"DEEDS NOT WORDS"
Howdy ma'am.
Didja get stuffed for your day off yesterday?
The awful intensity of the carnage of the Hürtgen has long been recognized. William Walton, writing for Life Magazine in 1945, compared the battle to the American Civil War's Wilderness Campaign of 1864, a benchmark battle in that conflict for sustained bloodletting. Ernest Hemingway labeled it "Passchendaele with tree bursts," recalling the notorious battle in 1917 where British troops suffered 300,000 casualties for the gain of a five-mile-deep salient. Colonel Rudolf-Christoph Freiherr von Gersdorff, the chief of staff for the German Seventh Army, the headquarters controlling the Hürtgen sector on the German side, described the fighting in the Hürtgenwald as worse than any he had seen on the Russian Front and compared it in intensity to the attritional battles of 1917 and 1918 in World War I.
Paul's old lady came with the worried news he was days overdue on a horse in Carson Forest; we should leave immediately in the Dinosaur doolie saddlebag-tanked Wreckreational Vehicle.
We drove deep into the forest on the hard twin tracks bare of the eidelweiss southwestern version as the sky gathered itself up and dumped a deluge on our search.
A quick k-turn reversal of direction was not quick enough as the formerly hard track was now bottomless Cosby pudding and we were J-E-LL-Out of luck stuck.
Oh good, let's send 120,000 troops into a fir farm--you don't think it might rain, do you?
Do you think the planners had ever been in a forest in the rain?
Now that's a song title, too.
And our fighters never faltered, as their leaders were killed and their feet fell off--it was the Germans who were caught on the horns of that dilemma, surrender and risk retaliation on loved ones or die.
Mike Spann--into the valley of the shadow of death without flinching--
And what of Johnny Taliban that dirty traitorous weasel schmuck--more than a bullet would be a waste; less, a travesty.
1969 Cream's final concert (Royal Albert Hall)
We saw them that year at Butler University's Cloewes Hall.
Ginger Baker's drum set looked like a warehouse--would've taken a clampmotor for the roadies to handle.
The wall of amps resembled the Berlin edifice, stage-wide, too high, an engine of pain.
What you hear on a vinyl disc audited by thorn is the merest percentage of that decibellic destruction.
Now Ukraine is engaged in a great civil Kabuki, testing whether that thugocracy formerly known as the soviet union can put in its stooge.
So I want you to get up now. I want all of you to get up out of your chairs. I want you to get up right now and go to the window. Open it, and stick your head out, and yell, 'I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!' I want you to get up right now, sit up, go to your windows, open them and stick your head out and yell - 'I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!'