Concealed pride

This is my target I shot at the range for my Concealed Handgun License last week. 50 shots. Scored a 249 out of 250 and scored a perfect 100 on the written exam. In the eyes of the state of Texas I am officially considered...one bad dude. And no, I am still not joining the NRA.

Not worth a thousand words

Future billionairess Miley Cyrus has been in the news today with a couple of pictures taken of her for Vanity Fair magazine (whatever that is). If there is anything worse than taking advantage of kids in any way I don't know what it is but I strangely don't have near as much of a problem with these as some people seem to. She is photographed with bare shoulders and a sheet wrapped around her. She is fifteen years old and apparently her parents approved of the pics as they were taken. Would I want my 15 year old photographed like that? Definitely not. Would I let my 6 year old watch her Disney show? Yeah, sure. Would I want my 6 year old seeing those pictures? Not really, but what does concern me is the way she seems to be taking the "Britney path" to celebrityhood. I don't know that she stands a chance with all that money at such a young age but let's hope she's smarter than that.

Caught on film!

Government official asleep on the job! Film at 11:00.

The Pope's shoes

I kid you not, these are the Pope's shoes! I guess it's hard to find the just the right shoes to match that hat!

Caption this...

Y'all seemed to really like the last one so put your captions in the comment section.

I keep mine locked up!

This could really be bad for members of a certain "resort"!

Places I've been, things I've seen.

One of the things I enjoy about my job is the way it takes me to places I wouldn't ordinarily go where I see things I wouldn't ordinarily see. The last couple of weeks have been noteworthy in that regard and while I probably have not seen everything yet, I had to share these. Keep in mind that I collect taxes (don't even start with the Zachaeus jokes!) and all of these places charge some kind of tax and have at least something in common.

Last week some in my office went down to the Main Street Arts Festival. If you have never been just imagine every kind of art being displayed in booths by several hundred vendors all along the main strip downtown. I don't understand several things about this festival but mainly why some people obviously pay alot of money for some piece of artwork that I would pay to have hauled off and also how is it that if you put a frame around it you can call it art but otherwise it would easily qualify for soft-core pron?

While we were down at this modern art festival I noticed a woman walking around with a shirt that advertised the "Vagina Monologues". I don't know what that is but her shirt said in big letters on the front, "If your vagina could talk..." and on the back, "What would it say?" Well, that's a dumb question but the middle school boy in me had several dumb answers! Her shirt also said in smaller letters, "Celebrate V-Day". Celebrate V-Day? What does that involve? Is there a parade? Do I get the day off? Do I have to wear a certain color or get pinched? I don't know if I want to know!

Last Saturday night we went to a strip club. Yes, I promise this was for work! And trust me, if I had the opportunity to go back to this place I'd pass. I just have to wonder if the woman I saw working there had a mirror at home at all. She was obviously wearing the same tiny bikini that she wore 85 pounds ago and those poor pieces of cloth were screaming! It looked like a band aid being stretched around a can of biscuits! If that clasp breaks somebody could lose an eye. What may be worse is that some guy was there watching her dance. Sometimes it's embarrassing to be a part of the male species.

I have to say that those experiences pale in comparison to what just happened to me this morning. I left my house this morning to do what I do every day but I had no idea it would involve something I had never done before and hope to never do again. One of my stops today was a "resort". This "resort" has been collecting tax but not remitting it back to the state so it is my job to go see them and convince them to pay up. I had been to this place before in years past and I knew what kind of "resort" it was but in the past it was cold outside and the few people I saw were all dressed warmly. Today is a bright, warm, sunshiney day and the first man I saw as I pulled into the parking lot was wearing a hat and a pair of flip flops. Period. I got out of my car and grabbed my laptop as the man approached me. "Hi! Can I help you?", he said like someone behind the counter at the mall. I introduced myself and he told me his name as he politely put out his hand. Now, I had just a fraction of a second to decide. Does one shake hands with a nekkid man? I didn't know the answer soon enough, I guess, so I just shook his hand, and looking him square in the eye, I asked for the owner of the resort. He jumped on his golf cart and went to get the owner leaving me standing there outside the office. Evidently this is a popular place with older men as I saw several more as I stood there. One guy getting in the pool. Another one working on his tan. (No tan lines!) Everybody just being normal. You know, just another day at the resort. The owner did finally arrive and luckily he was wearing jeans so we talked and then I left. I don't know about you but that was a first for me. Now I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings. Maybe I should bring my camera along. Or...maybe not.

