Thursday, January 31, 2008

A Man in the Rain

Outside my office window, it's a clear, crisp January afternoon. This will change tonight and February will be ushered in with cold, icy rain. Given my druthers on such a morning, I'd as soon stay in bed.

Campaign Update

Barney has abruptly withdrawn from his quest for the Whitehouse. Early sources tell this outlet that he'll ask his delegates and supporteers to throw their support behind Ron Paul.

More on this story as word becomes available...

Monday, January 21, 2008

Presidential Timber...

Some are born to greatness, some stumble onto it while others, after fooling the masses, try to move within it. True greateness however, is integral to the warp and woof of the soul of Barney O'Kane.

In 2008, one can't swing a dead cat without hitting some Big Government, mush-muscled neocon popinjay trying to sell an even softer-sided alternative to those on the left. To this end, our enemies are laughing their backsides off and plotting how to carve up these great states.

Nope, its not the season of some make-nice, girly man, its the season for a candidate who has the canines and the resolve to make a stand for America, her people and her eternal values.

Unlike so many of those would-be leaders seeking to make nice to those who'd behead us with a buck knife, Barney proposes a simple solution; rip their windpipes out. In Barney, you have a leader who's stock is known to go down into a Badger warren on a mission to enviscerate predators. If it weren't for their human companions, these scotties would have driven those filthy weasels into extinction. As our Chief Executive, Barney would, after ripping the collective windpipes out of the Taliban, et, al, would simply hike his left leg over a vanquished foe in triumph. Some grass would be kicked, and then our President O'Kane would be about the people's business.

Barney O'Kane is a leader who has been carved out of sheer highland Basalt, schooled in the durable reformed traditions of Knox, Calvin and Sproul. His political philosophies are drawn from the likes of Robert the Bruce, Rutherford, and Jefferson. In short (sorry Barney), when it comes to the overall picture, Barney's and makes William Wallace look like an Amishman on zoloft by comparison.

Next week, an ecconomic manifesto...

A Presidential Endorsement

The Silly Season is upon us (Although it feels as though this season began back in January 2001 at GW II's first inauguration). You can't pick up a paper or turn on the radio or the idiot box without being lambasted a political onslaught.
In this maelstrom, pundits far and near are tossing out their endorsements for our next Chief Executive. Coulter's, Limbaugh's and many others have laid their annointing on a number of would-be leaders. Not wanting to be behind the curve, the Catbird thought it wise to make his endorsement for the next leader of the free world.

Funny, but endorsements are like belly-buttons (I'm keeping this family-friendly), everyone has one (Save Adam & Eve). I don't know if a single pundit or blogger's endorsement has ever tipped the scale towards a particluar candidate or not, but just the same I' am throwing my two cents towards a natural leader. Forget the Pack, forget the "Huckaboom"; the clear choice for our next leader rests on Stafford Virgina's own native son, Barney O'Kane.

More on his political chops soon...

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Equal Time

In the name of "equal time", I need to post a shot of cat #2, "Miss Sassy". Sassy is a Seal Point who has been with us nearly as long as Mistie. The two cats couldn't be more different as far as personality (i.e. Kittenality) goes. Just the same, Sassy is every bit the sweetheart as Mistie.

Unlike Mistie, who'll run at the sight of a mouse, Sassy is always ready to stalk a warm meal, and the bigger the better. The Eastern Cottontails that haunt Stafford are much faster than a 14 year old cat and will ultimately live to see another day. Still, there's something just plain cool in seeing a "grand dame" cat with the chutzpah to try and run down a rabbit.

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

Moving the ball downfield (To the Ends of the Earth)

I’m not a “fan” in the strictest sense, but I do love to watch a good game of football. I also enjoy watching a good soccer match. When both of these sports are distilled down, their basic objectives are to: Keep the ball away from the other guys, move the ball down field, and get the ball across the goal line. No worries, right? Wrong. There’s a small catch all of this; depending on the game, there’ll be anywhere from eleven hundred pounds on up to a ton and a half of humanity between you and that goal line.

This seems to paint gridiron football and soccer in a fairly futile light, and I’m sure there’re plenty who’ve drawn this conclusion. Here’s where we draw the distinction between well-played football/soccer and “magnet ball”. In magnet ball an individual is under the frantic pursuit of eleven kids, each having their own idea on how to get the ball. In a well-orchestrated game of ball, one team works in concert while an opposing team, also in concert, attempts to staunch the progress of their opponent. When the truth is told, its not eleven vs. one, its one vs. one. The team with the best grip on this fact will likely be the ones with the Super Bowl rings, or the ones drinking Warsteiner out of “die welt cup” at the end of the season.

Now how about this; what if the typical ball team operated like the typical parish? (Katie bar the door ‘cause its gonna get warm in here…) Segments of the team wouldn’t speak to the other segments. A contingent would sit on the bench, bellyaching about the current coach, and pining for a previous one. There would be stories of how half the team walked off the field when there was a change to the Jerseys. In the midst of this, the ball never advances down field, the team gets monkey-stomped by their adversary, and ultimately, the team is dismissed as being irrelevant.

The allusion may seem preposterous at first, but think it through. Can we move the Kingdom downfield if our BVD’s are in a bunch because someone took “our” parking spot? Can we run the plays that have been called in from above if we’re not in one spirit?

Like in football, the clock is running. Unlike football, there are no timeouts.