tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86980134079341103452012-02-16T04:57:03.453-08:00THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.comBlogger721100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-81294130828837298812009-01-28T13:56:00.001-08:002009-01-28T14:00:56.485-08:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SYDVV_QabKI/AAAAAAAAAWY/BkCgFOmCRfE/s1600-h/TASS-13.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296467735521946786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 291px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SYDVV_QabKI/AAAAAAAAAWY/BkCgFOmCRfE/s400/TASS-13.jpg" border="0" /></a> There's a little RIFLEMAN in all of us.<br /><div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-8129413082883729881?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-20785618170087215712008-11-27T08:00:00.000-08:002008-11-27T08:00:00.882-08:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SS3Sq75P5RI/AAAAAAAAAWE/wFlENL49A6I/s1600-h/bush-1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273102373794866450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 313px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SS3Sq75P5RI/AAAAAAAAAWE/wFlENL49A6I/s400/bush-1.jpg" border="0" /></a> <div>Much like the turkey, this lame duck's days are numbered.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-2078561817008721571?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-74355590358169175812008-11-25T05:48:00.000-08:002008-11-25T05:53:38.278-08:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SSwC4XVOFuI/AAAAAAAAAV8/EKiDAHcUgek/s1600-h/obama+hat.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272592431102957282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 338px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SSwC4XVOFuI/AAAAAAAAAV8/EKiDAHcUgek/s400/obama+hat.jpg" border="0" /></a> Remember, Mr. President-elect, there's only one Rifleman at a time.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-7435559035816917581?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-64014304776339044402008-11-21T06:18:00.000-08:002008-11-22T13:54:04.283-08:00<em>MR. FREEDOM</em><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200224581993722978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SCrotJH9dGI/AAAAAAAAANY/ezuLVPJQSo0/s320/mrfreedom2.bmp" border="0" /><br />Life gets pretty lonely out here on the range. Seldom anyone to talk to, much less any kind of entertainment. That's why I was so delighted when I recently discovered a parcel from an old trail mate in the post. Inside, <a href="http://criterion.com/asp/boxed_set.asp?id=2000900">The Delirious Fictions of William Klein</a>. The fine folks at <a href="http://www.criterion.com/eclipse/">Eclipse</a> have released a boxed set containing the three fiction films of noted shutterbug and expat filmmaker William Klein. All of ‘em are worth a watch. But my favorite by far is <em>Mr. Freedom,</em> Klein’s ferocious satire of American foreign policy in the 1960s (and, by extension, the 1980s and the early 2000s). <br /><br />It’s impossible not to laugh at the wild, amped-up buffoonery as uber-American superhero Mr. Freedom becomes a one-man occupying force to rid France from the red Commie scourge. But every laugh comes with an uncomfortable pang of recognition. One can’t help but see George W. Bush as the titular red, white, and blue clad bubba, his unhealthy idealistic balance of jingoism and xenophobia threatening to destroy everything he professes to defend.<br /><br />In this so-called year of change, Klein's poisonous cynicism is almost enough to knock the idealism right out of you by bolstering the distressing old adage "the more things change, the more they stay the same." In four decades, it’s only the style and not the substance of <em>Mr. Freedom </em>that has aged. Its trenchant humor remains thoroughly current. While recent events suggest that America just had a collective laugh at Mr. Freedom in all his incarnations, I'm pretty sure Klein, like me, is a "see-it-to-believe-it" kind of guy.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-6401430477633904440?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-36556094316933179992008-11-05T09:40:00.000-08:002008-11-05T09:57:23.220-08:00<p align="center"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/lZ_XwLSN45I&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/lZ_XwLSN45I&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />Come gather 'round people<br />Wherever you roam<br />And admit that the waters<br />Around you have grown<br />And accept it that soon<br />You'll be drenched to the bone.<br />If your time to you<br />Is worth savin'<br />Then you better start swimmin'<br />Or you'll sink like a stone</p><p align="center">For the times they are a-changin'.</p><p align="center">Come writers and critics<br />Who prophesize with your pen<br />And keep your eyes wide<br />The chance won't come again<br />And don't speak too soon<br />For the wheel's still in spin<br />And there's no tellin' who<br />That it's namin'.<br />For the loser now<br />Will be later to win</p><p align="center">For the times they are a-changin'.</p><p align="center">Come senators, congressmen<br />Please heed the call<br />Don't stand in the doorway<br />Don't block up the hall<br />For he that gets hurt<br />Will be he who has stalled<br />There's a battle outside<br />And it is ragin'.<br />It'll soon shake your windows<br />And rattle your walls</p><p align="center">For the times they are a-changin'.</p><p align="center">Come mothers and fathers<br />Throughout the land<br />And don't criticize<br />What you can't understand<br />Your sons and your daughters<br />Are beyond your command<br />Your old road is<br />Rapidly agin'.<br />Please get out of the new one<br />If you can't lend your hand</p><p align="center">For the times they are a-changin'.</p><p align="center">The line it is drawn<br />The curse it is cast<br />The slow one now<br />Will later be fast<br />As the present now<br />Will later be past<br />The order is<br />Rapidly fadin'.<br />And the first one now<br />Will later be last</p><p align="center">For the times they are a-changin'.</p><p align="center"></p><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-3655609431693317999?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-81821537029822992022008-11-04T05:57:00.000-08:002008-11-04T06:00:21.516-08:00The sun may rise in the east, but it sets in the west. That’s where I spend most of my time, and I’ve been privy to more than my fair share of staggering sunsets. Yesterday, as I watched that blood red ball of fire once more melt the sky before descending into slumber, I realized that I’ve been waiting to see that sunset for a long, long time. And in all my years, I’ve never been so nervous to see a sunrise as I am this morning.<br /><br />Yet there it is, a pale yellow sliver peaking over the distant hills. The sun is rising in America once again. <br /><br />Wake up, fellow rangers. There’s work to do today.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-8182153702982299202?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-42862655978768225462008-11-03T06:39:00.000-08:002008-11-03T06:51:11.611-08:00<object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/wUT1WgHat6I&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/wUT1WgHat6I&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-4286265597876822546?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-56752033053118092712008-10-31T07:35:00.000-07:002008-10-31T07:39:51.210-07:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SQsYSk6sM4I/AAAAAAAAAPw/R_G5uktDf6Q/s1600-h/Palin+-+Wannabe+Rifleman.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263327296939111298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 233px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SQsYSk6sM4I/AAAAAAAAAPw/R_G5uktDf6Q/s400/Palin+-+Wannabe+Rifleman.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><div></div>She doesn't have enough ammo to bag that moose.<br /><div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-5675203305311809271?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-71317653094098887842008-10-29T07:27:00.000-07:002008-10-29T07:59:30.954-07:00<em>De-Ranged Ramblings</em><br /><br />Sometimes you need a little time away. A change of scene. Folks call it a “vacation.” It’s a time-honored concept that’s been around for at least a couple of millennia. The Romans called it <em>vacatio</em>. For them, it meant taking a much-deserved break from the scuffling, battling, slaughtering, scraping, and raping that the job of empire expanding demanded. More recently, the term has come to describe any length of time away from the soul crushing 2,250+ hour-a-year societal obligation that most people call their “career.” Coincidentally, career is another word adapted from Latin – <em>carrus</em> - though how a word meaning “wagon” got tangled up in the bizarre concept of performing a task in exchange for paper that represents the value of shiny rocks and must be traded in exchange for food and shelter is truly beyond me. Somehow in those intervening eons we never quite figured out a way to make our <em>carrus vacatio</em> and our <em>vacatio carrus</em>. And that, fellow rangers, is the failure of the human experiment.<br /><br />But that’s a long, twisty road through tough terrain and perhaps it’s best we don’t start down it just now. Society is what it is, and I honestly wish I could say I had a proper vacation in the last few weeks. Instead, I spent a little time in a fusty county jail and a little more time in the torrid swamps of the way-down South, and while these two locales seldom top lists of ideal vacation destinations, they afforded yours truly a much-needed vacation of the mind. <br /><br />This takes us back to last month. I was burned out and suffering from one of those nasty political hangovers. You hear many people say that politics is a drug, and I tend to agree. But it’s not an illegal smack-type high that gets its addicts off. Most political junkies I know are much more akin to alcoholics…suffering that long, slow kind of addiction that everyone knows you have but no one confronts you about. It slowly eats you from the inside out, leaving you bloated and broke and your family alone to pick up the pieces after the disease finally gets the best of you. <br /><br />It got the best of me on September the Fourth. Two and a half days of treading water in a wallowing sea of political poison called the Republican National Committee left me a panting, slobbering wreck. Add that frame of mind to the thousands of slicked-back Republican pols in ill-fitting suits and thousands more uniformed police looking for an excuse to crack down and lock up any babbling sore thumb wandering amongst the herd and you’ve got yourself a particularly toxic recipe. One that landed me stone sober in a Ramsey County drunk tank on a charge of disorderly conduct.<br /><br />I’m not about to waste your time reliving the whole incident. But suffice it to say it involved what I thought to be a harmless joke about John McCain, an Alaskan moose, and the campaign motto “Country First.” Don’t let the ill-fitting suits fool you; some of those GOP delegates can scrap. They treat fisticuffs like campaigns…the fuckers fight dirty.<br /><br />It’d be difficult to call being corralled overnight with a bunch of boozy, sweat-drenched Midwesterners a blessing in disguise, but it did allow me to miss the Gov. Palin’s speech at the convention. And I’m deeply grateful that I missed her heralding as the Messiah of the GOP the next morning. I was otherwise occupied, staring at the white painted brick wall, listening to one of my cell mates get sick all over himself, and doing some serious soul searching.<br /><br />When they finally let me out my pen at six o’clock that next evening, I was pretty sure that St. Paul had had enough of me. And I’d certainly had enough of St. Paul. I hit the road before John McCain even accepted the nomination. Spent the next few weeks in the South - Dothan, Alabama and Macon, Georgia to be precise - trying to polish off another of those personal portraits I started <a href="http://notesfromtherange.blogspot.com/2008/06/fish-tale.html">a while back</a>.<br /><br />While I was out of pocket, I missed all the big news. The biggest, perhaps, was when an ever so humble Hank Paulson reached out his grimy paw and begged for money like a Wall Street urchin. He and the rest the riverboat gamblers in the Bush administration have been riding high, making huge bets on credit and conning average Americans of below-average intelligence that they could live well beyond their means. These people made the mistake of trusting the suits, something I’ve sworn never to do. I keep most of my money buried off the Natchez Trail in a location known only by me and my trusted compadre, Blevins. People used to laugh at me when I told them I buried my money. I told ‘em I rather do it myself than have others do it for me.<br /><br />The one thing I wish I wouldn’t have missed was Sarah Palin’s epic descent. Once the scripted words were removed from her mouth and she had to produce a few of her own, she revealed herself as a wifty walking stereotype whose deep-seated incuriosity and disdain for book learning made her much more akin to a George W. in red lipstick than the pistol packin’ Reagan-in-a-skirt her handlers posited her to be. When McCain went down to the crossroads and made that deal to become President, I don’t think he realized that even Satan couldn’t handle four more years of this hell. <br /><br />That’s just what it is and just what it’s been. Hell. I travel all over this wide, open range. And the one thing I can’t help but notice is that people everywhere are tired and weary, beat down for eight long years by this sick-headed <a href="http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2008/01/18/us/18bush.600.jpg">band of thieves </a>that ran roughshod over their American Dream. Eight long years of corruption and lies. Eight long years of war-waging and money grubbing. Eight long years that we’ll pay for in perpetuity…the rest of my lifetime, the rest of your lifetime, your children and your children’s children’s lifetimes. Over and over for eternity. That is Hell…the lasting legacy of George W. Bush.<br /><br />With their American Dream trampled dead in the gutter and everything they’ve worked a lifetime to build crumbling around them, all Americans have left is hope. Hope is the one thing the bastards can’t take away or destroy. The hope that things will change for the better. The hope to one day have the luxury of dreaming again. <br /><br />I think it's fair to say we need a vacation.<br /><br />As we close in on what will no doubt be a very close and hotly contested election, I find strength in the words of the great young soul singer Sam Cooke:<br /><br /><em>There've been times that I've thought I couldn't last for long<br />But now I think I'm able to carry on<br />It's been a long, a long time coming<br />But I know a change is gonna come</em><br /><br /><em>Oh yes it will.</em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-7131765309409888784?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-72233045354874234812008-09-03T17:09:00.000-07:002008-09-03T18:19:03.718-07:00<em>The Elephant Strikes Back</em><br /><br />It seems the Republican Party doesn’t like to have their dirty laundry aired in public. They’d like to keep their dirty little secrets just that - dirty, little, and secret. Can't say as I blame 'em. Could be they don't like people prying into other's private lives<a title="" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1" href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8698013407934110345#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a>. Or could be they're not keen on looking like a criminal gang of hypocrites. But hey, isn't this the party of Harding, Hoover, Nixon, Reagan, and W? I say it's common knowledge by this point.