The Evolution of Tyranny

For those who would maintain that the Constitution of the United States is a flexible document that must evolve to meet the changing nature of the peoples' political and social appetites, the history of the Roman Republic is instructive.

What follows is, by design, a shallow, cursory look at the Roman republican experience, due in large part to the Colonel's mile-wide and inch-deep knowledge base and the limitations imposed by the few remaining cognitive cells lying fallow in the limpid pools of goo at the bottom of the deeper recesses of his brain-housing-group. Lucky for the three of you who regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon, a cursory look at the Roman Republic's history is all that is required to quickly understand why a conservative adherence to our written constitution's strictures is so critical to maintenance of the rights and freedoms enshrined within it.

Twenty-five centuries ago, the people of the small region surrounding a nascent city-state on the banks of the Tiber River in what is now central Italy, revolted against their monarch and embarked on a five century experience with a more people-centric form of government. What is most fascinating to the Colonel, and most germane to his point, is that the Roman Republic operated for nearly 500 years, not from a written constitution, but according to loose oral tradition and precedent that continuously evolved to meet either the desires of the political ruling elite or the whims of the people to whom that ruling elite catered. Because of their inherent flexibility, the Roman Republic's guiding principles eventually allowed the political ruling class to accumulate so much power at the expense of the people that the people willingly accepted tyrants who satisfied their baser needs and wants at the expense of any self-governance. It was the Roman Republic's lack of a concrete constitution that led to its fall and to the re-institution of tyrannical monarchical rule.

That, and the dole, Rome's welfare system.

While Republican Rome's malleable constitution did maintain a semblance of checks and balances on the elements of Roman government, what was lacking was a supreme judiciary charged with preserving the constitutional rule of law via review of the constitutionality of the laws passed by the various competing ruling bodies whose power in Roman politics waxed and waned with the personal leadership strength of the heads of those bodies. In other words, there was no effective judicial review check on the legislative and executive branches of government. The result was a continuous cycle of command and countermand legislation to which the least attention was paid by those legislators who crafted it. Into such increasing chaos a Julius Caesar could ride with loyal legions at his back and seize power.

Little known to the vast majority of Americans is the fact that at the height of the Great Depression, during which an enormously charismatic and popular President accrued extra-constitutional powers to himself and his administration--and packed and perverted the Supreme Court with lackeys who would not find his clearly unconstitutional actions thus--a group of industrialists actually began to plot a military coup. They approached a retired Marine war hero (recipient of two Congressional Medals of Honor)--Major General Smedley Butler--with promise of more-than-adequate funding and troops to march on Washington and seize control. Lucky for our nation, General Butler's loyalty to his oath to "support and defend the Constitution of the United States" was greater than his personal disgust with the unconstitutional antics of Roosevelt. Butler reported the plot to Congress.

Had Butler been more of a Caesar than a Cincinnatus, the constitutional rule of our nation may well have ended in 1934, as it did in Rome in 49 B. C.

The Colonel wishes that his fellow Americans understood just how lucky we are to have a strong, written Constitution (amended constitutionally), whose words mean today just what they meant when first penned.

Ornithological Broodings

It has been quite a bountiful brood-raising spring and summer so far here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere. The Colonel fancies himself an amateur ornithologist, fascinated by our feathered friends and their free flights and frequent feeder visits, above and aboard Eegeebeegee. Much of the Colonel's leisure is engaged in avian antic appreciation.

Last year, the immediate surroundings of the Big House here at the capital of the Tallahatchie Free State--a virtual republic, founded as much hand-on-wallet as tongue-in-cheek--hosted the nesting activities of several species of feathered fauna. This year, a pair of barn swallows returned to and improved upon last summer's mud nest under the eaves of the front porch.

They brought friends.

Three other pairs of barn swallows joined the first and as the Colonel writes this frantically boring missive, the four parental pairs are busily feeding four identical broods of four ravenous chicks in mud nests under the four corners of the Big House's porch eaves.

A word of warning to the three of you who regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon and might be interested in hosting your own breeding pair: barn swallow progeny poop prodigiously. In barely a day's time, four swelling swallows can process parental food offerings and manufacture a surprisingly large messy mound of manure below their nest.

It is, however, a small poopy price to pay for pest control.

One of the parental duties of a brood-raising barn swallow is the discouragement of all other creatures from a thirty-foot radius of their nests with a chattering swoop within inches of the interloper's brain-housing-group. Matters not who or what the interloper is. The Colonel's grandsons--The Hope of 21st Century Civilization, Dashes One and Two (H21CC-1 & 2)--are regular dive bombing targets. As are the rabbits which ease up to raid the flower beds guarding the front porch of the Big House.

The Colonel, who has been forbidden from firearmed rabbit removal by the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda, wishes there was a way to surreptitiously arm barn swallows with miniature cotton-tail seeking rockets.

Not to be outdone, eastern bluebirds have already produced one brood earlier this spring (despite an indigo snake's attempted/prevented predation) and three more broods are peeping and pooping in the boxes at the periphery of the Gardens at Eegeebeegee. Unable to poke pooping posteriors out of their nest like the barn swallows, eastern bluebird chicks depend on their parents to carry away the waste product of insects brought to feed them. While the Colonel often envies birds' wings, current grandson diaper duty makes him thankful for hands.

Early in the spring, the first pair of ruby-throated hummingbirds met at a feeder on the back porch. A half-dozen other pairs have since joined them. The Colonel has been unable to find their diminutive domiciles, but has begun to notice their progeny at the sugar-water feeders. How can one tell young hummingbirds from their parents, you ask? Easy. The immature ones are always sticking their tongues out.

In addition to these favorites, a pair of mockingbirds raised a brood in a bush right outside the door to the back porch. The Colonel is not a big fan of mockingbirds. Turns out they aren't big fans of the Colonel. H21CC-1 & 2, however, were able to daily inspect the progress of the mockingbird chicks with impunity. Momma mockingbird obviously did not have the Colonel's clear understanding of the destructive power inherent in two small boys.

At this point in this pointless parade of paragraphs, at least one of the three of you who regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon is bursting with the question: "What about the chickens?"

The Colonel is proud to announce that his Local War on Barnyard Fowl Predation has kept the Chickens of Eegeebeegee safe for two full months since the last attack. The Colonel would also like to take this opportunity to announce the latest addition to the domestic flock here at the Center of the Universe. Two nondescript ducklings, named Archie and Peyton by the Colonel's Manning-mad daughter, have joined the growing menagerie of mouths aboard the capitol grounds of the Tallahatchie Free State. She wanted them for her birthday.

Interesting side-story regarding the Colonel's favorite daughter's birthday. Born on the 5th of July, she had long lamented that she had not been born a day earlier so that she could share her adopted country's birthday. When she got old enough (21) to understand the concept of the International Dateline--no slam intended; the Colonel didn't figure it out until he was thirty--the Colonel informed his delighted favorite daughter that while it was indeed the 5th of July where she was born (Hong Kong) it had actually been the 4th of July here in the good ole re-United States.

So, last weekend she asked for, and got for her birthday, a pair of ducks to raise here on the farm.

Guess it could have been worse--she initially wanted goats.

Sharp Solutions

Thousands of men and women from the college class of 2010 are embarking this summer on a career as commissioned officers in the United States military. To this new generation of patriots the Colonel renders a respectful salute and offers some advice by way of a few anecdotal recollections.

Great piece of advice not found in any leadership manual, Number 1: The most elegantly simple solutions to the most pressing problems are most often resident in the brain housing groups of the most junior members of your team.

