The Boston Tea Party
March 26, 2009
The Boston Tea Party was an act of revolution and done right in the Brits faces, and cost THEM money. Everybody in this country that is angry at Obama’s Buck Fever with a pen that has resulted in CEO’s getting millions of dollars are missing the point completely. Throwing your own tea in a river costs yourself money and few people see it. Sending a teabag in a letter to the white house, 1600 Pennsylavania Ave. Washington D.C., 20500, is more than just throwing your own tea bag away. Already the Post office is saying they won’t accept letters with tea bags in them because they will mess up the mail machines- Bullshit. I worked in a post office installing automated mail lines. Nobody can open a letter without having all kinds of supervisors there and the very idea that someone could be sending poison or drugs is what will slow them up. Men in full airtight body suits logging each letter and opening each letter and having to test for poisons, finding them clean, and having to mail them anyway- that’s a logjam and a half. If you just put a tag in the envelope the same thing will have to happen but it will happen in Washington. Doing it on the last two weeks of tax returns going in will swamp the post offices. Put loose tea in with powderred sugar so he can drink it sweet. Bonuses aren’t the point at all. AIG alone has sent over $1,000,000,000 to RED CHINA. Obama has set up welfare offices for the third world countries and even Egypt who votes consistantly against us at the UN. Her’es a conversation from one freind.
BOB
OBOMA SUCKS ! @#$
excuse his spelling and read my answer
My Command
March 13, 2009
There seems to be some confusion on the part of some people on the attributes of just what constitutes combat while serveing in the military. Is it all blood and guts, mano e’ mano, fixed bayonets, hand to hand, EVERYTHING blowing up all at once, hiding in a hole, running up or down a hill, digging in, moveing out, or is there a grey area there. Something in the complexities of getting ready for all of that. Different kinds of fighting. Fighting to hold it in. Recon to find a placid place to vent ones rectum or as in Vietnam learning to piss in front of God and everybody. Men, women, kids, and dogs- in public view- along the roadside with old hags and pretty young ladies in lovely oriental dress cackleing and pointing at your white little penis while your bladder burns to empty and their laughter at the funny new American that just can’t piss in public. They can. Their pants are wide legged enough to pull the leg of them all the way up and over their wet spots so that the diminutive THEY can unrinate in public on the side of a bunker or a tree standing up. No western hangups about body functions there. Eventually I get mad enough to fight. Damn this horshit on a full bladder. After several more hours and several more trips to the pisstube I win. Damn the torpedoes full speed ahead to the devil with their laughing smirking eyes take this you oriental devils, I find relief. After a week or so the battle is over and the ladies no longer laugh because they have won and my all American shy bladder is a thing of the past. I have had my bladder turned oriental.
Unfortunately THAT is the only spot designated for us to piss at.
Why did some asshole wrap a piece of tin halfway around the pisstube that only comes up to my knees?
This IS a form of traumatic bladder stress.
Only once after returning home to the world does my Vietnamized bladder find a usefulness. Over there they won. In Louissianna at the downtown office of an oilfield company I worked for when the pretty and sarchastic smirking secretary explained that the “Employees Only” bathroom didn’t mean my lowly type of employee (One that actually worked offshore). She was forceing my paycheck hunting beerdrinking self out into a toiletless parcel of the asphalt jungle. In America my Vietnamized bladder wins because I can’t use a smirking ladie guarded toilet. I have the bladder of a sapper that has infiltrated into a Kamakaze area behind enemy lines.
The employees toilet I cannot use is unfortunately the only spot.
When she leaves her office today she will think the roof leaks until
she remembers me and the fact it isn’t raining. There is a giant puddle behind me in the desserted hall when I leave. Twice now my little white laughed at penis has stopped a pretty girl or girls from laughing at it. I deny all culpability. It is bad luck to fuck with a flaccid little white penis. It has a mind of its own and only can do two things. The pretty oriental ladies think of it as something that I only urinate with.
The pretty young American lady thinks I won’t urinate with it.
The pretty young American lady will never let me do anything else with it either. She wants a man that doesn’t use it to piss thru as that’s disgusting. She uses a bar of soap and water, shampoo and a half an Oz. of perfume to cover up the fact that on occassion she takes the most beautiful thing in the world, and pisses thru it. The basis of all connivery, or at the least the beginning of it.