tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42332185446600886252024-02-07T21:46:39.652-08:00Viewed From The Right"The most terrifying words in the English language are: I'm from the government, and I'm here to help" - Ronald ReaganLipton T. Bagghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11564029649944488330noreply@blogger.comBlogger365125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-58529762868468140852011-12-14T12:03:00.001-08:002011-12-14T12:03:10.607-08:00OMG! He's Returned...More to come, so many stories to tell...Lipton T. Bagghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11564029649944488330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-29297277001907253342010-09-03T17:55:00.000-07:002010-09-03T18:03:55.614-07:00A Message From Lipton T. BaggSo, you guys thought Lipton was dead, or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">inconito</span>, WRONG! Here goes:<br /><br />"It's dark here. It's smelly. I feel trapped. Damn, why didn't I stay in the states? <br /><br />"All my mates are fine. I'm fine. But it is dark here. And did I mention smelly?<br /><br />"Yeah, I'll say it. I'm THAT guy. I'm the miner who is trapped until Christmas and his wife and his paramour just met standing outside awaiting his release."<br /><br />"Please get a message to my wife: 'Honey, don't believe a word that bitch says. There is only you in my life.'"<br /><br />"<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">LTB</span><br /><br />"p.s. Please <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">surreptitiously</span> get a word to my bitch on the side: <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Mookie</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Mookie</span>, don't believe a word that the press and my soon to be ex-wife say about you or me. We belong together. You 'complete me.' I'll see you the day after Christmas. Your <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">LTB</span> sandwich. Your 'Candy Man.' Your Patton, your Napoleon. Hell, I'll say it, your Hannibal! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">XXOOXX</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">LTB</span>"Hard Right Rudderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18058514634679797700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-41228208075292929452010-08-23T09:51:00.000-07:002010-08-23T10:02:07.526-07:00The Continuing Saga of Lipton T. Bagg: So the photo of the cheerleader got me to thinking...I was sitting in my dive of a hotel in Reno, Nevada, after a long night of Texas Hold 'em. (My official position is that I lost huge sums of money, if you are reading this Mr. IRS man.) Perhaps I was over-thinking this. Or to be more accurate, I was treating my search for Lipton T. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Bagg</span> as if I were searching for me. Granted, Lipton and I seem to have much in common. But how much do I really know him? Maybe I had just gotten lucky by searching in every local run down bar in or near the Florida gulf coast. I finally had to admit that I found him because he happened to be doing what I would have been doing if away from my wife on an extended stay to that location. He already told us where he was going, he just did not say exactly where, nor did he give a reason.<br /><br />So, back to square one. He was not at any gambling establishment within a thousand miles of where he last escaped, er I mean left me standing outside the women's rest room. The cheerleader made me think, hey, perhaps he likes football. With an unlimited bank account and time on my hands, and football season about to get hot and heavy, I'd go to the best games in the country, as many as possible. But what if he likes pro baseball instead? The pennant races is heating up. Or, and I like this personally, what if he digs <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">NASCAR</span> (which somebody called "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">WWF</span> for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">dumbies</span>")?<br /><br />I have to admit, this revelation that this might be a job too big for John Doe made me depressed. Okay, it might have been lack of sleep and alcohol, combined with the dreary hotel room and lack of female companionship (in case <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">wifey</span> reads this) that contributed to my depression. At any rate, I'm going to bed, and I'll think about it in the morning. Over every damn item on the breakfast served in my room menu. <br /><br />John DoeHard Right Rudderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18058514634679797700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-31651637803238778842010-08-23T06:47:00.001-07:002010-08-23T06:53:04.983-07:00Why even God hates the New York Times<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjigknLfG8d0gfvF49Z3ajcBzDilWxWc4qAXjaKnIhiLxFhIdgT3gjfuxz29nOoQ68xNzubv1Ew_JDK-gpWlqM4mgZS9qRH0mGhJGQdG0rEiHFn0IY5o5BY2PbsqaKAKXJR2p1EIf3sPvn7/s400/sexy-hot-cheerleader.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 299px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjigknLfG8d0gfvF49Z3ajcBzDilWxWc4qAXjaKnIhiLxFhIdgT3gjfuxz29nOoQ68xNzubv1Ew_JDK-gpWlqM4mgZS9qRH0mGhJGQdG0rEiHFn0IY5o5BY2PbsqaKAKXJR2p1EIf3sPvn7/s400/sexy-hot-cheerleader.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>A sentence from a NYT's Editorial, via NRO "<a href="http://www.nationalreview.com/corner/244429/sentence-day-ramesh-ponnuru" mce_href="http://www.nationalreview.com/corner/244429/sentence-day-ramesh-ponnuru">The Corner</a>:" “But many of Mr. DeLay’s actions remain legal only because lawmakers have chosen not to criminalize them.”</div><br /><div><br />So it's come down to this: A House Majority Leader can be forced to resign his position and his elected office based on allegations that certain of his actions might have been criminalized but for the fact that lawmakers have chosen not to criminalize them. Yeah, and I might have been guilty of speeding if the lawmakers had chosen limit the speed at 45 instead of 55.<br /><a href="http://maaadddog.files.wordpress.com/2010/08/sexy-hot-cheerleader.jpg?w=224" mce_href="http://maaadddog.files.wordpress.com/2010/08/sexy-hot-cheerleader.jpg?w=224"></a><br />What comes to my mind is the immortal phrase attributed to former Labor Secretary Ray Donovan after he was acquitted after <a href="http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,964567,00.html" mce_href="http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,964567,00.html">a nine month trial </a>(I paraphrase): "Where do I go to get my reputation back?" At least back then the liberal press by and large had the decency to condemn the local prosecutor whose baseless charges forced Ray Donovan to resign his cabinet seat in the Reagan Administration. (God be praised for St. Reagan!)</div><br /><div><br />Love him or hate him, "The Hammer" did not deserve to be run out of office on trumped-up charges that turned out to be nothing, zip, zero, nada. And Republicans allowed it to happen. Delay was the House Majority Leader for the Republicans at the time. The equivalent today would be if some Republican local prosecutor from Maryland indicted Steney Hoyer and he was forced to resign his seat to defend himself. </div><br /><div><br />I say do it. The only thing that Democrats understand is "the Chicago Way." They indict one of yours, send three of theirs to the slammer. Don't give me this crap about turning the other cheek. That just allows Dems to sit back and pick off conservative leaders at zero risk to </div><br /><div>themselves. </div><br /><div><br />And dumbass little cheerleaders in froufrou pom poms and short skirts sit behind their desks at the NY Times and cheer them on. Whoever penned this statement disgusts me (here is a link to the entire <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/22/opinion/22sun2.html" mce_href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/22/opinion/22sun2.html">Editorial</a>). As does the paper that allowed it to be printed.</div><br /><div><br />John Doe (cross posted at Smash Mouth)</div><br /><div><br />FACTUAL UPDATE: The Justice Department chose not to prosecute--after leaving Delay dangling for several years while investigating him. The local charges are still pending. So it's not over yet. But whatever the hell happened to the constitutional guarantee of a "speedy trial?"</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>[p.s. LTB, phone home. Won't you come home LTB, won't you come? Won't you come home today! LTB won't you please come home!!??</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Won't you come home LTB, won't you come home?<br />She moans the whole day long.<br />I'll do the cooking darling, I'll pay the rent;<br />I knows I've done you wrong;<br />Member that rainy eve that I drove you out,<br />With nothing but a fine tooth comb?<br />I know I'se to blame; well ain't that a shame?<br />LTB won't you please come home? ]</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>Hard Right Rudderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18058514634679797700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-41676454747245078852010-08-22T19:06:00.000-07:002010-08-22T19:26:55.912-07:00Shit this is getting boring...So I'm sitting in a casino in Reno. And I'm losing my ass off. I thought for sure I'd find Lipton by now. First, I tried New Orleans. I thought it was the closest place where I might find him. Damn it all for America allowing too many casinos. There are riverboats. There are Indian reservations. Too many places where a good man can hide. <br /><br />Reno is just a stopping spot, on my way to Vegas. That drunken bum has to be somewhere. <br /><br />At first I loved my new gig. An unlimited supply of money. Hell, my first night in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Nawleens</span> I tried to see if I could lose more money gambling than my new friends had available as a re-supply. Nope. Three times I needed more, three times I just walked around looking lost, and some different dude came up <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">surreptitiously</span> and asked me if i needed more. Yup I replied, and each time I got a new stack. Nice.