Saturday, November 11, 2006

Now that the pain pill has kicked in........

......I'll post this Veterans piece I saved at some point in time for just such a day..



Veteran's Day
Several PEOPLE have up the poem "In Flander's Fields". Analog Kid has a PHOTO PICTORIAL.

Everything that we have in this country, we have because of those who have gone before us to protect us. Nobody in their right mind wants to die. Nobody in the miliary goes out in battle thinking "Gosh, if I catch a bullet then people will love me because I'll be a veteran!"

Soldier's, sailors, airmen and Marines, who would rather be sitting at home having meals with their families, celebrating the holidays with their loved ones, are doing what they do because they understand that this country is worth fighting for. This country is worth protecting. The rights and freedoms that we have are worth fighting for.

Nobody wants to die, but those men and women in uniform understand that it is better to die fighting for what you believe in rather than live in a world where freedom is just a wishful dream. So to all veterans, I say Thank You. I only hope that I can live up to your expectations.

There are more Veteran's Day links at WINDS OF CHANGE and POWERLINE.

However, I think the best discription of all is from MAD OGRE.


Just a word to you cake eating civilians out there… You don’t say Happy Veterans Day. You don’t say Merry Vets Day. But just because you don’t have a meaningless Seasons Greetings for it doesn’t mean you don’t say anything. This isn’t some fat bunny in a sled passing around Jack O’Lanterns because it’s Santa’s birthday… This isn’t about some old fable-become-tradition. Veterans Day is a day for those that are still alive, and for those who are dead… those who died for your freedom to flip soldiers the bird and to call them baby killers and spit on them in the airport. Veterans Day is for the guys that died fighting for your personal independent liberty… It’s for that Veteran that walks with just a slight limp and seems otherwise fine, but he doesn’t have a spleen because an enemy of our country blew it out his back with an AK-47 so you can get 15% Off that new leather fat-ass reclining couch that your going to sit on to mock the President from while watching your 42 inch plasma TV flipping through the channels trying to find some Friends rerun. Veterans Day is for the guy that came home while all his friends didn’t. Veterans day is for the woman who gave up the best years of her young adulthood so she could press her hands over the sucking chest wound of some guy from her own home town 6 thousand miles away from home. Veterans day is for that old woman over there that raised 2 kids alone because when she was young she sent her handsome young husband off to fight for your freedom and came back as a flag folded into a triangle. That’s what Veterans day is for… and what do you say to those people who served? You just say “Thank You”.

VETERANS DAY......

...is always a day of mixed emotions for me.

First of all, I always get a greeting and rememberance from my sister Joyce. She's always thankful for my service and for the fact that I came home. She's also the only one to always remember and let me know that she remembers.

Then I always remember the ones who didn't return. Carl, John, Walter, Nick, Lt. Hunter, and so many others I can't remember and over 58,000 that I never knew.

I remember one scout pilot, a 1st Lt. whos name for the life of me I can't remember. For some reason he and I took to one another. Probably because we were 2 shy southern boys, who didn't go in for the drunken hell raisin', drink and be merry for tomorrow we die crowd.

We both were fans of a young British rocker call Rod Stewart, and were looking for some reason and purpose to our lives. Our lives revolved around flying. We loved it, and were, for some reason good at it. If being involved in the Southeast Asia War Games was the cost of getting to fly, so be it. It was.......
......exciting.

Lt. was a fan of a Florida guru/con artist popular at that time. Sort of a Tony Robbins of the '60s and 70s by the name of Glenn Turner. He taught some thing called the power of positive thinking. Lt would try to explain some of the teachings of Turner and the power of the mind. He was a slight built young man. Probably about 130 lbs, 5'9' or so. He was the only guy at that time I knew who could take a beer or coke can, place it on his forehead, holding it with only his palm, and crush it absolutely flat, suddenly, with no apparent effort. Mind you, this was before the switch to aluminium cans. I, of about the same size, couldn't even crush one between my two hands, exerting all my strength. There must have been something to what he had studied.

As things happen, people are killed, wounded or simply rotated home and Lt. was made the Scout Platoon leader. He took to it like a fish to water. A natural leader, and motivator of his pilots and crews.

We were assigned to fly hunter/killer teams in an area we called the tri/border area. Northwest of Kha Sahn, where North and South Vietnam and Laos came together.

One team, 1 scout ship, 2 cobras and 1 huey for cover, ran into a group of NVA on and around a small hill there. The scout ship was shot out of the sky and crashed, no apparent survivors.

All of the teams could hear what was going on. All quit whatever they were doing and prepared to give assistance. In the hope that there might be survivors another scout tried to sneak in with rocket cover from the cobras to check the wreck site. Another burning and crashing bird. Bell jet rangers, known for their inability to survive a crash.

Lt. was now on the scene in his scout ship. Appraised of the danger and the evident superior firepower of the NVA, he was warned and ordered to stay out of the area of the hill, since to attempt to rescue any survivors would surely result in another bird down. The conversations between birds was heated and intense, with Lt. adament that he was going to try to get his guys back, that he was positive he could succeed....

.........he and his crew died.

Their bodies never to be recovered.

Nine Men died that day. And I can't even remember their names.

But in Washington, D.C. their names are inscribed on a black wall in a hole in the ground, for the ages to remember as are so many names of so many men and women, from all the conflicts that this country has felt it necessary to order them to go.........

...............and die.

The tears always come, but never a catharisis, and never a release from the Kudzu.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

You get exactly what you deserve

..........every time. Where you are in the universe and especially on this pitiable ball of mud is justly the result of all the decisions, good and bad, that you make over a lifetime.

And when a group of people get together as a large group you may be sure that the result of their group dynamic will produce something exceedingly stupid.

I didn't vote yesterday. I'll use the excuse that for most of the day I was too doped up to be allowed to go near a voting place because nothin in this world could have stopped me from pontificating on the stupidity of all those there, whether they intended to vote for the donkeys or the elephants.

We always get exactly the government we deserve as long as people believe we are a democracy.

Where are our statesmen. Where are those who really want to have and help make this a better country and hopefully a better world.

Harrison Ford was once asked if he believed in "The Force" ...
...his answer "the force is within you, Force Yourself.

When we as a people realize that we as individuals have charge of ourselves and don't want the government to lump everyone in to a Group.
, which has to have a leader because as a group individuals are the same as anyone else, they want someone to lead, be incharge and take the heat for all the dumb things the group does, then we might start using our heads to create more liberty, and freedom and not less.

Welcome to the New Reality.

Find some Kudzu to hide in.

I survived

Some would say that putting ones self at the mercvy of the VA hospital is a grave miscalculation.......

........I did just that yesterday, and awoke with all my appendages still attached.......

.....working, remains to be seen.

actually only carpal tunnel procedure. I've cut myself worse.. Still hurts a bit, however done. Between the meds already taking and this new pain killer I've quite a buzz on today.

I quit drinking back in '75. the wobble came as a bittersweet memory.

Differant party in charge of house in D.C. Same ol' Bullshiate. I REpeat previous advice. keep your guns and ammo in a dry and secure location, a surplus of money, both hard and phoney, squirraled away, and plenty of food & water put aside....

.....and keep your head down below the radar.

Else the Kudzu will get you. REMEMBER.........

......It's not paranoia, if they really are out to fuck you over.

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Change......

........is good. Right??

In an effort to make things easier for me to type, you will note please that I have changed my ID to kdzu. No longer do I have to reach for the shift key and then remember to put in the .'s and spaces.

I hope this will make things easier for the 2 or 3 people who do read and comment.
I know that it will for me, as long as I can remember that I changed it.

Today was a b.e.a. utiful day hear in the peach state (yes I know that S.C. produces more peaches than we do). 80 degrees in Toccoa as we passed the bank. How in the world did banks decide to put the time and temp on their signs. You'd think that we know if its cold or hot, and if we're riding past in our autos or trucks we're probably already aware that we're late.

I have also today switched to Blogger Beta. It let me post my mountain post and pictures, but now they tell me that I can't comment on a blogger site. If you wonder where I am, I'm sitting here pulling my hair out trying to figure how to post to a couple of favorites. Soon they tell me. I don't want soon, I want now.
Instant gratification. Isn't that the american way. Especially if I can't afford it now. Let's just use that marvelous thing called credit, shall we.

Better go, I feel the kudzu crawling.

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Off to the mountains.........



.....To see what I can find. The first American Gold Rush happened here some number of years ago. We even had our own mint. If you happen to own a genuine Dahlonaga Gold piece then you problbly have something valuable.
Me I prefer not to get all wet and dirty playing in the creeks looking for the yellow stuff. I'll let others do that for me. They pay big bucks for jewelry for themselves and loved ones, and then sell it for .10 cents on the dollar.
Folks, to me the other metals in the piece and the workmanship mean squat.
But, still people believe that whatever they paid for something is what it's worth, even a new car.
Marooons


UPDATE; Back from the mountains. Nice trip shared with the better half. She wanted to get out of the house and see the fall leaf colors. We also bought some sorghum syrup and a bag of mtn. grown apples.
I did find one treasure. If anybody is interested in a very nice 3/4 ct round diamond, which may grade as good as VS1 or better, at a very reasonable price, let me know.

Update; Pictures of contented cow and a few shiney rocks.

Thursday, October 26, 2006

GO READ THIS

Go on. Go to........ www.ejectejecteject.com

And read all of it. See if any of your opinions take a shift.

