March 29, 2007
I am John Doe (or Jane, as in this case...)
I have been out of commission since last Friday with a rather robust strain of the "oh gods kill me now before I toss cookies again" flu. I blame the hubster. It's not really his fault, but since he was the first one that got really sick, and then passed it on to me... it's his fault. I don't care if it was probably me that carried it home from work and gave it to him... it's still his fault. But that's irrelevant now... well, at least for this post.
I am John Doe is a lovely little way to tell the asshat cryin' Imams trying to sue "John Doe" to go ahead and pucker up. Thank you Michelle!
Dear Muslim Terrorist Plotter/Planner/Funder/Enabler/Apologist,
You do not know me. But I am on the lookout for you. You are my enemy. And I am yours.
I am John Doe.
I am traveling on your plane. I am riding on your train. I am at your bus stop. I am on your street. I am in your subway car. I am on your lift.
I am your neighbor. I am your customer. I am your classmate. I am your boss.
I am John Doe.
I will never forget the example of the passengers of United Airlines Flight 93 who refused to sit back on 9/11 and let themselves be murdered in the name of Islam without a fight.
I will never forget the passengers and crew members who tackled al Qaeda shoe-bomber Richard Reid on American Airlines Flight 63 before he had a chance to blow up the plane over the Atlantic Ocean.
I will never forget the alertness of actor James Woods, who notified a stewardess that several Arab men sitting in his first-class cabin on an August 2001 flight were behaving strangely. The men turned out to be 9/11 hijackers on a test run.
I will act when homeland security officials ask me to “report suspicious activity.”
I will embrace my local police department’s admonition: “If you see something, say something.”
I am John Doe.
I will protest your Jew-hating, America-bashing “scholars.”
I will petition against your hate-mongering mosque leaders.
I will raise my voice against your subjugation of women and religious minorities.
I will challenge your attempts to indoctrinate my children in our schools.
I will combat your violent propaganda on the Internet.
I am John Doe.
I will support law enforcement initiatives to spy on your operatives, cut off your funding, and disrupt your murderous conspiracies.
I will oppose all attempts to undermine our borders and immigration laws.
I will resist the imposition of sharia principles and sharia law in my taxi cab, my restaurant, my community pool, the halls of Congress, our national monuments, the radio and television airwaves, and all public spaces.
I will not be censored in the name of tolerance.
I will not be cowed by your Beltway lobbying groups in moderate clothing. I will not cringe when you shriek about “profiling” or “Islamophobia.”
I will put my family’s safety above sensitivity. I will put my country above multiculturalism.
I will not submit to your will. I will not be intimidated.
I am John Doe.
I WILL NOT SUBMIT!
March 23, 2007
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From the wonderful hubster:
A United States Marine was attending some college courses between assignments. He had completed missions in Iraq and Afghanistan. One of the courses had a professor who was a vowed atheist and a member of the ACLU.
One day the professor shocked the class when he came in. He looked to the ceiling and flatly stated, "God, if you are real, then I want you to knock me off this platform. I'll give you exactly 15 minutes."
The lecture room fell silent. You could hear a pin drop. Ten minutes went by and the professor proclaimed, "Here I am God. I'm still waiting." It got down to the last couple of minutes when the Marine got out of his Chair, went up to the professor, and cold-cocked him knocking him off the platform. The professor was out cold.
The Marine went back to his seat and sat there, silently. The other students were shocked and stunned and sat there looking on in silence.
The professor eventually came to, noticeably shaken, looked at the Marine and asked, "What the hell is the matter with you? Why did you do that?"
The Marine calmly replied, "God was too busy today protecting America's soldiers who are protecting your right to say stupid shit and act like an asshole. So, He sent me."
March 21, 2007
Go on, quiz me
You are The Moon
Hope, expectation, Bright promises.
The Moon is a card of magic and mystery - when prominent you know that nothing is as it seems, particularly when it concerns relationships. All logic is thrown out the window.
The Moon is all about visions and illusions, madness, genius and poetry. This is a card that has to do with sleep, and so with both dreams and nightmares. It is a scary card in that it warns that there might be hidden enemies, tricks and falsehoods. But it should also be remembered that this is a card of great creativity, of powerful magic, primal feelings and intuition. You may be going through a time of emotional and mental trial; if you have any past mental problems, you must be vigilant in taking your medication but avoid drugs or alcohol, as abuse of either will cause them irreparable damage. This time however, can also result in great creativity, psychic powers, visions and insight. You can and should trust your intuition.
What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.