<br /><br />Perhaps I should have waited to post my first dispatch until after the convention. Or maybe I should be grateful that my spurious press pass was revoked. It saved me from the bitter struggle of attempting to stay upright and awake during a triple threat onslaught of George W. Bush, Jumping Joe Lieberman, and Fred Thompson. Any one of 'em serves up a heavyweight bout of boredom. All three in quick succession could very well be fatal.<br /><br />I ended up watching the speeches on TV in a local sport's bar, Malina’s, a scene of much local interest in recent weeks. Seems a young patron started trouble with the wrong guy and ended up with a shiv in his gullet. Nobody’s been arrested, the cops suspect the regulars are protecting one of their own. Happens all the time on the Range. C'est la vie. My advice: don't kick shit you can't carry.<br /><br />Malina’s was the closest thing I could get to a sense of danger in a town that’s more locked down than Leavenworth. And even that was weak by most standards. Had I yelled out my support for Obama, I would have had to fight my way out of there. I decided to keep my mouth shut and bellied up to the bar, praying for CSPAN. I got FOX NEWS, and quickly realized that a bar is not just the best place to <em>enjoy</em> a Republican Convention, it's the ONLY place.<br /><br />I got into it pretty good. So much so that I was able to laugh at that lame duck when he quacked about the "angry left" with his trademark murderous contempt. By the time "Traitor Joe" took the stage, I was less focused on his "maverick blah blah blah" than I was on his shocking resemblance to <a href="http://blog.kevinmeltzer.com/archives/droopy.jpg">Droopy</a>. Juvenile, I know, but so is the whole Republican political agenda. And maybe it was <a href="http://www.milbestlight.com/home.aspx">the Beast</a> playing tricks on me, but I swear to God when I closed my eyes during the Fred Thompson speech, I thought that TV's Dr. Phil was addressing the rabid Republican hoard.<br /><br />Another cheap smile, perhaps, but one much needed in a world where a McCain-Palin ticket is considered anything more than the whispy death throe of a once-powerful tyrant.<br /><br />_________________________________________________<br /><a title="" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1" href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8698013407934110345#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> Except, of course, in public policy that dictates Governmental involvement in a woman’s most private decision and a gay couple’s civil rights.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-7223304535487423481?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-76204183985065161982008-09-02T11:43:00.000-07:002008-09-03T09:32:12.808-07:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SL3jsd-LGEI/AAAAAAAAAPo/jrYNsDXKwPY/s1600-h/lb+-+convention.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241595894428276802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SL3jsd-LGEI/AAAAAAAAAPo/jrYNsDXKwPY/s200/lb+-+convention.jpg" border="0" /></a>There’s a dangerous air in St. Paul. I’m not talking about chemical leaks from the local 3M plant, I’m talking about a sickening nervous energy that’s pulsing through “America’s most livable city.” It’s my first day at the RNC, and despite the fact that I saw a female journalist dragged Cro-Magnon style by the cops; this is far from a conventional GOP convention.<br /><br />New York in 04 was the real deal. In a previous dispatch, I talked about the GOPoPPP, and the Manhattan convention was the ultimate expression of the “say one thing/do another” social club. Take, for example, <em>Club Liberal</em><a title="" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1" href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=8698013407934110345&amp;postID=7620418398506516198#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a>, a once-respectable Midtown hangout transformed by party officials into the definitive late night right-wing fetishfest. After hours of speeches about family values and morals all peppered with racism and a not-so-healthy dose of gay-panic, young male wonks could retire to the Bacchanalian backrooms of <em>Club Liberal</em> and indulge in every "sinful" behavior they spent all day protecting America from. Drugs, sex, violence. Stick your prick into one of those holes in the wall…someone will be there to suck it. Have to take a piss? Retire to one of the restroom’s infamous “shower stalls.” So many images remain burned in my brain to this day, but by far the most sickening was the main event on night two…<em>Sticking it to the Big Apple</em>. The “Big Apple” in question was an overweight Puerto Rican prostitute in a too-tight, crotchless red teddy. I’ll leave it your imagination how many times she had it “stuck to her,” but I think it’s safe to say she didn’t walk home that night. <em>Club Liberal</em> was far crazier than the Limelight at its heyday, far more sinister too…a surreal experience made all the more surreal by the knowledge that these guys were aspiring right wing power brokers by day.<br /><br /><div><div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>There’s nothing like <em>Club Liberal</em> this year in St. Paul. Nothing I’ve been able to weasel my way into, at least. But I was able to weasel my way into the Xcel Energy Center to witness First Lady Laura Bush’s speech. Less than four minutes by my watch, and nearly every second of it devoted to the Gulf Coast and the Hurricane. The line that struck me to the core: “our first prioty now, <em>today</em>, is to ensure the safety and the well being of those living in the Gulf Coast region.” There was plenty of respectful applause, and I was pretty sure that at least ninety percent of the audience missed the horrible irony of that statement...something more despicable than any of the goings-on at <em>Club Liberal</em>. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>_________________________________________________<br /><a title="" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1" href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=8698013407934110345&amp;postID=7620418398506516198#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> The name of the real place has been changed to protect the guilty.</div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-7620418398506516198?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-35117739274170938302008-08-30T16:20:00.000-07:002008-08-30T16:20:00.726-07:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SLiFugkbXDI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/-Utol42nGbM/s1600-h/TASS-17.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5240085200508771378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SLiFugkbXDI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/-Utol42nGbM/s400/TASS-17.jpg" border="0" /></a> There's a little RIFLEMAN in all of us.<br /><div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-3511773927417093830?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-52735310709866497022008-08-29T13:25:00.000-07:002008-08-29T13:37:39.802-07:00<em>Just what do you give an opposing campaign that has everything?</em><br /><em></em><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5240039781776696386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SLhcaym3JEI/AAAAAAAAAPI/B93IdV914NQ/s320/palin.jpg" border="0" />The response from the Obama-Biden camp: "Thank you, Johnny. You shouldn't have."<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-5273531070986649702?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-56796808212672543052008-08-29T10:08:00.000-07:002008-08-29T10:10:50.695-07:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SLgtWj79tDI/AAAAAAAAAO4/iL8zNrvamgw/s1600-h/mccain+-+old.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239988032072692786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SLgtWj79tDI/AAAAAAAAAO4/iL8zNrvamgw/s400/mccain+-+old.jpg" border="0" /></a> <div>You don't look a day over 83.</div><div> </div><div>Your Friend,</div><div> </div><div>The Rifleman</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-5679680821267254305?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-12435329676087676062008-08-29T07:55:00.000-07:002008-08-29T08:13:09.642-07:00They say politics is local. So you’d better believe I was hunkered down in Denver this past week as that great blue tidal wave crashed down upon the mile high city. I was planning on sending a series of dispatches as the Democratic Convention progressed. After my first minute-and-a-half inside the Pepsi Dome<a title="" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1" href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8698013407934110345#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a>, I scratched that idea. I make this personal pledge to you, my dear readers, the day you see within these pages my in-depth coverage of a Mark Warner speech is the very day I turn my own rifle on myself.<br /><br />As a rule, political conventions are dead dull. Especially those held by the Democrats. I hate to say this, but if you’re looking to get down and dirty, you don’t chase the liberal donkey, you follow the path of the raging red elephant. The Republican Party has long been a “do as I say, not as I do” in-crowd. Those in the know call it the GOPoPPP – the Grand Ole Party of Perverts, Pederasts, and Panty-sniffers. Nothing at a Dem Convention can come close to the Gomorrahan depths of depravity that pass for status quo at the Republican bash. Yet on that base level, this Denver convention will always be about that curly haired young lady with a different Holly Golightly dress for every night of the week. If you’re reading this, Shelley, we’ll always have the RFK Memorial.<br /><br />But I digress. Back to the boredom. The DNC – the convention of <em>Green</em>peace, not <em>golden</em> showers. The floor of the Pepsi Center was littered each day with a bunch of young policy wonks, sporting their bad haircuts and ill-fitting suits, talk-talk-talking about everything yet acting upon nothing. They’re tomorrow’s pols in training. It’s hard to fault them. After all, it’s the way of nature. These wonks are not unlike any other ape…obeying the rules of society as defined and directed by the silverbacks that came before them.<br /><br />Of course, this is a different kind of convention for a different kind of candidate. And as such, there were only two seismic events that registered this as a “change” convention. The first, the speech of Sen. Hillary Clinton. Hillary, a silverback Dem if ever there was one, finally did the right thing. Realizing a Darwinian shift has occurred in her party, she willingly conceded to the next evolution of Democrat. And she did it with aplomb. It was not only the most important speech of her political career, it was her finest.<br /><br />As expected, the most important event of the convention was the acceptance speech of Sen. Barack Obama. Standing there, at the 30-yard line at Mile High Stadium, I was moved by the furious sense of desperation throughout the house. These people need Obama like the air they breathe, and I’d be willing to wager that sense of necessity resonated throughout the country. Finally, a Democrat stood up against the Rove cabal and held a mirror to the gruesome, disfigured policies and tactics that have torn this country to pieces in the past decade. What’s more, Obama stood strong, proud, and ready to lead. For the first time, I felt his election was inevitable. Old McCain might as well give up the ghost, because change is coming to Washington.<br /><br />On the way out of Invesco, I bumped into Pat Buchanan, a former Nixon speechwriter and Presidential hopeful who now sells his punditry to MSNBC. He commented that he liked my hat. Thanks Pat, but what do you think about Obama?<br /><br />“I think the Rove era has finally met its end.”<br /><br />I agree with Buchanan. It was only a matter of time. Karl Rove is a power broker, not a patriot. And in times like these, it takes a patriot. For more than once, the flame of America’s promise has nearly been extinguished. And in those last flickering moments, when the glow has just about gone gray, a true leader has always risen to the challenge, by luck or by destiny, to breathe oxygen onto the embers and nurse the flame back to life. Abraham Lincoln was one such man. Franklin D. Roosevelt, another. Tonight, Barack Obama didn’t just blow air on the embers, he poured gasoline on the mother fucker! In doing so, he renewed the very definition of patriotism, snatching it back from the withered, dying grasp of the GOP who once wielded the word like a blunt instrument.<br /><br />It was a night of historic significance. Forty-five years after Dr. King spoke of his dream, an African American man stood on stage to accept his party’s nomination for President of the United States. Obama represents a change that runs far deeper than the reversal of George W. Bush’s failed policies. He represents the first small step toward the colorblind ideal that King died dreaming about. I've said it before and I'll say it again - America needs Barack Obama.<br /><br />In the coming weeks, I’m sure my enthusiasm will subside as I watch John McCain attack like a stubborn old soldier, performing the same Rove-era divide/conquer strategies to paint Obama as a dangerous threat to the status quo. But in these moments, let’s not forget that it is the status quo itself that threatens. In this moment, to quote the great change candidate of the last century, “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”<br /><br />Good night, Denver. Good night, America. Tomorrow I ride for Minneapolis/St. Paul.<br /><br /><br />__________________________________________<br /><a title="" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1" href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8698013407934110345#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> A political convention with “brought to you buy” corporate sponsorship…hardly a solid signifier of change we can believe in.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-1243532967608767606?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-50888939863927113892008-08-12T09:52:00.000-07:002008-08-15T17:19:21.342-07:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SKYYo6C0ViI/AAAAAAAAAOw/FPYeEzjD_50/s1600-h/hill_obama_bill.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234898707919689250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SKYYo6C0ViI/AAAAAAAAAOw/FPYeEzjD_50/s400/hill_obama_bill.jpg" border="0" /></a>With Mark Penn's recent praise for McCain's desperate attack-ad campaign, Bill's decision to speak at the DNC, and Hillary's assertion that her delegates should be counted, one can't help but wonder if we're in for a Clintonian coup d'état. I hope all those happy delegates pack their ponchos, because I think they may be in for a bloodbath.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-5088893986392711389?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-4855843037752245412008-08-07T11:55:00.000-07:002008-08-07T17:31:59.095-07:00<em>The US Military's New Strategy for Affordable Housing<br /></em><br />US families suffering the gut-twisting blow of foreclosure need worry no longer. The US Military, with the assistance of the Bush Administration, has unveiled a new strategy for affordable housing. Called "segregation boxes," the lightweight, mobile wooden homes are currently all the rage in Iraq. There, hundreds of young men have been able to stretch out and relax in the lushly apointed, personally customized 3x3x6 foot residences.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231851460705092162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SJtFLxjvgkI/AAAAAAAAAOo/UfcsvYYDXHM/s320/segregation+boxes.jpg" border="0" /><br />Based on their success in the Mid-East, demand for segregation boxes is growing here on the home front. Four segreation boxes cost less than an average monthly mortgage payment, meaning an average American family can now live cleanly, humanely, and best of all, cheaply. It's another of the Bush Administration's sweeping initiatives to ease the nation's current economic woes.