Silflay Hraka

11/02/2002





I'm moving a small victory to the tops of the links list. No reason, really.


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11/01/2002




Part 10 of The New Perfect Manhood - Frequency of Sexual Relations and Unbridled Liberty!

Once again we re-visit the 1916 sexual education book my beloved grandmother presented to me upon the occasion of my 12th birthday, excerpting from chapter seven of Professor T.W. Shannon's The New Perfect Manhood.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,

Frequency of Sexual Relations.

As to how frequently married people should indulge in intercourse, there are several theories.

Let's list them;
The Husband - Once a day, and twice on weekends, at a minimum, with occasional sprinklings of spontaneous oral sex just for the sake of variety, like when I'm reading the paper.
The Wife - Only if the kids are in bed, the bills are paid, the house has been recently cleaned, the cat put out, and I have not looked at myself in the mirror for the past week.
The Children - Never, ever. The thought makes me physically ill. People over thirty should avoid any and all physical contact.
Wanna Be Grandparents - What are you doing out of bed?


A majority of men base their theory on uncontrolled desire rather than on any safe basis of reasoning and analogy.

Finally analogy assumes its rightful place in the arts of lovemaking!

Him: Let's try it again, Prudence, one last time.
Her: Certainly, Reginald.
Him: Now, If I'm a banana, and you are a monkey.
Her: What kind of a monkey?
Him: It doesn't matter what kind of a monkey, darling. You pick any kind you like.
Her: How nice of you! I certainly shall.
Him: Excellent. Now, what would a monkey do...
Her: I will be a Colobus, then. The Saturday Evening Post has the most delightful article on Colobus monkeys the other day. I was telling Mabel that..
Him: Darling, do you remember when we talked about tangents last night?
Her: Yes, that was just after we started discussing Reason and its influence on the marital bed. I must say I was quite distressed when I found you had fallen asleep.
Him: Be that as it may, my sweet, let us attempt to hew more closely to our decision to avoid treading down, if we may, every single path that our thoughts may take us, so that.....
Her: Reginald, darling, could you try to stick to the subject at hand?
Him: .....But!.......I'm so sorry darling. Now, I'm a banana.
Her: Yes
Him: And you are a pretty little Columbus monkey
Her: Colobus, dear.
Him: What!?
Her: I'm a Colobus Monkey, dear. There's no such thing as a Columbus monkey.
Him: Yes, of course. You are a Colobus monkey--A Colobus monkey with a delightful little mouth and cunning little paws.
Her: Eeep! Eeep!
Him: Yes, that's right!. You're a good little monkey! And I'm a banana! Now, what do you do with a banana?
Her: Why, I throw it away, of course.
Him: YOU WHAT!!!
Her: Throw it away, darling. Colobus monkeys only eat leaves.
Him: only...eat...leaves...
Her: Yes dear, The article said they are extremely finicky.
Him: I seem to have developed a sudden headache.
Her: I'm sorry darling. Would you like to retire?
Him: I...........think I shall. Good night.
Her: Good night!


In this, as in every other problem of sex, men have been left to get their information from the degraded and ignorant classes.

Because those classes are the only ones who are any good at it.

They have blindly followed their misinformation and uncontrolled impulse into sexual excess.

Why, I knew of a man who had his lady wife sit astraddle him as he reclined, and he was run over by a locomotive the very next day! True story!

Such men know but one rule--desire.

Oddly enough, the Rule of Desire is the same as the Golden; Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. The feeling you get when they don't do unto you is quite a bit different, however.

A few men have had a better environment and wholesome instruction and some others have discovered their mistakes and have put up a successful battle with their propensities and now enjoy a larger liberty.

Because they're divorced.

These men have come to see the error of prodigality in married life and are advocating more consistent methods in marriage relations.

This eminently logical practice is known as Pon Farr.


Unbridled Liberty.

A very decided majority hold to unchecked privilege as frequently as they wish.

How they managed to avoid total blindness before they were married is a miracle beyond belief.

This leads to marital excess.

And believe me, 13 months later, when you're having to diaper marital excess at 2 in the morning? You'll regret your lapse.

Multiplied thousands of married women owe their wretched health and miserable existence to their husband's views of sexual liberty.

Damn you, constitutionally mandated Pursuit of Happiness! Damn you to Hell!

At the close of one of our lectures in a city a man said: "If I could recall fifteen years and start over married life again, possessing the information I have gained from your three lectures, I would gladly present you with $100,000 and begin married life over again without a dollar."

Because he would have married someone else.

We asked him for an explanation.

Because we feared what he would do if we did not.

