Posts Tagged ‘Christmas’

Merry Christmas; Some Nitwit always has to screw things up

December 26, 2011

Christmas, a day of thanks for our blessings. Irrespective of how one thinks in terms of religion, or faith. Gift giving and so on are but the shallow things involved. In Kantian Ethics we think in terms of final right, or wrong. Good, or evil, doing what is right, moral, and correct because that is what one should do. Not for reward, just because it is the correct thing to do. Even when no one else is watching.

But? Someone, or group always has to screw things up. Muslims stage an attack on innocent people in Nigeria. Some freak shoots up three generations of a family after opening presents, and I am sure that by later today there will be even more atrocities reported.

All of these things usually end up in some insane call for even further restrictions on the freedoms and liberties of the individual. Most often when those very freedoms may have prevented, or lessened the horrors released upon the victims.

More laws will be demanded by those that endure the pain of loss, as well as those with an anti freedom agenda. Any time that a law is passed it ultimately results in a loss of freedom in exchange for some perceived security. Ben Franklin summed that up for us all quite a few years ago. But? Does anyone listen these days to a dead old white man..?

Mark my words, there will be calls for extreme gun control laws in Texas as a result of the tragedy that happened just outside Dallas. But the control freaks will not say a word about what happened in Niger, where, at least legally, no one can own a weapon other than Police and Military, and, yes, you guessed it… Those with the right connections! Further, you can bet your bottom peso that the obama’s reported promise of assistance in fighting the terrorist’s will come with a price tag of some sort. Most probably involving more and liberty damaging policies, procedures, laws, or treaties…

I submit, yes, even after all these years here on WordPress, that individual freedom and liberty could have prevented or greatly lessened the degree of  both the above noted tragedies. It is called a 45 Colt or 12 gauge Shotgun in the hands of a brave, willing and trained person. Yes, my Marine and Ranger Brothers will chastise me for saying that, but? Simply put, a rifle was not needed to put a stop to the nonsense!

Political correctness be damned!

Lets say thanks: For the troops!

December 23, 2009

I usually don’t forward emails but this is a very good cause.  I did snopes.com it and yes, xerox is really doing this for our troops.  Merry Christmas.

If you go to this web site, http://www.LetsSayThanks.com you can pick out a thank you card and Xerox will print it and it will be sent to a soldier that is currently serving overseas. You can’t pick out who gets it, but it will go to a member of the armed services.

How AMAZING it would be if we could get everyone we know to send one!!! It is FREE and it only takes a second.

SOURCE: interoffice email

Technical Night Before Christmas

December 19, 2009
The things that you get from an Engineer!
AS YOU READ THROUGH THIS VERSION OF THE FAMOUS CHRISTMAS TALE, I THINK 
YOU'LL
COME TO THE SAME CONCLUSION I HAVE. IT MUST HAVE BEEN WRITTEN BY THE 
CONGRESSMEN
WHO WROTE THAT 2000 PAGE HEALTH CARE BILL. ROA
 
> Technical Night 
Before Christmas
>
> 'Twas the Night Before Christmas' as written by 
a technical
> writer for a firm that does Gov't 
contracting...
>
> 'Twas the nocturnal segment of the diurnal period 
preceding
> the annual Yuletide celebration, and throughout our place 
of
> residence, kinetic activity was not in evidence among the
> 
possessors of this potential, including that species of
> domestic rodent 
known as Mus musculus. Hosiery was
> meticulously suspended from the 
forward edge of the wood
> burning caloric apparatus, pursuant to our 
anticipatory
> pleasure regarding an imminent visitation from an 
eccentric
> philanthropist among whose folkloric appellations is 
the
> honorific title of St. Nicholas.
>
> The prepubescent 
siblings, comfortably ensconced in their
> respective accommodations of 
repose, were experiencing
> subconscious visual hallucinations of 
variegated fruit
> confections moving rhythmically through their 
cerebrums. My
> conjugal partner and I, attired in our nocturnal 
head
> coverings, were about to take slumberous advantage of the
> 
hibernal darkness when upon the avenaceous exterior portion
> of the 
grounds there ascended such a cacophony of dissonance
> that I felt 
compelled to arise with alacrity from my place
> of repose for the purpose 
of ascertaining the precise source
> thereof.
>
> Hastening to 
the casement, I forthwith opened the barriers
> sealing this fenestration, 
noting thereupon that the lunar
> brilliance without, reflected as it was 
on the surface of a
> recent crystalline precipitation, might be said to 
rival
> that of the solar meridian itself - thus permitting my
> 
incredulous optical sensory organs to behold a miniature
> airborne 
runnered conveyance drawn by eight diminutive
> specimens of the genus 
Rangifer, piloted by a minuscule,
> aged chauffeur so ebullient and nimble 
that it became
> instantly apparent to me that he was indeed our 
anticipated
> caller. With his ungulate motive power travelling at 
what
> may possibly have been more vertiginous velocity than
> 
patriotic alar predators, he vociferated loudly, expelled
> breath 
musically through contracted labia, and addressed
> each of the octet by 
his or her respective cognomen - "Now
> Dasher, now Dancer..." et al. - 
guiding them to the
> uppermost exterior level of our abode, through 
which
> structure I could readily distinguish the concatenations 
of
> each of the 32 cloven pedal extremities.
>
> As I 
retracted my cranium from its erstwhile location, and
> was performing a 
180-degree pivot, our distinguished
> visitant achieved - with utmost 
celerity and via a downward
> leap - entry by way of the smoke passage. He 
was clad
> entirely in animal pelts soiled by the ebony residue 
from
> oxidations of carboniferous fuels which had accumulated on
> 
the walls thereof. His resemblance to a street vendor I
> attributed 
largely to the plethora of assorted playthings
> which he bore dorsally in 
a commodious cloth receptacle.
>
> His orbs were scintillant with 
reflected luminosity, while
> his submaxillary dermal indentations gave 
every evidence of
> engaging amiability. The capillaries of his malar 
regions
> and nasal appurtenance were engorged with blood which
> 
suffused the subcutaneous layers, the former approximating
> the 
coloration of Albion's floral emblem, the latter that of
> the Prunus 
avium, or sweet cherry. His amusing sub- and
> supralabials resembled 
nothing so much as a common loop
> knot, and their ambient hirsute facial 
adornment appeared
> like small, tabular and columnar crystals of frozen 
water.
>
> Clenched firmly between his incisors was a smoking 
piece
> whose grey fumes, forming a tenuous ellipse about his
> 
occiput, were suggestive of a decorative seasonal circlet of
> holly. His 
visage was wider than it was high, and when he
> waxed audibly mirthful, 
his corpulent abdominal region
> undulated in the manner of impectinated 
fruit syrup in a
> hemispherical container. He was, in short, neither more 
nor
> less than an obese, jocund, multigenarian gnome, the optical
> 
perception of whom rendered me visibly frolicsome despite
> every effort 
to refrain from so being. By rapidly lowering
> and then elevating one 
eyelid and rotating his head slightly
> to one side, he indicated that 
trepidation on my part was
> groundless.
>
> Without utterance 
and with dispatch, he commenced filling
> the aforementioned appended 
hosiery with various of the
> aforementioned articles of merchandise 
extracted from his
> aforementioned previously dorsally transported 
cloth
> receptacle. Upon completion of this task, he executed an
> 
abrupt about- face, placed a single manual digit in lateral
> 
juxtaposition to his olfactory organ, inclined his cranium
> forward in a 
gesture of leave-taking, and forthwith effected
> his egress by 
renegotiating (in reverse) the smoke passage.
> He then propelled himself 
in a short vector onto his
> conveyance, directed a musical expulsion of 
air through his
> contracted oral sphincter to the antlered quadrupeds 
of
> burden, and proceeded to soar aloft in a movement hitherto
> 
observable chiefly among the seed-bearing portions of a
> common weed. But 
I overheard his parting exclamation,
> audible immediately prior to his 
vehiculation beyond the
> limits of visibility: "Ecstatic Yuletide to the 
planetary
> constituency, and to that self same assemblage, my 
sincerest
> wishes for a salubriously beneficial and gratifyingly
> 
pleasurable period between sunset and dawn."

