Silflay Hraka

8/24/2002




Ole Doc Weevil might be giving up the stirrups and speculum for another career, campaign manager.

Here's how I would run the campaign:

Mention the lawsuit Simon just lost, but then list half a dozen of the sleazier instances of corruption in the Davis administration, and end with this slogan:

Simon: not half so crooked as Gray Davis.

Briefly mention Simon's business failures, then outline Davis' incredibly inept handling of the power crisis, emphasize how much it has cost and will continue to cost the taxpayers, and end with this slogan:

Simon: not half so incompetent as Gray Davis.

Admit that Simon is not the most exciting speaker, but turn that one around, too:

Simon: not half so boring as Gray Davis.

After all of the above, sum up with this slogan:

Simon: clearly the lesser of two evils.


All politics aside, that commercial would rock, not just for Bill Simon, but for damn near anyone. A politician who couldn't find ammo to fire at his opponent with a commercial like that is just not trying, in this day and age.



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New Friend of Hraka - On The Third Hand, written by a bellicose, not to mention extremely well-informed, woman


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Jim, one of our regular Canadian readers.....There's a phrase I never expected to type...asks
Won’t America file the chador down in the fullness of time?

Probably. Or we could just wait for the Iranians to do it for us.


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Looking Under the Sheets


We took Ngnat to the pool Friday afternoon. The temp had spiked to over 100 earlier in the day, and hadn't moved since. We usually go to the one in the old neighborhood. It has shady areas for the delicate skin of the Sainted Wife and Mother, a baby pool for Ngnat and lifeguards for peace of mind, none of which exist at the electronically gated and fenced pool that comes with the new neighborhood. The neighborhood we moved out of is in flux, with a mixture of Asians, Latinos and Blacks slowly replacing the retired IBM engineers, the ones for whom the original houses were built back in the 60s. I suppose you could call it bohemian, if one could apply that term to a suburb.

It's still a mostly retired and one step above blue collar place. You'll occasionally spot an elderly Sikh gentleman taking his exercise, or a group of be-saried Indian wives and their children walking past the fire station on their way to the library. It emphasizes the point that we're part of the New South now. Seeing a Muslim lady in a full midnight black chador, sitting in the direct sunlight as she watches her children splash about in the shallow end of the pool really drives it home, though.

My first thought was "Damn, I bet that's hot." My second was "I wonder if she has any explosives strapped to her?"

Yes, I know that's an "ist" of some sort. Racist? Well, she was black, but she wasn't the only one there. Several girls were her complete opposite in that they concealed almost nothing. You would think that in an impolite staring contest, nubile teenagers in bikinis would easily defeat a lady in a full body tent, but you'd be wrong. If her husband had really and truly desired that she not be gazed upon by strange men, he'd have put her in a one-piece. Everyone there stared the polite stare, the one that flicks away just before the object of curiosity can meet your gaze and then returns when the coast is clear. She wore sneakers, black Nikes, over some type of hose. Black, of course. Still, not enough to protect her ankles from an unwanted gaze when she shifted in her seat, or got up to chat with her kids. I'd have chortled over that, "Take that Allah, I saw her ankle, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah!", were I not so busy calculating blast radii.

I didn't really believe she was wired to explode, just as I don't really believe that the two girls in headscarves on my bus to work are, though I always check to see if they look any bulkier than normal. I do hope neither of them have a penchant for retaining water at certain times of the month.

I can accept the reality of female Islamikazes, even perhaps in the US rather than in Israel, but I have yet to hear of one that is a mother. Once I realized that, and decided that I could get Ngnat and myself a few feet under water by the time she jumped up and shouted "Allah Akbar!", I hardly thought about it at all. Once I decided I was not a prejudiced bastard for thinking Semtex every time I saw a woman in Muslim dress, I gave it no more thought.

I decided I wasn't a prejudiced bastard because at the end of last summer none of those thoughts would have entered my head. They were put there by Muslims in the year that followed, by the ones who murdered and the ones who could not condemn those murders without saying "Yes, but..". That will be the lasting legacy of the suicide bombers, of the 9/11 terrorists and those who waffle in the face of terrorism when it is directed against Jews. Not a Palestinian homeland, not the destruction of Israel, nor the departure of Western troops from the land of their holy places. Certainly it won't be the restoration of the Caliphate, or any of Al-Qaeda's other fevered dreams.

Their legacy will be to tar their religion with a smear of lunacy, distilled from the blood of innocents. From now on, many people, in all probability most people, will not look at a Muslim family without thinking of explosions, of terror and death, of the actions that might be taken to protect their loved ones in the seconds before the shrapnel arrives.

Like myself, most will deny these thoughts, never mention them, push them down into the same dark corner of our soul that we kept the monsters under the bed. Remember that place, from when you were old enough to know that there were no monsters there, but checked for them every night just the same? Every night you checked, and there were no monsters. Then one night you forgot to check, and woke up the next morning all the same.

The problem with the metaphor is that these days, if you stop checking for Muslims under the bed, one day you don't wake up.

That is such a good line. I am so tempted to end with it, even if it doesn't make much sense. I can't though, because there's this image, sitting here in my mind, refusing to go away and let me end with a punch. It's the image of Chador lady's ten year old daughter, splashing about in the pool, in her pink gingham bikini. That's enough to convince me that whatever else this lady is, she's American. Where else in the world do you think a lady in a chador could feel free enough to not only go to a public place filled with wet, half-naked heathens, but to allow her daughter to run around in the same condition, in the same pool as her son and the sons and daughters of the heathens?

That lady would not prosper in Saudi Arabia, or Egypt, or Syria, and would have likely been long dead in a land ruled by the Taliban. In America she can be just like the Baptists and Methodists and Catholics and all the others that pay lip service to religious hierarchy and then do what they please. In America she is free to pick and choose from her religion.

In America, you wear a chador because you want to.


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Here's a shout out to our macintosh-using visitor from Cupertino, California, who gave Hraka a visit while on a quest for a "monkey clitoris".