The Colonel wishes he had a dollar for every time he was personally involved in an episode that reminded him of this maxim. Here’s two of the most memorable:

More years ago than he would like to admit, the Colonel had the great fortune to be in command of the best rifle company in the Marine Corps. The Colonel (then the Captain) and his lieutenants were wrestling with the problem of how to move vehicles off of runways it was our company’s mission to secure. We had hot wire kits made up to start vehicles, but figured that we would need some way to get into a locked car or truck. We decided we would need to add slim jims, the tool police use to unlock vehicles, to our kits but couldn't figure out where to get them. When we finally asked our Marines if any of them knew where we could find a tool that would open a locked car, one lance corporal in the last rank raised his hand and volunteered, “Why don’t you just break the (expletive deleted) window?”

Six Marine officers removed their head gear and slapped their foreheads in unison.

A few years later, the Colonel had the great fortune to be in command of the best recruiting station in the Marine Corps. The Colonel (then the Major) and his lieutenants were wrestling with the problem of how to move the contracting and shipping status board from the old headquarters in Macon to the new headquarters in Atlanta, without losing the critical information tracked thereon. The status board (this was in the days just shortly after the invention of electricity) was a wall-sized magnetic board with twenty or so columns and just as many rows. The Colonel’s grasp of math ain't too good and he couldn't tell you exactly how many boxes that formed—in each of which a magnetic number resided—but it was, to use the technical term, a bunch. The Colonel (then the Major) and his lieutenants had decided to cover the board in plastic wrap and were measuring the board to see how big of a U-haul truck was needed to transport it, when the young sergeant, whose job it was to maintain the board and who had been quietly and respectfully observing his brainy leadership at work, reached into his desk, pulled out a Polaroid camera and snapped a picture of the board. While the Colonel (then the Major) and his lieutenants watched, the Marine waited patiently for the film to develop, looked carefully at it when it did, then pitched it onto his desk and proceeded to take the numbers off the board. The Colonel (then the Major) and his lieutenants edged over to the young sergeant’s desk, took a quick look at the clear picture of the status board, and went elsewhere.

Great piece of advice not found in any leadership manual, Number 2: Somebody on your team is always carrying a big enough knife for any job.

When the Colonel (then the Lieutenant) completed his initial infantry officer training and was enroute to his first operational assignment, he stopped at a sporting goods store and bought a large sheath knife. When he says large, the Colonel really means enormous. Jim Bowie would have been, not just merely envious, but apoplectic with inferiority. Crocodile Dundee would have remarked favorably on it.

The knife was so large that the steel in its blade represented an entire day's worth of production at a mill in Pittsburgh.

The hides of six cows, and a half-grown calf, were required to provide enough leather from which to fashion the sheath.

The knife was so heavy that when strapped to the Colonel's (then the Lieutenant's) side, it caused him to list dramatically to port. The resulting lopsided gait, on the Colonel's (then the Lieutenant's) first march to the field with his new platoon, wore out the leather on the outside portion of his portside boot.

The Colonel's (then the Lieutenant's) crusty old platoon sergeant remarked, in the third person manner of the old Corps, "Well, the Lieutenant has quite a knife there doesn't he." To which the Colonel (then the Lieutenant) responded with, "Yep! Where's yours?"

"Oh, the Staff Sergeant doesn't carry a knife, sir."

"Really? What do you do if you need to cut something?"

"Well, sir, the Staff Sergeant will just ask to borrow the Lieutenant's."

The Colonel (then the Lieutenant) traded in Excalibur for a small and infinitely less weighty pocket knife on his next trip to the gedunk.

Keeping the Republic

At the conclusion of the proceedings of the 1787 Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia, Benjamin Franklin was approached outside of Independence Hall and asked, "Well, Doctor, what have we got, a republic or a monarchy?"

Franklin responded, "A republic,...if you can keep it."

The Colonel would have you consider that the question asked of Franklin was not whether the delegates to the Constitutional Convention had crafted a democracy or a monarchy. Frankly, there had been no intent amongst the serious visionaries who labored to hammer out our Constitution to create a democracy. It will no doubt surprise the three of you who regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon (as well as 99.9% of the U.S. population), to learn that nowhere in the Constitution of the United States does the word democracy appear. Don't take the Colonel's word for this, look it up.

In fact, many of the founders of our Republic and framers of the Constitution were disdainful of democracies and fearful of democratic tendencies.

James Madison, the principal author of the Constitution and fourth President of the United States, wrote, "Democracies have ever been spectacles of turbulence and contention; have ever been found incompatible with personal security, or the rights of property; and have, in general, been as short in their lives as they have been violent in their deaths."

John Adams, co-author of the Declaration of Independence, champion of the concept of "Checks and Balances" that is embodied in our Constitution, George Washington's vice president, and second President of the United States, wrote, "Remember, democracy never lasts long. It soon wastes, exhausts, and murders itself. There never was a democracy yet that did not commit suicide."

The foregoing are not snippet sound bites taken out of the context of the writers' otherwise love of democratic ideals, as many progressives would have you believe. Simple democracy was anathema to them.

Benjamin Rush, signatory to the Declaration of Independence, physician who led in the recognition of alcoholism as a chemical addiction and who provided medical training to Lewis and Clark's Corps of Discovery, and an early abolitionist, wrote, "A simple democracy, or an unbalanced republic, is one of the greatest of evils."

Unfortunately for the future of our Constitutional Republic, the acidic encroachment of simple democratic concepts has corroded the fulcrum upon which our Republic balances. Those who believe that the original Constitution and its "Bill of Rights" Amendments are simply antiquated general guidelines to be ignored when they interfere with our current pursuit of comfort or convenience, have, in the name of democracy, introduced popular concepts that would no doubt cause Dr. Franklin to lament that we have "failed to keep our Republic."

One such acidic democratic concept that unbalances our Republic is the popular, direct election of U.S. Senators. The framers of the Constitution intended the U.S. Senate to be a deliberative legislative counterweight to the popular-passion-fueled U.S. House of Representatives. Prior to the progressive-promoted 17th Amendment of 1913, members of the Senate were appointed by their respective state's legislature, thus enjoying a measure of insulation from the pressure to cater to fickle popular sentiment. Since 1914, the U.S. Senate has become increasingly susceptible to the popular passion of the moment and has lost its ability to act independent of that popular passion when that popular passion threatens the maintenance of our Constitutional Republic. Indeed, U.S. Senators now see their greatest role as securing federal funding of projects benefiting their constituents and in effect buying their constituents' votes for reelection. Democracy feeding on itself.

The "American Experiment," as envisioned by those who fashioned and established its parameters, was not designed to prove the efficacy of a democratic government. The results of other experiments with simple democracy were enough to convince our founders that such "mob rule" was not good enough for the people of our new nation. Americans, as exceptional as they were and were to be, deserved better. The "American Experiment" was a test of a completely new form of representative government wherein democracy was the power source, but our Constitution provided the mechanism by which that popular energy was converted into action for the good (not, wants) of the people.

The Colonel would go so far as to say, knowing it will subject him to criticism and dismissal by most, that our Constitutional Republic, as originally designed, is more like a benevolent dictatorship than a pure democracy. Most of you will recoil at that thought. We Americans like to think of ourselves as democrats (little d), and speak grandly of "Jeffersonian Democracy" in the mistaken belief that Jeffersonian ideals were purely democratic and reflected his trust in a "democratic government" to ensure the rights, and provide for the needs, of all. Most Americans have no more idea about the difference between the Jeffersonian and Jacksonian (Federalist) concepts of government than they do about the differences between Newtonian and quantum physics. It probably will come as a surprise to most to learn that Jefferson deplored big government. He would be aghast at the malevolent behemoth that has escaped and grown, extra-constitutionally, out of the Philadelphia political science laboratory.

