A Wild Winter New Year (Happy New Year To All!)

My Version:

I was awakened from a weird dream in which I was rolling my face in a bowl of cool, red Jell-O only to discover the big tongue of a Labrador cleaning the side of my face. Rita doesn’t normally do that sort of thing late at night, but Chris and Cory are gone, and she’s used to sleeping with Cory, and so she gets a bit insecure. Well, that and I probably forgot to let her out for a while and she has to pee. Or poop. Or both. So I got up, got dressed and took her out to the yard. She peed, then sprinted around the yard a few times (I call it her “puppy sprint”) and then rolled in the snow for a bit. She loves rolling in the snow. I am guessing the cool snow feels good on her skin. A typical routine for her. I enjoyed the dark and quiet, the cloudy sky and the feel of the cold against my skin. My typical routine. We both have our routines. And the cold felt good, like Rita’s tongue, when she woke me up, and my first thought was, “oh, God, I saw her eating poop yesterday.” But I kiss her back, lick her on the face but then think how odd it might be to kiss a dog back the way they kiss (or what we perceive as a kiss), well, because we are not dogs. So I give her a big people kiss. Here’s my thinking on it: We appreciate dog kisses because they are dog kisses, and we know dogs are sincere, so I want to be sincere, and so I give a dog a people kiss thinking dogs might appreciate people kisses because they are people kisses, and dogs want badly (sometimes sadly naively) for people to be sincere like they are. So I try. But to cover all bases, I gave her a variety of kisses. And for good measure I even bugled like a bull elk and howled like a wolf (I do a pretty damn good wolf howl. I sometimes wonder if I fool Rita with it. I assume she’s impressed; that’s one of the great things about dogs – they let you do that), and so I howled, because somewhere behind the thick clouds is a moon.

Rita and I are headed into the mountains later today. We’re going to build a snow cave and bring in a wild winter New Year. Poor Chris and Cory; they are in Maui. I hope they’re not getting bit by snow-fleas, getting sand kicked in their faces, or getting salt-wager itchy but.

Happy New Year to All!

Rita's Version

So I awoke Dave tonight licking his face. I don’t usually do that sort of thing late at night, but Chris and Cory are gone, I am used to sleeping with Cory, and so I get a bit insecure. I think that’s normal. Well, that and Dave never remembers to let me out as much as Chris does (she’s a lot better at that sort of thing) and I had to pee really bad. I don’t want to pee in the house. I did that long, long ago and got that whole “BAD DOG, BAD DOG, BAD DOG,” thing thrown at me. And to be honest: I HATE that. I want so bad to be a good dog. So I lick Dave in the face. At first, he looks at me strangely, like I smell like dog crap or something, but then he smiles, gets goofy, licks me on the cheek, rubs noses, does a silly butterfly kiss with our eyelids, and then sounds like a bull elk and tries to howl like a wolf . . . at least that’s my best guess at what he seems to think he might sound like. If so, it sounds nothing like a wolf. I am not impressed. But I pretend I am because I know he likes that and I want him to be happy. So we go outside, I pee, sprint around the yard a few times (it makes me feel like a puppy again), and then I roll in the snow. I love snow! The cool snow feels so good on my skin. Dave just stares at the sky, and says “Good girl!” to me, which makes me wag my tail a lot. It’s our routine.

Dave and I are going into the mountains later today. We are going to stay in a snow cave and bring in a wild winter New Year. I feel bad that Chris and Cory are missing out, but I hope they’re having fun wherever they are even if I am not with them. I like going into the wilds. I like all the different smells. I hope I hear my ancestors howl . . . I just don’t want them too close. They make me nervous.

Happy New Year to All!

Nuturing Hope Through the Art of Nature (A Calendar for a Cure)

My son, Cory, and I with copies of  A Calendar for a Cure

I didn't deal well with my son's diagnosis of Duchenne, at first -- I took a selfish, cowardly, escapist approach, numbing my mind with sex, drugs, alcohol, cigarettes and other self-destructive addictions. I let my son's disease feed my disease; it didn't do a lot of good for me or him. Cory needs and deserves a father who is brave, strong, clear-minded and helpful, someone to show him that retreating is not the best approach to adversity. (See Reoccurring Storms.)

