I just happened to think of one of the more unedifying experiences I had, teaching in a public high school. I deem it wisest not to say which school.
In this school there was a set of kids, all boys, who wanted to be… er, convicts. Jailbirds. That’s what they wanted to be, once they’d finished high school. They were getting a start on it by learning prison slang and trying to dress like convicts–you know: with that thing on your head that makes you look like a condom (credit my wife for the witticism).
The normal kids were afraid of these kooks. In one classroom there were only two normal kids, a girl and a boy, and all the rest these Rahway Prison wannabes, and I think if you were to tap either of those two normals on the shoulder, they’d jump out of their skin. They were that scared.
I have absolutely no explanation as to why the school allowed this. As for the Convict Kids’ parents, I suppose it’s possible they didn’t know. In most households in this school’s district, both parents had to work full-time to pay the bills. It wasn’t a cheap neighborhood. So maybe they didn’t know. I’m trying to be charitable.
But the school teachers and administrators knew. And did nothing. Maybe they kind of liked the slogan, “From the schoolhouse to the Big House.”
See, “Europeans” are so much more with-it than we are, so much smarter–except I’m sure that somewhere in America we can find some “judge” who’d rule that public masturbation is a newly-discovered “civil right.”
Go ahead, tell me this would never catch on in San Francisco.
Action-packed! A thrill a minute! As the P.C. Police Diversity Squad stomps down anyone who dares to deviate from the program, even in the smallest and most inconsequential ways, hard-left kooks in the audience will cheer them on…
So waddaya say, everybody? Ready to give up your freedom? Ready to throw away your last poor shreds of self-respect? Of course you are! Welcome to Progressive Paradise! Hold still, please, while we duct-tape your mouth shut…
I had to go to Wells Fargo today to do yet more paperwork for Aunt Joan’s very small estate. As I sat there at the banker’s desk, and he ran stuff through his computer, I got to thinking about one of the many TV westerns that I used to watch when I was a kid–including Tales of Wells Fargo, starring Dale Robertson as a Wells Fargo agent who went around having all sorts of adventures and foiling the bad guys. It ran from 1957 through 1962, complete with comic books and bubblegum cards.
I don’t know what I would’ve thought, back then, if I’d found out Wells Fargo is just a bank–a bank!–like any other bank: the last place in the world you’d go to, if you were looking for really colorful adventures. Oh, the crushing disappointment! It’d be like finding out that Tarzan was a greeter at Walmart. Or that Bat Masterson was a sportswriter for a newspaper. (Uh, dude–Bat really was a sportswriter… fap…)
It was all a lot more interesting, the way it was shown on TV.
As bad as things are now, we don’t have *Batteries Not Included in the White House anymore and we didn’t wind up with Hillary. Every day give thanks for that.
And we still have Godzilla.
The Bible tells us in no uncertain terms that God is not going to let the bad guys win. They were riding high in 2013. They had a great fall in 2016. It’s true that if we put the Democrats out of business, in a very short time another group of villains would arise to take their place. Their politics seeps out from the dark places in the human heart. This will always be with us, until Our Lord Jesus Christ sets His throne upon the earth. And then it will be with us no more.
I had to go to the mall today and as I was driving back, I passed a church whose sign outside almost caused me to go off the road.
The sign announced a soon-to-be-held… “Revelry Service.”
What? Shades of Bacchus. I’m pretty sure “revelry” means whooping it up, party time, usually accompanied by adult beverages–and that’s the relatively clean and wholesome revelry. It can get a lot wilder than that.
But in a church? Traffic did not permit me to pull into their parking lot so I could knock on the door and ask someone what they were planning for their Revelry Service.
So I am confronted with a mystery. I suppose I could look it up, it must not mean what I think it means–but I think I’d rather leave it as a conundrum. Maybe safer that way.
What exactly is “a good Christian,” according to our secular fanatics?
See? They’re not intolerant at all! They just want us all to be “good Christians” and let them get on with the business of herding the whole human race into the Devil’s corral. That’s another attribute of “good Christians.” They never rock the boat.
The apostles? Bad Christians!
I really do wonder whatever happened to “Do Not Call,” which actually protected us for several years. Then it sort of went away, and the phone scams heated up again.
Here is one of the less endearing ones.
They really do target the elderly. As my Aunt Gertie grew into her nineties, every goniff in the Western Hemisphere came out of the woodwork, looking for a chunk of her money. It kept Aunt Joan on her toes, protecting them from these varmints: for poor Gertie had become easy prey, and the villains knew it.
It’s one of those things you simply don’t do if you have sense enough to fear God.
You wouldn’t think leftids needed any help mucking up the lexicon with new words they just invented two weeks ago: like, for instance, “anti-natalist.” But in spite of all their efforts, they’re very far from covering all the bases. So here’s some help:
We’ve come to need even more new words since this was written. We need a term that removes the stigma from a nooze outlet labeling a disgraced Democrat governor a Republican. “CNNing”?
And as a new weasel word for “aborting your baby,” I suggest “womens-healthing your baby.”
So I’m almost out of blood pressure medicine and I need my prescription refilled. You wouldn’t believe the song and dance.
First they wanted to give me only a two weeks’ supply, so that in about ten days I could start the torment all over again. Then they said okay, three months–but you’ve got to have blood work done before you get your refill. So I went in this morning for the blood work.
That’s when they told me I’d have to do this every three months if I wanted my blood pressure medicine–“It’s our policy.”
I always get angry when I hear that. “I don’t care about your stupid policy!” I’m afraid I raised my voice. “No one in North America gets blood work every three months! I won’t do it!” So they said every six months would suffice. It should probably be only every twelve months, but I’ll fight that battle later.
After they took my blood, I was just about to go when they decided they ought to take my blood pressure, too. “But I’m already mad,” I pointed out, “and I haven’t taken my medicine yet today.” Well, they took my pressure anyway. And would you believe it? It was rather high.
“This is no way to treat high blood pressure–driving the patient crazy,” I protested. Yeah, yeah. Tee-hee. Supposedly now they will refill my prescription by the weekend, at which time I will have run out of what’s left. I made them promise. I made them write it down. Which probably means they’ll forget, so I’ll have to phone them Friday.