Let me count the ways.
Naked? Check. Drunk? Check. Staggering down a public highway? Check. Leg on fire? Check.
From a journalistic angle, I question the use of the words "friends" and "victim" in this context. "Intoxicated yahoo" and "even more intoxicated yahoos" would have worked better. I also think the phrase 'dumb as fungus" needed to be employed somewhere in the report.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Thursday, July 08, 2010
Picnicking?
Just because I love this scene, and it's almost a hundred degrees outside and I wish I were picnicking with the family instead of taking a lunch break at work, and because the Duke is quintessentially awesome.
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
Old friend, new blog
'm a little tardy in adding Strange Spanners to the sidebar. Lazarus Lupin is a boyhood friend of mine that I reconnected with on Facebook last year. Lazarus introduced me to many of the things I still love, most notably the world of H P Lovecraft. (For which my Lovely and Brilliant Wife may never forgive him.) We became friends because we were among the few kids in Goldendale who both enjoyed Dungeons and Dragons (this was in the early 80s, when the game was new and the preachers were fulminating against it), and he invited me to an ongoing game. Both of us were overly-bright misfits; I was hyperactive and kind of immature for my age, whereas he was almost pathologically shy, rotund and self-conscious about his stutter. Up till then, I had always thought of geekiness as a bad thing. Of all the friends I wish I hadn't lost track of, Lazarus is near the top of the list.
Check out his artwork. He hasn't lost any of his creative touch over the years. Although I don't pretend to understand all of his references any more than I did thirty years ago.
Check out his artwork. He hasn't lost any of his creative touch over the years. Although I don't pretend to understand all of his references any more than I did thirty years ago.
Quote of the Day
From Catholic Überblogger Mark Shea:
White First World Population Planners are perpetually bent on reducing the carbon footprint of impoverished third world countries they deem to have "too many children." They have to fly all over the world on hundreds of jets every year to make sure that some guy burning a few sticks to cook his dinner in Kenya doesn’t suck up all the resources that are rightfully ours.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
An apology from Israel
Turkey is demanding an apology for that savage raid on peaceful Turkish smugglers last month. As a peace-loving citizen of the world, I couldn't agree more. In the interest of international cooperation, I've taken the liberty of drafting an apology for them. Anything to help out, and all that.
To the citizens of Turkey, the Palestinian people, the international press and the entire world, we apologize.
Turkey, we're sorry our great-grandparents pumped millions of dollars into your citizens' pockets back in the 19th century to buy up land in Palestine. It must have been very painful for the Ottoman landlords to be forced to accept money from all over the world, especially at the high prices they had to charge. Why they didn't cast that insulting cash back in those Jews' faces is beyond us. Moreover, we're sorry for expecting Turkey to uphold its end of the sale agreements. In retrospect, it should be obvious that nobody really expected us to move in and take possession. The transactions were just, well, symbolic. We see that now.
Palestinians, we're sorry that our grandfathers went and turned a perfectly lovely wasteland into nasty farmland. If we had only known what dire things were in store after the land became irrigated and productive, we would have left it the way it was. We're sorry that the lives of your people have been disrupted by things like antibiotics and indoor plumbing. We're sorry that your children live beyond infancy, that your water is clean, that your sick are cared for.
Terrorists Freedom fighters of Gaza, we're sorry that you've been forced to expend all those bombs and rockets on us. Our incessant dodging and taking shelter have made this entire business far too costly for you. No wonder you've been forced to import weapons and ammunition. In the future, we undertake to stand perfectly still and not make you waste ordnance.
Egypt, Syria and Jordan, we apologize for our occupation of some of your former territories. We know that if we had just handed them back after the Six-Day War, or even better, just let you win, then you would never have dreamed of using them against us again. We understand that Jews in areas that you control have always been treated with fairness and respect, in contrast to the way we treat Arabs, tempting them with full citizenship and civil rights. Our uppity attitudes must be very galling for you. In the future, we promise to remember our place like good dhimmis.
Finally, to the world, we apologize for all the trouble us sheenies have put you to over the centuries. We're very sorry about that whole crucifixion misunderstanding, and making matzos with Christian blood, and poisoning wells, and the Black Death, and all those things. We deeply regret the amount of expensive Zyklon-B that had to be used to fumigate us. And if you'll just point the way to the nearest gas chamber, we'll stop being such a bother to you all.
Can we be friends now?
To the citizens of Turkey, the Palestinian people, the international press and the entire world, we apologize.
