The Return of the Native

Sunday, June 22, 2008

The Return of the Native Current mood: romantic Category: Life I am back in North Dakota for three weeks. It isn't as hot here, and it isn't that humid either. Course I can't use my cell phone up here, because stupid ATT won't build a tower because they are racist or something. No one to text. Nothingness. Desolation. The end of all things. In my room, I have my western view again. I stand there for hours and watch the grass grow and the waters flow, comforted by the knowledge that growing grass and flowing water mean the United States government will never break its promises to the Indians. The Native Americans, not the people to whom we are routed and outsourced, who "help" us when we call an 800 number. When I called the XM help line the other day, I was assigned to an associate whose accent was so thick she made that 7-11 character on "The Simpsons," (Apu) sound like Sir Laurence Olivier. I had to ask her to repeat herself two or three times. She kept saying, "sir? Sir? Will you?" "Will I what," I'd answer. Then I'd explain I didn't know what she said, but I'd do it if only she'd get my XM to work. She didn't. Then I suggested they use their nukes on Iran, but she advised that wasn't her department. Said her name was "Bridgett," though. Yes. Right. Eat more cows then. In five years, no one will speak or read English. Here's some luck. Our luggage didn't make it with us to Bismarck. But -- since I'd wisely upgraded to first class (big wow, these days - gave me a sack of nuts), they brought the luggage to us in Beulah, which is 75 miles from Otto von Bismarck. Economy passengers were advised to suck it. Here's more luck. I was whining about wanting the western view. (The eastern view is asphalt and people gunning the engines of motor cycles). The front desk clerk felt sorry for me, and she gave me the only available room with the view: the honeymoon suite. So here I sit, in a three room suite with a jacuzzi, a sofa, two arm chairs, an actual desk, coffee tables, microwave, refrigerator, two televisions, and an automatic fireplace. The jacuzzi is surrounded by mirrors for some reason. These things happen to me every day. Still, no one will get in the jacuzzi with me. The room isn't costing my company any more than the usual crap room with stains on the bedspread. You know what i'm sayin'. So I'm going to walk around nekkid and urinate on things so people will know I've stayed here in this swell room, son. This is as close as I will ever get to marriage. I already miss all of my imaginary friends in Oklahoma, especially my life affirming, faith promoting sponsor. Until something interesting or annoying happens, I am, RPH, Esq., N.V (c) Randall P. Hodge, Esq., and Morningwood Enterprises, LLC

Lyn Nofziger's 84th Birthday

Sunday, June 08, 2008

Lyn Nofziger’s 84th Birthday Current mood: thoughtful Category: Life Friday, June 6th, 2008, marked the 64th Anniversary of Allied invasion of Normandy. Today, June 8th, 2008, would have been my friend Lyn Nofziger's 84th birthday. We lost him two years ago to cancer. I hate cancer. A lot. I shall miss him, every day, as long as I live. I miss so many things about him that if I tried to tell you about it, this would be as long as one of my Obama rants. Lyn was at Omaha Beach on D-Day. He landed in the Dog Red sector. It was not like a Hogan's Heroes episode either. He "celebrated" his 20th birthday somewhere in Normandy. Lyn would not talk about the war. I know he was wounded; he lost some fingers. He was hospitalized. It was bad enough that he missed all the fun "Band of Brothers" good times. When "Saving Private Ryan" was released, it became fashionable to talk about the war, especially D-Day, to any veteran. All that hype bugged Lyn, which is why I referred to the film as "Saving Private Lyn." But he would not tell me nuthin' about the war. Never mind my lifelong interest in the war. Never mind I didn't know anyone else to talk to about D-Day. For this reason, I'm sure he saw and had to do some unpleasant things. It's a cliche, but guys who are anxious to talk about the blood and guts, and the Germans they killed, or the paper cuts they received and whatnot, were usually stationed in the library at Fort Dix. Barney Fife claimed that was his contribution to whipping the dreaded Hun. Lyn hated talk of the "greatest generation." He advised me that the generation that invented Viagra was the greatest generation. He was funny like that. Like most of those heroes, he believed that any generation of Americans could and would "rise to any call, pay any price, and bear any burden" (and I'm borrowing language from somebody). Eventually, Lyn agreed to answer one question a year for me about the war, at Thanksgiving, when we were always