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Small Town Soap Box Wednesday
Small Town Soapbox, Wednesday 9/3/2008
Today's soapbox was a special tribute to Jerry Reed
Small Town Soapbox, Wedsday 8/27/2008
Gun in the House.....
The purpose of fighting is to win.
There is no possible victory in defense.
The sword is more important than the shield, and skill is more important than either.
The final weapon the brain. All else is supplemental.
As John Steinbeck once said:
1. Don't pick a fight with an old man. If he is too old to fight,
he'll just kill you.
2. If you find yourself in a fair fight, your tactics suck.
3. I carry a gun cause a cop is too heavy.
4. When seconds count, the cops are just minutes away.
5. A reporter did a human-interest piece on the Texas Rangers.
The reporter recognized the Colt Model 1911 the Ranger was carrying and asked him 'Why do you carry a 45?' The Ranger responded, 'Because they don't make a 46.'
6. An armed man will kill an unarmed man with monotonous regularity.
7. The old sheriff was attending an awards dinner when a lady commented on his wearing his sidearm. 'Sheriff, I see you have your pistol. Are you expecting trouble?'
'No Ma'am If I were expecting trouble, I would have brought my rifle.'
8. Beware the man who only has one gun.
HE PROBABLY KNOWS HOW TO USE IT!!!
I was once asked by a lady visiting if I had a gun in the house.
I said I did. She said 'Well I certainly hope it isn't loaded!'!
To which I said, of course it is loaded, don't work without bullets!'
She then asked, 'Are you that afraid of some one evil coming into your house?'
My reply was, 'No not at all. I am not afraid of the house catching fire either, but I have fire extinguishers around, and they are all loaded too.'
To which I'll add, having a gun in the house that isn't loaded is
like having a car in the garage without gas in the tank.
I'm a firm believer of the 2nd Amendment !
Submitted: Roy Butts
Small Town Soapbox, Wednesday 8/20/2008
I'm voting Democrat
Here are the reasons why!!
I'm voting Democrat because I believe the government will do a better job of spending the money I earn than I would.
I'm voting Democrat because freedom of speech is fine as long as nobody is offended by it.
I'm voting Democrat because when we pull out of Iraq, I trust that the bad guys will stop what they're doing because they?ll think we're good people.
I'm voting Democrat because I believe that people who can't tell us if it will rain on Friday, CAN tell us that the polar ice caps will melt away in ten years if I don't start driving a Prius.
I'm voting Democrat because I'm not concerned about the slaughter of unborn babies so long as we keep all death row inmates alive.
I'm voting Democrat because I believe that business should not be allowed to make profits for themselves. They need to break even and give the rest away to the government for redistribution as our wise & frugal Congress sees fit.
I'm voting Democrat because I believe three or four pointy headed elitist liberals need to rewrite the Constitution every few days to suit some fringe kooks who would NEVER get their agendas past the voters.
I'm voting Democrat because I love the fact that I can now marry whoever or whatever I want. I've decided to marry my dog.
I'm voting Democrat because I believe oil companies' profits of 4% on a gallon of gas are obscene but the government taxing the same gallon of gas at 15% isn't.
I'm voting Democrat because I believe that guns are not a deterrent to criminals. I know that if my house is broken into, the police will always show up and incarcerate the villains before they can hurt anyone.
Makes ya wonder why anyone would EVER vote Republican, now doesn't it?
Small Town Soapbox, Wednesday 8/13/2008
You're Not A Cop Until You Taste Them
The department was all astir, there was a lot of laughing and joking due to
all the new officers, myself included, hitting the streets today for the
first time. After months of seemingly endless amounts of classes, paperwork, and lectures we were finally done with the Police Academy and ready to join the ranks of our department.
All you could see were rows of cadets with huge smiles and polished badges.
As we sat in the briefing room, we could barely sit still anxiously awaiting our turn to be introduced and given our beat assignment or, for the lay person, our own portion of the city to 'serve and protect.'
It was then that he walked in. A statue of a man - 6 foot 3 and 230 pound s of solid muscle, he had black hair with highlights of gray and steely eyes that make you feel nervous even when he wasn't looking at you. He had a reputation for being the biggest and the smartest officer to ever work our fair city. He had been on the department for longer than anyone could remember and those years of service had made him into somewhat of a legend.
The new guys, or 'rookies' as he called us, both respected and feared him.
When he spoke even, the most seasoned officers paid attention. It was almost a privilege when one the rookies got to be around when he would tell one or 2 of his police stories about the old days. But we knew our place and never interrupted for fear of being shooed away. He was respected and revered by all who knew him.
