Sunday, May 29, 2011



Spaghetti and meatballs! Oh man, a family favorite. One childhood memory of a great meal mom made for us that would have blended into a million others and forgotten long ago except for the Event. The Event does not have an official name, but it should. No one who witnessed the Event ever speaks of it unless there is at least one other witness who was present at the Event to back up his or her story. To say “you had to be there” is an understatement.

I can’t put a year on it, maybe mid 60’s, seems like it was a Sunday afternoon, but I could be wrong. Dad had been in the garage all morning doing a side job working on a car, which meant my brother and me had been out there too. Me and Mike where dad’s assistant mechanics he started us early in the trade and we made pretty good money at it for kids. By the time we were say 11 or 12 years old we could do an overhaul job by ourselves and dad would give us a fair cut.
When I see kids nowadays mouthing off to their parents in Jerry Springer fashion, I cringe and say, man if I did that around my old man when I was a kid, it would be lights out! Dad had a reputation with us kids for having a lightning fast draw with his belt when a situation arose where corporal punishment was warranted. These offences could range from walking on the curb next to traffic on Rural Street, to pounding the shit out of your little sister. The point is, there was no Uniform Code of Military Justice, you never knew just when your ass was going to get lit up. My little sister Rita on the other hand, seemed to hold some hidden immunity idol, because it seemed like she got away with murder and seldom if ever received the full wrath of dad.

As bad as the ass whipping was, we would almost rather get that and have it over with as opposed to having to endure one of dad’s infamous “lectures”.
The term lecture was a misnomer in describing one of dads tongue lashings. It was more like a mock execution. Your standing there like dead man walking, with dad breathing fire down your neck, knowing at anytime dads hand could go for the belt like Wyatt Earp drawin down on the Clanton’s at the OK Corral. At times you just wish he would go ahead and get it over with, at least you could stop dreading it.
So anyway, back to the Event, there was no sign of trouble that day, it was a peaceful and pleasant afternoon with no strife that comes to mind.

Us kids were busy gobbling down our wonderful spaghetti and meatballs, dad finishes before the rest of us and like clockwork goes for his pack of Lucky Strikes. Dad was a chain smoker and this was an era like the show MADMEN and everybody smoked back then and everybody smoked around kids. Second hand smoke hadn’t been invented yet.
The next thing that happened was witnessed from different angles depending where you were seated that day. It was relived many times among the 6 witnesses and 6 different accounts were given as testimony to the Event.

From my vantage I saw this, my head down possibly rolling some spaghetti round my fork, then through my peripheral vision which is still keen; from my dads mouth a flame of yellow and blue about the diameter of an oil furnace gun began to roll out and extend most of the way across the kitchen table. At the same time, an audible WHOOSH was heard according to all the witnesses.
Now remember who were talking about here; this is the man whose claim to fame was his fire breathing lectures. We had all imagined from time to time that we had seen him dragon-like scorching us as he delivered his fire and brimstone sermons from the mount, but now, like Moses, we were in the presence of the burning bush.
Then as suddenly as it began, dad leapt from his chair and quickly covered his mouth with his hand and extinguished the flame. The aftermath is a blur and the reactions varied from my older sister Helen slapping her hands down on the table, one of her hands hitting dead center in my plate of spaghetti. My brother Mike put his head under the table and was reportably sobbing uncontrollably.
I think Rita must have looked just like this:

 I was sitting there in shock and awe, trying to compute just what I had witnessed.
How could this have happened, what evil had befallen my family, was dad in fact a spawn of Satan? There seemed to be no other plausible explanation. Following the debriefing, come to find out there was a logical explanation that didn’t involve black magic, or alien abduction.
I forgot to mention that dad like to have a few beers while working weekends in his garage. He had told Mike to get him another beer, while Mike was on his beer run to the kitchen; dad looked over and saw a partial beer that he had forgotten about. Trying to be an efficient beer drinker, he picked up the half full bottle and proceeded to chug it down before Mike returned with the replacement. What he had forgotten was, earlier he had been priming the carburetor on an engine he was trying to get started. He had used an empty beer bottle to put the primer gas in, before he realized he was chugging Hi-test gasoline instead of a Fall City, he had swallowed several gulps.

