Friday, September 5, 2014

"...not even a smidgen of corruption."

Because this isn't a "smidgen", this is just reasonable technical difficulties. And if you doubt us, you are a goddamn slack-jawed, pigeon-toed, banjo-strumming racist and you're not worth arguing with anyway.

From the Daily Caller:

IRS: Five More Employees Lost Emails In Computer Crashes

The Internal Revenue Service (IRS) lost emails from five more employees due to computer crashes, likely bringing the total number of computer crash victims tied to the IRS targeting scandal to more than 20.

The IRS added five more employees to its computer crash list Friday, the Associated Press reported. The new computer crash victims are linked to congressional investigations into the IRS scandal and include two more Cincinnati-based tax exempt agents who worked under Lois Lerner.

The announcement came just hours after new emails revealed that computer-crash victims Lerner and Nikole Flax were part of a “secret research project” that led the IRS to improperly demand donor information from nonprofit groups.

Computer go boom! All gone!

Of course, with the craptastic fuck-up that has been the Obamacare website, these jokers have seriously proven that they know jack shit about 20 crashing, shredded computers seem perfectly reasonable.


Not. A. Smidgen.

You got it, Buckwheat. (wink...wink)

I swear to GOD ALMIGHTY! and ALL THAT IS HOLY! if I am audited by the IRS I will meet them at the door with not one goddamn receipt, and I will say that everything was lost in a computer crash.


Democrats investigate Democrats. Find Democrats did nothing wrong.

The IRS's internal auditor distorted the facts surrounding the IRS tea party targeting scandal, leaving Americans with the impression that the tax agency went after conservative groups without also targeting liberal groups, the Senate's top investigative panel said Friday.

Investigators said the IRS did mishandle applications for tax exempt status, including subjecting groups to years-long delays and "poorly coordinated reviews." But the report, written by Democrats who control the chamber, concluded that the IRS's "mismanagement" affected both liberal and conservative groups, clearing the agency of accusations of politically motivated behavior.

"The subcommittee found no evidence that political bias influences the decisions made by IRS personnel," the report concluded. "A review of nearly 800,000 pages of documents and nearly two dozen interviews produced no evidence of political bias influencing IRS decisionmaking about how to process [nonprofit] applications filed by conservative organizations, and no evidence that the IRS singled out conservative groups for harsher treatment than other groups."

The investigators said part of the proof was that "key IRS personnel" were registered Republicans or viewed themselves ideologically as aligned with the tea party.

Investigators also said the IRS must write new rules to push nonprofit groups out of political activities.

Of course there is absolutely NO reason to believe that Democrats investigating such serious charges of misbehavior by other Democrats might be influenced by the Democrats' shared desire to obstruct Tea Party opposition to the Democrats' political aspirations.

This simply would never happen. We're talking Democrats,remember.

We know there is not a smidgen of corruption in the IRS. We've been reassured of this by our Democratic president. Now we know that there isn't a smidgen of corruption in the ENTIRE DEMOCRATIC PARTY. And we are being assured of this by Democrats. Nice and tidy.

All saints, these guys. Knights on white horses.

Okay...that last one was obviously racist.

But I'm a Tea of course I'm racist.

And now, it seems, I'm paranoid, too. Because I still believe that the IRS was out to get us.

Why The Irish Drink

Actually, this is sort of a "chicken or egg" question. Which came first, the drinking? Or the NEED to drink from horses like this?

To my mind, BOTH these men need a stiff one after this.

If you want the full's the video of this acrobatic performance.


This happened at the Irish Derby and the horse and rider continued on and would have had to sedate me after that.

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

No Good Falling Apart At The End Of The World

Funny Memories

We may only have a few days left and I want to offer my sincerest apologies to everyone because it is all my fault. You see, Farm Boy and I are scheduled to leave for Kaui on September 12th.


The day after September 11th, which is certainly going to be the day they will choose if they can for their HUGE terrorist attack on US soil. Of course I am perfectly aware if it DOES actually happen, we won't be going to Hawaii...but just the fact that we've scheduled the trip, and with the way my luck is, I will have personally caused an historic terrorist hit. I'll go to my grave knowing it was all my fault.