After my first year on the department I still had never heard or saw him speak to any of the rookies for any length of time. When he did speak to them all he would Say was, 'So, you want to be a policeman do you hero?'
I'll tell you what, when you can tell me what they taste like, then you can call yourself a real policeman.'
This particular phrase I had heard dozens of times. Me and my buddies all had bets about 'what they taste like' actually referred to... Some believed it referred to the taste of your own blood after a hard fight. Others thought it referred to the taste of sweat after a long day's work. Being on the department for a year, I thought I knew just about everyone and everything.
So one afternoon, I mustered up the courage and walked up to him. When he looked down at me, I said 'You know, I think I've paid my dues... I've been in plenty of fights, made dozens of arrests, and sweated my butt off just like everyone else. So what does that little saying of yours mean anyway?' With that, he merely stated, ' Well, seeing as how you've said and done it all, you tell me what it means, hero.' When I had no answer, he shook his head and snickered, 'rookies,' and walked away.
The next evening was to be the worst one to date. The night started out slow, but as the evening wore on, the calls became more frequent and dangerous. I made several small arrests and then had a real knock down drag out fight.
However, I was able to make the arrest without hurting the suspect or myself.
After that, I was looking forward to just letting the shift wind down and getting home to my wife and daughter.
I had just glanced at my watch and it was 11:55, five more minutes and I would be on my way to the house. I don't know if it was fatigue or just my
imagination, but as I drove down one of the streets on my beat, I thought I saw my
daughter standing on someone else's porch. I looked again but it was not my daughter as I had first thought but merely a small child about her age. She was probably only six or seven year?s ol d and dressed in an oversized shirt that hung to her feet. She was clutching an old rag doll in her arms that looked older than me.
I immediately stopped my patrol car to see what she was doing outside her house at such an hour by herself. When I approached, there seemed to be a sigh of relief on her face. I had to laugh to myself, thinking she sees the hero policeman come to save the day. I knelt at her side and asked what she was doing outside.
She said 'My mommy and daddy just had a really big fight and now mommy won?t wake up.' My mind was reeling. Now what do I do? I instantly called for backup and ran to the nearest window. As I looked inside I saw a man standing over a lady with his hands covered in blood, her blood. I kicked open the door, pushed the man aside and checked for a pulse, but unable to find one. I immediately cuffed the man and began doing CPR on the lady.
It was then I heard a small voice from behind me, 'Mr. Policeman, please make my mommy wake up.' I continued to perform CPR until my backup and medics arrived but they said it was too late. She was dead.
I then looked at the man. He said, 'I don't know what happened. She was yelling at me to stop drinking and go get a job and I had just had enough. I just shoved her so she would leave me alone and she fell and hit her head.'
As I walked the man out to the car in handcuffs, I again saw that little girl. In the five minutes that has passed, I went from hero to monster. Not only was I unable to wake up her mommy, but now I was taking daddy away too.
Before I left the scene, I thought I would talk to the little girl. To say what, I don't know. Maybe just to tell her I was sorry about her mommy and daddy. But as I approached, she turned away and I knew it was useless and I would probably make it worse.
As I sat in the locker room at the station, I kept replaying the whole thing in my mind. Maybe if I would have been faster or done something different, just maybe that little girl would still have her mother. And even though it may sound selfish, I would still be the hero.
It was t hen that I felt a large hand on my shoulder. I heard that all too familiar question again, 'Well, hero, what do they taste like?'
But before I could get mad or shout some sarcastic remark, I realized that all the pent up emotions had flooded the surface and there was a steady stream of tears cascading down my face. It was at that moment that I realized what the answer to his question was tears.
With that, he began to walk away, but he stopped. 'You know, there was nothing you could have done differently,' he said. 'Sometimes you can do everything right and still the outcome is the same? You may not be the hero you once thought you were, but now you ARE a police officer.'
Rick Monticello of Somersdale PD, New Jersey
Small Town Soapbox, Wednesday 8/6/2008
Nashville Star Debate
Dear Moby:
I use to listen to your show ever morning on my way to work. That most likely ended this morning!
Your snide comments about Melissa Lawson being a "big" star and dissing her new single was unprofessional. 10's, or maybe 100's of thousands of people heard your remarks, and your influence probably tainted some of those listener's opinion of her. You can say that "Nashville Star" is cheesy if you like, but don't run down the winner by getting personal about size. The last time I saw you, you wouldn't fit into 34" pants either. How did your first song sound to the radio public? What did the DJ say about it?
Sincerely,
Ron Satcher
========================================================
Good grief, Ron. I wasn't intending to upset you or anyone else. I'm sorry, cousin.
