Welcome to the Realm™ - Version 5.0...
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Denizens, we’re once again praying for the Outer Northern Rim™, as Oklahoma City is going through another series of tornadoes.  (Moore is near there, too, so extra prayers will be needed.)

That is an order.  Thatisall™.

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This is beyond appalling!

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(sigh)

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The annual Memorial Day post is below the fold, as opposed to posting the link to the article in the Backyard™.

Also check out Denizen & fellow blogger Alan K. Henderson’s Memorial Day post here.

If you’re a veteran – either of a war long past or of one more recently waged – know that I and about 300,000,000 Americans are eternally in your debt.  Mere words cannot express the degree of gratitude which we possess for what you have done – and are now doing – for us here at home.  Therefore, two words alone will have to suffice:

Thank you.

What Is Memorial Day?
by LT Bobby Ross bobbyros@nashville.net

Reproduced with permission of the author

My years whirl past me. Swirling. Dry, broken grass hovering in a spring breeze. Can I remember my experiences in war? Hardly. Fighting for my country, my youth invested, seems such a long time ago, and so unimportant. The calendar this year marks Memorial Day on the 29th of May, 2000. Have I lost something? The traditional Memorial Day, also known as Decoration Day, is on the 30th of May. This observed Memorial Day on May 29th coincidentally allows for a national three day holiday. Such is commercialism’s capitalistic American display. But why do I feel so stricken, like I have abandoned old friends from long ago? Their ghosts consort with my floating years, and their spirits coast around my presence.

Another three day holiday! Memorial Day! Maybe me and the kids can go camping? Or, to the beach? Memorial Day is fun! This is the inconsiderate, thoughtless approach to this meaningful, and consecrated moment representing one three hundred and sixty-fifth of our year. What is the meaning of Memorial Day? Is it merely a three day escape from our worldly duties? Or, is it the official beginning of summer? Is selling more hot dogs at the ballpark the overriding clarification?

Many souls, sacrificed in war, in duty to America, are wandering. They drift in a heavenly place, minus their future here upon earth. Tomorrows were forfeited. Given up so our nation would invigorate free souls, aspire them to freedom, and justly allow their lives lived as they prefer. Raising offspring above restrictions, as they desire. Those lost lives giving we, the living, what we want freely. Those are the souls we respect on Memorial Day. This means it is a sacred day.

Without retrospect, sacrifice is mute. Old Glory does not wave by accident. It flutters in the spring air revealing honor. The color red represents the blood bloom from those who fell, those who clawed, those who cried in horrible pain. Those who died fast. And, those who died ever so slowly. They did their duty. When I see Old Glory waving on a sunny, end of May day, the pigment red gushes from millions of souls, floating, not with us, anymore. They are amongst our heroes, cajoling with angels with their champions, conquerors and commanders. Friends and loved ones gather, over the grave, witness to those who gave more than anyone should be required to relinquish. They did not want to yield. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and when the moment harshly struck them their fatal blow, they cried for their mother, or their friend. Then there were those, many of those, who knew exactly what they were giving. They moved forward knowingly. They lost their lives so their mission would be accomplished.

Fools! Some intellects can say that. One would have to be an imbecile to give up life, no matter what the cause. For a flag? Futile! For a country! More pointless! For freedom! What freedom is there in mortality? Yes, fools they may have been, but their numbers add up in an awesome display of American loss! Veterans’ Cemeteries, white badges sailing row after row after row upon green grass, almost never ending, creeping onto the horizon. Constant reminders of the devastation of our human treasure. Mothers’ tears, enough to fill an ocean to overflow. Sweethearts, broken hearted, reading telegrams. Sons and daughters, many unborn, wakening at birth to a devastated family suffering from a victim of war there no more. And what does all this macabre math equal? Memorial Day is the correct answer.

Few Americans know a person who died in war. Their family trees have lost some leaves, falling as they fought in one of America’s wars, or discarded in the peacetime military. We are a busy people. We have business to capture. Our kids are in school. We have chores. Mundane, or surrealistic. We are a spirited society, seeking applications to improve ourselves and our communities. We are a helpful populace, always there when the going gets tough to help those who have suffered the tragedies of nature, whether a hurricane or a famine. Americans are always the first on the scene worldwide bearing their gifts of human spirit and abundance. This is why it is so puzzling that the meaning of Memorial Day seems to lack substance to many of our own people. Even with the day itself. Put back to accommodate a holiday schedule fixed by some organism no one knows, yet powerful enough to do so, the day itself lacks consequence to too many. Many who never knew a person who died in service to America are wrought with the invisible pain of not feeling for those who do.

Americans take things for granted. We have so much. So very much. Endless choices. These options are not available worldwide. Our shelves are full. Unlike many in other nations of the world. So many are empty or offer very limited selections. Those American fighting men and women killed in battle whose souls are floating actually made available these wondrous choices we have every day of our American lives. Yet, most of our youngsters have no idea whatsoever what this means. They don’t learn this in school. We must teach them. For without knowledge, they may end up thinking, or believing, all these marvelous selections came without circumstance. Minus anything. Equaling no meaning.