Son, I'm pretty sure that if you think that a monkey's clitoris is found on the Internet, that by the time you get back to bed, your monkey will have already left.



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8/23/2002




1632, by Eric Flint and 1633, by Eric Flint and David Weber

See this post and more, at Blogcritics
For a time back in the middle 90's I was a bookstore clerk at Barnes & Noble. If they paid a wage you could raise a family on, I might still be a bookstore clerk. I was in a unique position, because I was the only one in the store that knew how to organize the Computer book section. Almost every bookstore employee you run into is a college grad with a liberal arts degree, and they are as a whole terrified of the computer book section. I took over the section with the understanding that I would be allowed a free hand in the science fiction/fantasy section, to stock it and organize it as I saw fit. It lasted a year, until I could no longer stand the pay. But in that year that store had a hell of a science fiction section. Every Nebula, Hugo and Campbell winner that was in print was on the shelves. Every book by every local sci-fi* author I could find (in practice, this was David Drake, John Kessel and Orson Scott Card) was autographed and available. Ben Bova and L.E.Modesitt had autograph sessions as well, so all their in-print books were available. If a new book in a continuing series came out, we stocked all the previous books in the series for sale. We had the highest science fiction sales in the region.

I went in the other day and picked up Eric Flint's new book 1633. It's the second in a series, the sequel to 1632, which was not on the shelves. The section was ragged, and someone had recently reshelved the genre section to give romance books more room. It was nauseating. There was a mother there, with a son about ten, or eleven, trying to find a book to do a report on. She looked around with increasing distress as he rejected title after title, but there was no succor to be found in the staff. I grabbed Ender's Game off the shelf and handed it to him.

"It's about a kid your age. He's a military genius who gets picked on by bullies until he kills them." You gotta know how to sell the book. His mother looked alarmed, so I gave her the mother translation.

"It's not that bad. It's an award-winning book about a boy genius who has to learn how to grow into his potential and to communicate emotionally with his peers. Think of it as Harry Potter in space." Magic words, "Harry Potter in space."

"He doesn't like to read," she said.

"If he doesn't like this, he never will." I felt safe saying that. I'd said it before, during my time as a B&N wage slave, and it had never come back to haunt me. Some mothers had come back, yes, but without fail it was to ask me what to get the little man next.

You can't say that about most books. But a boy who reads it at the right age is not the same boy at the end of the book as he was at the beginning. It's a rare book that can affect a person that strongly. There are other books that I think have a similar effect, books that I will attempt to force onto anyone who expresses the slightest interest in reading. The Lord of the Rings is one, as is Pride and Prejudice, Master and Commander, Glen Cook's The Black Company, The Watchmen, Good Omens, and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

If you have a similar canon, read 1632 and 1633. There's no way to describe the premise (Alien artwork smacks a West Virginia town into medieval Germany) without sounding like a nutjob, but Eric Flint gets you through the suspension of disbelief phase quickly and with a minimum of fuss. 1632 is the faster paced of the two, and serves as an excellent introduction to an alternative history that has spawned an internet fandom comparable to Spider Robinson's. 1633, which Flint wrote with Honor Harrington author David Weber, is a denser, more sprawling book, with characters from the first book spread out across Europe. Flint says in his afterword that

You want a co-author who is going to add something--and whose weaknesses (and all authors have them) can be cancelled out by your own strengths. And vice-versa, of course.

The collaboration succeeds admirably in 1633, without veering too far from the themes that made 1632 so memorable.

1632 and 1633 also flow well as alternative history. I tend to judge alternative history and historical fiction on whether or not I check out a library book on the period they are set in after I read them. Patrick O'Brien's Aubrey/Maturin series succeeded in this, and did George MacDonald's Flashman. Two days after finishing 1633, I checked out my first book on the Thirty Year's War.

Aside from the obvious attention to detail, the thing that struck me most in each book is how unabashedly patriotic they were. The characters don't just apply American technology to their situation, they apply American values, and while the effect of the technology on the inhabitant's of the 17th century is impressive, the application of American values on a people still under the feudal thumb is both uplifting and heart-rending to read.

She jerked her head sideways, staring at Judith Roth. Back to the menorah. "You are Jewish?" she cried.

A day's terror—a lifetime's fear—erupted in an instant. Tears flooded her eyes. Her chest and shoulder heaved. A moment later, Judith Roth was sitting next to her, cradling her like a child.

Rebecca sobbed and sobbed. Desperately trying to control herself, so she could ask the only question which seemed to matter in the entire universe. Choking on the words, trying to force them through terror and hope.

Finally, she managed. "Does he know?" she gasped.

Mrs. Roth frowned. The question, obviously, meant nothing to her.

Rebecca clutched her throat and practically squeezed down the sobs. "Him. The hidalgo."

Still frowning, still uncomprehending. Hope burned terror like the sun destroys a fog.

"Michael. Does he know?" Her eyes were fixed on the menorah. Mrs. Roth's gaze followed. Her own eyes widened.

"You mean Mike?" The elderly woman stared at Rebecca for a moment, her jaw slack with surprise. "Well, of course he knows. He's known us all his life. That's why he asked us to put you up, when he called. He said he thought—he didn't understand why, he just said he had a bad feeling—but he thought it would be best if Jewish people—"

The rest of the words were lost. Rebecca was sobbing again, more fiercely than ever. Purging terror, first. Then, touching hope. Then, caressing it. Embracing it, like a child embraces legends.


There are scenes akin to this in nearly every chapter.

Mike started his speech by going straight to the point.

"There's only one issue in this campaign. Forget all the blather about at-large election. And why is Simpson so worked up about what he calls the `principle' of residential election, anyway? Back in the old days, what with his globe-trotting and his villa in Spain and his penthouse in London, I'm sure he never cast anything except absentee ballots."

The large crowd in the Gardens laughed. Mike waved his hand, as if brushing aside an insect.

