Monday, January 31, 2005

Hey, Bird Dog!

Happy 68th birthday, Don Everly!

Don Everly is on the right. There are lotsa Everly Brothers web sites; here is one of the better ones:

El Naar Haninah

Breaking News: Massachusetts Voters Not Insane

WaPo, Monday, January 31, 2005. Page A2.
Kerry Praises Campaign, Plans to Build on Effort Democrat Wants to Keep 2008 Options Open By John F. Harris. “…a poll conducted by Suffolk University and WHDH, the NBC Affiliate in Boston…found that 59 percent of Massachusetts voters do not want him to run for president again.”

Iraqi Citizens: Voting a Success

WaPo, Monday, January 31, 2005. Page A1. Mood Is Festive; Turnout Appears Strong Despite Deadly Attacks By Anthony Shadid ...At one (voting) station, a woman showered election workers with candy. At another, a veiled, elderly woman kept repeating "God's blessings on you" to election workers..."It's like a wedding. I swear to God, it's a wedding for all of Iraq," said Mohammed Nuhair Rubaie, the direector of a polling station in Baghdad's Sunni Neighborhood of Tunis...Even in the Wake of Suicide Blast, 'They Didn't Want to Go Back Home' By Karl Vick, Page A1. "I would have been happy to have died voting at the time of this explosion...", said Saif Aldin Jarah, 61...In Najaf, a "triumph over 35 years of suppression," (By Doug Struck, Page A12) said Nadeen Abdul Raheem, an election official..."

American Left: Iraqi Voting a Failure

The American Left, imploding:

WaPo Monday, January 31, 2005. Page A1. President Hail Election As a Success And a Signal By Robin Wright. "But Democratic critics and some Middle East analysts cautioned against viewing the election as an indication of the future--or overrating U.S. rsponsibility for the outcome"..."They (the Iraqis) realize that the quickest way to get the U.S. out of Iraq is to create a new government," said Henri Barkey, (of) Lehigh University. "Not to vote would mean continuation of the status quo. So the election is not a vindication of U.S. Policy"... Sigh.


Linda Ronstadt, 1967 BC (Before going Crazy)

Daily Hot Platter

C'mon everybody, we're doin' the A-Bomb Bop!

A-Bomb Bop

By Mike Fernandez and the Del Royals
(Raymond’s Records 755, 1958)

Minus one! Minus two! Minus three! BLAST OFF!
When you hear the missile whistle, you’ve got to roll and rock
When you hear the missile whistle, you’ve got to roll and rock
C’mon Baby, everybody’s doin’ the A-Bomb Bop!

Danger! Too hot to handle!

Discography here:

Entire song here:

Sunday, January 30, 2005

Gospel, Redux

Now that the dust has begun to settle, and some of the more vitriolic invective leveled against “fundamentalist Christians” by American leftist elites has been laid to rest (at least for the time being), the Dems can get back to working on the biggest problem they face: how to convince the Red Staters that their party does indeed stand for traditional moral values and not just for excising God from the public square and banning Christmas pageants. This is a problem that they cannot easily overcome. For what the leftist elites in America call Christianity is wildly out of sync with both the majority of American Christians (that is, Red State Christians) believe, and with the history of Christianity in the United States. I have met many earnest people who attend their “faith based organization” of choice regularly, and most of them are genuinely distressed by the fact that they are perceived by tens of millions of Bible Believing Christians in the U.S. to not really be Christian at all. “Why is that”, they wonder...”I believe that all people are precious in God’s eyes”, they say, “and I believe that with the Sermon on the Mount Jesus was instructing all his followers to end hunger, want, war, and hatred. I mean, I really believe that one must not judge another person “lest ye be judged” himself. I believe that if Jesus were alive today he’d be for Transgender Rights and the right to choose a late-term abortion.” Despite their (usually) apparent sincerity, what these people espouse is not traditional mainstream American Protestantism, as it has been interpreted historically, but, rather, the tenets of the 19th century American Social Gospel movement.

The American Social Gospel Movement

(From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)

The Social Gospel movement was a prominent Protestant movement in the late 19th and early to mid 20th century that attempted to apply Christian principles to social problems. Part of the Christian "modernism" trend with a strong emphasis on social justice, the movement was a rival to evangelical and fundamentalist Christianity.
In the United States prior to World War I, the Social Gospel was the religious wing of the progressive movement that had the aim of combating injustice, suffering and poverty in society. In this context, it is seen as having provided the philosophical underpinning for the New Deal. After the war, the movement shifted its focus to the civil rights arena, and later, became outspoken in its opposition to the Vietnam War.
With the ascendancy of the Christian right beginning in the 1980s, the Social Gospel agenda declined in the United States, but examples of its continued existence can still be found…Sometimes (it is) seen as a branch of Christian socialism.

When a leftist do-gooder (non-atheist variety, though that too is open to interpretation) excoriates “fundamentalist” Christians for being blind to the world’s suffering (an assertion that is demonstrably untrue) that leftist is actually recommending the Social Gospel over the traditional, historically validated Gospel practiced by those Christians he calls “fundamentalist”. When the Social Gospel Christian sees an actual Christian practicing actual normative Christianity, he sees not a devout Believer but instead a hard-hearted, soulless Pharisee. Just as the Left believes they hold a monopoly on ontological truth, the Left likewise believes that they are the only real Christians. By implication, this means that the whole of pre-Social Gospel Christianity, its historic creeds and its attendant culture is incorrect in both word and deed.

With such an attitude, the American leftist elites (i.e., the Democratic Party establishment) have much work to do before they can persuade traditional American Christians that they are indeed the party of moral values.

Don't Let This Happen To You!

Daily Hot Platter


by Nat Couty & The Braves (FOX 101, 1958)

Rock, Woodpecker

What can I say about this record? That it's one of the top five rock'nroll platters ever unleashed on an unsuspecting public? That it's one of the best R&B songs ever recorded en homage to Woody Woodpecker? That it approaches pure musical perfection? YOU be the judge!

Well, a nervous boogie got a hold on me
But the woodpecker rock won't let me be
Say ooh, he-he-hey, he-he-hey
Rock woodpecker, let's rock
He-he-hey, he-he-hey, he-he-hey
He-he-hey, he-he-hey, he-he-hey...

