When I was a kid, my mom raised chickens in the backyard. I often heard the hens clucking and the rooster crowing. Eventually they made it to our Sunday dinner table. You know what? It didn’t matter how much they strutted their stuff, eventually they all made it into the pot, and they all tasted the same.
The current rooster-in-chief will eventually make it into the pot too.
Obama’s foreign policy to ass kiss the muslim world is what causes him to fear calling them terrorists. He goes out of his way to refrain from calling their horrendous deeds “acts of terror.” In my neighborhood we called a “spade a spade.” It is what it is Mr. President. Grow some gonads and take the step to be a Commander-in-chief. Call a terrorist what he is a terrorist. Terrorists commit terrorists acts. See that wasn’t hard was it?
I never thought the possibility of living through two atomic bomb attacks in my lifetime was a reality. I do now.
I received this today from my brother. It is written by a dentist in Australia. He characterizes the people of America better than most natural born citizens of America. He hit the nail on the head and I appreciate his words. I wish everyone in America thought this way. The problem with this essay is that it was not written by a dentist in Australia. The piece was written by one Peter Ferrara and published by the National Review on 25 September 2001. Why do people do what they do? Wasn’t this essay good enough to steal and give credit to the real author? Or did the original thief think that he could change the author and spread the story without being discovered?
Written by an Australian DentistTo Kill an American You probably missed this in the rush of news,but there was actually a report that someone in Pakistan had published ina newspaper, an offer of a reward to anyone who killed an American, anyAmerican.
So an Australian dentist wrote an editorial the following day to let everyone
know what an American is . So they would know when they found one.
(Good one, mate!!!!)
‘An American is English, or French, or Italian, Irish, German, Spanish , Polish,
Russia or Greek. An American may also be Canadian, Mexican, African, Indian,
Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Australian, Iranian, Asian, or Arab, or Pakistani or
Afghan. An American may also be a Comanche, Cherokee, Osage, Blackfoot,
Navaho, Apache, Seminole or one of the many other tribes known as native
Americans. An American is Christian , or he could be Jewish, or Buddhist,
or Muslim. In fact, there are more Muslims in America than in Afghanistan.
The only difference is that in America they are free to worship as each of them
chooses. An American is also free to believe in no religion.. For that he will
answer only to God, not to the government, or to armed thugs claiming to
speak for the government and for God.
An American lives in the most prosperous land inthe history of the world.
The root of that prosperity can be found in the Declaration of Independence,
which recognizes the God given right of each person to the pursuit of happiness.
An American is generous. Americans have helped out just about every other
nation in the world in their time of need, never asking a thing in return.
When Afghanistan was over-run by the Soviet army 20 years ago,
Americans came with arms and supplies to enable the people to win back their
country!
As of the morning of September 11, Americans had given more than any other
nation to the poor in Afghanistan.
The national symbol of America, The Statue of Liberty, welcomes your tired
and your poor, the wretched refuse of your teeming shores, the homeless,
tempest tossed. These in fact are the people who built America. Some of them
were working in the Twin Towers the morning of September 11 , 2001 earning a
better life for their families. It’s been told that the World Trade Center victims
were from at least 30 different countries, cultures, and first languages, including
those that aided and abetted the terrorists.
So you can try to kill an American if you must. Hitler did. So did General Tojo,
and Stalin, and Mao Tse-Tung, and other blood-thirsty tyrants in the world.
But, in doing so you would just be killing yourself. Because Americans are not
a particular people from a particular place. They are the embodiment of the
human spirit of freedom. Everyone who holds to that spirit, everywhere,
is an American.
Please keep this going!
Pass this around the World .
Then pass it around again. It says it all, for all of us.
Deep within the thicket behind Grumpa Joe’s Monet Vision a meeting of Wabbits from terror groups of every block discussed plans for taking out the Monet Vision. Last Spring they snuck into his yard and tasted the tulips and his prize lilies. He didn’t know what hit him. They forced him to install extensive Wabbit barrier over his lobelias, which made him work four times as hard to pull weeds. Not to mention, each time he discovered a snipped tulip bud or a clipped lily stem his blood pressure went through the roof. The group planned a new assault.
“We have to expand our numbers,” said Ali Bugbuny.
“Yes, but we must also train new recruits in the art of stem tasting,” exclaimed Sadr el Jac.
“What if we change the strategy from tasting to eating the flowers,” asked Yasir Flufytail?
“Hmmmn, not a bad idea” replied Ali.
The ideas flowed all evening. It was late into the night before the terror group finally agreed to a plan.
“It is agreed then, we will begin the campaign on the night of the full moon,” said Ali Bugbuny as he dismissed them, “be careful going home.”
