I just about fell over backwards when I watched this. An Israeli man is talking to reporters about Israel's national health care system, and some vile harridan starts yelling "Heil Hitler".
This is the face we're showing the world. My God.
I'm opposed, for the most part, to nationalized health care: but at this point, I'd kind of like to see the Dems just push it through just to stick a great big thumb in the collective eye of the people at these "meetings".
Showing posts with label Barak Obama. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Barak Obama. Show all posts
Friday, August 21, 2009
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Buena Park FL Pastor to Rick Warren: "You're not enough of a Douchebag to get into Heaven"
A lot of hay has been made about Obama's selection of gay-bashin', bible-thumpin huckster Rick "I-love-hommasexuals-but-they're-all-pedophiles" Warren to give the inaugural invocation. Though I would love to see this empty practice abandoned, there are unfortunately many shallow, ritual-obsessed people in this country that would go into collective apoplexy if it were.
This man, however, takes things to a new level. He's publicly promising that God will punish Warren for invoking his name and blessing an Obama presidency.
You can read more about the American Independent Party here. Nothing I can write on this blog conveys their inanity as effectively as their own statements do.
HT: Guy P. Harrison
This man, however, takes things to a new level. He's publicly promising that God will punish Warren for invoking his name and blessing an Obama presidency.
"I pray He is kind to you in this punishment that is coming," Drake wrote in a widely-released e-mail. In it, the First Southern Baptist Church of Buena Park pastor criticizes Warren's "recent plan to invoke the presence of almighty God on this evil illegal alien," a reference to Obama.
Drake, who made last November's ballot as a vice-presidential candidate for the American Independent party, is a party to a lawsuit claiming Obama was born outside of the U.S., and is therefore ineligible to serve as president. Obama has a Hawaiian birth certificate, which Hawaiian officials have said is genuine.
You can read more about the American Independent Party here. Nothing I can write on this blog conveys their inanity as effectively as their own statements do.
HT: Guy P. Harrison
Friday, November 14, 2008
Catholic Priest to Obama Voters: You're All Going to Hell!
Per the AP, Catholic Rev. Jay Scott Newman of St. Mary's Parish in Greenville, SC has instructed his parishioners that if they voted for Obama, they must receive Reconciliation before they can take communion.
So, Rev, what about supporting a candidate who sees nothing wrong with dropping bombs on 5-year old children? We do plenty of that in Iraq and Afghanistan, and apparently McCain & Co. had no particular qualms about doing the same in Iran. 'Course, those are just dirty brown Muslim children, so that's alright, yes?
This man is not an anomaly in the Catholic church in the US.
So Obama will be "forcefully confronted". Yet, all of the statements made by the US Conference of Catholic Bishops on the Iraq war have been qualified such that no real condemnation of the innocent lives lost was made. I'll take inconsistency of message for 2000, Alex.
The Rev. Jay Scott Newman said in a letter distributed Sunday to parishioners at St. Mary's Catholic Church in Greenville that they are putting their souls at risk if they take Holy Communion before doing penance for their vote.
"Our nation has chosen for its chief executive the most radical pro-abortion politician ever to serve in the United States Senate or to run for president," Newman wrote, referring to Obama by his full name, including his middle name of Hussein.
"Voting for a pro-abortion politician when a plausible pro-life alternative exits constitutes material cooperation with intrinsic evil, and those Catholics who do so place themselves outside of the full communion of Christ's Church and under the judgment of divine law. Persons in this condition should not receive Holy Communion until and unless they are reconciled to God in the Sacrament of Penance, lest they eat and drink their own condemnation."
So, Rev, what about supporting a candidate who sees nothing wrong with dropping bombs on 5-year old children? We do plenty of that in Iraq and Afghanistan, and apparently McCain & Co. had no particular qualms about doing the same in Iran. 'Course, those are just dirty brown Muslim children, so that's alright, yes?
This man is not an anomaly in the Catholic church in the US.
the nation's Catholic bishops vowed Tuesday to forcefully confront the Obama administration over its support for abortion rights.