He-He-He He-He-He

Find a discography here:

And hear the whole song here:

Let's Rock!

National Healing, Blue State Style

Ever since the November 5 election debacle, the liberal intelligensia in the U.S. have been trying to “understand” the beings that inhabit Red State America. Laughably (but predictably) this is a daunting task for our country’s liberal leaders. Today’s WaPo Magazine (Sunday, January 30, 2005) cover story concerns a West Virginian named Jack Whittaker, who is the largest Powerball lottery winner in U.S. history—some $314,000,000.00. Not surprisingly, this sudden influx of wealth has fomented chaos and resentments among his neighbors and family. Here’s how the Post sees it, annotated by Suburban Cowboy:

Typical Red State Denizen, as seen by Blue Staters

Rich Man, Poor Man By April Witt. Washington Post Magazine, Sunday, January 30, 2005

Red Staters are religious hypocrites, like Elmer Gantry:
“On Christmas Day, the lottery ticket-buying frenzy peaked at 3:26 p.m. In convenience stores and gas stations across West Virginia, 15 people very second commemorated Jesus’s birthday by plunking down $1 for a chance at a different kind of salvation: that Powerball jackpot”
Red Staters are grotesque cultural freaks, straight out of a Flannery O’Connor novel:
“The day would come when many West Virginians recalled the story of Jack’s Powerball Christmas with a shudder at the magnitude of ruination: families asunder, precious lambs six feet under, folks undone by the lure of all that easy money”.
Red Staters are mean spirited:
“Some West Virginians tell a joke about the hillbilly who died smiling. “What’d he die of?” the man’s relatives asked of the Medical Examiner. “He was struck by lightning,” the ME declared. “Then why was he smiling?” the kinfolks wanted to know. “Well,” the ME said, “he thought he was getting’ his picture took.”
Red Staters are unsophisticated:
“(Jack) couldn’t have been more instantly recognizable in West Virginia if he’d been Elvis reincarnated.” And “She let it be known that she was so down-to-earth that she actually enjoyed cleaning her toilets”
Red Staters are lazy and greedy:
“Brenda’s grown daughter, who didn’t work, figured that since her ma was rich she should buy her a trailer and a new car.”

I could go on, but you get the idea. Sigh.

Breaking News: Washington Post Still Hate-Filled

"It was better under Saddam Hussein"

WaPo, Sunday, January 30, 2005. Page A18.

Iraqis Wonder: Was It Worth It? By Doug Struck. BAGHDAD--Iraq on Sunday plans to hold its first free elections in nearly half a century, the fruit of 14 years of conflict with the United States that saw two wars, economic sanctions hat impoverished the country, the chaos of a dictatorship's collapse and now occupation by foreign troops battling a violent opposition they helped to create..."It was better under Saddam Hussein", driver (Ahmed Mohammed)...(if) voters do not turn out in significant numbers, the election’s legitimacy will inevitably be questioned...Twenty-one months after the fall (of Saddam), some Iraqis are asking whether their lives are better now than they were under Hussein. The answers are mixed...Tariq Ibrahim, 59, a retired Oil Ministry surveyor (says) "If you weren't against the regime, they wouldn't bother you, so you just carried on in your life"...Projects built or paid for by the Americans are sabotaged and destroyed by the Iraqi insurgents...Polls indicate that 80 percent of Iraqis want foreign forces to leave..."Of course I am going to vote", snapped Maha Salem, 35, a teacher buying fruit at a stand in a neighborhood called New Baghdad City. "Let me tell you something. Life has become so difficult under the occupation and terrorists' operations that we have to say enough is enough"...
(Italics added by Suburban Cowboy)

Religion of Peace, part 3

WaPo, Sunday, January 30, 2005. Page A24
Survey Details Claims of Afghan War Crimes KABUL, Afghanistan, Jan 29. About 70 perceent of the 6,000 Afghans responding to a recent survey said that they had been victims of crimes against humanity...

Saturday, January 29, 2005

What Is A Dhimmi?

Dhimmi, martyred (Baha'i)

By El Naar Haninah

In the West one hears that Islam is a religion which allows freedom of religion for “People of the Book" (that is, Jews and Christians), but one rarely understands the status of religious minorities under Islam. “People of the Book” are called Dhimmis in the arabic language and live under the apartheid system of Dhimmitude.
Islamic Law – Shari’a – allows official discrimination against the Dhimmi. This legal discrimination exposes non-Muslims to: 1) abrogation of legal rights, 2) a life of humiliation and vulnerability, and 3) conditional protection from physical and / or economic harm at the hands of a Muslim.
No Legal Rights
Dhimmis may not testify in court against a Muslim and have no legal right to dispute or challenge anything done to them by Muslims. For example, there is no such thing as a Muslim raping a Jewish or Christian woman; there is no such thing as a Muslim murdering a Jew or Christian (at most, it can be a form of manslaughter). In contrast, a Jew or Christian who strikes a Muslim has committed a capital offense.
A life of Humiliation and Vulnerability
Jews and Christians had to walk around with badges or veils identifying them as Jews or Christians. The yellow star that Jews had to wear in Nazi Germany did not originate in Europe. It was borrowed from the Muslim world where it was part of the apartheid system of Dhimmitude.
Conditional Protection
The protection of the Dhimmi is withdrawn if the Dhimmi rebels against Islamic law, gives allegiance to non-Muslim power (such as Israel), refuses to pay the poll-tax, entices a Muslim from his faith, or harms a Muslim or his property. If the protection is lifted, jihad resumes. For example, Islamists in Egypt who pillage and kill Christian Egyptians (Copts) do so because they no longer pay their poll tax and therefore are no longer protected.

Here are some useful links with more information on this shameful subject:

The Jackie Robinson of Rockabilly

Happy Birthday, "Big Al" Downing (Jan. 9 1940). The man is a genius and maybe the greatest rock'nroller of all time. Big Al will live forever in the hearts of minds of cool cats everywhere, if for no other reason than the fact that he wrote and recorded two amazing songs, Georgia Slop (hit version by Jimmy McCracklin)

I stopped to get a soda and dig that jive
I met a chick, she weighed about three-eighty-five
I started lookin' and I couldn't stop
She and I got together and did the Georgia Slop

and Down On The Farm, by Bobby Poe and the Poe Kats, an all-white rockabilly band from Tulsa (my wife El Naar knows how much I like this one!).

