Senator McCarthy, who ironically looks like Joseph McCarthy's wet dream (Ol' Jumpin Joe was a gay man so far in the closet he actually could critique the leather shoes), doesn't even know her own legislation!
Isn't it time that the people got rid of her? For Allah's sake, the dumb cunt doesn't even know what she's talking about.
Also, can someone please enligthen me as to what is the "thing that goes on the shoulder and folds up"? I'm thinking folding up like a grenade sight but I have yet to imagine a stock doing that.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
All the countries bitching about "lax" gun control in America can....
and 
you bunch of
Honestly, we don't give a flying hunk of shit what half the world (which we helped save in WWII with....GUNS!!!) has to say about American Gun laws. Personally there is only one law: Nature's Law! It is portrayed in the Bill of Rights with these awesome words:
"A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed. "
All you fucktard smelly, backwards, inferior countries who keep bitching about us having guns. Kiss my brown ass! Just because you people are virtual slaves to your government, doesn't mean we have to be. Sorry we saved your asses from the Nazis (with whom you ironically agree with on gun control) but now I think we should stay out of the whole global scene. You guys can go around shoving your fists up each others' asses, we will do something important. Like eat beef jerky and be pirates!
Would banning more guns really have stopped the killing?
As the world has watched in horror, grief, and disbelief at the sad news. A lone gunman, armed with two pistols and a lot of rage, guns down 33 people before taking his life. Before the blood from victims (may they rest in peace, and may their families find some as well) dried, the debate turned to gun control. As usual it wasn't our side that shot off their mouths first, it was the Brady Campaign, the New York Times (which lines my bird cage to help saturate it with more of its shit), and every liberal hippie out there.
Their demands for more gun control are amusing. After all, if criminals don't have guns, they won't commit crimes! After the UK banned private citizens from owning arms as one of their fundamental rights, their crime rate is non-existent, right?
WRONG!!!!
England has a pretty bad crime rate, not to mention their version of Justice is anything but. Defend yourself from thugs, hooligans, and punks, go to jail. Like this old woman who barely touched a 15-year-old punk. Self-Defense is definitely not a part of the "progressive" British culture. But hey, they have a better solution than all those icky gross guns, after all jumping up and down will take a bite out of crime!
Honestly people, do you really think banning guns is going to prevent crime? No one remembers the event about 5 years ago in Virginia where a gunman was subdued by armed law-abiding citizens? It's amusing because the media leaves out the "minor" detail about the people having their firearms and merely tackling an armed man. RIIIIIIIGGGHTTT!!! It's an easy mistake when you hate guns and freedom.
It is a sad event that went down, it's horrible people are dead from such a senseless act. It should not happen, but it does. The real way to prevent it is to allow people to carry concealed with no licenses and no restrictions. I will guarantee that crime rates will plummet quite noticeably. If not, I will personally destroy my collection and become a Brady whore.
Their demands for more gun control are amusing. After all, if criminals don't have guns, they won't commit crimes! After the UK banned private citizens from owning arms as one of their fundamental rights, their crime rate is non-existent, right?
WRONG!!!!
England has a pretty bad crime rate, not to mention their version of Justice is anything but. Defend yourself from thugs, hooligans, and punks, go to jail. Like this old woman who barely touched a 15-year-old punk. Self-Defense is definitely not a part of the "progressive" British culture. But hey, they have a better solution than all those icky gross guns, after all jumping up and down will take a bite out of crime!
Honestly people, do you really think banning guns is going to prevent crime? No one remembers the event about 5 years ago in Virginia where a gunman was subdued by armed law-abiding citizens? It's amusing because the media leaves out the "minor" detail about the people having their firearms and merely tackling an armed man. RIIIIIIIGGGHTTT!!! It's an easy mistake when you hate guns and freedom.
It is a sad event that went down, it's horrible people are dead from such a senseless act. It should not happen, but it does. The real way to prevent it is to allow people to carry concealed with no licenses and no restrictions. I will guarantee that crime rates will plummet quite noticeably. If not, I will personally destroy my collection and become a Brady whore.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Sundown at Coffin Rock
by Raymond K. Paden
(NOTE: This story can be found here.)