His reply was: "Fifteen years ago I was married to a beautiful, sweet and healthy woman.

15 years later, and she's a hag. What's up with that?

I was ignorant; I knew nothing of intelligent self-control.

That explains all the public masturbation arrests.

I understood that marriage meant liberty.

Once you read the Bill of Rights to a naked woman, she's yours forever.

I was very happy in my married life.

Do you smell smoke?

Wife never refused me.

Sir, I feel that I must inform you that your pants are on fire.

We had been married not more than a year when she had to take stimulating drugs.

In other words, you were dead boring.

She steadily grew more nervous and required more and more drugs.

You'd be nervous too, if you never knew when a man clad only in condiments was going to leap out of the dumbwaiter and have his way with you.

When we had been married only five years my wife was an invalid.

Well, playing Colonel Mustard's School of Discipline every single night of the week is bound to take it out of a girl.

My doctor said to me one day, 'You must let your wife travel for six months or a year,or you will have to put her in a graveyard in less than a year.'

This sounds less like an explanation and more like bragging with every passing second.

I had money.

Yup, Definitely bragging

I could trust the business with one of my men.

Arthur was his name. Arthur Anderson.

I could take a year off and travel with my wife.

Of course, I'd already been Around the World with her hundreds of times.

I did not know that the doctor was trying to get my wife away from me so she could have sexual rest.

Or, as Marvin Gaye didn't say

Ooh, now let's not get down tonight.
Baby I'm hot just like an oven
But you don't need no lovin'!
So baby, I'll have to hold it longer.
It's getting stronger and stronger
And when I get that feeling,
You need Sexual Healing.
Sexual Healing, oh baby,
Makes you feel so fine,
Helps to relieve thy mind
Sexual Healing baby, is good for thee.
Sexual Healing is something that's good for thee.
Whenever blue tear drops are falling,
And my emotional stability is leaving me.
There is something I can do.
I can get on the telephone and call you up baby, and
Honey I know you'll be there to not relieve me!
The love you won't give to me will free thee.
If you don't know the things you're dealing,
I can tell you, darling, that it's Sexual Healing.
Don't Get up, Get up, Get up, Get up, let's not make love tonight!
Please don't Wake up, Wake up, Wake up, Wake up, so we'll not do it right


We traveled for six months.

We joined the Mile High Club!

We visited the principal palaces of scenery, pleasure and recreation.

Sodom, Gomorrah, and Paris!

I had specialists treat her. I continued my demands.

Until I ran out of Grey Poupon.

She grew steadily worse.

As she proved allergic to horseradish.

We returned home.

To our house, and its gigantic condiment pantry.

A few months passed by and I placed my wife in a graveyard.

I shall never forget our last night together; myself smoking a post-coital cigar, her lying stiff and cold and yellow in her coffin.

I see it all now.

Because of my extensive photography collection. Would you like to see it? Nudge Nudge, wink wink!

I slowly murdered my own wife by robbing her of her vitality."

The police called it......spermicide.

This false idea of personal liberty is responsible for over child-bearing.

Not to mention most Catholics.

It takes some three years for a woman to entirely recover from the sacrifice of the preceding maternity.

Or so his wife tells him.

Many a mother's life is one of unceasing service for a big family of children.

And they're all a lot of ungrateful snot-nosed bastards, the lot of them. Just ask my mother.

No time for mental improvement, rest, and pleasure.

Due to the horrible Calgon shortage experienced by the United States in the first quarter of the 20th century.

This is not right.

At this point Republicans nod their heads, Libertarians shrug their shoulders and Democrats pass a law.

Large families are rarely advisable today.

One must do what one can to keep the Irish down, certainly.

Children must be better clothed and educated.

If not, then in the very near future American schoolchildren will graduate elementary school knowing neither Algebra or Latin, and our society will collapse into barbarism.

It costs three or four times as much to support a family today as it did years ago.

Thank the Lord that the little sots may be ably employed in steel-making or some other industrial business.

If men follow their unnatural desire, some artificial or unnatural method will likely be used to prevent conception.

Thus the saying "A blowjob a day keeps the babies away!"

All of these methods are not only to some degree injurious, but they lead to greater excesses.

These were in the days before French tickler technology had come of age.

It is estimated by medical men that there are some 400,000 wives who annually go to medical men for advice and treatment after they have committed abortion, and that if this large number require medical attention, there must be 100,000 women who succeed without medical advice and treatment. This means that a half million unwelcomed children are deliberately murdered annually in America before they see the light of day.

These estimates courtesy of the American Coathanger Association.

