Senator Butch Miller is a waste of hot air, MHO

Dig it.

My State Senator, Butch 'You got that right' Miller, wants a Constitutional Convention.

Send Miller to Philadelphia

A convention could destroy the economy and perhaps the country. Imagine someone on a dumb blog announcing the Conventioneers have voted to implement a national sales tax of 23 percent. What would happen to those financial markets around the world?

Let's say the Convention eliminated the Executive Branch. Or voting. Or made gold the only legal tender.

What if Senator Miller were our rep to the Convention? Would the new money say, "You got that Right!"

Can you Spot the Senator in the picture contest:

Profound profanity

Daniel Defense ad killed by NFL. Veterans out raged. Storm stage at Half Time Show.

"Two months ago, Georgia-based firearms company Daniel Defense made headlines when the NFL rejected their conservative commercial for the upcoming Super Bowl. Well, this week the NFL responded to that controversy publicly, saying the whole thing is made up."

Although the lies about the ban were great advertising, they were still lies.

So answer up, Daniel Defense.

Why would you lie about military vets?

To me, that's what you did. You didn't lie about the NFL. You lied about vets being rejected by our society. I guess you needed the money.

American Capitalism, War mongering, and merchandising war. Must pay well. Just my opinion.

I hope you damaged the very market you service.

Solar energy.

Puns ahead. You are being warned.

Glad I had my tri-focals on when I read this. Who's crystal ball thought this up? I like it. Now we'll have passive solar energy. The chip lays there. Interactive solar energy. The chip is moved to track the sun. And, Ocular solar energy. The chip wears glasses.

By the way, no gold fish were harmed in making these puns.



Solar power glass orb

Gun nuts in public meetings

I've had a fever, chills, and other flu like symptoms for 2 days. In a delirious dream, I had the following encounter with a Right to Carry nut.

It was a public forum set up by Democrats for a Democratic Candidate. The candidate was speaking from a podium when the Right to Carry Nut got up.

At some point in his remarks, I lost my cool. Must have been my fever even in the dream.

I started shouting, "Do you have a hidden gun? Right now? Right here? Are you hiding a gun?"

'I have a Concealed Carry Permit.'

"I have a prescription for penicillin but that doesn't give me a right to hide moldy bread in my pockets. Are you hiding a gun?"

'I have a right to carry my gun.'

"So where are you hiding it? Can't be in that many places. You don't have a man purse with you. There's no bulge in the front of your jeans. So unless your mother cut your balls off at birth, you ain't packing anything there. So you must be hiding a gun barrel in your butt crack. So fess up. Are you a crack packer?"

The guy gets a little testy with me. 'I flew 25 missions as a tail gunner on a B-17 in Europe...'

I was on a roll by then so I cut him off. "So you admit to being a tail end Charlie all your life. Is that why you're hiding a gun?"

He's getting angry now. He gets down to my level with a few 4 letter words. But then he goes for the kill. 'You're nothing but a niggar loving Democrat!'

"I know what I am and what people think about me. But this forum opened up with a prayer to God, followed by the Pledge of Allegiance. It's a public library in South Hall. Why are you here twerking a gun? I'll tell you why. You're afraid. Scared. You're a coward."

"You don't have the guts to face life on its terms. Oh it's a dangerous world. But where's the danger here? You are the danger here. For no logical reason, you're hiding a gun."

"Now let me tell you what happens next. You're going to shot me or leave. Because I have rights. A right to justice. Expectations that in a public place, no one is going to stand up and brag about packing a hidden gun. That's my right."

I started moving towards the general area where the man was seated. Like a typical coward, he was in the middle of the room where he could be attacked by all his demons from any direction at any time. Yet, his position put him in the middle of anyone. The safest place in the room. Or, in a herd. Only in a herd, the males stay at the edge, at the perimeter, protecting the females hiding in the middle of the herd.

An coward.

"Folks, you might want to start moving away from the Crack Packer." I get to the end of his row of seats and people do start moving. Away from me.

"The next move is yours, dude. Leave. Take your chicken shit, gun loving ass out of here."

Now this is when I start making plans. He's still standing up. Arms crossed in defiance. But, he's not talking any more. One of his legs has a slight tremble. Options for me include picking up a chair, throwing it at him, then rushing him. Or, closing the gap between us until I'm chest to chest with him. I hope he's thinking, I'm not leaving.

"So what's your pleasure. You going to shoot me because I'm an niggar loving Democrat? I don't think so. I think you're too much of coward to shoot someone face to face. Unless I turn my back to you, I'm safe."

Now some people in the room are trying to control the group. The candidate at the podium is frozen like a bag of Mrs. Paul's fish sticks. Somewhere reasonable voices are screaming, Oh God! Stop this! Reasonable voices always scream at God.

There are five metal folding chairs between me and the gun nut.

I say, "You're going to leave because you don't have a right to endanger everyone here buy hiding a gun in your pants."

I take a step down the row of chairs.

And that's when the dream ends. It might have been the dog licking my toes. My wife might have slapped me to wake me up. Or, just slapped me because I'm always thinking about stuff no one should think about. Or, those flu like symptoms took control of my mind and body.

But I never get to finish business.

The man who packs a gun to a public library, hides it in the back of his pants, is a coward.

Me? I'm just a nut. Somebody will shoot me some day. In the back.