This ain't Hell, but you can see it from here

Author: Poetrooper

  • A City of Light

    Tonight my wife and I are in the City of Lights: not Paris, but Odessa, Texas, the West Texas oil town made famous by the book and similarly-named movie, Friday Night Lights, about its powerhouse, Permian High School championship football teams. What we are seeing everywhere we go is truly amazing, for this is indeed a boom town in every good sense of the word. Want a hotel room? Be prepared to pay in excess of $200 a night for nothing exceptional. The rooms are filled with energy industry workers willing to pay top dollar because they’re earning top dollar. Likewise, be prepared to wait for a table in the packed restaurants and don’t even think about tipping ten percent. Caution is advised when driving because the roadways are filled with the biggest, most powerful (and most expensive) pickup trucks the American auto industry can produce, all going somewhere with a great deal of purpose, business, money-making purpose.

    If Barack Obama and his advisors want to see how to create jobs, they should get themselves to Odessa, forthwith. Instead of condemning the fossil fuels industry, they should take a day and learn firsthand what a pulsing economic engine can be generated by the almost limitless spin-off businesses and jobs that a producing energy industry creates. They should bring Tim Geithner with his pocket calculator to give them some idea of the tax revenues being generated by this economic behemoth. They should meet with local oil industry executives to gain some perspective on how this has all come to be then they should spend some time with local political leadership and small business leaders to gain some insights into how this all translates into a rising tide for every economic boat in the Permian Basin.

    Immediately upon leaving West Texas, the same team should fly to California and sit down with key folks in the solar energy and wind energy fields. They should meet with the political leadership in the communities where these entities are located and determine the financial impact these industries are having on their local economies.

    Then they should fly back to Washington and compare the economic realities in West Texas with those in their beloved green industry communities. It might, just might, help them see how ass-backwards their approach to restoring America to economic prosperity really is. The simple truth is this: if Democrats want America to become the economic powerhouse it has been traditionally, then all they need to do is get the hell out of the way and let American energy and ingenuity lead the way. All Obama and his administration have to do is nothing, nada, zilch.

    Something Democrats are damned good at…

    By the way, I just realized something: I haven’t seen a single Chevy Volt since we hit town.

  • Wielding the Big Stick

    The man who made history with his priapic presidency is now on the air letting everyone know that when it comes to cojónes, Obama’s are bigger than his. Yep, the Arkansas State Stud is out there blowing and going about what a hoss Barry is for hiding in a corner of the situation room in his golf jacket while the real men and women in the room monitored the mission to eliminate Osama bin Laden. Of course, by comparison to Bill Clinton’s hiding in the Oval Office closet when Osama was an easy target in Africa, I suppose that Obama’s reluctant and tentative approval of the operation does seem heroic to not-so-ballsy Bill. You see, wartime heroics is always a matter of degree with Democrats. May I submit as evidence their all-time, number-one Vietnam hero, Jean Fraud Kerry? At the current rate of decline in their standards of heroism, Neville Chamberlain should soon be eligible for some sort of posthumous Democrat honor.

    The problem I have is that I don’t get what, why and how the Democrats never seem to get it when it comes to heroes, especially war and combat heroes. They advance an easily proved phony hero to the top of their ticket back in 2004 and to this very day claim that he was stabbed in the back by a bunch of Swiftboaters. Except that a close examination of the war records of those Swiftboaters shows that they were honorable warriors who served their full combat tours with no other objective than to serve their country as their government directed them to do. But, on the other hand, in Jean F. Kerry we have solid evidence of a self-serving young man with rabid political ambitions seeking every possible way to rapidly acquire the necessary medals to ensure a truncated tour of duty. Yeah, that’s the classic example of who the Democrats will embrace and elevate as a war hero.

