How to Run to Improve Your Health and Fitness Levels

When you run or jog, you are engaging in a form of exercise that is completely natural and safe. Nearly every culture has been using running for exercise for centuries, way before there were ever health gyms or elliptical machines. Now, when many people are leading sedentary lives and having problems with their health and weight, running can be a great way to return to a healthy state. You are about to learn some techniques that will make running really work for you.

All right, we have reviewed the first couple of points concerning Garcinia Cambogia Extract, of course you realize they play a significant role. But there is a great deal more that you would do well to study. However, you will find them to be of great utility in your research for information. Once your knowledge is more complete, then you will feel more self-confident about the subject. But we have saved the best for last, and you will understand what we mean as soon as you have read through. You know, if you’re a runner then you do know about those frustrating times when it’s just not possible to go running outside. That’s what makes a good treadmill an attractive alternative, and as you know you can use them in your home, place of work, or at a gym or health club. The treadmill is like a convenience that allows you to cover all the bases when you can’t get outside for your run. Just one obvious example is during those times when the weather or outside conditions can make running a little treacherous, and then the treadmill starts looking pretty good. As you may know, a treadmill can give you a lot of control over your running with its design; plus you don’t have to worry about dogs making you run faster, or any other distractors. 

The best way to jog or run is to start off slowly and gradually increase your speed. You don’t want to over-stride, and run with a smooth and even gait. Pay attention to your gait, and keep your shoulders relaxed but not leaning too far ahead or behind. While you can pick up a little speed after you’re warmed up, it’s usually better to jog at a slow to medium speed. If your intent is to jog for healthy reasons and enjoyment, then there is no need to run like you’re training, and you can get the benefits while greatly reducing the chance of running injuries. Always keep your pace consistent and relaxed from the very start, excluding slow ramp up, to the end and your warm down. For the end of your daily jog, as you’re nearing the “finish line” be sure to do a relaxed slow-down of your pace before returning to normal walking.

Important do’s before and after running include warming-up/stretching, and then when you’re done you should warm-down/stretch. Never run at full speed or high intensity and then just stop cold; you need to take it easy coming down so you can cool off and warm down. It’s common sense, we think at least, that you want to ease into your run by going slow, and then you gradually reduce the pace until you are no longer running. You’ll find that your muscles will feel better if you do some light stretching after you run. If you want you can elevate your feet above your heart level as that helps your heart return to normal activity. So use these running tips that you just learned about to get back in shape and to make yourself driven to complete your running goals. Just remember that a running routine must be merged into your currently life’s routine if you hope to receive maximum benefit from it. That’s why you must keep your wits and your senses about you when you are running so that you can avoid many of the problems that cause most joggers to give up.

Weekend Farm Report – Artificial Insemination and “Patches”

My partner Art and I hope to qualify for a state agricultural exemption, which would save us lots of money on property taxes. Problem is, to get these farm exemptions you have to actually, y’know, farm …

We are planning to raise and sell ‘Tame Nigerian Dwarfs With Sweet Milk.’ This would mean I’ll be birthing babies once or twice a year. (Pass the Huggies and Diazepam.) Naturally, as our herd increases we’ll have to fence off another acre or two. I’ll eventually build another website, similar to the one we had when we rented the beach cabin. I intend to name our little livestock venture “The Art of Goats.” I expect it will take at least year before the business is up and running.

Introducing an uncastrated billy to the paddock is not an option – they can be fractious and unpredictable, I’m told. Stud services are costly. It’s too late for linebreeding since Bushrod and Cricket have already been neutered. So we’ve decided to attempt artificial insemination. Here are a few things I’ve learned: You can purchase goat sperm online for $25 dollars per vial from a company called – I’m not kidding – The Buck Bank. Units of measurement for caprine semen are referred to as “straws” and they must be kept frozen in liquid nitrogen. (Note to self: Clearly label and store away from the milkshake straws.) Once the goat jism is defrosted, you have about an hour to insert the baby batter into whichever doe is in heat. (I grow faint at the prospect, but we’re on a fixed income and the tax savings are enormous.)
You may recall that Angel had a difficult time delivering Cricket. When the ordeal was over, I promised her she would never again have to go through the agony of childbirth. (Yes, I make promises to my goats.) That leaves Sister who is strong and, judging by her teeth and the absence of a beard, considerably younger. Although we will be offering Sister’s future progeny as pets – with stern requirements for prospective owners – our classified ads will likely read: “milkers” and “gentle herd sires.” We might get a third Nigerian Dwarf nanny for breeding purposes.

