ThunderCow's Ruminations

November 3, 2006: Gee, I guess life in the Magic Kingdom is more fun than I thought it was...

November 2, 2006: A guest wrote "I'm not sure how ThunderCow is reacting to the Michael J. Fox television political ads. Here's my reaction: I like Michael J. Fox. He was great in the first two "Back to the Future" movies and in those TV shows, but I hold the third BTTF movie and "Doc Hollywood" against him. All in all, I'm willing to save his life, but I have to set a limit. I have decided that it is worth 1000 aborted fetuses to save Michael J. Fox's life. After that, he's on his own. God forgive me, but I really like his acting!".

Master is, first of all devastated. He is devastated that Michael J. Fox is not Alex P. Keaton. As such, Master is not inclined to grant that overmedicated thespian even one aborted fetus. He is welcome, however, to gallons of umbilical cord blood, which is available in many blood types and has created a plethora of useful adult stem cells without messing with the catches on Pandora's box. I mention this for Michaels edification, because it is evident that he does not know very much about what he talking about. It would help him to read what he is actually endorsing. Perhaps they could put it on cue cards...

October 25, 2006: In the riotous "Crocodile Dundee", there is a scene where Paul Hogan's character realizes that not all the women in New York are girls. Well, Mick Dundee's task just got ever so harder mate...

I think the Republicans are going to hold both houses. No proof, no crystal ball, just a hunch. The new Democratic Majority is being portrayed by the media as a sure thing - like Presidents Gore and Kerry.

October 20 2006: Back in the day here in New England, great wealth and power was generated by the triangle trade. It was a straightforward if odious proposition. The merchant would dispatch a boat to Africa with rum. The rum would be sold and slaves bought. The slaves - well, the surviving slaves - were sold in the Caribbean or South America and sugar cane purchased. The cane was turned into rum in New England. This trade has been gone for more than a century, or has it?

These days, A-list stars earn vats of money making movies. They take the money and their egos to Africa and purchase children. They take the kids on Oprah and garner publicity. This publicity is then turned into yet another lucrative starring role. Now it's true that this new arrangement is a lot easier on the merchandise. Life as a show and tell prop on the entertainment stage beats chopping cotton big time. But is it a proper thing to do to a child? If the Africans were importing American children, would it be tolerated?

October 19, 2006: A few days ago, Gerry Studds died. He was notable some 20 years ago for being caught buggering an underage male house page, and defiantly refusing to resign. (Between the late Mr Studds and the regrettably corporeal Teddy Kennedy, they proved that in Massachusetts, being caught with a dead girl or a live boy is no bar to continued political service...) He served 6 more terms in congress and was fulsomely eulogized by a brace of Massachusetts politicos. Clearly, had Mr. Studds been of the Republican persuasion, a different standard would have applied, as masterfully outline by Iowahawk, in his seminal send-up of Democrat tactics in playing the Gay card with religious voters.

October 13, 2006: Just watched W sign the safe ports bill. I noticed something of interest. Many presidents, when signing a bill, will use many pens to affix their signature, giving the pens to the sponsors. Bush signed the bill swiftly, slapped the pen on the table, and walked off, presumably wasting no time with fools. When meeting the families of those killed in action, he lingers and has time for everyone.

Nya, nya, nya nya-nya! No doubt the proprietors will blame the stupidity of the American public. The Free Market is a cruel place which does not suffer fools gladly. That's why Liberals hate it.

October 12, 2006: Galileo, in 1633 ran afoul of conventional wisdom when he theorized that the earth revolved around the sun. The Roman Catholic Church, in one of its many low moments, ordered him imprisoned for heresy. This attitude remains alive and well today, whenever conventional "wisdom" is challenged. The latest denouncer of heresy and heretics is Grist Magazine which published an article advocating Nuremberg-like war crimes trials for those who naysay Global Warming. Master better get a good lawyer. He thinks the Global Warming Hypothesis is a crock of steaming merde.

I can't say it often enough. "Everybody knows" is no guarantor of accuracy and truth. Conventional wisdom often is not accurate. Intimidating people who do not agree with you has no place in scientific dialog. It however is a staple of liberal thought and actions.

October 10, 2006: This is probably the funniest political video since Dukakis after dark... You might think it paints its targets with too broad a brush, but I think not. I wonder if there is a Republican candidate with balls enough to run it. I doubt it.

October 8, 2006: Mistress Anne has run off the reservation and Master is in a tizzy. For those of you who do not know, a tizzy is worse than a conniption and not quite so bad as a tantrum. By tomorrow, he may well progress to a full-blown dummy-spit. Worse, she has scooped up the naked mole rat and taken it to her hideout in the bowels of the second ward. Not everybody is devastated. The Siamese is celebrating his new unchallenged status as Lord of the Cable Box.

October 7, 2006: O Frabjous Day! Calloo-Callay! The Tigers just took out the trash...

October 5, 2006: Good advice for all. It's just so much more to the point than giving up meat for lent. The attention to detail is however, just a wee creepy.

Egad, that page was 18. Perhaps Foley should deploy the Studds defence. I don't think he has any real defense. What he was doing was wrong - not unrelated morally to young Massa gallivanting in the slave quarters. There remains a problem. ABC - and the rest of the traditional media - has become sloppy at best and conniving at worst. Saying the page was 16 when they knew he was not is bad enough by itself. Added to the totality of politically convenient media inaccuracy over the past decade or so, it leads me to an uncomfortable conclusion:

Thus, if I watch "World News" with Charlie Gibson, in order for the broadcast to be of use to me, I need to record and fact check it before I act on it. I'm not saying that much of what they say is true - I just can never be sure what is real, what is implied, and what is simply constructed. I resent this, and my answer is to not watch. Whatever it is that is taught in J-School, suffice it to say that fact has nothing to do with reporting. I suggest you not watch as well. It costs nothing and is good for your blood pressure.

Here is another of my favorite things - it applies to reporters who sit on reports of sexual predation until JUST before the election.

October 3, 2006: Perhaps if we filled a one room schoolhouse with congressmen AND reporters...

October 2, 2006: More TV. I'm watching Robert F Kennedy Jr. on Fox. Forget about what he is saying. He sounds like Kathryn Hepburn. Give the man his paper ballots, preferably stuffed in his whiny mouth...

October 1, 2006: I've been watching Survivor:Cook Islands on the little screen in the barn. Houston, we have a problem with the immunity idol. It depicts Tangaroa, one of the children of the Sky Father, Rangi, and Mother Earth, Papa. He is the god of the sea for Cook Islanders, among others. Now Tangaroa comes fully equipped:

That is NOT a roll of quarters on the dangle above. Little Tangaroa is very much in evidence. The immunity idol is bereft of such amenities. It has no ding-dong - thus sparing viewer the spectacle of somebody hoisting it by the schwantz. Richard Hatch would have noticed.

Wow! Dashboard Mohammed - the perfect ramalamadingdong gift. Blasphemy? Hardly. One doesn't worship the prophet, one worships God, unless one is a Hindu, and then I (a humble bovine) am sacred.

September 27, 2006: Well, it's been a while. I'm not sure, but I think Master is up to something. He came back today with a haircut. He may be looking for a job. What's next, shoes?

August 22, 2006: The other day Master had FOX News on the barn TV. They were showing Hezbollah paymasters handing out stacks of crisp US $100 dollar bills to the owners of property destroyed in the war Hezbollah provoked. The commentator implied the money was coming from Iran. I think not. I think the buggers are printing it themselves. (and I am not the only one...) Those were old style hundreds, not the new security bills, and they looked to be in suspiciously good condition. Counterfeiting is an old offensive tool. The Nazis produced millions of phony pounds in WW2. Hezbollah has a long history of laundering funny money in the South American boondocks. Here they buy publicity and attack America with the same action. Clever little fellows, don't you think? Good thing there is a ~~reloading period~~ cease fire.

Master is investigating starting a new company to mine Trinitite in a soon to be discovered deposit in Tehran. See the IDF for details.

August 20, 2006: Master is hiding in the coin crypt. Mistress Anne is upstairs watching a documentary on 9-11. Digga is avoiding it because it makes him crazy. Last time, he was channeling Arnold Amaury shouting: "Caedite eos! Novit enim Dominus qui sunt eius!" The depth of rage remaining 5 years later is remarkable, but not unexpected. The press and the legal profession remain useful idiots for Americas many enemies - it would seem that the only victims which one is allowed to blame are Israel and the United States. Jimmy Carter continues to waste oxygen and Hollywood stars with 12,000 square foot air-conditioned barns tell us we have to live small.

