As women, we are usually at a loss as to how to touch a man’s penis in a way that is wonderfully pleasuring to him. Our man wants us to bring him to orgasm manually, but we have NO clue has to how to do that. How tightly do we hold his cock? How far up and down his shaft to we move our hands? How do we hold our hands on him as we stroke him?
Getting a man to experience orgasm as we touch him is often a lengthy process. We feel so clumsy about it, and we often ARE clumsy about it, that our arm wears out before he cums. Then in frustration he moves our hand aside and does it himself, right, the first time.
Now bear in mind, that every man does himself differently. They all have techniques that feel best to them. So you may have to experiment, ask questions (in a sexy tone) and watch how he does it himself. (A woman raptly watching him masturbate from close up is a real turn-on to a man). You may have to induce him to let you watch. Try offering to let him cum in your mouth or on your breasts as an inducement. Remember that as they get closer to cumming, they often change techniques. Watch for that. DON”T ask questions when he is close to cumming. Gently playing with his testicles as you watch is a great way to help out. Men love to hear us squeel in delight as they start to shoot.
So, if you can get your man to show you how HE does it, you are miles ahead! But in general, for a starter, try these things. Well . . . . . here is how I do it for my lover.
1) Place your body where you can rest your wrist on his hip or tummy and still be able to move your hand an inch and a half or two inches by flexing your wrist back and forth. This will help with your fatigue factor. I usually lie on my man’s right side, my shoulder about level with his, and I put my head on his shoulder or on the pillow beside his head. I use my right hand to stroke him. (I am right handed.)
2) Wrap your first finger and thumb around his cock shaft two inches below his glans (the cute little crown men have at the bottom of their little helmet). You will move your hand from that location up to just below his crown, but not over his crown. That is your stroking range. Readjust your position beside him so that you can move your hand up and down his cock this distance by simply flexing your wrist, your wrist and forearm resting on him. Remember, this may take awhile, so get comfy.
3) Stroke SLOW. Don’t wear yourself out by doing it fast. Nice slow movements up and down his shaft are the key. You will feel his cock continue to harden if you are going the right speed. If his cock begins to soften, you are doing it wrong (Make your fantasy more lurid, slow your speed, let your little finger caress his balls each time you come to the bottom of your stroke).
4) Breathe in his ear, and whisper sexual fantasies to him if you want to shorten the process. This is one reason you should have your head right next to his.
5) How tightly do you grip? Put three fingers in your mouth, and purse your lips around them. Now purse your lips (NOT your teeth) as tightly as you can. THAT is how tightly you should hold his shaft in your hand. If you are gripping it the right tightness, then you should feel the irregularities that lie under the skin of his penis. A man’s penis is not smooth under his skin! And the sensations my hand feels as it caresses his shaft, sensing the little bumps and textures there, is a real turn on for me. Enjoy!
6) When he is beginning to stiffen throughout his body, and breathing harder, DON”T speed up. Wait, make him ‘suffer’ as his body begins to beg for release. When his penis begins to swell slightly, and his balls begin to pulse, put your head in his lap and tell him out-loud to cum in your mouth. Then put your lips around his cock and enjoy his gift to you. You will feel his gratitude, you will see it in his eyes, you will experience it the next day, ALL day. Men love it when you are willing to take their cummies into your mouth and swallow them, or kiss him with it still in your mouth (ask first about that part). Personally, a man’s cum is my favorite food group, full of protein and goodness!
You my have heard about the woman that liked peanut butter so well she smeared it all over her husbands cock? She liked that so well that pretty soon she didn’t need the peanut butter . . . . . . .
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Sunday, September 11, 2005
An inside Tourists Report of the Katrina Aftermath
LARRY BRADSHAW and LORRIE BETH SLONSKY are emergency medical services (EMS)workers from San Francisco. They were attending an EMS conference in NewOrleans when Hurricane Katrina struck. They spent most of the next week
trapped by the flooding - and the martial law cordon around the city.
This is lengthy but [supposedly] from the pen of people who were there.
