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Mailing Address for the Blue Planet
Your Say
My Back Pages
Search American Digest’s Back Pages
Real World Address for Donations, Mash Notes and Hate Mail
Who Am I? by Carl Sandburg
My head knocks against the stars.
My feet are on the hilltops.
My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of
universal life.
Down in the sounding foam of primal things I
reach my hands and play with pebbles of
destiny.
I have been to hell and back many times.
I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God.
I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible.
I know the passionate seizure of beauty
And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs
reading “Keep Off.”
My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive
in the universe.
Duty, Beauty, Liberty, Country, Honor, Family, Faith — Plus a few simple easy to follow rules for guys
The Vault
Take It Where You Find It
Men saw the stars at the edge of the sea
They thought great thoughts about liberty
Poets wrote down words that did fit
Writers wrote books
Thinkers thought about it
Take it where you find it
Can’t leave it alone
You will find a purpose
To carry it on
Mainly when you find it
Your heart will be strong
About it
Many’s the road I have walked upon
Many’s the hour between dusk and dawn
Many’s the time
Many’s the mile
I see it all now
Through the eyes of a child
Take it where you find it
Can’t leave it alone
You will find a purpose
To carry it on
Mainly when you find it
Your heart will be strong
About it
[Chorus]
Lost dreams and found dreams
In America
In America
In America
Lost dreams and found dreams
In America
In America
In America
And close your eyes
Leave it all for a while
Leave the world
And your worries behind
You will build on whatever is real
And wake up each day
To a new waking dream
Take it where you find it
Can’t leave it alone
You will find a purpose
To carry it on
Mainly when you find it
Your heart will be strong
About it
[Chorus]
Change, change come over
Change come over
Talkin’ about a change
Change, change
Change come over, now
Change, change, change come over
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I see my light
See my light
See my shining light
I see my light
See my light
See my shining light
Comments on this entry are closed.
I don’t want no .22 ‘cepting for squirrels and am incredibly suspicious of the present day indoctrination (Even though it’s called education) system, none the less, have a nice daze.
I’ve killed whitetail deer with a .22 and I’ll vouch that it will absolutely and permanently put down any peckerwood. It’s always a shot placement thing and with an accurate rifle you can put rounds into a perp’s head for a surety.
Eschew body shots, no doubt they can damage and kill but that might take too long. Never forget that other targets of extreme vulnerability are there for the blasting….crotch, knees, hands and feet, the neck, shoulders, armpits and elbows.
And if you don’t like the .22 LR there is always the Magnum version. Choices, choices.
When I become dictator of the world you will see no more tattoos. The inked will find themselves mandated into extremely high density housing until such time as all the tatts are gone. Attendants with angle grinders and 50 grit discs will be there to offer the way to freedom. The tattoo “artists” will be never be released. They will spend their remaining days confined, with a medium that suits their art form: an endless supply of 8 1/2 X 11″ lined notebook paper and Bic pens.
JWM
I hereby request an appointment in your regime. Don’t need much money. Don’t need retirement or medical or dental. Got all those already. Just give me the authority “to terminate with extreme prejudice” the enemies of America. I’ll work weekends and overtime if need be.
I can provide my own list of traitorous vermin. It’s rather lengthy.
Mike sed: “I’ll work weekends and overtime if need be.”
=======
It ain’t work if you enjoy it.
BTW, can I get on board this notion?
You and I can work together. I’ll bring the beer.
Sign me up! I’ll bring whatever we require that Mike doesn’t bring.
Call us “The Third Triumvirate”. Like the 2nd one, we will have a proscription list.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kdzUOCqYU0Y
I will never understand why a human being with an existing brain would
want their body to look like a graffiti covered ghetto box car.
It certainly tells us something about our post-modern “enlightenment”.
People that argue AGAINST the .22 are suffering from the “little man complex”.
It’s like arguing against a hammer, or a screwdriver, or pliers, and it’s retarded.
Just walk away, are crack em across the yap.
When I bought my 22 single action revolver at the gun store I asked the man at the counter, “How will this work in a small apartment environment.”
He gave me a straight look and said, “Oh they’ll know you are shooting at them.”
A .22 is roughly 1/4″ in diameter, 6 of them is about 1-1/2″, or, the size of 2 12 gauges.
It ain’t the size, it’s the placement.
A .22 in the head will shut down just about everybody, and then, after they hit the floor, you’ll have the chance to put 5 more in that same head.
And in the end, a .22 is better than a .00.
BTW, if you wanna sell that single action let me know.
A .22 will put more than a welt on them. A .22 can be more easily controlled which means more round on the target. Although, shooting even a .22 inside a house or apartment is ungodly LOUD!
I just threw up in my mouth. If I still had that stack of Playboy mags, I’d burn them out of outrage. But I’m not homo phobic. Homos are phobic of me.
.22 will kill but you must hit the target.
Gates is a walking meme and doesn’t know it. Maybe he doesn’t care, though.
Truthfully, Gates has tits bigger than my first wife. That lard ass giving advice on health is rich.
That lost soul will end up eventually eating a gun! Just how it happens. Pull the trigger, go to sleep. Do it right zero pain! Here one nano second, out of his misery the next nano second. Perhaps fitting end to such a tortured soul.
That thing on the playboy cover is just about as demonic as it can get and killing it would be an act of service to humanity, much less a mercy killing. Let’s hope all of them eat bullets. Hell, I’ll contribute a bullet to their war chest. If they do it right they won’t even hear the shot that kills them.