.....There will be a TEST

A view from the front

I think that every one who has read much here knows that I am 110% behind our troops either stationed in a combat zone or where ever they may be serving.
Perhaps it is time for us to hear more from the people who have actually been deployed on the ground and have seen it up close and personal.
In Vietnam we called those who sat back in the rear and supposedly ran the war REMFs. That's Rear Eschelon Mother F****rs. The military is different now that it's smaller. Many of those running the troops are either with them or communicate in real time with them so they have a better idea of what's going on. My suggestion is to get the word out to as many people as possible so They can actually see the good (of which there is quite a bit) as well as the bad (of which there is also plenty).

I have bookmarked www.michaelyon-online.com . Look him up. This is a letter from a colonel who is soon leaving Iraq and some of his thoughts. I think they're worth considering.

http://www.michaelyon-online.com/wp/one-colonels-final-thoughts.htm

What do you think?

Sunday, October 22, 2006

As Promised


I'd love to know how to put my pictures mixed in or down below the text of the blog. Maybe I'll figure it out at a later date. I tend to jump in and do the easy stuff and if it works well enough, then OK by me.

The Pic above is of two maple leafs I bought to resale the other day. One is .999 fine and the other is .9999 fine. Any thing that is more pure than Ivory soap is pure enought for me.

It's nice to pick up pretties like this. Mostly what I buy is scrap jewelry that has been broken or people just don't want any more. Amazing thing guys, sometimes when the lady is angry or scorned, they just want to get rid of whatever reminds them of you. Even if they get very little for it. Maybe shows what they think of you at the time.

I pick up a few nice diamonds that way sometimes.
Just had 5 sets of earings made up from about 1/4 cttw to almost a carat tw.
I'll try to sell them, but people tend to shun an individual, even with GIA training, and go the the established stores where because of overhead they have to triple the price just to come out a little ahead.

There is a fever like disorder that attracts you, once you start dealing with it.
Something about taking an adulterated item and render it to .999 pure gives a satisfying sense of accomplishment. And as Robert Service says so well, sometimes it's in the finding, more than the having.

I wanted the gold, and I sought it,
I scrabbled and mucked like a slave.
Was it famine or scurvy -- I fought it;
I hurled my youth into a grave.
I wanted the gold, and I got it --
Came out with a fortune last fall, --
Yet somehow life's not what I thought it,
And somehow the gold isn't all.

Robert W. Service, The Spell of the Yukon



"There's gold, and it's haunting and haunting; it's luring me on as of old. But it's not the gold that I'm wanting, so much as just finding the gold."-Robert Service, 18-th century miner/poet.

Some times life is like that. A constant searching for something, we know not what.
We shift from partner to partner,
home to home,
job to job,
Church to church.

Always looking for that next big deal,
That next opportunity that's going to make you rich, and you never stop to think that, if you just save a little as you go along, after a while you can stop searching.

But as the poet says, sometimes it more about the looking than finding.

Read the whole poem here if you wish.

http://tobi_wan_2.tripod.com/SpellOfYukon.html


For Thirty years I been looking just over the next horizon, and now the horizon is not as far as it once was, and I'm afraid to look over it because I fear what might, or might not, be there.

But at least for a little while I can look at the lady above, and see her as she once was and as she later became. And get a sense of stability from her.

And still, I know, that there is kudzu around her soul, too.

Thanks to http://straightwhiteguy.com/ for leading me to Services' poems. I once heard that there is a scottish saying that 'money is flat and meant to be stacked up'. Maybe Eric can ask his bride if that's true.

Saturday, October 21, 2006

Sometimes........




Sometimes.......

A girl just wants to be held in the arms of an older more experienced man.


Some of you.......OK 1 of you (thanks Jean) wanted to see an updated picture of the grand daughter.

What can I say. I just seem to have the knack of putting pretty girls to sleep.

Probably my bubbling personality.

Or my ability to find pure gold.

Pictures of that lady tomorrow.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

THIS MIGHT MAKE SOMEONE THINK !

This will make you think



Your alarm goes off, you hit the snooze and
sleep for another 10 minutes.

He stays up for days on end.
_________________________
You take a warm shower to help you wake up.

He goes days or weeks without running
water.
__________________________
You complain of a "headache", and call in
sick.

He gets shot at as others are hit, and keeps
moving forward.
__________________________
You put on your anti war/don't support the
troops shirt, and go meet up with your friends.

He still fights for your right to wear that shirt.
__________________________
You make sure you're cell phone is in your
pocket.

He clutches the cross hanging on his chain
next to his dog tags.
__________________________
You talk trash about your "buddies" that
aren't with you.

He knows he may not see some of his buddies
again.
__________________________
you walk down the beach, staring at all the
pretty girls.

He walks the streets, searching for
insurgents and terrorists.
__________________________
You complain about how hot it is.

He wears his heavy gear, not daring to take
off his helmet to wipe his brow.
__________________________
You go out to lunch, and complain because
the restaurant got your order wrong.

He doesn't get to eat today.
__________________________
Your maid makes your bed and washes your
clothes.

He wears the same things for weeks, but
makes sure his weapons are clean.
__________________________
You go to the mall and get your hair redone.

He doesn't have time to brush his teeth
today.
__________________________
You're angry because your class ran 5
minutes over.

He's told he will be held over an extra 2
months.
__________________________
You call your girlfriend and set a date for
tonight.

He waits for the mail to see if there is a
letter from home.
__________________________
You hug and kiss your girlfriend, like you
do everyday.

He holds his letter close and smells his
love's perfume.
__________________________
You roll your eyes as a baby cries.

He gets a letter with pictures of his new
child, and wonders if they'll ever meet
__________________________
you criticize your government, and say that
war never solves anything.

He sees the innocent tortured and killed by
their own people and remembers why he is fighting.
__________________________
You hear the jokes about the war, and make
fun of men like him.

He hears the gunfire, bombs and screams of
the wounded.
__________________________
You see only what the media wants you to
see.

He sees the broken bodies lying around him.
__________________________
You are asked to go to the store by your
parents. You don't.

He does exactly what he is told.
__________________________
You stay at home and watch TV.

He takes whatever time he is given to call,
write home, sleep, and eat.
__________________________
You crawl into your soft bed, with down
pillows, and get comfortable.

He crawls under a tank for shade and a 5
minute nap, only to be woken by gunfire.
__________________________
You sit there and judge him, saying the
world is probably a worse place
because of men like him.

If only there were more men like him!

If you support your troops, re-send this to
everyone you know,

If it gets to another veteran who hasn't
received it yet, it will bring back memories.

Only two defining forces have ever offered
to die for you, Jesus Christ and the American G I.
One died for your soul, the other for your
freedom

Bruce Cherokee Perry
usabiker1@earthlink.net


Shamelessly stolen from and email my sister sent me.

I will be emailing Mr. Perry to make sure it's ok.

As I came out of the Franklin County, Georgia courthouse today my eyes were drawn to the marble obolisk outside which pays homage to those who died for their country in all the wars since WWII. There was a wreath of red and white roses placed before it.

I thought of the approximately 70 - 80 soldiers of all ranks killed in my unit in the short 1 year in Vietnam, and the thought came to me that I can only name a handful of them. Those I was close to or spent some time with. And I remembered seeing their names engraved for the ages on the Vietnam memorial in Washington, D.C.
and I felt ashamed that I could name so few.

But I'll never forget that I came home to my family and they didn't.

I was raised to believe that a man doesn't cry. I didn't shed public tears at my fathers casket. But, to see those names on that wall and to think of their sacrifice is more than the kudzu can hide.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Wherein I have been blessed

Behind a Fathers Mask

To a small infant child, behind the mask of a father
is a person who is never wrong

He seems to know answers to all of her questions and
he is powerful and strong.

With a kiss to a boo-boo or a pat on the back, he
takes pains of the body away.

He makes pains of the heart disappear with a hug
and the words "I'm here to stay".

As the child grows older and independent, she also
grows away from the man she calls dad.

A relationship with him is just something she
holds in her heart that she once had.

Now a rebellious teenager who claims to know all
Dad never seems to be right.

And the long talks they once had now take the
form of a never ending fight.

So she leaves the masked mans arms to see the
world on her own

And learns too quickly life could have been easy
had she only known.

After fighting the battles with him and saying
things that weren't meant

Thru all of the madness and tears only his
love was being sent.

And now a full grown woman, independent and
free

It is understood he was trying to be what she needed
him to be.

So she no longer tries to see behind her
fathers mask

Now answers come without effort about a good and
bad past

And she sees him thru different eyes than a young
infant child and his identity comes thru

He is not just my father, nor is he my enemy,
he is my dearest friend - forever true.



Written by; My oldest Child
on 6 -17 - 90



I have 4 children and 6 grandchildren, and they are all, and each, my favorites. Completley different and each unique. I am in awe that they are on loan to me.

I thought for a moment the kudzu had cleared from my vision.

Sunday, October 15, 2006

Well, I've ......

..read all of my favorite blogs tonight.

We finally got all of the grand children to sleep.

I am amazed at how many fine writers there are out there. They all mostly, put yours truly to shame.

This is just a sort of stream of consciousness type of blog for me. I read & see some many things and topics to write about but, if someone else blogs better about it than me, why should I try to exceed their lofty heights.

I trying a CPAC machine tonight in an effort to reduce my snoring. We'll see if I feel less tired in the morning.

Wish we had broadband of some kind. I have to download a couple of things tonight thast will prob take all night.

Off........to breath.......perchance to dream.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

Where is the wisdom?

Brush your teeth after each meal.. Floss after every meal. Use this toothpaste or the other to never have a cavity. See your Dentist twice a year.........

...Oh! By the way. Be sure to have your wisdom teeth extracted as soon as they come in.

Every body hears these messages from the time their young. Toothbrushes are one of the most highly advertised items in the world.

They put flouride in the water to strengthen teeth.

Does any of it do any good if you don't heed their advice (whoever THEY are)?

