Silflay Hraka

Shaming Abraham, Martin and John

Let’s assume for a moment that George Bush has decided that Saddam is evil, if for no other reason than Saddam tried to kill his daddy. It’s not much of a stretch, especially if one agrees with the European view of him as a simplistic cowboy.

Now, we know what George’s response is when he’s confronted with something he sees as evil.

What do you think Harry Belafonte will do?

Short answer: Nothing that puts him at any personal risk, and nothing effective.

Think about it. If you were confronted by something or someone whom you knew to be evil, what would you do? Evil. Not bad, or misunderstood or oppressed or misguided or chemically imbalanced or acting out. Evil.

What Harry Belafonte does, when confronted with evil, right here in his home country, is to whine about it to foreign reporters*. There’s a heroic display of bravery and virtue for you. Thanks for the information, Harry.

It’s a good thing Rosa Parks rode the bus that day, instead of you.

*Zod: As opposed to you, brave soul that you are, who…….wait for it…..writes about it on the Internet!

Oh, be quiet and let me have my screed.

Hraka Demographic Survey

Which would you like to see more of?

An in-depth exploration of the root causes of Oregon’s budget shortfall and its consequences for the educational system of that state, featuring explanatory digressions into the demographics and geography of the upper Northwest,

or

the Black Jesuit Order of Lizards?

We’ll need this data in order to sell out to the man, assuming the man ever comes sniffing around.

Poultry in Motion

Chickenshields Head Back to Coop

And here I was thinking that ‘Pantywaistshields’ was a clever coinage.

Latest on My Boy’s “Parts”

Okay, weeks have passed and we still haven’t decided what my daughter will call the male parts. My ideas of “his unit,” and “cupid’s battering ram” were quickly vetoed by the wife (she is like France). The other day we were giving “the boy” a bath when the Bug decided she wanted to sit up on the counter with us, not because she has a real desire to watch him get a bath, but she is working on getting the same amount of attention she used to. The conversation went like this.

Bug: Look at the boy’s coochie, daddy. It is huge!!!

I almost peed in my pants laughing so hard. Sadly, my first thought was that at some point the boy would appreciate those sentiments, but now was not the time. Plus, I didn’t want to make a scene in front of the wife so I let that drop. Since that time we have mentioned the fact that boys are different from girls and that we don’t have the same parts, so last night the Bug and I were sitting on the couch and this conversation took place:

Bug: You don’t have a coochie, daddy.

Me: That’s right, Bug. I sure don’t.

Bug: Mom and I have a coochie, but you and the boy don’t.

Me: Right again (thinking all the while, “Dear God, let this conversation be over”).

She went on to say how boys and girls are different, blah, blah, blah. Weeks are passing and still we are not coming up with a good name for the unit. It isn’t a problem to come up with something for the boy to call it, but I can’t have the Bug calling it his “staff” when she is 13. As mentioned before, “penis” is not an option. I realize it is the correct term, but that name just doesn’t sound masculine enough, plus it would give me the creeps to hear the Bug say it (I can’t explain why, it just would). Some of the best suggestions I received were “yogurt slinger” and “his junk” from prarie dog, and “danglybits” from bill. I really gave “danglybits” and “his junk” consideration, but again France, I mean the wife, used her veto power.

Links to Pearl

The arrest of al Qaeda operations chief Khalid Shaikh Mohammed is certainly a great victory in the U.S.’s was against terrorism, but perhaps one family is more excited than most. For Daniel Pearl’s family, it may represent justice on a more personal level. This arrest has officials talking again of the murder of Daniel Pearl. Mohammed has been implicated in the murder by one of the Pakistanis who led authorities to Pearl’s body last year. I suggest we make Mohammed have a public execution. We will host the party over at the Silflay Hraka Beach House and will pick up the tab for the sure to be pay-per-view event.

Is Michael Jackson a Racist?

In a new article in Vanity Fair, Michael Jackson is again making news. The article again brings up the notion that Michael is bleaching his skin white because he does not like being black, suggesting that he even refers to black people as “spabooks.” Is MJ (all apologies to Michael Jordan) prejudiced against blacks? He certainly has gone to great lengths to look different than he used to. Maybe he is sensitive towards mummies, because that is what his nose looked like the last time I saw it, with skin (or faux skin) peeling off of it.

Perhaps the weirdest thing about the article (and that is saying something about Jackson) is that he paid (allegedly) an assload of money to a voodoo chief to put a curse on a bunch of people to have them killed, including Steven Spielberg and David Geffen. He also almost had his amusement park equipment repossessed because of late payments. He really doesn’t need the ranch anyway, the fact that he lives his life as if he was still the biggest star in the world is proof enough that he will always live in Neverland.

Treat Secret

Finally, before I retire, a conversation;

Okay, if you’re finished going to the potty, stand up and I’ll put your diaper on.

I don’t wear diaper, daddy.

You’re right, you’re right. I meant ‘put on your panties.’ Your daddy’s a silly man.

You not a man. You a girl. Be a good girl and you get treats.

When they kick at your front door, how you gonna come?
With your hands on your head, or on the trigger of your gun?
When the law break in, how you gonna go?
Shot down on the pavement, or waiting on death row?

Back at the beginning of the last decade, in my recently divorced, shitty job and behind on the rent days, come Saturday night Kehaar, the Boogie Scarecrow and I would watch COPS before hitting the Chapel Hill bars. I loved COPS. No matter how bad my situation was, I wasn’t nearly as bad off as the idiotic morons and redneck crackers that showed up on that show. I could always look at them as they staggered towards the waiting police cars, and feel a little bit better about myself

Yes, yes, I know that was shallow of me, and mean. “Looking down on others doesn’t make you any better than them.” was the basis of almost every other sentence my mother said to me during my adolescence. Not that it took, at least not for a long while. Well, ye without sin cast the first stone, and all that. Looking down on others is practically the defining experience of the human condition, and anyway I don’t do it more now that I’m so well adjusted and happy.

Well, not much, at least.

But I’ve gotten away from my point, which was that drug-dealing and pimping may sound glamorous, but once a person has seen the no-teeth dipshits and their greasy baby mommas being hauled off in dirty wife beaters and tattered panties, or watched them violently vomit up a gallon of liquor on the side of the road, the professions lose their luster, and their practitioners become objects of scorn and derision.

COPS has done more to make drug use uncool in 14 years than the U.S. government has in 50.

Given that, what do you suppose is going to happen to Al-Qaeda’s potential pool of recruits once they see this?

Title lyrics from Guns of Brixton, by The Clash