Turkey, we're sorry our great-grandparents pumped millions of dollars into your citizens' pockets back in the 19th century to buy up land in Palestine. It must have been very painful for the Ottoman landlords to be forced to accept money from all over the world, especially at the high prices they had to charge. Why they didn't cast that insulting cash back in those Jews' faces is beyond us. Moreover, we're sorry for expecting Turkey to uphold its end of the sale agreements. In retrospect, it should be obvious that nobody really expected us to move in and take possession. The transactions were just, well, symbolic. We see that now.
Palestinians, we're sorry that our grandfathers went and turned a perfectly lovely wasteland into nasty farmland. If we had only known what dire things were in store after the land became irrigated and productive, we would have left it the way it was. We're sorry that the lives of your people have been disrupted by things like antibiotics and indoor plumbing. We're sorry that your children live beyond infancy, that your water is clean, that your sick are cared for.
Egypt, Syria and Jordan, we apologize for our occupation of some of your former territories. We know that if we had just handed them back after the Six-Day War, or even better, just let you win, then you would never have dreamed of using them against us again. We understand that Jews in areas that you control have always been treated with fairness and respect, in contrast to the way we treat Arabs, tempting them with full citizenship and civil rights. Our uppity attitudes must be very galling for you. In the future, we promise to remember our place like good dhimmis.
Finally, to the world, we apologize for all the trouble us sheenies have put you to over the centuries. We're very sorry about that whole crucifixion misunderstanding, and making matzos with Christian blood, and poisoning wells, and the Black Death, and all those things. We deeply regret the amount of expensive Zyklon-B that had to be used to fumigate us. And if you'll just point the way to the nearest gas chamber, we'll stop being such a bother to you all.
Can we be friends now?
Thursday, July 01, 2010
Remembering the Blue Puttees
Forget Canada Day (or Dominion Day, as it used to be called back when Canada was part of something great). No offense, Canada, but the prestige you gain as the home of Gordon Lightfoot and Labatt's is countered by the whole no-free-speech thing.
July 1 is a different sort of commemoration in Newfoundland, which in 1916 had the good fortune not even to be Canadian. It was a minor backwater of the British Empire with a total population half that of Spokane today. It was poor and uneducated, sort of the Appalachia of the Atlantic. So when a thousand young men volunteered for service in the Great War, it was a large investment.
In true Newfie style, their uniforms were improvised. Where other British regiments wore khaki around their legs, the Newfoundlanders had to make do with blue scrap cloth. This led to their nickname of the Blue Puttees.
On the morning of July 1 1916, the Royal Newfoundland Regiment, nearly eight hundred barely-trained soldiers, went "over the top" at Beaumont-Hamel. Half an hour later, there were sixty-eight.
My. God. In. Heaven. Think about that.
Yes, I know that the War To End All Wars set the stage for the bloodiest century in human history. Yes, I know that trench warfare was nothing but an exercise in futility. Yes, I know that world politics is still shaped by the changes ushered in by the First World War. Yes, I know that seven-hundred-odd soldiers didn't make the difference. Of the millions slaughtered, they were a drop in the bucket.
So what? Death comes only one to a customer. The waste of human life is horrific, but not the point here. Fishermen's sons die as readily, and as bravely, as kings' sons. These boys walked into the meat grinder of the Somme for a king who barely knew their island existed. The Newfoundlanders did what they were supposed to do, and they did it with gallantry that shames great nations.
Listen to this while you read about the Blue Puttees here and the action at Beaumont-Hamel here. And gentlemen, read and listen with your hats off.
July 1 is a different sort of commemoration in Newfoundland, which in 1916 had the good fortune not even to be Canadian. It was a minor backwater of the British Empire with a total population half that of Spokane today. It was poor and uneducated, sort of the Appalachia of the Atlantic. So when a thousand young men volunteered for service in the Great War, it was a large investment.
In true Newfie style, their uniforms were improvised. Where other British regiments wore khaki around their legs, the Newfoundlanders had to make do with blue scrap cloth. This led to their nickname of the Blue Puttees.
On the morning of July 1 1916, the Royal Newfoundland Regiment, nearly eight hundred barely-trained soldiers, went "over the top" at Beaumont-Hamel. Half an hour later, there were sixty-eight.
My. God. In. Heaven. Think about that.
Yes, I know that the War To End All Wars set the stage for the bloodiest century in human history. Yes, I know that trench warfare was nothing but an exercise in futility. Yes, I know that world politics is still shaped by the changes ushered in by the First World War. Yes, I know that seven-hundred-odd soldiers didn't make the difference. Of the millions slaughtered, they were a drop in the bucket.
