Another lovely winter day begins here in Mississippi. New Year's Eve I was freezing my boo-tay off trying to break in a new fire barrel and today? Well, it's threatening rain and it's 55 degrees outside heading to a high of 65. It's a blizzard out there.
We are sitting around the office with not much to do on this lovely Monday (Friday?) morning. We have no lab work to speak of and the likelihood of a contractor calling today is minimal. But there are two ding-dongs so far who want to make life miserable for everyone else, so we wait. We wait. We wait.
Hey, the phone is ringing. . .hang on a sec. . .
Wrong number.
So, good morning planet Earth! How you doing today?
We all know that flying is a bitch, roight? I mean a full-blooded, all-American, red-headed, bee-yatch! Cold. Emotionless. Hardened.
Your late? "Fuck you," says the airport!
Me, well, I travel well. I'm prepared, courteous, mindful of my surroundings and generally well-behaved. Just give me some place to park it for a while to imbibe a drink or two and man, I'm right up there with God and baby Jesus. Altruistic even!
But, even I have a bad day or two and so do the airlines.
The day after Christmas, Beatrice and I packed up our belongings to return to H-town for the remainder of the week. We were carrying heavy, 7 bags including carry-ons, and a firearm. Things went smoothly at the check-in counter. I declared the gun, went through the rig-a-ma-roll with the service agent, gun unloaded, locked, locked in a box, locked in a luggage, checked the bags, got them scanned, boarding passes, checked-in, happy, good job, well-done, let's go. . .do what?
Excuse me? Uh, what was that you say? Our flight has been delayed by 4 hours you say? Flights out of Chicago have been canceled? Good Lord Bardenstein!
Hey, is that my blood pressure? Why is my face burning? Is my hair on fire? No worries Beatrice, let's get to the bar.
At the first bar, we encountered the first of many freaky people in the form of the bartender/waitress. She was this older, tall, blond, kooky woman with frazzled birdnest hair who fits the mold perfectly for women described as "crazy cat ladies." When she spoke, her head nodded exaggeratedly and her empty eyes blinked dramatically as she listened to our plight. Her responses we long and drawn out like "ooooohhhhhh, thaaaaaaattttssssss teeeerrrrribbllllllle." I'm sure this speech affliction was the result of one too many quaaludes during her disco days.
Before we could even order with the crazy cat lady she informed us that the bar would be closing so we had to order immediately. What? WTF is this?? It's only 5:30 p.m. on a freaking Friday night!! I mean, I know this is no night out on the town, but damn! She was kind enough to let us scarf down a sandwich and salad and half a beer before we were booted out into the main concourse where we found countless more freaks.
We moseyed down, yes we moseyed, only because it sounds better than perambulated, we moseyed down to our concourse, through security, scans, body searches. Thank God I didn't have to take off my socks and we eventually found our way to the OTHER bar in the airport, the "cool" bar where I know everyone's name. And not the people working there.
This bar's theme is the Mississippi Sports Hall of Fame and there are many a familiar face on the wall. Walter Peyton, Archie Manning, Jerry Rice, Dizzy Dean, lesser know figures like Frank "Bruiser" Kinard, James "Cool Papa" Bell, and hey, who's that there hiding behind that table?
Well, it's Doug Elmore, my dad's long-time friend. Alright, I'm feeling a little better.
I have a beer, a Beatrice, the eyes of my fellow Mississippians gazing down upon us. This won't be so bad. Only 4 more hours to go.
This is when the real freak show began.
We had "The Pacer." A nervous man with a comb-over, our unknown, but eventual seat-mate on the flight, who for hours, paced up and down the concourse, gobbling trail mix, sitting down, standing up, pace, pace, pace, pace, pace. Gobble, gobble, gobble. He eases over our way. Oh no! Ah, thank goodness, he turned off at the last second.
Then there was the "Loud Woman." A portly, splotchy, strawberry-blond who sat at the table across from us with a child, draining Crown Royal and Diet Coke as her child reminded her "your drunk," while she insisted on butting into our conversations with inane commentary as half a fried catfish sandwich hung out of her mouth. Lovely. Then proudly for her, we were forced to look at a cellphone picture of her with none other than Lance Bass she had taken earlier in the airport. Lance Bass was in Jackson? Just add that to the long list of weird people and things. . .
I asked the waitress casually, "So, what's up with the freak show?" Her flat reply was that the holidays always bring them out and described an armless man earlier that wanted shots of whiskey poured down his gullet and a blind man who drank coffee like water and paid for it with $11 borrowed from the cab driver who brought him to the airport. The holidays indeed.
