One Man’s Torture, Another Man’s Military Training

December 10, 2014

Oh my God, Lissa, I’m so shocked.  Agents of the United States, in the form of the CIA, actually tortured people!  Okay, so they were terrorists, or supporters of terrorism, but really, to subject them to the same horrific treatment we give our own military?  Our soldiers volunteer to go to SERE school and learn how to Survive, Evade, Resist and Escape.  How dare we subject these poor innocent murderers to the same brutal punishment?

Of course, SERE school is designed to give our soldiers a taste of what’s waiting for them if they get captured by these very same sadistic maniacs.  It gives you good incentive not to be captured, I guess, but I never could see a reason to practice to be miserable, myself.  So when you crash your helo and get captured you can go, “wow, déjà vu, this is familiar.” ?

SERE school is limited, however.  They can’t really do the kinds of things there that, say the Viet Cong did to our soldiers in Viet Nam, like drive bamboo shoots under their fingernails, or what the likes of Al Qaeda and ISIS have done and are doing to our innocent civilians, such as beheading them or forcing them to jump from burning buildings.  No, our tactics are limited to things like sleep deprivation, isolation, waterboarding and threats.  Scary, but not really torture.  I mean, really.

Of course, torture is in the mind of the beholder.  I mean, for some people, torture is having to sit through an episode of Keeping up with the Kardashians.  And when you think about it, some women actually pay to have hot wax smeared on their private parts and the hair ripped out by the roots.  How come the folks down at Gitmo never thought of that interrogation technique?  Those poor bastards would have sung like sopranos!

But now the truth is out and oh, how CNN and the pundits are outraged, and all around the world, we’re quaking in our boots in fear of retaliation once the psychotic maniacs find out what we did to their comrades in arms…

They’re laughing.

Waterboarding?  Sleep deprivation?  Isolation?  Death threats?  Seriously?

They’re probably lining up for a trip to Gitmo, an all-inclusive tropical island resort, complete with stylish “resort-wear” jumpsuits (orange is the new black, after all), hydrating facials and cleansing colonics.  I mean, seriously, look at the nasty kitty litter box of a country they come from.  Ever see a palm tree in an Al Jazeera video?  Any kind of a tree, shrub, even a blade of grass?  It’s all just rocks and dirt.  Who wouldn’t want to escape that hell hole!

I remember a few years back when some prison warden in one of the Midwestern states ran out of room and forced prisoners to live in army tents, the same crappy army tents soldiers are living in all around the world to this very day.  I certainly spent my share of time in one, six months at a shot, with a dirt floor, a miserable cot and a sawed off barrel for a toilet a quarter mile away.  Those prisoners still had electricity, television and decent food — much more than we ever had, and WE hadn’t committed any crimes.  But they were all up in arms about how poorly they were being treated.  It made me sick.

Torture?  It’s a matter of perspective.  Yeah, maybe our white hat’s got a smudge or two on it, but we’re not cutting people’s heads off, are we.  Get over it.

I’m Thankful I’m Not a Police Officer

November 27, 2014

Once upon a time, when I was very young and feeling virtuous and ready to save the world, I wanted to join the Los Angeles Police Department.  I started the application process and even went so far as to train with other applicants in LAPD-sponsored fitness sessions.  Unfortunately (or at least I thought so at the time) during the background investigation interrogation I admitted to having tried cocaine.  And unlike a certain ex-president, I did inhale.

I was actually naïve enough to think this made me a better candidate.  I had danced with the devil and said a polite no thank you.  I saw how addictive it could be and I didn’t like the feeling.  Wouldn’t you rather have someone who had tried the stuff and wasn’t susceptible to its powers than someone who was untested?

The LAPD, however, begged to differ and kicked me to the curb.

I was devastated at the time, but I realized years later that I had dodged a rather large, ugly bullet, as the department subsequently became embroiled in scandals involving drug abuse and sexual harassment of its few female officers, who it turns out, had little opportunity for advancement.  I surely would have been miserable there.

But that’s not the only reason I’m thankful I’m not a policeman.  It’s a tough job.  People don’t respect cops any more.  They teach their kids to spit on them and curse them and disrespect them.  They give them realistic looking toy guns to play with and cry baby killer when the kids get shot.

Back in the good old days of cops and robbers, if a cop told you to stop right there, you did one of two things.  If you were a law abiding citizen, you did as you were told.  If you were a n’er-do-well you made a break for it, screaming “You’ll never catch me alive, copper!”

