Sometimes I feel sorry for people.
I know I shouldn’t because it doesn’t really help them, but there are times in life that your humanity gets the best of you, and you just can’t avoid it. You know who I feel sorry for right now? The military.
I do. But not for the reasons you might think, the reasons liberalism tries to drive into your head.
I’ve talked about this before, but I think it bears restating.
What must it be like to be impugned at every turn? To be called a “Baby killer”, or to be spit on, which just happened to a disabled vet in Washington DC over the weekend. How would that sit with you? You go over to do something you believe in, and you lose a leg in the process, only to come home and have one of your disrespectful and arrogant countrymen spit on you?
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I’ll be the first to admit it.
I’m a white man.
I’m a very white man. In fact, if I go into the sun for a prolonged period of time, I’ll explode.
99.9% of my friends are white. I have one true black friend, whom I jokingly call my “token black friend”, and I am his “token disabled friend”. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship when it comes to paperwork, and we get along just fine.
Come to think of it, I have *Lebanese* friends who are even whiter than me (You have no idea how white that is.) They are so white, that the fascination they have with the Dave Matthews Band is downright disturbing. For the love of God, Mario, change your ringtone, okay? …It makes me want to go “Under the Table…and Shoot Myself”.
Enough of that. Let me get to the point here. I can’t believe I still have to bring this up. Here it comes:
Just because you’re black, that doesn’t make you special.
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I miss the good old days. The days when I could watch something as benign as a football game, and not have to worry about being indoctrinated with a political message. But alas, my friends, those days are long gone.
I was all ready to go. I had the TV tuned to Fox, I had my beverages, and I had a feast of buffalo wings, onion rings and fried mushrooms all set before me. Everything was just perfect for me to turn into a complete slug, and watch the Chicago Bears pound the ever-loving crap out of the New Orleans Saints.
Needless to say, they did.
However, I wasn’t able to watch the game without first being reminded about Hurricane Katrina.
Let’s get one thing straight right now, okay?
I don’t give a damn about Hurricane Katrina. It’s been a year and a half, and it’s time to get over it.
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“Scientists on Wednesday changed the time on Chicago’s Doomsday Clock two minutes closer to midnight, or the apocalypse, based on what they said is the ‘most perilous period since Hiroshima and Nagasaki,’ during dual announcements in London and Washington, D.C.”
For those of you who don’t know, the Doomsday Clock is a symbolic clockface maintained since 1947 by the Board of Directors of the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists at the University of Chicago. It uses the analogy of the human race being at a time that is “minutes to midnight” where midnight represents destruction by nuclear war. The clock has appeared on the cover of each issue of the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists since its introduction.