So Obama will be "forcefully confronted". Yet, all of the statements made by the US Conference of Catholic Bishops on the Iraq war have been qualified such that no real condemnation of the innocent lives lost was made. I'll take inconsistency of message for 2000, Alex.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Wow. Just... wow.
Obama's speech was brilliant.
I also thought McCain's concession speech was excellent, and will always believe that if he had maintained his principles and not sold his soul to the GOP machine, that this election would certainly have gone much more favorably for him.
Fuck you and goodbye, Rove.
Fuck you and goodbye, Dobson.
Fuck you and goodbye (soon), W.
I also thought McCain's concession speech was excellent, and will always believe that if he had maintained his principles and not sold his soul to the GOP machine, that this election would certainly have gone much more favorably for him.
Fuck you and goodbye, Rove.
Fuck you and goodbye, Dobson.
Fuck you and goodbye (soon), W.
On Grandmas and Memories and Rectangular Poultry
Over at Margaret and Helen, there's a thread running off into infinity about grandma stories, due to the passing of Toot. I didn't want to post too extensively there, as there are currently close to 400 comments.
I remember very little about my paternal grandmother, who we called "Mama". My father grew up in Macon, but moved up to Milwaukee after a stint in the Navy to take a jobs with Allis-Chalmers. We visited her several times during my early childhood, and she and Papa came up to Milwaukee, too, but I was very young when she passed away. My memories are fragmentary, half a bespectacled face here, they warm, dry feel of her hand holding mine there, but little of a coherent nature. I remember a huge down bed in her house that my sisters and I played on, but was too tall for me to climb into: my oldest sister had to boost me up. I remember a broad boulevard in front of her house, or maybe just somewhere near, where I flew balsa wood planes. And I remember a small park nearby which to my delight had, as Bill Cosby put it, "one of those things, I don't know what they call it, but you sit on it and four of your friends spin you 'round and 'round for five minutes, and... then you throw up".
I was much more fortunate when it comes to my maternal grandmother. My mother's family was from here, and her parents lived just a few miles away.
Two things generally pop into my mind when I think of her. The first is a mix of Thanksgiving and Christmas meals: turkeys and hams and stuffing and gravy and pies and cakes and presents and lights - sort of a melange of Rockwellian dinners. I always assumed as a child that my grandmother was directing the kitchen work, and that my aunts were there to basically provide labor. That's how it's always done, right? Everyone's grandma is the best, most "from-scratch" cook they know.
Well, then I learned about "Square Chicken". It turns out that unlike most people's grandmothers, mine was not a kitchen virtuoso. The phrase was the prospective title of a book my mother and her siblings thought of compiling after she passed away, of some of her more, shall we say intriguing culinary exploits. It appears that one night she was thawing a block of chicken parts in the oven, and forgot she had put them in there. Hours later, noticing the oven light on, she opened the door to discover a solid, rectangular mass of chicken, well past it's prime. Don't know what she wound up serving that night, but the incident stuck in people's memory. Well, bless her, no one can be good at everything.
The second thing I think of is an image, a still frame, really, from when I was about six. I was up at my grandparent's lake home near Tomahawk, WI. It was the fourth of July weekend, and Grandma was being a pyro. She was born on the fifth, I gather that as a result her childhood birthday parties always involved a fair amount of ordnance. And she got "the good stuff" as we would say back then (now, almost anything is fair game in WI, but 30 years ago, all you could get legally were sparklers, smoke-bombs, small cones and fountains, etc). She had just lit the fuse of a "firecracker" - a cherry bomb by today's standards - and was running to get clear of the blast radius. She'd placed an empty tin can on it to see what damage she could cause. The look on her face is one of such fierce, unbridled, maniacal glee, it makes me pump my fist in the air just to think of it.