I may be a silly cow, but even I know that when the truck from the stockyards pulls in the driveway, somebody is going to be dinner. We are at war. Stupid, mean, badly dressed, evil people of uncertain hygiene want to kill us and take all that we have. They plot and plan, scheme and sneak. All the while the ACLU seem more interested in protecting their right to murder than protecting our right to live. I can think of no greater danger to our life and liberty than this. It invalidates the good that they do and makes me think that they think we are stupid.

August 18, 2006: I have obtained information on the deployment of French UNIFIL troops in Lebanon. Apparently they will be guarding the sandy areas adjacent to the ocean. Special emphasis will be placed on locales served by restaurants with two or more stars in the Michelin Guide. Further, the intrepid Poilus want guarantees of safety.

On the medical front, a new psychiatric disorder has been identified. Munchausen's by Athletic Proxy (MAP) is a condition by which fans seek out wretched teams and support them to garner sympathy. Currently the largest single MAP cluster is located at Addison and Waveland in Chicago. A former cluster at Yawkey Way in Boston has been eradicated. A new outbreak has been reported in the Bronx, apparently unrelated to the longtime disease cluster at Flushing Meadows..

August 1, 2006: Fidel Castro is quite ill. This is good news. He is an evil man, and no good deed done can cleanse his bloody, thieving hands. Master's mother, who now prowls the celestial fairways, was born the same year as Castro and figured that she would die as soon as Castro did. So, she was in the strange position of despising a man and at the same time wishing him long life. As it turns, she appears to have had it backwards. She died recently, and Fidel does not look to good. Well Fidel, you know what you have to do...

A lot of people tell me, look (Castro, Hezbollah, Saddam) did many good things too. Doesn't this count? It does not. Lets look at it in a different way. Say that I shoot your mother. Now, tell me just how many good works I have to do square things? My guess is you are not going to come up with a number.

Face it, there are very bad people in this world. They do horrible things. It would be wonderful if we could speak reasonably with them, and get them to amend their bad behavior. It would be nice also if there was a Santa Claus and if beer was not fattening. Sadly, none of these things will come to pass (though Master resembles Santa closely). The best bet is to seek out these individuals and give them the mother of all red cards. It's really too bad that the CIA never managed to pop off Fidel, but there are still lots of folks on Master's little list...

July 18, 2006: This past week, Israel has been engaged in vigorous self-defense. They have been chasing the street thugs of H&H Terror (Made in Iran) and killing them wherever they are found. Because these cowards tend to hide amongst people of varying shades of innocence, there has been a LOT of bitching and moaning. Israel is so powerful, they say - she must moderate her response or risk making the entire world mad at her.

Most of the world already hates Israel because they are jealous and hate Jews. Anti-Semitism is imbibed in the Middle East with mother's milk. The only thing the Israelis could do to mollify her critics is to disappear, preferably leaving all their possessions behind. There is no winning over people who want you dead, along with all of your relatives, and have been doing this for more than a millennium.

Israel's response is proper. They understand the first rule of moral government - that one of ours is worth all of yours. Any government which will not protect every one of it's citizens from the likes of Hezbollah is not worth a bucket of warm piss. Israel has to do this NOW because Reagan failed to take out the trash after the bombing of the Marine barracks in Beirut, and because James Earl Carter lacked the ability, gonads, and inclination to defend America. Hezbollah has killed Americans. Hamas has killed Americans. They should all already be dead. Let's let Israel finish it. Hell, let's help them.

Bush's open mike scatology was reassuring. There are lots of people who believe that any problem can be solved by talking it out. This assumes that every person on earth is fundamentally good and reasonable. They are not. There are lots of evil people in the world, and even more who gladly suffer their presence. Evil people welcome diplomacy. It provides a refreshing pause to retool and repair. The only diplomacy which ever works is that diplomacy which is backed with overwhelming force in the hands of those willing to use it.

NOTICE: Sons and daughter of Bertha and assorted offspring and friends: Digga is serving low BBQ at the lake house on the Fourth. Come whenever - meaning after 10 AM. Stay as long as you like. Soft drinks are provided. Bass are hungry. Sox in HD. (That's SOX, not SEX...) Bunkroom is available for those who do not wish to travel immediately. Shed provided for snorers. If you can find it, then you can come...

Thursday, June 29: Sweep, sweep, sweep, sweep! Marlin on the menu this weekend.

Tuesday June 27: Master was off yesterday attending to one life little inevitabilities riding Rocket Ruben's Up and Down Thrill Ride. Everybody of a certain age gets to go on a "trip" like this. I will not give you any more details than to say that the preparations involved a clear diet, and that he remembers absolutely nothing.

Update: For those of you who have been sitting in your caves cursing Master, you are yet again disappointed - so far at least - it looks like he is fine...

June 23, 2006: The fourth estate is the fifth column. I'm getting pissed off with journalists. Is there any concept in journalism about the consequences of one’s actions? It does not look like it. Loose lips now garner Pulitzer Prizes - and still sink ships. Are not some stories best left untold? Not any more. Not when it fills space. Whose side is the American Media on? Apparently the enemy of Bush is their friend. God forbid we succeed in Iraq. If we did, you would never read about it in the Times. I no longer believe anything I hear on broadcast news. I note the omissions of critical facts, the use of innuendo as gospel and logical fallacy as proof, and the manipulation of polls to support point of view. I’ve stopped taking the paper. I don’t buy Time, Newsweek or US News. I feel like every dime spent on them goes straight to Al-Qaeda – after all, the crap they write could have been written by Osama.

June 22, 2006: Master has information for me to pass along. Two spaces remain for the low-altitude portion of the Katahdin Trip - the lean-tos holds 4 and one must simply show up and pay at the gate, because the space is already removed from the reservation pool. Right now, the company includes Master, the Squire of Clement Road, and Osama bin Loggin. One space remains. Separate arrangements must be made with the Meat Brother at Hungry Mary's for the Chimney Pond portion. This trip costs much more in sweat than money. I can't go, livestock being prohibited by the terms of Baxter's will.

June 21, 2006: Today Master helped commit his mother's ashes beside the remains of his father. He is fairly disturbed about it, but as a cow, I am more sanguine. She was no vegetarian, and cooked everything in sight. It was only a matter of time until I was on the menu at the soup kitchen.

Having dodged that bullet, I can now proceed to immigration. I can tell you that, as a bovine, it is harder for me to slip into the country than a campesino from Sonora. Many people are concerned that I might have Mad Cow. I would need be carefully inspected on entry, and perhaps quarantined. Juan Pedefillio just has to jump the fence and he is free to seek illegal employment at whatever job floats his boat. This is remarkable today, because Big Bertha, Master's mother, entered America legally and became a citizen the old fashioned way.

Some suggest that we should excuse the transgressions of those here in defiance of our law. Once that precedent is set, then what is to make anybody obey any law short of gunfire? Remember, we have a judicial system which worships precedent, however flawed and a legislature which considers anything interfering with tenure unpatriotic. What foolishness would this precedent empower? I would rather not find out.

This is not to suggest that I, or Master, opposes immigration. We need many more legal immigrants. With a functioning, rational process for immigration, we can admit the best of those who are waiting and cherish those who are already here. We don't need the dregs of the world, we have plenty enough home-grown wastrels to satisfy the demand for the worthless. In fact, many even have university degrees.

When the police encounter an illegal alien, they should go right into custody and get an immediate, rigorous and fair hearing. If they are a benefit, then they can stay, and pay a nice initiation fee. If not then we should cheerfully eject them.

It has also come to my attention that some readers of this blog believe that Master is speaking to them personally through me, ThunderCow. To paraphrase the song: "You're so vain, you probably think this blog is about you...Don't you? Don't you?"

Looks pretty wet around here. Route 153 is washed out at the White Bridge over Jones Brook. The big downgrade west of Union is down to one lane and is going to need some serious TLC. The mailings have gone out. Reports heard of three hour travel times from Dover to Boston. The rain continues. Total for this storm is over a foot of rain. The Olde Dump Reservoir is a foot or so over it's banks and the remains of docks bob patiently in the water. Master's crypt is dry and not in imminent danger.