Our success in gentling Bushrod and Cricket has astonished the local vet. When Dr. Lucy last came out to the farm, she cuddled the bucklings and said they’re more affectionate than those she’s seen which were bottle-fed.

Apparently, we’re doing something right. We respect the animals’ natural intelligence and curiosity and use their passion for raisins to break up quarrels and occasional displays of jealousy. Sometimes at dusk, when the goats gather around me, I grab the guitar and sing “Patches” to them. During the chorus, they bleat and bleat like their little hearts are breaking. This sets the dogs to howling, It is a melancholy scene.

Mitt Romney’s Shabby Secrets – King Midas Has Ass’s Ears

Nobel Prize-winning economist and New York Times op-ed columnist Paul Krugman compares George Romney, who made his fortune the old-fashioned way by building automobiles that people wanted to buy, to his son Mitt Romney (lackluster Republican presidential wannabe), who amassed his obscene wealth by outsourcing jobs, shutting down U.S. companies, and manipulating the financial markets. It is a tale of the American Dream perverted by raw greed.

Observes Mr. Krugman: What did George Romney do for a living? The answer was straightforward: he ran an auto company, American Motors. And he ran it very well indeed… Now fast-forward to Romney the Younger, who made even more money during his business career at Bain Capital. Unlike his father, however, Mr. Romney didn’t get rich by producing things people wanted to buy; he made his fortune through financial engineering that seems in many cases to have left workers worse off, and in some cases driven companies into bankruptcy. And there’s another contrast: George Romney was open and forthcoming about what he did with his wealth, but Mitt Romney has largely kept his finances secret. He did, grudgingly, release one year’s tax return plus an estimate for the next year, showing that he paid a startlingly low tax rate … Put it this way: Has there ever before been a major presidential candidate who had a multimillion-dollar Swiss bank account, plus tens of millions invested in the Cayman Islands, famed as a tax haven? And then there’s his Individual Retirement Account. I.R.A.’s are supposed to be a tax-advantaged vehicle for middle-class savers, with annual contributions limited to a few thousand dollars a year. Yet somehow Mr. Romney ended up with an account worth between $20 million and $101 million.

According to Greek mythology, King Midas once sprouted ass’s ears, a punishment for angering the god Apollo. Terrified that his subjects would discover the secret, the mighty mogul with the “touch of gold” ordered his barber to fashion a special hat to cover the furry protuberances. Midas made the barber swear a solemn oath promising not to reveal his shame to any living soul. But his barber was a gossipy sort of fellow and he felt compelled to pass along the story. He couldn’t help himself. So he went to the river’s edge and dug a hole in the ground. He leaned into the hole and whispered, over and over and over: “King Midas has ass’s ears. King Midas has ass’s ears. King Midas has ass’s ears.” Then he covered up the hole and, feeling greatly relieved, returned to the palace. Unfortunately, reeds grew along the bank of the river and every time the wind would blow they whispered that buried secret: “King Miiii-das has assssss’s eeaaarrrrs.”


Think of the Internet as those ancient cattails, and Romney’s shady business dealings as those ears.

It’s True. Governor Jan Brewer IS The Wicked Witch Of The West.

It’s not easy living under the regime of a spitting, hissing, anti-gay bigot. Every four years, LGBT persons in the Lone Star State are reminded of how little our fellow Texans value us when Rick Perry is reelected. But of course Texas isn’t the only state where Republican leaders use public animus against gay citizens to their political advantage. Take Arizona governor Jan Brewer. Please. Take her far away. Mollie Reilly reports for the Huffington Post:

Arizona Governor Jan Brewer (R) has requested that the Supreme Court overturn a ruling that allows state employees to keep their same-sex partners on their benefits, including health insurance. Brewer filed a petition for a writ of certiorari on July 2, requesting that the high court overturn the United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit’s September 2011 ruling in Diaz vs. Brewer. The pushback comes three months after the Ninth Circuit denied a request by Arizona state lawyers to re-hear the case with an 11-judge panel. Last September, the Ninth Circuit’s ruling prevented Arizona from implementing a law that would have barred state employees’ same-sex partners from remaining on their health plans. The ruling affirmed a lower court’s decision to place a preliminary injunction on the law.