Why this awful crime of feticide or prenatal murder? Lack of sexual control in married life, usually on the part of the husband, is the principal explanation.

Husbands cause abortions. Better not to get married at all, really.

Certainly a theory of marital relations responsible for the foregoing conditions can not be physically, socially scientifically or morally right

Which is why yours has been forgotten, my good man.

Next: For Procreation Only, Restricted Relations, and Rights of the Mother and Child


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Study: Coffee Makes Women Smarter

No wonder the Mormon church bans it.


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10/31/2002




Oh, For the Love of God........or Something

The Boy Scouts are once again making national news, and it isn't because they have constructed a working draw bridge out of balsa wood and paper clips. It is because they are once again trying to ban someone who does not adhere to their beliefs. The story being reported now is that a young man, 19 years of age, has been given a little time to reflect and determine if he believes in something bigger than ourselves. The argument is that the membership application requires Boy Scouts and leaders to say they recognize some higher power. Unfortunately for this kid, he appears to be an atheist and may not meet this requirement.

The loophole here is that the Boy Scouts are not requiring him to say that he believes in the Christian version of God that so many adhere to, but that simply stating a belief in Mother Nature would meet the requirements. This may be the lamest thing I have ever heard. The requirement is ridiculous and should be abolished. A belief in something bigger than ourselves should not a requirement for helping others or starting a fire with pine straw and bear dung. The argument most likely started because the kid has said he is an atheist and this rubbed someone with strong religious convictions to balk. Now, the powers that be are trying to get him to state a belief in something bigger just to appease all sides.

If I were him I would screw up the whole thing by appearing next week and saying, "I believe in the power of mayonnaise," or "I believe in a higher power, and that power comes from my crotch." According to the application, these statements would technically fit the requirement. Then we would realize that this is really about some young guy who isn't fitting the mold of what the larger society would like for him to be. He seems like a perfectly decent, honorable, young person, except for the fact that he may not pray to the God that you do, or attend church on Sundays. Give him his honors and move on, his character and abilities should be the tests he has to pass, not his belief in a higher power. File this one under "RIDICULOUS."


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Train Wreck Avoided

As mentioned in a previous post, there are just too damn many reality programs. In my prayers each night for the next year I will say, "Thank you," for not having to sit through Liza's reality show. It would be frightening to think that this potentially could have been worse than watching Anna Nicole eat ice cream and whine. TV viewers can now let out a collective, "WHEW!!!"


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Just in Time for Christmas

Announcer: From Russia with love, It's the new game all the kids are playing! Yes, It's Mystery Gas!

Jingle: Open the door, for your Mystery Gas!

Announcer: "When you open the door, will your Mystery Gas be a dream. . .

Girls: (gasp, sigh)

Announcer: Or a dud?

Girls: Oh!

Announcer: Yes, We've updated the classic 50's game for a new generation! What with all the bed-swapping and gender-confusion going on, not to mention all the rich geeks, Mystery Date seemed just a little passe. Now you too can rescue hostages, but be careful! Use the wrong gas and Islamic warriors will shoot your mom and baby sister right in the face!

Amy: I've got aerosolized Fentanyl!

Julie: I've got BZ!

Heather: I've got Phenothiazine!

Agatha: I've got......methane. Goddammit. (shots fire in background)

Heather: You stink and your Mom is dead. Agatha bursts into tears and runs from the room.

Jingle: Open the door, for your Mystery Gas!

Announcer: Comes complete with New York Times Headline maker for stories you can print yourself about your daring rescues! Caution, this 10 point headline kit comes with only the following nouns "captors", "separatists", "freedom-fighters", "rebels", "innocents" and "peacewarriors". "Terrorist" not included.


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Jam Master Jay Shot Dead

A few more shootings, and CAIR can start referring to hip-hop as the "music of peace."


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North Korea Honors Cannabis Constipation Cure

That has got to be the most unfortunate place to have the munchies on the entire planet.


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I got this in my e-mail today. The provenance is unknown, but it can be found here. It's also probably old, but it was new to me.

After getting nailed by a Daisy Cutter, Osama made his way to the pearly gates. There, he is greeted by George Washington. "How dare you attack the nation I helped conceive!" yells Mr. Washington, slapping Osama in the face.

Patrick Henry comes up from behind. "You wanted to end the Americans' liberty, so they gave you death!" Henry punches Osama on the nose.

James Madison comes up next, and says "This is why I allowed the Federal government to provide for the common defense!" He drops a large weight on Osama's knee.

Osama is subject to similar beatings from John Randolph of Roanoke, James Monroe, and 65 other people who have the same love for liberty and America.

