I normally don’t make fun of religion. Well, maybe, in general, but not specifically about aspects of individual religions. (Unless it's really, really funny.)
However, there are exceptions.
And, I’m making one in regard to neo-nutso Muslim fanatical flutterbrains who think, somehow, that Allah hates women.
The newest nut-news out of Iran, the world center for clear thought and compassionate thought, is that women with suntans are violating Islamic law and will be arrested.
This is the word put out by Brigidier Hossien Sajedinia, the Tehran police chief. The testosterone-laden law officer said, “The public expects us to act firmly and swiftly if we see any social misbehavior by women, and men, who defy our Islamic values.”
He decried suntanned “women and young girls” who look like “walking mannequins” and declared suntanned women would be arrested and jailed.
His pronouncement follows on the heels of a protestation by a hard-line Iranian cleric (read “preacher”) who said that women dressed in revealing clothing were disturbing young men and “causing earthquakes.”
It’s not that Muslims have cornered the market on crazy notions or pronouncements. It’s just that they are coming across as the Oral Roberts of the Muslim world. Remember Oral’s television promise that if Christians didn’t give enough money to Oral Roberts Ministry, he would be jerked to Jesus?
But the suntan ban in the name of religion is really spooky, spookier even than Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker selling bricks for $10 a shot to build Heritage Village, or Dallas’ Bob Tilton hawking “prayer rugs” with his picture on it, or Ernest Ainsley declaring a war on “devil nicotine” and stomping on a pack of Camels on his television program.
In fact, the suntan ban is resonating with something going on in the United States right now.
It makes one wonder if the governor of Arizona and the gidflobberated legislators of that stupidly uber-conservative state aren’t reading a little Koran (or Qur’an, if you are into political correctness) between approving stupid bills aimed at nothing but persecuting selected segments of the population.
Wait! There is a connection: Both areas of the world are hotter’n’hell.
Sun-broiled brains.
That’s the only logical explanation.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Ask a simple question of your elected officials
Some things I just don’t get.
I know it has something to do with getting regular communications from the Social Security Administration checking on me to see if I am all right and ready to receive all the physical and fiscal goodness that can be laid on my old, bowed head by the federal government when I turn another page on the calendar.
Bring it on. In bushel baskets. I’ve earned the heck out of it.
I’m one of those folks that other folks under the age of 40 put in a category or two: Baby Boomer. Nursing Home Chaff. Old. You know, the words and phrases people use when you shuffle out the door at 10 a.m. after a hard night of popping pudding cups and singing “YMCA” at a karaoke marathon, mumbling about how it’s past your bedtime and you need to be “getting up with the chickens.”
Okay, so I go to bed early and like pudding and enjoy the verbal jousting of a karaoke singalong with people who are contractors, school marms, work on cars and get a paycheck for working in the medical field.
That should not give morticians the right to look at me as if I’m one step from filling one of their satin-lined boxes. And, for the record, I hate satin; bury me in burlap, except that’s not going to work either. I have already donated this dilapidated body to a medical school. I can’t think of a better way to “really” go from this world that having a bunch of young folks getting handy with my mortal leavings.
I want my ashes put in a kosher pickle jar and have it carried by a caring and slightly daffy relative to all reunions. “Couldn’t stand to leave George at home when there’s a party,” would be the general comment.
By an agreement made with the gummit back in the ‘50s, I should be getting my Social Security check starting in July. However, the gummit bumpkins bumped it back a year to keep from giving me my money when initially promised because the SS system is such a gosh-dinged mess.
That’s okay. I can wait a year. Maybe. But while I’m waiting I’m going to be raising billy-jack about how those that make, break and change the SS laws that affect working Americans excluded themselves from being under the same system as working Americans.
Every time I encounter an elected U.S. representative or senator, I’m going to ask them this question: Will you please explain to me why Congress is exempt from the Social Security system? I encourage you to do likewise.
When you ask it, back up a step. The outpouring of political palaver that flows forth will be a tsunami of excremental proportions.
If – and this IF is bigger than the federal deficit – federal officials were under the SS umbrella, there would be no problem with the benefits promised to retirees by these same officials, or others of their ilk.
Before this day is out, make a call to the elected federal official of your choice and just ask them that simple question. Then, share the responses with easttexastowns.com.
The comments shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. But it is guaranteed to raise the blood pressure of any living, breathing, caring person over the age of 50 and looking forward to retirement at some point.
I know it has something to do with getting regular communications from the Social Security Administration checking on me to see if I am all right and ready to receive all the physical and fiscal goodness that can be laid on my old, bowed head by the federal government when I turn another page on the calendar.
Bring it on. In bushel baskets. I’ve earned the heck out of it.