But I gotta tell ya, all the talent I saw in in my limited exposures were mediocre at best.
The judges were gravely lacking, and Bllly Ray was a fish out of water as the MC.
I'm embarrassed for non-country folks to see this and think this is country music's version of the way things are, or ought to be.
People predisposed with a negative opinion of it all would correctly think little other than an American Idol rip-off.
Now, regarding Melissa. The girl can sing fairly well, and I bet she's a good mommy to her five boys, but she's not star material. Having a little knowledge of the industry, I can promise you, she'll not have a big hit. That's not within your control or mine.
And about me, you're absolutely correct. My weight has been a roller coaster all my life, and it no doubt always will be.
I've made light of it, and learned to live with it, my friend.
I'm not offended in the slightest that you've chosen to join the long list of those that have reminded me of it since elementary school.
So, I'll close with a sincere apology, and an invitation for you to join us again when (as my mama would say) you get over your mad spell.
The very best of friends get ticked off at each other every now and then, don't you agree?
God bless & Yeah baby,
MOBY
Small Town Soapbox, Wednesday 7/30/2008
Almighty God
On a Saturday night several weeks ago, this pastor was working late, and decided to call his wife before he left for home. It was about 10:00 PM, but his wife didn't answer the phone.
The pastor let the phone ring many times. He thought it was odd that she didn't answer, but decided to wrap up a few things and try again in a few minutes. When he tried again she answered right away. He asked her why she hadn't answered before, and she said that it hadn't rung at their house. They brushed it off as a fluke and went on their merry ways.
The following Monday, the pastor received a call at the church office, which was the phone that he'd used that Saturday night. The man that he spoke with wanted to know why he'd called on Saturday night.
The pastor couldn't figure out what the man was talking about. Then the man said, "It rang and rang, but I didn't answer." The pastor remembered the mishap and apologized for disturbing him, explaining that he'd intended to call his wife.
The man said, "That's, OK. Let me tell you my story.
You see, I was planning to commit suicide on Saturday night, but before I did, I prayed, 'God if you're there, and you don't want me to do this, give me a sign now.' At that point my phone started to ring. I looked at the caller ID, and it said, 'Almighty God'. I was afraid to answer!"
The reason why it showed on the man's caller ID that the call came from "Almighty God" is because the church that the pastor attends is called Almighty God Tabernacle!!
Small Town Soapbox, Wendesday 7/23/2008
This is from a Reconnaissance Marine in Afghanistan
I'm sitting on hard, cold dirt between rocks and shrubs at the base of the Hindu Kush Mountains watching a hole that leads to a tunnel that leads to a cave. Stake out, my friend, and no pizza delivery for thousands of miles.
I also glance at the area around my butt every ten to fifteen seconds to avoid another scorpion sting. I've actually given up battling the chiggers and sand fleas, but scorpions give a jolt like a cattle prod. Hurts like hell.
The antidote tastes like transmission fluid but God bless the Marine Corps for the five vials of it in my pack.
The one truth the Taliban cannot escape is that, believe it or not, they are human beings, which means they have to eat food and drink water. That requires couriers and that's where an old bounty hunter like me comes in handy. I track the couriers, locate the tunnel entrances and storage facilities, type the info into the handheld, shoot the coordinates up to the satellite link that tells the air commanders where to drop the hardware, we bash some heads for a while, then I track and record the new movement.
It's all about intelligence. We haven't even brought in the snipers yet. These scurrying rats have no idea what they're in for. We are but days away from cutting off supply lines and allowing the eradication to begin.
I dream of bin Laden waking up to find me standing over him with my boot on his throat as I spit a bloody ear into his face and plunge my nickel plated Bowie knife through his frontal lobe. But you know me. I'm a romantic. I've said it before and I'll say it again: This country blows, man. It's not even a country. There are no roads, there's no infrastructure, there's no government. This is an inhospitable, rock pit caca hole ruled by eleventh century warring tribes. There are no jobs here like we know jobs.
Afghanistan offers two ways for a man to support his family: join the opium trade or join the army. That's it. Those are your options. Oh, I forgot, you can also live in a refugee camp and eat plum-sweetened, crushed beetle paste and squirt mud like a goose with stomach flu if that's your idea of a party. But the smell alone of those 'tent cities of the walking dead' is enough to hurl you into the poppy fields to cheerfully scrape bulbs for eighteen hours a day.
I've been living with these Tajiks and Uzbeks and Turkmen and even a couple of Pushtins for over a month and a half now and this much I can say for sure: These guys, all of em, are Huns... They LIVE to fight. It?s what they do. It?s ALL they do.