But some respite is necessary to rejuvenate the brain and prevent despair from killing hope. I have come to find that respite studying the wilds through the lens of my camera. It's a more healthy form of addiction.

It started with Cory slowing down. As his legs began giving out our backpack trips (no longer possible) grew shorter but longer as he boldly, stubbornly and persistently trudged on. Every rock and tree in the trails became obstacles he embraced as challenges. Even with scraped-up, bloody shins from frequent falls he would often say, "Come on Dad, we can make it!"

We took a lot of breaks. I would often sit down ahead of him and wait. I started paying more attention to the little things around me. The details. The infinite shapes and colors of rocks; the unique and diverse forms of leaves; the constantly-changing structure of water; the ever-dancing shadows of clouds, and how all these things and more interact and compliment each other on micro and macro scales of dynamic canvas. The art of nature!

So I have tried to capture what I see in rectangular grids of pixels.

Last week I was lying on thin ice on a river close to home, focused in on various shapes and colors of frozen wild water. I have no idea how much time passed before I was snapped out my stupor by a concerned older gentleman yelling at me from shore.

"Are you okay?"
"Yes!" I sat up and waved.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Taking photos."
"Well . . . get the hell off that damn ice before you fall through and drown."

I assured him I was fine, and watched him walk away shaking his head. I imagined him mumbling, "Damn fool." I smiled. He reminded me of my Dad.

Reality slowly settled back in. It was getting dark. I was cold. It was time to go home. I felt great. I felt happy. I felt hopeful. Cory notices the differences in my behavior and attitude. It's good for us both.

Every day I head for mountains, woods, marshes, fields, rivers or lakes and walk, and think, and see art, and try to capture it. And every day I come home feeling a bit better prepared to be a better dad to a wonderful son who has Duchenne.

In no small way, these images derive from the disease of Duchenne.

And so this year I put together a calendar, a Calendar for a Cure, my favorite photos from each month of the year -- images that derive from Cory as much as they do from me.

Purchasing these calendars will further boost the hope these images help nurture. For every $25. donated you will receive an autographed copy of the 2015 Calendar for a Cure. All proceeds go to Parent Project Muscular Dystrophy, a national nonprofit leading the fight to end Duchenne.

For more information and donate, please click here:

Purchase a Calendar for a Cure:

Thank you for helping to keep hope alive!

"Yay! Look At Me! Kitty Kat Down!" (Killing for Amusement and Profit)

Kendall Jones, ecstatic to have killed again! 

Meet Kendall Jones, Texas cheerleader turned "hunting" celebrity. She travels the world paying people to help her kill elephants, lions, zebras, leopards and other wildlife so she can pose with their dead bodies, grinning ear to ear, beaming with excitement and pride, happy as a lark (a lark she hasn't yet killed), proving to the world she knows how to pull a trigger and end a life. Why does she do it? Entertainment, amusement, attention, profit. She calls it "conservation." She calls herself a "hunter."

"This was was one of the coolest experiences of my hunting career!!!!" she wrote on her Facebook page along with a photo of her smiling while holding the body of a mountain lion she killed. "The hunt was not an easy one but it was SOOO worth it!! ‪#‎kittykatdown."‬

"Look at me! I am so excited!" she seems to exude in every Barbie-like pose with every carcass of once free, living wild creatures. "I paid someone to lead me to this wonderful, wild animal so I could end its wonderful, wild life!" And for what? What has this apparently heartless, ignorant person accomplished? What has she proven? That she has enough time and money to travel around the world and pay people to help kill things and that makes her really happy? What knowledge is involved? What skill is involved? What sort of dignity, integrity and respect is involved? What kind of connection to the wilds is involved? 

It's done for self-amusement, profit, entertainment, attention. Are those good, legitimate reasons to kill wild animals? To take the life of other living beings? And what does this say about those who are amused and entertained by this? Those who are her fans and support, endorse, condone and defend her bankrupt and immoral actions?

Does anyone really think this is hunting? Does anyone really think this is acceptable?

