bullamakanka

Subject: B.O.O.M on Strike

Muslim suicide bombers in Britain are set to begin a three-day strike on Monday in a dispute over the number of virgins they are entitled to in the afterlife. Emergency talks with Al Qaeda management have so far failed to produce an agreement.

The unrest began last Tuesday when Al Qaeda announced that the number of virgins a suicide bomber would receive after his death will be cut by 25% next January from 72 to only 60. The rationale for the cut was the increase in recent years of the number of suicide bombings and a subsequent shortage of virgins in the afterlife.

The suicide bombers' union, the British Organisation of Occupational Martyrs (or B.O.O.M.) responded with a statement that this was unacceptable to its members and immediately balloted for strike action. General secretary Abdullah Amir told the press, "Our members are literally working themselves to death in the cause of jihad. We don't ask for much in return but to be treated like this by management is a kick in the teeth."

Mr Amir accepted the limited availability of virgins but pointed out that the cutbacks were expected to be borne entirely by the workforce and not by management. "Last Christmas Abu Hamza alone was awarded an annual bonus of 250,000 virgins," complains Amir. "And you can be sure they'll all be pretty ones too. How can Al Qaeda afford that for members of the management but not 72 for the people who do the real work?"

Speaking from the shed in the West Midlands where he currently resides, Al Qaeda chief executive Osama Bin Laden explained:

"We sympathise with our workers' concerns but Al Qaeda is simply not in a position to meet their demands. They are simply not accepting the realities of modern-day jihad, in a competitive marketplace. Thanks to Western depravity, there is now a chronic shortage of virgins in the afterlife. It's a straight choice between reducing expenditure and laying people off. I don't like cutting wages but I'd hate to have to tell 3,000 of my staff that they won't be able to blow themselves up."

He defended management bonuses by claiming these were necessary to attract good fanatical clerics. "How am I supposed to attract the best people if I can't compete with the private sector?" asked Mr. Bin Laden.

Talks broke down this morning after management's last-ditch proposal of a virgin-sharing scheme was rejected outright after a failure to agree on orifice allocation quotas. One virgin, who refused to be named, was quoted as saying "I'll be buggered if I'm agreeing to anything like that…it's too big a mouthful."

Unless some sort of agreement is reached over the weekend, suicide bombers will down explosives at midday on Monday. Most branches are supporting the strike. Only the North London branch, which has a different union, is likely to continue working. However, some members of that branch will only be using waist-down explosives in order to express solidarity with their striking brethren.

Spokespersons in the North East of England, West Vancouver, and the entire Australian continent stated that this would not affect their operations as "there are no Virgins in their areas anyway".

Ethan is 5' tall (age 10).

He's three inches taller than rapper Li'l Kim.

He's an inch taller than Mary Kate Olsen, but an inch shorter than MK's sister Ashley.

He's an inch taller than Jada Pinkett Smith (Will Smith's wife).

He's the same height as Danny Devito — and Dolly Parton.

Another inch and he'll be the same height as Hilary Duff, Ellen Page (Juno), Nichole Ritchie, and Reese Witherspoon.

Prince is only two inches taller (5'2"), as is Jennifer Love Hewitt. Elton John comes in at a whopping 5'3".

Dustin Hoffman seems a giant at 5'5". In "Rain Man" Tom Cruise appears to tower over Hoffman, but Cruise is only 5'7" himself.

Some folks look a whole lot bigger on the big screen.

Someday... Ethan will be as tall as John Cleese (6'4"). So they tell us.

Christmas 2009:

For the most part, we're all sick. Kat's still under the weather, trying to sleep it off. Gage's nose is running like a spigot. My cough is still nagging from time to time, otherwise I'm just sore.

We did Xmas here at home, just the four of us, rather that traverse the countryside and get everyone sick. We'll catch up with them later.

Ethan scored a classic-style Wii controller, an M&M's game for the Wii, a board game, some drawing paper and and few other goodies.

Gage got a nice soft blankey (he's all into "soft" stuff), pants, Candyland board game, a maze game, and other assorted goodies.

They both share the Ice Age 3 DVD.