[I have edited it slightly, enclosed in brackets like the ones surrounding this paragraph. The bold and italic emphasis are also mine]
Two days after Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans, the Walgreens store at the corner of Royal and Iberville Streets in the city's historic FrenchQuarter remained locked. The dairy display case was clearly visible through the widows. It was now 48 hours without electricity, running water, plumbing, and the milk, yogurt, and cheeses were beginning to spoil in the 90-degree heat.The owners and managers had locked up the food, water, pampers and prescriptions, and fled the city.
Outside Walgreens' windows, residents and tourists grew increasingly thirsty and hungry. The much-promised [by state and local officials] federal, state and local aid never materialized, and the windows at Walgreens gave way to the looters. There was an alternative. The cops could have broken one small window and distributed the nuts, fruit juices and bottled water in an organized and systematic manner. But they did not. Instead, they spent hours playing cat and mouse, temporarily chasing away the looters.
We were finally airlifted out of New Orleans two days ago and arrived home on Saturday. We have yet to see any of the TV coverage or look at a newspaper. We are willing to guess that there were no video images or front-page pictures of European or affluent white tourists looting theWalgreens in the French Quarter.
We also suspect the media will have been inundated with "hero" images ofthe National Guard, the troops and police struggling to help the "victims"of the hurricane. What you will not see, but what we witnessed, were the real heroes and sheroes of the hurricane relief effort: the working class of New Orleans.The maintenance workers who used a forklift to carry the sick and disabled. The engineers who rigged, nurtured and kept the generators running. The electricians who improvised thick extension cords stretching over blocks to share the little electricity we had in order to free cars stuck on roof top parking lots. Nurses who took over for mechanical ventilators and spent many hours on end manually forcing air into the lungs of unconscious patients to keep them alive. Doormen who rescued folks stuck in elevators. Refinery workers who broke into boat yards,"stealing" boats to rescue their neighbors clinging to their roofs in flood waters. Mechanics who helped hotwire any car that could be found to ferry people out of the city. And the food service workers who scoured the commercial kitchens, improvising communal meals for hundreds of those stranded.
Most of these workers had lost their homes and had not heard from membersof their families. Yet they stayed and provided the only infrastructure for the 20 percent of New Orleans that was not under water.
* * *
ON DAY TWO, there were approximately 500 of us left in the hotels in the French Quarter. We were a mix of foreign tourists, conference attendees like ourselves and locals who had checked into hotels for safety and shelter from Katrina. Some of us had cell phone contact with family and friends outside of NewOrleans. We were repeatedly told that all sorts of resources, including the National Guard and scores of buses, were pouring into the city. The buses and the other resources must have been invisible, because none of us had seen them.
We decided we had to save ourselves. So we pooled our money and came upwith $25,000 to have ten buses come and take us out of the city. Those who didn't have the requisite $45 each were subsidized by those who did have extra money.We waited for 48 hours for the buses, spending the last 12 hours standing outside, sharing the limited water, food and clothes we had.
We created a priority boarding area for the sick, elderly and newborn babies. We waited late into the night for the "imminent" arrival of the buses. The buses never arrived. We later learned that the minute they arrived at the city limits, they were commandeered by the military.
By Day Four, our hotels had run out of fuel and water. Sanitation was dangerously bad. As the desperation and despair increased, street crime as well as water levels began to rise. The hotels turned us out and locked their doors, telling us that "officials" had told us to report to the convention center to wait for more buses.
As we entered the center of the city, we finally encountered the National Guard. The guard members told us we wouldn't be allowed into the Superdome, as the city's primary shelter had descended into a humanitarian and health hell hole. They further told us that the city's only other shelter - the convention center - was also descending into chaos and squalor, and that the police weren't allowing anyone else in.
Quite naturally, we asked, "If we can't go to the only two shelters in the city, what was our alternative?" The guards told us that this was our problem - and no, they didn't have extra water to give to us.
This would be the start of our numerous encounters with callous and hostile "law enforcement."
* * *
WE WALKED to the police command center at Harrah's on Canal Street and were told the same thing - that we were on our own, and no, they didn't have water to give us. We now numbered several hundred.
We held a mass meeting to decide a course of action. We agreed to camp outside the police command post. We would be plainly visible to the media and constitute a highly visible embarrassment to city officials.
