Fuck You Cancer.

This is for my bubbly, fresh and fun friend. My occasinal weightlifting buddy and I woman I have grown to like and admire. You have a long road ahead my friend, one that you will have to travel alone. May Jesus walk with you to keep you company, hold your hand when you are scared, carry you when you are tired and lift you up to Heaven if your journey here is to end.

Be brave for yourself and your loved ones. Don't lose that smile and sense of humor. Who else can see such humor in cancer. Fight and fight and fight, never give up and never give in. And if you lay exhausted and weary and it is the end, know that you have touched many people in this world and that God loves you and will come for you. And if you beat this son of a bitch and get back to the gym I have no intention of cutting you any slack. This fucker will hurt you and hurt you and hurt you, but can never touch what is inside your soul or your heart. Your beauty is within and fills the world like sunrise touching everything with its warmth. Go in peace and fight, fight, fight.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me.

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the horror of the shade,

and yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate

I am the captain of my soul

William Ernest Henley (1849-1903)

No matter how big the your foe is, never back down, God loves an underdog. Be like King David, swallow your fear , pick up a rock, put in your sling and hit that fucker right in the eye.

Fuck you cancer, fuck you.

Off to war.

A friend of mine is off to Afghanistan in a few weeks. This is his second tour. The first was as a marine in Iraq, now in the National Guard he is off to the Kusch mountains to hunt and kill Taliban. He is a sniper. A Sargent in charge of a patrol of snipers, around 6 guys.

Truly the National Guard is our nations version of the Greek Spartan. These men and woman leave there families and lives behind, go to bad places to fight and kill bad people. What can that be like? To one month be managing a restaurant and the next be looking down your scope and pulling the trigger. We ask a lot of these folks and I hope we all remember the sacrifice they make for us.

Over the last three years since he got back from Iraq, we have had many discussions about the war and his part in it. I asked him what it felt like to be fighting and killing the enemy. He told me it was his job and he did it to the best of his abilities. He said the best way to handle it was when he left the barracks to put his real person on a shelf and become a warrior. A hardened killer of men.

On patrol he would set up as cover for his squad as they attacked or defended themselves. His job was to eliminate as many enemy as he can to keep his guys safe. He mentioned that being a sniper was very personal and he could see the face of just about everyone he killed. Right down the scope, the head in the target, hold your breath, pull the trigger and poof a cloud of red mist. Over and over again, target after target, month after month, battle after battle. He once hit a truck driver from over a mile away with a 50 cal bullet. That bullet is about 7 inches long. He said it took more time to put the rifle together than it did to track and kill his target.

Once his platoon was attacked by over 200 enemy, they killed every single one of them. I asked how did you do that? "I don't fucking know, it was awesome and horrible at the same time. Two Humvees one with 50 cals and the other an automatic grenade launcher along with an huge air strike did the trick" he said. The attack was filmed and has been shown many times. Were you scared, too busy to be scared he said, too wired.

This is a man like you and me, he has a wife, a baby daughter, a life here at home. He has a mom and a dad, brothers and sisters. he has a dog named Rex. He is going of to war, to kill and maim the enemy. He will suffer hardship and he will bring hardship down on the Taliban.

I am glad we have citizen soldiers like Eric, he is proud if what he does. In a few weeks he will take off his suit and tie and his life here at home and put it on the shelf. He will don the warriors uniform, he will go to a foreign land, he will fight and kill the enemy. He will be cold and lonely, he will miss his wife and daughter, he will put thoughts of this life out of his head. This is the life of our soldiers, true hero's, let us pray for them and their families, let us never forget the sacrifices they make.

Face in the scope, finger on the trigger,baby in the crib, life on hold. Good luck and Godspeed friend. I am proud of you.

Nelson Mandela

He wrote a book called "Conversations with Myself". I am going to read it as soon as it comes out. He is the greatest man I have ever known of. Conviction is a powerful tool. Faith a powerful tool. Smile a powerful tool. Love a powerful tool. Could you live in a cage on desolate island for 27 years and then lead a nation not into an apocalypse of revenge, murder and mayhem, but one of togetherness and strength. He is the spike in the sand. Incredible what a man or woman can do.

Kids making parents crazy since Cain and Abel

I can remember my old man telling me, " What till you have kids some day, You will get yours". I use to think," what the hell is he taking about?" Followed by what am I doing that is so wrong. Until recently I though it was the act itself that was the issue. Really it is the top of the issue. Think of it like thin ice on a pond. You see your child playing on the ice, tell them don't go near the thin ice you will get hurt. That works when they are little and the world is big and scary. Mom and dad will protect us from evil. As children grow the become independent, making their own decisions big and small. We stand back and hope and pray we have given them the tools to make the right decesions.

Time goes on life is like the pond, lots of safe areas, lots of good decisions. Still the thin ice lies there waiting. Some kids like the thin ice. They dart in and out, laughing and enjoy the thrill, the rush that the thin ice brings. Maybe you remember your own forays onto the thin ice. Cheating consequnce and laughing all the way. Time goes on and your learn that under the thin ice the water is deep and swift and the children that fall through can be hurt or worse.

