Sunday, August 30, 2009

C'mon! Let's Be Real!

I'm hearing all the standard moaning and groaning about the death of Ted Kennedy, and the recriminations against those who point out the many dangerous, irresponsible and downright evil things he's done. Don't speak ill of the dead.

I'm not going to attempt to list all the nasty and damaging things done by this man in life; it would make this entry unreadable in its sheer length. Nor will I attempt to list the relatively few good things in his legacy.

I'll rather address the fact that his admirers and partisans, deluded as they may be, are trying to suppress mention and comment on the man's many failings. Leaving aside the drunkenness and the philandering; the reckless partying that led to (at least) one death, he has been a parasite 'pon all those of us who actually work productively, and has diminished us all throughout his life.

As a Senator from one of the most politically corrupt states in the country, he has worked tirelessly for decades to separate earnings from those who work productively. Simultaneously, he has tried to leave no means unutilized to harass and shackle those who would be productive and innovative.

If there has ever been a tax hike Kennedy has opposed, I've never heard of it. If Kennedy has ever stood up against the excesses of a teachers' union or an industrial union, it has slipped right past me. If Kennedy has ever stood up for the rights of the individual, it's never been recorded.

That I've been able to find.

Kennedy, like all socialists, was an expert at piling individuals into groups, and pitting each group against the others for his own aggrandizement.

But if Ted Kennedy's death ends his personal tapping of the country's wealth, even that will help. Sadly, he will soon be replaced by another just like him, and a once-free country will continue to sink into the dark hole that is national socialism.

They've killed Freedom! Those bastards!

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

Monday, August 17, 2009

My One Day At Court

Several days ago, I was required to go to the Superior Court of the City of Los Angeles, possibly to sit on a jury. I've had jury duty before, and only once was I selected to be a juror. The case ended up being decided by means of a misstatement by the plaintiff, which proved the defendant innocent.

This time, I listened once again to the lengthy and repetitive blather about not allowing anything not heard in the courtroom influence me, and not speaking to anyone once placed on a case. Interesting how government drones are so certain that all of us are stupid. It must be caused by their view of their fellow drones.

At length, I was part of a panel chosen for a trial. I was #27 in a panel of thirty-six.

The prosecutor looked like a 60-year-old Telly Savalas. His assistant looked like a not-too-pretty 30-year-old Jewish girl. The defense attorney was an ever-so-typical Jewish-looking 40-year old who had a balding patch where his yarmulke would normally go. The judge was a 55-ish white guy who, though he seemed affable enough, gave no clues as to his degree of fairness or of intelligence.

The one standout in the little drama was the defendant. He was a black man, about 40 or so, about 6' 3", fit and slender, handsome but tough looking. He was wearing a black pin-stripe suit a bit out of style. He sat stoically at the defense table and said nothing; showed nothing.

As the attorneys detailed the charge and what each intended to say in court, I became more and more disturbed. The defendant was charged with possession of cocaine with intent to sell, and mentioned that the defendant had $44 in his pocket. I'm not sure of the relevance of the money.

The judge questioned the first 24 prospective jurors about their prejudices and their experiences vis a vis the police, crime and the law. The defense attorney asked about their opinions on race and whether the defendant would have to testify. There was more, but to me it was all irrelevant.

The man was not alleged to have harmed anyone. If he did what they said, he merely possessed a commodity, and was attempting to sell the goods at a profit. In reason, there is no way that can be a crime. The truth is, for those of us who are aware that there really was history prior to our own birth, that anti-drug laws were originally imposed to control black people.

They dismissed a few of the first 24 candidates, and chose a jury from the rest, not including those of us numbered 25 through 36.

I find myself wondering, had I been picked for the jury, how things would've shook out when I refused to convict based on the unjustness of the law.

They've killed Freedom! Those bastards!

Warm regards,
Col. Hogan

Sunday, August 02, 2009

Adventures In The Mediterranean

I've always kind of regretted that I left the sea when I left the Navy, those many years ago. I've always loved the idea of sailing, especially of traveling by sailboat. I don't (regrettably) have any experience with sailboats, but in the Navy days I was occasionally engineer on a 50' power utility boat. I always enjoyed working on the utility boats. One of those really fun jobs!

Once in the seas south of Mallorca, we had to make a transfer of some people and supplies from one carrier--my ship, the USS Saratoga to another--the USS FD Roosevelt.

Turns out, the swells were about 20 feet--which the aircraft carriers didn't even notice, but the utility boats did.

I had the bow line, I was standing 'pon the foredeck ready to tie up as we approached the Roosevelt, and as we made our approach, a massive swell kicked the boat up and toward the side of the Roosevelt. The swell ebbed suddenly, leaving me about ten feet in the air, just holding onto that line for dear life!

The next swell brought the boat back up, violently (as far as my body was concerned). The boat surged upward as I fell downward, with painful results. I landed hard on the foredeck and managed to hang on. I got up and tied the line off and got back into the hold before the next big swell, which banged the boat into the side of Roosevelt. It knocked everyone off his feet but the Bosun, who was hanging on to the wheel. I still remember the bruises and muscle strains from that bit of acrobatics!

Ah, for the good ol' days!

The positive part of the story was liberty in Palma the next day. What a town!

From the Adventures of a wandering boy.

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California