together. That was it. No follow up. Naturally, I wasted my question one year when I asked him if he'd gotten any Germans. He told me he killed 20,000, including 8 generals and a field marshall. He was prolly lyin', though. I think he knew how proud I was to know him, and for so many reasons. I knew him as a celebrity, an influential and valued advisor to the President, a mentor, and as a man who believed in fighting to right a wrong. I thought of him as a father figure in many ways, which was cool, because he had about 750,000 friends who loved him. I was one of those lucky people. He was someone I trusted with things I wouldn't tell anyone else. He made me feel better. He encouraged me. He advised me. He helped me land some terrific jobs. He helped me get into law school. He made fun of me for buying a Rolex watch, because his $10 Timex did the same thing. He corrected my grammar. He wrote poems for me on my birthdays. He loved Ted Williams and baseball. He read the comics before the bad news. He was the coolest guy I've ever met. His sense of humor was unique and priceless. He'd let me work his crossword puzzle when I visited. He flew out for my law school graduation. He always took my Mother and me to a super expensive and fancy restaurant when she visited me in Washington. As I said on the anniversary of his death in March, "you never know how much you're going to miss someone until you miss him." It sucks when people die, but what a blessing it was to have him for almost 82 years. I knew him for around 30 of those years. I'm proud of his service in Normandy on that "day of days." I'm glad he made it through it. (So was he, he'd tell me) I'm glad he went on to find and marry Bonnie, the love of his life. I'm glad he had two swell daughters, Susie and Glenda. Cancer got Susie in 1989. Glenda, his younger daughter, has two fine sons, a daughter-in-law, and a granddaughter. She is a teacher in South Carolina, but she doesn't get to spank the kids, unfortunately. He lived a wonderful life. He faced ordeals, tragedy and triumph. He couldn't have a dog, as Bonnie was allergic. He learned life's most important lesson: there is a merciful God, He is in charge, and He has a plan. Good things happen because God has our back, and He likes us. Bad things are often allowed to happen so we'll learn to love and trust in God, and so we can "grow." Perhaps pray now and then, as God enjoys the attention, and prayer sets us up to accept whatever happens. Lyn prayed, and accepted God's will, because he knew that his Redeemer lived. I recall telling him I was mildly annoyed with the good Lord because of the cancer. Lyn advised me in no uncertain terms that God didn't need my approval, and God would survive even if I was mad at Him for awhile. So I quit blaming God. That's goofy anyway. I get sappy, sentimental and cheesy about Lyn, and he would hate that. He would hate that I will always take on about him. In his honor, and in honor of the men who were part of the invasion, I'm posting a transcript of President Reagan's remarks at the 40th Anniversary observance in 1984 in Normandy. Lyn and Bonnie were there. He turned down an opportunity to fly over with the President on Air Force One, because things like that either bored or annoyed him. Also, he was more interested in taking Bonnie on a trip to England. He wanted to show her the sites he remembered from those days. They were in the audience, though, at Point Du Hoc, in a place of honor. As much as Lyn disliked that stuff, I'm glad he was there. He deserved the accolades, and so did the other fellas who were there at the ceremony. It was, in my opinion, one of Reagan's best speeches. Top 10, for sure. So Happy Birthday to Lyn. I still wish the Germans had won; they had spiffier uniforms. The allies cheated, because they cracked the German code. You gotta fight fair, but I digress. *** Remarks of President Reagan at Point Du Hoc in commemoration of the 40th Anniversary of D-Day, June 6, 1984 >>We're here to mark that day in history when the Allied armies joined in battle to reclaim this continent to liberty. For four long years, much of Europe had been under a terrible shadow. Free nations had fallen, Jews cried out in the camps, millions cried out for liberation. Europe was enslaved, and the world prayed for its rescue. Here in Normandy the rescue began. Here the Allies stood and fought against tyranny in a giant undertaking unparalleled in human history. We stand on a lonely, windswept point on the northern shore of France. The air is soft, but 40 years ago at this moment, the air was dense with smoke and the cries of men, and the air was filled with the crack of rifle fire and the roar of cannon. At dawn, on the morning of the 6th of June, 1944, 225 Rangers jumped off the