Tuesday, June 28, 2005

What'd I Say?

This is great! Logan Darrow Clements of FreeStar Media LLC has started the process of seizing Justice David Souter's property to put up the "The Lost Liberty Hotel". This is beautiful!!!!

Anybody know where the other 4 Commies live?

Sunday, June 26, 2005

Commies Eat Shit

The lastest SCOTUS opinion Kelo v. New London really hacks me off. I mean, what could be more communist than redistribution of wealth via the confiscation of private property?

I have not read the majority opinion on this one - it pisses me off way too much to give those five socialists even 1 minute of my time. I went straight to the dissent, the first of which was written by Justice O'Connor (whom I usually find insufferably verbose). She gave what some have called a "stinging rebuke" to her colleagues, but I think it is much too mild. I would have started with something like:

What the hell do you think you're doing here? Have you taken the transporter straight to Cuba? Fer cryin' out loud, are you even still on this planet?

This kind of crap has been going on for quite a while. O'Connor uses a precedence that is just as horrible in its consequences:

In Midkiff, we upheld a land condemnation scheme in Hawaii whereby title in real property was taken from lessors and transferred to lessees. At that time, the State and Federal Governments owned nearly 49% of the State’s land, and another 47% was in the hands of only 72 private landowners. Concentration of land ownership was so dramatic that on the States most urbanized island, Oahu, 22 landowners owned 72.5% of the fee simple titles. Id., at 232. The Hawaii Legislature had concluded that theoligopoly in land ownership was skewing the State’s residential fee simple market, inflating land prices, and injuring the public tranquility and welfare, and therefore enacted a condemnation scheme for redistributing title.

What the fuck? Ooooo, rich people suck. They should give their property to me. Waaahh! /hate filled lefty off/

I recently spent a day in Belize. I had heard a lot of good things about this small country and was really looking forward to a brief visit. A colleague even asked me to check out property prices. On a tourist excursion, I had a chance to talk to our guide and she told me something that turned my stomach. It seems that every citizen of Belize is entitled to own property. If you can't buy it yourself, the government will give you some. It might be up in the mountains, or far from any city, but you get a plot of land to call your own. Where does the govt. get this land? They take if from someone who isn't using it properly!!!! Sound familiar?

Our founders couldn't possibly have intended to make private property a mere playtoy of government entities. Justice Thomas writes:

Though one component of the protection provided by theTakings Clause is that the government can take private property only if it provides “just compensation” for the taking, the Takings Clause also prohibits the government from taking property except “for public use.” Were it otherwise, the Takings Clause would either be meaningless
or empty. If the Public Use Clause served no function other than to state that the government may take property through its eminent domain power—for public or private uses—then it would be surplusage. See ante, at 3– 4 (O’CONNOR, J., dissenting); see also Marbury v. Madison, 1 Cranch 137, 174 (1803) (“It cannot be presumed that any clause in the constitution is intended to be without effect”); Myers v. United States, 272 U. S. 52, 151 (1926). Alternatively, the Clause could distinguish those takings that require compensation from those that do not. That interpretation, however, “would permit private property to be taken or appropriated for private use without any compensation whatever.” Cole v. La Grange, 113 U. S. 1, 8 (1885) (interpreting same language in the Missouri Public Use Clause). In other words, the Clause would require the government to compensate for takings done “for public use,” leaving it free to take property for purely private uses without the payment of compensation.

See where this lame-brained shit is going? What I would like to do is find out where the Commie 5 live and then demand that their property be condemed and turned over to Walmart.

Saturday, June 25, 2005

A Righteous Rant

Hurl has another excellent essay titled The War Against Freedom. He clearly illustrates the inconsistencies in the manner and speech of some of our more vociferous Democrat leaders. But beyond this, check out the comments for a kickass rant provided by Huntress in response to a troll I affectionately call xLax.

Friday, June 24, 2005

On silver linings...

The 5-4 decision by the Supreme Court in Kelo v. New London will most likely have at least one positive effect: increased gun sales. People will need to keep greedy municiple city/county politicians at the edge of their property by means other than the courts.

Monday, June 20, 2005

In praise of color blindness

Most of my life has been spent blissfully color blind when it comes to race. My parents would not allow us (me and my siblings) to use derogatory language aimed at a person's ethnicity. They said it was "wrong" or "bad" and that-was-that. We had to think up other arguments if we wanted to persist in belittling someone. Most of the time it wasn't worth the effort since we were just being stupid little freaks.

Either Mom and Dad weren't into the whole "protest march" thing, or couldn't because Dad worked in the intelligence field. They did something else: taught by example.

I couldn't have been more than 4 years old when Pop scared the crap out of me and ruined a trip to the Carnival. At least that was the memory I had until I grew out of stupid little freak mode. Pop became incensed at a carny-worker who refused to allow a black child on a ride and had called the boy one of the VERY BAD derogatory terms we were not allowed to use. Pop decked the maggot, said some non-racial bad language, and we swiftly left the carnival. Me in tears, of course. Pops don't make scenes like that?!?

Several years later he came to the dinner table in disgust and told us that he had resigned as the President of the neighborhood swim club. He'd told the other board members to go "Cheney" themselves because they were not going to allow a black family entry into the member's only association. This kind of bigotry got Pop's blood boiling, but he was always able to calmly describe to us stupid little freaks why he got mad.

His actions spoke louder than any protest sign. For my Pop, I will always be thankful for that. Happy Fathers Day, Pop!

Thursday, June 16, 2005

So that's how they do it...

Seems each branch of the service has different approaches to gunfights.

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

My favorite poem

This is my favorite poem. I don't know why. Its old, hokie, funny and sick. Enjoy.

The Cremation of Sam McGee

There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, but the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that he'd "sooner live in hell".

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead -- it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."

A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say:
"You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows -- O God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May".
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared -- such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; . . . then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm --
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."

There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, but the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee.

Robert W. Service
written sometime prior to 1907

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

Time for a pit stop

I haven't had anything of importance to say for myself. I've always felt that in such circumstances it is best to not to go ahead and say it anyway.