Red Sox 14, Yankees 3: In the next version of the Dodge "Silly Little Fairy" ad, the fairy will turn the dude into A-Rod. I think the ad is hilarious. Some of my friends on the other team may not - and yes, Mistress Anne drives a Dodge of massive proportions. Meanwhile, the "Big Unit" is now the "Big Eunuch". Master is well pleased that Steinbrenner has spent so very much for so very little. He is curled up on the couch inhaling Cabernet and chanting "Yankees Suck!"

This is a wonderful CD - It is positive, life-affirming music which never fails to make me smile. No words, just stirring music.

Every religion has it's sacraments. For Evirontology, Recycling is an important rite. It involves carefully sorting garbage and leaving it as an offering for the Recycling God, whose avatar is the garbage truck. This ritual is performed weekly. The offerings are then removed to a recycling center, where they are used to eventually make more items which will eventually spawn more garbage and more recycling. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, has become #2 to #2, #1 to #1. It's all #2 to me. Sinners are scorned, and are then set upon by fines and user fees.

The problem is, it is just a ritual. So much crap is collected that there is often no market for it. An exception is paper, which is so efficiently recycled that it is destroying the pulp industry in northern New England. Some municipalities take the carefully prepared offerings and deposit them in a landfill. This is what they should have done to begin with. In the middle of this present century, landfills will become an important resource - the refuse preserved in a cool, anaerobic environment for the day when the garbage mining robot digs it up to process with nanotechnology. The garbage mines of New Jersey will make the garden state a leading producer of newly "raw" materials. Except for the Twinkies. They can just repack them and send them out again. Meanwhile, nobody has to waste time sorting the trash.

Meanwhile, people will continue to use more materials and energy recycling than the practice returns - blithely ignorant of the second law of thermodynamics. (It's that nasty business about the toothpaste and the tube...) It does no real good, but it does make them feel good, and is that not what a good religion does?

Johnny Damon - he looks like Jesus, acts like Judas and throws like Mary. Red Sox nation will settle for Crucifixion. Meanwhile, the Yankees also stole Austin Powers from the Sox. He was the secret weapon to subdue Big Papi. Damon was 0 for 4. Myers served up a batting practice quality fastball for Ortiz, who airmailed it to the Sox bullpen. Master is elated.

I have a solution for the immigration problem. Like many great plans, and mighty Neptune's trident, it has three prongs:

One of the great joys of having a religion, for some, is imposing it on others. The process has been know by various names "the inquisition", "jihad" and "missionary work." It is often not an easy process. Usually, someone has beat you to it. The prospective convert already has a religion, and probably likes it. You need an advantage. In some places, like the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, the government is the answer. Only one, government prescribed, religion is allowed. In America, because of the real and perceived protections of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights, the process is more difficult.

The Establishment clause of the constitution proscribes a state religion - not specified. Increasingly, this has been taken as requiring that nothing of a religious nature be publicly displayed or performed on public land. As for using the full force of the law to compel belief, that is not even thought of. Or is it?

The trick is to leave God out of your religion. You can require belief on the basis on faith alone. You can make other people believe as you do, and use federal funds. You can even sue on the basis of violations of your faith by unbelievers and sinners! It happens all the time in Environtology. Environtologists believe that all organisms are created equal, but some are more equal than others. A snail darter, for example, is of more value than a homo sapiens - unless the homo sapiens is a homosexual. (That's more a U-U concept.)

Satan is replaced by the Republican Party, and global warming is a dandy substitute for Hell, inasmuch as neither has ever been proven to exist. Instead of Saint Peters in Rome, there is the Artic National Wildlife Refuge. One man's mucky, caribou manure strewn, waste is another's holy ground. Spotted owls make dandy Cherubim, and wetlands are ready-made holy water fonts - and they are self-replenishing.

It does not matter what the facts are - so long as you truly believe. And you can spread the faith! No need for Sunday School, Public School curricula are yours to mold without being molested by the ACLU. The fact that Creationism is just as well proven as Global Warming need not deter you. No God, no foul.

The government will even pay for it! You may not be able to stick a scout camp on a military base because of the scout oath, but the Appalachian Money Club and the Sierra Club can suck down the public coin for their own purposes - and it is oh so very legal. There is even the Environmental Protection Agency. That's right, a religion is being funded by your money. You should be outraged. There may be separation of Church and State, but Belief and Faith can reside peacefully in the halls of power, provided you disguise your golden calf sufficiently.

Let me tell you a story my mother told me. Once upon a time, in a forest deep and dark, three virtuous environmentalists took a hike. As they skipped and hopped over roots and rocks, logs and bogs, they sipped from their travel-cups of Fair Trade organic shade-grown mocha-java skim lattes. The sun shone bright on the ferns and flowers as the birds chirped and the newts slithered. All was wonderful until they saw the Wolf!

The Wolf let fly with a fierce and frightening howl. The intrepid enviros were startled - even frightened - and they all dropped their javas. They wailed piteously as the Wolf advanced menacingly. They began screaming and gibbering at each other and the Wolf could not believe his ears!

"Its a disaster!" one shouted. "We shall all perish!" another declaimed. The third simply whimpered: "The humanity, the humanity..." They weren't looking at the Wolf - they were entirely spellbound by the puddle of steaming coffee. The Wolf was entirely stunned. After all, he was the most ferocious creature in the Forest, having killed and eaten dozens of unfortunate creatures which were literally beneath him - on the food chain. "I will eat you!", he snarled at the tree-huggers.

"There are dozens of chemicals in that coffee not present in the local environment. This will need to be cleaned up. This may be a Super-Fund site", the first Gaean said.

The second interrupted him: "No, no, no! That's no it. All this steam, it will contribute to global warming. Somewhere in Bangladesh, we have drowned a village!"

"It takes a village to make a lunch..." the Wolf thought - but his musing was disturbed by the third: "This is now a wetland, we must chain ourselves to a tree to protect it."

The Wolf thought long and hard. He had heard of Mad Cow disease - and he had eaten Cow. These were not Cows, clearly - but they were certainly quite mad. What they had could be communicable. His stomach was beginning to rumble, but maybe better safe than sorry. He turned and started to leave. And then he heard them.

"Look, it is a noble creature of nature!" one said. "Were it not for our valiant struggle, that animal would be some Republican's rug." the second declared. "And this forest would be a Wal-Mart." the last agreed. And then they began to sing." "Kumbaya, Kumbaya, Kumbaya".

And then the Wolf killed and ate them all, for a quiet lunch was much better than listening to one moment more.

Remember March is Blond History Month. Over the centuries, blondes have made great contributions to the advancement of Mankind. Despite all they have done, they are subject to cruel and unfair prejudice.

Mistress Anne had a good one today. If the prefix Pro means for, and the prefix Con means against, does that mean that Congress is the antithesis of Progress?

Cousin Osama has declared that he will not be taken alive. If he is surrounded, he will pull his own cork. Tell me cousin, how do you know that you aren't already surrounded? Best not take any chances - even if there are only ugly virgins left. (Azrael tells me that there are some fetching quadrupeds available, and he has his eraser ready any time you are, cousin.)

The wicked pissah cold weathah continues. The ice on the old Dump Reservoir bangs and groans as it grows. There's about a foot and a half of ice out there, and the Sallies and the Larries are safe for now.

NBC recently - and cowardly - cancelled the series "The Book of Daniel" in which a pill-popping Episcopal priest speaks directly to Jesus, whilst parenting his sex-obsessed sexually diverse family with his hard-drinking spouse. The rest of you will have to do without, but in New Hampshire, we have "The Book of Gene". Follow the exploits of America's first openly, yea determinedly, even obstinately gay Episcopal bishop as he sips his way to salvation (and rehab). I don't know if he speaks to or sees Jesus on a regular basis, but he has performed miracles. I have watched him downsize his diocese without moving a finger. Not that there's anything wrong with that...

Now I ask you, if you followed the link in the paragraph above, how do you think our Muslim brothers would react to a "dress up Mo" web page?

Each political party has a core constituency, which they nurture, cherish and try to propagate. The Republicans are the party of conservative, business oriented people with more than a dime and nickel to rub together. They work hard to see that this group flourishes and multiplies. It is, after all in their best interest.

The Democrats claim to be the party of the poor and downtrodden. They work hard to see that this group flourishes and multiplies. It is, after all, in their best interest. For if the number of poor and downtrodden were ever to decrease, they would lose even more elections.

By now you will have heard of the great rage about European cartoons which blaspheme the prophet Mohammed, after which half the males in Araby appear to be named. Enormous energy has been spent burning foreign embassies. In those cases where it was not clear which building was the embassy, the entire block was burned for thoroughness.

