Still working this one out, so put your water wings on and swim at your own risk.

So I was perusing my local fishwrapper this morning and came across this little 'notable note':

Members of the church group located in Kansas travel around the country, mainly to the funerals of Marine soliders, protesting that it is America's fault they are dead.

Oh. Well, how very nice for them. The jerks.

[the]church group plans to make a trip to Camp Lejeune this coming Saturday.

Look, let me try and put this in a nutshell for you WBC twits:
Jacksonville, North Carolina is not where you want to be. This is will not be anything like attending the funeral of one of our fallen heroes in their hometown. Camp Lejeune is the largest concentration of Marines and US Navy personnel in. the. world. In the world!

Now, I know with 100% certainty that every one of those soldiers is under explicit orders to stay the hell away from the intersection of Lejeune & Hargett, even if that means they have to drive around their asshole to get to their elbow. I've also got a great deal of faith that the vast majority of those men and women have the discipline and composure to do just that. By the same token; I've got an equal amount of faith that every retired vet, friend-of-a-Marine/Navy sailor, and family member in a 100-mile radius is probably going to find a little time in their calendar to show up at that intersection as a show of support for the soldiers. Some of these people will be peaceful, and some of them will most definitely be pissed off. I'm going to be in Ft. Lauderdale this weekend, or I'd show up myself just to hold an 'FU' sign and watch the show.

You just can't go into a town that's populated by Marines, sailors, their friends and families; not to menion the large number of retired servicemen, and not expect some serious backlash.

You know, when I was a kid I used to pester the ever-loving shit out of my older brother; and a few times he took the opportunity to remind me that the reason I was able to enjoy chewing my food was because he had not yet chosen to rip my mandible from my twerpy noggin. I'd go moaning to Mom, and she'd say something like "Well, you asked for it."

WBC, you had better be careful. You've been asking for it for quite some time now, and it looks like you've finally found the place that's willing to fill your every request.

Ron, come here buddy; it's time for a little man-to-man.

I just want to say a few things up front. First, we really like your style. You've got panache and you've got balls, two qualities that some politicians lack.

Now that we got that out of the way, let's get down to the nitty gritty. That is to say, why are you such a fuckin' fruit loop?

Seriously man, what is your damage? I mean, we really think it's cool that you've pretty much locked down the MySpace voting block. You've gotten the kiddies involved in politics, and that's a noble deed. Unfortunately, this just makes you look like the mayor of Kooksville. Once people realize that we're trying to elect the POTUS and not the President of the Lollipop Guild, they'll rejoin the rest of us on planet earth and vote for someone who can actually win. I know the truth hurts Ron, but do you really, honestly think the Ron Paul Magic Carpet Ride stands a chance against something like the Hillary Clinton Bonestripper or the Obama Second Coming of Christ? Campaigns like theirs take great, almost sexual, pleasure in dismantling moonbat parades like yours.

I feel for you Ron. I mean, here you are at your pinnacle; the zenith of your nutty, fucked up outlook on life. You lay your policies, ideas, and passion out for everyone to inspect, and all they can say is "Oh. Cracker off his meds."

I just want to say, it was nice meeting you. Well, it was entertaining anyways. We wish you luck in the future, even though you're probably never going to see public office again. But take heart, tiny dancer; because there's always reality TV.

Via the Don Instapundit, the blogfather himself; a posthumous post from one of our men who died in Iraq recently defending freedom.

I put the post in the extended entry below, just because The Wife and I read it together and found it so moving that we had to do something to preserve it for posterity's sake; but if you don't follow the link, you'll be missing out on the links to Olmsted's own milblog.

No political commentary here please, in respect of Olmsted's wishes.

The old man and I have spent the past several months hemming, hawing, parsing, splitting hairs, and generally picking ourselves apart over what our new project car should be.

At first, we were thinking some classic muscle. You know, big displacement V8 with gobs of torque. As much fun as it would be, we just weren't that excited about it. It's hard to describe, but we both wanted something that was more of a driver's car.

Then we started reading about the '08 Nissan GT-R and it pretty much stopped us dead in our tracks. What a phenomenal car: twin turbo 480hp V6, all-wheel drive, 6-speed dual clutch transmission, 6-piston brakes, and a fully adjustable suspension; all mounted on a carbon fiber and aluminum midship platform. Absolutely breathtaking. As much as this car appealed to us; and I mean that in the powerful, primordial sense that only a true autophile understands; it presented a real problem for us. Why pay someone $70,000 to build you a car when:
1) It will only make you do things that are illegal and unsafe
2) It's so perfect that you're afraid of hurting it
3) You can build one yourself for less money, and still do all the same illegal and unsafe things.

Build one that's just as crazed and dangerous, for cheaper? Oh yes. You see, back in the early 60's, God blessed mankind with a tiny roadster that man named the MG. A few years later, in true human fashion, man corrupted God's vision of purity by chunking the underpowered four-cylinder engine God gave him with something directly from the bowels of hell: a good old American big block. Nothing screams "I want to die in a fiery wreck" like a 2,000lb car with a 300hp engine. Yee haw.

The more we think about it, the more we like this option. It's rear-wheel drive, which means it'll be fun to race. It's a conversion that's been done a million times; so there will be plenty of references, spare parts, and fully built cars to choose from. Most importantly, owning a classic car means not having to bother with lame shit like emissions, inspections, and seatbelts. Besides, seatbelts in a car like this would be a joke anyways.