Neanderpundit

here.

Steve usually writes well, but this is above average. Money quote:

We all know conservatives give more than liberals, as a general rule, even as we complain about high taxes. We’re not complaining because we want to hoard our money. We’re just asking for the right to decide whom to give it to, instead of putting the decision in the hands of godless bureaucrats who reward laziness, perversion, dishonesty, and other evil traits. We know that private citizens do a better job of just about everything, and that includes giving.

Go see this Youtube post at OAG.

Don’t know why it plays on Kelly’s site, but Youtube has removed it. Enjoy it while you can.

Because scatology need not only involve poo

Anyway, in 76, I was visiting the Henry Ford with the rents, (Back then it was called “Henry Ford’s Museum”)and we had spent an afternoon in Windsor, looking at those kooky Canadians.

It had rained, and was still wet, and I was wearing jeans, a dago T, and water buffalo sandals

As I sloshed my nearly bare feet through puddles I held my left arm by my side, and my right arm at an angle like a bodybuilder flexing. See, I had a boil under that arm, and it hurt like hell. I’m not afraid to say that putting my arm down nearly made me weep in pain- it was a doozy of a boil.

Anyway, we were only going to be in Windsor for a couple of hours so we went to get some souveniers. I bought a small tin box with a mountie silkscreened on top, which had a similarly decorated handkerchief inside. My sister got a pair of gaudy earrings, and I think I also got a little cast iron cannon.

We’re walking along the shore, looking across the river at Detroit, and I felt the strong urge to scratch my armpit. As I lifted my arm and began gingerly touching the boil, it burst with some force, squirting a stream of pus and crap… into the hair of a short woman passing by.

I started to stop her to tell her, and thought, discretion being the better part and all, to shut the fuck up and move on.

I moved away from our group and squeezed out the balance of the crap, as best i could, and stuffed my (New!) handkerchief under my armpit to stem the tide of blood that was now draining there.

I was able to put my arm down for the rest of our trip, which was nice. I still have the tin box, I think, but the handkerchief got thrown out that very day.

I often wonder what happened when that woman returned home to find a big glob of pus in her hair.

Memreeez.