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Freed Slave in 1865 Writes to Old Master With Great Affection, Barely Concealed Laughter

This is how it starts:

Sir: I got your letter, and was glad to find that you had not forgotten Jourdon, and that you wanted me to come back and live with you again, promising to do better for me than anybody else can. I have often felt uneasy about you. I thought the Yankees would have hung you long before this, for harboring Rebs they found at your house. I suppose they never heard about your going to Colonel Martin’s to kill the Union soldier that was left by his company in their stable. Although you shot at me twice before I left you, I did not want to hear of your being hurt, and am glad you are still living.

It gets better from there. Read the Whole Thing.

The Death of Postmodernism?

Saw this over at Ace’s, and will probably have to read it again soon. I have always found post-modernism transcendentally irritating, because it always seemed the desparate decadent cry of the self-hating honky. It was a fundamentally nihilistic riff of of ideas first played with by the Sophists, as I came to notice when I did my paper on Gorgias.

And typically, the comments section is an irruption of enraged how-dare-you from every nerd who ever tried to read Baudrillard, non of whom can apparently see the contradiction in arguing on the “meaning” of post-modernism.

Post-Modernism:

There are No Universally Valid Statments.

Except that one.

 

Sgt. York, Meet CPO Kyle

Chris Kyle, aka “The Legend,” aka “Al-Shaitan Ramadi” (the Devil of Ramadi), America’s greatest living sniper, with 160 confirmed kills.

The son of a Sunday-school teacher and a church deacon, Kyle credits a higher authority for his longest kill.

From 2,100 yards away from a village just outside of Sadr City in 2008, he spied a man aiming a rocket launcher at an Army convoy and squeezed off one shot from his .338 Lapua Magnum rifle.

Dead. From more than a mile away.

“God blew that bullet and hit him,” he said.

Things That I Hope Other New Fathers Have Thought Within the First Week of Their Child’s Life…

  • “So this is what insomnia feels like. I wonder if I’m going to get so tired I’ll create a cool alter ego of myself who wants to blow up credit card companies. I mean, I wouldn’t mind doing that normally, so…”
  • “I am going to find out what breast milk tastes like. This is going to happen.”
  • “Is that a smile? Or did she just void her bladder?”
  • “I see we’re still trying to suck exclusively on the sleeve I’m trying to get your hand in. Well played, small one.”
  • “Did I just sit through some ersatz version of The View featuring the goth-y teen from Roseanne? What the hell is going on?”
  • “I know there’s some kind of medicinal augury that can be done on the fact that my baby’s poop looks like German Chocolate Icing. But do I want to meet the person who can do it?”