So what? Death comes only one to a customer. The waste of human life is horrific, but not the point here. Fishermen's sons die as readily, and as bravely, as kings' sons. These boys walked into the meat grinder of the Somme for a king who barely knew their island existed. The Newfoundlanders did what they were supposed to do, and they did it with gallantry that shames great nations.
Listen to this while you read about the Blue Puttees here and the action at Beaumont-Hamel here. And gentlemen, read and listen with your hats off.
Friday, June 04, 2010
Goodbye Stench-boy!
And don't let the door hit you in your worthless heinie on the way out.
I really hope he doesn't come here. My trunk isn't big enough.
I really hope he doesn't come here. My trunk isn't big enough.
Thursday, June 03, 2010
Rue McClanahan, RIP
The Dixie Doxy now travels in elephants.
I never watched a lot of the Golden Girls, being, you know, male and all. But the characters were memorable and the writing was well above par.
Entertainment Weekly asked for readers' favorite Blanche quotes. Currently it's at twelve pages and I'll bet there will be more still. She was a fun character to watch, and must have been fun to play, too.
Meanwhile, here's a performance by La Rue that most people won't have seen: her guest spot on one of the most underrated shows ever, Remember WENN.
I never watched a lot of the Golden Girls, being, you know, male and all. But the characters were memorable and the writing was well above par.
Entertainment Weekly asked for readers' favorite Blanche quotes. Currently it's at twelve pages and I'll bet there will be more still. She was a fun character to watch, and must have been fun to play, too.
Meanwhile, here's a performance by La Rue that most people won't have seen: her guest spot on one of the most underrated shows ever, Remember WENN.
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
Quote of the Day
From David Harsanyi at the Denver Post:
Darn those Jews! They keep failing to march to the gas chambers in nice, neat little lines.
Before boats were boarded, Hamas Prime Minister Ismail Haniyeh, whose Jew-hating would make Himmler proud, already had said, "If ships reach Gaza — victory. If terrorized by Zionists — victory."
Using civilians as human shields, stocking weapons in schools, mosques and boats, and relying on death and martyrdom as forms of depraved propaganda is the game plan.
Yet, from the bullet-riddled environs of Time and Atlantic magazines to the crater-filled battlefields of cable news studios, courageous pundits judged that the Israeli commandos' response, which killed 10, was "disproportionate."
They should be content with disproportionate. A proportional response by Israel would have meant upscale Jewish condos on the Gaza beachfront about 40 years ago.
Darn those Jews! They keep failing to march to the gas chambers in nice, neat little lines.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
I'm a Ketcham, you're a Ketchem, wouldn't you like to be a Ketchum too...
This is the continuation of the post below
Meanwhile, I've done something I never in a million years thought of doing. I'm helping plan a family reunion. A little background may be in order.
Some readers may know that my mother's family are Ketchams. It's a common name today, but back in the 1620s it wasn't. In fact, it belonged only to one man, a Puritan named Edward Ketcham who emigrated at that time. His name back in England had been Cheatham or something like that. From him are descended all the Ketchams, Ketchums and Ketchems in America. (Yes, even this one. In fact, he and I are about as distantly related as it's possible for two Ketchams to be. He comes from Edward's youngest son and I come from the oldest.)
My grandfather, Merritt Ketcham, came out west from Missouri in about 1921, a jump and a half ahead of the prohibition agents. See, his father had been a gandy-dancer until he lost a hand in a hunting accident, at which time he turned to moonshining. My grandfather and his older brother John made the deliveries. Well, this worked fine until Prohibition went into effect. (I'm extrapolating this part based on the dates.) All of a sudden, the moonshining business turned a lot more serious, and the boys' mother wanted them out of it. So she put them on a train to Wyoming with the clothes on their backs and a packet of sandwiches. John would have been 16 at this time and my grandfather was 14. They went to school with some relatives in Wyoming, then John went to work for the railroad and my grandfather went to punching cattle in Idaho, near the Oregon Slope. Eventually their parents and five younger siblings came out west behind them.
Fast-forward several generations, to last year when my wife finally lured me into getting set up on Facebook. It occurred to me to look up a couple of Ketcham cousins I hadn't seen in thirty years. (Response from the first one: "Wow! We always wondered what had happened to you!") Armed with a list from my mom of my grandfather's siblings and their kids, I sallied forth onto the internet in search of Ketchams.
