July 20, 2006 - July 13, 2006
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Time is running
for our help.
Events are now proving out what InstaPunk has long suspected -- that
the human death toll in New Orleans will be far lower than predicted by
politicians and the mainstream media. This shouldn't be at all
surprising. Americans are exceptionally hard to kill in large numbers.
That's because we're a good deal more enterprising, resourceful,
determined, and helpful to one another than the advocates of nanny
government would have us believe. When the going gets tough, we're not
the victims we like to pretend we are when we start suing for damages
after the fact. That said, it's time for the great bout of whining,
bleating, and impossible demands for recompense to begin. Get ready.
But if you're at the point of turning away from the increasingly
womanish news coverage of "victims," don't. There ARE some victims who
really do need someone else to speak for them: the pets
whose owers abandoned or, in many cases, were compelled to abandon them
by the heavy hand of bureaucratic regulations. Dogs, cats, birds, and
even turtles remain trapped in the flooded areas by the thousands, and
their rescuers need every bit of aid and assistance we can provide.
Time is indeed running out for animals who have been without food and
water for days. The Humane Society of the United States has an
excellent site here
. Please study it
and see what you can do to participate.
One of the many InstaPunk readers who cares passionately about the
plight of the animals in New Orleans sent us this copy of an email and
the picture below. Here's the text:
He had just saved her from a fire in
her house, rescuing her by carrying her out of the house into her front
yard, while he continued to fight the fire.
She is pregnant. The firefighter was afraid of her at first,
because he had never been around a Doberman before. When he finally got
done putting the fire out, he sat down to catch his breath and rest.
A photographer from the Charlotte, North Carolina Newspaper, "The
Observer," noticed this red Doberman in the distance looking at the
fireman. He saw her walking straight toward the fireman and
wondered what she was going to do.
As he raised his camera, she came up to the tired man who had saved her
life and the lives of her babies, and kissed him, just as the
photographer snapped this photograph.
Unlike many of their human companions, the four-legged fellas are
capable of gratitude. Do all you can for them.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
UPDATE: For those who've been asking -- the song you are hearing is Ag
Criost an Siol -- a song
we've mentioned before as a tune
BalowStar wants to have sung grave side with a lone piper about 1/4 mile away from
the burial site. You know, to help people cry who might not be so disposed at his passing.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
Our Favorite Right-Wingers
We liked P. J. O'Rourke all the way back when he was an anarchic
hedonist with the National Lampoon. Then he became a hilarious
contributing editor for Car and
, serving as a willing and witty accomplice in that
magazine's conspiracy to blow the engines of every vehicle equipped
with a throttle and wheels, skis, or propellers. Driving things to the
edge and beyond is, to our extreme ways of thinking, an excellent
credential for a pundit. You can't really do it without understanding
that actions and intentions have consequences. P.J's. wild youth was an
At some point, he started getting serious, even journalistic, though
thankfully never solemn. He's written books about the government, about
war, and even about peace. He turns up on liberal media from time to
time, including Bill Maher's everlasting celebration of himself and
even one of NPR's sly topical game shows, where he trades mild quips
with Paula Poundstone and, well, the usual suspects.
One could be pardoned for wondering just how mainstream he might have
become by now. He's thicker of body and more gravelly of voice. Is
there a point at which gonzo subsides to wry? We hoped not. That's why
we enjoyed the refreshingly direct essay he wrote for the Weekly
Standard's tenth anniversary. It's called "Politics is Evil." We'll
give you just a taste of it here:
In the modern era politics has taken
the place of mere tyranny. The result has been more killing in one
century than in all the preceding centuries combined. Covetousness and
stealing define redistributive politics. Without redistribution
politics would have no political support. Politics' insistence upon
involvement in every human activity, 24 hours a day, seven days a week,
is more anti-Sabbatarian than golf. The Social Security system is no
way to honor thy father and thy mother. And as for adultery, there was,
and there may be still, Bill Clinton...
Even to be "politically informed and engaged" is probably to be of the
devil's party. Tune in to that most politically informed and engaged
network, NPR, and listen to the evident relish with which its newscasts
and current events programs recount misfortune, inequity, and suffering
worldwide. The unspoken gleeful message is, "More occasions for more
Now go read the whole
Friday, September 09, 2005
It's You They Trust
Well, there has been no word from InstaPunk -- we hope he is okay.