You might think, I'm a crazy fool
But I saw a horse doin' the bop with a mule
Down on the farm, down on the farm
Down on the farm, rock 'n' roll is takin' over my barn

See: Big Al Downing, The Poe Kats Connection, at:

There’s a good interview with Big Al in the documentary film about the female rockabilly singers, called Welcome To The Club, in which he talks about the difficulties he faced as a black man on tour with Wanda Jackson and her band in the ‘50s. See: and

Visit here for some sound samples and extremely rare label shots of Big Al’s records: Rockin’ Country Style, A discography of Country Rock & Roll and Related Records, 1951 – 1964:

Howard Dean for DNC Chair: Yeeaaggghhh!

Former Clinton aide backs Dean for party chair

Democrat Party leadership role especially important now

WASHINGTON (AP) -- Harold Ickes, a leading Democratic activist and former aide to President Clinton, said Friday he is backing Howard Dean to be chairman of the Democratic National Committee -- giving a powerful boost to the front-runner. See:

Friday, January 28, 2005

"When you're blind, boy, it don't make no difference!"

I’ve always thought that it was silly—or at least pointless—to try to write about music when you could listen to it. With Blues and Gospel music, where the music is to be experienced more than listened to, writing about it is just about impossible, in my estimation. Still, I’ve come across a funny story that reveals a lot about one of my Blues Heroes, Reverend Gary Davis (aka Blind Gary Davis, born April 30, 1896 in Laurens, South Carolina, died on May 5, 1972 in Hammonton, New Jersey) that I have reprinted below, excerpted from the Reverend Gary Davis web site:

Back in 1963, I had just started playing country blues, and was getting guitar lessons from any bluesman that would hold still long enough, including Mississippi John Hurt and Rev. Gary Davis. Usually I managed to corner them backstage at gigs, and was persistant enough to get them to show me a lot of stuff. Of course they were being very kind to me in the bargain!
One night, I went to a coffee house in Philadelphia called "The Second Fret" to hear Rev. Davis perform. "Backstage" there was really upstairs, up a tight spiral staircase, with just room enough for one person at a time to pass. Now, as the Reverend was coming down the stairs, an attractive young woman was trying to go up. As she approached Rev. Davis, she piped, "'Scuse me, Reverend!" He at once reached out and accurately seized her by the buttocks, saying, "Did you say, 'Squeeze me, Reverend?'" Ignoring her outraged squeals, he managed to rub the entire length of his body against hers as she pushed past him. He then turned and seized the next person coming up the stairs in the same manner, who cried out, "Reverend, I'm a guy!" Rev. Davis did not immediately remove his hand, saying, "When you're blind, boy, it don't make no difference!" Rick Blaufeld

Always Good to Remember This

See: Life, Liberty, Etc. Pro-gun stuff for pro-gun folks

Breaking News: Dick Cheney Unstylish, Says Washington Post

Dark Lord of Halliburton . Note Beady Eyes

What are we to make of this? To the editorial staff and beat reporters alike at the WaPo, our beloved VP is nothing less than Dark Lord of Halliburton. But even worse than that, it turns out that he is an unstylish Dark Lord of Halliburton. Perhaps he should consider living up to the Lib’s fantasies, and visit whoever is the tailor who makes those cool suits for Dr. Evil and for Dr. No, for Goldfinger and for all the other hell-bent-on-conquering-the-world mad dictators…

Dick Cheney, Dressing Down
Parka, Ski Cap at Odds With Solemnity of Auschwitz Ceremony
By Robin Givhan Washington Post Staff Writer, Friday, January 28, 2005; Page C01

At yesterday's gathering of world leaders in southern Poland to mark the 60th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, the United States was represented by Vice President Cheney. The ceremony at the Nazi death camp was outdoors, so those in attendance, such as French President Jacques Chirac and Russian President Vladimir Putin, were wearing dark, formal overcoats and dress shoes or boots. Because it was cold and snowing, they were also wearing gentlemen's hats. In short, they were dressed for the inclement weather as well as the sobriety and dignity of the event…The vice president, however, was dressed in the kind of attire one typically wears to operate a snow blower…Like other attendees, the vice president was wearing a hat. But it was not a fedora or a Stetson or a fur hat or any kind of hat that one might wear to a memorial service as the representative of one's country. Instead …It was the kind of hat a conventioneer might find in a goodie bag… It is also worth mentioning that Cheney was wearing hiking boots -- thick, brown, lace-up ones. Did he think he was going to have to hike the 44 miles from Krakow -- where he had made remarks earlier in the day -- to Auschwitz? His wife, Lynne, was seated next to him. Her coat has a hood, too, and it is essentially a parka…

Back to the Blog!

Fleet Captain Christopher Pike horribly disfigured by delta radiation. From Star Trek episode The Meangerie. Right now I feel like the cap'n looks!
Dr. Sinha, an Otolaryngologist, performed two surgeries on me yesterday (Septoplasty and Turbinatoplasty - it was a gory mess, and here's a link to peruse: I feel as if someone has ripped up the inside of my head with a scalpel...oh, wait...ugh.

Thursday, January 27, 2005


Grace Slick, 1968

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

Inauguration Day 2005

Suburban Cowboy, Stranger in a Strange Land

Teen Anarchists of the world, Unite! You have nothing to lose but your Platinum Cards!

Voices of sanity, in a sea of lunacy

Safe, at last!

Party of Bill Clinton Outraged by Lying

WaPo, page A1, 1/26/05 Democrats Denounce Rice Over Iraq War ...Too many Republican senators allow Bush's top aides "to get away with lying" said Sen. Mark Dayton (D, MN), a Democrat opposed to the war..."Lying to Congress, lying to our committees and lying to the American people. It's wrong, it's immoral."


If Only Dems Could Do the Same...

Headline: Iranians Cheer Bush's Inaugural Speech
-- from, January 26, 2005

See: it time for lunch already?

