It figures. Just as I give up trying to learn how to crochet, I come across this:
*HEAVY MELODRAMATIC SIGH*
Here’s the link in case you didn’t click the pic.
I couldn’t have done it better myself.
Check out the new lyrics by Mad St Jack
LOOKOUT!! CALL THE AUTHORITIES QUICK!!! THERE ARE CHILDREN IN THE AIRPORT THAT ARE A THREAT TO OUR NATIONAL SECURITY!!!
A little 4 year old girl on her way home to Montana hugged her gramma (this link is from all the way across the pond) as gramma was being detained after she triggered an alarm at the security checkpoint. This is the last we hear about Gramma. For all we know it was a rosary in her pocket because she is terrified of flying that set the alarm off. The TSA Agents attempted to snatch the little girl so they could “frisk her too” at which point the little girl tried to run away in TERROR (Stranger Danger, anyone? I’m glad she ran) and the situation escalates past a point of no return and the mother is threatened with being the cause of the airport canceling all flights. Really? I’d love to see that happen because of a little girl. What an empty threat. Do it. Cancel the flights. I do not have children; I am not trying to speak out of turn. I do not blame the mom for allowing the agents to push her into a corner. I do not mean allow in the sense that mom just handed her child over these people while they performed the atrocity. What was she supposed to do? What would you have done in an airport FULL of people who just want to go to wherever they are going? Unfortunately, the bluff was not called and the little girl is scarred for life. Could you just imagine the media attention this story would have received if they actually canceled all flights because of a weeping 4 year old child? Oh wait. It wouldn’t have received any because the media is just as much a part of the problem.
I find it interesting that the TSA Agents are referred to as “officers” in the statement released by the TSA. When did they become officers? To say “officer” implies a greater authority than “agent”. Subliminal compliance, perhaps?
What the hell is wrong with these Agents? Okay, I understand they are standing for long hours wearing blue gloves dealing with the public. Grumpy public. Believe me, the public is grumpy. I used to waitress, I know what the public is like and they are grumpy. I have never taken my frustrations out on a child. No matter how much I might have wanted to when I must have picked up that damn fork off the floor 15 thousand times every time I walked by a certain table. I understood that it was a CHILD. My fault for picking the damn thing up. I should have just tossed it in the sink in the kitchen. Back to my question…what the hell is WRONG with these Agents? I’ll tell you.
These are people who are ALLOWED TO TOUCH YOUR CHILDREN IN THE MOST INAPPROPRIATE MANNER POSSIBLE AND YOU HAVE TO STAND BY AND WATCH!!!
I could compare them to the Gestapo and SS of Nazi Germany, but I won’t go that far. Not in this post.
Let’s call them by what they are: they are government sanctioned bullies. GSB’s for short. Bullies prey on the weak. They have learned that can’t bully a full grown adult. A full grown adult can tell them to stop touching them inappropriately and make threats of lawsuits. A full grown adult can make a fist and knock the TSA agent out. A full grown adult can kick the TSA agent in the balls or what have you. So the TSA goes after your weakness – your children under the guise of safety. Children are your kryptonite and you will bend to the TSA’s will. Unwillingly, but you will bend.
I am sure that every parent whose child is chosen by a TSA agent thinks that there is NO friggin way that an adult, a stranger to their child, an adult who has a position of “authority” would ever do anything to scare said child. I’m sure that many parents just want to get the procedure over with as fast and with as little resistance as possible.
Imagine their surprise when it gets out of hand ~ they must be stunned! I sure as hell would be. They probably go through so many emotions at once that before they know it they have a crying child in front of them and the situation snowballs. They forget that the world is made up of people who hate their jobs and take pleasure in whatever they need to do to pass the time, including those that work for the TSA and there are lecherous people in all fields.
Families are pushed into a corner because if they don’t “allow” their child(ren) to be molested they cannot get on the plane. Did you see this? A little 7-year old girl has Cerebral Palsy and the family missed their flight. What a shame that the TSA Agents have such hatred towards those disabled that they felt the need to “handle her aggressively“. Didn’t anyone ever take the time to teach them that those who are disabled aren’t monsters? They need and deserve to be treated more gently. They are disabled. Y’know what? I bet those botox injections to help heal her were going to give her superhuman strength mid-flight and she was going to rip her leg braces off and Hulk-out because the Flight Attendant gave her grape juice instead of apple. Thank goodness the TSA was there to inspect her fully before the flight causing the family to miss their plane.
I swear, if I didn’t know any better I would say that this is all a part of the plan to keep the citizens of The United States immobile. Make it as difficult as possible for the people to travel. Corral the population and you make the people dependent upon the government.
Either that or it’s just a conspiracy to make sure that the child molesters get their daily grope.
Being a Yankee, I grew up with the best mayo ever – Hellman’s Real Mayonnaise. I remember sitting on the kitchen table, in my Sunday best, waiting for the rest of my family to finish getting ready for church when all of a sudden, my mom walks in the kitchen and confiscates the jar of mayo from my hands.
I couldn’t have been more than 4 years old. I remember because she even picked me up off the table and basically sat me in the kitchen sink to clean me up. Speechless. Just shaking her head and repeating my name over and over while she scrubbed my hands.
Lunch was a Boar’s Head bologna sandwich on white bread slathered with mayo.
There is nothing like a white bread and mayo sandwich. With bacon. I’m salivating just thinking about it. In fact, it may just be my cheat meal next week. Oh yeah…a BLT on white bread. No wait…mayo with bacon, lettuce and tomato on white bread.
