Category Archives: Open Trackbacks

Happy Constitution Day Open Trackbacks

Celebrate it!

Go and read it again.

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Trackposted to third world county, Right Truth, Walls of the City, The World According to Carl, The Pink Flamingo, , Cao’s Blog, Leaning Straight Up, WingLeSS, Democrat=Socialist, and Conservative Cat, thanks to Linkfest Haven Deluxe.

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Obama we can Obama in: Open Trackbacks

What a hoot!

h/t: Liberal Fascism
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Trackposted to Right Truth, Stuck On Stupid, Cao’s Blog, Big Dog’s Weblog, Leaning Straight Up, Democrat=Socialist, nuke gingrich, third world county, Woman Honor Thyself, McCain Blogs, The World According to Carl, , Pirate’s Cove, The Pink Flamingo, CORSARI D’ITALIA, and Right Voices, thanks to Linkfest Haven Deluxe.

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Clay Aiken and Turkey Baster are gonna be a Dad Open Trackbacks

Suspicions confounded! The news about Clay Aiken impregnating the 50-year-old sister of music producer David Foster (with the sexually ambiguous name of Jaymes) is intriguing not because of the happy announcement, but because of what everybody suspects about Aiken. In any case, I wish Aiken and Foster and their turkey baster all the best luck and blessings in the world. Even if he doesn’t intend to act as a father now, in time, I think Aiken will learn to relish the role.

Open Trackbacks!
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Trackposted to Outside the Beltway, Rosemary’s Thoughts, third world county, McCain Blogs, 123beta, Right Truth, Pirate’s Cove, The Pink Flamingo, Leaning Straight Up, Cao’s Blog, The Amboy Times, Gulf Coast Hurricane Tracker, Democrat=Socialist, Conservative Cat, Right Voices, and The Yankee Sailor, thanks to Linkfest Haven Deluxe.

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The Farm of the Future runs on Mule Power Open Trackbacks

Open Trackbacks. Down in Tennessee, T. R. Raymond is leaving the tractor in the barn and hitching up the tractor rake to a couple of mules to bring in the hay.

“This fuel’s so high, you can’t afford it,” he said. “We can feed these mules cheaper than we can buy fuel. That’s the truth.”

And Danny Raymond says he just likes using the mules around the farm.

“We’ve been using them quite a bit,” he said.

Brother Robert Raymond added, “It’s the way of the future.”

It’s the way of the future.

I’m just saying!

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Trackposted to Outside the Beltway, The Virtuous Republic, Rosemary’s Thoughts, third world county, Faultline USA, Right Truth, The World According to Carl, The Pink Flamingo, Cao’s Blog, CORSARI D’ITALIA, , Dumb Ox Daily News, Right Voices, and The Yankee Sailor, thanks to Linkfest Haven Deluxe.

Mayday Poem and Open Trackbacks

Open Trackbacks. The stealth communist holiday of Mayday deserves a poem that exposes the rotten, hollow heart of Russian Communism and the mass murder and tyranny that beat at the heart of the Mayday celebration.

Here is a good poem. “The Ballad of Lenin’s Tomb” by Robert W. Service from Bar-Room Ballads.

This is the yarn he told me
As we sat in Casey’s Bar,
That Rooshun mug who scrammed from the jug
In the Land of the Crimson Star;
That Soveet guy with the single eye,
And the face like a flaming scar.

Where Lenin lies the red flag flies, and the rat-grey workers wait
To tread the gloom of Lenin’s Tomb, where the Comrade lies in state.
With lagging pace they scan his face, so weary yet so firm;
For years a score they’ve laboured sore to save him from the worm.
The Kremlin walls are grimly grey, but Lenin’s Tomb is red,
And pilgrims from the Sour Lands say: “He sleeps and is not dead.”
Before their eyes in peace he lies, a symbol and a sign,
And as they pass that dome of glass they see – a God Divine.
So Doctors plug him full of dope, for if he drops to dust,
So will collapse their faith and hope, the whole combine will bust.
But say, Tovarich; hark to me . . . a secret I’ll disclose,
For I did see what none did see; I know what no one knows.