Our ignorance of governmental philosophy is exactly why our Constitution was designed as a blueprint for a benevolently dictatorial mechanism of government--to protect us from ourselves.

Next: The Colonel will opine on the most critical question of the day--the evolution of collegiate sports conferences and the need for a Division I football playoff system.

A Rolling Stone Gathers No Stars

The Colonel has chewed vigorously on his tongue the past two days as the latest example of the ever-present American civil-military tension has splashed across the news. He had a lot to say on the subject, but most of it not fit for print.

The Colonel is more than a little chagrined, on a number of levels, with regard to reporter Michael Hastings' revelations in the forthcoming issue of Rolling Stone. Some basic questions, if the Colonel may...

First,... Rolling Stone?

You let a reporter from the Rolling Stone hang around with you and your staff? You let a reporter from the Rolling Stone go out drinking with you and your staff? Being open to the press is one thing, but the Rolling Stone? The Colonel ain't a smart man, but he knows that is about like letting Jane Fonda participate in strike mission planning.

(The three of you who regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon are old enough to remember Ms Fonda's treasonous behavior. On the outside chance that a fourth, unenlightened reader will stumble upon this post and not get it--Jane Fonda visited North Vietnam and had her picture taken sitting on an anti-aircraft gun and was quoted as wishing there was an American B-52 overhead that she could shoot at. Ms Fonda graced the pages of Rolling Stone in more than a few treasonous articles during that war.)

Second, you led your staff in yucking it up about and mocking members of the National Command Authority? You allowed an environment in which that kind of disrespectful and insubordinate behavior was so common-place that an outsider easily picked up on it and could quote enough of it to write about? You allowed an environment in which that kind of disrespectful and insubordinate behavior was so common-place that a freelance reporter from the Rolling Stone easily picked up on it and could quote enough of it to write a feature article about? The Colonel ain't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even he wouldn't have been surprised at the result of that.

Who do you think you are? MacArthur?

Well, you just might be. We are fighting this [insert current euphemism] as if it were the latest incarnation of the Korean War--a conflict with muddled and contradicting aims, propping up a corrupt and ineffective government, at which we throw just enough men and resources to waste them without decisive result.

Mr. President, relieve the General. You must. Then, shut down his headquarters and bring home the rest of the troops as rapidly as you can.

The Colonel volunteers his rusty red pick-up, Semper Fillit, if you are short on transportation.

Simmer Solstice Sanctuary Statement

If this record-breaking heat keeps up, the Colonel may have to issue a public apology to Al Gore.

The official start of the calendar summer season in the northern hemisphere may be today, but it has been hotter than a pot-bellied stove lid here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere for the better part of the past three weeks. The combination of heat and humidity has made it all but impossible for the Colonel to accomplish any outside chores, and with the vast holdings of the Colonel and his kin having doubled recently there's more to do than ever. There are more fields to bush-hog, another bridge to be built, and don't get the Colonel started on the pressing need to start preparing food plots for the upcoming hunting seasons.

It occurs to the Colonel that perhaps the Tallahatchie Free State could increase the availability of cheap labor, and thereby decrease the likelihood of the Colonel spontaneously combusting, if it were to declare itself a Sanctuary Republic.

As the number of residents is quickly outstripping the number of citizens aboard Eegeebeegee (capital of the virtual republic founded tongue-in-cheek and hand-on-wallet), sanctuary status would only be extended to persons who qualify for admission to the Tallahatchie Free State as citizens. Whereas citizenship in the Tallahatchie Free State is contingent upon honorable United States military service--veterans of para-military organizations such as police, firefighters, and the U.S. Air Force may also qualify (with waiver granted by the Colonel)--sanctuary status can only be legally extended to those who have demonstrated acceptance of the idea of sacrificial service to a cause larger than themselves.

With increasingly large areas of the once-sovereign territory of these re-United States tacitly ceded to drug cartels, human traffickers, and other nefarious interlopers--by the nefarious interlopers now occupying positions of authority in the federal government--the Colonel reckons that there must soon be a steady stream of refugees from those overrun former outposts of freedom on our southern border; a small, but significant percentage of which should qualify for sanctuary here upon the kudzu-clad rolling hills of the former Chickasaw Nation (that's right, the Colonel is an occupier).

The Colonel encourages qualified sanctuary seekers not to delay in application for admittance. Current acreage (pending future acquisitions, notwithstanding) available for settlement is limited, and the Colonel expects that with an Exxon Valdez-load of crude gushing into the waters, and onto the beaches, of the Gulf of Mississippi (hey, we got as much right to it as anyone) every three or four days, the stream of refugees (and possible sanctuary-seekers) from the Gulf Coast should swell accordingly.

Send hand-written, essay-form application--along with non-refundable 5 Krugerrand application fee to:

The Colonel
End of the Pavement
Eegeebeegee, MS

From Nuke 'em to Nuke it

Sixty-five years ago, at the end of a war that had already claimed upwards of fifty million lives, two hundred thousand Japanese (mostly civilian) lives provided the horrific exclamation point to the declaration of the nuclear era. It was providential that it was the United States whose scientists won the race to split the atom, as our principled preeminence in nuclear power assured that, to this late date, nuclear power's peaceful application has claimed far less lives than would have been otherwise lost had the unprincipled likes of Nazi Germany or the Soviet Union crossed the fission finish line first.

Four generations ago, the promise of the peaceful application of nuclear power was unlimited. It has not been allowed to fulfill even a minuscule fraction of that promise. It is time to unleash nuclear power and fully employ its potential.

In 1945, and for a couple of decades thereafter, the world did not fully understand the enormity of the dangers inherent in the use of nuclear power. Some underestimated the safety requirements. Luckily, the United States' head start and preeminence in the nuclear arena allowed us, as we uncovered the asps hidden in the sands of fission, to move forward with an abundance of caution. The Soviet Union's approach was not so cautious. If the Russians had the likes of our brilliant, albeit highly eccentric, Admiral Hyman Rickover, they didn't pay attention and suffered scary accidents as a result.

Today, we benefit from two-thirds of a century of nuclear experience. We know how to safely harness fission. Companies like Japan's Toshiba (irony of ironies) are on the brink of marketing (in partnership with none other than Bill Gates) small community-sized reactors whose use of depleted uranium produces relatively minuscule amounts of waste--most of which can be recycled. Shouldn't the United States be the leader in this market?

Why, yes. Yes we can.

Think of it. Each community with its own non-polluting power source--with no need to network with other communities via a fragile and ugly transmission infrastructure.

Instead of spending the trillions of dollars necessary to build solar and wind generation facilities, and the needed transmission lines, whose land use is enormously wasteful and frightfully unsightly, why not bury a small self-contained reactor in every community, at a fraction of the total cost.

It's a no-brainer. The Colonel would not have considered it otherwise.

Belly of the Beast

Walmart, that ubiquitous leviathan of American consumerism, destroyer of the inefficient, employer of the oppressed, and whipping boy of the all those whose adherence to the political platform of progressivism is strangely at odds with their distaste for true progress, encourages us to "join the fight against hunger in America" and claims, dramatically, that "1 in 6 Americans don't know where their next meal is coming from."

Given that the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda suffers extreme allergic reactions when placed in close proximity to meal preparation areas and food cooking appliances, the Colonel reckons that he is one of the “1 in 6.” Two signs hang over the entrances to the room containing the aforementioned meal preparation areas and food cooking appliances in the Big House here at the northern end of deep southern nowhere. The first innocently and accurately proclaims “I kiss better than I cook.”

