Super Harry at the gates. "But for me, we'd be in a world-wide depression."

Praxis: "In our world, basic tasks have to be repeatedly rehearsed in conditions mimicking predicted combat scenarios as faithfully as possible."

Marine convoy including seven-ton trucks during the 2003 invasion of Iraq.

... With most of the basics of foot patrolling well covered, in the second week of our stay in Kuwait we shifted our training to emphasize convoy operations. Golf Company's first mission into Iraq was a three-day road trip north to Ramadi, and we wanted to be as prepared as possible. So each day I made Joker One practice jumping into and out of stationary Humvees and seven-ton trucks, the huge, fifteen-foot-high troop carriers that would be our primary people movers during the north-bound convoy. To a casual observer, the sight of thirty-seven fully loaded Marines bouncing all around unmoving vehicles for hours in the desert heat might have seemed ridiculous at best and sadistic at worst. However, I knew that the little things we learned during this endless repetition might very well make the difference between life and death.

In our world, basic tasks have to be repeatedly rehearsed in conditions mimicking predicted combat scenarios as faithfully as possible. For example, you can never be sure which small detail might mean the difference between exiting a vehicle a vehicle caught in an enemy ambush kill zone in two seconds or in ten. That kind of time differential can be fatal. Where is the door handle on the seven-ton truck? Do you have to pull it up or down to get out? How far is the drop out of the truck bed, and where exactly do you need to put your feet before you hurl yourself out the door? Once all the little questions have been answered, those answers must be practiced again and again until they become muscle memory. The Marines didn't like the mind-numbing repetitive nature of such drills, and they didn't exactly love the squad leaders and me for putting them through the endless rehearsals, but every time we did something tedious and painful, we tried to lay out the reason behind the drills to everyone. I became amazed at how much my men would tolerate if someone just took the time to explain the why of it all to them.

To make things even more reliable, the Ox (MBV: the company executive officer -- and yes, his nickname was "Ox.") managed to scavenge enough vehicles from the battalion to mount up all four Joker platoons. For lap after dull lap, we practiced responses to small IED ambushes, to civilian traffic jams, to herds of goats crossing the road, and to friendly vehicle breakdowns. . .

Once the exercise finished, Yebra and I trudged over to the seven-ton trucks that had been assigned to carry Joker One. The cab of each truck held only two people -- myself and a driver from the truck company in the first and the platoon sergeant and another assigned driver in the second. The rest of Joker One had to sit in the truck beds. Unfortunately, the seven-tons were still configured for movements back in the United States, where carrying capacity took precedence over personnel protection or fighting capability. As a result, a thin canvas covering was the only thing between the Marines and the open road. Furthermore, the benches in the back sat along the sides of the truck, forcing the Marines either to sit with their backs to the road or to twist painfully around for hours at a time, trying to scan their surroundings as their backs screamed at the unceasing torque. It had taken only a few rehearsals to convince us that this setup was impossible to handle for even an hour, let alone for a three-days-straight convoy to the heart of Iraq.

(MBV Note: "The speed with which tactical forces forget the main lessons from their collected experience, particularly those pertaining to weapons usage, would be difficult to overstate." -- S.L.A. Marshall, Commentary on Infantry Operations and Weapons Usage in Korea, Winter of 1950-51, p. 15

Hardening trucks and installing benches running down the center that faced outward so the troops could keep an eye on potential ambushers and use their weapons to repel them was old hat in the Republic of South Vietnam. See Circle the Wagons: The History of US Army Convoy Security by Richard E. Killblane.)

To help improve our protection, we lined the truck beds with as many sandbags as each vehicle could safely carry. They wouldn't cover people above their waists, but the bags were certainly better than nothing. The entire company scavenged Camp Commando for benches that we could put into two lines down the center of the seven-tons so that Marines could sit back-to-back, facing outward without having to twist themselves for hours. We had no luck, so the CO instructed each platoon to come up with two designs apiece for centerline benches using only what we could carry with us" boxes of MREs, crates of water, and our own duffel bags. The best design would be standardized and used throughout the entire company.

Hes, Quist, and Flowers -- the engineer -- had each come up with his own design, and they put their platoons to work constructing what they had planned. I hadn't been able to think of anything particularly clever, or different, so I called Noriel, Leza and Bowen together and explained what the CO wanted and why he wanted it. They all nodded as I went along. Many painful hours spent twisted in the back of the seven-tons had convinced my squad leaders of the absolute imperative for the centerline benches. Once finished, I turned them over to their squads. Noriel and Leza got to work on one truck, and Bowen and his men took another.

