A Guest Editorial from Recondo

The Errorists Have Won


No, no, that's not a typo. I'm talking about the pussified jackaninnies who pass for leadership in this pathetic country. I'm talking about the pitiful twits who think that making you take off your stinky, swampy shoes at the airport, in freakin' Florida, for gods sakes, during August, will make you safe from terrorism. For cripes sake. Thank goodness I don't have functioning nostrils.

Well, they're at it again. Apparently the observation deck of the Statue of Liberty is a perfect place for shoulder launched stinger missiles or some such nonsense.

According to this story from the Associated Press, the outgoing director of the National Park Service, (what's his personality got to do with it? Sure, so he's outgoing, I wouldn't expect a political appointee head of a major organization to be frickin' Emily Dickinson... Ohhh... That's not what they mean by outgoing... Never mind.)

Anyway, the soon-to-be-ex head of the National Park Service has sent a letter to Congress saying, essentially, terrorists with a fifth grade education are smarter than we are, and we can't do anything to make it safe for fat tourists from Idaho to climb to the top of the Statue and look out her crown.

They will continue to let people climb up to her toes.

Ah, so it's fine that Americans will be able to look up Ms. Liberty's dress and examine her gigantic copper legs (she's French, they all have nice gams...), but no more up to the crown.

(sarcastic voice)

ohh... No! There's a one in a million chance that something bad would happen. And then you'd get mad and fire me... boo hoo. And we couldn't possibly do something like put an armed guard up there to shoot anyone who looks suspicious... boo hoo...

(/sarcastic voice)

You people make me sick.

You think life is supposed to be 100% safe? Was it safe to hop on a wagon and ride across this big nation, shooting indians and buffalo?

No.

Was it safe designing all sorts of great advances of modern civilization like microwave ovens, nuclear bombs and The Morton Downey Jr. Show?

No.

Was it safe to go topple an annoying Arab nation with a homicidal, yet not quite as homicidal as everyone else over there, Dictator without a plan for what to do once he was gone?

Ah, No.

You are Americans, people! Life is not supposed to be 100% safe. When was the last time you were 100% safe? Probably when you were a little kid in buster browns and fudge-stained undies, and Mommie and Daddy told you what to eat, what to watch, and when to go to bed. Is that what you want from your government? A Mommy state wiping your chin and spit-tacking down your cowlick before she sends you off to school/work, your every step monitored by the 30 million surveillance cameras in use in the United States.

Here's what you've brought us to, jackasses: Charles Shumer, the vapid, idiotic, annoying communist Senator from New York, is starting to make sense:

"In this case, freedom has given way to fear. One of my favorite memories as a child was going up to the top of the Statue of Liberty and looking out of her crown to what I thought were the ends of the Earth. Now, generations of kids and adults will be denied that opportunity."

I ask you, which is more dangerous to American civilization? The very, very, miniscule chance that some idiotic smelly terrorist will go to the top of the statue of liberty and manage to pull off some act of terror, or the fact the Charles Shumer is started to sound as if the medication is finally working?

That's it. I'm moving to Canada.

That will be all.

A Guest Editorial from Recondo

Ghana's World Cup Victory Saves America from Wussism

(When last we saw Recondo, he was being ferried away to a secret location after losing out on his bid to take over Kal's World. Since that time we have received intermittent communication from, usually in the form of semi-literate threats scrawled on the back of postcards from various famous apiaries. Due to the content of the most recent missive, reprinted below, we believe he is currently in Framingham, where the significant resident Brazilian population is out-of-its-mind with World Cup fever.)

Recondo here. I hope you're f$#%ing happy. Not content enough to denigrate and hound our glorious commander-in-chief and turn heretofore loyal congressmen into creepy traitorous scum who revel in every American death, you liberal pointy-headed bastards have nearly succeeded in turning America into a third world nation. What's more, a wussified, dive-taking, no-hands-using soccer playing third world nation.