Kat got a bamboo cutting board, oil sprayer (for the kitchen), "Six Feet Under" fourth season, "Food Inc." movie, some Pink Panther videos and a reasonable chunk of her broken hard drive restored to disk.

I'm very pleased with my headphones, whiteboard/markers (for making business a little more organized), back scrubber and a collection of classic TV commercials. Truthfully, we're splitting the "Six Feet Under." We're both hooked. I'll be glued to "Ice Age" as well. Can't pass up ananimated flick.

Now, we just need to get over the Sick.

Since last year, we've had CalOptima for the kids. CalOptima is California's version of Medicare. When the kids were originally placed on the plan (which happened automatically when we applied for assistance in August '08), they were assigned to a specific doctor.

The doctor assigned to the kids (ages 3 and 9 at the time) is not a pediatrician, but a general practitioner. Her office is part of a medical organization called Gateway Medical.

The cards issued for the kids by CalOptima say "CHOC Health Alliance" on them. (CHOC stands for Children's Hospital of Orange County). 

For more than a year, the kids were seen by the assigned doctor. There was no apparent conflict, until today.

Earlier today, Gage woke up with spots of barf in the bed, and failed to keep anything else down during most of the day. Everything he ate or drank came back up. His temperature wasn't too high, and he was not lethargic. Kat and I juggled the decision between going to see the doctor when they reopened at 2pm, or go now to the Urgent Care center. We waited until 2 and called the doctor's office. They told us they were booked solid for the day, and to take him directly to the Urgent Care center.

Since the doctor's office is part of Gateway Medical, we have to go to the appropriate Urgent Care facility, in Orange, about 7 miles from our place.

When we arrived, the front desk informed us that they could not see us.

"The card has CHOC Health Alliance, and we're not affiliated."
"So who is?"
"You can try the St. Joseph's Urgent Care facility, on Chapman."

Okay, fine. As it happens, we've been there a couple of times before, once for Gage, once or twice for Kat.

When we arrived, the front desk informed us that they could not see us.

"His primary physician is part of Gateway, so you have to go to the Urgent Care on Tustin."
"We were just there. They turned us away and sent us here."
"We can't see him. His doctor is not a CHOC Health Alliance doctor."
"So who should I talk to about an Urgent Care for this kid that's been throwing up all day?"
"Call the number on the front of the card."

I call the CHOC Health Alliance number. I'm informed that there are two Urgent Care centers to choose from. One is in Costa Mesa, about 10 miles away, and the other is in Mission Viejo, about 15-20 miles away. I ponder the idea of just taking him to the St. Joseph's ER, which is about a mile away, except that everyone with a flu-like symptom is likely to be there, and I needed to get to the bank before 6 or we'd have no money until tomorrow. It's currently about 3:30 pm.

"There is a doctor in your area, a pediatrician, who is part of the CHOC Health Alliance," the CHOC Health Alliance person tells me.

I call that doctor's office. Yes, they can see him today, however, since we've not had Gage's primary care physician switched over yet, we'd be treated as cash patients.

"I just spoke to CHOC Health Alliance, and they're prepared to switch him over right away."
"Okay, well call us back when you're all done with that and we'll see Gage."

I call CHOC Health Alliance back.

"If we switch him over to the new doctor, they might not be able to see him before the new year, and the switch might not be effective until January 1," I'm told.
"They told me they can see him today."
"Oh! Well, in that case, we'll switch him over, and we'll make it effective 12/16, so he can be seen immediately."
"Thank you."

I call the doctor's office back. (I'm doing all this while on the road using my hands-free, heading in the direction of the doctor's office).

"They were able to switch his primary care physician?"
"Yes, actually for both boys. His brother as well. They made it effective 12/16."
"I ... don't see it in the system..."
"You can call them to verify."
"Please hold..."

I get disconnected. I call back. It's now about 4pm.

"Is Gage a new patient?" they ask.
"Yes."
"Hold on a moment, I need to get my supervisor to go over the new patient procedures."

Five minutes on hold, the supervisor comes on.

"We don't show that the primary care physician has been changed yet," she says. "It may take 24 hours for it to show up."
"Can he be seen today at all?"
"Only as a cash patient... and it's near closing, and I don't think we can get him in today. You can try again tomorrow..."