<br /><br />Those of you interested in purchasing your own segregation boxes can write to:<br /><br />W. Enterprises<br />P.O. Box 666<br />Washington, DC 20500<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-485584303775224541?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-62474428671212141362008-08-05T18:07:00.000-07:002008-08-05T21:16:01.531-07:00<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SJkWxMl5wiI/AAAAAAAAAOY/pRrEXvp29O0/s1600-h/Letter+from+T-Bone.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231237476617142818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SJkWxMl5wiI/AAAAAAAAAOY/pRrEXvp29O0/s320/Letter+from+T-Bone.jpg" border="0" /></a><em>The Rifleman Opens His Mailbag<br /><br /></em><em><strong>Rifleman,<br /><br />I have a question for you, rather the Obama campaign-- when are they gonna release the hounds?!? john mccain was in the keating 5 for fucks sake!<br /><br />Respectfully,<br /><br />T-Bone<br />Ballard, WA<br /></strong><br /><br /></em>Dear T-Bone,<br /><br />Thank you for your letter. That graceful note of collegial esteem in your salutation is something I always appreciate. You're obviously a straight shooter, and your question is a good one, as it begs for a common sense approach to politics. I've got some bad news for you, mi amigo. You can beg all you want, but there is little common sense to be found in politics...especially when your politics are those of the Democratic Party.<br /><br />Barack Obama has a lot of things going for him. He's young. He's a brilliant speaker. He has a good head on his shoulders. He has plans for the FUTURE of this country. A lot of people have taken him to task recently for jockeying toward the center on a lot of issues. His position shifts should come as no surprise. McCain's gdoing the same damn thing. This is the natural course of a Presidential race. As soon as the candidates are announced, they both pander to score the maximum number of votes. Common sense, right? Can you imagine any Democrat dumb enough to jockey hard left before a general election?* Unfortunately for America, this mad dash to the center is where common sense ends for the Democrats.<br /><br />As you probably know if you've taken to writing me, I'm no fan of <a href="http://notesfromtherange.blogspot.com/2008/04/old-fuss-n-feathers.html">candidate McCain</a>. But the old buzzard is doing it by the GOP book (I believe the title is <em>The Necroneocon</em>). He appears to be getting results. Comparing Barack Obama to Paris Hilton and Britney Spears may seem desperate and out of touch to you, me, and anyone else who's learned to read...but the polls don't lie (any more than they are designed to), and if you believe <em>that </em>hype, Johnny Mac is gaining ground.<br /><br />Now common sense should dictate the course of action from the Obama camp. They should hit back...HARD. If you're a "long-time" reader of my dispatches, you'll remember that I advocated a <a href="http://notesfromtherange.blogspot.com/2008/01/obama-nation.html">take-no-prisoners </a>approach early in the primary season. Same is true today. I think Team Obama should cut together their own advertisement that shows McCain to be the slobbering, doddering, ill-tempered, money-grubbing, war-prolonging, big oil-fucking, graft-abiding, old-crow party-pol that he most certainly is - in every way, shape, and form the WRONG choice for President at this crucial crossroads in our Nation's history. It wouldn't be hard to do. Any 16-year-old with a laptop could find enough Youtube clips to bury the undead Senator a thousand times over.<br /><br />But is Obama willing to beat the Republicans at their own game? I think HE is. But don't overestimate that stubborn blue ass to which he’s hitched his wagon. The Democratic Party has, of late, bolstered the masochistic "grin and bear it" philosophy to counter the Rove Republican’s "slash and burn" strategy. The result - Dem candidates stand stoic as Michaelangelo's Pieta while Republicans pull a Laszlo Toth trip all over them.<br /><br />Obama only stands to loose by standing idle. Flip-Flop Kerry stood idle. Nation-Builder Gore stood idle. Willy Horton Dukakis stood idle. My advice to Barack Obama is my advice to you:<br /><br />Take Aim. Shoot Straight.<br /><br />The Rifleman<br /><br />_______________________________<br /><br />*Remember, Kucinich didn't get the nod.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-6247442867121214136?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-21206192442301033652008-08-05T13:27:00.000-07:002008-08-05T14:21:30.464-07:00I don't know who this Chuck Stevens yahoo is, but word around the campfire is he's been sullying my name all over this wide, open range. If you're out there, Chuck, I'll meet you out front of McCall's Saloon at twelve bells.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/IX2oZ6Kv_qo&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/IX2oZ6Kv_qo&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><div>And bring yer rifle... </div><div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-2120619244230103365?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-65084744589831005002008-08-01T10:06:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:21.484-08:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SJNC25WhtuI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/IIh5Uj01a50/s1600-h/wonder+riflewoman.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229597103182952162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SJNC25WhtuI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/IIh5Uj01a50/s400/wonder+riflewoman.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-6508474458983100500?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-75143579604889970162008-07-31T11:01:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:21.594-08:00<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229240189729816930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SJH-PzIKwWI/AAAAAAAAAOA/c4WsbNaiQks/s320/Highway+61.jpg" border="0" /> <div>Oh God said to Abraham, "Kill me a son"</div><div>Abe says, "Man, you must be puttin' me on"</div><div>God say, "No." </div><div>Abe say, "What?"</div><div>God say, "You can do what you want Abe, but</div><div>The next time you see me comin' you better run"</div><div>Well Abe says, "Where do you want this killin' done?"</div><div>God says, "Out on Highway 61."</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-7514357960488997016?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-44583465020179900752008-07-27T20:32:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:21.712-08:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SI1GUZ575yI/AAAAAAAAAN4/Zr3arZ8jVuk/s1600-h/mccain+sick.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227912058812229410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SI1GUZ575yI/AAAAAAAAAN4/Zr3arZ8jVuk/s320/mccain+sick.jpg" border="0" /></a> At a recent fundraiser, Senator John Sidney McCain nearly lost his $1,000-a-plate lunch when a campaign aide informed him that, in fact, ALL American women have had the right to vote since 1920.<br /><div><br />Cindy McCain continued to smile indifferently, though it remained unclear if she was apathetic about her husband's well-being or just cold on women's suffrage in general.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-4458346502017990075?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-17799437748476061442008-07-14T11:29:00.000-07:002008-07-14T13:55:04.877-07:00<em>Funny Money</em><br />The novelist Norman Douglas said "you can tell the ideals of a nation by its advertisements." If this is the case, what does this ad say about us?<br /><div></div><br /><a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cobject" width="425" height="344"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/eF3mzTpFCrU&amp;hl=" width="425" height="344" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" fs="1"></embed></a><br /><br /><div></div><div></div><div>Let Freedumb Ring!</div><div></div><div></div><div>The Rifleman</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-1779943774847606144?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-40089681638373396192008-06-27T17:52:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:21.883-08:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SGWLmq_sFYI/AAAAAAAAANw/GPDdnNuSJAE/s1600-h/TASS-5.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216729239871296898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SGWLmq_sFYI/AAAAAAAAANw/GPDdnNuSJAE/s400/TASS-5.jpg" border="0" /></a> There's a little "RIFLEMAN" in all of us.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-4008968163837339619?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-66717270488171596632008-06-12T18:38:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:22.018-08:00I was up til three in the morning, sick as a dog, re-listening to REO Speedwagon's YOU CAN TUNE A PIANO, BUT YOU CAN'T TUNA FISH. What can I say, misery loves company. I found myself staring for long, fuzzy intervals at the LP cover. Incredibly suggestive to say the least, some Bacchanalian remnant of the orgy decade. I became fixated on what Gary Richrath and the gang were doubtlessly thinking when they designed the cover (and jammed out “The Unidentified Flying Tuna Trot”)…namely, ‘what would it be like to fuck a fish in the gills?’<br /><br />Has anyone ever tried? If so, did they succeed? Half spun on Nyquil, white wine, and the dulcet tones of Kevin Cronin’s pipes, I walked out to the coy pond, primed to partake in what I deemed to be one of life's most elusive pleasures. But one step into the spongy bog mud convinced me that some fantasies are better left in the mind.<br /><br />It’s not just me. There has been enough interest in this sordid subject to prompt lawmakers in at least fourteen states to specifically outlaw penial-gill contact of any kind. Just 8 months ago in the state of Nebraska, Harold Allen Tubbs was fined $3,200 and sentenced to 3 days in jail and 30 days hard labor for violating section 4832c of the penal code.<br /><br />In cheap legalese, “Gillatio in flagrante delicto.”<br /><br />The police alleged that Mr. Tubbs was caught in "a wholly indecent act perpetrated against a largemouth bass” and further supposed that Tubbs had stolen the fish from the seafood counter of the local Super Saver Grocery &amp; Pharmacy where he was then employed. Tubbs claimed he was innocent (who wouldn’t?), that the entire episode was the result of an unfortunate "baiting accident." A receipt found on his person confirmed the fish was his, but that he had, in fact, paid for it. The charge of petty larceny was dropped, and the Public Defender assigned to the case convinced D.A. Melvin Howard, esq. to ditch the further charges of aggravated sodomy and necrophilia -- both felonies under Nebraska state law.<br /><br />The prosecution had it easy. Tubbs was caught in a public park in Custer County, hell and gone from Lake McConaughy or the Merritt Reservoir. And there was no denying the fish belonged to him. But the truly damning evidence came from the Custer County Sheriff’s Chief Medical Examiner, whose autopsy revealed a human pubic hair lodged in the bass’ operculum. A DNA sample obtained from Tubbs proved the hair belonged to him. Case closed.<br /><br />The sentence was exceedingly harsh, given that Tubbs was a first time offender and, by all accounts, a tax paying, god fearing member of society. In a state whose very motto decrees “Equality Before the Law,” a cheap ($1.79/lb) thrill cost a man his job and christened him “sex offender,” an albatross that will hang with him long after his probation ends in three-and-a-half years. I imagined him at a restaurant, middle-aged and sweaty-palmed in shirt and tie, cautiously averting his eyes and shuffling his feet as his blind date orders the seafood special.<br /><br />Small wonder the powers that be didn't understand Tubbs' proclivities. Nebraska is, after all, a landlocked state where people rarely eat fish, let alone fuck them. But for whatever twisted reason, I found in Harold Allen Tubbs a kindred spirit. And since I was headed to the Cornhusker State to witness the annual Byway Beef Raffle, I thought it only fitting that I should look the fish-fucker up.<br /><br />The phone rang sixteen times before a voice crackled on the other end. “Uh hello.”<br /><br />“Harold Allen Tubbs?”<br /><br />“Who’s askin’?”<br /><br />I tried to put it as gingerly as possible. And when that didn’t work, I lied.<br /><br />“Well sir, to tell you the God’s honest truth, I’m a reporter from The Boston Examiner, and I’ve been following your case for a good long while. Frankly, sir, I think you got a bum wrap. And I’m writing an two-part investigative piece that’ll hopefully help rectify the situation.”<br /><br />“What’s done is done.” He said coldly. “Ain’t there bigger fish to fry in Boston?”<br /><br />I let the comment slide; thoroughly convinced he hadn’t said it in jest.<br /><br />“I’m in Nebraska now, sir. I’d really appreciate it if you’d sit down with me and talk about it.”<br /><br />“Reckon you’ll write the story anyway, won’t you?”<br /><br />“Yes sir, I will.”<br /><br />“Then I guess, I don’t have much choice in the matter. I’m off Highway 2, ‘bout three miles west of where the O.K. Luther Barn used to be. Come tomorrow afternoon”<br /><br />Of Highway 2, the late newsman Charlie Kuralt extolled: ‘this road will take you to one of the last unexplored frontiers where vast treasures can be discovered.’” Driving west past Broken Bow, I wondered if Kuralt had lived to cover the Tubbs case, would he have deemed this bizarre man-fish relationship as one such frontier. Were we on the same road?<br /><br />The county was part of the land wrestled from the Pawnee Nation in 1857. On February 17, 1877, then-Governor Silas Garber officially named the place after George Armstrong Custer, the flaxen-haired patron saint of Indian land grabbing.<br /><br />A long, uneventful drive in this part of the country gives one ample time to sink in the statistics. The most recent population count puts Custer at 12,026. Farmers mostly. Cornfields and grazing lands stretch as far as the eye cares to see. In 2,576 square miles of land, there’s less that one square mile of water. A fishophile like Tubbs, I thought, couldn’t help but feel out of place here.<br /><br />I found the Tubbs residence almost by accident, a shanty befitting his newfound status as pariah. The late August sun is punishing, but despite the heat, every door and window was shut tight and the curtains drawn.<br /><br />I opened the filthy screen and wrapped four times on a scalding, solid metal door. After a few minutes, the door creaked open. Before me stood a tall, solidly built, ruggedly featured late twenty-something with a thick head of brown hair. Not at all like the wild-eyed little ferret I was expecting. This guy looked like he might have been QB of the football team, maybe even prom king in high school. I couldn’t imagine this guy giving a largemouth bass the pole. Something was definitely fishy.<br /><br />“Tubbs?”<br /><br />“So that’s what a hot shot big city reporter looks like?”<br /><br />He gave me the once over, then turned around and walked inside. As I followed him into the muggy furnace he called home, I realized I was woefully unprepared to interview the man. What was it that I expected of him? What did I even want to know? Why was I here? One drunken stupor fueled by the satanic influence of Seventies soft rock, and here I was, in the bowels of Hades with Poseidon himself.<br /><br />“What do you wanna know?” He asked, taking a seat on a battered old sofa that looked like it came from the Salvation Army by way of my grandmother’s house.<br /><br />“Who’s your decorator?” I was trying to lighten the mood, and I failed miserably. There are times when a man can really USE a beer. This was one such time.