British landing craft and ran to the bottom of these cliffs. Their mission was one of the most difficult and daring of the invasion: to climb these sheer and desolate cliffs and take out the enemy guns. The Allies had been told that some of the mightiest of these guns were here and they would be trained on the beaches to stop the Allied advance. The Rangers looked up and saw the enemy soldiers--the edge of the cliffs shooting down at them with machine guns and throwing grenades. And the American Rangers began to climb. They shot rope ladders over the face of these cliffs and began to pull themselves up. When one Ranger fell, another would take his place. When one rope was cut, a Ranger would grab another and begin his climb again. They climbed, shot back, and held their footing. Soon, one by one, the Rangers pulled themselves over the top, and in seizing the firm land at the top of these cliffs, they began to seize back the continent of Europe. Two hundred and twenty-five came here. After two days of fighting, only 90 could still bear arms. Behind me is a memorial that symbolizes the Ranger daggers that were thrust into the top of these cliffs. And before me are the men who put them there. These are the boys of Pointe du Hoc. These are the men who took the cliffs. These are the champions who helped free a continent. These are the heroes who helped end a war. Gentlemen, I look at you and I think of the words of Stephen Spender's poem. You are men who in your "lives fought for life . . . and left the vivid air signed with your honor.'' I think I know what you may be thinking right now--thinking, "We were just part of a bigger effort; everyone was brave that day.'' Well, everyone was. Do you remember the story of Bill Millin of the 51st Highlanders? Forty years ago today, British troops were pinned down near a bridge, waiting desperately for help. Suddenly, they heard the sound of bagpipes, and some thought they were dreaming. Well, they weren't. They looked up and saw Bill Millin with his bagpipes, leading the reinforcements and ignoring the smack of the bullets into the ground around him. Lord Lovat was with him--Lord Lovat of Scotland, who calmly announced when he got to the bridge, "Sorry I'm a few minutes late,'' as if he'd been delayed by a traffic jam, when in truth he'd just come from the bloody fighting on Sword Beach, which he and his men had just taken. There was the impossible valor of the Poles who threw themselves between the enemy and the rest of Europe as the invasion took hold, and the unsurpassed courage of the Canadians who had already seen the horrors of war on this coast. They knew what awaited them there, but they would not be deterred. And once they hit Juno Beach, they never looked back. All of these men were part of a rollcall of honor with names that spoke of a pride as bright as the colors they bore: the Royal Winnipeg Rifles, Poland's 24th Lancers, the Royal Scots Fusiliers, the Screaming Eagles, the Yeomen of England's armored divisions, the forces of Free France, the Coast Guard's "Matchbox Fleet'' and you, the American Rangers. Forty summers have passed since the battle that you fought here. You were young the day you took these cliffs; some of you were hardly more than boys, with the deepest joys of life before you. Yet, you risked everything here. Why? Why did you do it? What impelled you to put aside the instinct for self-preservation and risk your lives to take these cliffs? What inspired all the men of the armies that met here? We look at you, and somehow we know the answer. It was faith and belief; it was loyalty and love. The men of Normandy had faith that what they were doing was right, faith that they fought for all humanity, faith that a just God would grant them mercy on this beachhead or on the next. It was the deep knowledge--and pray God we have not lost it--that there is a profound, moral difference between the use of force for liberation and the use of force for conquest. You were here to liberate, not to conquer, and so you and those others did not doubt your cause. And you were right not to doubt. You all knew that some things are worth dying for. One's country is worth dying for, and democracy is worth dying for, because it's the most deeply honorable form of government ever devised by man. All of you loved liberty. All of you were willing to fight tyranny, and you knew the people of your countries were behind you. The Americans who fought here that morning knew word of the invasion was spreading through the darkness back home. They thought--or felt in their hearts, though they couldn't know in fact, that in Georgia they were filling the churches at 4 a.m., in Kansas they were kneeling on their porches and praying, and in Philadelphia they were ringing the Liberty