They have no respect for anything, not for their families or for each other or for themselves. They claw at one another as a way of life. They play polo with dead calves and force their five-year-old sons into human cockfights to defend the family honor. Huns, roaming packs of savage, heartless beasts who feed on each others barbarism. Cavemen with AK 47's. Then again, maybe I'm just cranky.
Oh yeah! You like to write letters, right? Do me a favor. Write a letter to CNN and tell Wolf and Anderson to stop calling the Taliban 'smart.' They are not smart. I suggest CNN invest in a dictionary because the word they are looking for is 'cunning.' The Taliban are cunning, like jackals and hyenas and wolverines. They are sneaky and ruthless and, when confronted, cowardly. They are hateful, parasites who create nothing and destroy everything else. Smart? Yeah, they're real smart.
They've spent their entire lives reading only one book (and not a very good one, as books go) and consider hygiene and indoor plumbing to be products of the devil. They're still figuring out how to work a Bic lighter. Talking to a Taliban warrior about improving his quality of life is like trying to teach an ape how to hold a pen; eventually he just gets frustrated and sticks you in the eye with it.
OK, enough. The sun will be up soon so I have to get back to my hole. Covering my tracks in the snow takes a lot of practice but I'm good at it. Please, tell my fellow Americans to turn off the TV sets and move on with your lives.
The story line you are getting from CNN and other news agencies is utter bull and designed to keep you glued to the screen through the commercials. We've got this one under control. The worst thing you guys can do right now is sit around analyzing what we're doing over here because you have no idea what we're doing and, really, you don't want to know. We are your military and we are doing what you sent us here to do.
You wanna help? Buy Bonds America.
Saucy Jack Semper Fidelis
Small Town Soapbox, Wednesday 7/16/2008
I'M A BAD AMERICAN
I Am the Liberal-Progressives Worst Nightmare. I am an American.
I am a Master Mason and believe in God.
I ride Harley Davidson Motorcycles and believe in American products.
I believe the money I make belongs to me and my family,
not some Liberal governmental functionary be it Democratic or Republican!
I'm in touch with my feelings and I like it that way!
I think owning a gun doesn't make you a killer, it makes you a smart American.
I think being a minority does not make you noble or victimized, and does not entitle you to anything. Get over it!
I believe that if you are selling me a Big Mac, do it in English.
I believe everyone has a right to pray to his or her God when and where they want to.
My heroes are John Wayne, Babe Ruth, Roy Rogers, and Willie G Davidson that makes
the Awesome Harley Davidson Motorcycles.
I don't hate the rich. I don't pity the poor.
I know wrestling is fake and I don't waste my time watching or arguing about it.
I've never owned a slave, or was a slave, I haven't burned any witches or been persecuted by the Turks and neither have you! So, shut up already.
I believe if you don't like the way things are here, go back to where you came from and change your own country! This is AMERICA .. We like it the way it is!
If you were born here and don't like it you are free to move to any Socialist country that will have you.
I want to know which church is it exactly where the Reverend Jesse Jackson preaches, where he gets his money, and why he is always part of the problem and not the solution. Can I get an AMEN on that one?
I also think the cops have the right to pull you over if you're breaking the law, regardless of what color you are.
And, no, I don't mind having my face shown on my driver?s license.
I think it's good..... And I'm proud that "God" is written on my money.
I think if you are too stupid to know how a ballot works, I don't want you deciding who should be running the most powerful nation in the world for the next four years.
I believe the president of the United States should put his hand over his heart and say the pledge of allegiance and should have no reservations about wearing American flag pins on his lapel.
I dislike those people standing in the intersections trying to sell me stuff or trying to guilt me into making "donations" to their cause. Get a Job and do your part!
I believe that it doesn't take a village to raise a child, it takes two parents.
I believe "illegal" is illegal no matter what the lawyers think.
I believe the American flag should be the only one allowed in AMERICA !
If this makes me a BAD American, then yes, I'm a BAD American.
If you are a BAD American too, please forward this to everyone you know.
We want our country back! WE NEED GOD BACK IN OUR COUNTRY!
Sent in by: Lynn Shellnut
Small Town Soapbox, Wednesday 7/9/2008
(A scene at City Hall in San Francisco)
"Next" "Good morning. We want to apply for a marriage license."
"Names?" "Tim and Jim Jones". "Jones? Are you related? I see a resemblance." "Yes, we're brothers." "Brothers? You can't get married." "Why not? Aren't you giving marriage licenses to same gender couples?
