The recent SCOTUS decision is going to be interesting.

They have just told the states they now have to permit gay marriage. Personally I think that is government over reach. I think it's a state issue but I won't get into that.

It looks to me like they have just opened another can of worms and it will be interesting. It won't be long before some troublemaker demands that a church that believes marriage should be between to members of the opposite sex perform the ceremony.

Personally I think such a troublemaker-or pair of troublemakers-should simply be beaten by an angry mob until they are a small stain in the pavement. Not for wanting to get married, but for trying to force a church to perform a ceremony against their beliefs.

It is one thing to permit gay marriages. I have always said the government should get out of the marriage business entirely. However, since they have decided to stick their nose where it doesn't belong I have taken a pretty Libertarian approach of 'marry who you please'. Just don't ask me to clean up your mess. 

I would imagine that the next part of the gay agenda is to have the tax exempt status taken from any church that refuses to perform the ceremony. If that happens I imagine the Catholic Church will cave in because that's a lot of money.

Of course, Pope Francis will come out and bless it and carry on. Truth is if he doesn't he'll likely have his arms twisted by the boys in the back room that run the financial end of things.

Some churches won't cave in, I imagine.

The way I see it, is that with rights go responsibility and it is the responsibility of the gay couple that wants to get married to find someone that is willing to perform the ceremony.

As a Universal Life minister I might be willing to perform a marriage ceremony but it would be strictly civil. God won't even be mentioned. I haven't decided if I would do this yet. Truth is I haven't decided if I'll perform ANY marriages yet.

I look at this pretty much the same way I look at abortion. Abortion is between a woman, her physician and her maker the way I see it. She's the one that will have to answer for it in the afterlife.

It's her responsibility to find a physician to perform the abortion. She doesn't have the right to charge up to a doctor with religious beliefs and demand one. It's her duty to find a willing physician.

It's also the duty of a gay couple to find their own official willing to marry them. I'm pretty sure it won't be all that difficult.

Still, there are a few gay $hitheels that want to force the gay lifestyle on people and make a point or just stir things up and force clergymen to marry them against their will. That plain just ain't right.

Gays have the right to get married. They do not have the right to force anyone to perform the ceremony except for maybe government officials acting in the performance of their governmental duties.

As for my attitude toward the gay community, it's simple.

I respect your right to be gay and pursue happiness. I bear no ill will toward the gay community. I wish most of them happiness. Their business is their business. I will stay out of theirs and in return I expect the same. 

Please do not ask me to 'celebrate the gay lifestyle'. I won't. I won't persecute you for it. I will accept that you are gay. I will defend you from harm. I will not love you any less for being gay. However, I will not celebrate it. It is what it is. You are what you are. I will take you for the content of your character and that should be good enough for anyone.

To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

I hate Illinois Nazis.

So does Joliet Jake Blues.

So do a lot of other people.

Still, right about now I wish they would emerge now and start raising hell. I would certainly fight for their right to assemble and maybe have a parade or something.

The reason I would like to see that is because I am sick and tired of the people that have screamed for toleration not giving any in return.

Take the Chic Fil A people that got boycotted because they are of a Christian faith that prohibits gay marriage.

Yet in their mission statement they bear no ill will towards anyone. 

Some time ago I was asked about my stance on gay marriage and I replied that I felt the government shouldn't be in the marriage business at all. 

He, of course, asked me if that included gays and I said it most certainly did. I don't see where it made any difference. I believe in equal treatment of people under law and gays are no different than anybody else.

Of course he came back by asking me why I was against gay marriage. 

What a cheap shot!

He obviously wanted a bigot so I gave him one. I went off on him and he got pretty upset. He wanted to be miserable so I obliged him. I'm glad I could be of help. I made him happy as some people are happy being outraged and insulted.

Anyway, the so-called toleration people are not really tolerant. In fact they are likely the most IN tolerant people in the country. 

Frankly right about now I'd love to see some Illinois Nazi run the swastika up beside the rainbow flag and demand his right to fly it. I'd support it, even as much as I hate Nazis.

After all, Fair is fair.

The other thing I'd like to see something happen to is to the mayor that wants General Nathaniel Bedford Forrest up. He says it is because blacks are uncomfortable having a picnic in the same park alongside Forrest's grave.

If you don't like it then go somewhere else.

OK, fair enough. Dig him up. While we're at it let's dig up Martin Luther King because the Nazis and skinheads don't like him and they got right, too. While we're at it we can dig up a whole lot of other people.

Maybe we can dig up Henry Ford because the cars he made contributed to pollution or Elvis Presley. Elvis gave a lot of the older generation a headache with rock'n roll music. That's as good a reason as any. 

Maybe dig up Mark Twain for writing those awful books about a couple of boys growing up along the Mississippi River. George Washington and Thomas Jefferson owned slaves. I suppose that rates an exhumation.

The truth of the matter is that people of all races have had get-togethers in that park for generations. Most people pay the Forrest grave a single whit of thought. It's just that the mayor is looking for something to start trouble with to kiss the ass of the black community.

I guess the Illinois Nazis are like the police. You can't seem to find them when you need them. Still, maybe some skinhead gang will step in to take up their slack.

While I will deplore their politics I will defend their right to assemble and fly their flags. 

Besides, the intolerant party of toleration is a little over due for a good ass kicking to remind them that toleration is a two way street.

Besides, I can use a few bucks. I'll open up Piccolo's popcorn stand and maybe make a little extra scratch.




To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

No fishing.

There is a sign above my toilet at home that says 'No Fishing'. 

Shortly after I put it there my wife removed it. She replaced it after she walked in and found me sitting on the edge of the tub with a fishing pole in my hands and the line going into the toilet.

I suppose it would have made a better story if I had been pulling a two-foot steelhead out of the toilet when she walked in. 
Unfortunately I didn't have one handy.

Still, sitting on the edge of the tub with a line in the bowl was enough for me to get my sign back.




To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

Time to read a few banned books.