    Now they’re at it again, trying to take a callow community organizer from Chicago’s south side, whose closest brush with a uniform may have been dropping a quarter into the Salvation Army bucket at Christmas, and make him into a nominee for the Medal of Honor. The courage! The incomparable, steely courage that it took to squat there in the situation room and watch his order being carried out! My God, has an American Commander-in-Chief ever displayed the sheer daring, and dare I say it, guts, that it took to come in from the putting green long enough for the photo op? What the hell, he got a Nobel prize for peace for doing nothing to forward peace, so you Democrats might as well start a movement to get him awarded a Medal of Honor for doing nothing honorable. You’ve managed to debase everything else in American life, why not her most venerated award for valor in combat?

    By the way, Willy, if you check with Joe Biden, I’ll bet he’ll tell you that not only are Barry’s cojónes bigger than yours, so’s his stick.

    Heads up, Hillary…

    Crossposted at American Thinker.

  • Stolen Valor in Spades

    Anyone who checks in at this command post on a regular basis is all too aware that the first sergeant suffers neither fools nor phonies gladly. Well I have a guy who qualifies as both that I think is deserving of the Wrath of Jonn. This phony hero’s a bit different because he doesn’t mis-wear a special operations uniform with multiple rows of improperly worn, unearned ribbons. He doesn’t claim to have been a P.O.W. although there are some gaps in his questionable travels regarding unexplained time overseas and he takes pains to hide his history right from birth.

    What he does do that is so typical of phony heroes is try to take credit for the combat exploits of others, true warriors who meet, engage and defeat the enemy while this phony is living very high on the hog, thousands of miles from the hardships of the battle zone. Another trait he shares with the legions of phonies, is the love of the camera and being in the public eye, bragging about his wartime accomplishments, awing the ignorant and uninformed.

    But this phony doesn’t fool us vets does he? One look and we know he never served. We hear him brag of his triumphs and we who have served know the truth of the old military adage, “True heroes don’t brag.” I served in units with several highly decorated soldiers, One of my sergeant majors was a WWII Medal of Honor recipient. An officer in our battalion earned the MOH in Korea. After Vietnam, my roommate at Fort Bragg, the future CSM Charles B. Morris, R.I.P., was also an MOH awardee for action with the 173rd Airborne. I was too junior to ever get close to those first two heroes but I heard from battalion NCO’s that they never spoke of their valorous deeds. I can assure you that you couldn’t pry anything out of Charley with a crowbar and those who tried were curtly instructed to change the subject. I did share some of his combat experiences from his nearly nightly nightmares which could become quite loud and active.

    Point is, they didn’t talk about it and I’ll wager that most of you reading here know how true that is across the board. Hell, it made me squirm a little just writing that above paragraph because I don’t care to be accused of bragging about who I knew back when. Believe me, it had nothing to do with me; it was nothing more than an accident of time and place that afforded me the unique opportunity to serve with real heroes. But it did teach me to listen sharp when some dude starts woofing about what a stud he was in combat or how crucial a role he played in winning a fight.

    By now, I’m sure you realize, I’m not talking about some pathetic wannabee out there with his beret on sideways and his C.I.B. worn upside down. No, in fact, the pathetic pretender I’ve been describing won’t even wear a flag lapel pin. He’s the less than 90 day wonder we now have sitting in our top command post, hindering our forces and quick to condemn their behaviors to assuage his lemming followers, while eagerly taking credit for their accomplishments.

    Democrats seem to have a different take on heroes and medals than most military folks, with their unquestioning acceptance of Kerry and his endless Purple Hearts as the classic example. Remember how Clinton, who bragged about reducing federal employment without revealing he did it through severe military force cuts, awarded pardons to all those criminals and terrorists in his last hours in office? It wouldn’t surprise me if this egomaniac wannabee hero we have in the White House now will try to wangle himself a Medal of Honor for his courage and valor in the killing of Osama bin Laden. That would be a monumental case of Stolen Valor. In spades.

    Crossposted at American Thinker.