I was a Cheka terrorist – Oh I served the Soviets well,
Till they put me down on the bone-yard list, for the fear that I might tell;
That I might tell the thing I saw, and that only I did see,
They held me in quod with a firing squad to make a corpse of me.
But I got away, and here to-day I’m telling my tale to you;
Though it may sound weird, by Lenin’s beard, so help me God it’s true.
I slouched across that great Red Square, and watched the waiting line.
The mongrel sons of Marx were there, convened to Lenin’s shrine;
Ten thousand men of Muscovy, Mongol and Turkoman,
Black-bonnets of the Aral Sea and Tatars of Kazan.
Kalmuck and Bashkir, Lett and Finn, Georgian, Jew and Lapp,
Kirghiz and Kazakh, crowding in to gaze at Lenin’s map.
Aye, though a score of years had run I saw them pause and pray,
As mourners at the Tomb of one who died but yesterday.
I watched them in a bleary daze of bitterness and pain,
For oh, I missed the cheery blaze of vodka in my brain.
I stared, my eyes were hypnotized by that saturnine host,
When with a start that shook my heart I saw – I saw a ghost.
As in foggèd glass I saw him pass, and peer at me and grin –
A man I knew, a man I slew, Prince Boris Mazarin.

Now do not think because I drink I love the flowing bowl;
But liquor kills remorse and stills the anguish of the soul.
And there’s so much I would forget, stark horrors I have seen,
Faces and forms that haunt me yet, like shadows on a screen.
And of theses sights that mar my nights the ghastliest by far
Is the death of Boris Mazarin, that soldier of the Czar.

A mighty nobleman was he; we took him by surprise;
His mother, son and daughters three we slew before his eyes.
We tortured him, with jibes and threats; then mad for glut of gore,
Upon our reeking bayonets we nailed him to the door.
But he defied us to the last, crying: “O carrion crew!
I’d die with joy could I destroy a hundred dogs like you.”
I thrust my sword into his throat; the blade was gay with blood;
We flung him to his castle moat, and stamped him in its mud.
That mighty Cossack of the Don was dead with all his race….
And now I saw him coming on, dire vengeance in his face.
(Or was it some fantastic dream of my besotted brain?)
He looked at me with eyes a-gleam, the man whom I had slain.
He looked and bade me follow him; I could not help but go;
I joined the throng that passed along, so sorrowful and slow.
I followed with a sense of doom that shadow gaunt and grim;
Into the bowels of the Tomb I followed, followed him.

The light within was weird and dim, and icy cold the air;
My brow was wet with bitter sweat, I stumbled on the stair.
I tried to cry; my throat was dry; I sought to grip his arm;
For well I knew this man I slew was there to do us harm.
Lo! he was walking by my side, his fingers clutched my own,
This man I knew so well had died, his hand was naked bone.
His face was like a skull, his eyes were caverns of decay . . .
And so we came to the crystal frame where lonely Lenin lay.

Without a sound we shuffled round. I sought to make a sign,
But like a vice his hand of ice was biting into mine.
With leaden pace around the place where Lenin lies at rest,
We slouched, I saw his bony claw go fumbling to his breast.
With ghastly grin he groped within, and tore his robe apart,
And from the hollow of his ribs he drew his blackened heart. . . .
Ah no! Oh God! A bomb, a BOMB! And as I shrieked with dread,
With fiendish cry he raised it high, and . . . swung at Lenin’s head.
Oh I was blinded by the flash and deafened by the roar,
And in a mess of bloody mash I wallowed on the floor.
Then Alps of darkness on me fell, and when I saw again
The leprous light ’twas in a cell, and I was racked with pain;
And ringèd around by shapes of gloom, who hoped that I would die;
For of the crowd that crammed the Tomb the sole to live was I.
They told me I had dreamed a dream that must not be revealed,
But by their eyes of evil gleam I knew my doom was sealed.

