Free Republic

We need to allow industry to profit. Here.

If people can make money through industry, they will try to make money, increase industry and create jobs.

It isn’t rocket science, except to socialists and liberals.

She is someone who is in favor of Common Core. I had a somewhat acrimonious exchange with her. I don’t think her account has been terminated, nor should it have been, IMO. That is simply her opinion, that Common Core is a good thing and we are wrong for opposing it. And, in her view, not just wrong, but irrationally wrong.

That person may be a conservative in some respects, and claims to be against “big government”, but when it something that affects her affairs directly as Common Core does, that is where she was all for big government.

Where she and I differed was when she painted all Freepers as the equivalent of General Jack Ripper (From “Dr. Strangelove”) because many of us are against big, bloated government. She couldn’t understand why we view Common Core as more of the same, which it IS.

I believe that our aircraft respond when queried on the appropriate channels, because, hey, that’s generally how we operate.

Of course, I don’t want to rule out stupidity and incompetence on the part of the Russians, but it seems equally likely as provocation.

This is how the Iranian airliner ended up getting shot down.

Needlessly.

These dipsticks sound like they are trying to provoke an incident.

Well, I will be the first to say that the Japanese were so foreign to me, their culture, everything, that it was a constant source of baffling and non-standard (to me) behavior!

Suffice to say that for an eight year old gaijin kid, Japan was a very strange place. Odd toilets that you had to squat over...open sewers...the smell of fish...large groups of people walking around wearing face masks, pachinko ball machines...restaurants with bizarre plastic food in the front windows...

But one of the oddest things to me was that whenever an aircraft carrier came into port, there would be these HUGE demonstrations outside the base.

At around 9:00 AM several hundred Japanese riot police would assemble in a field near my house, then on cue shortly thereafter, the crowds would assemble outside the fence near the main gate with banners and megaphones...I seem to remember large groups, but it might have only been 500 or even a thousand. They would get vocal and demonstrate for a while, then again, on cue, some of them would go over and begin climbing the fence. The fire trucks inside the base parked nearby would begin spraying the demonstrators on the fence with fire hoses, knocking them off, then they would begin spraying the other demonstrators through the fence.

Shortly thereafter, the demonstrators would disperse, the area would be quickly cleaned up, and when the water evaporated, there was no indication that anything had transpired.

When I think of it now, it seemed like one big, huge, ritualized kabuki dance. Everyone knew their roles on both sides, the whole thing went down like clockwork, and then it was over until the next time.

I remember my brother and I going over and talking to a bunch of the Japanese riot police, and inviting them back to our house after the demonstration was over. We went into the cabinets and opened up a bunch of cans of stuff and poured them into bowls. I recall that we had maybe ten bowls of things like chick peas, corn, whatever.

My mom came home, and politely told the Japanese guys to leave, which they did. I have no idea what my mother thought of that. I think she must have thought we were just crazy.

I wonder, do kids do that anymore? (the boxes, not the oil!)

Thanks...I enjoy this thread, thanks for starting it.

''...and imagined that the old gal would forget she iced it..."

Heh, that's great...sums up the way a kid thinks!"

Great thread...there are some really funny stories here. How any of us lived to adulthood, I don’t know.

I guess some of us didn’t.

Also, when I lived in Japan, I went off base and purchased fireworks. I wasn't old enough to go off base on my own (they didn't issue you a dependent's ID card until an age older than I was, so I had to sneak off. Over near the museum that was the Japanese Dreadnaught Mikasa, there was a hole in fence I was able to go under. That was a lot better than going over, which I had done, but even as stupid and dimwitted as only a nine year old kid can occasionally be, I recognized just how hazardous that was. I invariably tore clothes and incurred bloody scratches, but it was only a matter of time until something really bad happened. Anyway, I had gone off base and purchased a bunch of smoke bombs, which were spherical, painted in the color of smoke they would emit, and had a thick fuse protruding from them like a little Felix the Cat bomb. When I was walking back on base, usually I just walked right through. The Marines at the Main Gate never checked you coming back in (as a little kid) only leaving. Until today, that is.

