Friday funny: Ninja vs. Monk

Normally, I find some random joke somebody sends me, something that has been around for years, worked on, tweaked, etc. This time, a news story just fell in to my lap that is so over-the-top stupid, I decided it deserved this spot. Get ready - you may need to put your head in a brace before reading this to cut down on neck pain (from headshaking).

China's Shaolin Temple has demanded a public apology from an Internet user who claimed a Japanese ninja beat its kung fu-practicing monks in a showdown, a lawyer said Friday.

To be honest, I'm not sure why all this gnashing of teeth is taking place. Jack Bauer could beat them all down. With his eyelash.

Shadow puppets

This is cool.



Hat tip: lilmd

Poem

Walking softly
never slowly;
part of me leaving
never this quickly.

Perhaps I will stop,
present a smile;
woefully I go
to again find my way.

Now in these hours
tall days, short nights;
finding my way
til time is done.

Adam's disease

From here on, I'm dubbing this kind of stuff Adam's disease:

A security video from an apartment hallway shows at least 10 witnesses ignored a woman's cries for help for more than an hour as a man beat and sexually assaulted her, prosecutors in Minnesota said.

The surveillance video clearly showed men and women looking out their apartment doors or starting to walk down the hallway before retreating as the woman was assaulted for nearly 90 minutes, police spokesman Tom Walsh said.

Police said they responded to a call of drunken behavior and found Somali immigrant Rage Ibrahim, 25, and a woman lying unconscious in the hallway early Tuesday. The woman's clothing had been pulled up and she had fresh scratches on her face and blood on her thigh, according to the criminal complaint.

If you haven't figured out which Adam I'm talking about:

When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. Genesis 3:6

I've heard the phrase "too many chiefs, not enough indians" used many times. My question now is, where are all the chiefs? One person is all it would have most likely taken to put an immediate end to this.

We've been conditioned, as a society, to do nothing. To sit back and let somebody else (usually government) handle the mess. How sad...

Will they print me?

In yesterday's AJC, the lead editorial was about the recent over-turning of a gun ban in Kennesaw city parks. Maureen Downey writes:

GeorgiaCarry.org is a pro-gun group with a dangerous agenda that would appall most Georgians: It wants gun owners to be able to strap on their pistols and bring them to church, to county commission meetings and to your child's Little League game. It wants bans lifted on guns at bars, political rallies or even at the annual Georgia-Georgia Tech showdown.

Its Web site does not mince words: "All we want is to be able to move freely about our society, welcomed by our community as armed men and women."

To that end, a GeorgiaCarry lawyer is threatening suit against communities that ban guns from parks for protection of the children who play there, including Kennesaw and Coweta County. GeorgiaCarry.org argues that only the state can regulate firearms and that any local ordinances outlawing guns in parks are illegal.

Kennesaw capitulated to the group's demand, rescinding this month its ordinance banning the carrying of firearms in parks. While the Cobb community vows to fight the issue in the Legislature, it would have been better off to have followed Coweta County's example and taken the dispute to court.

She goes on to cite two things in her pro-gun law piece - a 1999 FBI report on crimes involving guns and a case in South Atlanta (not quoted above, click on the link to read the full op-ed). I had already made my decision to submit some sort of rebuttal, but that AJC limits (or prefers that you limit) letters to the editor to less than 150 words. Therefore, I submitted the following (and have yet to see it printed - not holding my breath):

Concerning the recent editorial regarding Kennesaw's efforts to ban guns in their city parks, I offer these rebuttals.

The writer cites a case involving a gang shooting in a Clayton county park. Does the editorial board really think that gang members care whether or not they can have a gun at a park or anyplace else that firearms are prohibited? Only law abiding citizens will obey the law and thus disarm themselves.

The writer also cites a 1999 FBI report (killing in self-defense), but not all self-defense uses of a firearm end with the criminal dead. What about the case in Memphis in July of last year, when an armed citizen stopped a knife-wielding robber without ever firing a shot? Surely this case would count as a proper use of a firearm in self-defense, yet it would not be recorded or reported in the FBI's report because the perpetrator was not killed.