Think I'll reread Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn again after a several decade absence from Mark Twain.

During one of the Confederate flag discussions someone mentioned that Tom and Huck had been banned from most schools for a while.

That sparked an interest.

There is no better way to ruin a book  than to put it on the required reading list. On the other hand there is no better way to spark interest in a book than to ban it.

Of course, there is no faster way to get me to buy something than to make it politically incorrect to own.

While I am not a Confederate flag in the window kind of guy, it is politically incorrect to own one. So of course, I bought one. It will likely get put in a trunk and be left there but that's not the point. 

It is politically incorrect to have one therefore I had to get one. 

Now that you mention it, I might put together a collection of flags. I think I just thought up a new international signal.

Old Glory upside down and below that you fly the Israeli flag followed by the Swastika. Below that you put the Rainbow flag. Under that goes the Confederate flag under that goes the ISIS flag and beneath that the Syrian flag, followed by the Earth flag.

You now have the International signal that a family fight is in progress.

But I digress...

I do not think I am a whole lot different than a lot of other folks. If I was living in Connecticut I likely would not have registered my firearms, either. This does not make me some sort of an individual because about 90% of the Connecticut residents didn't, either.

This doesn't make me some kind of a rebel, really. It just makes me fairly normal.

I'll remember this when I reread Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn.



To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

One of the things coming up is ARRL Field Day.

 This mans that all good hams set up in the field and work out of doors.

It's SUPPOSED to mean under emergency conditions as a field exercise but there are a lot of people that simply hook things up to an extension cord and set up on the porch.

I have a portable military manpack, a true field rig and the necessary stuff to go on the air virtually anywhere on extremely short notice. It has a generator to recharge the battery so I can run virtually forever with no infastructure whatsoever.

At a local club meeting one of the officers started in on explaining how the club laptops were to be used to record all QSOs. I guess he must have read the dour look on my face and asked me something was wrong.

I explained that we were supposed to be able to go on the air and operate without infastructure.

He replied by asking me how I had planned on recording my QSOs. I held up a pencil and said that perhaps some of the older hams could teach the youngsters how to use such a primitive device.

I guess he wasn't amused.

Truth is, I consider a lot of Field Day to be a joke for an awful lot of operators. Extension cords on Field Day don't cut it as far as I'm concerned.



To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

I suppose you can dig

 through the previous several years worth of posts and you will find that I fought the Russians once under the Confederate flag.

It was a real zoo in the Bering Sea where neither side was actually willing to fire the first shot.

A lot of people watch The Deadlist Catch on TV. While the fishery is still a rough way to make a living, I do believe they keep clear of certain areas.

There is an old saw that a sign that says 'Fine for fishing' means that the place is just that. It is a fine place to go fishing.

Having discreetly fished in a few places like that as a youngster I can confirm that this is generally true. I can also confirm that there is nothing faster than a 12 year old boy running from some old goat that is chasing him out of a good fishing hole.

There is also nothing sneakier that a 12 year old rturning to catch a few more fish. I do believe the services can learn camoflauge and concealment from such a kid.

That being said, we noted that there was some disputed water in the Bering Sea and it only made sense that the crabs we were chasing were hiding there.

On our government printed charts the water in question was listed as United States real estate. That ws good enough for us.

Now I was one of two Yankee boys on a crew of five. The other Yankee didn't count because he knew how to keep his mouth shut.

Of course, I simply reveled in the good natured chaos I created when I cooked breakfast  by substituting grits for cold B&M baked beans. They would moan and wail terribly.

Of course when grits were served it ws my turn to moan and wail. Needless to say I took my turn moaning and bellyaching over grits.

One morning as I was seated next to the skipper I took a second helping of grits. I looked at the skipper. "I hate grits!" I said.

"So why are you eatin' em?" he asked.

"I'm just making sure I get my fair share," I answered, indignantly.

He had a pretty good sense of humor. He laughed like hell and then winced as I added maple syrup to my grits. Then I ate them. Truth is I like grits for breakfast but I would never admit that to those guys.

It just gave us something good natured to fight about.

So anyway, we're fishing in disputed waters and up pops some sort of Russian gun boat. We hove to and sat there dead in the water as they approached.

When they were alongside we quickly put out fendering and quickly threw a line up and caught the Russian gunboat's anchor. 

We were now literally under the guns. They couldn't lower them enough to bring them to bear on us.

Everyone scrambled for their hunting rifles and one of the southern boys looked at the skipper. "Let me run up the Southern Cross," he said. "They'll have one hell of a time figuring that one out."

"Good thinkin," said the skipper. "Do it!"

So up went the Southern Cross. 

"Too bad you ain't got one a them Dukes of Hazzard air horns that plays 'Dixie'," I shouted up to the skipper. He grinned and shook his head. 

"We'll get one next trip," he said.

There appeared to be confusion in the Russian wheel house as they were trying to figure out what the flag was. This was long before computers and I would imagine they had to break out some sort of list of flags to determine our nationality.

Meanwhile the skipper was on the sideband calling the Coast Guard who passed word on to the Air Force who scrambled a squadron of fighters.

A standoff developed as there were a couple Russian Marines or something on board that wanted to board us. As they were making up their minds what to do one of the guys gave a rebel yell to add to the confusion. I won't get into details but a Russian wound up in the freezing waters and they had a hell of a time fishing him out.

I have already posted the details of the stand-off earlier. It was a case where nobody wanted to fire the first shot. Truth be known a couple of grenades would have cleared our deck but we stood fast anyway.

Eventually the Russians figured out the Air Force was coming and decided to leave.

That's how I came to fight under the Southern Cross.

Truth is, if that dopey flag produces such scrappy Americans that's fine by me. South Carolina can keep it up or take it down as they see fit.

I just hope the south keeps producing guys like that scrappy bunch I stared down the Russians with back in the early 80s.




To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

With all of this crap

 going on over a damned flag in South Carolina I figure I ought to tell a couple of tales of woe of my service under the Stars and Bars.