Thank God Ghana, a country whose currency trades even with Cherrios, was able to overcome the American team last night. Heaven forbid the America team would've advanced to the next round. Loyal Americans who don't know any better would've started following this horrid alien game and MLS might have started actually getting people to go to those snooze-fest 1-nil "games" that take up valuable grass-growing time at Gillette Stadium. (Which, I may remind you, is the home of the Three Time World Champion New England Patriots.)

I mean you been to one of those games? Here's who goes:

a) Pointy-headed, bowtie-wearing, van dyke sporting, liberal euro-trash wannabe college professors.

b) Euro-trash Boston University students (patooie. I spit on you and your trust funds, you bastards).

c) Suburban larvae who don't know any better and get free tickets from Dunkin' Dounuts.

Let me make one thing perfectly clear: soccer is not an American sport. Soccer does not let you use your hands, forcing you to prance around the field holding them uselessly out like you've just done your nails or something. Every other American sport allows you to use your hands in feats of skill, tests of courage, or for punching. As God intended. For instance, in baseball you may use your hands to throw, catch, and punch Alex Rodriguez (the fey bastard).

Long Live Big Papi!

Err. Where were we? Oh yes...

Even hockey, which is half a sport, kinda, and played by Canadians (not the most manly of nationalities, you know), allows the use of hands. Particularly for punching. Although the creeping socialism of Jean Chretien's Reign of Error saw dramatic wussification of the game. They've got a Conservative back up there, let's see how he does... But I digress.

Soccer is part of the vast international conspiracy of communists and Europeans (but I repeat myself) to feminize hearty, fertile American men for an eventual takeover. I mean, look where the Cup is being held this year. Germany! First, a country obviously bent on World Domination, and, more insidiously, the place where the WC Ghost was created, a product which harangues men into sitting down to pee!

Well, this will not stand. Mighty Ghana's defeat of our Yankee boys last night (aided and abetted by a blind, corrupt, and most likely suffering from syphillac insanity, referee) ensures the eventual soccer takeover of the United States is still at least four years away.

Keep on guard Americans. Go punch a coworker today. It's for Uncle Sam.

Thank you, and good day.

Recondo out.

The Return of Kal

The long reign of error is over. Recondo has been deposed.

I want to thank my friends who stood by me, realizing this was a war worth fighting. Your support was known to me through my use of a pirated wifi connection (3 and 3/4 inch action figures know little of securing wireless connections), and sustained me through my long captivity in the garage.

So that their glories may live forever in the halls of honor, I must tell the story of my glorious rescue.

The morning began much like any other, Recondo completely at ease in the bivouac he had set up in the kitchen.



My family, beginning to become suspicious over my long absence, had been mollified by a note cleverly forged by Recondo...



He was relaxing when Duke, monitoring Allied communications channels, came upon plans for an offensive.



Quickly Recondo mobilized his troops, deploying them in a perimeter, and sent out his Canadian Staffed Peace-keepers to slow down the invaders. I learned later through Mossy that the Canadians were bought off with North-off-the-border porn.

Recondo dispatched lookouts,



and sent a squad out to engage the plastic invaders.



While observing the battle from HQ, he heard a suspicious splashing noise in the bathroom, and went to investigate. There he found Duff, up to her gloripus in bubbles, and beckoning him to join her.



While Recondo was distracted, Sgt. Moss, Larry, Penny and Dani rappelled down the side of the house to enter the garage through a window.



Larry got himself a bit tangled while looking up Dani's skirt, but they eventually cut him down.



Before he could get into the tub with Duff (which probably would've resulted in his death at her hands -- but at least he would have died with a smile), Recondo heard Larry's struggles, and, suspecting a rescue effort was underway, hurried to get to the garage...

(Duff then was visited by another action figure who saw his chance to show her his cigar...)



The bulk of Recondo's forces, having never seen Star Trek V, were distracted by Callie, who did a suggestive dance,





allowing Lowk to plow through them on his chopper.



Unawares of his reverses on the battlefield, Recondo rushed to the garage to ensure his captive remained under his control. On the way there, he stumbled right into the trap set for him by Ltlme...


and...

MOTHERDEAR!!!!



A horrible fight ensued, with Motherdear knocking Recondo out with he cane, and Ltlme stomping his plastic little guts.



