It’s Monday morning and it was a nice, slow, uneventful weekend. Just what the doctor ordered. At least I’m assuming that’s what it was, since I’m writing this on Saturday morning. Is it wishful thinking? Seeing into the future? You guys will know by the time you are reading this. Another case of time travel. You gotta love it.
So, Putin is still being an asshole. Something has got to give. The best possible outcome would be a sniper takes him out.
And we have guys winning in women’s swimming. Stupidity on a half shell.
And someone asked me why I haven’t said anything about the truck convoy. Well, it’s kind of a bit of a story. See, there’s someone very important to me who’s a truck driver. He believes that driving truck is one of the most important jobs in the world. He thinks he is a damn good truck driver and is even entering the truck driver Olympics this year. He explained it to me like this: If truck drivers stop delivering goods for 24 hours, it takes 3 days for the stores and shelves to recover. If they stop delivering for 48 hours, it takes over a week for them to recover. If they stop delivering for 72 hours, it takes the country almost a month to recover and if the truck drivers stop delivering for 4 days the country never recovers. He explained that a REAL truck driver takes his job VERY seriously. It is very important. And rather than making a point to the government, who will never be hurt by a convoy, all they are really hurting is the average citizen who never did anything wrong to the truckers. They are the people who they serve. They are the people who they are supposed to be helping day to day. They are their customers. So, my perspective has been changed a little bit by this trucker.
And just so you know, this trucker is my son. The Whelpling. Who has been driving truck for many, many years.
So, anyway…Let’s get this party started. I’m sure I’ll have more to say later, but for right now…
Here’s a great story from “Friggin’ Pete” called:
For Just One Night
Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of John Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out-patients at the clinic.
One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man. “Why, he’s hardly taller than my eight-year-old,” I thought as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body. But the appalling thing was his face – lopsided from swelling, red and raw.
Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, “Good evening. I’ve come to see if you’ve a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there’s no buss ’til morning.”
He told me he’d been hunting for a room since noon but with no success, no one seemed to have a room. “I guess it’s my face… I know it looks terrible, but the doctor says with a few more treatments…”
For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me: “I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the morning.”
I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us. “No thank you. I have plenty.” And he held up a brown paper bag.
When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes. It didn’t take a long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury.
He didn’t tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other sentence was prefaced with a thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going. At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children’s room for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch. He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said, “Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment? I won’t put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair.” He paused a moment and then added, “Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don’t seem to mind.” I told him he was welcome to come again. And on his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they’d be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4:00 am, and wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.
In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden. Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery; fish or oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed. Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious. When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning. “Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!”
Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. But oh! If only they could have known him, perhaps their illness would have been easier to bear. I know our family always will be grateful to have known him; from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.
Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse. As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket. I thought to myself, “If this were my plant, I’d put it in the loveliest container I had!”
My friend changed my mind. “I ran short of pots,” she explained, “and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn’t mind starting out in this old pail. It’s just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden.”
She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining just such a scene in Heaven. “Here’s an especially beautiful one,” God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. “He won’t mind starting in this small body.”
All this happened long ago – and now, in God’s garden, how tall this lovely soul must stand.
And this beauty is from Ted.
Once upon a time the government had a vast scrap yard in the middle of a desert.
Congress said, “Someone may steal from it at night.” So they created a night watchman position and hired a person for the job.
Then Congress said, “How does the watchman do his job without instruction?” So they created a planning department and hired two people, one person to write the instructions, and one person to do time studies.
Then Congress said, “How will we know the night watchman is doing the tasks correctly?” So they created a Quality Control department and hired two people. One was to do the studies and one was to write the reports.
Then Congress said, “How are these people going to get paid?” So they created two positions: a time keeper and a payroll officer then hired two people.
Then Congress said, “Who will be accountable for all of these people?” So they created an administrative section and hired three people, an Administrative Officer, Assistant Administrative Officer, and a Legal Secretary.
Then Congress said, “We have had this command in operation for one year and we are $918,000 over budget, we must cut back.” So they laid off the night watchman.
NOW slowly, let it sink in.
Quietly, we go like sheep to slaughter. Does anybody remember the reason given for the establishment of the DEPARTMENT OF ENERGY during the Carter administration?
Anybody? Anything? Anyone? No? Didn’t think so!
Bottom line is, we’ve spent several hundred billion dollars in support of an agency, the reason for which very few people who read this can remember!
It was very simple… and at the time, everybody thought it very appropriate.
The Department of Energy was instituted on 8/04/1977,
TO LESSEN OUR DEPENDENCE ON FOREIGN OIL.
Hey, pretty efficient, huh???
AND NOW IT’S 2022 — 45 YEARS LATER — AND THE BUDGET FOR THIS “NECESSARY” DEPARTMENT IS AT $242 BILLION A YEAR. IT HAS 16,000 FEDERAL EMPLOYEES AND APPROXIMATELY 100,000 CONTRACT EMPLOYEES; AND LOOK AT THE JOB IT HAS DONE!
(THIS IS WHERE YOU SLAP YOUR FOREHEAD AND SAY, “WHAT WERE THEY THINKING?”)
Ah, yes — good old Federal bureaucracy.
NOW, WE HAVE TURNED OVER THE BANKING SYSTEM, HEALTH CARE, AND THE AUTO INDUSTRY TO THE SAME GOVERNMENT? What can possibly go wrong?
