Piratical Precedents

On a wall in the Colonel's study an oddly-handled sword and its scabbard hang crossed beneath a wood carving of the Marine Corps' eagle, globe, and anchor. The uniquely designed sword has been the exclusive ceremonial accoutrement of U. S. Marine officers for nearly two centuries, but its history is far longer than that.

In the 9th Century, the leaders of the Islamic Abbisid caliphate headquartered in Baghdad, worried that their military strength was not sufficient to maintain their regional dominance, created a caste of slave warriors the predominance of which were initially acquired from slave-holding nomadic Turks. Over the next century, these Mamelukes, from the Arabic word mamluk, meaning "owned," distinguished themselves in military service to their masters and began to assume positions of great responsibility in their armies.  

In the early 870s, one of these slave generals staged a coup, seized power from the weak representative of the caliphate in Egypt, and rapidly brought the region stretching from Egypt to Syria under his control. This first Mameluke dynasty ended in 905 when another slave army from Baghdad invaded and regained control of Egypt and Palestine.

A succession of different dynastic caliphs continued to maintain their military supremacy in the Mediterranean and Middle East regions with their elite Mameluke armies, continually replenished by recruits and slaves acquired from Central Asia. By the middle of the 13th Century, the Mamelukes are at the height of their power and influence and a Mameluke general once again seized power in Egypt, this time from a weakened descendant of the great Saladin. 

Coincident with this uprising to the West, the successors of Genghis Khan expanded the Mongol Empire from the East into Europe and the Middle East. Mameluke armies over the next century are among a minority of military forces able to withstand the Mongol tide and win significant battles against them. From the Mongols, the Mamelukes adopted effective battlefield tactics and weapons, among them a slightly curved, simply-handled, broad-bladed sabre descended from a common weapon of the Ming dynasty. The Mamelukes combined features of this sword with features of the scimitar carried by their Central Asian ancestors and the result was the samshir, from the Persian word for a lion's claw.

Mameluke warlord rule, with caliphate figure heads, continued in North Africa and the Middle East until finally snuffed out by the expanding Ottoman Empire in the early 19th Century. Mameluke military influence, particularly mostly-ceremonial weaponry, continued to predominate throughout the region.

In 1801, Thomas Jefferson, the gun-owning, former anti-government extremist author of the treasonous Anglo-American colonial declaration of secession from the British crown, assumed the office of President of the United States. One of the first foreign policy challenges of his administration was the prevalence of piracy taking its toll on American shipping in the Mediterranean. Corsairs, based in what is today Libya, continued a tradition that dated back thousands of years in the Mediterranean -- seizing merchant shipping cargoes and holding the ships and their crews for ransom. 

Consumed by war on the continent, European nations found it more practical to pay the ransoms and "protection tribute" than to divert military resources to deal with the states (the Kingdom of Morocco and the Barbary States--Algiers, Tripoli, and Tunis) sanctioning the piracy. 

American administrations under Washington and Adams also paid ransom and tribute. 

When Jefferson refused to pay an increased tribute demanded by the Pasha of Tripoli, the Barbary despot declared war on the United States and seized several American merchant ships and crews. Jefferson sent a U. S. Navy squadron to deal with the situation, but a blockade of the port of Tripoli and anti-piracy patrols in the Mediterranean were ineffective.

Realizing that regime change was required to remedy the situation, the Americans sided with the deposed former ruler of Tripoli, Hamet Karamanli, and a small contingent of Marines joined a company of mercenaries hired by Hamet in an expedition to retake the Tripolitanian throne. Led by American Marine First Lieutenant Presley O'Bannon, the force trekked 600 miles across the Libyan desert, stormed the citadel at Derne, Tripoli, and raised the American flag over the city on April 27, 1805. 

It was the first United States land operation on foreign soil. 

Gratified, Hamet presented O'Bannon with a Mameluke sword.

Proclaimed an American Hero on his return, O'Bannon left military service and although a native of Virginia, entered politics in Kentucky, serving in the state house and senate.

Ever vigilant to add laurel and lore to our tradition, the Marine Corps immortalized O'Bannon's feat in the Marines' Hymn, and adopted a facsimile of O'Bannon's Mameluke sword gift as the ceremonial side-arm of its officers.

From Baghdad to Somalia -- what goes around, comes around. Want to deal most effectively with a particularly thorny problem? Dig it out by the root.

Enemies Emboldened

Any day now it is going to happen. Joe Biden, Vice President for Blowhard Blathering, will not be able to keep from saying, "I told you so."

Back during the halcyon days of national euphoria between the election and inauguration of the false messiah, the vast majority of Americans dared believe that the incoming "Can't we all just get along?" administration would change the world's opinion of us and change the hearts of our enemies just by smiling, bowing, apologizing, and talking nice. And, they were right. All over the world, the opinion that America is to be respected (even if also feared) has evaporated almost over night. We are, to paraphrase what our president has been telling leaders the world over, no longer the leader of the world--we are just equal partners.

Give H and his crew credit, they have accomplished more in the first 100 days in office than any nascent U.S. administration in the history of the republic. The Appeaser in Chief has emboldened more enemies around the world with his actions over the last three months than any America-hater could dare hope. North Korea and Iran have increased the pace of their respective marches toward nuclear weapons delivery capability, Castro and Castro-lite are gleefully counting the increased revenues to their repressive regimes, Somali pirates attacked U.S. flagged merchant ships for the first time, the Taliban are on the move in Pakistan (the fate of which has been described by the Obama administration as the most important in the world) and have just taken control of a region only 60 miles from the capital, and the drug money-fueled warlords in the nation on our southern border are threatening to take over and establish the world's largest narco-state.

Enemies across the globe are testing our new president, and so far he is failing to meet the challenges with anything more than smiles, handshakes, and bows. Back just after the election, Joe Biden told us that the new president would be tested early on. Come on, Joe, say it--you told us so.

No Water for Info

There are some American principles so important that the welfare of no citizen, or even a large group of citizens, is more important than adherence to them. Our treatment of prisoners is one of them. Our nation was born and grown to maturity under the over-arching principle that our light was different--exceptional--in the pantheon of national lamps around the globe. We were the light that outshone all others, and set the standard for others to emulate.

When a government incarcerates a citizen or an enemy, that government takes complete responsibility for the welfare of that prisoner. This is not to say that prisoners incarcerated as punishment for crimes against our society should be mollycoddled. But prisoners are, by definition, as helpless and dependent on the grace of the state as any, and their punishment should be no more, nor less, than the loss of personal freedom intended by the imprisonment.