Pilfered from Seven Inches of Sense
By the by, I wanna just say HAPPY BIRTHDAY HUBSTER!!!! You da best!
March 08, 2007
Now for something else
I found an interesting article today at the Times Online called How my eyes were opened to the barbarity of Islam. The article itself is fairly interesting (but things I have heard before about American Women marrying Middle Eastern men without actually investigating more about the family she is marrying into. Sorry, but even marrying another American, I wouldn't have actually gone to the church without knowing more about my intendeds family and their relationships. It’s just good sense as far as I am concerned.
I actually have a friend who is marrying someone from Uzbekistan. I don’t know anything about the man as she met him while doing mission work in that country. I just hope there are no nasty surprises involved there as we have all ready had the discussion of the different cultures. But I am going to remain concerned.
The most telling part of the article isn’t the article itself, but the comments section. It is very telling considering the ant-American attitude that is prevalent throughout.
“I married a man, I knew nothing about.
I moved to a country, I knew nothing about.
I verbal attack a country and its religion because of mistakes I made.
Congratulations...You just fueled a stereotype of what an American is.”
Sure, blame the victim. Typicle. And then the others preaching that Islam teaches respect of all women. Is it respectful of women to give them 75 lashings for being alone with a man because he kidnapped you?
Maybe these holier than thou idiots should visit this site. The Religion of Peace
March 03, 2007
One day at a time
Firstly, thank you TF and Lucy, Shawn and Linda, Greg and Barb for your condolences. It means more to me than I could ever express with my feeble knowledge of language. The last two weeks have been difficult, but certainly not unexpected. Last year, when my grandmother went into the hospital at Christmas, we thought she wouldn’t be leaving. She proved us all wrong. She was stubborn like that. The doctor’s prognosis wasn’t good. Her kidneys were failing because she was on such a high dosage of diuretics to keep fluid out of her lungs. It was a matter of finding balance. He gave her 2 to 6 months to live. She proved him wrong by lasting a year and two months. She was stubborn that way. Which is one of the many things l loved about her. But we knew that it was just a matter of time.
So did she. We all gathered at her house for her 91st birthday. As we sang Happy Birthday to you, she bowed her head and cried a little. And I wondered if she was thinking the same thing we were thinking – how many more birthdays do we have together. Apparently, that was the last. 15 days after that, I went over to visit and return the cane I had borrowed (foot surgery) along with cookies I promised her to pay the cane rental charge. I was upset that the cookies didn’t turn out as well I had wanted for her, but I took them over to her anyway. She wasn’t home. Two of my cousins were there also to visit and were the first ones to hear that she had been admitted to the hospital. One asked me how long I thought she would be in there and I had to admit that I doubted that she would make it out. However, I had been wrong before.
The problem was that she was retaining more and more fluid and the diuretics didn’t help anymore. I visited Saturday and she was fighting to stay awake. She was coherent enough to know that I was there. But she kept asking about people who she thought had visited, but who really hadn’t. Apparently she also told my mother and aunt that she was afraid to sleep because she didn’t know if she would wake up. Sunday she coughed a lot. Monday, she passed. But she fought up until the end. We were just thankful that she had enough morphine in her system that she wasn’t in any pain. I do wonder what her thoughts were at the end – if she knew it was over.
I like to think I did her proud when I did the reading at her funeral. I didn’t cry. My voice didn’t even break. My brother did a fanatic job for the eulogy. The cemetery was a little more difficult. I cried a little as we pulled away from the grave site. It was a bitter cold day and I didn’t like the thought of her being left behind out in the cold. It was a silly thought as she was all ready gone.
Today, I went to her house to help my mother and aunt pack things up. We went through and took the things we wanted to keep in memory. My mom and aunt decided that I should have her cobalt blue glass collection as it’s my favorite color as well. There were several other knickknacks that they gave me. But the hardest one to take (and the hardest one to look at without sobbing uncontrollably) is a little pill box that I gave her for her birthday eons ago. She always needed to carry medication with her when we went out to lunch. I can close my eyes and see her take it out of her purse and take her pills. I would always kid around with her about taking it back because I liked it so much. She would laugh at me and tell me she would like to see me try. And I would say something about the bad karma associated with beating up an old lady not worth it for a pill box.
When I came home today, I unpacked my ill-gotten booty. I washed all the glasses, put way the other assorted stuff, pulled out the pill box and wept. I have a giant headache to prove it. I guess I am still not ready to face the facts. I put the pill box away and then sought some comfort from the hubster.
Maybe tomorrow will be easier.