It has come to my attention that word of these grave insults, which occurred in September, was spread by an Iman from Denmark. Apparently, realizing that the cartoons were just not that insulting, he added a few gratuitous works of art which have nothing to do with Mohammed, Islam or anything of the sort. One, for example, was a pig-snouted Gaul engaged in a hog-calling contest.

Seeing as truth has absolutely nothing to do with anything when it comes to a pack of pissed-off Mohammedans, I see no reason why a few carefully planted falsehoods can't work for us so, here goes:

It's too warm here. This is New Hampshire, and it's Groundhog Day. This usually means I am up to my udders in snow and a wicked wind is whistling its way unmodified from Alberta. Instead, it has been in the forties during the day. The big fishing derby on Winnipesauke has been delayed a week because of cheesy ice and morons are dying on a regular basis skimming their snow machines across open water. Any more melting and the ice fishermen and their shacks will resemble the Israelites exiting from Pharos Egypt.

Master is livid. Julian Bond has called him a Nazi. Of course, he did this by so labeling all Republicans. Master remembers when Democrats were present or former clan members - like Senator Byrd. But that was only this morning. You may wonder, who the hell is Julian Bond. He is a former "rising star" of the Democratic Party, the first negro state legislator since reconstruction. He's been dining out on this for thirty years, like the man who sang "Day-O." Julian's time passed when folks were wearing lime-green leisure suits. Now he can only grab the limelight by emitting manure from his pie-hole. (Note to Barak Obama: Your upward progress will mysteriously stop short of the national ticket. If you want off of the kid's table, you have to be a Republican. Don't think so? Check the facts.)

Meanwhile the Mohammedans are pissed off. (When are they not?) Some cheeky Danes have published cartoons making fun of the prophet, implying that his followers are fond of sharp edged objects and explosive devices. Do you mean to tell me that Muslims have actually blown people up. No way, next you are going to tell me they behead people? And you're saying they hate Jews? What gives? What do you believe, me or your lying eyes and ears?

I really am just a bit worried about Master. He's no heifer any more, and he has spent too much time at the trough if you follow my drift.

Oh well, he made it. It has been crapping small snowfalls every other day or so. along with random ice. Tell me again why we live here...

Master and I watched the State of the Union Address last night. We both agree, Barbara Mikulski makes a singularly ugly human, but as a cow, she's kind of cute.

I noted with amazement the Dhimmies applauding Bush's observation that social security reform had come to grief. Let's see, you fail the American people spectacularly and clap about it. (You will note that they don't get Social Security - they have something better...) There's no doubt, after cheering for misfortune in Iraq, failure is the only thing Senator Splashdown and his cohorts can cheer. I used to think Republicans were stupid, but these people are breathlessly clueless.

Speaking of Teddy, his heart bleeds for every putative victim of the evil ogre Alito. For those who remember the summer of 1969, it is a spectacle of singular hypocrisy. If he is so concerned about abortion, perhaps his mother should have an immediate, posthumous, post-birth abortion. That would leave Massachusetts with only one imbecile in the Senate.

Speaking of the other fool, he today announced that only 53% of Americans graduate from high school. There's one statistic truly arrived at by anal extraction.

Master is going out to clear snow. Get your bets in on the cardiac lottery. Will he drop dead? Will he fall down and break his ribs again? Will he survive unscathed?

A customer in one of the chocolate-making countries reports a package took 17 days to arrive. The mails are like a small child. You can feed it a coin. Even God does not know how long it take to arrive. However, when it arrives, you know exactly where to pick it up. What condition it is in, is left as an exercise for you, my gentle reader...

Master has returned from Maine. He traveled to far-off Millinocket with a confederate to seek reservations at Baxter Park in September. In about a day's time, they managed to secure 6 days of camping in the finest wilderness park in America. (Long have the Federales lusted after Baxter Park, wanting to make it a National Park - but the Mainers have wisely refused.) The trip is in September, and will involve three days of hiking and fishing, and three days of climbing where the only fish are canned.

Never underestimate the power of Bovine Ratiocination. Number two has been visiting. Today he is a T-Rex. Master watched Tarzan II with him, twice. Thirty plus years of marriage have prepared him for minding a three-year old. The arguments are essentially the same, but number two is way more succinct than Mistress Anne. "Don't want to" is short and covers a multitude of situations. Speaking of which, one yields the right of way to an ambulance whose lights are flashing. One also stops for a school bus whose lights are flashing. But what happens when a speeding ambulance meets a school bus whose lights are flashing? And what if there is a child in the ambulance? Who takes precedence? These are the only stupid questions Senator Splashdown didn't ask Judge Alito. Between Mumbles and Splashdown, it's clear that the denizens of the People's Republic of Massachusetts prefer their politicians short, fat and incoherent.

Murder most foul! It is a sometimes thing here in Nude Hamster. There were about 20 murders last year in NH. That's a rate of .000018 caps per capita. Guns are everywhere, many folks carry. In DC, there were 195 murders, with a population of about 575,000, for a rate of .0034% In DC, there is no right to carry and self defense is legally precluded. Clearly we need more gun control in NH, if we ever hope to rival DC. (In Master's view, gun control

Ted Kennedy has written a children's book about a Portuguese Water Dog named Splash. I can hardly wait for the PBS cartoon.

O frabjous day, callou callay! Master has purchased for me the wondrous Chik-Fila "Cows in Shining Armor" calendar. It's enough to stiffen my udders. That El Cud is one hot bull - as is Beif Erricson. Another snowstorm has wreathed the environs in white fluffy, and the naked cat is hiding undercovers, but these Cows will keep me warm. Remember, eat more chicken - it's good for you and they are way too dumb to notice.

Always bet on the Bovine, we are inVinceable. The mother of all Red States defeats the fairy godmother of all Blue States, and the Longhorns feast on Roses...

While Master snored on the couch, I went surfing and found the lyrics to Barry Manilows latest remake of Cococabana! I tell you, there is something about sheep I just don't trust. It's full winter back here by the Old Dump Reservoir. Ice fishing has started up, as has snowmobiling. So far nobody has gone through the ice. Then again, this isn't Hyannis.

Once again, the Postal Service is about to do something surpassingly stupid. The current rate is 37 cents for an ounce of first class mail. In the new year, they will raise the rate. Now, I ask you all, what would be the logical next price point. 40 cents would be logical. It divides neatly into all multiples of 2 dollars and there are no pennies involved. Think of the time saved in line as Grandma fumbles for those pennies. Instead, the board of Postal Governors, that sagacious bunch, have decided to raise the price to 39 cents. Quick, what's 8 times 39? People, the penny is not that important. Forty cents gives the USPS an extra cent and ensures the Braniacs behind the counter will have a better shot at doing the arithmetic in their heads. Here we have a case where clearly, the cream has not risen to the top.

If the late, great Danish astronomer Tycho Brahe had only been a Boston commuter, who knows to what heights his achievements would have reached? The sage died in 1601 after a night of feasting at the court of the Emperor Rudolph II in Prague. His bladder burst on the way to an inconveniently distant jakes. Well, in the Hub of the Universe, commuters are apparently bladderless. What they do with all that coffee is not recorded, but there is not a bathroom to be found anywhere on the Red, Green, Blue and Orange lines. You can get tokens. You can get Pepsi. You can get a paper. You can probably get the clap - but brother, you can't go pee-pee. Clearly it is not needed. I guess the municipality expects that you can go before, and you can go after, but you cannot go in between. My only hope is that his honor the mayor need to go and pees on the third rail. Karma demands it. I may be a stupid cow, but even I know that everybody has to go sometime.

Lance Armstrong's record setting seventh Tour de France victory, along
with his entire Tour de France legacy, may be tarnished by what could
turn out to be one of the greatest sports scandals of all time.
Armstrong is being quizzed by French police after three banned
substances were found in his South France hotel room while on vacation
after winning the 2005 Tour de France.

The three substances found were toothpaste, deodorant, and soap which
have been banned by French authorities for over 75 years.

Armstrong's girlfriend, American rocker Sheryl Crowe, is quoted as
saying "We use them every day in America, so we naturally thought they'd
be ok throughout Europe."

Along with these three banned substances, French authorities also
physically searched Armstrong and found several other interesting items
that they had never seen before, including a backbone and a testicle.

The professah: Dear sir, You had better sell your items rather than talking political ideas which are not so funny. sincerely.