I guess people back then didn’t call poison control center for help, so what did he do?
He just sat down and ate dinner and didn't say anything to anybody about it.
After he ate, he grabbed a Lucky and lit up, then he blew out the match!
 And now you know the rest of the story.
To read the She Said version of the Event, go to AN ORDINARY LIFE


Maybe we could take a poll from you as to whose version is more believable.
Polls open at 8:02 PM

Wednesday, May 25, 2011


Johnny's Little Pink House

I was with a friend last Sat. on Monroe reservoir doing a shakedown cruise on his new boat. It is probably the largest lake in Indiana and without a doubt the prettiest lake. Back in the late 70’s I was on that lake almost every weekend with my old junker boat doing some serious drunken skiing. It has been more than 30 years since I had been there and my buddy was showing me some of the changes to the landscape. One impressive addition to the shoreline was the estate of one John Mellencamp.

He was born in Seymour Indiana and now mostly resides in Bloomington, at least he did until he dumped his third wife in favor of Meg Ryan (allegedly).

As we idled by his enormous lakeside mansion and the expansive grounds I had several flashbacks. Not the ones from the 70’s, but several comments made by the Hoosier rocker concerning politics, the wealthy, the poor, taxes, ect. In his expert opinion, the government (i.e. you and me who pay taxes so other people don’t have to get off their ass) needs to give much much more money to the non-producers and to farmers who are not as successful as they should be (even though the government (us) give out billions to farmers in the form of subsidies).
One statement he made really sums up how he feels; he was being interviewed by a network news program several years ago and he was talking about Farm aid. The interviewer asked him about the rework on the Statue Of Liberty that was going on at that time which was being funded privately. He said, “who gives a shit? Let it fall down, they should be using that money for farms”
He is talented to be sure, he as written a lot of great songs, and some really shitty ones too.

Hey, Johnny Cougar, I have a great idea! Lets flush out your obscenely fat bank accounts and give that money out to the needy, don’t fret now, you keep back a mil or two for your own upkeep. That would be enough for most of us, course we wouldn’t be able to live in big fancy mansions on the lake or have big car collections or chase skirts out it Hollywood.
Time for you to step up and show you’re not really a hypocrite John.
Now be honest, you really don’t need all that fluff do you?
Didn’t you sing about being born in a small town and you would die in a small town?
Time for you to put your bundle of money were your mouth is:
I would be interested to see which one is bigger.

Sunday, May 22, 2011



Fellow blogger (Rita, AN ORDINARY LIFE) came up with an interesting idea, at least to us.
She will eat anything as long as it's caught fresh in FL
She suggested we coordinate a weekly blog on the same event from our childhood memories and compare that event from our own particular viewpoints in He Said, She Said type format.
I first met Rita in April of 1959, up until that time I was the youngest of three children. I was the baby of the family and being almost 4 years of age, very optimistic about my future. Then Rita was born and my status would never be the same. Since that time we have had many highs and lows, but I finally had to forgive her for invading my little world and happy to say that unlike the stance that Hamas has taken concerning Israel, I accepted the Rita’s right to exist many years ago. The Middle East should take solace in that; if I can learn to love my baby sis, there is hope for them as well.
I think we have come up with an interesting event for our first blog; I just ask you to keep an open mind about it and suspend belief, it will all be true, it just won’t seem like it.
Check out the She Said version at: AN ORDINARY LIFE