"Yes, thousands. But we haven't had any siblings. That would be incest!" "Incest? No Way. We're not gay." "Not gay? Then why do you want to get married?" "For the financial benefits, of course. And we do love each other. Besides, we don't have any other prospects." "But we're issuing marriage licenses to gay and lesbian couples who have been denied equal protection under the law. If you are not gay, you can get married to a woman." "Wait a minute. A gay man has the same right to marry a
woman as I have. But just because I'm straight doesn't mean
I want to marry a woman. I want to marry Jim." "And I want to marry Tim. Are you going to discriminate against us just because we are not gay?" "All right, all right. I'll give you your license."
"Next" "Hi. We are here to get married." "Names?" John Smith, Jane James, Robert Green, and June Johnson." "Who wants to marry whom?" "We all want to marry each other." "But there are four of you!" "That's right. You see, we're all bisexual. I love Jane and Robert. Jane loves me and June. June loves Robert and Jane. And Robert loves June and me. All of us getting married together is the only way that we can express our sexual preferences in a marital relationship." "But we've only been granting licenses to gay and lesbian couples." "So you are discriminating against bisexuals!" "No, it's just that, well, the traditional idea of marriage is that it's just for couples." "Since when are you standing on tradition?" "Well, I mean, you have to draw the line somewhere." "Who says? There's no logical reason to limit marriage to couples. The more the better. Besides, we demand our rights! The mayor says the constitution guarantees equal protection under the law. Give us a marriage license!"
"All right, all right.
"Next" "Hello. I'd like a marriage license, please."
"In what names?" "David Deets." "And the other man?"
"That's all. I want to marry myself."
"Marry yourself? What do you mean?"
"Well, my psychiatrist says I have a dual personality, so I want
to marry the two together. Maybe I can file a joint income tax
return."
"That does it! I quit..... You people are making
a mockery of marriage ! !"
Small Town Soapbox, Wednesday 7/2/2008
ARE YOU JESUS
''Excuse me, are you Jesus?'
A few years ago a group of salesmen went to a regional sales convention in Chicago. They had assured their wives that they would be home in plenty of time for Friday night's dinner. In their rush, with tickets and briefcases, one of these salesmen inadvertently kicked over a table which held a display of apples. Apples flew everywhere. Without stopping or looking back, they all managed to reach the plane in time for their nearly missed boarding.
ALL BUT ONE !!! He paused, took a deep breath, got in touch with his feelings, and experienced a twinge of compassion for the girl whose apple stand had been overturned.
He told his buddies to go on without him, waved good-bye, told one of them to call his wife when they arrived at their home destination and ex plain his taking a later flight. Then he returned to the terminal where the apples were all over the terminal floor.
He was glad he did.
The 16-year-old girl was totally blind! She was softly crying,
tears running down her cheeks in frustration, and at the same time helplessly groping for her spilled produce as the crowd swirled about her, no one stopping and no one to care for her plight.
The salesman knelt on the floor with her, gathered up the apples, put them back on the table and helped organize her display As he did this, he noticed that many of them had become battered and bruised; these he set aside in another basket.
When he had finished, he pulled out his wallet and said to the girl, 'Here, please take this $40 for the damage we did. Are you okay?' She nodded through her tears.. He continue d on with, 'I hope we didn't spoil your day too badly.'
As the salesman started to walk away, the bewildered blind girl called out to him, 'Mister. ...' He paused and turned to look back into those blind eyes. She continued, 'Are you Jesus?'
He stopped in mid-stride, and he wondered. Then slowly he made his way to catch the later flight with that question burning and bouncing about in his soul: 'Are you Jesus?' Do people mistake you for Jesus? That's our destiny, is it not? To be so much like Jesus that people cannot tell the difference as we live and interact with a world that is blind to His love, life and grace.
If we claim to know Him, we should live, walk and act as He would. Knowing Him is more than simply quoting Scripture and going to church. It's actually living the Word as life unfolds day to day.
You are the apple of His eye even though we, too, have been bruised by a fall. He stopped what He was doing and picked you and me up on a hill called Calvary and paid in full for our damaged fruit.
Small Town Soapbox, Wednesday 6/25/2008
WHEN YOU THOUGHT I WASN'T LOOKING
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you hang my first painting on the refrigerator, and I immediately wanted to paint another one.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you feed a stray cat, and I learned that it was good to be kind to animals.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you make my favorite cake for me, and I learned that the little things can be the special things in life.