I've been fairly lucky with my teeth over the decades. A few cavities. One or two crowns from trying to open bottles or crack nuts with my teeth. I brushed, rarely flossed. And never had my wisdom teeth all pulled. One came thru the gums, and three are impacted, but never gave me any real problems....

.....until now.

Whoa boy can those puppies hurt. Inflame the gum. Bleeding when brushed. Very sensitive.

May have to bite the bullet and find a cheap jawbreaker to pull it out.

Their called wisdom teeth, because if your smart you'll have them yanked out when your young.

Need to chew some kudzu to see if it has any medicinal properties.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Just sitting here.......

having read all my favorite blogs, commenting on a few. Mostly lurking.

The motivation to write seems to be weak, but a guy once told me that if you didn't feel like praying, thats the time to get on your knees.

Perhaps the same with blogging.

We have the newest grandchild for the next two days. Boy is that a shock to our old selves. Thankfully tonight I had taken my medication before she got the colic and started screaming, so I was reasonably calm about it. But, Lord that child has a set of lungs on her. The world champion hog caller of 2020 is going to have a run for the money if she enters.

Finally she has drifted off to dreamland where hopefully she'll have pleasant dreams, while I stand watch with garlic, a silver cross and Browning Hi-power to ward off any boogymen.

Need to put together a flyer for our business to take to a luncheon tomorrow.

550 realtors, hopefully a few of them will be babes so as to make the rubbery chicken go down a little easier.

For a shy retiring type such as my self it'll be a trial, but somebody has to do it and there is no one better than me for buttering up the ladies.

Off

to work

to help hold the kudzu down to managable levels.

Sunday, October 01, 2006

Helping one another

LL just helped me recover my temporarily lost archives. Don't you just love it when they can immediatly see and know the answer to the problem.

This brings me thought that have been running thru my head for a while. (They run because there are no chairs there, so they can't relax.)

Years ago, I had a vision.

In the middle of the night, a person stood at the end of my bed and told me to believe and be baptised.

I did, but always felt that there was some reason that wasn't revealed to me then.

Years later a man told me, in response to my question of, 'what did that person in the vision want of me? "He wants you to attend church." I have for the past 12 years.

But I still feel as if there is more that I should be doing. Some way to make a big difference in a lot of peoples lives. But I have not a clue.

Is this a common thing. Are we desirious of being much more than we currently are?
Are People willing to expend the effort that it would take? Am I???
And in what direction should that effort be directed?

11:45 pm and the kudzu seeks to draw me down.
To Bed

Saturday, September 30, 2006

WTF

wHAT IN THE HELL HAPPENED TO MEY ARCHIVES?

Why am I typing in all caps?

I attempted yesterday to add a link to one of my favorite blogs and now my archives are GONE/

Help from any talented Tech type person.

And I just commented to Jean that I could follow directions. None of them had a very techie bent to them.

Just damn!

Friday, September 29, 2006

Why I love my dogs

Someone probably sent me this in an email a while back, and I present it for your consideration.........


Dog philosophy.

The reason a dog has so many friends is that he
wags his tail instead of his tongue.
-Anonymous

Don't accept your dog's admiration as
conclusive evidence that you are wonderful.
-Ann Landers

If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die
I want to go where they went.
-Will Rogers

There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy
licking your face.
Ben Williams

A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you
more than he loves himself.
Josh Billings

The average dog is a nicer person than

the average person.
Andy Rooney

We give dogs time we can spare,
space we can spare
and love we can spare.
And in return, dogs give us their all.
It's the best deal man has ever made.
M. Acklam

Dogs love their friends and bite their enemies,
quite unlike people, who are incapable of
pure love and always have to mix love and hate.
Sigmund Freud

I wonder if other dogs think poodles are members
of a weird religious cult.
-Rita Rudner

A dog teaches a boy fidelity, perseverance,
and to turn around three times before lying down.
Robert Benchley

Anybody who doesn't know what soap tastes
like never washed a dog.
Franklin P. Jones

If I have any beliefs about immortality,
it is that certain dogs I have known
will go to heaven, and very, very few persons.
James Thurber

If your dog is fat, you aren't getting
enough exercise.
Unknown

My dog is worried about the economy
because Alpo is up to $3.00 a can.
That's almost $21.00 in dog money.
Joe Weinstein

Ever consider what our dogs must think of us?
I mean, here we come back from a grocery
store with the most amazing haul -- chicken,
pork, half a cow.
They must think we're the greatest hunters
on earth!
Anne Tyler

Women and cats will do as they please,
and men and dogs should relax and
get used to the idea.
Robert A. Heinlein

If you pick up a starving dog and make him
prosperous, he will not bite you; that is the
principal difference between a dog and
Mark Twain

You can say any foolish thing to a dog,
and the dog will give you a look that says,
'Wow, you're right! I never would've thought
of that!'
Dave Barry

Dogs are not our whole life,
but they make our lives whole.
Roger Caras

If you think dogs can't count, try putting three
biscuits in you pocket and give him only two of them.
-Phil Pastoret

My goal in life is to be as good of
a person my dog already thinks I am.

....A man once told me that if you have 5 true friends in your whole life, that you could consider yourself lucky.

This same man, a man I considered my best friend in the world, today severed that friendship. It seems that lucre is more important.

Pardon me while I pull the kudzu up over my head for a while. My dalmation will dig me out eventually, licking on my chin and whining.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

BRRRRR



Dee yam nanny. Didn't they teach you how to make the water warm?

Prayers needed




My sister in Maine just sent her second son to Iraq this week.

His older brother has been there for a little while now.

Zack (the older) is a 1st lt. The picture is of him (on the right), his CO and his sargent.

So far no pictures of the 2nd son, a medic.

Please keep These young men in your prayers as well as their parents and youngest brother.

This is a little too much like the kudzu I'm trying to get out of.

I'm very proud of my nephews, although thankfully they are nothing like me.

Fine Belgium milk chocolate


LL, and some few others ridiculed my version of the reason for my "galloping trots" a week or so ago. Now I'll admit that I may have slightly exaggerated the severity of the malaise, but take a look at this box of chocolate.

I only today tried any more of this tasty treat, and will admit that after eating about 4 ozs just a few moments ago, I have not yet experienced any ill effects.

Perhaps after another small piece I'll call it a day.

Any one who eats that much chocolate with 3/4 of a glass of milk at 11:30 PM should have sweet dreams...

...Or nightmares.

Researchers have determined that chocolate act on the same brain receptors as sex. Perhaps if I had more sex I would have less a craving for chocolate. Or more chocolate, less a craving for sex. With the help of those magic pills from the VA, I hope to put that theory to the test at least one more time before I die. Or if the wife predeceases me, more than once if I'm lucky and should live so long.

Perhaps all those days of wanting and getting it 2 or 4 times a day have caught up with either her or me. Or perhaps after so many years she's tired of my wrinkly ol' ass.

Does anyone else feel out of sync sexually with the one they desire.

Oh well maybe it's just a matter of mind over matter.......if you don't mind it don't matter.

But I never would mind anyone. How did I get here from writing about chocolate

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Old Dogs

Almost done.

Only one more load to go tomorrow. Get the final payment and then no more 73 acres to ramble on and wish that I had done more with it. Feel a little bit like the unrightous servant who was not a good steward of the one talent he was given so the ruler took it away from him.

I guess I'm just having a bit of the 'coulda', woulda', shoulda's going on in my head.

We were headed home in the truck this afternoon with the next to last load.. Mostly filling the back was this big ol' obsolete big screen projection tv of wifes dad. Needs repair but we moved it like it was of some value.

Wife in the passenger seat with the big dalmation bitch up in ( I mean litterly in her lap) lap. Crazy dog is like the proverable Camel with his nose in the tent. Pet this dog while sitting in a chair and she will climb right up onto your shoulder if you let her.

I got to waxing philosophical, as I do sometimes, and I got to thinking about what of the stuff we moved is really essential to our lives. I mean, the computer for the internet and the fridge for the food, a bed to sleep in, my pills that keep me from trying to use the 10 inch dagger under the console in the truck. Many of the things we have define us instead of we our selves doing the defining. We need the new car, or the bigger tv. But it's somehow a little too hard to live a life that's worthwhile just on it's own.

This led me to try to remember the old Tom T. Hall song. You know the one. Old dogs and children and watermelon wine.

Old Dogs and Children and Watermelon Wine

"How old do you think I am," he said?
I said, well, I didn't know.
He said, "I turned 65 about 11 months ago."
I was sittin' in Miami, pouring blended whiskey down
When this old gray, black gentleman was cleaning up the lounge.
There wasn't anyone around, except this old man and me.
The guy who ran the bar was watching Ironside on TV.
Uninvited, he sat down and opened up his mind
On old dogs and children and watermelon wine.
"Ever had a drink of watermelon wine," he asked.
He told me all about it, though I didn't answer back.
"Ain't but three things in this world that's worth a solitary dime,
But old dogs and children and watermelon wine."
He said, "Women think about themselves, when men-folk ain't around.
And friends are hard to find when they discover that you're down."
He said, "I tried it all when I was young and in my natural prime,
Now it's old dogs and children and watermelon wine."
"Old dogs care about you even when you make mistakes.
God bless little children while they're still to young to hate."
When he moved away I found my pen and copied down that line
About old dogs and children and watermelon wine.
I had to catch a plane up to Atlanta that next day.
As I left for my room I saw him picking up my change.
That night I dreamed in peaceful sleep of shady summertime,
Of old dogs and children and watermelon wine.

Kinda puts things in perspective, doesn't it??

Might go sit in the kudzu and ponder for a while.