<br /><br />But losing money, even if it is somebody <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Else's</span>' money, and drinking copious amounts of alcohol, gets old. Believe it. Always in the back of my mind was "Where is the Big Guy?" We miss him. This blog ain't the same without him. His "wife" misses him, whoever he is. And besides, she's paying me a hefty sum on the side to find his sorry ass. She just mumbles something about "I get that sorry bass <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">tard</span> if me get chance!" Dunno what her beef is but she pays well. <br /><br />I looked down at pocket aces. I grimaced and just cold called a 3x raise from the under the gun guy. He was not a local, probably just some <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Internet</span> wannabe poker player. I had been sitting here for two hours just checking out the place, hoping HE might come in. The guy to my left re-raised, a pot sized raise. I did not get too excited. Too many tight players, all waiting to bust some <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">tooorist</span>. To my surprise the original raiser pushed all in. He only had a couple hundred, unfortunately. I gave a look as though my heartburn was acting up. I feigned mucking my cards, while <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">surreptitiously</span> glancing at the original raiser's direction. Reluctantly, I hoped I was acting, I just called. <br /><br />Dude to my left re-raised all in. He had almost a grand. Now, I got an instant erection. "Call" I said, with no hint of gastronomical distress. I turned over my aces instantly, and heard his groan--I'd know the groan of pocket kings anywhere. The other guy stood up to leave. He didn't show, either. The flop was non-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">descript</span>, no paint. Turn and river equally good for me, and my pocket rockets got paid off. I took all the chips, got up and went to the cashier, hoping my new friends had noticed my losses but not my wins, secretly wondering to myself..." Where is that asshole <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">LTB</span>? We miss him." <br /><br />I cursed myself for not finding him, and vowed to redouble my efforts to find lard ass. <br /><br />To be continued...<br /><br />John Doe...Hard Right Rudderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18058514634679797700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-76598384183655869802010-08-17T16:23:00.000-07:002010-08-17T16:45:50.610-07:00Once I got my wits about me...<a href="http://americandigest.org/venusassless.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 234px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 344px" alt="" src="http://americandigest.org/venusassless.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I started thinking. I am, after all, a lawyer by trade. Or profession as all those phonies out there like to think of themselves, with the pompous "Esquire" after all their names. Even the women. Think about it: "Jane B. Doe, Esquire." I always thought of Esquire as being a gentleman. Many of the female lawyers with whom I have had the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">displeasure</span> of meeting are certainly not gentlewomen. But I digress. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Before I got out of the black S.U.V. with the darkly tinted windows, I asked a few questions. "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Ummm</span>, how am I to afford this attempt to find Lipton T. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Bagg?</span>" [Or whatever the hell his name is?] That earned a scowl, but I learned that Uncle Sam would foot my entire bill. "My entire <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">billlllllll</span>?" "Yup." <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Daaaaaayaaaaammmmm</span>. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"My F-150 has over 200,000 miles, and most of the gaskets leak fluid." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"We'll get you a car." Music to my ears. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"I may have to break a few laws to find him..." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"You have a 'get out of jail FREE' card from us!"</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I hope he did not see the corner of my lip curl up just a bit when I heard that. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"I'll need some cash."</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>He didn't flinch. He reached into his coat pocket and took out a stack of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">hundies</span>. I acted as though it was no big deal and took the stack and stuffed it awkwardly into my hip pocket. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"One more thing. Stay off my trail. To find him, I have to be left alone."</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>That did not set too well. These alpha males did not appear to be the types to want to let me have free reign during my search for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">LTB</span>. But I am not dumb. I was holding all the cards. Or at least these bozos thought that I was. They all nodded in agreement. </div><div> </div><div>"Ugh, one last, stupid question..." </div><div> </div><div>"What!?" This time it was the driver, whom I had never heard utter a word before. </div><div> </div><div>Nonplussed, I replied: "Does Lipton get the same considerations that I get?" I saw that my question was not understood. "Does he get an unlimited supply of money when he is performing his special tasks for America?"</div><div> </div><div>I swear they all looked at me as if I were a fucking imbecile. I took that as a yes. </div><div> </div><div>So the first thing that I did once they were gone, I got on my bug-infested lap top and Map-quested the distance to certain locations from the location of the dive where Lipton had been seen. "This is gonna be easy" I thought to myself. Can you tell where this is going? </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>HOLD YOUR BREATH IN ANTICIPATION! MORE IS COMING!!!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>John "I'm a Secret Agent Now" Doe</div><br /><div></div>Hard Right Rudderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18058514634679797700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-70380643815150528662010-08-17T15:42:00.000-07:002010-08-17T16:03:19.946-07:00So imagine my surprise...<a href="http://www.ironandsteelnyctofortbenning.org/images/salute_flag_alt.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 426px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.ironandsteelnyctofortbenning.org/images/salute_flag_alt.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I got back home from searching for Lipton T. Bagg, or whatever the hell his name is. How about "Captain America?" He gets to go on drunken binges and then save America. I want me some of that. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I had about patched things up with my wife, and with my irate clients, all of whom felt severely neglected while I was off on a lark and a frolic trying to save my good friend whom I had never met. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>The phone was hopping with clients and lawyers and a judge's secretary and a Federal District Court Clerk, all who had their noses out of joint that I had not returned their calls while I had been indisposed. Into this hectic madness came a knock on the door. I should never have opened the door. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>It was them. I knew the drill. I followed what's his name into the black S.U.V. with darkly tinted windows. Same crowd in the car. None looked too happy. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"WHY THE FUCK DID YOU SPILL THE BEANS ABOUT LIPTON T. BAGG ON HIS BLOG!!? Don't you know all our nations enemies monitor that site!!?? They know Lipton is the baddest, most able, most cunning and most willing anti-communist, anti-terrorist, anti-anti anything agent in America? They are always trying but failing to find more info on the guy. Until now, they did not even know for sure that that picture of him was really him. They assumed it was just some hawt male underwear model pasted up there to fool them. DAMN!" He slowly ran out of steam and sputtered a few more profanities. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Sometimes not saying nothin is the best policy. I shrugged and looked away. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"Now, <em>you owe us</em>. You owe America. You owe over 250,000,000,000 Americans." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I looked up in surprise. He saw my crinkled brow and puzzled look, and he did not appear pleased. Come on, I'm not a fucking mind reader. Give me a break my next look said. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"You blew his cover. He's gone deep under. We think he is on the bender of all benders, the Lipton T. Bagg Speciallll, super duper deluxe, never before seen and hopefully never again duplicated Lipton T. Bagg is hiding out somewhere getting drunk on his ass and failing to even make contact with us, let alone with his wonderful, world famous--infamous?--blog known as "Viewed from the Right." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I saw his point. It was all my fault. Lipton would have probably saved the world, but I had screwed up and found him when he wasn't supposed to be found, and then I had blabbed about it here. What a fool I was. America probably hates me, or would if they knew what a mess I had made of American foreign policy. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I almost cried. What could I do to make up for my mistake? They had me, like putty in their hands. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"Find him for us. You did it once before. Maybe you can do it again. You think like a drunk. You seem to be inside his head." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"I'll do what I can." I pursed my lips, gritted my teeth, thrust out my jaw, and was determined to make up for my past mistakes. I could almost hear the National Anthem as my heart beat faster. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>To Be Continued...</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>John Doe </div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>Hard Right Rudderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18058514634679797700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-13265213027741233042010-08-15T08:24:00.000-07:002010-08-15T09:22:14.068-07:00Part IV of the Lipton T. Bagg Saga<a href="http://media.nextautos.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/02/denali_02.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 450px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://media.nextautos.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/02/denali_02.