Fortunately for Recondo, FatKat remained loyal, and assaulted Md and Ltlme, allowing Recondo to escape.



He was last seen boarding an escape jet with... the Gypsy!



…and that pilot looks familiar… could it be Bozette?!



Motherdear was disturbed that she didn't get the full measure of revenge for Recondo's coup d'blog, but vowed there would be a next time...

Viva La Revolution

Sit-Rep* Day 4:

As you may have noticed there's been a bit of rebellion out there in the provinces. I have rearranged the links on the Daily Canon into those either for us, or against us. There can be no middle ground.

I am also in correspondence with Sigmund, to whom I have promised Duff as a concubine should he manage to topple Ltlme and gain control of her site. I think he can be bought. Every action figure has a price...

Now, as for the situation at Chez Kal:

The Girl found out about the post-revolution party and shared her concerns about certain... well... liberties taken with certain guests.

I've tried to explain to her that action figures are "legal" from the moment they come off the assembly line, but she's got it in her head that I'm to leave Hermione alone from now on. I tell you does this look like a lady who's not having a good time?

Oh well.

The FatCat is proving to be less a valuable ally than expected, as he has taken to waking me up everyone morning at 4am looking for food, after I've been up most of the night playing with Hermione doing the laundry. Fortunately he is as stupid as he is fat, and I can trick him into going into the bathroom and then locking him in there. His morale is suffering though and I will need to address the situation before too long, he was an invaluable cog in our military machine...

Ken. Ken has become somewhat... agressive. Our "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy has been updated to "Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Don't Touch." He says he loves a man in uniform, but from what I can tell he enjoys spending most of his time out of his...

Good God man, get a towel

Wifeypooh has been demanding. She hasn't asked too many questions about Kal's whereabouts, but has been expecting me to fill in for him in his absence. Hang moulding? I'm three and three-quarter inches tall for goodness sakes!

I am going to go to work for Kal today, to ensure that his absence is not noted and becomes a problem. I will report back on that in tomorrow's situation report.

That will be all.

Recondo out.

(*sit-rep: that's plastic 3 3/4 action figure jargon for situation report)

A New Day for Kal's My World...

I couldn't take it anymore. The whining. The self-important "what kind of turnip are you" quizzes, the pompous attempts at social commentary. The guy was driving me up a frickin' wall!

I had to do it. You'd have done it too...

I knew I had to wrest control of the site from him, I knew that was the only way to make the place worthwhile. The problem was how to do it. Oh, I had his passwords, no problem there. Many the time he'd trundle off to work, forgot he spelled something wrong, and then called in, from the train, and ask me to fix it for him. But the sandals post was the last straw.

I broke in one day (I use his profile to leave flirtatious comments on Duff's site. Well, and Penny's site... and Gypsy... and Callie.... Oh, okay, just about everybody short of MD...) and noticed he was writing a post about his recent disgusting, and entirely embarrassing, recent habit of wearing socks and sandals around the house.

Now it's one thing to humiliate yourself within the confines of your home, but when it goes outside, well, you've got a responsibility to group! This couldn't stand.

So after a late night of planning with Ken (nice guy, a tad light in the loafers though, if you ask me. Not the kind of guy you'd share a fox-hole with, but good for strategic planning. And he makes a mean flan...), so, Ken and I planned all night. We knew we'd have to take the man down. Not kill him, that would raise too many questions. Something along the lines of knock him out, and tie him up in a room in the basement. Ken came up with that one. I got out of there before he started in on Desperate Housewives again. He loves that show.

Early in the morning I broke into the cabinet and found a small brown vial of the type you obviously keep very dangerous poisoin in. When he wasn't looking I dumped the whole vial into his morning coffee, and waited for nature, er.., terrible poision, to take's its course. Unfortunately, I didn't read the label first...

This was going to be harder than I thought.

Back to the drawing board. That evening the Kal watched Return of the Jedi (after the kids went to bed and Wifeypooh went out with friends: I mean seriously, where's the hookers?! This guy's a putz...). The cute err, incredibly annoying, Ewoks gave me an idea.

Allies were enlisted...



We set up.

Bam! He goes over like a redwood.