"But that's all a red herring. The only thing Simpson really cares about is the same thing I care about—the franchise." Again, he made that brushing motion with his hand. "Oh, sure, there's other stuff. Lots of it. Our refugee policy, our economic policy, our foreign policy—you name it, and Simpson and I are on opposite ends. But all that's for later. This election is for delegates to the constitutional convention. The convention won't be deciding matters of policy. It will settle something far more important, which is simple. Who decides in the first place? Whatever policy is implemented, by whatever person or party—who gets to decide which person or party holds office? That's the franchise, and the franchise is ultimate power. And that's the issue. The only issue."


Patriotism is not a value recognized by the mainstream left nowadays, but the only other book I can think of that so clearly illustrated basic American principles is a book that for years was an icon of the left, Eugene Burdick's and William J. Lederer's The Ugly American. The basic tenet of The Ugly American was that the American citizen was the best representative of American values, a theory that was behind the founding of the Peace Corps soon after the book appeared. The "Ugly American" in the Burdick Lederer book is an engineer. The main character in 1632 is the president of the local chapter of the United Mine Workers of America. How the core values of each man infect the other characters is an important part of each book. In a time when it seems none of our leaders can articulate why America must be defended, 1632 and 1633 do so admirably.

*Yes, I know. You think "sci-fi" is derogatory. Well, I think it's easy to type. I could call it "spec-fic" I suppose, but people look at me funny already. There's no need to give them more ammunition.


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Peace at Stonehenge

Watch this peaceful website for only 1 minute (time yourself) and understand the power.


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Parental Observation #1

Young children will do all of their "tricks" and become the sweetest exactly at the point that you announce it is bedtime.


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Advice for Picking Up Women

One man's take on how to pick up women ...........of course, there is no telling what the women he is picking up look like, but based on the region of the country, I'm betting they've "got a purty mouth." Can anyone else hear that banjo?


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Tara Grubb For Congress!

There's a new North Carolina Blogger, and she's running for office against Howard Coble, who wants to let the RIAA hack your computer.


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The Al Qaeda Ant Hill

Over the past few months, going on a year, I have become a bit concerned that Americans (in very general terms) do not completely understand the nature of the terrorists we are waging war against, and therefore have set faulty goals for its declared completion. So much focus is being placed on knowing the whereabouts of Osama Bin Laden, and American citizens seem to believe that the elimination of this individual will somehow rid us of the threat of future terrorism on our soil. Unfortunately, in an effort to appease the voting public, our government appears to have adopted this as priority number one as well.

While the topic may have been pushed on the back-burner in recent weeks, allowing other current events to be covered on page 1 of local newspapers (stock market, corporation scandals, the new Anna Nicole Smith show), the hunt for Osama is alive and well. We as tax payers are demanding his arrest and/or assassination, preferably catching the latter on tape and selling it to CNN for the sum of $30,000. The government gives us updates on the search for this man, telling us they don’t know of his whereabouts, not even knowing if he is dead or alive. The absurdity of this begins for me when we spend money to do DNA testing on corpses in Afghanistan to try to identify if he has been found among the remains. Is the point of this expense just so that our government will have information to give to the public in order to make us feel as though they have rid the world of a menace, thereby giving us an inner peace which allows us to spend money and live our lives in the same manner we did prior to September 11th?

While I would welcome the finding that Bin Laden was torched and died a painful death among a gaggle of Afghanistan women who kicked him as he lay frying in the middle of the road, I understand that does not mean that the threat of global terrorism has been eradicated. I want us to find him (or his charred remains), and I support our search for him, but his capture and/or death should be viewed as little more than a good photo-op for those involved in that event. The threat of terrorism is still very real.

Al Qaeda, and other terrorist organizations, should be viewed as those troublesome ant hills that appear on the landscapes of our lawns. We can treat that hill. We may burn it, cover it with ant death serum, pee on it, or blow it up with small firearms (a personal favorite) and that may kill those ants living in that hill, but it by no means completes the process. Over the next few days, weeks, or months, we must still monitor our lawns and deal with other hills that may be built as a result of us erasing that hill from our property. Simply by killing some of the ants, or the Queen Ant (in this case Osama Bin Laden) the problem is not over. As long as one ant remains, or one terrorist, the threat is still possible. While the strength is diminished, there is some danger.

While Bush did not get my vote in the election, he has my support. Perhaps his methods are not agreeable to everyone, but Americans need to be patient and understand that if and when Osama Bin Laden is captured and/or more likely killed, this fight is not over. He is the face that we have put on this enemy, but he is by no means the hands that delivered the punch in September.

Removing fire ants from a yard is time consuming and can be extremely frustrating work. This by no means suggests that the work is not worthwhile. We must remove the entire colony, not just the queen.


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Georgia School Board Requires Balance of Evolution and Bible

Board members said they were not restricting the teaching of evolution or encouraging the teaching of creationism. The policy, they said, was simply a reflection of the district's philosophy of teaching a wide and objective range of ideas, particularly in discussing "disputed views of academic subjects, including the origin of species."

The board's decision raised hackles among the scientific literati, and brought pleased smiles to the Christian faces that domninated the room, smiles quickly erased by the joyous ululating cries of Jean-Claude and Marie-Michelle Balan-Gaubert, recent arrivals in Marietta from their hometown of New Orleans.

"Atibo Legba, open the gates for me Papa Legba, open the gates so that I might enter when I will go!" shouted Jean-Claude, as he spun dervish-like among the folding chairs and horrified Baptists of the Cobb County courthouse, a white rooster in one hand, and a gleaming knife in the other. "I will salute the loas Vodun Lega, open the gates for me, When I will go in, I will thank the loas!"

As Jean Claude Claude beheaded the chicken and poured the steaming blood over his head, Marie-Michelle explained their happy reaction.

"Too long have we been in this world of your science, which belittles our beliefs and causes my babies to doubt the ancient traditions. Now when they speak of evolution they must also speak of the serpent Damballah, whose coils created the stars and the land from the firmament, who shed his skin to create the waters, who loved the rainbow Aida-Wedo with his mighty serpent's cock and made her his wife."