<br /><br />I continued unabated. “First things first, did you do it?”<br /><br />“Yep.”<br /><br />A man of few words. I countered his expert parry with another thrust, “Why?”<br /><br />“Just wanted to know what it felt like.”<br /><br />“And what did it feel like?”<br /><br />He nodded his head slightly, a thin smile on his lips. “Pretty damn goooood.”<br /><br />The whole scene was too much for me, so I decided it best to end the thing and skedaddle.<br /><br />“One last question. Had you to do it over again, would have done anything different?”<br /><br />“I’da grabbed a smallmouth,” he said. “Reckon it woulda been a lot tighter.” <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211179179998352994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SFHT2qy2lmI/AAAAAAAAANo/Th-hzKNebyo/s400/REO+Speedwagon.jpg" border="0" /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-6671727048817159663?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-11822142722005911092008-06-11T06:49:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:22.217-08:00<em>East Meets West</em><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SE_ZGfy-FyI/AAAAAAAAANg/9BZB5RsqqAE/s1600-h/Wagon.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210621999528679202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SE_ZGfy-FyI/AAAAAAAAANg/9BZB5RsqqAE/s400/Wagon.JPG" border="0" /></a> <div>Still on the road, fighting a political hangover brought on by a terrible sickness. Breathing fresh air, seeing some new faces, and trying to make some sense of it all.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-1182214272200591109?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-87756553790810104952008-05-13T07:02:00.000-07:002008-05-13T07:12:38.932-07:00<object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/mn_IJXEb958&amp;hl=en"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/mn_IJXEb958&amp;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object><br /><br />FOX "News" knows better than to send little Billy on the air without his nap.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-8775655379081010495?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-2370917979650921632008-05-10T06:22:00.001-07:002008-11-13T03:49:22.450-08:00<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SCWhx3dWEZI/AAAAAAAAANA/Agi7OF8e7BY/s1600-h/Bush+Wedding.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198739222941798802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SCWhx3dWEZI/AAAAAAAAANA/Agi7OF8e7BY/s200/Bush+Wedding.jpg" border="0" /></a>The nuptials of Henry Hager and Jenna Bush reads like a merger when you see all the Republican buzz words involved: Virginia-Texas, Tobacco-Oil, Hager-Rove-Bush (kinky), Party Chairman-President. And it sure sounds like one when the <a href="http://www.liquorsnob.com/George-Bush-Toast.jpg">father of the bride</a> discusses the “business” at hand: "So the guy comes to see me, and he says, 'I want to marry your daughter.' I said, 'Done deal.'"<br /><p>Congratulations to the happy couple. Here's to a long and successful venture, free from bankruptcy and third party buyout. </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-237091797965092163?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-12877337379547289122008-05-09T16:37:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:22.574-08:00<div><em>Alas, Poor Yorick!</em></div><div> </div><div><em></em><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SCThGXdWEYI/AAAAAAAAAM4/icGz3noWkqI/s1600-h/potheads.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198527369384956290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SCThGXdWEYI/AAAAAAAAAM4/icGz3noWkqI/s320/potheads.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>This article in the <a href="http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/front/5764886.html">Houston Chronicle</a> gives new meaning to the term "pothead."</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-1287733737954728912?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-292055975956013042008-05-08T07:36:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:22.830-08:00<em>In Defense of Book Burning</em><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198018006160522770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SCMR1hlIPhI/AAAAAAAAAMw/HrlIXmqpW88/s200/burning%2Bbook.jpg" border="0" /><br />According to the New York Times, the world is soon to be braced by a new Vladimir Nabokov <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/04/weekinreview/04nabokov.html?_r=1&amp;oref=slogin">novel</a>. For those of you too busy to tackle the article in its entirety, here’s the gist of it: Nabokov died in 1977 before completing a new novel that was tentatively titled <em>The Original of Laura</em>. Known as an artistic perfectionist, he left instructions for his family to destroy the 138 note cards that comprised the <em>Laura </em>manuscript upon his death. His wife, Véra, failed to carry out her husband's injunction before her own passing in 1991. Since then, a literary weight that could buckle old Atlas has rested squarely on the shoulders of Nabokov's only <a href="http://dmitrinabokov.blogspot.com/">son</a>, Dimitri.<br /><br />Now, nearly 31 years since his father unwittingly relinquished control of <em>Laura</em>, Dimitri Nabokov has decided to play the bastard Edmund and publish the work in progress. Soon, a mass of scholars, readers, and fellow writers will have more Nabokov to debate, devour, and emulate. I find it disheartening that the very people who should defend the master’s <em>corpus literati</em> are likely to be the vultures who eagerly pick the carrion from his literary bones.<br /><br />To put it very lightly, I'm no Nabokov. Yet even I won't publish a piece until all the words hang in place and there’s a certain music to it. Only the author knows when that moment arrives and the work is, for lack of a better word, “completed.” Some pieces that I work on never get there. Those go unpublished. When I kick off, I don't want friends or relatives posting the scribbles and ramblings that have yet to take their full shape. Those should be considered deceased in utero. I may not have much in common with Nabokov - who inarguably ranks with Proust, Melville, and Billy Shakespeare among the great writers - but on this one issue we obviously felt the same. If Nabokov himself called for the matches, it is my opinion that we should respect his wishes and let <em>Laura</em> burn.<br /><br />Perhaps I’m failing to see the issue correctly. It’s possible that Dmitri sees himself as Charles Kinbote to his father’s John Shade. Or perhaps, as the 74-year-old son nears the end of his own life, he is using <em>Laura</em>'s publication as a way to see his father live again. Either is certainly a nobler alternative than the first and most obvious motivation to cross my mind: cold, calculated greed.<br /><br />Nabokov the son shrugs off the accusation of money-grubbery with a winning quip: “It's true that my wheelchair requires some costly modifications to fit into the trunk of a Maserati coupe.” So why else then would he knowingly betray his father’s wishes? It's no secret that the work of an celebrated author appreciates better than a fine wine. A 1977 vintage Château Margaux might fetch upwards of $450. I’d say a 1977 vintage Nabokov, even a <em>demi-bouteille</em> like <em>Laura</em>, is easily worth a few million.<br /><br />If Dmitri’s intentions were purely altruistic (which would first require this article’s author to believe that altruism is a human trait), why not distribute the work on the Internet, where anyone who’s curious to read <em>Laura</em> could do so for free. That would serve to deflate the supposition that Dmitri is merely a profiteer. Better still, he could stay true to his father’s wishes and place the manuscript in a <a href="http://www.nabokovmuseum.org/en/">museum</a>. Scholars would make the pilgrimage to study <em>Laura</em> in the original. Visitors would be treated to a rare glimpse at Nabokov’s legendary working method. The integrity of the work and the integrity of its author could thusly be preserved.<br /><br />Integrity. That seems to be the issue at question, doesn't it? I certainly don’t consider myself a literary puritan. And perhaps I’m being too severe in my judgment of Dimitri, a man who has devoted his own life to translating and preserving the work of his father. I would by lying if I said I was not tantalized by the prospect of reading something more by an author I hold in heavenly esteem, whose vicious wit and pitch-perfect phrasing thrilled me for many a night on this wide, lonely range. Yet I cannot shake the feeling that if we, as an audience, were meant to read <em>The Original of Laura</em>, Nabokov would have lived to complete it.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198016807864647170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SCMQvxlIPgI/AAAAAAAAAMo/xs2M5kTIBJI/s320/nabokov.gif" border="0" /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-29205597595601304?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-24626712689475463932008-05-04T11:18:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:23.029-08:00<em>The Canonization of Mrs. John McCain</em><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SB3-oaQQXXI/AAAAAAAAAMI/sPDL9QKwh8k/s1600-h/CindyMcCain.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196589515251146098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SB3-oaQQXXI/AAAAAAAAAMI/sPDL9QKwh8k/s320/CindyMcCain.jpg" border="0" /></a>What follows is a real email that might just end up in your inbox (if you're subject to certain political proclivities). It was forwarded to me by a dear friend and frequent co-conspirator. Needless to say, I trust the source implicitly. Without further ado, the email:<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><em>Fwd: Fw: Fwd: Cindy McCain - wife of John McCain</em> </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;">From person who passed it on to me: This was news to me. I have never gotten any good news about the candidates. What I have gotten has been mostly one sided. Bet you would have never guessed this one! </span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><br />No matter your politics. The media will never tell of this, so pass it on. There was an article in the Wall Street Journal on Cindy McCain, John"s wife. All I ever saw was this attractive woman standing beside John. I was surprised how talented and involved with world problems she is.<br />This is a summary of the article. She graduated from Southern Cal and was aspecial-needs teacher. After her Dad died she became involved with his beer distributing firm and is now the chairwoman. Sales have doubled since she has taken over from her father.<br /><br />They have a marriage prenuptial agreement, her assets remain separate. She is involved around the world clearing land mines - travels to these countries on a detonation team and service on their board. They have a 19 year old serving in Iraq, another son in the Naval Academy, a daughter recently graduated from Columbia Univ., an adopted daughter in high school, and a son who is the finance guy at the beer firm. Raised kids in Phoenix, Az rather than Washington DC (better atmosphere). He commuted.<br /><br />In 1991 Mrs. McCain came across a girl in an orphanage in Bangladesh. Mother Teresaimplored Mrs. McCain to take the baby with severe cleft palate. She did so without first telling her husband. The couple adopted the girl who has had a dozen operations to repair her cleft palate and other medical problems.<br /><br />They have a Family Foundation for children's causes. She's active with "Halo Trust" -<br />to clear land mines, provide water and food in war ravaged and developing countries. She will join an overseas mission of "Operation Smile", a charity for corrective surgery on children's faces.<br /><br />She has had two back surgeries and became addicted to pain killers. She talksopenly about it which she says is part of the recovery process. I'm surprised the media is so quiet about her attributes. She sounds more capable than Hillary or Obama.<br /><br />We would really get two for the price of one. A person with business and international experience. John did work for the firm for awhile when he left the Navy. She, however, has the real business experience. Very interesting.</span><br /></span><br />Very interesting, indeed. While it's tempting to take it apart line by line, that would only validate its existence. There's a preponderance of great stuff in there, and I'm interested in hearing some of your favorite quotes, themes, and ideas.<br /><br />Let Freedumb Ring!<br /><br />The Rifleman<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-2462671268947546393?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-4079187790078105832008-05-02T05:47:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:23.222-08:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SBsNjqQQXWI/AAAAAAAAAMA/-X38Ya-kplc/s1600-h/Johnson+-+wannabe.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195761501391052130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SBsNjqQQXWI/AAAAAAAAAMA/-X38Ya-kplc/s400/Johnson+-+wannabe.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-407918779007810583?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-68644843379455057062008-04-30T08:05:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:23.446-08:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SBi3_aQQXUI/AAAAAAAAALw/fi08wrbE8DA/s1600-h/push+push+in+the+bush.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195104470179011906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SBi3_aQQXUI/AAAAAAAAALw/fi08wrbE8DA/s400/push+push+in+the+bush.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong>April 29, 2008. </strong>In another of his famously informative press conferences, President George W. Bush chose to take on the nation’s long-brewing energy crisis. First, he identified the problem: Congress. Then, he laid out a sweeping solution: Let’s drill in ANWR!<br /><br />Now, I don’t get to the movies too often, but I think it’s safe to say this guy’s more oil-obsessed than Daniel Day Lewis. Consider him a modern-day Ponce de Leon, and that thick crude beneath the Alaskan animal reserve the nation’s fountain of youth. The man has been on this quest for years.<br /><br />Alaskan oil is the snake oil of the Bush Administration. The cure for all that ails us:<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Problem: </strong>Unemployment<br /><strong>Solution:</strong> Create jobs by drilling in ANWR<br /><strong><br />Problem:</strong> Skyrocketing National Debt<br /><strong>Solution:</strong> Increase revenue by drilling in ANWR<br /><br /><strong>Problem:</strong> Middle East Turbulence<br /><strong>Solution:</strong> Become less dependent of foreign oil by drilling in ANWR<br /><strong><br />Problem:</strong> Terrorism/Extremism/Ill-Fitting Shoes<br /><strong>Solution:</strong> You get the idea<br /><br /><em>Napless nights and dog-tired days? A little dab of patented ANWR Oil behind each ear before bed ensures a restful slumber. ANWR Oil is "gar-ON-teed" to cure whiplash, warts, boils n' bunions, STDs and doggie’s fleas. ANWR Oil, the all-in-one salve for any American man or beast. Let's start drillin' today!</em><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195116062295743826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SBjCiKQQXVI/AAAAAAAAAL4/7-SJLQIZu-k/s400/snake-oil.jpg" border="0" /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-6864484337945505706?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-81493064185245337802008-04-18T09:54:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:23.635-08:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SAjTHwjWDyI/AAAAAAAAALo/mwQDcADVo8g/s1600-h/TASS-3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190630700790189858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SAjTHwjWDyI/AAAAAAAAALo/mwQDcADVo8g/s400/TASS-3.jpg" border="0" /></a> There's a little RIFLEMAN in all of us.