If something turns up in the weekend papers, I'll definitely add it.

Friday funny: Scared Soldier

Rated G, from Rev. Gordon:

Chelsea Clinton recently went on a tour of Baghdad. As she was being led around by an officer, she asked him, "Aren't you worried about your safety while you're over here?"

"No," he replied.

"But don't the suicide bombers and the insurgents scare you?" She continued.

"No," he said.

She persisted, "Surely, they must scare you a little."

He stopped and looked her in the eye and said, "Miss Clinton, there are only three things in this world that worry me, Osama, Obama and Yo' Mama!"

My Code Monkey

I'm posting this in honor of finding a programmer for my senior project. Rated PG-13 for one bit of language (that could have been left out) and lots of ogling.

Banging my drum some more

Not much I can add to this one. Pretty much speaks for itself.
Hat tip: Xavier

Again with the questions?!

Now that I've been all insightful and everything, time to return to a snarkiness for just a moment.

In a previous post around this time last year, I lamented the fact that I had postponed physics until that late in the game, thus meaning I was subjected to sitting in class with a lot of freshmen. And their questions. Alotta danged questions. Alotta danged ridiculous questions, like "how will I be graded" (same as in high school!), "how many questions will be on the tests" (find out when you get there!), and "who invented the question mark" (I did, and I'm claiming copyright infringement!).

This brings me to last night. I'm in a course primarily composed of juniors and seniors. Folks that have generally figured this whole college thing out. They know what's important. They know when the teacher is a talker to not encourage things, especially when the air conditioning isn't working, a Braves game is on, and I haven't eaten since lunch.

But there's always one... "What kind of format will your tests be?"



There's a time and place for this question. It's during the review before the test! It's in her office outside of class time! It's for after the Braves have choked and lost in the postseason! For that matter, it's for just about any other time other than the first day of class!!!

Coda

Yesterday began my final semester, possibly ever of college. While I haven't ruled out grad school, I definitely won't be doing that 1) anytime soon; or 2) on my own dime.

Here's the real kicker for me - I still don't know why God had me do this. I haven't verbally witnessed to many (though I would like to think my example has witnessed quite loudly). Maybe that's yet to come. Maybe I've been defiant all 4 of these years, persuing this for my glory and not His (I highly doubt that - I've wanted to quit far too many times). Perhaps this is simply step one... I could "maybe" and "perhaps" myself to death on this one.

In college the first time, as a music major, one of my professors referred to the coda of a musical piece as "the last big push before the end." Walking across campus yesterday, that's what it felt like. Four years ago, this very semester, I began my little song and dance with Southern Polytechnic. Four years ago, I only thought it would take 2 years, maybe 3. Four years ago, I was dumb.

Now, depending on who you ask in my Sunday School class, I'm still dumb. But that's another post...

Not so much paranoia anymore...

This is starting to get spooky.

Last Friday, my friend was at home with his son. It was around noon, and he took his son upstairs to lay him down for his afternoon nap. When he came back downstairs, the doorbell rang. Thinking that it was a saleman or Jehovah's Witnesses, he decided to not answer the door. A few minutes later, the doorbell rang again. Thinking it was just persistent Jehovah's Witnesses, he didn't answer again. And then, almost like a child playing a prank, the doorbell rang several times over, repeatedly. At this point, his Spidey-senses starting to tingle, he went to check the front door and could only see a guy walking away.

My friend went upstairs to see if he could get a view of the guy or what car he was driving, but didn't see him or any car along the road. When he was returning downstairs, he finally saw him...

...as he was trying to remove the screen to his window!

My friend yelled at him from an upstairs window and the guy split. The cops were called, but didn't catch the guy - though he is suspected to be working at a nearby site.

My friend is now the proud owner of a Mossberg 500 20 ga. pump shotgun - both Chuck Hawks and Massad Ayoob think this is the best to get in that caliber.

