Sunday, October 24, 2010

Wife Of Man Missing On Border Lake Wants Obama To Take On Mexican Cartels

"He should wake up and look at what's going on in our backyard," where drug cartel battles in Mexico have led to hundreds of deaths.

Via Rebellion

To Their Honor

"The purpose of these pages is to present images of existing monuments to Confederates of Color. Visitors to our website who have access to the monuments named but not pictured here are requested to obtain photographs and a transcript of the inscriptions. The name of each contributor will be posted with the respective photographs"

1 Million FPS Slow Motion Video Of Bullet Impacts


Via Survival

Gold Standard

"A return to the principles of a gold standard that constrain government spending and retain the value of money will in turn enable the return to the more enduring values of humanity. In the meantime, the writing is on the wall for all to see. Be careful because it could fall at any time."
-- Peter Souleles, in Sydney Australia’s ABC Bullion Blog: Buy Gold Young Man

Via Survival

Enriched White Rice: A Perfect Long-Term Food Item

A 25 pound bag of Jasmine long grained white rice will furnish each member of a family of three with approximately 1,600 calories a day for one month. Each bag, as of today, runs around $22. Also, though not recommended, there are many people who do survive of just rice, as have done Eskimos on just meat and fish.

Captain J. B. Briggs: Blacks At Chickamauga

Also HERE.
This article originally appeared in the Louisville Times and was
reprinted in the Hawkinsville (Georgia) Dispatch. Historical researcher
Greg White found this on microfilm in the main library of the University
of Georgia, Athens.

This war record was written by Captain J. B. Briggs, of Briggsville, KY
(Muhlenberg County). Captain Briggs was assistant Quartermaster of the
Fourth Tennessee Cavalry, C.S.A. and served during the war with Wheeler
and Forrest.

At the battle of Chickamauga the Fourth Tennessee Cavalry was dismounted
to fight as infantry, every fourth man being told off to hold horses.
These horse-holders, and also all of the colored servants, were kept in
the rear. The colored men numbered about 40, and having been in service
a long time, had gradually armed themselves. Some of them were even
better equipped than their masters, for on successful raids and battles
they could follow in the rear and pick up those things the soldiers had
no time to secure; so that these colored servants could each boast of
one or two revolvers and a fine carbine or repeating rifle.

During all of the early part of the battle of Chickamauga, the Fourth
Tennessee Cavalry had been fighting as infantry, and as it became
evident that a victory was to be won, Col. McLemore, commanding, ordered
Captain Briggs to return to the horse-holders, and after placing the
horses, teams, etc, under charge of the servants, to bring up the
quarter of the regiment in charge of the horses so that they might take
part in the final triumph. Capt. Briggs, on reaching the horses, was
surprised to find the colored men organized and equipped, under Daniel
McLemore, colored (servant to the Colonel of the regiment), and
demanding the right to go into the fight. After trying to dissuade them
from this, Capt. Briggs led them up to the line of battle, which was
just then preparing to assault Gen. Thomas' position. Thinking
they would be of service in caring for the wounded, Capt. Briggs held
them close up in line, but when the advance was ordered the negro
company became enthused as well as their masters, and filled a portion
of the line of advance as well as any company of the regiment. They
were equally up to the charge as the rest of the men. While they had no
guidon or muster roll, the burial after the battle of four of their
number and the care of seven wounded at the hospital, told the tale of
how well they fought that day.

Lee Millar
Forrest Camp 215 SCV

America Is Gone

Every long-term social index I am aware of is negative. The plain fact is that the American people are too morally degenerate to be capable of effective self-government. The Roman satirist Juvenal understood. "The people that once bestowed commands, consulships, legions and all else, now meddles no more and longs eagerly for just two things -- bread and games!" I can find no reason to be optimistic. It is only our blind vanity that lets us pretend that the United States can endure forever. Rome fell, and so will America. For all intents and purposes, it is already over. The rest HERE.