As I came in, they stopped me and brought me into the little white guard shack they had there. They sat me in a chair, asked to see my ID, and when I couldn't produce one, said "Well, how do we know you aren't a spy? Who won the World Series this year?" When I said it was the St. Louis Cardinals (which had my favorite baseball player on the team, Lou Brock) they let me go. I laugh now, they were just a bunch of bored Marines who knew darn well who I was because my dad was in charge of base security, they were just busting my chops because they could.

So, I get home, and decide to go out behind my house with my slingshot, and fire some smoke balls through the air into the playground on the other side of the road.

After I had shot a few, one of the ones I shot landed in the un-mowed, dried grass of the playground. I could see even from where I was, that this was not going to be good, and I was right. The little smoke bomb was spitting out streams of sparks and smoke, and a large grass fire quickly developed. Fire trucks arrived, and I could see I was screwed. I looked out the same window I had hidden under when I nearly got caught shoplifting, and thought for sure they were going to walk right over to my house, but...they didn't.

OMG...I have to repost that! I accidentally hit post before cleaning it up with HTML. And I have to shrink that picture, darn it. Sorry for the inconvenience.

Hahaha...I love threads like this!

When I was a Navy Brat living in Yokosuka, Japan, I used to go down to the little commissary they had within the walls of the base hospital, which were perhaps 8-9 feet high and made of concrete. I was maybe eight or nine at the time.

Every day I would go in and steal a candy bar or something like that. One day after I put a candy bar in my pocket and turned to walk out, the Japanese guy who ran the store was standing in front of me. "Give me the candy bar in your pocket" he said. I mumbled something about not having a candy bar, and he interrupted me: "I watch you every day. You come in here every day and steal something. I have had enough. I am calling the Shore Patrol."

He grabbed me by my shirt, and hustled me into tiny office at the back of the store. As he shoved me through the door, he steered me into a little stool in a corner. He pushed me onto the stool, stood in front of me, and picked up the phone and began dialing, the black military issue phone making that funny clicking nose that rotary dials of that day made.

I grabbed the phone out of his hand and hung it up.

I was desperate. I had been really, REALLY stupid, and arrogant to boot. Now, I was screwed. My dad was in charge of base security at the time. I could not in a million years imagine what I had in store for me if they marched me in front of my Dad. I had to find a way out of this.

He picked the phone up again, and began dialing with that same hand while pushing me onto the stool with the other hand.

I bolted between his legs. No kidding. I really, honest to goodness did.

As I did, he knocked my USMC fatigue cap, which was my prized possession. He also knocked off my battered BCD glasses. But I ran anyway.

I ran all the way home, went into my room and cowered below the window, peeking out and expecting to see the Shore Patrol coming up the street.

Well, they never came. I told my mom I fell off of some rocks near the ocean and lost my glasses. She let out an exasperated sigh. Glasses again. I broke so many glasses and had them constantly taped together that my suffering parents refused to buy me another pair one time. I had been running like hell, and my glasses flew off of my face and landed in the sidewalk directly in front of me...glasses facing down, unfolded ear pieces point straight up in parallel. My flying foot planted squarely between the upraised ear pieces and I ground the lens of the right lens into the concrete. when I put them on, it was like looking through frosted glass. My parents said I was just going to have to wait to get a new pair.

I ended up smearing vegetable oil on the lens, and I could see, in a fashion, through the lens.

Anyway, I avoided that little commissary for about a year, giving it a wide berth, and being terrified anytime I had to go within fifty yards of the place, even if there was a eight foot high wall between it and me. As time went by, my memory became foggier, and eventually I forgot all about it.

Then, one day as I walked down the road directly on the other side of the little store with that big concrete wall shielding it from my view, I suddenly became aware there was a slow moving vehicle on the road right beside me keeping pace.

It was one of those dinky little three wheel vehicles the Japanese were so fond of, and to my horror, I saw that the driver was the Japanese guy who ran the store.

I gaped at him, and he seemed to me a human incarnation of a mamushi snake, and me, a defenseless, motionless white rat.

