Revolt in 2016

It doesn't take a history professor to see the coming revolution. 

But, it ain't gonna be the revolt that the Colonel and his fellow (little r) republicans would prefer. 

It's not going to be a Tea Party party. 

Frankly, most of the Colonel's fellow (little r) republicans, despite disgust with the extra- and un- constitutional political machinations of the political ruling class, are far too comfortable and have far too much to lose to consider pledging their sacred honor in order to save America for their posterity.  

Talk is cheap.  Action costs more than most are willing to give.

Doubt this?

Then how do you explain not one percentage point of increase in military enlistment from the upper middle, and above, classes post 9-11?  

That's right. For all the flag-waving, and despite anecdotal evidence to the contrary, there was no appreciable increase in volunteers for military service.  The Colonel knows this from first-hand experience leading a sizable portion of the Marine Corps recruiting effort for two years following 9-11.

But, make no mistake, a revolution is coming. 

The revolution will be led by those who, in a few years, will find the governmental largesse upon which they have become dependent, has dried up. 

The coming revolution will be against the Colonel and his fellow (little r) republicans. 

The next American Revolution will be a socialist movement. 

It pains the Colonel to tell you this. Recognizing the truth is always painful. 

Projections

Something has to give.

The Colonel's LOP (List of Projects: compilation of great landscaping, terra forming, and woodworking ideas) far exceeds his grasp.  The Colonel's PL (Project List: landscaping, terra forming, and woodworking projects begun but not completed) far exceeds the prioritization capability of his ADD addled mind. 

Further, adding insult to injury, the Colonel's once robust, if diminutive, physique has begun to atrophy at an alarming rate matched only by the rate at which his cognitive abilities are becoming less cognitive and far less able.

And then there's the weather. 

Climate change is a fact folks.

One needs only spend a modicum of time outdoors, or examining the monthly electric bill, to see the proof of significant change. 

One season it is unbearably hot and humid; the next it is unbearably cold and wet.  

Oh, how the Colonel longs for the good old days before corporate greed and rampant consumerism raised CO2 levels and turned our atmosphere into an ice sheet-melting greenhouse, spawning mega hurricanes, massive desertification, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, sunspots, tsunamis, killer bee invasions, mega fauna extinction, Walmarts, (deep breath), pet-eating pythons, libertarians, shovel-ready projects, S & L failures, falling test scores, alien abductions, and... 

Undocumented immigration.

It was a simpler time in the halcyon days of the Colonel's misspent youth/young adulthood.  

BCCE (Before Climate Change Era), life had meaning. 

BCCE, our enemies were bigger, badder, and tangible. Darn you, Gorbachev, you gave up too easily.

Must have been the weather.

BCCE, there was no such thing as Seasonal Affect Disorder.

BCCE, our children were less self-absorbed and much more polite.  

BCCE, birds weren't as angry, cows weren't as flatulant, and John Wayne was... well... John Wayne.

BCCE, the Colonel's writing made infinitely more sense.

The Colonel is tempted to follow Gorbachev's lead (there sure ain't any American leaders behind which to queue up any more) and throw in the towel. 

Anything he builds is just gonna get washed away in a couple hundred years when sea levels rise back to where they were a couple million years ago...

Wait. What?

Heart-Felt

A friend of the Colonel's refers to this day -- Valentine's Day -- as "Single Awareness Day."

For the gap-toothed Bama football fans whose only connection to the University of Alabama is the Walmart-bought "Roll Tide" T-shirt their momma gave them when they "graduated" from middle school (the rest of us refer to this as "dropping out"), the first letter in each of the words "Single Awareness Day" spells out the word: SAD.  Get it? No?  Well, might as well give your lips a rest and quit reading this post right here.  Oh, before you go, you might want to run over to Walmart this afternoon -- they got a "three-for" sale today for Valentine's roses, 99 National Championships T-shirts, and herbicide.

Seems to the Colonel's finely tuned sensibilities that Valentine's Day is more commercially hyped than Christmas these days.

Do you wonder, as does the Colonel, how long it will be before the thought police will decide that the word "Valentine" is politically incorrect?  After all, it's really Saint Valentine's Day.  The thought police have already discouraged and discarded any religious reference to the day; it can't be long until the day becomes "Heart Day."