As much as I wanted to direct their efforts, to appear the in-charge leader who knew exactly how things should turn out, two minutes of observation convinced me that my men working together would create something far better than I would working on my own. Bowen had his guys huddled around him, and was explaining to them what I had explained to him, and design suggestions flew back and forth. Noriel and Leza were doing the same thing with the same results. After five minutes, the squads had broken up, and the seven-tons swarmed with Joker One Marines. Bowen took position at the head of the truck bed, standing atop two huge green duffel bags as he directed his men's efforts, blouse off and tattoos straining as he lifted here, pointed there. Noriel did the same thing in his truck while Leza moved about on the ground, shunting men from one vehicle to another depending on the manpower needed for each.

Fully involved in the process, the Marines worked with a vengeance. The stocky, muscular Guzon shunted back and forth tirelessly, usually with at least two huge packs slung across his shoulders. Henderson, as it turned out, was a car wizard, and many of the best suggestions for load configuration came from him. Ideas were tested and discarded, gear was arranged and rearranged, and slowly but surely, two centerline benches began taking shape in each vehicle. Nearly every one of my men had a suggestion for how to do something better, and sometimes the smallest ideas -- such as interweaving the handles of the duffel bags for greater stability -- made the biggest difference. Standing on the side, carrying the occasional bag or case of water, I looked for opportunities to give directions, but they didn't need it. Nearly an hour later, Noriel and Bowen pulled me up into their trucks to show off their handiwork. Both designs were good, but Bowen's was best; it would become the company standard. . .

On the evening of March 3, I surveyed my Marines for the last time before crossing into Iraq. . . Noriel, Leza, and Bowen were doing much the same thing: giving their men one last look-over, walking around the vehicles, checking on the gear. They appeared focused and busy. . .

The canvas sides that covered the top half of the truck beds had been rolled up, so I could see the silhouettes of my Marines settled into the bed behind me. -- Joker One: A Marine Platoon's Story of Courage, Leadership, and Brotherhood by 1LT Donovan Campbell, pp. 70-79.

Rachel Madcow's non-retraction retraction of the Big Lie about the OKC Bombing.

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

Hey, Rachel, you lying collectivist cow, here's a hot flash:

THE MILITIA MOVEMENT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THE OKC BOMBING.

McVeigh wasn't one of ours and the Aryan Republican Army wasn't any of ours. All the federal snitches inside the Aryan Republican Army support structure -- Andreas Strassmeier, Kirk Lyons, Carol Howe, Robert Millar -- were not paid by us but with taxpayer dollars through their federal paymasters.

David Codrea asks the question: "Should gun owners have their heads examined?"

Good question.

Be sure and also go to the sidebar and listen to David's radio show with Doc about the Garand scandal.

Rachel Madcow's Big Lie about the OKC bombing.

"You go, fraulein!" -- Joseph Goebbels, Reich Minister of Propaganda and purveyor of some very big lies in his time, comments from Hell on being an enthusiastic fan of Rachel Maddow and MSNBC. "Why half their ratings come from Perdition!" Goebbels claims.

Watch this:



Newsbusters debunks Rachel's Big Lie.

Ethics-averse Rachel Maddow did exactly that on her MSNBC show last night. After disparaging Republican candidates for their gall in criticizing reckless federal spending and government-controlled health care, Maddow made this jaw-dropper of a claim --

MADDOW: Yes, this has happened to a smaller degree before. In 1994, in the first mid-term election after the last Democratic president was elected, we got a slate of candidates that included Helen Chenoweth of Idaho and Steve Stockman of Texas. These two were so close to the militia movement in this country that Mr. Stockman actually received advance notice that the Oklahoma City bombing was going to happen.

... and by that, Maddow implies, Stockman consigned 168 innocent people to death. Except that Stockman received no such prior, uh, "notice" (note how Maddow did not say "warning") , which explains why Maddow neglected to attribute this outlandish assertion to a source, any source.

There is no source, of course. Newsbusters easily debunked the claim. Truth be told, despite the "Narrative of 1995" and Madcow's most delirious imaginings, the militias had nothing to do with the Oklahoma City Bombing. That fault lies with an FBI sting on the Aryan Republican Army gone bad.