The professah: I am not primitive as you think. I am a man who didn't like your offensive comments and for that reason I did not trade with you despite I like your items. If you did not undesrtand till now it means that you are living in Amazon probably

Digga: I understand completely. Denying your custom is a most civilized way of registering your disapproval. My method is to poke fun at things (like the reincarnation of Saladin hiding in a hole in the ground.) So, enjoy your state of high dudgeon and good luck to you.

Digga

The Professah: I think your ancestors were the criminals of Europe and the slaves of wild Africa and probably this is genetically determined. you have no civilization in your dictionnary. YOU CANN'T GIVE SOMETHING WHICH YOU DON'T HAVE. Dear sir, I think it is enough, I am a professor in history and a lecturer in many universities. What I hardly tried to tell you that in my opinion your poke of fun doesn't work, you may loose many clients. Probably you are young. Last advice, be simple and smooth to be a great trader. Best whishes.

Digga: Why of course they were! How very perceptive of you. No doubt this is wisdom acquired at many universities. I hope that you one day do well enough to get tenure at one of them. Perhaps one day I will be a great trader - probably on the very day when I learn to describe dung as couscous. In the meantime, I will soldier along with such clients as I can.

Digga

PS. You really should look into a good spelling checker. Proper grammar and spelling does wonders for one's credibility.

Lets hope the Professah finds a permanent job soon, preferably in France, where the weather is "chaud."

Master is three sheets to the wind! He recently received a love note from some angry son of the sands who took exception with his clever comments on the Middle-Eastern Auction. He intimated that Master had better stop or else... Master reacted predictably to this. He added the sage comments to the auction. He then started in on the Shipyard Prelude Ale. I snuck a bottle or two. It's nummy, and reason enough to remain an infidel. Don't worry, I'll watch over our favorite numismafacist, if only to insure I don't get sent to the knackers.

The Cowboys lost. Master is ecstatic. The G-Men are in first place! Master's two favorite football teams are the New York Football Giants and anybody who plays the Cowboys. America's Team, My Ass!

Gasoline is $1.979 at the Perfect Touch Car Wash in Somersworth. If it's a car wash you need, then mosey on up 108 to the Wash Me Now and line a degenerate University of Miami Grad's pockets...

A very happy birthday to Uncle Sam's Misguided Children. Master was not a Marine, but he raised one.

Master is harpooning himself again. He is watching Fresno State grape stomp Boise State on ESPN. There is a really stupid commercial running for some brand of overpriced underwear. An enormous and threatening looking African-American athlete screams "we must protect this house." Even a cow can see how foolish it is. I can see legions of young and cretinous teenagers aping the commercial.

The BBQ continues in France. Still no sign of the missing gonads. Maybe the French can hire the former East German women's Olympic Team to put down the intifada. There is no shortage of testosterone there.

Will somebody send me the "Cows in Shining Armor Calendar" from Chic-Fila? Master is just too cheap to buy it for me.

Things are even more hectic at the Fifth Republic. Desperately, Monsieur Chirac and his cohorts are searching for their balls. Missing since 1918, the manhood of La Belle France is desperately sought and nowhere to be found.. Folks, this bovine knows a steer when she sees one, and Jacques and Dominique are USDA prime. Count on it, the Sixth Republic will be Islamic. Keep looking Jacques...

Gasoline is 2.16 a gallon at the Farmington Irving. Supply is outstripping demand. Harpoon is under a buck a bottle at Hannafords. Master is working on it.

Things are hectic by the shore of scenic Stump Pond. Mistress Anne has had her ankle repaired. Now Master is serving up coins, watching the Assets and Chattels, and functioning as houseboy. It's about time that besotted wastrel did something besides saving the world from a surplus of Harpoon IPA.

A couple of days ago I was watching Extreme Bull Riding (Those bulls are hot). Nothing makes me happier than seeing some fool thrown off a short-horn in 3.2 seconds. That is until I saw a Bull named Digger. I consoled myself with this.

I've been a bit busy, but this is just too good. Master was a chaperone at Number One's first grade trip to Blue Job Mountain in Strafford NH. Easily Master was the oldest human there. Certainly, he was the heaviest. In the wake of the nor'easter, polar air has taken control. Master chased Casey, Maddy, Lily and Taylor up one hill and down the next. In a short two hours, the children converted Master into a quivering lump of hurting protoplasm. Now he lying on that unspeakable leather couch moaning and pretending to hydrate himself with Shipyard Export Ale. He looks like veal to me. Of course, now I have to do all the work.

Master came back yesterday, and boy did he smell. I never thought a human could reek like that. It was enough to put me off my feed. He is limping around the counting-house and moaning. I had been enjoying the quiet. That's gone.

Imagine it. There is all this fuss about a new baby. You'd think they never had a cow before. Still and all, she is just as cute as her mother. Big too. 9 pounds, 5 ounces. The picture does not do justice to the cheeks on this youngling. She will either be a supermodel or a chipmunk. Either way, she's a keepah!

AP and UPI reported that the French Government announced yesterday that it
has raised its terror alert level from "run" to "hide."

The raised alert was precipitated by a recent fire which destroyed one of
Frances' white flag factories, completely disabling their military. "

This bovine will note, that at least the French Military (Foreign Legion excepted) stands ready to hoist both hands high 24/7. The Swedish Military keeps business hours.

Master blew in from Quebec last night and is raving about the strong Trappist-style beers of Quebec, and the hearty eating. "La Fin Du Monde" is a 9% concoction with an eight year shelf-life and a mule-like kick. As the bartender on the Grand-Allee said, "Deux et Bonne Nuit." Master drank two and managed not only to ambulate back to the hotel, he even found sushi and ordered it "en français". In the morning - no hangover! He is off to the Wild River Valley tomorrow with the Spaniards, so do not be pestering him.

Don't blame cows for Global Warming. Master says it's a crock. He believes those who ascribe to it decided what they wanted to prove first and twisted the facts to prove it. Careful selection of data can prove anything, even the continued existence of Elvis. Meanwhile, Ridwan reports that there is now a complete shortage of virgins. New Jihadi martyrs get a case of O'Douls and a full color picture of Derek Jeter. You might as well live...

Due to the shortage of female virgins, male houris are being substituted on request. According to the Angel Ridwan, this is quite popular among the newcomers.

Master returned from the fens early this morning, after having taken in the Red Sox and Twins from the "Budweiser Pavilion" on the right field roof at Fenway Park. He thought it a bit distant from home plate, but otherwise most pleasant. The price of the tickets included a hefty food and beverage chit which covered the cost of food (so-so) and Bud. Sadly, only Anhauser-Busch libations were sold. Nonetheless, the table seating allowed for Master's girth and his neighbor's comfort. He has it on the best authority (The T announcer at Kenmore) that A-Rod wears a tutu and cavorts in the daisies, Jason Giambi eats sissy biscuits, and Derek Jeter likes wine coolers. The Sox won, 6-4.

Last night Master hooked a three board bass. The boards on the dock are 6" wide, so that makes the bass 18" in length. It fought mightily after it bit on the proffered worm. Master returned it to the water unharmed with a note for it's mother. The fishing off the dock is exceptional around sunset.

I have been remiss in not talking to you, but truth be told, I have been out on the beach soaking up sun. Cows don't tan, but we do like our beer. It's been a fine vacation. Today is Master and Mistress Anne's 33rd Wedding Anniversary. Some of my ancestors, long hamburger, were at the ceremony, presided over by a clam-digging tomcat of a Justice of the Peace. In any case, the Spanish Visitors are on the beach, along with a gaggle of nut-brown grandchildren and some very hopeful (of bread) ducks.

Meanwhile, I note in London the roundup of the not ready for primetime Shaheeds continues. It's just as well they got caught. There is a current shortage of virgins in paradise. Not only the remaining houris a bit long in the tooth, many are simply butt-ugly. You now also only get 23. Before long, you will have to share. Eternity is simply NOT what it used to be.

Master tells me that people are always asking if they can wait for another auction to finish, or payday to arrive, or some other near term event to occur before they check out and pay. He tells me to tell you. OK, no worries. Take your time.

It has come to this bovine's attention that there are those of you in Digga's customer base who believe that I am intent on world domination. Nothing could be farther from the truth. A message for my amis in Chirac-occupied France:

Meanwhile, Number One, Batman and Number Three have returned and are storming the beach. Now they are demanding lunch...