Back in the 80s when I lived in Kodiak I worked part time for a local air service. They were a rag tag bunch and were a lot of fun. I pulled a lot of shenanigans with the guys and would wind up getting fired about twice a week. This was immediately followed by getting hired back with a final warning.

One time I handed a two month old baby to a pilot and told him to drop it off at Old Harbor. His jaw hit the floor and he demanded to know where I got the baby. I told him the baby was left behind on the Ship's Bar and the mother forgot it. It was going to be a COD deal and they were back in Old Harbor waiting.

Of course, I was immediately fired. I shrugged and handed the pilot the baby and started to walk off. 

"What am I going to do with this infant?" demanded the pilot. I immediately quoted the Three Stooges.

"Hold him for thirty days," I said. "If nobody claims him, he's YOURS!" Then I walked out.

He stood there aghast wondering what to do with a two month old infant for about a full minute when the mother stepped out of the broom closet laughing herself silly.

I was instantly rehired and then we saw one of our other planes land. "Pic, put the baby on your desk and she and I will hide in the closet! Lets watch Dave deal with it!"

Anyway, it was the most professional yet unprofessional rag tag outfit I ever worked with.

One day the subject of the (then)Confederate (now Commemorative) Air Force came up and about four or five of us joined up and were immediately commissioned as colonels. Three or four of us also sent in for the CAF blood chits which we sewed on our leather flight jackets.

Here's what a CAF blood chit looks like:

If you don't know what the CAF is then Google it.

Now this was long before the days of the internet and things were harder to look up. Occasionally someone would ask me what the blood chit was all about. I'd explain to them that it was a group of guys that kept a bunch of WW2 aircraft up and running.

One day a familiar face came up to me when I was working on a housing frame-up. It was pretty chilly that day and I was wearing the jacket with the CAF blood chit on it. The face was Norm Wingate, the local building inspector.

He was an old timer on Kodiak, having been posted there during WW2 and assigned to an all black segregated unit. He liked what he saw and returned after the war to make his home there.

He was well likes and respected and was really a pretty classy guy. I liked Norm even though visits from him were sometimes a pain in the neck.

Norm didn't go charging into things when he saw something out of place. He knew a lot of things were not as they appeared. 

He was one of the truly decent government types I have ever met. He has been the only government type, state or federal to listen to an argument and actually say, "You may be right. I'll have to look into this."

He was THAT kind of guy.

In a voice that emitted curiosity he asked me about the Confederate flag on the back of my jacket.

"I'm a colonel in the Confederate Air Force," I replied. "The patch on my back is in case I get shot down." Then I grinned. "Don't worry, Norm. It ain't no KKK. They keep a fleet of WW2 warbirds flying...supposedly in case the south has to rise again. There's a lot of tongue in cheek. They're out of Texas."

"Really?" he asked. "Sounds interesting. Why Confederate Air Force?" Norm asked. 

"Probably like a lot of stuff the name came out of an inane conversation or something. Who knows? You have to admit it IS pretty funny. They had no airplanes in the Civil War," I answered.

"It does sound kind of odd." he said. "I had to ask. How come you're a colonel?"

"Tell you what." I said. "You're well worth atwo bit stamp. I'll send them a letter. Tell your wife to expect a package from the CAF sometime in the next month or so. Tell her NOT to throw it out. Read it...Hey, you were a WW2 guy and stationed here, an enlisted guy in a segregated unit. Wanna become an Air Force colonel?"

He laughed shook his head and wandered off. That night I wrote for an information/application package and had it sent to him.

A couple of months later I ran into him again. He was grinning which was nothing new. He always grinned when he saw me because he never knew what to expect from me. I always kept him guessing.

"Hey, Colonel," he said. "Can I buy you a mint julip at the Village?"

I laughed. "What's the occasion? You a colonel in the Confederate Air Force or something?"

"I want to wet down my new rank." he said with a big grin.


From Wikipedia: 
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Commemorative_Air_Force

"In 2002 it changed its name to Commemorative Air Force after a vote of the membership. Many felt the name Confederate Air Force was confusing, did not accurately reflect the purpose of the organization, and was detrimental to fundraising efforts.[7] This name change was deemed by some fans to be a move of political correctness. According to CAF chief of staff Ray Kinney, "In many people's minds, the word 'confederacy' brings up the image of slavery and discrimination. We, in no way, are associated with that kind of stuff. So, it gives us, in a way, a black-eye."

Personally I agree that changing the name made sense. Had I still been a voting member I would have voted for the name change because it made it easier to raise funds. A lot of people have no sense of humor. Still, when they did that it lost a bit of its charm.

Somewhere in my goods and garbage is an old Confederate Air Force blood chit. I don't remember if I took it off of my old jacket or not. I'll have to look.

I'd love to sew it on but living in Pittsburgh would make it too much trouble. I was recently given and AVG blood chit reproduction and sewed it on the INSIDE of an A-2 jacket. Besides being historically correct on the inside I did it because there are too many people in Pittsburgh that would keep asking me what it was.

Lord only knows what kind of unwanted attention a Confederate Air Force blood chit would draw. Wearing it in Philly is absolutely out of the question. 

Still, I see the humor in the origins of the organization and I rate the old name right up there with the Jamaican Bobsled team for its 'What the....?!" value. Both the CAF and the Jamaican Bobsled Team are things I follow, but I am a perverse person anyway. 

Incidentally, in my ham radio logbook there is a QSO I made with "FiFi", the only flying B-29 in existence. I can thank the CAF for that one, too.





To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

I tend to have a 'shoot the hostage' attitude toward a lot of things.

When someone holds something against you, one simply takes the ransomed object out of the picture. 

Then what do they do?

It's like the old goat down the street threatening to call the police on me. I shut him up simply by calling them for him.

When the issue was settled he felt pretty stupid and will likely leave me alone the next time. 

To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

Hair

 is one of the things I have not really bothered with in my lifetime.