Now, if Rachel wants to name people who ACTUALLY had warning of the OKC bombing she could name Andreas Carl Strassmeier, the FBI snitch inside the Aryan Republican Army support base at Elohim City, Oklahoma, or the FBI agents who were out the night before with direction finding hoops on OKC's overpasses looking for a misplaced rental van, or the ATF agents who were told "not to come into work that day," or maybe Morris Dees of the Southern Preposterous Lie Center, who also had a snitch inside Elohim City.

"Shut the hell up, Rachel! Why did you have to bring up Oklahoma City?"

But, no, I doubt that Madcow is interested in the truth behind the mass murder of 176 Americans. The truth just will not do. So she prefers the Big Lie.

Of course.

How many times can a breathless collectivist puke writer use "extreme," "extremist," and "radical" in one story?

Here's the latest entry from Alaska.

"Unseen Enemy: Meeting The Taliban IED Killers"

From Britain's Sky News.

Uh, huh.

"The Obama administration has adopted new procedures for using the Defense Department’s vast array of cyberwarfare capabilities in case of an attack on vital computer networks inside the United States, delicately navigating historic rules that restrict military action on American soil."

Hey, I made the NAACP "Tea Party Nationalism" Hate List.

My thanks to David Codrea for letting me know about this.

One 1990s-era militiaman from Alabama, Mike Vanderboegh, urged whoever was reading his blog to break the windows of Democrats. “Break them NOW...Break them with rocks...” -- Page 64.

Shucks, I'm speechless with honor.

Praxis: "You can't think of home, you can't miss your wife, and you can't wonder how it would feel to take a round through the neck."

Ten minutes ago, though, the world was very simple, for it consisted solely of something that seemed like one gigantic explosion. Actually, it was three separate large explosions within half seconds of one another, but it's fairly difficult to make the distinction when you're lying on your back with your ears ringing. However, it's fairly easy to think rapidly and incoherently, which was exactly what I was doing as I lay on my back, wondering whether my hearing would return this time, and, incidentally, what in hell had just happened to me and my men.

Time, I already knew, would answer the former question without any help from me, but as the lieutenant and the unit leader, it was my job to answer the latter one, and time in this case was working against me. If you're a Marine lieutenant in a firefight, a situation that's probably as good as any as a proxy for hell, then it's your job to figure out at least 50 to 70 percent of what is going on around you so that you can make intelligent decisions, which translate into good orders, which lead to focused, effective, and decisive action. This whole process needs to be rapid to be relevant, but if you're too hasty, then you can lead your men to their deaths, all the while believing that you're leading them to safety. It's not an easy tension to manage on an ongoing basis.

However, it can be done, and to do it well you must have absolutely no concern for your own safety. You can't think of home, you can't miss your wife, and you can't wonder how it would feel to take a round through the neck. You can only pretend that you're already dead and thus free yourself up to focus on three things: 1.) finding and killing the enemy, 2.) communicating the situation and resulting actions to adjacent units and higher headquarters, and, 3.) triaging and treating your wounded. If you love your men, you naturally think about number three first, but if you do you're wrong. The grim logic of combat dictates that numbers one and two take precedence.

After the explosions, I rose, ears ringing, and grabbed for the radio handset. Once the black handset was pressed firmly against my ear, I pushed the button with my thumb and, as calmly as I could manage, informed headquarters that my eleven men and I had just been hit by several large rockets. There were probably multiple casualties, I said, and maybe some of us were dead, but I didn't know just yet. I'd call back. Headquarters squawked something in return, but, with my hearing still questionable and one of our machine guns firing full bore inside the all-concrete building, I couldn't understand a word, so I told HQ I'd be back in touch when I could sort out what was going on inside the old abandoned hotel that my eleven-man squad and I were using as an observation position.

After five minutes of running helter-skelter through the thick dust that the rockets had kicked up, I found Sergeant Leza, my squad leader, and we conferred. Slowly the pieces of the attack came together to form a coherent picture: The massive explosion, which we assumed to be rockets, had kicked off the insurgent assault. Seconds after their impact, one enemy from our southwest had fired an RPG at us but had missed, probably because one of my men had shot the insurgent as he took aim.