When our government detains an enemy combatant, regardless whether that combatant's sanctioning nation or organization is a signatory to any treaties or conventions governing the treatment of prisoners of war, our government has a higher standard, by the very nature of our American Exceptionalism, by which to measure our treatment of that captive, regardless the atrocious nature of that captive's former activities against us or our allies. Further, and this is the meat of the matter, the safety of no American or American city, is more important than maintenance of our principles and the exceptional brightness of our light to the rest of the world.

When we, as a nation, begin to believe that our safety and comfort is so important that the torture of helpless prisoners to gain important information with which to disrupt and prevent future attacks against us is justified, then we relinquish our standing as the exceptional lamp to the world. To put this in perspective, when a US military force detains an enemy combatant of any sort on the battlefield, our soldiers are prohibited, on pain of significant punishment, from mistreatment of that prisoner beyond reasonable means of detention and security, even if "aggressive" interrogation might very well reveal impending attacks on our soldiers against which they would otherwise not be prepared. In other words, American soldiers cannot torture or mistreat a prisoner to save the lives of other American or allied soldiers.

It bothers the Colonel more than just a little bit that there are Americans who would justify waterboarding and other means of torture--in effect sacrificing our principles--to protect ourselves. It bothers me even more that self-described patriots would take up the defense of these un-American acts. Want to know who the real patriots are? They are the men and women who have placed their lives on the line for the rest of us. Interestingly, you will not find many veterans defending torture. They understand.

Cheney doesn't.

Minuteman Manifesto

Two hundred and thirty-three years ago, a gun-owning, anti-government extremist drafted a manifesto by which he and his rebellious, rabble-rousing compatriots (some of whom were disgruntled veterans of the French and Indian War) displayed disagreement with their government, refused to submit to its authority, and ushered in a civil war that brought death, destruction, misery...and freedom, to those on whose side the French finally interceded. That document is reprinted in its entirety, below. Warning: Treasonous language follows. Any correlation of grievances, then and now, is purely intentional. Reading this post may subject you to surveillance by agents of the Department of Homeland Insecurity.

IN CONGRESS, JULY 4, 1776

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America

When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security. — Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.

He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their Public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected, whereby the Legislative Powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.

He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

He has obstructed the Administration of Justice by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary Powers.

He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harass our people and eat out their substance.

He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.

He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil Power.

He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:
For quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:
For protecting them, by a mock Trial from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:
For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:
For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:
For depriving us in many cases, of the benefit of Trial by Jury:
For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences:
For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies
For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:

For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.

He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation, and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & Perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.

He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.
Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our British brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these united Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States, that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. — And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.

If you have read the Declaration above in its entirety, you have the Colonel's admiration and respect. We are in a minority.

Homeland Insecurity

Just read the Department of Homeland Security report on right-wing extremism. The Colonel prefers to get the facts first hand whenever possible and my spidey sense was telling me that the reportage on the subject report was a bit hyperbolic. I have to admit that, taken out of context, some of the passages in the report make this Marine's fightin' blood flush.

Taken as a whole, the report is...how do I say this so as not to hurt the feelings of the bureaucrat(s) who penned it?... embarrassing. If it was a high school term paper, the Colonel would give it a "D"--credit given for correct spelling and sentence structure keeping it from receiving a failing grade. If I had submitted such a factless compilation of conjecture as a threat assessment to any of the commanders on whose staffs I served during my career in the Corps, I would have been rewarded by the sight of seeing my work torn in two and dumped in the nearest circular file. What bothers me about the report is that it is an egregious waste of our money and absolutely of no use to the law enforcement officials to whom it was addressed. Even more distressing is the realization that this amateurish amalgamation of adverbs passing for an assessment is indicative of the effectiveness of the federal department responsible for the defense of our homeland.

I feel safe--how 'bout you?

Milling About Smartly

There are two things you can bank on with regards to the man curmudgeoned before his time: the Colonel don't paint and the Colonel don't dance. He would rather take a prolonged beating than wrap his hands around a paintbrush. And, as much as the Colonel likes holding the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda close, tripping to the light fantastic ain't in the genes. That said, the pitter-patter you may be hearing in the background is the Colonel breaking into a secretive anticipatory happy dance. The Colonel's latest man toy will be delivered this week.

In a previous post the Colonel opined that, given the vast and renewable timber resources extant aboard Eegeebeegee, the capital of the Tallahatchie Free State--a government in opposition formed as much hand on wallet as tongue in cheek, and given that the Eegeebeegee Man Toy Storage and Sawdust Production Facility has a steadily increasing population of toolage designed to turn lumber into sawdust (with the occasional useful or ornamental by-product), the missing piece in the system is a machine for turning my timber into lumber.

In short, the Colonel needs -- okay, wants-- a saw mill. And, what the Colonel needs -- okay, wants -- (and for which the Colonel effectively and unashamedly begs the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda permission to stimulate the economy), the Colonel gets.

Enroute to the northern end of southern nowhere from a factory in Indiana, is a Wood-Mizer LT 15 personal saw mill, with which the Colonel will dramatically reduce the amount of cash spent regularly at local lumber yards to feed my sawdust production habit.

As is the Colonel's tradition with regard to large expensive man toys, he will assign an appropriate appellation to the newest addition, as soon as he can cobble together enough cognitive cells in the amorphous grey goo lying fallow in the recesses of his brain housing group to apply to the task of moniker making.

The Colonel invites the three of you, who regularly display a lack of anything better to do with your time than to submit yourselves to this drivel, to recommend an appropriate name for consideration by the Eegeebeegee Man Toy Naming Committee, chaired by the man curmudgeoned before his time, subject to final approval by the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda--chair of the Committee on Tallahatchie Free State Silliness Reduction.

The chosen entry will entitle the winner to an all-expense-paid day of operating the mill--an experience that the Colonel is certain occupies an elevated position on the bucket list of many of you.

My Beliefs

I had planned not to post on my blog this week. I have tried to focus on the significance of this week in my faith and felt that writing about anything else would distract me from that endeavor. But, there is so much for the man curmudgeoned before his time to comment on and I need to vent so that I can resume the quiet and sincere contemplation of the divine death sentence for my sinful nature and my salvation through the atoning blood of the Lamb.

I am, like every other, save one, who has or will ever walk this orb, a black-hearted sinner. My hope is in Jesus, without whose voluntary blood sacrifice I would be doomed to the eternal separation from my Creator that is the wage for my sin. My omniscient and holy God could require nothing less--to do so would diminish His holiness. This is my rock solid belief.