The second sign warns, “The only reason I have this kitchen is because it came with the house.”

In as much as the Colonel’s second favorite pastime (right below the thing that the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda does better than cook) is strapping on the chow bucket, it is perhaps a fortunate thing that the Colonel’s lady is culinary challenged—else the Colonel would be big as a house.

But, back to Walmart's assertion that 1 in 6 Americans is on the verge of starvation-- gonna have to hoist the bovine excrement flag on that one. One need only spend half an hour on a bench in front of the local ubiquitous leviathan of American consumerism to disabuse oneself of any such notion.

Ever notice the thicker section of concrete across the parking lot at the entrance to a Walmart? That's not there to withstand the weight of vehicular traffic.

While Walmart's philanthropy is laudable, the idea that nearly twenty percent of Americans are face-to-face with famine is laughable.

The Colonel has seen starvation, up close and personal. The Colonel has even known hunger, personally. Starvation does not exist, today, in America. And true hunger is a very rare thing in our country. Consider this: if there were one extended-belly, malnourished child in America, would we not be bombarded with that child's picture daily? In our nation, today, food is so abundant and so amazingly affordable, that even the poorest have access to more than adequate nourishment. It has not always been so, nor are we guaranteed that we will be forever so blessed.

But, our current bounteous booties attest to our nation's bounty.

Recent headlines have proclaimed that a majority of our nation's youth are so over-weight and out of shape as to place our nation's future security at risk. The Colonel has experienced this, first hand, as the Marine recruiters under his charge screened hundreds of young men and women each day to find a handful that met the minimum physical standards (read: within weight standards) for military service. We were recruiting, not in the richest counties in the land, but in Appalachia.

Gotta go, the smoke alarm is going off and that means dinner is ready.

Less Cowbell

An ad hoc session of the Peoples' Congress of the Tallahatchie Free State met this morning on the front porch of the Big House at Eegeebeegee to hear a report from the Select Committee on Imposition of Politically Correct Rules to Aggravate Annoying People (SCIPCRAAP) on a recommendation to ban the possession/use/or reference to cowbells on any TFS property or in any building thereon.

Recommendation follows:

Whereas cowbells are the noise-maker of choice for fans of the other SEC school in the Great State of Mississippi; and

Whereas cowbells are by the following reasons deemed politically incorrect:

1. Their use is insensitive to both the hearing challenged and those who wish not to become hearing challenged.

2. Their use is insensitive to the muscle-challenged and as a weapon can cause grievous bodily arm.

3. Their ringing was once used to signal lunch and dinner breaks in the cotton fields.

4. Their use is insensitive to bovines who are reminded of their oppression at the hands of dairy farmers.

5. Their use is insensitive to Alabama fans, who are reminded that even though every official in the SEC is a 'Bama fan, they are still powerless to prevent cowbell ringing.

6. Their use is insensitive to LSU fans and their perpetual hangovers.

7. Their use is insensitive to Tennessee fans, who are made to feel inferior when confronted by anything louder than their clothes.

8. Their use is insensitive to Vanderbilt fans, whose favorite pastime is listening to themselves think.

9. Their use is insensitive to Georgia fans, who are already offended by another SEC school using their mascot.

10. Their use is insensitive to Auburn fans, who take offense at,...well...just about everything.

11. Their use is insensitive to South Carolina and Arkansas fans, who are reminded that they are in the big leagues, now.

12. Their use is insensitive to Florida fans, as the noise prevents them from hearing constant replays of Tim Tebow crying.

13. Their use is insensitive to Kentucky fans, who are trying to listen to replays of Wildcat basketball while their football team implodes, again.

14. Their use is insensitive to Ole Miss fans, who are trying to talk on their cell phones coordinating the after-game party.

Now, therefore, be it resolved this 3rd Day of June in the year of our Lord, Two Thousand and Ten; and of the establishment of the Tallahatchie Free State, the third; that possession/use/mention of a cowbell, or any facsimile thereof, be expressly forbidden; punishment for violation of such prohibition to include forced listening to the Hotty Toddy cheer for an extended period of time.

Linking Strategy and Tactics

In war, in love, throughout life, the best intended and most highly prized strategic goals can be rendered unattainable by a tactical action taken in complete confidence of one's tactical capability.

In the late 1980's the Colonel, then a captain, commanded a 200-man reinforced rifle company tasked with the mission of conducting helicopter-borne operations while on a Marine Expeditionary Unit--Special Operations Capable (MEU--SOC) deployment to the Mediterranean. One of the operations for which this unit trained was take-down or reinforcement of merchant shipping--both of which called for fast-roping (sliding down a 40-foot rope dangling from a hovering helicopter) onto the cluttered deck of an underway merchantman. Great fun. Within much less than a minute of the helicopter coming to a stable hover over the target ship, a dozen heavily-armed Marines could be out of the helo and taking up initial positions on the deck. Exciting stuff.

Get a squad of heavily-armed and well-trained Marines anywhere and that chunk of territory is rapidly under their control--or destroyed; take your pick.

So, as the three of you who regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon can well imagine, the Colonel took a great deal of interest in the Israeli navy commando operation to take control of the Turkish-flagged merchant ships attempting to break the Israeli blockade of Hamas-controlled Gaza. The Colonel even received some encouragement from a surprising quarter to post hereon regarding the Israeli operation. Seems there might actually be FOUR of you who regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon. Unfortunately, that fourth quarter may be somewhat disappointed at the slant this post takes. (Enough football references for you?)

The Colonel's initial assessment was that the Israelis acted appropriately and with remarkable restraint to interdict the blockade-runners. Appropriately, because anyone who believes that there were no intentions to provide arms and ammunition to Hamas (the Islamo-Fascist regime currently governing the Gaza Strip, whose over-arching strategic aim is the destruction of Israel) along with milk, cookies, and medical supplies to the Palestinian people has been smoking something a wee bit stronger than a Marlboro. Remarkable restraint, because the Israeli navy could have easily stopped the merchant ship flotilla with torpedoes and heavy deck guns--actions which have ample precedent in Israeli military history.

But, as with all battlefield activities, first reports are always false and first assessments are always off the mark.

The Israeli tactics succeeded. The merchant ships, carrying what the Israelis had good reason to believe was more than just humanitarian supplies, did not physically break the blockade. There were no pictures of torpedoed merchantmen going down by the stern or the smoke of burning merchantmen against the bright blue Mediterranean sky.

The Israeli operation may well have failed, though, to accomplish its strategic aim. Nine civilians died. They obviously were not innocent civilians. But, they were civilians. It may indeed turn out that there were ONLY humanitarian supplies aboard these ships. If that is the case, the Israeli operation will have to be deemed an even greater strategic failure.

Israel occupies a rather unique position among the community of nations. No other nation on the planet is so surrounded by enemies so intent on its destruction. This fact has driven Israeli policy and decision-makers to take actions that all-too-often do not endear them to international opinion. They don't care. Nor would you, in their position.

And, the Israelis are tactically very good. Not as good as American soldiers on the whole, but very competent. Operationally (operations link tactics to strategy), however, they suffer myopia caused by their tactical competence. They tend to underestimate the operational and strategic competence of their enemies because their enemies are so tactically incompetent.

The Colonel believes that the Israeli blockade of Hamas in Gaza has been broken. This is a serious blow to Israeli strategic goals. They wanted to prevent Hamas-fired missiles from raining down on their cities. They may have stopped a resupply of those missiles this week. The trickle will now become a flood.