And this, a mountain lion -- an amazingly magnificent animal, one of the most efficient, awe-inspiring predators in the world. Mountain lions, also known as cougars and catamounts, are secretive, solitary animals that keep mostly to themselves and roam much of what little remains of our beautiful, remote wildlands. They are mostly nocturnal and crepuscular. They eat deer, elk, rodents, insects and most anything else they can hunt and ambush. Being at the top of the food chain, their population levels are self-regulating. They are also very territorial, and their population densities are generally pretty small. They are powerful predators that deserve our utmost reverence and respect.

I've spent a lifetime roaming the wilds and I have only seen mountain lions a half-dozen times. Once, I woke up in the middle of a night while sleeping alone under the stars on a remote, wild ridge to see a mountain lion in the moonlight, just a few yards away, curiously looking at me. Another time I spooked a lioness and her cubs on a cold, rainy day in the wilds and she nervously paced back and forth while I slowly, nervously and respectfully retreated. Every wild encounter I've had with these remarkable, elusive animals is etched in my mind as special, wild and wonderful experiences. Such wild encounters have inspired me to learn all I can about mountain lions, to study them, to get to know them, to appreciate them, to respect them, to learn from them, to be humbled by them, to do all I can to protect them and the wild places they roam.

I bet this woman does not know much about mountain lions and the wild places they roam. She just paid someone who has lion dogs to tree this wild cat so she could kill it, and pose for pictures, and smile, and post the photos, and pretend she is a hunter, and claim to be a conservationist, and entertain, amuse, get attention, make a profit.

I am a hunter. I hunt, kill and eat wild elk and deer. I do not understand how anyone who is truly a hunter -- or anyone who is truly and intimately connected to wildlife and wild places -- can support or condone this.

It's disrespectful. It's insulting. It's disgusting. It's deeply disturbing.

Yet many hunters will defend it. Many hunters will defend her. Many hunters will pretend, along with her, that this is hunting.

Behind the Vail: Killing Grizzlies for God

Theresa Vail

Theresa Vail, a 25-year-old former beauty queen from Kansas, stars in her own Outdoor Channel "hunting" show, "Limitless with Theresa Vail," in which she travels the world to hire outfitters and guides who lead her to wild animals and tell her where and when to shoot and kill them for profit and entertainment.  The Outdoor Channel describes the show as "a compelling story of a young, grass roots, red-blooded, all-American woman who is on a mission to overcome stereotypes, break barriers, and use her life story as a platform to help transform people’s opinions of all the things a woman should, could and can be."

She says she "hunts" (pays guides to help her kill animals) because she "appreciates what God gave us."

"I fully believe that teaching a woman how to use a gun is the best thing you can do for her and for her confidence and her personal empowerment," Vail says. "That’s when I became completely confident in defending and protecting myself. The Second Amendment is my life."  

One of her show's episodes is described this way: "Theresa does her best to avoid succumbing to pressure in Montana as she attempts to connect with her first bull elk."

Apparently she did recently succumbed to "pressure" in Alaska when she showed a bit too much appreciation for what God gave us and accidentally killed two grizzly bears instead of one. (See "Hunting is not a Spectator Sport")

She and two hunting guides have been charged with misdemeanors. Alaska State Troopers say master guide Michael Wade Renfro and assistant guide Joseph Andrew Miller conspired to cover up the violation by obtaining a second bear tag and submitting the wrong information to game authorities. Renfro's attorney says the accidental shooting of the second bear was an "unfortunate event."

God, Ted Nugent and her many fans forgive her and continue to support her. After all, we all make mistakes -- Be honest: who amongst us couldn't easily take the lives of two magnificent wild grizzly bears instead of just one for profit and entertainment?

Yesterday, I checked out her "Public Figure" Facebook Page. Her most recent post was this:

Theresa Vail: This May, during an Alaskan guided bear hunt, I unintentionally harvested a second bear while attempting a follow up shot. I then followed poor advice and allowed the second bear to be improperly tagged. A few days later, the film crew and I reported the incident and have since fully cooperated with the proper authorities. I am deeply sorry for my mistakes.

More than 600 fans left comments, all praising Vail for her "courage" in "owning up to it." "God Bless you and God Bless America!" wrote one fan. "Only God can judge you," wrote another. "Don't let the stupid liberal anti-hunters get you down!"  Many reassured her that "real hunters" and even "God" was on her side.

As she herself posted:

Theresa Vail: Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.