I’ve recently moved South and was making more than my share of tuna salad, chicken salad, cold cut sandwiches and ran out of Hellman’s so I tried another brand. Seriously. Talk about ew. My mom has warned me against making such a change in brands, especially with mayo. I know, I know!!! I should have just went without. EWWWWWW, I TELL YOU!!!
That is, until I was requested to purchase yet another brand. Because “It’s the BEST”. Standing in the condiment aisle, I scoffed at the jar in my hand. There is no possible way that this is going to be better, let alone as delicious, than Hellman’s.
I don’t know if I want to write this post…debating which mayo is better…that’s more controversial than debating the better caliber.
The jar in my hand was Duke’s Mayo ~ The Secret of Southern Cooks. No shit. Why the hellman’s is this brand not available for purchase in the North East????
First things first. After putting the groceries away, I stood at the counter staring at the jar, preparing myself for another disappointment. I unscrewed the lid, lifted the jar to my nose and inhaled. It passed the smell test. It, at least, smelled like mayo. Armed with my spoon I took a deep breath, in anticipation of what I was hoping would not make me gag. I glided the spoon across the top of the mayo, pretending it was my beloved Hellman’s knowing the whole time that it wasn’t, thinking that maybe Hellman’s delivered direct to the consumer. The texture was different. Creamier. I tasted it. I double dipped. And savored the second spoonful.
Duke’s is an enhancer. It brings out the flavor of whatever you are using it in. It doesn’t overpower like Hellman’s. I made chicken salad and Duke’s was the only change. I could taste the mayo but the salad as a whole just tasted more delectable.
This is one delicious condiment that can rip generations apart. Children disowned when mom comes to visit for lunch and you don’t put out Hellman’s Real Mayonnaise…oh no…you put out Duke’s. Why? Because you discovered, at the simple request that you change brands one week, that Duke’s Mayonnaise is what mayo is supposed to taste like.
(Yes, that’s right. I just wrote a review on mayo. BWAHAHAHAHAAAAA)
The winners, in no particular order, are:
Jeanine ~ @jea_nine
John ~ @jpr9954
Brian ~ @dizilbdog
Be on the lookout for the registration key directly from Alan Ellis, the creator of My Gun DB, via email.
I must say, I always feel honored when one of my posts get reposted and I try to thank each and every one in their comment section.
Unfortunately, I don’t always catch them. I sometimes get an email, most of the time I do not. Today, while updating something here, I noticed that I missed this repost.
Borepatch was one of the first bloggers, who does NOT know me, to post something of mine. BOREPATCH!! My goodness gracious…I’m honored that he does.
I’m still learning the unspoken blogging rules. I read a lot of blogs and always felt like I was crossing the lines of plagerism with a repost, but I’ve realized that if my post was good enough for them to get a chuckle it’s about time that I start returning the favor.
So, from here on in, I am setting a goal that if I read something that makes me laugh, makes me think or just requires reposting, I’m doing just that.
I’ve been wanting a puppy and haven’t been able to decide what kind I want. All I know is that it has to be black and brown. There is a picture forming in my head and I have been having difficulty in figuring it out.
I’ve always liked and gotten along with Rottweilers and Dobermans. I like their size and overall look. A friend of mine had two of each and they were the gentlest creatures ever. They also were great watchdogs. They never barked at a person walking by or falling leaves, only if someone was within a certain distance of the house.
I’ve learned that I also like the look of the Catahoula Leopard Dog, but still…not adding to this ghost image that refuses to take shape in my mind.
I have no idea what this is but I like it. Not what I want it, but I like it.
There are bits and pieces of these dogs that have helped in shaping what I imagine my dream dog to be. But STILL I CANNOT FIGURE OUT WHAT I AM LOOKING FOR!
I’ve been going through some boxes from when I moved a few months ago and happened upon some letters from my Grandmother. These letters, like always, transport me back to whatever time period the subject matter is taking place in. Last night I found one that went back to middle school, when my baby cousin was born. He was such a pudgy little thing and when I saw her mention his name, I remembered something he used to say when asked who he visited during that language learning period of his life:
“Nana, Tina, Doggy, John”
Why the dog took precedence over my cousin John, I’ll never know. LOL!
My granny had this little dog, which I *THINK* was a daschund. Come to think of it, I’m not really sure if it was her’s or my grandfather’s. No matter. All I know is, this is the dog that is behind that quest.
I think hers looked like the one on the left. But then again…I can’t quite remember. I wonder if it’s because she had so many dogs while I was growing up. Always one at a time, though. So many..heh. More like 2. I am told that the first of the two was number 7. Every dog had the same name: Schatzi. It means “Sweetheart” in German.
The second of the two passed before I started high school. She did adopt not another. I romanticized it in my head that the last dog was the last one that my grandfather bought her before he died. I’m probably wrong, but that is what I am going to hold on to as my reality. So if any family members are reading this, please don’t tell me any different.
My Granny has been in Heaven for 10 years this past January. Even in death, she has been there for me in more ways that I can remember. At times of struggle, I’ve come across her letters in places that I will swear on a Bible I didn’t put them. (They are supposed to be in one particular box.) I’ll wear a necklace of hers when I know I have a hard day ahead of me. A favorite song of hers will come on the radio and it will lift my spirits.
My search hasn’t taken me off the interwebs yet. I don’t know enough about dogs to embark on the journey of going from shelter to shelter trying to find him. Or her.
But I do know the name of my dog, even if I haven’t found it yet.