(The scene in "Groundhog Day" where Bill Murray says "What if there is no tomorrow? There wasn't one today!!" flashed through the mind.)

Thankfully, Gage has not barfed while we've been out. Then again, he's not eaten or drunk anything to barf. By now I'm a stone's throw from the doctor's office, which is another stone's throw from our place. There's time to get to the bank and hopefully Gage will not barf up the complimentary Kool-Aid or cookie provided by our friendly Credit Union.

It's now 12:30am, Gage is apparently fine, consumed a few things and not tossed them back up.

Heaven forbid he were really sick. Then again, we'd go straight to the ER.

If anyone thinks that the Obama Health Plan is going to improve this sort of thing, they're dead wrong. Dead wrong.

Check the headline:


...because all First Lady's before her lit the tree in the buff.

Link: New York Magazine

http://www.dailyfinance.com/2009/11/18/palin-photographer-breached-contract-with-sale-to-newsweek/

What on earth was Sarah Palin thinking when she posed in a pair of teeny-tiny gym shorts for a photograph that ended up on the cover of Newsweek -- a cover she has called "sexist"? Perhaps she was thinking that her image would only appear in the magazine she was posing for, Runner's World, and nowhere else, at least not for months and months. If so, she had good reason -- since, as DailyFinance has learned, the photographer who shot the picture violated his contract by reselling them to Newsweek.

That photographer, Brian Adams, could not immediately be reached, and his agent, Kelly Price, declined to comment, saying, "I keep all of my clients' business private." But a spokeswoman for Runner's World confirms that Adams's contract contained a clause stipulating that his photos of Palin would be under embargo for a period of one year following publication -- meaning until August 2010. "Runner's World did not provide Newsweek with its cover image," the spokeswoman said. "It was provided to Newsweek by the photographer's stock agency, without Runner's World's knowledge or permission." The spokeswoman declined to say whether Runner's World intends to respond to Adams's breach of contract with legal action.

As if Newsweek gives a shit.

I'm back on the cab again, for two main reasons. One, to fulfill the required 35 hrs a week in order to keep the Govt off our back, and two, the extra money can be helpful while the freelance slowly picks up. Slowly.

It's been a while since I was on the cab. Since I'd left the last time, they'd gotten rid of the three diesel LTI's (London Taxi International), the iconic black London cabs. They were lemons, kept breaking down. Instead, Ed, the owner, bought two more of these cabs, but they were still in the shop being painted and readied for the road.

In the meantime, Ed added a new airport shuttle bus, bought a used Greyhound bus for uses unspecified. The remaining vehicles, a Lincoln Town Car and a second shuttle bus, were still running.

When I showed up last night I was reminded of the last member of the Cab livery — a 1958 Austin London Cab. This old diesel is a true relic, and frankly, I didn't know it still ran. The driver is on the right hand side, as they are in London. There is a large bench seat in the back with ample leg room. On the opposite of the driver is an open space reserved for luggage. Three decorated pieces of old luggage sit here as props.

I was reminded of the Austin because I would be driving it, at 10pm, to pick up a couple and taking them to a restaurant. They specifically requested a London Cab. The Austin is the only one until the newer LTI's show up.

Chris, one of the shuttle drivers, showed me how the old girl worked, how to fire it up, where the light switch was, how to shut down and so forth. I figured I'd try and get a couple of minutes in to test out the gears and clutch, see how this old thing rolled. But I was immediately sent out to a different run, so I'd have to wait until later, hopefully in enough time before the 10pm pickup.

Ed reminded me to pick up a bottle of champagne and get a couple of glasses and a chill bucket from the hotel bar. The extra touch.

I had a run at 8:30, taking three drunk yahoos from the hotel to Huntington Beach. They were from Las Vegas, didn't have a brain cell between them, and certainly didn't have the looks to make up for it. The problem was that I wouldn't be back to the hotel until almost 9:30, which only left 30 minutes to drive the Austin out to the boonies to pick this couple up. Literally the boonies... some new development called Dove Canyon, which I'd never heard of, and it was 23 miles from the hotel.

I had to coordinated with the other drivers to get the champagne ready. I wasn't going to have enough time. Ed was getting nervous, but he was actually in Las Vegas himself, so he could only be nervous over the phone.