Friday, May 20, 2011


The executioner

The jury selection for the Casey Anthony murder trial and my upcoming selection for jury duty in Federal court have me thinking about crime and punishment the past couple of days.
I have been in a few jury pools in my time, but never had to serve yet. My wife was on a jury in a murder trial here in Indy a few years ago. We didn’t talk about the case until it was over, the defendant was found guilty and it was interesting to hear the details of the case.
Watching Court TV during the jury selection of Casey Anthony, the judge and lawyers on both sides of the aisle, are asking many questions of the prospective jurors concerning their personal views on the death penalty due to the fact that this is a capitol case. It always makes me cringe when I see protestors who show up at an execution in support of a murderer who is about to meet the ultimate judge.
I think there can be legitimate feelings by some, that one human being does not posses the right to end the life of another human being. People who object on purely religious grounds can make a good case for opposing such an opinion.
 There are others who are of the political left persuasion that feel like everyone behind bars is there for arbitrary reasons. It is the epitome of irony that most of this group cheerfully supports a women’s right to have her unborn baby dismembered and discarded in the cruelest manner imaginable. You can reduce their belief system to this: it is a wonderful victory of feminism to slaughter a human whose only offence is that their existence would be is an inconvenience to another human.  Most in this group however take the opposite stance when it comes to the extermination of a human who has committed an act of murder so heinous that a jury of his peers and a judge weighed the facts of the case and determined the murderer’s punishment warrants his or hers extermination.
Arguments against the death penalty range from the reasonable to the ridiculous.  When it is argued that it cost too much money, or it takes too long to carry out the death sentence; that’s not a logical reason to do away with it; IT IS a damn good reason to revamp the appeals process in death penalty cases. It should not take 14, 15 years or cost a millions of taxpayer’s dollars to execute someone. That is just an abuse by defense attorneys and groups who wouldn’t want bin Laden to get the ultimate punishment.
As far as people who are death penalty opponents on religious grounds; I would like to know how many would change their opinions if it were their child or grandchild who were the victim. I am not saying it makes them hypocrites, I just think it makes them put themselves in another’s shoes and makes the crime more personal.
Personally I have always believed that is some cases this punishment is just and allowed by scripture. People who know very little about the bible use the commandment “Thou shall not kill” to prove their point of opposing the death penalty. The more precise translation of the original Hebrew is “ Thou shalt do no murder”. Murder and killing are not the same thing.
Although I support the death penalty, I can respect the position taken by religious objectors and I could opt for an alternative that should suit everyone except the murderers themselves.
For first degree murder the alternative to execution should be: life without the possibility of parole. Your life will consist of living 24/7 in a small cell that would be your home till the day you leave this Earth. The state does not owe you entertainment, a gourmet meal, exercise equipment, medical treatment, human contact, or visitation with your love ones (unless you can think of a way that your victim can visit with theirs).
The length of your life would be determined by nature and the choices you have made in your own life.
Don’t expect mercy when you were not willing to show mercy.
There are too many criminals that kill without the fear of paying the cost, because sitting on death row for 15 years does not have the tone of finality. Now if you knew that upon conviction, your life would end in 60 days, you might take the death penalty a little more seriously.
If my alternative were a reality and you knew that the rest of your life would be spent in a tiny dark cell, without the possibility of ever seeing another human being, you may think twice before you committed murder.
No such alternative exists in this country and never will, can you imagine the hue and cry of the left, how it’s just inhuman to do that to someone and it’s cruel and unusual punishment.
Unusual? to be sure, cruel ? if you grade on a curve and use the act of murder as the baseline, then putting a dangerous animal in a cage the rest of its life is the most humane act one could do.
The executed

Monday, May 16, 2011


Big Brother is watching

Ever wonder what it would be like if the corrupt political Chicago machine infected the entire nation? Well, wonder no more, welcome to the machine. Chicago long known for corrupt politicians and allowing dead people to vote, the machine now has a death grip on the entire nation.
The machine broke its shackles and escaped Chicago during the last presidential campaign and election through various racketeering organizations such as ACORN, the thugs of SEIU and the union cabal. Now that the tentacles of corruption have imbedded itself firmly in Washington, the conservatives will have an uphill battle to wrest control of the Whitehouse from the dark side.
The latest form of payola meted out to the union thugs can be seen in the NLRB, (the National Labor Relations Board) over-stepping it’s bounds by telling a private company that it cannot build a factory in a state it does not approve of, or the Obama administration doesn’t approve of. The NLRB has been in some really dirty hands since the Clinton days, but Obama lowered the bar even lower by appointing Wilma Liebman as chairman. Obama figures, why try to pass laws when he can just take control of governmental agencies i.e. NLRB, EPA, INS, department of justice, education, energy, homeland security, bureau of labor, land management, ect.  and rule by fiat.
The latest case of extortion perpetrated by the Obama administration:
South Carolina was the state that Boeing planned on building a plant to construct the new 787 Dreamliner. South Carolina is a right-to-work state and the unions do not want workers to have a choice to work somewhere and not join a union that steals money from them to line their pockets, bribe politicians and help steal elections. That is exactly what the NLRB is doing at the behest of the Obama administration. They are doing everything they can to stop this plant being built there and force Boeing to build in a state where Obama has unions in his back pocket.

The machine does not like Right-to-work states like South Carolina, because it can’t allow workers to have freedom to choose. That could lead to people to make up their own minds about who to vote for or not to join a union whose purpose in life vanished a long time ago. How can the Obama controlled government presume to tell a private enterprise where it can set up shop?
 I’m only about 1/4th the way through the Ayn Rand’s novel ATLAS SHRUGGED. I keep looking at the original date it was published. I can’t believe this book was written 55 years ago. It almost seems that Ayn Rand and George Orwell had an uncanny ability to peek into the future and do research for their novels by looking at how we are pissing our liberties away these days. From Orwell’s “Thought Crime, Thought Police and Big Brother, to Rand's “Anti-dog-eat-dog rule, Equalization of Opportunity and Preservation of Livelihood Law”
Today’s governmental attempt to judge what is in a persons thoughts, to control his words, to dictate when and where he can do business, to do away with secret ballots on union voting, to take dominion over his very right of exercising free will, is beyond ominous, it is apocalyptic.
One has to wonder if Orwell and Rand meant their books to be fanciful works of fiction, or portends to the future of the free world.