But at least we will be here...on this side of the pond...where our kids and family are. Probably the ONLY reason I would NOT want to get stranded in Paradise would be under such circumstances. Think of the craptastic luck to be stranded in Hawaii and only want desperately to get home.

Of course, I'm assuming that I survive the attack. My luck, while crappy, isn't usually flat out shitty, so I'm counting on being around in the aftermath.  Whatever that might mean.

But...on the outside chance that my crappy luck has actually run completely out and I'm a goner because of barbarians and madmen (including our president), I feel nostalgic.

So here's a story out of my memory banks. 

Years ago, when I was working for Braniff and living in Boston, a girlfriend and I went out dancing and drinking. Michelle was a lot of fun -- a LOT of fun. WAAAAAAAY more fun than I ever was. So being around her was like being suddenly dragged onto a stage at a wild concert where you don't even know who is playing. Anyway, we shut down the place and were out in the parking lot in the wee hours...along with a bar full of others who had just been pitched out into the streets, and were stumbling drunk. So drunk, in fact, Michelle insisted that we stick around for the entertainment of watching drunks navigate their way to their cars. As the bar was especially popular and quite large, it had it's own parking lot, and it was packed full. Obviously some revelers had arrived late to the party that night and now needed to find their way through rows of cars to the very edge of the parking lot where it dead-ended into a frontage road that ran along the far side, rising above the lot by about 10 to 15 feet. It was a steep slope from the road down to the lot below and then the slope dipped below the level of the parking lot into a fairly deep ditch.

Oh...and don't mock the artwork. I can't draw any better than I can write...and you're here, aren't you? Standards, my dear. Standards.

One particularly loud group of stumbling drunks were headed for a car. Michelle had a knack for always picking out teh funny, and she quickly slapped me on the arm. "Look! Look! Look! This is going to be funny!"

Puzzled, I turned. "What?"

"Fuck, yes. These guys are waaaaay too drunk. This is going to be good."

"Dangerous, maybe. Good?"

She laughed. "Watch."

Within moments of her prediction the drunks were piling into a car. They quickly revved the engine and simply drove it -- right into the ditch. They just surged forward...right off the edge. We were hysterical, sitting on the hood of our car. They had dumped the car into the ditch so deeply that the rear tires were completely off the pavement and the front end was buried out of sight. The car burst open to spew forth all the drunks who were now staggering around with wild, loose, windmill arms, swearing and punching the car, which, in my opinion, was an innocent player in the whole mess.

The car was stuck. With its rear tires in the air, there was no way it was going anywhere. Period. They pounded on it for a little while, before deciding that they could figure this out. Okie. Dokie. Have at it, dudes.

Not surprisingly, their idea was worse than their driving. With a curious mixture of horror and side-splitting hilarity, we watched them get into a truck and drive it around to the frontage road, turning it to point down the hill right above the stuck car. We watched, but couldn't anticipate. We saw, but didn't believe.

They drove that truck, with all the conviction of drunken Pattons waging war, right down that slope and squarely on top of the stuck sedan. The force of the impact was so hard that it jack-knifed the hood, bending it into a "V" and driving the car even further into the soft dirt of the ditch. Its rear tires lifted ever so slightly higher in the air. I think Michelle and I were actually screaming at this point, we were laughing so hard.

Later, Michelle and I decided that they must have been trying to shove the car out of the ditch with the truck, but being drunk and stupid, had completely misjudged the speed, angle...well...frankly the whole damn thing.

I still laugh at the picture of that truck hurtling down on top of that poor, ditched car.

HAHAHAHAHAHA! I can die with a smile on my face.

End of Days

With a massive terror attack possibly only days away, I've decided that the only reasonable thing to do is fill my last remaining hours with happy thoughts and silly stuff. What, me worry?

And, for me, happy thoughts and silly stuff almost always involves horses.

So, first up is the adorable Princess Barret and her Wonder Pony, Velvet.

