All my republican friends (like John Ashcroft) are telling me we must spit in all ketchup bottles because that mass murdering, flag wrapping, criminal John Kerry is married to a South African slave owner who owns Heinz. It's OK with me. I never liked ketchup much anyway. Also, I guess its OK to burn the flag if Kerry is inside. Also, if Kerry refuses to publicize proof that he has had affairs with interns, then we need to bring out the big guns and get Monica Lewinsky on the job. No one can resist that much corn fed goodness! This time, we can use a red dress, instead of a blue one.

Seriously, Kerry is one fucked up serial killer. He goes to Vietnam and starts shooting up women and children. Then he gets back, blames Uncle Sam for his own criminal mass murder (which was very much out of the ordinary for Vietnam) and proceeds to spend the next 30 years of his life spitting on military men and women, the armed forces, and voting more liberal than Ted Kennedy. He never met private property he didn't want to appropriate for the common good. One would think that he would have learned in Vietnam - that governments shouldn't be allowed to oppress people. Evidently, the communist learned nothing. This is the real John Kerry:

While in command of Swift Boat 44, Kerry and crew operated without prudence in a Free Fire Zone, carelessly firing at targets of opportunity racking up a number of enemy kills and some civilians. His body count included-- a woman, her baby, a 12 year-old boy, an elderly man and several South Vietnamese soldiers.

"It is one of those terrible things, and I'll never forget, ever, the sight of that child," Kerry later said about the dead baby. "But there was nothing that anybody could have done about it. It was the only instance of that happening."

Gee, "nothing"? How about not pulling the trigger? And not blaming Uncle Sam, you Hannibal Lecter.

God, the lying sack of shit (well, truth telling anyway) admitted to being a serial killing war crime committing murderer in public testimony to the US Congress. I wonder how that would play in the kangaroo Hague or the kangaroo UN?


I don't know if John Kerry is worse than W - a Soviet Texan communist cowboy. I'd have to think about it. AFTER I STAB JOHN KERRY. AND HIS FUCKING LIBERAL MEDIA. Liberal media that will never publicize facts like this:

"Thousands of Iranians have visited the holy cities of Najaf and Karbala since the war ended. Many have expressed surprise at the respectful and helpful behavior of the U.S. soldiers they met along the way.

Leila Araki, waiting in the back of a Renault sedan as her husband peddled shoes, recalled that her mother-in-law somehow lost her money on the road to Karbala. She said a U.S. soldier reached into his pocket and handed her taxi
fare back to Najaf.

"This is something quite contrary to what we have been told about Americans," aid Araki, 31, who was told of Americans flashing thumbs-up and saying, "Good, Iranians."

"They were really surprised. I would never be this respected and well-treated even in my country, by my countrymen."

The liberal commucrap media won't report this shit either:

And it was not lost on me that the President spent about thirty seconds shaking hands with the Admiral, CO, and CAG (If you don't know these abbreviations just look them up in your Funk &Wagnalls!) He then spent the next forty-five minutes putting himself at the disposal of the people who make that ship work, the yellow shirts, the green shirts, the purple shirts, the chiefs, the sailors.

If you don't know the significance of those colored shirts, look it up in your Blue Jacket's Manual. Not dressed out in formal uniform (I understand at Bush's request), but in their greasy, smelly, sweaty working uniforms ... working a flight deck is hot, hard work. And yet he, in his flight suit, put himself at their disposal, this was their moment for 19 or 20 something year old kids a few years out of high school, to get a picture of themselves with the President of the United States, his arm draped around their shoulder.
That is a moment that those kids never dreamed would ever happen to them, maybe not even when they knew he was coming aboard. Surely, he would see the brass, not the troops. But it was the troops to whom he gave his time ... and it was the most natural moment in the world. You might have thought it was a family reunion, and in a way, it was...

Yes indeed, what's in it for the media to prove that the democrats are racist assholes? Who would let them show Janet Jackson's boobies on TV then?