What a noxious bag of right-wing effluvia. Ms. Brewer is not only making life miserable for Latinos and shitting on women’s reproductive choices, she’s now trying to prevent the state’s few gay-friendly towns (like Tucson) from offering basic benefits to committed same-sex couples. This crone is truly evil. Anybody have a bucket of water?


Holy Hooligans Lou Engle and Bryan Fischer

The homo-hate from the right never ends.

5.1Brian Tashman walks the dog for Right Wing Watch: Lou Engle is redoubling his efforts at building a prayer movement to stop the “homosexual tornado” before it destroys America, and told members of The Ramp, an anti-gay youth ministry, that he had dreams of 100,000 gays and lesbians becoming part of a “first wave” of ex-gay preachers who will bring about “radical salvations and healings of AIDS.”



5.2Engle has in the past supported a Ugandan law which would impose the death penalty on gays.

Moving right-wing along … Bryan Fischer of the hate group American Family Association suggests that the government should force everybody to attend Christian churches, presumably because people who have an “active, vibrant spiritual life are healthier.” Bryan’s spiel is of course a not-so-subtle jab at health care reform, which Obama haters loathe from the bottom of their selfish little souls.

Kyle Mantyla, also with RW Watch, reels in this flounder:
Fischer, who yearns for an American theocracy, frequently compares gays to Nazis.

Why Rachel Maddow Matters

4Even those Democrats who aren’t addicted to The Rachel Maddow Show should watch one of her programs from time to time. I confess I am a Maddow addict. In the following video, the MSNBC journalist does what she does best – pointing out the hypocrisy and cluelessness of Republican politicians.

Rachel’s official blog and her personal website provide thoughtful content. In a media landscape cluttered with shrill conservatives and religious fanatics, America is fortunate to have this witty, cerebral voice.

Santorum Receives Backing Of Religious Zealots, Hate Groups

It won’t surprise you to learn that leaders from the country’s fundamentalist hate groups who gathered at Paul Pressler’s Texas ranch have thrown their worshipful weight behind Rick Santorum’s presidential bid. Although Santorum is known as a strident old-school Roman Catholic, to born-again evangelicals even the “Whore of Babylon” is preferable to a Mormon’s “Magic Underwear.” As long as a Republican candidate is willing to fixate on traditional values gay sex and let women with nonviable fetuses suffer and die, that person is acceptable to the American Taliban.

As reported by Rick Santorum won the support of a group of national family and religious leaders who called for social conservatives to coalesce behind one Republican presidential candidate as an alternative to Mitt Romney… Santorum received 85 of 114 votes on the third ballot at a gathering of religious leaders on a ranch near Bleiblerville, Texas, defeating former U.S. House Speaker Newt Gingrich, Tony Perkins, president of the Family Research Council, told reporters on a conference call yesterday… Organizers included Gary Bauer, president of American Values in Washington, and Donald Wildmon, founder of the American Family Association of Tupelo, Mississippi, Perkins said. Also attending was Richard Land, president of the Nashville, Tennessee-based Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission of the Southern Baptist Convention… Perkins declined to name others present at the two-day event. (Shhh. It’s a secret.)

Over at Politico, Jonathan Martin sweeps up: In a conference call this afternoon, Family Research Council chief Tony Perkins said that on the third ballot Santorum won a solid majority of votes from the movement conservatives gathered at a private ranch… (T)he decision of such conservative movers as Perkins, Gary Bauer and James Dobson to wait until the week before the South Carolina primary to make a collective endorsement appears more than a little tardy. The move to coalesce behind one social conservative alternative would have been more valuable a month ago — before Romney had already won the first two states and was in the lead in both South Carolina and Florida.

We all saw this coming. Right-wing evangelicals are already recognized as hypocrites – and embracing Newt Gingrich with his Disposabe Wives of Many Incomes would just drive home that fact. Rick Perry is a fool who thought Texas swagger would make up for his lack of intelligence. Ron Paul’s racist baggage would alienate the few remaining black voters that might consider supporting a Republican. Let’s face it, there really was no one else for Christian extremists to rally behind.