Bell. Something else helped the men of D-Day: their rock-hard belief that Providence would have a great hand in the events that would unfold here; that God was an ally in this great cause. And so, the night before the invasion, when Colonel Wolverton asked his parachute troops to kneel with him in prayer he told them: Do not bow your heads, but look up so you can see God and ask His blessing in what we're about to do. Also that night, General Matthew Ridgway on his cot, listening in the darkness for the promise God made to Joshua: "I will not fail thee nor forsake thee.'' These are the things that impelled them; these are the things that shaped the unity of the Allies. When the war was over, there were lives to be rebuilt and governments to be returned to the people. There were nations to be reborn. Above all, there was a new peace to be assured. These were huge and daunting tasks. But the Allies summoned strength from the faith, belief, loyalty, and love of those who fell here. They rebuilt a new Europe together. There was first a great reconciliation among those who had been enemies, all of whom had suffered so greatly. The United States did its part, creating the Marshall Plan to help rebuild our allies and our former enemies. The Marshall Plan led to the Atlantic alliance--a great alliance that serves to this day as our shield for freedom, for prosperity, and for peace. In spite of our great efforts and successes, not all that followed the end of the war was happy or planned. Some liberated countries were lost. The great sadness of this loss echoes down to our own time in the streets of Warsaw, Prague, and East Berlin. Soviet troops that came to the center of this continent did not leave when peace came. They're still there, uninvited, unwanted, unyielding, almost 40 years after the war. Because of this, Allied forces still stand on this continent. Today, as 40 years ago, our armies are here for only one purpose--to protect and defend democracy. The only territories we hold are memorials like this one and graveyards where our heroes rest. We in America have learned bitter lessons from two World Wars: It is better to be here ready to protect the peace than to take blind shelter across the sea, rushing to respond only after freedom is lost. We've learned that isolationism never was and never will be an acceptable response to tyrannical governments with an expansionist intent. But we try always to be prepared for peace; prepared to deter aggression; prepared to negotiate the reduction of arms; and, yes, prepared to reach out again in the spirit of reconciliation. In truth, there is no reconciliation we would welcome more than a reconciliation with the Soviet Union, so, together, we can lessen the risks of war, now and forever. It's fitting to remember here the great losses also suffered by the Russian people during World War II: 20 million perished, a terrible price that testifies to all the world the necessity of ending war. I tell you from my heart that we in the United States do not want war. We want to wipe from the face of the Earth the terrible weapons that man now has in his hands. And I tell you, we are ready to seize that beachhead. We look for some sign from the Soviet Union that they are willing to move forward, that they share our desire and love for peace, and that they will give up the ways of conquest. There must be a changing there that will allow us to turn our hope into action. We will pray forever that some day that changing will come. But for now, particularly today, it is good and fitting to renew our commitment to each other, to our freedom, and to the alliance that protects it. We are bound today by what bound us 40 years ago, the same loyalties, traditions, and beliefs. We're bound by reality. The strength of America's allies is vital to the United States, and the American security guarantee is essential to the continued freedom of Europe's democracies. We were with you then; we are with you now. Your hopes are our hopes, and your destiny is our destiny. Here, in this place where the West held together, let us make a vow to our dead. Let us show them by our actions that we understand what they died for. Let our actions say to them the words for which Matthew Ridgway listened: "I will not fail thee nor forsake thee.'' Strengthened by their courage, heartened by their value [valor], and borne by their memory, let us continue to stand for the ideals for which they lived and died. Thank you very much, and God bless you all. *** And Lyn is likely working a crossword puzzle with the Baby Jesus. Prolly has a little dawg, too. RPH, Esq., European American ©Randall P. Hodge, Esq., and Morningwood Enterprises, LLC

Bismarck and the Good War

Saturday, June 07, 2008