When it was done, I had located a mess of children and grandchildren of the seven little Ketchams who had come out to the Northwest, most of whom I had never met. In fact, several of them had never even heard of any of us and were only vaguely aware that the family existed. It's been a very exciting process.
Well, to finish it up, I've been working with a cousin to set up the first-ever Northwest Ketchams Family Reunion. We're all getting together next month at Mossyrock, which coincidentally was where my grandfather first preached after his ordination. He officiated at his younger brother Oscar's wedding at Mossyrock, and Oscar's grandchildren will be there too. We're figuring on occupying some pews at that church on Sunday morning. (Note to self: call the current pastor and give him a heads-up.) Then a potlick and letting the kids run around while us geezers compare notes, photos and memories.
I've been really getting a feel for the exuberance Ken has for digging into the family history and finding relatives.
Meanwhile, I've done something I never in a million years thought of doing. I'm helping plan a family reunion. A little background may be in order.
Some readers may know that my mother's family are Ketchams. It's a common name today, but back in the 1620s it wasn't. In fact, it belonged only to one man, a Puritan named Edward Ketcham who emigrated at that time. His name back in England had been Cheatham or something like that. From him are descended all the Ketchams, Ketchums and Ketchems in America. (Yes, even this one. In fact, he and I are about as distantly related as it's possible for two Ketchams to be. He comes from Edward's youngest son and I come from the oldest.)
My grandfather, Merritt Ketcham, came out west from Missouri in about 1921, a jump and a half ahead of the prohibition agents. See, his father had been a gandy-dancer until he lost a hand in a hunting accident, at which time he turned to moonshining. My grandfather and his older brother John made the deliveries. Well, this worked fine until Prohibition went into effect. (I'm extrapolating this part based on the dates.) All of a sudden, the moonshining business turned a lot more serious, and the boys' mother wanted them out of it. So she put them on a train to Wyoming with the clothes on their backs and a packet of sandwiches. John would have been 16 at this time and my grandfather was 14. They went to school with some relatives in Wyoming, then John went to work for the railroad and my grandfather went to punching cattle in Idaho, near the Oregon Slope. Eventually their parents and five younger siblings came out west behind them.
Fast-forward several generations, to last year when my wife finally lured me into getting set up on Facebook. It occurred to me to look up a couple of Ketcham cousins I hadn't seen in thirty years. (Response from the first one: "Wow! We always wondered what had happened to you!") Armed with a list from my mom of my grandfather's siblings and their kids, I sallied forth onto the internet in search of Ketchams.
When it was done, I had located a mess of children and grandchildren of the seven little Ketchams who had come out to the Northwest, most of whom I had never met. In fact, several of them had never even heard of any of us and were only vaguely aware that the family existed. It's been a very exciting process.
Well, to finish it up, I've been working with a cousin to set up the first-ever Northwest Ketchams Family Reunion. We're all getting together next month at Mossyrock, which coincidentally was where my grandfather first preached after his ordination. He officiated at his younger brother Oscar's wedding at Mossyrock, and Oscar's grandchildren will be there too. We're figuring on occupying some pews at that church on Sunday morning. (Note to self: call the current pastor and give him a heads-up.) Then a potlick and letting the kids run around while us geezers compare notes, photos and memories.
I've been really getting a feel for the exuberance Ken has for digging into the family history and finding relatives.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Update
I should really apologize that I've been going so long between posts. It's not just because Facebook sucks up all my computer time, either. (Although I now know a lot of you folks' real names that way.) There's been a whole lotta stuff happening around these parts.
First off, we finally got our house caught up. It's taken near 'bout three years to get to that point. Some of you might recall the financial difficulties we were faced with when our income dropped suddenly. (Many of you contributed, for which I thank you again.) Eventually we got behind by one payment too many and went into foreclosure, at which time the frimpin' [eliminatory orifices] refused to accept any payments at all! We tried to go through one of those relief programs, but the [person of irregular birth] who was handling our case kept deliberately misplacing the files we sent. No, I'm not just being paranoid. We wouid send him our forms and our pay stubs, he would acknowledge receipt verbally, and then a few weeks later we would get a letter that said we were going to be denied because we hadn't sent our paperwork in. This happened four times before we finally got a rejection letter because of the "missing" forms.
Finally God came through in the form of (a) a huge tax refund, more than twice as big as last year's, (b) a withdrawal from my already-battered 401)k) and (c) my Lovely and Brilliant Wife's financial aid for her Master's program. The boost came just as I was laid off from my side job, so the timing was perfect. It'll be tight, but I think we can keep up from here.
