Maybe. If He Keeps This Up.

Or, to quote the football announcer: “HE COULD! GO! ALL! THE! WAY!!!”

I have a sneaky suspicion that one D. Trump could be the next POTUS.  I told this to DW and she asked “Why?” so I told her:

He keeps refusing to be intimidated into political correctness by the press, and then when they push him he spouts off things that the rest of the country is thinking, except for the people in the press.

Sure, he’s rich enough to buy ads enough to get popular.  But you haven’t heard a single Trump ad yet.  He’s sucking up all the oxygen, simply by being “controversial” by saying the same sorts of things you think all the time.  It’s a long. [deleted]. time. until Novmber, 2016 and a lot of stuff can happen between now and then, including the proverbial “live boy or dead girl” scenario.  But I doubt it.  I think this guy has been working up the same case of giveadamn as me, these last many years- but he’s got the bankroll to allow him to pull off the campaign without compromise.

So what you are seeing may be Trump, unvarnished.  He says what he intends, because he doesn’t HAVE to care what anyone thinks.  Like it or don’t vote for him, but he doesn’t have to change his message to suit his audience.  Which he knows, of course – so what you are seeing may also be a mask.  He could still be a stalking horse for the eventual Democratic Party candidate, which will intentionally split the Republican Party vote and lead to a Democrat POTUS.  There is approximately one way to find out: the hard way.

But this involves a larger number of people than have been interested in a very long time, finding a candidate they can agree with on about 80% of what he says, with a track record of getting things done.  So.  I’d prefer President Cruz or maybe President Walker.   I don’t like what I’ve heard of Trump’s religion.  But from all the way back here on the calendar, so far, maybe, I could pull the lever for Trump.

Never. Next Question?

The comments will be all over the map at /. as usual.  But the headline is all it took to get me riled up.

“When should cops be allowed to take control of self-driving cars?”

Never.  But never.  Self-driving cars, you can argue, are a good idea for most of the people currently halfassing their way through the morning commute.  But given the desire of those in power to grasp for more power, I’ll take the never on this one.

Of course, I’m also a fan of cars having zero ability to communicate with anything else, unless you physically plug something into the car.  That’s all I need is some hacker figuring out how to crash my steer-, brake- and throttle-by-wire car and make it look like an accident.  Me, I’ll take my throttle cable.

Good Boy. Good Thing You Can’t Talk.

VFDDawg #3 got lucky twice today.  He got to eat spaghetti.  Twice.  Not two separate servings.  The same serving, twice.  Dumb dog, he ate a bellyful and a half, yakked it up on the kitchen floor, and left it long enough for DW to see the mess.  She declined to clean it up long enough for the dog to begin to have another go at his meal.  She started being grossed out, but I told her to remember it was just that someone had spilled a bowl of s’getti on the floor.  That worked.   She chilled out again.

Nevermind the dog had spilled it out of his gullet.  He was cleaning it up, so it was okay with me.  But it was a big helping and he had a light stomach.  He couldn’t eat it all at once (again).  DW asked me to clean it up as she was on the way out the door to take a couple of anklebiters somewhere.  I went back to the kitchen, and more of the mess had cleaned itself up.  I moved the furniture that was blocking access to what was left.  Came back a few minutes later and the rest of the spaghetti was gone, along with some old kibble that had snuck under the furniture.

Good boy.

I’d give him a treat but… I think he’s full.

You’re Supposed to Say, “Good Morning, Mister Herman”.

Kenneth Herman tried to comply with State law and his kids’ school freaked out and ended up losing in court.  State law says he can carry his pistol into school.  Hoplophobes in the school said “nuh-uh, that’s scary” and denied him access.

“If I’m a principal and I’m sitting in my office and I see someone walking up to my building with a gun, what am I supposed to do?”

You’re supposed to say Good Morning to them, because these are the same parents carrying concealed and making you safer without you knowing.  You have vicious little anklebiters running around with sharpened pencils and nobody gets hurt, ALL the time!  Because a person has something dangerous, does not mean you are in danger.  Duh?

So: Good news for rights secured in the 2nd Amendment.  In good news from foreignerland, the Dutch have had their rights upheld as well: If you want to move there, they are recognized as being able to impose their language on you.   Yes, this is great news.  A nation comprises its borders, language, and culture.  This ruling is tremendous for the Netherlands and I congratulate the whole country on their success.

Hey, Did You Kill Anybody Over There?

On the anniversary of the atomic bombing of Japan and the resulting end of the war, it occurs to me that some people might not know why WWII (and modern) combat veterans were reluctant to share their experiences with their families when they came back home.  Maybe a sample of the kinds of letters that never got written may serve to illustrate the point.


Dear Mother,

Today was a good day.  I didn’t get killed.  Tom Johnson and Bill Rogers on my right, as well as Meriwether Stilson on my left, all got their heads shot off when they were looking over the wall of our trench to see if it was safe to get out.  It wasn’t but they never knew that.  Then the advance was sounded and we jumped over the side of the trench but it turned out to not be a trench.  It was a really steep hillside, and the slope was full of shell holes from enemy fire, plus it was muddy.  It rained the other day, plus we had been throwing our pots full of urine and liquid dysentery shit over the side of the trench, and we slid down in our own piss and liquid shit.  At the bottom there was this little valley that used to be a river.  It was three feet deep in corpses that were half blown-up and three-fourths decomposed and smelt worse than anything.  They were swimming in fat white maggots and covered up with flies that flew off when we fell into the river of dead guys.  Our legs sank down in the soft, rotten flesh that used to be our friends and enemies, and the maggots wormed up into our pants.  We tried not to vomit because we would just be trudging through that too – in addition to the infectious corpses, blood, urine, and liquid shit.  Then we advanced thirty five yards to a trench full of dead enemy soldiers we had just killed with fire bombs, and cleared the trench.  This meant throwing the blackened, stiff dead men out to the forward side of the trench.  It would have been easier to throw them back the way we had come, and tomorrow we will have to climb out over them but for tonight they will absorb at least a few bullets and that is alright by me.  But I didn’t get killed, so today was a good day.

How did you do at the Bingo hall on Tuesday?

Combat was too different, from life in the real world.  It’s not the sort of thing you discuss over dinner with your gramma. It was bad*.  Read this, if you are not sure how to treat your combat veteran loved-ones.

*and he loved it, which is also hard to explain.

Well, That’s New.

I’ve taken it upon myself to learn enough of AutoCAD to be able to make simple objects.  I thought the learning curve for Photoshop was steep.  Compared to AutoCAD, learning Photoshop is a cakewalk.  I was beating my head against the program for a few minutes just now trying to find out what are the fundaments I need to learn, and I realized something:

I haven’t been this ignorant of anything in a long, long time.  I usually have a decent idea what I’m doing, but there is much here I have never learned before.  VERY much.  Everywhere I look there are a few dozen more options.  As I told DW the other day:

It’s like taking someone who doesn’t know how to swim or drive a car, putting them behind the yoke in an airplane and telling them, “Good luck!”