As he writhes on the ground, Thomas Jefferson picks him up to hurl him back toward the gate where he is to be judged.

As Osama awaits his journey to his final very hot destination, he screams "This is not what I was promised!"

An angel replies "I told you there would be 72 Virginians waiting for you, Dumb Ass. What did you think I said?"


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Ve haff vays of makink you vake.

A German schoolgirl has invented a "merciless bed" to ensure that sleepyheads get up in the morning.

Is anyone surprised in the least that this was invented by a German? "Der colt floor is gut for you, ja? Now, join me at the Kippleheimershlagiwikshtuppledorfingstat so that ve may be protestink the Americans!"

Not to be outdone, schoolchildren from all over the world have rushed to invent beds that express their particular country's weltanschauung*

French beds that kick you out if you've bathed in the last day or have come to bed alone. Each morning a robotic arm rips the sheets off and hangs them out the window, on the off chance that an invasion has occurred. "Don't be the last on your block to surrender!"

English beds that come prestocked with crumbs, fag ends and the smell of day old beer farts. Comes with optional blocks of ice for that Scottish bed and breakfast feel.

Cypriot beds, divided down the middle, with your choice of a greased Turk or an ouzo swilling Greek to occupy the other half. Both snore, and only they can tell the differences between them.

Swedish beds with multiple camera mount points, from which it is possible to film every inch of the bed from a 360 degree angle. They are constantly occupied, and you have to sleep on the floor.

Finnish beds: a string, a pulley, and a shotgun.

Italian beds that will not let their occupants arise until they are at least an hour late. Now with precut horse's head for the Sicilian trade.

Austrian beds: Just like the German beds, except they play a sprightly tune as they dump you out into the cold cruel world.

Typical Russian Beds: Lumpy, but with multiple cupholders that will hold an entire bottle of vodka each.

Capitalist Russian Beds: No longer lumpy, and occupied by a illegal Romanian prostitute who will pour your vodka for you. Only criminals can afford this bed.

Spanish Beds that will kick you out five minutes before her duenna walks in. Comes stocked with Pope-approved brand condoms "Now with extra holes!"

Portuguese beds: Same as the Spanish beds, but with a malfunctioning timer that only functions 5 minutes after the duenna has walked in, forcing your partner cry rape and scratch at your face in order to protect her reputation as a good Catholic.

Beds from Monaco will automatically lose your shirt for you.

Danish Beds have built in Hookahs and syringe holders.

Water Beds from the Netherlands that force you to sleep under the mattress, for that authentic Dutch experience.

Schizophrenic Belgian beds, divided between the French and the Dutch, resulting in a water bed, filled with beer, that will surrender for you.

Vatican City Beds - sold by a Priest with a gleam in his eye. Child sizes only.

And, just to show that we don't pick on Europeans specifically.

Nigerian beds come with a handy supply of rocks.


*weltanschauung - Your philosophy of life
weltanschlauung - Your penis's philosophy of life. Surprisingly, the two often differ.


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10/30/2002




Saddam the democrat

Who is more democratic, Saddam Hussein or the anti-war protestors? Saddam's ballot's at least offered you a choice, "Yes or No". Contrast that with the "referendum" page at VoteNoWar.org, which offers you one and one choice only, in direct contrast to their stated philosophy;

The People's Anti-War Referendum is a component of an ongoing campaign against war and racism and in support of grassroots democracy (emphasis mine), including teach-ins, conferences, local and regional events.

Not that it's surprising, but there could hardly be a more shining example of what the Old Left actually thinks of democracy. It's fine as long as you vote the way they tell you to. They won't put up an on-line poll, because they'll lose. They could blame their loss on thousands of Freepers pressing the buttons multiple times, but it would still be a loss. Interesting that the Old Left cannot somehow come up with the thousands of peaceniks necessary to stack the poll in their favor, or at least produce an equal number of obsessive clicks for thier side.

You can send a vote in opposition to referendum@votenowar.org, I suppose, but one of two things will happen. One, they'll ignore it. After all they're not interested in a democratic process, which means that the only number they'll pay any attention to is the anti-war vote count, even if 10 million people send in emails voting against them. Two, if they actually do get an avalanche of e-mail, they will claim they've been hacked.

Note also the lack of accountability on the site. There's no actual way for a third party to either to count the number of visitors to the page or to see the number of votes. No matter what flimsy ass number the people in charge of the site come up with, there will be no way of checking it against actual truth, and the news media will swallow that number whole. I've got a pretty good feeling what the final number will be, as well. Even though the site has only been up since Oct. 19th, they've let you know that a mere $50,000 can purchase a full page ad in the New York Times to publicize the millions (again, emphasis mine) who sign the VoteNoWar.org referendum.