"Damballah desires champagne!" interjects her spittle-flecked husband, shrieking as if being whipped. "Papa Legba rides me hard tonight, he is so happeeeeeee!"

The new equivalency given to religious creation theories has excited niche religions everywhere and birthed plans to relocate to Georgia in some of their members. At last count, Wiccans, Druids, and worshippers of both Astarte and Mithras we planning on coming to Cobb county to take advantage of the new policy. Satanists have also gathered to discuss their reaction to the school board's ruling.

"We claim that the earth and all upon it were shat out of the pustulent rectum of Yog Soggoth." says Aleister Crowley V, titular head of the The American Satanist Church and Motorcycle Club. "Truly, we feel that being able to demonstrate this process in front of a class of teenage males can only help our membership drive."


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8/22/2002




"We Want A Pitcher, Not A Rich Ol' Bitcher"

With the baseball strike looming in the distance, what are Americans doing to prepare for the inevitable collision between owners and players? Pretty much nothing. What can we do? And in the big scheme of things, who really gives a rat's ass.

I am a fairly avid New York Yankees fan. I watch their games when they are on, but don't tend to watch baseball when they are not playing. Although I am faithful to the Yankees, I suppose I am not the most faithful fan to MLB in general. Still, after getting used to (although not bored) watching the Yankees continue to play games well into October (and November last year) I have tried to imagine what life may be like this Fall if a strike occurs and once again the World Series is cancelled. What I found was a bit surprising. I realized that I would be fine, life would move on, and I might not even give it a second thought as I spend more nights on the porch enjoying the weather as it begins to cool.

The question often asked is, whose side am I on? Can the players and owners come to some agreement? Will everyone be happy? The answer to that question is that everyone but the fans may be happy. Bigwig's assessment of MLB's treatment of the fans was dead on, the paying public are simply whores for MLB. This is not to suggest that we should not go to the games. As mentioned, I love to attend a game. The problem begins when the players and owners stop playing our national pastime to quibble over millions of dollars, completely ignoring me as a fan, yet I return to the ballparks as soon as they kiss and make up. Simply don't go or don't bitch. One group has attempted to start a movement to show MLB the importance of the fans, but the fact that most of you have never heard of them should be some indication as to their effectiveness.

The point I am trying to make is that this really is not as big a deal as we are making it out to be. So we won't have baseball for a while, does it really matter? The sun will still rise, I will still have bills to pay, and I might even end up spending a good amount of time outdoors doing something productive instead of watching the tv in 3 hour chunks. The owners and players will continue to talk over the next week and offer new proposals consistently during that time. Maybe they will come up with an agreement, and maybe they won't. I'm just suggesting that having professional baseball will not make my life, or perhaps even my Octobers any better.

The last straw came for me when I heard Nomar Garciaparra say how they were doing this for all of the kids who will play professional baseball in the future. He doesn't want them to look back and say, "Man, I wish I could have played back then." That has to be the biggest load of bullshit I have ever had to stomach. Screw you and your million dollar salary. Perhaps the players don't realize how good they have it. Do they understand that most of us will work 30+ years and not make the money they make in one year? Do they realize that if we do illegal substances we are most likely fired? If you cared about anyone you would look after the fans and work hard to come up with an agreement that truly would be good for everyone. But that would most likely call for the "C" word (compromise), and that apparently is not in either of these groups' vocabularies.

Take your balls and go home, I just don't care anymore.



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Study explains why your family stinks

Family members tend not to like the way they smell, researchers say, speculating that the unpleasant stink of your closest relatives may be one of nature's ways of discouraging incest.

In related news, Jerry Falwell has claimed that people who bathe are inviting incest.


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A hearty welcome to our our guests from the CIA! (relay2.ucia.gov), who came hither searching for "links: www.al-neda.com"

Ya'll make sure to be on the lookout for Nigerian golfers, now.


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8/21/2002




Prayers of a 20 Month Old Girl

Dad: Okay Katie Bug, it’s time to say your prayers.

Bug: Oh-kay.

Dad: Thank you for mom and dad, and Katie, and who else………..

Bug: Mama Bugg.

Dad: Yeah, who else?

Bug: Papa Bugg……

Dad: Uh-huh…

Bug: Gigi, Ga-ga…….

Dad: Right…

(Silence………..)

Bug: Ah crem (ice cream).

Dad: Well, ice cream is good, but who else are you thankful for?

(More silence…………..)

Bug: Kook-eee (cookie)

Dad: Okay sweetheart, cookies are good too, but is there anyone else we are thankful for?

Bug: I luh loo da-da!

(Dad forgets every other name on the prayer list, gives daughter ice cream and cookies, sings stupid camp songs the rest of the night and considers it a success).


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New Friend of Hraka - ZionBlog. "Your one stop shopping solution for misspelled Israeli news."


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Blogger Meet-Up

It was a bloody shambles. I was the only one there. I don't mind being the one one there, I got some reading done. But I'll be damned if I'm driving to Raleigh again.


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Bedtime

Ngnat has graduated from the crib to a big-girl bed. At night we lie in it and sing songs, and read books. Tonight we read Down By the Station, and Touch and Feel Shapes and Alexander. Not Alexander of the Terrible Horrible Day, but Alexander the Red Horse with Green Stripes. It was one of mine, one of the few that made it through the 4 childhoods in our household without being ripped to shreds. Old Black Witch and Miss Twiggly's Tree also made it, but she hasn't shown any interest in them yet. We played Daddy drums, which consists of her pounding on me while I sing "Daddy Drums, daddy drums, we are playing daddy drums", and Taylor drums, which is me singing the same tune with her name, and tapping her at various places, while she giggles and tries to catch my hands. We make faces at each other and say "Ahhhhhhhhhh. Eeeeeeeeeee."

She also tells me about her day. Most of it I don't understand

"Ogaly bogaly emma knee paper!"