We have a pony that lives next door to us who, at least as far as this video shows, is just as sweet and long-suffering. Any child could climb all over Pony Boy, crawl under his belly, tug at his mane or tail or forelock or, unfortunately, bridle, and he would. not. move. EVER.

But our delightful little neighbor is one of those ponies who has learned that children pose no threat whatsoever that he might actually have to DO anything, and so he will happily submit to the ministrations and equestrian dreams of wee tots. Have a kid on him that is old enough to think they can ask for so much as a trot, and Pony Boy brings out his full bag of tricks...and none of them are nice. You're going to get either a rank buck, a nasty swerve, or, if he is particularly annoyed, a wild gallop before ending with either a buck or a swerve...or, on the rare occasion...both. But you are not going to win. Or stay on.

Pony Boy is a nasty little shit.

But he is as good as gold for the little ones who aren't capable of more than smearing themselves around on his back. If he can get his head down for a bite of grass while they're doing it, then they are safe for hours. There's no better babysitter.

More horse stuff.

This says it all. Horses, like dogs, have strong social instincts. But, unlike dogs, they know they are prey and that they taste really good. This makes them skittish, to say the least, and desperately in need of a strong leader to feel safe. Proving your leadership, however, requires convincing the horse that you are better, stronger, faster, smarter than he is, otherwise why would he turn over his very survival to you? This isn't always straightforward, considering that most people are none of those things.

And most people show just how stupid they are when they try to treat horses like big pets. That's not what the horse is looking for and it isn't going to convince him you know shit about survival.  A horse needs your leadership far more than he needs your affection. Period. This does not mean that you can't, eventually, have an amazingly strong relationship with a horse. You can - and should. But you must start with leadership. Once that is decisively settled, then you can safely treat your horse like a big dog and get away with it. Unfortunately, too many people in horses nowadays have come from a background completely devoid of farm life and have not one freaking clue about how dangerous horses really are. They skip right past the whole leadership issue and jump right to feeding carrots and kissing them on the nose. Not smart. In fact, often dangerous.

Some horses, without proper leadership, are mean. Many are scared shitless. All are dangerous. But a horse who understands you are his leader and trusts that you are in charge of his survival, will literally go into battle for you.

They are incredible creatures.

This is my baby. He has had the entire summer off due to an injury to his left front leg. And now the world is ending and I haven't ridden in months. Of course, we just put in a tremendous arena, and laid down serious bank to do having the world go down the toilet now is just about standard for my luck.

And to finish off this equestrian-themed post is the official dressage test for horses unsuitable to become anything. Study it well. I expect good things.

When my daughter was quite little, probably three or so, we attended a horse show where a lovely large pony entered the dressage ring with a young girl. The pony was flashy, a black and white paint with incredible markings. Lovely. Well, Daughter fell in love. She immediately began squirming and climbing on the railing, too overcome by her emotion to stand still, begging me to buy her a pinto JUST.  LIKE. THAT. ONE.

I could see trouble, though. The pony, while definitely fancy, was tense as a coiled spring, and almost immediately upon entering the ring at C, began to whinny. Well, whinny is an understatement. This pony was screaming. The visual was somewhat disconcerting, as the outline of the pony never changed. He LOOKED entirely correct, except for the obvious tension, but the SOUND was unnerving. It portended bad things.

The tension increased. The screaming increased. And, by the look of horror on the young rider's face, the firm conviction of impending disaster increased  for her as well.

When she tentatively tried to pick up the canter, the pony accepted this timid request with all the explosive capacity of a Widow Maker. He SHOT across the ring, swerved to continue galloping in a large circle, picking up speed, until she was flung like a sling-shot from sheer centrifugal force and landed in a heap far outside the dressage court.

My daughter stilled, watching this. As the dust settled around the young competitor and the pony gleefully disappeared toward the barns, Daughter flatly said, "Don't buy me THAT pony."

All righty.

Anyway, let's all keep our heads about us in the coming days. Oh...and if you haven't done so already, stock up on toilet paper. You'll thank me for that suggestion. Guaranteed.