You didn’t try to beat up the policeman; you didn’t charge him or menace him, and you certainly didn’t go repeatedly reaching in your pockets ala Rodney King for what might be a weapon.

Cops are scared.  They’re people too, after all, and they never know what’s going to happen.  Every traffic stop could be their last.  Across the nation, over 1500 police officers have been killed in the line of duty over the last decade — that’s one every three days.  I wouldn’t want that job.

During the Vietnam War, our soldiers never knew whether a seemingly innocent villager, even a child might lob a grenade at them.  Much like cops today, they had to treat everyone as suspect.  And thanks to some yellow journalism, they came home to a hostile nation.

Once again, yellow journalists are fanning the flames in Ferguson, and everyone’s jumping on the bandwagon.  Even though a jury of thoughtful men and women listened to more than 70 hours of testimony from some 60 witnesses, medical examiners and subject matter experts over a period of three months and concluded that police officer Darren Wilson did nothing wrong, they think they know differently.

The people burning down Ferguson don’t care about evidence.  They’re the same kind of people as the jurors who made a mockery of the OJ Simpson trial, pretending to deliberate for 15 minutes and high-fiving each other on the way out of the courtroom.

A black man killed a white woman and got off scott free.  Did a mob of angry white people proceed to burn down Beverly Hills?

Did Kato Kaelin start lobbing Molotov cocktails at police cruisers driving by the Simpson estate?

Did Nicole Brown’s relatives start selling T-shirts with her picture on them and then get into a knock-down drag-out fight over the proceeds and have to be taken to the hospital?

Rodney King resisted arrest.  I saw the video.  Did the cops get a little over-zealous?  Maybe.  That’s what adrenalin does to a person.  He was belligerent and he did keep reaching in his pockets.  He could have had a gun.  He hadn’t been searched yet.  He was resisting.  Resisting.

But the poor hapless fellow who got pulled from his semi and beaten to a pulp by an angry mob after that hearing, why did he deserve that?  And why weren’t the perpetrators convicted?  Fear, that’s why.  Everybody’s afraid.  Because when people don’t respect law enforcement, we live in a lawless society.

If I were Darren Wilson and a 300 pound gorilla started punching me in my own police cruiser, I wouldn’t have even gotten out the car.  I’d have shot him on the spot, and then run him over with the car a few times for good measure.  And I’m sorry, I don’t care what color your skin is, if you’re 6 foot 4 and weigh 300 pounds, you’re a gorilla in my book.   And if you’re a wrestler, you’re most  likely proud of the moniker.

If a police officer tells me to stop, I’m going to treat him or her like a dangerous bear.  I’m going to stay perfectly still and do nothing that might spook them.  Cause I know they’re probably just as scared of me as I am of them…

Medical examiners – subject matter experts, not bigoted construction workers — testified that the wounds to Michael Brown’s arms show that he could not have had his arms raised in surrender.  In fact, much of the physical evidence directly contradicted the testimony of “witnesses,” to the point they could actually be prosecuted for perjury.  Authorities declined to do so, however, saying “I’m sure they believed what they were saying.”  Sadly, witnesses whose testimony supported Darren Wilson’s version of events had to do so anonymously, in fear for their lives.

No matter how you try to spin it, the facts are the facts.  You can clearly see what kind of person Mike Brown was in the security video where he stole the cigarillos, and then pushed the shopkeeper around.  Sorry, “Big Mike.”  I’m sure your family would prefer to remember you as the cherubic 12-year-old in the photo they released to the press, but that’s not the person Darren Wilson encountered that day in Ferguson.

Boy, I’m thankful that I’m not a police officer!

What up Peewee?

November 24, 2014

steeler & lambertHey Peewee,
Remember this Photo of my babies? I sure miss them.
What are your plans for Thanksgiving? Do you have any money for a turkey?
Is the Kid spending the day with you or him? I already cooked a big turkey dinner for TCB last weekend. Its like crack to him. His favorite meal on earth!~

Health Hazards of Second Hand Bullets

November 20, 2014


You cannot light up in any sort of public building anymore, but you can carry a loaded weapon pretty much anywhere you want, even into a bar in some states. It seems that our government is doing a bang-up job of protecting us from the dangers of second hand smoke, but what about the dangers of second hand bullets?

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not one to want to take away anybody’s rights, or “rahts” as they call them in some parts of the country, but I’m just asking:

Does your right to carry a gun override my right not to be gunned down?

The government seems to be so effective at enforcing some laws, yet others just go by the wayside. Even when gun laws are in place, the police seem helpless to enforce them. It’s not about people having guns, after all, it’s about the wrong people having guns. Total wackos seem to be able to get hold of guns willy nilly, and go about committing murder and mayhem in the worst possible places, like elementary schools and college libraries.