The Colonel also believes, unlike H, that America WAS founded as a Christian nation. I understand the philosophical point that our President was making when he told a mostly Muslim audience last week that "America is not a Christian nation...," but rather, "...a nation of citizens..." I also understand the tact he is taking with regard to making peace with mostly Muslim nations. But, while I understand his methods, I categorically disagree with them. Appeasement, complete with the unprecedented bowing and scraping demonstrated by our President a week ago, will only embolden our enemies. His bow before the Saudi king will, in fact, do more to recruit jihadists to the Islamic extremists' cause than anything the bungling Bush administration did or for which they were held responsible by their detractors.

The Colonel also believes that the scourge of piracy in the Indian Ocean can be relatively easily eradicated. The bungling Bush administration failed to take effective action. The H administration is displaying the same dithering approach to the menace. The solution is simple. Destroy the bases from which the pirates are launching. Instead, we are wrapped completely around the axle of our concern for the safety of a few (in this case, ONE) hostage. Were I President, I would order the immediate destruction of the lifeboat in which the pirates are holding the Maersk Alabama's skipper. Callous as it sounds, the action would send the immediate signal that messing with American flagged shipping is a death sentence. I believe Captain Phillips would give the order himself, if given the choice.

The Colonel also believes that market capitalism, regulated only to the extent that prevents fraud, is the most effective societal means of exchanging and acquiring goods and services. It is amazing to me that the very liberal progressives whose religion is Darwinism would prefer the anti-Darwinistic concept of market socialism. Survival of the fittest applies universally or not at all.

The Colonel also believes that Vice President Joe Biden is the most entertaining buffoon to occupy the office since Al Gore. What a kidder!

Finally, the Colonel believes that it's time to wake the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda and tell her that she loves me.

Launching an Extortion Fit

The Democratic Peoples Republic of Korea, the perpetually petulant adolescent personality cult masquerading as a nation, got the world's attention again this weekend by acting up in class and launching a spit wad across the room.

Kim and his clan of sycophantic generals and governmental administrators know that the only way to maintain their hold on power is to maintain a state of fear. This they do through a combination of hyper xenophobia and hysterical introspection. A million-man army (armed with enough chemical weapons to make a thousand Saddams happy) is justified by maintaining tension with the United States and the Republic of Korea. The populace is controlled, at the edge of starvation, by a sadistically sinister and systematic program in which everyone participates in daily group meetings for the purpose of (and you could only make this up if you were George Orwell) criticising each other. In the Korean culture, sense of self esteem and one's place in society is paramount--these criticism clatches serve to unsettle each individual in the population to the point that he or she is literally too introspective to care about the crises continuum that has been their country for generations. Of course, maintaining your nation in a near absolute news vacuum helps to keep your message in the headlines as well.

The all-controlling command economy of North Korea makes the old Soviet Union's look like rampant capitalism by comparison. It is ten times more inefficient and unproductive as well. The North Korean countryside is barely arable and resource poor. So, Kim needs help from outside to maintain his stranglehold on the 23 million people inside the borders of the world's largest concentration camp. He doesn't want aid for his people. He needs money to buy food and luxury goods to keep his army fed and his bureaucrats bought off.

This weekend's missile launch, the anticipation of which captured headlines for weeks, and was in contravention of agreements Kim made in exchange for money from the international community, was an operational failure. Reportedly, the second and third stages malfunctioned and the missile failed to accomplish its mission of putting a satellite into orbit. But, we (the rest of the world) will beg Kim to stop his intercontinental ballistic missile program and he will--in exchange for more money.

Don't know how you deal with adolescents pitching extortionary fits in your household. I ignored mine. They've since grown to maturity and entered society as productive, non-threatening adults. Time to turn our backs on Kim. What's the worst that can happen? He could resume full-scale combat operations against the Republic of Korea in the war that has simmered under an armistice since 1953. He has nothing to gain except suicidal notoriety with that course of action. The ROKs would crush him eventually, probably without too much of our help.

Will be interesting to see what H does with this one.

Living the Dream

An anniversary of some import passed quietly earlier this week here at the northern end of southern nowhere and the Colonel didn't get in trouble with the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda for not remembering it.

Two trips around Sol ago, on March 31st of 2007 to be exact, the Colonel and Miss Brenda spent the first evening on the property that had existed in our life dreams since we were, ahem, teenagers in love. As sappy as it may seem to a world that no longer seems to believe in life-long love and commitment, I have been in love with my best friend since I was a pimply-faced, squeaky-voiced adolescent. Amazingly, the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda has returned the favor, with interest, for the same almost four decades since our first date. Two or three of you reading this, may even remember, as participants in what can only be described as a "gang date," (our whole, mostly good, gang of church youth mostly paired off and attended a Saturday matinee of that tender love story: "Lawrence of Arabia") that inaugural episode of the implausibly long running "Ed and Brenda Show," and recall the great improbability that I would ever have a second date with the better-looking half of the Cannon twins.

But, against odds longer than that of my Rebels winning this year's National Championship, we endured. And, as we endeavored to endure in those early years, we dreamed. By the time we married, nearly five years after the first date, we had our lives together dream-planned out. We dream-planned our family--two boys and a girl. Mission accomplished. Check. We dream-planned my career as a Marine. Mission accomplished. Check. We dream-planned our retirement place in the country.

Living that dream. God is good.

The Graveyard of Empires; Episode I

In 336 B.C. a 20 year-old Macedonian from the royal line of a nation numbering not more than 1.5 million people, assumed the kingship of the Greek world from his assassinated father. Alexander had been educated by one of history's greatest teachers, Aristotle. Along with the throne, his father Philip bequeathed him the finest fighting force the world had yet seen. Philip himself had built the Macedonian army, organized and equipped in a highly flexible combined arms manner that had easily crushed the other monolithic phalanxes of the Greek city states and their colonies, as well as irregular formations of barbarian tribes to the far north of Macedon.

Immediately upon the young Alexander's accession to the dominating Macedonian throne, the Greek city states and the barbarians whom his father had subdued tested his mettle and attempted to throw off Macedonian rule. Alexander first solidified his authority as leader of the Hellenic League (alliance of all the Greek states, save Sparta) established by his father by marching on Athens at the head of a Macedonian army and rapidly crushing, by a demonstration of strength alone, the opposition. That done, he turned north and put down the restive barbarian tribes.

While campaigning in the north, Alexander received word that Thebes and Athens, at the instigation of Darius II of Persia, had revolted against Macedonian rule. Alexander immediately marched on Thebes and all but destroyed the city to subdue it. Athens got the message and surrendered peacefully to Alexander's rule, for which the young king returned kindness and no retribution for their errant behavior.