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>I did not know what to do without my new old, no, old new, friend. So I did what any red-blooded American boy would do when alone at a bar somewhere in east Texas. I started drinking heavily. Man, that line-dancing shit (while certainly not as hip as hippie twirling) ain't bad when you have several shots of tequila under yer belt (no, I did not wear one of those Texas huge fancy belt buckles! No cowboy boots neither! I wasn't <em>that</em> drunk.) </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Whatever time it was that they kicked us all out of the bar I could not tell you if my dog's life depended on it. Nor could I tell you how I managed to make it into some cheap hotel room. All I can tell you is that I was fully-clothed, laying on top of the bed, and hung-over, when the phone rang sometime near almost mid the next day (Sunday). </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I tried to ignore it. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. RING RING RING. I cursed at the phone, but that hurt my head too. Finally it stopped. Thank you Dear God! </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Then it started ringing again. On and on and on. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I finally rolled over and grabbed it: "WHAT!!!!!!!!!????????" Oh, shit. That was too loud. I almost puked from the pain in my throbbing head. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"Mr. Doe?" Some formal sounding white male, mid-40s I guessed. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"Who the fuck wants to know!?" But softer now, for my head's sake. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"Special Agent Frank Barnes, F.B.I." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"What do you want?" Trying to sound tougher than I really felt. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"We need to talk to you." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Gulp. "What's this about?" </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"We think you know. We can't talk over the phone. Meet us in front of your hotel room in fifteen minutes." Click. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I immediately called California. Collect. A sexy sounding oriental female voice answered: "Hello?" </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"Why did you call the F.B.I.? And how did they find me?"</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"I did not call the F.B.I. Why would I? I not really sure I want Lipton back. I getting used to him being gone." Click. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Adrenalin</span> cursed through my veins. I had never met with the F.B.I. before. I assumed I knew what this was about, but in fact there were a few sordid details in my past that I am certain the F.B.I. would want to ask me about if they knew. Oh, shit! I hope they had not talked to my wife while I was gone. I didn't tell her the details of why I left so suddenly. Maybe she had second thoughts, and concluded that I was a lying <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">dirt bag</span> who had really left her. Well, I am a lying <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">dirt bag</span>, I just didn't want to tell her that I had left work, home, and my very important blogging to track down some dude that I have never met. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I cleaned up, slowly, took a wet wash-cloth to wipe off what looked like dried puke from my pants, used some of that cheap mouthwash that was provided with the room, and walked out my door. The mid-morning hot Texas sun caused me to shut my eyes in pain. Throbbing head. Damn that cheap tequila. Damn me for drinking too much. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>When I had finally adjusted to the light so that I could see, I couldn't see <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">nothin</span>. I did not recognize where I was. Didn't know how far I was from the bar and my car. There was a single road that I did not recognize and no traffic on it. I stood there and started to sweat. Some big ass bug flew around my head, again and again. </div><div> </div><div>I stood there melting for what seemed like fifteen minutes. Finally, I started to walk back inside. I don't wait for nobody more than fifteen minutes. Okay, it might have only been 4-5 minutes, but in my condition it seemed longer. </div><div> </div><div>Suddenly, a big black S.U.V. with darkly tinted windows drove up. The back door opened up, and a man dressed in a suit jumped out, grabbed my arm and said "Get in." It wasn't a request. When I hesitated, he showed his badge. I got in. </div><div> </div><div>I might talk tough, but I don't mess with the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">fibbies</span>. Or any law enforcement. My number one rule--or two, I forget, it's somewhere up near the top of my list--is never mess with a guy who has a badge and a gun. </div><div> </div><div>He kind of pushed me in and got in beside me, then slammed the door. There was another guy already in the back seat, and two more in front. The S.U.V. sped off. </div><div> </div><div>"<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Heyyyyy</span>, what's going on? I didn't consent to..." </div><div> </div><div>"Shut up Mr. Doe," the man in the front passenger seat turned and said. "This involves a matter of national security. This is top secret. Nothing that we tell you can leave this vehicle. If you tell anyone, ANYONE, anything that occurs in the next few minutes, you could be charged with violating national security laws." He said it in an ominous tone and glared at me as if he was trying to burn what he was saying into my brain. </div><div> </div><div>"Even <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Wikileaks</span>?" I said to myself. But I dared not voice that joke aloud. </div><div> </div><div>Gulp. I nodded assent. "What's this about?"</div><div> </div><div>"The man that you know as 'Lipton T. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Bagg</span>' is not who you think he is. I hate to break it to you but that isn't even his real name."</div><div> </div><div>"No shit!?" Sherlock, I thought but did not add. Even a moron such as myself knew that could not be his real name. He he. Even in my hungover state I hadn't lost my sense of humor. But I did not say the Sherlock part out loud. I wasn't completely stupid. </div><div> </div><div>"He is under cover in order to perform invaluable service to our country, a job that no one else is as uniquely qualified to perform." </div><div> </div><div>"What running away from home, getting drunk, and then crawling out the bathroom window after I've come all the way cross country to track him down and take him back to his wife?" I smirked. I am gullible but I wasn't buying it. "Evidently his wife doesn't think he is performing valuable services. She wanted him back, but now is getting used to having him gone." </div><div> </div><div>"She doesn't know about who he really is." </div><div> </div><div>"Oh, great. What is he, anyway?"</div><div> </div><div>"We could tell you, but then we'd have to kill you." He glared at me, then smiled and all of them started smiling. "Sorry, just a joke." Then <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">deadly</span> serious again. "Top secret. You don't need to know." </div><div> </div><div>"<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Okayyyyy</span>, so why am I here? Why have you taken me against my wishes? What the hell do you want from me!?" </div><div> </div><div>Suddenly the S.U.V. stopped and the door opened and the agent who had "helped" me into the vehicle got out. </div><div> </div><div>"We only gave you a ride back to your car." </div><div> </div><div>I looked out the open door and there it was. I got out and tried to retain, er regain, my dignity. </div><div> </div><div>"Stop looking for Lipton T. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Bagg</span>. Forget that you found him. Don't tell anybody where he is. Forget that you know him." </div><div> </div><div>"Come on, this is B.S. No 'special agent' with unique talents on a 'super duper top secret' assignment runs around getting drunk in shabby run-down bars all over the south." Saying it aloud made it sink in. Really, what were these guys up to? No <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">waaaaaaay</span> Lipton, or whoever he really is, is some special agent undercover. </div><div> </div><div>"I assure you that this is no joke. Mr. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Teabagg's</span> getting drunk at seedy bars is not part of the plan. But when you have somebody as special, with such unique gifts and talents and experience, you use him despite his flaws. When he gets used to being drunk for a few days, or weeks, he will get tired of it. He does this often. Then he will get down to business and perform his appointed task with great skill. Then he will return to his wife, and his silly little blogging."</div><div> </div><div>"You know about his blog? 'Viewed from the Right'?" I gave him an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">incredulus</span> look. </div><div> </div><div>"We know everything about him. And about you. We even know all about those illegal things that 'Gramps' is always doing. And those sordid little details in your past? The ones that you wish we did not know about? Well we know about them. But don't worry, keep your mouth shut, don't tell anybody about what you have seen and heard, and we won't <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">pursue</span> charges against you. Oh, and call Mrs. T. Bagg and tell her not to worry, her husband will be coming home soon." </div><div> </div><div>With that, the agent jumped in, the vehicle sped off, and I was left somewhere in the middle of east Texas, wishing I could delete all the posts that I had already made about the exploits of Lipton T. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Bagg</span>. </div><div> </div><div>So if you read this, forget about it. Forget that you've ever visited this blog. Who knows when what's his name will be back, I couldn't say if I wanted to. I swear if any of the readers here say a word about what I have written I will track you down and make your lives miserable. Delete, damn posts, delete! I do not have administrative powers here, so I can't make them go away. Did you read that F.B.I.? I wrote all these articles before you told me not to tell anyone!??</div><div> </div><div>John Doe, er I mean <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">HardRightRudder</span>, er, no, this was somebody else posting under my name. I know nothing. I see nothing. </div><div> </div><div>p.s. A hacker wrote this, not John Doe! <br /><br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>Hard Right Rudderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18058514634679797700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-78058642316930147192010-08-14T09:22:00.000-07:002010-08-14T09:38:20.358-07:00New Development<a href="http://megjang.files.wordpress.com/2008/07/img_3012.