Via Washington Rebel


This weekend, Democrats are mailing a flyer (see images below) pretending to attack their fake-tea-party candidate, Roly Arrojo. As reported early this month, public records show Roly Arrojo is a Democrat who is pretending to be a Tea Party candidate. More HERE.

Via 2ncrca, A&M


"Isn't the current fight between the Dems and the GOP sort of like two organized crime "families" fighting to control various activities and money?"
Nothing more to say.

Via The Cliffs of Insanity

It's Gonna Rain Sensational Nightingales

Are we ready with our bullets, beans and bandaids?
Wonderful music. Like going to our black Pippen reunions.

Via Armed with a vote, NCRC

Conservative Bash At Richard Petty’s Home


Via Randy

Johnny Carson Lie Detector Politician


Via Cousin Bill

Guns And Suicide

Oleg Volk
Let's examine the idea that removing guns from individual ownership would do anything to reduce suicide rates. We already know that substitution effect happens and people in countries like China and Japan simply find other means to kill themselves. However, US gun-banners maintain that gun suicide is somehow worse than other kinds, so let's consider what kind of weapon is required for a successful suicide.

Generally, only one shot is fired. Any firearm down to a 14th century matchlock would suffice for that. A matchlock can be made with a simple pipe with one end closed with a cap or even left open. In the latter case, more powder or other propellant such as aerosol would be needed but the effect would be much the same.

The projectile has to penetrate very little. If the gun is aimed at the person's eye or ear, there's not even skull bone in the way. Moreover, shots that fail to penetrate the skull would still likely kill by spalling on the inside. So any projectile , from a bullet down to batched stone or even a blank would kill a person who has the gun in contact with the head.

Moreover, the gun doesn't have to be a firearm. A pneumatic nail gun would work as well, as would a bangstick. A crossbow would work just as well. So restricting firearms -- including the obsolete matchlock, flintlock and percussion types would do nothing to reduce the effectiveness of suicides by those who decide to use projectiles to check out.

In other word, anti-gun people think nothing of endangering the lives of millions who want to use firearms for defense under the pretext of reducing the number of suicided -- and they are lying about that excuse, too."

The Highwayman By Alfred Noyes

The Highwayman
(My favorite poem. It scared my daughter Bonnie when I read it to her. Both this and The Charge Of The Light Brigade! BT)

Part One
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding-
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say-

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.

Part Two
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching-
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride.

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say-
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till here fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs
ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did
not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up strait and still!

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death.

He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

* * * * * *

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding-
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.


This is the original version of The Highwayman, copyrighted 1906, 1913.

Black And White

Oleg Volk

"........Or You Can Shoot The Sons Of Bitches"

Re-post: One of Fred's best.


Not for children

We Are Not Indebted To The (These) United States For These Rights;

"There are certain principles that are inherent in man, that belong to man, and that were enunciated in an early day, before the United States government was formed, and they are principles that rightfully belong to all men everywhere. They are described in the Declaration of Independence as inalienable rights, one of which is that men have a right to live; another is that they have a right to pursue happiness; and another is that they have a right to be free and no man has authority to deprive them of those God-given rights, and none but tyrants would do it.

"These principles, I say, are inalienable in man; they belong to him; they existed before any constitutions were framed or any laws made. Men have in various ages striven to strip their fellow-men of these rights, and dispossess them of them. And hence the wars, the bloodshed and carnage that have spread over the earth. We, therefore, are not indebted to the United States for these rights; we were free as men born into the world, having the right to do as we please, to act as we please, as long as we do not transgress constitutional law nor violate the rights of others...

"Another thing God expects us to do, and that is to maintain the principle of human rights... We owe it to all liberty-loving men, to stand up for human rights and to protect human freedom, and in the name of God we will do it, and let the congregation say Amen."
-- John Taylor, 1882, Journal of Discourses, Volume 23, p. 263