He hissed at me: "If you want your glasses back, you have to send your father down to get them." Then he pulled away and disappeared. My arms hung limply at my side, my mouth open.

I ran all the way home again. But I never told my parents, even years later. Funny. That guy did me a lot of good, and out of fear, scared me off of being a casual, habitual, shoplifter.

Hahaha...I love threads like this! When I was a Navy Brat living in Yokosuka, Japan, I used to go down to the little commissary they had within the walls of the base hospital, which were perhaps 8-9 feet high and made of concrete. I was maybe eight or nine at the time.

Every day I would go in and steal a candy bar or something like that. One day after I put a candy bar in my pocket and turned to walk out, the Japanese guy who ran the store was standing in front of me. "Give me the candy bar in your pocket" he said. I mumbled something about not having a candy bar, and he interrupted me: "I watch you every day. You come in here every day and steal something. I have had enough. I am calling the Shore Patrol." He grabbed me by my shirt, and hustled me into tiny office at the back of the store. As he shoved me through the door, he steered me into a little stool in a corner. He pushed me onto the stool, stood in front of me, and picked up the phone and began dialing, the black military issue phone making that funny clicking nose that rotary dials of that day made. I grabbed the phone out of his hand and hung it up. I was desperate. I had been really, REALLY stupid, and arrogant to boot. Now, I was screwed. My dad was in charge of base security at the time. I could not in a million years imagine what I had in store for me if they marched me in front of my Dad. I had to find a way out of this. He picked the phone up again, and began dialing with that same hand while pushing me onto the stool with the other hand. I bolted between his legs. No kidding. I really, honest to goodness did. As I did, he knocked my USMC fatigue cap, which was my prized possession. He also knocked off my battered BCD glasses. But I ran anyway. I ran all the way home, went into my room and cowered below the window, peeking out and expecting to see the Shore Patrol coming up the street. Well, they never came. I told my mom I fell off of some rocks near the ocean and lost my glasses. She let out an exasperated sigh. Glasses again. I broke so many glasses and had them constantly taped together that my suffering parents refused to buy me another pair one time. I had been running like hell, and my glasses flew off of my face and landed in the sidewalk directly in front of me...glasses facing down, unfolded ear pieces point straight up in parallel. My flying foot planted squarely between the upraised ear pieces and I ground the lens of the right lens into the concrete. when I put them on, it was like looking through frosted glass. My parents said I was just going to have to wait to get a new pair. I ended up smearing vegetable oil on the lens, and I could see, in a fashion, through the lens. Anyway, I avoided that little commissary for about a year, giving it a wide berth, and being terrified anytime I had to go within fifty yards of the place, even if there was a eight foot high wall between it and me. As time went by, my memory became foggier, and eventually I forgot all about it. Then, one day as I walked down the road directly on the other side of the little store with that big concrete wall shielding it from my view, I suddenly became aware there was a slow moving vehicle on the road right beside me keeping pace. It was one of those dinky little three wheel vehicles the Japanese were so fond of, and to my horror, I saw that the driver was the Japanese guy who ran the store. I gaped at him, and he seemed to me a human incarnation of a mamushi snake, and me, a defenseless, motionless white rat. He hissed at me: "If you want your glasses back, you have to send your father down to get them." Then he pulled away and disappeared. My arms hung limply at my side, my mouth open. I ran all the way home again. But I never told my parents, even years later. Funny. That guy did me a lot of good, and out of fear, scared me off of being a casual, habitual, shoplifter.

I love that sermon you posted.

Hope you are feeling better soon, and out from under the weather. Like when you are on a ship, and you exit a black squall into bright sunshine.

I have always loved the springtime. No doubt about it, Spring and Fall.

My wife and I went into a store up here in Massachusetts today, and as we entered, they had pallets and pallets of daffodils stretching to one side.

An absolutely neutral temperature breeze (to just a tick on the warm side) came gently to us from across the tops of the palleted daffodils.

The subtle scent of daffodils was all around us. It was one of the most wonderful sensations...my memory synapses began to fire like popcorn in hot oil.

It felt like absolutely the best place in my life to be. I felt alive and happy.