Although I am with plenty of sin, I nevertheless sinfully casted away:

David Stalling:  A friend of mine once took a follow-up shot at an elk he thought he had already shot once. It turned out to be a different elk and he had accidentally and regrettably shot and killed two. He reported it to the game wardens. So I can understand a hunter accidentally killing two animals. However, I do question the alleged attempt to cover it up, and I also question the hunting of grizzly bears as well as hunting for profit and entertainment.  In this particular case, two grizzly bears are now dead for profit, entertainment and amusement. How do we justify that?

I apparently pissed off God; my comment was quickly deleted and I was blocked from the site.

Here are highlights of other comments from her post:

Joey Davis: Props to you for stepping up to the plate and coming clean about it. Mistakes happen, keep on doing what you do. Your an inspiration to so many.

Sara Fronce: If you feel like you made a mistake not only take the misdemeanor change but also donate money towards bear conservation if you don't already. When a mistake is made often doing more than what is required shows actual remorse for the situation. Donating to a large predator conservation would be a good idea to make up for the mistake that was made. Although admitting a mistake is the first step!

Montana Mike: The absolute worst case of jealousy I have ever seen being jealous of another's professional accomplishments. What's going on here I imagine. The others better think hard before they speak though as we all will remember.

Hillary Dupont: They are jealous of her accomplishments and want to ruin her reputation in order to better their career.....NONESENSE!

Andrew Olger: Alaska forgives you. Besides, residents don't even need a brown bear tag to harvest one. Shoot, they give me 5 black bear tags a year for free and there is no set season for them. AK fish and game said to just use a black bear tag of mine if I was to get a grizzly. Happy hunting Theresa!!! Love you!!!! Ps... It's very common to shoot two and think you got just one here. Happens a lot in this great state! I would recommend arming yourselves and keeping plenty of bullets on hand. God also didn't have to tell me twice when told me to build my little Freedomland in Ester AK. Population 1979.

Alan Maxwell: There are so many laws and conflicting regulations it's a wonder we actually do something correctly once in a while. Everyone knows you have too much to lose to act improperly on purpose and the state won't give you a pass because they want the fine money. Keep your head high.

Michael Koscielniak: Seems to me Ted Nugent had similar problems sort of makes you wonder what's going on, bad guides or the state of AK looking for revenue.

Theresa Vail: Ted Nugent and I had a great conversation today about the matter. He said "it's going to suck, but you'll be fine."

Bob Clark:  I can assure you this will not affect your popularity at all. Small blow to the ego. It's not like we all don't blow it sometime, and you had help from bad advice! I messed up a tag this year when i really knew better, and the warden kindly let me off. Get your wild and beautiful self on the tube so we can see some hunts!

Emily N Sonny: We all make mistakes. There are so many conflicting rules and regulations state by state. And even then laws change year, by year. You're an honest hunter and a wonderful role model for young girls and I wish you nothing but the best. Haters will always hate, but your true fans will always support you.

Aldo Leopold: The sportsman has no leaders to tell him what is wrong. The sporting press no longer represents sport; it has turned billboard for the gadgeteer. Wildlife administrators are too busy producing something to shoot at to worry much about the cultural value of the shooting.

Okay, so I added that last one. Wishful thinking. Unfortunately, in most of the hunting community, Aldo Leopold's wise words from half-a-century ago have been deleted and blocked.

Hunting is not a Spectator Sport

Theresa Vail and her Outdoor Channel crew.

"ANCHORAGE, Alaska (AP) — A former beauty queen who hosts an Outdoor Channel adventure show illegally shot an Alaska grizzly bear and conspired to cover up the violation, according to charges filed in a rural state court. Theresa Vail, 25, of Wichita, Kansas, the star of 'Limitless with Theresa Vail,' is charged with killing a grizzly bear in May without possessing a state bear tag for the animal. Investigators say she held a single bear tag and shot a male grizzly bear, attempted to kill it with a second shot, and instead fired and killed a second bear, a sow grizzly. Vail also is charged with unsworn falsification, another misdemeanor. Prosecutor Aaron Peterson in a criminal complaint said Vail signed and backdated a big game tag record to make it appear she had purchased the tag before shooting the bear." -- from U.S. News and World Report 

The Outdoor Channel describes the show as "the compelling story of a young, grass roots, red-blooded, all-American woman who is on a mission to overcome stereotypes, break barriers, and use her life story as a platform to help transform people's opinions of all the things a woman should, could and can be."