  • There’s Saber Rattling and Then There’s…

    Daily Caller has a report that Iran is boasting that it can place a naval vessel within a threatening distance of New York. According to an article at an Iranian student news agency blog, Rear Admiral, Ali Fadavi told a student audience at the University of Yazd;

    “The power of our naval forces is such that we have a presence in all the waters of the world and, if needed, we can move to within three miles of New York,”

    Someone probably ought to point out to the overconfident admiral that should his ragtag navy move to within three miles of New York, that a single attack submarine of the United States Navy, such as the U.S.S. Texas, home ported at nearby Groton, CT, has the capability of creating a rather substantial, permanent, underwater Iranian burial site within that same distance. Admiral Fadavi should be reminded of that old adage, “Don’t mess with Texas.” There could be an upside in the event that happens though: Iran could probably get Mayor Bloomberg to support their erecting an underwater memorial mosque on the offshore site or even somewhere in lower Manhattan.

    Of course if the Iranians should be so foolish as to actually consider launching an attack, the admiral should be advised that the U.S. Air Force has the capability to move the entire city of Teheran to within six miles of New York and a whole lot of other places. But then it would be in the form of a stratospheric cloud of atomized dust streaming around the globe for a few months.

    Just sayin…

    Crossposted at American Thinker.

  • Teaching Old Dogs…

    You know what they say about one way of maintaining a long marriage is for the two of you to never go to bed mad? Well, there’s a sort-of corollary to that rule that applies to maintaining your good relationships in blogging: never hit that send key while you’re still mad. Unfortunately, I have made the mistake of not heeding that latter warning far too often. Like last night.

    I’m reminded of Chico, the first cat my wife and I ever owned. He would slip out of the yard, cross the street and duck down behind the opposite curb fronting our cross-street neighbor’s yard where those folks had a small dog they’d let out on the porch, but with strong warnings against leaving the front yard, especially as to getting in the street, a huge no-no. Chico would huddle behind the curb, his entire body quivering, then suddenly pop up catching the little dog’s attention. Fido would at first run to the center of the yard barking but when Chico ducked down, the dog would return to his porch post. Each time Chico popped up, the dog would run a few feet closer to the curb before returning to the porch. Finally, usually on the dog’s fourth or fifth run and his closest approach to the curb, Chico would bolt across the street into our yard as if running for his life, and the furious little dog would come tearing right behind in full pursuit, barking his silly head off. Which, of course, brought his angry, yelling owner out with a rolled up newspaper with which she smacked the fooled Fido several times before putting him back on the porch with another stern warning.

    I watched that cat sucker that pooch off that porch five or six times in an hour, with the dog getting his butt whacked a bit harder each time, before the owner would finally take her poor, frustrated, little mutt inside. I swear Chico would sit in our front yard while the dog was getting smacked, with his little kitty ribs heaving with cat laughter. And this went on for months. That dog never learned and Chico never gave him a break.
    So why that story? Well, I’m kind of like that dog. Despite knowing I shouldn’t, I still get suckered off the porch of reasoned discourse and run headlong into the risky street of angry diatribe, barking my fool head off. And then, while still all lathered up with righteous indignation, I do the really stupid thing: I hit that damned send key.

    And that is exactly why I had that jaws-quivering, rabidly righteous piece about John Kerry and John Edwards up yesterday. While the premise of the piece is valid: both are true lowlifes and the Democrats do seem to have a penchant for electing such people to the highest offices in the land, it is usually sufficient to fire off epithets like scumbag, slime ball, sleazebag, etc. sparingly in such a short submission. I’m afraid I had my keyboard selector switch set to full auto for that piece.

    When I was writing for Old War Dogs, webmaster and editor, Bill Faith, R.I.P., used to keep me on the porch, well, at least in the yard, for the most part, occasionally smacking me with a rolled-up email while whistling me back out of the street. I’ll bet when I hit that send key last night, Ol’ Bill was up there somewhere looking down over my shoulder and shaking his head that another of his old dogs had gone tearing off out into the street again, barking my fool head off, ignoring the lesson of not hitting that damned send key while my muzzle was still lathered. But it’s so doggoned hard to just sit on the porch and growl when one of those Demo Cats pops up over the curb like Edwards did yesterday, blaming his wife for his own bad behavior. OK, I know, I’m a baad doggie.