Simultaneously, several enemies off our southeast flank had sprayed the building with AK-47 fire, and the two Marines covering that sector had returned fire with their M-16s. They were unable to tell whether they had killed anyone. We had also taken some fire from our direct north and south, and the Marines in those positions, including my medium machine gunner, had reciprocated in spades. They, too, were unable to tell whether their return fire had had any effect. For the most part it was all pretty routine, with only two small deviations.

First off, directly across the street from our hotel, a car blazed furiously in an alleyway. I had seen burning cars before, but they were usually the result of either nearby bomb detonations or deadly machine gun fire during particularly fierce combat. I had yet to see a burning car accompanied by a simultaneous rocket attack. I pushed the incongruity aside -- the more important question was how the enemy had managed to attack us with such powerful rockets, which were almost certainly antitank weapons and definitely not man-portable. Ten minutes later, my first squad, patrolling in from the north, called in with an answer: The backseat of the burning car bore the clear remains of a home-made rocket launcher, still smoldering inside. Our attackers had simply parked the vehicle in an inconspicuous place next to the gates of a house, hoping that we would lose track of the nondescript vehicle amid the hustle and bustle of the thriving marketplace area below us. When the rest of the assault was ready, a spotter within the crowd had launched the rockets with a cell phone call.

The second small plot twist, however, was that no United States Marines were wounded or killed in this story, a very unusual thing for a Ramadi day in August, 2004. In spite of their clever plan and their disciplined execution, our enemies had failed -- we hadn't stopped our mission for even a second. Indeed, we had probably winged at least one of our attackers, although it's sometimes difficult to tell be because most people don't go down when you shoot them with our little .223 bullets. So on that day, I believed that God had been watching over us. Up to that point, even with the horrors I had witnessed, I retained my faith, if only barely. Every time events made me ready to throw in the towel, a small miracle happened -- like antitank rockets missing our floor -- or I saw something supernaturally beautiful in the actions of one of my Marines, and for one more day, it was enough to keep faith and hope alive. -- 1LT Donovan Campbell, Joker One, pp. 5-7.

"Fedamageddon." Interesting. Time asks: "Will the Federal Reserve Cause a Civil War?" and in doing so admits the Founders' militia concept.

And who will carry out this civil war? Why the militias of course.

What is the most likely cause today of civil unrest? Immigration. Gay Marriage. Abortion. The Results of Election Day. The Mosque at Ground Zero. Nope.

Try the Federal Reserve. November 3rd is when the Federal Reserve's next policy committee meeting ends, and if you thought this was just another boring money meeting you would be wrong. It could be the most important meeting in Fed history, maybe. The US central bank is expected to announce its next move to boost the faltering economic recovery. To say there has been considerable debate and anxiety among Fed watchers about what the central bank should do would be an understatement. Chairman Ben Bernanke has indicated in recent speeches that the central bank plans to try to drive down already low-interest rates by buying up long-term bonds. A number of people both inside the Fed and out believe this is the wrong move. But one website seems to believe that Ben's plan might actually lead to armed conflict. Last week, the blog, Zerohedge wrote, paraphrasing a top economic forecaster David Rosenberg, that it believed the Fed's plan is not only moronic, but "positions US society one step closer to civil war if not worse." (See photos inside the world of Ben Bernanke)

I'm not sure what "if not worse," is supposed to mean. But, with the Tea Party gaining followers, the idea of civil war over economic issues doesn't seem that far-fetched these days. And Ron Paul definitely thinks the Fed should be ended. In TIME's recently cover story on the militia movement many said these groups are powder kegs looking for a catalyst. So why not a Fed policy committee meeting.

"Powder kegs looking for a catalyst"? Mixed metaphor, I guess. Powder kegs looking for a spark would be what I think he's looking for.

Do not get involved in arguing the point, for now. Just consider the power ascribed to the militias by the language.

The article concludes:

"It is a gross exaggeration," says Allan Meltzer, who is a top Fed historian at Carnegie Mellon. "I cannot recall ever learning about riots or civil war even when the Fed made other mistakes." When I called, David Rosenberg was traveling and couldn't talk, but he did send me a quick e-mail to stress that he has never, ever suggested that any moves the Fed makes will lead to a militia uprising.