The old man walked slowly through the dry, fallen leaves of autumn, his practiced eye automatically choosing the bare and stony places in the trail for his feet. There was scarcely a sound as he passed, though his left knee was stiff with scar tissue. He grunted occasionally as the tight sinews pulled. Damn chainsaw, he thought.
Behind him, the boy shuffled along, trying to imitate his grandfather, but unable to mimic the silent motion that the old man had learned during countless winter days upon this wooded mountain in pursuit of game. He's fifteen years old, the old man thought. Plenty old enough to be learning. But that was another time, another America. His mind drifted, and he saw himself, a fifteen-year-old boy following in the footsteps of his own grandfather, clutching a twelve gauge in his trembling hands as they tracked a wounded whitetail.
The leg was hurting worse now, and he slowed his pace a bit. Plenty of time. It should have been my own son here with me now, the old man thought sadly. But Jason had no interest, no understanding. He cared for nothing but pounding on the keys of that damned computer terminal. He knew nothing about the woods, or where food came from...or freedom. And that's my fault, isn't it?
The old man stopped and held up his hand, motioning for the boy to look. In the small clearing ahead, the deer stood motionless, watching them. It was a scraggly buck, underfed and sickly, but the boy's eyes lit up with excitement. It had been many years since they had seen even a single whitetail here on the mountain. After the hunting had stopped, the population had exploded. The deer had eaten the mountain almost bare until erosion had become a serious problem in some places. That following winter, three starving does had wandered into the old man's yard, trying to eat the bark off of his pecan trees, and he had wished the "animal rights" fanatics could have been there then. It was against the law, but old man knew a higher law, and he took an axe into the yard and killed the starving beasts. They did not have the strength to run.
The buck finally turned and loped away, and they continued down the trail to the river. When they came to the "Big Oak," the old man turned and pushed through the heavy brush beside the trail and the boy followed, wordlessly. The old man knew that Thomas was curious about their leaving the trail, but the boy had learned to move silently (well, almost) and that meant no talking. When they came to "Coffin Rock," the old man sat down upon it and motioned for the boy to join him.
"You see this rock, shaped like a casket?" the old man asked. "Yes sir." The old man smiled. The boy was respectful and polite. He loved the outdoors, too. Everything a man could ask in a grandson ....or a son.
"I want you to remember this place, and what I'm about to tell you. A lot of it isn't going to make any sense to you, but it's important and one day you'll understand it well enough. The old man paused. Now that he was here, he didn't really know where to start.
"Before you were born," he began at last, "this country was different. I've told you about hunting, about how everybody who obeyed the law could own guns. A man could speak out, anywhere, without worrying about whether he'd get back home or not. School was different, too. A man could send his kids to a church school, or a private school, or even teach them at home. But even in the public schools, they didn't spend all their time trying to brainwash you like they do at yours now." The old man paused, and was silent for many minutes. The boy was still, watching a chipmunk scavenging beside a fallen tree below them.
"Things don't ever happen all at once, boy. They just sort of sneak up on you. Sure, we knew guns were important; we just didn't think it would ever happen in America. But we had to do something about crime, they said. It was a crisis. Everything was a crisis! It was a drug crisis, or a terrorism crisis, or street crime, or gang crime. Even a 'health care' crisis was an excuse to take away a little more of our rights." The old man turned to look at his grandson.
"They ever let you read a thing called the Constitution down there at your school?" The boy solemnly shook his head. "Well, the Fourth Amendment's still in there. It says there won't be any unreasonable searches and seizures. It says you're safe in your own home." The old man shrugged. "That had to go. It was a crisis! They could kick your door open any time, day or night, and come in with guns blazing if they thought you had drugs ...or later, guns. Oh, at first it was just registration -- to keep the guns out of the hands of criminals! But that didn't work, of course, and then later when they wanted to take 'em they knew where to look. They banned 'assault rifles', and then 'sniper rifles', and 'Saturday night specials.' Everything you saw on the TV or in the movies was against us. God knows the news people were! And the schools were teaching our kids that nobody needed guns anymore. We tried to take a stand, but we felt like the whole face of our country had changed and we were left outside."