When I was a kid, I had a crew cut and now as an old man I sport a crew cut. In high school I wasn't one of the cool guys that followed a whole lot of fashion. In my freshman and sophomore year my locks were about an inch or so long. In my junior and senior year they were about maybe two inches long.

So much for Beatle hair and the ensuing Haight-Ashbury look.

I was a khakis and sport shirt kind of guy and a lot of my school clothes came from either Building #19 or The Bargain Center.

It didn't make a damned bit of difference to me. I suppose if I could have gotten away with it I would have been clad in Levi 501s and a button down collared shirt and considered myself good to go. Levis were a no-go. We had a dress code of sorts.

When I left high school I let myself get a bit shaggy, with say, about 3 inches of hair. Then went into the army where the style was set for me. 

In the tipi and on the road I figured hair was nothing more than a hassle and kept it clipped pretty short. I never was one for fashion. Short hair is pretty utile and low maintenance.

Later in Kodiak I let it grow in a bit and when it got to shaggy it was off to the barbershop for what they called a fisherman's cut. Fairly short, low maintenance. A couple of inches long. Once in a while I'd let it grow out and fool around with it.

For a while I had it long enough for a duck's ass and jellyroll ala Joe '56. A few years back I took to white T-shirts with a pack of Luckies rolled up in the sleeve, cuffed jeans and engineer boots. Finding Dixie Peach pomade was a bitch. I think it was Murray's pomade I tried. 

One drop the size of a pea on a flat top and you can support a concrete block on the top of it! Use gasoline to remove it, though.

I never could pull off a flat top. It looked stupid on me. Not that I really cared, though. In junior high I had a classmate that sported a flat top with wings that looked pretty good on him.

Some of the kids saw the Old School look, adopted it and started a fad that lasted briefly. The return of Sha Na Na and the Fonz.

I kept that style for years and years until I went to Camp Perry a few years back and something came up. I won't go into it here but I wound up sitting on an upturned bucket and got a 'Navy Regs' haircut from a Marine.

I've pretty much kept that until recently. Now it's my winter 'do. I pretty much clip it way down come summer.

I have never did figure out long hair. Somehow I managed to pretty much skip that phase and I'm none the worse for it.



To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

Right now there is a big stink going on in South Carolina

 over the stars and bars being flown in the state capital. Big deal. A lot of people ought to get a life.

Mitt Romney entered the fray demanding it be taken down and how it is offensive to blacks and so on and so forth. This coming from a man who attends a church that didn't allow blacks into the pulpit until as recently as 1978. Interesting.

Maybe some people ought to look into the doings of one M.K. Edgerton, an older black man that is a Southern Heritage activist. He's a pretty sharp cookie on the subject of Southern Heritage. Truth is he knows his history and he knows his heritage.

I'm sure he riles up a lot of folks by telling the truth. The history revisionist set probably considers him or people like him to be Public Enemy Number One.

First of all, most people don't know a damned thing about the south, it's manners or customs. They seem to consider them backward and uneducated. They're not.

When you drag racial politics into things people are quick to point out the doings in Selma and Montgomery. Yet they tend to shuffle troubles like Detroit, Boston and other Northern cities under the rug under the rug.

FWIW I had a chat with a black attorney I met in Maryland once that said he felt Boston was pretty racist. I won't get into detail but I can sure see how he feels. I explained it to him and he understood. Maybe some day I'll post my take on it.

Anyway there is a hue and cry from all parts of the country to take the flag down. I consider this a waste of time and effort. People would be a whole lot better off if they spent the time and effort cleaning up their own states.

Someone in New Hampshire or Minnesota rally has little business telling South Carolina what to do. It's simply not their state or even region. You have little in common with the people of South Carolina. If you don't believe it, look at your dinner table.

Last time I was in Boston and stopped for breakfast I didn't see grits on the menu. Later that night I saw no barbecued pulled pork and collard greens to be had in the Boston area. 

Then again, I didn't see lutefisk on the menu the last time I was in Georgia.

For years I have posted on this blog that if you don't plan on adapting to the way of life somewhere then do not move there.

New Jerseyites seem to have flooded to North Carolina to escape the excessive tax burden. When they arrive they start demanding the very services that created the taxes back in New Jersey. Bless their hearts.

How about we leave South Carolina to its own devices and let them fly what ever flag they want in their state? It's really none of anybody's business. 

If you would take the time you spend minding someone else's business and put it to improving yourself, your municipality or your state we'd probably ALL be better off.

That being said, I do believe that the Stars and Bars should have been probably lowered to half mast as a gesture of respect to the shooting victims. Still, it isn't my place to demand it.

Incidentally I just found out why the stars and bars were not lowered. It is against state law to do so for any reason.



To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

I wish both sides of the political arena

 would shut the hell up, stop whining and get the damned country back on its feet again.

While it is pretty obvious I am no supported of the present occupant of the White House, I am no fan of the other side, either.

They both suck.

They both want into my pocket and they both want into my private affairs. It's as simple as that. They're both like a couple of spoiled little kids.

Both sides have this big vision of what they want the country to be like and it differs from the average guy.

The average working guy just wants to be left alone to make an honest living and raise a family. He doesn't really want a whole lot of regulation in his personal life and he doesn't want his government to force the desires of the religious on everyone.

He's tired of listening to politicians trying to legislate morality and confiscation his hard earned money to gve to someone else.

If he's a basic small business owner plugging away trying to make ends meet it's pretty likely he's going to (rightly) grouse that the government does their damnedest to keep him from making a decent living.






To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

An interesting quote.

I'm a deacon in the Baptist Church and I carry a gun every Sunday. We must understand that the devil goes to church also. Gun free zones get people killed period! It's God's job to judge the wicked, but if you bring a gun into church meaning to harm and kill, I'll do my best to arrange that meeting with God!



To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

I don't know how it is today

 but back in the day a lot of people looked down on Vo-Tech schools. Likely because they didn't prepare a kid for college.

I had a guy I went to school with until my freshman year. He left junior high and went to the county Vo-Tech. The classmate he later married graduated with me. She looks pretty good for being one of my classmates. She has aged very well.