I describe the show as "the tragic story of how modern-day hunting has been grossly commercialized and turned into crass entertainment to appeal to the lowest common denominator in which a guide tells a beauty queen when and where to shoot and then attempts to cover up the illegal killing of a grizzly bear for greed, profit and ego while pretending they are 'hunters' out 'hunting'"

This is the second "har har hunting hero" celebrity from the Sportsmen Channel recently caught poaching. This is what happens when you turn hunting into commercialized entertainment, business and a huge for-profit industry.

Hunters, hunting magazines, hunting shows, the hunting industry and hunting organizations will condemn this particular incident but continue watching and promoting 'hunting' shows and 'celebrity hunters' who travel the world killing all they can -- and more than anyone could ever eat -- for mere profit and entertainment.

The only thing these types of shows do to "transform people's opinions" is to present most Americans with a very poor image of hunting that likely leads to very unsupportive views of hunting.

Hunting should not be a commercialized spectator sport. Killing animals for profit, entertainment and amusement is not hunting.

"The sportsman has no leaders to tell him what is wrong. The sporting press no longer represents sport; it has turned billboard for the gadgeteer. Wildlife administrators are too busy producing something to shoot at to worry much about the cultural value of the shooting." -- Aldo Leopold, 1949 

Happy Thanksgiving

Wolves: Helping Put The Hunt Back Into Hunting

An overabundance of elk and deer has negative consequences to the habitat that sustains elk, deer and other wildlife. Herds kept in check by wild predators are healthier herds.

Everything hunters claim to love about elk and deer -- their speed, their agility, their intelligence, their wariness -- came about through co-adaptation and co-evolution with predators. Wolves helped make elk and deer what they are. You can't love elk and deer without loving wolves.You can't love the wilds while hating a critical component of the wilds -- a wild animal that is the very essence of wildness.

The return of wolves has brought wildness back in elk and deer, and wild elk and deer are difficult to hunt; it takes knowledge, skill and effort -- traits sadly lacking in most modern-day hunters. Most hunters have no clue how to hunt. Instead of trying to learn, they blame wolves for their lack of skill, knowledge and effort.

Most hunters are obsessed with the latest gadgets and technology -- rifles, bows, scopes, ballistics, camouflage patterns, scents, calls, trail-cameras, ATVs and so on -- and forget that hunting equipment is meant to compliment skill and knowledge, not replace it. They seem to know little about the wildlife and wild places they hunt. They seem to lack respect for the wildlife and wild places they hunt. They think they are hunters.

We need more hunters, and less ignorant people walking around the woods with bows and rifles. We need to put hunters and the hunt back into hunting.

Instead of persecuting wild wolves, let's be grateful for wild wolves for helping to put the hunt back into hunting.

"Irony Tortures My Mind" -- Dave Stalling

In response to a post today by a friend on Facebook I replied, in part: “It is difficult to keep up with stupidity at the speed of sound. Stupidity at the speed of sound! . . . There's a scientific term for it: G.O.P.”

I felt pretty clever and smug.

“Stupidity at the speed of sound!” 

It's the sort of quote that, in the future, people will use when they create and post memes (or the equivalent of what memes may be in the future) featuring a photo of me with a contemplative look with the words:

“Stupidity at the speed of sound!” – Dave Stalling

The quote would be listed, on alphabetized quote lists (under “search by writer's name”) between the names John Steinbeck and Mark Twain (if the letter “a” didn’t become before the letter “e” in the alphabet).

Or so I arrogantly thought.

I cautiously Googled it before claiming it. “Stupidity at the speed of sound!” About 9,520,000 results. (In fairness to me, I didn’t find any others with an exclamation point!) But I felt stupid.

I felt stupid!

Is that irony? Or the karma from my arrogance?

And then it hit me: Karma from arrogance is ironic!

Irony is the karma of arrogance!

Why is this so critically important? People have been fighting over the meaning of irony since God forbid Adam and Eve to eat an apple,  even though he later let his son feed the multitudes. 

Or is that hypocrisy?