Walmart Sells “Ex-gay” Propaganda For Kids

This is what happens when a homophobic Mormon family becomes obsessed with LGBT Americans to the point of turning their hate into a cottage industry. From QSaltLake: A children’s book written by the wife of anti-gay Standard of Liberty president Stephen Graham is being carried by over 100 Walmart stores. Chased by an Elephant, the Gospel Truth about Today’s Stampeding Sexuality by Janice Barrett Graham was written to “help shed the clear light of truth on today’s dark and tangled ideas about male and female, proper gender roles, the law of chastity, and the God-given sexual appetite,” according to Janice Graham in the book’s introduction. (FYI: All of the family members’ books are self-published. They possess their own vanity press under the name of Tidal Wave Books.)

From Change.Org: (I)t’s actually serious business that Walmart would choose to sell a book that purports the wonders of ex-gay therapy. (Especially one targeting impressionable youngsters.) That’s because every major medical and scientific association around the world has condemned ex-gay therapy as harmful and dangerous, going so far as to say that those who practice it contribute to depression, anxiety, confusion and suicide. Gee, thanks, Walmart. What was Graham’s motivation for writing the book? Let’s allow her to take it away: “The number of our young people involved in sexual sins has greatly increased in recent years. Some of the most stalwart-seeming youth find themselves involved in pornography, fornication, promiscuity, homosexuality, and the like,” Graham said.

Graham’s book also includes an introduction by her son, Andrew Graham, who has become a self-professed “cured” homosexual. Andrew says he was lured into homosexuality by older men at Brigham Young University, but that he was able to turn away from what he calls the “deceitful and predatory nature of the ‘gay’ lifestyle.” (Andrew’s whiny tome is called “Captain of my Soul” and even doesn’t carry it. You’ll see it listed as “Out of Stock” on Tidal Wave’s website. Janice Barret Graham’s books, however, can be found for purchase on Amazon. Mrs. Graham now insists that her son is totally straight and happily married.)

I am so tired of those obviously bisexual religious fanatics and/or self-loathing closet cases (like Andrew) dabbling in the gay scene, failing to find happiness or a long-term partner (or whatever they’re searching for) and then running back to religion with their dick tucked between their legs, determined to generate hate and spread libel about the very people they had been trying to befriend. Note to those for whom the above description applies: There are millions of us happy gay fellas, lovable lesbians, secure and uncompromising bisexuals, and joyous transgendered persons who honestly don’t give a damn what you do with your life as long as you don’t bring your ugly intolerance and spite into the public sphere. You are literally killing children and young adults who take your hateful messages to heart.

As for Walmart… What’s gonna happen when the next LGBT child commits suicide and the police officers (or family members) find a copy of Graham’s sickening book in his or her room with a receipt from Walmart? This wouldn’t be the basis for a lawsuit, but I’d hate to be the person to tackle the ensuing public relations nightmare.

Homophobic children’s books. Good grief, what next?

One critic gave Mrs. Graham’s gloomy story a one star rating and wrote: “The book centers around the author’s attempts at changing her son’s sexuality to one that she is able to accept. I wouldn’t show it to my children if for no other reason than I want them to know that my love for them is unconditional.”

That just about says it all. (Pictured: Stephen and Janice Barrett Graham.)

Growing up Gay in East Texas – The Summers

From the age of seven until I was twelve years old I was shipped off to Maw Maw’s farm in the heart of Cherokee County each August. I was sent there to pick corn. That was my summer vacation. The corn gathered by my cousins and myself was referred to as “livestock corn,” that is to say, not fit for human consumption. I never figured out why this was, it looked like regular eating corn to me. In my youth I thought, rather foolishly, that it had something to do with all the ticks my cousins and I picked up in the cornfield. After Maw-Maw collected us kids in the creaky red pickup and drove us back to the farmhouse at the end of the day, we were literally covered in the tiny bloodsuckers. (When I complained about the ticks my grandmother would say with her slightly deranged laugh, “They have to eat, too.”) Once home we were placed in the bathtub, usually two at a time, with tweezers and coffee cup full of rubbing alcohol, to spend thirty minutes or so picking ticks off each other. We never got them all. This didn’t really bother my cousins, who enjoyed nothing more than a leisurely romp through the cow paddies and seemed to have a fellow feeling with all bugs. But I was a fastidious youngster (imagine David Hyde Pierce meets Tom Sawyer) and kept looking for ticks on my legs and arms until I fell asleep that night.


The Baumgartner’s spread was smallish, as spreads in the Texas Bible Belt went in those days. Ninety acres and 42 head of cattle. There was a routine the cows followed every day. At dawn they roused themselves from the barn and its environs and headed out into the pasture toward the fish pond. It was a 3-4 hour walk, at bovine speed. When they reached the pond they’d shit and hit the salt lick and drink lots of pond water and lie in the mud and do other cow things. When afternoon came, as if by some invisible signal, they’d line up and make that long walk back across the pasture to the barn, skirting the corn field that was surrounded by a western style barbed wire fence. The livestock corn was for winter consumption, see. During spring and summer months the cows ate pasture grass and avoided the prickly pear cacti which was everywhere and punctured my tender ass sore bad. I don’t know which is worse – prickly pear stickers or ticks. Occasionally, if the winter was severe, hay was bought and hauled into the barn for the cows. But hay is expensive and Maw-Maw’s farm wasn’t really a working farm anyway. It was her hobby – and my misery. She just wanted to run a farm and so she did until, gradually, the cattle and other livestock were sold off to make ends meet; then she started selling acreage, then, when she was very old, she moved into a little house inside the Tyler city limits.

1214 My grandparents on mama’s side of the family were known to us kids as Maw-Maw and Paw-Paw. Grandparents on my dad’s side of the family were Me-Maw and Pe-Paw. Matriarchal great grandparents were called Me Maw Maw and Pe Paw Paw or Maw Maw Me and Paw Paw Pe. Patriarchal elders were by default known as Maw Me Maw and Paw Pe Paw and Me Me Maw and, unavoidably, Pe Pe Paw. This last moniker never failed to bring shrieks of laughter from my Tyler cousins who were connoisseurs of any and all bathroom humor. The word “poot” would leave them rolling on the ground, clutching at their sides and kicking their feet like circus clowns.

Maw-Maw loved her chickens. Chickens and church were her passions. These two things brought my grandmother profound pleasure: Singing hymns in her loud guttural voice at Mount Olive Baptist Church, and cosseting her dozens of hens. There was a rooster on the farm for propriety’s sake, but she never really cared much for Screech, as she called him. Many a morning I heard her threaten to take the shotgun out to the shed and put an end to his evil ways. Perversely, he was the last creature to leave the farm. I suppose he died somewhere of old age. Maw-Maw did, however, adore her hens, and it tore at her heartstrings when one of them stopped laying eggs thus sealing its fate for a neck-wringing, plucking, and the cooking pot. Sometimes, with a chicken of which she was particularly fond, she’d have to ask Paw-Paw to perform the fowl execution. I refused point blank have a hand in it and she always accused my Tyler cousins of dragging out the act for too long. They were cruel youngsters.

My Paw Paw held an interesting job before he retired. He spent most of his days inside the caboose of a special train, transporting German POW’s from Galveston deep into East Texas and an internment camp that was supposed to be secret but everybody in those parts seemed to know about it. He told us exciting stories about the prisoners that only as an adult I began to doubt the veracity of. Many decades after the end of the war, Paw-Paw retired and bought Maw Maw her farm and that’s where they lived during my childhood and where he told me and my disreputable cousins those fabulous tales about German soldiers. He was a deacon at the Mount Olive Baptist Church. Very pious, everybody said.

Three years after my partner and I began our life together we made an unannounced Christmas visit to the farm. Dirt poor we were, and had to scrape pennies together for gasoline. We had started attending the University of Houston, though. I was winging it but Art’s tuition was paid for by the federal government, a way of thanking him for serving in the armed forces for four years during the Vietnam War. Such a different world then.

It was a tense weekend for everyone concerned. Very few of the adults would engage Art in conversation. Paw Paw perused the family Bible and muttered under his breath and frowned at us the entire time. Older aunts tittered and scurried about, searching for things to do. My elderly uncles wheezed and smoked cigarettes and talked about football. My sister gave us a sweet smile, but my own mother looked mortified when she met Art and I outside, in the driveway.

“Why didn’t you call and let us know you were coming?”

“I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

“It’s a surprise all right. Everybody’s inside. They all know.”

