Emily Miller Schools Piers Morgan

Our favorite firebrand, Emily Miller, took on Piers Morgan and took him to school.

As usual, Piers throws debate out the window and chooses volume instead over the issue of the legally blind being able to get a permit to carry a gun. My favorite quote

Can I talk? Once we start having cases of blind people going around shooting people, we can come back and have that debate-Emily Miller

What?! Logic and evidence? Piers Morgan cannot wrap his tiny little mind around such things. (Minor quibble, I NEVER recommend anyone rely on the fear brought on by the almighty pump action sound.)

One, ‘legally’ blind is not the same thing as blind. Many people that are legally blind can see to a certain degree. Their disability does not mean that their rights should be limited. Also, I have never met a legally blind person that was not fully aware of their visual limitations. I trust the responsible, legally blind people to adhere to Col. Cooper’s 4th rule, “Know your target and what is beyond it.” I do not expect them to fire blindly into a crowd of innocent people any more than I expect a shooter with perfect vision to do so. I trust the individual to make the decision for themselves whether or not they are capable of carrying a firearm in public just like I trust every other adult citizen of this nation.

And two, evidence. Legally blind people have been able to carry guns in public for some time, and yet, I cannot find a single story where an innocent bystander has been shot by a responsible, gun-owning, blind person. I fail to understand the threat. Sure, on the surface it sounds ludicrous to give a gun to a blind man, but we don’t legislate on emotion. We can’t limit someone’s rights because it feels like the right thing to do.

The blind have a very specific need for self defense. A criminal isn’t going to show them compassion and make accommodations for their disability. They don’t care about the ADA. They see this person as an easy target. If a violent thug is smashing a blind person’s head into the pavement, I’m willing to bet their marksmanship would be just as good as a sighted person’s in the dark.

But Piers Morgan would have them remain defenseless. Thank goodness we have people like Emily Miller to stand up to his bigotry.

Oh The Humanity!

My friend, Firehand, has directed us to David Thompson’s beautiful skewering of an oh-so-downtrodden drama princess. A woman with the misspelled name of a goddess.

I spelled it for her like a first-grader would recite her home phone number. “I-c-e-s-s. You know, like the goddess, but spelled like ice,” I explained. “What?” she asked again.

Methinks perhaps she should be upset with her ‘clever’ parents that saddled her with such a moniker.

Yes, a name is not only who we are but also what we represent or hope to represent. They’re more personal than blood types and as intimate as a kiss. In my case, the name Icess involved the 1978 eastern seaboard blizzard and two immigrant parents who thought they were clever. They were, though it took me nearly a lifetime to acknowledge it.

Such a poor, delicate thing. How hard life must be. If only your parents had been as dull as mine and given you a name that can be shortened to a ‘proper pronoun’.

In fairness to Starbucks, it’s not just baristas who are at fault but any restaurant or eatery requiring a name to add a personal touch to its service. Over the years I’ve been Jessica, Jenny, Alison and She-Ra, Princess of Power. Yes, there came a time, after a lifetime of having my name misspelled and mispronounced by teachers, servers and sometimes bosses, where becoming She-Ra was easier than being myself. Angela could get coffee at Starbucks with ease while Icess was still spelling her name out. Jessica was a staple at my local Chinese place even though Icess paid. And even Microsoft Word recognized Jenny as a proper pronoun, a proper person, over me; the red squiggle line was a constant reminder. [Emphasis mine. For the record, I spell it ‘Jenni’, which also earns the squiggly line. I prefer not to be a female ass.]

Of course, who am I to protest? I don’t have a name at all! I should write my own op-ed about what a burden it is to be so labeled. A name so common that I can’t even use it to reliably identify my own coffee. Why, there may be as many as four ‘Jennifer’s’ in a Starbucks on any given day!

But alas, I have not been educated by anyone so talented as Icess. Oh to be such an amazing writer as to craft a word picture of someone giving birth to piglets from her brow.

Silence and a farrowed eyebrow.

Hmm, what an interesting visual.

far·row 1  (fr)


A litter of pigs.


To give birth to (a litter of pigs).


To produce a litter of pigs.
Far more creative than the usual, furrowed eyebrow.

fur·row  (fûr, fr)


1. A long, narrow, shallow trench made in the ground by a plow.
2. A rut, groove, or narrow depression: snow drifting in furrows.
3. A deep wrinkle in the skin, as on the forehead.


1. To make long, narrow, shallow trenches in; plow.
2. To form grooves or deep wrinkles in.


To become furrowed or wrinkled.
Way to use that Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Writing-Fiction*! (Hey Cap! Here’s a degree for you. Maybe someone should send her a book.)
My maiden name is one that when spelled out includes the words ‘no apostrophe’. That happens when your grandfather changed it upon immigrating from the Philippines. Especially funny when it meant that every teacher in elementary school was scanning for the little Irish girl when calling roll the first day of school only to find me. Oh the burdens and scars I bear!
Celebrate diversity by making sure everyone is the same! Rejoice in the unique by making it the norm!
*This woman has taught writing. I weep for her students.

