LEATHERNECKM31

The Second Offensive….

Several years ago I began preaching (to the choir) that those engaged in talk radio and the conservative blogosphere were the present day versions of The American Revolution’s pamphleteers and activists; men like Paine, Franklin, Revere, Samuel Adams.

We will continue to play a pivotal role in taking back our country, but the forces arrayed against us are dedicated, well-funded and cleverly directed.

If our first offensive was in part to expose the far-left agenda of the “main stream news media” and its collaboration with the democrat party, then wrest total control of the national dialog from said “media”, we have succeeded.

Proof of that victory came in the 2010 elections which not only reclaimed The Peoples’ House for Real America through the Tea Party movement, it purged hundreds of decepticons from the GOP across the country. The biggest mistake any republican voter ever made was believing that republicans and conservatives were interchangeable.

These elites made careers of being subservient to and seeking rewards from the increasingly far-left democrat party. Turncoats like Graham, McCain, Murkowski, Colin Powell, Lugar and their ilk are as much to blame for our disastrous national condition as Reid and Pelosi.

Conservative media’s role in this Second Revolution is as invaluable as it is incalculable.

But now comes a far more critical second offensive in which we must engage and engage quickly… for we are always behind our enemies and action will beat reaction every time.

Enemy in the open and on the move.

A major move to control the national broadcast medium has been under way most of my life, but the socialists and far-left radicals have through the federal government gained the ability to dictate what traditional broadcast news will look and sound like right down to your local TV and radio stations.

As simply as I can state it:

• On January 28, 2011 Comcast purchased NBC Universal.
• One FCC stipulation of the Comcast/NBCU merger was the incorporation of non-profit journalism centers into NBC newsrooms. 
• at least half of NBC’s 10 owned and operated stations have to find such a nonprofit news center with which to work within the next year.
• They are charged with maintaining and increasing local news coverage with the help of these nonprofits, along the lines of San Diego affiliate KNSD-TV and VoiceofSanDiego.org.
• Voice of San Diego and other such “centers” provide ready-made segments, stories and “investigative” pieces on local topics.
• Voice of San Diego is a member of INN (Investigative News Network) which is funded by the Open Society Institute, the URL of which is “www.soros.org.”

Yes, these “non-profit” journalism centers are funded by George Soros.

Since its founding less than two years ago, the Investigative News Network, a nonprofit news umbrella organization, says its membership has grown from 20 to 53.

Once again…. this means that by federal edict, George Soros’ henchmen have successively taken over American newsrooms for the purpose of broadcasting propaganda, aided and abetted by far-left operatives through out the federal government, including the Oval Office.

This is not a Trojan Horse… these are the shock troops of a massive wave of propagandists and provocateurs intent on destroying what’s left of a free press, and set the table for an offensive against terrestrial talk radio and the internet… which is the only way you can read this particular opinion wherever you are. 

The continued attempt by the left is no longer just to stifle Limbaugh, Beck, Levin and other broadcast patriots, it is to destroy them… professionally, personally, financially and perhaps, physically.

Beck for example, spends in excess of $1 million a year on security for him, his family and his staff; there are more than a dozen active threats against his life being investigated at any given time.

And Beck talks openly about his myriad health problems which have arisen in just the last year and a half, including vision loss and small fiber neuropathy, which damages nerves near the skin, causes numbness and can result in intense flashes of pain.

He has also been audited by the IRS four of the last five years.

The target on Limbaugh's back is as big as he is; several years ago he went deaf, and in 25 years he probably forgotten how often the IRS calls.

Levin, a long time protégé of Limbaugh’s, suffered his first heart attack in 2000 and has had a by-pass and several complications.

Of course health problems can hit anyone, but they are an Achilles Heel, and as such can be target by these men’s enemies.

The deleterious impact of stress on ones health is obvious… and having people routinely threaten to kill you and your family is a significant level of stress. 

Now’s the time for us to hit harder, do more… no compromise, no quarter… we’re vastly outnumbered, but then patriots are used to that. 

Life in the fast lane... for the older set

To brush up for the Wright-Patt AFB Airshow in Dayton next moth, yesterday I drove to the Denton Airport to shoot a small airshow.