With the Greek world solidly behind him, and two years of successful campaigning against disparate enemy formations under his belt, Alexander crossed the Hellespont into Persian dominated Asia (what is today, Turkey), not just to accomplish his father's dream of punishing the world power to the East for their repeated transgressions against the Greeks, but with his own plan of conquering Persian, AND the rest of the known world. Alexander first defeated a mixed army of Persians and Greek mercenaries at the Battle of the Granicus and liberated the Greek coastal cities of Asia. Lacking a navy with which to maintain his sea lines of communication with his home base back across the Hellespont, Alexander next sought to negate the Persian navy's ability to interdict him, by sweeping down the Mediterranean coastline and capturing all of the ports from which the Persian navy operated.

A third of the way through this coastal campaign, as Alexander was marching southward into modern-day Syria, the Persian king had attempted to cut off his lines of communication back to Macedon by placing a 100,000 man army to Alexander's rear. Alexander had turned around with 30,000 men, and, despite being outnumbered three to one against an enemy well fortified on the other side of the Pinarus River, routed and destroyed half of the Persian army with the loss of less than 500 of his own men. Following this victory, remembered as the Battle of Issus, Alexander completed his anti-Persian Navy campaign by seizing the island port of Tyre (by means of the herculean engineering feat of building a causeway out to the city), the city of Gaza (by means of another great engineering feat: the construction of a 250 foot high mound a quarter mile in circumference at the base from which the Greeks bombarded the defenders with siege engines), and the occupation of Egypt where the young conqueror established the first of many Alexandrias.

Having effectively destroyed the greatest navy in the world at the time, by way of brilliant stratagem, Alexander now turned his attention to the mighty Persian Army assembling in Mesopotamia. With his trademark rapid march, Alexander sped from Egypt back to Tyre, turned east and crossed the Euphrates and Tigris Rivers. The Persians, numbering about 200,000, were drawn up in battle array on the Plain of Gaugemela waiting for Alexander. Outnumbered nearly four to one, the Greeks nonetheless attacked straightaway and Alexander's tactical genius shown clearly in his adaptation of a battlefield formation that created, then exploited, a gap in the center of the massive Persian line. The Persian king, Darius, was suddenly in a relatively exposed position and he beat a hasty retreat. His grand army disintegrated with his ignominious retirement from the battlefield, and, after being pursued by Alexander for the next eleven days, Darius was assassinated by a group of his Persian nobles, leaving the young Macedonian strategic, operational, and tactical genius the ruler of Persia--a feat the most ambitious Greek leader before him could never have dreamed attempting.

No warrior king had ever before nor has ever since accomplished so much conquest at any age and level of experience, let alone Alexander's tender age of 25. He was clearly the world's most brilliant battlefield leader and destined to cruise to world domination, including the lands that were later to encompass the western Roman Empire--what is now Italy, Mediterranean North Africa, Spain, France, and the British Isles. He could count on vigor that would keep him in the fight for at least another 25 years. He had consolidated control of the Greek world, occupied Egypt, and conquered the Persian Empire in less than five years--one could scarcely fathom what he should accomplish given five more like periods of time...

But, then he marched into Afghanistan.

Monday Morning MOTOs, Not-so Special Wednesday Edition

The Colonel knows that this is Wednesday and that he has been regularly irregular in his fitfully faithful posting of the Monday Mastery of the Obvious (MOTO) medal awards, to those whose public comments demonstrate their steel trap grasp of the obvious, on..., well, on Mondays.

Several colliding and colluding factors have created a not-so perfect storm preventing the Colonel from publishing the Monday Morning MOTOs until later in the week. First, the Colonel's bubble of relatively irrelevant relativity has been particularly persistent this week.

Second, Grandson #1, the Hope of 21st Century Civilization, has been on an inspection tour of the grounds of the Tallahatchie Free State, a government in opposition formed with hand-on-wallet as much as tongue-in-cheek, and has commanded a bit more of the Colonel's and the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda's time.

Third, there has been a distinct dearth of public comments by anyone demonstrating any kind of grasp on reality.

The Colonel's Not-so Special Wednesday Edition of the Monday Morning MOTOs Bronze Medal goes to the Colonel, for his mastery of the calendar, as demonstrated by the lead sentence in this pernicious post.

The Colonel's Not-so Special Wednesday Edition Monday Morning MOTO Silver Medal goes to President O'Bama (he did claim some Irish ancestry didn't he?) for his realistic, if blatantly obvious, remark that, with regard to our economy, "There are no quick fixes, and there are no silver bullets." Hmmm, seems to the not-so bright Colonel, that's exactly what he and the socialist spendapaths in Congress have been attempting to do with trillion dollar bandaids and shotgun blasts, all of which will, in the Colonel's not-so humble opinion, result in nothing more than hastening the complete economic collapse of these re-United States into hyper-inflation and depression.

The Colonel's Not-so Special Wednesday Edition of the Monday Morning MOTOs Gold Medal goes to President Obama for his explanation for his delay in joining the hypocritically populist outrage over the revelation that the same effete, Gucci-wearing, limo-riding, penthouse-living, money-grubbing, Yankee Wall Street crooks who came hat in hand to the American taxpayer for financial rescue after they literally mismanaged their institutions into bankruptcy, channeled millions of OUR MONEY into their own pockets as bonuses for doing such a splendid job of destroying our wealth, "It took us a couple days because I like to know what I'm talking about before I speak."

What?!? Was the teleprompter broke?

Freefall Physics

Relatively irrelevant relativity, that heretofore ill-documented time-warping phenomenon which most often manifests itself in bubble form encapsulating the Colonel, a man curmudgeoned before his time, demonstrated the never before observed characteristic of “transferability” here at the northern end of southern nowhere the other day.

The Colonel was up in the air, quite literally, walking the high steel... uh, toes clinging to the fiberglass top of a ten foot step ladder…, adding boardage to Semper Field's new tractor shed addition to the Eegeebeegee Man Toy Storage and Sawdust Production Facility, one hand on a hammer, the other on a nail, and, you guessed it... no hands left to anchor me and prevent my ultimate reconnection with the hallowed capital grounds of the Tallahatchie Free State, a government in opposition established with hand on wallet as much as tongue in cheek. Said ladder has long since achieved the state of repair that gives the word rickety a whole new meaning, and Miss Brenda, the comely and kind-hearted chairperson of the Tallahatchie Free State Committee on Safety has decreed that the Colonel is prohibited from ascending beyond the first step without her provision of stability and verbal encouragement to "be safe," as if I intentionally flirt with danger and disregard all rules of workplace safety every time I stir from a nap (I mean complete a strategic planning session) and take hammer in hand--okay, I do have a penchant for skirting safety regulations, but that's not important right now. The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda was providing effective stability for the Colonel whilst I was up the ladder, until the phone rang in the Sawdust Production side of the Man Toy Storage and Sawdust Production Facility.