Then the crack FatCat squad swoops in and does the rest. After a minute of stuggle, his oxygen-deprieved shuts down and he passes out.


All that's left is to drag his unconcious body into the garage and pahr-tay!

So there we are. Kal will be going on an extended.. "vacation", and I'll be, err, taking care of his place while he's gone.

Enjoy.

I know I will.

A Guest Editorial from Recondo

Save an Action Figure, Buy a Prius

Recondo here. As hurricaine Katrina wreaks havoc in the Gulf of Mexico shutting down about a million barrels a day of crude oil production, I have an important request.

Buy a Prius.

You Goddamn wasteful jerks in your Humjobs are eating up all the oil the that Guy Al Queda and the other Axis of Dudes-Who-Wear-Long-Dresses-in-the-Desert can pump. Not only is this dependence on oil bad for our environment (oh, who gives a crap, really -- frig the penguins), or bad for our economy, but oil is serves a much higher purpose than merely allowing you fat buttomed monkeys to go to the grocery store for another pint of Ben and Jerry's.

You see, other than fueling your SUVs (so you can tote your two larval yuppies to soccer practices[soccer: pansies!]), crude oil is the basic raw ingredient in plastic. And plastic is the basic ingredient of, well, me.

And it's the hard men, er, 3 3/4 inch action figures, like me who keep you arm-chair bound, New York Times reading, John Kerry voting, wimps free. Without cheap, abundant plastic it becomes costly to repair my broken limbs and replace that stupid little gun that gets lost each time you open the package.

So save some oil. The replacement part you save might be my own.

Recondo Vs. the Tent Caterpillars

Recondo was on patrol the other day when he came upon an infestation of tent caterpillars in the backyard:

There they sat, waiting for their moment to emerge and de-leaf the Jones backyard. As sworn protector of the Jones clan, Recondo knew what he had to do. He had to blow those caterpillers to kingdom come. Thank goodness he had recently brought the MOBAT (Motorized Offensive Battle Tank, of course) out of mothballs.

BOOM! BOOM! Like shooting fish in a barrel, thought our hero. But, unfortunately, like shooting fish in a barrel (you ever try it? Wicked hard. Best to use a buckshot loaded shotgun, or one of those 10 gauge trench-sweepers we had in 'Nam... Those babies would take out those friggin' fish, let me tell you...) Uh, anyway, Recondo missed, and blew a couple of good sized holes in the shed.

Hmm... So that wasn't going to work.

He had another idea. "Ah, we'll burn those suckers out. All I've got to do is get them with a flaming arrow, that'll do the trick!"

He pulled back on the sting and let that arrow fly! Again unfortunately, archery was never one of Recondo's strengths ("Oh, sure, that bitch Scarlett was good with a crossbow, but she's off with Duke somewhere, snoggin' and shaggin'. She could'a been mine, but she wanted me to shave off the mustach. First of all: I like the 'stach. It gives me a sort of jaunty "devil may care" look. Plus, I'm frickin' plastic! What does that tramp want me to do, drummel it off?!?")

So he missed. And caused a slight fire in the back yard:

Which, unfortunately, attracted the attention of the local constabulory.

Due to Recondo's past service on behalf of the public, the judge went easy on him and only gave him probation, as long as he promised not to shoot off the MOBAT in city limits without first getting a permit.

After grumbling something about "Cobra don't wait for no stinkin' permits" Recondo agreed to the judge's conditions and was released into my custody. Wifeypooh was not so lenient on him and is making him resod the backyard.

Recondo's Big Day

Recondo on the troop train heading for a day of search-and-destroy missions.



A big day ahead in the cubicle jungle. (Well, at least a big lunch hour ahead...)



Saluting the Commander-in-Chief.



A scout is always looking for good cover. This'll do nicely.



Recondo on the lookout for Righty the Elephant, his trusty steed.



Recondo and Righty reunited. Look Out! There's hippies behind you!



Take that, Liberals! Recondo and Righty do their own version of "Extreme Makeover, Home Edition" on the State House.



And he ends the day scouting up some grub at the local grocery store. Even scouts gotta eat sometime.