    Mea culpa, Bill, but you know what they say about teaching us old dogs…

  • America, We Ducked a Bullet…

    Man, did America ever duck a bullet in the presidential election of 2004; and for that she should forever be grateful to a brave bunch of sailors, a group of veterans of Vietnam known as the Swift Boat Veterans for Truth. Not only did their intercession into the 2004 presidential election campaign prevent a scumbag like John Kerry from being elected president but they also kept his vice-presidential candidate, John Edwards, an even dirtier dirt bag than Kerry, if that is at all possible, from ascending to within a heartbeat of the American presidency.

    Kerry was a traitor; about that there is no question. As a reserve naval officer, he traveled to Paris and engaged in negotiations with representatives of the communist government of North Vietnam while his country was at war with that government. That is unequivocally an act for which a normal American citizen can be tried for treason and executed, but most especially a uniformed, commissioned officer of the United States military. That he was not so dealt with because powerful Democrats covered for him, will forever be a chicken bone in the throats of all those Americans who served honorably in the Vietnam War. It would probably be a tossup as to who is the most hated American figure of that war, John Kerry or Jane Fonda.

    So it should come as no surprise that a sleazy self-awarder/awardee of multiple unearned and undeserved Purple Hearts would select as his running-mate an equally squalid trial lawyer, who as we are now finding out, may just actually surpass his mentor when it comes to being a pure old, down and dirty, no-good, rotten son-of-a-bitch. I imagine that as greatness supposedly recognizes greatness, sleaze also recognizes sleaze. Do you suppose that John Kerry, accepting the likelihood that some Vietnam veteran patriot would not allow him to survive through his first term, wanted to inflict on America someone as equally, or perhaps even more, despicable than himself?

    As we’re now finding, thanks to almost daily revelations of John Edward’s loathsome behavior, the man who would be king, John Kerry, personally selected as his crown prince, a man who may well give the future an entirely new and extremely dark connotation of the term Edwardian. Every new thing that we learn about John Edwards is base, repulsive and evil. He is a man to be held in the very lowest regard by honorable men.
    Let me put this snake’s behavior to you in everyday terms that every man can understand. Had Edward’s wife, Elizabeth, been your younger sister, and he had been womanizing with and impregnating a young bimbo, while she, your sister and his wife, was fighting a losing battle with terminal cancer, would you be kindly disposed to this bowel worm, John Edwards? And if, after her death, in trying to throw up an any-kind-of-shit-on-the-wall defense, this scum-sucking lawyer invoked your sister as being a contributory factor to his sleazy behavior, would you not be having thoughts of, well, less than salutary health for this man who could well have been the Tapeworm of America.

    Think about that for a moment: introduced into the healthy body of America by a flea-bag parasite like John Kerry, this even more parasitic tapeworm, John Edwards, could have brought us near death had he succeeded to the top post. And if you think John Kerry didn’t know what a slime-ball he’d picked then you don’t know the dirtball dynamics of John Kerry.

    And here’s what every thinking American should take away from this: these two scumbags were the best the Democrats had to offer to lead America. That tells you everything you need to know about the Democrat Party and what they consider leadership quality.

    Thanks again, Swiftees…

  • The Doggie Wars

    I know…it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie. But I swear, this bit about Romney not liking animals because he strapped a dog carrier to the top of his car and transported his dog in it has me wondering just what kind of wimps are running the Democrat campaign. Well no, that’s not entirely true. I confess that I’ve considered David Axelrod a wimp since the first time I heard his whiny voice. Can you imagine that wussified elitist standing in front of a formation and calling out commands? Or running beside one and calling cadence? Didn’t think so.
    So what, exactly, are the Democrats flapping their gums about in the Doggie Wars? Flapping ears? What, in their minds, was wrong with what Mitt Romney did in strapping Seamus, his setter, in a canine carrier on top of his car, granting Fido his fondest wish? It seems Axelrod and the Democrats are as out of touch with dogs as they are with ordinary people.
    Anyone who’s spent any time at all around dogs knows that the very thing canines love most about cars, well other than lifting a leg on alloy wheels, is an open window to poke their heads from as the oncoming airflow pushes back their gums into a joyful grin and their ears flap wildly about their heads. Out here in cowboy country, the border collies run freely in the backs of pickups and one thing you can bet the rent money on is that when the vehicle is in motion, the dogs’ muzzles are facing into the wind. Follow one of the trucks down the highway and you will often see the mutts running back and forth, from one side to the other, poking their noses around the cab. It almost appears that they are seeking the side with the greatest wind velocity.