See what I mean? I have searched far and wide for a good definition of irony to no avail. (I did once have the thought that a definition of irony that is unknowingly not really irony is -- in itself -- sort of ironic.) 

Or is it? 

In “Reality Bites,” Winona Ryder, applying for a newspaper job, is stumped when asked to “define irony.” Ryder replies, “Well, I can’t really define irony. . . but I know it when I see it.”

And I know a good definition of Irony when I see it -- particularly when I came up with it.  

Irony is the karma of arrogance! 

For now on when stoned people argue all night about what irony means (which, in general, are the only times people usually argue all night about what irony means), they will conclude: “Well, the best definition I have heard comes from Dave Stalling: ‘Irony is the karma of arrogance.’”

Pretty cool, huh?

It's the sort of quote that, in the future, people will use when they create and post memes (or the equivalent of what memes may be in the future) featuring a photo of me with a contemplative look accompanied by the words:

“Irony is the karma of arrogance” – Dave Stalling

Before I got too excited I cautiously Googled it. “Irony is the karma of arrogance” Nothing!  (I did find, “Irony of karma,” and “arrogance and karma,” and even “Karma, keeping your arrogance in check.” But no “Irony is the karma of arrogance!”)

So I’ve got this one! I am the Force Recon of writing.

Which may sound arrogant -- and it is -- which is ironic, considering I came up with it because I felt stupid for thinking I had come up with “Stupidity at the speed of sound.”  Ironically, it turned out to be good karma, not the bad karma of arrogance I first thought it was -- and which most arrogant people will ironically think it means.

Stoners will argue about this all night.  I have been arguing with myself about it all night. I conclude that the best definition I have heard comes from me, Dave Stalling: ‘Irony is the karma of arrogance.’” 

Which seems narcissistic. And it is.

“The toxic mix of irony, karma and arrogance ignites into narcissism!”

Yes! I am on a roll tonight.

“Give me irony or give me death!”  -- Dave Stalling
“That which does not kill us makes us stronger; which is ironic!” – Dave Stalling
“Necessity is the mother of irony!” – Dave Stalling

Okay.
Enough!
It’s getting late.

I am hungry.

We Can Do Both!

McCarthyism Is Back!

THE SYRIANS ARE COMING! THE SYRIANS ARE COMING!

Fortunately, despite all the dire warnings, gays have yet to destroy America and Ebola has not killed us all off. Turns out, it was just more paranoid, fear-mongering "sky is falling" insanity. 

Now Chicken Little is back:

"SYRIAN REFUGEES are coming! . . . SYRIAN REFUGEES are coming!"

I hate to ruin a good fear-mongering panic party, but . . .

According to the Bureau of Population, Refugees, and Migration, of the three million refugees admitted to the United States since 1975 (785,000 since 9/11), about a dozen have been removed due to security concerns. Guess how many have been charged with domestic terrorism since 9/11?

Zero. None.

That's right. Of the nearly 750,000 refugees who have taken up residence in the U.S. since 9/11, none have been arrested on charges of domestic terrorism.

Zero. None.

In fact, the data show that most violent extremists in the U.S. are actually natural-born U.S. citizens.

Natural born U.S. citizens!

Yet more than half our nation's governors are now saying they will not allow Syrian Refugees into their states. And why are we so so afraid? Because one of the ISIS terrorists involved in the horrific attack in Paris may have been a Syrian refugee. Maybe. His refugee documents may also have been forged.

One out of about 25,000 Syrian refugees who entered France may have been a terrorist who participated in a terrorist attack.

Maybe. 

Regardless, the United States has a far more thorough and rigid vetting process than France for accepting refugees, particularly from the Middle East. The process can take up to two years. Some refugees from the Middle East have difficulty providing documents, which is why the director of the FBI recently said it can be challenging. But if they do not provide proper documentation, they are not allowed in.

It is far quicker, easier, more efficient, more effective, more tactical and more likely for terrorists to sneak into the United States from other nations, using different methods . . . not posing as Syrian Refugees. As the Department of Homeland Security puts it:

"The refugee resettlement program is the least likely avenue for a terrorist to choose. Refugees who are selected for resettlement to the United States go through a painstaking, many-layered review before they are accepted. The FBI, Department of Homeland Security, State Department, and national intelligence agencies independently check refugees’ biometric data against security databases. The whole process typically takes 18-24 months, with high hurdles for security clearance."

