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  • God, the panic within the Dems, MSM, and left must be horrifying...realizing that Joe is really the best they've got.

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    • Dwight D. Eisenhower

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      • ^

        hear hear
        http://thailandchatter.com/showthrea...ll=1#post45112

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        • God, the panic within the Dems, MSM, and left must be horrifying...realizing that Joe is really the best they've got.

          Comment


          • God, the panic within the Dems, MSM, and left must be horrifying...realizing that Joe is really the best they've got.

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            • Wole Soyinka, Climate of Fear: The Quest for Dignity in a Dehumanized World

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              • God, the panic within the Dems, MSM, and left must be horrifying...realizing that Joe is really the best they've got.

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                • Carlos Castaneda, The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge

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                  • God, the panic within the Dems, MSM, and left must be horrifying...realizing that Joe is really the best they've got.

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                    • Herman Melville, Moby-Dick or, The Whale

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                      • God, the panic within the Dems, MSM, and left must be horrifying...realizing that Joe is really the best they've got.

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                          • Moscow Rules
                            via the International Spy Museum

                            Assume nothing.

                            Never go against your gut.

                            Everyone is potentially under opposition control.

                            Don't look back; you are never completely alone.

                            Go with the flow, blend in.

                            Vary your pattern and stay within your cover.

                            Lull them into a sense of complacency.

                            Don't harass the opposition.

                            Pick the time and place for action.

                            Keep your options open.
                            God, the panic within the Dems, MSM, and left must be horrifying...realizing that Joe is really the best they've got.

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                            • James A. Michener, The Drifters

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                              • Mandalay

                                By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea,
                                There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
                                For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
                                "Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"
                                Come you back to Mandalay,
                                Where the old Flotilla lay:
                                Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
                                On the road to Mandalay,
                                Where the flyin'-fishes play,
                                An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!

                                'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,
                                An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat -- jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
                                An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
                                An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:
                                Bloomin' idol made o'mud --
                                Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd --
                                Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!
                                On the road to Mandalay . . .

                                When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,
                                She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla-lo-lo!"
                                With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin' my cheek
                                We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.
                                Elephints a-pilin' teak
                                In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
                                Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!
                                On the road to Mandalay . . .

                                But that's all shove be'ind me -- long ago an' fur away,
                                An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay;
                                An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
                                "If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else."
                                No! you won't 'eed nothin' else
                                But them spicy garlic smells,
                                An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells;
                                On the road to Mandalay . . .

                                I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,
                                An' the blasted English drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
                                Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
                                An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?
                                Beefy face an' grubby 'and --
                                Law! wot do they understand?
                                I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
                                On the road to Mandalay . . .

                                Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
                                Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;
                                For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be --
                                By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
                                On the road to Mandalay,
                                Where the old Flotilla lay,
                                With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
                                On the road to Mandalay,
                                Where the flyin'-fishes play,
                                An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!

                                Rudyard Kipling
                                God, the panic within the Dems, MSM, and left must be horrifying...realizing that Joe is really the best they've got.

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