The Top 40

The writer is taking the Muslim legends seriously. Most likely the process went the other way. First violent Arab tribes pillaged the world from Spain to India. Then they wrote up the legends of Mohamed to justify the violence and rapine. In either event, Islam is the religion of a pillaging medieval army. It disciplines (no drinking) and motivates (72 virgins) the army. It has no purpose other than war.

Were people Muslims first or assholes first? I'm with the Fat Man and going with the latter.

History is replete with men like Mahound. His demonic career began with his covetous murders of Jews and the stealing of their treasure laden caravans. He dictated his self-righteous and violent Koran in an attempt to justify his sexually perverse and thieving nature.

So we have to argue over nits before we nuke them?

I wouldn't mind having a nuke in the armory.
Anyway, religion rears it's ugly head again.
Seems to be a long history of that stuff, no?

Sitting here this lovely sunny morning and Shannon stirred as a low growl developed in her throat.

I looked at her and her ears were up and she was tuned in - a potential enemy/prey was in her radar sweep and she was compelled to alert as she was trained.

She went to the front door and started to whine then ran to the backdoor and did the same.

As she headed back to the front door her hair was up and she was starting to growl.

Something was very close outside.

She stood next to my chair and stared at the window over my desk that looks out on the path from the driveway to the house, which winds past my detached office/workshop.

I looked out that window and saw a well dressed man and woman headed for the front gate of the house and each had a large book under their arm.

The man reached for the gate latch and I said to Shannon, "Badger", and she went insane.

She lunged at the back door and I thought it would come off the hinges.

Over and over she lunged, growling, barking, snarling, the whole clinic, never giving up.

If it had been an out swing door it surely would have been in peril of being destroyed.

I looked back out the window and the couple were fleeing for their very lives but not getting much traction with their shiney church shoes on that 53 gravel walkway.

They were moving fast finally but never took their eyes off the terrifying but unseeable horror-demon behind door number 2.

Soon, gravel was flying off their tires as they tore out of the driveway as if their lives depended on it.

I gave Shannon a liver cookie and told her she was a good gurl.

Shannon may come in handy some day soon when hordes of people fail to respect the property rights of others.

For now we just use them as training exercises....

"religion rears it's ugly head again"

It's better to have principled Mormons or Jehovahs at the door than thugs, thieves and con men bred by atheist sycophants.

It's you that should re-examine your priorities.

Would you like it if someone came on your property and started telling you all about stuff that you had nothing but contempt for?

My priorities are clear, you seem to have none.

Surely people have better things to do than come on my land unannounced and uninvited and unwelcome.

This was the 2nd time this week "those" type of people came here, and I'm way the fuck back in the sticks.

If I don't know you, just stay away, and I'll do likewise.

It's called personal respect, something I mentioned just the other day over at WRSA.

Thank you.
Mgmt.

Don't worry Ghost, I won't come within ten miles of your property for fear of being mauled by your dogs or a stray or intended bullet. I would feel the same way about walking at night in south Chicago but at least the dogs would probably be more hospitable.

Everyone that encounters Shannon is instantly smitten by her. She is an australian brittant, beautiful, very well behaved, and trained as a hunter. Until I speak certain words to her she is perfectly normal and will kiss you to death. She's going to get a step sister in the spring.

There is no such thing as a *stray* bullet and you should know better.

Having used that word though you have revealed where you get most of your information.

Yes, it's best you stay away.

I'm a long time member of the NRA. I qualified expert with a M-14 and 1911 .45 in the US Army. I have a collection of rifles and pistols that would make you drool. I could have been shot once by a stray bullet by some fool in the Army who forgot to unload his weapon. I have friends whose son accidentally shot and paralyzed his own Marine buddy while cleaning his pistol. There IS such a thing as a stray bullet and YOU should know better. For years I was an avid hunter. You're right about only one thing, you don't know me.

I don't care to hear about the breed of your dog as they are not fully trained and are dangerous until they are disciplined to treat strangers who might pass by or come to the door with respect. I was a paperboy and twice had dreadful experiences with "well behaved" dogs. Even men are not "well behaved" when they hate everyone but their own.

AN ENGLISHMAN IN AMERICA

Dickens arrived in Boston January 1842. By March 15, when he wrote this, he had visited New England, New York, Philadelphia, and Washington.

Americans are friendly, earnest, hospitable, kind, frank, very often accomplished, far less prejudiced than you would suppose, warm-hearted, fervent, and enthusiastic. They are chivalrous in their universal politeness to women, courteous, obliging, disinterested; and, when they conceive a perfect affection for a man (as I may venture to say of myself), entirely devoted to him.
I have received thousands of people of all ranks and grades, and have never once been asked an offensive or unpolite question- except by Englishmen, who, when they have been “located” here for some years, are worse then the devil in his blackest painting.
The common men render you assistance in the streets, and would revolt from the offer of a piece of money. The desire to oblige is universal; and I have never once traveled in a public conveyance, without making some generous acquaintance who I have been sorry to part from, and who has in many cases come on miles, to see us again.
But I don’t like the country. I would not live here, on any consideration. It goes against the grain with me. I think it impossible, utterly impossible, for any Englishman to live here, and be happy.

From a letter to Dickens friend and biographer, John Forster.