Bismarck and the Good War Current mood: adventurous Category: Life In which we have returned, briefly, to a land of cell phone coverage. We have been working in a different county for the past couple of weeks. Like most people in Oklahoma City, I have ATT cell phone service. I've been happy with it, especially since I developed an addiction for sending and receiving text messages. I have unlimited everything, which costs me about $6000.00 a month, but at least I don't have to worry about going over. ATT allows me to roll over unused minutes, and since I don't talk on the phone much (can't up here for sure), I have accumulated over eight years of cell phone minutes. That's a lot on the water. It fell to one of my new best friends and me to pick up a colleague at the airport in Bismarck at 3:00. Because of delays, he didn't arrive until 9:00. That meant six hours for us to come up with something to do. It's not like we could scrapbook or play tennis. So we did what people always do: we went to Barnes & Noble, bought some books (which I will never read), had some real coffee for the first time in days, walked around the mall and marveled at the attractive people. There are no attractive people where we've been staying, and I am an excessively shallow and superficial person. I work at this, you see. Work very hard at it. So we wondered around for about ten minutes until both of us realized we were tired. We sat down. We stared an pointed at folks until they made us leave because we were creeping out the mall patrons. But first, we had t-shirts made to mark our very special day in Bismarck, and a cheesy time was had by all. I spent money I don't have on a lot of crap for which I have no room in my luggage (which now includes several trash bags and two cardboard boxes). Then we drove around. Saw a hill and climbed it (in the car, of course). Saw a familiar site – the gold leaf statue of the angel Moroni, atop the Bismarck Temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. It is a smallish building, and I believe it is the same design as the temple in Oklahoma City. Members of the "Mormon" Church take these temples very seriously, and they are built for special purposes. All are beautiful and well-built. No pre-fab temples. The Mormons always select spectacular sites to locate their temples. I keep waiting on them to buy the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem off the arabs. Or win it in a poker game, perhaps. Imagine a religion that worships a rock. Maybe the Mormons would tear down all the muslim stuff, and throw up a real temple. Just a thought; no controversy intended. Many people believe the Ark of the Covenant was stolen from Indiana Jones, and then secreted off to be buried in the arab-occupied Holy Land. Or, as one writer put it, "the devil's nutsack." You know what I'm sayin'. The view from up there on the hill was stunning. Bismarck is a beautiful city. It is clean, neat, easy to navigate, and chock full of industrious Germans and Scandinavians. The place was named after the Iron Chancellor himself, Otto von Bismarck. I was impressed with this city of roughly 60,000, and I wouldn't mind living there. There is but one small glitch. Well, two. One, I'd have to pack and move. That ain't happ'nin' because that would be too much trouble. And B., it gets colder up here than I've ever experienced. David Kelly told me he was in Bismarck once, and it was 20˚ below zero. That's cold on the water. I was with the Germans at Stalingrad, you know, which sucked, as the Russians cheated – surrounded us and cut off our supplies. We Germans always fought fair. But I digress. It was colder then, but I was younger and could take it. I don't know if I could handle it now; I'm old and give out. Anyway, we had more time to kill, and we'd long since run out of things to talk about. One of us had the bright idea of going to the movies. We found a nice theatre called "The Grand," which tried very hard to be a grand theatre from the 30's. Even had an Egyptian theme. The Grand didn't have stadium seating, but that was okay. Normally, some fat lug with a cap will sit directly in front of me, and I then have to move. We saw "The Strangers," which stars Liv Tyler, who played Arwen in LOTR, and who does NOT look like her father, Steven Tyler of Aerosmith fame. "The Strangers" was the most suspenseful movie I've seen since the original "Halloween," back in 1978. It is not as gory as "Halloween," by the way, and there were no thingies flashed. Neither I, nor my friend liked it, and we were tempted to leave. I didn't care for the ending either. People do some mighty stupid things when there are psychos about, don't they? Arwen does not get nekked. If you like this sort of movie, I recommend it, but it's not geared for my age group. I bought Pat Buchanan's