With champagne readied, the toll road transponder in hand, I fired up the old Austin. It came to life eager and ready to go. Swifting was not a problem. The four-speed box reminded me of my old 1958 Volkswagen Bug back in Australia. The Austin wasn't as easy to steer, though. It required true power steering, provided entirely by muscle.

Chris did mention that the old machine was capable of only 50 mph top speed. That's all I got. I was nervous, thinking about a 23 mile journey at 50 mph, trying to do the math, guessing that I should be able to squeak in at almost exactly 30 minutes. I had to take the freeway and a couple of toll roads. It was the fastest route, according to the Tom Tom GPS, but an old jalopy on the freeway at night doing only 50 is a bit hazardous.

It's also hazardous relying entirely on this GPS. It's failed me before. I chugged up the 405 looking for the 133 toll road, and as it neared, I realized that I was in the wrong lane. I was supposed to be in the exit lane which takes you to both directions of the 133, north and south. I thought the north exit was further down... what the hell was I going to do? This would mean doubling back from the next exit, and I would certainly be late.

It was a desperate last second move. With no time to spare, and with less room, I yanked the steering wheel of the old beast, and with tires screeching veered off the outside lane, across a flat median, and into the exit, barely missing a curb. I barely avoided rolling the old thing, I think. It might have been quite a sight from another lane, to see this old car suddenly make a zig zag off the freeway, and it would have been appropriate had people thought an accident was about to happen.

But it didn't, I was in the exit, on my way, nerves just a little frayed.

About thirty minutes later I arrived at the outside of a gated community. I was six minutes late. I would have to get past the rent-a-cops. I'd left the paperwork in the Town Car, and was radioing back and forth with another driver for the details. The address was also in the Tom Tom, for added reference. I pulled into the "resident" lane, simply because it was the closest to the security booth. The other driver called the couple to inform them of my timeframe, and they were not pleased.

"I'm here to pick up Melissa and Aaron," I said. "I have the address, but not a last name..."

"I'm going to have to ask you to exit," the guard said. "Make a U-turn up there, exit, and come around to the visitor's side."

Why not just take me in from this point? Is it really that big a deal? Making a U-turn is not so easy without the aid of hydraulics, asshole. I'm driving a relic, don't you see?

This cost me a good three minutes. I pull up into the visitor lane. The guard comes back out. "I gotta tell ya," he gleamed, "this is just phenomenal!" Yeah, yeah, it's a real-life London Cab, older than you, and I need to get inside pronto. I show him the address.

"You're in the wrong place," he said. "All our numbers are three or four digits, yours is five... and we don't have a 'Golf Club Drive'." Bullshit, I thought. This has to be the place. I radio back the other driver. "He says I'm in the wrong place..." "Ah, crap," came the reply. The guard went back inside to do some guard thing, then a minute later came back out.

"Oh, yeah, that's the clubhouse," he said. "I didn't recognize the street. It's straight ahead, second street. Turn right and the clubhouse is right there." I waited for the lumbering gate to open, all the while trying to wrap my brain around the absolute dimwittedness of a security guard who didn't know the location of the clubhouse that was merely two streets straight ahead. I mean... what the frickin' hell??

The old Austin chugged up the hill to the first street, where there was a stop sign. There was a queue of cars behind me, again. (All along the trip up the freeway, there was a queue of cars itching to make it out of this old car's wake).

I chug down to the next street, find my way to the clubhouse, and I see before me a bride and groom, standing, waiting, at the curb. Holy bejeesus. I am to pick up a bride and groom? I had no clue. I clunk to a stop and step out to meet them. They were not happy. By now it's 10:20.

I copped an earful about how frustrated they were with the tardiness of the cab. It turned out that the clubhouse was their wedding reception, and at 10pm, they would leave the clubhouse in some kind of "grand exit," to step into an awaiting old London Cab, and be wished a happy life together by the throngs of guests standing about. 10:00pm came and went, and everyone left. The bride, groom and a couple of immediate family members remained, waiting for me. Clearly, the old Austin was of no use any longer to them.