When you thought I wasn't looking I heard you say a prayer, and I knew that there is a God I could always talk to, and I learned to trust in Him.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you make a meal and take it to a friend who was sick, and I learned that we all have to help take care of each other.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you give of your time and money to help people who had nothing, and I learned that those who have something should give to those who don't.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you take care of our house and everyone in it, and I learned we have to take care of what we are given.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw how you handled your responsibilities, even when you didn' t feel good, and I learned that I would have to be responsible when I grow up.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw tears come from your eyes, and I learned that sometimes things hurt, but it's all right to cry.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw that you cared, and I wanted to be everything that I could be.
When you thought I wasn't looking I learned most of life's lessons that I need to know to be a good and productive person when I grow up.
When you thought I wasn't looking I looked at you and wanted to say,'Thanks for all the things I saw when you thought I wasn't looking.'
Small Town Soapbox, Wednesday 6/18/2008
MILITARY RULES:
Navy SEAL's Rules:
1. Look very cool in sunglasses.
2. Kill every living thing within view.
3. Adjust Speedo.
4. Check hair in mirror.
US Army Rules:
1. Curse bitterly when receiving operational order.
2. Make sure there is extra ammo and extra coffee.
3. Curse bitterly.
4. Do not listen to 2nd LTs; it can get you killed.
5. Curse bitterly.
US Army Rangers Rules:
1. Walk in 50 miles wearing 75 pound rucksack while starving.
2. Locate individuals requiring killing.
3. Request permission via radio from 'Higher' to perform killing.
4. Curse bitterly when mission is aborted.
5. Walk out 50 miles wearing a 75 pound rucksack while starving.
US Air Force Rules:
1. Have a cocktail.
2. Adjust temperature on air-conditioner.
3. See what's on HBO.
4. Request more funding from Congress with a 'killer' Power Point presentation.
5. Hurry to make 14:45 tee-time.
Marine Corps Rules:
1. Be courteous to everyone, friendly to no one.
2. Decide to be aggressive enough, quickly enough.
3. Have a plan.
4. Have a back-up plan, because the first one probably won't work.
5. Be polite. Be professional. But have a plan to kill everyone you meet.
6. Do not attend a gunfight with a handgun whose caliber does not start with a 4.'
7. Anything worth shooting is worth shooting twice. Ammo is cheap. Life is expensive.
8. Move away from your attacker. Distance is your friend. (Lateral & diagonal preferred.)
9. Use cover or concealment as much as possible.
10... Flank your adversary when possible. Protect yours.
11. Always cheat; always win. The only unfair fight is the one you lose.
12. In ten years nobody will remember the details of caliber, stance, or tactics. They will only remember who lived.
13. If you are not shooting, you should be communicating your intention to shoot.
US Navy Rules:
1. Go to Sea.
2. Drink Coffee.
3. Deploy Marines
***Go Navy !***
Small Town Soapbox, Wednesday 6/11/2008
Wicker Basket
The story is told of an old man who lived on a farm in the mountains of eastern Kentucky with his young grandson. Each morning, Grandpa
was up early sitting at the kitchen table reading from his old worn-out Bible.
His grandson who wanted to be just like him tried to imitate him in
any way he could.
One day the grandson asked, "Papa, I try to read the Bible just like
you but I don't understand it, and what I do understand I forget as
soon as I close the book. What good does reading the Bible do?"
The Grandfather quietly turned from putting coal in the stove and said, "Take this old wicker coal basket down to the river and bring back a basket of water."
The boy did as he was told, even though all the water leaked out
before he could get back to the house. The grandfather laughed and
said, "You will have to move a little faster next time," and sent him
back to the river with the basket to try again. This time the boy ran
faster, but again the old wicker basket was empty before he returned
home. Out of breath, he told his grandfather that it was "impossible to carry water in a basket," and he went to get a bucket instead.
The old man said, "I don't want a bucket of water; I want a basket of
water. You can do this. You're just not trying hard enough," and he
went out the door to watch the boy try again.
At this point, the boy knew it was impossible, but he wanted to show
his grandfather that even if he ran as fast as he could, the water would leak out before he got far at all. The boy scooped the water and ran hard, but when he reached his grandfather the basket was again empty. Out of breath, he said, "See Papa, it's useless!"
"So you think it is useless?" The old man said, "Look at the basket."
The boy looked at the basket and for the first time he realized that the basket looked different. Instead of a dirty old wicker coal basket, it was clean.
"Son, that's what happens when you read the Bible. You might not
understand or remember everything, but when you read it, it will
change you from the inside out."
?I don't retain things too myself well anymore...old age may have
something to do with it but I just figure my brain just gets overloaded!
God isn't concerned about your brains anyway, He's more concerned
about your heart?