Monday, August 25, 2014

Only horse people will REALLY understand this.

I find this enormously funny because every single one of these "sayings" is absolutely spot. on. If you ride, you've either heard them or said them and no one blinked...or giggled...or even reacted, except to nod in agreement.

But from now on I will never be able to shout at a student, "Don't let him get his head up! Keep it right there and be soft with your hands so his mouth doesn't get hard."

Good Lord.

Saturday, August 23, 2014

Apparently I am stark raving mad.

However, I'm incredibly lucky I wasn't born in the 1800's because I could have been committed under at least 30 of these categories...I know Bad Whiskey makes me NUTS!

I particularly like "Gathering in the Head".


THIS is why we have mass shootings now and we didn't then. All these crazies were safely locked away.

Anyone Else?

Does anyone else think the word "kumquat" sounds positively nasty? Like what you might call Nicki Minaj?

Or is it just me?

Ride'em, cowboy!!

This is quite literally -- and I mean LITERALLY -- painful it is so precious. My heart hurts, watching it.


It's me again.

Again I have gone missing for far too long and am now depressed to discover that apparently the internet needs me like teats on a boar hog. So rather than take the obvious as some kind of legitimate feedback, I'm popping in for a moment to cause all of you to remember why you should be missing me more.

Farm Boy is traveling yet again and I have been working diligently on advertising and graphic design, watching the farm and taking care of All The Living Things. Luckily this harsh duty includes copious amounts of wine each afternoon on the porch and the snuggling attention of a little Cavalier. What is not necessarily a part of the job description is bathing. I am sitting here realizing as I write that Cyber the precious Cav has abandoned me and the sofa for the floor as I haven't showered since hubby left two days ago. Dear me. Perhaps it was the bales of hay I moved into the barn yesterday, or the field I cleaned of several days' manure, or the 25 minute High Intensity Interval Training video I skipped and jumped around to today...but I have the faint odor of an infantry man after a 10 mile hike during an Iraq summer.

Heh! I'm conserving a valuable resource! You're welcome.


"Never lose your cool. Or your head." "HAHAHA! Good one!"
Is it just me, or does it seem completely insane that ISIS is swashbuckling its way across the Middle East, dissecting people like they were all 10th grade science projects and gleefully posting the gruesome acts on YouTube with threats that it's a show coming our way soon...and our Beloved Boy-King has his scintillating brilliance trained like a marksman on the danger posed by domestic terrorists? Doesn't that seem...well...a little off the mark?

Of course, whatever he's truly concerned about, it never interferes with his golf game. This apparent lack of even a smidgen of concern for beheadings, dismemberments, genocide, and dangerous American citizens does not in any way point to a callousness and narcissistic superficiality---YOU RAAAAAAACIST!--but instead, clearly shows that ice runs in the man's veins. Lincoln-esque ice. Determined. Resolute. Focused. Unflappable. Indefatigable ICE. The man is downright spooky how coolly unemotional he is about the horrors being wrought on innocents in the "new Iraq." You know, the Iraq that he got us out of with his keen political maneuvering and seriously adept diplomatic skills.

Except -- SUDDENLY -- it seems...he didn't.

 "Did I say I did that?"
Yes, Buckwheat, you did. Over and over and over and over.

So I stink, the president stinks, and the whole administration stinks to high heaven.

I, at least, only need a bath. These characters need orange suits and brand new itty bitty living spaces.

Saturday, August 2, 2014

Hillary Clinton, our next Emperor.

Over at Weasel Zippers, they feature a story about how nasty and arrogant and vicious and demanding and just plain unlikeable our darling "Hard Choices" star, Hillary Clinton is to those who protect and serve her. 

It's actually a punishment to have to work on her detail. As in, "Benner, you really fucked up this time getting caught watching porn all day. You've been assigned to Ms. Clinton."

And that, my friends, would convince any man that porn just isn't worth it.

‘Agents say being on Hillary Clinton’s detail is the worst duty assignment in the Secret Service. Being assigned to her detail is a form of punishment.’