Elite Journalism 101

"All this was inspired by the principle - which is quite true in itself - that in the big lie there is always a certain force of credibility; because the broad masses of a nation are always more easily corrupted in the deeper strata of their emotional nature than consciously or voluntarily; and thus in the primitive simplicity of their minds they more readily fall victims to the big lie than the small lie, since they themselves often tell small lies in little matters but would be ashamed to resort to large-scale falsehoods. It would never come into their heads to fabricate colossal untruths, and they would not believe that others could have the impudence to distort the truth so infamously. Even though the facts which prove this to be so may be brought clearly to their minds, they will still doubt and waver and will continue to think that there may be some other explanation. For the grossly impudent lie always leaves traces behind it, even after it has been nailed down, a fact which is known to all expert liars in this world and to all who conspire together in the art of lying. These people know only too well how to use falsehood for the basest purposes.”
-- Adolph Hitler, Mein Kampf

And by way of reference:

U.S. Lowers Expectations for Once-Heralded Iraq Vote

Sun Jan 16, 8:07 AM ET
by Saul Hudson

WASHINGTON (Reuters) - Unable to deliver on its lofty goal of bringing democracy to Iraq through the Jan. 30 elections, the Bush administration is pressing a damage-control campaign to lower expectations for the vote. With fears for a low voter turnout among Sunni Arabs due to a boycott and insurgents' intimidation, the administration no longer touts the elections as a catalyst to spread democracy across the Arab world…

El Naar Haninah,
Suburban Cowboy's wife

"Red Colonel" Hits Jackpot

WaPo, page B1, 1/26/05: From D.C. Cell to Free Speech Win by Paul Schwartzman. Joe Mayer attended the demonstration downtown that morning in 2002 to protest what was then a brewing conflict in Iraq...he and his daughter were among a mass of protesters arrested, handcuffed and detained (by Washington, DC police)...(this week) the District government acknowledgeed that the arrests were improper and agreed to pay $425,000.00 to Mayer and six others who filed suit."
Sounds simple enough, right? Citizens file suit against police, alleging brutality and false arrest, and win. But of course there's more (there's always more in WaPo Land). Let's continue: (Mayer is) "A 20-year military veteran whose career included stints in Korea and Vietnam". His son-in-law is "Adam Eidinger, an activist who was arrested last week while demonstrating at President Bush's inauguration". Adam Eidinger! Sound familiar?: "Protester Causes Melee at DC Baseball Name Unveiling Mon Nov 22 2004 13:00:00 ET - Baseball's big party got thrown a curveball before it even began. Officials from the sports world and the city government were in Union Station today to confirm what was already widely known -- that the Expos are being re-named the Washington Nationals. But before the media event got underway, D-C Statehood Green Party member Adam Eidinger jumped onto the stage holding a sign protesting Mayor Tony Williams' planned stadium deal. Eidinger was jumped by several men, including former Washington Senators announcer Charlie Brotman. A tussle ensued, and the podium nearly fell over, before security managed to drag Eidinger off stage." (see: And then there's this, at "Police Crack Down on IMF/World Bank Activists By Jason Vest, Posted April 1, 2000 WASHINGTON -- It was around 8 o'clock last Thursday evening when the buzzer rang in activist Adam Eidinger's apartment. Thinking that some of his fellow activists had arrived a bit early for a postering party, Eidinger buzzed the door open and stepped out into the hall. As one of the organizers of protests against the World Bank and International Monetary Fund scheduled for April 16, Eidinger is used to people dropping by in the evenings…"
But while that kind of thing lends itself to farce, more disturbing is this, regarding Mayer himself: "Mayer's antiwar sentiments are well known to his family and friends, including some military buddies at the Pentagon who he said call him "the red colonel". He said he has participated in demonstrations since the 1980s, when he became involved in the nuclear freeeze movement...When (Ronald) Reagan talked about fighting and winning a nuclear war, it occurred to me that that was insanity, he said."
But then, the red colonel needs to leave the 80s and come to terms wih reality. See:

(Italics courtesy of Suburban Cowboy)

Ted Turner Apparently Still Insane

General Ted
WaPo, page c3, 1/26/05: "...Leave it to CNN founder Ted Turner to make the link between Hitler and Fox News...comparing Fox's ratings success to Hitler's popularity in prewar Germany." The great thinker also "described Fox as a tool of the Bush White House". Replied Fox: "Ted is understandably bitter, having lost his ratings, his network, and now his mind."
But of coursee, this is nothing new for Ted: see, U.S.: Ted Turner Calls Rival Media Mogul Murdoch 'Warmonger' ( April 25, 2003.

"If America fully embraces American cowboy wisdom and courage, then the Islamic terrorists and the regimes that support them had better run for cover. They stand no chance in the resulting showdown." See:

Real Men Wear Stetson

Religion of Peace, Part 2

Stoning Death in Iran
A Crime Against Humanity Carried Out By the Mullahs' Regime

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Suburban Cowboy, The Man

The Stupidest Senator, EVER?

Sen. Patty "Osama Mama" Murray (D, WA)

Is there a cure for what ails Senator Patty Murray (D, WA)? One of the most liberal, and most stupid, Senators (see her take on Osama bin Laden, below) gets the red-carpet treatment from Newsweek Magazine, 1/31/05: Welcome to Girls' State, by Karen Breslau "...(Senator) Murray, (is) a self-described "mom in tennis shoes"...All three of Washington's top women have compelling stories. Murray, a homemaker, was so angry about education budget cuts that she got herself elected to the state Senate..."When I ran for Senate in 1992, I had women saying to me, 'Don't you think a man should do that?'...In Washington, no one dares to offer that advice now. Women rule."

But Suburban Cowboy remembers a more shameful episode in the career of the esteemed Senator (see also, ):
12/21/02: "(Senator) Patty Murray (D, WA) says "He's (Osama bin Laden) been out in these countries for decades, building schools, building roads, building infrastructure, building day-care facilities, building health-care facilities, and these people are extremely grateful. We haven't done that."