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Carnival of the Vanities #6

I made a bouillabaisse tonight from some of the fish I brought home, though it lacked saffron...and I added rice. So what I really made was gumbo, except that it didn't have any okra. Okay, call it Mulligan Stew, see if I care.

Maybe I should just call it free-writing on the stovetop, and leave it at that. Most of the things I enjoy the most end up in the same basic category. I throw a bunch of things in the pot and turn up the heat. I pick out the bits I like later and call it a meal, or a blog post, or a relationship.

The wife doesn't particularly care for my stews, often peering into the pot or at the post with a wrinkled nose and asking in a slightly disapproving tone, "What is that?"

"That's jazz, baby," I inevitably reply. "Want some?"

And inevitably, baby don't want no jazz, which kinda lets the air out of the whole stew/jazz/melange metaphor. Baby don't like jazz, and baby don't care for metaphor. Baby is, after all, an accountant.

"Why can't you just say it's a bunch of leftover crap you threw in a pot?" is her objection.

I can't say that because that doesn't sound tasty. I can't say that because it implies that my contribution to the whole is unneeded and therefore unwanted. I can't say that because to do so would be to deny my creative nature.

I can't say that...because I added rice.

Have some jazz, dammit.

Asking The Carthaginians about Violence
The Road to Surfdom - Living With The Snipers - I was alerted to the sniper attacks by a guy at my wife's work who rang to tell me about it. "Someone is shooting people near where you live; it's all over the TV; maybe they've caught whoever did it; you shouldn't be concerned." At that moment I wasn't concerned; I was oblivious. Then I turned on the television to see what he was talking about, and three weeks later, I finally got to turn it off again.

Silent Running - Vlad The Impaler - He was a ruthless, sadistic, blood-soaked maniac, and would not have been terribly concerned about being described as such. Heck, he'd have probably grinned. Once, a delegation from the Sultan in Constantinople arrived for peace talks. When they refused to doff their turbans in his presence, he smiled and said in that case they can stay on...and had someone nail the turbans onto their skulls.

a small victory - Dear Susan Sarandon - You and your friends better start coming up with some viable alternatives besides making nice if you are going to continue your protests. I mean, rallying and marching is all well and good, but unless you have some kind of action and plan behind it (blaming the Republicans for everything does not count as a plan) then just shut your mouth, go home and take your hairy-armpit, placard wearing, thickheaded friends with you.

Bang Bang
Fragments ~ From Floyd - The Thrill of The Hunt - Reflecting back, there is only one clear memory of my father passing down the torch of knowledge, transmitting to me that one manual thing that he knew how to do, because his father never passed along anything to him but the butterbeans. I remember the day I learned everything he had to teach me. He summoned me down to our basement on the night of this memory. In a somber tone, he alluded to the fact that he would not always be around to handle male responsibilities such as this, and someday, I would be the man of the house. And, with ceremonial solemnity, he showed me how to relight the pilot on the furnace.

Citizen Net
Greeblie Blog - I Hate Popups! - I've never clicked on one of those pops, I'll never click on one of those evil things. Not even if I had crack crazed weasels feasting on my skull and the ad was for a crack weasel wrangler.

Furriners
Heretical Ideas - Goodbye Independent Chechnya - In fact, the PLO, IRA and the Chechens are textbook examples of how not to run an independence movement. The lessons to be learned by all would be secessionists from their actions are: don't target civilians, show yourself worthy of running a separate state, and try to gain the sympathy of majority of the population of the country you're seceding from.

Ipse Dixit - France Gave Iraq Biological Weapons - So they got anthrax spores from a US non-profit and from an internationally-recognized French research facility. Yet the homegrown blame-America-firsters who are so anxious for us to follow France's lead and ignore Saddam's depredations and the threat he represents never blame France for his bio-weapons program (nor, for that matter, do they mention France's strong financial ties with Saddam or the conflict of interest this creates. Funny, that).

Heart Strings and Hand Grenades
Sour Mash With A Twist - Death Of A Ringling Brothers Souvenir Flashlight - Eight years ago, my wife, then my girlfriend, took me to the circus. I have seldom had as much fun in my life.

It wasn't really the show itself, although it was quite something, I suppose. I can remember being quite pleased, emitting my fair share of "oohs" and "ahhs" and completely unabashed wild applause.