Shortly after this information, a one-legged elderly woman entered the bar and then separately, a one-armed woman came in. Fascinating! What are the odds of that, especially after the prior conversation about the armless man? Beatrice and I felt we had descended into some alternate reality, a Twilight Zone even, as we marveled over the independence and dexterity of the one-armed madam.
I had to take a walk. Hey look, poorly thought out Christmas decorations!
Northwest Airlines must have a maximum height requirement for the seven passengers that fly to and from Detroit each day.
Beatrice and I finished our beverages and left the bar as it closed at 8:00 p.m. We made our way down to the end of the concourse to find a quiet corner to huddle in as we waited.
We hunkered down next to the cleaning cart and nested as best we could given the circumstances.
Out came the pretzel mix, Cokes, napkins and the latest issue of Culture magazine. Yes, Culture magazine is not what you think. Did I mention we're moving to Idaho to raise goats and make cheese? Naa-aa-aa-aa-aah, I'm not kidding and we are definitely as crazy as we look.
We made out as best we could keeping a great distance between the freak show and ourselves as we waited, but just across the hall from us in a cubbyhole next to the bathroom were three blinged-out ghetto brothers from Houston.
A problem? No.
Not until "n*gger" this and "n*gger" that started, followed by all forms of the f-bomb in a loud and ghetto-like attenuation. It wouldn't really have bothered me so much, none of those words offend me, it's only that they were being used in a public mart, loudly and without consideration to the elderly or children around them. But, I guess this is simply a by-product of "da man holdin' deez boyz down fo so long, dat dey cain't get no job or nothin'." And "dat sorry-ass muffugin ho' dat be shackin' up wit dat n*gger from down da skreet and I oughta bust up in dere and put a cap up in dat n*gga's heyd!"
I'm lovin' it.
I took a few deep breaths and imagined myself milking goats in Idaho with Beatrice and tending to my aging wheels of cheese that I will name "Toasticus Mull." Beatrice was kind enough to remind me that it was in fact Christmas and no matter our plight, our tribulations in trying to get home, we should be grateful for what we have. Togetherness, family, love and sharing. And she was right. . .
Indeed it is a time to be thankful, caring and giving. Forgiving. So, I forgive thee, even you three rude boys who have no future. I forgive Mother Nature for dissolving four and a half hours of my precious time. It's ok, it's really ok. I'm thankful.
Thankful for Ja-ger-mei-ster!
Since I am lucky enough to share my birthday with the really dumb idea of International Talk Like a Pirate Day (caveat: I was here first), I must admit that with the increase of real pirating off the waters of Somalia I'm getting kind of pissed off at these brain damaged, goat-humping, Islamo-fascist knob-gobblers parading around in paper boats with guns and rockets!
Who in the hell do they think they are?
Somehow, someway and somewhere, probably in Berkeley, California, I hear someone blaming George Bush for this unnecessary foolishness.
Let's go back to the third grade and revisit compare and contrast.
United States:
Unites States Navy Arleigh Burke class Guided Missile Destroyer displacing 9,200 tons with a crew of 273. Armed with a variety of sea to land, sea to air, sea to sea missile systems and 4 gas-turbine engines producing 108,000 horsepower.
Wooden pirate attack vessel, complete with five camel-humping turds wrapped in towels displacing about five turds, uh, 1 ton worth of water. Weaponry consists of: not much. Propulsion system: part-time outboard motor subsidized by full-time wooden paddle.
Phalanx Close-In Weapon System (CIWS), fires 3,000 to 4,500 rounds per minute with it's radar-guided 20mm M61 Vulcan Gatling gun auto-cannon. I think I just got a boner saying that. The land version of this weapon is so good that it can shoot falling rockets out of the sky with High-Explosive Incendiary Tracer, Self Destruct (HEIT-SD) rounds. No, I'm not kidding. We are Americans, we can make anything.
Armed and unwrapped pirate turd sporting a cheaply made (probably Chinese), difficult to maintain automatic machine gun that is likely to jam and misfire often. And he probably sucks at it because he's too fucked up on quat and busy day dreaming about his clitoris-less wife.
MQ-1 Predator Unmanned Aircraft System armed with two AGM-114 Hellfire Missiles, complete with electro-optical sensor system, infrared, laser designator and illuminator systems.
They don't have any unmanned hunter/killer planes because they are turds wrapped in towels floating around in paper boats. And when they're not doing that, they are busy chopping off the clitorises of children, butchering one another randomly, chewing narcotic plant leaves (in the names of Allah?) and squandering the fertile resources of the East African desert (not!).
