It was a normal day... Then... The Claw struck!

Fortunately, The Claw is very well mannered and only eats cake.

OOOOHHHH SAAAAAAAAAY...

If you don't mind, I have to include a pet peeve of mine.

At almost any sporting event you go to, you hear the Star Spangled Banner played beforehand. However, you almost never hear it played the way it was written.

The national anthem is a march. It was based off of a popular drinking song, To Anacreon in Heaven.

It is not a beautiful ballade, and yet, nine times out of ten, you hear it sung of played as such.

It is a fast and march like song, and people need to start playing and singing it as such.

-Thank you for indulging me.

Disgrace

I attended a public meeting the other day. Four candidates (one was the incumbent) were running for office, and they were making speeches. One candidate, whom we will call Joe, decided to use a device commonly known as negative campaigning or mudslinging.

Joe compared all the candidates to pie.

He said, "One of my opponents is too hot, another is too cold, and the third has been here so long that they've gone stale."

Yes, it's true, he didn't use any names. But we all knew what he was referring to when he talked about the stale pie. Saying that we at the meeting didn't know who Joe was referring to makes the assumption that we were all morons. It was obvious that he was referring to the incumbent who we will call Kirsten. Anyone who claims not to know is in denial.

Joe then went on to further insult the stale pie (Kirsten).

"I thought that it would be a good idea to feed the stale pie to the dogs," Joe said, "But then I realized that doing so would be animal cruelty."

Joe's rude behavior continued. He claimed that his pie was the perfect temperature and had all the perfect fillings.

Well let Joe hear this. His pie was not a perfect pie. It was, in fact, a mud pie, and he is nothing more than a rude, cocky, and disgusting excuse for a candidate.

Fortunately, his pathetic speech crashed and burned. People were angry at his behavior and openly criticized him afterwards. Halfway through the speech, people began talking, provoking an idiotic response from Joe.

"I'll wait for you to finish your conversations," he said.

I was tempted to shout, "We're talking because you suck!" but I decided to restrain myself.

In the end though, I was disappointed. I was hoping he would be booed off the stage. However, it was nice to see him fail miserably at starting a chant of the word "pie."

Joe owes us all an apology, for his disgraceful behavior, and he owes Kirsten a public apology for his insults.

Confederate Flags

I am a big supporter of free speech and the first amendment. I believe that censorship is wrong, and people should be able to say what they want. Banning something because you don't agree with it is cowardly.

Confederate flags are racist. If you wear one, you are supporting racism against African Americans. My history teacher agrees.
"We all know what it stood for: a segregated south that believed that slavery was appropriate. It also stood for the black codes that came after slavery. It's very much a racist statement," she said.

And she's right. Wearing a confederate flag on a shirt of belt buckle is no different than wearing a Swastika.

The clothing outlet "Dixie Outfitters" features a confederate flag as part of their logo. Wearing the flag, for any reason, is a racist statement. If you don't believe in racism, don't wear one and encourage others to do the same. Banning them would be wrong, but we can get the message out that racism of any form is unacceptable.

Tell 11 billion people, THIS one is real!

I don't understand the appeal of chain letters. They're all alike. They tell you to send it to an unreasonable number of people so something good will happen. If you don't, something terrible will happen. They all say something like, "Most chain letters are fake, but this one is real." The most important part of any chain letter seems to be the long column of these *****.

Chain letters are pointless and annoying. In his "Bottom Ten" list. The great philosopher Strong Bad gave number eight to "Emails with more than one fwd or re in the subject line." I don't always agree with Mr. Bad. Some of the jokes people forward me (and all the rest of their friends) are very funny. But chain letters have got to go. There are so many better uses of your time than sending 200 copies of an email and irritating your friends. So join me everyone, and we can break the chains together.

The Stoplight (a short story of a small town)

Next to a restless sea there sat a peaceful village. On that cold February morning nothing was stirring. No one was fishing in the sea, no children were playing catch in the streets, no one was walking down the sidewalks. A thin veil of mist floated up from the sea like a blanket moving to cover a sleeping child. Outside the town hall a slick covering of ice gathered on the sidewalk. Everything was calm. Yet inside his office, Mayor Howard was feeling anything but peaceful.

The fat mayor was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. All day long, he had been arguing. The school wanted more chalk, the library wanted more books, Mrs. Flemin wanted to let her dog run loose, and nobody wanted to pay parking fines. What about the mayor? He wanted to go home, and have a drink. Howard looked at the clock, 4:45 only fifteen minutes to go. How many more people could come and bother him in fifteen minutes?

A noise behind him made Howard jump.

“Howard,” snapped a woman’s voice, “We need to talk.”

Howard turned around in his chair, praying that it wouldn’t be her. He groaned inwardly at the sight of the wisps of silver gold hair and her glare that moved mountains. Of all people to bother him today, why did it have to be Councilwoman Nora Gladhand? Howard put a false smile on.

“Good afternoon, Councilwoman. Please have a seat.”

She walked over to his desk with a quick lively step, and sat down across from him, her eyes constantly shifting.

“How may I help you today?” asked Howard.

“Well you can start by giving me an example of a traffic problem,” said Nora.

“What kind of traffic problem?” asked Howard, in the patient voice he used with angry citizens.

Nora always took forever to make her point, and she was never satisfied with
anything the mayor’s office did.

“That’s exactly my point,” she said and started up with her thin tapping fingers. “There are no traffic problems in this city.”

Howard scratched his balding head.

“Get to the point!” he wanted to scream, but he continued to be patient.

He had learned long ago that people have to tell their story the way they want to.

“You talk about fixing traffic problems,” Nora snapped, “But you are the one creating them. You just want to turn our quaint little town into a concrete jungle!”

“Miss Gladhand, we’re very short on time today, could you please tell me your problem so I can give an answer.

Nora was silent for a moment. Outside, Howard could hear a storm brewing. Waves were breaking against the shore. Finally Nora spoke.

“Come to the window Howe,” she beckoned.

Howard stood up and shuffled to the window.

“What do you see?” asked Nora in a cold voice.

“The town,” replied Howard with a sigh.

It was 5:13. He could have been home by now.

“Where do you plan to put the stoplight?” asked Nora.

Howard pointed with his short stubby fingers.

“Look!” exclaimed Nora, “There isn’t a single car at that intersection. Our town has never had a traffic light before and we don’t need one now!”

Jagged slashes of lightning lit up the sky. Howard couldn’t believe it. If he had been able to go home at five, he wouldn’t have to worry about being caught in the storm. Howard could put up with a lot without getting angry, but when people pushed him too far, he turned into a ferocious bear of a man. He swallowed his anger, though, like a good mayor.

“There have been three accidents at that intersection in the past month,” he said in a shaking voice. We need that traffic light.”

“Well I think it’s disgraceful!” spat Nora.

Howard’s face twisted in rage.

“We are going to put that stoplight in whether you like it or not!” he shouted, “Now get out!”

Nora looked stricken, but she composed herself, stood up, and left the room without another word. A few minutes later, Howard did the same.

As he let his thick, meaty legs carry him home. Howard felt the rain against his face. He was caught in a storm, and would be soaked when he got home, but he didn’t care. It was better that the storm he had just escaped. Despite the storm, being outside was a relief, and the village was so peaceful.