Looking back on the guy he probably wasn't the kind of guy that would have done well in college but that didn't make him dumb, either. I remember him as a fairly sharp kid with a pretty sharp wit.

He was pretty talented with his hands and probably had no desire to be some kind of office worker. He seemed to want to get his hands dirty.

I met him for the first time in probably 45 years or more at my high school reunion. He went to the reunion with his wife and I suppose he really is one of us. I think he is, anyway. I remember him well in 6th grade and junior high.

Anyway, he's now the owner of a small business. He owns and runs a fairly successful body and fender business.  He's doing OK. He has raised a family and probably now has grandkids.

I have been a fan of vocational education for decades. College isn't for everybody. There are an awful lot of bright talented people out there that college would be a waste of time for.

Let's face it, we have no huge shortage of liberal arts majors. There is more than a kernal of truth that many college graduates wind up behind a counter at the local Starbucks in debt out the wazoo.

I don't know what they taught the guy I went to school with when he went to the regional vo-tech. I do know that besides the trade itself there are also a lot of required classes in the business end of the trade being learned.

There's more to a trade than just knowing how to fix a damaged car. You have to be able to do it at a profit.

I got clouted a while ago in Boston and spoke with the body and fender guy at the shop that fixd me up. He said he teaches  class or two evenings at the local community college. He reports that virtually all of the people that graduate the program find jobs in the business.

I have harped on this for years about how we need fewer Humanities majors and more plumbers. I actually have to give his  classmates parents a lot of credit for looking carefully at their son in a realistic light and realizing that he was NOT going to become president of the United States or some such crap.

Instead they figured he'd become a successful tradesman. They sent him in that direction which seems to have ended well for him.

By being a successful tradesman he's also become a successful businessman.

It would be interesting to see how many of my classmates that did go to college were either unemployed, under employed or doing something totally unrelated to what they studied.

I'll bet this guy that took the vo-tech route has done a lot better than quite a number of the people that went through the college route.

My classmate has done well for himself.

I wish I had more time and been able to sit down with him and chat a bit more.




To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

It's been about 30 years time since I've been put up in drag.

I think somewhere I posted about the time I went out on Halloween in drag. What was so funny about it is the girls that made me up did such a good job that someone that I had known for years didn't recognize me and tried to pick me up.

Hilarity ensued.

You should have seen the look on his face when I told him to get his hands out of my skirt and he recognized my voice.

I feel the need to do it again and this time I'm going to do it right. However, for a different reason.

I saw part of a movie once where some kid got stopped. I believe the police officer was played by Donald Sutherland but could be wrong. The kid was asked by the officer "Is this really you?"

The picture on his driver's license was one of none other than Indiana Jones. I cracked up.

The last time I went in for my driver's license I did the usual Charles Manson look-alike thing. The guy taking my picture knew what I was doing and offered me the services of his kid sister to add some makeup. I was in a hurry and declined.

As an afterthought I asked him if his sister could do me up in drag. He said she could.

We have all seen what the makeup people in Hollyweird can do. They can make a teenager look 95 years old and an old duffer like myself look like a spring chicken.

Why not?

Get all dolled up in a Dolly Parton wig, close shave and a Hollywood quality makeup job for the driver's license picture. There it is.

In this day and age there's always an excuse for everything. Likely there's not a whole lot the state can do about it if I do get my license picture taken in drag.

I can picture getting stopped by a police officer. One look at the license and there comes the question.

"Is that really you?"

"Yes, Officer it is. At the time it was taken I was considering having a sex change operation. Then I decided that I'd be just as happy as a guy because if I became a woman I'd just be a lesbian because my sexual preference is women. So I cancelled the operation."

"Really?"

"Yes, Sir."

So you get off with maybe a warning and as the officer hands you back his license you notice he takes another good look at it. He shudders as he thinks that a 65 year old man is a lot hotter looking woman than the real one he just married last spring.

Try cashing a check with it.

"Is that you?" asks the teller.

Yes it is," you reply. "I'm in a theatre group and we did a production of 'Tootsie' and I played Doherthy. The picture was taken on the way to a dress rehearsal."

"Really? Do you have another picture ID?"

Out comes the Merchant Marine Document with the picture you took looking like a real roughneck. I look like a real thug in mine. My hair was pretty long before I had it clipped off and for the picture I combed it back ala 50s greaser. After the picture I had to use gasoline to get the waxy pomade out of my hair.

I suppose I should have kept the style for a few more days. Nothing beats that old Sha Na Na Wolfman Jack era pomade. A duck's ass with a jellyroll doin' 120 in a '57 Chevy with the top down and not a single hair out of place.

"I think I'll use this," says the teller, holding up the Mariner's Document.

I hope the guy that took my picture at the driver's license place is still working and he sets me up with his makeup artist kid sister. I think I'll get my head and face made up but have my picture taken with an open necked shirt exposing a hairy chest.

Years ago there would be no way in hell I could get away with something like that but I bet I can next renewal.  In this day and age everyone is afraid of being sued. I would imagine the state has already been threatened with a lawsuit by the Amalgamated Cross-Dressers or someone.

The truth is I have no urge to wear the clothing of the opposite sex, but for a professional mischief maker doing a driver's license drag queen thing is a hard one to resist.

Three bucks to a stale Krispy Kreme I get away with it if I decided to. It's a sign of the times.



To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

Colonoscopy time is coming up pretty soon

 and other than the prep part which is a mild nuisance, I'm looking forward to it.

There's nothing better than a chemically induced prime time  space ride administered by health care professionals.

I like my doctor and actually look forward to seeing him. He's a pretty cool guy. He comes from India and is a real American.

His office person once told me that I was the only one that didn't offend him when I teased him about it.

The scar I have mentioned in the last couple of posts has something to do with it. He saw the scar and asked about it.

"You guys gave it to me at the Little Big Horn," I replied, followed by "Whoops! Wrong Indians!"