Read more...
The Philadelphia Enquirer is running an editorial today from Johnathan Valania, who apparently stayed up all weekend huffing gold spray paint while writing this jewel of a piece in which he declares that all white people should not be allowed to vote.
Why?
Well, we're racist and bitter of course. Also, we attend Sarah Palin rallies and we are apparently responsible for deranged comments from life-long Democrats like John Murtha. Oh, and we're wholly responsible for electing the evil George Bush and Dick Cheney, not only once, but TWICE!!! I guess no Blacks, Latinos, Asians or those of mixed heritage, much like the rest of us, voted for Bush.
It's only whitey's fault.
This is just as dumb as saying black people shouldn't vote because they've turned our inner cities into drug-infested war zones of illegitimate and uneducated people.
Oh wait, that's "white folks" fault too. Shame on me for being so ignorant of the facts. Kinda like you Mr. Valania.
What could it be?
Let's get a little closer.
Do you see it now?
Can it be, can it be, what can it be??
Holy shit!! It's cheese on an Egg McMuffin on the side of the McTruck that delivers the pre-cooked McFood to the no-good sonsabitches at the McFucking McDonald's!
IT'S EVEN ON THE SIDE OF THE 18-WHEELER TRAILER THAT DELIVERS THE FOOD!!
I need a doctor. I think the left side of my brain just died.
I said it before and I'll say it again. . .when will I ever learnt?
This morning I went to the "place that can't seem to get their shit together." And now I'm in a rage.
Not only was the black girl, yes she was black, call me a racist if you like, the black girl at the window was so utterly rude, but the fuckers working inside still can't seem to follow the goddamn fucking pictogram for the proper assembly of a fucking sausage McMuffin. Well, I guess I'm just McFucked because those McFuckers left off the goddamn McFucking McCheese!
How McFucking hard is it to assemble a four part McFucking breakfast sandwich?? What the McFuck????
And again, posted in the window was a sign asking, "How are we McFucking up?" They'd love to know. . .well, they are about to McFucking know that their McCan'tfuckinggetitright restaurant is the dirty butthole of the McFucking Universe!
Jesus, Mary and Joseph!
houston, texas
Gracias Nils.
Hollow, vacuous, void, hyperbole, tall talk, overstatement, prevarication, mendacity, exaggeration, falsehood, fib, conceit, narcissism, amour-propre, bold, cavalier, bumptious, supercilious, haughtiness, pomposity, aimless, unimportant, nugatory, bombastic, fustian, grandiloquence, magniloquence, turgidity.
And bullshit.
I met this pair of "locals" on Farish Street as Nils and I were on our "culture crusade" Saturday.
The first thing out of the mouth from the guy on the left (#1) was some long rambling story about how he needs money and I should help him because he is a poor, homeless man. I explained to the gentlman that he looked to be in perfect health and should find a job. Needless to say, after a brief millisecond ponderance of my reasonable, logical response, he proceeded to berate me as a hater, explaining to me that I "ain't skraight" nor "down" so on and so forth. So, I gave him $20, miscalculating ever so slightly that this might shut him up and he might get along with his miserable life. Wrong.
Then, #1 begins to tell me that he needs $40 to be able to stay in the boarding house down the street for a week, to which I respond, "See, if you had that job I was talking about, you'd have the $40 and then some." This only elicited more extemporaneous blaming of "the man" for all his ills.
As I listened to this guy, person #2 walks up and wants to know why I'm giving out money. I tell him it's because I am a nice, thoughtful and generous person. All the while, person #1 is still going on about his perceived persecution. #2, not wanting to be left out, demands money. I tell #2 that he can split the $20 I just gave #1 (thinking in my dark, twisted mind that a fight might ensue that I can photograph). #1 rejected this idea wholeheartedly. So, I gave #2 $20 too.
I wasn't all that concerned about my safety as I knew Nils was lurking nearby, always quick with a blade, and not to mention the .357 magnum digging into the small of my back. I presumed that at nearly point blank I probably wouldn't miss. Plus, it was worth the risk to really piss off a couple of worthless individuals.
Alas, nothing terrible happened but I received no appreciation for my charity and #1 had the gall of actually saying as he walked away, "I don't give a fuck about no whitey taking pictures", when #2 pointed out that I was taking his picture again.
What's the old saying about helping the helpless? I think it goes something like, "Fuck them!"
Nils will be arriving in Jackson shortly.
LET THE MADNESS BEGIN!!!!!!!!!!
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