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Since I put it on weldingweb, I figured I'd put it here too and save a bunch of mouse clicks.
Kevin, glad to know you're still here, along with your new assistants, but I kinda don't like it when somebody pisses on my boots and trys to convince me it's raining. I also know sometimes you gotta swallow hard and when you eat the King's bread you have to fight the Kings fight.
It's all about HONESTY
I've been riding this rock around the sun a lot of years, known a lot of people, and done a lot of things, so I have a pretty good onboard data base to work from.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, I have a **** good memory, and there are times I wish I didn't.
I remember back in second grade when I got in the sh.. for informing the teacher honeybees did NOT do things the way she said they did. My Old Man even sent me in the next day with his copy of "The Hive & the Honeybee" the bible of beekeeping. I probably recall that incident because it was when I learned the reality of what is today called Political Correctness.
That was back in the Dark Ages, when kids could flunk a grade, or be flunked on a test, for inserting the right answer if it wasn't the one the teacher wanted, and their parents didn't retain counsil or sue the District. Actually they rarely sue districts today either cause laws have been enacted that make that nearly impossible, but that's a different story.
As I got older, I learned there were acceptable modifiers to honesty. Things like "I will respect you in the morning" and "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing" weren't exactly honest, but they might get you laid, and the percentages were in your favor when it came to not increasing the world population. Then, the birth control pill came along, and AFDC, and honesty didn't matter a whole lot any more.
I remember my mom used to say "the people in Washington wouldn't be there if they didn't know what they are doing". Well, I guess it's good she was in the ground before Mom had a chance to know about VietFNam, or what the people in Washington were really doing, and what they KNEW.
I remember raising my right hand, and swearing to uphold the Constitution of the United States, and support and defend that document. I also remember being told over and over that we don't leave our dead or wounded behind. I also remember a lot of kids who weren't really old enough to shave getting themselves DEAD trying to recover the body of a fallen brother. I also know there are over 58,000 names sandblasted into a black wall in Washington DC, and a lot of those bodies are NOT buried on US soil; but that's another story.
I also know these days I hear a lot more of my brothers saying "If I knew then what I know now, I wouldn't have put that uniform on", and "I didn't wear that uniform so this kind of bull could exist". ****, I think that a lot of times myself; But that's another story.
I remember a Golden Retreiver named Ginger who lived with a family that thought it was fun to leave a biscuit on the coffy table and make Ginger wait to take it till they told her it was hers.
The people called it training, and I figure Ginger called it torture. The people were very proud of how well Ginger was trained, and the look Ginger got on her face when they asked her if she had taken the candy off the coffy table that Easter moring. Oh yea, how the **** hard is it to see chocolate all over a Golden's muzzle; But that too is another story.
I remember, sadly, the 8 years of the Clintons, when the White House became a ***** house, and the assignment to 8th and I became torture to a Marine, instead of the paradise it had been.
I remember the famous "that depends on what your definition of is is" statement, and the disgust I felt, and how pissed I was when Colin Powell escorted the *****monger In Chief to the wall, ans stood next to Clinton there. I alsl remember the networks did NOT show the men at the rear of the croud who turned their backs on Clinton.
I also remember how the Marine who stood at the base of the stairs to Marine 1 snapped a salute at the punk ******* occupying the White House, and I did notice that Marine immediately turn his back on Clinton on completion of the salute; but that too is another story.
I remember more **** lawyers than anybody could count occupying more TV face time than anyone could justify discussing the parsing of words, till I wondered why the **** I had worn that uniform.
I guess parsing and lawyers have managed to lower the standard of living of a lot of Americans, and send a lot of US jobs to places like Mexico and China, but the lawyers did make a lot of dollars doing it, and that's OK. ****, most of those dollars wound up in the US, so it fits on some spread sheet, and makes the numbers look good.
Somehow, Made in the USA managed to get defined on paper by the government, and people with MBA degrees managed to parse every **** word on that document till it meant nothing, and as long as the stockholders saw a dividend, it really didn't matter.
I remember a time when TRUTH meant something, at least in the minds of the little people, the ones who don't wear $5000- suits and ride in the back of limos with a cell to each ear and a FAX in the seatback, a time when a man's word was better than a thousand page document.
I remember when words had meanings, and didn't need to be parsed; But I guess that's another
story too.
I remember a time when you could believe what you heard and saw in a picture or read on paper, well, at least most of the time.