Our nation needs to halt and perceive the flags and flowers on our Veterans graves on this consecrated holiday. We need to lift a common voice of adoration to those floating spirits of our onetime American Warriors, and extol them with a salutation. We have not come that far with our technological miracles of this millennium to become crass. We still need respect. Our backs can not turn from formality. Our eyes can not look away from custom. Our voices must not resonate in silence against honor and glory. To do so will leave us hollow, only to fill us with that which is desolate and lacking potential. This is not the true meaning of Memorial Day.

The heartfelt significance requires reminding. Story telling. Wisdom being passed on from our Veterans to our younger generations. An interpretation certified by those who remember the horrors of war. Without this core, our society can not remain genuine. It becomes contemptible. It rots from within. These floating souls of our lost American Warriors are a powerful force, for they live within our hearts. They constantly seek justification for their contributions, and they are real within us. Such is what our American substance stands for, where character is developed, individually is guaranteed, and a community, a nation, survives.

America enters the 21th Century as the most powerful entity humankind has ever experienced. America permeates this next century with vast responsibilities. Our children must bear this promise. We can not turn our backs on these bygone descendants, nor can we do so upon ourselves. Memorial Day offers us the opportunity to express a moment of solitude where each of us can personify in our own way what we feel. I only speak for my myself, as one who has bared his soul to the dread of war. So my father did, and his father’s father before him, and their souls float amongst the multitudes. My mother and her mother held their Veterans after they returned from war, tears streaming down their cheeks in gratitude for their safe return. And there were those in my ancestry who did not return from war. And their mothers’ tears soaked the pillows on beds for generations to sleep upon. Their souls are the dreams that drift amongst the floating, gathering at the end of May in the breeze of summer’s coming, in the cool glass of lemonade at the child’s street side stand, in the cheers at the ball game from the crowd rooting their team to victory and enjoying the best hot dogs in the world.

Let us all stop for a moment, whether it is on the traditional day, or the observed Memorial Day, or even at the end of May, and reach for those floating souls. Let us reveal to them how much we cherish their sacrifice for our free people. Let these memories harvest our recognition of the meaning of Memorial Day in a very simple wordy. And let that word, simply stated be: Thanks.

(copyrighted 2000)

(Permission to reproduce granted freely and unconditionally)

PEACE,
Bobby Ross

bobbyros@nashville.net

http://www.nashville.net/~bobbyros/webtv.html

medallion.webzine.cc

http://community-2.webtv.net/lanebrody/VETERANSDAYSPECIAL/

A-TRACKMUSIC.COM
11 Music Square East
Suite #501
Nashville, TN 37203

A Proud Supporter of FARM AID!
Office 615 244-8725
SPLASH 2000!

SALUTE TO AMERICAN VETERANS, THEIR FAMILIES AND FRIENDS ON
MEMORIAL DAY AND VETERANS DAY

SPLASH 2000!
AMERICAN VETERANS
OUR FREEDOM..OUR HISTORY..OUR FUTURE
AMERICA’S WAY OF LIFE!

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“…you’re a monster.”

And you’re a stupid-assed bee-yotch, “Emily”.

Seriously, Haverty’s?  You’ve got a psychotic bimboid as your spokes-trollop, and you think that’s gonna compel me to purchase your furniture?  Really???

Really???

Back to the drawing board for you fools.

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Y’know, Denizens, I would  tell the Fag Scouts of Amerika what they can do with themselves – that they can kiss my lily-white cracker ass & come suck my dick.

But I have the distinct feeling that that…is what those effeminate, sitzpinkling pussies that remain would like  to do.

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From: Realm HC

To: Realm CC, Southern Command CC

RE: Boy Scouts of America

Venomous and General, the Vicar recommends that should the Boy Scouts reverse their ban on open homosexual members and leaders, the Realm and Southern Command sever any and all relationships with the BSA.

Signed:

The Vicar

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[SCENE:  Deep inside that sector of the Fifth Intergalatic Realm™ known as the Southern Command.  Slow pan to a point about 140 degrees from the opening shot.

We then see a spatial displacement come into view.  The translucent shimmer becomes the faint outlines of an image, which then coalesces into an oversized, seemingly-upside-down Klingon Bird-of-Prey.

Cut to:  the bridge of the recently repaired ISS Pegasus, which has just decloaked someplace it was not previously known to be.]

VENOMOUS:  And that’s a problem, Narrator?

KORRIOTH:  Well, we usually file a flight plan with someone, y’know.

VENOMOUS:  Look, Bumpy, when I go on vacation, I don’t give a shit if anyone  know where I’m gonna be…

K’HADIBAK’H:  Uh, guys…

KORRIOTH:  …you know, so a certain Black Helicopter Fleet™ isn’t tempted to engage in…

[At that very moment, the bridge is rocked violently, back & forth.  Cut to previous external view, and the Bird-of-Prey is now surrounded by what seems to be four Husnock warships, each taking turns firing on Pegasus.