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 1600px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 1200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://megjang.files.wordpress.com/2008/07/img_3012.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>After we got Lipton cleaned up, fed, and (almost) sober, he and I got to know each other in person. "Knowing" somebody through blogging together is not the same. He seems like a really nice guy while blogging. Not so much in person. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>We drove several hundred miles, talking most of the way, except when Rush Limbaugh was on the radio. LTB did not even ask where his car and his personal effects were. It would not have done any good because I had no clue. They were wherever he had last left them. All he had was the clothes on his back. If he had cash, the cheap bastard never shared any of our expenses as I was taking him home to his significant other. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>It was somewhere in east Texas that we stopped for a cold one. Small town, out in the middle of nowhere. I'm not really into frequenting bars in the middle of nowhere, but playing wing man to LTB it wasn't so bad. Until he told the bartender that I was buying a round for everybody. I tried to tell the bartender no, but by then the whole damn place was in an uproar. Discretion told me to put it on the MasterCard and hope that I could pass it off as a business expense later. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Next thing I remember about Lipton was he was being lead around like a dog in heat with a pretty little cowgirl in some sort of line dance. He followed her into the women's john. I rolled my eyes, but minded my own business. I had only signed on to get him home, not to baby sit him. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>But he never came out. Nor did she. Many other women went in and out, but neither of them. Good Lord, I thought, how long is this going to take? Finally, after an awkward hour, I stopped some lady and asked her to check on them and give me a report. When she said they weren't in there, I stormed in myself. A couple of screams and some curse words chased me out again, but not until I noticed the open window with the chair beneath it. Damn. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Collect call. Sexy female voice: "Hello?" </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"He's gone. I lost him somewhere in east Texas." I thought it best not to mention the sexy little cowgirl and the circumstances of his departure. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I heard a deep sigh on the other end of the line and then a click, and then a dial tone. All I could think about was that it might be longer than I thought until Lipton T. Bagg was back blogging again. Sorry folks. Damn it all, why hadn't I watched him a little closer? </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>John Doe</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>Hard Right Rudderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18058514634679797700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-48173306030676622652010-08-13T13:26:00.000-07:002010-08-13T13:49:30.090-07:00AwkwardI drove into the wee hours of the night. Finally I found some dive just off the interstate. I paid for a single and got ready to stumble into bed for the night. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Dumb ass</span> woke up just before I could slip away into my room. <br /><br />I see this shaggy head lifted up above the side of the truck, obviously still wasted. Unfocused eyes tried to focus on me. I heard him swallow hard, trying not to puke. Fail. I made a mental not to run my truck through the car wash tomorrow. I tried to ignore him and head into my room for a few hours of shut-eye. <br /><br />"Got any whiskey, Friend!?" Said with the typical slurred words of a practiced drunk.<br /><br />I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">shrugged</span>, gave him my best I don't drink line and kept walking.<br /><br />"Wait! I know you?" He looked at me cock-eyed through whiskey goggles.<br /><br />I shrugged and kept trucking.<br /><br />"I know, I KNOW! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">YoU</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">aRe</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">thAT</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">gUY</span> f f from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">aMERicanNNNn</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">IDOllll</span>!"<br /><br />Me, slightly flattered: "Lee <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">DeWyze</span>?" I said it modestly, because many had said that I resembled him. <br /><br />"<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Noooo</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">oooooo</span>." Through booze infested haze: "William Hung."<br /><br />My baffled look flew over his head. But he did notice it when I shook my head no. I turned and started walking.<br /><br />I got to my door and turned one last time. His head was out of sight in the truck bed. Good night Lipton.<br /><br />------<br /><br />I heard what sounded like torrential rains. I must have been dreaming. Yeah, dreaming. It never rains in south Alabama, or western Georgia, or wherever the hell we were. Oh, it was somebody pissing. I rolled over and tried to ignore the weather. My next recollection was of bad breath. <em>Really</em> bad breath. I opened one eye. The unmistakable face of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">LTB</span> was about six inches away. Bad dream. <em>Really</em> bad dream. I opened my eyes again. Bad reality. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Realllllllllly</span> bad reality. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">LTB</span> still there.<br /><br />I slept on the floor after he grabbed me in the night. I don't know who "Leila" is but Lipton sure has a thing for her. It was a fitful night.<br /><br />He had the shits all morning. I vacated the premises while the getting was good. After some Mickey D's coffee and a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">McMuffin</span>, I dared to return to the room that I had paid rent on for the night. The bed was squared away, no undies in sight. The room appeared to have been made up by the maids. I was about to split, thinking that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">LTB</span> had already checked out, when this big furry head appeared out of the head, "Who are YOU!"<br /><br />I make it a practice not to shake hands with dudes who are just coming out of the head. "I'm John Doe."<br /><br />Unfocused blood shot eyes stared at me without comprehending. Then he bent at the waste and puked. Okay. Maybe it was the dry heaves, but I was not taking any chances. I vacated the premises.<br /><br />More updates later.Hard Right Rudderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18058514634679797700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-6032900709379528562010-08-13T06:54:00.000-07:002010-08-13T07:58:07.742-07:00A bar somewhere in Florida<a href="http://s2.hubimg.com/u/1270193_f520.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 520px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 345px" alt="" src="http://s2.hubimg.com/u/1270193_f520.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>It had been a long day. I was tired, sunburned (in a red-neck sort of way--no shirt off for me), greasy with sunblock, and had bits of sand in my hair and some in my eyes. And it was past the time of day when I start drinking. In an unknown town with one blinking light, somewhere near the coast of Florida's panhandle, I pulled over at the only watering hole in town. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Though it was late afternoon, the sun was still bright. I left the keys in my F-150. Go ahead, punk, make my day. Steal that worthless piece of crap. For a moment I pondered my laptop sitting in the passenger side seat. Naw, take that bug-infested land-fill, too, if you dare. But I did go back into the truck for my last Hoyo De Monterrey Short Corona. I'd purchased some in a dark alley somewhere in Tampa from a guy who claimed "no ablo Engleese" so I had to make do with the twenty or so words of Spanish within my command. At least he claimed that that's what they were. I wasn't giving up so easily on something that cost so much. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I pushed on the door that was desperately in need of new paint and walked in. It was dark as shit. I took off my Foster Grants but still couldn't make out much until my eyes adjusted to the light. It was a little hell hole. Smoke filled. Cramped. A juke box in the corner playing "Well I'm proud to be a coal miner's daughter" sung by I forget her name. A pool table sat off in the back left corner, deserted. The bar had five stools, three were occupied by old geezers. I put them on being locals, perhaps because they stopped talking, drinking and it seemed even breathing as they sat peering intently at me. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Hell, even the bartender, a woman whom I put at about mid forties, dish-water blonde hair in desperate need of a new die job to cover her dark and grey roots. Eventually she spoke up, in a thick New York accent (Brooklynese? Da Bronx? Hell, I never knew in the first place so how the hell would I know?) "What'll ya have?" She finally took a towel that was draped over her shoulder and resumed polishing glasses, have watching me and half watching what she was doing. The three old geezers just kept staring. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"Give me a Guiness Stout draft and a shot of Glenfiddich on the side. Hell, make it a double shot on the side." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>She looked at me as though she thought I was a moron. "We have J&B and Cutty Sark, that's it. And the only beer on tap is Budweiser and Miller Lite." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Now it was my turn to look at her as if she was a moron. What kind of place was she running here? "What kind of bottled beer do you have?" </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>She didn't even bother to look up from her polishing: "Bud and Miller Lite." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I thought about moving on down the road, just walking out and never coming back. But who was I kidding? If I did not get some serious start towards elevating my blood alcohol content in about two minutes I was going to have to hit somebody or something. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"Gimme a double J&B and a glass of water." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>She poured while the three wise men kept staring. I sidled up to the bar, staying far away from whichever of the three men who smelled as if he had not bathed in a week. I slapped a twenty on the bar, she gave me a ten back. I fished in my pockets for a tip, laid what appeared to be 32 cents on the bar and backed away from stinky. I bumped into something, which turned out to be somebody. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I turned and there he was. He was slumped over in a chair in one of the only three tables in this cramped and smokey hell hole. I'd know his distinctive mug anywhere. It was him. After days and days of searching, I'd found him. Or what was left of him. Some bottle of cheap bourbon was sitting on his table, with maybe a finger left in the bottom. Several shot glasses were sitting in front of him, a couple upside down. I had actually bumped into him quite hard, but he did not stir. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I looked back over at the bar. All four still staring at me. "How long has he been like this?" </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>The three wise men acted as though they did not understand English. Finally, when I did not stop staring back at them and the bar tender, little Miss New York 1983 said in her most practiced "I could give a shit" accent: "Oh, since ten minutes after we opened this afternoon." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I shook his shoulder gently. No response. I picked up the only shot glass that had not been totally drained yet. One sniff told me all I needed to know about his choice of bourbon. Sheeeeit! No thanks. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I shook him a little harder. No response. I poured a little of the lukewarm water into my double J&B, shook the glass a little, held my breath and drained it. I don't like cheap Scotch, and holding my breath did the trick, for awhile. Eventually I had to breath, and the after-taste of bad whisky hit me. I shuddered, looking forward only to that warm comforting feeling that would soon be coursing through my veins. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I shook him harder. No response whatsoever. I briefly considered that perhaps he had passed. But I heard his barely audible labored breathing. I sized him up, having never seen him in person before. Yup, not a chance in hell of me carrying him out of there. I got behind him, got both arms under his arms and wrapped around his barrel chest, and lifted part of him out of the seat, and started dragging the rest towards the door. Thanks a lot for not helping, assholes. I stopped several times, giving any of them ample opportunity to volunteer. But no. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I got him to the door and bumped my butt against it, hoping it would swing open. Just my luck, it opened up inside, not out. I took a deep breath, braced myself, and held him up with one arm while quickly opening the door handle with the other. I almost dropped him, but I got the door open. I dragged him the short way to the truck, somehow got the tailgate down without dropping him, and God knows how I lifted that big bastard into the bed of the truck and got him in enough to shut the tailgate afterwards. However I did it, I was drenched in sweat, panting, and in desperate need of another drink. I left him there and went back inside. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Just in time, too, because the bartender was already at his table, getting ready to clear it off. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"He paid for that bottle, right?" </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"Yeah." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"I'll take it." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"You can't take whiskey off the premises."</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I swiped the bottle from her, "I won't." I held my breath and drained it in a few gulps. It was even worse than the J&B. "Got a pay phone in here?" I didn't think they would, I didn't think anybody did anymore, but she nodded over in the direction of the "His and Hers" only john in the joint and resumed clearing off the table. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I sauntered over and called Mrs. Lipton T. Bagg. Collect. When a sexy woman's voice with some unknown-to-me oriental accent answered, I said simply: "I found him. I'm bringing him home to you as soon as possible. We should be back in California in three to four days." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>She did not respond, so I just hung up and walked out into the late Florida sunshine. Lipton had not stirred, so I drove off in a westerly direction, hoping to find the interstate. Hopefully, if all goes well, when I get him home Lipton will be back up and posting shortly. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>John Doe</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>Hard Right Rudderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18058514634679797700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-75654577526479634772010-08-10T22:07:00.000-07:002010-08-10T22:09:36.415-07:00Where in the world is Lipton T. Bagg?<a href="http://mysocalledhealthlife.files.wordpress.com/2010/06/where-in-the-world-is-carmen-sandiego-pc.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 280px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 280px" alt="" src="http://mysocalledhealthlife.files.wordpress.com/2010/06/where-in-the-world-is-carmen-sandiego-pc.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Recent theories have circulated the internet. Some theorize that he has been abducted by a roving band of sex-crazed women. Others speculate that he went <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2010/WORLD/asiapcf/06/15/pakistan.us.detention/index.html" jquery1281503284336="3">Gary Brooks Faulkner</a> on us. Other, less reliable reports claim that he finds the thongs on those Florida beaches more interesting than blogging.</div><br /><div><br />My personal theory is that he is just on a bender, having not been free from the intense scrutiny of The One Who Must Be Obeyed in quite a while. Once the newness of being totally sloshed gets old, hopefully after a week or two, he will come crawling back and show his pretty mug, and maybe even post an update. </div><br /><div><br />What’s your theory? </div><br /><div><br />John Doe</div>Hard Right Rudderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18058514634679797700noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-22489552628275421352010-08-06T12:02:00.000-07:002010-08-06T12:03:26.997-07:00It's OFFICIAL! I hate the new format of Viewed from the RightLove the pretty colors, the red white and blue motif. I just find it hard to read the words for my getting old as dirt eyes. <br /><br />John DoeHard Right Rudderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18058514634679797700noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-23852754240550989552010-08-06T11:54:00.000-07:002010-08-06T12:01:03.678-07:00A rejoinder to The Classic Liberal<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpmG0sp_VGkwr3aQRJxXFwBRfSL_K7w8fdgh7coROPyPCt45l4bdBhvXPxxkep4lbdU119bkPVY2cDFB0RGESQu2J65ePRWO7PVsz2c5FMg4y-xNm1ztNOzGU9cj5pITRrfDwuKxryoQ9b/s1600/LL-On-Ice.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502373823552556242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 308px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpmG0sp_VGkwr3aQRJxXFwBRfSL_K7w8fdgh7coROPyPCt45l4bdBhvXPxxkep4lbdU119bkPVY2cDFB0RGESQu2J65ePRWO7PVsz2c5FMg4y-xNm1ztNOzGU9cj5pITRrfDwuKxryoQ9b/s400/LL-On-Ice.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Our good friend <a href="http://the-classic-liberal.com/" jquery1281120969046="3">The Classic Liberal</a> commented after<a href="http://maaadddog.wordpress.com/2010/08/05/can-libertarians-shut-up-now-about-how-conservatives-always-bring-up-the-distracting-social-issues/#comment-6012" jquery1281120969046="5"> one of my previous posts ranting </a>about libertarians deserting social cons on the fight with liberals over homosexual marriage (and every other social issue).<br /><a href="http://maaadddog.files.wordpress.com/2010/08/ll-on-ice.jpg"></a><br />I thought his question, and my reply, deserved their own post, and hopefully everybody else is as interested in this as I am so that it will get a good discussion going. (Sorry for some profanity.)<br />Here is TheCL’s reply to my original post: </div><br /><div><br />What I’d like to know is, why do you insist on the state being involved in marriage in the first place? Does the state need to regulate even the realm of God? Is God’s word only good if backed by the Almighty State?</div><br /><div><br />The right has become as beholden to the state as the left. The conservative movement has turned into the Israelites who demanded a king. God punished them with one.<br />Our Founders wanted the state to stay out of the church for good reason. Today, you want the state in the church so it can define what is and is not marriage. Can the state do something for you God cannot? Demand your Overlords define marriage, and you’ll lose the battle forever.<br />The left turns to the state. If the right turns to the state too, it matters not their intentions, you’ll both get to the same place.</div><br /><div><br />Here is my reply to TheCL (whom I greatly admire and respect, so I hope I don’t come off rude or condescending).<br /><br />TheCL: Good question, one that most libertarians fail to understand. You and I come to many of the same conclusions, but we get there using vastly different premises. </div><br /><div><br />I am a believer in our Constitutional form of government as handed to us by the Founding Fathers. My basic premise is that they handed us a blue-print for the most wonderful form of government known to man. Not perfect, just vastly superior to other forms of government. So my basic premise is if it was good enough for the Founding Fathers, it is still good enough for me.