“They all know what?”

“What do you think? I mentioned it to your Aunt Judy and she must’ve said something to those terrors of hers.”

“I didn’t plan on hiding anything from anybody. This is who I am. They can take it or leave it.”

As things turned out, the Baumgartners chose to leave it.

My Baptist family was unimpressed by Art’s military service and slightly horrified that he had been raised as a Roman Catholic. As far as they were concerned he was nothing more than a hell-bound papist HOMOSEXUAL that had led their Maxie Lee astray. I was so proud of Art, though. He was so handsome and polite to my relatives, even as they studiously ignored him, even as certain of my cousins snickered behind their hands and lisped with abandon. Since neither Art nor I lisp I don’t know why this particular taunt was used. Still, I confess that throughout their sheltered lives my cousins have consistantly clung to stereotypes, like cornfield ticks to the soft flesh under my arms.

At one point Maw Maw handed Art what must have been a ten-year-old box of chocolate covered cherries. This was supposed to be his Christmas present. It was sort of a family joke. Whoever got those cherries was out of favor that holiday season. (I was the recipient of the box for too many years to mention.) Thing is, no one ever actually took it home with them. But as we were leaving, I noticed that Art had that old box of stale candy clutched to his side as if it were a rare treasure.

I remember Christmas morning watching Art sitting cross-legged under the Christmas tree playing with toys that had just been opened, entertaining a circle of delighted toddlers. He was doing this because none of the grownups wanted to talk to him. At that point I made a pledge never to return to Maw-Maw’s farm. To this day, I haven’t been back.

Darlene, My Tea Party Cousin

She blew into town like some horrible right-wing hurricane, with more warped opinions than Michele Bachmann and more hot air than an Arabian sirocco. My cousin is on her way to Galveston to look at some beach property she plans to buy. Darlene and I are polar opposites, chalk and cheese. We have been tearing at each others’ throats for almost half a century. We used to fight over toys, then boys, now we argue about politics and religion. I would like to say that she is the crazy one in the family but unfortunately they’re all like this.

Anyway, I thought it might be amusing to “interview” Darlene for the blog. She’s a Texas Republican, diehard Southern Baptist, Tea Party activist, and Sarah Palin devotee. Darlene wanted me to record the conversation so I didn’t misquote her, but for some reason video makes her nervous and I was only able to assemble a few clips when she didn’t realize the camera was running. My Canon PowerShot isn’t a camcorder but it puts out decent video – and it took my cousin awhile to figure out what the little blinking red light meant. Below is 53 seconds of Darline in action:

So I put the camera down. I was afraid Darlene was going to smash it over my head.

ProPup: Why do you dislike President Obama?
Darlene: Besides the fact that he’s a communist? Besides the fact he’s taking away our liberty and our guns and running America into the ground? I don’t like the way he speaks, for one thing. He talks like he thinks he’s better than everybody else. He uses fancy code words. Sean Hannity is on to him. Sarah Palin, too. Damn, I admire that woman. Sarah knows what’s going on in this country. The way you liberals persecute her is shame. Shame on you!
ProPup: And the President?
Darlene: Obama has shifty eyes. I’d trust him as far as I can throw him. I’d like to throw him all the way back to Kenya, or wherever the hell he was born. And it has nothing to do with him being a black man. I like black people.

ProPup: And gays?
Darlene: Well that sure didn’t take long. I wondered how soon you’d start in with the gay stuff.
ProPup: So?
Darlene: Now you know l Iove you and Art but y’all aren’t like most homosexuals.
ProPup: And what are most homosexuals like?
Darlene: Gay pride parades, floats with naked men, TV – Lord, you can’t turn on the television set these days without being bombarded by gay this, lesbian that. It’s disturbing.
ProPup: Why is it disturbing?
Darlene: Because I’m a Christian woman and I don’t need to be watching that behavior in my living room. That girl from Mississippi? Wanted to go to the prom in a tuxedo? A tuxedo! And bring her so-called girlfriend to dance with and kiss on and God knows what else. Good Lord, she doesn’t know what she is. She’s 17-years-old! Kids should be required to date the opposite sex. They don’t need all this gender confusion. I heard about it on “Ellen,” by the way – and yes, I do watch Ellen DeGeneres and yes I know she’s a homosexual. But would it kill her to wear a skirt once in awhile? Really, if she’d put on some makeup and do something with that hair she’d have guys falling all over her.
ProPup: Is your objection to homosexuality based on the Bible?
Darlene: Mainly, yes. Males and females compliment each another. That’s why God designed them to fit together. Square pegs don’t fit inside round holes. It’s just a matter of finding the right mate and doing what comes natural.
ProPup: What about me and Art?
Darlene: It’s too late for y’all. You been together too long. I’ve been trying to talk sense into you my whole life. In one ear and out the other, that’s where my advice goes. If I were you, I wouldn’t dress warm come Judgment Day.
ProPup: Let’s move on to health care.
Darlene: Yes. Let’s.

