Merry Christmas!

My favorite Christmas song — O, Holy Night — sung by Josh Groban. The song was originally a French song written to a poem called Midnight Christians. The English lyrics were written by John Sullivan Dwight, a Unitarian minister and an abolitionist. The lyrics are below. The second verse and the first two lines of the third verse (italicized below) are not sung by Josh Groban in the version heard here.

Enjoy this wonderful song and…

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night!

O Holy Night, the stars are brightly shining.
It is the night of our dear Savior’s birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.

A thrill of hope; the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh hear the angel voices!
Oh night divine! Oh night when Christ was born!

Oh night divine! Oh night!
Oh night divine!

Led by the light of Faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming,
Here come the wise men from Orient land.

The King of Kings lay thus in lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friend.
He knows our need, our weakness is no stranger.
Behold your King! Before Him lowly bend!

Behold your King,
Before Him lowly bend!

Truly He taught us to love one another;
His law is love and His gospel is peace.

Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother,
And in His name all oppression shall cease.

Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we;
Let all within us praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord, that ever, ever praise we.
Noel! Noel! Oh night. Oh night divine!

Noel!
Noel! Oh night; oh night divine!

Noel!
Noel! Oh night; oh night divine!

Hey, Bob Costas! Should we now ban alcohol?

Posted by Stranded in Sonoma

This morning, another tragedy hit an NFL team. Dallas Cowboy defensive lineman Josh Brent got intoxicated and while driving with his teammate Jerry Brown, Jr., crashed his car and killed Mr. Brown.

Yes this is a tragedy because an innocent person died due to the thoughtlessness of another. Mr. Brent is an adult and knows that driving while intoxicated is a violation of the law. Here in California, along with our yearly vehicle registration bill, we get a slip of paper that shows, in graph form, how long it takes for a person of a specific weight to fully process an alcoholic beverage. I’m sure the State of Texas has similar info available. In other words, Mr. Brent was aware of what intoxication will do to your motor skills.

If you are a liberal and read the following, here is my politically correct disclaimer that you libtards require before every statement that you might find questionable. If you are intelligent and reading this, you may skip over the next paragraph and move onto the one after the next. The disclaimer is only meant to assuage the guilt of the koolaidians.

In reading the following I am not trying to make light of Mr. Brent’s crime nor the death of Mr. Brown. What I am going to make fun of is another brain-dead, knuckle-dragging, kool-aid drinking liberal by the name of Bob Costas.

When I found out about the crime and death in Dallas this morning, I immediately thought back to December 2, 2012 when Bob Costas, host of Football Night in America on NBC, took aim squarely at his foot and fired off his liberal mouth, metaphorically wounding his career. Mr. Costas quoted Kansas City area writer Jason Whitlock’s belief in what caused Kansas City Chiefs linebacker Jovan Belcher to murder his girlfriend Kasandra Perkins and then take his own life.

“If Jovan Belcher didn’t possess a gun, he and Kasandra Perkins would both be alive today.”

So Mr. Costas agrees with Mr. Whitlock that guns should be banned. Now, apply that logic to the case in Dallas this morning. What would Messrs. Costas and Whitlock ban? Cars? Tell that to Barry Soetoro since the gov’t now owns a majority in General Motors stock. And if you ban cars, be prepared for millions of car owners to run you over while police log the crime as accidental death.

Maybe we should ban alcoholic beverages? Because, Mr. Costas, you know that banning alcohol would never cause any problems and would actually reduce crime. (Scroll to the heading labeled Effects.) Yeah, that’s the ticket! Let’s ban alcohol! Or not.

The only thing left to ban Bob, is football. And if we do that, then you would be out of a job with nothing left to report. Which would be a good thing! Then unemployment among young blacks would increase and the number of black men attending college would decrease. I’m willing to bet, Mr. Costas that you don’t want either of those on your head.

There is one other solution, Mr. Costas. Stick to reading what others write about sports and just be a talking head. It’s what you’re good at. Don’t put your outdated, backwards, unconstitutional liberal beliefs into what you read. You just anger the viewers. Or, if you like, you can just STFU.

Remember Pearl Harbor

Here is a post from March 6, 2012. It’s called Remember… and it’s about serving in the military in WWII. I believe it is worth another read on this 71st anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor.

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I was watching an episode of 12 O’Clock High and I just thought I would pass along some observations on what it was like flying for the 8th Air Force between 1942 to 1945. I have a bit of credibility; my father flew 30 missions over Germany in 1945.

I’ll start with what Bill Mauldin said in trying to get the folks back home to understand what it was like for an infantryman.

Dig a hole in your back yard while it is raining. Sit in the hole until the water climbs up around your ankles. Pour cold mud down your shirt collar. Sit there for forty-eight hours, and, so there is no danger of your dozing off, imagine that a guy is sneaking around waiting for a chance to club you on the head or set your house on fire.

Get out of the hole, fill a suitcase full of rocks, pick it up, put a shotgun in your other hand, and walk on the muddiest road you can find. Fall flat on your face every few minutes as you imagine big meteors streaking down to sock you.