Clearly, if this was what the car was intended for, it should have been arranged to be at the Clubhouse well before 10pm. Somebody screwed up. I felt a little better knowing it wasn't all me.

I told them to forget the charges. Clearly, to me, it didn't make sense to pay for something they didn't get. They did offer to help with gas for the trip, and again I declined. I'd screwed it up this far, no point in making their entry into married life any more traumatic. The groom handed me a $20 for my trouble and at least shook my hand. I apologized again for the umpteenth time.

The trip back was uneventful. Same route, this time mostly downhill, so the old girl got a little bit of a break. I made it back to the hotel by about 11:15pm, and met Norma Jean, the other driver, at the office. I told her the whole story. She was as annoyed as I was about the apparent lack of planning for this event.

Then came the phone call to the boss. He was not pleased. "You did charge them, right?" Um, no. Nothing. I should have called him, he said, probably rightly so, although he would have no doubt embarrassed himself (and me) by trying to convince them by phone that they needed to pay.

So today, when I go back in, we'll have more to talk about. I am at least pleased with the experience of driving the old Austin. I think the old cab and I will get along fine, so long as it's not an everyday thing.

UPDATE: No problems with the boss.

As it happened, I had the old Austin out again Sunday, this time a more leisurely drive from Costa Mesa to Newport Beach, for a "birthday Dad." His wife arranged the party (along with their son), complete with him wearing a regal red king's cape and crown. Aside from a short jaunt the wrong way up a one-way street, it was all perfectly successful.

I had no idea John Wayne Airport (Orange County) could get that busy on a Sunday night. Not quite LAX busy, but busy nonetheless.


Here's a picture of a 1958 Austin London Cab... not the cab I drove, but identical, right down to the color scheme. People would slow down to get a look at it. It turned more heads than I expected.

(The one above is available for sale in Maryland, for a cool $21,500).

Today is the 64th anniversary of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima, Japan. One can debate for an eternity over the need of such an action, but that's not what this post is about.

The bomb used had to be shipped from the US by sea, at first, in order to be assembled prior to use. The USS Indianapolis was the ship that took the parts out to the Pacific arena. It left San Francisco, steamed past Hawaii, and made it to its destination intact. No one, not even the captain, knew what they had on board; it was clearly a secret mission.

After the delivery, the Indianapolis steamed to Guam, where some of the crew were switched out. Those who left the ship could consider themselves among the luckiest men alive, considering what would happen next.

After Guam, the ship left for the Phillipines. It never made it. A Japanese submarine torpedoed the ship, and two explosions caused the ship to sink in only 12 minutes. 300 men died immediately, and went down with the ship. The remaining 600 were left in the water to hope for rescue.

Before the ship went down, distress calls were sent out. Three signals were received. One commander was too drunk to respond. Another didn't get the signal; he ordered his crew not to disturb him. The third thought it was a Japanese prank. Hence, the Indianapolis was left to sink unaided.

The ship was not reported late, possibly because of its secret mission. A Navy pilot, by chance, came across the scene of men bobbing about in the water. This was days later... many men drowned, died of exposure, and shark attacks. It is noted as possibly the single largest shark attack against humans in history. Dead bodied were dragged away by sharks and live men were attacked in the water.

317 men survived out of 1196. The captain of the ship, Charles McVay, was one of the survivors. He would become the only captain of a lost ship to be court-martialled, where the Navy accused him of putting the ship in danger by not zig-zagging. The Navy even brought the attacking Japanese submarine's captain to testify against McVay. That captain later claimed that zig-zagging would not have prevented the attack.

The charges on McVay were later dropped, however years of mental distress dogged McVay for years after. Finally, in 1968, he took his Navy issue revolver in one hand, a Navy doll in the other, and shot himself in his front yard.

It wasn't until the year 2000 that Congress exonerated McVay completely.

#

When a Republican is busted for some kind of wrong-doing, their party affiliation is almost always mentioned in the story, and sometimes even in the headline. However, if a Democrat is busted, the party affiliation is almost always omitted.

Next time such a story makes it to the papers or the screen, make a note of it. It's a recurring trend.