And the house has been as crowded as it's ever been. Not only are the grown kids not yet gone to college in distant places (Covarr heads off to Central in the fall), but Wharf Rat and the grandson came to stay with us for a while. (The circumstances were ugly and I probably oughtn't to get into it much.) Again God came through, and within a week and a half she had started a job and had an apartment lined up. We still have the grandson during the day - Drama Queen has been babysitting him to finance her cell phone habit - but as long as the apartment comes through, the job holds out and the restraining orders are kept in place, everything should be fine with them.
I'll have a second post up later on with some fun goings-on. I'll need a whole 'nother post for it as there's a lot of backstory.
First off, we finally got our house caught up. It's taken near 'bout three years to get to that point. Some of you might recall the financial difficulties we were faced with when our income dropped suddenly. (Many of you contributed, for which I thank you again.) Eventually we got behind by one payment too many and went into foreclosure, at which time the frimpin' [eliminatory orifices] refused to accept any payments at all! We tried to go through one of those relief programs, but the [person of irregular birth] who was handling our case kept deliberately misplacing the files we sent. No, I'm not just being paranoid. We wouid send him our forms and our pay stubs, he would acknowledge receipt verbally, and then a few weeks later we would get a letter that said we were going to be denied because we hadn't sent our paperwork in. This happened four times before we finally got a rejection letter because of the "missing" forms.
Finally God came through in the form of (a) a huge tax refund, more than twice as big as last year's, (b) a withdrawal from my already-battered 401)k) and (c) my Lovely and Brilliant Wife's financial aid for her Master's program. The boost came just as I was laid off from my side job, so the timing was perfect. It'll be tight, but I think we can keep up from here.
And the house has been as crowded as it's ever been. Not only are the grown kids not yet gone to college in distant places (Covarr heads off to Central in the fall), but Wharf Rat and the grandson came to stay with us for a while. (The circumstances were ugly and I probably oughtn't to get into it much.) Again God came through, and within a week and a half she had started a job and had an apartment lined up. We still have the grandson during the day - Drama Queen has been babysitting him to finance her cell phone habit - but as long as the apartment comes through, the job holds out and the restraining orders are kept in place, everything should be fine with them.
I'll have a second post up later on with some fun goings-on. I'll need a whole 'nother post for it as there's a lot of backstory.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Hidey-ho, neighbor!
Or rather, hide all you like, but you know I can see you anyway!
Ordinarily, moving in next door to someone you're looking for dirt on would be considered over the line, even for a soi-disant journalist. One might even go so far as to call it "stalking."
Unless the person has been so insolent as to run for public office against The One™. Then it's perfectly justified and her own fault. Stop being such a crybaby! Who wants to see your teenage daughters naked anyway? Get over yourself, lady!
Unfortunately, if he stays on his rented property and simply spies on them, she doesn't have any legal right to part his hair with a shotgun. And with guys like that, restraining orders just make them laugh and take twice as many photos. All we can hope for is that he tries to slip into the house.
And yet journalists insist on calling what they do a "profession."
Update: I like Darleen's idea:
Ordinarily, moving in next door to someone you're looking for dirt on would be considered over the line, even for a soi-disant journalist. One might even go so far as to call it "stalking."
Unless the person has been so insolent as to run for public office against The One™. Then it's perfectly justified and her own fault. Stop being such a crybaby! Who wants to see your teenage daughters naked anyway? Get over yourself, lady!
Unfortunately, if he stays on his rented property and simply spies on them, she doesn't have any legal right to part his hair with a shotgun. And with guys like that, restraining orders just make them laugh and take twice as many photos. All we can hope for is that he tries to slip into the house.
And yet journalists insist on calling what they do a "profession."
Update: I like Darleen's idea:
Besides a fence, I would suggest the Palins set up a website with a live feed from a couple of cameras trained on McGinniss’s summer home.
Let the public watch the watcher.
Pour one for me!
I remember hearing this song on the radio on Captain LockJock's "Oceans of Beautiful Music" segment back in 1983 and '84, but it took me until the other day to find a copy. It's also a chance to test out this nifty self-contained audio player.
If you're not from the Northwest, or you're under a certain age, you'll need the background information here (scroll down).
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
No fair!
We boycotted you first! You don't get to do it back!
Moral of the story: Don't piss off the hicks. Your fancy cities will turn into post-apocalyptic nightmares without us.