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-8149306418524533780?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-34503647690715716092008-04-17T14:14:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:23.763-08:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SAfBGgjWDwI/AAAAAAAAALc/wrVIQwrpa3k/s1600-h/Torch1936.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190329413129342722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SAfBGgjWDwI/AAAAAAAAALc/wrVIQwrpa3k/s400/Torch1936.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>Seems a certain time-honored tradition has its roots in Nazi propaganda. To quote the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/14/arts/14conn.html?_r=1&amp;ref=todayspaper&amp;pagewanted=all&amp;oref=slogin">article </a>by E. Rothstein of the NY Times:<br /><br /><em><em>"Perhaps, then, pretense should be eliminated. The Olympic Games should simply acknowledge that they reflect wars fought by other means. Not a pleasant thought, but perhaps closer to the truth than the perspective of Avery Brundage, the fifth president of the International Olympic Committee, who just after the 1936 Berlin games said they proved that the Olympics are “the most effective influence towards international peace and harmony yet devised.” </em></em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-3450364769071571609?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-52791547454373645762008-04-17T10:08:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:24.154-08:00<div><div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SAeEdwjWDsI/AAAAAAAAAK8/Dp0z_w5qtRk/s1600-h/bush-mccain-hug-72.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190262742352006850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SAeEdwjWDsI/AAAAAAAAAK8/Dp0z_w5qtRk/s400/bush-mccain-hug-72.jpg" border="0" /></a> <div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190264151101279986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SAeFvwjWDvI/AAAAAAAAALU/EjUgtQcY0V8/s400/mccain_bush_hug2.jpg" border="0" /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SAeEVgjWDrI/AAAAAAAAAK0/715K0eILvmE/s1600-h/apr_bush_mccain_070425_ms.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190262600618086066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SAeEVgjWDrI/AAAAAAAAAK0/715K0eILvmE/s400/apr_bush_mccain_070425_ms.jpg" border="0" /></a> Ladies and gentlemen...I'm afraid we're in for it. </div></div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-5279154745437364576?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-82525002963109173152008-04-16T15:43:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:24.358-08:00<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SAaB8gjWDqI/AAAAAAAAAKs/XNIXu6Srcz4/s1600-h/Arnold-McCain.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189978497121390242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SAaB8gjWDqI/AAAAAAAAAKs/XNIXu6Srcz4/s400/Arnold-McCain.jpg" border="0" /></a> With those words, cyborg Arnold Schwarzenegger attempts to pump some life force into John Sidney McCain III.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-8252500296310917315?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-50931229407930866932008-04-16T09:51:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:24.500-08:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SAYwaQjWDpI/AAAAAAAAAKk/Spf_agv5lhY/s1600-h/Reagan_McCain.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189888848269020818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SAYwaQjWDpI/AAAAAAAAAKk/Spf_agv5lhY/s400/Reagan_McCain.jpg" border="0" /></a> <div>With those words, <a href="http://notesfromtherange.blogspot.com/2008/02/ronald-reaganrifleman-wannabe.html">wannabe Rifleman</a> Ronald Reagan passed some old man mojo to John Sidney McCain III.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-5093122940793086693?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-46923788396818182072008-04-15T07:05:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:24.628-08:00<div><em>This Week's Theme: RACISM</em></div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189474383924956802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/SAS3dQjWDoI/AAAAAAAAAKc/x84OLXi4reo/s400/KlanCostume.jpg" border="0" /> <div></div><div><em></em></div><div>WASHINGTON (CNN) — A Republican congressman has apologized to Barack Obama after referring to the White House hopeful as a “snake-oil salesman” and a “boy.” Davis made the comments at a state party dinner Saturday.</div><br /><div></div><div>After referring to Obama as a “snake-oil salesman,” he added that he had recently participated in a "highly classified, national security simulation" with the Illinois senator."I'm going to tell you something: That boy's finger does not need to be on the button," said Davis. "He could not make a decision in that simulation that related to a nuclear threat to this country."</div><div> </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-4692378839681818207?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-5649306098040742008-04-11T07:54:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:24.921-08:00<div><div><em></em></div><div><em></em></div><div><em>The many faces of John McCain<br /><br /></em>As of March 4, 2008, the Republican Party had a presumptive nominee. And unless those ol' Nazi scientists that Karl Rove has chained in his basement laboratory finally crack the formula and reanimate Ronald Reagan before September 1, that nominee will remain the good Senator from the State of Arizona, John Sidney McCain, III. But despite three decades in the Senate, two Presidential runs, and a well-reported stint in the Hanoi Hilton, the man remains a mystery. So I can't help but try my hand at crackin' the nut.</div><div><br />I've seen the old buzzard flapping around a lot lately, taking advantage of some positive face time with a receptive news media whilst the Democrats wage their shameful civil war. If you believe the hype, McCain is basically your grandfather - a good-natured nostalgic who worked hard all his life and now, in his twilight years, finds comfort in spinning yarns about the good old days. But, as usual, there’s a lot of puff in that media pillow. It’s just as likely that ol' John is a moon-maddened werebeast, a buttoned-up suit that morphs into an unpredictable, rampaging monster about once a month. At the very least, he’s a man of many faces.<br /><em><br /></div><span style="color:#ff0000;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188134103058018530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R__0epPc8OI/AAAAAAAAAKU/P7deJyBZmm8/s400/McCain+Faces.jpg" border="0" /></span></em>Is he a true conservative? If so, why do so many hard-righters see him as a liberal wolf in sheep’s clothing? Is he a party-hoppin’ “maverick,” keen on unifying the American people behind the common good? If so, why does he support the exceedingly divisive Bush administration almost to a vote? A rare exception came when McCain voted against those infamous tax cuts in ‘03, the same tax cuts he now wants to make permanent. Perhaps Republican delegates should dust off those old John Kerry flip-flops and take ‘em along to the convention. Seems to me they’d come in handy.<br /><br />The Republican National Convention will be held in Minneapolis-St. Paul. The twin cities are a perfect venue for a politician as two-faced as McCain, the freethinking “maverick” with the singularly hard-right voting record who spits the word “liberal” with the same priggish contempt as Neocon blowhards like Sean Hannity. McCain’s campaign finance reform agenda, long heralded as proof of his bi-partisan leanings, is little more than political penance for time served amongst the guilt-ridden ranks of the Keating Five. He’s reformed himself into a reformer, or so he’d have you believe. Things get a little hazier if you believe what you read in the papers.<br /><br />The New York Times published a report about McCain getting a little too close to telecom lobbyist Vicki Iseman back in ‘99. In a cosmically bad example of misreading, the media trumped the concern of one former campaign staffer (that Iseman and McCain had become romantically involved) as the meat of the story. Tongues immediately started wagging about John McCain the cocksmith, which is actually a backhanded boon for his campaign. Unlike other prominent members of his party, it didn’t take the sponsorship of Pfizer to maintain a claim on his virility. There’s still some fuss in those white feathers. The message being – he may look old, but if this geezer’s junk still works, maybe he’s youthful enough to live, love, and lead for at least a term (or two).<br /><br />But if you revisit the Times’ article, you’ll find the sex angle to be the fat, not the meat. Whether or not McCain diddled Iseman is immaterial. The presence of a lobbyist at McCain fundraisers and on his private jet signified a close relationship…giving new semantic meaning to his message of “taking on the special interests.” That’s just the kind of flap that could cost a “maverick” his campaign. But since the sex angle was inflated and pin-popped as quickly as a circus balloon, McCain survived the much more deleterious scandal brewing inside that newsprint.<br /><br />To be fair, the Times blew it big. I’m not sure a rag with their reputation would put out a “swift boat” story unless they were pretty damn sure of its veracity. They risked a “Rathergate” at best and a complete corporate shakedown at worst. But they shouldn’t have included that tasty-yet-unproven tidbit about a romantic relationship; the smallest inference to which was enough to make a profoundly troubling money scandal into an easily diffused sex scandal. Perhaps they were hoping that Iseman could play the part of Lewinsky in a big-budget sequel to that previous blockbuster media event. Or maybe they thought the public would skim over the sentence or two about ho-hum sex and yearn for more information about the juicy lobbying story. Whatever the editorial idea was, it was dunderheaded. The Times gave McCain a newfound erection, right-wing pundits further ammunition against the “liberal media,” and the GOP another plank in a platform from which they may very well win an election that was heretofore unwinnable.<br /><br />The revitalized Sen. McCain was recently at the White House, courting George W. Bush, a lame duck with the political capital of a cottonmouth snake (the very snake who bit McCain in South Carolina eight years ago). But it shouldn’t be much of a surprise to find these two in an old-fashioned grip n’ grin. In that hotly contested primary of 2000, McCain’s Presidential Campaign Manager, Richard H. Davis, admitted that there was precious little difference between his candidate and W.<br /><br />The difference, as I see it, is old John’s adeptness at managing his image in the media - his unwavering ability to say one thing on TV and in print yet do another in the Senate and on the campaign trail. This talent makes him all the more troublesome. With Bush, you always knew what you were getting - a dry drunk with the pedal to the metal, swerving hard right off a ragged, war-torn cliff. Terrifying, yet predictable. But with John McCain, the Lon Cheney of American politics, anything is possible.<em><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188129782320918738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R__wjJPc8NI/AAAAAAAAAKM/KveWZNJCjA4/s320/Lon+Cheney.jpg" border="0" /></span></em></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-564930609804074?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-84758936908890420002008-04-03T10:18:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:28.587-08:00<div><div><div> </div><div>A sad chain of events, a reminder...<br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_U0O9UHQLI/AAAAAAAAAGc/QeI6839Ju_8/s1600-h/01+-+gw_bush_flag.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185107977568731314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_U0O9UHQLI/AAAAAAAAAGc/QeI6839Ju_8/s400/01+-+gw_bush_flag.jpg" border="0" /></a><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185109704145584338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_U1zdUHQNI/AAAAAAAAAGs/EQwsxL2Syk4/s320/03+-+enron.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185108162252325058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_U0ZtUHQMI/AAAAAAAAAGk/7XcUIhKsVE0/s320/02+-+gitmo.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185167407031206530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_VqSNUHQoI/AAAAAAAAAKE/iAebUGaAAAo/s400/CP+and+GT.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185110176591986914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_U2O9UHQOI/AAAAAAAAAG0/-Fj6j6z-nl4/s320/04+-+SHOCKandAWE.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185110563139043570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_U2ldUHQPI/AAAAAAAAAG8/B1wKzIkips4/s320/05+-+iraq.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185111486557012226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_U3bNUHQQI/AAAAAAAAAHE/uwLM0kLezM4/s320/06+-+abu.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185154449114874130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_Vef9UHQRI/AAAAAAAAAHM/upkwXK9VTDo/s320/07+-+bridge_hung.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185154642388402466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_VerNUHQSI/AAAAAAAAAHU/WpWchfVr1Cs/s320/08+-+flag_draped_coffins.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185154848546832690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_Ve3NUHQTI/AAAAAAAAAHc/45gs5ztT3Co/s320/09+-+Halliburton.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185155351058006354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_VfUdUHQVI/AAAAAAAAAHs/0GIMz75GCA4/s320/11+-+Libby.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185156029662839138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_Vf79UHQWI/AAAAAAAAAH0/2uXTtUaO0wI/s320/12+-+ashcroft.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185160376169742898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_Vj49UHQjI/AAAAAAAAAJc/OCNhp_B-I2s/s320/13+-+miers.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185160307450266146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_Vj09UHQiI/AAAAAAAAAJU/2MpYVW06fS8/s320/14+-+michael-brown.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185160195781116434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_VjudUHQhI/AAAAAAAAAJM/r_cptAX5RDY/s320/15+-+hurricane-katrina-1.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185159590190727682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_VjLNUHQgI/AAAAAAAAAJE/B2Gm8MpZK14/s320/16+-+Hurricane_Katrina_Help.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185158228686094818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_Vh79UHQeI/AAAAAAAAAI0/1Ux85lJMdng/s320/17+-+abramoff.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185157532901392834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_VhTdUHQcI/AAAAAAAAAIk/KVuPMviIIrc/s320/18+-+rumsfeld.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185166341879317106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_VpUNUHQnI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/MSpyeXygUVQ/s320/19+-+karlrove.jpg" border="0" /> <div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185157356807733666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_VhJNUHQaI/AAAAAAAAAIU/DoH4M-dbDLg/s320/20+-+gonzales.jpg" border="0" /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185159495701447154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_VjFtUHQfI/AAAAAAAAAI8/PolE6bD2fug/s320/21+-+mortgage+crisis.jpg" border="0" /> <div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185156772692181378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_VgnNUHQYI/AAAAAAAAAIE/rjcxsLCA6EM/s320/22+-+bearstearns.