The police told us that we couldn't stay. Regardless, we began to settle in and set up camp. In short order, the police commander came across the street to address our group. He told us he had a solution: we should walk to the Pontchartrain Expressway and cross the greater New Orleans Bridge to the south side ofthe Mississippi, where the police had buses lined up to take us out of the city.
The crowd cheered and began to move. We called everyone back and explained to the commander that there had been lots of misinformation, so was he sure that there were buses waiting for us?
The commander turned to the crowd and stated emphatically, "I swear to you that the buses are there."
We organized ourselves, and the 200 of us set off for the bridge with great excitement and hope. As we marched past the convention center, many locals saw our determined and optimistic group, and asked where we were headed. We told them about the great news. Families immediately grabbed their few belongings, and quickly, our numbers doubled and then doubled again. Babies in strollers now joined us, as did people using crutches, elderly clasping walkers and other people in wheelchairs.
We marched the two to three miles to the freeway and up the steep incline to the bridge. It now began to pour down rain, but it didn't dampen our enthusiasm.
As we approached the bridge, armed sheriffs formed a line across the foot of the bridge.
Before we were close enough to speak, they began firingtheir weapons over our heads.
This sent the crowd fleeing in various directions.
As the crowd scattered and dissipated, a few of us inched forward and managed to engage some of the sheriffs in conversation. We told them of our conversation with the police commander and the commander's assurances.
The sheriffs informed us that there were no buses waiting. The commander had lied to us to get us to move.
We questioned why we couldn't cross the bridge anyway, especially as there was little traffic on the six-lane highway. They responded that the West Bank was not going to become New Orleans, and there would be no Superdomes in their city. These were code words for: if you are poor and Black, you are not crossing the Mississippi River, and you are not getting out of NewOrleans.
* * *
OUR SMALL group retreated back down Highway 90 to seek shelter from the rain under an overpass. We debated our options and, in the end, decided to build an encampment in the middle of the Ponchartrain Expressway - on the center divide, between the O'Keefe and Tchoupitoulas exits. We reasonedthat we would be visible to everyone, we would have some security being on an elevated freeway, and we could wait and watch for the arrival of the yet-to-be-seen buses.
All day long, we saw other families, individuals and groups make the same trip up the incline in an attempt to cross the bridge, only to be turned away - some chased away with gunfire, others simply told no, others verbally berated and humiliated.
Thousands of New Orleaners were prevented and prohibited from self-evacuating the city on foot. Meanwhile, the only two city shelters sank further into squalor anddisrepair.
The only way across the bridge was by vehicle. We saw workers stealing trucks, buses, moving vans, semi-trucks and any car that could be hot wired. All were packed with people trying to escape the misery that NewOrleans had become.
Our little encampment began to blossom. Someone stole a water deliverytruck and brought it up to us. Let's hear it for looting!
A mile or so down the freeway, an Army truck lost a couple of pallets of C-rations on a tight turn. We ferried the food back to our camp in shopping carts. Now - secure with these two necessities, food and water - cooperation, community and creativity flowered.
We organized a clean-up and hung garbage bags from the rebar poles. We made beds from wood pallets and cardboard. We designated a storm drain as the bathroom, and the kids built an elaborate enclosure for privacy out of plastic, broken umbrellas and other scraps.
We even organized a food-recycling system where individuals could swap out parts of C-rations (applesauce for babies and candies for kids!). This was something we saw repeatedly in the aftermath of Katrina. When individuals had to fight to find food or water, it meant looking out for yourself.
You had to do whatever it took to find water for your kids or food for your parents. But when these basic needs were met, people beganto look out for each other, working together and constructing a community.
If the relief organizations had saturated the city with food and water in the first two or three days, the desperation, frustration and ugliness would not have set in.
Flush with the necessities, we offered food and water to passing families and individuals. Many decided to stay and join us. Our encampment grew to80 or 90 people.
From a woman with a battery-powered radio, we learned that the media was talking about us. Up in full view on the freeway, every relief and news organizations saw us on their way into the city. Officials were being asked what they were going to do about all those families living up on the freeway.
The officials responded that they were going to take care of us.