Bowed but unbroken

Who would have imagined that one family (read mostly yours truly) could have accumulated so much junk and useless stuff in only 16 yrs at one place.
Blogging has had to take a back seat to the neccessity of hauling all that junk off. Either to the dump, to the recycling place (9 loads to the metal yard alone, and to our new residence or to the storage building.
Can anyone give me a good reason to have so much that you don't want to get rid of that you will pay $90.00 a month to store it. And I know that most of it will only sit moldering there until the next move (God forbid).
I have however been able to lurk in the evenings. Hopefully things will get to normal (what is that?) soon.

'dja ever notice how fast grass and Kudzu will grow as fall and winter get closer?

Monday, September 11, 2006

9/11 HEROS

You can call them all heros if you want to. To me some of them were mere victims. Lives snuffed out in and instant when the planes struck the towers.

Some were simply lucky by where they were and able to make their panic stricken way out of the buildings. I was sure as I watched the planes strike the buildlings that the death toll would be much higher. Probably less than a 10th of the possible # that could have been killed if the building had collapsed quicker.

Certainly the firemen and police were heros that fateful day. But, they were simply doing what they had been trained to do. Which makes them heros in my book.

But let's look at just one individual hero on that day 5 years ago.

911 Remembered: Rick Rescorla was a soldier
Greyhawk
Note: This post is originally from September, 2003.

Have you seen the movie We were Soldiers?

A good one, in my opinion. Given just a couple hours to tell a tale I think all in all the folks involved did a commendable job.


Perhaps it's hard to go wrong, given the source material. We Were Soldiers Once, And Young is an account of the battle at Ia Drang Valley, fought in the still early phases of the war in Viet Nam. The book was written by Hal Moore, who was then a Lt Col and commander of the American troops in the valley, and Joe Galloway, a reporter who was at the battle. Their collaboration is a truly human account of men at war- including the enemy viewpoint, as Galloway and Moore's efforts at capturing the battle on paper were thorough enough to include interviews with survivors from the other side.

Take a look at the cover. The prominent figure is Rick Rescorla, described thusly on the LZ Xray web page:


No sleep for 48 hours.
Grimy, unshaven, filthy uniform.
Canteens loose, dogtags hanging out, pocket unbuttoned, helmet strap hanging.
No insignia of rank, sleeves up.
Dirty fingernails.
His bayonet is fixed; trigger finger alert and ready for action.
Lt. Rick Rescorla, Platoon Leader, B Co 2/7 Cav in Bayonet Attack on the morning of 16 Nov 1965(1)

This is not a posed shot; this is a man moving forward into combat. Eyes forward. Ready.


On that day,

The PAVN Commander knows that he had severely weakened and damaged the defenders in the Charlie Co sector the previous morning. What he does not know is that a fresh company - B Co 2nd Bn 7th Cav, had taken over the position after that engagement. That company, unmolested the previous afternoon, had cut fields of fire, dug new foxholes, fired in artillery concentrations, carefully emplaced it's machine guns and piled up ammunition(1).
Rescorla directed his men to dig foxholes and establish a defense perimeter. Exploring the hilly terrain beyond the perimeter, he came under enemy fire. After nightfall, he and his men endured waves of assault. To keep morale up, Rescorla led the men in military cheers and Cornish songs throughout the night(2).

Rescorla knew war. His men did not, yet. To steady them, to break their concentration away from the fear that may grip a man when he realizes there are hundreds of men very close by who want to kill him, Rescorla sang. Mostly he sang dirty songs that would make a sailor blush. Interspersed with the lyrics was the voice of command: ?Fix bayonets?on liiiiine?reaaaa-dy?forward.? It was a voice straight from Waterloo, from the Somme, implacable, impeccable, impossible to disobey. His men forgot their fear, concentrated on his orders and marched forward as he led them straight into the pages of history.(3)

The PAVN assaults four separate times beginning at 4:22 AM. The last is at 6:27 AM. They are stopped cold, losing over 200 dead. B Co has 6 wounded. At 9:55 AM, a sweep outward is made which results in more enemy dead and the position secured(1).

The next morning, Rescorla took a patrol through the battlefield, searching for American dead and wounded. As he looked over a giant anthill, he encountered an enemy machine-gun nest. The startled North Vietnamese fired on him, and Rescorla hurled a grenade into the nest. There were no survivors(2).

Rescorla and Bravo company were evacuated by helicopter. The rest of the battalion marched to a nearby landing zone. On the way, they were ambushed, and Bravo company was again called in for relief. Only two helicopters made it through enemy fire. As the one carrying Rescorla descended, the pilot was wounded, and he started to lift up. Rescorla and his men jumped the remaining ten feet, bullets flying at them, and made it into the beleaguered camp. As Lieutenant Larry Gwin later recalled the scene, "I saw Rick Rescorla come swaggering into our lines with a smile on his face, an M-79 on his shoulder, his M-16 in one hand, saying, 'Good, good, good! I hope they hit us with everything they got tonight?we'll wipe them up.' His spirit was catching. The enemy must have thought an entire battalion was coming to help us, because of all our screaming and yelling."(2)

"My God, it was like Little Big Horn," recalls Pat Payne, a reconnaissance platoon leader. "We were all cowering in the bottom of our foxholes, expecting to get overrun. Rescorla gave us courage to face the coming dawn. He looked me in the eye and said, 'When the sun comes up, we're gonna kick some ass.' "

Sure enough, the battalion fought its way out of Albany. Rescorla left the field
with a morale-boosting souvenir: a battered French Army bugle that the North
Vietnamese had once claimed as a trophy of war. It became a talisman for his
entire division.(4)


Lt Rescorla survived that engagement and many others.

He had grown up in a village on England's southwest coast and left at age sixteen to join the British military. He'd fought against Communists in Cyprus and Rhodesia. He then came to America, he said, so that he could enlist in the Army and go to Vietnam. He welcomed the opportunity to join the American cause in Southeast Asia. He worked his way up through the ranks to Sergeant before being commissioned.

The epitome of the young warrior, he was the sort that England seems to have bred in abundance for centuries: the type of young man who in times past went forth from Britain and created an empire upon which the sun never set. England happened to be fresh out of wars in the 1960s, so Rescorla became an American and fought in ours.(3)
More stories from Viet Nam:

The survivors of the 7th Cavalry still tell awestruck stories about Rescorla. Like the time he stumbled into a hooch full of enemy soldiers on a reconnaissance patrol in Bon Song. "Oh, pardon me," he said, before firing a few rounds and racing away. "Oh, comma, pardon me," repeats Dennis Deal, who followed Rescorla that day in April 1966. "Like he had walked into a ladies' tea party!"
Or the time a deranged private pulled a .45-caliber pistol on an officer while Rescorla was nearby, sharpening his bowie knife. "Rick just walked right between them and said: Put. Down. The. Gun." recalls Bill Lund, who served with Rescorla in Vietnam. "And the guy did. Then Rick went back to his knife. He was flat out the bravest man any of us ever knew."(4)


After fighting in Vietnam, he returned to the United States and used his military benefits to study creative writing at the University of Oklahoma. Literary minded, even before college he had read all fifty-one volumes of the Harvard Classics and could recite Shakespeare and quote Churchill. He had started writing a novel about a mobile-air-cavalry unit, and had several stories published in Western-themed magazines. He eventually earned a bachelor's, a master's in literature, and a law degree.

Rescorla then moved to South Carolina for a brief teaching career. He left for greener pastures; jobs in corporate security eventually led him to Dean Witter in 1985. He moved to New Jersey, commuted to Manhattan, and rose to become vice-president in charge of security at Morgan Stanley Dean Witter.

And, oh by the way, was still in the Army, as a Reservist, having advanced to colonel before retiring in 1990.

Rescorla's office was on the forty-fourth floor of the south tower of the World Trade Center. The firm occupied twenty-two floors in the south tower, and several floors in a building nearby. In 1990 Rescorla and Dan Hill, an old Army friend, evaluated the security, identifying load bearing columns in the parking garage as a weak point. A security official for the Port Authority dismissed their concerns. On February 26, 1993, a truck bomb exploded in the basement.

Rescorla ensured that every one of his firm's employees was safely evacuated, and was the last man out of the building.

Rescorla met his wife while running barefoot. Still determined to be a writer he had been scripting a play set in Rhodesia, based on his experiences there. Few of the native Rhodesians had worn shoes, which was why, he explained to her, he had to feel what it was like to run barefoot.

Some insight into the man's character:

Rescorla may have told Susan that he was running barefoot as research for a play, but he had already been running barefoot in Africa, and then at Fort Dix, toughening his soles to the point where he could extinguish a fire with his bare feet. He told Hill that if he lost his boots in combat it wouldn't matter. This was something he'd absorbed from his years in Africa. "You should be able to strip a man naked and throw him out with nothing on him," he told Hill. By the end of the day, the man should be clothed and fed. By the end of the week, he should own a horse. And by the end of a year he should own a business and have money in the bank.(2)
Small wonder that the final chapter of the story goes like this:

In St. Augustine, Dan Hill was laying tile in his upstairs bathroom when his wife called, "Dan, get down here! An airplane just flew into the World Trade Center. It's a terrible accident." Hill hurried downstairs, and then the phone rang. It was Rescorla, calling from his cell phone.
"Are you watching TV?" he asked. "What do you think?"

"Hard to tell. It could have been an accident, but I can't see a commercial airliner getting that far off."

"I'm evacuating right now," Rescorla said.

Hill could hear Rescorla issuing orders through the bullhorn. He was calm and collected, never raising his voice. Then Hill heard him break into song:

Men of Cornwall stop your dreaming;
Can't you see their spearpoints gleaming?
See their warriors' pennants streaming
To this battlefield.
Men of Cornwall stand ye steady;
It cannot be ever said ye
for the battle were not ready;
Stand and never yield!