I’m one of those folks that other folks under the age of 40 put in a category or two: Baby Boomer. Nursing Home Chaff. Old. You know, the words and phrases people use when you shuffle out the door at 10 a.m. after a hard night of popping pudding cups and singing “YMCA” at a karaoke marathon, mumbling about how it’s past your bedtime and you need to be “getting up with the chickens.”
Okay, so I go to bed early and like pudding and enjoy the verbal jousting of a karaoke singalong with people who are contractors, school marms, work on cars and get a paycheck for working in the medical field.
That should not give morticians the right to look at me as if I’m one step from filling one of their satin-lined boxes. And, for the record, I hate satin; bury me in burlap, except that’s not going to work either. I have already donated this dilapidated body to a medical school. I can’t think of a better way to “really” go from this world that having a bunch of young folks getting handy with my mortal leavings.
I want my ashes put in a kosher pickle jar and have it carried by a caring and slightly daffy relative to all reunions. “Couldn’t stand to leave George at home when there’s a party,” would be the general comment.
By an agreement made with the gummit back in the ‘50s, I should be getting my Social Security check starting in July. However, the gummit bumpkins bumped it back a year to keep from giving me my money when initially promised because the SS system is such a gosh-dinged mess.
That’s okay. I can wait a year. Maybe. But while I’m waiting I’m going to be raising billy-jack about how those that make, break and change the SS laws that affect working Americans excluded themselves from being under the same system as working Americans.
Every time I encounter an elected U.S. representative or senator, I’m going to ask them this question: Will you please explain to me why Congress is exempt from the Social Security system? I encourage you to do likewise.
When you ask it, back up a step. The outpouring of political palaver that flows forth will be a tsunami of excremental proportions.
If – and this IF is bigger than the federal deficit – federal officials were under the SS umbrella, there would be no problem with the benefits promised to retirees by these same officials, or others of their ilk.
Before this day is out, make a call to the elected federal official of your choice and just ask them that simple question. Then, share the responses with easttexastowns.com.
The comments shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. But it is guaranteed to raise the blood pressure of any living, breathing, caring person over the age of 50 and looking forward to retirement at some point.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Time to take your country back
Helllloooooo!
Are there any honest politicians out there?
Is there a single elected official in this country who is honest, forthright, straightforward in his or her approach to life and public service, dedicated to the common good, and tells the truth at least 90 percent of the time?
If Diogenes were to show up and shine his lantern on the American political landscape, would he find only darkness?
Virtually every day some Democan or Republicrat is baked well done in a newspaper headline or television broadcast or Internet news blog over some nefarious deed.
The GOPers blast the Demogogues for being corrupt on Tuesday and, then, after a federal investigation is launched on a Republican nest of thieving wharf rats, the Dems attack their counterparts with vigor the next day.
The entire political herd of ill-bred political animals – from Nancy “Frozen Face” Pelosi to Mitch “No Lips” McConnell, and from Harry “Scarecrow” Reid to Trent “Patent Leather Hair” Lott, act like children raised by pond scum mutants.
There’s not a thimbleful of common sense and decency in the bunch and they all put “party” over “people.” We all should be ashamed for putting up with their tomfoolery.
This country was founded on the principle of democracy, not the Playground Rules for the Psychologically Challenged. Egos and lobbyists run the country … not the people.
The people of this country – and that means you – have abdicated their responsible for ensuring the election of leaders who use common sense and common decency to decide the rules by which the people must abide. What we are electing are empty suits filled with puff egos, a desire for power, and greed.
It is our – your – fault that special interests rule this country’s agenda. You elect the natter-heads who vote along party lines rather than along lines dictated by sense and reason. You stand silently by – or blather on incessantly about how bad things are – without doing a single, dadblasted thing to change the status quo.
The first thing we – you – can do is to not re-elect a single incumbent. Not one.
The second thing we – you – can do is to tell those elected to go to Washington-on-the-Deficit and quickly put to a vote of the people the question of term limits for all elected officials … even the Supreme Court justices. It would pass 90 percent to 10 percent.
The third thing we – you – can do is to demand a reduction of federal bureaucracy by mandating a 10 percent cut in every single federal agency and commission. And let the elected officials know this is just for starters.
The fourth thing we – you – can do is to reform of the Internal Revenue Service so it eliminates loopholes for the wealthy and makes it possible to file your annual report on a 3x5-inch note card.
The fifth thing we – you – can do is … well, the list is endless.
Let’s all jump on Nos. 1 through 4 and get this country turned around quick-like.
We’re already late out of the gate, but it’s never too late for the people to take back what rightfully belongs to them – the right to be proud of the country in which we live.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Rick Perry is, well pretty … that’s it, pretty.