Some smart people, though, including Meltzer, it appears, and Rosenberg do think the path of quantitative easing that the Fed looks likely to embark on is the wrong move. John Taylor, a top Fed scholar at Stanford, says eventually you will have to pull the support out, and when you do a year from now when the economy is recovering he thinks it could be quite disruptive. So even if you don't double dip now, you might double dip then. And even if you don't it would make for a slow recovery. Others, such as Raghuram Rajan, who has became famous for warning about the possibility of a financial crisis back in 2005, believe low-interest rates could be creating new bubbles in say gold or commodities.

So it seems clear what the Fed is likely to do. How the economy, the militias and the rest of us react is up in the air. The count down is on. T minus 15 days to Fedamageddon. See you there, hopefully.

Now I don't know what the Fed will or will not do. Based on past experience, you can just about guarantee that what it does will a. be unconstitutional and b. make things worse.

The interesting thing here is that a major magazine is speaking about the militia movement in terms that admit its potential power and the assumption of the role of counterbalance to government tyranny.

They're starting to get the Founders' point.

Mike
III

The Three Percent Stimulus.

From Daniel Almond comes this edited stimulus sign on I-675 just south of Atlanta.



Also, when you go to the link, note that there is another Atlanta RTC rally tomorrow.

Mike
III

Praxis: "Dear God, please don't let me screw up and get everybody killed." -- The New Lieutenant's Prayer.

Book Recommendation: Joker One -- A Marine Platoon's Story of Courage, Leadership and Brotherhood by Donovan Campbell
Great read for praxis and more.

Nice. The dragon starts to squeeze us. Trade wars rarely end well. Especially in the middle of a world-wide depression.

China, which has been blocking shipments of crucial minerals to Japan for the last month, has now quietly halted shipments of those materials to the United States and Europe, three industry officials said on Tuesday.

China mines 95 percent of the world’s rare earth elements, which have broad commercial and military applications, and are vital to the manufacture of products as diverse as cellphones, large wind turbines and guided missiles. Any curtailment of Chinese supplies of rare earths is likely to be greeted with alarm in Western capitals, particularly because Western companies are believed to keep much smaller stockpiles of rare earths than Japanese companies.

China experts said on Tuesday that Beijing’s assertive stance on rare earths might also signal the ascendance of economic nationalists, noting that the Central Committee of the Communist Party convened over the weekend. . .

The signals of a tougher Chinese trade stance come after American trade officials announced on Friday that they would investigate whether China was violating World Trade Organization rules by subsidizing its clean energy exports and limiting clean energy imports. The inquiry includes whether China’s steady reductions in rare earth export quotas since 2005, along with steep export taxes on rare earths, are illegal attempts to force multinational companies to produce more of their high-technology goods in China.

Despite a widely confirmed suspension of rare earth shipments from China to Japan, now nearly a month old, Beijing has continued to deny that any embargo exists.

Industry executives and analysts have interpreted that official denial as a way to wield an undeclared trade weapon without creating a policy trail that could make it easier for other countries to bring a case against China at the World Trade Organization.

So far, China seems to be taking a similar approach in expanding the embargo to the West.

Back in the saddle again. My lovely wife comes up with a solution for my glasses problem we can afford.

So she comes home tonight from work with a pair of Jake Blues style sunglasses that she bought for $3.00 on sale. Gloriosky, but after punching out the tinted lenses, they actually work with my old prescription lenses. This should get me through until my next check. Will be back posting tomorrow.

Mike
III

RTC rallies ARE training.

Agreed.

Media gun follies: ".50 Cal. machine guns bought over the counter in the US" & Chicago Gang's pick for ATF Honcho primps for the cameras.

NBC demonstrates once again that it doesn't know crap from breakfast about firearms and isn't afraid to parade its ignorance as fact.

Plus, Andy Traver stars in Gun cop beefcake.

GOP already negotiating surrender before the victory. This election will not save us. We will, in the fullness of time, have to save ourselves.

So, the permanent political class views the Tea Party folks as barbarians at the gates, but figure that even if they get inside, decadent Rome will tame them.

Washingtonians involved in the political or policy process believe overwhelmingly that tea party candidates will not “be able to bring change to Washington.” Only 11 percent of D.C. insiders polled said they thought the tea party could bring change, compared with 77 percent who did not.