<br /><a href="http://maaadddog.files.wordpress.com/2010/08/ll-purple-bikini.jpg"></a><br />Libertarians, on the other hand, look at life through the premise that government should have the absolute minimal impact on personal lives, and only do the bare minimum. I agree with that philosophy to an extent so long as it does not contradict what the Founders did, or so long as it does not lead to absurd results. </div><br /><div><br />The Founders certainly “legislated morality.” We might not agree with the morality that they espoused, but don’t give me this crap that it is “unconstitutional” or that we should not attempt to do so. </div><br /><div><br />We legislate morality all the time: we legislate against polygamy, child porn, underage sex, animal abuse, etc. ad nauseam. The only difference between those issues and homosexuality or homosexual marriage is one of degree, not kind. We just decide to draw lines and make choices because most of society agrees with those choices.</div><br /><div><br />The states have since the inception been “involved” in marriage. States have required licenses, have dictated who could marry, who could marry them, when they could marry, and have made it difficult to get a divorce. So don’t tell me that the state has not been “involved” in marriage since the beginning of this country. And don’t try selling me the canard that opposition to homosexual marriage by social cons is some new phenomenon. It’s been around hundreds of years. I stand squarely in the mainstream of American thought through out the ages. You, sir, are outside, in a little slip-stream eddy off to one obscure side, far from where the majority has been through out the ages. (I do not question your ethics or your integrity–I merely believe that you have been misguided by your sincere–but incorrect–basic premise.)</div><br /><div><br />And liberals/progressives/perverts/hippies, etc. and various other anti-American types come to the same conclusions as good people like you do, but again, based upon vastly different premises than either yours or mine. </div><br /><div><br />Those people, many of whom I despise, I’ll just lump together and call liberals. Liberals despise America, and they despise America’s morality. They (many perhaps unconsciously) believe that if they tear down her morality and the country will follow. Others just think that they know better than all those who have lived before them. (Liberals being know-it-all? Go figure!)<br />They have their own brand of morality, but most would in the past call it immorality. “If it feels good, do it!” “There is no God, so we can do what we want.” Their attitude is that they certainly do not want those sanctimonious social cons telling us what we can and can’t do with our lives.<br /></div><br /><div>Notice, however, the contradiction–those same people are the first–THE FIRST–to tell others what they can and can’t eat, smoke, drink, say or do when liberals are in power.<br />What they and you don’t realize is that the reason this country has done certain things for centuries is because that way works. </div><br /><div><br />Notice, for instance, what happened to the country as a result of the “sexual revolution.” Sure, there were horror stories of people staying in bad marriages, being unhappy, blah blah blah. But by and large in the past people married, stayed married, had children and prospered.<br />With the sexual revolution, the throwing off of traditional marriages, etc. (thanks you fuc–er dirty, hippies) the family unit began to suffer. Children lost parents, mothers were forced to raise children without a husband, women and children became poorer and dependent on the state for welfare. Men had numerous children by numerous un-married women. </div><br /><div><br />All this occurred without any social disapprobation. Ooooh, don’t judge them. We can not be judgmental. Let them live their own lives, blah blah blah! B.S. That ain’t the way we did it in the past.</div><br /><div><br />Believe me, I’m old enough to remember vividly how much of a scandal it was when unmarried women became pregnant. Many left town due to the pressure. This type of behavior may seem mean to you, but it was an effective deterrent to what society knew was a bad result. The world may not have been a paradise but people stayed married and children had stable homes. Then laws against easy divorce and morals against divorce and sex out-of-wedlock became loosened or completely undone. </div><br /><div><br />I believe that marriage and morals based upon our judaeo-christian heritage was the glue that held society together, allowed our country to prosper, and to become the greatest country evuh. Sure, the country is great due to many other reasons, too, but I maintain that it would not and cannot prosper without our foundation of a strong marriage and morals. </div><br /><div><br />So really, in my humble opinion, you are fighting against history. (Heh heh, no pressure!) You are (perhaps because you have not thought about it this way) setting yourself up as smarter than the millions who lived before you, who delivered to you the greatest country in the world, based on the greatest system of government ever devised. And you want to fuck with it because you don’t want the state “involved.” I don’t think so, absent some pretty unbedamnedlievable great reasons. Just “I don’t want the government involved in marriage in the first place” does not cut it for me.</div><br /><div><br />Hope this halps.</div><br /><div><br />Sincerely,<br /></div><br /><div>John Doe (cross-posted at Smash Mouth Politics)<br /></div><br /><div>p.s. I maintain that the reason marriage “works” best for society is because it was ordained by God in the Bible. Our creator just happens to know what is best for us. Who would have thunk it? </div><br /><div><br />You don’t have to believe that to still come to the same conclusions that I do. Come along and join my side because the “proof is in the pudding.” Marriage is best for families, for health, for children, for prosperity, and for society in general. Ann Coulter has an entire book devoted to showing the devastating effect that the break-down in marriages has had on society. Can’t remember the name but I heartily recommend it. </div><br /><div><br />And yeah, perhaps this deviated from the points you made. I see this as an opening of a dialogue, not the end all and be all of this discussion…</div>Hard Right Rudderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18058514634679797700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-75983098388407685202010-08-02T10:53:00.000-07:002010-08-02T10:54:28.803-07:00Will you admit that you regret voting for Obama?You know you regret it. Let's compare your attitude to that of an addict. Before you can recover you must admit that you have a problem, and then seek help.<br />Your problem is that you regret voting for Obama, and you want to admit it and move on with your life, but you just can't. Your liberal friends will shun you. Your black friends will call you an "Uncle Tom" or a raaaaacist. And let's face it, the prospect of having McCain and Palin as President was not something that we all looked (<a href="http://maaadddog.wordpress.com/2010/03/26/the-case-for-john-mccain/" mce_href="http://maaadddog.wordpress.com/2010/03/26/the-case-for-john-mccain/">or look</a>) forward to with great joy and confidence.<br /><br />Even your pride prevents you from admitting your mistake. Let's face it, the past election was acrimonious. It was not friendly or nice--it was a mud-wrestling contest. Your side "won." You were stoked. You hated those of us who were saying that Obama was inexperienced, that he was lying and that he was really a closet socialist. You scoffed at us. You called us rubes. You even went out and bought some arugula as a show of support.<br /><a href="http://venturebeat.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/obamagirl.jpg" mce_href="http://venturebeat.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/obamagirl.jpg"></a><br /> Besides, the Obama Girl is so hawt! Voting for Obama was "cool;" it showed that you weren't a racist and who wanted to support that old intemperate McCain anyway?<br /><br />Now, the last thing that you want to do is to admit that you hate how Obama is screwing our country. How he is jamming bad legislation down our throats against the will of the people. How he claimed he was against this and that other Bush foreign policy and he hasn't changed any of it even one lick. How he said his would be the most "transparent" administration, and the most ethical administration evuh! And you, stupid fool poor duped great American citizen that you are, believed him. And now you don't know how to get out of this crappy situation of publicly supporting a an inexperienced fool who flat-out lied to the American people.<br /><br />Here, let me help. Repeat this admission after me: I was a fool...I believed Obama's lies...I wanted to believe them because he is such a good teleprompter reader of lies...but I am not the only one...Obama had 90% approval at the time of his Inaugeration...Now his approval ratings have tanked, so almost half of the population was likewise hoodwinked by that lying bastard. Since he lied, I therefore no longer believe a word he said. I supported his lies, but since I found out that he was just lying, I no longer support him.<br /><br />Or, if that does not suffice, just tell everybody that you recovered from your temporary lobotomy. Hope dis halps.<br /><br />John DoeHard Right Rudderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18058514634679797700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-37137580801240793622010-08-02T10:40:00.001-07:002010-08-02T10:40:55.407-07:00What IF Crist beats Rubio?Will that "prove" that a great conservative candidate cannot beat a Republican "moderate"? After all, if a "conservative" Republican can't win an election in this current environment, when can he ever win an election? To you hand-wringers and RINOs and Country Club Republicans everywhere, and you good conservatives who are nervous about the polls, I have this to say: chill the hell out.<br /><br />First, so what if Crist wins? That means Floridians are collectively stupididider than I first thought. Voters deserve what they elect. If they want a politician whose views are so malleable that they call themselves a Republican, then switch to an "independent" and/or finally switch to being a Democrat (Arlin Spincter), let them have that God-damned elected official. <br /><br />Do we really want somebody like that on our side? Charley Crist is shamelessly switching positions on the issues faster than Obama breaks campaign promises. You cannot know in advance how some putz like that will vote because his word means nothing. He will vote in accordance to how the wind happens to be blowing on each particular day. Having an elected official like that is more akin to being ruled by a despot than by a representative form of democracy. Your vote does not matter because you do not know what you are getting in advance. He may support the views that he campaigns on, or he might switch once elected and support the diametrically opposed views. Y0u cast your votes and you takes your chances.