There is a lesson in this for these re-United States and our tactics in Talibanistan. Our remotely-piloted drone strikes have been tactically very effective and efficacious. The problem is the disconnect between effectiveness and efficacy. The Colonel worries that our operational mindset against the Taliban and other Islamo-fascist organizations has begun to mirror the Israeli operational mindset against the terror organizations at their throats. We are busy very accurately swatting flies when we should be cleaning up the piles of barnyard excrement attracting the flies.

Reminds the Colonel he needs to clean out the chicken coop this morning.

Decorating Day Decorum

Today is, in the Colonel's not-so-humble opinion, the most sacred day on the American calendar.

As what has become known as the American Civil War (aka: War Between the States, War for Southern Independence, War of Northern Aggression) drew to a close 145 years ago this Spring, communities across the divided nation harbored in their cemeteries fresh reminders of the war's toll. Across the South, in particular, owing to the fact that most of the war's battles had been fought coincident with Union Army invasions of Confederate territory, cemeteries held the mortal remains of both Confederate and Union soldiers. Each Spring in many towns across the as yet unreconstructed South, the graves of Confederate war dead were decorated with flowers, and the graves of Union soldiers were left ignored. In 1866, the ladies in one southern town--Columbus, Mississippi--celebrated Decoration Day by not only placing flowers on the graves of Confederate dead, but by so honoring the Union dead as well. There that day in Friendship Cemetery, ground in which the remains of many of the Colonel's departed kin are interred, a movement of reconciliation began and spread across the land in the months and years following.

Decoration Day (beginning over time to be called by some, Memorial Day) persisted for the next several generations as a day of remembering the hundreds of thousands of young Americans who, in Abraham Lincoln's simple eloquence, "gave their last full measure of devotion" to their nation. Following the First and Second World Wars, in which over half a million young American soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines gave their lives in the defense of freedom, Decoration Day became officially known as Memorial Day, with the sole purpose of remembering and honoring those who died in the wars to which their nation sent them.

While they are most certainly deserving of recognition, Memorial Day is not a day to thank the living who served in uniform. Veterans' Day is for that. Nor is it appropriate to recognize those currently serving--Armed Forces Day is for that. Finally, Memorial Day, although some have so perverted it, is not for remembering just anyone who has gone to their final reward.

Sadly, Memorial Day has lost its proper meaning in the lives of most Americans. The Federal Government is mostly to blame for this. The National Holiday Act of 1971 lumped Memorial Day in with several other much less meaningful holidays and decreed that each should be celebrated on a Monday in order to give Federal workers a three-day weekend. Since that time, "Memorial Day Weekend" has become more about celebrating the "unofficial start of Summer" and much less about remembering our fallen. What's even worse is that as a bookend, Memorial Day has been reduced to equivalency with that Marxist invention of the Labor movement--Labor Day--at the other end of the shelf of summer.

With its roots in Decoration Day, one of Memorial Day's customs is the placement of American flags on the graves of war dead. In addition, Americans who fly a national flag should lower that flag to half mast until noon on Memorial Day. Finally, 3:00 P.M. local time is set aside for a moment of silence and reflection on the sacrifice of those for whom the day is dedicated.

Unfortunately, by 3 o'clock this afternoon, most Americans will be so inebriated or so gluttonously stuporous to even remember where they are, let alone remember those whose lives paid for their freedom.

The President of the United States
in the name of The Congress
takes pleasure in presenting the
Medal of Honor

to


Lance Corporal Roy M. Wheat, Moselle, Mississippi, 3d Battalion, 7th Marines, 1st Marine Division

Citation:

For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty. On 11 August 1967, in the Republic of Vietnam, Lance Corporal Wheat and 2 other Marines were assigned the mission of providing security for a Navy construction battalion crane and crew operating along Liberty Road in the vicinity of the Dien Ban District, Quang Nam Province. After the Marines had set up security positions in a tree line adjacent to the work site, Lance Corporal Wheat reconnoitered the area to the rear of their location for the possible presence of guerrillas. He then returned to within 10 feet of the friendly position, and here unintentionally triggered a well concealed, bounding type, antipersonnel mine. Immediately, a hissing sound was heard which was identified by the 3 Marines as that of a burning time fuse. Shouting a warning to his comrades, Lance Corporal Wheat, in a valiant act of heroism, hurled himself upon the mine, absorbing the tremendous impact of the explosion with his body. The inspirational personal heroism and extraordinary valor of his unselfish action saved his fellow Marines from certain injury and possible death, reflected great credit upon himself, and upheld the highest traditions of the Marine Corps and the U.S. Naval Service. He gallantly gave his life for his country.

The President of the United States
in the name of The Congress
takes pleasure in presenting the
Medal of Honor

to


Private First Class Mack A. Jordan, Collins, Mississippi, U.S. Army, Company K, 21st Infantry Regiment, 24th Infantry Division.

Citation:
On 15 November 1951, near Kumsong, Korea, Private First Class Jordan distinguished himself by conspicuous gallantry and indomitable courage above and beyond the call of duty in action against the enemy. As a squad leader, he was participating in a night attack on key terrain against a fanatical hostile force when the advance was halted by intense small-arms and automatic-weapons fire and a vicious barrage of handgrenades. Upon orders for the platoon to withdraw and reorganize, Private First Class Jordan voluntarily remained behind to provide covering fire. Crawling toward an enemy machinegun emplacement, he threw 3 grenades and neutralized the gun. He then rushed the position delivering a devastating hail of fire, killing several of the enemy and forcing the remainder to fall back to new positions. He courageously attempted to move forward to silence another machinegun but, before he could leave his position, the ruthless foe hurled explosives down the hill and in the ensuing blast both legs were severed. Despite mortal wounds, he continued to deliver deadly fire and held off the assailants until the platoon returned. Private First Class Jordan's unflinching courage and gallant self-sacrifice reflect lasting glory upon himself and uphold the noble traditions of the infantry and the military service.

The President of the United States
in the name of The Congress
takes pleasure in presenting the

Medal of Honor

to

Private Robert T. Henry, Greenville, Mississippi,

16th Infantry, 1st Infantry Division

Citation:
On 3 December 1944, near Luchem, Germany, he volunteered to attempt the destruction of a nest of 5 enemy machineguns located in a bunker 150 yards to the flank which had stopped the advance of his platoon. Stripping off his pack, overshoes, helmet, and overcoat, he sprinted alone with his rifle and hand grenades across the open terrain toward the enemy emplacement. Before he had gone half the distance he was hit by a burst of machinegun fire. Dropping his rifle, he continued to stagger forward until he fell mortally wounded only 10 yards from the enemy emplacement. His single-handed attack forced the enemy to leave the machineguns. During this break in hostile fire the platoon moved forward and overran the position. Pvt. Henry, by his gallantry and intrepidity and utter disregard for his own life, enabled his company to reach its objective, capturing this key defense and 70 German prisoners.

Memorial Day Memo

The Colonel stumbled (electronically) across a group on FaceBook this morning that piqued his interest. The title, Boycott Memorial Day and Veteran's Day Sales! (http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=97231198872), made him think initially that perhaps this was some mouth-breathin', America-hatin,' wacky liberal site devoted to trashing real Americans. As has become a disturbingly more frequent occasion of late, the Colonel was wrong. Much to the Colonel's delight, the group was created by a young Marine!

Just when the Colonel had settled comfortably into the plush armchair of curmudgeonly disdain for the brainlessness and traditionless condition of the current twenty-something generation, along comes something like this to bring him to the position of attention--feet at a sharp forty-five degree angle, fingers of his left hand curled slightly with thumb along the outseam of his trousers, and the fingers of his right hand ramrod-straight in salute at the outside edge of his right eyebrow.