Or, "Love Day."

Or, "Friendship Day."

Or, "I bought you these flowers at Walmart on the way home, what's for dinner, can we have sex Day"

The Colonel thinks his friend may have it right. It has become a SAD day.

It's a sad day when only one day of the year is dedicated to demonstrating your care for another.

It's a sad day when you demonstrate such low regard for the worth of that special someone that you think flowers and chocolate are the way to their heart.

It's a sad day when holidays are hijacked and ecumenicized into nothing more than bland commercial opportunities.

The Colonel isn't going to stand for it.

He's marching right now over to the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda's side and whispering into her ear his most heart-felt sweet nothing:

"Sweetthing, let's get outside and get the chores done."
   

Dog's Vomit

Okay, he'll admit it.  The Colonel is a huge hypocrite.

Look in the margin of the dictionary beside the word and you will see the Colonel's mug shot.

In fact, pick any one of the Ten Commandments, or any other of your favorite character flaws and the Colonel can quickly demonstrate or otherwise explain why he is the poster child for it's breakage or bearage, respectively.

It's not a particular point of pride, mind you.  But the Colonel is keenly aware that he is not God, and as such, not just a little imperfect, but completely imperfect.

The Colonel's only perfection is his complete imperfection.

He's broken every Commandment -- in thought, if not deed (but, most in deed) -- and is saved from God's great wrath only by God's great grace through His Son, Jesus.

But enough about the Colonel's good points.

The point of this post, toward which you no doubt have been leaning forward in eager anticipation, is the announcement of the Colonel's return to an accommodation with social media -- specifically, Facebook.

Not quite the return to sin warned about in scripture and referenced in the title of this post, but close enough to smell the stink.

In fact, upon his return to Facebook after a 13 month absence, the Colonel was nearly instantaneously repulsed by the jassackery which attended his digital break with his "friends" a year ago.

So, why return?

Well, the Colonel has family who live and communicate via Facebook and while they may not have missed him, he felt like he was missing out not seeing the candid photos, selfies, and meals about to be eaten which pass for artistic expressions of culture nowadays.

And, the Colonel has true "friends" he still cares about, whose candid photos, selfies, and meals about to be eaten must be accepted as a price of friendship.

And, finally, the Colonel has disciplined himself over the past 13 months to the point where he might just be mature enough to once again be trusted with the weapon of mass destruction that is social media.

And, really finally, how else are you gonna know when the Colonel has posted something on his blog?        

February Engagement

The Colonel begs the forgiveness of the throngs of you, who demonstrate a complete lack of nothing better to do with your time than to peruse sporadic posts hereon, for his prolonged failure to provide an update from the far foggy reaches of the rapidly decomposing grey matter lying in limpid pools in the crannied recesses of his cranium.

He's been busy. 

There's been the attention-demanding crescendo of seasons -- football, holiday, hunting -- to which to attend.  All of which have now ended satisfactorily for the Colonel.  He's seen better -- but, he's seen a heckuva lot worse.

At any rate, the best time of the year -- in the Colonel's not-so-humble opinion -- has passed, and the dreary, desultory, depressing despicable month of February has begun.

The Colonel hates February.

Historically, February has shown little love for the Colonel.

Rarely is there anything in the month of February that moves the needle on the Colonel's fun meter.

If there was any month through which the Colonel would gladly be placed in suspended animation in a sensory deprivation tank, it is this one.

Were there ever a referendum on the question whether to have the month expunged from the calendar and replaced by four weeks of mandatory 24/7 sleep, the Colonel would campaign door to door -- even in Alabama -- in favor of it's adoption.

The Colonel so detests February, that leap years make him considerably more cantankerous than normal.

The Colonel despises February with a seething hatred rivaling only the utter lack of esteem with which he holds Bama, LSU, the Taliban, and practitioners of infanticide. 

However, there is the occasional exception and this year the Colonel has exceptional news.

Son #2, heretofore confirmed bachelor, has, at the advanced age of thirty-four, decided to marry -- popping the question to his bride-to-be last weekend.

The Colonel and his bride-to-was, the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda, are very pleased.  

A June the 28th wedding is planned.

Good date.  No conflict with any sort of season between which the Colonel would have had to choose.