To end on a positive note, here is a story of REAL Texan Cowboy asskicking goodness. The upcoming movie Hidalgo is based on a story about a real Texan (not one of those pussy big government drunken sailor republi-commie republican democrats infesting the house and senate):

Old-timers like Frank T. Hopkins, probably the greatest long-distance endurance rider who ever saddled a horse, proved the virtues of the American mustang many times. A former dispatch rider in the United States Army, Hopkins developed his endurance-riding ability carrying dispatches for frontier generals and his horse-handling skill as a specialty rider in the Buffalo Bill wild-west shows. All in all, Hopkins won more than four hundred races in the late 1800's, when endurance riding was the rage, and for most of those rides he was mounted on a mustang.

One of his lengthy rides started at Galveston, Texas, and ended at Rutland, Vermont. He covered the eighteen hundred miles in thirty-one days and finished two full weeks ahead of the rider who came in second. Another of his best performances was made in October, 1893, when he covered approximately one thousand miles from Kansas City, Missouri, to Chicago, Illinois. Hopkins was the only man to complete the grueling ride, which he did in twelve days six hours.

One of the first proponents of the mustang and the Paint Horse, Hopkins became internationally known not only for setting unbeatable records in endurance racing but also for the excellent quality of the horses he rode. His ranch in Wyoming Territory was the home of a number of good western-type stock horses and one outstanding Paint Horse, Hidalgo. Described as a cream-and-white Paint Horse, Hidalgo was bred on a Sioux Indian reservation in South Dakota. Since he came into the world before the days of pedigrees and family lines, it can only be assumed that he was of "western stockhorse blood," and was descended from horses brought to this continent by the Spanish conquistadors. He was known as an American mustang and possessed the indefatigable endurance typical of the breed. Hopkins obtained the young Paint from the Sioux about 1882 and owned him until 1890.

At the World's Fair in Paris in l889, Hopkins was approached by Rau Rasmussen, a freighter who dominated most of the trade from Aden to Gaza, to enter his Paint Mustang in a three-thousand-mile endurance race across the Arabian desert. Rasmussen had heard of the American mustangs' hardiness and asked Hopkins if he would be willing to pit one of his best against prized Arabian horses. Hopkins accepted the challenge. The desert endurance race was a true test of a horse's strength and stamina. To be able to complete the course, a horse must have a healthy constitution, incredible power, a staunch spirit, strong legs, and sure steps. Beginning in Aden, in southern Arabia, the course followed the Persian Gulf and then turned inland over the barren sandy land along the borders of Arabia, Iraq, and Syria.

The contest had been held annually for a thousand years, and in the past had always been won by an Arab horse. In the words of Anthony A. Amaral, writing of this famous race:

Slightly over one hundred horses started on the ride from Aden. The great caravan of skilled Arabian riders rode their most prized mounts. They were spirited, accustomed to the difficulty of the sands, accustomed to the sun that sprayed exhausting heat upon them. Even among the mass of mounted horsemen, Hopkins stood out with parti-colored, 950 pound Hidalgo from the American plains.

Hopkins held Hidalgo at a steady pace as they made their way through the dry heat and over sandy soil. The march progressed to the Persian Gulf and up toward Syria and then along the border of Iraq and Arabia. Each day the riders started with the sun, following it until they were marching into it. Horses dropped by the way, some exhausted, some lame. At the end of the first week, the scarcity of water and the meager diet the horses were forced to exist upon in the barren country had culled the inadequate horses. The strung line of riders dwindled daily.

Entering the second week of the grueling trek, Hopkins made his move and started to pass the other desert riders. In the wake of the sand kicked up by Hidalgo, treasured Arabian horses of the Bedouins fell farther and farther behind, while Hidalgo kept to a steady pace.

On the sixty-eighth day of the ride Hopkins rode Hidalgo to the finish stone, leaving behind him three thousand scorching miles.

The tough Paint Mustang was the winner by thirty-three hours over his nearest competitor. The only American Paint Horse in the history of Arabian endurance racing ever to win the historic race, Hidalgo did it, and did it on merit.
-posted by Bad Commie @ 3:57 PM