THE GREATEST COP EVER

My drive to work every morning is a 35 mile commute consisting of about 1/3 back roads, 1/3 interstate, and 1/3 back roads. That little stretch of interstate 65 starts just before it reduces from three lanes to two, and continues on for another nine miles. As I got on the highway this morning I saw in the far left lane what looked like the shortest, fastest funeral procession in the world: a white Dodge Charger not four feet off the rear bumper of a green Jeep Laredo, both doing 75 mph!

As I began the process of passing them in one of the two completely clear lanes to the right I realized the Charger was an Alabama State Trooper. I also noticed that the two of them were headed right for the lane closure. The trooper apparently realized this, too, because he moved over to the middle lane, sped up slightly to get alongside the Jeep, then tapped his brakes so that he would stay there. The Jeep sped toward the lane closure nipples and plowed right over them as the concrete dividing wall swerved in toward the driver's door. Seconds before contact the Jeep hit the brakes and fell in behind the trooper. The Dodge then sped up ahead.

Red is all I could see. I was furious! I can not stand the abuse of power, but especially from a police officer. I was raised the son of a cop and was taught that they, above all else, must have respect for the law and civil order. This trooper figures the stickers on his car give him license to behave any way he wants. What was his problem, anyway? I mean, the Jeep was going 5 mph over the speed limit. That wasn't enough? I couldn't catch up with the Charger because of some other traffic, but I was going to try to get that license and car number.

Racing at 85 in the left lane trying to catch the cop I was unable to scoot over and exit behind him, again because of traffic. (I did notice he only had markings on the passenger side of the car, I guess so he could park on the side of the highway with his hood up to zap speeders with his radar gun. Sneaky jerk.) So I had to settle with fantasy. Because I would have exited behind him and followed him. Maybe to that gas station down there off the interstate. I'd pull up right behind him with my headlights on, you know, like they do to us. Maybe I'd even throw my hazards on in order to add to the illusion. Yeah, that's it. Then I'd proceed to call the Alabama Department of Public Safety and report his behavior.

[The great thing about Alabama is that we can get away with that. In other states you would then be on the side of the road getting a bumper to bumper inspection, which you'd surely fail after the cop broke a turn signal lens with his nightstick. In Alabama, with no vehicle inspection requirements, I could have a live goat glued to my driver's window and still fall well within the legal parameters of vehicle safety.]

So, I'm standing there right in front of this jerk cop, looking right into his mirrored sunglasses, and reporting to his captain just what a jerk he is. The captain tells me that normally they don't take third party complaints but that this isn't the first time they've had a problem with this guy and asks if I'd be willing to come in and fill out a statement. Gladly. Then later, with statement in hand, the captain goes to the board to have the cop fired and blacklisted and suggests that I be in charge of making sure cops respect the law and don't act like jerks to the common citizenry. Soon I'm in charge of this program all over the south and then the nation. I have a whole team of people looking for jerk troopers tailgating people on the highway, or driving 85 mph without their lights on or – ooh, I hate this one – driving on the interstate at 45 mph knowing there are enough dummies out there who won't pass them to clog up traffic so that I'm just putting along at half my normal speed and-

I suddenly realized that the cop had exited a mile and a half ago and in that span I had changed lanes no less than eight times and altered my speed from 65 to 80 mph repeatedly. What on earth could be the problem in traf- Oh, the green Jeep Laredo. Well, I'll just slip over into the right lane and pa- nope, a semi is coming up. Well, perhaps she'll move over once she sees that I'm tryin- No, she seems to be pretty oblivious to her surroundings. Maybe if I just edge up a little closer to her bumper she'll take notice? All right, I'll flash my lights at her. Honking! What is this woman doing?! Every time there's a gap in traffic, she speeds up just enough to cut me off! Maybe Icanpassherontheshoulder!GOODGODWOMAN
WHATISYOURPROBLEM?I'MGOINGTORUNHEROFFTHEFREAKINGROADANDWATCH
THEJEEPBURSTINTOFLA-

*ehem*

[knuckle crack]

*deep sigh*

I want to apologize to the Alabama State Trooper who was driving perhaps a little too close to the very annoying lady driver in the Jeep Laredo this morning on I-65. I'm sorry I insisted on your imaginary removal from the force. You showed great restraint in dealing with a frustrating situation and I commend you. You are a fine example for the force and cops everywhere. If I'd have been wearing a badge... I'd have shot her.