Welcome my son, welcome to the machine.
What did you dream?
It's alright we told you what to dream.
So welcome to the machine

Friday, May 13, 2011


I pulled in to Nazareth, was feeling 'bout half past dead
I just need some place where I can lay my head
"Hey mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed?''
He just grinned and shook my hand, "No'' was all he said

Amerigo was so proud of his brand new wagon. It was bright and shiny and big, not like most of the other wagons in town. The body of the wagon was bright red, the wheels had shiny white rims and the frame was navy blue. He got in and rode down the little hill in front of his house with great satisfaction as the wind rushed past his ears. With inertia all spent Amerigo hopped out of the wagon and began to pull it through the neighborhood. An acquaintance ran from his house to admire Amerigo’s new toy. Wow, that’s really something, where are you taking it? Just around the block, said Amerigo. Can I ride in it? the kid wanted to know. Sure maybe we can take turns pulling each other Amerigo told him. Ok! Said the friend and proceeded to hop in first without an invitation. Ok Amerigo, said the kid, you’re the puller and I’m a rider. Amerigo was a strong young boy so without complaint he began pulling his friend down the street. Other kids from the neighborhood saw this and wanted to join in the fun. At first there were many kids helping Amerigo pull the handle and a few kids jumped in the wagon for a free ride.

The wagon was large, but the handle was long and there was plenty of room for many hands to help Amerigo pull the ever-increasing load. It was a beautiful summer day and the sun shone down on the them causing beads of sweat to appear on the children (now called pullers) who had their hands around the handle. Luckily there were many more pullers than riders so the task was manageable. One of the pullers complained, “you know, I am an artist, I have an art lesson this afternoon and I am afraid my hand will be too sore to paint if I don’t get in and ride. So the artist jumped in the wagon and the pullers felt the loss of the pull and the gain of the weight. A little farther down the street, another puller groaned and said, “ you know, I didn’t feel very well last night, I had a tummy ache and all, maybe I shouldn’t be a puller”.  Amerigo felt bad so he could raise no objection and the wagon lost yet another puller and gained another rider.

A short distance later another puller spoke up and said” you know Amerigo, I learned the other day from my parents that your grandfather did some really mean things to my grandfather a long time ago and I think you should make up for it by pulling me too!”
One by one the excuses came, one kid claimed to be the poorest child of them all, while another claimed the wagon was actually stolen from him, when Amerigo protested that the load was getting too heavy the name calling began until he gave in and stated pulling again.

Then kids from another neighborhood just to the south of Amerigo’s neighborhood came running over and jumped into the wagon. He didn’t even know these kids, they were completely foreign to him. When he turned around and objected, they screamed that they were from a disadvantaged neighborhood and he was just being selfish with his new wagon, before he could argue his point some of the riders from his own neighborhood agreed with the kids from the underprivileged neighborhood to the south and called Amerigo more names. He knew the things the riders were saying about him were untrue but he didn’t like to be called such things, so he turned around and started pulling again.

They just kept yelling at Amerigo to pull faster, faster, after all he owed them all a free ride that wasn’t so slow; other riders complained that the ride was too bumpy.

Finally Amerigo stopped pulling the wagon, he looked back at the body of the wagon that used to be bright red, it now looked worn and haggard, the sides were bulging with the heavy payload of ungrateful riders. The once white wheels that used to be shiny and straight were now wobbling, dusty and askew. The blue handle was the only part of the wagon that still looked bright and hardly used.
The riders in the wagon were so busy griping at each other about who had more right to get a free ride that they didn’t even notice that the wagon had stopped moving; the few kids that had been helping Amerigo pull the wagon realized that there were many more riders now then there were pullers, so they just gave up and went home.
Amerigo dropped the shiny blue handle and it hit the street with a thud. The riders in the bulging wagon suddenly grew quiet, “what are you doing Amerigo? Why did you stop pulling, don’t you know how far we are from home? Do you expect us to walk all the way back? You owe us a ride home, where are you going, ?”