“A phone in the Eegeebeegee Man Toy Storage and Sawdust Production Facility?” you ask. But of course. I spend a great deal of time at, around, or in the EMTSASPF, and with the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda’s full social calendar and burgeoning circle of girlfriends in what can only be described as a middle-aged girl gang (hereinafter referred to as her MAGG), a phone in the EMTSASPF allows the Colonel to fulfill his critical responsibilities as the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda’s answering service in her absence.

As the phone continued to ring, I glanced downward at the upturned visage of my best friend and beheld the picture that should be in the dictionary next to the definition of the word, “indecision.” The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda was, in a word, “torn.” Her phone answering service was perched above her on the dilapidated collection of aluminum and fiberglass that long-ago assumed a condition inappropriate for assignment of the term, “ladder.” Leaving her post as the Colonel’s safety supervisor, even briefly, would, she was certain, expose her man to the dangers inherent in allowing doufi (plural of doufuss) to operate machinery (hammers qualify as machinery for doufi) at altitude without female (doufi are strictly male) supervision. Not answering the phone would almost certainly result in missing the announcement of the next unscheduled convocation and economic stimulatory shopping trip of her MAGG—a turn of events much too painful for the comely, kind-hearted, and shopping centric Miss Brenda to contemplate.

“Don’t MOVE. I’ll be right back.” The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda is nothing if not commanding when it comes to giving direction, and I froze, hammer in mid-swing.

And, then, the bubble of relatively irrelevant relativity surrounding the Colonel, shimmered briefly, popped with a distinct, “pffft,” and reappeared simultaneously around the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda. That visual stimuli to my optic nerve should have provided sufficient warning that I was going to be perched precariously on the aforementioned dilapidated collection of aluminum and fiberglass that long-ago assumed a condition inappropriate for assignment of the term, “ladder,” with hammer frozen in mid-swing, for an inordinate amount of time during which I was certain to observe the hastening approach of winter. However, comma, the Colonel has long and painful experience with disregard of the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda’s commands, and I endeavored to persevere in obedience.

At some point in the next seven hours and twenty-seven minutes, during which I maintained nearly inhuman motionlessness while perched precariously on the aforementioned dilapidated collection of aluminum and fiberglass that long-ago assumed a condition inappropriate for assignment of the term, “ladder,” with arm and hammer frozen in mid-swing, a combination of minor muscle fatigue and major attention deficit began to erode the Colonel’s obedient perseverance. There began to creep into the paltry collection of amorphous grey goo lying fallow in a forgotten recess of the bony brain housing group within which my dim consciousness resides the thought that I might very well have been, if unintentionally, abandoned by the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda, and that I might want to consider engaging in some relatively minor muscle movements designed to reduce the precarious nature of my perch atop the aforementioned dilapidated collection of aluminum and fiberglass that long-ago assumed a condition inappropriate for assignment of the term, “ladder.”

The almost imperceptible of minor muscle movements designed to affect the least bit of readjustment of the Colonel’s precarious perch on the aforementioned dilapidated collection of aluminum and fiberglass that long-ago assumed a condition inappropriate for assignment of the term, “ladder,” resulted in launching the man curmudgeoned before his time from his high altitude perch and into mid-air as if shot from the proverbial cannon. At exactly the same moment, the bubble of relatively irrelevant relativity that had transferred to the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda seven hours and twenty-seven minutes previously, reappeared with a shimmering “ding,” around the Colonel and slowed the passage of time to a creep approaching the speed at which sorghum molasses pours from a bottle on a cold day. The Colonel’s otherwise catlike reflexes, on which I would rely for terminal ground approach, were delayed in initiation due to indecision regarding choice of an appropriate landing zone, said choice being complicated by the vast array of mostly pointed and sharp edged tools littering the ground, in strategic order of last use, at the foot of the aforementioned dilapidated collection of aluminum and fiberglass that long-ago assumed a condition inappropriate for assignment of the term, “ladder.”

As the Colonel sorted through the limited and rapidly diminishing collection of available courses of action with regard to clear landing sites, it occurred to me that, due to the lack of airspeed resulting from my previous perseverance in obedience to the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda’s “Don’t MOVE” command, said lack of airspeed would have the ultimate result, despite out-stretched and wildly gyrating arms attempting to achieve a modicum of lift, of reducing my glide ratio to that of a bag of bricks. As I drifted earthward, the surrounding bubble of relatively irrelevant relativity provided sufficient time, once I had exhausted the list of available landing sites and accepted a lack of control over same, to contemplate the foot pounds of energy that would be exchanged upon impact with terra firma, and calculate the degree beyond which I was likely to exceed my pain threshold subsequent to gravitational contact.

As I neared less than one half foot AGL, the bubble of relatively irrelevant relativity surrounding me shimmered and disappeared with a barely audible “pffft” and, in the intervening six inches, a radical transition from sorghum molasses time warp to hypervelocity occurred causing me to accelerate to just below terminal velocity prior to impact. In spite of my best efforts to induce lift, and despite a lack of forward airspeed with which to achieve course correction, I managed to deposit my carcass on the one patch of bare ground devoid of the aforementioned vast array of mostly pointed and sharp edged tools littering the ground in strategic order of last use. The resounding thud with which the Colonel’s body made contact with Mother Earth is reported to have registered on seismographs across a three state area.

Evidently the bubble of relatively irrelevant relativity transferred once again, shortly before my hypervelocity and thunderously ground-shaking impact, to the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda, as I was able to process through a lengthy checklist of skeletal structures and provide myself a preliminary damage control report based on lack of any searing pain registering in the amorphous grey goo passing for cognitive cells lying dormant in the cavernous recesses of my brain housing group, before the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda initiated return to her abandoned post as the Colonel’s worksite safety supervisor. In the intervening interminable period of relatively irrelevant relativity bubble-governed time it took Miss Brenda to pry herself from telephonic conference with her MAGG and respond to the in-flight scream of terror and post-flight low moans of the Colonel, I had completed a thorough diagnostic check of all critical systems and was contemplating initiation of positional readjustment from the very-still prone position to a more dignified head-between-the-knees sitting readiness posture.

“Ed, are you alright!?” A high, querulous voice cut through the ground fog that had suddenly appeared coincident with my arrival ground-side.

