Since Dec 1, 1999

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HQ, IIIrd Imperial Corps

"The German Army marches for the Fatherland. The French Army marches for Glory. The British Army marches for the Queen. The American Army marches for Souvenirs."



Swear allegiance to the flag, whatever flag they offer;
Never hint at what you really feel.
Teach the children quietly for, someday, sons and daughters
Will rise up and fight while we stood still.

Der Elite Møøsënspåånkængrüppen ØberKømmändø (EMØØK)

Samauri Court Reporter

12th Cavalry - The Blue Lancers
Company C, 2nd Bn, 12th Cav


"Then said he unto them, but now, he that hath a purse, let him take it, and likewise his scrip: and he that hath no sword, let him sell his garment, and buy one." Luke 22:16


You say that it is your custom to burn widows. Very well. We also have a custom: when men burn a woman alive, we tie a rope around their necks and we hang them. Build your funeral pyre; beside it, my carpenters will build a gallows. You may follow your custom. And then we will follow ours.

General Sir Charles James Napier


Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin to slit throats.
H. L. Mencken



Member in Good Standing





200 years from now, I want their children's children's children
to cower and cringe in fear whenever they hear the sounds of jet engines overhead
because their legends tell of fire from the sky.

I want them to hide in dark caves and holes in the earth,
shivering with terror whenever they hear the roar of diesel engines
because the tales of their ancestors talk about metal monsters
crawling over the earth, spitting death and destruction.

I want their mothers to be able to admonish them with
"If you don't behave, the Pale Destroyers will come for you",
and that will be enough to reduce them to quivering obedience.

I want the annihilation to be so complete that their mythology
will tell them of the day of judgment when the stern gods from across the sea
.. the powerful 'Mericans .. destroyed their forefathers' wickedness.

(Original created by BlueLancer ... 13 September 2001)


Kill them all ... nits make lice.
(COL Chivington, Sand Creek)

Parole them all to Hell ... pups grow up to be hounds.
(William 'Bloody Bill' Anderson, Centralia, Missouri, 1864)


When you strike at a king, you must kill him.
Ralph Waldo Emerson


"Over the Hills and Far Away" - modern version;

Four thousand dollars on the drum,
For those who'll volunteer to come
And enlist to fight the foe today,
Over the hills and far away.

O'er the hills, we will attack
Afghanistan and then Iraq;
George Bush commands and we obey,
Over the hills and far away.

When duty calls me, I must go
To stand and face another foe;
But part of me will always stray
Over the hills and far away.

O'er the hills, from sea to land,
Iraq, and then on to Iran;
George Bush commands and we obey,
Over the hills and far away.

If I should fall to fight no more,
As many comrades did before,
Then ask the pipes and drums to play
"Over the hills and far away".

O'er the hills, pro patria,
Iran and then Arabia;
George Bush commands and we obey,
Over the hills and far away.

Then fall in, lads, behind the drum,
With colours blazing like the sun,
Along the road to come what may,
Over the hills and far away.

O'er the hills we will advance,
Through Belgium, Germany, and France;
George Bush commands and we obey,
Over the hills and far away."


"Never apologize. Never explain. Get it done and let them howl."
A British Imperialist


If you will not fight for the right when you can easily win without bloodshed; if you will not fight when your victory will be sure and not too costly; you may come to the moment when you will have to fight with all the odds against you and only a small chance of survival. There may even be a worse case: you may have to fight when there is no hope of victory, because it is better to perish than to live as slaves.

Winston Churchill


Orchides Forum Trahite
Cordes Et Mentes Veniant

(Grab them by the balls
And their hearts and minds will follow)

Courtesy of G. Gordon Liddy


Man:Conan, what is good in life?
Conan:To crush your enemies... to see them scattered before you... and to hear the lamentation of their women.


Dulce Et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori.
(It is sweet and fitting to die for one's fatherland.)


Si vis pacem, para bellum.
(If you want peace, prepare for war.)


Vescere bracis meis
(Eat my shorts)


A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.
Robert A. Heinlein, Time Enough For Love


“Stupidity cannot be cured with money, or through education, or by legislation. Stupidity is not a sin, the victim can’t help being stupid. But stupidity is the only universal capital crime: the sentence is death, there is no appeal, and execution is carried out automatically and without pity.”
Robert A. Heinlein, Time Enough For Love


"A hyphenated American is not an American at all. This is just as true of the man who puts 'Native' before the hyphen as of the man who puts German or Irish or French before the hyphen. Americanism is a matter of the spirit and of the soul. Our allegiance must be purely to the United States. We must unsparingly condemn any man who holds any other allegiance."
Theodore Roosevelt


“We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer.

Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament.

Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope.

If we wish to be free — if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending — if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of Hosts is all that is left us!

They tell us, sir, that we are weak — unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance, by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot?

Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of the means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us.

The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable — and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come!

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, “Peace! Peace!” — but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!”

Patrick Henry


"Life, as it is."
I have lived for over 40 years and I've seen "life, as it is": pain, misery, cruelty.

I've heard all of the voices of God's noblest creature: moans from bundles of filth in the streets.

I've been a soldier and a slave.
I've seen my comrades fall in battle or die more slowly under the lash in Africa.
I've held them in their last moments; these were men who saw "life, as it is".
But they died despairing. No glory. No bray of last words. Only their eyes filled with confusion, questioning "Why?"
I do not think they were asking why they were dying, but why they had ever been born.

Life itself seems lunatic. Who knows where madness lies?
Perhaps to be too practical is madness.
To surrender dreams, this may be madness;
To seek treasure where there is only trash.
Too much sanity may be madness.

But maddest of all, to see "life, as it is" and not as it should be!
(Courtesy of "Man of La Mancha")


Take the children and yourself
and hide out in the cellar.
By now the fighting will be close at hand.
Don't believe the church and state
And everything they tell you;
Believe in me, I'm with the High Command.

Can you hear me,
can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running,
can you hear me calling you?
Can you hear me,
can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running,
can you hear me calling you?

There's a gun and ammunition
just inside the doorway;
Use it only in emergency.
Better you should pray to God,
The Father and the Spirit,
Will guide you and protect from up here.

Can you hear me,
can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running,
can you hear me calling you?
Can you hear me,
can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running,
can you hear me calling you?

Swear allegiance to the flag,
Whatever flag they offer;
Never hint at what you really feel.
Teach the children quietly,
For someday sons and daughters
Will rise up and fight while we stood still.

Can you hear me,
can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running,
can you hear me calling you?
Can you hear me,
can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running,
can you hear me calling you?

Silent Running
(Mike and the Mechanics)


The Engineers have hairy ears,
They go without their britches,
They pop their cocks with jagged rocks,
They're hardy sons of bitches.

They screw the whores right through their drawers,
They do not care for trifles --
They hang their balls upon the walls
And shoot at them with rifles.

Much joy they reap by diddling sheep
In divers nooks and ditches;
Nor give they a damn if they be rams --
They're hardy sons of bitches.


Dulce Et Decorum Est
by Wilfred Owen
First Published in 1921

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned out backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!--An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.


"We've got to take these bastards.
Now, we could fight 'em with conventional weapons,
But that could take years and cost millions of lives.
No, in this case, I think we have to go all out.
I think this situation absolutely requires
that a futile and stupid gesture be done on somebody's part."
"And we're just the guys to do it."
(Courtesy of "Animal House")


A "reasonable doubt" is not a fanciful or ingenious doubt or conjecture, but an honest, conscientious doubt suggested by the material evidence or lack of it in the case. It is an honest misgiving generated by insufficiency of proof of guilt. "Proof beyond a reasonable doubt" means proof to an evidentiary certainty, although not necessarily to an absolute or mathematical certainty. The proof must be such as to exclude not every hypothosis or possibility of innocence, but every fair and rational hypothesis except that of guilt. The rule as to reasonable doubt extends to every element of the offense, although each particular fact advanced by the prosecution which does not amount to an element need not be established beyond a reasonable doubt. However, if on the whole evidence, you are satisfied beyond a reasonable doubt of the truth of each and every element, then you should find the accused guilty.


KING HENRY V, Act 4, Scene 3
Gloucester: Where is the King?
Bedford: The King himself is rode to view their battle.
Westmoreland: Of fighting men, they have full three-score thousand.
Exeter: There’s five to one; besides, they all are fresh.
Salisbury: God’s arm strike with us! ‘Tis a fearful odds.
Westmoreland: O that we now had here but one ten thousand of those men in England that do no work to-day!

King Henry V: What’s he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark’d to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold;
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires;
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour,
As one man more, methinks, would share from me,
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, throughout my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the Feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors,
And say, To-morrow is Saint Crispian:
Then he will strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say, These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouths as household words –-
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester -–
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember’d:
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother, be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap while any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day!