Lessons to be learned:

1) Yes, it can and most likely will happen to you. Deal with it.
2) Have a plan. It may seem paranoid and odd at first, but in a situation such as this, panic will set in. A simple "get upstairs and grab your cell phone" plan would suffice - the idea is to create great distance between you and the threat quickly AND get your loved ones to a safe place. Think strategically - long hallways and stairs can provide you with max protection while leaving Mr. Baddie fully exposed.
3) Once your immediate safety has been secured, call the cavalry. Get them there quickly.
4) If you choose to arm yourself with a gun - keep it handy, know how to use it, know when to use it, know how to keep it out of wrong hands (especially small ones). In my opinion, this should occur as part of "securing your safety," which means you have this in your hands before you dial 911.

Man's best friend

The Dogs of War:

When he came to, the Marine's arm hung lamely. It was broken by ball bearings hurled so hard from a suicide bomb that they also became embedded in his gun. Yet Brendan Poelaert's thoughts quickly turned to his patrol dog.

The powerful Belgian Malinois named Flapoor had served him as partner and protector for the past four months in Iraq. Now, the dog staggered a few steps along the Ramadi street, then stared blankly. Blood poured from his chest.

"I didn't care about my injuries," his handler says. "I'm telling the medic, 'I got to get my dog to the vet!'"

Hanky warning for this last part:

Regardless of war's dangers, these dogs are fearless. For them, checking a road for bombs means a fun walk, their handlers say. "They like what they do," said Poelaert, who has returned to Exeter, N.H.

These days, he's trying to move beyond memories of the Ramadi explosion, which killed dozens of people, including his best friend, fellow handler Adam Cann.

But one image still inspires him: the sight of Cann's wounded dog stretched over his body —- to protect him.

Paranoia?

It's been a while since I've beaten my 2nd Ammendment drum, and there's no better story than this one, for one reason - it happened to an acquaintance.

A man who police said broke into an Army officer's south Augusta house to steal guns was fatally shot Wednesday by the soldier living there.

Capt. Barre Bollinger, an Iraq war veteran, told police he returned from work about 3:30 p.m. and found his house had been ransacked, said Richmond County sheriff's Investigator Thomas Johnson.

Capt. Bollinger told police he entered his bedroom and noticed that guns were missing.

He grabbed his SKS rifle - a weapon similar to an AK-47 assault rifle - and called 911, Investigator Johnson said.

"While on the phone with 911, he sees the suspect approaching his back door. Because he believes the man now is armed with his stolen weapons, Mr. Bollinger fires at him three times," Investigator Johnson said.

The good Captain has been a commenter on GeorgiaPacking.org recently and has relayed his own version of went down:

i haven't spoken publicly about this until recently. i thought it best for the folks (on both sides) to calm down a bit first.

it seems some of you have questions. that's understandable from what little the media had. i think it's important to share this story now because someone besides me may be able to learn from my experience.

i'm a soldier attending graduate school level training at fort gordon for my functional area. i came home from school around 3:30 pm. this was not "early" like the paper mistakenly portrayed, in fact it's kind of late. we are usually done with class by noon, so we can go complete the 4-8 hours of reading and homework required per night.

i entered my home, and went in the bedroom like every day to take off my uniform top. my LCD projector that is normally on top of a computer desk was laying on the floor. i remember thinking to myself how odd that was, and wondering how often georgia had earthquakes, heh. then i looked around the room, and saw the bed mattress half way off the bed. i then noticed that my .45 i kept in a holster on my nightstand was gone.

at this point, i knew i'd been burglarized. my first thought was to arm myself. i didn't know if the BG was still around. i went to my computer desk to get my glock 22, but it was missing as well.

i then went to a spot where i kept an SKS hidden (folding poly stock, 30 rnd mag). i locked and loaded the weapon and immediately dialed 911. i talked to the dispatcher on my cell phone in my left hand. i pistol-carried the SKS in my right...clearing my house room to room.