“Sure! Never better!” I answered. Aural distortions attendant to the lingering effects of the relatively irrelevant relativity bubble caused the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda to hear my answer as a low moan.

“I told you not to move!”

I didn’t—at least not for several hours.

Drug War

The next war with Mexico is ramping up and this is one could make the Afghanistan and Iraq anti-terror campaigns look like picnics.

Those who are in the business of studying and assessing threats to these re-United States and our allies have been warning anyone who will listen, and not many decision-makers are, that aside from Pakistan, the nation, critical to our national security interests, that is most at risk of political implosion and violent explosion is our neighbor to the south. Some are going as far as to say that Mexico is rapidly becoming a Narco State, with drugs and drug money the political, economic, and military driver. With a trillion dollar appetite for marijuana, cocaine, and other drugs either produced in or trans-shipped through Mexico, the people of these re-United States are directly responsible for the pain and suffering of the Mexican people at the hands of the drug cartels increasingly in control of their country.

Currently, Mexican drug cartels are estimated to have a combined para-military capability of over 100,000 men armed and equipped with modern infantry weapons systems. Flush with far more cash than the Mexican government they are rapidly supplanting, these cartels easily pay their soldiers, many of whom are former members of the Mexican army, much more than they could make in any other occupation, and easily pay off the members of the Mexican local, state, and federal law enforcement agencies. Those they can't buy, they kill.

The Mexican Army has been called up to combat the cartels, but, in all likelihood, the Army has been infiltrated by the cartels to the point that most operations against them will be marginalized. Again, the cartels pay a whole lot better. Watching footage of Mexican soldiers in the attack this week reminded one of the anti-insurgency operations conducted by the nascent Iraqi Army. When the soldiers of your national army are wearing masks to conceal their faces from recognition by the bad guys, you have a serious problem.

My, not so wild and somewhat educated, guess is, just as was the case with the post-Saddam Iraqi Army, the Mexican Army will not be able to eradicate the cartels' fielded forces on their own. My further prognostication is that U.S. decision-makers will dither while the Mexican Army flounders, and will only commit U.S. forces in support once the Mexican Army starts to crumble. At that point it will be too late. At that point we will be facing a failed state on our southern border run by people whose one and only goal is supplying the American drug habit.

Frankly, the magnitude of this threat is greater than any economic recession. And, much easier to successfully combat--if we act quickly. The first step is to SECURE OUR STINKING BORDER!!! That we haven't done this at all post 9-11 is one of the most egregious lapses of our government in its most important function--national defense. We have the most capable military the world has ever seen--this would not be a very difficult mission!

The second step is also a no-brainer, and, since we have the printing presses making cash at the speed of heat, should not be very difficult, either. The Mexican drug cartels wield power and influence primarily because they pay better. Let's outspend them. Let's give the Mexican government enough money to make heroes, very well-off heroes, out of every private in their army. I'm talking serious cash--not just a ten percent pay raise. Let's create a Mexican middle class to rival our own in one fell swoop. Let's give the Mexican government enough money to build a half million-man army, each soldier in which makes six figures. Heck, let's recruit a couple of divisions of Mexican citizens right here in the re-United States and send them home, well-paid, to make their country great like ours. The cost would rival only that which we have wasted trying to keep GM afloat.

Or, we can wait until Mexico collapses and spend untold trillions in treasure and a hundred thousand lives trying to turn back an invasion of up to a quarter of our neighbor's 110 million people attempting to escape the chaos.

Patient Patients

Clean bills of health provided by the doctor with the honor of monitoring the physical well-being of the Colonel and Miss Brenda, at the conclusion of our annual check-up yesterday.

After fifty years of military medicine, it has been a bit of an adjustment for us as we have transitioned from the government collective to a local Family Practice doctor for our primary care. One of the welcome changes has been having adults tend to our health. The medicos in uniform were all to often youngsters still fighting acne--in the main, very effective, but very young and relatively inexperienced. It had gotten a bit disconcerting to be poked and prodded by folks who looked much, much younger than my own very young kids.

When the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda and I emigrated from the Redneck Riviera to the Northern End of Southern Nowhere two years ago, we experienced the joy of doctor shopping for the first time in our lives. We settled on one who had the two critical prerequisites--long-past achievement of adulthood and acceptance of Tri-Care (our military retiree medical plan). His office staff were also adults, and even more exciting, long-time members of our new community. Yesterday, as the nurse drew our blood, we talked about an uncle of hers who is a neighbor. Never had that experience with military medicine!

Miss Brenda is proud to announce that, according to our new favorite doctor, she has "the heart of an athlete!" On the other hand, the Colonel, whose internal operating systems are, likewise, in good working order, got no such athletic arterial comparison. The Colonel, as will come as no surprise to anyone who knows me well, has no heart.

To the rear, MARCH!

Here at the northern end of southern nowhere, that detested four week square month, with its hated attributes, has been ripped from the calendar with relish, if with lack of ceremony. The Colonel likes March a whole lot better, except for one characteristic it shares with February here in the South--the weather roller coaster. When it comes to climactic mood swings, March is February on steroids.

Two days ago a balmy breeze out of the South pushed the temperature up and over the eighty degree mark and the Colonel spent two glorious days outside working on the tractor shed addition to the Eegeebeegee Man Toy Storage and Sawdust Production Facility. The men who took this southern boy, with blood further thinned by nearly five years in Panama, and dragged him kicking and screaming through hypothermic practical application of arctic warfare training, taught me to layer my clothing and regulate activity to prevent soaking myself in my otherwise prodigious perspiration. But, with t-shirt temps on hand, I let the sweat pumps kick into high gear and flushed the winter sludge out of my pores as I dug three foot post holes through the Confederate Concrete that passes for soil here aboard the grounds of the capital of the Tallahatchie Free State. Yesterday morning, I sauntered outside dressed for summer and quickly executed a retrograde operation houseward for clothing retrofit.

In the time it takes this big blue marble to complete less than one rotation 'round its axis, the temperature had dropped nearly fifty degrees! There's a welcome rain falling with the unwelcome fall of the temperature, so the Colonel won't complain. The shoreline of Lake Brenda could stand significant expansion prior to the summer dry.

Just doesn't need to be expanded via freezing!

Adding to Ed's Edifice

For the last several days, the temperature here at the northern end of southern nowhere has climbed up to and past the four score mark on Herr Fehrenheit's scale and yesterday the spring-like weather flipped a "let's clean the house" switch in the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda's brain housing group. Cleaning house ain't on the Colonel's short (or long, for that matter) list of favorite participation sports, and the strong whiff of Pinesol that jangled my olfactory nerves served as a sufficient catalyst to activate my desire to attack the growing list of projects requiring attention on the grounds of the capital of the Tallahatchie Free State (a government in opposition, formed as much hand on wallet as tongue in cheek).