Marine Corps Christmas: Poetry in motion

December 8, 2009

Tradition. That spells it out. My good friend and internet buddy Texas Fred found an update of something that has been said many times before. Something that a Marine writes.

Yes, Army Infantrymen write the same sorts of things too.

But ? Well, the Marines have this one cornered. Plus, I am admittedly somewhat prejudiced. I am, after all? A Marine Corps Brat!

To be sure; this could have been written by any young Soldier, Sailor, or Airman. But? A Marine did it!
Enjoy!

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.

Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.

My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn’t quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.

My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.

A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.

“What are you doing?” I asked without fear,
“Come in this moment, it’s freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!”

For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts.
To the window that danced with a warm fire’s light
Then he sighed and he said “It’s really all right,
I’m out here by choice. I’m here every night.”

“It’s my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I’m proud to stand here like my fathers before me.

My Gramps died at ‘ Pearl on a day in December,”
Then he sighed, “That’s a Christmas ‘Gram always remembers.”
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ‘ Nam ‘,
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I’ve not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he’s sure got her smile.

Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue… an American flag.
I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.

I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother.

Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall.”
“So go back inside,” he said, “harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I’ll be all right.”

“But isn’t there something I can do, at the least,
“Give you money,” I asked, “or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you’ve done,
For being away from your wife and your son.”

Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
“Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back home while we’re gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.

For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us.”

Stolen from TexasFred!

Irish Christmas Cookies

December 22, 2007

knappogue-castle-whiskey.jpgSome things are timeless indeed. My forefathers brought certain things from the Emerald Isle that persist to this very day in fact! A Pint of plain, was, and still is the very same Guiness. Celtic gold work is still among the finest made. Celt whisky, be it Irish or Scot, is, and always be, ambrosia…

1c of dark brown sugar
1c (2 sticks) butter
1c of granulated sugar
4 large eggs
2c of dried fruit, such as dried cranberries or raisins
1tsp salt
1tsp fresh lemon juice
1c coarsely chopped walnuts or pecans
2c all-purpose flour
1 bottle Knappogue Castle 

Instructions:

Take a large bowl, sample the Knappogue Castle to be sure it is of the highest quality, pour one level cup and drink.

Turn on the electric mixer… beat one cup of butter in a large bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar. Beat again.

At this point it’s best to make sure the  is still OK, try another cup, just in case.

Turn off the mixerer thingy. Break 2 legs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit. Pick the frigging fruit off floor…

Mix on the turner. If the fried druit gets stuck in the etrrs, just pry it loose with a drewscriver.

Sample the  Knappogue Castle to check for tonsisticity.

Next, sift two cups of salt, or something.

Check the Knappogue Castle.

Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Add a schpoon of sugar, or somefink… whatever you can find.

Grease the oven. Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over.

Don’t forget to beat off the turner.

Finally, throw the bowl through the window, FINISH the Knappogue Castle and make sure to put the stove in the dishwasher.

Cheery Mishmas..

stolen in principle from; http://texasfred.net/archives/870#comment-5805


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