I could see that for a second the doc didn't know how to take that one.

The nurse paled and snapped at me that I had said the most politically incorrect thing in the world.

I remember being incontrite after that. I snapped back. "Ya know, we're ALL a fine bunch of bastards this far down the line. With the exception of the handful of Native Americans, every single one of us has one thing in common. Somewhere along the line us or one of our ancestors got kicked out of every other decent place to live."

What do you mean by that?" She demanded.

"On my grandmother's side some drunken Irishman boogied on over here to keep from being hanged for stealing sheep," I replied.

"My dad's mom left Austria to avoid WW1 and his father goes back to the Pilgrims who got 86'd from England because someone didn't like where they went to church." I continued.

"Most likely Doc here decided he could do better for his family in the States. It takes a lot of guts to pack up and move to a different land," I finished.

She was silent and doc gave me a thoughtful look. 

"Speaking of Ireland," I started up again. "What size green T-shirt you wear, Doctor? I owe you that and a bottle of Jameson's for the last time when you likely saved my sorry ass.  You is now a true Son of Ireland!"
"Then again, I suppose we can call it even for you guys scalping me at the Little Big Horn. Dammit! Wrong Indians again. That boob Colombus was lost. He thought he was in India."

Doc laughed at that. I looked up at him.

"Just think, Doc," I said. "If ol Columbus thought he had landed in Manila the kids would be playing cowboys and Filipinos!"

A Filipina nurse at nearby stopped, thought a second and tittered. Doc looked amused and shook his head. 

I carry no ill will whatsoever to people that come to this country to contribute. We sure can use more people like that doctor. He's pretty damned good at what he does.

While we are at it, it seems like an awful lot of engineers in this country are from India. If I had to venture a guess it is because a lot of lazy youngsters go through college as humanities majors as it is a lot easier than the math and science required for an engineering degree.

A lot of people in India keep their eye on the buck and realize we need engineers and pay them well.

The little girl up the street went the engineering route and when she graduated she started off making more than her father does.

That's because she had the grit to go that route.



To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

Over the top with Blackjack Pershing back in the spring of '18.

I already told you the tale of woe of the scar I attributed to a Japanese bayonet at Tarawa. The old Saipan vet suggested I back it up a war so as to avoid confusion.

Several months later, a coworker saw the scar and I casually told him I got it from a German bayonet back in 1918 when I went over the top with Blackjack Pershing. He couldn't count, either and mentioned to someone that I had been bayonetted back during WW1.

Of course, I got a call from one of my laughing admirers asking me what I had told the kid and we shared a laugh.

We both decided that I ought to back it up another war and agreed that the scar is now Spanish of origin. I got it in Cuba where I fought with Teddy Roosevelt.

I decided to draw the line there. If some dumbass thinks I'm 143 years old it's on him, I figured.

Some time later on an internet board I mentioned serving with Teddy Roosevelt. It was simply a way of simply saying I had been in the service decades ago.

Some buffoon read it and accused me of being a gun show beef jerky selling SEAL and that there was no way I could have served with TR. He made all sorts of accusations and said he was going to report me to whomever.

Enter some quick thinking photoshopper. He got the famous picture of TR standing on top of the hill with the troops and the flag. There was a hat showing next to Teddy but with the face hidden.

He photoshopped an arrow pointing to the hat and labeled it Piccolo.

The accuser saw it and wrote me a profuse apology about how sorry he was for insulting a true hero of the Spanish American War.

I figure whoever the guy was, it was pretty clear he wasn't an engineer or science major. Those people know how to count.

Hell, a young kid once saw my flight jacket and asked if I was a pilot. I told him I was a forward observer for TR in Cuba and he asked me how I looked so young for being 135 years old.

He's probably a science ot math kid. He can count.




To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

Fighting at Tarawa. November 21, 1943

I have had this scar on my starboard flank for years from an infected bug bite that actually required knock-me-out surgery.

Some years ago at a rifle match I was pulling off a hooded sweatshirt and it rode my T-shirt up and was noticed by the guy next to me.

The guy next to me saw the scar and asked where it came from and being a smart-ass, I told him I got it on Tarawa back in '43 from a Japanese bayonet.

He proved to be a history teacher that really knew history but, alas, could not count.

I'm a '51 model and the battle was fought 8 years before I graced the planet with my presence. He asked me if I would like to give his classes a talk about fighting the Japanese Empire.

The guy on the other side was an actual Saipan veteran and looked over incredulously at what I said.

"You look like you were born the years after the battle was even fought," he said, indignantly.

"I snuck into the Corps with my big brother's birth certificate," I countered.

"Wait a minute! You were not even born then!" He shot back.

"The phoney birth certificate trick worked pretty good, didn't it?" I asked.

"But you were not even born!" he protested.

"The recruiter didn't know that," I answered. "Besides, if I wasn't there then how did I end up with a nasty Japanese bayonet scar on my side?"

"Because you're full of $hit and he's a dumb-ass for believing you," he laughed. 

He then turned to the teacher. "If he goes to your class to tell the kids about fighting the Japs, can I come in and listen to him? I'll bet you his stories would be better than mine and I was at Saipan!"

Then he turned to me. "Over the years I have told a few tall tales to my grandchildren," he said. "However, I am a rank amateur bull$hiter compared to you. It is a true joy to listen to a real professional in action. Please carry on." 

The old goat and I got along pretty good after that. He later suggested I change the story to having caught a Hun bayonet back in '18 when I went over the top with Blackjack Pershing. 

I did. That story later on.



To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

You're offended? Tango Sierra.

I don't care who something offends.

We have a right to be offensive and those that don't like it are cordially invited to use the nice piece of mistletoe keep clipped to my shirt tail.

I get tired of having so-called white privilige thrown at me every time I turn around. I get pretty upset over hearing tht something is wrong with me because I don't support the failed social programs the feds have cooked up and make me pay for.

I get tired of people running Christianity into the ground and pretty fed up with people getting upset with Christian GIs being buried under crosses or Jewish GIs being buried under stars. Of for that matter, Muslim GIs being buried under a crescent.  