Yeah, yeah . . . it's a statement from the government; it can't be trusted! Yet the facts seem to back the claims:

From 2008-2013 the United States accepted about 30,000 refuges from Somalia, a country that rates far higher than Syria on the FBI's "terrorist index" because it is home to Al-Qaeda affiliate Al-Shabaab, which has launched multiple attacks in Kenya and called earlier this year for terrorist attacks against malls in the U.S. In 2013, the U.S. accepted about 34,000 refugees (more than half from Iraq) from countries ranking higher on the FBI's terrorist index than Syria.

How many resulted in terrorist attacks or even arrests for attempted terrorism?

Zero. None.

Yet we are going to refuse safe refuge to the brutalized victims of a brutal terrorist state we helped create and strengthen through our ignorance?

What else to expect from a nation in which Duck Dynasty, Honey Boo Boo and Meet the Kardashians receive high TV viewer numbers and ratings.

Let's hope no one ever claims that gay Syrian refugees with Ebola are coming across the border from Mexico -- our nation would implode with stupidity.

I fear ignorance is the greatest threat of all to the United States of America.

"BOMB THE SHIT OUT OF THEM!" (A War Story)

A Guest Blog by Henerey Hawk

As I sat silently in the dark I could see them -- not too far in front of me. There were at least six Muslim men, donning dark beards and wearing turbans, most carrying AK47s, one holding what appeared to be an RG-6 grenade launcher, and all of them walking slowly in front of a Soviet T-72 battle tank undoubtedly seized from an Iraqi Army in retreat. Islamic State terrorists! No doubt about it, likely out seeking to seize and behead. I could hear bombs and gunfire in the distant background. They were getting perilously close, but I patiently waited to see the whites of their eyes, if Muslims even have whites in their eyes, which I doubt, but nevertheless . . . I waited  . . .

. . . And then, at what seemed a blink of an eye, there was a woman -- a beautiful, blonde, big-breasted woman -- scantily clad in a stars and stripes bikini, sitting in a hot tub in the back of a red, white and blue pickup truck driven by a bull rider on an aircraft carrier beneath the Statue of Liberty with fireworks going off. I shit you not! And she was eating a big, fat, juicy-looking cheese burger topped with a hot dog and potato chips, apparently called a “Thickburger” from Carl’s Jr.  It looked amazing!  Well . . . except for the view of the New York City skyline behind her, seeming tragically empty without the iconic Twin Towers, now gone forever thanks to the incompetence of Obama.

But it reminded me of how hungry I was. I hadn’t eaten for nearly half an hour. I remember I still had some rations remaining, leftovers from an earlier expedition to McDonalds. I slowly got up from my recliner chair, careful not to make any quick moves, turned off the TV, and cautiously moved through the dark towards the kitchen careful not to bump into the table and chairs that potentially obstructed my movement. I grabbed a Bud Lite and leftover Freedom fries from the fridge and moved towards the safety and security of my weapon – my Corsair K95 RGB Keyboard. A mechanical keyboard with customizable per-key backlighting, stylish aluminum design, detachable wrist rest, dozens of programmable options and customizable lighting modes it’s without a doubt one of the most deadly, effective and efficient keyboards available. It has a maximum effective range of  . . . well, anywhere in the world where there's internet . . . and can fire off 120 harsh, rude words-per-minute in the hands of a highly-skilled, well-trained typist.

While waiting for my computer to boot up, I closed my eyes and repeated my creed:

This is my keyboard. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My keyboard is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. My keyboard, without me, is useless. Without my keyboard, I am useless. I must type on my keyboard quickly. I must type faster than the socialist libtards who are trying to insult me. I must insult and block them before they insult and block me. I will. . .

My keyboard and I know that what counts in verbiage warfare is not how many words we type, the accuracy of those words, or correct spelling, grammar and punctuation. We know that it is the insults that count. We will insult . . .

My keyboard is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strengths, its parts, its accessories, and where the backspace and escape keys are. I will learn QWERTY. I will keep my keyboard clean from food crumbs and beer spills and ready, even as I am clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will . . .