(Italics throughout by Suburban Cowboy)

Newsweek Shills For Zarqawi (Again)

"Hello! Please renew my subscription to Newsweek"

Yet another reminder why I despise the Elite Liberal Media. Believe it or not, these excerpts all come from one page (!) of the current issue of Newsweek Magazine, 1/31/05: Free To Be Angry by Rod Norland "...Iraqis often point out that Saddam Hussein talked about freedom and democracy almost as much as he Americans do...every major poll shows an ever-larger majority of the Iraqis want the Americans to leave...not a single major candidate is campaigning (for elected office) on a pro-American platform...Mostly, Iraqis miss the freedom to read by electric light, or to bathe with running water--which were in extremely short supply in Baghdad the past week...Elections aren't necessarily going to make people feel much better..."On Jan. 31, elections will have triumphed", says one Coalition diplomat. "But democracy will have failed"...(Ghassan al-Attia, Iraqi academic, says)..."the freedom we have is the freedom of the jungle"..."And this democracy we have is a charade"..."My country is heading down the drain"...Last week in the town of Baqubah (cleric Fouad Attiya, 40, says the Americans don't permit anyone to) "...even speak out against the Americans"..."If I call from my mosque for occupation forces to leave my country, does that make me a terrorist? Is this the freedom they are bringing us?" ...uuurrrrgggghhhak (the sound of Suburban Cowboy throwing up in disgust)

I Was Really Sayin' Somethin' (doo-wah doo-wah)

The Fabulous Velvelettes!

And while I'm on the subject of good music (see post directly below), here's a list of my my top-five Soul Records performed by women (because I know you care...).

He Was Really Sayin' Somethin' -- The Velvelettes (1965 - see: and

Tainted Love -- Gloria Jones (1966 - see:

Nathan Jones -- The Supremes (1971, post-Diana Ross. See:

Lost In Music -- Sister Sledge (1976 - see:

Don't Leave Me This Way -- Thelma Houston (1978 - see:

Let's All Dance the Egyptian Shumba!


I couldn't have said it better myself! See,
. You can hear the whole blessed 2:15 thing here (scroll 3/4 of the way down the page):

Egyptian Shumba was a local Top 15 hit in Pittsburgh and a Top 30 in Cleveland, at a time when the world was too busy with the British Invasion to think Egyptian (1964). Too bad, coz, when you get a song with head splitting drums, a snake charmin’ clarinet and three girls barking on all fours like wolverines, singing “I wanna dance—AAAHH!” with urgency, well, rock can’t get much better without a kegger.
~ Serene Dominic, Detroit Metro Times

Egyptian Shumba starts
“Shimmy Shimmy Shimmy Shy-Yi Meece-E-Deece. Last night I dreamed I was on the Nile...” and descends into apocalyptic shrieking over a beach blanket beat. It’s hard to tell if it’s tongue-in-cheek or just a little unhinged. The clever money’s on both.
~ Bob Stanley, MOJO

Quite simply the Tammys' Egyptian Shumba sounds like a hyped-up B-52's - two decades before there was a B-52's. The song is a glorious, over-the-top dance song that could inspire a John Waters movie. With female hormones in overdrive, the Tammys scream, wheeze and shout at the song's nearly orgasmic finale in one of the wildest songs of the girl-group era.
Grade: A-
~ Wayne Bledsoe, Knoxville News-Sentinel

Religion of Peace, Part 1

WaPo, page A1, 1/25/05: Read the following, and substitute "Democratic Party" or "Republican Party" for "Religious Parties". Italics added by Suburban Cowboy. Political Islam Put to the Test In Southern Iraq Basra, Iraq, Jan. 24--Along Basra's Algeria street, a bustling thoroughfare as storied and dreary as this city, Adnan Abu Tariq hurried to his trading company office Monday and whispered his plans for Sunday's elections. "I will choose anyone who believes in freedom", the 53-year-old businessman insisted. Furtively, Abu Tariq then looked both ways...(h)e hid his face behind a stack of papers sheathed in a blue folder. And in a murmur, he spoke again, "Anyone but the religious parties".

The Road to Dhimmitude is Paved with Good Intentions

Mohammed in 8th Circle of Hell, from Dante's Inferno (illustration by Gustave Dore)

WaPo, page C10, 1/25/05. Italics added by Suburban Cowboy: On School Reading Lists: A Big Eraser Synopsis: DC area education professionals decide which works of literature are approved for secondary school students. Parental concerns about the chosen texts are inconsequential. Students are rarely, if ever, excused from reading approved, required books. WaPo authorities cited include "Maryland-based writer and librarian Chris Zammarelli, who writes the "Banned Bookslut" column for Bookslut, a monthly web-zine". Sigh. But then, there's this: "Most recently, a Muslim mother expressed concern about (required text "Dante's Inferno") because Muhammad occupies the innermost circle of Hell. In such cases...alternate texts are always available"

I Agree

See, there's two kinds of people in this world...

"I don't like the wimp syndrome. No matter how ardent a feminist may be, if she is a heterosexual female, she wants the strength of a male companion as well as the sensitivity. The most gentle people in the world are macho males, people who are confident in their masculinity and have a feeling of well-being in themselves. They don't have to kick in doors, mistreat women, or make fun of gays." -- Clint Eastwood, quoted at:

Monday, January 24, 2005

From the Diplomad

A friend of The Diplomad ( has provided us this letter which he "swears it's real." Of course, he also thought PanAm was a good investment . . . but, we can dream, eh?

The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue
Washington, D.C. ,20016

Dear Concerned Citizen:

Thank you for your recent letter roundly criticizing our treatment of the Taliban and Al Qaeda detainees currently being held at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.

Our administration takes these matters seriously, and your opinion was heard loud and clear in Washington.You'll be pleased to learn that thanks to concerned citizens like you, we are creating a new division of the Terrorist Retraining Program, to be called the "Liberals Accept Responsibility for Killers" program, or LARK for short. In accordance with the guidelines of this new program, we have decided to place one terrorist under your personal care.

Your personal detainee has been selected and scheduled for transportation under heavily armed guard to your residence next Monday. Ali Mohammed Ahmed bin Mahmud (you can just call him Ahmed) is to be cared for pursuant to the standards you personally demanded in your letter of admonishment. It will likely be necessary for you to hire some assistant caretakers. We will conduct weekly inspections to ensure that your standards of care for Ahmed are commensurate with those you so strongly recommended in your letter.