Texas Gov. Rick Perry is a pretty boy.
That’s it. End of story.
The Honorable Governor of Tomorrow was hanging around the edges of politics 20 years ago, flitting around Austin as a state representative, agriculture commissioner and lieutenant governor.
His college choice was Texas A&M and it was there he decided to become a professional politician; he was a Corps Yell Leader.
In other words, he hasn’t had a real job (at least none is listed on his campaign website) since 1977 when he was discharged from the Air Force.
I saw then Agri Commissioner Perry back in the early ‘90s when he was pre-running for something or other and remembered thinking at the time: “I’m straight … but he’s purty.”
He’s older now, with Grecian Formula-ed hair that is distinguished without being too New Orleans pimpish. He has great vertical laugh lines in his chiseled cheeks; his suits are subdued, his ties are conservative in color and know size.
In other words, just the kind of politician I want some gomer-upstart to kick the slobberjaws out of in Perry’s re-election run.
Sarah Palin: Pitiful phenom
All of you good-meaning folks out there who are drooling over the political aspirations and expectations of Sarah (I Walked Out on Alaska) Palin, dust your saliva glands with baby powder.
Take a deep breath and re-enter the world of reality.
Palin is an illusion, the equivalent of a biker chick running for mayor; it sounds entertaining at the time, but gets old in a hurry. Even the Republican Party is not yet desperate enough to nominate a woman for president who thinks she looks cute in black leather accented by school marm glasses.
At least Biker Chick No. 1 – Texas’ own Ann Richards – knew enough to play the black leather act as a joke.
Palin’s great at parroting cutesy one-liners written by staffers who at one time longed to be part of the writing team for “My Name is Earl.”
That show was canceled. So will “Sarah’s Pitiful Slide to Oblivion” when it hits the big stage.
If the GOPers are counting on Palin or slick-as-oiled-pond-water Mitch Romney to rescue the party in 2012, delusional thinking has replaced conservatism as the main plank in the party platform.
That’s it. End of story.
The Honorable Governor of Tomorrow was hanging around the edges of politics 20 years ago, flitting around Austin as a state representative, agriculture commissioner and lieutenant governor.
His college choice was Texas A&M and it was there he decided to become a professional politician; he was a Corps Yell Leader.
In other words, he hasn’t had a real job (at least none is listed on his campaign website) since 1977 when he was discharged from the Air Force.
I saw then Agri Commissioner Perry back in the early ‘90s when he was pre-running for something or other and remembered thinking at the time: “I’m straight … but he’s purty.”
He’s older now, with Grecian Formula-ed hair that is distinguished without being too New Orleans pimpish. He has great vertical laugh lines in his chiseled cheeks; his suits are subdued, his ties are conservative in color and know size.
In other words, just the kind of politician I want some gomer-upstart to kick the slobberjaws out of in Perry’s re-election run.
Sarah Palin: Pitiful phenom
All of you good-meaning folks out there who are drooling over the political aspirations and expectations of Sarah (I Walked Out on Alaska) Palin, dust your saliva glands with baby powder.
Take a deep breath and re-enter the world of reality.
Palin is an illusion, the equivalent of a biker chick running for mayor; it sounds entertaining at the time, but gets old in a hurry. Even the Republican Party is not yet desperate enough to nominate a woman for president who thinks she looks cute in black leather accented by school marm glasses.
At least Biker Chick No. 1 – Texas’ own Ann Richards – knew enough to play the black leather act as a joke.
Palin’s great at parroting cutesy one-liners written by staffers who at one time longed to be part of the writing team for “My Name is Earl.”
That show was canceled. So will “Sarah’s Pitiful Slide to Oblivion” when it hits the big stage.
If the GOPers are counting on Palin or slick-as-oiled-pond-water Mitch Romney to rescue the party in 2012, delusional thinking has replaced conservatism as the main plank in the party platform.
Getting in fisticuffs relatively easy to do
It’s easy to get in a fistfight.
Go to a meeting of the Young Democrats and loudly defend George W. Bush.
Attend a meeting of any-age GOPers and call Monica Lewinsky a skanky slut-puppy.
Go to Auntie Skinner’s in Jefferson, grab the karaoke mike and, to the strains of “Proud Mary,” start reading from the Book of Revelations.
You can go to a bonfire meeting of the KKK and hand out NAACP or ACLU tracts.
While sipping a libation at a bar, try to change the channel from ANY sporting event except soccer, men’s volleyball or a cover-from-start-to-finish marathon.
Be introduced to a redneck named Bubba Gene and tell him you noticed right off his tooth was real shiny.
Some subjects are guaranteed to get you in trouble with someone at some gathering; capital punishment, abortion and religion are three touchy subjects that come to mind.