Small Town Soapbox, Wednesday 6/4/2008
The musicFIRST Coalition is in entertainment news this week. They?re the group griping to have broadcasters ?pay a performance royalty? for the music they play on radio stations. They?re sending free songs to National Association of Broadcasters executives this week. They?re sending copies of Steve Miller's "Take The Money And Run," Bruce Springsteen's "Pay Me My Money Down," & Paul McCartney's "Back In The U.S.S.R." to NAB President/CEO David Rehr and EVP/Radio John David to remind them of the "inequity" facing recording artists who go unpaid when their music is played on the radio. Unpaid?!? Why you Gold & Platinum plated Pansies!!! Are you nuts!?!
It appears to me that you folks are well-compensated for your art. Just leave it alone and enjoy the yachts, mansions, and all the other spoils that your fans have paid for. Enjoy the life that most folks can only dream about living.
Boys, this is a slippery slope you cry babies want to walk down, and you?ll not like the ending of this song, there Mozart.
I agree with what NAB EVP Dennis Wharton said: "This silly gesture obscures the fact that most musicians became successful through free airplay from America's hometown radio stations.?
You folks will really go unpaid when your music isn?t played on the radio at all, and people forget who the devil you are. Do you really think you?re that unique just because you were lucky enough to land a record deal? Do you really feel that superlative over undiscovered, but equally talented artists that would kill to have the opportunity radio has provided the lot of you?
?The "inequity" facing recording artists who go unpaid when their music is played on the radio.? Who the devil do you think you are?!?
If we go down that path, then we?ll need recording artists to pay us for the time their songs are on our air. If we gotta pay them to play their performances, then they should pay us for the entirety of the time their performances consume. Because when we make these changes, what would each song be other than a 3 or 4 minute long commercial advertising their products? Time is what we sell. We get paid to broadcast commercials in radio, and the recording artists will have to pay us for those commercials.
Sounds fair to me. How about you artists? Get out your checkbooks. We normally insist on being paid in advance, especially with clients as unstable as most musicians seem to be.
Tell you what, why don?t we leave it alone? We?ve played well together for decades, folks. Don?t go getting greedy at this stage of the game.
You sell your records, CD?s, & digital downloads, for more than the music consumer can really afford to spend. You go ahead take $100+ dollars from your dedicated fans for obstructed view concert tickets. Go ahead and sell your $30+ cheap, lo-quality t-shirts, and other collectibles to your fans living paycheck to paycheck.
Just appreciate radio for the gift of airplay that makes all your music and non-music stuff marketable?
Otherwise, in these tough economic times, the big stars will simply disappear from the radio, because radio ain?t gonna be victim to any sort of ?Picker Powerplay?. The local artists begging for airplay will surface, and be more than happy to play ball with radio. You sure you wanna play that game, Bruce? How about you, McCartney?
To all the artists lucky enough to be successful, you?re welcome. Without radio, who would have ever heard your name, let alone your music?
This has been a great partnership all this time. Don?t try flexing muscles you?re not really in control of.
You need radio just like radio needs you.
Now shut the heck up, and write a song about it.
Then if you?re really lucky, radio might play it.
Small Town Soapbox, Wednesday 5/28/2008
My parents told me about this wise old gentleman early in my life and told me I would do well to call on him when making decisions. It seems he was always around in my early years but less and less as time passed by until today I read his obituary. Please join me in a moment of silence in remembrance.
Obituary Common Sense
Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape.
He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as knowing when to come in out of the rain, why the early bird gets the worm, life isn't always fair, and maybe it really was my fault.
Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you earn) and reliable parenting strategies (adults, not children are in charge).
His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a six-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a class mate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.
Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job they themselves failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer Aspirin, sun tan lotion or a band aid to a student; but could not inform the parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.
Common Sense lost the will to live as the Ten Commandments became contraband; churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims.
Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar can sue you for assault.
Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.
Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents, Truth and Trust; his wife, Discretion; his daughter, Responsibility; and his son, Reason.
He is survived by three half-brothers; I Know My Rights, Someone Else is to Blame and I'm a Victim.
Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone.
Sincerely,
Teri Olsen
Small Town Soapbox, Wednesday 5/21/2008
-- On this date 5/21 in 1881, The Red Cross was founded
Sunday night, Rascal Flats received the CMA Home Depot Humanitarian Award called the American Red Cross ?True Heroes?
They were right and I want to tell you why. I think it might surprise you.
The American Red Cross, a humanitarian organization led by volunteers and guided by its Congressional Charter.