Although Ahmed is sociopathic and extremely violent, we hope that your sensitivity to what you described as his "attitudinal problem" will help him overcome these character flaws.

Perhaps you are correct in describing these problems as mere cultural differences. He will bite you, given the chance. We understand that you plan to offer counseling and home schooling. Your adopted terrorist is extremely proficient in hand-to-hand combat and can extinguish human life with such simple items as a pencil or nail clippers. We do not suggest that you ask him to demonstrate these skills at your next yoga group He is also expert at making a wide variety of explosive devices from common household products, so you may wish to keep those items locked up, unless (in your opinion) this might offend him.

Ahmed will not wish to interact with your wife or daughters (except sexually) since he views females as a subhuman form of property. This is a particularly sensitive subject for him, and he has been known to show violent tendencies around women who fail to comply with the new dress code that Ahmed will recommend as more appropriate attire. I'm sure the women in your household will come to enjoy the anonymity offered by the bhurka - over time. Just remind them that it is all part of "respecting his culture and his religious beliefs" - wasn't that how you put it?

Thanks again for your letter. We truly appreciate it when folks like you, who know so much, keep us informed of the proper way to do our job.

You take good care of Ahmed - and remember...we'll be watching. Good luck!


Your Buddy,
Don Rumsfeld


For the record, my politics are more-or-less in tune with the great Tammy Bruce, who describes herself thusly on her web site: "Tammy Bruce is an openly gay, pro-choice, gun owning, pro-death penalty, voted-for-President Reagan progressive feminist...". Tammy's web site is at:

White Riot, 2005

(The title of this post refers to a particularly appropriate song written and performed by the seminal punk rock band, The Clash. See:

Buoyed by feelings of patriotic duty, today I ventured into the District of Columbia to witness the 2nd Presidential Inauguration of George Bush, expecting to encounter both festivities and fisticuffs. Anticipating an uneventful commute to join up with my friends at Protest Warriors ( along the Pennsylvania Avenue parade route to demonstrate my solidarity with the US military, I instead alighted from the Chinatown Metro and found myself caught up in the inescapable human conveyor belt and security maelstrom that was DC on Inauguration Day 2005. Following inexorably the labyrinthine route laid out by TSA or MPDC (Washington DC Police)--or whichever alphabet soup security agency decides such things--I before long found myself sucked into the snail's-pace movement through the security magnetometers at 7th Street, directly north of the parade route. Rounding the corner closest to the entry point I was truly astonished by the sight I beheld: hundreds of other citizens braving attendant discomfort and inconvenience, simply for a chance to view the historic parade. I mused, well, here it is—the fool-proof recipe for a logistical nightmare: Take a narrow entry point along the Inaugural Parade Route, outfit the checkpoint with a mere three metal detectors, and liberally stir a thousand anxious spectators streaming forward in a furious throng, and…voila! Disaster a la mode.

Realizing that the other three checkpoints along the parade route were probably no better situated, I sighed, groaned, and then plunged into the crowd at 7th and D Streets. Trudging ever forward, and to forestall utter boredom, from time to time I glanced at the ubiquitous rooftop snipers and couldn’t help but muse that from their vantage point we the fleshly blob below must look like the slo-mo drip of sand through an enormous human-sized hourglass. Or bugs… And so I stood and wobbled and crept and shuffled and swayed, all the while crammed like a kippered herring among 10,000 souls of various political persuasions, from earnest-looking and well-fed suburban communists to down home regular folks here in the nation’s capitol to proclaim their patriotic love of American Home & Hearth. Minutes then hours ticked past relentlessly, I and my accidental family glued together in a seething mass, unable to move independently and irresistibly buffeted by the mysterious waves of shoving that suddenly swelled and waned with a grotesque and disconcerting irregularity, a very special addition to the horrid dystopia. Also, the crowd smelled. Bad.

As if the agony of spending 200 very, very l-o-o-o-n-g and utterly miserable minutes that I spent jammed back to front with an odious "limousine liberal”-types was not vile enough, I soon found myself crammed thisclose to one of that ilk who I will never—can never—forget. For you see, this particular moonbat had hoisted his obnoxious 6-year-old son up onto his shoulders, encouraging, in a stage whisper, no less, the boy to “let his views be known” (this, sadly, is a direct quote). What divine retribution had I called down upon my head, for which affront to God was I atoning, I wondered, to have my ears subjected to hours of this kid’s keening cry of "Dump BOOOSH! Down Wif BOOOSSH—how was that Daddy?” followed by the father cooing, “That was good Joshua, real good!” Ugh.

My boredom was soon shattered though, by the sudden appearance of what seemed to be a swarming horde of giant vampire bats, blasting out from their daytime lair at twilight, out for another macabre night of insect gorging frenzy. Though shocked by this tableau, I began to discern individual figures writhing within the black mass. It was indeed not vampire bats but rather dozens of fist pumping badass 20-something "anarchists" (genus Macrophagia Lunarius -- see, exploding around a too close corner, black flags unfurled, arms akimbo, shrieking and wailing and hurling projectiles for no sensible reason. Clad in de rigueur black, many with Arab Keffiyah headscarves obscuring their twisted-in-lunacy countenances, the densely packed maniacs lustily screamed and howled their obscene political slogans like a Mephistophelian chorus, and revealed to the world the depth of their brand of philosophical discourse: "Fuck the Pigs!!!!!" "Fuck Bush!!!!" "Smash Capitalism!!!" and the classic "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!!" refrain flew through the air, adding to my already overtaxed sense of outrage. Those of us ensconced in the mob in front of the security checkpoints grew increasingly startled, and not a few of my fellow travelers burst into tears of fear and rage and anger. The spirit of Eisenstein floated above the demented scene, but ole’ Sergei dosed on acid: Battleship Potemkin, Part 2: The Inauguration!