The Vandals and Visigoths have retreated to Barrington. Damage control is well underway. Laundry and toy policing took hours. Mental recovery is taking longer. Master is still speaking toddler.

Master is entertaining the next generation of the next generation. The Grand Kids have landed and everything on 4 feet is in hiding, myself included. As always, they brought something with them. In this case, it was microbial. Master is clutching his midsection and never venturing far from the the Alabaster Throne. Disinfect all packages you receive...

During the last month it has come to Master's attention that there are those who would copy or in other ways attaint his brand. As such, I now issue my seal and impremoomatur:

Look for this in Master's auctions as time goes on. Only DiggaFromDover is ThunderCow Approved.

While Master has been busy, this bovine has been watching the news. Master set the parental control to block CNN and MSNBC, so I watch Fox News. I am very disturbed by the latest from the LA sheriff's department. 7 Officers emptied 7 10 round clips into some malefactor's automobile at the culmination of a high-speed chase. They shot the fellow 4 times. This is simply not acceptable. I expect law enforcement to HIT what they shoot at. A 6% hit rate is ludicrous. At that rate, a really atrocious massacre could take weeks. They should fire the lot of them for being bad shots. The considerably more competent NYPD hit the late Amadou Diallo with 19 of 41 shots for a respectable 46% hit rate. I am surprised that the LA County Deputies managed to avoid a circular firing squad.

A better day for Master to be sure. His beloved Sox slipped by the Tigers, and the Yankees are battling the Devil Rays for last place. Any day that is bad for the Boss is good for Master. Never underestimate schadenfreude.

More coins are in! Bi-Metals from Yemen and Sierra Leone came in today. We have nice Libyan coins too. We have nice stuff.

The naked mole rat spends much time on Master's shoulder. Devotees of Babylon 5 will remember the keeper which ended up on Londo. The rat looks a lot like that. He rides Master hard, claws out, ripping flesh. Truly love hurts.

Master lies in the grotto licking his wounds. Mistress Anne brought home Number Two and Number Three yesterday, and it has been the long dark night of the WalpurgisKinder. Number Three came with the optional ear infection installed and required frequent dosage with questionable looking pap. Number Two, in contrast, was in fine form, being happy and mischievous, provided he didn't hear the N-word (NO). Hearing this word directed at him causes an immediate core meltdown. Wonder what the incubation period will be this time.

The backlog has mostly been eradicated on the outgoing side. Many coins are still stacked in receiving awaiting exposure on the web site. It's a tedious process. Scan, store, label, price, write clever copy, list and repeat. I of course, have nothing to do with that. It all falls to Master, so it mostly isn't done.

Joyous news! The Android has reproduced. Bertha has another grandchild. Say hello to Nephew Jose:

Having a Doctor Evil moment, Jose already looks like Cuauhtémoc - or maybe a youthful Johnny Damon in the Dunkin Donuts Ad. One day, he will be president.

A driving rain pummels Master's palatial estate, yet there is joy everywhere because Master has returned. After feeling poorly for several days, Master was dragged to the offices of Theodoric of York, Barber and Surgeon, where he was found to be possessed by unknown microscopic demons. He was immediate sequestered in the North Wing of Nurse Brandy's hospital. There he remained until today, enduring frequent sanguinary donations, middling food and a great shortage of Ale.

I am but a simple herbivore. Without Master's direction, I cannot pack orders, let alone drive and use a credit card (This is not West Virginia). Thus the auctions, emails, payments and the like have accumulated. Master will be working on them now in no particular order, if only because he would not presume to value one client above another. Please have patience.

The demon possessing Master has yet to be identified. Suffice it to say that his white count was normal, urine clear, bowels in good order and lungs clear and working efficiently - and you could fry an egg on him. The fever has passed and that is good. There appears to be no drain brammage.

The cause of individual liberty and civil rights are threatened by morons in the American Civil Liberties Union, who insist on defending heinous and criminal actions and calling them civil rights. There is no civil right to enter America illegally. Illegal aliens have no civil rights. MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

PS: Master is an official Hispanic, according to the silly federales, and agrees with me. His sainted mither was a legal immigrant and is now a citizen.-

Ann Coulter asks: Would you rather be O.J.'s girlfriend or Michael Schiavo's fiancee?

Prince Rainier is dead. Master informs me that he has sufficient Monegasque coinage for all - every piece bearing the newly-dead Prince's phiz. When Prince Tinky-Winkie appears on coins, he will get those too.

The Pope is dead. Master is conflicted. He is happy to be selling scads of Vatican coins, but he would have happily postponed this profit for many years.

Number One had a birthday party today. All was wonderful, with attendees gobbling Maas wings and steak.

Master is in a philosophical mood. Six years ago today, Number One was born in Dover (In a manger). Six years and one day ago, Mistress Anne's Mother passed on, missing the sight of her first great-grandchild by a day. Number One is complicated, latest in a matrilineal line of truly cranky women. Behind her blue eyes lurk a brain of great deviousness. This Bovine believes that she will rule or ruin. Either way, it will be from a booth at Friendly's.

Terry Schiavo is dead. Right, and wrong aside, it appears she had the misfortune of marrying a truly heartless bastard. Whatever her wishes were, ThunderCow is sure that they did not include causing heartache for her parents.

If I am brain dead - don't starve me. Just shoot me, lest the steaks be ruined. If I'm truly not there, what more could I care? If Jesse Jackson comes around, shoot him.

There is a difference between the rule of law, and the rule of lawyers. In the first, justice prevails. In the second, you can have whatever you can pay for.

Master is appalled. He is simply beside himself. The Schiavo nightmare has descended to the level of Je$$e Jack$on. Johnny Cochrane couldn't come to the rescue, being himself unavoidably detained. What's next, he wonders, James Earl Carter?

There is a commercial message on the TV from SaveTheFillibuster.Org. ROTFLOL! Many environmentalists will think that a Filibuster is some kind of Indonesian Whale. Actually it is a parliamentary tactic made famous by former Klansman and present West Virginia Senior Senator Robert F Byrd Jr, who made extensive use of the Filibuster in his vain attempts (they didn't work, but he liked the way he looked doing it) to kill the 1964 Civil Rights Act. These days, Democrats use the tactic to prevent anybody right of Che Guevara from mounting the federal bench. It's really all about abortion. Master cannot understand why the same people have such trouble with Capital Punishment. Isn't it simply a very late term abortion? Can't we abort Castro? Senator Byrd?

Question: What do you do with a person who has been in a persistent vegetative state for years and has become disconnected from their feeding tube.

Flash! The government of Kyrgyzstan is tottering. Maybe the next one will mint coins.

Mistress Anne's Dodge Ram Gunboat has returned from the body shop. Master savaged it with the snow-blower and it needed lots of love - and money.

Care Packages have arrived from the Vikings and from Deseret Dave. Good stuff is getting listed. Really neat are the Cypriot Pounds. They were wicked pissah expensive, but boy are they scrumptious, right down to the mirror fields. The commemorative Lux Euros are dandy too.

A weenie little snowstorm blew through last night, leaving three inches on the picnic table, which as of 17:00 is back to bare wood.

I fear that Master has lost his mind. After watching endless reports on the declining health of the Pope, he has made a major buy on Vatican currency. Master is such a fool. Those coins can't be spent anywhere. He paid through the nose, after Robin Red-Breast declared that the Vaticoins in his inventory had sprouted legs. Time will tell if Master's move will pay off. Meanwhile, I still think he is gaga.

Just the same, spring is coming to DiggaFromDover World HQ. Yesterday the missing snow shovel appeared in a snow bank. Could the wayward trash can lid be far behind? Don't get me wrong, there is still plenty of snow, but after a solid weeks worth of melt, some of the banks are beginning to disgorge their secrets.

It's always the same with the Champion Naked Mole Rat. He enters the bat cave to use the kitty box, then he jumps on Master's head purring as if to say "Boss, Boss, did I wipe..." (no.) The thing even likes Chinese food. Has nobody told it... At least Bambi knew what happened to Mama... At least it's smarter than Nurse Brandy's Mongolian Meat Dog.

The Botswana coins arrived from Singapore today, filling two back orders and one real lucky front order. Also, a passel of Korean 500 Won are in. For some reason, they are very popular with the Koreans. He's still waiting on the Terry Fox Dollars - consoling himself with a few Smutties.