"yes dear."

"Wosa mate toppy mam!"

"Did you like that?"

"uh-huh"

But some of it I do. She got her feet dirty playing in the sand,and she liked the feel of sand on her feet. Nina took her sticker, and they played with paper and did clean-up and sang the clean-up song. It goes "Keen up, keen up, keen up, keen up! Keen up, keen up, keen up, keen up!" She likes the clean-up song.

Then I say "It's time to go to bed", and she leaps on top of me, as if her thirty pounds could hold me down, and hugs me with all her might, which succeeds where mass alone fails. We repeat that three or four times until I say "Lay down and I'll cover you up", and she lays down, and I cover her up.

"Night Night."

"Ni Ni daddy"

I leave. Three or four minutes pass.

"Mommy! Come sing a song! Sing 'Pokey-Pokey!'"



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Iraq Warns of 'New Vietnam' in Any U.S. Attack

"We fear neither America, nor Britain, nor anyone else," Saleh said. "Even if America comes with all of its forces, Iraq will confront this army and turn the region into a new Vietnam."

"We have the black pajama's and the orange robes." Saleh went on to say. "The opium, weed and hooch are on back order, but we've been promised delivery by September 10th, praise Allah. Vietnamland opens for business the next day!"

In a small schoolhouse behind the Iraqi trade ministry, women attend classes that will allow them to recreate the aura of 1960's Saigon for the visiting American soldier. The importance of maintaining the reality of Vietnamland is drilled into them by the constant repetion of terms familiar to any American G.I, taught to them by a hirsute Quesadilla Hussein (The Robin Williams of Umm Qasr!)

"Me so horny, me love you long time" declaims Quesadilla.

"Me so horny, me love you long time" echoes the class of mostly middle-aged spinsters, dotted here and there by beardless youths with excitement gleaming in their eyes.

Fellani Allahnonnie raises her hand from here seat in the front and questions the professor in her crisp British accent. "Allah's mercies upon your pustulent lip boils, Professor Hussein, but wouldn't a realistic pronunciation be closer to 'Me so holny, me rove you rong time?'".

"In Allah, Allah, Bo Ballah Bonana, Fanna, Fo Fallah Fee, Fy, Mo Mallah Allah's name you are indeed correct, madam. However, funding for this program comes from the EU and Archer Daniels Midland, supermarket to the world, and they feel that historically correct pronunciation would be racist in nature. Again if you please, class! Me so horny, me love you long time."

"Me so horny, me love you long time"

"boom boom long time"
"boom boom long time"

"Ford numbah 1! Mercedes numbah 10!"
"Ford numbah 1! Mercedes numbah 10!"

"Charlie see you, he di di mau."
"Charlie see you, he di di mau."

"Thank you class, that will be all for today. Remember to do your vaginal exercises tonight, and don't forget to bring your Ping-Pong balls to class tomorrow. As you know, Ms. Fonda will be observing, and we don't want to disappoint her."

Link via Blogatelle



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The Voice of a Generation

Turds are people too!!!!

(Sponsored by the Society for the Humane Interaction with Turds)


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Which blogger are you?

Tony from Trojan Horseshoes and I have been debating which Pooh archetype we were. Tony thinks that he's more of a Tigger, yet

That above P.S. sounds vaguely pathetic, as if I am channeling Eeyore from the Hundred acres. "Thanks for noticing me."

If you were a denizen of the Hundred Acre Woods, which one would you be?

Eeyore
"Might as well blog. Got nothing better to do. Can't write, but it doesn't make a difference. Nobody reads it anyway."

Pooh
"What does Crustimoney Proseedcake mean?" said Pooh. "For I am a blogger of Very Little Brain, and long words Bother me."

Piglet
"It is awfully hard to be p-p-p-popular," said Piglet, "when you are only a Very Small Blogger."

Rabbit
It was going to be one of Rabbit's busy days. As soon as he woke up he felt important, as if everything depended on him. It was just the day for Organising Something, or for Writing a Notice Signed Rabbit, or for Seeing What Everybody Else Thought About It. It was a perfect morning for hurrying round to Pooh, and saying "Very well then, I'll tell Piglet," and then going to Piglet and saying "Pooh thinks ... but maybe I'd better see Owl first." It was a Captainish sort of day, when everybody said "Yes, Rabbit" and "No, Rabbit," and waited until he had told them.

Owl
Owl, wise though he was in many ways, was able to read and write and spell his own name WOL, yet somehow went all to pieces over delicate words like MEASLES and BUTTEREDTOAST.

Christopher Robin
"How do you do blogging?" asked Pooh.
"Well, it's when people call out at you just as you're going off to do it, `What are you going to do, Christopher Robin?' and you say, `Oh, nothing' and then you go and do it. It means just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering."

Roo
"You're always seeing, and nothing ever happens."

Kanga
Roo, dear, just one more post and then we must go home."

Tigger
The wonderful thing about bloggers.
Is bloggers are wonderful things.
They make the journalists blubber.
Their bottoms are really big things.
They announce, denounce, pronounce, renounce,
It's fun, fun, fun, fun, fun!

But the most wonderful thing about bloggers
Is that we have just begun!
The wonderful thing about bloggers,
Is bloggers are wonderful chaps.
They're loaded with vim and with vigor.
They love to shoot off their yaps.
They announce, denounce, pronounce, renounce,
It's fun, fun, fun, fun, fun!

But the most wonderful thing about bloggers
Is we've only just begun
Bloggers are wonderful fellahs.
Bloggers are awfully sweet.
Everyone else's is jealous.
And thats why I repeat.

The wonderful thing about bloggers
Is bloggers are wonderful things..
They make the journalists blubber
Their bottoms are really big things.
They announce, denounce, pronounce, renounce,
It's fun, fun, fun, fun, fun!

But the most wonderful thing about bloggers
Is that we have just begun!
Yes, Weeeeeeeeee have just begun!
(Grrrrrr...)

