In Congress, July 4, 1776

What's With These Leftist Pricks...

...desecrating our war memorials on Memorial Day Weekend?

And here, also.

We Don't Have the Whole Story, Lawyer Says

That would be the lawyer for Scott Compton, the Chapin, SC teacher who stomped on a US flag as part of an English class.

The action was an effort to convey symbolism by showing America “is greater than the material objects that represent it,” said Darryl Smalls, attorney for suspended teacher Scott Compton.

Compton sought to generate discussion “using a powerful symbol with which all his students would be familiar,” Smalls said. “He made only positive comments about America throughout the lesson.”

I imagine it went something like this:

*Compton walks over, takes down flag from wall* Let me illustrate with the flag, the one we say the Pledge of Allegiance to every morning. Now, as a symbol of the United States, we should treat it with a degree of respect, which of course will vary according to the individual's intelligence and level of indoctrination by the State, the State in this case meaning the entire country, and not just South Carolina. But if you take the symbolism away from it, it's just a rectangular, colored piece of cloth. No different than a handkerchief you blow you nose in, or a diaper a baby poops in.

So if I were to drop this cloth on the floor (drops flag onto floor) it wouldn't be disrespectful, right? It's just an object, a thing. And if I then proceeded to stomp on this thing, like so: *STOMP STOMP* I'm not making a statement, right? I mean, it's just a thing, *STOMP STOMP* Not the flag of the country I love. Right? Now if I stomped on it as a symbol of the country I love, it would be disrespectful. But remember, it's just a thing. *STOMP STOMP*And by the way, this is good exercise, too! Really gets the ol' heart pumping! *STOMP STOMP*(puts flag back on bracket) Now, our next class will continue with our discussion of symbols, in which I'll immerse a cross-shaped object in a symbolic jar of urine...

They're Made In China, Now

Just like most everything else is, these days. I refer to Official Cub Scout Knives, and Official Boy Scout Knives. I recently picked up a sample of the Cub Scout Knife off of eBay for $20.

Pic:



Fit and finish on this Chinese-made knife are excellent. Right out of the box I noticed that the leather punch didn't close properly, and required a little bending to allow it to slip inside properly, but I've seen the same from US-manufactured knives. Blades are all stainless steel rather than carbon steel, saddening to an old-timer like me who grew up with knives that developed a patina with use. Handle scales are dyed bone, and the Cub Scout logo inletted into the scale appears to be brass or bronze. The main blade came with the same sort of utility edge these knives have always been shipped with, even from the US factories; a few strokes on an A. G. Russell crock stick and the blade was hair-popping sharp.

The Chinese seem to have problems getting the bottle openers on these sort of knives correct, mainly getting the catch hook curved and pointed enough to catch on a bottle cap; I have three Chinese-made knives with bottle openers: this one, a Boy Scout pattern made for Kissing Crane, and another Boy Scout pattern made for Rough Rider, and all three have crappy bottle openers. On this Cub Scout knife I used a round diamond hone to re-shape the catch hook to make it easier to open bottles, although I may have taken too much metal off. We'll see.

A well-made knife for one of today's Cub Scouts. If I myself regret that the knives aren't made in the US any more, young scouts of today probably won't even notice, since anything associated with patriotism isn't taught any longer in US public schools (and the boy couldn't carry his knife into school any more without being arrested as a dangerous criminal).

Just...sad, when you think about it. Good knife, though.

Independence Day: Republican Propaganda!

That's how Harvard University views it, anyway.

h/t Drudge Report.

To My Fellow Veterans...

...a blessed and happy Veteran's Day to you, whether you served during peacetime, as I did, or served in combat, as I did not. To all those currently serving: my thoughts are with you, be safe out there, wherever it might be.

With Liberty and Justice For All...

...except in Chancery Court Judge Littlejohn's courtroom, where failure to recite the Pledge of Allegiance can find you jailed for contempt.

And yah, it didn't happen in San Francisco, as you might expect, but in good ol' Mississippi.

It'd be interesting to know if Judge Littlejohn was an elected or appointed judge. I'm guessing elected. In any event he has no understanding of the First Amendment.

Faced With Government Inefficiency and Incompetence...

...some people rather than grumble and complain will turn to and fix the problems themselves.

A heartwarming tale of an ex-soldier who, confronted by his local government's inability to fix minor problems such as broken park benches, fixed them himself.

Afraid To Fly Your Country's Flag

That would be the United Kingdom.

England is the least patriotic nation in Europe as people are too scared of being branded racist to fly the flag.

Over-the-top political correctness, loss of national identity, and worrying about being judged when expressing pride in the country are the main reasons behind the findings, according to a study.

Six per cent of Englishmen and women said they were 'scared' to fly the national flag and one in six fear they will be told to take it down.

Just one in three knew St George's Day was on Friday and more than 40 per cent had no idea why he is the patron saint.

The statistics emerged from a report commissioned by This England magazine, which took in the opinions of 5,820 adults in nine major countries.

Editor Stephen Garnett said: ‘We're incredibly disappointed that English people are afraid of displaying the St George's Cross on our patron saint's day.

‘We want to reclaim the flag from extremists by asking as many people as possible, no matter what background they come from, to fly it.

