Neanderpundit

The post below about people dancing like fucktards, and it’s connection to Vman, and one of his recent posts, brought a harmonic conversion of sorts which led me to this post.

Shut up, I’m tired.

Anyway, I had, for a while, an Indian physician. She was ncie enough, and very pretty, and I have to admit I’ve always wanted to hit me some indian chick. I think it’s the way they dance, those fucktarded dancers. THe days when that is possible are over, behind me forever. On the other hand, there was always the possibility this woman might have to give me a shortarm inspection, and the thought of her hands cupped around the boys saying, in her mild accent, “My, what an enormous scrotum you have!” gave me more than one major woodie.

One day she showed up in her surgery with the tightest pair of pants, showing off the most hideous granny-panty lines, and I decided that wasn’t for me. And I changed doctors.

Anyway, that brought me around to the fact that I only ever had one shortarm inspection ever, and that was from the local doctor- whose kid attended school with me- and it was to be allowed to play sports. Old Dr M- made me drop trou and reached in and jammed his fat boogerhooks up my inguinal canal, suggested I cough, and as I felt his hot breath onmy naked belly,, smelled the Alberto VO-5, the cheap booze… I decided I wasn’t interested in having a man touch me again, if I could help it. Been saving myself for Vman ever since.

Occasionally I need to remind one of my colleagues that we live, not in a democracy, but in a representative republic. I’m amazed the number of people who don’t get this: “And to the republic for which it stands”?

Anyway. A pure democracy is a clusterfuck; a committe. Nobody hateth a committe more than yours truly.

The point of a representative republic is to allow a group of duly elected officials, elected because their mores reflect the mores of the public who elected them, who make decisions and thrash out those decisions amongst themselves- but they have to bow to the will of their masters.

There has been a reversal of fortunes, even if only for a moment. Those whose power grew until they thought themselves masters, ruling elite, have rediscovered, again,. perhaps only for a minute, who the real masters are. Do we, as a nation, have the will to repeat this performance? to force our representatives to truly represent us? Monday I would have said no way. Friday, I think, maybe. Just maybe. And the horrid bussing issue shot down by the supremes? This has been a good week for conservatives, and it could be the shape of things to come.

All I can do is bask in the moment. Tomorrow? we’ll do what we can then too.

The world is full of them, and I’ve known my share.

years ago, i had a friend who was a staff photographer for one of the big CHicago papers. He also moonlighted as a crime scene photographer, and I got to help him, from time to time, at the latter of the two gigs. During that time, trust me, I saw some things I’d rather unsee, if I could.

Anyway, this was one cheap bastard, and a man after my own heart. IN 1981, thanks to Jimmah, Gas prices were nuts and diesel was the way to go. Cheap Bastard had recently converted his furnace from oil to natural gas, and still had quite a few gallons of fuel oil in his tank, He drained them out into watering cans, and unwilling to waste, poured the fuel into his 1981 Olds 98 diesel.

The diesel ran fine.

Home heating oil was still pretty cheap back then, so he decided to keep getting it filled. The oil guy was tickled to have the extra business, and the olds ran fine on the kerosene. So well, in fact, that Cheap bastard, who had experienced trouble with the diesel starting cold, decided to just leave the sonofabitch running all the time. To my knowledge, other than to change oil and filters, the Olds never got turned off from 1981 to 1984. At idle, it barely used any fuel, and diesels being coldblooded bastards anyway, it made more sense from a “start quickly and leave” standpoint.

Not one to let a car sit and idle and not benefit from the power, Cheap Bastard built a battery of batteries, and plugged them into the Olds’ charging circuit when he slept, and a power invertor yanked juice from the batteries to run lights in the house. AND he got a fuel allowance from work.

A cheap bastard, and man after my own heart, in many ways.