while clearing i saw the general disarray of my home, and also noticed a pile of high value items that the BG had obviously created on the floor. as i realized what this meant, it came true. through a window, i saw the BG coming back. from my neighbors backyard, he jumped the fence into my backyard. he was thugged out with tats, dreads, wife-beater, pants below his ass, and carrying a trash bag.

he opened my back porch (enclosed) door and came inside. he then made his way to the door into my den (where i was in the dark) and began to open it. as he was coming in, i told dispatch i had to assume he was still armed, and that i was going to have to shoot. i placed 3 rounds center mass and he dropped to the floor. he was still alive, coherent, but paralyzed. he asked why i'd killed him. even while dying, his first instinct was to lie. he explained that he was just a concerned neighbor coming to check things out after he saw a burglar. then, as he started to fade, he said he was trying to change his life. i kept my weapon trained on him, and stayed on the phone with the 911 dispatcher until the first LEO arrived.

the first LEO came around the corner with weapon drawn, i motioned to come on in, and he did. i placed my weapon on safe, put it out of reach of anyone, and assisted/cooperated with them as best as i could. this was my first major dealing with any LEO's besides a traffic ticket. i have to say that these guys and gals from the Richmond County Sherrif's Office were extremely professional, courteous, and calming. the medics were johnny-on-the spot as well. they both arrived quickly, and took charge of the situation with clear heads even though there was another shooting happening a few blocks away at the same time. you see a lot of skepticism when it comes to police in the world today, but i'm glad these guys are out there and on our side.

the burglar was carrying a false identity, but they later discovered him to be my next door neighbor's son, a 29 year old convict out on parole. he died within the hour after arriving at a local hospital. investigators searched his house and found my weapons and other items that were stolen (checkbooks, watch, camcorder, etc.). they also found drugs in his room (no, they were not mine as the paper vaguely made it seem). i had all my belongings back before the night was over.

lesson 1: BG's can come in your house any time of day. apparently they don't just sneak in at 2 a.m or when you are out of town anymore.

lesson 2: get a CCW and always carry. i didn't have a CCW permit at the time, and it could have cost me my life if i'd come home just a few minutes earlier. those guns that i kept around to protect me couldn't because of my lack of foresight. i now carry 24/7 unless i'm on post (where it's not allowed). even at home i either carry or always have a weapon within arms length.

lesson 3: use a safe(s). before they found my weapons, i worried that my lack of security might allow some accomplice BG to be doing bad things to good people. i now have multiple safes and use them for all but my carry weapon.

lesson 4: know the law. i didn't. even though it's probably not something you'll stop to think about in a life threatening situation, it's the responsible thing to do as a gun owner and a good citizen. i found myself wondering if i'd be one of those stories you hear about where they turn the victim into the criminal. fortunately for me the LEO's present assured me that i was within my rights, and said they'd have done the same thing i did. for those wondering, GA law has a castle doctrine that extends to all 4 corners of the yard.

lesson 5: always keep that cell phone on ya. they come in handy.

lesson 6: it was a brady bunch gun that kept me safe in my time of need. its folding stock was extemely important in allowing me to multi-task and CQC maneuver through the halls. the 30 round magazine was not abused...only 3 shots fired.

lesson 7: this wasn't the first time i'd seen what 7.62x39 can do, but it was the first time i'd seen it outgoing instead of incoming. it's good to know it works both ways. it's definitely an effective home defense round. however...be conscious of your backplane. these went completely through a body, the metal of a screen door, and into a wooden deck floor before coming to rest.

Friday Funny: Baby Pictures

Rated R - very misunderstood adult situation and innuendo


The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to
use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the
proxy father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife goodbye and
said, "Well, I'm off now. The man should be here soon."

Half an hour later, just by chance, a door-to-door baby
photographer happened to ring the doorbell, hoping to make a sale.
"Good morning, Ma'am", he said, "I've come to..."

"Oh, no need to explain," Mrs. Smith cut in, embarrassed, "I've
been expecting you."

"Have you really?" said the photographer. "Well, that's good.
Did you know babies are my specialty?"