Update: I changed a line in the Tigger song, as it made no sense.


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September 11th victims mapped by zipcode. Link to map halfway down on the right.


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8/20/2002




"Of my friend, I can only say this: Of all the souls I have encountered in my travels, his was the most...hobbit-like."

Weirdest link ever thanks to Friend of Hraka dcthornton


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I wish I had heard of this when I was a kid.

As the thundering herd of children neared the snake, it raised its head to look at us. "Stop! Stop!" shouted the Oldest Cousin. "Stop! I'll start 'im!".

I had no idea what "I'll start 'im" meant, but I was sure I could do whatever my Oldest Cousin could do. Oh yes, I was hot to 'start 'im' too, but first I had to find out what that meant, so I stopped and watched.

The Oldest Cousin ran past the snake, turning sharply as he drew almost even with the snake. The snake's head turned in swift recognition and the snake was off! It was chasing him!


All we ever did as kids was pick snakes up, (if they were identified), chase them (if they were fleeing), kill them (if they weren't identified), or dive into the pond on top of one (once, when I was showing off. I'll blog it one day)


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McKinney and other Georgia election results are coming in here.

Update: Here's another results page.
Link courtesy of the Daily Pundit


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Mrs Non-Smoker: Oohh hello, Mrs Smoker.
Mrs Smoker: Hello Mrs Non-Smoker.
Mrs Non-Smoker: What, you been shopping then?
Mrs Smoker: Nope ... I've been shopping!
Mrs Non-Smoker: What d'you buy?
Mrs Smoker: A piston engine!
Mrs Non-Smoker: What d'you buy that for?
Mrs Smoker: It was a bargain!
Mrs Non-Smoker: How much d'you want for it?
Mrs Smoker: Three quid!
Mrs Non-Smoker: Done. (she hands over the money)
Mrs Smoker: Right. Thank you.
Mrs Non-Smoker: How d'you cook it?
Mrs Smoker: You don't cook it.
Mrs Non-Smoker: You can't eat that raw!
Mrs Smoker: Ooooh ... never thought of that. Oh, day and night, but this is wondrous strange ...
Mrs Non-Smoker: ... and therefore is a stranger welcome it. There are more things in Heaven and Earth Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. But come, the time is out of joint. Oh cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right. Let's go together.

Qaddafi drag queen idea courtesy Trojan Horseshoes


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There's nothing better on a fall Satuday than watching the sainted wife and mother bouncing up and down on the couch screaming "Go Cocks!"


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Larry Miller in Israel

Downstairs, before we left, the head of the hospital, an Israeli named Audrey, was showing me the children's waiting room. I couldn't help but notice, all around, an Arab woman with her son, an Arab family over there checking in, Arab children playing with the toys while waiting. The doctor saw the look on my face and laughed. "Oh, yes, we treat everyone." I guess I was astonished. She just shrugged. "We're Jews. This is how we live. It's also for the future. They're not going anywhere, and we're not going anywhere. There will eventually be peace. There has to be." When? A month? A year? A hundred years? More? She didn't know. I had to say it. You're incredible. You take everyone, you treat everyone, no one goes first, no one goes last, you just go in order of who needs help. That's, like, Mother Teresa stuff. "We're not saints, we're just doing our jobs. It's not easy, I admit. And it gets hard when they cheer when the bodies are brought in."
Link via Friend of Hraka Chris Ruzin


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The Tragic Descent of a Once Promising Life.

Actor
Porn Star
Used Car Salesman
Survivor Contestant


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Intentionally thick

To: Bigwig
Subject: PLEASE DON'T LET ME FORGET

Saturday car inspection, take car to Merit Tech Friday Night-
Saturday Aug 31st, 9:30 Grey to vet

Sainted Wife

To: Sainted Wife
Subject: RE: PLEASE DON'T LET ME FORGET

OKAY!

Bigwig

Sainted Wife: I knew you would make some kind of comment on the all caps

Bigwig: And did that knowledge warm the cockles of your heart, because it meant that we were so close that you knew my very thoughts without me having to say a word?

Sainted Wife: Yeah yeah yeah- Lori Smith from Trading Spaces had her baby, a boy named Gibson, how very "The Sure Thing"

Bigwig: How do you mean?

Sainted Wife: Gibson was John Cusak's characters' name- that is how I mean

Bigwig: So the whole “Lori Smith” thing was a false ruse to throw me off the track?

Sainted Wife: No, Laurie Smith is a decorator on Trading Spaces and she really had a baby named Gibson

Bigwig: She married John Cusack?

Sainted Wife: No, she named her son Gibson, LOL and crying of laughter.

Bigwig: So she’s a big John Cusack fan?

Sainted Wife: Now you're just being stupid. I inserted the pop culture movie reference b/c it was the only Gibson I ever heard of before.

Bigwig: So, you don't consider yourself a Gibson girl, eh?

Sainted Wife: No! Drop it already!

Bigwig: http://silflayhraka.blogspot.com/2002_08_18_silflayhraka_archive.html#85363922

Sainted Wife: I just knew this was what you were doing.

Bigwig: And did that knowledge warm the cockles of your heart, because it meant that we were so close that you knew my very thoughts without me having to say a word?

This can only end with me in trouble, probably the same kind of trouble Michelle's dad presumably ended up in.

"You're always defending them, no matter what they do!"
"I am NOT!"
"You're a whore! You're a Yankee whore!"
"Did you just call me a whore?"
"Yes! You might as well be giving blow jobs to Roger Clemens!"
Silence. Everyone stares at my father. We stifle giggles while my mother looks absolutely enraged.
"You have the nerve to say that in front of our children?"
Dad looks sheepishly at my mom.
"I'm sorry."
"Ok"
"I meant to say Derek Jeter."


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Blueberries May Help Old Folks Keep Their Smarts

A cup of blueberries a day may keep "senior moments" away, new findings suggest.

