Horace

Once upon a time, there was a horse named Horace.  Even when he was a young colt, he had a beautiful, long, flowing mane.  As he grew, he became prouder and prouder of his mane, and let it grow and grow, until it reached almost to the ground.

He combed it and washed it and brushed it, until it just shone in the sun, but one day, a terrible thing happened.  A homeless family of birds flew up and saw his wonderful long mane and decided that it would be the perfect place to make a home.

Horace tried to tell them to leave, but they didn’t pay any attention to him; in fact, they even went and told their relatives about the magnificent place they had found to live.  Soon, Horace’s mane was full of cheeping, tweeting birds.

Horace finally could stand it no longer, and went to a veterinarian to see if there was any way that he could rid himself of all these noisy birds.  The veterinarian told him that the only way that he could think of to get the bird out of Horace’s mane would be to take a large amount of dry yeast and rub it all through his mane.

The smell of the yeast would be a bit objectionable for a while, but the birds would not be able to stand it, and would move out and stay out.  In a week or so, Horace would be able to comb out the yeast, and things would be as they were before.  Horace did this.  He got the yeast.  He rubbed it in.  The birds left, and stayed away.

The moral of this story (if there is one) is: Yeast is yeast and nest is nest, but never the mane shall tweet….

As Monty Python used to say;

And Now, For Something Completely Different

-*-*-

Michael Richards better known as Kramer from TVs Seinfeld does make a good point. This was his defense speech in court after making racial comments in his comedy act. He makes some very interesting points…

Someone finally said it. How many are actually paying attention to this?
There are African-Americans, Mexican Americans, Asian Americans, Arab Americans, etc.
And then there are just Americans.. You pass me on the street and sneer in my direction.
You call me ‘White boy,’ ‘Cracker,’ ‘Honkey,’ ‘Whitey,’ ‘Caveman’… And that’s OK…
But if I call you, Nigger, Kike, Towel head, Sand-nigger, Camel Jockey, Beaner, Gook, or Chink … You call me a racist.
You say that whites commit a lot of violence against you….
So why are the ghettos the most dangerous places to live?
You have the United Negro College Fund. You have Martin Luther King Day.
You have Black History Month.
You have Cesar Chavez Day.
You have Yom Hashoah.
You have Ma’uled Al-Nabi.
You have the NAACP.
You have BET….
If we had WET (White Entertainment Television), we’d be racists.
If we had a White Pride Day, you would call us racists.
If we had White History Month, we’d be racists.
If we had any organization for only whites to ‘advance’ OUR lives, we’d be racists.
We have a Hispanic Chamber of Commerce, a Black Chamber of Commerce, and then we just have the plain Chamber of Commerce.
Wonder who pays for that??
A white woman could not be in the Miss Black American pageant, but any color can be in the Miss America pageant.
If we had a college fund that only gave white students scholarships… You know we’d be racists.
There are over 60 openly proclaimed Black Colleges in the US ..
Yet if there were ‘White colleges’, that would be a racist college.
In the Million Man March, you believed that you were marching for your race and rights.
If we marched for our race and rights, you would call us racists.
You are proud to be black, brown, yellow and orange, and you’re not afraid to announce it.
But when we announce our white pride, you call us racists.
You rob us, car jack us, and shoot at us.
But, when a white police officer shoots a black gang member or beats up a black drug dealer running from the law and posing a threat to society, you call him a racist.
I am proud…… But you call me a racist.
Why is it that only whites can be racists??
There is nothing improper about this e-mail..
Let’s see which of you are proud enough to send it on.
I sadly don’t think many will.
That’s why we have LOST most of OUR RIGHTS in this country.
We won’t stand up for ourselves!
BE PROUD TO BE WHITE!
It’s not a crime YET…. But getting very close!
It is estimated that ONLY 5% of those reaching this point in this e-mail, will pass it on.
I DID!!

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Leapers, Creepers

A couple of months back I did a post about the timid and/or confused fools who can’t seem to manage to tidy up to the white line at an intersection, and the ones behind them who won’t close the gaps to the cars in front.  I thought it might be time to make fun of the doofuses who protrude into the crosswalks, or even into the cross traffic, how Freudianly phallic!