Rescorla came back on the phone. "Pack a bag and get up here," he said. "You can be my consultant again." He added that the Port Authority was telling him not to evacuate and to order people to stay at their desks.

"What'd you say?" Hill asked.

"I said, 'Piss off, you son of a bitch,' " Rescorla replied. "Everything above where that plane hit is going to collapse, and it's going to take the whole building with it. I'm getting my people the fuck out of here." Then he said, "I got to go. Get your shit in one basket and get ready to come up."

Hill turned back to the TV and, within minutes, saw the second plane execute a sharp left turn and plunge into the south tower. Susan saw it, too, and frantically phoned her husband's office. No one answered.

About fifteen minutes later, the phone rang. It was Rick. She burst into tears and couldn't talk.

"Stop crying," he told her. "I have to get these people out safely. If something should happen to me, I want you to know I've never been happier. You made my life."

Susan cried even harder, gasping for breath. She felt a stab of fear, because the words sounded like those of someone who wasn't coming back. "No!" she cried, but then he said he had to go. Cell-phone use was being curtailed so as not to interfere with emergency communications.

From the World Trade Center, Rescorla again called Hill. He said he was taking some of his security men and making a final sweep, to make sure no one was left behind, injured, or lost. Then he would evacuate himself. "Call Susan and calm her down," he said. "She's panicking."

Hill reached Susan, who had just got off the phone with Sullivan. "Take it easy," he said, as she continued to sob. "He's been through tight spots before, a million times." Suddenly Susan screamed. Hill turned to look at his own television and saw the south tower collapse. He thought of the words Rescorla had so often used to comfort dying soldiers. "Susan, he'll be O.K.," he said gently. "Take deep breaths. Take it easy. If anyone will survive, Rick will survive."

When Hill hung up, he turned to his wife. Her face was ashen. "Shit," he said. "Rescorla is dead."(2)

The rest of Rick Rescorla's morning is shrouded in some mystery. The tower went dark. Fire raged. Windows shattered. Rescorla headed upstairs before moving down; he helped evacuate several people above the 50th Floor. Stephan Newhouse, chairman of Morgan Stanley International, said at a memorial service in Hayle that Rescorla was spotted as high as the 72nd floor, then worked his way down, clearing floors as he went. He was telling people to stay calm, pace themselves, get off their cell phones, keep moving. At one point, he was so exhausted he had to sit for a few minutes, although he continued barking orders through his bullhorn. Morgan Stanley officials said he called headquarters shortly before the tower collapsed to say he was going back up to search for stragglers.

John Olson, a Morgan Stanley regional director, saw Rescorla reassuring colleagues in the 10th-floor stairwell. "Rick, you've got to get out, too," Olson told him. "As soon as I make sure everyone else is out," Rescorla replied.

Morgan Stanley officials say Rescorla also told employees that "today is a day to be proud to be American" and that "tomorrow, the whole world will be talking about you." They say he also sang "God Bless America" and Cornish folk tunes in the stairwells. Those reports could not be confirmed, although they don't sound out of character. He liked to sing in a crisis. But the documented truth is impressive enough. Morgan Stanley managing director Bob Sloss was the only employee who didn't evacuate the 66th floor after the first plane hit, pausing to call his family and several underlings, even taking a call from a Bloomberg News reporter. Then the second plane hit, and his office walls cracked, and he felt the tower wagging like a dog's tail. He clambered down to the 10th floor, and there was Rescorla, sweating through his suit in the heat, telling people they were almost out, making no move to leave himself.

Rick did not make it out. Neither did two of his security officers who were at
his side. But only three other Morgan Stanley employees died when their building was obliterated. (4)


However, over 2600 employees of Dean Whitter walked out of the south tower and in to the rest of their lives that morning.

Incredibly, you can "meet" Rick Rescorla via video interview made in 1998. He discusses Ia Drang and beyond, with some chilling words for the world today. Remind yourself as you watch and listen that he was speaking in 1998. Must see. Amazing.

Listen to the man and then you can add your signature to an online petition calling on the President to award the Medal of Freedom to Rick Rescorla.



A PETITION TO PRESIDENT GEORGE W. BUSH TO AWARD THE PRESIDENTIAL MEDAL OF FREEDOM TO C.R.?RICK? RESCORLA FOR HEROISM AND GALLANTRY BEYOND THE CALL OF DUTY ON SEPTEMBER 11,2001.

MR. RESCORLA CAME TO THIS COUNTRY AS AN IMMIGRANT TO BECOME AN OFFICER IN THE ARMY. MR RESCORLA SERVED WITH SUCH DISTINCTION AS AN OFFICER IN VIET NAM THAT ALL WHO SERVED WITH HIM CONSIDER HIM THE BRAVEST MAN WE HAVE EVER KNOWN. HE WAS HIGHLY DECORATED FOR HIS BRAVERY AND LEADERSHIP IN COMBAT. HE BECAME A US CITIZEN AND SOUGHT A HIGHER EDUCATION OBTAINING A BACHELOR AND MASTERS DEGREE AT UNIVERSITY OF OKLAHOMA AND FURTHER OBTAINING A LAW DEGREE BEFORE SERVING A AS TEACHER AT USC LAW SCHOOL BEFORE BEING LURED TO THE WORLD OF COMMERCIAL BANKING. MR. RESCORLA?S SPECIALTY WAS SECURITY AND SECURITY LAW. IN 1993 HE WAS THE LAST MAN OUT OF THE TRADE TOWERS AFTER EVACUATING EVERYONE. ON SEPT.11TH IN SPITE OF BEING TOLD HIS BUILDING WAS NOT IN DANGER, HE IMPLEMENTED THE EVACUATION PLAN HE HAD DEVELOPED FOR HIS FIRM, MORGAN STANLEY. AS A DIRECT RESULT OF HIS EFFORTS THAT DAY AND HIS QUICK ACTION, OVER 2600 EMPLOYEES WERE SAVED. MR RESCORLA WAS LAST SEEN GOING UP TO RESCUE PEOPLE WHO WERE UNABLE TO GET DOWN. HIS ACTIONS REFLECT THE VERY BEST ABOUT AMERICA, ITS CITIZENS AND ITS DREAMS.

THE UNDERSIGNED URGE YOU TO RECOGNIZE MR RESCORLA BY BESTOWING THIS HIGHEST HONOR TO THIS MOST DESERVING MAN.


People who knew Rescorla note that all this is exactly what he wouldn't want.

He shunned public praise for his past heroism, kept his war photos and medals in a closet, and told his wife he didn't want to see the Mel Gibson movie based on "We Were Soldiers" when it came out. To the friends he left behind, his death made a kind of cosmic sense on a day when the universe was out of order: The right man in the right place at the right time. He left in a blaze of glory. With no parade. Rescorla was a man who didn't need to be reminded of the high price of freedom.
However we do.(4)


Perhaps a Shakespeare quote then?

"His life was gentle, and the elements
So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up
And say to all the world 'This was a man!'"

The tragedy of 911 was this multiplied by three thousand.

Never forget.

Never, Never, Never, Never, Ever Forget.

I can't. The kudzu runs around my soul and brain as well as my heart. It has become part of me and cannot be removed or I die.

God Bless the little children


The joys of moving from a home of 16 yrs to a new place are many and varied.

You find things you had forgotten you had. You find thing you wonder why you kept. You find boxes of things you had not unpacked since the last move.

And sometimes you find a treasure. I found my stainless steel helical screw. I found the fart fan for the bathroom which was never installed. I found the automated dialing machine which was to be used in a junk phone call program to sell insurance or something. I found the supposedly wonderful fire detectors and alarms which were way over priced, and were never used.

Boxes of receipts and checkbooks looong ago closed out. Forms out of date and useless when new.

But the best treasure I found was a kodak instamatic picture of me holding our youngest child when about 1 year old or maybe just a little more. ( She just had her 25th birthday) and her own child is 3 months old.

I had forgotten how curley and blonde her hair was.

One thing I had never forgotten was how wonderful it was to hold her as she slept.

There's just something complete about having your child fall asleep in your arms. Almost as if they trust you for some strange reason. Little do they suspect the demons that lurk within. All of which were well caged and restrained.. Only now does she have any clue, a small one. One which she respects and is proud of.

A tendril around my heart and soul which I have no desire of removing.

I'm thinking of making this my profile picture. What do you think?

Thursday, September 07, 2006

He's Back

Oh Man! I have internet service again.
Funny how addictive it gets. I was having serious withdrawal pains from not being able to read my favs.

Moved into the new house in Athens Ga. Smaller which means I don't have room for all my very important and necessary stuff . So I sit here surrounded by boxes and piles of papers and other oddities, everything but money. Funny How much it costs move 50 miles.

But, the wife is happy with the 'real floors'. That counts for a lot.

Toby the yorkie doesn't like it so much since he has to be on a leash outside. He's an inside dog, and shy, so it embarasses him to have to "Go" with someone beside him. Well, it would make me a little hesitant too I guess.

Fighting with the kudzu of too much to do and too little time.

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Why do we let this go on?

NOW THIS really chaps my ass.

Can you give me one good reason that we have for allowing these bastards to keep their headquarters on American soil?

Soil that our founding fathers fought for. That good men and women worked to turn into productive farm land. That entrepreneurs turned into cities of commerce and industry. Soil that was the scene of bloody struggle for individual rights. Soil that raised sons and daughters who went, and even today go to foreign soil to try to ensure that everyone in the whole world can enjoy the freedoms that we posess. Soil that we today are in danger of losing unless we wake up sufficent people to the dangers from without and within this once great nation.

My roots are deep in the red soil of the foothills of Georgia, and this nation, and like Kudzu will be hard to pull from, but, even Kudzu can be killed if the poison is continuiously applied, or if the goats are allowed to graze all the time.