As far as I'm concerned a GI that gets killed in national service can get buried under any symbol he wants to be buried under. That means anything. 

If you don't like it then put on a uniform, pick up a weapon and get out there on the lines. Then YOU can get buried under whatever symbol you want to be buried under.

I get equally as mad when I see Christians trying to legislate morality.

Still, as annoying as all this is I can say that in another way I am glad to be annoyed.

It means that we have freedom of speech and as far as I am concerned, those of it that want to stifle it by trying to appease the gods of political correctness can kiss my raggedy ass.

People have a right to offend me or anyone else they want. It is really that simple.

On the other hand, I have the right to offend them. 

Kiss my ass.





To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

There is a term out there

 to describe a situation that often ends badly. The term is 'When a$$holes collide'.

The Treyvon Martin/George Zimmerman incident is one of them.

There is also a similar situation that is likely to wind up entertaining. It is when smart asses collide. Of course, I'll fess up. I'm a smart ass and I'll admit that it can be fun meeting another one.

I think I posted once that I met a kindred soul on the air a couple Memorial Days ago. He was a radio operator on board a WW2 memorial ship, I beleve it was a destroyer but maybe it was something else.

Anyway the ship was fielding calls and there was a moderate pile up. I managed to break through the pileup simply by throwing out my call in the WW2 phonetic alphabet and following it with "Request naval gunfire! Say again! Request naval gunfire!"

The operator must have been a kindred soul because he instantly told the whole pileup to hold up a minute and then asked "Who is requesting naval gunfire?"

I threw my call out in the old WW2 phonetic alphabet and followed it up with, "Able company, 1/64. Easy sector, Dog Green beach. Exposed reinforced concrete bunker. Request armor piercing. Grid 274813. Fire on adjust! Work fast. There's a coupla MG 42s in there keeping us pinned down! "

"Stand by, Able company. I will patch you through directly to FDC!" he answered, and that's just what he did!

Apparently the entire ship was manned by local volenteers and a second later someone got back to me. He identified himself as petty officer So and so simply said, "You got the Fire Direction Center. Gimme the dope!"

When he said 'Gimme the dope' I knew he was an older guy.

So I repeated what I had asked the radio operator for and added, "Shoot the first one a little high! I don't want you to drop one on any of my joes!"

Much to the amusement of some hams waiting to make contact and the chagrin of a few we went through a three round imaginary fire mission. You could hear the guys going through the drill in the background. It was pretty cool. 

I called in the corrections and went through the drill. After the third imaginary round hit after two near misses, I said, "Ya got him, Pal. Punched a real nice hole in it. We got it from here! Thanks!"

"No problem, Mac," he answered. As an aftershot he added, "Hey, don't forget to check out the gams on the tomato in the latest 'Stars and Stripes'!"  What a classic hokey Hollywood WW2 movie line! I was impressed.

Anyway it was an all around good deal for the ship and for any hams listening. They got to hear things as they likely happened back in the day. I know the guys on the crew had a great fun. You could tell by their voices.

When the pileup resumed it seemed that most of the hams that heard it had been amused. Of course, a few seemed a little confused at what had happened but that's par golf. As they used to say back in the day, "There's always some dope that doesn't get the word."




To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

The other day I had to listen to some Marine

gripe about female Marines having not trained like the men do.

I agreed. They don't.

They actually get more training.

The training syllabus I read a few years back says that women in boot camp get an extra 4 hour course that men don't. The Corps trains the women how to use makeup.

It makes sense when you think about it as women from rural areas are less likely to know how to use the stuff than their urban counterparts.

On the other hand, the city girls may tend to smooth the stuff on with a shovel. The Corps simply wants the woman to use the stuff appropriately.

Anyway the guy walked off kind of pissed off.

He was a jerk, anyway and it felt kind of good watching him walk away skulking. 


To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

Up and at 'em.

As I have aged I don't seem to need as much sleep as I used to.

Last night I just put myself in a forced sleep mode and made myself sleep for a lot longer than normal.

I think I am going to do this more often. I feel pretty good for having done it.




To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

Well, well, well.

My body has gone through several changed lately and that's OK.

For one thing I do not sleep as much as I used to and for another alcohol effects me differently.

I have noticed that even a couple drinks makes me wake up in the morning not feeling 100%. I don't have a hangover, it's just kind of a slightly sluggish feeling.

Simple solution. I just forego the stuff and wake up feeling pretty good. It's as easy as that.

Actually it's a pretty good deal in a sense. I'll likely lose a few pounds and feel a little better on top of that so I won't complain.

I think I'll have a taste now and then when the Grandfather's Club meets to plot our next crime wave but for the most part I'll just stay dry.

As you age you have to learn to read your body and pay attention. It is not as resilient as it was even a couple of years ago. 

I think my body is telling me something.






To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

Here's a pretty good sea story from an old sailor I knew.

Looking at the prospect of winding up in the WW2 infantry, my old friend Lou joined the Navy.

Like most of the guys that served, he wanted to get the war over with and go home. He actually did pretty well in the three and a half years he served, making the grade of First Class Petty Officer.

Still, he told me that like almost everyone else he would have rather been somewhere else and been doing something else. He said he coped simply by keeping them guessing every once in a while.

He had been stuck in the galley for a day and gotten grease on his shoes and try as he could, he couldn't get a very good shine out of them. Of course, he wound up facing a uniform inspection the following day.

The skipper commented on the dull shine on Lou's shoes and told him he ought to break out his other pair of shoes and start wearing them.

"But, Sir," protested Lou. He looked at the skipper in the astonished look of a man that has been told to melt the Holy Grail down for scrap. "Those are my LIBERTY shoes!"

The skipper really didn't know what to say for a second but recovered as best he could. 

"Looks like we're just going to have to get you a new pair of shoes," said the skipper.

Lou was pretty good at keeping them guessing.

He's gone now and the world is a little bit dreaarier place for his passing.