But seat belts — hey, everybody has to wear a seat belt. Click it or ticket, right? So maybe that’s the answer. We should pass a law that everybody has to wear a bullet proof vest when they leave the house.

“Are you wearing your bullet proof vest, ma’am?” the officer said, leaning into the car. “Because I think I can see your nipples poking through your blouse.”

If everybody had guns and wore bullet proof vests, then we wouldn’t have situations like we had in Ferguson, Mississippi, where the police inadvertently whacked an unarmed n’er-do-well — oh excuse me, teenager. The dude in question would have been wearing a vest, AND he would have been armed, so it would have been a fair fight. If, for some reason, the perp wasn’t wearing a vest, then it would have been his own fault because he was breaking the law by going commando. And if he didn’t have a gun, well then that would have been his own fault, too.

Of course, he might have fired back on the police officers, but hey, the cops get to wear vests too. It could all be just like a national game of laser tag, as long as no one started taking head shots. Imagine what sort of helmet laws we’d have to put in place then.

I’m getting a warm fuzzy, thinking about the darling little bullet-proof onesies, armor-plated strollers and Teflon teddy bears you could buy at the baby store. And what could be more exciting than picking out Baby’s first handgun?

Imagine the jobs we could create, for factory workers cranking out Kevlar vests. Detroit would be back in business, manufacturing armor plating and bullet proof glass retrofits for older automobiles.

We could solve the illegal immigration problem by making it against the law to sell body armor to anyone without the proper papers.

Back to second-hand smoke. My first husband was a chain smoker, and since everyone at work smoked as well, I was exposed to cigarette smoke 24/7. I went from being a perfectly healthy young woman to waking up one morning in the middle of an asthma attack. And if you don’t know what that’s like, imagine that you have a really bad stuffed up nose, and then put a piece of duct tape over your mouth and you get the picture.

A “specialist” diagnosed me with allergic rhinitis, and told me I was allergic to pretty much everything it was possible to inhale, including hog hair. Who tests for hog hair? This was L.A. — Los Angeles, not Lower Alabama. I asked the doctor if this sudden onset of adult allergies and asthma could have something to do with the cigarette smoke I was breathing in every day and he replied, “we don’t show that you’re allergic to tobacco.”

They wanted to give me shots, but I took the easy way out and got rid of the husband. After that I was fine. No more asthma, no more allergies.

That was in the ’80s, and now they know that cigarette smoke can trigger allergies, asthma and worse. Second hand smoke kills. And so do second hand bullets.

Happy Veterans Day

November 11, 2014

The Veteran’s Day parade on Monday at the kid’s school:




It’s funny, the kids all started off smiling and waving, but by the time they got all the way around the field and came up behind us, which is when I took these pictures, their expressions had changed.  Click on the picture to enlarge it and you’ll notice they’re all frowning…

Lissa, you can probably pick out my little munchkin, the one making the funny face, with the dee-luxe haircut I gave him myself…  (Oh God, I’ve turned into our mother!)

Thanks Peewee

November 11, 2014

Yes I CAN annililate a post when posting from my cell phone. Thanks for fixing it! Hey why don’t you come for Thanksgiving? You can drive to fort myers leave the car and take the ferry to key west? I’ll pick you up? Leave the little ones with the EX? I buy you the ferry ticket.
The grouchy bastard will be in Homestead.

Not a bad idea, Lissa.  Could we eat with Lillian and Wayne again?  You’d have to promise to make your chewy mashed potatoes…  Hey, maybe we could make some of that yummy cheese fondue.  A but nontraditional, but since when are we traditional?  I’ll have to get the car checked out, though.  I think it may have some problems.  I’ve been holding off taking it to a mechanic since I got no money.


New Header photos please?

November 9, 2014

Hey Peewee,
Please change our Header? I really can’t stand to see those pics of us. We look like over the hill stoned hippees. Find some fun photos What about the old ones I sent you?

Boy Lissa, you sure know how to annihilate a post. I just got through fixing those jumbled pix and text.

I’ll get busy on a new header soon, but I’ve been working long hours to pay the rent. It’s not Hawaii, but in Hawaii I was forced to sign up for food stamps – hoping to avoid that here…

Meanwhile, it’s off to the kid’s school for a Veteran’s Day parade. I get to give a speech to his class. (Don’t join the army, kids!) — just kidding, sort of.

Bummer about the dog fines. Nice neighbors you got there…


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