Once, when the Butcher shaved his head, he was beat up by four black guys outside a movie theater. One wonders how many skinheads run around in Grateful Dead t-shirts, but one cannot blame folks for taking the opportunity to kick the shit out of an apparent white supremacist.
Now, the Butcher has a mohawk.
A big bushy moustache, a goatee, and a mohawk.
I can’t help but wonder who will jump him this time.
Okay, I think I have the blog roll reproduced. But if you see that you’ve been left off, let me know. You have a week to complain.
After that, if you want on my blog roll, you have to make out with me.
Dorothy W. has flattered my pants right off. Yep, I’m sitting here in my underwear just blushing away.
Then I realized, it’s Aunt B. from Tiny Cat Pants I’m missing. I don’t want to read any novel right now; I want to read her latest blog entry! It’s her voice I miss! Now a blog has taken the place of the main character whose company I want to return to again and again.
Well, wow, Dorothy, thanks so much.
Shoot.
That’s really cool.
Roger Abramson and I have had our differences, to put it mildly. If he heard that a semi-truck took the I-40/I-440 curve too fast and careened into my bedroom, killing me instantly, I imagine he’d shrug and say, “Well, that’s too bad.” And, if I heard that he was carried off by a pack of coyotes, my first thought would be, “Hmm. That’s not how I thought he’d go.” I’m not a big grudge holder, but I still think I might toss my drink in his face if I ever saw him in public.
So, it pains me to tell you that he’s right. I mean, he’s often right about shit, but who cares? I don’t admit to reading him. But no, I mean, he’s currently right about something so important that I feel compelled to share it with you, even though it means giving props to Abramson.
Here it goes. Abramson says, “A Political Party is not a Football Team.”
Now, as a Republican voter I am very willing to give “Rs” more slack than “Ds” in this regard (just as, if I were a Democratic voter it would be the other way around), but it’s not some kind of “get out of jail free” card. The fella can’t just hold up his “R” jersey and expect me to cheer for him every time he comes running out of the tunnel. He’s got to show me something more than that. I’m a citizen first and a Republican second.
Amen, Brother Abramson.
To that end, I’d like to propose a moratorium on “Well, you know if Clinton were in office…” and “Clinton did blah blah blah.” And, should we survive as a democracy until 2008, and the democrats find someone electible to run for office (because, let’s be clear, folks, unless the coastal democrats see something I don’t, it could be Hillary vs. Mothra in 2008 and Mothra would win, if’n he could prove he was born in the United States) let’s just agree to stop the Bush bashing.
Don’t get me wrong. As long as he’s in office, bash away. Remind the folks who voted for him that they voted for a smirky, smarmy, jackass who’s inventing for himself an imperial presidency. But once he’s out of office, we owe it to the country to reserve our critiques of his administration to real, substantial ones.
Because, at the end of the day, we need to have a discussion, across ideologies, about what we want the powers of the president to be. Is it okay for a president to circumvent congress and the courts? If so, then doesn’t that irreparably shift the balance of power established in the constitution? Do we want that?
Do we still want to be free?
Radley Balko–yes, another libertarian–has an interesting entry about that from the other day. He says:
Advocates for liberty are increasingly facing a new challenge. Used to be that our main fight was against the ever expanding size and scope of government. But it’s fast becoming the case that half the battle is convincing people that freedom is actually a good thing in the first place. People would rather have a massive government that makes all of their decisions for them, ostensibly because they’d rather have someone other than themselves to blame when they make the wrong decisions.
Preach on, Brother Balko.
Is he right? I don’t know. I’m kind of afraid that he is. But our nation was founded on concepts of freedom and liberty and justice for all and all that nonsense that only rich white men had in 1776 and we’ve been slowly and painfully struggling to recognize for everyone else. Isn’t that still a worthy goal?
If it is, people from all across the political spectrum are going to have to decide that and we’re going to have to have some painful discussions about where we go from here and how we get there.
I woke up at three thirty this morning in a dead panic. I had this dream, this totally vivid dream that I was at a bar playing darts with Garth Brooks and, to throw my concentration off, he’d turn away from me, kind of spread his feet apart, and let his beer trickle onto the floor and every time, I’d be thinking, Oh my god, he’s peeing right here on the floor of the bar, and I’d miss my shot.
And then, I remember that I’m having a Tiny Cat Pants scavenger hunt for your kids out at the Opryland Hotel. But I can’t remember if it’s that night and I’ve missed it or the next night. So I rush over there and I find the room where we’re supposed to have the hunt, and I have missed it and instead they had to fly in some guy who tells kids about Jesus in a "fun, action-packed" way. And I’m totally embarrassed and humiliated and so I keep going back to the front desk to ask them to check again about the date, as if there’s some chance that the whole world has gotten it wrong. But no.
And, they don’t have a room for me.
So, I have to go to some chic pseudo-Japanese style boutique hotel (which doesn’t exist in real life, but maybe should) and in my room is a bunch of stuff still left from the people who had the room before me, but I’m too tired and embarrassed to call the front desk and get it moved.
And that’s when I woke up.
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Frankly, I like beer better than you. No, not better than you do. I mean, I like beer better than I like you.
Here are a number of reasons why I like beer better than you. I don’t know how many reasons there will be ahead of time, because I haven’t typed them yet. See, beer doesn’t give a shit about stuff like this. Beer doesn’t care if there’s going to be a set number of reasons. Beer’s all like, “Go ahead, B., just get it out there. Here. Let me give you a little inspiration.”
Yeah, so that’s reason one.
In fact, the only drawback to beer is that beer also makes me have to piss about every ten seconds. Really, compared to the shit y’all put me through, it’s not that big a drawback. Because, you know what I think when I’m sitting in the bathroom, peeing again?
“Gosh, I sure like beer.”
Tiny Cat Pants 