Wracked with angst over the fate of our beloved and horribly misgoverned Republic, the DiploMad returns to do battle on the world wide web, swearing death to political correctness, and pulling no punches.
Oh, come, Mister tally man, tally me banana Daylight come and me wan' go home Me say come, Mister tally man, tally me banana Dayli...
I remember saying stupid things way back in college... so it's curable, at least the first time one gets it? - reader #1482
Then again, does anyone ever ask about which direction supposed progress takes?
Be sure to shower and wash your clothing.Kepha, consider that the Hippocratic Oath from 2500 years ago prohibited abortion, we have been fighting this battle for a long time.
Yeah - get back to work. The wheels are coming off this country and I want your take.
Take a spin in your vette, that'll effectively decon any contamination.James the Lesser
Then wash the vette.
Then re-read the Constitution, it will surely exorcize any remaining traces.
Annual Property Tax Bills should be in the mail very soon (got mine already). That should be a good cure from any Progressovirus (D-2014) you may have picked up.
Hopefully, you didn't use a Frontier Airlines plane just back from Dallas. Driving seems safer these days.
Progressovirus has devastating effects on mental functioning. Logic, consistency, and reserve are suppressed, leaving only the desire for immediate gain and gratification. The ability to speak with sincerity and without regard for their own prior statements or the pleadings of others seems to be an advantage in politics. Possibly 40% of the public is also infected, mesmerized and accepting of a stream of self-congratulatory Word Salad.About 40% of the populace seems uninfected or immune, possibly because of tighter neuron spacing, greater intrinsic electrical activity, brain plasticity, and location outside city centers. The effect on 20% of the population is confusion and an inability to focus, the so called "undecideds".Progressovirus sufferers are able to take resources from the uninfected without remorse, indeed with a sense of "getting even". They feel entirely correct and blameless in all thoughts and actions. Their living standards are reduced, but they remain content while there are no visible uninfected within their activities and community.Some few cases of spontaneous recovery have been observed. No effective treatment is known despite intense research. Zombievirus may be a particularly debilitating mutation.
How is Southern California not progressoland?
My thought precisely, but then that could be applied to the entire west coast (including Canada)
imo, socal is not nearly as infected with progressivism. SF/Berkeley was pretty much ground zero for the original outbreak way back when. Hippies can't congregate, raise chickens, and grow medicinal stupidity in the backwaters of OC like they can both north and south of SF...- reader #1482
I want to get the shit now while there's some serum to treat it with, 'cause once you've had it, you're immune.Then when this goes viral, literally, and wipes out the population, it will be me, that doc they cured, and the hot nurse, with the entire planet to ourselves.- Ed Driscoll -
I have it on good authority that "hot nurse" is a lesbian....
Oops! I copied the wrong quote. Mr. Driscoll would be amused.Ed Driscoll;"The virus began to subside around mid-2009, when it slowly became obvious that the MSM had sacrificed their credibility to elect a false messiah. But as a dangerous aftereffect to Obama fever, the MSM quickly turned viciously on its readers, in the form of their unceasing racialist attacks on the Tea Party and anyone who dared oppose The One."
Next time try to come to the only sane county in the state. Orange County.
I almost said come on up to sonora..but...naw!new stuff for ya:)http://bar.baen.com/index.php?t=msg&goto=1082250&#msg_1082250leaperman
What better way to resolve a Public Relations problem than appoint a political operative as problem solver. Enter: Ron Klain.
Obama knows deep in his heart, his inner voice assures him, that his policies are correct. The public is stupid and doesn't get the message. So, the solution is to have better messengers. Enter: Ron Klain.
Sigh....This reminds me of, "The Screwtape Letters"http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBxpcGfznos&list=PLA8BAC9375345E6C7leaperman
incubation period of progressivism may have been different than we thought.. perhaps Mr. Dip is downtown at LA city hall protesting against the 1% and camping out with a flock of hippies?- reader #1482
Reader #1482: As you know, the English language has cute descriptions for different aggregations. Sheep travel in flocks; hippies do not. It is called "a smell of hippies."
A 'smell' can be a pleasant aroma, such as the smell of roses in the garden. A 'stench of hippies' is far more appropriate.
ahhh yes... a stench of hippies... way more trouble than a mere crash of elephants.- reader #1482
"Not like the Spartan Women of Greek fame,With conquering limbs astride from land to land;Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall standA spraddled whore with a fat and fallen ass, whose fameHas almost guttered out, and her name"Mother of Suckers." From her limp-handGlows world-wide "come and fuck me over;" her blind eyes commandThe slop strewn harbor that twin cities frame."Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries sheWith silent Herpes lips. "Give me your useless, your diseased,Your shit-stained masses yearning for a free ride,The lice bearing kiddies of your fucked over garbage countries.Send these, the homeless, criminal, degenerate to use me,I bend way over inside the golden door!" leaperman
:he heard it, but he heeded not. His eyes were with his heart, and that was far away. He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize; but where his rude hut by the danube lay.There were his young barbarians; all at play; there was they're dacian mother...He, their Sire.Butchered to make a roman holiday.leaperman
The Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part;But the Sons of Martha favour their Mother of the careful soul and the troubled heart.And because she lost her temper once, and because she was rude to the Lord her Guest,Her Sons must wait upon Mary's Sons, world without end, reprieve, or rest.It is their care in all the ages to take the buffet and cushion the shock.It is their care that the gear engages; it is their care that the switches lock.It is their care that the wheels run truly; it is their care to embark and entrain,Tally, transport, and deliver duly the Sons of Mary by land and main.They say to mountains ``Be ye removèd.'' They say to the lesser floods ``Be dry.''Under their rods are the rocks reprovèd---they are not afraid of that which is high.Then do the hill-tops shake to the summit---then is the bed of the deep laid bare,That the Sons of Mary may overcome it, pleasantly sleeping and unaware.They finger Death at their gloves' end where they piece and repiece the living wires.He rears against the gates they tend: they feed him hungry behind their fires.Early at dawn, ere men see clear, they stumble into his terrible stall,And hale him forth like a haltered steer, and goad and turn him till evenfall.To these from birth is Belief forbidden; from these till death is Relief afar.They are concerned with matters hidden---under the earthline their altars are---The secret fountains to follow up, waters withdrawn to restore to the mouth,And gather the floods as in a cup, and pour them again at a city's drouth.They do not preach that their God will rouse them a little before the nuts work loose.They do not preach that His Pity allows them to drop their job when they damn-well choose.As in the thronged and the lighted ways, so in the dark and the desert they stand,Wary and watchful all their days that their brethren's ways may be long in the land.Raise ye the stone or cleave the wood to make a path more fair or flat;Lo, it is black already with the blood some Son of Martha spilled for that!Not as a ladder from earth to Heaven, not as a witness to any creed,But simple service simply given to his own kind in their common need.And the Sons of Mary smile and are blessèd---they know the Angels are on their side.They know in them is the Grace confessèd, and for them are the Mercies multiplied.They sit at the feet---they hear the Word---they see how truly the Promise runs.They have cast their burden upon the Lord, and---the Lord He lays it on Martha's Sons.
If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,Or being hated, don’t give way to hating, And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:If you can dream—and not make dreams your master; If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss;If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much;If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it, And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!