And her nasty attitude goes all the way back to early days at the White House when Hillary and President Bill Clinton stepped out of Marine One helicopter and crossed the lawn holding hands.

But that was all for show. Once they were out of the public eye, it was a scream fest between the couple.

In response to a cheerful ‘Good morning, ma’am’, by a former uniformed officer, Hillary’s response to him was ‘Fuck off’.

Here's the ever charming Hillary greeting her Secret Service detail.


So now you know who Hillary REALLY is. No wonder there has been such a push to normalize transgenders. Our next president could be a tranny. And not a smokin' hot, sane one, either!

Who said women can't drive?

I can't decide whether this video proves that women are awesome stunt drivers and make punks out of cops...or if it just proves that most women are crazy insane.

Probably both.

So, the lesson here is do not try to stop a woman driver who is crazy insane. Let the police do it. It'll take six or seven of them, at least.

I was actually rooting for the Brave Little Toaster. Who knows? Maybe it was trying to find the master?

I hate to sweat.

I really, really hate it.

Obviously, this revulsion can be a handicap in my desire to stay physically fit. So I ride horses.

I know...I know...many of you just nodded your head, believing that riding horses is a non-exercise, requiring no effort on the part of the rider. How COULD you sweat when the horse does it all...right? Wrong. Soooo wrong.

But what is fabulous about riding is that you do it outside, when it's lovely and cool, and you are moving -- often rapidly -- through air, so you don't sweat. Or your sweat is whisked away by the cool breeze before you even are aware of its discomfort.


So you can get quite incredibly fit without ever being reduced to an unattractive, panting blob of smelly, gelatinous goo.

So, knowing this about me, a dear friend (did I say DEAR?) asked BEGGED attend a Bikram Yoga class with her. Of course I said, "I'd love to" because I love yoga (being another activity that keeps you fit and doesn't make you sweat).

On the way to the class my "dear" friend had a sudden fit of honesty and admitted that this wasn't just a mere yoga class. "Oh really?" I replied. "I'm fairly limber. I'm sure I'll be fine. And I don't have to do ALL the movements. I'll just not do anything that's too hard."

"Oh...that's not it. I'm sure you can do the yoga part. It's the heat part."

"Heat? What...heat?"

"Bikram Yoga is done in really high temperatures."

I was losing my agreeable attitude. "How high?"

"Really high."

"Mojave desert high?"

"Yeaaahhh....more like Death Valley high." 

"Are you shitting me? Yoga? In the heat? That completely ruins the whole point. And you know I hate to sweat."

"Oh, but it's really good for you."

I glared at her. "Don't be concerned about whether it's good for me. It could prove deadly for you. I've killed over less."

When we arrived, I politely inquired at the front desk about the whole heat and sweating and dying thing, and she gayly informed me that "Yes! And it's wonderful for you. Gets out all the toxins!"

"I don't want them out. I had too much fun getting them in. I like my toxins." I turned to my now suspect "friend". "If I make it through this, you're buying me lunch. And I intend to replace my fluid loss with a double Cadillac Margarita. Maybe two."

I made it through. I hated every. single. minute. I hated it with an oozing, slippery, dripping, faint-headed, almost-passing-out fury. But I survived.

At least I didn't lose my soulmate, twin flame and love of my life over it like this poor guy.


Yoga mat for sale. Used once.

Yoga mat for sale. Used once at lunch hour class in December 2009. Usage timeline as follows:

Register for hot yoga class. Infinite wisdom tells me to commit to 5 class package and purchase a yoga mat. I pay $89.74. Money well spent, I smugly confirm to myself.

Open door to yoga room. A gush of hot dry air rushes through and past me. It smells of breath, sweat and hot. Take spot on floor in back of room next to cute blonde. We will date.

I feel the need to be as near to naked as possible. This is a problem because of the hot blonde to my left and our pending courtship. She will not be pleased to learn that I need to lose 30 pounds before I propose to her.

The shirt and sweats have to come off. I throw caution to the wind and decide to rely on my wit and conditioning to overcome any weight issues my fiance may take issue with. This will take a lot of wit and conditioning.