Within losing momentum, some of the more ADD-prone moonbats among the pathetic juggernaut upped the ante and bashed through the police barricades erected to protect those of us squeezing through the security checkpoint. Wannabe Spartacists swarmed over into my immediate area, preceded by an unrelenting hail of garbage and stones. According to an account in the Washington Post the next day, the “protesters” hurled “snowballs” at the cops, clearly implying that the police response—swinging batons and dousing with pepper-spray hoses—was an overreaction at best, and an egregious breach of citizen’s rights by Evil Government Agents at worst. But you don’t have to be Bernie Goldberg to detect standard WaPo bias—believe me, these innocuous snowballs being playfully tossed by the rambunctious youth were in reality large rocks covered in a thin veneer of snow—I saw and heard the loud report when one of these hurled missiles slammed into the face shield of a nearby MPDC Officer. Three of the cowardly nihilist miscreants wrestled a female cop to the pavement and managed to land a few vigorous kicks to her by prone body (a lesson illustrated: Beware of Pacifists—they want to maim you). In a flash, some MPDC reinforcements arrived on the scene and beat back the self-styled radical vanguard. Soon MPDC clubs were flying and criminal heads were being cracked. Yet the insane disruptors surged forward anew, forcing the cops’ hands to unleash chemical spray to end their teenage hijinks, and hopefully send them back with irritated eyes tearing, to their dorm rooms and coffee shops. The one solitary good thing to come out of thee melee is that at long last I can say that I have experienced the scent of pepper spray (a sweet bouquet, with ammonia overtone).

Within minutes the forces of order had regained control, but the damage was done, and not just to the bad-boy Bakuninists. Finally—finally!—I found myself being made it in to a small area along the parade route reserved by my pals at "Free Republic" (, a patriotic group of Capitalist freethinkers. Their outpost of sanity (in s sea of madness) was unmistakable, for they had cordoned off an area with signs reading "American Sector. For Lovers of Freedom. A Commie-Free Zone. Courtesy of Free Republic". I was at home, at last.

Deer Me!

Earlier today, as I drove my Acura down Quince Orchard Road toward the Post Office, the pounding hoof of an errant doe smashed down my car trunk, leaving a dent. The deer bounded from a nearby copse of trees, aiming to leap the fence surrounding the NIST complex across the road. For some mysterious reason NIST (National Institute of Standards and Technology—see, allows a teeming population of deer to roam it’s multi-acre grounds, but hunger and want frequently drive the beasts over the fence into nearby tree stands. Boy! I wonder how thee deer would feel if I stomped on her car!?

Spencer Dryden, RIP

Spencer Dryden, 1938 - 2005

Spencer Dryden died last week, January 12, 2005. He was 66. Some of you know him as the rock-steady drummer on the classic 1967 - 1969 Jefferson Airplane albums (Surrealistic Pillow, After Bathing at Baxter's, Crown of Creation, Bless It's Pointed Little Head, and Volunteers) and as a founding member in 1972 of New Riders of the Purple Sage (of Panama Red fame). Some of you don’t know what on earth I’m talking about. Check these out for the whole story:;; and

Alienation, Thy Name Be Democrat

Help me, I'm lost

Consider the following when listening to Kerry, Clinton, Soros, Moore, NOW, NAACP, etc. etc. etc.


: a withdrawing or separation of a person or a person's affections from an object or position of former attachment (alienation … from the values of one's society and family —S. L. Halleck)

2 : a state of abnormal function; especially : mental derangement : INSANITY

(Source: Merriam-Webster Medical Dictionary, © 2002 Merriam-Webster, Inc.)

noun 1: the feeling of being alienated from other people [syn: disaffection, estrangement] 2: separation resulting from hostility [syn: estrangement]; 3: the action of alienating; the action of causing to become unfriendly; "his behavior alienated the other students"

(Source: WordNet ® 2.0, © 2003 Princeton University)

Ponderosa Redux

Cartwright Land

have rediscovered my boyhood affection for the erstwhile TV show Bonanza. The reasons for this are myriad: I’m attracted to the seemingly simple yet paradoxically complex stories, and to really cool characters (especially Adam). Bonanza appears daily on the TV Land Network, and an excellent web site can be perused here: Here’s an outstanding excerpt from the site:

The Cartwrights -- Proud, Stubborn, Defiant
The sight of the Cartwrights charging down a hillside on horseback-Old Ben with his great mane of hair whipping behind him like a Biblical prophet; Adam, with the deadly eyes of a swooping hawk; Hoss, so huge of chest and shoulder that the giant bay under him looked puny by comparison; and Little Joe, a wild rebel yell on his lips was enough to cow the coolest man. And this close-knit family of men stood between the silver barons and the most extensive stretch of timberland in the Comstock Lode area.
The Cartwrights controlled the vast Ponderosa, a ranch that extended from the lush shores of Lake Tahoe down the snowcapped slopes of the Sierras and east to the desert-like environs of Virginia City. Over part of its thousand square miles roamed 10,000 head of cattle, grazing in the grassy lowlands; the rest of the acreage was covered with thickly wooded hills, studded with magnificent evergreens. Some trees were huge and ancient, others just slim seedlings, carefully planted and nurtured to replenish the forest and the earth it stood upon.
With the help of 200 men who tended the cattle, operated and homesteaded on land, the Cartwrights developed the Ponderosa into a ranch of great value. Their ranch house, with its giant halls, thick oak furniture and mammoth stone fireplace, was almost baronial in style. The job of patrolling and protecting their holdings, of guarding the treasured territory against cattle rustlers and timber raiders, was a task calling for the utmost vigilance and bravery, the sharpest eyes, and the surest aim. The Cartwrights possessed these qualities and more. Woe to the stranger who set foot on their land. Dozens of dead could testify to the futility of expeditions organized to take over the Ponderosa. But the Cartwrights knew the mining tycoons would never give up trying. They and their adversaries also knew that as long as they were together, the Cartwrights would never be beaten.

Ben, The Father

The day Ben Cartwright first clapped his eyes on the pastures, timbered hills, and soaring mountains of the western corner of Nevada, he said goodbye to the California-bound wagon train with which he was traveling, and settled down to raise his three sons and create something worthwhile out of the wilderness. As the years rolled by, he persuaded passing pioneers who loved the land as he did to join him, to build homes and bring up families, as he was doing.