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185156618073358706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_VgeNUHQXI/AAAAAAAAAH8/3-GMjQZ_KkA/s320/23+-+WandD.bmp" border="0" /><br /><br /><div>that legacies are built to persist.</div><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185161961012675154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_VlVNUHQlI/AAAAAAAAAJs/BTEYDDwI9_g/s400/24+-+McCain+Flag.jpg" border="0" /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-8475893690889042000?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-41042218090105409742008-04-02T09:32:00.001-07:002008-11-13T03:49:28.698-08:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_O1V9UHQJI/AAAAAAAAAGM/QtTxbi_8oEs/s1600-h/GD-1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184686984874377362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_O1V9UHQJI/AAAAAAAAAGM/QtTxbi_8oEs/s400/GD-1.jpg" border="0" /></a>A mild up-tick in the markets does not signify a stabilized economy. We're in for a long, bumpy ride.<br /><div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-4104221809010540974?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-53565083051548964282008-04-01T05:53:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:28.774-08:00Howdy Folks,<br /><br />It's me. <em>The Rifleman</em>. But my real name is Scott Thompson. I'm a stand up comic by trade. In fact, you probably know me by my stage name - <em>Carrot Top</em>.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.carrottop.com/">http://www.carrottop.com/</a><br /><br />Yes, it's true. Traveling around this great country of ours on the <em>Curls Gone Wild </em>tour, I meet a lot of interesting people and see a lot of strange things. Especially in this politically charged year. My time in the tour bus gives me time to reflect on what I see, and sometimes I just want to say it. But I have to be honest, a box of homemade props isn't exactly the best venue for political commentary. Especially when half the audience is made up of drunk, heckling fratboys interested only in discovering how you "got huge."<br /><br />Likewise, I couldn't give this blog the name <em>Carrot Top's Wide World of Political Commentary</em> either. I'd like people to take it seriously, and only laugh when <u>I</u> want them to. So I took the name <em>The Rifleman</em> because I thought it sounded cool and catchy (I have a degree in marketing).<br /><br />But I must have been wrong. Very few people view this site, and only a handful of comments have been posted since I launched the blog four months ago. So I thought, hey, what the hell? I'll tell 'em who I am...and maybe, just maybe, my legion of fans will like seeing another side of their favorite flame-haired yuckster. What can I say, I'm a publicity whore!<br /><br />So, here I am folks!<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184265962115252354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_I2bNUHQII/AAAAAAAAAGE/MzO9RrDHOdQ/s200/carrot-top.jpg" border="0" />I hope those of you have have taken to me and my writing anonymously will continue to frequent the blog and enjoy it. And to the millions of "Carrot Heads" out there - WAZZUP!!!<br /><br />Stay tuned, I may even tell ya how I "got huge."<br /><br />Take Aim. Shoot Straight.<br /><br /><em>CT </em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-5356508305154896428?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-70530019963335938432008-04-01T05:49:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:28.967-08:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_Iv_tUHQHI/AAAAAAAAAF8/8LGLTd4tkeM/s1600-h/cheneyrifle.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184258892599083122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R_Iv_tUHQHI/AAAAAAAAAF8/8LGLTd4tkeM/s320/cheneyrifle.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-7053001996333593843?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-43802205586632605092008-03-30T07:43:00.001-07:002008-11-13T03:49:29.109-08:00<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183545558660759634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R--nONUHQFI/AAAAAAAAAFs/r5vjoLPxhcQ/s320/dith+pran.jpg" border="0" /><br />Survivor, messenger, and activist Dith Pran died today. He gave a face and a voice to the atrocities committed against the Cambodian people by the Khmer Rouge regime. He also gave them a name, “The Killing Fields.”<br /><br />As we in the United States evaluate our role in global affairs, perhaps we should listen to a reasoned voice of experience -<br /><br />"All tragedies have universal implications."<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-4380220558663260509?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-48872763989762598822008-03-28T09:43:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:29.280-08:00<div>It was many odd years ago in a dusty one-horse town called Fools Gulch, AZ. The Rifleman and the infamous Blevins had to take out ol' Ramblin' Rutherford. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>That man talked too much... </div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182834741573271618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R-0gvNUHQEI/AAAAAAAAAFk/JIK7Q-btQdE/s400/Death+of+RR.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>Take Aim. Shoot Straight.</div><div> </div><div>The Rifleman</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-4887276398976259882?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-86901713368701264672008-03-27T11:04:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:29.443-08:00<em>BUSH'S WAR</em><br /><br />There aren't a lot of television sets in my parts. Thank God the fine folks from Frontline have the good sense to post their episodes online.<br /><br /><em>BUSH'S WAR</em> examines the wind up and the follow-through on America's slack-jawed "War in Terror" and further investigates the cold war between factions within the Bush White House, the State Department, and the Central Intelligence Agency.<br /><br />Michael Kirk and his team consistently deliver the goods. They are, without a doubt, the best documentary/journalism team working in America.<br /><br />link:<br /><a href="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/bushswar/">http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/bushswar/</a><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182491453427236898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R-vohNUHQCI/AAAAAAAAAFU/p6-jXbzEOvE/s200/frontine+logo.bmp" border="0" /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-8690171336870126467?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-89671055568314317732008-03-27T10:14:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:29.550-08:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R-vWddUHQBI/AAAAAAAAAFM/Df1fi9eCvW0/s1600-h/rumsfeld.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182471597793427474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R-vWddUHQBI/AAAAAAAAAFM/Df1fi9eCvW0/s320/rumsfeld.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>It's quiet around here...too quiet.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-8967105556831431773?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-54899390356796746862008-03-26T12:35:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:29.735-08:00<div>No, I'm not talking about <em>The Searchers</em>.<br /><br /><a href="http://spiegelman.tumblr.com/post/29921323">http://spiegelman.tumblr.com/post/29921323</a></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182541622940221490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R-wWJdUHQDI/AAAAAAAAAFc/yEXRnnV8Vp8/s320/Ford+-+Nixon.jpg" border="0" /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-5489939035679674686?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-66385737880701927932008-03-25T10:39:00.000-07:002008-03-25T10:42:46.694-07:00<object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/HMMLqmLaBNY&amp;hl=en"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/HMMLqmLaBNY&amp;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />KID ROCK - 'Amen'<br /><br />Let Freedumb Ring!<br /><br />The Rifleman<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-6638573788070192793?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-74619950834630137272008-03-19T15:07:00.000-07:002008-11-13T03:49:29.868-08:00<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R-GO9tUHQAI/AAAAAAAAAFE/AutLjD9RaE0/s1600-h/Anniversary+Toast.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179578237239902210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R-GO9tUHQAI/AAAAAAAAAFE/AutLjD9RaE0/s400/Anniversary+Toast.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Dinner in the bunker. Click to enlarge.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-7461995083463013727?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-52332214258754306932008-03-07T14:47:00.000-08:002008-11-13T03:49:29.991-08:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R9HGUVAlS_I/AAAAAAAAAE8/CvryBhaP72Y/s1600-h/nap+time.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5175135499364682738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R9HGUVAlS_I/AAAAAAAAAE8/CvryBhaP72Y/s400/nap+time.jpg" border="0" /></a> sometimes a cowboy needs a nap.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-5233221425875430693?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-86834102526602250722008-02-21T15:54:00.000-08:002008-11-13T03:49:30.154-08:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R74PdVrYdHI/AAAAAAAAAE0/rnRRUv8WYRo/s1600-h/08.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169586418977633394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R74PdVrYdHI/AAAAAAAAAE0/rnRRUv8WYRo/s400/08.jpg" border="0" /></a> Even in the middle of a tough campain, McC always finds time to scam...<br /><div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-8683410252660225072?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-77312296053966607672008-02-21T11:24:00.000-08:002008-02-21T11:31:30.831-08:00A lot of chickens from the Bush-Clinton years are coming home to roost. The next President of the US of A is going to have a full plate.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-7731229605396660767?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-31854389733678370502008-02-15T15:07:00.001-08:002008-11-13T03:49:30.309-08:00<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R7Ybb3RneAI/AAAAAAAAAEs/uFN14N8ymZU/s1600-h/Nowhere,+Arizona.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167347787962480642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R7Ybb3RneAI/AAAAAAAAAEs/uFN14N8ymZU/s400/Nowhere,+Arizona.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>A remnant from the last Great Depression.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-3185438973367837050?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-14014261833650682462008-02-14T10:19:00.000-08:002008-11-13T03:49:30.443-08:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R7SIGnRnd_I/AAAAAAAAAEk/vUtDt0ZV31k/s1600-h/McCain+Valentine.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166904319704266738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R7SIGnRnd_I/AAAAAAAAAEk/vUtDt0ZV31k/s400/McCain+Valentine.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>He's all dressed up with no place to go.</div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-1401426183365068246?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-38261733094269433252008-02-13T12:38:00.000-08:002008-11-13T03:49:30.577-08:00<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R7NWMHRnd9I/AAAAAAAAAEU/XaWaGnuHRKA/s1600-h/take+aim,+shoot+straight.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166567963635447762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R7NWMHRnd9I/AAAAAAAAAEU/XaWaGnuHRKA/s400/take+aim,+shoot+straight.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>There's a little RIFLEMAN in all of us.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-3826173309426943325?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-6057213516793813922008-02-11T10:38:00.000-08:002008-11-13T03:49:30.693-08:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R7CWqHRnd8I/AAAAAAAAAEM/sulb8_-rArM/s1600-h/Sheriff+Reagan.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165794422845568962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R7CWqHRnd8I/AAAAAAAAAEM/sulb8_-rArM/s400/Sheriff+Reagan.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-605721351679381392?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-90608735123707551062008-02-06T17:23:00.000-08:002008-11-13T03:49:30.765-08:00<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R6pdus7U-1I/AAAAAAAAAEE/b27z-Zrke0w/s1600-h/dewey-truman.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5164042979649059666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R6pdus7U-1I/AAAAAAAAAEE/b27z-Zrke0w/s400/dewey-truman.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>It ain't over til it's over.</div><div></div><div>The Rifleman</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-9060873512370755106?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-86573206654490262842008-02-05T09:17:00.000-08:002008-02-12T10:44:51.629-08:00There aren’t many polling places out where I live. I was going to have to mosey on down to where the “civilized” people roam to cast my primary ballot. So I saddled up and rode into town last night. My plan was to get up early Tuesday morning, be waiting at the door when the polls opened, ink my votes, and then get the hell outta Dodge before anybody even realized I was there.<br /><br />As I rode down the main drag in the cold night air, I saw a bunch of kids standing on a street corner, all of them waving large, homemade Barack Obama signs. It was a clear-eyed and optimistic effort to shore up support, maybe even change the minds of those passersby who found themselves wavering between the uncomfortable norm and the shock of the new. After all, can there be anything less frightening than youthful idealism? And here, before me, stood the unspoiled virgin voters of the United States…people young enough to have an unsullied and unwavering faith in the American political system…believing that their <em>belief</em> is enough to change to world. I was once one of those kids myself, though I’d be ashamed to admit the name of the guy to whom I lost my virginity. Suffice it to say it didn’t go well. He was a loser in more ways than one.<br /><br />To me, these kids embody the dream of that “more perfect union” I once shared…a reverie that has long since slipped beyond my reach no matter how strong the desire to close my eyes on reality and keep on dreaming. They believe in Barack Obama and his message. And they believe their hard work can get him elected despite an enormous machine that is working in the opposite direction, threatening to crush their naïve optimism like the tanks of Tiananmen Square. Perhaps most importantly, they believe that President Barack Obama will be able to change this country, and that is what this election is truly about.<br /><br />It’s easy to write these kids off. They are inexperienced at best and adolescent at worst. Still, it's tough to forget the sage council of Dr. Robert Zimmerman when he prescribed that “he not busy being born is busy dying.” The good doctor was all of twenty-four years old when he penned that line. And it should prove to warn that this country hasn’t been born in a long, long time. You can call the youth “idealistic” or even “dreamers,” and you would be correct. But remember that idealism is rooted not in the way things are, but the way things ought to be. To castigate the idealist is to embrace the greater fallacy that society, as it's come to be, is working out just fine.<br /><br />So perhaps it’s fitting that I woke up this morning with another of Dr. Zim's tunes in my head. As I walked down to the polling place, the cold morning sun paying fine compliment to the icy air stinging at my lungs, my boot heels hit the pavement in time with the music in my mind.