*Ø* Blogmanac | Happy New Year?
Where's the evidence . . . the smoking gun, so to speak?
Three commentaries from Online Journal tell it like it is!
(And we deserve better than this.)
Random Thoughts: 2003
By W. David Jenkins III
January 10, 2004—Okay, 'fess up. Does anybody else feel totally beat up? Kind of like the feeling of waking up with the hangover from Hell only to have some idiot drop a box of sledge-hammers on your head. I remember hearing that you should never challenge "worse." Never say to yourself, "Oh man, things can't get worse" because worse has a way of crawling up onto your lap and—with a big smile on its face—smacking you over the head with an iron skillet.
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Quail hunting in the backwoods
By Teresa Simon-Noble
January 10, 2004—Quail, my friend Claudette tells me, is an innocent, fragile, trusting bird.
Out in the backwoods of Texas on New Year's Day 2004, the Enchanted Prince and his proud as a peacock that my son is President of the United States, father, George Herbert Walker Bush, hunt for quail on the enchanted land of a family friend who is related to a Texas engineering and construction company that many years ago became part of Halliburton—the firm which has received untold, overgrown, oversized, disproportionate favors from the Bush administration in the so called reconstruction of Iraq.
Emerging from said enchanted forest to face an enthralled press corps, where the only mortal danger lurking about was the one the Prodigious (don't get in my way or your life will pay) Father and his Enchanted Prince posed to any poor, defenseless quail, unlucky enough to make its living in those woods, Splendid Son said he thought he shot five quail.
"I'm not that good of a shot," he said, then, flaunted for the press corps and in the face of all of the families he has temporarily or forever disjoined with his takeover of Iraq, "but it was a lot of fun. It's a good way to start the New Year—outdoors [and] with my dad."
Outdoors in America these days is filled with the many empty places of mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, aunts, and uncles, nieces, who have died or are fighting in Iraq for Bush's oil and for the establishment of his New American Century.
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I want to believe
By Norma Sherry
January 10, 2004—It's a new year: 2004. A time to reflect on all that's past and a time to be filled with the hope of all that's new. Try as I might, though, I find it very difficult to imagine that this new year, this the fourth year in the new millennium holds any more promise than the years that came before.
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Where's the evidence . . . the smoking gun, so to speak?
Three commentaries from Online Journal tell it like it is!
(And we deserve better than this.)
Random Thoughts: 2003
By W. David Jenkins III
January 10, 2004—Okay, 'fess up. Does anybody else feel totally beat up? Kind of like the feeling of waking up with the hangover from Hell only to have some idiot drop a box of sledge-hammers on your head. I remember hearing that you should never challenge "worse." Never say to yourself, "Oh man, things can't get worse" because worse has a way of crawling up onto your lap and—with a big smile on its face—smacking you over the head with an iron skillet.
Full Text
Quail hunting in the backwoods
By Teresa Simon-Noble
January 10, 2004—Quail, my friend Claudette tells me, is an innocent, fragile, trusting bird.
Out in the backwoods of Texas on New Year's Day 2004, the Enchanted Prince and his proud as a peacock that my son is President of the United States, father, George Herbert Walker Bush, hunt for quail on the enchanted land of a family friend who is related to a Texas engineering and construction company that many years ago became part of Halliburton—the firm which has received untold, overgrown, oversized, disproportionate favors from the Bush administration in the so called reconstruction of Iraq.
Emerging from said enchanted forest to face an enthralled press corps, where the only mortal danger lurking about was the one the Prodigious (don't get in my way or your life will pay) Father and his Enchanted Prince posed to any poor, defenseless quail, unlucky enough to make its living in those woods, Splendid Son said he thought he shot five quail.
"I'm not that good of a shot," he said, then, flaunted for the press corps and in the face of all of the families he has temporarily or forever disjoined with his takeover of Iraq, "but it was a lot of fun. It's a good way to start the New Year—outdoors [and] with my dad."
Outdoors in America these days is filled with the many empty places of mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, aunts, and uncles, nieces, who have died or are fighting in Iraq for Bush's oil and for the establishment of his New American Century.
Full Text
I want to believe
By Norma Sherry
January 10, 2004—It's a new year: 2004. A time to reflect on all that's past and a time to be filled with the hope of all that's new. Try as I might, though, I find it very difficult to imagine that this new year, this the fourth year in the new millennium holds any more promise than the years that came before.
Full Text
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