The Colonel has many causes and crusades to which he devotes his energies, but none more dear to him than the effort to educate those within reach of his voice and pen regarding the sacredness of Memorial Day, and the distinct difference between Memorial Day and Veteran's Day. While he always appreciates the sincerity of the sentiment, it has always frustrated the Colonel to be thanked for his military service on Memorial Day. The Colonel did not die (at least he doesn't think he's in Heaven, presently--although Eegeebeegee is close, and the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda is an angel) on a battlefield in service to his nation.

Memorial Day is reserved solely for remembering those who gave the ultimate sacrifice of their lives in the wars to which our nation sent them. Memorial Day should not be a celebratory holiday. It should be a day of solemnity and thankful remembrance of our honored war dead. The trivialization of Memorial Day as a beach holiday and a shopping summons denigrates the memory of the fallen.

Period. End of discussion.

A Failure to Lead

The Colonel was the least effective leader to ever make rank in the history of the United States Marine Corps (maybe even in the history of organized armies), but even he cringes at the total lack of leadership on display at the White House this Spring. The young man from Chicago/Harvard/Indonesia/Hawaii/Kenya has a a truly enviable oratorical ability, but every lance corporal in the last rank of the third platoon of any rifle company knows that a speech from the man in charge is just that--a speech. The Colonel knows--he's given quite a few speeches over the years that fell lightly on the auditory systems of those over whom he held a position of authority and yet caused not one muscle-moving synapse to fire.

Speeches don't lead--action leads.

One needs only a cursory glance at the headlines to see examples of leadership failure by this President and his administration. Every page front portrays weakness on every battle front. The three of you who regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon don't need the Colonel to tell you what is going on.

Gonna tell you anyway.

The destructive slick of oil washing ashore in Louisiana on the otherwise gentle waves of the Gulf of Mexico is analogous to the dangerous slick of criminality riding the otherwise gentle waves of migrants crossing our border with Mexico. Our national leaders have done nothing to prevent either. In response to both national emergencies, the Obama administration has done little more than give speeches pointing fingers at others (BP and Arizona, in particular) for what the administration portrays as "inappropriate" actions to protect the American people from the destructive effects of both.

News flash, Mr. President--of all of your responsibilities to the citizens of these re-United States, keeping us safe from invasion--be it human or chemical--is your paramount priority. The great irony is that you want the federal government intimately inserted into every orifice of our lives and yet sit fiddling like Nero as two immense threats to our domestic ease sweep over us like fire.

There is even further irony to consider. The world, for which our President pines to be the Messiah, sits precariously this warm season on the precipice of hot war. As the Colonel tippy-taps this missive, Israel prepares to strike Iran's nuclear capability; the powder keg on the Korean peninsula has a lit fuse; China is flexing its new muscle in the Western Pacific; and our troops in Afghanistan are preparing for what may prove to be the most pivotal campaign in the entire Global War on Terror (or whatever other misnomer by which our fight with radical Islam is referred today). In response, our President is attending political fund-raisers in California and playing golf with cronies in Chicago.

And to top it all off, President Obama delegates the duty of attending the Memorial Day commemoration at Arlington National Cemetery to the man who would prefer that the title "Capital of the Free World," for which the men and women lying in honored repose therein gave their last full measure, be given to Brussels instead of Washington.

To quote what our current Vice President claims he told President Bush, "Look behind you, Mr. President, nobody is following you."

The Mississippi Purchase

The Colonel's vast holdings here at the northern end of southern nowhere nearly doubled this afternoon and all it took was the remainder of his meager life savings and his signature on more forms than President Obama has hidden about his life prior to ten years ago.

Actually, the Colonel's No. 2 son--the single, rich one (the latter primarily because he is the former)--joined him in the purchase of the acreage adjacent to Eegeebeegee, so it's not exactly accurate to claim a doubling of the Colonel's vast holdings.

But, since when have the three of you who regularly waste precious rod and cone time perusing posts hereon ever noticed the Colonel allowing accuracy to prevent his telling a story?

The aforementioned acreage acquisition reunites two halves of a piece of property sold asunder by the previous owner. While there is nothing particularly special about the new addition to the Tallahatchie Free State's capital city limits, the Colonel and his kin have wanted it, more than any other reason, so that nobody else would get it.
The last thing the good citizens of the TFS wanted was to have some developer try to put in a subdivision next door. That would have put a significant crimp in the freedom of the Hope of 21st Century Civilization--dashes One and Two (H21CC-1 & 2) to make water at the base of any random tree on the Colonel's property without fear of offending the tender sensibilities of some suburban house- er, um,.. significant other.

Not to mention putting a significant crimp in the Colonel's similar freedoms.

The really great part of this good news story is that the extra acreage brings with it a whole set of its own required capital improvement projects. There are extra fields to plant to feed the antlered and bearded fauna, more trees to selectively log to feed the Colonel's sawmill (Semper Filet), and another stream across which another bridge must be built in order to provide far field access for the Colonel's rusty red pick-up (Semper Fillit) and his trusty red tractor (Semper Field).

The Colonel is considering recruiting and commissioning a Corps (pronounced core, Mr. President) of Discovery to explore and map the new territory. H21CC-1 & 2 are the most likely candidates for co-captains of the adventure.

With any luck, they'll find a navigable route to Sardis Reservoir that will negate the need to pay the Feds a fee to launch the boat next duck season.

When in the Course of Eegeebeegee Events

An emergency meeting of the Tallahatchie Free State executive cabinet convened yesterday evening on the front porch of Eegeebeegee's Big House aboard the Colonel's vast holdings here at the northern end of southern nowhere. Seems that a crisis of confidence in the Colonel's competency to govern has crept into the collective consciences of his constituency.

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda, whose standing as sage counsel to the Colonel is unquestioned (particularly by the Colonel), and whose loyalty and best-friendship to the Colonel has survived the ravages of the Colonel's idiocy and idiosyncrasy for mere months shy of four complete decades, rose in the well of the House (in this case, rocked on a chair on the porch) and called for a vote of no confidence, citing the following as evidence of the Colonel's unsuitability to continue as the people's sole representative and chief executive of the Tallahatchie Free State:

(Italics indicate specific charges)

1. The Colonel has failed to complete even one shovel-ready project among the more than a dozen edificial improvements to the vast holdings that comprise Eegeebeegee, the physical capital of the Tallahatchie Free State--a virtual government in opposition founded as much hand-on-wallet as tongue-in-cheek--whose plans were hatched in the fallow fields of the Colonel's imagination and approved by the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda.

The Colonel rose to counter, and pointed out that the Chicks of Eegeebeegee were now ensconced in the coop with integral hen house over which the Colonel has labored lo these many weeks since their arrival. The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda conceded that such was the case, but pointed out that, while habitable, the chicken coop with integral hen house was far from complete and not nearly up to the ascetic standards against which all additions to the grounds of Eegeebeegee are held.

2. The Colonel has failed to keep the flora and fauna aboard the immediate grounds of the physical capital of the virtual Tallahatchie Free State safe from terrorist attack and danger of criminal invasion. Rabbits and deer continue to raid and raze new growth, and an attack by an eastern indigo snake on the newborn of the nesting pair of eastern bluebirds in the nest box at the corner of the vegetable garden was thwarted only by the bravery of Ma and Pa Bluebird and the sharp eyes of the Colonel's firstborn grandson; the Hope of 21st Century Civilization, Dash One (H21CC-1).

The Colonel's assertion that the snake's plot was foiled due to superior construction and siting of the bluebird house was met with the deadpan facial expression which graces the visage of the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda when she really wants, with all of her kind heart, to expound in detail on the mental short-comings of her mate.