Amerigo didn’t look back at them, he just started walking away, he thought to himself, I just wanted to share my wagon, but it was never meant to carry that much weight.
I just wanted everybody to help share the load.
They all hate me now, they probably always have said Amerigo Vespucci.

Take a load off, Fanny
Take a load for free
Take a load off, Fanny
And you put the load right on me

(My version of a children’s book)

Wednesday, May 11, 2011


My dad could grow anything, I don’t have much luck and have pretty much given up. I would like to have some fresh tomatos and have tried to plant a few without much success. I even tried the Topsy Turvy as seen on TV, nada.
I gave up, now when I want fresh produce, I stop at the local farmers stand down the road and pay for it.
Recently I have come to believe that my failings as a tomato farmer is not my fault and the government owes me some restitution. You see, I have heard about a program that will give me $50,000 bucks to make up for my inadequacies.
The Attempted to Farm segment of the Pigford Vs Glickman of the USDA is the ticket. Some years ago there were maybe at the most 400 cases where the USDA is accused of turning down loans to black farmers out of a total of 18,000 black farmers in the nation. The plaintiffs were to receive 50 grand apiece. Hard to tell how many of the 400 farmers were discriminated against and how many should have been turned down because of credit problems or whatever, but the government agreed to pay off the 400. Ok, take the money and run, ahem says the lawyer Al Pires there are many more victims that need to be paid off. How about 86,000? He started a new class of victims by coming up with something called “Attempted to Farm”, if you were a minority and had thoughts about getting your hands in the soil and didn’t think the USDA would give you a fair shake, then put your hands out (after Al Pires takes his cut).
 A senator who helped make this possible? Barrack Hussein Obama! Can you say reparations?
Now I make my case, I am 1/8th American Indian, I really think I could have made a go of my tomato farm in my backyard if only the USDA would have come here and given me a little support. I’m pretty distraught that my dreams of being a tomato farmer have been squashed by this evil country, but the 50 k would make me feel a little better.

What did I just say? Tomato, squashed, uhhh squashed tomatoes = ketchup !
I coulda been a ketchup mogul !

Monday, May 9, 2011


This picture of the situation room when Osama bin Laden was busy filling his panties with shit is very dramatic. The room is full of people with eyes fixated on monitors that are showing events taking place in bin Ladens compound during our special forces raid in real time minus the speed of light, (or electro-magnetic propagation) from Earth to satellite to satellite to Earth.
All eyes save one are transfixed on the monitors, this scene is a body language expert’s wet dream.
To the far right is Defense Secretary Robert Gates, he looks remarkably calm given the stakes of the game he’s watching. Of course he has been in hot situations for several decades working for and directing the CIA, no amateur here.
Hillary is seen hand covering her mouth as a lot of people do when they witness something shocking. It reminded me of several pictures taken of people who were there witnessing the attack of the Twin Towers in NYC.
Hillary, when asked about what she was thinking when this photo was snapped, immediately went into lawyer mode and started lying her ass off. She said she was just trying to stifle a cough or a sneeze. She couldn’t admit reacting in such a way. It’s not a big deal Hillary, men and women both do this sometimes when provoked on such a level.

It’s a natural human response to looking at something horrific, it’s nothing to be ashamed of Hillary, hells bells, Bill probably did the same thing the fist time he saw you naked.

The only one not watching the monitors is Brigadier General Marshall B. “Brad” Webb. He is focused on his very top-secret laptop typing away. He is the Assistant Commanding General, Joint Special Operations Command. His bio is impressive, this guy is definitely not out of his element.

Obama looks like he’s thinking, Oh shit, am I gonna have to give back my Nobel Peace Prize? Don’t worry Barrack, once you pay for your box of Cracker Jacks, you get to keep the prize inside.

Joe Biden looks like he is about to ask “ can we get HBO on this thing?”

Sunday, May 8, 2011


Standing in line at the pharmacy today, watching the seconds of my life tick away, turn into minutes, a reoccurring thought comes to mind.  Why the hell does it take someone so long to grab a handful of pills, put them in a bottle, punch a few keys on the computer, grab your money and run? Suddenly a moment of clarity hit me like a hot dose in the arm; why not hire street corner drug dealers to work behind the counters at all pharmacies?
I’ve seen those guys work, they make the drug for money transaction in the blink of a dilated eye. I don’t think you would ever see a standing line at the Drop Off or Pick Up window again.
Then I started thinking about all the unemployed pharmacists that would result from this revolution when I was struck with another moment of clarity, damn, twice in one day, this could be hazardous to my mental health.  I thought to myself, why not put the pharmacists on the street corner to take the place of all the former illegal drug dealers that are now working in the pharmacies? I can guarantee you the trafficking of illegal drugs in this country would grind to a screeching halt, or at least slow it to a crawl.