    This is such a universal behavior that I recently asked our country veterinarian about it. She grinned and responded, “You know, you’re right…they do seem to love the wind, don’t they? I have no idea why.” So, while the why remains a mystery, the fact that dogs love the wind in their faces every bit as much as bikers, remains an observable truth. But the real mystery “why” is, “Why did the Democrats make Seamus an issue in the first place?” Why all the flapping gums over flapping ears? Good grief, please don’t anyone show those Democrat pussies these pictures or they’ll be soiling their silkies. Furthermore, the thought just occurred to me that those SEAL’s are making those poor puppies jump out of perfectly good aircraft because their chain of command has ordered them to do precisely that.

    And guess who sits atop that chain.
    Ahem…

    This is turning into a real dog-eat-dog situation for you-know-who.

    POSTSCRIPT: a talking head on FOX just reminded me that you-know-who likes to take all the credit for the success of the raid on Osama bin Laden. Well, excuse me, Mr. Axelrod, but doesn’t that mean that your dog-eating Dear Leader directly and deliberately caused a canine to come under hostile fire? Omigod, the horror of it all! And Axelrod wanted a Doggie War? What’s next in his brilliant strategy, attacking Romney because he didn’t have to pay his own college tuition?

  • A Whore by any other Name…

    Quick question: Just what is the difference between what the Colombian femmes de noché did for our Secret Service agents and their military support team and what the mainstream media is doing for their anointed leader, Barack Obama? Actually I have more respect for women who lay back and allow their bodies to be used for the carnal pleasure of strangers than I do for journalists who lay back and allow their educational and professional credentials to be debased and defiled by a political candidate and his party.

    Both are whores.

    But, as is so often true in this world, there are whores and then there are whores. Those who sell their bodies tend to do so because they have few other skills with which to earn a living. Media whores are a totally different thing. They don’t have to worry about basic sustenance of themselves and their families as do so many of the working ladies. Through their learned skills they can make their way in society. Why they then tend so debase themselves remains a mystery.
    It is an entirely different thing that is for sale here. The ladies in Colombia were selling their sexuality and perhaps some of their self-respect. How much self-respect a woman gives up in the profession of prostitution has much to do with the culture in which she lives. From the up-front and in our faces flamboyancy of the ladies in question, I would guess that in Colombia, the stigma is not great, an attitude entirely different from that of our own culture where selling one’s body is just one small step above the most disgraceful behavior in which one can engage:

    Selling your journalistic soul.

    There is no group in America more openly engaged in overt prostitution than our mainstream media. And don’t be too quick to say, “Wait a minute, real whores do it for money.” Well so do the media whores. If they are successful in promoting their lefty candidate, then their perceived worth therefore increases. When they fall on the losing side, then their incessant hammering of the victor throughout his term of office endears them to the losing demographic until such time as they can throw their weight behind the election of one of their own. Make no mistake about it, they are for sale, wholly, totally completely for sale. Brian Williams might as well be perched on a barstool in a down-at-the-seams, Manhattan bistro with even bigger blow-dried hair and plenty of leg showing. Sliding way down-scale, Ed Schultz would be right at home under a streetlamp in Detroit. Examples could go on for paragraphs but you get the idea.
    So the irony is we have media whores screaming about the immorality and irresponsibility of sexual whores and those who employ the services of those whores. For my money, The Democrats should patriate one of those Colombian prostitutes and make her their candidate for president. She couldn’t possibly be a sleazier sell-out than the loser they and their media hustlers are fronting now.