Author: R J Adams

Louisiana Republican Senator David Vitter has been named as one of those ensconced in the “Little Black Book” of Deborah Jeane Palfrey, the DC “Madam” presently charged with running a prostitution ring.

Vitter says of the matter:

“This was a very serious sin in my past for which I am, of course, completely responsible. Several years ago, I asked for and received forgiveness from God and my wife in confession and marriage counseling. Out of respect for my family, I will keep my discussion of the matter there – with God and them. But I certainly offer my deep and sincere apologies to all I have disappointed and let down in any way.”

That’s alright then. He’s asked for forgiveness from God and his wife.

Vitter is one of the most vocal anti-gay Republicans in the party. In 2005, he compared the idea of gay marriage to hurricanes Rita and Katrina, presumably suggesting they were the wrath of God, when he said:

“It’s the crossroads where Katrina meets Rita. I always knew I was against same-sex unions.

And in 2006, while debating an amendment to the Constitution banning same sex marriages, he said:

“I don’t believe there’s any issue that’s more important than this one … I think this debate is very healthy, and it’s winning a lot of hearts and minds. I think we’re going to show real progress.”

Obviously he’s a man of huge moral character, placing his anti-gay ethics above even the thousands of innocents slaughtered in Iraq.

“I don’t believe there’s any issue that’s more important than this one …”

What a pity his high moral stance didn’t keep him from buying himself sex. Still, perhaps God and his wife have forgiven him after all.

Will the rest of us?

BBC Link

Filed under: Political bigots

Eleven hours, and five hundred and eighty miles later, I have arrived in Marquette, Michigan. It seems a nice place, though I’m too weary to appreciate it tonight. At least it’s relatively cool. I will stay till Friday.

On the journey up from Illinois I was ruminating on the strange obsession many Americans have with the scrap metal business. Although, it’s hardly that they make a business of it; more a lawn decoration really. The drive took me past some beautiful houses, immaculately maintained. Frequently, the property next door, or across the road, looked like a local waste tip. Old abandoned pick-up trucks rusting away alongside dilapidated washing machines and cookers with the grass growing up through them.

This is not restricted to any one area. My wife and I have spent many hours in New England seeking out potential properties, with the idea we may one day wish to retire. Almost without exception, those that appeared initially suitable were abandoned when we inspected the neighborhood. The local scrapyard was inevitably next door, or across the road, or just around the corner.

And finding a property that doesn’t have a bunch of red-neck tinkers in tow doesn’t mean they won’t one day appear. One year, five years, ten years after purchasing it’s possible the rusty pick-up trucks may suddenly arrive at the newly sold property just nearby. Immediately, the family dowry, ready to be passed down to the eagerly-awaiting offspring, takes a serious dive in value.

And don’t mention zoning laws – whatever they may be – because it’s quite obvious they simply don’t work. Or, if they do, it’s only when Mister and Missus Stinking Filthy Rich have a problem with someone ‘undesirable’ in their neighborhood.

Europe has working environmental protection laws and citizens can be dealt with severely if they create such eyesores. It’s time America stopped concerning itself with the freedoms and rights of an individual to make such a mess, and began doing something to stop it.

Filed under: The bad neighbors

It’s hot in Illinois again today. My lawns have not been mowed for a fortnight. This is the time of year I dread. The mercury zooms over the eighty degree mark by nine in the morning and the day is destined to find me pacing up and down, sweating, frustrated, and cursing an environment that keeps me confined to air-conditioning either in the house, or if I have to go outside, in the car.

While others can at least enjoy the relative outdoor cool of early morning or late evening, my British body has an allergic reaction to American mosquitoes that keeps me confined indoors during those hours. DEET, herbal preparations, and other cocktails supposedly noxious to Culex pipiens and its relatives are no barrier to the demand these creatures have for British blood.

My neighbor is out cutting his grass. I watch him from the window, and fume. The lawns around our house are a foot high after all the recent storms, but there’s damn all I can do about it. My physiology won’t tolerate the intense heat and humidity that hardly troubles American natives. Yet, they can’t seem to understand that. Last year, at this time, I got a visit from an old guy across the street wanting to know if I was ill because my grass, so carefully manicured all Spring, was now a hayfield. I tried to tell him about the weather and it’s effects. He looked at me with an expression that plainly said – “English wimp!” And when I tried to explain it was like taking an alpine plant from high in the Colorado Mountains and transplanting it in the Arizona Desert, where it would die very quickly, his eyes glazed and he muttered something about his coffee-pot boiling over, before beating a hasty retreat.

To hell with the lawns, I’m off to Michigan’s Upper Peninsular tomorrow for five days, to cool off in a balmy 70-75 degrees and a fresh breeze off the Great Lakes.

It’s just as well I don’t live in Utah. I’d have been arrested before now for the state of my lawns, and thrown into jail – probably a cell without air-conditioning. That’s what almost happened to seventy year old Betty Perry, from Orem, Utah. A cop tried to arrest her for not watering her lawn, and when she resisted he hit her across the face with his handcuffs.

You don’t believe it, do you? You think I’m making it up.

OH, NO I’M NOT.

Filed under: Stinking hot police state