Category Archives: Open Trackbacks

Good Friday Open Post and Trackbacks

This is an open post with open trackbacks.

Suggested topic: We are the unruly mob who shouted to Pilate, “crucify him, crucify him.” Our fault is total. And yet, Jesus Christ gave his life to be taken by a horrible and torturous punishment in order to redeem the sins of all of us. All we have to do to ask God through Christ for his forgiveness, and commit ourselves to following the simplified rules for Christians: Love the Lord thy God with all thy heart; Love thy brother as thyself; Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you; and, Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.


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Friday Open Post and Trackbacks

Open Post and Trackbacks. Suggested topic: The Democrats in the House are proposing a tax increase in an election year. They say they are doing it in order to allow them to forgive the alternative minimum tax for a year. Some bargain, eh? Higher taxes forever and forgiveness for the first year!

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Spring Forward Weekend Open Post and Trackbacks

This is Spring Forward weekend. Don’t forget to turn the clocks ahead by an hour on Saturday night.

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Leap Day Weekend Open Post and Trackbacks

Open Post and Open Trackbacks on this most unique of dates, February 29.

Suggested topic: What would make you leap?

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Washington’s Birthday Friday Open Trackbacks

After you read my Washington’s Birthday post, read these other fine posts that have been tracked back here. And trackback with your own best posts.

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Beware Falling Moose Open Trackbacks

The AP reports from Anchorage Alaska.

Trooper Howard Peterson […] was driving Feb. 2 on the Seward Highway south of Anchorage when something big and black fell out of the sky about 20 feet in front of his patrol car. “Falling rock!” he thought, ready to steer clear if it bounced onto the highway.

The thing didn’t roll or shatter. It turned out to be a moose that fell from cliffs next to the highway.

Drivers often see Dall sheep on the cliffs but rarely moose. Peterson estimates the animal fell 150 feet or more.

It isn’t every day you see a falling moose. What other things don’t you see every day?

Open thread and open trackbacks.


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Over the Parapet Open Trackbacks

Send your finest trackbacks to this terrific Robert Service poem with its amusing concluding joke.

Over the Parapet
Robert W. Service

All day long when the shells sail over
I stand at the sandbags and take my chance;
But at night, at night I’m reckless rover
And over the parapet gleams Romance.
Romance! Romance! How I’ve dreamed it, writing
Dreary old records of money and mart,
Me with my head chuckful of fighting
And the blood of vikings to thrill my heart.

But little I thought that my time was coming,
Sudden and splendid, supreme and soon;
And here I am with the bullets humming
As I crawl and I curse the light of the moon.
Out alone, for adventure thirsting,
Out in mysterious No Man’s Land;
Prone with the dead when a star-shell, bursting,
Flares on the horrors on every hand.
There are ruby stars and they drip and wiggle;
And the grasses gleam in a light blood-red;
There are emerald stars, and their tails they wriggle,
And ghastly they glare on the face of the dead.
But the worst of all are the stars of whiteness,
That spill in a pool of pearly flame,
Pretty as gems in their silver brightness,
And etching a man for a bullet’s aim.

Yet oh, it’s great to be here with danger,
Here in the weird, death-pregnant dark,
In the devil’s pasture a stealthy ranger,
When the moon is decently hiding. Hark!
What was that? Was it just the shiver
Of an eerie wind or a clammy hand?
The rustle of grass, or the passing quiver
Of one of the ghosts of No Man’s Land?

It’s only at night when the ghosts awaken,
And gibber and whisper horrible things;
For to every foot of this God-forsaken
Zone of jeopard some horror clings.
Ugh! What was that? It felt like a jelly,
That flattish mound in the noisome grass;
You three big rats running free of its belly,
Out of my way and let me pass!

But if there’s horror, there’s beauty, wonder;
The trench lights gleam and the rockets play.
That flood of magnificent orange yonder
Is a battery blazing miles away.
With a rush and a singing a great shell passes;
The rifles resentfully bicker and brawl,
And here I crouch in the dew-drenched grasses,
And look and listen and love it all.

God! What a life! But I must make haste now,
Before the shadow of night be spent.
It’s little the time there is to waste now,
If I’d do the job for which I was sent.
My bombs are right and my clippers ready,
And I wriggle out to the chosen place,
When I hear a rustle . . . Steady! . . . Steady!
Who am I staring slap in the face?

There in the dark I can hear him breathing,
A foot away, and as still as death;
And my heart beats hard, and my brain is seething,
And I know he’s a Hun by the smell of his breath.
Then: “Will you surrender?” I whisper hoarsely,
For it’s death, swift death to utter a cry.
English schwein-hund!” he murmurs coarsely.
“Then we’ll fight it out in the dark,” say I.

So we grip and we slip and we trip and wrestle
There in the gutter of No Man’s Land;
And I feel my nails in his wind-pipe nestle,
And he tries to gouge, but I bite his hand.
And he tries to squeal, but I squeeze him tighter:
“Now,” I say, “I can kill you fine;
But tell me first, you Teutonic blighter!
Have you any children?” He answers: “Nein.”

Nine! Well, I cannot kill such a father,
So I tie his hands and I leave him there.
Do I finish my little job? Well, rather;
And I get home safe with some light to spare.
Heigh-ho! by day it’s just prosy duty,
Doing the same old song and dance;
But oh! with the night — joy, glory, beauty:
Over the parapet — Life, Romance!


Such a joker that Service.

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