KING HENRY V, Act 3, Scene 1
King Henry: Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'

KING HENRY V, Act 3, Scene 3
King Henry: How yet resolves the governor of the town?
This is the latest parle we will admit;
Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves;
Or like to men proud of destruction
Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier,
A name that in my thoughts becomes me best,
If I begin the battery once again,
I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur
Till in her ashes she lie buried.
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up,
And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart,
In liberty of bloody hand shall range
With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass
Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants.
What is it then to me, if impious war,
Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends,
Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats
bEnlink'd to waste and desolation?
What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause,
If your pure maidens fall into the hand
Of hot and forcing violation?
What rein can hold licentious wickedness
When down the hill he holds his fierce career?
We may as bootless spend our vain command
Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil
As send precepts to the leviathan
To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur,
Take pity of your town and of your people,
Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command;
Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace
O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds
Of heady murder, spoil and villany.
If not, why, in a moment look to see
The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand
Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters;
Your fathers taken by the silver beards,
And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls,
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes,
Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused
Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry
At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen.
What say you? will you yield, and this avoid,
Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd?


In Flanders Fields
by Lt. Col. John McCrae, M.D. (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.


Harlech, raise thy banners o'er us
See the foe array'd before us
Men of Meirion shout the chorus
Cambria live for aye!

Should until the cry is sounding
To our land's remotest bounding
And Eryri is resounding
Cambria live for aye!

Heroes, soldiers, rally
On the foe we'll sally
We will chase the hostile race
From stream and hill and valley
Conquest's banner proudly bearing
We'll exult in their despairing
Victory the shout declaring
Cambria live for aye!

Swords are reddening, life-blood poureth
Loud the din of battle roareth
Louder still the war-cry soareth
Cambria live for aye!

Spears and arrows swift are glancing
Trumpets sounding, charges prancing
Serried ranks with shouts advancing
Cambria live for aye!

Fierce his spirit rages
Who with foe engages
Hand to hand for Fatherland
With honour held for ages.
Wild the conflict, see they're reeling
Vengeance now the sword is dealing
Victory is thunder pealing
Cambria live for aye!


(Rudyard Kipling)

It is always a temptation to an armed and agile nation
To call upon a neighbour and to say: --
"We invaded you last night--we are quite prepared to fight,
Unless you pay us cash to go away."

And that is called asking for Dane-geld,
And the people who ask it explain
That you've only to pay 'em the Dane-geld
And then you'll get rid of the Dane!

It is always a temptation for a rich and lazy nation,
To puff and look important and to say: --
"Though we know we should defeat you, we have not the time to meet you.
We will therefore pay you cash to go away."

And that is called paying the Dane-geld;
But we've proved it again and again,
That if once you have paid him the Dane-geld
You never get rid of the Dane.

It is wrong to put temptation in the path of any nation,
For fear they should succumb and go astray;
So when you are requested to pay up or be molested,
You will find it better policy to say: --

"We never pay any-one Dane-geld,
No matter how trifling the cost;
For the end of that game is oppression and shame,
And the nation that pays it is lost!"


(Rudyard Kipling)

God of our fathers, known of old --
Lord of our far-flung battle line --
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine --
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget -- lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies --
The Captains and the Kings depart --
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget -- lest we forget!

Far-called our navies melt away --
On dune and headland sinks the fire --
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget -- lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe --
Such boastings as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law --
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget -- lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard --
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding calls not Thee to guard.
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!


Hymn Before Action
by Rudyard Kipling

The earth is full of anger,
The seas are dark with wrath,
The Nations in their harness
Go up against our path:
Ere yet we loose the legions
Ere yet we draw the blade,
Jehovah of the Thunders,
Lord God of Battles, aid!

High lust and froward bearing,
Proud heart, rebellious brow--
Deaf ear and soul uncaring,
We seek Thy mercy now!
The sinner that forswore Thee,
The fool that passed Thee by,
Our times are known before Thee--
Lord, grant us strength to die!

For those who kneel beside us
At altars not Thine own,
Who lack the lights that guide us,
Lord, let their faith atone!
If wrong we did to call them,
By honour bound they came;
Let not Thy Wrath befall them,
But deal to us the blame.

From panic, pride, and terror
Revenge that knows no rein--
Light haste and lawless error,
Protect us yet again.
Cloak Thou our undeserving,
Make firm the shuddering breath,
In silence and unswerving
To taste Thy lesser death.