(Editor) I undestand that the content of this post has made this website blocked by some internet filters. I changed the spelling of a couple words that might have been the culprit. Let me know if that helps.

Captions galore!

So that the Catholics don't think I just pick on them, please leave your captions here.

Welcome and Happy Birthday!

Well, good! Pope Benedict XVI made his first appearance in the United States this week and met the President and First Lady on a day that just happened to be the Pontiff's birthday. The Pope is scheduled to be in the White House today and later deliver mass in Yankee Stadium. When asked what he wanted for his birthday, Pope Benedict only asked that his traditional birthday spanking of eighty-one licks be given by a young boy of his choosing.

They get bitter, they cling to guns or religion as a way to explain their frustrations. Barack Hussein Obama

Religion...It is the opiate of the people. Karl Marx

A confession

They say confession is good for the soul. I hate to admit any of this but it has already started to leak out and I want to save myself and my family any more shame. So here goes: yes, it is true. Chelsea Clinton is my love child.

The year was 1979. I was an Army Ranger with 101st Airborne Seabees imbedded deep in the jungles of Viet Nam doing recon missions. I had been wounded by schrapnel after throwing myself on a gook grenade to save my squad and was layed up in the M.A.S.H. just outside of Bung Ho. Word came from headquarters that then Governor of Arkansas Bill Clinton's wife Hillary was coming into Nam to visit the troops. With snipers everywhere, I knew that this area was much too dangerous for a woman of her status. There was only one man capable of handling all the snipers and I knew it so I pulled out my IV, grabbed my counter-sniper rifle and hit the jungle one more time. I had a mission.

Time:0800. Exact location: Confidential. Mission: Protect Hillary at all costs.

With my camo Ghillie suit erasing any visual from the enemy, I waited in the shadows. At just the appointed time, I heard the bird overhead approaching the LZ. Every sense was heightened. Every nerve on end. All of my years of training were coming down to this one moment. This was no time to think. Think...and people die.

I scanned the LZ with my binoculars and radioed the all-clear to the bird's pilot who quickly set the big chopper down on the tarmac. As the doors opened I thought everything was going as planned but as soon as Hillary's left foot hit the tarmac, I heard a shot ring out. She instinctively ducked and grabbed the young Vietnamese girl coming to greet her and ran for the nearest building but the sniper fire increased. The first sniper had barely pulled the trigger when I took him out. Swinging my rifle around, I took out the second sniper with a shot from the hip and then got my sights on another. Aim, breathe, squeeze. Another enemy hits the bloody dirt. After what seemed like hours, I realized that I had run out of ammo. Not a bullet wasted. I ran into the jungle and used my bayonet to kill the last three. Mission accomplished.

As I walked slowly back to the main camp, I realized that my schrapnel wounds were bleeding badly. I guess it was then that the whole situation finally hit my wracked body and I collapsed just outside the door of the ER. The pain woke me up several hours later and I sensed the presence of a person I assumed was a nurse next to my bed. I tried to sit up but fell back with a moan. It was then that I realized that it was not a nurse next to my bed but to my surprise it was Hillary herself. She carefully stroked my arm and assured me everything would be OK. I thought it must be the morphine playing tricks on my mind but then with her hand in mine, I blacked out again.

The nurses later told me that Hillary stayed by my bedside for three days hardly eating or sleeping and refusing to leave. When I woke on that third day she was there beside me. Bleary-eyed from lack of sleep and stinking from not showering, she gazed into my eyes longingly. She said she was moved by my heroism and was going to insist to the President that I receive the Medal of Honor. I tried to politely argue otherwise saying I was only doing my duty but she would have nothing of that. As a side note, I did later receive the Medal of Honor and Medal of Honor II which is even better. But that day in the humid squalor of Bung Ho, I quickly realized that for Hillary a priceless medal would not satisfy her longing to show her appreciation. She ached with gratefulness and soon, as the sun set on this lonely village, I enveloped the extent of that gratefulness.

I am not proud of that day and it is with regret that I reveal those dark secrets I have repressed all of these years. I never saw Hillary again in person after that night and without a paternity test cannot prove that Chelsea is my love child but one glance at Chelsea's picture is all the proof I need. Look at those bug-eyes and double chin! I'm sure she will be bald soon. I say all of this in the hopes of reassuring Hillary. I want nothing from her. No money, no fame. Just to be able to reassure her in the same way that she reassured me all those years ago. Don't worry, Hillary, it will be OK. The truth will set you free!