In a related study scientists have found a cup of Booberries a day will help you remember your past lives, after they were tipped off by a study of Shirley MacLaine's eating habits. Nutritionists with the FDA reported earlier this week that due to Ms. McLaines extraordinary consumption of the General Mills cereal, she had not needed to purchase any water colorants since the Tidy-Bowl man was lost at sea in 1984.

A team of Massachusetts and Florida researchers has shown that the cereal reduces death-related damage in rat brains, and can also prevent mental decline in poltergeists genetically engineered to forget their previous life..

The findings, along with early results from a human study, suggest a healthy diet can go a long way toward preventing the mental decline that often accompanies the post-living condition, Dr. James A. Joseph of the Center on Para-Normal Studies at Tufts University in Boston and USDA Human Destruction Research told Reuters Health.

Joseph presented his findings here Monday at the American Necrochemical Society's annual meeting.

Soul-damaging products of paranormal metabolism known as free radicals can injure ectoplasm, an effect known as oxidative damage. Antioxidants -- found in several cereals, including Booberries -- help prevent this damage, which has been implicated in a number of conditions including bansheeism, and Slyme disease.


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A Nigerian Love Song


Embarrassingly enough, until I was in my mid 20's I thought Stevie Wonder sang a song called "Ma Sherriamore." Mistakes of that nature happen to lots of other people, so I'm not too horribly ashamed, especially when you compare it to the version they sing in Nigeria.

My Sharia Court
Tune by Stevie Wonder
Lyrics by Aliyu Abdullahi

Gonna be coup d’etats
Must install the mullahs

My Sharia court, gonna stone a girl today.
My Sharia court, cause she led a man astray.
My Sharia court, killing all the ones that I abhor.
Taking the lead in our holy war.
How I wish that you were mine.

In a cafe or sometimes on a crowded street.
I've been near you, but you never notice me.
My Sharia court, told me you’re the one I’m aiming for.
Told them you were dressing like a whore.
How I wish that you were mine.

Maybe someday you'll see my face among the crowd.
While we’re burning you up, in your funeral shroud.
My Sharia court, killing all the ones that I abhor.
Taking the lead in our holy war.
How I wish that you were mine.

Must install the mullahs.
Like we live in Sana'a.


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8/19/2002




The anonymity debate is still generating fallout. Zonitics has signed off for the near future. We'll miss you, Edward.

The Timekeeper talks about his pseudonymity.

UFO Breakfast Recipients talks about how pseudonymity and blogging re-create the Anglo-American print culture of the 18th century. It's also similar to the print culture of the 19th century, but you already knew that, right?


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Man Tells FBI Terrorist Info -- FBI Doesn't Care

The website he alleges is a terrorist front is here.

There's an arabic to english web page translator here.
Login: bigwig
password: hraka

Here's one of the translated pages;

The crusaders transform their failure into the jihad sites hiding by stupid ways
By the In god's name the most merciful
The studies center and the islamic researches

Said the god was above ( they ruin their houses by their hands and the believers hands they learnt what the those who have minds and opinions ) blessings this verse fell the americans in the jewish Whahm today the jewish brothers they ruin their houses by their hands as did their brothers .
The American security sectors seek diligent to the right sound silencing sound the seeker about the appearance to the world morals any informative pulpit .
Then after she imposed towns on the visible media by he transmits the fighters leaders meetings¡ she imposed the towns on the readable media and the audible¡ then tried failure she imposes the towns on the internet¡¡ she failed she made sure she seeks back mirage¡ and whenever she closed site to the fighters get out to her the fighters by more site¡ and so successively and this media war end until the god to the moslems writes the help on the age idol america the god destroyed her .
And after the pervasive failure that ãäíÊ by him the American security apparatuses and her allies¡ they thought by new way to the disturbance attempt on the warrior on way their master that told our prophet peace be upon him about him where he said ( the devil Ays the prayers worship him in the arabs island but in Althrish between them ) then why the American frustrated from closures the demanding site and remainder jihad sites and knew they as second exams to the mirage¡ they invented new way lent them in her their master Ablis .
And their new way came to the disturbance on the fighters information and transmit¡ then did establishment many sites to the demanding site¡ and tried spreading these sites between the Muslim¡ and these sites ÚÈÇÑÉ about fronts to the demanding site in in her distortion to the previous information that her spreading completed¡ and when these sites between the Muslim and æáÇ íæÌÏ in her spread new for months the Muslim lose the hope by the fighters their sympathy with them decreases¡ apart from other security causes .
And some addresses observation that see the crusader enemy behind and this completed some her addresses :

www.al-qaeda.com
www.anthraxdisease.com
www.nukeafghanistan.com
www.alneda.net
www.alneda.com
www.alneda.org
www.bio-warfare.com
www.alneda.net

www.al-neda.net
www.al-neda.com
www.al-neda.org

And these sites that imply copies from front our site found on single company ( Ãí on single Sirfr ) . ÃáÇ and he : WWW .THEWETLANDSINC.COM

And the crusaders strained they collect all the names that to her relationship by the site ( or near from the site name ) to ironing Laitsna to his reservation and all these sites was by her hairs she concerns us .. And the destination from him the disturbance on us and from her he by the arab from from her what he by the English .

And they put some these pages in irreligious sites insult by her on the god and the koran and the messenger peace be upon him ... By drawings ( caricatural ) and except .. And permissive sites .. And laugh at her also from the fighters leaders by dirty drawings .

With the knowledge that alneda.com name canceled complete from the network .... Wlaisttia he returns him to her except the crusaders the god fought them .
And their way this although her outside against the fighters except the crusader in fact the matter they ruin their houses by their hands and the believers hands¡ and that by spreading jihad sites that the people settle for by the jihad from mere her spread no her content .
And to this then we caution generality the moslems not to they are deceived by allegations the crusaders Wirgafhm and they heed to this war .
And and we do not forget we we thank our brothers who conferred on the Arab forums project copies site center studies and the islamic researches¡ and got ready to efforts exertion in spreading the site and the enemies occupation by plenty his copies on the network¡ and say to them the media war with the unfair crusader enemy needs to collective efforts and many ideas¡ and and we are ready to the help by these ideas¡¡ in finally then the help to by god willing .