The group hopped through the darkness keeping invisible as they moved through backyards. Usa-Bugbuny stayed under the front yard boxwoods. He sprinted through the open spaces between houses to the end of Brown Drive. Yasir Flufytail speed-hopped through the backyards to Charrington Drive, and Siwee el Waby dashed across the street between lights until he reached cover under a burning bush. One more sprint and I’ll be on Bramble Lane he thought. The others worked their way through the thicket westward to Ginger Lane. All of them swore to keep the plan a secret. They were to move about only under cover of darkness. Their plan would drive Grumpa Joe nuts.
“That was a most productive meeting Ali,” said Sadr el Jac.
“It is the best plan we’ve ever put together. I can’t wait to begin. I’ll see you again under the moon.”
Meanwhile, Grumpa Joe discussed world affairs and gardening over a glass of wine with his friend Al.
“Where have all the Wabbits gone,” asked Grumpa Joe?
“What do you mean, I have plenty of Wabbits in my yard,” said Al.
It is almost June, and I did not see a single Wabbit in the yard. My tulips were beautiful, and the lily’s are strong and tall.”
“I’ll send you some of my bunnies if you wish,” said Al.
“Please don’t.”
“I wonder if the coyote has been roaming through the neighborhood,” said Joe.
“That is a strong possibility Joe, they howl behind my house every night, but I still have lots of wabbits. It is late, I have to get home.” Al backed his car out of Grumpa Joe’s driveway just as Siwee el Waby made his dash across the street. The car lights swung out over him as he ducked under the Burning Bush.
Whew, that was close, he almost saw me. We have to live undercover until it is time to execute the plan. We want Grumpa Joe to believe he has beaten us.
The Wabbit world was abuzz for the remainder of the summer. Young wabbits went to school everyday, and momma wabbits raised more young ones to join them. Parents were careful to teach the youngsters not to go out while in daylight for fear of spoiling the ruse to make Grumpa Joe believe the wabbits were gone from his yard.
Ali Bugbuny recruited Aga and Bushr Bambi to join the plan. The army of invaders grew everyday. New recruits came well trained too.
“It is agreed, we will meet you and the Wabbit army in the invasion of the garden known as the Monet Vision during the full moon of July.”
“Peggy, have you noticed the big gaping hole in the yellow petunia patch?”
“No I haven’t, where?”
“Look there, between the potted geranium and the Coral Bells.”
“Oh, those plants are regenerating,” she said.
“I hope you are right, but it does bear watching.”
Grumpa Joe put the Monet Vision under surveillance. He took note of where the flowers were missing.
“These look cut off to me,” he told Peggy as he watered one night.
“It’s your imagination,” she said.
“We’ll see about that,” Joe replied.
Grumpa Joe sat on the patio sprinkling the flowers after a day of intense heat when he spotted a movement. His gaze froze on the spot. The sun had gone down and only the grey light of dusk remained. He saw a movement at the far corner of the yard. Yep, it’s a Wabbit he thought. I’ll wait to see where he goes.
Aga Bambi sat almost motionless. Only his mouth and nose moved as he chewed on some fresh grass. He couldn’t wait until total darkness as the plan called for. He had to eat something.
Aga sprinted through the Monet Vision into the wetland to the safety of his hutch. Inside the mass of twisted brambles he came face to face with Ali, Sadr, and Yasir. They sat in the darkness waiting for him. Sadr hopped to the entrance and blocked it off, Yasir moved to Aga’s side. Aga faced Ali in the center of a triangle of Wabbits. His escape route blocked, he had no choice but to face the music.
Ali put his nose up against Aga’s and began a Drill Sargent’s tirade.
“You dumb long-ear clown you ruined the plan, what were you thinking?”
“I’m sorry Ali, I was hungry and those Petunias looked so good. Besides, wasn’t that the plan?”
“The plan was to do it in the dark not broad daylight. Did they look and taste good enough to break cover?”
“I was careful, no one saw me.”
“Watch this.” Ali popped a DVD into his command computer. “These were taken this afternoon you dummy.”
The four of them watched as Aga relished a dozen soft-yellow Petunia blossoms before he moved to the deep purple ones. Aga dropped his head and eyes in guilt. The video clearly showed him violating the order.
“As punishment for disobeying an order you are banished from the Cell.”
“Where am I going,” asked Aga?
“To the land of native wildflowers where you will no longer enjoy the juicy and tender fruit of home gardens. Take him away boys.”
Sadr grabbed him by the back of the neck, and Yasir by the fluffy tail. They dragged him off to Prairie Park.
“Okay Yasir, on the count of three.”
They swung him back and forth, and on three they let go of him. Aga went sailing through the air and landed deep in the tall grass.
Ali sat by himself in Aga’s hutch thinking for a long time. His mind raced through counter measure possibilities. After what seemed like hours an idea came to him. He finally hopped out of the hutch into the darkness of the wetland with only the fireflies lighting the night sky.
“I have to gather the cell and discuss the new plan.”