The Greatest Father's Day

I don't know that I'm the greatest father in the world, but I'll bet there weren't many men who had a better Father's Day than I had... and if that's any indication, I guess I am up near the top of the list. Now, on the family side I didn't get to see my dad, but I did call him. And the place from where I ordered his present sent it to me instead of him. But I did get to speak with daddy over the phone and may get to see him this weekend. Overall Rating: Good.

My son is currently in Texas tearing up the skies and links with flight lessons and golf outings. He's doing very well with his flying and shot a 3 over par at Tangle Ridge. Although I didn't get to see him, he called me twice on Sunday. Overall Rating: Great.

My daughter didn't bother to call me, but I'm getting used to that. Her mother is quite a piece of work. Overall Rating: Sucky, but expected.

My step-son gave me a gift, a card, and called me 'dad.' He had spent the weekend helping his grandfather recover from surgery. Overall Rating: Excellent.

Of course, my wife has excellent taste in men... that's why she's my wife. She's beautiful, talented, witty, sensual, and a few things gentlemen don't mention in public. A loving caring woman. I got to spend Father's Day with her. Overall Rating: Perfect.

While I'm not overly materialistic (which fits right in with my budget), who doesn't like an occasional gift? The family got me several things that will be greatly enjoyed, including the new(ish) Jeff Bridges flick about the country singer, as well as Jekyll and Hyde... Together Again, a favorite from the days of my youth. Overall Rating: Reminiscent.

I also received 14 new cigars. This is a batch that Benita hand-picked for me. I've burned one of them so far... a Rocky Patel 1961. Tightly rolled, heavy and woody, an excellent smoke by any standard, but especially fitting of the tight standards of RP. I will enjoy the additional 1961 as much, as well as the other 12. My humidor is happy; therefore, I am happy. Overall Rating: Smokin'.

As I'm enjoying a nice smoke I like to have a little tottie. Nothing crazy, mind you. I stick with the old rule of thumb: Every thing in moderation. Because of this Benita went to purchase me a bottle of Jack Daniels, a rare treat. As many of you know Benita is not a drinker, so she was feeling rather self-conscious standing in line at the package store with a bottle of Jack Daniels and a 20 oz. bottle of Mountain Dew (she does imbibe the most extreme Dew). Suddenly, while minding her own business, a construction worker-looking guy finished paying for his 80 cases of beer, leered over at Benita with a fistful of dollars, and asked, "Mind if I pay fer that fer ya, little lady?" Benita thought for a split second and agreed. He paid for the Dew and Jack, and as she was walking out another guy asked the construction worker, "Hey, you wanna pay fer my beer?" "If you looked like she does I would." Benita got in her car and drove off, while the construction worker joined his friend in their truck and they pulled out the other way. Cheers to you, big guy! You helped make my Father's Day just that much better. Overall rating: Thrifty.

To top it all off I finally got the speedometer working in our 1946 Plymouth. I'll get an update about that on the Plymouth blog (link to the right) in the next few days. Overall Rating: Accomplished.

I defy you to find someone who had a better Father's Day than me.

Tsk, tsk, tsk... my, my, Miley...

Recently blogger Perez Hilton got into trouble for posting a photograph of 17-year old Miley Cyrus climbing out of a convertible sans underpants. This raised claims of child pornography against Miley's dad... uh, I mean, Perez Hilton. I don't really want to be on record as defending Perez Hilton in any way, so I'm going to stay away from the subject. In the meantime, here are some of Miss Cyrus' own words to entertain you.

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“I'm not trying to be ‘slutty.’ I'm not trying to be like, go to the club and get a bunch of guys ... What I'm trying to do is to make a point with my record and look consistent, in the way my record sounds and the way I dress.”- Miley Cyrus











“I'm really comfortable with my body, I work really hard to be fit and to know that I can wear whatever makes me most comfortable. I feel more comfortable dressing with a little less, which is just how I've always been.” - Miley Cyrus












“Now I'm able to do that a little more freely and, also, I've just grown up to be this way too. It's not like this was me five years ago. It's me now, presently.” - Miley Cyrus









“When you're 11, the word you would use to describe someone is definitely not sexy, and as you get older I think you grow into that. And I think I've done that but that's not my schtick. That's not what I'm trying to do to sell records. I want people to buy my record because of my music.” - Miley Cyrus

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How many of you allowed your 11-year old to grow up idolizing this wholesome Disney persona? Congratulations... you and Billy Ray are neck-and-neck for Parent of the Year!