After ten or twelve miles (remember—you are still carrying the shotgun and suitcase) start sneaking through the wet brush. Imagine that somebody has booby-trapped your route with rattlesnakes which will bite you if you step on them. Give some friend a rifle and have him blast in your direction once in a while.

Snoop around until you find a bull. Try to figure out a way to sneak around him without letting him see you. When he does see you, run like hell all the way back to your hole in the back yard, drop the suitcase and shotgun, and get in.

If you repeat this performance every three days for several months you may begin to understand why an infantryman sometimes gets out of breath. But you still won’t understand how he feels when things get tough.

Here’s what I have to say about flying and fighting in a B-17 or B-24.

It’s oh-dark-thirty. You get up and shave with tepid water because you’re only allowed so much coal for the furnace. You shave very close because if you don’t, the oxygen mask you wear later will feel like thirty-grit sandpaper on your skin.

At breakfast, the oatmeal is overcooked, the powdered eggs are burnt, and the pancakes are rubbery. The coffee, however, is warm — just like the powdered milk. This could be your last meal. If the previous night was a bit too strong, breakfast is vomit and a cigarette.

At briefing, the MET officer says, “High and persistent contrails.” You moan because you know that means the Luftwaffe will have a big white arrow in the sky pointed right at you. And the distant target means this is a long mission. No milk run today.

You take off, form up, and climb to your cruising altitude of 25,000 feet. It is 40 degrees below zero. If you remove your gloves and touch anything, your skin will stick to the metal. You are on oxygen; there is no pressurization. The skin of the airplane is 40 thousandths of an inch thick. That is your entire armor. Flak rips through it like a blowtorch through butter. Not to mention 20 millimeter cannon shells. Your .50 caliber machine gun holds enough ammunition for 1 minute and 45 seconds of continuous firing. This mission will last eight to ten hours.

You fight your way to the target through everything the Luftwaffe throws at you; 109s, FWs, guns, cannon, rockets, missles, jet planes, rocket planes. If this is 1942 or 1943, your fighter escort has left you long ago. If it’s 1944 or 1945, well…there are only so many P-51s to go around. You find the primary target is obscured by clouds. You shift to the secondary and it is, too. The closest tertiary target, or target of opportunity, is far enough away to make you think about fuel. You fight your way back and hope to pick out a target of opportunity on the way. You don’t find one. You drop your bombs in the channel because you can’t land with them. When you land, you fire two flares to show you have wounded aboard. So do a lot of the other bombers. Some of the bombers will fly again with work. Others will only be useful as parts. You don’t get mission credit.

You do this 38-40 times in the hope that at least 35 of them will count. You also know that if you only have a 1% chance of dying per flight, that rises to 40% by flight number 12. Not all 12 count as missions; you know that, too. When you get 35, you’ll get some time off stateside. But each group has an infantry quota to fill. A number of officers and enlisted men are transferred from flight operations to the infantry; you could finish maybe 10 to 15 missions and get transferred. See what Bill Mauldin said above about the infantry.

Freedom isn’t free. Remember…

It wasn’t Hitler, it was the fault of the gas chamber

Last Sunday December 2, 2012, host of Football Night in America on NBC, Bob Costas, spoke about the tragedy of Kansas City Chiefs linebacker Javon Belcher killing his girlfriend Kasandra Perkins and then taking his own life.

However, what seemed to upset Costas most was that a gun was used. He decided to use his soapbox to vocalize a rant about the evil nature of guns from Kansas City writer Jason Whitlock. Costas said,

“You want some actual perspective on this? Well, a bit of it comes from the Kansas City-based writer Jason Whitlock with whom I do not always agree, but who today said it so well that we may as well just quote or paraphrase from the end of his article.”

In other words, Costas supports what Whitlock wrote. He doesn’t deny it. Here is what Whitlock wrote.

“Handguns do not enhance our safety. They exacerbate our flaws, tempt us to escalate arguments, and bait us into embracing confrontation rather than avoiding it.”

Except that handguns DO enhance our safety. The FBI estimates that over 2 million crimes are averted every year by the mere brandishment of a firearm. Which means that no shots are fired. If Nicole Simpson or Ron Goldman had had a gun, O.J. Simpon would be 6 feet under pushing up daisies and Nicole Simpson would now be Nicole Goldman and their parents may even have grandchildren. Then Costas went on to say,

“But here,” wrote Jason Whitlock, “is what I believe. If Jovan Belcher didn’t possess a gun, he and Kasandra Perkins would both be alive today.”

That has got to be the most assinine thing ever said about guns. Let’s say that again from a liberal left-wing socialist point of view.

“If Adolf Hitler didn’t possess gas chambers, six million Jews and five million other ethnic minorities would be alive today.”

Do you believe that? Do you believe that some dictitorial left-wing socialist genocidal bastard like Hitler would have let six million Jews live simply because he had no way to commit mass murder easily? Do you really believe that if the Mafia had no guns they would no longer do contract killings?

This is the height of liberal stupidity. It is never the fault of the criminal. It is always the fault of the victim, or the weapon, or society. Liberals want all personal responsibility removed. Nanny government will protect you now.