I remember a year, 1968, and a place called KheSahn, and a Marine covered in red clay dust, surrounded by his brothers who were also covered in the red dust. The legs of the Marine on the ground remained tethered to the rest of his body by little more than the skin of his back, and how the only things I was capable of thinking in that moment were why in **** isn't there blood all over the place, and how I wished I had the guts to help him die. I remember the suspension of time and the frightening quiet as the world and the battle waited for the kid to die.
I remember a moment when the world stopped, mayhaps in respect to a Marine who couldn't even grow a beard yet, and I remember seeing him take his last drag on a cigarette, and hearing his last statement to the world. I remember hearing Semper Fi, and I remember hearing the 16 click off a few rounds, I hope the next duty station that Marine reported to he reported in saying Another Marine reporting sir to St. Peter, but I'll never be sure.
I remember old men who had yet to reach their 20th birthday with tears cutting ruts down the red clay that covered their faces, men who had been honest enough to honor their comittment to their brother.
Honesty meant something once, and it still should. Honesty doesn't need to be shaded, or parsed, or defined. Each of us was born with something called gut instinct, and evolution has fine tuned it over the milenia. If it doesn't feel right in your gut, chances are it isn't good, or honest. Honesty doesn't need to be defined by lawyers, ethisists, or commentators, every 4 year old kid knows what honesty is, before society begins screwing with the definition in the kid's mind. Sometimes honesty hurts like ****. When society leaves honesty behind what the **** is left? I preferr the truth regardless of how much it hurts.
When the outside of the box says Made in USA what is in the box should not just be some collection of parts from all over the world that were assembled in the USA. Would the total number of units sold be different by 10 of the **** label said "built in the USA from parts from all over the world"? I don't think so, especially in the case of a machine that is primarily sold in box stores and Harbour Freight.
If I can't believe made in the USA on the outside of the box, how in **** can I believe the Warranty or anything else?
DISCLAIMER:
If I had a legal department, they would probably insist on a disclaimer here, but I don't have a legal department, I just have the memory of a dead Marine at KheSahn, and what he and is brother Marines believed in. His name is sandblasted on a panel of that black wall, a few panels over from another Marine who was my cousin. Their names aren't there parsed or modified. They didn't sign up and wear that uniform so some lolife could make a better profit by shading the truth.
Kevin, glad to know you're still here, along with your new assistants, but I kinda don't like it when somebody pisses on my boots and trys to convince me it's raining. I also know sometimes you gotta swallow hard and when you eat the King's bread you have to fight the Kings fight.
It's all about HONESTY
I've been riding this rock around the sun a lot of years, known a lot of people, and done a lot of things, so I have a pretty good onboard data base to work from.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, I have a **** good memory, and there are times I wish I didn't.
I remember back in second grade when I got in the sh.. for informing the teacher honeybees did NOT do things the way she said they did. My Old Man even sent me in the next day with his copy of "The Hive & the Honeybee" the bible of beekeeping. I probably recall that incident because it was when I learned the reality of what is today called Political Correctness.
That was back in the Dark Ages, when kids could flunk a grade, or be flunked on a test, for inserting the right answer if it wasn't the one the teacher wanted, and their parents didn't retain counsil or sue the District. Actually they rarely sue districts today either cause laws have been enacted that make that nearly impossible, but that's a different story.
As I got older, I learned there were acceptable modifiers to honesty. Things like "I will respect you in the morning" and "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing" weren't exactly honest, but they might get you laid, and the percentages were in your favor when it came to not increasing the world population. Then, the birth control pill came along, and AFDC, and honesty didn't matter a whole lot any more.
I remember my mom used to say "the people in Washington wouldn't be there if they didn't know what they are doing". Well, I guess it's good she was in the ground before Mom had a chance to know about VietFNam, or what the people in Washington were really doing, and what they KNEW.
I remember raising my right hand, and swearing to uphold the Constitution of the United States, and support and defend that document. I also remember being told over and over that we don't leave our dead or wounded behind. I also remember a lot of kids who weren't really old enough to shave getting themselves DEAD trying to recover the body of a fallen brother. I also know there are over 58,000 names sandblasted into a black wall in Washington DC, and a lot of those bodies are NOT buried on US soil; but that's another story.
I also know these days I hear a lot more of my brothers saying "If I knew then what I know now, I wouldn't have put that uniform on", and "I didn't wear that uniform so this kind of bull could exist". ****, I think that a lot of times myself; But that's another story.
I remember a Golden Retreiver named Ginger who lived with a family that thought it was fun to leave a biscuit on the coffy table and make Ginger wait to take it till they told her it was hers.
The people called it training, and I figure Ginger called it torture. The people were very proud of how well Ginger was trained, and the look Ginger got on her face when they asked her if she had taken the candy off the coffy table that Easter moring. Oh yea, how the **** hard is it to see chocolate all over a Golden's muzzle; But that too is another story.
I remember, sadly, the 8 years of the Clintons, when the White House became a ***** house, and the assignment to 8th and I became torture to a Marine, instead of the paradise it had been.
I remember the famous "that depends on what your definition of is is" statement, and the disgust I felt, and how pissed I was when Colin Powell escorted the *****monger In Chief to the wall, ans stood next to Clinton there. I alsl remember the networks did NOT show the men at the rear of the croud who turned their backs on Clinton.
I also remember how the Marine who stood at the base of the stairs to Marine 1 snapped a salute at the punk ******* occupying the White House, and I did notice that Marine immediately turn his back on Clinton on completion of the salute; but that too is another story.
I remember more **** lawyers than anybody could count occupying more TV face time than anyone could justify discussing the parsing of words, till I wondered why the **** I had worn that uniform.
I guess parsing and lawyers have managed to lower the standard of living of a lot of Americans, and send a lot of US jobs to places like Mexico and China, but the lawyers did make a lot of dollars doing it, and that's OK. ****, most of those dollars wound up in the US, so it fits on some spread sheet, and makes the numbers look good.
Somehow, Made in the USA managed to get defined on paper by the government, and people with MBA degrees managed to parse every **** word on that document till it meant nothing, and as long as the stockholders saw a dividend, it really didn't matter.
I remember a time when TRUTH meant something, at least in the minds of the little people, the ones who don't wear $5000- suits and ride in the back of limos with a cell to each ear and a FAX in the seatback, a time when a man's word was better than a thousand page document.
I remember when words had meanings, and didn't need to be parsed; But I guess that's another
story too.
I remember a time when you could believe what you heard and saw in a picture or read on paper, well, at least most of the time.
I remember a year, 1968, and a place called KheSahn, and a Marine covered in red clay dust, surrounded by his brothers who were also covered in the red dust. The legs of the Marine on the ground remained tethered to the rest of his body by little more than the skin of his back, and how the only things I was capable of thinking in that moment were why in **** isn't there blood all over the place, and how I wished I had the guts to help him die. I remember the suspension of time and the frightening quiet as the world and the battle waited for the kid to die.
I remember a moment when the world stopped, mayhaps in respect to a Marine who couldn't even grow a beard yet, and I remember seeing him take his last drag on a cigarette, and hearing his last statement to the world. I remember hearing Semper Fi, and I remember hearing the 16 click off a few rounds, I hope the next duty station that Marine reported to he reported in saying Another Marine reporting sir to St. Peter, but I'll never be sure.
I remember old men who had yet to reach their 20th birthday with tears cutting ruts down the red clay that covered their faces, men who had been honest enough to honor their comittment to their brother.
Honesty meant something once, and it still should. Honesty doesn't need to be shaded, or parsed, or defined. Each of us was born with something called gut instinct, and evolution has fine tuned it over the milenia. If it doesn't feel right in your gut, chances are it isn't good, or honest. Honesty doesn't need to be defined by lawyers, ethisists, or commentators, every 4 year old kid knows what honesty is, before society begins screwing with the definition in the kid's mind. Sometimes honesty hurts like ****. When society leaves honesty behind what the **** is left? I preferr the truth regardless of how much it hurts.
When the outside of the box says Made in USA what is in the box should not just be some collection of parts from all over the world that were assembled in the USA. Would the total number of units sold be different by 10 of the **** label said "built in the USA from parts from all over the world"? I don't think so, especially in the case of a machine that is primarily sold in box stores and Harbour Freight.
If I can't believe made in the USA on the outside of the box, how in **** can I believe the Warranty or anything else?
DISCLAIMER:
If I had a legal department, they would probably insist on a disclaimer here, but I don't have a legal department, I just have the memory of a dead Marine at KheSahn, and what he and is brother Marines believed in. His name is sandblasted on a panel of that black wall, a few panels over from another Marine who was my cousin. Their names aren't there parsed or modified. They didn't sign up and wear that uniform so some lolife could make a better profit by shading the truth.
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