What can a fella do? Bob likes the circus.

a small victory - whose child is this? - In your mind, his life fast forwards and you see your child reaping all kinds of rewards; the honor student bumper sticker, the baseball MVP, valedictorian, employee of the month. Your mind only lets you see great things ahead for your child. You don't look into your baby's eyes and envision him growing up to be a terrorist, a murderer, a junkie.

I wonder about this as I watch the news and the cops surround a car, pulling out guns and barking orders. Someone's child is in that car. Sure, he's 41 years old now, but he is still someone's son. I imagine him as a baby, his mother cradling him in her arms, brushing his cheek with her finger and silently hoping that her son will have all the good things life has to offer.

Jack Handy Has a Posse
Philosoblog - The Melting Pot II - America was founded on liberty, but it's always had its conservative, traditionalist, virtue-pedantic side. The point of liberty is that it allows one to pursue happiness in the way most likely to yield it: the way one prefers. The problem is to determine the degree to which to constrain liberty in order to promote virtues and ways of life that are the best. For the values embraced by adults are mostly fixed. And some preferences are better suited to human nature than others. It is good for everyone to fulfill his preferences, for this is the only chance he has for happiness.

Media Bash
skippy the bush kangaroo - pinin' for the fjords? - ok, ok, you say, but after a year and a half hasn't the op-ed metaphor-stealing statute of limitations run out? perhaps. but gee whiz, it's not like mr. krugman would have had to go very far to find another, even better surreal british sketch comedy group metaphor to make his point:

Opiating The Masses
Shark Blog - Being Fair To Islam - I assure you that I have no ill-will against Islam in particular, and in fact, I am an equal-opportunity critic of senseless murder in the name of religion. So you just watch the next time a group of fanatical Buddhists, for example (and not to single anybody out), kill a bunch of innocent civilians in the hope of achieving Nirvana. You can bet your bottom Dalai that I will write something snide about the crime, e.g. "Religion of Enlightenment strikes again".

Poli Sci
Ravenwood's Universe - Mr. Ravenwood goes to Washington - I enjoy my privacy, and peeking over the walls of my compound might get you some buckshot in the face.

Dustbury.Com - Donkeys and Jackasses - Sometimes I think that if I were, oh, a transgendered African-American who writes antiwar tracts for The Nation and runs an abortion clinic on the side, I could probably get DNC chair Terry McAuliffe to drive me to work every day.

The Kitchen Cabinet - Environmental Fantasyland - Jack Dafoe, a junior at Yale College, does a serendipitous good job at addressing my point about the fantasy world of environmentalism where individuals could make a difference by doing small things.

See You On The Funny Pages
Clubbeaux - Exxon's Payphone - Well, it appears the serial sniper did use the pay phone at the West Broad Street Exxon station in Richmond to make a call, but was long gone by the time police arrived to take down two illegal Mexicans in their white van using the same phone. You have to understand Richmond to fully appreciate this, so I've enlisted local folksinger Arlo Lee Guthrie to explain...

IMAO - Usually It's the One with the Gun Who Gets to Ask the Questions - American Polltaker: I wish to ask you some questions about guns.

Frenchman: Ahh! Guns! Do not hurt me, American! Paris is yours!

Solonor's Ink Well - Earl Vickers: Supra-Genius - I was sitting at my desk today, mindlessly whacking Ichiro Suzuki upside the head, when I thought I'd see what other millionaire baseball players I could get to take out my frustrations upon.

Sour Mash With A Twist - Shirley Temple, Roy Rogers, And The Road To Oblivion - Everyone was drunk at our wedding. Even the kids. Maybe even especially the kids.

Amish Tech Support - War of the Worlds - The aliens invade, they head towards New York. Howard starts by getting them in the studio to show off their breasts. Martians, lacking mammalian characteristics and being egg-laying creatures, are confused by request. Howard further mocks them when they say they lack external genitalia. Only after vaporizing Robin they are all soundly repulsed by the antics of Fartman.

Working for the Man
Kalyr.com - Corporate Crud - Back in the Elder Days when Men were Men and beer was one-and-six a pint, "Human Resources" was called "Personnel", implying that employees were actually people, rather than numbers in a spreadsheet.

The Carnival of the Vanities is published every Wednesday at Silflay Hraka and Blog Critics. Information on how to join the Carnival is available here, and all are welcome.


Postscript: First time visitor to House Hraka? Wondering if everything we produce could possibly be as brilliant/stupid/evil/pedantic/insipid/inspired as the post you just read? Check out the Hraka Essentials, the (mostly) reader-selected guide to Hraka's best posts, and decide for yourself. Also, you're currently at the old site. Fresh Hraka is posted every day at our current location.