One of the aforementioned projects, The Tractor Shed, an open-sided, roofed addition to the Eegeebeegee Man Toy Storage and Sawdust Production Facility under which to park Semper Field (the Colonel's tractor; not to be confused with the Colonel's pick-up, Semper Fillit, and the Colonel's boat, Semper Fish) between forays afield, has languished as concept in the few remaining cognitive cells in my hat rack for several months now. On the promise and expectation of stimulus funding (an earmark for which I have been promised has been included in the omnibus appropriations bill), the Colonel began construction yesterday on said addition to the Eegeebeegee Man Toy Storage and Sawdust Production Facility.

The preparatory phase of said construction project involved a prolonged period of strategic planning, risk assessment, and work site survey, the predominance of which was accomplished by the Colonel in his open-air office, ensconced in his "thinking chair," eyes closed and shaded from the thought-damaging effects of ultraviolet light. A few short minutes into this vitally important stage of engineering excellence, which, due to the temporal distortion of the bubble of relative irrelevant relativity surrounding the Colonel (see post entitled "Time in a Bucket" for an explanation of this heretofore undocumented phenomenon), seemed more like several hours to the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda, the mother of my children stepped outside to conduct the regular safety check and supervisory security sweep required of the wives of Gregory men. The Colonel's super-natural situational awareness provided sufficient aural stimuli to warn of the impending presence of the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda, but, not wanting to startle and traumatize her with a demonstration of my explosive, cat-like reflexes, I remained carefully stationary and motionless in my strategic planning repose and only, and very slowly, responded to my dearest's attention-getting attempts when her gentle nudging escalated to the level of mild shaking.

"What have you gotten done this morning?" The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda was interested in her man's accomplishments--how heart-warming!

Monday MOTOs; Vol. II, Ed. 3

Time once again for another installment of the Colonel's regularly irregular Monday Mastery of the Obvious (MOTO) awards, for public pronouncements demonstrating the speaker's death grip on reality. The awards committee, chaired by a man curmudgeoned before his time, will present medals in absentia today at 1300 Tallahatchie Standard Time, on the front porch of the capitol building at Eegeebeegee, Mississippi, capital of the Tallahatchie Free State, a government in opposition formed as much with hand on wallet as with tongue in cheek.


The Colonel's Monday MOTO bronze medal is awarded to Venezuela's President Hugo Chavez (who leads the closely followed TCMM medal count by a substantial margin) for his blustering, "I warn you this revolution means business," (according to Patricia Rondon in a March 4 Reuters dispatch from Caracass). Hugo "Castro Lite" Chavez's government had just announced seizure of a parboiled rice plant owned by the American company Cargill, as the dropping tide of oil prices supporting his "bread and circuses" populism ran him aground upon the shoals of economic reality. The Colonel's source in Caracass (codenamed "Toucan Sam") claims the reporter left off the last part of the Chavez pronouncement: "...and the state will become one and the same." Socialism (aka: liberalism, progressivism) has but one totalitarian aim--consolidation of power in the hands of a few--and conceals its motives in the populist camouflage of social fairness.


The Colonel's Monday MOTO silver medal is awarded to Marti Maguire, staff writer for the Raleigh News and Observer, for the headline, "Tornadoes are not 'to toy with'." Amen, sister! I can testify! Also, for your further mastery, Ms Maguire, I submit the following obvious points: Tigers and chimpanzees don't make good house pets; Marines are trained to kill; and all politicians lie.

The Colonel's Monday MOTO gold medal is awarded to pollster John Zogby who explains that President Obama's soaring popularity, in the face of a slew of broken campaign promises and an economy spiralling out of control, is based on his “sheer personality.” I'm more and more convinced, day after day, that there ain't but a handful of us, you and I included of course, that get it. Everybody else can't tell the difference between what's going on in the real world and what happened on "The Bachelor." Leaves this Marine just a tad bit disappointed.

Time in a Bucket

Never have quite understood the logic of Daylight Savings.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the extra hour of sunlight in the evenings. One of the things that was always a downer for me, when I was working for a living, was going to work in the dark and coming home in the dark. I really looked forward to the government-sponsored clock shift in the Spring that would eventually allow there to be some daylight left in the evenings when I got home. Gave me more time to feel guilty about being too tired (read lazy) to go outside and play ball with the kids.

But now that the Colonel no longer wears a wristwatch, having given up the rat race for the seasonal, rather than hourly, governed life of a blogging farmer (and I use the term "farmer" looser than a newborn's diaper deposit), the concept of time has become, with apologies to Albert Einstein, a relatively irrelevant relativity. Time has taken on an entirely different aspect for me than it has for everyone else. Allow me to provide some examples in point:

Case 1. The Colonel is at the controls of Semper Fillit (my red, mud-bespeckled pick-up truck; not to be confused with Semper Field--my red, mud-bespeckled tractor) and the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda is lightly ensconced in her right seat drive director's position. Semper Fillit is traveling at a rate of speed roughly equivalent to the speed of smell as the Colonel is in no particular hurry, having no particular deadline to meet. A glance in the rear-view mirror reveals a pretty young coed in a brand new daddy-bought BMW, with the ubiquitous cell phone slapped to the side of her noggin, approaching the back bumper of Semper Fillit at a rate approaching a large fraction of the speed of light. As the Beamer and its blond operator close to within pistol range of the Colonel, and enters his bubble of relatively irrelevant relativity, the effects of temporal distortion are clearly evident, manifested by the marked and obviously uncontrollable physical behavior displayed by the aforementioned coed--hands thrown involuntarily upward; pie hole agape and mouthing verbal utterances symptomatic of sudden onset Tourette Syndrome.

Case 2. The Colonel is in his shop, merrily mesmerized by the effectiveness of one of his power tools at turning lumber into sawdust. The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda enters the Colonel's domain unbidden and breaks the reverie with a request, "I need some help with [some inane and totally unnecessary nest feathering project intended to soften the rough-hewn facade of Eegeebeegee]. It'll only take a minute." Seven hours and thirty-seven of those aforementioned minutes later, we have reached the approximate half-way point of the [some inane and totally unnecessary nest feathering project intended to soften the rough-hewn facade of Eegeebeegee] and cease labor due to the fast approaching onset of winter.