Okay, this one is for my sweet Mary…They are BOTH the wrong festive leaf!!! The first one, for obvious reasons, the second one is a four-leaf clover, which stands for good luck and all that, but has absolutely NOTHING to do with St. Patrick’s Day or the Irish!! That would be a feckin’ SHAMROCK, which has 3 leaves! A favorite of St. Patrick’s which he used to teach of the Holy Trinity, that being the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. A DEFINITE and EMOTIONAL hot spot for my dearest.
Yes, we were a couple that dressed in matching outfits for St. Patrick’s Day.
Yes, it’s an Impish Dragon Meme
Don’t be afraid of being different, be afraid of being the same as everyone else.
This picture reminds me of the old Bowery Boys TV show
Scientists have found that one dog year does NOT equal 7 human years.
In fact, the only thing that equals 7 human years is 2020.
It has also been determined that the year 2021 is equal to 10.75 years and, so far, the year 2022 is looking to be equal to approximately 137 +/-5 years.
Sometimes, just hanging out on the rooftops is all the fun I need.
This next one comes from my dad, Papa Dragon Most Senior
The average age of the military man is 19 years. He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than wash his father’s, but he has never collected unemployment either.
He’s a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away. He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and a 155mm howitzer. He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk. He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark. He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must. He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional. He can march until he is told to stop, or stop until he is told to march. He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity. He is self-sufficient. He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts. If you’re thirsty, he’ll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He’ll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low. He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands. He can save your life – or take it, because that is his job. He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay, and still find ironic humor in it all. He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime. He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed.
He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to’ square-away’ those around him who haven’t bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking. In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their right to be disrespectful. Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom. Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is the American Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years.
He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding. Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood. And now we even have women over there in danger, doing their part in this tradition of going to War when our nation calls us to do so.
As you go to bed tonight, remember this shot. . … A short lull, a little shade and a picture of loved ones in their helmets.
Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect them as they protect us. Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us in our time of need.
The debt that is owed by each of us to each of these men and women is unpayable. They have voluntarily put their own lives up for the rest of ours. But there are things that we CAN do. As individuals we can say thank you when we see them. We can treat them with the respect they deserve. More importantly, as a country, we can pay them better, treat them better, take care of them better when they return broken and damaged. When they are homeless we can find them places to live. We can treat them better than the fucking illegal aliens are treated who are breaking the damn law to come here and who have done NOTHING for our country, but the shit faced politicians are falling all over themselves to do things for trying to get their votes because they know that the vets won’t give them their votes like that. The fucking left wing politicians will fall on their knees and suck your dick for a vote if you’re an illegal alien, but if you offer to die for your country, they won’t even talk to you. Yeah, we owe these guys a lot. One of the most important things we, as individuals, can do for them is to get these worthless pieces of shit out of office.
This one is from Ted and it fits in perfectly with my opening statement
An apple a day is bullcrap. Apples are dangerous. Just look at Eve, Snow White, or any pig at a luau…
Sometimes I find a random screw lying around my house and I just assume it’s from my life falling apart.
Don’t think of yourself as a meme thief.
Think of yourself as a Digital Media Redistribution Agent for Dragon Laffs.
NOT RECOMMENDED FOR CHILDREN UNDER 6!!!!!!???????
I can remember when I was just a young dragonette, the doctor telling my mom to drink a beer every night to help her gain weight. It didn’t work.
I just wanted five minutes to drink my coffee in peace, so I sent my kid in the other room to look for a toy that is in my pocket.
Follow me for more parenting hacks.
I have done this one so many times that Izzy Dragon, when she was little, got to the point that she would check my pockets first, before she would go to the other room. So, I had to pre-plan and hide the toy somewhere I knew she wouldn’t find it before I sent her to search for it. And then later, sneak it out of its hiding spot so she didn’t see. The gun safe worked really well…or on top of the cabinets in the bathroom.
I’ll bet it was an instantaneous cure! Who gave a shit about a toothache when you were all coked up?
Oh, shit! Duck!
Y’all be sure to leave those Biden signs in your yard…so people will know where to siphon gas when it’s $8.00 a gallon.
Never Forget: Democrats cheered rioters for eight months before they were “outraged” by January 6th.
The most precious metals on earth are the Dog Tags of the Warriors who stand between Our Country and the Evil that many claim doesn’t exist.
If you’re offended by Nativity Scenes, Charlie Brown, Rudolph, or “Baby, it’s cold outside…” Maybe life outside your Mom’s basement, just isn’t for you.
Hey Joe, I was separated from my family on a number of occasions while I protected this Country. Can I get $450,000?
No? Why not? Because I’m not an illegal, law-breaking, alien? Just a loyal, honest, hard-working, willing-to-give-up-my-life-for-you military veteran? And because you know that means you don’t have a chance in hell of getting my vote.
And THAT, dear Campers, is the honest truth. THAT is why the illegal aliens get all the benefits they get, why they get all our money, why the borders are open, because the fucking democrats know that if you pay someone or bribe someone, you can pretty much count on their vote.
“We Don’t Lick People!”
~ Lies Adults Tell Kids
I Don’t Just Have A Chip On My Shoulder
…I’ve got the whole damn potato
Um…shouldn’t you contact a veterinarian immediately?
Are you sweating whilst putting petrol in your car? Feeling sick when paying for it? You have the CAROWNERVIRUS!
Being conceived in the back of a Jeep don’t make you part Cherokee.
And that’s it my friends. Hope you have a great week. May you find love and happiness.