<br /><br /><em>I want you<br />I want you<br />I want you so bad…</em><br /><br />I hit the polls just as the doors swung open. There were three others there ahead of me, no doubt dreaming the same dream. But it was what happened next that is truly the stuff of fantasy. For the first time in my life, I voted <u><strong>for</strong></u> someone.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-8657320665449026284?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-17027172118155702342008-02-01T16:26:00.000-08:002008-02-04T10:43:50.596-08:00<strong>“STIMULUS”<br /></strong><br />Do you feel it, baby? I feel it in every nerve ending in my economy. Oh yeah, that was good. I could use a cigarette...and thanks to the remarkably shortsighted economic <strong>stimulus </strong>package our President has given us, I can even afford a few cartons of Marlboro Reds.<br /><br />The stimulus has the weight of a feather, and it’s intended to tickle the scrotum of the American economy. It will do that. But the effect will last about as long as a male orgasm. Whether we each get three hundred bucks or a grand, it’ll be here today and gone tomorrow. The momentary spike will rapidly recede. And we’ll soon find ourselves in the very same sorry state, albeit with a bigger international debt to pay down. Swiping the ole plastic can feel good, and it may even provide a quick fix in a pinch. But remember, credit card bills are paid with interest.<br /><br />Definition: <strong>Credit Card Economics</strong>. See also <strong>Dutchboy’s Finger</strong>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-1702717211815570234?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-12695880928812674382008-02-01T15:32:00.000-08:002008-11-13T03:49:30.890-08:00The PICK-A-POL dispatches were my crack at some sort of Consumer Reports, intended to give you (the political consumer) correct and concise information about the four top brands in American politics today. There were other, smaller brands that found popular support at one time or another (i.e. the <strong>Drunk,</strong> best exampled by Ulysses Grant or the <strong>Warrior</strong>, exemplified by Andy Jackson and Ike). But these are largely defunct political products relegated to the antique shoppes of history. Today, a pol with enough clout to have their names printed in an election ballot will either be a <strong>Suit</strong>, a <strong>Hairdo</strong>, a <strong>Preacherman</strong>, or a <strong>Fuzzbuster</strong>.<br /><br />But perhaps I shouldn’t say “either/or.” Because somewhere beneath their synthetic political veneer, these men and women are actually human beings, capable of exhibiting more than one trait (or, at the very least, capable of pandering to more than one special interest group). So it’s only fair that I close this article with a tip of my hat to cross-branding in Presidential politics.<br /><br />While Bill Clinton was more Suit than Hairdo, and Taft vastly more Suit than Fuzzbuster, each man exhibited some traits of both brands. FDR was equally Preacherman and Suit, a glorious bit of cross-branding that enabled him to see society’s problems, inspire the “congregation” to rally, and use political capital to promote positive change. While many Presidents have been double brands, never in the course of US history has one carried all four banners.<br /><br />But once, just once, we had ourselves a triple brand. And since the setup reads like a joke, I might as well go for it:<br /><br />Q: What do you get when you cross a Suit, a Hairdo, and a Preacherman?<br /><br />A: A waking nightmare!<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162159284302445378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R6OshM7U-0I/AAAAAAAAAD8/O0uFcTC1PwA/s400/reagan-at-durenberger-rally.jpg" border="0" /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-1269588092881267438?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-44922507577277118062008-01-30T10:09:00.000-08:002008-11-13T03:49:31.147-08:00THE FUZZBUSTER™<br /><br />In a rigid two-party system that often sounds more like a one-party system, it’s fairly easy for any red or blue-blooded American to become disaffected. The question often being, do I waste my vote on that overly conservative Democrat or that too damn liberal Republican? Either way, the result is often the same. Over and over again, we simply pass our national hand basket to a different satanic steward. If you remember your mythology, the divergent rivers of Acheron and Cocytus both lead to the same dreary place.<br /><br />So here we are, better than halfway across the Styx, and it’s hard to imagine a third party hero emerging with the power to turn our boat around. With the shores of Hades fast approaching, the best we reluctant voyagers can hope for is a splinter in the oarsman’s hand.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161333551069985554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R6C9hM7U-xI/AAAAAAAAADk/c8r9xEzkq3w/s320/dore+-+styx.jpg" border="0" /> Allow me to introduce those splinters, or as they’re known by their political brand, the <strong>Fuzzbusters</strong>. Like the radar-detecting devices that give them their name, a Fuzzbuster’s sole role in politics is sticking it to the Man. The Man, of course, is the money-backed, power-mad amalgam of "Republicrats" and "Demoblicans" that has plagued politics ever since the death of the Whigs. It’s gotten worse of late, as the corrosive pigswill of dynastic politics has muddied the political waters even further. Fuzzbusters represent a wider spectrum of voices, which is precisely why the Man usually calls them “the lunatic fringe.” To be fair, a lot of Fuzzbusters are indeed lunatics. But I’ll let you make the call as to who fits that bill on a list of names that includes everyone from Pat Buchanan to Ralph Nadar, Ross Perot to William Jennings Bryan, George Wallace to Eugene V. Debs.<br /><br />And this year, there’s lefty-loosey Dennis Kucinich and righty-tighty Ron Paul, each looking to become the Fuzzbustinest Commander in Chief in ages. If Obama and Huckabee are the Preachermen of established religion, these two are the cult leaders. Both of them are men of ideas and conviction. And both of them would be written off as slobbering madmen if your only source of information is the TV news. Still, their crowd of supporters sees them as soothsayers, wise men to follow to the ends of the earth if need be. They might very well have to, because neither of them will ever be the President of <em>this</em> U.S. of A.<br /><br />A Fuzzbuster has captured this country’s top job only once, and then only by the accident of an assassin’s bullet. Both Democrats and Republicans were shocked when Theodore Roosevelt grabbed the reigns. And his “Square Deal” was fair and square for everybody save big business suits and their political pocket men. TR was massively popular with the workaday stiffs, the daybreak-to-back break types who fueled the nation’s booming economy but took home less than one red cent per dollar of the fortunes they created. So in nineteen aught four, despite the best efforts of the swindlers and their swine-hearted politico pals, Roosevelt won by a landslide, and he used his mandate to further clean the house.<br /><br />But by 1912, corrupt businessmen and corrupt pols alike had a whole administration-length to lick their wounds. And when big Teddy ran as a Bull Moose that year, he got beaten by the last of the racist, old-world Democrats. From that point forward, there has always been enough money and power to stop a Fuzzbuster before they ever truly get started.<br /><br />So, as I said before, here we are again...back in the same bloody boat and floating ever closer to the Underworld. And again, there’s a pair of Fuzzbusters ready to take your vote should you choose to give it. You’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t. It's normal to want a few new ideas to be injected into the national dialogue, and a vote is a clear indication of support. But voting for a Fuzzbuster is like burning your ballot in protest. Because, precisely like those radar-detectors that gave them their name, the Fuzzbusters cost a lot (in time and money) and they just don’t work. In the post-TR world, they speak loudly and they carry a very small stick. If you’re looking for a hero, brush up on your mythology…or buy a comic book. Because this ship has long since sailed.<br /><br />My advice: Vote Spiderman<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161766496658324274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R6JHR87U-zI/AAAAAAAAAD0/pY1-w9ffy9c/s200/Pres+Spidey.jpg" border="0" /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-4492250757727711806?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-74904950107096861612008-01-28T18:11:00.000-08:002008-11-13T03:49:31.521-08:00<em>THE PREACHERMAN™</em><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160725439535446754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R56Ucc7U-uI/AAAAAAAAADM/3a36mXoca54/s320/tent+revival.jpg" border="0" />"The day is coming, my brothers and sisters, when a man will return from heavens and lead his people to the Promised Land" <span style="color:#ff0000;">("Amen!")</span></div><br /><p>"He will bring peace to the masses" <span style="color:#ff0000;">("Amen!")</span><br />"give shelter to the homeless" <span style="color:#ff0000;">("Amen!")</span><br />"He will heal the sickness and the suffering" <span style="color:#ff0000;">("Amen!")</span> </p><p>"And best of all, my brothers and sisters…he will deliver us from pork barrel spending and give us <em>this</em> day our lower taxes!" <span style="color:#ff0000;">("Wait a minute. Are we talking about the same guy?")</span></p><p>Hope, redemption, change, the end of the morally corrupt world of present. Such is the domain of the <strong>Preacherman</strong>. They sound a lot like those holy men from the past; the ones who used their religion to change their world. But if you listen closely, my brothers and sisters, you’ll notice that Preacherman pols are less concerned with Kingdom Come than they are with Fiefdom Now.</p><p>In Washington, politics is religion. But, historically speaking, the reverse is also true. The Church was the world’s first tax-supported government - offering leadership, community, a contract of moral obligations, and at least ten civil laws in exchange for an annual tithe. Continuing on down the road a couple of thousand years, religiously themed rhetoric still packs a political punch. By now, it’s in the Blood.</p><p>But not just any politician can be anointed a Preacherman. One must have a certain charisma, above-average oratory skill, and the ability to guild their politics in spiritual gold. But, there’s a loophole…an indulgence if you will. Those who lack these attributes can still be considered Preachermen simply by wielding the Bible like a blunt instrument. Pat Robertson and the sitting President flash to mind.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160956702049499890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R59mxs7U-vI/AAAAAAAAADU/C1Ekq3MvlOk/s400/born+again.jpg" border="0" />The so-called separation of Church and State would seemingly preclude a Preacherman from holding political office. But remember, religion is politics as surely as politics is religion. And a few Preachermen always seem to capture the imagination of the spiritually famished American people. When preaching to the choir, they invigorate hope and spark dreams of a nation reborn. When preaching to the unconverted, they inspire what can only be described as a religious sense of dread. They are divisive figures, and for that reason Preachermen don’t often ascend to the Presidency. In the rare historical instances of a Preacherman President, a legacy of legendary proportions is assured. Whether the legacy is for good (Lincoln) or for ill (W.) depends mostly on the political religion of the man himself.<br /><br /><p></p>If you find yourself looking for a little of that old time religion this year, there’s a pair of Preachermen to choose from. The charismatically fresh-faced Barack Obama, who promises life after the recent death of the American dream. Or there's the revamped, polite version of the Christian cudgel - Rev. Mike Huckabee - who promises government by the Book (his interpretation, of course). Of the two, Obama is the only one with a prayer of getting the nomination. But the general election is another ball of wax, and never in the course of American history has one Preacherman President succeeded another. Still, one could argue that the only true antidote for a poisonous Preacherman like Bush is a promising Preacherman like Obama...or perhaps the apocalypse.<br /><br />My advice: MATTHEW 7:15<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160959386404059906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="222" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R59pN87U-wI/AAAAAAAAADc/6ClcO9nZVXM/s320/jones.jpg" width="228" border="0" /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-7490495010709686161?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-19301451485692807692008-01-25T13:49:00.000-08:002008-11-13T03:49:31.746-08:00<em>THE HAIRDO™</em><br /><br /><p>This breed lives by the motto “if you can’t be it, look it.” A Hairdo is much more than carefully coiffed locks; it’s a state of mind. Generally speaking, the more sculpted and plasticine the tresses, the more sculpted and plasticine the policy.</p><p>Hairdos rarely reside in the Oval Office, but they turn up frequently as second banana to a Suit (<em>see Pick-a-Pol part 2</em>)…some historical examples can be found in Spiro Agnew, Dan Quayle, James Schoolcraft Sherman, and Walter Mondale. The only logical explanation for this is that, much like children, Hairdos are better seen than heard. The connection to children is made all the more apparent since Hairdos are often renowned baby-kissers.<br /><br />A rare historical example of a Hairdo President is found in Martin Van Buren, that well-coifed dandy who, by all accounts, was more interested in his appearance than he was in working for the American people. Cases in point, the <strong>Panic of 1837</strong> and the <strong>Trail of Tears</strong>, both of which reportedly took place while MVB sat snuggly in the barber's chair.</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159535311179418674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R5paB3TvDDI/AAAAAAAAAC8/n51Cj6wb4Bo/s320/van+buren.jpg" border="0" /></p><p>The American people, while notoriously gullible, are usually able to see through the Brylcreem and the blow-drying well before they step up to ink-a-vote a Hairdo into the Presidency. Still, examples of this most vainglorious of pols can be found in the Gubenatorial mansions of many states and the Mayor’s offices of most US cities. </p><p>This year, there's a couple of Hairdos vying for the nation’s top job. There’s the haloed, clean-as-a-whistle fluff fantasia of perennial schoolboy John Edwards. And there’s the rock hard, crispy-fried, pomaded and Pennzoiled helmet hair of the man from Massachusetts, Mitt Romney. Neither of them have a prayer of being elected, but isn’t it funny how much easier it is to say “President Mitt Romney” or “President John Edwards” when prefaced by the word “Vice?” That, my friends, is what’s become known in American Politics as the “Grecian-Formula Phenomenon.”</p><p>My advice: TIME FOR A TRIM.</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-1930145148569280769?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-37103153586793224252008-01-25T11:06:00.000-08:002008-11-13T03:49:31.887-08:00<em>THE SUIT™</em><br /><br />If you think of politics like a business, these are the CEOs. The Suits are professional politicians, the white-shoe wheeler-dealers who treat the halls of power like a corporate boardroom. They may seem like their own bosses, but like all CEOs, they answer first and foremost to their shareholders (in this case, lobbyists).