All from that rich, muted scent of daffodils.

Now I look around, and the snow, even the dirty snow, is gone. The tree buds on a weeping cherry in our backyard are showing us the the most advanced harbingers of the imminent swollen buds, kind of the way the corners of the lips in the face of a person who doesn’t want to laugh semaphore what the rest of the mouth is going to do.

We have two cardinals on the ground under our bird feeder. The male is stunning, his boxy male head behind a jet black mask from which his beak protrudes, stares up at us protectively, as the marvelously muted female picks contentedly at the seeds that have fallen to the ground.

My orange cat has not had a whiff of the natural air since last October, maybe November at the latest. I opened the window that faces the weeping cherry, and he climbed up to the ledge as the spring air passed gleefully through the screen and into the bedroom.

Our cat straightened his back all the way up and pointed his chin at the sky, his eyes half -closed, and his pink nose flaring and tasting the air. It was his first smell of the outside in months. And his little kitty brain was firing on all cylinders just the way mine had been when I smelled those daffodils.

I know exactly how my cat felt.

Whaaaaat...he has xray vision?

Holy smokes. I will never pull the lever, ever for this guy.

Ever. I don’t care if it is Satan himself running against him, not doing it.

When I drink whiskey, I think nearly anything was possible in those days.

When I drank beer, I would get drunk. When I drank whisky, well...it is a different beast. I could end up dancing on top of anything from a person to the engine compartment of a boat.

I could easily see eating a dog biscuit. Doing shots off of other guys...no.

If it was shots off the girls...well...

Holy crap!

Ah. Made it before someone else did...:)

Bush had his faults, but he sure could dodge shoes. Hell, Hillary is an amateur.

Heck. Not just cancer...you get an infected thumb, toe or tooth in those days, it could take you just as efficiently as nearly anything else.

We take antibiotics so for granted.

Haha...I thought that was a brilliantly funny movie!

The “Ow, My Balls” channel...:) Made for guys in oversized recliners!

Hahahahahahahahaha! When I read things, sometimes my brain does a complete interpretation of a sentence or phrase almost before the image of what my eyes see even register in my consciousness.

And, it isn’t just a complete interpretation. Sometimes, the initial flash of a thought is complete with context, time, everything. But it gets that vivid flash really wrong sometimes in funny ways.

When I read your post, I imagined for a second I was five foot two and she was six feet tall. I imagined walking into “those” and cracking my head open!

And then, a split second later...”Oh. Shoes...”

There was one the other day where the felon was being charged with a “bias” crime.

He must not have been around when John Ashcroft was here.

Yeah.

I think they should have used their tools to remove the center portion of the cars so the hose could be as straight as possible.

I am with the Fire Department on this one.

They are gonna have a major problem getting me to comply.

Any climate police show up at my door, there will be a gaseous, natural WMD to greet them.

Good one! Heh, I have a young guy working with me who I had to send to cut some tie-wraps from around some wires, so I handed him some wire cutters and said “You better take this pair of dykes with you”

He looked at me in bewilderment, his mouth opened and closed a few times, and finally I noticed and asked him what was wrong with him.

He stammered and stuttered, then said “That’s a weird name...” and I looked back at him in equal confusion saying “Huh? What?”

I didn’t get it at all, then all of a sudden it hit me and I exclaimed “Good God, you think I was making a sexual reference!”

I had to explain to him what “Dykes” were and how all mechanics call them that.

Then when I went home, I had to immediately log on and search, wondering to myself if there actually HAD been an original sexual reference that I had been blissfully unaware of all these years....thankfully, no. Just short for “Diagonal Cutters”...”Dykes”!

He made me look, though!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! OMG, that was great!

"Memories of a Crusty Pant Suit".

I detest union rats. I don’t detest all union workers...there are a lot of people who have to belong to one in order to work.

I despise the ideological union rats.

See my post at #25. Partisan, indeed. Dangerously so for our country.

I used to admire Truman until I read “Blacklisted By History” about Joseph McCarthy.

Truman was far, FAR more interested in protecting Democratic political interests than he was at protecting the national security of this country.