Who Gets Your Votes?

reCOUNT THE VOTE!!!

Tim James (left, next to Ray Scott - I used this photo just because I used to work at WAKA) has been campaigning hard and heavy for the GOP candidacy for governor in Alabama. He's been on the television, in the papers, and on the net pushing his version of the Alabama he thinks the rest of us might want. He even named yours truly as "A Blogger for James." I don't really know how he came up with that, but hey, if it links voters from his site to mine... what do I care?

It's been an interesting campaign. We've had the usual mix of wackos in the state running. Judge Roy "I Command Thee to Vote for Me" Moore. We had Artur Davis, who the media touted as possibly the first black governor of our most racist state (except that he failed to get any of the black vote). We had Hank Erwin running for Lieutenant Governor. You may remember this nut job as having claimed Katrina was a result of God being angry with New Orleans. Boy, I could tell stories about THAT guy. Then there is Tim James, whose platform included promising that in Alabama, with Tim James as governor, there would no longer be any of this foreign language crap! The driver's license test would from now on only be offered in English.

That's a pretty bold statement given that he's in a state which:
1) Has a lower literacy rate than West Virginia
2) Is heavily dependent upon the automotive industry - namely, companies from Germany, Japan, and South Korea.

Of course, James was merely riding the wave of anti-Mexican sentiment in this state and elsewhere. And his platform seemed to have worked pretty well: he's only 167 votes out of second place, so he's requested a recount.

No shortage of volunteers have been lining up to help with the effort.

EVERY VOTE COUNTS... AND COUNTS... AND COUNTS...

Way up in Port Chester, New York (that's in New York), a federal judge and the U.S. Department of Justice have determined there is no justice in that old American principle of one man, one vote. It seems there just aren't enough Hispanics on the village Board of Trustees to suit the feds. It seems that even though nearly half the local population is Hispanic, they mostly stayed away from the polls, while whites showed up to perform their civic duty.

To remedy this unfair practice of depending upon individuals own sense of civic responsibility, the feds have declared that each voter will be able to vote 6 times instead of just once, a practice that is called Cumulative Voting... or, "I bet it would work in Canada, so why don't we do it here" Voting. Now, Hispanic voters can show up and put all six of their votes behind just one of the three Hispanics running, divide them up evenly, or spread them out across the board. Of course, the same is now true for others, such as members of the GOP, Tea Partiers, the Green Party, independents, Socialists, NAZI's, Christan Falangists,...

When asked about this new American Voting system, Broward County Democrat Party officials were not impressed. "Big deal. We've been doing that for decades, 'balancing out the vote'."

In Good Hands

"Your daughter is on a French fishing boat in the southern Indian Ocean, 2000 miles from any land."

If a statement such as this comes as good news to you... perhaps you are allowing your child to take too many risks.

Just as at least 18 people drowned in southwest Arkansas, Abby Sunderland - shaken but healthy - was plucked from the storm-stirred waters just north of Antarctica. This rescue cut her around-the-world solo navigation attempt short, but given that her boat was disabled, she's lucky to be back on dry ground... or at least in the hands of a bunch of French fishermen.

There has been a lot of conversation the last few days about what kind of parents would allow their daughter to attempt such a dangerous feat in the first place. Some have claimed that girls can do anything a boy can do, and after all, Abby's 17-year old brother managed this same journey himself. Others argued that the timing was the real issue, given the severity of the winter stormy season in the southern Indian Ocean. Apologists have pointed out that Abby's father is a professional sailor and tutored both children on handling the seas, so she was well-prepared for any eventuality. I've come to a slightly different conclusion given the latest fact brought to light:

Abby's mother is expecting her eighth child in the coming weeks. When you have that many kids you have the leeway *ehem* to take greater risks with a few of them.