Rep. Brattin has submitted a bill in Jefferson City that would remove, among other things, fish and steak from the list of food people could acquire with food stamps in the Great State of Missouri.
Another bill would remove porn from the list of things welfare recipients can buy with their benefits.
The porn? Well, I’ll leave it to Jesus to decide if that’s a good use of public funds, but there’s a whole history of fish being fed to those without in the Christian scriptures. Wonder if the good Rep. Brattin has read this story?
And thanks, Cynical, for the link.
(And forgive the name at the lower part of that gif. It’s naughty.)
Posted in Modern life-as-we-know-it, One of God's creatures, Poverty
Tagged Fish, Food stamps, House of Representatives, Jefferson City, Jesus, Missouri, Porn, Rick Brattin, Steak, Welfare recipients
Elizabeth Sullivan, a 104-year old Texas woman, credits her longevity to drinking Dr Pepper (nectar of both gods and goddesses) three times a day.
Thank you, Sherry. This makes me very happy because I’m a Pepper, too! Ms. Sullivan only started drinking the stuff just 40 years ago. I started roughly 54 years ago. It was placed in my baby bottle by my loving mother. So I’m going to live forever, I suspect.
Remember this winter’s first snow fall? It was magical. It was soft. You woke up the morning after and pulled back the shades and gasped at how pretty the snow rendered the broken lawn chairs in your neighbors backyard.
Shoveling is fun! Let’s do it together, and whine about the weather, but we don’t mean it. The snow has turned the world into a magical place. No worries about obligations. They’re cancelled! The snow did that! Make another pot of coffee! Relax! It’s snowing! Isn’t it pretty?
Fast-forward three months after a few scares on the icy roads, and a series of cancellations that have made spring’s calendar fat with make-ups. The white snow is a grungy brown/gray, and has frozen into solid concrete.
Let’s review the tape:
* This has been among the snowiest winters on record.
* In some parts of the world — warmer, daffodil-dotted parts — spring begins today.
* But here in the Frozen North, more snow is predicted, up to five inches in some parts of the Nutmeg State — meaning my part, where we are operating under a travel advisory until 2 a.m. tomorrow, which in honor of spring I’m ignoring to go conduct an interview 45 minutes away-wish-me-luck.
* Are you f*#*%&$ kidding me?
Connecticut’s former governor, John G. Rowland, has again been found with his hand in the cookie jar and now he’s going back to jail. The actual crimes were:
seven counts that included obstructing justice, conspiracy, falsifying documents relied on by federal regulators and other violations of campaign finance laws.
As a former member of the Hartford Courant press corps, I spilled no small amount of ink over this man’s arrogance, and his inability to play by the rules.
But at this point, after Rowland already spending a year and a day in jail and putting his family through that (and we know a little bit about the disruption and heartache of having a loved one in jail), I don’t feel like chortling. I don’t have any fight left in me about this man, because he’s placed himself in the ridiculous position of pledging to appeal (he hasn’t a prayer) and dragging the rest of the state through more of the judicial process (yay) and then, ultimately, he will go back to prison, and if history is an indicator, he will come out, give some motivational speeches about how power corrupts, and…and…so on.
This sounds snarkier than I mean it to. I feel for him. I also feel for his family who get to do the walk of shame every time they leave the house. There should be no walk of shame for his family — they’re not the ones with their hands in the cookie jar — but that’s how life works. In all, the press coverage of this trial hasn’t been so much the beating-the-drum-kind, I think because for most journalists, this is just sad. It’s always tempting to wait around while someone arrogant gets his (or hers). But then when it happens? It doesn’t always have that celebratory feel. John G. Rowland needs no forgiveness from me (especially when he continues to maintain his innocence and especially since I’m a sinner, too) but we can probably let the courts do their work and hope for a good outcome for his family.
Posted in Modern life-as-we-know-it
Tagged Appeal, Arrogance, Court, Family, Governor, Hartford Courant, Jail, John G. Rowland, Journalists, Prayer, Sad, Seven counts
So I teach at two colleges — Central Connecticut State University and Manchester Community College — and both are on spring break this week.
I hardly know how to act. I’ve graded the midterms, and graded the papers due at the time of midterms. There’s no lecture to prepare, though I suppose I could practice for my next one in my car.
I’m on the hunt for a wet t-shirt contest, because I really think I’ve got a shot at winning my age group.
Just kidding. The whole idea of spring break was a little like Big Foot when I was in school. You saw photos. You watched movies. You knew the youthful bacchanalia might be real, but neither I nor any one I knew actually went to Daytona Beach, Galveston, or anywhere else these young kids purport to be going. Instead, we used the time away from school to pack in a few more hours at our crappy jobs because we were always in need of scratch.
So onward, Girls Gone Wild, and onward, the rest of you, too. I’ll see you on the beach — right after the snows melt off of it.
Perhaps you’ve caught up with your sleep by now. Thanks, Kaiser Wilhelm. If you’re not a fan of Daylight Savings Time, go here and sign the petition to abolish it (and thanks, Sharon).
Especially after Mike the Heathen sent along a story about Peeps-flavored milk.
I mean, c’mon, ‘Murica.
One day, historians will trace the moment the country began its slide down the greased pole to hell, and they will arrive at the year these nasty things left the boundaries of Easter to crap up grocery shelves during other perfectly good holidays. First, they took Halloween, and then they bounced over to the dairy aisle.
Stop. The. Madness.