We seem to have a timid Timothy police officer who patrols this area.  I’ve seen him numerous times at three or four near-by intersections.  Pull up beside him at a red light, and realize he’s back there, a car length or more, in the other lane.  It’s so different from the usual Type-A Personality police driving style, I almost want to get out and ask for verifying ID to prove he’s really a cop.

There are about three types of asshats with their protuberant power-plants.  First there is the creeper.  This dip-stick might have actually stopped at the line at first, or (s)he might be one of the hang-backs from my first rant.  Wherever they originally stop, they then start inching forward, six inches, stop, another six inches, stop, etc., etc., etc!  It’s not as if the orange light for the cross traffic has come up.  They’ve still got a green, but, creep, creep, creep!  Out into the crosswalk, so the kid on the bike and the young mom with the stroller have to go out and around.  Pick a spot, even if it’s a wrong spot, and stick with it.  You can’t make the light change any sooner by your stupid creeping.

The second entry into the intersection brain trust is the leaper.  He’s similar to the creeper.  He may stop at the line, or a car-length back, but suddenly, it’s as if a drag-strip Christmas tree counted down in front of him.  VROOOM!, and forward he lunges….and slams on the brakes, scattering the two old ladies with their shopping bags.  I’ve almost been caught a couple of times.  Somebody movin’ out that quick must mean I’ve dozed off and the light’s green, so I go to drop the hammer, and realize the same as above.  The Don’t Walk lights on the cross street haven’t even begun to flash yet.  Why are you in such a Hell of a hurry to get nowhere?

The third winner of the used toilet-paper lookalike contest, is No-Brakes Norman, or is that No-Brains?  The Transportation Department paints those white lines on the road at specific places for a reason.  Especially where narrow side-streets meet larger thoroughfares, the lines are set back from the corner to facilitate turning traffic.  Whether from gross stupidity or egotistic entitlement, these geniuses just breeze past the line and stop as far forward as they want.  Every once in a while one of these thoughtless ego-trippers gets his comeuppance, and, if you’re there to see it, it feels so GOOD.

If I drive home by myself, I go up the hill to the lights, turn left, come halfway down the hill, and turn right, into the subdivision.  If I were to take the wife that way, the deceleration and twist to turn across the hill creates G-forces that cause her pain, so I go straight through.  It’s a bit longer, but it’s flatter and smoother, and pain-free.

One day I had her in the car, so I stayed in the go-through lane.  As we waited, I kept watching traffic around me, and spotted Harry Hotrodder come screaming up the hill, and into the left turn lane without signalling.  There’s no rush.  The pedestrian signal hadn’t started to flash.  This is one of those spots where there are magnetic strips to activate the signal, but he flashed past them, and finally came to a stop blocking the crosswalk.  The teenagers going home from school had to step out into traffic to get around him.  Finally the light went orange the other way, and he jumped forward yet another foot, ready to power into the turn, just in time to almost get hit by some fool running the red light.  Damn, I wanted to see an accident.  I’ve seen several immediate outcomes, but I’ve only eye-witnessed four accidents in my life, and that one would have been a good one.

Because he’s not on the mag-strip, he gets no advanced green.  He’s still edging out, but only the guys on the other side get to make the turn.  Finally all the lights go green, but now he’s got to wait for a block of oncoming traffic.  Did he learn anything from this?  Probably not!  Did I laugh my ass off as I drove by and waved at him?  OH yeah!

The son was riding the bus one day.  It went down a big street, and then had to turn off, onto one of those smaller cross-streets.  The Stop-Here-Fool line is painted a car length back, to facilitate busses turning, but there’s Joe Jerkoff, right up at the front.  The driver swung the bus left, aimed for his lane and came to a stop just a foot off the nitwit’s grill.  Then he leaned forward and put his forearm on the horn.

Then the arm waving began.  First it was Oh, Am I in your way?  Then it was backwards, to show there were several other cars, tidied up behind him and he couldn’t do anything to fix the situation.  Finally it was desperately out the driver’s window to tell his followers to wake up and back up.  It took three traffic light cycles to allow the bus to make its legal turn, and the driver never lifted off the horn.

The son said that he hoped the bus driver would get out with the fire-axe and tell the idjit if he didn’t move his car, the driver would, piece by piece.  Why is stupidity so often married to arrogance?  Oh dear, now the Catholic Church will be angry at me.  They insist marriage can only be between one man and one woman.