"Me and a friend of mine, when we saw what was happening, we came and built a secret place up here on the mountain. A place where we could put our guns until we needed them. We figured some day Americans would remember what it was like to be free, and what kind of price we had to pay for that freedom. So we hid our guns instead of losing them."
"One fellow I knew disagreed. He said we ought to use our guns now and stand up to the government. Said that the colonists had fought for their freedom when the British tried to disarm them at Lexington and Concord. Well, he and a lot of others died in what your history books call the 'Tax Revolt of 1998,' but son, it wasn't the revolt that caused the repeal of the Second Amendment like your history book says. The Second Amendment was already gone long before they ever repealed it. The rest of us thought we were doing the right thing by waiting. I hope to God we were right."
"You see, Thomas. It isn't government that makes a man free. In the end, governments always do just the opposite. They gobble up freedom like hungry pigs. You have to have laws to keep the worst in men under control, but at the same time the people have to have guns, too, in order to keep the government itself under control. In our country, the people were supposed to be the final authority of the law, but that was a long time ago. Once the guns were gone, there was no reason for those who run the government to give a damn about laws and constitutional rights and such. They just did what they pleased and anyone who spoke out...well, I'm getting ahead of myself."
"It took a long time to collect up all the millions of firearms that were in private hands. The government created a whole new agency to see to it. There were rewards for turning your friends in, too. Drug dealers and murderers were set free after two or three years in prison, but possession of a gun would get you mandatory life behind bars with no parole.
"I don't know how they found out about me, probably knew I'd been a hunter all those years, or maybe somebody turned me in. They picked me up on suspicion and took me down to the federal building."
"Son, those guys did everything they could think of to me. Kept me locked up in this little room for hours, no food, no water. They kept coming in, asking me where the guns were. 'What guns?' I said. Whenever I'd doze off, they'd come crashing in, yelling and hollering. I got to where I didn't know which end was up. I'd say I wanted my lawyer and they'd laugh. 'Lawyers are for criminals', they said. 'You'll get a lawyer after we get the guns.' What's so funny is, I know they thought they were doing the right thing. They were fighting crime!"
"When I got home I found Ruth sitting in the middle of the living room floor, crying her eyes out. The house was a shambles. While I was down there, they'd come out and took our house apart. Didn't need a search warrant, they said. National emergency! Gun crisis! Your grandma tried to call our preacher and they ripped the phone off the wall. Told her that they'd go easy on me if she just told them where I kept my guns." The old man laughed. "She told them to go to hell." He stared into the distance for a moment as his laughter faded.
"They wouldn't tell her about me, where I was or anything, that whole time. She said that she'd thought I was dead. She never got over that day, and she died the next December."
"They've been watching me ever since, off and on. I guess there's not much for them to do anymore, now that all the guns are gone. Plenty of time to watch one foolish old man." He paused. Beside him, the boy stared at the stone beneath his feet.
"Anyway, I figure that, one day, America will come to her senses. Our men will need those guns and they'll be ready. We cleaned them and sealed them up good; they'll last for years. Maybe it won't be in your lifetime, Thomas. Maybe one day you'll be sitting here with your son or grandson. Tell him about me, boy. Tell him about the way I said America used to be." The old man stood, his bad leg shaking unsteadily beneath him.
"You see the way this stone points? You follow that line one hundred feet down the hill and you'll find a big round rock. It looks like it's buried solid, but one man with a good prybar can lift it, and there's a concrete tunnel right under there that goes back into the hill."
The old man stood, watching as the sun eased toward the ridge, coloring the sky and the world red. Below them, the river still splashed among the stones, as it had for a million years. It's still going, the old man thought. There'll be someone left to carry on for me when I'm gone. It was harder to walk back. He felt old and purposeless now, and it would be easier, he knew, to give in to that aching heaviness in his left lung that had begun to trouble him more and more. Damn cigarettes, he thought. His leg hurt, and the boy silently came up beside him and supported him as they started down the last mile toward the house. How quiet he walks, the old man thought. He's learned well.
It was almost dark when the boy walked in. His father looked up from his paper. "Did you and your granddad have a nice walk?"