‘People who love living in England shouldn't feel afraid of showing their pride.

‘The more we display the St George's flag, the more we can drown out the voices of the extreme minority and reclaim the flag as a sign of national pride, not racism.’

Let's have a bit of an antidote to that story, shall we?

John Greenleaf Whittier. 1807–1892

Barbara Frietchie

UP from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,

The clustered spires of Frederick stand
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.

Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple and peach tree fruited deep,

Fair as a garden of the Lord
To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,

On that pleasant morn of the early fall
When Lee marched over the mountain wall,—

Over the mountains winding down,
Horse and foot, into Frederick town.

Forty flags with their silver stars,
Forty flags with their crimson bars,

Flapped in the morning wind: the sun
Of noon looked down, and saw not one.

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;

Bravest of all in Frederick town,
She took up the flag the men hauled down;

In her attic-window the staff she set,
To show that one heart was loyal yet.

Up the street came the rebel tread,
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.

Under his slouched hat left and right
He glanced: the old flag met his sight.

"Halt!"—the dust-brown ranks stood fast,
"Fire!"—out blazed the rifle-blast.

It shivered the window, pane and sash;
It rent the banner with seam and gash.

Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf;

She leaned far out on the window-sill,
And shook it forth with a royal will.

"Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,
But spare your country's flag," she said.

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
Over the face of the leader came;

The nobler nature within him stirred
To life at that woman's deed and word:

"Who touches a hair of yon gray head
Dies like a dog! March on!" he said.

All day long through Frederick street
Sounded the tread of marching feet:

All day long that free flag tost
Over the heads of the rebel host.

Ever its torn folds rose and fell
On the loyal winds that loved it well;

And through the hill-gaps sunset light
Shone over it with a warm good-night.

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er,
And the Rebel rides on his raids no more.

Honor to her! and let a tear
Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave,
Flag of Freedom and Union, wave!

Peace and order and beauty draw
Round thy symbol of light and law;

And ever the stars above look down
On thy stars below in Frederick town!

Well, What Did You Expect?

He had to be shamed into wearing a flag lapel pin, so of course he'll have to shamed into flying a flag in Haiti.

Patriot of the Year Award...

...goes to Karl Winn of Taunton, Somerset (UK). Mr. Winn, the head of a net design company, would rather employ pedophiles than military veterans:


Karl Winn, 60, said he would rather 'recruit ex-drug dealers, convicts and child molesters' than employ former servicemen or women.

His comments came after he was contacted by Forces Recruitment Services and asked if he would consider taking on ex-soldiers at his net design company Webeurope.

Mr Winn, of Taunton, Somerset, wrote back: 'Personally, I'd rather recruit ex-drug dealers, convicts and even child molesters rather than consider anybody who has been in the pay of the British Government.'

'Anybody who has been in the pay of such a military force, and by their silence and complicity has condoned such illegal and immoral actions while accepting a monthly bloodstained pay-packet , certainly won't be considered for employment by us.'

'The reality for the families of their victims is that there will never be any justice, and there never will be any closure, for the loss of a son, a husband, a child, or a family member who has fallen victim to British Military personnel who are going beyond 'just doing their job'.

Time for a little Kipling, I think:

TOMMY by Rudyard Kipling

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!

Dulce et Decorum Est...

...Pro Patria Mori.

A soldier killed in Afghanistan heard (sic) wrote a letter before his death saying there was ''no greater honour'' than to die for his country, mourners at his funeral were told.

The Roman phrase in the blog post title comes from the Roman poet Horace: It is glorious and honorable to die for one's country. If you click on the link, you'll see that there has long been a debate about these words and this sentiment, with many holding them to be literally true, and many others calling them "the old lie" and its adherents fools. It is the title of one of Wilfred Owen's most famous poems:

DULCE ET DECORUM EST

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.

8 October 1917 - March, 1918


Let's have a poll:

It Is Glorious And Honorable To Die For One's Country
	Agree
	Disagree
pollcode.com free polls

Happy Birthday

It's the birthday of our first President, George Washington.

In honor of his birthday let's watch a short clip from An American Carol, in which Michael Malone (a slightly disguised Michael Moore) meets the ghost of Washington, played wonderfully by Jon Voight. The film was a political satire from a conservative viewpoint and most of the actors mailed in their performances, but Voight played it straight in his portrayal of our first President. This scene had me rubbing my watering eyes in the theater when I saw it there:



And for something even more strange and delightful, this animated short film of Washington that was popular on the blogs a few years ago:



Happy Birthday, Mr. President. Wish you were here to offer us all some advice.

"They Are All Dead Anyway..."

...so piss on 'em.

The sort of thing that results when patriotism is denigrated and patriots are viewed as naïfs.

Arrest, Contusions or Shame

For the man who burned a VFW post's US flag because they refused him alcohol, the choice was easy.

Thus:



h/t Bore Patch.

Only The King Can Wear That Tat

A patriotic Swedish woman (oxymoron?) can't wear the Swedish National Coat of Arms as a tattoo because the crest is reserved for the use of the King of Sweden.

It would make him easy to identify, I suppose, probably much easier than simply not being covered in shit (skip ahead to 1:50 to see the pertinent section):