You stand on the shore, help them lace of their skates. "Here you go" you say, Just hold into my hand. Time goes by and the kids are skating around you, "Look at me dad, look at me." Then more time goes by and they skate away from you, out of reach. They go out and they come back, out and back, out and back. The skate on the thin ice and you yell, "Get back here, what did I tell you! They are contrite and you hope they learn.

More time goes by and the kids go to the pond themselves, lace up the skates and dance on the ice. Most stay off the thin ice. Some race to it, looking for the thrill that only the thin ice can bring. Some will have close calls, some will dance over the thin ice never having a slip and some will fall through.

I agonize about the ice and I pray that my children will make the right decision and stay off the thin ice. I think about my dad. face all red, "Wait till you have kids". I think of the worry that my many forays over the thin ice have brought him. I think about my friends that fell thru, some never to be seen again. I worry about my children, if only I could freeze the ice and make it thick, but that is not the way. Each of us has to learn about life and the decisions we make.

Tommorow I will see the old man and tell him my troubles, he will smile and little wink in his blue eyes, put his hand on my shoulder, gives it a squeeze. He will tell me I worry too much and I will tell him "Old man you where right". "I know" he says and laughs, "I know.

We will walk toward the house arm in arm father and son, his experiences becoming mine. The world turns the ice freezes, dads worry, dads console. We help each other father and son, father and son. I think about my boy and I smile "Some day you will get yours" and I will still be there for you, just like my father is for me.

A few thoughts on BP and the Gulf

1. BP how do you justify not mandating the use of a well check valve, when you are making over 20 billion in profit per year.

2. Why is any American buying gas at BP. They can go to hell.

3. Don't cap the the damage fund at 20 billion that represents only 1 years profit for BP.

4. I would like to personally kick the shit out of that sniveling little fucker that runs BP. "I would like to get my life back". you know what, Fuck You.

5. If we turn the coast of LA and FL into a oil soaked wasteland will that be enough to get the Cape Wind Project off the ground.

6. So does God weep and Satan smirk. Are we all still just ungrateful assholes?

My Back Hurts.

I believe that you can find something in common with any man. Let me give you a few examples. What do I have in common with the retired pro tennis player Andre Agassi. Lets see he played tennis for a living and I sell real estate. Nope. He is world famous and I don't even know all my neighbors. Nope. He is bald and I have a full head of luxurious silver fox locks. nope. He has a bad back and it is a huge pain in the ass...me too. That's it. We both start the morning the same way. pain. We stumble into the bathroom to have our top of the morning pee, then its groaning all the way back to the bed. Hopefully we can lie there for a few minutes waiting for the click that means the old back has reset. It goes like this..tick tick tick tick tick tic tic , then click. Hooray lets start the day.

If not then it we have to crawl out of the bed and lie on the floor. The idea is to straighten out your legs until the calves are on the floor. The we are at 70% good to go. It takes a few minutes, but it is better then stumbling around the house from chair to chair looking for something to lean on. So he goes on with his life..public speaking or hanging out with Steffi and I go on to mine sitting in my car or behind a desk phone in hand. Looking to make a deal. The only deal I can't do is one with my back.

Two weeks ago a local Marine was killed in Afghanistan, he left behind a 18 month old daughter and a pregnant wife, who had a son he will never know 5 days after his funeral. The man was a local hero a football star that was quarterback on the team that won the state championship. He was smart too, went to St. Anselm's and did well there, a tough Vermont college. As we continue to waste and kill our best and brightest I would like to propose a checklist that the president would have to review and sign before he is allowed to send the youth of our great country onto battle.

___ This war is Worth killing and maiming our best and brightest.

___ It's worth empty place settings at holidays and pews in Sundays

___It's worth crushing families and ruining the lives of children and spouses

___It's worth the murder,mayhem and horror that my armed forces will have to face.

___I have exhausted all options and war is the only answer

___No one in government will be able to profit from this war.

___ I would gladly volunteer my own children to be sacrificed for this cause.

___I have served in the armed forces to my fullest capacity and with honor.

____ History will look back on this war as just and righteous.

___I want to kill the enemy, ruin their country, leave families broken and battered and bring untold misery to millions if innocent citizens.

Last He should read Mark Twain's "The War Prayer".

It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and sputtering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spreads of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country and invoked the God of Battles, beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpouring of fervid eloquence which moved every listener.
It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.

Sunday morning came-next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their faces alight with material dreams-visions of a stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender!-then home from the war, bronzed heros, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation -- "God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest, Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!"

Then came the "long" prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was that an ever--merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory -

An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher's side and stood there, waiting.

With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal,"Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!"

The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside -- which the startled minister did -- and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said

"I come from the Throne-bearing a message from Almighty God!" The words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention. "He has heard the prayer of His servant your shepherd and grant it if such shall be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its import-that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of-except he pause and think.

"God's servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two- one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of His Who hearth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this-keep it in mind. If you beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor's crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it.

"You have heard your servant's prayer-the uttered part of it. I am commissioned by God to put into words the other part of it-that part which the pastor, and also you in your hearts, fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: 'Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!' That is sufficient. The whole of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory-must follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God the Father fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!

"O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle-be Thou near them! With them, in spirit, we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with their little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it-for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.

(After a pause)

"Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits."

It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.

_____ Check Here

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