The obvious theory (shared by many) is the liberal bias in the media. It's like a gloat to mention a Republican in shackles, yet if a Democrat gets busted, it's best to hide their party. If it's not mentioned, perhaps people with assume the person is a Republican. Why not?

The most blatant example of bias comes today, with the arrest of a couple of New Jersey mayors and others on corruption charges.

This is directly from NJ.com:


Note that Van Pelt's party is mentioned clearly. The others are not. It so happens that Cammarano, Elwell, Vega and Beldini are all Democrats. Why not mention this?

You know why.

An upcoming interview with Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg is... very revealing.

The question is about her role in the abortion law Roe v Wade:


Growth in populations that we don't want to have too many of? Who is she referring to? Concern by who? Unfortunately, she doesn't elaborate, and the interviewer doesn't ask her about that comment.

Limiting a specific population, whether by law or by action, is basically called eugenics, bordering on extermination, perhaps even ethnic cleansing. It seems clear that her thinking (and perhaps the thinking of others) at the time was drifting in this particular vein. If it was, and she had concerns, they apparently were never made clear or public... until now.

This is why I vehemently support the death penalty.

A husband and wife, shot to death, in a home-invasion-style robbery (Pensacola, Florida). Three men seen leaving in a red van.

The couple had 16 kids. Four were their own, the rest were disabled kids they adopted over the years. The kids were in the house, but left unharmed.

Now, their future remains unknown.

If I had the means and ability, I would hunt these bastards down myself and kill them myself.

Story here (it will piss you off, be warned).

The city of Orange (next to us in Anaheim, California) has figured out a way to save at least $50,000 per year...

... switch all their city vehicles from Premium gasoline to Regular.

If I were an Orange resident, I'd be outraged to know that the city basically wasted so much money on Premium. The performance differences are miniscule (aside from octane level), possibly even non-existent.

Oh, dear.

Oh, Lordy.

This fits right up there with a video on the Fail Blog, the one where a woman is questioning why she's seeing rainbows in her sprinkler. "Maybe there's something in the water... this has never happened before..."

Edward Kenna, one of only two Australian recipients of the Victorian Cross, died today at age 90.

He enlisted in the Australian Imperial Force in August 1940 and served in the 23/21st Battalion in Victoria and later in the Darwin area. In June 1943, his unit returned to Victoria before being sent to Queensland. At this point the unit was disbanded and its members allotted as reinforcements to other units. Kenna was assigned to the 2/4th Battalion and embarked for New Guinea in October 1944.

Victoria Cross action

On 15 May 1945, near Wewak, New Guinea, when fire from a Japanese bunker was holding up the company's advance, Private Kenna stood up in full view of the enemy less than 50 yards (46 m) away and engaged the bunker, firing his Bren gun from the hip. The enemy returned the fire and bullets actually passed between Private Kenna's arms and body. He remained completely exposed and went on firing until his magazine was exhausted, when he continued with a rifle. As a result of his gallantry the bunker was taken without further loss. This action won him the Victoria Cross.

Three weeks later he was shot in the mouth and spent more than a year in hospital before being discharged from the AIF in December 1946. The following year he married Marjorie Rushberry, who had nursed him at Heidelberg Military Hospital.

It must have been a miraculous thing to see, a man firing into enemy fire in this manner and not receiving a single wound. Balls of titanium, indeed.

According to a state senator (California), 15% of the state's budget goes to services for illegal immigrants (welfare, medical, education, etc). That amounts to $15-$20 Billion per year.

Without that payout, the state's budget would be balanced and there would be no deficit.

It was exciting to see the bids go up, the watchers rally, and eventually sell the camper trailer for nearly 3x what we paid for it. A whole $369, but not too shabby since we paid $140.

The guy bid up to $2,100 ... and got it for $369.

No problem, it's all good.

Then the eBay fee came in ... $125 for listing the bloody camper on eBay Motors!

It would have been $125 even if he'd paid the full $2100... it's a flat rate fee.

Lesson #1: Don't list anything on eBay Motors unless you can swallow $125 into your sale price.

Or... #2, sell it some other way, period.

The money helped us out of a few binds, but eBay will want that money soon enough. Farukhan Bastages!

I pause from my regularly scheduled work:

New York City recorded it's 8th-coldest June this year (a tie with 1897). The average temperature was 67.5, which is 3.8 degrees below normal. This was the coolest June since 1958.