The collectivist chattering class types such as Roger Simon in a column entitled "Obama vs. the loonies" are seeking solace in the destruction of their big plans by comparing the Tea Party folks to insects, much as the Nazis did with the Jews,

If Democrats get swamped on Nov. 2, sure, some of it will be the fault of the enthusiasm gap and some of it will be the fault of the president, but some of it will be the fault of those loonies who have crept into American politics like bedbugs and grown bloated on their own hatreds.

But the GOP, already counting their chickens, have decided in advance to deal with the pack of foxes.

Republicans on the campaign trail are bashing the president and his agenda and some are vowing to shut down Washington if they don't get their way. Behind the scenes, key party members are talking a different game.

A number of House Republicans, including some who are likely to be in the leadership, are pushing a post-election strategy aimed at securing concrete legislation, with the goal of showing they can translate general principles into specific action.

Among the ideas is to bring a series of bills to the floor, as often as once a week, designed to cut spending in some way. Longer term, GOP leaders say they recognize they may have to compromise with Democrats in tackling broader problems.

If they recapture the House, Republicans say they are wary of following the example of the class of 1994, which shut down the government in a standoff with President Bill Clinton. Top Republicans contend that passing legislation, or at least making a good faith effort to do so, will earn them more credibility with voters than refusing to waver from purist principles.

"It's pretty clear the American people expect us to use the existing gridlock to create compromise and advance their agenda," said Rep. Darrell Issa (R., Calif.). "They want us to come together [with the administration] after we agree to disagree."

GOP leaders stressed that this depends on the willingness of President Barack Obama to compromise as well. And some say if the post-election atmosphere is especially toxic, such compromises may be difficult. . .

Under the leadership of Rep. Kevin McCarthy, a rising star, the GOP has recruited a slate of House candidates with an array of political experience, suggesting they know how to work within the strictures of government. In many cases, these aspirants boast of their record of working with Democrats.

The GOP roster doesn't fit the image of an invading revolutionary force. Of the Republicans' 89 "Young Guns," as the party's top House candidates are called, 55 have political experience. Five are former congressmen seeking their old seats back, such as former Rep. Steve Chabot, who served 14 years in the House. The rest are mostly state legislators, a typical path to Congress. Of the 34 newcomers, many are relatively mainstream candidates or aren't expected to win. . .

The sellout of the Tea Party, it seems, is already in the wind.

Rep. Bob Inglis of South Carolina, who lost his Republican primary to a challenge from the right, compared the GOP candidates to surfers using a tea-party wave to reach the shore. Once they arrive, he said, many will act like the lawmakers they replaced.

"Not every candidate that wins this November with tea-party support will be a tea-party partisan," Mr. Inglis said.

For those whose spirits are soaring in advance of a GOP victory in November, Pete at WRSA directs our attention to Francis Porretto's
warning about wishful thinking and to Billy Beck's even more pointed observations.

To summarize:

a. We face an existential threat to our liberty, our property, our children's futures and our very lives crafted by both predatory parties.

b. The likelihood of avoiding systemic collapse grows more distant with each passing day, with every dollar bill of fiat currency printed to prolong the disaster.

c. This threat is unlikely to be solved by one election, or any number of elections.

d. Especially when, as we see above, the fix is already in.

Thus, when you are dealing with collectivists who already deny that we are human beings by characterizing us as insects, is there any doubt that this will end in violence, no matter how much we may wish and hope and pray that it does not?

Talking with a good friend the other day, he made the point that the principal difference between the Three Percent and the Tea Party folks is that we say, "or else."

Exactly.

Get ready.

Train.

Lay in supplies.

Network within your community.

This election will not save us.

We will, in the fullness of time, have to save ourselves.

Mike
III

Demonic BHO?

Rush Limbaugh seems to think so.

Aggravating 2 days wherein I broke my glasses, the repairs didn't work, my old eye doc refused to give me my prescription, and I still can't see crap.

The Guinness World Book of Records, acknowledged the world champion song title holder, to be "I'm a Cranky Old Yank, in a Clanky Old Tank, on the Streets of Yokahama with My Honolulu Mama, Doing Those Beat-o, Beat-o, Flat on My Seat-o, Hirohito Blues." According to lyricist Hoagy Carmichael, the original title was only "I'm a Cranky Old Yank", but the joke got out of hand after that.

Sounds like the title of an old Hoagy Carmichael World War 2 tune, don't it? Problem is, no "vision thing," no writey thing. Maybe tomorrow.