Ah, Mary pierced with sorrow,
Remember, reach and save
The soul that comes to-morrow
Before the God that gave!
Since each was born of woman,
For each at utter need--
True comrade and true foeman--
Madonna, intercede!

E'en now their vanguard gathers,
E'en now we face the fray--
As Thou didst help our fathers,
Help Thou our host to-day.
Fulfilled of signs and wonders,
In life, in death made clear--
Jehovah of the Thunders,
Lord God of Battles, hear!


"Traitors doth never prosper: what's the reason?
Why, if it prosper, none dare call it treason."

Sir John Harrington (Epigrams, Book iv. Ep. 5)


"A nation can survive its fools and even the ambitious.
But it cannot survive treason from within.
An enemy at the gates is less formidable, for he is known and he carries his banners openly against the city.
But the traitor moves among those within the gates freely, his sly whispers rustling through all alleys, heard in the very halls of government itself.
For the traitor appears no traitor; he speaks in the accents familiar to his victim, and he wears their face and their garments and he appeals to the baseness that lies deep in the hearts of all men.
He rots the soul of a nation; he works secretly and unknown in the night to undermine the pillars of a city; he infects the body politic so that it can no longer resist.
A murderer is less to be feared.
The traitor is the plague."

Marcus Tillius Cicero


“If the club of the policeman, knocking out the brains of the rioter, will answer, then well and good; but if it does not promptly meet the exigency, then bullets and bayonets, canister and grapeshot...constitute the one remedy. Napoleon was right when he said the way to deal with a mob is to exterminate it.”
Henry Ward Beecher


"Anyone who clings to the historically untrue -- and thoroughly immoral -- doctrine that violence never solves anything I would advise to conjure up the ghosts of Napoleon Bonaparte and the Duke of Wellington and let them debate it. The ghost of Hitler would referee. Violence, naked force, has settled more issues in history than has any other factor; and the contrary opinion is wishful thinking at its worst. Breeds that forget this basic truth have always paid for it with their lives and their freedoms."
Robert Heinlein


"Contemplate the mangled bodies of your countrymen, and then ask yourself, 'What should be the reward of such sacrifices? Are we just to do nothing? To allow the men who have let loose on us the dogs of war to riot in our blood and hunt us from the face of the Earth?' I detest any submission to a people who have either ceased to be human, or have not virtue enough to feel their own wretchedness. If ye love comfort better than liberty, the tranquillity of servitude better than the animating contest of freedom, [then] go from us in peace. We ask not your counsels or arms. Crouch down and lick the hands of your master. May your chains sit lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that ye were our countrymen!"
Sam Adams (1776)


"We use words like honor, code, loyalty. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something, you use them as a punchline! I have neither the time, nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it! I would rather you just said 'Thank you', and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a weapon, and stand a post. Either way, I don't give a DAMN what you think you are entitled to!"
Col. Nathan Jessep


"Of all tyrannies, a tyranny exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive. It may be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies. The robber baron's cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity may at some point be satiated; but those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end, for they do so with the approval of their consciences."
C. S. Lewis


O Lord our God, help us tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells;
help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead;
help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain;
help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire;
help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief;
help us to turn them out roofless with their little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land
in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun, flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail,
imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it.

Mark Twain



ACTION: See, those cops, they believe everythin’ they read in the papers about us cruddy JD’s. So, that’s what we give ‘em … somethin’ to believe in.

SNOWBOY (as Officer Krupke): Hey, you!

ACTION: Who, me, Officer Krupke?

SNOWBOY: Yeah, you! Give me one good reason for not draggin’ you down to the stationhouse, ya punk!

ACTION: Dear kindly Sergeant Krupke, ya gotta understand, it’s just our bringing-upke that gets us out of hand. Our mothers all are junkies, our fathers all are drunks: golly Moses, naturally we’re punks.

JETS: Gee, Officer Krupke, we’re very upset. We never had the love that every child ought to get. We ain’t no delinquents, we’re misunderstood. Deep down inside us there is good.

ACTION: There is good!

JETS: There is good, there is good, there is untapped good; like, inside the worst of us is good.

SNOWBOY: That’s a touchin’ good story.

ACTION: Let me tell it to the world!

SNOWBOY: Just tell it to the judge!