It was near 100, but as I always say down here... "don't matter, it's the damned humidity". Texans don't understand this, having lived in a moss and mold producing environment their entire lives. They think potato chips going soft in two hours and 11 minutes is normal... just buy some more.

Hell, living in the semi-arid desert of Colorado most of my life... many times I've actually eaten foodstuffs left behind by the Donor Party as they trekked through on that ill-advised trip to California some years back.

Anyway, it was hot and I put three bottles of water in my shorts' cargo pockets, loaded my gear and began walking around.

I must say here that jets have little fascination for me... it is doesn't have a prop what good is it really? Most have no style, so most are butt-ugly.

The day started well... as so often happens, my first shot of the day was my best.........................

.... it was the venerable DC-3 which really began civilian air travel in the U.S after indispensable service in WWII.

I was annoyed however when the announcer reported that the "DC 3 was the key aircraft in WWII's China-Burma-India theater.

It was a C47 damnit!

I wandered through the static display and there were several great air frames, but there's something about air shows that annoys me to hell; they let people come and I seldom get any decent on-ground shots.

"Here's a nice Corsair with a baby stroller and a guy in plaid shorts."

Not something I show people.

Nonetheless it's a small crowd and passing by a group of F-18 demonstration pilots I'm reminded of how great it must be to be to have that job, and those wives or girlfriends that go with them.... "right into the danger zone....'

I'm not saying that some women are shallow and will date/marry any man in the world if he is rich, has exotic employment or is a pro ball player or actor............

No, wait... that's exactly what I'm saying.

This venerable P-40 was outfitted in the  livery of the American Volunteer Group who didn't wait for Pearl Harbor, the  young men left the US and started killing Japs while FDR fiddled around.

Love those guys... love the P-40.

And then the highpoint of the air show... it was one of those encounters that happen to me (thankfully) with some frequency.

I was looking down making adjustments to my cameras and she came into view just to my left.

The first thing I noticed was the "zipper". The zipper is a hard-earned badge for those who have had heart surgery... or had their "chest cracked" in the parlance of the operating theater.

It peeked out just above her tiny, white tank top, surgical tape still covering the incision and stitches.

I fought the lump in my throat.

I turned to a woman next to me.

"If you don't mind my asking, how's she doing?," gesturing at the four year-old, perhaps the most beautiful child I'd ever seen.

"Oh, she's not mine... mine are over there."

I moved on to the next nearest person... and repeated the question.

"Oh, she's doing fine, thanks... just out of the hospital."

With that the Beautiful Girl lifted her tank top to reveal, as warriors will, the scars of battle; with her left hand she pointed out a small scar to the left of the sternum midline.

"That's her drain tube scar," said her Dad. "She thinks it's the most interesting."

I would learn that she'd been under the knife three times, and the last surgery was to repair "all the plumbing around her heart". But just two weeks later, she's at an airshow with her Dad.

I didn't ask any more question. I didn't want to contemplate any possible negative outcome for this angel in 10--20--30 years. I hope she lives to be 100.

I gave Dad a card and ask him to send me an e-mail so I could send photos....

So, this is my Father's Day gift to my faithful readers: we all should be as tough as these two.

It's no doubt creepy for civilians to have a hulking guy with cameras and  business cards accost them only to begin blubbering, so I touched her lightly on the head and shake hands with Dad... I can't say what I want to... about what a good Dad he is.

March on.

I shot several planes aloft already knowing that I wouldn't be happy with my work. I've order a bigger telephoto for my Nikons and I'm forced to use my back-up Olympus.

An hour of so later I realized that I was walking around sort of aimlessly amid the vendor tents and not feeling well.

My Basic Brain reported... "heat stroke, dumbass".

Very familiar... Vietnam, and again a couple of years later when I jumped in my car at Fresno State and headed home three miles distant--in August.

Despite the A/C, when I got to the apartment I literally fell out of the car and staggered toward a cold water-filled bath tub. 

Although I'd prepared for the heat in my clothing, headgear and fluids, I'd let the heat get out in front of me and perhaps lost my situational awareness. (Piss off Don, it could happen to anybody).