She was a loving, funny, intelligent, well-read, warm, highly educated, intriguing person: a conservative, devout Catholic housewife who could also spin hysterical stories about how she and her friends got around prohibition. She and my great aunt, her sister, knew where every speakeasy (umm... and whorehouse. Never asked how they knew that) in the city was, and most of the passwords you needed to get into them. She was wonderfully contradictory.
Miss you, grandma.
I remember very little about my paternal grandmother, who we called "Mama". My father grew up in Macon, but moved up to Milwaukee after a stint in the Navy to take a jobs with Allis-Chalmers. We visited her several times during my early childhood, and she and Papa came up to Milwaukee, too, but I was very young when she passed away. My memories are fragmentary, half a bespectacled face here, they warm, dry feel of her hand holding mine there, but little of a coherent nature. I remember a huge down bed in her house that my sisters and I played on, but was too tall for me to climb into: my oldest sister had to boost me up. I remember a broad boulevard in front of her house, or maybe just somewhere near, where I flew balsa wood planes. And I remember a small park nearby which to my delight had, as Bill Cosby put it, "one of those things, I don't know what they call it, but you sit on it and four of your friends spin you 'round and 'round for five minutes, and... then you throw up".
I was much more fortunate when it comes to my maternal grandmother. My mother's family was from here, and her parents lived just a few miles away.
Two things generally pop into my mind when I think of her. The first is a mix of Thanksgiving and Christmas meals: turkeys and hams and stuffing and gravy and pies and cakes and presents and lights - sort of a melange of Rockwellian dinners. I always assumed as a child that my grandmother was directing the kitchen work, and that my aunts were there to basically provide labor. That's how it's always done, right? Everyone's grandma is the best, most "from-scratch" cook they know.
Well, then I learned about "Square Chicken". It turns out that unlike most people's grandmothers, mine was not a kitchen virtuoso. The phrase was the prospective title of a book my mother and her siblings thought of compiling after she passed away, of some of her more, shall we say intriguing culinary exploits. It appears that one night she was thawing a block of chicken parts in the oven, and forgot she had put them in there. Hours later, noticing the oven light on, she opened the door to discover a solid, rectangular mass of chicken, well past it's prime. Don't know what she wound up serving that night, but the incident stuck in people's memory. Well, bless her, no one can be good at everything.
The second thing I think of is an image, a still frame, really, from when I was about six. I was up at my grandparent's lake home near Tomahawk, WI. It was the fourth of July weekend, and Grandma was being a pyro. She was born on the fifth, I gather that as a result her childhood birthday parties always involved a fair amount of ordnance. And she got "the good stuff" as we would say back then (now, almost anything is fair game in WI, but 30 years ago, all you could get legally were sparklers, smoke-bombs, small cones and fountains, etc). She had just lit the fuse of a "firecracker" - a cherry bomb by today's standards - and was running to get clear of the blast radius. She'd placed an empty tin can on it to see what damage she could cause. The look on her face is one of such fierce, unbridled, maniacal glee, it makes me pump my fist in the air just to think of it.
She was a loving, funny, intelligent, well-read, warm, highly educated, intriguing person: a conservative, devout Catholic housewife who could also spin hysterical stories about how she and her friends got around prohibition. She and my great aunt, her sister, knew where every speakeasy (umm... and whorehouse. Never asked how they knew that) in the city was, and most of the passwords you needed to get into them. She was wonderfully contradictory.
Miss you, grandma.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
The New GOP (or, Distillate of Retard)
As the powers driving the Republican party work feverishly to alienate any remaining intellectuals in their movement, they give us a glimpse of its future makeup:
Honestly: are there really that many bigoted ass-hats left in the US, or is the RNC trucking these people from site to site to make it look like they still have some support?
Honestly: are there really that many bigoted ass-hats left in the US, or is the RNC trucking these people from site to site to make it look like they still have some support?
This Actually Made Me Cry
Video of an Obama campaign voluteer who lived throu the depression and recalls FDR.
It's really, finally going to be over? Dare we hope?
It's really, finally going to be over? Dare we hope?
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