10/29/2002




Fishing Report

I seem to have an hour or two free, finally, though that won't last once I get home. I have to say that of all the things I missed while out on the beach, blogging wasn't one of them. I can't say that I was very surprised at that. The actual act of post creation seemed increasingly onerous the week or two before I left. At the time I blamed it on the drudgery of creating both daily posts and future posts, though when it came down to the "Blogging for the future" stuff was way more enjoyable. My problem lies in the fact that I tend to grasp at some formula as a panacea for whatever problem I feel that the blog is having at the moment. Lack of content? Two posts a day, one about the war or politics, and one about something else. Lack of outgoing Links? Carnival of the Vanities. After a while it stops feeling organic, and I switch to some other formula. I'm going to to try to abandon that, see if I can get back into the space I was using when I initially started . I'm thinking of ripping out comments and traffic tracking, and I spend way too much with those each day, and they don't really add that much.

Enough of that. Here's the fishing report, like you care anymore about it than you would about my various ways around blog block.

I went down on Monday, after an hour or two of walking around the house looking for stuff that might come in handy. After packing my third bottle opener I decided that if I hung around the house any longer I would end up stuffing the entire house into the Explorer. The trip down was uneventful, chiefly characterized by my panicked speeding in the last half- hour of the trip, as I attempted to stuff 45 miles of two lane country highway into 30 minutes. (I ended up stuffing it into 38 minutes, which was good enough to save my ferry reservation). Note to self; Durham to Cedar Island is a minimum 4 hour trip, even if you do know the back ways. Once I was actually on the Island, I spent another half hour trying to find the house. Even though I actually turned down the road to it more than once, each time I looked at the vista before me and decided that there was absolutely no way this could be the correct route, even though that is what the map insisted. This experience was replicated by every one of the 11 of us who eventually showed up. Had someone physically decided to hide the house, they could not have done a better job. It was the combination of the actual road condition (extremely rutted), an the optical illusion of it ending it front of a much newer house than the one we were staying in.

The Soundfront Inn itself is....huge, and made entirely out of wood that looks likely to burst into flames at any second. Literally the first thing I did was test the fire alarms, before I unpacked, before I even opened a beer, if you can believe that. I was calculating escape routes in the event of fire from the moment I walked in. I shouldn't speak too ill of the house, though. I calculate escape routes everywhere. I don't remember whether to blame this on being a parent or on 9/11, but I still do it. My other big occupation on Ocracoke was how to escape a tidal wave should one come along, and I revised my plans 5 or 6 times a day depending on my location.

So it was a tinderbox, but with alarms at least, and you could see the light house from the back yard. Hell, I coulda thrown a rock and hit the lighthouse. And it was huge, and cheap, if a bit architecturally upsetting. It appeared as if there were, at a minimum, four separate additions to the original house, none of which were intended to be anything other than functional. I was finding new rooms two days after I arrived. Wouldn't want to stay there in the summer, though, or with women. No heat or air conditioning, and the mosquitos were everywhere outside. The first few minutes of any trip out were spent killing them in the car, and the ruts in the road got larger and wetter with ever passing day. It's not a place to stay at if you have bug issues, or do not possess a 4WD.

That said, it was a palatial well-appointed mansion compared to what we were used to from previous trips. I'll probably book it for next year.

Update: That does say "Fishing Report" up at the top, doesn't it? Well, Monday they were fishing the Sound when I arrived, as surf-casting into the ocean had been less than productive. It was that way all week for us. We eventually discovered the inlet at the south of the island, and caught the vast majority of our fish there. Not much was pulled out sound side Monday, though we did catch a few undersized red drum, some pinfish and one enormous eel.


Postscript: First time visitor to House Hraka? Wondering if everything we produce could possibly be as brilliant/stupid/evil/pedantic/insipid/inspired as the post you just read? Check out the Hraka Essentials, the (mostly) reader-selected guide to Hraka's best posts, and decide for yourself. Also, you're currently at the old site. Fresh Hraka is posted every day at our current location.




Cat Fight - Meowwwwwwww!!!!

Professional basketball players are not boxers as evidenced by Rick Fox at a recent Lakers vs. Kings game. As described in this article, Fox attempted to hit Doug Christie with an open palm.......okay, he tried to bitch slap the guy. Men should not bitch slap each other, something that Christie is apparently more aware of, based on the fact that he tagged Fox immediately following the slap. To make matters worse for Fox, he then waited for Christie to enter the hallway to the locker rooms, where he put the guy into a headlock. What's next, the windmill attack? The close your eyes and twirl approach? Being an athlete is no guarantee that you can fight.