It took Ben Cartwright many years and hundreds of miles of wandering before he found his own Garden of Eden. Tragedy had sat down on his shoulder since his early youth, when he helplessly watched his first young bride, Elizabeth, daughter of a down East sea captain, die in childbirth. Taking his firstborn son, Adam, with him, he made his way from New England to Saint Louis, where he invested the money his parents had left him in a profitable trading business. Soon, Ben fell in love again, this time with Inger, the hardy daughter of a Swedish immigrant. She could ride and shoot, and gladly followed him westward when they were married. But shortly after Ben's second son Eric, nicknamed Hoss, was born, Indians near Denver ambushed the Cartwrights, and an arrow killed his bride of a year.

Pursued by bitter memories, he traveled South to New Orleans, where he tried his hand at importing and exporting. There he met and lost his heart to a fiery Creole beauty, Marie, whose father had been one of Jean Lafitte's henchmen. Surrounded by suitors, she aroused such feelings of passion and jealousy in Ben that he vowed to have her for himself alone. He wooed and won her in a cyclonic courtship. She bore him a third son, Little Joe, but after a few happy years death struck once more, and Ben's wife lost her life in a horse riding accident at the Ponderosa, which was just freshly built by Ben in Nevada. Before his arrival in Nevada, Ben was witness to the destruction of the lush Sutter Valley, in California, and in the wake of the aftermath, decided to journey to Nevada, with young Adam and Hoss, to build his empire.

Now, twenty years later, Ben Cartwright is old, but he stands strong and straight as one of his own pine trees. A devout, Bible-quoting man filled with righteous fervor, he stares down at the sprawling new city, swollen with strangers, pronouncing in terrible tones that it is a veritable reincarnation of Sodom, a city of evil. His great mane of flowing white hair crowns his head as with an angry halo. But when his magnificent temper is soothed, his face can soften and his eyes glow with love, for his ranch and his sons. He watches over them paternalistically, curbing their revelries; joining in their horseplay with the rich, full laughter of a man without fear; and cherishing them, not only for themselves alone, but also for the fond memories of their mothers evoked by their widely differing appearances and mannerisms.

Adam, Guardian Of The Ponderosa

The son who most clearly reflects old Ben Cartwright's rock-ribbed integrity and purposefulness is his first born, Adam. It is he who most seriously shoulders the awesome responsibility of running the ranch. It is he who is naturally closest to his father, who feels the need to share his father's half-ridden grief for the loss of his beloved wives.

Adam posses the hardheaded, tight-fisted qualities of his New England ancestors. There is a gruffness about him, at times even a bitterness, savage and sharp as a Northeast wind. But old Ben knows that there is a loneliness deep inside the man that can only be assuaged by love-the free and unstinting love of his father, the love of the woman who has the courage to get close to him.

Roaming with his father through the rugged Western badlands, Adam has developed an extraordinary keenness of mind an eye and toughness of the body. He has survived many a skirmish with savages, has been exposed to onslaughts of the elements that would kill a lesser man. Cold and fearless, with a normally narrow-eyed, tight-lipped expression, he is known throughout the territory for his deadliness with a six-shooter or rifle, and for his iron-willed determination to serve his father. Together they will keep the Ponderosa and it's tall trees inviolate, swiftly and boldly smashing any attempt at the desecration of their holdings.

Hoss, The Gentle Giant

Hoss, five years younger than Adam, is a colossus of a man, broad and powerful as an ox. He has the clear blue eyes, wheat-colored hair and sturdy structure that bespeak the son of a Swedish-born mother.

Yet beneath his mighty physique, Hoss is gentle and childlike. Although he is capable of killing anything with his bare hands if provoked, he loathes violence of any kind. Shy and awkward with people, especially women, Hoss is most comfortable with animals. His nickname arose as much from his habit of taking better care of a horse than himself, as from his bulk and brute strength. People are too complicated; animals he can understand, and they seem to understand him, as he talks soothingly to a sacred heifer or threatens to throw an ornery mustang the length of the corral. Anyone who harms one of nature's creatures becomes an enemy for life. He is proudest of the time he rescued a full-grown brown bear from a trap, nursed its leg and then triumphantly returned the beast to its natural habitat.

Hoss' idea of human companionship is the tug and sweat of a "rassle", a good-natured cuff between the shoulder blades, a friendly bear hug. He is a hearty man with a robust sense of humor and a perpetual grin on his open face. Also, he is a man with an insatiable hunger, who dotes on the massive meals lovingly prepared and served by the Ponderosa's Chinese cook, Hop Sing.

Hoss has an abiding need to know that the Cartwrights stand as one, that no dissention breaks their ranks. He is fondly protective of the family's "baby", Little Joe, whose impulsiveness and pugnacious nature often bring on trouble.

Little Joe, The Fiery Gentleman

Little Joe, in his late teens, is a laughing cavalier who loves to assume the courtly manners of the South, of the worldly city of his birth, New Orleans. To him, New Orleans possesses a glamour and sophistication heightened by the stories he dimly remembers being told by his mother when he was a boy. And although there was an unsavory side to his mother, Little Joe knows nothing of it and holds her in the highest esteem, with the encouragement of his father.

He is gay and romantic, forward with women who attract him and in turn are attracted by his lithe good looks and flashy smile. He dresses as impeccably as a New Orleans gentleman, but his neat garments clothe a body as wiry as annealed steel, as graceful as a wildcat. With a cocky, insouciant smile always lingering on his lips, Little Joe seems to invite all comers, all sizes, all ages, to tackle him at their risk.

In keeping with his fondness for the courtly ways of his mother's world, Little Joe is an accomplished duelist, sporting an epee in his saddle. He is also unerring with a knife or rope, and would much rather use these weapons than the omnipresent gun that rules the West. He refuses to accept the normal code of his environment, much to the mused chagrin of his father and brothers.

Little Joe does not seem to take life seriously, a trait that often vexes his brother, Adam, whereupon Joe will taunt him to the point of rage. But although he would be rather charging across the countryside whooping a rebel yell, or dueling an imaginary adversary, or serenading a flesh and blood girl, Little Joe is not irresponsible. He knows that he is needed-to pitch in and help in the back-breaking work, to defend the ranch with his life if need be.”