ACTION: Dear kindly Judge, Your Honor: my parents treat me rough. With all their marijuana, they won’t give me a puff. They didn’t want to have me, but somehow I was had: leapin’ lizards, that’s why I’m so bad.

JUDGE: Right! Officer Krupke, you’re really a square. This boy don’t need a judge, he needs an analyst’s care. It’s just his neuroses that ought to be curbed. He’s psychologically disturbed!

ACTION: I’m disturbed!

JETS: We’re disturbed, we’re disturbed, we’re the most disturbed; like, we’re psychologically disturbed!

JUDGE: Hear ye, hear ye: in the opinion of this court, this child is depraved on account he ain’t had a normal home.

ACTION: Hey, I’m depraved on account of I’m deprived!

JUDGE: So, take him to a head-shrinker.

ACTION: My daddy beats my mommy. My mommy clobbers me. My grandpa is a commie. My grandma pushes tea. My sister wears a moustache. My brother wears a dress. Goodness gracious, that’s why I’m a mess.

HEAD-SHRINKER: Yes! Officer Krupke, he shouldn’t be here. This boy don’t need a couch, he needs a useful career. Society’s played him a terrible trick, and, sociologically, he’s sick.

ACTION: I am sick!

JETS: We are sick, we are sick, we are sick sick sick; like, we’re sociologically sick!

HEAD-SHRINKER: In my opinion, this child does not need to have his head shrunk at all. Juvenile delinquency is purely a social disease.

ACTION: Hey, I’ve got a social disease!

HEAD-SHRINKER: So take him to a social worker.

ACTION: Dear kindly social worker, they tell me get a job; like be a soda-jerker, which means like be a slob. It’s not I’m anti-social, I’m only anti-work; glorie-osky, that’s why I’m a jerk!

SOCIAL WORKER: Yechh! Officer Krupke, you’ve done it again! This boy don’t need a job, he needs a year in the pen. It ain’t just a question of misunderstood: deep down inside him, he’s no good!

ACTION: I’m no good!

JETS: We’re no good, we’re no good, we’re no earthly good; like the best of us is no damn good!

JUDGE: The trouble is he’s lazy!

HEAD-SHRINKER: The trouble is he drinks!

SOCIAL WORKER: The trouble is he’s crazy!

JUDGE: The trouble is he stinks!

HEAD-SHRINKER: The trouble is he’s growing!

SOCIAL WORKER: The trouble is he’s grown!

ALL: Krupke, we’ve got troubles of our own!

JETS: Officer Krupke, we’re down on our knees …

ACTION: … ‘cause no one wants a fella with a social disease!

JETS: Hey, Officer Krupke, what are we to do?
Gee, Officer Krupke, krup you!


4th Geneva Convention Relative to the Protection of Civilian Persons in Time of War, Part 3, Article 1, Section 28:
"The presence of a protected person (aka civilian noncombatant) may not be used to render certain points or areas immune from military operations."


Matthew 10:34
Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword.


Romans 13:3-4
For rulers are not a terror to good works, but to the evil. Wilt thou then not be afraid of the power? do that which is good, and thou shalt have praise of the same: For he is the minister of God to thee for good. But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid; for he beareth not the sword in vain: for he is the minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil.


Fighting soldier In Vietnam
The perfect son to any mom;
He's one part man, One part machine,
He's Ollie North, The Mute Marine.

He traded arms with Iran
For hostages -- What a great plan!
The chances for success were zero,
Yet he's still a national hero.

Mined the harbor of Managua,
Planned the invasion of Grenada;
He tried his best, not one to fail,
So here's what he said, to stay out of jail ...


He'd like to talk, but cannot speak,
His will is strong, but his case is weak;
We may never know just what he's seen,
The man they call "The Mute Marine".

(Saturday Night Live; "The Mute Marine" (William Shatner))


by Paul Simon
(From Sounds of Silence, 1966)

They say that Richard Corey owns one half of this whole town,
With political connections to spread his wealth around.
Born into society, a banker's only child,
He had everything a man could want: power, grace, and style.

But, me … I work in his factory,
And I curse the life I'm livin’,
And I curse my poverty,
And I wish that I could be ..
Oh, I wish that I could be ..
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Corey.

The papers print his picture almost everywhere he goes:
Richard Corey at the opera, Richard Cory at a show.
And the rumor of his parties and the orgies on his yacht!
Oh, he surely must be happy with everything he's got.