Mistress Anne's champion naked mole rat has returned from the show. It wakes Master every morning by charmingly climbing on his head. It looks like a second evil head. It's shagalicious. It won 6 ribbons. But if I won fifth best alter, shorthair division, I wouldn't go about bragging on it.

Another snowstorm is pounding Masters domicile. A light snowfall yesterday was followed by a heavy dumping. There are four foot drifts in the backyard, and the picnic hexagon is almost buried. Mistress Anne has decamped to Providence, where the buck-naked rat cat is being shown. That leaves Master with the not so high quality Siamese for the weekend.

Another snowstorm is pounding Masters domicile. It went from rain to blizzard during one trip to the post office. Twenty parcels mailed, and then the trip back up the hill was not pleasant. Mistress Anne has declared that she will attend to her knitting class in Dover in the morning. This bovine predicts an early morning with the Snow Blower for Master - assuming the idiocy outside has stopped. Spring recedes, not approaches.

Master went out on the lake this morning to hobnob with the ice fishermen. As usual, he was jumped by Jake the yellow Lab, who attempted to hump Master's leg. That was the highlight of the morning. Ice fishing is a strange sport. This morning, the ice was 24" thick, and then covered with ridged snow. Standing out there waiting for a flag to jump is not a normal activity - especially when stone cold sober. It's much better with a bob-house.

Master called up Dell Tech Support. El Pendejo was not running various games and frustration boiled over. Do not do what Master did. Even though I am a cow, and therefore sacred to most of the outsourced Dell tech support wallahs, I could recommend them. They have perfected the art of passing the caller onto another line. It's not escalation. It is more a lateral move like the end of the Cal-Stanford football game a few years ago. All it needs it the band on the field. It was only when they passed the buck back to a 'Murican did Master get satisfaction. When you call Dell and hear two beeps, abandon all hope, because you have been sent to the Kwiki-Mart for help.

We've had snow every other day or so. The snow machine guys are in nirvana, zooming around the lake. Master is so familiar with the butt end of the Snow Blower that Mistress Anne is jealous.

Last weekend, Number Two grandchild visited. The Nacho is undergoing the first and most serious training of his life. We don't call him Number Two for nothing. (Number One trained at about 18 months. It took about 5 minutes.) But the Nacho is in serious denial about the state of his drawers. The answer is almost always negative. If pressed about the thanatic vapors issuing from his shorts, he will announce that he has only farted, with all the sincerity of a French diplomat.

Meanwhile back at Diggas Daughters, the Great Dane is achieving Brobdinagian proportions. Master has fallen into the habit of calling it the Mongolian Meat Dog. It is large, unruly, barely trained and has the intelligence of a small soap dish. Everybody should have one.

After the snow, it rained and rained heavily. Master looked silly slopping around patting the slush into piles and cutting water channels for drainage. Diligent effort has reduced the backlog to a handful of lines - all on back order. Shipments are going right out the same day and Master no longer has that confused look - most of the time. Meanwhile I keep surfing. At last, I have found a way to decorate the meadow.

After Master dragged the 54 parcels out the door this morning, I started surfing, and AT LAST good news. Man's best friend is now a bovines boon companion as well. Wait till I tell Master what's really in that Moo Shu beef he keeps eating. It's snowing again.

The Siamese now sits at Master's elbow. He has, more or less, recovered. Some 25 parcels were done up last night, and all the rest of the items should be packed today. It's going to be a tough morning at the Union PO when Master arrives with all these packages on Monday. Union is a quiet village, part of greater Wakefield. Not much happens in Union. It's the kind of place where wild animals make the honest mistake of thinking they are still in the forest. Millions of people have visited Union by driving through on route 16, without ever knowing that they had been there...

More than a foot of snow fell. It still sticks to the trees, weighting the branches. Master tip-toed around the coronary, but fell prey to the intestinal flu last night. I am taking care of end of auction messages, but aside from queuing up mass relists, Master lies in repose on the couch with the Siamese Cat. Good News! He's not hurling any more. Perhaps tomorrow, he will fill some orders with FIFO being the order of the day.

The first part of the Nor'Easter was rain. Now it's heavy wet snow. At midnight it accumulates still. Any bets on Master have a coronary in the morning? ThunderCow dares not bet.

Another Noreaster is bearing down on DiggaFromDover World HQ. Master is holed up in the bat cave with a 1.75 of very cheap Cabernet and two boxes of Clementines. Once again today, he was mistaken for Santa Claus.

Mistress Anne is back from the hot zone, otherwise known as Diggas daughters house. Various rugrats and adults were pooping and puking there, and the Mistress was doing the Damian the Leper thing. Thank God a Cow can't catch what she has probably brought back...

Master is much involved with re-doing the website using an arcane technology called ASP.NET. He has been busy enough with this to leave me alone, so I will finally be getting something done. In any case, if you are interested in helping test Master's new website, drop him a line and he will give you a URL to play with.

Today my Master went to Concord. The accent is on the first syllable, not the second like that pooftah Martin Sheen does on the West Wing. The Mistress owns rental properties, and one of the state senators is sponsoring a bill establishing rent control. Master joined a couple of hundred other property owners with figurative pitchforks and torches. Unfortunately, the largest room available to the State Senate holds a mere 65 people. (The house, at 420 or so members has bigger rooms, but we couldn't get one.) So there went the morning. More interesting were the battle flags of the different Civil War regiments, notably the 5th NH, which had the highest rate of attrition of any unit in the Union Army. We all never learned to duck.

As for rent control, Master thinks it is communism, and he wishes it would go away. It usually ends up removing all low end housing and enshrining rich people in bargain rent apartments.

Anyhow, he finally cracked that cabernet (Frei Bros. 2003) and reports it quite drinkable. If I looked like Master, I would drink too, early and often.

Master is very, very busy. His evil plan of promoting sales through this website has succeeded. The backlog has stayed up over 100 lines for more than a week. I'm glad I am a simple bovine, devoid of the dexterity to fill orders. Master is not so lucky. Then again, he is also fairly ugly. He's kind of fat too. Did I mention he was old? Truly Master is no babe magnet. I'm not so young myself, even though once I was the "Happy Heifer". But enough about that tawdry part of ThunderCow's past.

Master screened "Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow" for the Visitor From Spain on Sunday. He was laughing at the submersible aircraft. Then he saw a cable show on Soviet aircraft which included a section on just such a project. Master and ThunderCow give it two thumbs up.

The bitter cold, Number One and the Visitor From Spain have left, leaving Master to muck out the Bat Cave. The Iraqi elections are over and once again - ThunderCow was right. Face it, ThunderCow doesn't miss many calls. It was especially interesting to watch the lefty moon bat but-boys (and girls) at work: "We applaud the election BUT (insert your own negative Bush Bashing statement here)". It's not debate, it's not argument, it's simply contradiction. It is a level of discourse already abandoned by Number One. Master is quite pleased with the Democrats. Facing them is like a weekend series with the Tampa Bay Devil Rays for the Sox.

Number One grandchild still haunts the premises. Officially, she is snowed in at Grandma and Grandpa's house. Having missed three days of school, she is on the Mother of all Weekends. Last night the Visitor from Spain arrived, bearing saffron and Athletico Madrid gew-gaws. All are happy, if tired. Yesterday, Number One came up with a great idea: When she wants Papa, she will blow her whistle, and he will come (no doubt wagging his tail.). He was amused...

Master has a theory about Barbara Boxer. It's not political conviction or even menopause. She is rather still mad she didn't place at the Eucanuba Nationals....

Meanwhile Master is ensorcelled by right wing chicks: Condi Rice, Ann Coulter, Laura Ingraham and the multiple babes of Fox News. Compare this with Barbara Boxer, the late, great, Bella Abzug, Barbara Mikulski and Limousine Nancy Pelosi. Clearly, things are so much better looking on the right side of the street.

Massachusetts is still a mess. The Mistress got lost in Revere trying to escape from Logan with the Visitor From Spain.

Silly Master. It's a snow day here in the great white north, and Master took the Mistresses oversized and underweighted truck to the wilderness of Barrington to retrieve number one grandchild. He proceeded to get his silly ass stuck in the margin of the driveway and had to be towed out. It was a long, cold and mostly expensive morning for Master. I expect the Cabernet to pop open well before sunset. Meanwhile, your favorite bovine has a prediction:

More people will vote, as a percentage, in Iraq than in the USA. Despite this, the chattering classes in general, and their spiritual leader the Unsinkable Ted Kennedy, will term the election a failure because a high percentage voted under Saddam Hussein.

