The phrase “servant’s heart” crops up in just about every communiqué Quittin’ Bull issues. Palin’s latest Facebook screed was no exception:
Real leadership requires deeds even more than words. It means taking on the problems no one else wants to tackle. It means providing vision and guidance, inspiring people to action, bringing everyone to the table, and with a servant’s heart dedicating oneself to striking agreements that keep faith with our Constitution and with the ordinary citizens who entrusted you with power.
As commenter StringonaStick noted, it’s Jeebus Camp code for “God-serving,” a Queen Esther winky-wink for the evangelical set. But what if the truth were far more insidious?
Hotel maids are definitely advised to travel in pairs….
Goth prophet Robert Smith foresaw a future where Firebaggers in blackface and adorable Furries like the New Progressive Alliance are trapped in a Phantom Zone of clichéd late ‘70s/early ‘80s dance moves and visual tropes, perpetually declaring their devotion to the Undeclared Obama Primary Challenger who most resembles their image of themselves…or the corpse of FDR, depending.
I’m not quite sure how the Humpty Dumpty Man fits into all this. But then again, how could he not?
At some ludicrous hour tomorrow morning, Ms. YAFB and I will set out on a week-long vacation to the socialist paradise of Ikealand. The only feasible flight was via Ryanair, so if we don’t make it back, this will be my last post. Be wonderful to each other.
Note: Some strong language. Go especially easy with the snippets of the second song the clip seques into if you’re at work with those of a sensitive disposition.
This is Tom Jans from 1975. He was pretty obscure even in 1980, when a friend steered me to a copy of Eyes of An Only Child in a discount bin. On the other hand, Tom Waits dedicated Whistle Down The Wind to Jans, so you know somebody noticed. Anyway, I’ve been looking for this on YouTube off and on for years, and it finally showed up. It’s about Chicago, kind of, hence the dedication to Rumproast’s great friend and fellow traveler O.
Yeah, I’m watching the morning news shows, and I’ll be slowly excavating the household wreckage of My Winter As a Helpless Cripple all weekend. But I can guarantee that any Federation Vessel Distress Calls will be going straight to voicemail until Tuesday.
I’m probably way out of touch here, but Mr. Brown was introduced to me by a muso pal in his cups in a Glasgow pub on Saturday evening as “my new guitar hero.” In the hubbub, I thought he was referring to Guitar Hero the video game. Oh, how we laughed.
The sun beams down on a brand new day
No more welfare tax to pay
Unsightly slums gone up in flashing light
Jobless millions whisked away
At last we have more room to play
All systems go to kill the poor tonight
I used to be a farmer and I made a living fine
I had a little stretch of land along the C.P. Line
But times were hard, and though I tried, the money wasn’t there
And bankers came and took my land, and told me “fair is fair”.
I looked for every kind of job, the answer always no
“Hire you now,” they’d always laugh, “we just let twenty go!”
The government they promised me a measly little sum
But I’ve got too much pride to end up just another bum
Then I thought, who gives a damn if all the jobs are gone,
I’m gonna be a pirate on the river Saskatchewan.
‘Cause it’s a heave-ho, high-ho, coming down the Plains
Stealing wheat and barley and all the other grains
And it’s a ho-hey, high-hey, farmers bar your doors
When you see the Jolly Roger on Regina’s mighty shores