Listen to the pious whining of the Jackass Senator from New Jersey. Like far too many on his side of the aisle, he is of the view that people who opposed the immigration bill are anti-immigrant; they represent the “lowest common denominator” in the country, and worse yet, they’re racists.

Senator, the operative word that you refuse to acknowledge is “illegal” immigrants. I don’t give a damn where illegal immigrants come from. If they come here illegally, they should not be rewarded for having broken our laws.

Besides, there was plenty wrong with the substance of the bill, not to mention the procedural game that was afoot to ram it down everyone’s throats. The damned thing was cobbled together behind closed doors; it was not the subject of any hearings, and it did not consider the financial and social impact that its passage would have.

Oh, I have no doubt that behind those closed doors there was plenty of concern raised about the adverse impact that not passing the bill might have on those businesses that profit from hiring people who came into this country in violation of existing laws – laws that were passed by these same Senators and which are supposed to be enforced by this Administration. Naturally, these businesses save money by paying sub-standard wages and leaving it to the taxpayer to pick up the tab for the “benefits”.

As for the crap about the “Honorable” Bob Menendez having heard in the Senate the use of the term “those people,” it is just that – crap. Enlighten-New Jersey has posted portion of the Congressional Record that contains the exchange on the Senate Floor to which the “Honorable” Senator Menendez refers.

The “Honorable” Bob Menendez is yet another in a long line of New Jersey political disgraces.

So I get this message on my cell phone this morning. Cracked me up, and scared the shit out of me at the same time.

Holy crap! Now, it seems I’m getting real-time gator sightings from hysterically laughing women.

Two things came of this call.

1. Youse guys farookin’ slay me. Really.

2. I’ve decided that I will never, never, NEVER, EVER live in Gator-Ridden Florida.

I found this over at RSM’s place. Of course, the question posed (“Where should your Inner New Yorker live?”) presumes that legions of people harbor an “Inner New Yorker.” I know for shit sure that I don’t have an Inner New Yorker, because I have no desire to live anywhere in New York City, especially in one of the four lesser boroughs (the ones that are not Manhattan — this, of course, includes the borough that the Wiseass Jooette calls home).

But I took the little quiz for shits and giggles, and here’s what it showed.

You Belong in Soho

Although you may not be a professional artist, you do dabble in one form of art or another. And you indie culture of all kinds – from little botiques to art house films.

Where Should Your Inner New Yorker Live?

I immediately knew it was a quality test when it confirmed that I “indie” culture of all kinds, including “botiques”. For the record, I also “indie” pizzo and penut butter, and long wolks on the beech, but I do not “indie” alligatars, clownz and krabs.

It is one year ago today that I learned that my friend Rob died.

I know there are many who would like the world to think that they knew Rob. That’s cool, because if Rob knew that you felt that way by virtue of reading his blog, he would have hoisted a beer or three in your direction.

I had the very good fortune of actually getting to hang with the good brother and, better yet, having the chance to do a bunch of tunes with him and his brother Dave..

Rob, for all his shit-stirring abilities, quite simply, was a gott-damned genius.

He spoke as he wrote, which meant that if you were lucky enough to hear hin speak, you damned well paid attention.

He died way too early and, to my eternal agony, he died before we (the pickers) could all assemble at the Crackerbox to record some excelllent music.

I miss him. Really bad.

Really, I’ve got nuttin’, except for boundless comtempt for legislators, democrat and republican, who place their own agendas before what I believe is the will of the American People. If you need links to know what I am talking about, then please move on.

If this doesn’t frost your stindeens, I don’t know what will.

Here we have an article and the actual video of a law firm advising its clients and potential clients about the ways to pretend they’re interested in hiring an American when their real goal (as stated plainly in the video) is to make it appear that they are interested in hiring an American, while, at the same time, ensuring that any Americans are who are qualified for and interested in the position are rejected and that a non-American gets hired and gets a coveted Green Card.

The process involves purposefully placing ads in newspapers where the employer knows full well that the readers are not likely to have the requisite qualifications and proceeds to advocating managers to interview those Americans who are qualified and interested in the job in order to manufacture reasons for rejection.

This video has caught the attention of members of Congress, (check the above link).

I applaud them for asking the law firm to explain how this practice does not constitute unlawful discriminitation based on national origin**.

You can make up your own mind.

** Just imagine how this practice would be received if its stated goal were to take active measures to reject people for jobs based on their race.

I don’t know why I do this to myself, but I, all too often, do.

It’s not good for my mental or physical health.

In fact, it’s truly self-destructive.

My day is shot.

Yes, I watched Meet the Press.

I must go outside for some cleansing breaths.

Well, it’s Friday, and I’m all thunk out and too tired to write much of anything. So, this seems to be a good time to share a video that PastaKeith (a/k/a Pastor Keith a genuine clergy guy and a sometimes reader of this blog – go figure) mentioned a while back in a comment to a post.

The video answers the question, “What if the Beatles were Irish?”

Funny stuff, that.

Well, New Jersey has kicked off yet another Fireworks Crackdown. Since I was kid, it has been unlawful to even possess fireworks in New Jersey. If we were caught with firecrackers, cherry bombs or the like, the local police would confiscate them on the spot, which, of course, meant that the cops’ kids always had the best fireworks.

When one grows up in a state where fireworks, by law, are contraband (i.e. something the mere possession of which is unlawful), it is easy to forget that other states have different rules. So, when Ken, my friend and bodyguard, and I were in Tennessee last October, we could not resist taking a side trip to a fireworks store (I believe it was this one, or one just like it).

I remembered as a boy traveling with my parents by car to Florida seeing grubby looking fireworks stands, but this was different. The experience was much like that of a life-long junkie visiting a Heroin Superstore. We walked around the large, neon-lit, spotless store marveling at the things that one could buy in Tennessee, the mere possession of which in the Garden State could put you in deep shit. There were fireworks of every description, all nicely displayed. It was farookin’ amazing!

At one point, the clerk ambled up to us as we were wide-eyed checking out a “Super Pack,” which included mortars and God knows what else. He fired up a video of the contents of the kit in all their explosive glory. He said, “If you boys are interested in this, you really need to check this out,” at which point, he directed us to the MONDO COLLECTION of fireworks that contained an array of colorfully blasting, banging, flying, poofing, “ooooooh” and “aaahhhhhh” provoking explosive know to man.

I think Ken would have been game to fill up his SUV with a shitload of fireworks, including the MONDO COLLECTION, but out of respect for my desire to not be arrested as a “fireworks smuggler” and thereby jeopardizing Mr. Law License, he didn’t press the issue.

I’d be willing to bet that some Jersey cop’s kid has the MONDO COLLECTION ready to go on the Fourth of July.

Knowing that I like music and that I hate alligators, Dave of A Different Lemming sent me this article, which deals with the curious effect that a B flat note played two octaves below a middle C (i.e. a really LOW note) has on alligators.

While I found the notion that a particular man-made tone could trigger instinctive responses in reptiles that have been on the planet for roughly 30 million years, I could not help but think how much I would like to visit that place with a high-powered rifle and with a master tuba player in tow.

Read it, and you’ll catch my drift