Central Park did not hit 85 degrees once in June. The last time this happened was in 1916.

This June was the second-wettest on record, with 10.06 inches of rain. The wettest June on record was 2003 (10.27 inches).

There were 19 days in June were there was at least 0.01 inches of rain. This has never happened before on record.

Source: National Weather Service
---

Of course, it's not called "global warming" anymore. It's now "climate change." This is to cover the possibility that the earth cools OR warms, spins sideways, jumps up and down, turns inside out, whatever... and still include it under the blanket "man made disaster". No matter what the weather, we're still evil beings, and we should all stop exhaling immediately.

Al Gore, meanwhile, is having a pleasant day in his climate-controlled palacial 10,000+ square foot abode, where he continues to make money hand over fist on all these fears.

Back to work.

EDIT: Today, Al Gore told an audience at Oxford in England that the fight against climate change deniers is like the fight against Nazis.

I guess that makes me a Nazi.

Those who did fight the real Nazism will find no comfort in knowing that their work has been minimized and cheapened. The liberation of concentration camps, according to Gore's analogy, is akin to reducing cow farts.

Palin announced today she's stepping down from Governor of Alaska, effective July 26.

The media was quick to gloat.

Rick Sanchez on CNN speculates that she's pregnant again.

And this was posted as a news item on Huffington Post (interestingly, it was taken down shortly thereafter):

In Sarah Palin's resignation announcement she complained about the treatment of her son Trig who always teaches her life lessons. She said that the "world needs more Trigs, not fewer." That's a presidential campaign promise we can all get behind. She will be the first politician to actually try to increase the population of retarded people. To me, it's kinda like saying the world needs more cancer patients because they teach us such personal lessons.

Her first act as President: To introduce a Pre-K lunch buffet that includes lead paint chips. Sort of a Large HEAD-START Program.

She will then encourage women to hold off on pregnancies until their 40's just to mix up some chromosomes.

She now is in favor of abortion only in case of diploid birth.

Her policies will increase jobs because Wal-Mart is building new stores each day and someone has to be the greeter.

This will lead to smaller government because fewer Americans will have the cognitive ability to hold a government job.
 

 

Because class is all the left has.

Swedish Parents Won't Tell if Child is Boy or Girl as Gender Experiment

In an interview with newspaper Svenska Dagbladet in March, a Swedish couple said they are refusing to disclose whether their two-and-a-half-year-old child, called "Pop" in the media, is a boy or a girl. They said that their decision, made at the time of the child's birth, was based on the feminist theory that "gender" is a "cruel" "social construct" that forces children into artificial roles.

"We want Pop to grow up more freely and avoid being forced into a specific gender mould from the outset," Pop's mother said. "It's cruel to bring a child into the world with a blue or pink stamp on their forehead." The parents say they never use personal pronouns, referring to him or her only as Pop.

"I believe that the self-confidence and personality that Pop has shaped will remain for a lifetime," said the mother.

Swedish English-language paper The Local, quoted "gender equality consultant" Kristina Henkel who justified the parents' action, saying if they are doing this "because they want to create a discussion with other adults about why gender is important, then I think they can make a point of it."

But critics say that similar experiments with children have had tragic consequences. In 2004, David Reimer, a man who had been raised as a girl in childhood, committed suicide at the age of 38. Reimer's parents had been convinced by Dr. John Money, a gender studies specialist at Johns Hopkins University, to impose "gender reassignment therapy" on their son after a botched circumcision. 

Reimer became widely known after the publication of a book about his life titled, "As Nature Made Him: The Boy Who Was Raised as a Girl." He appeared on the Oprah Winfrey show in order to prevent other such experiments.

Starting in the 1960s, the topic of "gender roles" and "sex stereotyping" became one of great interest to radical feminist theorists. At that time, the concept of a "psychological" gender was popularized, leading to the concept in "queer theory" and "gender theory," of the "transsexual" - a person who believes he is born in the "wrong body" and whose "congenital defect" can be corrected with surgery and hormone treatments. Gender theorists have posited as many as eleven "psychological genders."

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Kid is screwed.