To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

Keep up the insulting texts.

You know who you are.

Keep at it. It's called harassment and it's illegal. It can make me rich and you poor.

Apparently you don't like it very much because I posted something you don't like. Too bad. 

Grow up.








To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

I have decided to shed a few pounds and it's gonna be rough.

It is Sunday morning and I'm having a quiet breakfast of ham and eggs, skip the spuds, toast and OJ.

I'm going the low carb route.

When I am on the road it will likely be salads ad the like.

Oh, well.

Beer is definitely out of the question.



To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

I heard something yesterday that's been said to me.

Some guy called told some stuffy woman to wait her turn like everybody else at Lowe's. Of course, she got all uppity.

There is nothing worse than someone getting what they have coming to them and this woman had it coming.

I really had a hard time not laughing until she tried another tack. 

"I'm going to get my husband!" she said. "He'll take care of this."

"Bring it on, Bitch!' replied the guy. "Hope his life insurance is paid up."

Then she went into the next predictable phase. She started looking around for a champion and made the mistake of looking at me.


I agree with him," I said. "Every word. I'll bet you don't like your husband very much. Plan on living off of his insurance or something?"

"What do you mean by that? she demanded.

"Saying you're going to get your husband," I said. "To fight someone over what honor you don't have. If he does, he's a fool and deserves what he gets. It will likely be short, sharp, extremely violent and someone-likely your husband- is either going to wind up hospitalized or dead. The Marquis of Queensbury rules don't apply here."

She stood there agape.

" You don't know who that guy is," I continued. "He could be a gang banger, a drug addict, a former Army Ranger or maybe a veteran that has killed six people with his bare hands. We're not talking about a schoolyard tiff here.This is Allegheny county and there are about 250,000 people licensed to carry firearms in it."

"Then you look at me to be your champion and expect me to take up for you after I watched you rudely barge through to the head of the line and get called on for it. I did not live to be an old man of sixty-three by risking my life to save the day for rude people. To put it plain, if I'm not f***ing you, I'm not supporting you."

She looked stunned.

"Truth is, your problem is you need more education," I said.

"I have a liberal arts degree." she said, defensively.

"Must not have been a very good school," I replied.

"Dusquene University," she said.

"A lousy school." I replied.

"Why's that?" Her voice showed she was offended even more.

"They didn't teach you any manners," I shot back. "If they had, you wouldn't be standing in a Lowe's making an ass of yourself. You'd have quietly gotten into line and nobody would have said anything to you."

Then I walked off.








To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

Ouch!

Busy today



To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

Last night I think I added two rocks to the pile.

The airwaves were open and I managed to make a pair of QSOs that are All Time New Ones for me.

Azerbaijan and Kyrgyzstan are now in my log book. I worked the former on voice and the latter on CW.

My CW is lousy and I believe that he got my call sign correctly so I am going to risk a couple bucks an sen for a card. We'll see.

In other news I spent several hours yesterday with a guy that is now a policeman in one of the more rural counties north of here.

One of the things we discussed is so-called 'sovereign citizens' which a lot of policemen consider to be a pain in the ass. Most of these clowns are just malcontents that don't have a clue as to how to go about things and simply can't afford to establish their sovereignty correctly.

You have to set up an entire nation, complete with recognition from other countries etc. I would imagine Putin would recognize your little fiefdom instantly just to embarrass Obama.

The amount of things one has to do is incredible but if you have enough time and money I suppose you could do it properly.

The Republic of 123 Elm St, Hometown, USA.

Of course, the US government could simply refuse to allow you entry into the States and you'd be stuck for the rest of your life on your land. Either that or they could simply invade you and chuck you into Gitmo as a POW for the next 20 years.

Anyway I had a pretty good visit with my friend. He's a pretty good guy and from what I can see he's learning to be a pretty good cop.



  



To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

The damned compressor just went off and woke me.

I left it plugged in and it went off and woke me.

Why is it that I get about 37 ideas a day of things to write about and can't even remember one of them when I sit down to post? 

The other day I had to visit a doctor to get something taken care of. My old doctor I can't have anymore thanks to that liar in the White house. So I now have a new doctor, a skinny little wisp of a woman. Frankly she worried me at first.

I had a little talk with her and decided to set her straight right up front.

"Look," I said. "I am Old School. I don't care about your bedside manner. I don't care about doing anything but getting cured as quickly as possible. If if causes me pain and discomfort to get well, fine by me. My favorite docs were Army medics that could get me back up and running fast. I had one knock out an upper respiratory infection in about 24 hours once. He turned my ass into a pincushion and I was good to go the next day. So let's not fool around. " 

I have to give her credit. She simply went to work and took care of me. I am now good to go.

She looked at a scar I have and asked about it. She seemed to be mildly surprised when I told her I had gotten cut 35 years ago and had it sewn up by some kid that never finished high school but had been a Navy corpsman during the Vietnam war.

"An awful lot of the things I have had done to me were done by people that never went to medical school," I said. "In Alaska we generally did what we had to do. In the service I had a medic fix a hemorrhoid. He cut me and stitched me up while I was bent over a table."

She seemed mildly surprised and asked me why I didn't use the Army hospital. I told her the real doctors had just given me silver bullets and sent me on my way. When I got back to my outfit the senior medic opined that I would wind up with more problems down the line.

We both went to see the First Sergeant who said he had suffered problems like that years ago and finally found someone that would cut him and fix it right.

That afternoon Doc laid his stripes on the line. He could have faced a court-martial if he got caught. He worked on me, Top covered for me for a few days while I healed and I haven't had problems since.

The skinny little woman doctor turned out OK. She got in there and did what she had to do.

For years I have believed that if you just let doctors get in there and do their job you'd be miles ahead. Truth be known, the biggest thing I see doctors do is deal with a bunch of sissies that want the thorn removed but don't want to feel the pain of it being yanked.

Most people don't want a damned doctor, they want a magic wand waver.

She's gonna be OK.








To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY