The Down Range Forum
Member Section => Down Range Cafe => Topic started by: someguy on April 30, 2007, 04:09:30 PM
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Oh, this is just too good...
http://www.davidlynchfoundation.org/emailing/2007_04_25/index.html
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Can't you just see it now..........Hillary, McCarthy, Sharpton and Schmuck Schumer sitting in a circle holding hands celebrating the elimination of violence in our schools..................Ohmmmmmmmmmmmm, Ohmmmmmmmmmm........... ::)
You just can't make this up.
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Hey, it says he's a Hollywood filmaker so he MUST know what he's talking about and we should listen to hm. /sarc
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Yeah, I had to take advantage of the link to their email on the main page, encouraging us to direct questions to them... Such as:
"Are you f%&ing kidding me?!?"
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This is a classic illustration of just how dumb some people can be.
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Sounds like a good idea to me...maybe we can steal it...one million gunowners meditating on, oh, I don't know...ammo?
michael b
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Sounds like a good idea to me...maybe we can steal it...one million gunowners meditating on, oh, I don't know...ammo?
michael b
How about meditating on low-cost ammo, like the halcyon days of cheap and plentiful surplus ammo?
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How about meditating on low-cost ammo, like the halcyon days of cheap and plentiful surplus ammo?
Picky Picky, take what you can get ;)
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Lets see if I can meditate me up a $100 Ruger Flattop in pristine condition.
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I have posted what might be of interest to others on my own blog tonight. www.sasquatchmemoirs.blogspot.com
It is both a notification from the Chief of Police for George Washington Univ in DC and my thoughts. It annoys me how the academic environment avoids the nasty issues of individual responsibility and obligation in difficult times. Just my thoughts but there doesn't seem to be any adults out there anymore. Here I've spent a ton of bucks to send my daughter to GW and there's no one in charge...
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You know, I wanted to be an academic once. I was trying to the the writer-in-residence at a Florida "suntan" private university....daddy's got enough money, you get a DEGREE! And a suntan. They'd hustled me because I actually wrote books that you could find in a bookstore and my articles were in big magazines, so they figured I was ideal to teach a senior level writing seminar. I went in an lectured a couple of times, and was I stoked! Here's a whole room full of perfectly formed, perfectly tanned kids with IQs hovering between iguanas and cocker spaniels. Spectacular women doing their nails (literally), sighing and crossing long tanned legs...I thought, this is the mother lode! Forty grand for stuff I could make up while I was bicycling to the class! I figured I could ride this writer in residence thing until I dropped dead of overexposure to faculty covered dinner party food. So I got a corduroy jacket with leather elbow pads, a fake pipe and a used copy of ATLAS SHRUGGED at the college bookstore to give me some emotional depth. Then I went to a faculty cocktail party, where I regaled the assembled professors and professorettes with humorous tales of The Writing Life. Then I hugely screwed up...someone asked me where my degree, or degrees, were from. "Degrees?" I said. "I don't got no stinking degrees! I got books. I got reviews in the New York Times. I got my name in Rolling Stone. But degrees? Nary a one." People started backing away from me as if I'd just started bleeding from the eyeballs like an ebola-stricken tribes-person. Next day, I was notified that I couldn't be a writer in residence unless I had a degree, as I was insufficiently marinated in knowledge to instrcuct the puppies. I was heart-broken. All I had to do was say, "Harvard, or Columbia, for their writing program or even the University of Grenada, for their goat studies cirriculum..." No one would have ever checked, and I would now have the best...tan...
Michael B (off topic as usual)
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You know, I wanted to be an academic once. I was trying to the the writer-in-residence at a Florida "suntan" private university....daddy's got enough money, you get a DEGREE! And a suntan. They'd hustled me because I actually wrote books that you could find in a bookstore and my articles were in big magazines, so they figured I was ideal to teach a senior level writing seminar. I went in an lectured a couple of times, and was I stoked! Here's a whole room full of perfectly formed, perfectly tanned kids with IQs hovering between iguanas and cocker spaniels. Spectacular women doing their nails (literally), sighing and crossing long tanned legs...I thought, this is the mother lode! Forty grand for stuff I could make up while I was bicycling to the class! I figured I could ride this writer in residence thing until I dropped dead of overexposure to faculty covered dinner party food. So I got a corduroy jacket with leather elbow pads, a fake pipe and a used copy of ATLAS SHRUGGED at the college bookstore to give me some emotional depth. Then I went to a faculty cocktail party, where I regaled the assembled professors and professorettes with humorous tales of The Writing Life. Then I hugely screwed up...someone asked me where my degree, or degrees, were from. "Degrees?" I said. "I don't got no stinking degrees! I got books. I got reviews in the New York Times. I got my name in Rolling Stone. But degrees? Nary a one." People started backing away from me as if I'd just started bleeding from the eyeballs like an ebola-stricken tribes-person. Next day, I was notified that I couldn't be a writer in residence unless I had a degree, as I was insufficiently marinated in knowledge to instrcuct the puppies. I was heart-broken. All I had to do was say, "Harvard, or Columbia, for their writing program or even the University of Grenada, for their goat studies cirriculum..." No one would have ever checked, and I would now have the best...tan...
Michael B (off topic as usual)
I Knew there was something (besides guns) that I liked about you! I too am proudly 'degreeless'. 160 credit hours and nary a sheepskin.
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You know, I wanted to be an academic once. I was trying to the the writer-in-residence at a Florida "suntan" private university....daddy's got enough money, you get a DEGREE! And a suntan. They'd hustled me because I actually wrote books that you could find in a bookstore and my articles were in big magazines, so they figured I was ideal to teach a senior level writing seminar. I went in an lectured a couple of times, and was I stoked! Here's a whole room full of perfectly formed, perfectly tanned kids with IQs hovering between iguanas and cocker spaniels. Spectacular women doing their nails (literally), sighing and crossing long tanned legs...I thought, this is the mother lode! Forty grand for stuff I could make up while I was bicycling to the class! I figured I could ride this writer in residence thing until I dropped dead of overexposure to faculty covered dinner party food. So I got a corduroy jacket with leather elbow pads, a fake pipe and a used copy of ATLAS SHRUGGED at the college bookstore to give me some emotional depth. Then I went to a faculty cocktail party, where I regaled the assembled professors and professorettes with humorous tales of The Writing Life. Then I hugely screwed up...someone asked me where my degree, or degrees, were from. "Degrees?" I said. "I don't got no stinking degrees! I got books. I got reviews in the New York Times. I got my name in Rolling Stone. But degrees? Nary a one." People started backing away from me as if I'd just started bleeding from the eyeballs like an ebola-stricken tribes-person. Next day, I was notified that I couldn't be a writer in residence unless I had a degree, as I was insufficiently marinated in knowledge to instrcuct the puppies. I was heart-broken. All I had to do was say, "Harvard, or Columbia, for their writing program or even the University of Grenada, for their goat studies cirriculum..." No one would have ever checked, and I would now have the best...tan...
Michael B (off topic as usual)
Michael you shoulda hit them with the" yeah i am a grad of the TRU(a.k.aThunderRanchUniversity)
or maybe degree in F-F taught by the world renouned (now said fast) D.R. Middlebrooks to sound like Dr. Middlebrooks. Hmmmm? After a little thought all those tanned legs could of very well turned MB into a pacifist and want nothing to do with gun oil but be the athority on the top tanning oils and other beach products.
In hindsight I am thankful for the close-minded views! Srry MB. :D
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You know, I wanted to be an academic once. I was trying to the the writer-in-residence at a Florida "suntan" private university....daddy's got enough money, you get a DEGREE! And a suntan. They'd hustled me because I actually wrote books that you could find in a bookstore and my articles were in big magazines, so they figured I was ideal to teach a senior level writing seminar. I went in an lectured a couple of times, and was I stoked! Here's a whole room full of perfectly formed, perfectly tanned kids with IQs hovering between iguanas and cocker spaniels. Spectacular women doing their nails (literally), sighing and crossing long tanned legs...I thought, this is the mother lode! Forty grand for stuff I could make up while I was bicycling to the class! I figured I could ride this writer in residence thing until I dropped dead of overexposure to faculty covered dinner party food. So I got a corduroy jacket with leather elbow pads, a fake pipe and a used copy of ATLAS SHRUGGED at the college bookstore to give me some emotional depth. Then I went to a faculty cocktail party, where I regaled the assembled professors and professorettes with humorous tales of The Writing Life. Then I hugely screwed up...someone asked me where my degree, or degrees, were from. "Degrees?" I said. "I don't got no stinking degrees! I got books. I got reviews in the New York Times. I got my name in Rolling Stone. But degrees? Nary a one." People started backing away from me as if I'd just started bleeding from the eyeballs like an ebola-stricken tribes-person. Next day, I was notified that I couldn't be a writer in residence unless I had a degree, as I was insufficiently marinated in knowledge to instrcuct the puppies. I was heart-broken. All I had to do was say, "Harvard, or Columbia, for their writing program or even the University of Grenada, for their goat studies cirriculum..." No one would have ever checked, and I would now have the best...tan...
Michael B (off topic as usual)
Well, another self made person. I'm in the same boat. For years I've had to train all those grads with their papers that say they went to college and passed a bunch of tests, but they don't know anything about the real world. I trained myself in my field and I'm highly looked up to in the community across the country for my contributions. My employer fortunately didn't care about the lack of a sheepskin because they knew what I could do, and still do, for them. My brother is book smart, but he can't even maintain his car!