"Yes," the boy answered, opening the refrigerator. "You can call Agent Goodwin tomorrow. Gramps finally showed me where it is."
(NOTE: This story can be found here.)
The old man walked slowly through the dry, fallen leaves of autumn, his practiced eye automatically choosing the bare and stony places in the trail for his feet. There was scarcely a sound as he passed, though his left knee was stiff with scar tissue. He grunted occasionally as the tight sinews pulled. Damn chainsaw, he thought.
Behind him, the boy shuffled along, trying to imitate his grandfather, but unable to mimic the silent motion that the old man had learned during countless winter days upon this wooded mountain in pursuit of game. He's fifteen years old, the old man thought. Plenty old enough to be learning. But that was another time, another America. His mind drifted, and he saw himself, a fifteen-year-old boy following in the footsteps of his own grandfather, clutching a twelve gauge in his trembling hands as they tracked a wounded whitetail.
The leg was hurting worse now, and he slowed his pace a bit. Plenty of time. It should have been my own son here with me now, the old man thought sadly. But Jason had no interest, no understanding. He cared for nothing but pounding on the keys of that damned computer terminal. He knew nothing about the woods, or where food came from...or freedom. And that's my fault, isn't it?
The old man stopped and held up his hand, motioning for the boy to look. In the small clearing ahead, the deer stood motionless, watching them. It was a scraggly buck, underfed and sickly, but the boy's eyes lit up with excitement. It had been many years since they had seen even a single whitetail here on the mountain. After the hunting had stopped, the population had exploded. The deer had eaten the mountain almost bare until erosion had become a serious problem in some places. That following winter, three starving does had wandered into the old man's yard, trying to eat the bark off of his pecan trees, and he had wished the "animal rights" fanatics could have been there then. It was against the law, but old man knew a higher law, and he took an axe into the yard and killed the starving beasts. They did not have the strength to run.
The buck finally turned and loped away, and they continued down the trail to the river. When they came to the "Big Oak," the old man turned and pushed through the heavy brush beside the trail and the boy followed, wordlessly. The old man knew that Thomas was curious about their leaving the trail, but the boy had learned to move silently (well, almost) and that meant no talking. When they came to "Coffin Rock," the old man sat down upon it and motioned for the boy to join him.
"You see this rock, shaped like a casket?" the old man asked. "Yes sir." The old man smiled. The boy was respectful and polite. He loved the outdoors, too. Everything a man could ask in a grandson ....or a son.
"I want you to remember this place, and what I'm about to tell you. A lot of it isn't going to make any sense to you, but it's important and one day you'll understand it well enough. The old man paused. Now that he was here, he didn't really know where to start.
"Before you were born," he began at last, "this country was different. I've told you about hunting, about how everybody who obeyed the law could own guns. A man could speak out, anywhere, without worrying about whether he'd get back home or not. School was different, too. A man could send his kids to a church school, or a private school, or even teach them at home. But even in the public schools, they didn't spend all their time trying to brainwash you like they do at yours now." The old man paused, and was silent for many minutes. The boy was still, watching a chipmunk scavenging beside a fallen tree below them.
"Things don't ever happen all at once, boy. They just sort of sneak up on you. Sure, we knew guns were important; we just didn't think it would ever happen in America. But we had to do something about crime, they said. It was a crisis. Everything was a crisis! It was a drug crisis, or a terrorism crisis, or street crime, or gang crime. Even a 'health care' crisis was an excuse to take away a little more of our rights." The old man turned to look at his grandson.
"They ever let you read a thing called the Constitution down there at your school?" The boy solemnly shook his head. "Well, the Fourth Amendment's still in there. It says there won't be any unreasonable searches and seizures. It says you're safe in your own home." The old man shrugged. "That had to go. It was a crisis! They could kick your door open any time, day or night, and come in with guns blazing if they thought you had drugs ...or later, guns. Oh, at first it was just registration -- to keep the guns out of the hands of criminals! But that didn't work, of course, and then later when they wanted to take 'em they knew where to look. They banned 'assault rifles', and then 'sniper rifles', and 'Saturday night specials.' Everything you saw on the TV or in the movies was against us. God knows the news people were! And the schools were teaching our kids that nobody needed guns anymore. We tried to take a stand, but we felt like the whole face of our country had changed and we were left outside."