new book, the cover of which is currently my profile picture at my official MySpace for high school girls page. It is called "Churchill, Hitler and the unnecessary War." If it isn't already, I'm sure it will be a best seller. Since I worked for Pat, like him, and have actually read his other books, I have set a goal to read this new one. For me, a goal to read a book is about as ambitious as deciding to go to college or get married. Pat's new book has pictures too. Hitler does not get nekked. Buchanan thinks the war could have been avoided. He blames the war on obstinate and corrupt Polish colonels who refused to negotiate with Deutschland over the issue of the German city of Danzig. Danzig was a port city that was part of the ill-advised "Polish Corridor." The city and corridor were grabbed after the Armistice that ended World War I. Why did these colonels refuse to negotiate? They were busy trying to change a light bulb, I suppose. No, Pat writes the Poles were proud; they overestimated the strength of their vaunted horse cavalry against German tanks; and, most importantly, the British promised to go to war against Germany if Poland were attacked. This assurance prompted the Poles to resist German demands. As Pat pointed on the Colbert Report, Great Britain was in no position to save Poland, any more than the United States could help Tibet today. Thanks to President Bush, we only have about 125 soldiers left to deploy in any future war Bush might start. Would Hitler have stopped if Danzig had been returned to Germany? I doubt it – not if one believes "Mein Kampf," Hitler's hideously boring and unreadable blueprint of his plans for Germany and the world, should the Deutsches Volk be dumb enough to elect him. Hitler's eye had always been on the commies – crushing Bolshevism (a very noble goal), he wanted the vast expanses of land to the east, and all the swell oil (that the Russians still have so much of they export it to Third World nations like the United States). Stealing oil is also a very noble goal, which is why I've advocated making Iraq the 51st state. Obama will annex Africa and all its problems if he is elected. I'll write more about Pat's book after I've read it. I was proud to get a First Edition, but I was less proud that I managed to splash coffee on it. I cain't have nuthin' nice for long. Bear Grylls is on the Discovery Channel. The Grylls show is one of my favorites. But for some reason, and in virtually every episode, Bear Grylls gets nekked -- Unlike Liv Tyler and Hitler. You know he wants to, and each episode is set up to provide an opportunity. He went swimming nekked in frozen water, and then he ate raw liver and an eyeball from a yak's carcass. Like to made me puke. Said it didn't taste good. Frrrll? What did he expect? That guy's a nut. There is a time to eat, and a time to starve. Learn the difference. Or take some diet pills along next time, and you'll be just fine. From Bismarck, to Beulah, to Dickinson (where we're partying down this weekend) to World War II, which was started by Obama's grandfather. That's what's up. This state is growing on me, and I'm growing on it. The governor dismissed my suggestion they change the state nickname to "the Taupe State." Everything was indeed brown or taupe when we arrived. Now it is green, green, green. The temperatures are mild. It is windy. This morning I was freezing to death. It must suck to be in Oklahoma City. The best weekend ever to everyone. Randall P. Hodge, Esq., N.V. P.S. David Kelly introduced me to the works of the Wutang Clan. I am a whigger now. ©Randall P. Hodge, Esq., and Morningwood Enterprises, LLC

Brigitte Bardot Butt Nekked

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

Brigitte Bardot Butt Nekked Current mood: aroused Category: News and Politics From today's Law Blog at the Wall Street Journal website Bardot June 3, 2008, 2:05 pm Pas Encore, Brigitte! French Actress Convicted for Anti-Muslim Rants Posted by Dan Slater >>In "And God Created Woman," the 1956 film that launched French actress Brigitte Bardot to stardom, Bardot portrays a precocious teenage orphan who turns small-town life on its head. Fifty years later, the real-life Bardot is still antagonizing French society — and paying for it. Earlier today, reports the AP, a Paris court convicted Bardot of provoking discrimination and racial hatred for writing that Muslims are destroying France. She was fined $23,325 and ordered to pay $1,555 in damages to MRAP, a French anti-racism group. MRAP filed a suit last year over a letter Bardot, 73, sent to then-Interior Minister Nicolas Sarkozy. In the letter to Sarkozy, now France's president, Bardot said France is "tired of being led by the nose by this population that is destroying us, destroying our country by imposing