<br /><br />Politics is not just about governing. Democrats will do anything to get elected, to get other Democrats elected, and then they say and do whatever they want. If this country is so damn ignorant that they want that kind of government, that is what they deserve. Inner cities all over America, and many liberal states (Mass, Cali, Oregon, etc.) do just that. We can't stop them. We don't want to stop them by electing people like Crist who will be just like them once in office, just so long as they have an (R) after their name.<br /><br />All that said, the latest numbers that I've seen show Rubio ahead by 5% among likely voters. We conservatives are going to be mightily motivated come November. Keep the faith. Florida hopefully just gained one more conservative vote if Lipton gets off his duff and registers to vote down there. ;)<br /><br />John DoeHard Right Rudderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18058514634679797700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-42546991907527539412010-07-29T14:27:00.000-07:002010-07-29T14:29:08.087-07:00A Southern T. Bagg Is BornI write you today as I pass through Atlanta on my way to Florida. Flight was uneventful except we skirted the back end of a huge storm which had some of the most spectacular cloud formations I've ever seen.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately the pictures just don't do them justice.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnWfx_26G8Rr75q4zDW8RH_Yx2ZEb7heAW9So5C6G_nvKuMRpZljfiPpg3vdooE6NOjy2uEO8pPma7RMyab9aP91W2xz0ocSUT2phQUZakIWrdCaUS-8PeFWRc4RlDzK8zEU-3ezeilxg/s1600/Photo0203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnWfx_26G8Rr75q4zDW8RH_Yx2ZEb7heAW9So5C6G_nvKuMRpZljfiPpg3vdooE6NOjy2uEO8pPma7RMyab9aP91W2xz0ocSUT2phQUZakIWrdCaUS-8PeFWRc4RlDzK8zEU-3ezeilxg/s400/Photo0203.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV3TW8fkveJttQxFvmyB3tBDODJv6BPOfG_YxKkBtYhfeQHtiKOJM999fwQu7JVXvMCr3k_MzDFXEWPiVW5B0q50AhMLH_cPOyYJGlN5dKmcv2PqBZ0mWOms_Xn5jrhbOQOyIoDDOrrOw/s1600/Photo0201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV3TW8fkveJttQxFvmyB3tBDODJv6BPOfG_YxKkBtYhfeQHtiKOJM999fwQu7JVXvMCr3k_MzDFXEWPiVW5B0q50AhMLH_cPOyYJGlN5dKmcv2PqBZ0mWOms_Xn5jrhbOQOyIoDDOrrOw/s320/Photo0201.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
<br />
<br />
I will be pulling into Florida in a couple hours and will try to get a quick hit in before I call it an evening.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Two more items: First, thank you to all of you who continue to stop by recently, in spite of my sparse posting. Your readership is truly valuable to me, my friends. Secondly, would you who are inclined to do so please remember Ms. T. Bagg in your prayers? She's a remarkable woman, I love her dearly and our separation will be difficult for her - she's rather gotten used to having me around. I know it's a personal thing I ask, but my faith in God and prayer is great - I've never known anyone to say s/he received too many prayers on their behalf. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Thank you all, and until we speak again...</div><div><br />
</div><div>-LTB</div>Lipton T. Bagghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11564029649944488330noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-51296426909995790862010-07-27T14:45:00.000-07:002010-07-27T19:32:57.131-07:00Top 10 Rock Covers - Part 1<b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"..Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery..."</span></i></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">An interestingly obscure quote - typically credited to Charles Caleb Colton in 1820. Which may itself be an imitation as a form of flattery. But I digress. For a long time I've been </span><s><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">threatening</span></s><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> offering to put together a top-10 list of (mostly famous) rock songs which as covers greatly exceeded the promise of the originals. Now seems like a good time to get started (and is far less research than I typically do when writing on politics).</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">These songs are my opinions only. I'm not listing the songs in any particular order - although I might sometime in the future. Feel free to agree or disagree - although if you choose to voice disagreement, may I ask your thoughts as to why??? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And I promise to get writing on more political and social issues after I get settled into Pensacola over the weekend.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Blinded By The Light - Manfred Mann's Earth Band</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Originally released on (and the first single from) Bruce Springsteen;s 1973 "</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Greetings From Ashbury Park NJ</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"; this was a fairly forgettable song as recorded by Bruce. Reworked a couple of years later by Manfred Mann and released on 1976's "The Roaring Silence" (BTW, a great and under-appreciated album") it became a #1 hit in the U.S. and Europe. Manfred Mann brought an energy and vibrancy to the song which Springsteen's version sorely lacked. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This particular video is from the TV show "Midnight Special" in 1976 (incorrectly labeled 1975):</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><object height="335" width="395"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/lcWVL4B-4pI&hl=en_US&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/lcWVL4B-4pI&hl=en_US&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="395" height="335"></embed></object></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">All Along The Watchtower - Jimi Hendrix</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Originally written by Bob Dylan and recorded on 1967's "John Wesley Harding", this song took on an entire new and vastly different persona when handled by The Jimi Hendrix Experience. At the time the song was penned, Dylan had been recovering from a motorcycle accident, and by all accounts experiencing a bit of spiritual re-birth. There is documented similarities when the lyrics of the song are juxtaposed with Isaiah Ch. 21, v. 5-9. Whether this speculation is true or not, there was a sparseness to Dylan version that was not well received by his audience, and thus the song was never a commercial success.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Jimi Hendrix, to which spareness was not generally a concern, brought this song to full blossom. In later years, Dylan acknowledged to song as rightfully becoming "Jimi's song", and for decades changed the performance of the song to mirror Hendix's arrangement over his own. Only in the past few years has Dylan returned his live performances to their original syntax.</span><br />
<blockquote><i>Dylan has described his reaction to hearing Hendrix's version: "It overwhelmed me, really. He had such talent, he could find things inside a song and vigorously develop them. He found things that other people wouldn't think of finding in there. He probably improved upon it by the spaces he was using. I took license with the song from his version, actually, and continue to do it to this day."</i></blockquote>This video is from his Isle Of Wright concert in 1970 - shortly before Jimi's death. While not as iconic as other performances such at Woodstock or Monterey, this performance shows more of Jimi the man - a musical genius who was lost to us far too soon...<br />
<br />
<object height="335" width="395"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Gsob6mPUe2c&hl=en_US&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Gsob6mPUe2c&hl=en_US&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="395" height="335"></embed></object><br />
<br />
<br />
Hurt - Johnny Cash<br />
<br />
This is a case where the past usurps the present. In 1994s "The Downward Spiral" Nine Inch Nails released a somewhat forgettable version of "Hurt" (which, being a HUGE Trent Reznor fan, is hard for me to admit). In 2002, shortly before his death, Johnny Cash covered "Hurt" on the acclaimed 2003 album "America IV: The Man Comes Round". Cash received a CMT "Best Single" award, CMT's #1 Best Video of 2003, and Billboard's #33 "Best Single" of 2003. It was simply one of the best performances in any genre during that decade.<br />
<br />
Sadly, Johnny Cash passed away on September 12, 2003.<br />
<br />
Trent Renzor (an egotist is one ever existed) admitted in a Rolling Stone interview that Johnny Cash had made the song his - gnashing his teeth with every word. For your consideration, the original Cash video. I can't for the life of me dispute that Cash owns this song - another case where a superior performer made someone else's words his....<br />
<br />
<br />
<object height="335" width="395"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/o22eIJDtKho&hl=en_US&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/o22eIJDtKho&hl=en_US&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="395" height="335"></embed></object><br />
<br />
<br />
To my son: <br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: sienna; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">If I could start again</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: sienna; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: sienna; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: sienna; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">A million miles away</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: sienna; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: sienna; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: sienna; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">I would keep myself</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: sienna; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: sienna; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: sienna; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">I would find a way</span>Lipton T. Bagghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11564029649944488330noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-60273401259866841392010-07-26T10:46:00.001-07:002010-07-26T10:49:34.519-07:00Bush Tax Cut expiration could cost nearly 50% more in taxesfor a married couple filing jointly with a combined income of $100,000. So much for sticking it to the "rich." From an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">WSJ</span> Blogs. Follow <a href="http://blogs.wsj.com/economics/2010/07/23/taxes-with-and-without-bush-tax-cut-extension/">the links</a> to see how much it might cost you and your "rich" family. <br /><br />Meanwhile, George <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Steinbrenner's</span> family saved millions because old George checked out during the year when there are no death taxes due. Nevertheless, I applaud the repeal of the death tax. Income and property that a man has spent his life earning, legally, while paying his taxes, should not be taxed again when he dies. Even if he is rich as a fat bastard Teddy Kennedy.Hard Right Rudderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18058514634679797700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-91586470031994610002010-07-26T07:01:00.000-07:002010-07-26T07:02:23.718-07:00Mexican invasionMexican drug cartel takes over two ranches in the USA. This sounds too unbelievable to be true, but it is breaking news. <a href="http://unitedconservatives.blogspot.com/" mce_href="http://unitedconservatives.blogspot.com/">United Conservatives</a> has the story. (All should be reading their blog site anyway).Hard Right Rudderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18058514634679797700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-14479375301664799052010-07-23T21:47:00.000-07:002010-07-23T21:53:12.185-07:00This Blog, It's A Changin'...I've been threatening to change the look of my blog for a while. Today, I made good my threat.<br />