But, me … I work in his factory,
And I curse the life I'm livin’,
And I curse my poverty,
And I wish that I could be ..
Oh, I wish that I could be ..
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Corey.

He freely gave to charity, he had the common touch,
And they were grateful for his patronage and thanked him very much.
So my mind was filled with wonder when the evening headlines read:
"Richard Corey went home last night and put a bullet through his head."

But, me … I work in his factory,
And I curse the life I'm livin’,
And I curse my poverty,
And I wish that I could be ..
Oh, I wish that I could be ..
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Corey.



Whenever Richard Corey went downtown
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentlemen from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich-yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Corey, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

(Edwin Arlington Robinson)



RPTR1: Governor, what do you think of the crisis in the Middle East?
GOV: I was saying, just this morning at the weekly prayer breakfast in this historic capital, that it behooves both the Jews and the Arabs to settle their differences in a Christian manner.

Fellow Texans, I am proudly standing here to humbly say,
I assure you .. and I mean it ..
Now who says I don’t speak out as plain as day;
And, fellow Texans, I’m for progress and the flag, long may it fly.
I’m a poor boy, come to greatness, so it follows that I cannot tell a lie.

RPTR2: What the hell did he say?
RPTR1: Same as usual … not a damn thing.

Oooh, I love to dance a little sidestep,
Now they see me, now they don’t, I’ve come and gone.
Oooh, I love to sweep around the wide step,
Cut a little swath and lead the people on.

Now, my good friends, it behooves me to be solemn and declare,
I’m for goodness, and for profit,
And for living clean and saying daily prayers;
And, now, my good friends, you can sleep nights, I’ll continue to stand tall.
You can trust me, for I promise, I shall keep a watchful eye upon y’all.

RPTR1: Did you get any of that?
RPTR2: I hear him talking, but he don’t come in.

Oooh, I love to dance a little sidestep,
Now they see me, now they don’t, I’ve come and gone.
And, oooh, I love to sweep around the wide step,
Cut a little swath and lead the people on.

MPT: Governor, Melvin P. Thorpe, Watchdog News. Why has the Chicken Ranch operation been so long ignored?
GOV: We should be having some acoustic problems in here.
MPT: Aren’t you afraid of possible pay-offs and bribes?
GOV: Melvin, I’m proud of you.
MPT: Enough of this pussy-footin’ governor, what do you intend to do about Miss Mona and the Chicken Ranch?

Now, Miss Mona, I don’t know her, though I’ve heard the name, oh, yes.
But, of course, I’ve no close contact,
So what she is doing, I can only guess.
And, now, Miss Mona, she’s a blemish on the face of that good town.
I am taking certain steps here,
Someone somewhere’s gonna have to close her down.

RPTR2: Do you have any idea what that means?
RPTR1: Is that a “yes” or “no”?
RPTR3: It’s a possible “maybe”.

Oooh, I love to dance a little sidestep,
Now they see me, now they don’t, I’ve come and gone.
And, oooh, I love to sweep around the wide step,
Cut a little swath and lead the people on.


The End (Paul Williams)
Here's another fine mess we're into, honey;
They won't let me loose, not for love nor money.
I'm a fighter, but they've got me on the floor;
Don't believe I'm gonna take it anymore.

Here's another fine mess I've stumbled into,
As sorry a state as I've ever been to,
Though it's difficult for some to understand,
I'm gonna knuckle down and take it like a man.

Wave goodbye.
Don't try to talk; what's there to say?
The words are unimportant
It's the feelings we'll remember anyway.
Wave goodbye.
Don't make a scene; just let it go.
Don't smother love and glory,
Let's put an ending to our story.

We're heading for the final round-up;
So this is where the old trail wound up.

Here's another fine mess, and not my choosing
We loved for awhile, I can't call that losing;
If I knew our love was gonna end this way,
I'd live it over and I wouldn't change a day.

Here's another fine mess .....


How about Them Moose Goosers,
Ain't they recluse?
Up in them boondocks,
Goosin' them moose.

Goosin' them huge moose,
Goosin' them tiny,
Goosin' them meadow-moose
In the hiney.

Look at Them Moose Goosers,
Ain't they dumb?
Some use an umbrella,
Some use a thumb.

Them obtuse Moose Goosers,
Sneakin' through the woods,
Pokin' them snoozy moose
In the goods.

How to be a Moose Gooser?
It'll turn ye puce.
Gitchy gooser loose and
Rouse a drowsy moose!

Mason Williams