... Gary Pierce, a commissioner on the five-member Arizona Corporation Commission, wrote a letter to Villaraigosa slamming his City Council's decision to boycott the Grand Canyon State -- in protest of its immigration law -- by suspending official travel there and ending future contracts with state businesses.
Noting that a quarter of Los Angeles' electricity comes from Arizona power plants, Pierce threatened to pull the plug if the City Council does not reconsider.
"Doggone it -- if you're going to boycott this candy store ... then don't come in for any of it," Pierce told FoxNews.com.
In the letter, he ridiculed Villaraigosa for saying that the point of the boycott was to "send a message" by severing the "resources and ties" they share.
"I received your message; please receive mine. As a statewide elected member of the Arizona Corporation Commission overseeing Arizona's electric and water utilities, I too am keenly aware of the 'resources and ties' we share with the city of Los Angeles," Pierce wrote.
"If an economic boycott is truly what you desire, I will be happy to encourage Arizona utilities to renegotiate your power agreements so Los Angeles no longer receives any power from Arizona-based generation."
...
"I am confident that Arizona's utilities would be happy to take those electrons off your hands," Pierce wrote. "If, however, you find that the City Council lacks the strength of its convictions to turn off the lights in Los Angeles and boycott Arizona power, please reconsider the wisdom of attempting to harm Arizona's economy."
Moral of the story: Don't piss off the hicks. Your fancy cities will turn into post-apocalyptic nightmares without us.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Haggin' out
Update on Sunday, May 2: The show on Thursday was postponed because Merle was sick, so we're seeing him tonight instead. And you're not! Neener neener!
What's better than finding out that Merle Haggard is playing in the next city? Having a friend who gets you comp tickets!
My Lovely and Brilliant Wife and I will be seeing the legend himself tomorrow night up in Wenatchee. Despite being from California, she was just a little vague on exactly who Merle was, so I obligingly inflicted one video after another on her this morning. By the time we get to Wenatchee, she'll probably be so sick of hearing The Hag that she'll cling to the doorposts screaming to be spared from going into the stadium.
In the course of looking around for videos, I ran across this little gem: a duet with Ernest Tubb (may the whiteness of his sainted Stetson never be dimmed!). Merle comes on at about 1:41.
Merle Haggard And Ernest Tubb - The best video clips are here
What's better than finding out that Merle Haggard is playing in the next city? Having a friend who gets you comp tickets!
My Lovely and Brilliant Wife and I will be seeing the legend himself tomorrow night up in Wenatchee. Despite being from California, she was just a little vague on exactly who Merle was, so I obligingly inflicted one video after another on her this morning. By the time we get to Wenatchee, she'll probably be so sick of hearing The Hag that she'll cling to the doorposts screaming to be spared from going into the stadium.
In the course of looking around for videos, I ran across this little gem: a duet with Ernest Tubb (may the whiteness of his sainted Stetson never be dimmed!). Merle comes on at about 1:41.
Merle Haggard And Ernest Tubb - The best video clips are here
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Make slavery safe, legal and rare!
Ever notice that in most discussions of abortion, you could swap "property rights" for "abortion rights," "slave dealer" for "abortionist" and "abolitionist" for "anti-abortion activist," and have the exact same argument as two centuries ago? Try it with this nauseating lament and see for yourself.
It seems the old generation of slaveholders is beginning to die out, and the young people don't have the same enthusiasm for holding their fellow man in bondage. Who, the writer wonders, will keep the negroes on the plantation for years to come? Will the peculiar institution die out for lack of enthusiasm? Never, cries our stalwart columnist! It must not be! My darkies, my choice!
My fondest hope is that one day abortion will be as repugnant as slavery, and for the same reason - there is no excuse for one person's humanity being at the sole discretion of another. It's not a matter of "moral complexities." It's a matter of whether human rights actually mean anything at all. If a human being is either ownable or disposable, then they don't. It's the same old argument with different victims.
It seems the old generation of slaveholders is beginning to die out, and the young people don't have the same enthusiasm for holding their fellow man in bondage. Who, the writer wonders, will keep the negroes on the plantation for years to come? Will the peculiar institution die out for lack of enthusiasm? Never, cries our stalwart columnist! It must not be! My darkies, my choice!
My fondest hope is that one day abortion will be as repugnant as slavery, and for the same reason - there is no excuse for one person's humanity being at the sole discretion of another. It's not a matter of "moral complexities." It's a matter of whether human rights actually mean anything at all. If a human being is either ownable or disposable, then they don't. It's the same old argument with different victims.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
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