"Me and a friend of mine, when we saw what was happening, we came and built a secret place up here on the mountain. A place where we could put our guns until we needed them. We figured some day Americans would remember what it was like to be free, and what kind of price we had to pay for that freedom. So we hid our guns instead of losing them."
"One fellow I knew disagreed. He said we ought to use our guns now and stand up to the government. Said that the colonists had fought for their freedom when the British tried to disarm them at Lexington and Concord. Well, he and a lot of others died in what your history books call the 'Tax Revolt of 1998,' but son, it wasn't the revolt that caused the repeal of the Second Amendment like your history book says. The Second Amendment was already gone long before they ever repealed it. The rest of us thought we were doing the right thing by waiting. I hope to God we were right."
"You see, Thomas. It isn't government that makes a man free. In the end, governments always do just the opposite. They gobble up freedom like hungry pigs. You have to have laws to keep the worst in men under control, but at the same time the people have to have guns, too, in order to keep the government itself under control. In our country, the people were supposed to be the final authority of the law, but that was a long time ago. Once the guns were gone, there was no reason for those who run the government to give a damn about laws and constitutional rights and such. They just did what they pleased and anyone who spoke out...well, I'm getting ahead of myself."
"It took a long time to collect up all the millions of firearms that were in private hands. The government created a whole new agency to see to it. There were rewards for turning your friends in, too. Drug dealers and murderers were set free after two or three years in prison, but possession of a gun would get you mandatory life behind bars with no parole.
"I don't know how they found out about me, probably knew I'd been a hunter all those years, or maybe somebody turned me in. They picked me up on suspicion and took me down to the federal building."
"Son, those guys did everything they could think of to me. Kept me locked up in this little room for hours, no food, no water. They kept coming in, asking me where the guns were. 'What guns?' I said. Whenever I'd doze off, they'd come crashing in, yelling and hollering. I got to where I didn't know which end was up. I'd say I wanted my lawyer and they'd laugh. 'Lawyers are for criminals', they said. 'You'll get a lawyer after we get the guns.' What's so funny is, I know they thought they were doing the right thing. They were fighting crime!"
"When I got home I found Ruth sitting in the middle of the living room floor, crying her eyes out. The house was a shambles. While I was down there, they'd come out and took our house apart. Didn't need a search warrant, they said. National emergency! Gun crisis! Your grandma tried to call our preacher and they ripped the phone off the wall. Told her that they'd go easy on me if she just told them where I kept my guns." The old man laughed. "She told them to go to hell." He stared into the distance for a moment as his laughter faded.
"They wouldn't tell her about me, where I was or anything, that whole time. She said that she'd thought I was dead. She never got over that day, and she died the next December."
"They've been watching me ever since, off and on. I guess there's not much for them to do anymore, now that all the guns are gone. Plenty of time to watch one foolish old man." He paused. Beside him, the boy stared at the stone beneath his feet.
"Anyway, I figure that, one day, America will come to her senses. Our men will need those guns and they'll be ready. We cleaned them and sealed them up good; they'll last for years. Maybe it won't be in your lifetime, Thomas. Maybe one day you'll be sitting here with your son or grandson. Tell him about me, boy. Tell him about the way I said America used to be." The old man stood, his bad leg shaking unsteadily beneath him.
"You see the way this stone points? You follow that line one hundred feet down the hill and you'll find a big round rock. It looks like it's buried solid, but one man with a good prybar can lift it, and there's a concrete tunnel right under there that goes back into the hill."
The old man stood, watching as the sun eased toward the ridge, coloring the sky and the world red. Below them, the river still splashed among the stones, as it had for a million years. It's still going, the old man thought. There'll be someone left to carry on for me when I'm gone. It was harder to walk back. He felt old and purposeless now, and it would be easier, he knew, to give in to that aching heaviness in his left lung that had begun to trouble him more and more. Damn cigarettes, he thought. His leg hurt, and the boy silently came up beside him and supported him as they started down the last mile toward the house. How quiet he walks, the old man thought. He's learned well.