Friday, August 25, 2006

On the move

We inked the option to buy from our purchaser today. Boy did we get hosed. No one to blame but myself.

Fortunately we will have enough to move into an empty house I was trying to sell.
Maybe even enough to start a new little start up company with a friend from the church unit I used to attend. Keeping my fingers crossed on that one.

Talked to another friend and he and his partner just happen to want to do something near where we'll be going. Some possibilities there also.

Lil' Toni! told me that when God closes a door he opens a window. Praying for that, and greatful for blessings already received.

On the upside, the wife is glad we'll be moving into a house with as she says, "Real Floors".

I know kudzu grows there. Some in the back of the lot.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

The love of money is the root of all evil.

Didja ever notice that some people can never have enough?

Didja ever know a person who always has to have their cake and eat it too?

Didja ever see a person who would dump his mothers body out of the casket if he needs it to stack his money in? Or he thought he might get a refund on it.

Why will some people who claim to be good (_________) (insert what ever religion you wish here) forget all about it when they smell blood in the air.

You can't take it with you.

One old mizer loved his gold so much that he begged and prayed to be allowed to carry his to heaven with him. When he got to the customs table just outside the pearly gates and his suitcase was opened, St. Peter asked, "Why'd you bring asphalt with you?

Do you really believe that the size of your mansion in heaven will correspond to the one you left behind?

Did you ever notice that many of our servants in the legislatures come out much richer than when they went in?

Did you ever wonder, 'why do we keep electing them'?

Blogging may be a little sparse, (so what's new) for a while. Moving in the near future. Maybe if I'm a good boy there'll be DSL or Broadband available.

Try to stay out of the kudzu. Little japanese children will go to bed hungry if you trample all over it.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

The Night the lights went out in Georgia

Wow boy did the blackness ever get to me last night. May have to up the dosage of a few things.

Just a little self pity party people. Nothing to see here. Move along now.

With the Dawn of a new day hope springs eternal in this old breast. They say when one door closes another opens. I'm looking for that next door. Hope it's not the one to the outhouse.

Now that's something I haven't used in years. When I was a kid it wasn't uncommon at all for people to have an out house. Wooden shanty built over a hole in the ground. Boy, oh boy, is that ever a smell that you remember for a long time.

My parents house had indoor plumbing, but my grandparents eventhough they had running water and a bath room complete with the porcilan throne, kept an outhouse outside. Down past the cloths line where granny hung the washing to dry. She always put those leg formers in my grandpas work pants. She had her own steam ironing press in the sewing room where she would press all their clothes. Grandpa could not go out looking sloopy. Even if it was to go to the dairy barn to milk their herd of 100 holstein, guernsey, and jersey cows.

Just down below us lived a family whose water was drawn from a hand dug well with a bucket let down on a windless. Boy was that water good on a hot summer day.

Their outhouse was about 150 ft below the house just above a gulley which ran down thur the pasture and eventually to a creek. I remember Milton and I playing in that gully pretending to be Jessie James and his gang.

One day we saw his older sister go into the outhouse. I might mention that the sided of that particular outhouse were made of tin. Boy,was it ever hot in july on a cloudless day.
Being the bad and bold Jessie James Gang we snuck closer, closer, gathering fist sized rocks and clumps of red Georgia clay in our hands for ammo.

FIRE!!!! BOOM !! BOOM !! Hell and Brimstone rained down on the tin walls of that outhouse. Open flew the door and that old gal ran out of there scattering Sears and Roebuck Catalog pages and scrambling to pull her drawers up, curses raining down on mine and Miltons heads as we scampered off laughing histerically.

Needless to say we had to stay out until after dark, to escape the beating both of us so rightly deserved.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Travel tips

Where do you go when there's no place to go?

Who do you turn to when there's no one there?

What do you anchor to when the water is deeper than your anchor rope is long?

When there is no light at the end of the tunnel not even a train rushing to run you over, and there is no end to the tunnel, do you keep going, turn back, or sit on the tracks?

When it's harder to stay than go, why stay?

When the rock you thought you were standing on turns to quicksand, do your thrash for the edge or simply sink slowly out of sight?

No destinations in sight. Need travel tips.

No more room for kudzu, I'm throughly entwined.

Friday, August 18, 2006

AIRBORNE!!! HOO-RAH!!!!!

Lil' Toni posted yesterday in honor of all those fools who jump willingly out of perfectly good air-o-planes. As a former fling-wing pilot I look at them with a bit of disdane, but, that maybe because there is no good way to jump out of a helicopter that decides to discontinue beating its way thru the air.

I live only about 3 miles from Currahee mountain. During WW2 it was the training ground for the unit that was imortalized in Band Of Brothers. Now they have an annual celebration complete with the Army parachute team putting on a demonstration. I'd look up the unit identification but it's late and I'm too lazy.
Sorry Guys. No disrespect intended.

I'll bet there is so much ammo fired into that mountain that a metal detector would go crazy.

My friend Garfield was a young lad during that time. He said that every afternoon that they would just open up with the guns . The boys who could get leave or passes would come into town drink and just generally tear thing up until the MPs would arrive.

During my participation in the Southeast Asia War Games at Quang Tri, RSVN, our Avionics officer was a 2nd looey named Reginald. Reggie for short, and because he hated to be called Reginald.

An ROTC graduate with a degree in Electronic Engineering, he wanted nothing more out of life than to be an 'airborne ranger'. He begged the army to assign him to the infantry and send him to ranger school. But, they in their infinate wisdom knew that he would be so much more useful fixing (or more properly, supervising) the radios for our helicopters and command center.

Oh how he pleaded with them to make him a ranger! To no avail.

But not deterred, while attending the armys avionics and electrical school he coaxed, or more likely, bribed someone to cut him orders to allow him to attend ranger school at Ft Benning GA, down at Columbus, where he qualified and made about 6 or 7 static line jumps out of whatever airplanes they used in those days.

He arrived in Quang Tri all spit and polish and proud as a peacock about the airborne wings he wore on his chest and cover. Airborne he would shout as he walked about the camp. He would beg to be allowed to fly out with the infantry squad we carried in the huey that accompanied each hunter killer team.

No was the answer, he was much to important fixing radios. This only made him more determined to prove to himself and the world that he was John Wayne incarnate.

He bunked in the same hootch as I, and our bunks would have been next to each other except he pulled our wall lockers between us an made himself a cave in the corner.
He hung a towel over the opening for privacy. Since he was from up north somewhere, I called him a damn yankee, and he called me a damn rebel, which I took to be an honorable title.

Charlie liked to lob in a few mortor shells each evening between dusk and midnight just to keep us on our toes you know.. After a few times of running to the bunkers and being laughed at as FNGs, we soon learned to judge the closeness of the explosions and just lay in our bunks with a determination to simply roll under it if things got too close.

One evening we had mostly gone to our bunks, writing letters or reading, or simply wishing we were back in the world, when the shelling started up. As charlie started walking the rounds closer and closer I was considering that in a few more rounds it would be time to crawl under the bed.

Apparently Reggie was sleeping and unaware of the noise when one round got a little closer and woke him up. Yelling 'incoming' and trying to claw his way around the lockers and fighting the towel aside, he suddenly stopped and shouted "Don't move".
OOHH shit, what was it? Were the little bastards coming thru the hootch door?

As I stared at him with a modicum of concern and asked in a calm whisper "what is it" ? He replied "I knocked my contact lens out of my eye. Much hilarity ensued. With flashlights the errant lens was found and Reggie, embarrassed, creep meekly back to his bunk.

Reggie later had a chance to redeem his pride. A unit of APCs were just outside the wire and were pinned down by a lone sniper up in a tree. Un-freaking-believable. Armored personal carriers with at least one M-60 per track and possible a .50 cal. and no telling how many troops with M-16s and a lone sniper kept them pinned down for several hours.

Reggie hearing of this over the radio, and sensing his time had at last came, grabbed his rifle and jeep and sailed to the rescue. Arriving at the Tracks, he asked were the sniper was. Receiving the general direction, he using all the skills obtained in AIT sallied forth boldly, shot the sniper from the tree, and then told the APC unit they could proceed in safety.

I wonder where he is today?

For you Reggie. AIRBORNE!!! HOO-RAH!!!

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Pitiful Pup


Wow ! Did we ever have a thunderstorm last night. Rain by the bucket fulls and thunder and lightening continiously for an hour and a half.

What made it especially bad was to watch precious pup turn in to terrified pup.
We of course know that he is afraid of loud noises, but, he was inconsolable last night. Around and around the inside of the house he would trot. From one room to the next hiding under the bed the table the computer desk.. Couldn't be held either, he couldn't get away from the noise there.

I walked to the door to look out and he ran up as is he had to go take a leak.
So....against my better judgement I walked him out on the porch and told him to hurry up & do his little thing. Oh No. He's not going to step off the porch without me going with him. So out we both went. Me telling him to hurry up and him trying to find the perfect spot. Finally the deed was done and we ran back inside.

As soon as we're back inside, he wants to go out again because I'm still at the door.
I'm as slow learner but this time I call for the umbrella. Out we go. Over toward the truck this time. Okay, I'll let him water the wheel. No, he wants to get in the truck. I figure he wants to get in to hide so, in we both go. I Crank it up and turn on the A/C which makes its own kind of noise. So he hides under my legs and the drivers seat and lays down. More or less calm. On a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the worst, he's probably an 8.

We sat that way for about and Hour. You tell me, who's the master here.

I guess he has his on patch of kudzu.

Did they wimp out?

Did the Israelis blink in their latest tete'a tete' with hissbolla (may pig piss be ever upon them)?

