"My purpose in life does not include a hankering to charm society." -James Dean
The Last Word
"For good measure, as radio talk show host Dennis Prager pointed out, for the first time in its history, the New York Times identified someone, in this case [George] Zimmerman, as
'a white Hispanic.' After all, it wouldn't be front page news if a Hispanic had shot a black or vice versa, or, as is more typical, a black had killed a white. Only by emphasizing
that Zimmerman's father was white, while ignoring the fact that his mother was Peruvian, could the Times turn this unfortunate incident into the only kind of hate crime they really
care about, one in which a white man can be portrayed as evil incarnate. ... Just in terms of public relations, wouldn't it have been a good idea for Obama to have spoken a few
well-chosen words after the 13-year-old white kid, Allen Coon, in Kansas City, was recently doused in gasoline and set on fire while the two black teenagers hollered, 'You get what
you deserve, white boy!'? ... In a related matter, people seem to be in a big rush to try, convict and execute, Sgt. Robert Bales for murdering 17 Afghans, while in the meantime,
Major Hasan, who massacred 14 Americans at Fort Hood in 2009, continues to await trial nearly three years after his bloody rampage, committed in the name of Allah. In this country,
it would appear, a hate crime is simply one for which a white heterosexual is responsible, never one in which he or she is the victim." --columnist Burt Prelutsky
The History of the Middle Finger
Well, now......here's something I never knew before, and now that I know it, I feel compelled to send it on to my more intelligent friends in the hope that they, too, will feel edified.
Before the Battle of Agincourt in 1415, the French, anticipating victory over the English, proposed to cut off the middle finger of all captured English soldiers. Without the middle finger
it would be impossible to draw the renowned English longbow and therefore they would be incapable of fighting in the future. This famous English longbow was made of the native English Yew
tree, and the act of drawing the longbow was known as 'plucking the yew' (or 'pluck yew').
Much to the bewilderment of the French, the English won a major upset and they began mocking the French by waving their middle fingers at the defeated French, saying, See, we can still
pluck yew! Since 'pluck yew' is rather difficult to say, the difficult consonant cluster at the beginning has gradually changed to a labiodentals fricative F', and thus the words often
used in conjunction with the one-finger-salute! It is also because of the pheasant feathers on the arrows used with the longbow that the symbolic gesture is known as 'giving the bird.'
IT IS STILL AN APPROPRIATE SALUTE TO THE FRENCH TODAY!
And yew thought yew knew every plucking thing.
AN ACTUAL CRAIG'S LIST PERSONALS AD
To the Guy Who Tried to Mug Me in Downtown Savannah night before last.
Date: 2011-11-27, 1:43 am. E.S.T.
I was the guy wearing the black Burberry jacket that you demanded that I hand over, shortly after you pulled the knife on me and my girlfriend, threatening our lives.
You also asked for my girlfriend's purse and earrings. I can only hope that you somehow come across this rather important message.
First, I'd like to apologize for your embarrassment; I didn't expect you to actually crap in your pants when I drew my pistol after you took my jacket.. The evening was not that cold,
and I was wearing the jacket for a reason.. my girlfriend was happy that I just returned safely from my 2nd tour as a Combat Marine in Afghanistan .. She had just bought me that Kimber
Custom Model 1911 .45 ACP pistol for my birthday, and we had picked up a shoulder holster for it that very evening. Obviously you agree that it is a very intimidating weapon when pointed
at your head .... isn't it?!
I know it probably wasn't fun walking back to wherever you'd come from with crap in your pants. I'm sure it was even worse walking bare-footed since I made you leave your shoes,
cell phone, and wallet with me. [That prevented you from calling or running to your buddies to come help mug us again].
After I called your mother or "Momma" as you had her listed in your cell, I explained the entire episode of what you'd done. Then I went and filled up my gas tank as well as those of
four other people in the gas station, -- on your credit card. The guy with the big motor home took 153 gallons and was extremely grateful!
I gave your shoes to a homeless guy outside Vinnie Van Go Go's, along with all the cash in your wallet. [That made his day!]
I then threw your wallet into the big pink "pimp mobile" that was parked at the curb ..... after I broke the windshield and side window and keyed the entire driver's side of the car.
Earlier, I managed to get in two threatening phone calls to the DA's office and one to the FBI, while mentioning President Obama as my possible target.
The FBI guy seemed really intense and we had a nice long chat (I guess while he traced your number etc.).
In a way, perhaps I should apologize for not killing you ... but I feel this type of retribution is a far more appropriate punishment for your threatened crime. I wish you well as you
try to sort through some of these rather immediate pressing issues, and can only hope that you have the opportunity to reflect upon, and perhaps reconsider, the career path you've chosen
to pursue in life.. Remember, next time you might not be so lucky. Have a good day!
Thoughtfully yours, Semper Fi, Alex
THE DEMISE OF JACK TAR
The traditional sailor was not defined by his looks. He was defined by his attitude.
His name was Jack Tar. He was a happy go lucky sort of bloke. He took the good times with the bad.
He didn't cry victimisation, bastardisation, discrimination or for his mum when things didn't go his way.
He took responsibility for his own sometimes, self-destructive actions.
He loved a laugh at anything or anybody. Rank, gender, race, creed or behaviour, it didn't matter to Jack.
He would take the piss out of anyone, including himself. If someone took it out of him he didn't get offended.
It was a natural part of life. If he offended someone else, so be it.
Free from many of the rules of a polite society Jack's manners were somewhat rough.
His ability to swear was legendary
Jack loved women. He loved to chase them to the ends of the earth and sometimes he even caught one (less often than he would have you believe
though). His tales of the chase and its conclusion win or lose, is the stuff of legends.
Jack's favourite drink was beer, and he could drink it like a fish. His actions when inebriated would, on occasion, land him in trouble. But, he
took it on the chin, did his punishment and then went and did it all again.
Jack loved his job. He took an immense pride in what he did. His radar was always the best in the fleet. His engines always worked better than anyone
else's. His eyes could spot a contact before anyone else's and shoot at it first.
It was a matter of personal pride. Jack was the consummate professional when he was at work and sober. He was a bit like a mischievous child. He
had a gleam in his eye and a larger than life outlook.
He was as rough as guts. You had to be pig headed and thick skinned to survive. He worked hard and played hard. His masters tut-tutted at some of
his more exuberant expressions of joie de vivre, and the occasional bout of number 9's or stoppage let him know where his limits were.
The late 20th Century and on, has seen the demise of Jack. The workplace no longer echoes with ribald comment and bawdy tales. Someone is sure to take offence.
Whereas, those stories of daring do and ingenuity in the face of adversity, usually whilst pissed, lack the audacity of the past. A wicked sense of
humor is now a liability, rather than a necessity. Jack has been socially engineered out of existence.
What was once normal is now offensive. Denting someone else's over inflated opinion of their own self worth is now a crime
"AND SO A CULTURE DIES."
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