We thought we would direct your attention today to Robert Tracinski's editorial for
The Intellectual Activist that should be
entitled, Welfare State Failure,
but instead is entitled, An Unnatural Disaster: A Hurricane Exposes the Man-Made Disaster
of the Welfare State. Read the whole thing HERE.
He highlights the mental lethargy induced upon those who rely on the government for answers to
their problems. We thought it a proper tonic for all who rely on government promises. From the
lowest on the economic ladder to the top.
The New Orleans disaster is filled with private enterprise
vs. public enterprise solutions to problems. Whether you contrast the failure of Mayor Nagin to
use public school buses to evacuate his citizens with the hotels (private) banding together to charter buses --
out of their own pockets -- to evacuate their guests; the misery of Charity (public) Hospital with
Tulane Medical Center (private) across the street; or the harbor police (public) heading to higher ground
with Israeli security firms (private) watching over the more fotunates' stuff -- the preference is apparent.
So, as you watch the machine pour out the solutions to avoiding such a crisis in the
future, know that no one will be proposing smaller public works, smaller bureaucracies, or making self-reliance
an integral part of public policy. Rather, we will hear the same old things -- bigger/more/increased public
works. Simply -- more and bigger promises.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
We've had altogether too much excitement lately here in the U.S. of A.
Apart from drugs, where can we turn for some calming influence that
reduces the heart rate, blood pressure, and neural activity? Sad to
say, there aren't many fishing shows on TV these days, and who wants to
look at a lot of still water right now, anyway? But the good news is
that God in his infinite wisdom gave us the most ferociously popular
sport in the world to divert us at times just like these. What could be
better for generalized flood anxiety than a game consisting of two or
three 45 minute halves in which NOTHING EVER HAPPENS, EVER?
No wonder the pansy Europeans look forward to the World Cup year after
year, and start rioting long before the super athletes on their
national squads fight their way to a nil-nil tie. No wonder the rest
of the world has come to idolize the sissies in short pants who run up
and down the 100 by 200 meter field and back again, occasionally
connecting with that kickball thing in prodigious arcs that go all the
way to the fairy goalie who makes sure that NOTHING HAPPENS EVER.
You see? All the other countries of the world know how to exist in a
state of artificial reality in which there are no responsibilities, no
problems, no consequences, no worries because NOTHING HAPPENS EVER.
So , in the spirit of global serenity, we offer you the best news of
the day, the drive of the best nation on earth, Scotland, toward
victory in the World Cup:
1 - 2 Scotland
Hang on to your hats, boys, Scotland's World Cup campaign is still
alive. This near-miraculous [Ed: somebody SCORED] affair in Oslo last night, a thrilling
match in which the Scots throttled Norway with two first-half goals
from Kenny Miller, means Group 5 is not yet the graveyard where Walter
Smith's hopes of reaching Germany next summer are supposed to rest.
Smith enjoyed one of those baffling nights of international football,
when confidence and excellence were suddenly strewn throughout his
team. Having started efficiently, Norway were traumatised to find
themselves two goals down inside half an hour. From this point,
naturally, self-belief started coursing through Scottish legs as
Smith's team asserted much midfield composure.
Midfield composure! That's what we need. In the bad old days, a meeting
between Norway and Scotland would have resulted in beheadings,
disembowellings, rapes, and enough arson to make California wildfires
seem like marshmallow roasts. Now we have a somnolent interval marked
only by fights in the stands and deranged announcers who live for the
remote chance of being able to yell "G-O-O-O-O-O-O-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-L!"
once or twice a year. What could be better? If you
want to calm down to a state
resembling coma, then all you have to do is click here
The other great thing is that this entry will always be here. Whenever
you or your loved ones are about to stroke out over looters who aren't
getting properly shot to death or the newest pinnacle of evil achieved
by a president who doesn't measure up to Pierce Brosnan's exacting
standards, come here and cool out.
You're welcome. Just remember that this is a service you'll never get
or Hugh Hewitt
. Why? Because we care.
And they're just