I immediately sought shade and drank the rest of my water--I had consumed two and a half of my three water bottles... and yet.

In such potentially embarrassing situations, I am most focused on maintaining a witty repartee so as to not end up on YouTube.... or if it's really good, to end up on YouTube.

Yep, the knees were going and the vision was getting increasingly "tunneled" as we in the Dr. House Academy of Sarcastic Medicine call it.

I made it to a vendor's shade.

This is what I remember to the best of my sun-dried memory.

"Kind sir, I'd like to have a bit of your shade and could you call the paramedics for me?"

That seemed to be cool enough; more importantly he jumped to it. Good man.

He grabbed some of the young AF Junior ROTC kids who a alerted an Air Force/National Guard medic who took my pulse and reported "60 and thready."

I liked that.... not as good as "60 cc's of Epi, stat!!!", but it'll do.

Soon Denton Fire's great EMTs arrived and by then I couldn't get my head up having already off-loaded all the water in my stomach (I should eat breakfast more often, Don says it's the most important meal of the day).  

It was like they were talking to me from then end of a tunnel... and their questions were more of a suggestion... get up on the gurney? No, I'll just sit here in Mr. Vendor's shade

They lift, I sag.

I say good-bye and thanks to Vendor, ROT-C and Air Force.

I was able to come up with my best line at this point; as they began wheeling the chair-gurney toward the fire EMT truck, I said: "Say, isn't this when the crowd breaks out in spontaneous applause." 

That even got a chuckle from the firemen who are a damned tough audience... especially since my condition was about as interesting as watching paint dry. 

Anyone who thinks the AC in a fire truck is lacking... take it from me... not even.

Blessed cold.

Over the next hour and a half, they hooked me up to the usual instruments... I began to rally on the second liter of fluid running into a forearm vein, we joked and and I babbled weakly. From the radio traffic it was clear that others were dropping like flies outside... made be feel a little less whimpish.

 These EMTs are pros; I'm relaxed; it's like a flight nurse I dated once told me... "if you ever have a choice of being treated by a flight nurse and EMTS or a physician driving past the accident... go with the nurse."

Like I'm an idiot... we spent a great two years together but I never got to fly in the chopper.

Anyway, good luck Beautiful, and thanks, Denton Fire Department.

Gored by his own Vidal

The snippy little twit Truman Capote once referred to Gore Vidal's work thusly:

"That's not writing... that's typing."

I don't completely agree about Gore's talents... I think a lot of his writing is fluid and compelling... I just don't think he ever had much to say. "Myra Breckinridge"???

Gore, photo, right, the aging queen of American letters, has been a silly man for a number of decades now. Recently he has passed into embarrassing and undignified, dottering old age.

His recent comments about John McCain to The New York Times ("Who started this rumor that he was a war hero? Where does that come from, aside from himself? About his suffering in the prison war camp?") are poof that the old poof doesn't have anyone in his life who cares enough to keep him from self-embarrassment.   

The NYT reporter, no doubt incredulous, responded:  "Everyone knows he was a prisoner of war in North Vietnam." To which Vidal responded: "That’s what he tells us."

The reporter persisted... but why would you doubt him?

"He’s a graduate of Annapolis," Vidal explained. "I know a lot of the Annapolis breed. Remember, I’m West Point, where I was born. My father went there."

Let us pause here for a moment....

Gore is "West Point", as I am "Altus Oklahoma"... we had absolutely no choice in our birthplace; for Gore to claim the military bully pulpit--even slightly-- based on his father's history as a West Point graduate, is craven, offensive and only adds to his embarrassment. 

However his attack on McCain's service and integrity pales in what the pathetic homosexual said about his better... conservative icon William F. Buckley.

The NYT reporter ended by asking how he felt about Buckley's passing: "I thought hell is bound to be a livelier place, as he joins forever those whom he served in life, applauding their prejudices and fanning their hatred."

The difference is that millions miss Bill Buckley, his wit, charm and astute thinking.

No one will miss Vidal when his time comes... save the boy toys he pays to hang out in his mansion and frolic in his pool and hot tub.

On second, thought... they'll just miss the cash.