Sure looks like it at this time. But, I think that the fact that the US didn't outright come to their aid with material and other support had more to do with it than the fact that we have this UN imposed 'cease fire'.

In effect, I believe, the West backed down from Iran which was overtly shipping missles and supplies and also trained fighters into Lebonon. Had they sat on their hands the Israelis would have had an easier time of it.

What has happened in effect is to hand the Islamo-faciest-terrorist a major victory. Not in armed conflict but in preception in the arab and persian camp.

Until we in the west wake up, grow a set of brass balls, and start doing the hard things we will continue to receive the little supprises that the moo-slimes (may pig piss be ever upon them) have in store for us.

We need to carry the fight to them on their own terms. While it may go against the grain and offical policy of the government, we need to develope and send in covert operators by the thousands and kill the leaders, including heads of governments if necessary, by stealth, quietly, and sometimes by targeting by lasar from miles away.

We have the weaponery, we have some of the operatives. We just need to increase their ranks by many multiples, because many of them will not come back.

Just my view from deep in the kudzu.

Monday, August 14, 2006

Our Gang

Let me just start by saying that our "Group" at the VA this morning was most excellent in all extremes except one. (about which more later)

First off just let me say that I absolutly freaking hate to be in a lot of traffic.
My driving skills are of course above reproach. It's the other million and a half of the crazy commuters who have to make it to work on time or there'll be hell to pay, not to mention the mortgage and the car payments and the braces for the kids and the new boob job to keep the old chain and ball attractive to the pool boy to pay for.
That's why I live out in the country.... so every bug in the known universe can feast on my tender lily white flesh.

So there I am having gotten up before any sane person has a right to, to get on I-85 early enough so as to miss the "rush" hour traffic, even if it does mean that I get there from 1 1/2 to 2 hrs early.
So as to deny myself the joy of mixing it up with some idiot who was up half the night whacking off to internet porn and can barely see his eyes are so red.

When.............to my suprise right about half way between Indian Trail and Beaver Ruin Rd the Cell phone rings. And since I'm completly anal about the extension between my wrist and ear, I answer...hello?

Why's Bobby still in the trailer?

And it goes downhill from there.

So I was in a great mood when I got to the VA. Go into our little oasis away from all the sane and politically correct world for at least an hour.

Man, we were on a roll. We had most of the political and military problems in the known universe solved and were starting on the economic challanges of hard..ie Gold and Silver Money VS Good old greenbacked by nothing Federal Reserve Notes, when in walked Harold, about 5 minutes after we started (we being nothing if not efficient problem solvers, which probably explains why we are there every monday after all).

Now Harold is having lady trouble.........that is he got jelous of some dude who came to his birthday party thrown by his "then" girlfriend without his own dudette, and was whispering to his "then" gf.

Now in Harold's defense I must say that by his own admission about a bottle and a third of Bombay Sapphire had been consumed so things might have been a little hazy. So being all of about 5'6" tall and about 135 lbs he proceeds to clean the clock of said dude. Whereupon looking around and seeing the marveling and admiring gazes.......rather incredulous stares of the other attendees, he says to hell with all of this and leaves. I mean what the hell there is no way in hell he'll ever be able to get that girls skirt up again. But that doesn't keep him from trying lo these past three weeks. Of course we were all encourgaging of his persual of said ex-gf.
And all of our advice was all well intentioned and the best we could offer. You just have to keep in mind that between the twelve of us there have probably been no less than twenty five or thirty wives, so of course we could draw on our eperiences of many years to get him thru this tiny crisis. He should pay us for the help.

Oh, yes the one down part. The young lithsome, blonde intern with the exqusite ankles is leaving for more fertile fields. We wish her luck.

But I'll bet there won't be any kudzu there.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Didn't take long did it?

Whoa That didn't take as long as we might have hoped did it?

Yesterdays post was an attempt to wake up just a remnant of common sense people to the threat that the Islamic Jihadist pose to the west in general and possibly to us individually as well.

For instance........Just suppose a small group of terrorists were to cross the mexican border, either legally or illegally. Perhaps they meet as preplanned some people who have been in our country for years. Perhaps even nationalised citizens.
Suppose those citizens had spent a period of time collecting assualt weapons. Easy to do under the radar.

Picking up their weapons, ammo and transportation they disperse into groups of four or five across the country to cities picked not so much from a strategic position, as for the preception that it can't happen here.

Giving them time to all arrive at their destination, suppose that they take an innocent looking trip to the local Mall on a weekend say when the crowds are the biggest. When the food courts are packed or the movie theaters are crowded.

You'd be suppriesed how easy it is to hide weapons and spare ammo about your person, yet keep anyone from suspecting anything is amiss.

Supposed you had decided to take your preteen Children to get school clothes or to see a movie. You stop to get a slice of pizza at the food court, not noticing four individuals (not necessarily all men), who stroll to the center of the food court.

They suddenly stand back to back pulling their automatic weapons from under their coats or out of their shopping bags and start firing straight ahead while slowly circling to spread their fire all around the place or perhaps they have high explosives in those bags which they carry throughout the place before a single signal from a cell phone sends nails, tacks, glass or ball bearings into you and your child or children and dozens or perhaps hundreds of others.

How will you stop them? Can you stop them? Do we as a civilization do the hard thing?

Didn't take long did it?

whoops! My little finger got to flopping around like LL's little toe.
Sorry LL, hope it's better.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Does anyone care, is anyone listening?

Well, tonight we had ‘Last Comic Standing’, followed by ‘America’s Got Talent’.

That’s freaking wonderful. Just Freaking Wonderful.

Don’t mistake me people. I love to laugh and be entertained as much as anyone. Laughter makes you live longer. And if not at least you enjoy it more.

But doesn’t anyone in the freaking world of television have a freaking clue ??

What has to happen to the people in this country for them to wake up and scream as one voice that ‘WWIV’ is going on this very moment. Don’t they have the intelligence to recognize that we are right now, at this very moment engaged in a clash of cultures as great as desperate as War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells pretended to be……….
Only this is for real people.

I have all of about 3 people who ever click over this way, but if you do I hope you will read the following in its entirety and if it at all concerns you, please, for God’s sake, pass it on. Let’s try to wake up as many of the still sleeping as we can. Even if it pisses your liberal friends off.

I’m not going to put up a link to it, 1. because I don’t know how, and second I don’t want you to have an excuse not to read it.

by Justice Litle

"Going for the jugular" is an expression used in sports and business
life,
indicating a strongly aggressive move or an especially competitive
strategy. In casual use of the phrase, we forget the graphic nature of
what is being described. The external jugular vein carries deoxygenated
blood from the brain back to the heart. If the jugular is cut, death
from
blood loss is likely to follow.

We forget too that "going for the jugular" can carry significant risk
for
the attacker - be it man, mountain lion or terrorist-sponsoring nation
state.

In geopolitical terms, Iran is going for the jugular here and now.

With the Middle East pretty much a constant powder keg, it is easy to
imagine this recent flare-up is just another example of business as
usual
gone unusually bad. It is not. Through the proxies of Hezbollah and
Hamas,
with Syria as its lapdog, Iran has deliberately chosen this moment to
up
the ante.

As Iran sees it, the U.S. military is exhausted and overextended; the
American public's taste for military adventure is at low ebb; the world
community is more committed to Chamberlainesque pacifism than ever; and
the mullah's baby steps toward nuclear capability have not only gone
unpunished, but they have actually been rewarded with hints of
diplomatic
concession.

Smugness aside, Iran (and Syria and Hezbollah and Hamas) is taking a
very
big gamble. In one sense, they are reimplementing Saddam Hussein's old
game plan on a more subtle scale, calculating that the West does not
have
the will or the way to prevent their goal: the arrival and recognition
of
a new dominant power and force to be reckoned with in the Middle East.
Iran's ambition is to become the uniting force behind Shia Islam (in
competition with Sunni al-Qaida), a nuclear counterweight to Israel and
a
true power broker on the world stage.

This is a generalization, as it must be. The situation on the ground is
complex, and all players have their own motivations. (Sheik Hassan
Nasrallah of Hezbollah, for one, has waited many years for this moment
in
history to unfold and has spent the last few years preparing for it.)
The
bottom line is that the supposed good faith efforts to solve this
crisis
by way of diplomacy, the world's concerned nations putting their heads
together and all that, is a load of absolute nonsense. This is not a
regional spat between the Hatfields and the McCoys, in which the two
sides
can just set a spell and work out their differences. The situation is
far
more dire, far more calculated, and far more serious than that.

In his piece "War on Iran Has Begun," David Twersky writes: "Years from
now, the kidnapping of Cpl. Gilad Shalit will be regarded like the
assassination of Archduke Ferdinand." Many believe, like Twersky, that
full-scale war in the Middle East is now inevitable. Whether or not the
kidnapping of an Israeli soldier triggers a chain of events as
momentous
as the assassination that kicked off World War I, it is clear we are
experiencing a raging bull market in geopolitical tensions.

From an investing perspective, the knock-on effect of these events will
be
to remind Wall Street that not only are the reasons for $75 oil not
going
away, they are getting even stronger. Kevin Kerr and I have gone on
record
calling for triple-digit oil, as have other better-known
prognosticators,
like Jim Rogers. We've been beating that drum for some time now. Wall
Street is still waking up to this.

There are no easy answers to the situation we are in and legitimate
question as to what the hard answers should be. Military action against
Iran would accelerate and worsen the very problems that now have us in
their grip: sky-high energy prices, out of control spending and
inflationary pressures - not to mention all the horrors of war, the
question of how to measure success and whether success would even be
possible. Yet choosing to sit back and do nothing is a recipe for
nuclear
proliferation and, ultimately, nuclear exchange. Not to mention an open
invitation for further consolidation of a terror-exporting power base
and
future attacks on the West.