"Well that's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and
have a seat".

After a moment she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?"

"Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub,
one on the couch, and perhaps a couple on the bed. And sometimes
the living room floor is fun. You can really spread out there."

"Bathtub, living room floor? No wonder it didn't work out for
Harry and me!"

"Well, Ma'am, none of us can guarantee a good one every time.
But if we try several different positions and I shoot from six or
seven angles, I'm sure you'll be pleased with the results."

"My, that's a lot!", gasped Mrs. Smith.

"Ma'am, in my line of work a man has to take his time. I'd love to
be in and out in five minutes, but I'm sure you'd be
disappointed with that."

"Don't I know it," said Mrs. Smith quietly.

The photographer opened his briefcase and pulled out a
portfolio of his baby pictures. "This was done on the top of a
bus," he said.

"Oh, my God!" Mrs. Smith exclaimed, grasping at her throat.

"And these twins turned out exceptionally well - when you
consider their mother was so difficult to work with."

"She was difficult?" asked Mrs. Smith.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. I finally had to take her to the park to
get the job done right. People were crowding around four and
five deep to get a good look"

"Four and five deep?" said Mrs. Smith, her eyes wide with
amazement.

"Yes", the photographer replied. "And for more than three hours,
too. The mother was constantly squealing and yelling - I could
hardly concentrate, and when darkness approached I had to rush
my shots. Finally, when the squirrels began nibbling on my
equipment, I just had to pack it all in."

Mrs. Smith leaned forward. "Do you mean they actually chewed on
your, uh...equipment? "

"It's true, Ma'am, yes.. Well, if you're ready, I'll set-up my
tripod and we can get to work right away."

"Tripod?"

"Oh yes, Ma'am. I need to use a tripod to rest my Canon on. It's
much too big to be held in the hand very long."

Mrs. Smith fainted!!!!

Time for a new 'do

In this next installment of "why our house is always interesting," soon to be re-titled "why misawa is homeless," I bring you a conversation that occurred just last night. But first, a bit of background...

When I first met my Dearly Beloved in college (the first time), she would change her hairstyle usually every month or so. Now, when I say change, I'm not talking about going to the barber stylist and getting a trim - I'm talking changed. Of course, there's only so much it can change on a college budget, but when the chips are down and the bread is moldy... well, you can always just cut the mold off the bread - the hair would change.

And then finally, it happened - she settled on the style that "fit." This 'do has worked, with little maintenance except a trim here and there, for several years. Throw in some oil changes and tire rotations, it'll work for several more years.

Except now, it's time for a new one.

Her: Already smirking,"I think I want to change my hairstyle."
Me: Clenching, after sudden onset of desire to defecate on myself,"Okay...?"
Her: "Yeah, I think I want it more like..."
Me: Chaka-Khan?"... uh-huh..."
Her: "... you know, how what's her name's hair looks in..."
Me: Wonder how my fantasy baseball team is doing"...uh-huh..."
Her: "...but not like as short as that time when..."
Me: I need to pre-rank my players for my fantasy football league, too,"...uh-huh..."
Her: "... but I don't want it too long either..."
Me: I'm hungry,"Oh, of course not..."
Her: "EXACTLY! Now I just need to find a picture..."
Me: Ooh! I can pretend to be doing that while doing anything else,"Let me see what I can find."
Her: "That's too short. Too long. Too funky. Too short. Not short enough..."
Me, 4 score and 20 minutes later, after having looked through 9 pages of Google images of Kelly Clarkson's hairstyles: "Not sure you're hairstyle's in here, Poppett. Better luck next time!" I need some eyedrops
5 minutes later, she hands me a picture of THE hairstyle, which was in the liner to her Kelly Clarkson CD, also on pages 2, 6, 7, and 9 of Google images.

Beware the Red

This has just got bad idea written all over it:

Nicole Kidman, Julianne Moore, Marcia Cross. Who wouldn't want to look like any one of these three gorgeous redheads? Perhaps someone living in Britain, where being a redhead often means a lifetime of discrimination.