It was almost dark when the boy walked in. His father looked up from his paper. "Did you and your granddad have a nice walk?"
"Yes," the boy answered, opening the refrigerator. "You can call Agent Goodwin tomorrow. Gramps finally showed me where it is."
Monday, April 9, 2007
Ah, so here we go again.
Q: What is the only difference between these two?
A: One of them is SUPPOSED to look and sound like a man!
It's interesting to note the amazing similiarities between these two men. Hillary (who curiously refers to himself as a woman) hates guns in citizens' hands, much like Hitler did. Hillary constantly uses brute tactics to win, as did Hitler. Both love preventing free speech, thought, and anything that went against their agenda. The only difference is Hillary has yet to fulfill his wet dream of killing all political opponents after disarming them like Hitler did.
Hillary thinks he will get the office, he couldn't be more wrong. Even if they ban my guns, I will chuckle, shake my head, and get my guns loaded for when the goons come to fulfill Hitl...I mean Hillary's Final Solution.
Ah, this picture is much more accurate:
Soon, they will take away your guns, give you a nice number tattoo on your left forearm, and put you on a cattle car heading to some "re-education" on why you are a bad citizens for wanting your human rights.
Fuck Hillary, fuck him up his stupid ass.
One day it may come to this:
So stock up now so we can all say with ease:
Do the right thing, join the JPFO today!
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Fuck Penguins!!!
I'm seriously tired of all these fucking penguin movies like Farce of the Penguins (I'll divulge on this later), Madagascar, March of the Penguins, and Happy Feet? You know what else means "happy''? GAY!!!! That's right, it really is about gay penguins having gay buttsex on some gay tundra full of gay cowboys eating pudding. Honestly, Gay Cowboys? Did the guy who wrote that movie just decide to emulate the Village People when he smoked his bowl of the chronic and cranked out that crappy movie.
Or what about 300? That movie sucked! I actually walked out of the theater bored to death. The battle scene was all CGI, the fighting was as well, and the actors were pathetic. 300, Happy Feet, Spanglish, etc. All of these movies suck!!!
What's worse, people swoon over these movies and shit saying how great the special effects are. Newsflash you idiots, we don't care about how fancy the wall paper of some simulated room looks like if the characters are awkward and one-dimensional, or when the plot has holes big enough to let a Union Pacific go through.
Now about these Movie movies such as Scary Movie, Date Movie, Epic Movie, Teen Movie, etc. THEY'RE NO FUCKING FUNNY! Christ the chicks in there are somewhat hot but that's about it. Let the idea die. All the people who are buying tickets for these abominations should be cut with a rusty razor blade and then have gasoline and salt poured on their wounds. That'll teach them to help endorse such stupid movies.
Not to mention the movies that were actually good like Indiana Jones, Rocky, Rambo, Die Hard, etc. are now getting sequels well after the actors are past their prime to be in these movies. Hell Stallone and Ford were already climbing up there in years when they starred in their respective films. Let it be treasured in our childhood memories of watching these movies instead of whoring them out to a director who has no idea what the fuck he is doing.
All these shitty movies make me feel like this:
Blasphemous? Damn straight? Religious? FUCK NO!
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Lloyd Bridges for President!!!!
There's been a lot of talk these days about who should run for the "prestige" of being the President. Personally I think the most qualified person is Lloyd Bridges. He has a great last name, he's an actor, and he is sooooo dreamy. I think Madonna gave her endorsement for him (which, as we all know, is what makes or breaks a candidate!) and she is so on the ball. Like that one time when she discovered her latent British accent and impressed everyone with her command of such knowledge. Or how about that time she starred in all of those great movies that were blockbusters and critically acclaimed. Such timeless classics as Swept Away, Eva, and Stupid Old Bitch Who Can't Act Stars in Some Shitty Remake of a Shitty Movie because Her Husband is Fucking Her Sub-Par Vagina and Can't Stand Up for Himself.
So remember informed voter, vote for Lloyd Bridges.
OR ELSE!!!
So remember informed voter, vote for Lloyd Bridges.
OR ELSE!!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)