Of course, Iran knows all this. Iran knows how hard the answers are.
That
is why it is acting as it is; that is why it is acting now. Iran is
going
for the jugular. The country's timing gives it a powerful hand, but
there
is huge risk in this strategy. Some observers, such as Victor Davis
Hanson, believe that the mullahs are playing with a fire that could
wind
up consuming them. Hanson warns that if and when the West wakes up to
the
danger it faces, if and when the West decides that survival is on the
line, there could be an overwhelming forceful response of awe-inspiring
proportions - disproportionate force like we've never seen.

Regards,

Justice Litle
for The Daily Reckoning

I hope that’s sufficient credit where credit is due.

Now it’s up to you.

I just hope for our sakes the Western World wakes up in time.

We can’t all hide in the kudzu tangles of popular bread and circuses much longer.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Killin' ain't good enough

I don't know guys, and girls. I think of myself sometimes as a fairly tolerant guy. I'll let you believe as you like, if only you'll allow me the same privelege.

Even Moo-slimes (pig piss be upon them) as Denny of GOC calls them. As long as they act in a civilized manner, I'd allow them to worship as they please as long as they didn't try to force it on any . one . at . all.

Like I say, a tolerant guy. I've had people take financial advantage of me, and I remain calm. Besides revenge is a dish best tasted cold isn't it Jake?

Now for a guy growing up in the sixties, being trained to stuff our heads up our asses, er, uh, I mean under our desks in case of a bright light and mushroom cloud. Seeing wars, and assinations, and the Ed Sullivan show. You can hardly blame me for being a little apprehensive about the possibility of having children in that kind of world.

But, I loved all four of my children.

And now that they have children of their own, my heart like the Grinch's has grown, along with the size of my family.

But, when I read as I did about this pedophile who claims that men having sex with boys should be protected as some kind of religion,
on the Drudge Report this morning, my heart turns black and cold. Ice cold like yellow piss in the northern part of Greenland which freezes before halfway to the snow.

Nothing you could do to him will be punishment in my opinion. As my southern forebears were wont to say, " Killin's too good for th bastard.

Causes the Kudzu to grow thick and lush.

Saturday, July 29, 2006

Wierd Wanda

Funny how something can spark an old memory.

I just thought about the fact that we had TV in Vietnam. Our own armed forces network up at good ol' Quang Tri. We could watch cartoons, the news. I remember seeing the 'Thrilla in Manila' live. Can't remember who won, although I believe Ali did..
Little bitty, probably 19 inch, portable with rabbit ears. Quang Tri had their own broadcasting studio. We could watch the air force weather people tell us it was either raining like a sumbitch, or that it was hot and dusty with 40 mph winds.

Don't let anyone fool you. Vietnam can be damn cold at 58 degrees, windy and raining so long there is mold growing on everything. Some one had a small portable cloths dryer he'd gotten from somewhere and bliss can surely be described as putting on warm dry socks. Almost better than sex although it's been so long for me that I'm thinking dry warm socks wins. They say your memory is the second thing to go and I forget what went first.

Anyway, back to the point of this little narrative. We did have the farthest North TV station in South Vietnam. And to keep the boys occupied when not raping and pillaging, they had a combination cartoon and weather show.

Now not all the americans over there were in the military. The good old USO is always there to boost the morale of the troops. So there were acutally round eyed american women over there. Not strictly camp followers per se. And not necessarily the prettiest you've ever seen. But, they were a reminder that there were better things than smelling burning JP-4 and shit in the morning.

Weird Wanda Wonderful hosted the 'Roger Ramjet cartoon show' every afternoon about 2pm. She had a side kick that our unit had provided. A skull would sit on a barstool beside her and she would speak to him. A straight man if you will for her girlish attempts at humour. She called him Wilbur. She'd ask "Wilbur do you want to watch a Roger Ramjet Cartoon?" He'd answer " Gee Wanda that's wonderful".

Maybe you had to be there to appreciate the show.

Wanda had a crush on Lt. Hunter, and he on her.

He was shot out of the sky NW of Kha Shan by a 12.5 mm.

One more little tendril around my soul.

Monday, July 24, 2006

Proof


Just to show some few doubters that the 50 # of tomatoes is real.

And I need to go pick some more before the wife gets home.

Maybe I'll take down the fence and let the wascully wabbits have it.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Is that a Gun in your pocket?


Or are you just glad to see me?

Always glad to to see an ass like yours darlin'.

A-man had nothing on me. Went out this evening and picked 50 pounds of ripe, or nearly so, tomatoes off of 8 plants. Not to mention the mess of okra, a dozen cukes, 2 cantalopes, 1 1/2 pecks of cherry tomatoes, an a good mess of snap beans.

To put in prespective, I had just picked the garden 2 days ago.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Who Knows?

Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?
The Shadow knows.

And thanks to the wonders of modern communication, we all know if we allow ourselves to look at the blackness around us.

TV, the internet, movies, newspapers, infojournalism, all of these and more bring the most evil, sickening, disgusting and vile images either in print or visual, into our homes on an almost daily basis.

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,204583,00.html

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,204601,00.html

If there is a hell such a those bible thumpers say, I hope there is an especially fiery place for such vermin as the rats who commit these crimes.

But, what of the blackness inside each of us?

I have pulled the trigger on fellow human beings. Seen them fall. Sent rockets punching thru torsos ripping them into unidentifiable bits of flesh.

I've witnessed ARVN troops abusing the bodies of female NVA soldiers by sticking their pointed little yellow peckers into every natural and scrapnel created hole they could find, after we finished our gun run.

I've seen dead bodies by the side of the road, left out in the tropical sun, to bloat and then to wither to shrunken shells when the gas leaves them.

War, you may say. Justifable at the time. But what of the images that come at other times?

I've imagined squeezing the trigger on someone who I preceive as doing me wrong.

I know how to kill with a knife so as to rip the heart and lungs to shreds, without causing the moans and gurgling of someones throat after having slit it from ear to ear.

I've read the writings of Poe, H. P. Lovecraft, that gargole that lives in Maine. Seen the thought processes of Oliver Stone brought to life on the silver screen.


The decision has already been made as to what to do to an intruder in my home, or to someone who harms one single hair of a loved ones head.

Do we profit by knowing what might be? By knowing what evil lurks within? Mankind doesn't seem to have improved in some respects over the thousands of years of recorded history. Despots have slaughtered their millions. Pol Pot, Idi Amin, Saddam Huessain, Stalin, Hitler, Mao Tae Tsung. These are only some of the ones who have lived and slaughtered within my lifetime. Who is to say that they couldn't do the same if given the chance. Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutly. What causes one person to become a Billy Graham, and another to become a Mohammaud. One can value anothers life and rights and another to care only for power over others.

Is it that one can control themself, and the other wants only to control others?

There are within me black spots. Fertile as Wisconsin bottom land. Capable of growing either briars or roses.

Think I'll stick with Kudzu. The blooms smell sweeter. As I try to hide within its shadows.

Monday, July 10, 2006

Ol' Moose


I haven't thought of him in years. The spousal unit and youngest Daughter were scratching thru the boxes of pictures yesterday, and lo and behold who should appear but Ol' Moose.

I bought him while running the dairy farm years ago to breed our young holstein heifers to.
To ease the birthing process the first time since black angus normally throw smaller calves.

What a stud he was as you can see. Muscular as hell and horney as all get out.
We'd put a new bunch of young heifers in the pasture with him and as soon as they would come in heat he would have a new girlfriend. Stay right with them. Wrinkling his nose up when sniffing to see if they were ready. Lick it out of his nostrils with his tongue when they inevitably pissed on his nose.

After a few week with a new group he would be as bald on the top of his head as a billard ball.
Give him a couple of months of light duty and the hair would come out again

Every once in a while we would turn him in with one of the mature cows which we couldn't catch using AI, to see if he could get the job done.

Now you should have seen that. Picture Ol' Moose standing at most 4 1/2 feet on his stubby legs beside one of those big holstein cows standing nearly 6 feet at the hips. A sight to behold as he tried his damnedest to levitate his bulk up high enough to reach the object of his desire. If the old girl was really feeling the heat she would look back at him as if to say, "What's the matter with you "girly" boy"?

Not to be defeated Moose would keep at it, finally herding her around the lot until he had her backed up in a ditch which would allow him to pop that vaulting pole of a pecker to her. You had to give him credit for persistance.

Ol' Moose wouldn't let a little thing like a barbed wire fence stand in the way of a little romance either. Just let him get the slighest wiff of quim on a light spring breeze from a quarter mile away and he would just walk up to the fence, put his head between the strands of wire and simply walk thru, oblivious to the tiny scratches of the 1/2 inch long barbs. Many is the time we had to herd him back to his own pasture and hope he'd stay long enough for us to artifically inseminate the "in heat" cow.

This wandering eye of his finally got him in trouble one day. He was standing around one fine day surrounded by his young herem, when on the breeze came the unmistakeable, tantilizing arouma of estrus. His head came up and off he went, once more, into the breech, duty and pussy calling him.

Now you have to realize that unlike males of the human variety, a bull will generally leave his sword in the sheath untill time for action. This precludes it getting caught in the briars and brambles, and most especially barbed wire fences.

Not this time however. At approximatly half mast he made his usual stroll thru the fence.
Barbs and his bull hood engaged each other with disasterous results. Back into the sheath went his weapon. Blood poured forth and continued to run for a couple of days while he walked around kinda hunched over, all thoughts of romance purged from his mind.

While he eventually healed, he never again tried to crawl thru a barbed wire fence. He would however, stand on one side and call to his beloved of the moment. Much like Romeo calling softly to Julliet.