But they are NOT A GOVERNMENTAL AGENCY. That means of course that they receive no funding from federal, state, or local governmental agencies. The programs and services they provide are made possible primarily through the generous support of individuals, businesses, organizations, and foundations. Let me say that again?.. They rely on the generosity of the American people like me and you.
The Red Cross is always there with services for your local community in addition to disaster relief, like education that can help you, your family and your neighbor prepare, prevent and respond to all types of emergencies and disasters. They also provide emergency services to our Armed Forces. The Red Cross is the largest provider of communications between our active servicemen and women and their families back home.
They also provide valuable health and safety training like CPR and first aid. What is more valuable than helping to save a life?
And if that?s not enough, the staff and volunteers are often called upon to play a key role when a major catastrophe occurs elsewhere in the United States. The recent Georgia Tornadoes, the California Wildfires, Hurricane Katrina and the 9/11 terrorist attacks ?the Red Cross was at ground zero at all those and more.
Help the Red Cross. The best thing you can do, is prepare to take care of yourself in case of an emergency. Ask yourself and your family - are we prepared? Call the Red Cross chapter nearest you and learn 3 important steps:
Make a Kit Have a Plan Be Informed
And if you would are interested in helping your local Red Cross here is what you can do:
Give a little Money: We could all give one dollar, and that would help the mission of the Red Cross.
Give a little Time: Your local Red Cross chapters always need volunteers how about an hour or two a month?
Give a Helping Hand: Take a valuable CPR, First Aid or Lifesaving Course ? they even offer a Babysitting course. Help save a life
Give a Little Blood:
CALL YOUR LOCAL RED CROSS AT 1 800 282-1722
Small Town Soapbox, Wednesday 5/14/2008
If I was a terrorist and I wanted to destroy the American Way of Life.
I wouldn't use planes and bombs to kill folks. Hells Bells!
That's too risky, you might get caught or killed or both.
Real terrorists get results and then they lay the blame where it can't
be found. So here's what I would do if I was a terrorist.
I would foreclose on millions of homes, you know, kick folks out of
their houses.
I would devalue the dollar so the price of everything would go up.
I would outsource their jobs so they couldn't find work.
I would move the factories to foreign countries; you know all the
good paying factory jobs.
I would make education unaffordable; you know terrorists don't like
having educated people around.
I would make health care difficult to get and let the insurance
companies just get away with murder.
I would listen to their telephone calls, monitor their emails, and use
that information to really stick it to them.
Then I would give myself a big ole tax cut, sit back in luxury and
watch em fight over the crumbs. But you know what .... We live in the
United States of America! Thank you Jesus! And the people that
represent us would never ever let them get away with that, Would
they? . . . . . . WOULD THEY???
Special thanks to Beth Page
for transcribing today's soapbox.
Small Town Soapbox, Wednesday 5/7/2008
I guess this means you were able to open it. The kids are second graders from Lavonia Elementary School. Thanks for the opportunity.
Sandra Thurman
Donna Webb LES Lavonia, GA
Yes, maam, I was able to open it, and I'll gladly share your kids rendition Thursday morning
You know Gracie begins public school next fall. She's registered there, and excited to go.
Those we have met from Mtn Park elementary seem just great.
We meet there to see the interworkings of the school tonight.
Mary Beth says that there's a chance that they won't say the pledge there. I promised her that if they didn't, I would not sit quietly.
I told her that I bet there were teachers in public education that would, like me, refuse to not recite it,
and lead this generation of future adults in their care in that pledge, and make sure that as they matured, they understand what it means, and the price that has been paid for our freedom to recite the Pledge of Allegiance to our flag.
Thank you for being one of the good guys in an age of what is without a doubt a diminishing number of good guys.
We've got to raise our voices for fear of God, love of country, and respect for authority as we raise our children, or there'll be no country left for them to inherit, and it will be nobody's fault but ours.
When I was in school, being taught by those that came before you, the pledge was a daily event that was followed by "My Country Tis of thee" or "Oh Beautiful For Spacious Skies" or a similar patriotic song.
Everyone either believed in God, or sat quietly while the unchallenged majority spent a moment thanking God for the day we about to share, and it hurt no one to do so.
I worry for our future, ladies, but I'm encourage when I hear from the likes of Ms Sandra's & Ms Donna's 2nd grade class from Lavonia Elementary School.
It's a small battleground, my angels, but you're winning. I only hope and pray that similar victories are being won every day on battlegrounds like the one where you take your daily stand for what has always been good about us.
The pledge, so eloquently recited by your class will be on the air Thursday morning, and it might make you feel good to know, that you?ve inspired me to write today's Small Town Soap Box.
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