Noticed Something Interesting This Morning

My morning commute tends to be exceptional only in the fact that it is so very uneventful. You know, all nine miles of it. It takes approximately 15 to 20 minutes to navigate the 3 stop signs, 8 lights, and 2 railroad crossings (Same rail, so either I live and work on the wrong side of the tracks, or I’ve got to go through it to get from point A to point B.) Traffic along this particular route at 7 am is not sufficient to work up a good rant or even raise my blood pressure, generally.

So I listen to NPR. You know, my tax dollars already fund it, I may as well see what return I’m getting on my investment.

This morning they cover two stories of national interest, the IRS targeting Conservative groups scandal, and the Mother’s Day shooting spree in New Orleans. In the first, they portrayed Tea Party Groups as the undeserving victim. In the second, they blamed the gang problem, not the guns.

Huh. I guess that water they’ve been carrying started to get a bit too heavy.

Jon Stewart Makes a Funny

You just have to watch.

The Daily Show with Jon Stewart Mon – Thurs 11p / 10c
Barack Trek: Into Darkness
Daily Show Full Episodes Indecision Political Humor The Daily Show on Facebook

What’s particularly awesome about this is that so many people are getting their news from this guy. Specifically people that are far more inclined to lean left. Smooth move there from the administration ticking off the bootlickers Associated Press.

Yes, I think it is singularly awesome that the administration wiretapped the press. It was absolutely wrong, and I believe it is unconstitutional. What makes it so delicious is that the press is finally a victim of the administration. They are like the mistress that marries the guy after he finally leaves his wife and is shocked to find out he’s unfaithful to her too. Bu…bu…you promised to protect our rights! You said you loved us! We fawned over you! We covered for you, and now you’ve betrayed us!

Frog, meet scorpion.


Real Classy, CNN

The third victim in the Boston Marathon bombing was identified, but her parents requested that her name not be publicly disclosed. A request CNN has a funny way of honoring.


Sure, we won’t reveal her name.  We’ll just tell you what school she went to, describe her Facebook photos and posting, and revealing the name of her roommate. A simple search and a couple clicks and you’ve got her Facebook page.

As if that wasn’t insensitive enough, they went on ahead and released her name in a breaking news update that makes it sound like she’s a suspect in the bombings.


Wow! Journalistic excellence right there, folks.

Fight? Um, Sensationalizing Much?

So I brought up the daily headlines and saw this

Soldier's widow fights to get husband's K-9 partner
Soldier’s widow fights to get husband’s K-9 partner

Ratchet up the indignant rage! How dare the evil city leaders deny this poor, grieving wife of a hero the company and comfort of his canine companion! Just who is the mayor of this cruel city? Where’s the petition so I can satiate my anger with a token gesture? We cannot stand for this! Oh the injustice!

Obviously, I clicked the link.

The mayor said Prince’s chance of getting Bayco is 99.9 percent.

Oh yes.  Fight the power. The evil .1%. Occupy Minco.

You know, I would have clicked the link if the headline had implied heart-warming story about a police dog becoming the pampered pet of a grieving widow. Now I’ve got all this indignant rage built up with nothing to direct it at.

And a blog post, so I guess it was good for something.


Peter’s Perplexing Peter Paper

Peter pontificates on a particular pecker problem. Particularly, pubes. Perplexed, Peter proscribes pruning for increased prominence of protuberance. For a pronounced penis has the potential of power.

Perhaps Peter’s problem is a personal one. Peter seems particularly preoccupied with the public’s un-pruned pubes. Perhaps peeved. Peter has poked his way to the pedestal of the thought provoking debate.

Penis jokes.

Ah yes, properly pruned pubes will push the populace to put down their pistols and parade their package instead. Like porn stars.

Alas, what’s a gun loving girl to do? No amount of plucking or pruning will reveal a prominent penis with which to fend off perpetrators. Perhaps the pistol is a more proper prescription.


There is a massive amount of fail here.

A 25-year-old Japanese tourist — sleeping on a Brooklyn pal’s couch — was wounded early today when a cop on a drug raid accidentally fired his gun through the floor above her.

Ah the perils of booger hooks and bang switches.

The cop’s gun accidentally fired — and the bullet went through Ortiz’s sofa mattress, then through the floorboard and down to the second-floor living room below.

The gun just ‘went off,’ right? Because the NYPD are some of those super special only ones with extensive training n’stuff.

Authorities said the 36-year-old cop whose gun discharged had never fired his weapon before.

Wait, what? You sent a desk jockey on a drug raid??!?!

Look, I don’t really care who you are, before you holster that heater and head out into the general public, send some lead down range.  Mmm’k? I know that badge has been blessed by the magical powers of law and order and is supposed to grant the wearer +20 mad skilz, but you’ve got to consider that some people are starting with a deficit.

And just to show I’m not just going to pick on the police here.

“The only thing I know is that there’s a bullet in my ceiling,” Marcus said.

No sweetie, that’s a hole.  The bullet is probably in your floor. If it was in your ceiling, your house guest would have been unharmed.

The bullet grazed the tourist’s left forearm.

Wounded but walking on her own, she was taken to Kings County Hospital.

Do the Japanese have a different way of walking that I am unaware of?