Neanderpundit

While visiting our downunder friend Dirk Thruster at Arm the Insane,(should be a regular read of yours, if it isn’t already) I stumbled onto a link to Jerry Pournelle! My first thoughts were… Well, hell, let me just copy/paste the Email:

Hello! My name is (og). I have a teeny website called
neanderpundit.com.I have a sometimes reader who calls himself Dirk
Thruster,
whose website has a link to yours.

That is how I got here.

On first arriving here, my thoughts were, in this order:

“Holy crap, Jerry Pournelle is still alive?”
“Holy crap, he has a website?”
“Holy crap, he’s Conservative?”
“Holy crap, he actually POSTS his EMAIL ADDRESS?”

Having survived those shockers, I only want to say that I have enjoyed your work over the years, and to thank you for the entertainment you have provided.
I write neanderpundit.com for my own amusement. I am extremely pleased when it amuses anyone else.(one of my three readers) I have read your essay on “how to get my job” and frankly, I don’t want it. I couldn’t handle the cut in pay nor the agita. And I can’t write worth a damn, I’m just a hillbilly.
I’m fairly sure I have a couple of books in me, but I’ve been talking
with a neurosurgeon about surgically extracting them. Best for all, really.

Best wishes, and keep up the excellent work. And welcome to the
blogroll (I hate the word Blog. Oooh, how I hate it)

Og

His response:

I may have invented the blog. But not that ugly name.

Thanks

Anyway, he’s got a great website, lots of cool stuff, and he has his head out of his ass on the issues of Iraq and Islam, it’s a good read. Another one of those guys you don’t expect. And don’t expect to be all the cool things he is.
Get your ass over there, read his stuff, and buy all his books. NOW!

And welcome to the blogroll, Mr Pournelle. It’s an honor to link to you.

Made spaghetti & meatballs last night. Sampled the sauce all afternoon as it cooked. Woke with what can only be described as death dealing hell farts. The acid in the sauce gave them an acridity you usually don’t experience, and the meatballs were- well, freaky. I hit the john before five, and am happy to have made it in time.

At least until he can fart properly again.

My uncle Calvin was showing me his blackberries one day, and cut forth with a long drawn out series of what, for lack of a better word, I call “motorboat farts”. Dry and droll as ever, he remarked ‘A man can fart like that, can’t be too much wrong with him”

I tend to agree. Fart well, Aman. And we’re looking forward to a Fartcast. Which is like a podcast, only without the aroma.