Cut back to Pegasus’  bridge.]

KORRIOTH:  …target practice.

K’HADIBAK’H:  Four warships, Admiral.  IDs… [Kha double-checks his board] …it’s the Black Helicopter Fleet™, sir.

T-BONE McMANX:  Admiral, we’re being hailed.

VENOMOUS (with a very  annoyed look on his face):  (sigh) On screen.

[On the viewscreen, space is replaced by a very familiar image.]

VENOMOUS:  Supreme General Rayegun.

RAYEGUN:  What did I tell you about coming through the Southern Command™ without proper permittage-ery?

VENOMOUS:  And what did I tell you about the Southern Command™ being part of my  Realm™?

[The Supreme General of the Realm™ renders what could only be described as a smart-assed smirk.]

RAYEGUN:  Damned straight, Narrator.

VENOMOUS:  I do  hope you’re enjoying your new toys, General.  Figures you’d hog ‘em all and not share…

RAYEGUN:  Funny you should mention that…

[Cut to external view.  Yet another spatial displacement shimmers & coalesces into a fifth Husnock battlecruiser.

Cut back to Pegasus’  viewscreen.

RAYEGUN:  Meet your new flagship, Admiral – ISS Vengeance.

[It's a Realm™ first:  Admiral Darth Venomous...is speechless.]

RAYEGUN:  What did I tell you, Korrioth?

KORRIOTH:  Five hundred credits on their way, General.

VENOMOUS:  Wait.  You had a bet  on this…?

[Rayegun & Korrioth look away & adopt feral grins as we fade to black...]

IN THE SOUTHERN COMMAND – She had been christened Excelsior II.

That was before I got it out on Texas State Highway 130.  (For the Uninitiated™, that’s the Austin-to-San Antonio toll road, where the speed limits run up to 85.  Not that anyone ever observes them…heh…heh…heh…)

This car makes the original Excelsior  feel like driving my old Cavalier.

Damn.  Just, damn

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SAN ANTONIO – (Actually, I probably got it right the first time.)

As I’m sure you know by now, Denizens, the Outer Northern Rim of the Realm™ (aka Oklahoma City) was blasted yesterday, and we here are praying for the missing and the survivors & their families.

At least, those of us with a bare minimum of some semblance of humanity are.  Others…well, not so much.

The mile-wide tornado that destroyed Moore, Okla., and leveled at least two elementary schools was still weaving a path of devastation when Daily Show co-creator Lizz Winstead thought up a funny. Too soon?

With all respect due, Twitchy owner Malicious Malkin…never  would be too fucking soon.  And I guess you and the rest of the Twitched-ass douchbags over there think it’s okay, now that this waste of oxygen has “apologized”.

Made a political joke, Twas before devastation revealed. In hindsight, had I understood, I would have refrained. Beyond sorry. #LetMeHaveIt

Believe me, bitch, you wouldn’t like it very much if I “let [you] have it”.

Trust me on that.

Asswipe. 

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SAN ANTONIO – (Hat tip:  the kind folks at ReaganCoalition.com.)

Looks like my estimation of the Philthydelphia Beagles is going to have to go up a few notches.

Admittedly, the first words that come to mind when on thinks of the Philadelphia Eagles are not “class” or “appropriate.” And that mostly applies to their fans. But it seems the Iggles fans’ antics are rubbing off on their on-field idols, if offensive guard Evan Mathis’ Instagram photo from earlier this week is to be believed.

Mathis, an eight-year NFL veteran, posted a photo of himself standing outside the Internal Revenue Service’s headquarters at Pennsylvania Avenue and 12th Street NW in a position suggesting that he was urinating on the building’s signage. He tweeted out the image with the caption, “Audit this.”

Hell, any more like him, and we may  just have to add the Iggles to the PFW… 

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Those of you who have read me for any  length of time – well, you probably knew it was coming all along, didn’t you? – but you know damned well what this is.

For now, click the link.  Go ahead.  Click it.  I effin’ dare  you.

And turn it up.  Waaaaaay  up.    )

That’s right, sportz fanz:  It’s vacation time for His Rudeness™.  A chance to Get Away From It All™, as it were.

This year, Mrs. Venomous & I are traveling Purt’Near™ to the Southern Command, “down aroun’ San Antone”, as the Doobie Brothers are wont to say.  Mrs. Venomous wants to see the Alamo.

MRS. VENOMOUS:  Along with other  stuff…right, sweetie…???

VENOMOUS

Vicar, General – you guys have the conn.  General…when you’re done chlorinating the gene pool of Twinkie-hating union goons down there in the Southern Command™, could I borrow another squadron of those black helicopters…? 

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One.

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Two.

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Three.

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