Is it just me, or does Chappaquiddick Ted seem more irrelevant and useless than ever? Perhaps he should marry Barbara Boxer and father children altogether devoid of brains AND scruples. ThunderCow has been watching the Rice Confirmation hearings and is not amused at the behavior of America's oldest Klansman, Robert F. Byrd. Now that Fritzy Mushmouth has retired, Senator Byrd is the head Confederate - and he is an embarrassment to all vertebrates. .

I was right. Pats v. Eagles. It's a pity nobody takes bets from a farm animal (Though there are places in New Hampshire where you can take one to the prom.) Master is mucking out the Bat Cave - in between filling orders. He's got a backlog of deluvian proportions - 205 line items.

Massachusetts is shut down. It's a bad case of too many chiefs, not enough braves with shovels. They are much, much better at covering things up. Removing stuff, that's something new. It's so cold the lawyers have their hands in their own pockets.

Master is crowing about the new Thai bi-metal coins he's got. (OK-Master, there's your product placement. Are you happy now?)

While the storm continues to pound the Peoples Republic of Massachusetts, things have concluded here with more than a foot of white powder snow everywhere. Master blew out the driveway whilst the Mistress watched Grease for the 458^thtime. Last night, people were driving cars around the lake. Today, it's snow machines.

The Mistresses cat won a best kitten, all breeds at the Dover CFA show, overcoming great odds (Things didn't look so good when somebody marked up the hairless beast with a magic marker earlier this week.) Masters cat simply sleeps on top of me, like a great hairy throw rug. The thing about Siamese throw rugs is they make LOTS of noise and have notoriously weak stomachs. Cat Shows are a hoot. Master says you meet the weirdest people at a Cat Show.

This is good thing. We are having a Nor-Easter. This is a cyclonic winter ocean storm in which rotating currents of chill air grab moisture from the Atlantic and drop it on my head. Something over a foot has fallen of powdery dry snow. It's hard to tell. The wind is blowing aggressively.

Masters software contract has ended. All hands are now attending to preparing for the visitor from Spain, and settling the backlog of orders and new items to be listed.

Sorry to be away so long. Master has been working my hooves to the bone. Not that his besottedness has been idle, the software contract is in its last few days, just when a minor torrent of orders have come flopping across the threshold. He's way behind. Way behind.

While Master was busy, Thundercow was watching the Eagles and Vikings. I like that Randy Moss, he is even more worthless than your favorite bovine, with a bad attitude to boot. Any how, the Eagles entered the field through a long plastic tunnel with a bulbous helmet at the end. Inscribed on the tunnel was the word "Levitra". As Freud famously said, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Then again, sometimes it's a dick. ThunderCow reports, you decide.

Master is into the wine again. He just uncorked a Marechal Foch from Jewell Towne Vineyards in New Hampshire. Twas a tragedy said he, that the wine was too young to die - just a shade of what it might be after a decade of rest.

Lots of stuff to do this weekend. Master is looking to ship Saturday and Monday. On the bright side, the Biafra pounds came in. On the dark side, they are way late and two earnest Africans will be glad to hear when he ships tomorrow.

Otherwise there are Indian Princely States coins, some fine Bank Notes - all manner of nice stuff. Stay tuned as Master mourns the dead period between his Giants last game and the Red Sox's first...

Another year. Master is back at the software salt mines. The orders are stacking up and it's looking like a marathon EBay shipping weekend for the latest member of the 6000 club. As for me, I just happy a cow can't run a snow blower. There's lots of snow now and its not my problem Sport...

Snowmobiles are ripping across the pond with gay abandon. I edged out on the ice with Master.Grandchild(1). Look Casey, I said, you can see the bottom of the ice along that crack.... The ice started to crack. We backed off. I don't know why the snowmobiles don't go through. Of course, we would rig an auto-inflating device to them which would prevent them from sinking. Jeez, if Teddy had one of these in 1969, he would have been President...

It's colder than Bill and Hill's bedroom out there sports fans. Your favorite bovine is aghast. Master was snow blowing today. He looked like Sasquatch. Of course, he kind of looks like Sasquatch on a good day. He has stolen my Bag Balm to salve the various cracked and fissured regions of his being. Number one grandchild is visiting. This is an event somewhat akin to a royal visit. Master will be wiring a light tomorrow. Can you say snap, crackle and pop?

It's Boxing Day, when the British Aristocracy gave boxes of gifts to their servants, attendants and serfs. This may explain why Master gave me a box of alfalfa this morning. He is not well. His daughter gave him a bottle of "Smack my Ass and call me Sally" hot sauce for Christmas. He just had to prove his machismo by having some. Sally is hors de habanero. Thus I have control of the Underworld this evening. What shall I do? What shall I do? Why don't you tell me. I just got my own email: ThunderCow@adelphia.net.

Master tried to migrate his database onto his Web Host. It's there, any ASP Page Master writes can see it. The whiz-bang, super-cool, killer Delphi Desktop Win32 App that Master wrote can't see it. Not good at all - especially since the techies at the Web Host are gone for the Holiday. No, let's call it Christmas. It's not that Master is a Christian, it's that he despises Political Correctness in all it forms, and the ACLU in particular. If those fools had been running things during WW2, we'd all be celebrating the Emperor's birthday and singing the Horst Wessel song, and you would never, ever find a decent Chinese Restaurant ever again.

Remember, ACLU means "Against Christians Like You." Better a Swastika in Skokie than a Manger in Miami.

It's a tough day for old ThunderCow. Master's contract has gone on hiatus 'till next year. That means the hairy old fart will be hanging around full time through the holidays. It certainly means more work for me. The first thing is the new payment notification letter. When you pay, I have to send you a letter acknowledging the payment and estimating the date of delivery, Sure, like I, a mere bovine, can predict when his blood alcohol level will drop to the point where he can navigate to the Post Office. Just my luck - all my sibs are working on their butterfat levels. I have to send all these silly emails.

It's below zero out there. Wicked pissah cold as they say around heah. It snowed fitfully all day. Master has new coins from Cuba. Ask him what he wants for Christmas, and Master will tell you that reading Castro's obituary would do nicely. We have the regular coins, which are totally worthless, and the visitor coins, issued to useful idiots like Jimmy Carter - the sight of whom is enough to jack Master's blood pressure to new highs. Master thinks he was the single most incompetent, clueless, petty and sanctimonious man ever to occupy the White House. His staff would follow him everywhere, if only because of morbid curiosity.

The lake is frozen over at last. It's not thick enough to support Master, let alone a cow. It's that most quiet time of year, before the snow machines go blasting across the lake, and after all the Jet-Skis have flown south for the winter. It is very cold, extremely beautiful, and dull enough to make one volunteer a goalie on the lawn dart team. The old cat is still looking for the door into summer. The sphinx rarely strays from his fleece pouch. Master is still alphabetizing, but has made no progress I can see - but that can be explained by the Cabernet he is guzzling. He keeps offering me beer and mumbling something about Kobe Beef or suchlike.

Master just staggered through the door after 5 straight days of consulting. He's moaning, and calling for Scotch. It's obviously difficult for him, what with him having to WORK. He's been picking and packing coins at night and spending his days in fell combat with the Microsoft Word Document Object Model, which closely resembles Wal-Mart in the way it is put together. The alphabetizing is stalled at Norway.- a country from which Master has many coins of very small value.

Meanwhile his nibs has managed to pour a carefully sorted 300 coin assortment through a wimpy plastic bag onto the floor, making a happy, tinkling sound. Then he accidentally knocked another over. There's 600 coins we won't have to pack and ship this week.

Master just started working on Jamaica. It's pretty clear he is going to have to add a lot of coins to the Website. There are a lot of things that aren't quite sexy enough to auction, but will sell out of the website. There's a lot of nice stuff. Of course you know this, because you already here. Much better than watching the Patriots and the Brownies. That's right, the Pats aren't playing the Cleveland Football Team, rather they are playing a bunch of demented forest pixies.

What's a cow to do? Its a mess down here. Master is alphabetizing the coins. He does this every year or so. Its not pretty at all. He got as far as "E" for El Salvador before losing himself in "S" for Shoals Pale Ale. New Hampshire may be deficient in flat easily tilled soil, but we are well supplied with micro-brews. Now Master is sprawled out on that detestable couch and SNORING. What this means to you is that Master is going to be slow filling orders for anything from a country that starts with F, G, H... You get the picture. Just be thankful you don't get the sound.