3. The Colonel has acted with wanton disregard for the express desires of the citizens of the Tallahatchie Free State, by word and deed too many to enumerate, doing as he darned well pleased, since the founding of said virtual government in opposition, and must step down as chief executive and sole representative of the people.

The Colonel rose and concurred with the third charge. The Colonel's question, "So?" was met by the deadpan facial expression that graces the visage of the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda when she really wants, with all of her kind-heart, to expound in detail on the mental short-comings of her mate.

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda continued for the better part of the next hour and a half, listing, in detail that the Colonel will spare the three of you who regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon, the gross malfeasance with which the Colonel has executed his duties as chief executive and sole representative of the people, concluding with the announcement that "the people of Eegeebeegee, T.F.S. do hereby unseat the Colonel and relieve him of all duties of governance."

Whereupon the Colonel woke from the slumber induced by the detail spared the three of you who regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon, immediately declared martial law, and suspended all fun until morale improves.

Idiocy Supremacy

The Colonel is an idiot and everyone around him suffers the consequences. Allow him to offer case in point.

The Chickens of Eegeebeegee are rapidly outgrowing the brooder box the Colonel built for their early childhood development and the Colonel has been laboring over a design/build chicken coop (with integral hen house) to house said rapidly growing yard birds. By the beginning of this week the frame of the coop was completed and tin from a neighbor's shed, destroyed by the tornado two years ago, was salvaged and cut to fit the roof rafters.

Remember, for future reference, the Colonel is an idiot.

Yesterday, a stack of tin was loaded on the back of the Colonel's rusty red pick-up truck, Semper Fillit, and parked next to the coop. Said stack of tin was jutting out the back of the pick-up bed. The above-ground-level altitude of a stack of tin jutting out the back of a pick-up bed is approximately head-high on a four year-old. The Colonel recognized the need to unload the stack, but procrastinated.

Yep, next to the definition of idiot in Webster's is a picture of the Colonel.

The Colonel's little buddy, the Hope of 21st Century Civilization-Dash One (H21CC-1), proved beyond a shadow a doubt in any mind that the Colonel is an idiot. Things do not turn out well when four year-old cheeks and tin occupy the same space--at least not for the cheek.

Of all the idiots identified throughout history and cataloged by degree of idiocy, the Colonel's case for idiot-in-chief easily holds supremacy.

The Colonel is not just a garden variety village idiot. Oh, no. If states had official idiots, he would be Mississippi's. And probably Alabama's and Louisiana's, as well.

Luckily, Tennessee already has Al Gore.

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda, who has never had a speeding ticket, broke several land speed records getting H21CC-1 to the local emergency room, while the Colonel remained at home with H21CC-2 and rapidly turned into a quivering mass of self-recrimination.

Actually, the Colonel managed to maintain a modicum of calm while he called H21CC-1's parents at work, before rapidly turning into a quivering mass of self-recrimination.

Has the Colonel mentioned that he is an idiot?

Turns out the bravest soul in this whole extended family trauma was actually the victim of the Colonel's idiocy. H21CC-1 ceased crying approximately 30 seconds after the collision with the stack of tin that laid his cheek open, and never seriously tuned up again--even while the finest plastic surgeon in all the land stitched him back up.

The Colonel, by contrast, has teared up continually since the incident.

There is nothing more pitiful than a crying idiot.

Book Bound

The Colonel has a book in him. Most of it is stored in the few remaining active cells laying fallow in the amorphous grey goo puddled in the recesses of his brain-housing group. The majority of the plot is there in abstract, as are many of the characters. The story's first several chapters are actually already in draft--a hundred or so pages in Word--each starting like gang-busters and then petering off into inconclusiveness.

The challenge before the Colonel is two-fold: Master his ADHD and overcome his fear of irrelevance.

Writing, the Colonel has come to realize, is a lonely endeavor, filled with opportunity for discovery and fraught with the danger of dead-ends and dearths of idea-connecting files. Writing can be a lot like reading--sometimes the words flow from the future and bring with them new thoughts and expressions; sometimes the book gets put down, interrupted by life, and not ever finished.

To write, one must love language. The Colonel loves words, but language is more than vocabulary and there are so many requirements for a healthy, loving relationship with sentence structure, syntax, tense, and paragraph composition. The Colonel could just write and leave the rules to the textbooks, but that seems such an undisciplined attitude for this old disciplinarian.

And, yet, the best stuff seems to fly off the fingertips when the Colonel lets the reins loose and ignores the fences.

It is a quandary faced, the Colonel is quite certain, by millions before him who have attempted effective communication via the written word. And, there are millions of books completed.

And, then, there is the fear of rejection and irrelevance that haunts the Colonel's consciousness like a taunting schoolyard bully, "you ain't nuthin'. What makes you think you can write?" Coming from an extended education in the school of fearlessness that was the infantry, you would think the Colonel could easily master this seemingly safe, sedentary task without trepidation. There were always those whose stature and strength towered over him and yet he surprised and surpassed. This should be no different.

The Colonel is no David, but the book in him is no Goliath either.

It's just a story.

"Okay, then, Marine. Get on with it."

Clear and Present Danger

The Colonel believes it's time to apply some serious armed force in the vital national interests of these re-United States. There is a clear and present danger to American lives, liberty, and pursuit of happiness and it is NOT Islamic Fascism or Radical Extremism. It is not even the threat of a strengthening Peoples' Republic of China, with whom the Colonel is convinced, beyond any shadow of a doubt in his military mind, the United States will eventually go to war.

The clear and present danger to the United States of America is a criminal insurgency invading our sovereign territory, primarily across our southern national border.

Let the Colonel be clearly understood. He is an avid proponent of legal and regulated immigration to the United States. The greatness of our nation is, and always has been, deeply rooted in our acceptance of the world's "huddled masses yearning to be free."

The Colonel would have you focus on the last word in the above quote.

Freedom to legally pursue the fruits of liberty is the overarching principle under which our nation was conceived and with which it has attained its greatness. American exceptionalism is no accident. It is the inevitable positive product of the equation that sums and multiplies the world's cultural strengths and a free people's talents and toil.

Freedom is not free, however. It is a privilege earned by citizenship, one of the most sacred duties and inescapable requirements of which is abiding by and enforcing the laws of the land.

The United States, if it is to remain the "shining city on the hill" and the "last stand of liberty on Earth," must zealously guard and enforce the rule of law by which our freedoms are guaranteed. Let the Colonel rephrase that--we must resume the zealous guard and enforcement duty we have shirked for nearly two generations.

The Colonel would have you consider the proposition that perhaps in our valiant and noble actions of the past century to "make the world safe for democracy" we have taken our eye off of the more fundamental goal of keeping our own nation safe for liberty.

Again, the Colonel would have you know that he believes that our nation should continue to welcome liberty-seekers from every corner of the globe, the only conditions of their admittance being their willingness to contribute to the furtherance of our great experiment and their submission to the rule of our law.

So, let us turn our attention to the criminal invasion across our borders. Make no mistake, it is an invasion. The Colonel takes issue with the extreme position held by some that the entire tide of immigration is criminal. The Colonel believes that the vast majority of those who have entered this country "illegally" over the past 30 to 40 years are simply good people seeking better opportunity and greater security than that afforded under the corrupt or ineffective governments in their homelands. Were our control of our borders a lot more effective and our immigration policies a little more liberal, the Colonel believes that vast majority of the primarily Hispanic liberty-seekers would have entered our country in a controlled, orderly, and legal fashion.

Frankly, the fact that upwards of 20 million Latin Americans have joined our club, even "illegally," over the past two generations speaks very highly for the attractiveness and desirability of membership. Gotta be proud of that. If we weren't so great, there would be a lot more emigration than immigration.