<br /><br />From the first historical example in 1877, more Suits have become President than all the Hairdos, Preachermen, and Fuzzbusters combined. There’s a good explanation for this. The business world rewards entrepreneurs who create jobs for people and wealth for shareholders. Since there’s a shitload of cash to be made in politics, the Suits keep the pork barrel rolling in exchange for their well-appointed corner office and that grand mahogany desk.<br /><br />For that reason, there will never be a shortage of Suits in Presidential politics. No matter your party affiliation, you’ll have one on your primary ballot. This year, slip into the fine tailoring and quilted collars of Senator Hillary Clinton or the rumpled “working man in his Sunday best” stylelessness of Senator John McCain. Each brings with them a corporate infrastructure of yes men, ad men, loyalists and lobbyists…all with a common goal as quoted from famous historical Suit Calvin Coolidge - “The business of America is business.” For the Suit, “business” is politics. So it should be no surprise that Clinton’s new campaign song is the BTO classic “Taking Care or Business.” Sing it with me, now:<br /><br />taking care of business, everyday…<br />taking care of business, every way…<br />taking care of business, it’s all mine…<br />taking care of business, and working overtime…<br /><br />Indeed. Politics, per usual. Because of this, Suits are rarely effective leaders. They often aid and abet thieves (think Warren G. Harding), while some are dictatorial criminals themselves (think Richard M. Nixon). Some are simply bumbling incompetents (think Herbert Hoover, Gerald Ford), and some are merely competent (that’s you, Bill). In rare occasions, a powerful lobby with a just cause can pressure a Suit into supporting positive legislation (as MLK, Jr. did with LBJ). Many talk a great game, but when it comes down to the nitty-gritty, Suits are there to serve themselves, their shareholders, and a scant few greedheads and power-brokers in the top-tier of American society.<br /><br />My advice: BUYER BEWARE.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159495032976116770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 317px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 264px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="264" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R5o1ZXTvDCI/AAAAAAAAAC0/8livr93BTbI/s320/Suit+shake.jpg" width="229" border="0" /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-3710315358679322425?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-76019750395218469952008-01-23T11:50:00.000-08:002008-11-13T03:49:32.047-08:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R5ea0XTvDBI/AAAAAAAAACs/UZM8-lyKqdo/s1600-h/Ledger.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158762122576858130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R5ea0XTvDBI/AAAAAAAAACs/UZM8-lyKqdo/s400/Ledger.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>Life on the Range has claimed one more casualty. He was young, handsome, and by all accounts promising. His name was Heathcliff Andrew Ledger. He was an actor by trade and Australian by birth. To most of us, it would seem he had the world at his feet. But like many in his condition, the weight of that world rested not beneath his feet, but squarely upon his shoulders.<br /><br />In the minutes and hours that followed the first reports of his death, there was a lotta talk. People gossiping about what happened…was it suicide? An accident? Many were saddened (“He was only 28”), most shocked (“Drugs?”), and more than one muttered callous horseshit (“I hear Playgirl has a memorial spread in the works”). The story is already a media event…and will remain so until our insatiable need for squalid details can be powershifted into some other "hot" topic.<br /><br />But we’ve still got a long way to go before that can be allowed to happen. We need to know a minute-by-minute account of his last few days on earth and the precise toxicity of his bloodstream. We need to see fans leaving flowers at his apartment door, his ex-girlfriend publicly weeping, and his daughter, dressed in black at daddy’s funeral. We need to hear testimony from friends and acquaintances about his collapsing mental state and his increasing substance-abuse problem. We need to see photos to document his decline, and re-hear carefully edited interview excerpts that sound at present like haunting cries for help. And we need to point the finger at somebody or something – his “heartless” ex-girlfriend, that “soulless” Hollywood machine, the “selfish” actor himself. There will be a scapegoat; someone must take the blame for this tragedy.<br /><br />And what will remain at the end of this dark trail? Just a face...some flickering images...and one more name on a long, lonesome list.<br /><br />I must admit that I don’t get to the picture shows very often, so I am unfamiliar with his work as an actor. But I am familiar with his struggle as a man. And the older I get, the more difficult it is to see anything noble in the “Nick Romano Legacy” of living fast, dying young, and leaving a good-looking corpse. The cruel and bitter truth is that Ledger’s last lonely days are echoed throughout modern history…testament to nothing but the senselessness and meaninglessness of fame, fortune, and that most-coveted of designations - celebrity.<br /><br />All of which is not to say that his life was meaningless. There is no way to measure the chasm his absence will affect in the lives of those who knew and loved him. If my hunch is true, he was a sick man well before he found fame. Like so many restless souls, he felt that celebrity would cure his ills. And when it didn’t, he looked elsewhere to find relief. His decisions will be debated and judged ceaselessly in the media. But it is unfair to judge a sick man simply because he prescribed to the wrong medication.<br /><br />So here we are again, with another good-looking corpse to mourn, the remnants of a life lived fast, not fully. There is little left for us to do but ponder what could have been, what never will be, and respectfully bid farewell.<br /><br />In one of his final roles, he portrayed one facet of Bob Dylan’s persona. As such, I found it fitting to crib a few lines from the Bard to sing this sad young man to sleep…<br /><br />I don't like it in the wind,<br />I’ma go back home again,<br />but I can't go home thisaway.<br />Thisaway, lord lord lord,<br />and I can't go home thisaway.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-7601975039521846995?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-39159025518250855122008-01-22T14:36:00.000-08:002008-11-13T03:49:32.617-08:00Politics has always been a mirror image of society. A distorted funhouse mirror perhaps, but a mirror nonetheless. Just look at how the Presidents of the Manifest Destiny era evolved into the Presidents of America, the industrialized nation. Now, as life on the range slowly devolves into a massive conglomeration of strip malls, chain restaurants, and discount stores, politicians seeking election package themselves as user-friendly, easily identifiable brands. So next time you’re down at Wal-Mart shopping for a President, you may choose from one of these trusted varieties (each available in convenient Left-leaning or Right-leaning models to suit your personal taste):<br /><br /><strong>The Suit (TM)</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><div></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158434374218029474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R5Zwu5huGaI/AAAAAAAAACM/FyYiwwaWJQw/s320/The+Suits.jpg" border="0" /></div><p><strong>The Hairdo (TM)</strong></p><p><strong></strong><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158434919678876082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R5ZxOphuGbI/AAAAAAAAACU/n8fAyQD2IRU/s320/The+Hairdos.jpg" border="0" /></p><p><strong>The Preacherman (TM)</strong></p><p><strong></strong><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158435387830311362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 429px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 116px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="133" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R5Zxp5huGcI/AAAAAAAAACc/oJEzmrcL0bI/s320/The+Preachermen.jpg" width="339" border="0" /> <strong>The Fuzzbuster (TM)</strong></p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158435821622008274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 337px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 158px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="142" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R5ZyDJhuGdI/AAAAAAAAACk/n8jjfoQ0uws/s320/The+Freethinkers.jpg" width="321" border="0" /><br /><p><strong></strong>In the coming days, I'll write more about each individual brand in an effort to give you, the consumer, all the product details you'll need to know before you spend your vote.</p><p>Let Freedumb Ring!</p><p>The Rifleman<br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-3915902551825085512?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-64414773483140130192008-01-22T05:38:00.000-08:002008-01-22T09:35:11.544-08:00“<strong>SLOWDOWN</strong>”<br /><br />This new buzzword is bouncing around all over the place. You'll hear it every time the powers that be describe the current economic state in America. In the next few weeks, expect "<strong>slowdown</strong>" to escape the lips of every politician on the campaign stump, any representative of the U.S. Federal Reserve, and even those “reporters” on the evening news.<br /><em>Definition:</em> <strong>Recession</strong>. See also <strong>Great Panic</strong> and <strong>Black Tuesday</strong>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-6441477348314013019?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-52492136750448342382008-01-17T17:30:00.000-08:002008-11-13T03:49:32.816-08:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R5ABn5huGYI/AAAAAAAAAB4/WUBPkcAG8GY/s1600-h/the-rifleman.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156623358307998082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C5Kac6l43N4/R5ABn5huGYI/AAAAAAAAAB4/WUBPkcAG8GY/s400/the-rifleman.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>The man in this photo is NOT ME.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-5249213675044834238?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-81586095459984041212008-01-17T16:06:00.000-08:002008-02-12T10:15:45.249-08:00<em>Can the most exciting Presidential candidate in decades survive the name game and the great American gut check?</em><br /><em></em><br />What’s in a name? It’s a question soon to be on every American’s mind. If Senator Barack Obama becomes the Democratic nominee for President, the Republican machine (and a fair number of Dixiecrats) will make sure “the liberal media” pumps their concern into the collective consciousness like Bovine Growth Hormone into a dairy cow’s ass.<br /><br />The issue – that "this glorious WASP nation" of ours could potentially elect Barack Obama as their Commander in Chief. His name, you’ll notice if you say it aloud, is out of sorts with the warm, white bread sounds of pronouncing John Adams, Zack Taylor, Grover Cleveland, or the rest of the previous forty-three men who’ve held the position (save perhaps for Rutherford Hayes, who wasn’t much of a President but could have been an top-selling soul singer had he a better manager).<br /><br />Barack Obama is, paradoxically, the dream candidate for both parties. He represents the best in Democratic ideals and the worst in Republican xenophobia. Most Democrats (the long-stigmatized party of dreamers) embrace Obama’s ideas, common sense, and a hope for the future expressed with his trademark charm and charisma. But a man whose surname rhymes with Osama, with Hussein his middle name, is the kind of Democratic candidate that makes Young Republicans stain their sheets. For the Right-Wing slander jocks, it could hardly be easier. Type the word “Obama” in Microsoft Word and let spell check make the connection for you. The man’s very name is synonymous with the “War on Terror, ” though I’ll argue that most Americans’ objections to it will have less to do with the heretofore short-lived “War on Terror” than this country’s congenital War on Color.<br /><br />If Obama’s “Christian name” were George W. Bush, George W. Carver, Alan Keyes, or even Montel Williams, the name game would be a helluva lot tougher to play. But the name Barack Obama is what it is. And in a society where racism is still quietly accepted while outwardly frowned upon, we will not judge a man by the color of his skin <strong>or</strong> by the content of his character. Instead, we’ll judge the name his mother gave him, and that oughta be close enough to the way things used to be to keep this country’s top job comfortably pale faced for at least another decade or two.<br /><br />In this so-called “change” election, Obama’s candidacy will inevitably force us to address the malignant tumor of racism that still festers below America’s lily-white skin. Other than a few unfortunate exchanges with Hillary Clinton in the past week, the Obama team has done an admirable job of de-emphasizing race in his campaign. This is the proper tack. After all, if he doesn’t make an issue of it, how can anyone else? The fact remains, if Obama becomes the Democratic nominee, he will represent a change not only of policy but also of presence. The message to America (and, if he wins the election, the entire world) is that the country now is no longer the country of our forefathers. But not everybody will breathe a sigh of relief at hearing that message. Let’s talk turkey…America wants change, but maybe not <em>that much</em> change.<br /><br />If the sound of “President Obama” makes you queasy, you can rest assured that there will be an old white guy on the Republican ticket awaiting your vote. The best part is that he’ll be talking the change-talk too, so you can pat your “progressive” self on the back even as you sell your country down the river. If you’re truly looking for change, you cannot find it in the Republican Party. Mitt Romney has the change capital of a wooden nickel and John McCain’s ideas are about as fresh as a Mercury dime. Both men certainly look more like the Presidents we’ve had in the past, and McCain has the name game advantage of sounding like he could have been elected in any era after the Draft Riots. But let’s say for the sake of argument that it ends up being Obama vs. Romney in the general. Will America really choose a man named Mitt over a man named Barack simply because Mitt sounds whiter? I wish I knew the answer, but only time will tell.<br /><br />It’s hard to believe that a candidate with the talent and potential of Senator Obama could possibly be reduced to defending his name against a wave of pundits, pols, and proselytizers. But this is politics - a corrupt, immoral, and juvenile profession that most resembles the social structure of high school. Name-calling, arm-twisting, and bullying are rules rather than the exception. What is truly exceptional is that the name game hasn’t been played on a larger scale already.<br /><br />My advice to the Obama campaign, castrate all attackers with the same dismissive tone you effectively used early on to combat the race question. Refuse to allow the name game a central role in this all-important Presidential election. Because if you choose to play, you only stand to lose.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-8158609545998404121?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8698013407934110345.post-18067771704951879112008-01-16T17:08:00.000-08:002008-01-17T10:01:35.657-08:00For my first post here, I'll ask that you all ponder the photo in the title box. It's of the sun, setting in America.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8698013407934110345-1806777170495187911?l=notesfromtherange.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>THE RIFLEMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545245774439056977noreply@blogger.com0