I love this hymn, I Sing the Mighty Power of God, and this gorgeous rendition of it by the Mountain Anthems. God’s handiwork is everywhere around us–abundantly illustrated in this video.
There are those who will not see…
Month: May 2019
Cats Stealing Dogs’ Beds
Isn’t it pitiful? Little cat steals dog’s big bed, and the poor dog doesn’t know what to do about it. That’s domestication for you. Are dogs really that un-assertive, or are they just being generous?
And cats are very, very good at judging what they can get away with.
Bonus Video: Hedgehogs
For totally spiny little critters, these are awfully cute. They seem to get on well with cats–not that a cat could do much about it, if they didn’t.
Sorry, not posting much in the way of nooze today. I thought most of you would like hedgehogs better than the nooze.
New Sex Bots to be ‘Indistinguishable from Humans’
Really, now, look at the picture. If you can’t distinguish that from a human, you don’t need a sex therapist–you need an optician.
Sex robots powered by 5G will be ‘indistinguishable from humans’
Ah, the nooze! And you wonder why some of us want “long ago” back?
This is supposed to be “the beginning of a synthetic sexual revolution.”
If I spent all day at it, I don’t think I could think of anything we need less.
Bonus: ‘Long, Long Ago’
This song wouldn’t leave me this morning, so I thought I might as well post it–Long, Long Ago. This version is by Jo Stafford and Gordon MacRae–from back when, I don’t know. And it took me quite a while to find it. Everybody else on Youtube wanted to jazz it up. Yech.
I’m supposed to write Newswithviews today or tomorrow. I have no ideas for it. Not one.
Please everybody, pray for my wife, she isn’t getting any better and that kind of weighs on me. I’m not exactly a tower of strength, these days.
There’s a lot of long ago that I want back.
Revolutionary New Idea: Majority Rights
I know we have to be careful with this, or otherwise, as R.J. Rushdoony used to say, we wind up with a “democracy” that consists of two wolves and a lamb voting on what to have for dinner. But then we don’t have a democracy, but a republic.
We always hear a lot about Minority Rights, seemingly the supreme public value. Whatever a cherished minority wants, a cherished minority gets. Or so it seems, especially in recent years.
But what if the majority had rights, too? I see the Democrats in the audience staring at me like I’d just sprouted mammoth tusks while whistling “Tiptoe Through the Tulips.” They’ve never heard of such a thing. The whole concept of majority rights strikes them as bizarre.
But what if we could, like, have a Christmas parade even if the atheists objected? What if any one of us, for reasons of conscience, could refuse to have any part in a “gay wedding”? What if we could say anything we jolly well pleased, just like cherished minorities do, without having to fight off the thought police?
And what if freakin’ Congress stopped taking our hard-earned money and doling it out to Planned Parenthood and colleges and looniversities, to be used against us? What if our elected representatives actually started representing us?
There will be wailing and gnashing of teeth…
‘We Don’t Have to Take This Anymore!’ (2016)
We let these tiny micro-minorities, like atheists, push us around and bully us–and where is it written that we have to?
Oh, that’s right–liberals think it’s in the Constitution. Article IV: “Small, aggressive minorities will make demands on the majority that the majority must obey.” Something like that. Just waiting for some “judge” to discover it.
When we stand up to these little tinpot tyrants, they back down.
‘He Who Would Valiant Be’
Listening to this rendition of He Who Would Valiant Be (aka To Be a Pilgrim by John Bunyan) and watching the video, I was overwhelmed by a sense that “This is how you go to heaven!” Not in a bullet train. A slow train, through the scenery of every good thing you’ve known in your life: it’s all right there, for you to see it again. Soothing. Healing. The trip takes long enough to calm you down from any pain, terror, or panic that went along with dying. Just long enough so you’ll be ready for Heaven when you get there.
Something tells me I’m not the first to imagine this.
It’s All Downhill for Him
Dogs just love to have fun–which, to my way of thinking, shows a high order of intelligence and personality. And what could be more fun than sliding down an icy hill? Well, probably a lot of things, if you’re human–and maybe carrying an armload of groceries. But it does look like fun when the dog does it.
That Business with the Sliding Board (‘Oy, Rodney’)
Introducing Chapter CCXCII of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular writes, “I shall now indulge in a flashback, to tell you, dear readers, all about that lamentable business with the sliding board.” It isn’t really a flashback, because she is now writing chapters out of order. And her editor has not returned her phone calls.
It seems that Scurveyshire’s resident genius, Percy Puce, F.R.S., the Resident Genius, has deduced that although considerable danger lurks below the vicar’s backyard wading pool, “Up on top, within the pool, one is perfectly safe. If only one had some means of entering the water without coming too close to the edge of the pool, one would be able to enjoy a refreshing swim.” The water in the pool is less than a foot deep, but Mr. Puce has some unusual ideas about swimming.
In the dead of night, Percy has workmen come and erect a sliding board just a few feet from the pool. They are too drunk to contemplate the danger of this enterprise. With the sliding board in place, the genius scrambles up the ladder, pauses for a moment at the top to strike an heroic pose, then races down the board as fast as his legs can carry him. “He has learned this trick by observing his pet hamster,” Ms. Crepuscular confides in the reader.
Alas, he slips on the ramp, his feet shoot out from under him, and his body describes an impressive arc through the air as he lands with a crash on his coccyx.
The sliding board itself slides under the pool and disappears. Howling with pain, Mr. Percy Puce disappears, too. The appalling character of the scene penetrates the workmen’s drunken haze and they rush back to The Lying Tart to tell the tale and quaff more ale.
Ms. Crepuscular is interrupted in her artistic endeavors by two police officers pounding on her door.
Editor’s note: I couldn’t find a suitable picture of someone taking a running start and then falling off a sliding board. It isn’t done that often.