That said, put up your dukes.
I’m not a Catholic but I have some staunch Catholican (Catholite? Catholicker?) friend who would follow the Pope anywhere but a community that was wet and too far away to drive to buy alcohol. See, that’s a joke, but some folks don’t take kindly to jokes about religion.
It’s okay to say the Branch Davidians were a cult because David Koresh was a certified whack job. It’s not okay to even be perceived to attack the Catholic Church, or any other formalized religion, for that matter.
The problem is never with the religion – except in the case of voodoo and those crazees that think that blowing up folks for no reason except they can will get them into heaven with a Buick-load of virgins as a reward for seeking martyrdom.
(For the record, in those cases, martyrdom should be “martydumb.”)
But for all intents and purposes the current edition of the Roman Catholic Church and its leader Pope Benedict are handling the latest church crisis as if they were guilty of something.
Pope Benedict, accused by victims' lawyers of being ultimately responsible for an alleged cover-up of sexual abuse of children by priests, is under attack. His reputation is being questioned because, according to the Vatican, he has not fully explained his role in the alleged cover-up and cannot be called to testify at any trial because he has immunity as a head of state.
Just like Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker and Jimmy Swaggart and others didn’t get it, methinks the Catholic Church has missed the point. The point is not whether or not the pope should testify but whether or not the church committed an egregious sin in not reporting the abuse of more than 200 boys in the U.S. in the ‘50s, ‘60s and ‘70s, and countless other boys in European countries.
The point is: The Catholic Church – nor any church or religion -- should not put itself in a position of placing the welfare of the Head Pulpit Thumper above the integrity of the church.
That’s what the Catholic Church appears to be doing.
It’s a busted-nose strategy and you can bet one thin wafer at communion against a steak dinner that parishioners who are tired of being lied to, and the media, which is tired of being blamed for the foibles and lies of others, will come out swinging.
The Catholic Church already has a black eye for past scandals. What are they shooting for now? A sound beating?
Go to a meeting of the Young Democrats and loudly defend George W. Bush.
Attend a meeting of any-age GOPers and call Monica Lewinsky a skanky slut-puppy.
Go to Auntie Skinner’s in Jefferson, grab the karaoke mike and, to the strains of “Proud Mary,” start reading from the Book of Revelations.
You can go to a bonfire meeting of the KKK and hand out NAACP or ACLU tracts.
While sipping a libation at a bar, try to change the channel from ANY sporting event except soccer, men’s volleyball or a cover-from-start-to-finish marathon.
Be introduced to a redneck named Bubba Gene and tell him you noticed right off his tooth was real shiny.
Some subjects are guaranteed to get you in trouble with someone at some gathering; capital punishment, abortion and religion are three touchy subjects that come to mind.
That said, put up your dukes.
I’m not a Catholic but I have some staunch Catholican (Catholite? Catholicker?) friend who would follow the Pope anywhere but a community that was wet and too far away to drive to buy alcohol. See, that’s a joke, but some folks don’t take kindly to jokes about religion.
It’s okay to say the Branch Davidians were a cult because David Koresh was a certified whack job. It’s not okay to even be perceived to attack the Catholic Church, or any other formalized religion, for that matter.
The problem is never with the religion – except in the case of voodoo and those crazees that think that blowing up folks for no reason except they can will get them into heaven with a Buick-load of virgins as a reward for seeking martyrdom.
(For the record, in those cases, martyrdom should be “martydumb.”)
But for all intents and purposes the current edition of the Roman Catholic Church and its leader Pope Benedict are handling the latest church crisis as if they were guilty of something.
Pope Benedict, accused by victims' lawyers of being ultimately responsible for an alleged cover-up of sexual abuse of children by priests, is under attack. His reputation is being questioned because, according to the Vatican, he has not fully explained his role in the alleged cover-up and cannot be called to testify at any trial because he has immunity as a head of state.
Just like Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker and Jimmy Swaggart and others didn’t get it, methinks the Catholic Church has missed the point. The point is not whether or not the pope should testify but whether or not the church committed an egregious sin in not reporting the abuse of more than 200 boys in the U.S. in the ‘50s, ‘60s and ‘70s, and countless other boys in European countries.
The point is: The Catholic Church – nor any church or religion -- should not put itself in a position of placing the welfare of the Head Pulpit Thumper above the integrity of the church.
That’s what the Catholic Church appears to be doing.
It’s a busted-nose strategy and you can bet one thin wafer at communion against a steak dinner that parishioners who are tired of being lied to, and the media, which is tired of being blamed for the foibles and lies of others, will come out swinging.
The Catholic Church already has a black eye for past scandals. What are they shooting for now? A sound beating?
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