Update: One of the sites mentioned, WWW.THEWETLANDSINC.COM., doesn't resolve, but there are several bb's or chat sites with that address. They seem to mostly be places to post pictures. Steganography, perhaps? You can see them here, here, and here (warning, not safe for work).

There are also two chat areas, here and here.

Is there a free stenographic detection tool? Or a cheap one, at least? I'd think that having one available to the general public might allow quicker detection of such pictures, if they actually do exist.


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Where's the beef?


Once again the mainstream media (WIRED, who should know better) sells me the sizzle without delivering a steak. Your smile is only as good as your tooth tattoo. You'll notice that there are no actual pictures of this new stop on American culture's race to the bottom. Fear not, for I have gone looking for you. Take a gander at these. There's more here, here, and here. Then there are the fabulous tooth jewels, for those who feel that they need to go the extra distance to impress Mr. Springer.

Other exciting tooth mutilation products currently in development

Baleen - for those people who think Vegans aren't reactionary enough, because agriculture is unnatural. "2, 4, 6, 8! Eating veggies sponsors corporate rape!"
Vampire teeth - Because some Goths worry that they aren't creepy enough.
Continuous Bridges - Why worry with 32 teeth when you can have just two?
Glow in the Dark - Red and green for Christmas! Red, white and blue for July 4th.
Musical Teeth - An embedded chip produces the music of your choice. Available in Organ Grinder, Accordion, Player Piano and Calliope! We've tied it in with a modified form of our glow in the dark technology to produce a flashing effect that turns each individual tooth on and off in time with the music. You'll be your own parade!
The All Blacks - Oops, already in production for the British market.
Totally Transparent - You'll never wonder what your tongue is doing again.
Fossilized Amber - A different pre-historic insect in each one!
The Tooth Harmonium - We drill holes in teeth! Each one is a different size and pitch, so that you'll be able to play simple tunes with your tongue.
The Hummer - Teeth that vibrate on command. Endorsed by Monica!

Make sure you also check our our exciting new crotch enhancements!


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No, he's not bitter.

Asked why the C.I.A. failed to find the archive before CNN, Bill Harlow, the agency's spokesman, replied, "There are more of them in Afghanistan than there are of us, and they are paid better."


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8/18/2002





Spam, We get Spam!


Did anyone else get Spam from one Louis J. Zurr, aka the TrailerPundit? I'd link to him, except that

1.) I can't find him via Google, and http://trailerpundit.blogspot.com doesn't exist.
2.) I don't link to spammers
3.) I don't link to people who don't make even the slightest attempt at personalizing the email. Christ, Louis J. Zurr, how hard is it to write "Dear Bigwig" at the top of your screed?
4.) Louis J. Zurr didn't bother to put in a link. He just sent me his views on Elvis. Oh, happy day.

Of course, getting mail from Louis does put me into the same league as Instapundit, who got this pearl of a missive from Louis J. Zurr back in May.

I'm always amazed by whigged-out guys like you who think we can fill America up with Guatemalans and Chinese and various Islamotrash and still have a republic. Don't get me wrong, I think it's great that overpaid academics have a lot of exciting new restaurants to go to even in Knoxville. But the first thing that will happen when white folks become a minority in the U.S. is that we will get a de facto dictator running things; and the second thing is that they'll start killing all the Jews...and when they run out of Jews they'll start in on constitutional-law professors, even if they find them savoring the tasty dishes in exotic restaurants....

But, in case you aren't in the same class as Prof. Reynolds and I, here's Louis' views on Elvis. My comments appear in italics

From: "Lou Zurr" louzurr AT hotmail.com
To: IgnorantMediaBoneheads@LiesRUs.com


Oh, thank God, I've finally been accepted into the Club

"Elvis was successful because he was a white who sang like a black."

Elvis was successful because he could rip off the blacks. Elvis was Michael Bolton before we had any taste, before we knew any better.

Boy oh boy am I getting sick of reading that, repeated obsessively, reflexively, in every single Big Media reference to him.

You're ok with the drug thing and the statutory rape, though?

Because if you know anything about the music of the time you know his singing was a heck of a lot closer to hillbilly than it was to black.

Yes, his influence was all over "O Brother Where Art Thou?". There's nothing I hope for more than to hear Ralph Stanley's rendition of "In the Ghetto", though to be honest, even he couldn't top Cartman.

It was so exciting and successful because it was a fusion of and also a riff upon many existing traditions, hillbilly chief among them.

Making his nuts dance like maracas had nothing to do with it.

If he had been merely a "white who sang like a black" he would have just been some kind of freak.

Dude, this is Elvis. He was a freak.

So what the fug are these ignorant and *therefore* highly-paid people talking about?

I don't know. I don't know because I can avoid reading them. Because they have the grace of spirit not to anonymously spam my ass with their ill-considered ravings.

What is this desperate urge on the part of the Information Classes to deny ordinary white folks any validity in their culture, in their very being?

Perhaps because white folk's culture includes clogging and beauty pageants for three year olds. To be fair, I also don't care for Kwanza and step shows. I don't care for any culture that comes prefaced with a color. And it's my right as an American to belittle people who do care for such things until they cry.

Do they think it makes them look hip and informed? What is it?

Talking about Elvis doesn't make anyone look hip and informed. It makes them look sad and old, or it makes them look like people desperate for copy in a slow news month. The hip and informed talk about...........I don't know what they talk about.

Sincerely,

Louis J. Zurr
TrailerPundit


Chickenboner


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Tapes shed new light on bin Laden's network

Perhaps we should put Cnn in charge of the war on terrorism. They get better results than John Ashcroft does.


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*^%&*%(


Archives are down, again. None of the normal fixes work, yet

Update: Archives seem to work, partially. It appears as if some blogger servers have gotten the update, but others have not.


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