<br />
Please leave your thoughts and comments - good or bad. It's a bit of a work in progress, but ultimately I hope to give the three or four of you who read my musings something more attractive and functional to look at.<br />
<br />
And of course, still packing for the trip to Florida...<br />
<br />
-LTBLipton T. Bagghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11564029649944488330noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-33883252595188939012010-07-23T21:16:00.000-07:002010-07-23T21:16:26.050-07:00Day By Day - Media's Worst-Kept Secret<img alt="Decoders:DayByDayCartoon" height="138" src="http://www.daybydaycartoon.com/072310.jpg" width="400" />Lipton T. Bagghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11564029649944488330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-71551974629845699562010-07-21T08:24:00.000-07:002010-07-23T20:21:56.280-07:00Another Unseen Tax In Healthcare Regs -- Taxing Gold Coin & Precious Metal Purchases!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">If Liberals cannot win an argument with Conservatives based upon fact and sound logic, why not tax them some more! In a move tailor-made to face-slap fans of Rush Limbaugh and Glen Beck, it has been discovered that the recently passed ObamaCare legislation has a hidden initiative to tax and monitor the sale of gold coins. </span></span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Section 9006 of the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act will amend the Internal Revenue Code to expand the scope of Form 1099. Currently, 1099 forms are used to track and report the miscellaneous income associated with services rendered by independent contractors or self-employed individuals.</span></span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Starting Jan. 1, 2012, Form 1099s will become a means of reporting to the Internal Revenue Service the purchases of all goods and services by small businesses and self-employed people that exceed $600 during a calendar year. Precious metals such as coins and bullion fall into this category and coin dealers have been among those most rankled by the change.<br />
<br />
This provision, intended to mine what the IRS deems a vast reservoir of uncollected income tax, was included in the health care legislation ostensibly as a way to pay for it. The tax code tweak is expected to raise $17 billion over the next 10 years, according to the Joint Committee on Taxation. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">What this means to individuals is that any bullion purchase over $600.00 will have to be recorded on a 1099 - thus monitoring both taxation and movement of precious metals.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">People, Socialism is creeping upon us! Get angry about it! Get active! Vote these people out!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwpQ032GEPxSDEZ5_B_QLulExZgIg_mZOfbfa_wR0rU9QaXVy32gMNcrZ4NrDGJlEVIyZppqsntMgB5qCe3w-jfNHZBVarEBZpEvpat6C0cIiJytzewYERvYywBkIvrVYJbsFmC7lT6N0/s1600/LCR004small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="59" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwpQ032GEPxSDEZ5_B_QLulExZgIg_mZOfbfa_wR0rU9QaXVy32gMNcrZ4NrDGJlEVIyZppqsntMgB5qCe3w-jfNHZBVarEBZpEvpat6C0cIiJytzewYERvYywBkIvrVYJbsFmC7lT6N0/s200/LCR004small.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>Lipton T. Bagghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11564029649944488330noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-79730612181734697702010-07-20T10:30:00.000-07:002010-07-23T20:22:16.813-07:00Woodsterman Strikes Again! Long Live The Left Coast Resistance!Odie over at <a href="http://woodstermangotwood.blogspot.com/">The Woodsterman</a> was cool enough (was there ever a question?) to make us Left Coasters our own flash.<br />
<br />
I'm hoping Tim at <a href="http://www.leftcoastrebel.com/">Left Coast Rebel</a> doesn't send the Blog Nazi's after us if we used his trademarked "LCR" in short from time to time. I can see the discussion now:<br />
<br />
Tim: "...you want LCR?" <br />
LTB: "Yes, please?"<br />
Tim: "THREE DOLLARS! "<br />
LTB: "..uhhh, No!"<br />
Tim: "No Blog for you!!!"<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">(Not to worry Tim, I pay in Scotch and Beer...)</div><br />
<object height="335" width="395"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/WZ3AOmZ2fps&hl=en_US&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WZ3AOmZ2fps&hl=en_US&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="395" height="335"></embed></object><br />
<br />
<br />
Liberals now have a new name for their pain: <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3dYa65QgS4pm2bUD_MaRAjAiJCoqHaG3dx-dYALpEnjjSGXnUTr6pgfcRxw4NXmF0QeI31HkSWLAjbGNHxSppdCmt1wqa3kYpsJwFnFLNrMx_CPjpY9yP-Um3thtGZtiAjMAshszbvD0/s1600/LCR+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="58" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3dYa65QgS4pm2bUD_MaRAjAiJCoqHaG3dx-dYALpEnjjSGXnUTr6pgfcRxw4NXmF0QeI31HkSWLAjbGNHxSppdCmt1wqa3kYpsJwFnFLNrMx_CPjpY9yP-Um3thtGZtiAjMAshszbvD0/s200/LCR+001.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Lipton T. Bagghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11564029649944488330noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4233218544660088625.post-50510952658096775062010-07-20T10:22:00.000-07:002010-07-23T20:26:06.988-07:00SJC Americans: Fighting Socialism In Their Community!Folks, if you are not doing this, or helping someone do this in your own hometown, you are giving Libs an opportunity to dig in like ticks! <br />
<br />
The Brown and SJC Americans are a great template for home-spun community action. here is what they are up against this month:<br />
<br />
LONG LIVE THE LEFT COAST RESISTANCE!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Yc9SGw_6GR8dhsbQ_DY0MGJLC_IY6FKASkkiVghxFOj4y3nVowj1BVLwoRhUXFa-m79FoNY-S7b3BHIIGHk_o88G2__AWftjSRV5Dd1NTuUxqwNf_bQUTVdTMoP7DXAWGTjWYexh_4o/s1600/LCR+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="58" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Yc9SGw_6GR8dhsbQ_DY0MGJLC_IY6FKASkkiVghxFOj4y3nVowj1BVLwoRhUXFa-m79FoNY-S7b3BHIIGHk_o88G2__AWftjSRV5Dd1NTuUxqwNf_bQUTVdTMoP7DXAWGTjWYexh_4o/s200/LCR+002.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br />
</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br />
</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"><b><br />
</b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>SJC Americans: <a href="http://www.sjcamericans.com/">www.sjcamericans.com</a></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br />
</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>Good Evening Patriots!</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br />
</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br />
</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>Just wanted to bring to your attention an agenda item for tomorrow night's meeting at 6:30 at City Hall.</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br />
</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br />
</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>If you have ever wondered what impact the Redevelopment Agency has on our City, this will be an eye opener. The CRA, as it's called, invokes eminent domain, REQUIRES the City to provide Affordable Housing and acts as a slush fund for the City Council.</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br />
</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br />
</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>In this case, item D1 on the CRA agenda is entitled "Downtown Global Parking Strategy". Does that sound like something our "village" of 35,000 needs? Have you read Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand? Socialism! The City plans on taking parking from private property owners and then "sharing" it with other properties.</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br />
</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br />
</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>Current Council Member and former Mayor Mark Nielsen states "Part of the essence of a small town is its ultimate sense of the extended family. At times some of the family may have to give in order to benefit the larger family." WOW!</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br />
</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br />
</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>Please consider expressing your view on this subject, either by speaking out at the City Council meeting or writing to the Council at</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b> </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><a href="mailto:cityclerk@sanjuancapistrano.org" style="color: #2a5db0;" target="_blank"><b>cityclerk@sanjuancapistrano.<wbr></wbr>org</b></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>. Even if you do not live in San Juan Capistrano, this concept may be coming to your City sooner than you think.</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br />
</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br />
</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>Unfortunately, we will not be here to attend but we hope some or many of you will take a stand against globalization of anything!</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span>Lipton T. Bagghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11564029649944488330noreply@blogger.com0