The Congressional Budget Office has concluded that the spending proposed by The One will create a debt that is “unsustainable.” Doug Ross points out that the true national debt (including Social Security and Medicare) translates to $483,000 per household! He draws a conclusion about The One, which, with each passing day, is approaching inescapable.

Go read.

Silly rabbit, you thought that all our congresspeeps do is hysterically blame everyone but themselves for the current mess we’re in and use the tax code to punish people who signed contracts they don’t like.

You’re just too cynical.

There remains plenty of time in the House of Representatives for some soaring oratory.

This is truly inspiring. Behold!

via Moonbattery

So, lemme get this straight.

If a bunch of politicians (including some fake republicans) decide they don’t “like” a valid contract executed between private citizens, but there are no contractual principles that would permit them to render the contract unenforceable, they can SEIZE the proceeds of the contract by using the Tax Code against those individuals as a punitive measure?

Be afraid. Be very, very afraid.

So, there I was sitting in front of the computer a little after eight o’clock, minding my own business and thinking about what to write, when I got a phone call from Eric.

”Hey Jimbo, just wanted to tell you to go turn on the History Channel.”

Knowing Eric to be a person who is interested in history, I asked what the show was about. With Eric, it could be anything from the history of the Marine Corps to something about ancient Greece.

”It’s all about whether alligators could live in the sewers of New York City.”

Just farookin’ swell.

After a few minutes of catch-up bullshitting, we signed off and I decided to walk away from the computer to see whether alligators could live in the New York City sewers. I was silently concerned that, if the rotten beasts could survive New York City ca ca, they could probably make a summertime trip across the Hudson and find their way into the fetid swamp of toxic soup between New York and New Jersey known affectionately (albeit disingenuously) as the “Meadowlands” to the New Jersey sewers. Or, whether the whole thing is just an Urban Legend.

I tuned into the portion of the show that focused on two brave guys lunatics who capture five-hundred alligators per year in West Palm Beach. They were dragging a ten-foot, sorely pissed off alligator from a pond right behind a goddamned supermarket. Right behind a supermarket! Where people go to buy their goddamned groceries!

The scene then changed to video of the inside of the New York City sewers to show the wonderful things that live there and could serve as a “food source” for alligators, such as, oh, about a gazillion roaches, slugs, worms and roughly ten million rats. Good grief!

Anyway, one of the three experts (a Florida guy who squatted in front of a pond facing the camera and talked while a gator the size of a Cadillac was chilling in the pond about four feet from his turned back), thought alligators could not live in New York City sewers. Whew!

Unfortunately, the other two experts thought alligators could survive and even find enough nesting material in the sewers to reproduce. Moreover, one of these guys figured that and that it is conceivable that one lucky gator couple could result in as many as 4,000 gators in three years swimming happily in the sewers, until they tired of munching on rats and decided to emerge from their underground digs to dine on dogs and a few homeless peeps.

If there was any good news, it was that even after setting up a widget that emits what amounts to a love call to gators and would automatically photograph an approaching gator, they saw none. They even traipsed around in the sewers and saw no evidence of the pre-historic beasts. The best they could come up with was a photo of a salamander.

After the show, I began to watch the quest to find an industrial-sized black shark reported to eat sea lions whole in the Sea of Cortez (nowhere near Jersey) until I fell asleep in Mr. Recliner, only to dream of – guess what.

That’s my pal, Eric. He’s always lookin’ out for me.

May your beer remain cool

and your coffee stay hot.

May the green in your nose

remain only snot.

Poetry by Seamus O’Parkway — also available for whiskey, songs and blarney.

I see where The One has decided that people captured on the battlefield trying to kill Americans should no longer be referred to as “enemy combatants.” I had thought about writing suggestions for other names we might give such persons (e.g. “people in need of an anger management program”), but many others have already covered this ground.

Instead, I thought about what other peeps might need to be renamed, given that names obviously matter. I could not help but focus on the democrat Congressmen and women and democrat Senators and the so-called republicans who were responsible for forty percent of the 9,000 pork-barrel earmarks in the most recent spending bill. For sure, they are all badly in need of renaming.