its acts." Bardot, an animal rights activist, was reportedly referring to the Muslim feast of Aid el-Kebir, celebrated by slaughtering sheep. French anti-racism laws prevent inciting hatred and discrimination on racial or religious or racial grounds. Bardot had been convicted four times previously for inciting racial hatred. Bardot's lawyer, Francois-Xavier Kelidjian, said he would talk to her about the possibility of an appeal. "She is tired of this type of proceedings," he said. "She has the impression that people want to silence her. She will not be silenced in her defense of animal rights." French prosecutors are tired, too. This will be the fifth time Bardot has been fined for inciting racial hatred since 1997. Last month, prosecutor Anne de Fontette told the court she was seeking a tougher sentence than usual, adding: "I am a little tired of prosecuting Mrs. Bardot."<< This is what I get for watching the news, which alerted me to this story about Brigitte Bardot. I'm not particularly an animal rights activist. I find many of the PETA people almost as annoying as they would find me -- IF they could find me up here where wildlife abounds...abounds right into cars. We routinely see deer, badgers, pheasants, gophers, beavers, and other varmints on the way to the court house. I know so little about wildlife that I'm not sure if I should put an 's' on the end of the animal names that Adam came up with in the Garden of Eden, or that Noah jammed onto the Ark. I don't care, because I'm annoyed at France, a much maligned country which I try very hard to like. (because if it hadn't been for the help of France during the Revolutionary War, we'd all be speaking English instead of Spanish) I'm annoyed at France for letting in so many troublesome muslims into the country in the first place. I'm annoyed at France for mollycoddling them, providing cradle to crave welfare, and for putting up with all the crap they dish out. The very idea that France has a dumb law that makes it illegal to criticize another group. Poor Bridgette Bardot, who is fat now by the way, has to shell out tens of thousands of Euros in fines. All because she told the truth. She was upset because muslims slaughter animals some of their goofy holidays. So do Christians, but that is beside the point. I've never been especially fair or reasonable. Someone, probably Mitterand, was asleep at the Renault, and let in so many mohammedans the whole country is ruined. Everyone in Paris is wearing turbans and cooking smelly food. If one has the misfortune to make an observation about muslims slaughtering Jews or something, why he/she lands in the Bastille. The only happy non-muslim in Paris is probably Johnny Depp, and that is because his wife is a babe, and he is so rich he can live in nice neighborhoods and avoid the unpleasantness of smelly food and the perpetually unbathed. I didn't jump on the bandwagon of silly people who said "freedom fries" instead of French fries -- all because the French were smart enough to stay out of Bush's war without end. But France needs to stop this nonsense before it really gets out of hand, and Germany has to invade again. France should kick out all the muslims. France should focus on what it does best: wine. France should paper the country with nekked posters of Brigitte Bardot -- but from the 50's, pleez. Not to be xenophobic, of course, but as long as terrorist groups like the Council on American islamic Relations are allowed to run amok, we're in danger of losing such cherished freedoms as SPEECH. muslims will ultimately lead to the Death of the West as we know it -- that's what they seek, after all. If we elect a muslim president this year, and there is a real danger of that now, we're only a few steps away from the imposition of sharia law in the Land of the Free, where (certain) women should always feel free to wear thong panties. Not to be shallow and superficial, but we have too many purdy people in the United States, and I'd hate to see men sporting scruffy, smelly vermin-infested beards like some recycled taliban, or our lovely ladies forced to wear tarps over their heads. I'm sorry arab women are hideous; most of them should wear something over their heads. I'm sure it makes it easier on the men, if you know what I'm sayin'. In all seriousness, this kind of stuff is going to increase. It is no longer politically correct to criticize certain groups. It is for this reason, and in the little time we have left to do it, I enjoy going overboard with my fun with the world's dumbest, made up, and most murderous religion. Come, let us all send a donation to Mrs. Bardot's animal rights group, and then go out for steaks. Brigitte Bardot Foundation RPH, Esq., N.V.

©Randall P. Hodge, Esq., N.V., and Morningwood Enterprises, LLC