"Discrimination against redheads seems to be getting worse and worse," said Simon Cheetham, founder of www.redandproud.com, a Web site that seeks to counter discrimination against redheads -- called "gingers" in the U.K. --by honoring those with flaming tresses.

"In this politically correct world you can't say anything about people's religion or sexuality but it's still OK here in Britain to portray redheads in a negative manner," he said.

I know of at least one reader, should he choose to comment, that is married to a "ginger." I have, in my past life, dated a redhead.

They're just not people you'd want to bully.

Dude - they make inflatable ones!

Word of caution - this joke is rated R for adult situations. Go forth at your own peril...

A man buys several sheep, hoping to breed them for wool. After several weeks, he notices that none of the sheep are getting pregnant, and calls a vet for help. The vet tells him that he should try artificial insemination.
The guy doesn't have the slightest idea what this means but not wanting to display his ignorance, only asks the vet how he will know when the sheep are pregnant. The vet tells him that they will stop standing around and will lie down and wallow in the grass.

The man hangs up and gives it some thought. He comes to the conclusion that artificial insemination means he has to impregnate the sheep. So, he loads the sheep into his truck, drives them out into the woods, has sex with them all, brings them back, and goes to bed.

The next morning, he wakes and looks out at the sheep. Seeing that they are all still standing around, he concludes that the first try didn't take, and loads them in the truck again. He drives them out to the woods, bangs each sheep twice for good measure, brings them back, and goes to bed.

The next morning he wakes to find the sheep still just standing around. One more try, he tells himself, and proceeds to load them up and drive them out to the woods. He spends all day shagging the sheep and upon returning home, falls listlessly into bed.

The next morning, he cannot even raise himself from the bed to look at the sheep. He asks his wife to look out and tell him if the sheep are lying in the grass.

"No," she says, "they're all in the truck and one of them is honking the horn."

Have I gone colorblind?

So, I'm sitting at home, enjoying the time I have off before school begins in another week and a half by blasting some alien hide (read: playing Halo), when my Beloved Betrothed returns to our humble abode. Having already confessed earlier in the day to making an impulse buy while strolling through Kohl's, I decide to play good husband and inquire as to the contents in the bag:

Me: "Whatcha got there, Pookie?"
Her: "First of all..." thrusts price tag in my face, "... the whole price was less than this price tag of the pants!"
Me: Recovering from sticker shock, gasping for breath, kissing my falt panel TV goodbye...
Her: "...and I got this jacket, and pants, and this shirt to round it all out."
Me: Looking at all the new white clothing, "It's very... white."
Her: "It's not white."
Me: Eh?
Her: "It's not white."
Me: Closing one eye, "Uhhh..."
Her: Voice rising going up the scale, dog pees on itself, "It's NOT white!"
Me: Have I gone colorblind?"Okaaayyy..."
Her: "It's Winter-White."
Me: "Winter what?"
Her: "It's Winter-White. That way I can wear it after Labor Day."
Me: Huh, makes no sense to me. "Makes sense to me!"

Somebody dig up Jimmy Hoffa...

...and tell him his spirit lives on:

In a move that might make some people scratch their heads, a loosely formed coalition of left-leaning bloggers is trying to band together to form a labor union it hopes will help members receive health insurance, conduct collective bargaining or even set professional standards.

The effort is an extension of the blogosphere's growing power and presence, especially within the political realm, and for many, evokes memories of the early labor organization of freelance writers in the 1980s.

Organizers hope a bloggers' labor group will showcase not only the growing professionalism of the Web-based writers but also the importance of their roles in candidates' campaigns.

"I think people have just gotten to the point where people outside the blogosphere understand the value of what it is that we do on the progressive side," said Susie Madrak, author of the Suburban Guerrilla blog, who is active in the union campaign. "And I think they feel a little more entitled to ask for something now."

What a bunch of nincompoops!?

It does get me wondering, though - how would they strike? Stop blogging? Get real jobs? May not be such a bad idea after all.