Right off the top of my cruller, here are a few suggestions:

1. Pus-filled ingrown asshole follicles.

2. Barnyard excrement.

3. Smegma, pure and simple.

4. Rat bastard Marxists.

5. Common criminals.

6. Washington dung.

7. Douchebag modickers.

8. Highly paid looters.

9. Blood-sucking pieces of shit.

10. Maggots.

11. Whale shit.

12. Gallows-worthy rats.

13. Komodo dragon puke.

14. Weeping carbuncles.

15. Shit stains.

16. Viscous turds.

17. Septic soup of the most brown.

18. Putrid bowel windage.

19. Crotch pheasants.

20. Armpit cheese.

I’m sure with a few more minutes I could think of a dozen more.

Boffo!

Hit bound!

Chart buster!

Not exactly.

The Very Brief Backstory

It was 1966. Hell, I wasn’t even old enough to legally drink. I played in a band with a name that would be most politically incorrect nowadays, but back then, it was a pretty handy gimmick, given the appearance of the group, which was comprised of three Japanese-American brothers and two caucasians, one of whom was Yours Truly. The name of the band was “Saby and the Orientals,” and we performed wearing happi coats (here is the closest image I could find of how they looked).

Annnnnyway, as I said, it was 1966, the British Invasion was in full swing, so we thought we should make a record. Saby (pronounced “Sobby”) had written a bunch of songs, so we picked out two of them and arranged for (i.e. paid for) some studio time in New York City. I think we had only purchased two hours, so it was a case of hustle in, set up and try to get it “right” the first time. It was then we learned that we wouldn’t be singing and playing at the same time. First we would have to do the music track and then stand in front of the recording guys and sing into boom microphones to our track — no headphones. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. Pretty low tech by today’s standards, methinks.

This was back in the days of 45 RPM records, so we recorded an “A” side and a “B side.” About a week or so later, we picked up a couple hundred 45’s. We handed them out to friends and even naively sent a couple to radio stations. We learned that it actually got played once on some station in Albany and on another in Hawaii.

A year or so later, Life 101 took us in various directions (for me, following college graduation, it was a couple years in the Army). The three brothers moved to places like Colorado and Hawaii. Ed packed up his guitar and became an insurance company executive.

Many years later (in 2002) we had a reunion in Colorado and a friend of one of the guys put the 45 on to a CD. I tucked it away, never giving it much thought until I came across it a week or so ago while cleaning out some bookcases.

So, I sort of figured out how to place it somewhere out there in the ether so you can hear it. There is probably a more efficient way of doing that, but I remain cyber-challenged.

The Players
Guitar – Saburo (Saby)
Organ – Tatsuo (Tatsy)
Bass – Hideo
Guitar – Ed
Drums – Me

The Disclaimer
Hey, it was 1966.

The Songs
Baby Come my Way
(I’m the guy who sounds like Gary Lewis)

Little Girl.
That’s Ed out front.

We’ve gotten together every two years since 2002. I’ve written about the record and our subsequent reunions before, including noting that someone was selling one of the 45’s for $200.00 and “Little Girl” found its way to an album called The The White Group Sound. Obviously, the person who put the album together never saw the band.

Saby still writes songs and plays professionally (keyboard, these days) on the beautiful island of Maui.

So, there you have it. No cyber tomatoes, please. As I said, it was 1966.

No, really. Check it out.

Via my buddy Brian, the Air Force Vet.

The Jersey Pig
Behold my former State Assemblyman. (You’ll have to click the link, because if I describe what this jerk admitted doing, I would attract all sorts of sicko spam.) Swell guy.

Jersey Pork
Lautenberg, Menendez and Jersey Congresspeeps sure love those Jersey earmarks. The $159.8 million will gives the liars, crooks and thieves politicians an appetizer to nibble on while they wait for the main course, which is the boatload of stimulus money that will surely come their way.

A detailed list of the projects in New Jersey that will be funded by taxpayers in all fifty states is here (pdf). I know you non-Garden-Staters are thinking, “Holy crap! What about cranberries and blueberries? Nothing for them? What will become of the cranberries and blueberries?”

Don’t panic; there is money in there ($451 thousand) for cranberry and blueberry research.

What a country.

Shamelessly snagged from The Brier Patch, and he shamelessly snagged it from here.