Christie had his problems as well. Apparently his wife joined into the fight, to which Fox replied, "I guess she thought he needed the help." I'm not sure who won this catfight, but I'm looking forward to the next one.


Postscript: First time visitor to House Hraka? Wondering if everything we produce could possibly be as brilliant/stupid/evil/pedantic/insipid/inspired as the post you just read? Check out the Hraka Essentials, the (mostly) reader-selected guide to Hraka's best posts, and decide for yourself. Also, you're currently at the old site. Fresh Hraka is posted every day at our current location.

10/28/2002




Ok, I'm back, though it might be a day or two before I clear out enough time to get back to regular blogging. The Carnival goes out on Wednesday as usual, but I'm not sending out the email notifications, I just don't have the time yet. In the meantime, you can see one of my fish here.


Postscript: First time visitor to House Hraka? Wondering if everything we produce could possibly be as brilliant/stupid/evil/pedantic/insipid/inspired as the post you just read? Check out the Hraka Essentials, the (mostly) reader-selected guide to Hraka's best posts, and decide for yourself. Also, you're currently at the old site. Fresh Hraka is posted every day at our current location.




To Bomb or Not to Bomb?

Here is a link which gives more food for thought on the Iraq issue. It is an article by Stephen Zunes, who is the Middle East editor of Foreign Policy in Focus. It is 8 pages long, but makes for interesting reading.


Postscript: First time visitor to House Hraka? Wondering if everything we produce could possibly be as brilliant/stupid/evil/pedantic/insipid/inspired as the post you just read? Check out the Hraka Essentials, the (mostly) reader-selected guide to Hraka's best posts, and decide for yourself. Also, you're currently at the old site. Fresh Hraka is posted every day at our current location.




Covering Kremlin Asses

Going along with my post from yesterday, I am not questioning whether or not the Russians should have stormed the theater in an effort to save as many hostages as possible. It is highly likely that those hostage takers had no intent of allowing anyone to leave that place alive, but the more that is reported on this story, the more secretive it seems to become. Again, the following was found on an AOL news site:

MOSCOW (Oct. 28) - Russia on Monday mourned those who died when troops stormed a theater seized by Chechen gunmen, but the Kremlin was criticized for the gas it used to disable the rebels and which killed more than 100 of their captives.

The government has so far refused to name the gas which special troops used to knock out the rebels on Saturday morning before they could detonate explosives strapped to their bodies in the Moscow theater they seized three days earlier.


No, they may not have had other options, and the loss of life is unfortunate, but keeping secrets is not going to make Russian citizens feel any more comfortable with who is in charge. If an accident occurred, then admit mistakes and let's move on. But what if the government used a poisenous gas in the theater, being well aware of the potential consequences? We are about to bomb Saddam who has used chemical weapons on his own people, are the Russians now guilty of the same thing?

I just threw that in there for all of you to tell me how the two are not similar, but it does appear that something went horribly wrong, and not revealing what gas was used seems to indicate that someone is trying hard to cover their asses. Thank God it isn't us this time.


Postscript: First time visitor to House Hraka? Wondering if everything we produce could possibly be as brilliant/stupid/evil/pedantic/insipid/inspired as the post you just read? Check out the Hraka Essentials, the (mostly) reader-selected guide to Hraka's best posts, and decide for yourself. Also, you're currently at the old site. Fresh Hraka is posted every day at our current location.

10/27/2002




Rescue????

The rescue in Russia was not as successful as we all were hoping. The latest story coming out of there makes Ruby Ridge look like a smudge on the paper.
Found this on AOL:


MOSCOW (Oct. 27) - Moscow's chief physician said Sunday that all but one of the 117 hostages who died during an operation to free hundreds of captives from a city theater were killed by the effects of gas used to subdue their captors.

The Interfax news agency quoted Andrei Seltsovsky as saying that one person died from bullet wounds during Saturday's assault. It was the first time that a Russian official identified the cause of death of most of the victims.


I can imagine that the community relations in Russia is going to be a nightmare after this, but what choices did they have? I hate that they will be questioned for a long time to come after this, but that is the nature of the job, I guess. Unfortunately, our government has had to deal with this before as well.


Postscript: First time visitor to House Hraka? Wondering if everything we produce could possibly be as brilliant/stupid/evil/pedantic/insipid/inspired as the post you just read? Check out the Hraka Essentials, the (mostly) reader-selected guide to Hraka's best posts, and decide for yourself. Also, you're currently at the old site. Fresh Hraka is posted every day at our current location.

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