What bothers the Colonel is the realization that even if 95% of the aforementioned 20 million are otherwise law-abiding and liberty-loving, that still leaves ONE MILLION who are not. If an invasion of ONE MILLION folks set on goals contrary to the vital national interests (i.e., criminal enterprise) doesn't represent a CLEAR and PRESENT DANGER to you, then you need to review the coursework for National Security 101.

To put the numbers in perspective, the Colonel could easily seize control of, say, El Paso or Phoenix with a lightly-armed infantry component (no tanks, artillery, or airpower) of a Marine Division--roughly 10,000 fighters. Assuming only 200,000 cross our border unchecked each year (and you and the Colonel both know the number is much higher), only 5% of whom are intent on criminal enterprise (and you and the Colonel both know the percentage is much higher), the criminal invasion force entering our nation each year is equivalent to the aforementioned lightly armed infantry component of a Marine Division.

Against this massive invasion, Senator McCain, attempting tough talk to rescue his re-election hopes, proposed this week the need for only 3,000 National Guard troops.

Even allowing for Clausewitz' argument that "defense is the stronger form of warfare," McCain's proposal to defend our borders is laughable.

Only the Colonel ain't laughing.

Runnin' Rebels

They were a bunch of angry white guys, fed up with their over-bearing and out-of-touch government and stirred up by rabble-rousing businessmen. What they did this morning, 235 years ago, shocked the world and plunged their country into a civil war, and, by some reckoning, plunged the major powers of Europe into a "world war" -- at least a multi-national war fought on many fronts globally.

In response to several "intolerable" Acts of Parliament passed in early 1774, aimed at more closely regulating commerce and other colonial activities, the first Continental Congress met in an attempt to form a more collective colonial front in opposition to perceived unfair treatment by their mother country. That first Continental Congress, with delegates from New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, and North Carolina, first proclaimed, in "The Declaration and Resolutions" their opposition to the "intolerable" Acts and their claim to the same rights and privileges afforded their countrymen in England. Next, the Continental Congress sent an explanation of their actions to the people of the Colonies and an entreaty to the Canadian colonies to join them. An address explaining the Colonial position was sent to "The People of Great Britain," followed at last by a "Petition of Congress to the King."

New England--Massachusetts, in particular--had been the hotbed of colonial sentiment against the British government for several years prior to the Spring of 1775, and as tensions mounted, the colonial rebels in New England formed militias and accumulated stores of weapons, gunpowder, and lead. Alarmed by the increasingly militant stances of the the rebel ringleaders and the accumulation of military stores, General Thomas Gage, British governor of Massachusetts received instructions from Great Britain to seize the aforementioned stores in an attempt to tamp down the growing insurrection.

It was just the ignition of the revolutionary powder keg for which the rebel politicians had been looking.

A seven hundred-man force of Redcoats left Boston on the evening of April 18th and headed for Lexington and Concord, the two villages nearest Boston at which the rebel militias had been stockpiling arms and ammunition. Expecting such a move, rebels in Boston planned to send riders to warn the militias when the British marched out of Boston. Enter Paul Revere, William Dawes, and Samuel Prescott. The first two were able to warn the militia in Lexington before captured by the British and the last was able to spread the alarm as far as Concord.

At around 0500 (5:00 A.M. for the Colonel's civilian readers) the British force arrived at the village of Lexington where a group of militiamen numbering approximately 77 had hastily assembled to impede the British mission. To say that the rebels were hopelessly out-numbered and militarily over-matched would be an understatement ranking right up there with any of the current Vice President's patronizing, off-color reminders to his boss. The British commander ordered the rebels to disperse.

They rebel militia did what every red-blooded American militia has faithfully done in every battle and skirmish since 1775.

They ran.

The Colonel could be gracious and give the yankee rebels the benefit of the doubt, given that they were up against the cream of the greatest military force on the planet at the time and were outnumbered roughly 10 to 1. Okay. The Colonel will be gracious.

They dispersed.

End of story and probably end of the nascent American colonial revolution, but for one angry white guy who evidently resented being told to disperse. Maybe he hadn't been at the militia meeting when the subject of dispersal was addressed. Some contemporary, eye-witness accounts claim that "the shot heard 'round the world" was actually the British commander discharging his pistol into the air as if it were a starter's pistol for the militia race to safety in which most of the participants had already "jumped the gun." The Colonel would rather believe that the first shot came from a tardy minuteman who, upon seeing the meeting already breaking up, fired his musket skyward in frustration. At any rate, the two sides exchanged volleys.

Well, the British fired a volley. The rebels, not so much. When the smoke cleared, eight colonists lay dead on Lexington Green; ten other colonists were wounded. One British soldier was wounded.

The British proceeded to Concord and succeeded in destroying the rebel munitions stored there before confronted by a growing force of minutemen. The British, their mission accomplished, retraced their route of march back to Boston.

But, the fight was on.

Harried all the way back to their base, and sniped at from behind rock walls and stands of trees, the British suffered 300 killed, wounded, or missing in action by the time they got back to the friendly confines of the Boston city limits. The militia in Lexington avenged their fallen comrades, exacting several casualties as the British marched back through their town.

The Colonel would have you understand that there are several very important lessons-learned from the event 235 years ago, today.

First, for those who today advocate forming militia--stop it. All you will accomplish is getting a lot of good folks killed.

Second, militias always run. You can't cobble together a bunch of Rambo wannabes, plink and drink on the weekends, and have an effective battlefield force.

Third, if you are a government official contemplating armed confrontation with an otherwise law-abiding, but armed, militia group--stop it. In addition to killing a bunch of folks, you will likely ignite an armed insurrection or incite some mouth-breathing, village idiot to commit domestic terrorism.

But, don't take the Colonel's word for it. Ask the British.

Better yet, ask Janet Reno.

Anger Management

At a recent ad hoc Tallahatchie Free State cabinet session on the front porch of the Big House here at the northern end of southern nowhere, the Colonel, sole representative of the people, was made aware of an egregious omission in the pantheon of holidays, commemorative days, and other not-so-special, actually-quite-ordinary days recognized and celebrated here on the grounds and vast holdings that comprise that fair land known as Eegeebeegee.

We ain't got no day for "Angry White Guys."

Now, the Colonel means no disrespect to those of you whose composure, complexion, or gender excludes you from the above appellation. In fact, the Colonel is always quick to recognize the historical accomplishments of those whose composure, complexion, or gender excludes them from the above appellation. Furthermore, it is in the spirit of inclusion that the Colonel takes pen in hand..., er, tippy taps on his keyboard, to ensure that angry white guys get their due.

The Colonel would ask your indulgence and would frame his argument in favor of his establishment of AWG Day with a series of questions.

Who fired "the shot heard 'round the world?"

An angry white guy.

Who gave us the immortal words, "Give me liberty or give me death?"

An angry white guy.

Who were the signers of the Declaration of Independence?

A bunch of angry white guys.

Who uttered the immortal words, "Did we give up when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?"

An angry white guy.

The Alamo was surrounded by ten thousand Mexicans and who refused Santa Anna's offer of all-you-can-eat Tex-Mex?

Angry white guys.

First man on the beach at Normandy? First man off the helicopter at Ia Drang? First one to burn his draft card?

All angry white guys.

Who invented the twist-off bottle cap?

Don't know for certain, but the Colonel would bet it was an angry white guy with no bottle opener and a lot of hand strength.

First person to walk out of a screening of "Brokeback Mountain?"

Bettin' on the angry white guy...

The Colonel could go on, but this is all startin' to make him angry...