 By the time the heroin addicts, crack whores and meth heads, made it to the front of the line, they would have gone through withdraw, made it through recovery, cleaned up and become interventionist on A&E.

Saturday, May 7, 2011


I finally found the book I have been wanting to read for several months at Walmart. I started hearing about this novel by Ayn Rand several months ago on the last bastion of free speech (talk radio) and kept thinking I need to see what all the hubbub was about. After all, this book was released in 1957.  A fellow blogger whose opinion I highly respect (Tim) recently wrote about seeing the film adaptation of the first part of the book spurred me to finally track down the paperback. I used to read a lot, but haven’t cracked a new book in quite a while. I did re-read Orwell’s 1984 again last year for at least the 15th time. Can you tell what my favorite book of all time is? Every time I read that novel, I get something out of it that relates to the world today.  The movie adaptation of that novel was spot on. John Hurt played Winston Smith like the book was written around him and Sir Richard Burton as the antagonist O’Brien gave the last performance his life and to me his most memorable role.

I wanted to see the movie Atlas Shrugged, but the only screens in the Indy area that it was playing on were in Carmel and the far Northeast side of Indy, the traffic version of no mans land. That’s not really an accurate description, what I mean to say is the traffic up there is hellish, my intention was to get my little sis, Rita to go see this movie with me because my spouse is like her’s and would not be interested in this type of flick.

Unless the release widens I will probably wait till it comes out on Blu Ray and buy it. The horrible reviews of this movie by the Hollywood leftists idiots have convinced me it hits too close to home for them and it will be worth the money just to piss them off.
I do not know the entire storyline, but suffice it to say I know the movie shows our country is heading into some uncharted territory that this country may never be able to find its way out of if we continue to be led by emotion instead of by logic and the rule of law.

A side benefit of starting a thousand page novel, maybe I will be able to find a way to relax at night and get a sleep rhythm going again.
Sleep depravation seems to be a pattern with me these days, last night was no exception. I finally slipped out of this world about 3:30 AM, ahh blissful nothingness, until 0500 hundred hours when my wife proceeded to start kicking the shit out of me while she was dreaming some 911 scenario. It slurringly went like this, “ 911 ! 911! There is (unintelligible) moving in the parking lot, please come quick!”. This was delivered in a monotone voice, reminiscent of the beginning of the show Cops.
I have become accustomed to her screams and goblin voices in the middle of the night, but the physical abuse in the middle of the night is where I draw the line.
The next time she does this to me I will be the one calling 911 and maybe we will be on the next episode of Cops!

Tuesday, May 3, 2011


Monday, I grudgingly gave credit where credit was due. I gave props to our Commander-in-Chief for giving the go-ahead on the order to exterminate that vermin better known as Usama bin Laden. I still do, but as I said at the time, some of the crucial Intel came from CIA interrogation techniques gathered at Gitmo. As a candidate, Obama railed against President Bush and his treatment of K.S.M and all the other al qaeda dirt bags that murder, rape, sell drugs, and use women and children as human shields.
Obama is a hypocrite and I’m glad in this instance that he is. Now, Obama needs to apologize to President Bush for the lies he told about him.
Dianne Fienstein was just on TVsaying to the best of her knowledge none of the bin laden location Intel came from water boarding. I guess the just used the reward program to get them to talk, hey Khalid Sheikh Mohammed what would you do for a Klondike Bar?
Other apologies also need to be made by several democrats who call our soldiers and specifically our Special Forces nothing more than Bush’s death squads.

The people who criticized our military and Special Forces are not worthy to tie their boot laces. The training the Seals go through can be only accomplished by the best of the best. Eighty percent of the trainees in Seal training wash out before graduation, 70 % don’t even make through phase one, and the guys who wash our are no punks either, that’s for damn sure.
I’m glad we didn’t take bin laden out with a drone. It gratifies me that the last 25 minutes of his life he knew all of America were coming for him.
The last thing this ghoul saw was an American and that makes me proud.

The assholes who worship him like a god need to know, this piece of shit died a true coward, trying to hide behind women and children.
I learned they prepared his body for burial in accordance with Islamic law, they washed his body and I bet that was a tough job considering he no doubt shit his pants or whatever the hell he was wearing.
Can’t wait for the ACLU to weigh in on this.
Gee I hope someone remembered to read Usama his rights!