(There’s more, if you can stand it, after the jump…)

ProPup: Health care reform?
Darlene: I never thought I’d live to see the day when America became a socialist society. But that’s what’s happened. Health care. Hmph. Health scare is more like it. I don’t want Big Brother telling me which doctor I have to go to. What if they make me go to a lesbian gynecologist? God only knows where that would lead.
ProPup: You’re joking, right?
Darlene: I never joke about my vagina. The fact is, I wouldn’t want any liberal doctor poking around down there. Look, liberals and atheists have no core values, no moral anchor. They give into temptation at the drop of a hat. That’s what my preacher says, and I believe him. Values come from the Ten Commandments. Case closed.
ProPup: Are you happy with the health care you’ve been getting under the old system?
Darlene: Well, it’s too expensive and that’s a fact. My co-pays keep going up.
ProPup: And whose fault is that?
Darlene: The Democrats. Tax and spend, tax and spend. If they’d keep their noses out of big business and let the free market system do what it’s meant to do – protect average citizens from the federal government – then everything would be fine. But no, that Pelosi woman and her gang of fascists keep interfering with the natural order of things. Good health care makes a profit, bad health care won’t. Let the free enterprise system work like it’s supposed to. Liberty and justice for all God-fearing Americans, that’s my motto.

Darlene finds a book written by evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins. She doesn’t approve.


ProPup: Do you spend much time surfing the Internet?
Darlene: Yes, and I also tune in to Fox News every day so go ahead and slam me for that. I love the Glenn Beck Show. Whenever that man starts crying it just breaks my heart. Why can’t you people leave him alone? What did he ever do to you? He should run for president.
ProPup: What are some of your favorite websites?
Darlene: Well, your Progressive Puppy sure as hell doesn’t make the list – no offense, Little Brother. (She reaches down and scratches my black lab on the noggin. Little Brother rewards her with a couple of tail thumps.) Let’s see. I like World Net Daily and Renew America and the Red State blog, all the ones you hate.
ProPup: Fair enough.
Darlene: Forewarned is forearmed. I prefer to read articles written by real patriots that treat the Bible with the respect it deserves.
ProPup: I try to treat the Bible with the respect it, uh, deserves.
Darlene: Your sarcasm underwhelms me.
ProPup: How close are your ties to the Tea Party movement?
Darlene: I am a member in good standing with the Dallas Tea Party Patriots. I’ve attended a few rallies. These are good people. Real hardworking Americans.
ProPup: They seem to yell a lot. There’s a lot of anger…
Darlene: That’s just for the TV cameras. They’re as normal as I am. Mostly we just stand around and talk. I had a sign that said “Obama, Tread on This” with a picture of a jackass underneath. (Darlene laughs and laughs.) I took old Aunt Peg to a rally once. She didn’t want to go, and when we got there she complained the entire time. She refused to use the port-a-potty, said it was unsanitary. I told her “Fine, let Freedom crumble because you have to go to the bathroom.” We didn’t stay for the whole thing and I didn’t get to hear Governor Perry’s speech. But I met lots of new friends that day. I always do. Tea Party folks are so neighborly. It’s like I’ve known them forever.
ProPup: So what do you talk about at these rallies?
Darlene: Health care. Taxes. What else?
ProPup: You don’t like paying taxes.
Darlene: Do you? I’d rather throw my hard-earned money to the four winds. At least it might land somewhere it’ll do some good. Now turn that damn recorder off. Let’s go get something to eat. I feel like a chicken-fried steak and there’s a Wrangler Rick’s down by the highway.

“Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.” – Byron