The union rats set up a big truck outside a non-union hospital up here in Boston a few years back with the side of the truck painted like a billboard saying something like “Hospital X had to return X millions of dollars to Medicare last year...”

Which is a completely inflammatory thing, because every large hospital “returns” millions of dollars to insurance providers (including Medicare) because things are charged that in retrospect, should have been done differently.

And I believe the largest portion of these are charges that the hospitals themselves have discovered may have been accidentally billed a certain way. (a CT of the brain without contrast is billed as one with contrast by accident, etc)

The old saying many parents used to use with kids getting a whipping: “Don’t make me come after you...” is a good analogy for the payers, specifically Medicare. If you go to them (self-police) with an error, it is treated as such.

If they see problems and come to you, they are going to bring an audit with them if the problems are big enough or numerous enough.

By the way, that famous hospital eventually caved and went to the union rats after the head of the SEIU at the time (Andy Stern) said “We are going to destroy their relationships with their patients”.

Nice. Scum.

One thing to keep in mind...there are a lot of services where a physician is listed as the provider, but the patient comes in for multiple appointments to have serially administered shots, therapy, etc.

It doesn’t mean the physician had direct contact each and every time, but it comes under their name (because someone has to be the responsible, authorized person)

I don’t know if that is the case here, but it is the kind of thing you see. One patient might come in for ten follow-up appointments, etc.

Excellent, well stated opinion piece.

Cuts right to the chase.

I think I know why. I think it has its roots in Feminism.

According to the tenants of that “religion”, women can do everything as well as a man can. And that means EVERYTHING.

Sadly, that also means being a violent, stupid, inconsiderate, morality-lacking degenerate.

As a man, I try to be a better person. It is a constant battle in my life. I fall prey to various negative things, I drink too much, feel lust, swear, be aggressive, etc. While that doesn’t mean I don’t strive to improve, it seems to be the natural state of affairs sometimes that makes me display poor judgement.

But what I see in many young women seems to be the moral equivalent of “I can pee while standing up” kind of thing. They seem to take pride in the degeneracy.

As a man, one of the things I have always admired about women is their civilizing effect on many men, and the influence they have in making them “want to be a better person”. I know I have felt that way towards many women in my life.

But I don’t think I see that in many younger women, and that seems like a loss for all of us. That probably makes me sound like a sexist, but...I do place many women on a pedestal, and not because I view them as sexual objects. I do it because I think, in some ways, they DO make me want to strive to be better, and I don’t see anything wrong with that.

Just my two cents.

Any rational person would know the answer to the question: “If there had been no 9/11, would we have been involved in Afghanistan and Iraq?”

If the answer is yes, is follows from that person that the US government arranged 9/11 to create a pretext.

This is what we have on FR these days, some of the posters on here.

"...Sometimes it can be hard to distinguish the differences between Libertarians and Leftists..."

Sometimes there is no difference.

I swear, this place seems more like DU these days with some of these people. It is one thing to disagree with the wars in the Middle East. There are plenty of things to take issue with.

It is another thing to say it was done only to line the pockets of someone, as many of these people maintain.

Delusional and ignorant.

On my list now...thanks RF

That’s great...thanks for posting.

LOL! I would record that and put it on Youtube!

(they would probably demand I pull it!)

Heh, we know who has whom trained here!

I have a better solution. If the players want to go down that road, the colleges should readily agree, then completely cut off all scholarships to athletes in all sports, and any benefits or perks.

It would be interesting to watch that happen.

My cat is an avid Freeper, but only when I am there.

That I know of.

Must be fracking causing it.

I had lightning strike close enough to feel it in my mouth, as well as a metallic taste.

I sure don’t treat it lightly.

There are some Freepers who claim to be conservatives, but they are advocates of common core.

The way I see it, you are either for big government, or against it. If you are for it, you aren’t a conservative.

And Common Core is Big Government.

The poor bastiges should come over here and play the Obastige State of The Union game. Every time he says the word “I” you must drink. When he says “teachable moment” the whole drink has to go down.

The French are pikers in comparison.

That is brilliant!