From Michael Schiavo's Death Loving Attorney
...describing another woman he helped kill.
I felt the midsection of my body open and noticed a strange quality to the light in the room. I sensed her soul in agony. As she screamed I heard her say, in confusion, "Why am I still here ... Why am I here?" My soul touched hers and in some way I communicated that she was still locked in her body. I promised I would do everything in my power to gain the release her soul cried for. With that, the screaming immediately stopped. I felt like I was back in my head again, the room resumed its normal appearance, and Mrs. Browning, as she had throughout this experience, lay silent.
George Felos, attorney for Michael Schiavo, from his book "Litigation as Spiritual Practice"
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On Michael Jackson
From The American Spectator
By R. Emmett Tyrrell, Jr.
Michael Jackson is one of the pop culture phenomena of the era of celebrity. Modestly talented in one area, he through clever marketing managed to amass a vast amount of money. With it legitimatizing him, he went on to claim an array of talents that he manifestly lacks. He can dance. That is about it. He is also repulsive and spectacularly stupid.
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On Judges and Schiavo
From The American Spectator
The Humane Holocaust
By George Neumayr
Under judge-made law, euthanasia has become America's most astonishing form of premeditated murder, a cold-blooded crime in which husbands can kill their wives and even turn them into accomplices to it through the telepathy of "their wishes."
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From President Bush
The strong have a duty to protect the weak. When there are serious doubts, the presumption should be to preserve life.
Asparagus Soup
Spring coaxed the thyme from its slumber. Beside, sage awakes and speaks its piece. The herbs are about and this, of course, inspires me to culinary heights.
Then there is the plentiful asparagus and strawberries of the season so I consider my options. The grocery has fresh asparagus on sale at 1.99 per pound. Two pounds and I’ve got a week of fresh asparagus. Thus I begin to slice the precious tips, down to the point where soft fiber becomes hard wood. Into the pot until just a mild crunch, some salt, pepper and butter and boom, the best the earth has to offer as handsome side dish for the next week.
This year, I pondered the asparagus bottoms and consider the wastage of disposing of the same amount of vegetable as actually used. Though “waste” is too harsh a term, mind you, as those asparagus bottoms are happily welcomed in the compost pile out yon. Still. Surely, as the mental wheels turn, these asparagus bottoms can be culinary transformed into something edible. Soup?
Soup it was.
Now I was well aware of the problem with asparagus bottoms what with that wood fiber and all. Asparagus is, after all, a bush. Asparagus tips are the bush’s flowers. Yet I accounted for the excess fiber by my plan A. Which was to boil those asparagus bottoms to death then run through the reduced liquid asparagus mush with that handy boat motor mixer to make a thick green hearty soup base.
At least as I envisioned.
All went as planned except for that little problem of the boat motor getting hopelessly entangled in asparagus fiber much the same as the real thing gets all hung up with fishing line. Which required that I constantly stop and untangle the fiber mess from the motor that had, at the time of interruption, simply refused to move. This should have been a sign yet it was not.
I continued on.
Of course there was a greater plan which included the addition of new potatoes and frozen baby carrots once the hearty stock was pureed. The potatoes and carrots would be infused with the taste of asparagus so went the plan.
A sprig of thyme from the garden, salt, pepper and voila, set to simmer.
The next sign came when I first stirred the soup. Each time that ladle came out of the mush, it was filled with what appeared to be a pile of green strings but I told myself, no. It is the same fiber as in the asparagus tips though I had to boil and puree them to that point. And I digest this fiber just fine, do I not?
By this point in the process, I was deathly afraid to taste the product. To do so would have deterred me from my mission, which was to finish this fine soup made with the freshest of ingredients and seasoned delicately as not to overwhelm. Besides, soup always tastes better the next day. The signs were ominous. The soup was looking really bad.
But then consider a portabella mushroom. Or an oyster. These are not beautiful foodstuffs yet they are eaten with relish. I refused to judge this soup on its looks. I also refused to taste it.
Came the time to actually sit down with a bowl of this stuff. Yes in a world filled with violence and hate, I really did pray to the very busy God that this soup would exceed my expectations.
It did not.
What can I say? How horrible is the most horrible thing you have ever seen or tasted in your entire life? Multiply this by ten. Still you are not there.
To add proverbial insult to injury, the freaking carrots were still half-frozen!
It looked, yes it did, exactly like the vomit spewed by that young Exorcist child. Eerily exactly.
It tasted like green wood with a mild thyme taste. The texture was, go on, I’m sure you know.
This bowl of green gruel still sits in my refrigerator and tell you the truth, I’m scared of it. The dogs, no, I simply can not put the dogs through it. It’s not fair to them. What have they ever done but love me with no reservation? Not the dogs. Definitely not.
The compost pile? Yes, I suspect the compost pile will welcome this soup. In fact, this concoction could properly be referred to as “Compost Pile Soup”. Problem is, somebody has to carry it to the compost pile. And pour it into the compost pile.
The thought scares me.
Me and Gene Pitney, we’re gonna be strong.
Tomorrow I will do the deed.
Husband suggests sending soup to Delaware Governor Nanny Minner..
This is also a possibility.
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