Case 3. Miss Brenda and the Colonel are wandering the aisles at Wally World doing our part to keep the world economy from collapsing into Stone Age barterdom. The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda mentions that she needs to stop in the craft section for a minute. Seven hours and thirty-seven of those aforementioned minutes later... On the other hand, the briefest stop in the sporting goods department elicits an almost immediate round of the foot-tapping, eye-rolling, and heavy sighing indicating that, to Miss Brenda, time has increased its rate of passage exponentially and we are wasting valuable time that could otherwise be spent on completion of the [some inane and totally unnecessary nest feathering project intended to soften the rough-hewn facade of Eegeebeegee].

Think I'll call the physics department at Ole Miss in the morning and offer my services as theoretical genius in residence.

Second Thoughts

I let my NRA membership lapse 25 years ago because I was growing tired of the gun control hysteria every time some effete liberal yankee politician got birdy regarding firearms.

I'm a bit of a student of our Constitution--it's always a good idea to know what it is you are swearing an oath to defend with your life. I've studied the Federalist Papers; heard and appreciated (if not agreed with) the arguments from all sides regarding the intent of the Framers. I have, as a result, come to a personal interpretation of the Second Amendment; and it ain't in line with the hyperventilators of the National Rifle Association. For those who have egregiously failed to read their re-United States Owners Manual, or have forgotten the contents of the Bill of Rights since they last looked at them sometime in their childhood, here's the Amendment in question:

"A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed."

Proponents of unlimited access to and possession of firearms, chief among them the NRA, single out and hang their collective hats on the second half of the Amendment. Proponents of gun control, and those seeking to restrict the types of firearms a citizen may possess, point to the first half of the Amendment as indicating that the Framers' intent was maintenance of an armed and "well regulated militia" for homeland defense. At the time of the writing of its constitution and its first ten amendments, the young country was still beset on every border by clear and present dangers to its security. There was no standing army (the fear of which was ingrained in our European forefathers), and state militia, (the forerunner of our current National Guard) comprised of private citizens who would drop plow, pen, or hammer and take up arms in crises, were the only organized armed force available to deal with the threat of internal insurrection (such as the Whiskey Rebellion and Shays Rebellion) or external uprising on the frontier. That militia, armed and proficient with their own firearms, was clearly what the Framers were addressing with the Second Amendment to the Constitution.

Let me be clear and honest: I own guns--a lot of 'em--and I am, what you might safely assume, rather proficient with them, thanks to my Dad and the United States Marine Corps. But, I'm not as comfortable as my friends and neighbors in the NRA with the concept of unregulated access to and possession of firearms. Frankly, and this is a founding principle of the Tallahatchie Free State (an opposition government formed as much hand on wallet as tongue in cheek), I firmly feel that no one should be allowed to own a firearm--or vote, for that matter--unless he or she has earned that privilege via honorable uniformed military or police service.

With all the above said, I am a bit worried about the concealed intentions of the sponsors of the House Bill H. R. 45, also known as "Blair Holt's Firearm Licensing and Record of Sale Act of 2009" (http://www.govtrack.us/congress/billtext.xpd?bill=h111-45). While seemingly innocuous and reasonable on its face, the bill contains a few worrisome provisions, which, taken to logical extremes, could result in the very restrictive regulation of firearm ownership about which the NRA has heretofore participated in the aforementioned collective hyperventilation. The bill would amend Section 922 of title 18, United States Code to require licensing of any citizen wishing to own or possess a firearm. That seems reasonable enough, you might say. After all, you have to be licensed to legally drive an automobile. Yes, but, there is no license required for ownership or possession of a car or truck. I have no problem with my government reasonably regulating the use of my firearms (it already does that through hunting license requirements and hunting regulations regarding seasons and hours during which, and weapons and ammunition with which, I may unleash my primal apex predator instincts). I do, however, have a HUGE problem with my government's mouth-breathing bureaucratic minions having access to my mental health records--an odious and dangerously Stalinistic requirement of licensure included in the bill in question.

You won't need my mental health records to figure out just how crazy I am if you try to enforce that one!

Timber!

There's something therapeutic about turning lumber into sawdust; ranking right up there with the life-centering results of turning your own cut and split firewood into heat and light.

If there's one resource I have in abundance on Eegeebeegee, it is timber. The ridges and creek bottoms are covered in hardwood stands, interspersed with mature pine and cedar. Each of my three large fields are edged by stands of planted loblolly pine, ranging between five and ten years old. In short, the Colonel has a long-term renewable resource that could serve me and mine for several generations; if me and mine will stay disciplined in its stewardship. Dawns on me, as I sit here converting electrical impulses into palmar and dorsal interossei movement and thereby into this electronic missive (I know it amazes those of you who know the Colonel well, that he is able to do two things at the same time), that I need to put some unequivocal language in my will to instruct my progeny, and theirs, regarding long-term maintenance of this valuable resource: NO CLEAR-CUTTING.

As those of you who have wasted valuable time reading this voluble vomitus for more than a few months know, the Colonel is a proud possessor of a long-dreamt-of workshop with enough room to house large and multiple projects and the large and multiple power tools with which to accomplish said projects. The really good news in this story is that the Colonel has been doing his part to stimulate the economy by throwing copious wads of cash (well, swiping a magnetic strip) at the local big box hardware store in return for the aforementioned tools to populate the aforementioned workshop. Next on my wish list (purchase pending approval of the spending bill containing the earmark I have asked my congressman to include for improvement of the grounds of the capital of the Tallahatchie Free State) is a radial arm saw (excuse me while I pause for a short session of monosyllabic guttural utterances signifying manproval).

In a former life, the Colonel received some training on systems efficiency. Unfortunately, the wrinkled mass of cells carrying that information has atrophied to an amorphous puddle of grey goo in a shallow recess of my brain housing group. But, I have never been one to allow a lack of intelligence or education (I didn't go to college--I attended Ole Miss) to prevent my progress. So, I have developed a plan for presentation to the Tallahatchie Free State purchasing committee (chaired by the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda). Said plan includes a line and box diagram depicting the Eegeebeegee sawdust production system deemed critical to the continued mental and physical well-being of the Colonel (he whose retirement income maintains Miss Brenda in the standard of living to which she has grown accustomed). She has accepted my need for, and has approved purchase of the aforementioned radial arm saw (excuse me while I pause for a short session of monosyllabic guttural utterances of manproval). She will, of course, recognize immediately that there is a glaring gap in the Eegeebeegee sawdust production system processes right between the box entitled "timber" and the box marked "radial arm saw" (excuse me while I pause for...you know the drill...join me).

I need a sawmill.