Before God, I swear this creed. My keyboard and I are the defenders of ‘Murica. We are the masters of the socialist libtards. We are the saviors of the Constitution, the Bible, the vision of our founding fathers and our nation’s Christian principles.  

So be it, until victory is ‘Murica's and there are no socialist libtards, but Jesus!

I boldly logged into the front lines of Facebook and wasted no time. I hit ’em hard and I hit ‘em fast; "shock an awe" is my motto! Kicking ass and making memes!

“Time to BOMB THE SHIT out of these goat-loving Muslim Islam communists and ERADICATE them from the face of the planet!” I posted. “I’ll be happy to introduce these socialist fascist bastards to their 72 virgins!”

Silence.

It was quiet . . . TOO quiet.

So I quickly followed up by posting a potent meme with a photo of American hero General George Patton with words: “Think like a warrior! We have to kill not only the Muslims but the liberals that let them into our country. We are at war to save the Republic. We must eradicate the problem and its cause.”
 
BAM! In your face libtards!

My comrade Jim Bob from Alabama replied. “Right on bro! Fuck Muslims and Obama Islam lovers!”

“We need to nuke them!” replied my friend Bucky B. from Georgia.

"If we didn't have a Muslim POTUS from Kenya the Marines would all be over there now, kickin' ass and taking Muslim names!" wrote my buddy Buddy from Pennsylvania. "And I'd be there with them, kicking MUSLIM ISLAM ASS . . . if I hadn't hurt my damn ankle in a softball game last week."

Believe me, in tense situations like this, it's good to know that your Facebook friends have your back!

And then it happened.  A “friend” I don’t really know -- likely "friended" through libtard relatives -- wrote this:

“Huh? Seriously? There’s so much inaccurate information in your ridiculous bigoted posts I do not even know where to begin in addressing them.”

Again, I hit hard and fast:

“Oh surprise, surprise . . . a NObama-loving libtard crawls out of his hole to defend Muslim terrorists and hate America!”

“Dude, I was an Army Ranger, I did two tours in Afghanistan and a tour in Iraq,” he replied.

“Oh,” I write. “Thank you for your service!”

“Thanks,” he wrote. “Who did you serve with?”

“I wanted to go in the service,” I replied. “I would have joined the Marines!  But I had other priorities at the time . . . I needed to go to college so I could get a good job and make a lot of money. But I am ready to go now! Unfortunately, the recruiters say I am too old. But I would. I really would. . . And I would kick some serious Muslim ass dude! I would kill all those motherfucking ragheaded Islam Muslims!”

“Um . . . okay. Wow! It’s a pretty complex situation over there, I don’t think your lies, simplifications, misconceptions, hate and bigotry are going to help much,” he replied.

“I say KILL THEM ALL and let God sort it out!,” I wrote. 

He replied: “Whose God, theirs or ours?” 

I took swift, immediate action. My two index fingers seemed to move on their own, instinctively. My years of rigorous training in typing classes at the Parochial Boys Military Academy were paying off.  

“Typical Libtard,” I wrote. “You sound more like a faggot than a Ranger. Drag your Hillary-loving ass back into the Barry HUSSEIN NObama zone you came from and let REAL AMERICANS deal with these communist Muslim goat-fucking assholes!”

And then I rapidly blocked him! (Thanking him one more time, of course, for his service before I did.)

One down! Enemy libtard neutralized!  

But I was hungry and exhausted. I moved stealthfully to the fridge and grabbed another Bud Lite and a leftover Super Patriot American Cheeseburger and silently settled back into my recliner.

I knew I had a long night ahead of me, and so for now I rested . . .


Henerey Hawk is an American Patriot and blogger living in Foghorn, Texas.  “Bomb The Shit Out of Them! (A War Story)” is excerpted from Hawk’s recently published book, “Tales From The Homefront: Fighting Terrorism and Libtards One Letter at a Time,” Fox News Press, 2015.   

NOTE: If you support the bold, patriotic efforts of courageous men like Henerey Hawk -- risking carpal tunnel syndrome so America can be made great again -- please urge your Congressional representatives to get them the support they desperately need.  These brave patriots are in dire need of updated computer gear and accessories as well as necessary training in spelling, grammar and punctuation.