I need not tell how from my cell in Lubianka gaol,
I broke away, but listen, here’s the point of all my tale. . . .
Outside the “Gay Pay Oo” none knew of that grim scene of gore;
They closed the Tomb, and they they threw it open as before.
And there was Lenin, stiff and still, a symbol and a sign,
And rancid races come to thrill and wonder at his Shrine;
And hold the thought: if Lenin rot the Soviets will decay;
And there he sleeps and calm he keeps his watch and ward for aye.
Yet if you pass that fram of glass, peer closly at his phiz,
So stern and firm it mocks the worm, it looks like wax . . . and is.
They tell you he’s a mummy – don’t you make that bright mistake:
I tell you – he’s a dummy; aye, a fiction and a fake.
This eye beheld the bloody bomb that bashed him on the bean.
I heard the crash, I saw the flash, yet . . . there he lies serene.
And by the roar that rocked the Tomb I ask: how could that be?
But if you doubt that deed of doom, just go yourself and see.
You think I’m mad, or drunk, or both . . . Well, I don’t care a damn:
I tell you this: their Lenin is a waxen, show-case SHAM.

Such was the yarn he handed me,
Down there in Casey’s Bar,
That Rooshun bug with the scrambled mug
From the land of the Commissar.
It may be true, I leave it you
To figger out how far.

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Fame Behind Bars Open Post and Trackback

Ever feel trapped? Buried under a world of problems? Conspired against by everyone? Locked behind bars? Separated from the opposite sex? Unable to speak with your family? Was it ever so bad that Laura Branigan became your lifeline?

I didn’t think so. Me neither. Must have been two other guys.

This is an open post and trackback. Hold forth on any topic you like.

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Trackposted to Outside the Beltway, The Virtuous Republic, Rosemary’s Thoughts, Adam’s Blog, Right Truth, Cao’s Blog, Conservative Cat, Adeline and Hazel, D equals S, Diary of the Mad Pigeon, third world county, Woman Honor Thyself, Pirate’s Cove, The Pink Flamingo, Dumb Ox Daily News, A Newt One- Don’t miss this show!, and The Yankee Sailor, thanks to Linkfest Haven Deluxe.

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Fitna Weekend Open Trackbacks

Fitna and Open Trackbacks

Geert Wilders was able to get Liveleak to release Fitna today, on a Friday. But about 12 hours after it was released, due to the British media irresponsibly publishing details about the owners of and workers at Liveleak the company was scared into taking Fitna down. The video is mild stuff, by the standards of the Jihadist snuff films that are available on Liveleak every day (that Liveleak will not take down no matter how many people complain about their hosting propaganda for murderers in a death cult). Yet let the complaints turn into death threats and Liveleak folds like a cheap suit.

The prospect of imminent death does tend to focus the mind.

This is the message of Fitna, underlined by the pre-emptive, instant rage. The movie’s message, heard directly from the mouths of Moslem imams and sheikhs, is that the idolaters of Jihad intend to murder and kill all the non-Moslems they can, then to impose humiliating taxes and oppressions on everyone left until all other religions fall away and only Islam is left. That this would reverse two thousand years of history and lead to world-wide economic collapse, increased desertification everywhere, and world-wide famine and plagues does not concern the idolaters of Jihad.

The idolaters, the Jihadists, the Assassins, the new Barbary Pirates, worship not God but the Devil. They venture out under the black pirate flag of Jihad to terrorize the world. They prove the existence of Hell, because the extent of their Evil demands eternal punishment and there must be a place they can suffer from eternal damnation.

If you haven’t been able to see the movie you haven’t missed too much. You have seen the tragic theater around it that proves its point. If you’d like to see it anyway, try Jawa, Hot Air, Pat Dollard, or Jihad Watch. Or search on Bit Torrent for “fitna”. I’m sure it will show up every once in a while, be taken down, and then pop up again.

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Trackposted to Rosemary’s Thoughts, third world county, Nuke Gingrich, McCain Blogs, Adam’s Blog, The World According to Carl, Pirate’s Cove, The Pink Flamingo, Cao’s Blog, The Amboy Times, , Rant It Up, The Yankee Sailor, and D equals S, thanks to Linkfest Haven Deluxe.

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