Because, my friends, the reason that you do things is that they are the right things to do. You do not do them for future rewards, you do not gauge the rightness of your words by the acclaim or remuneration they provide you — where, often you cease to believe in your own words, and only believe in the RESULTS of your words. (cf. Ann Coulter). Continue reading
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Follow the Civil War 150 Years ago Day-by-Day
NB: Mr. Williams is responsible for all illustrations.
his vorpal sword recommends
Mr. Williams interviewed by PBS’ NOW 22 Sept 06
Mr. Williams interviewed in The Pakistani Spectator 10 April 08Ted Nugent lives in fear of Mr. Williams' typewriter.
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Evidently you CAN fool some people all the time
Three Webrings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Red States where the Shadows lie.
One Webring to rule them all,
One Webring to find them,
One Webring to bring them all
and in the darkness bind them
In the Red States where the Shadows lie.
(with apologies to J.R.R. Tolkien)
his vorpal sword
blog contents are © 2007, 2008, 2009 and soon, 2010 by Hart Williams
WARNING: Mr. Williams, is, according to the Eugene [Ore.] Register-Guard, the "Craziest blogger out there."
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Jabberwocky
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood a while in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two!
And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And, hast though slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
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