Some of us got a sinking feeling. "Taking care of us" had an ominous tone to it.
Unfortunately, our sinking feeling (along with the sinking city) was accurate.
Just as dusk set in, a sheriff showed up, jumped out of his patrol vehicle, aimed his gun at our faces and screamed, "Get off the f-ing freeway." A helicopter arrived and used the wind from its blades to blow away our flimsy structures.
As we retreated, the sheriff loaded up his truck with our food and water. Once again, at gunpoint, we were forced off the freeway.
All the law enforcement agencies appeared threatened [by us] when we congregated into groupsof 20 or more. In every congregation of "victims," they saw "mob" or"riot."
We felt safety in numbers. Our "we must stay together" attitude was impossible because the agencies would force us into small atomized groups. In the pandemonium of having our camp raided and destroyed, we scattered once again.
Reduced to a small group of eight people, in the dark, we sought refuge in an abandoned school bus, under the freeway on CiloStreet. We were hiding from possible criminal elements, but equally and definitely, we were hiding from the police and sheriffs with their martial law, curfew and shoot-to-kill policies.
The next day, our group of eight walked most of the day, made contact with the New Orleans Fire Department and were eventually airlifted out by an urban search-and-rescue team.
We were dropped off near the airport and managed to catch a ride with theNational Guard. The two young guardsmen apologized for the limited response of the Louisiana guards. They explained that a large section of their unit was in Iraq and that meant they were short handed and were unable to complete all the tasks they were assigned.
* * *
WE ARRIVED at the airport on the day a massive airlift had begun. The airport had become another Superdome.
We eight were caught in a press of humanity as flights were delayed for several hours while George Bush landed briefly at the airport for a photo op.
After being evacuated on aCoast Guard cargo plane, we arrived in San Antonio, Texas.
There, the humiliation and dehumanization of the official relief effort continued. We were placed on buses and driven to a large field where we were forced to sit for hours and hours. Some of the buses didn't have air conditioners.
In the dark, hundreds of us were forced to share two filthy overflowing porta-potties. Those who managed to make it out with any possessions (often a few belongings in tattered plastic bags) were subjected to two different dog-sniffing searches.
Most of us had not eaten all day because our C-rations had been confiscated at the airport - because the rations set off the metal detectors. Yet no food had been provided to the men, women, children, elderly and disabled, as we sat for hours waiting to be "medically screened" to make sure we weren't carrying any communicable diseases.
This official treatment was in sharp contrast to the warm, heart felt reception given to us by ordinary Texans. We saw one airline worker give her shoes to someone who was barefoot. Strangers on the street offered us money and toiletries with words of welcome.
Throughout, the official relief effort was callous, inept and racist.There was more suffering than need be.
Lives were lost that did not need to be lost.
trapped by the flooding - and the martial law cordon around the city.
This is lengthy but [supposedly] from the pen of people who were there.
[I have edited it slightly, enclosed in brackets like the ones surrounding this paragraph. The bold and italic emphasis are also mine]
First By the Floods, Then By Martial LawTrapped in New Orleans
By LARRY BRADSHAWand LORRIE BETH SLONSKYSeptember 6, 2005
Two days after Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans, the Walgreens store at the corner of Royal and Iberville Streets in the city's historic FrenchQuarter remained locked. The dairy display case was clearly visible through the widows. It was now 48 hours without electricity, running water, plumbing, and the milk, yogurt, and cheeses were beginning to spoil in the 90-degree heat.The owners and managers had locked up the food, water, pampers and prescriptions, and fled the city.
Outside Walgreens' windows, residents and tourists grew increasingly thirsty and hungry. The much-promised [by state and local officials] federal, state and local aid never materialized, and the windows at Walgreens gave way to the looters. There was an alternative. The cops could have broken one small window and distributed the nuts, fruit juices and bottled water in an organized and systematic manner. But they did not. Instead, they spent hours playing cat and mouse, temporarily chasing away the looters.
We were finally airlifted out of New Orleans two days ago and arrived home on Saturday. We have yet to see any of the TV coverage or look at a newspaper. We are willing to guess that there were no video images or front-page pictures of European or affluent white tourists looting theWalgreens in the French Quarter.
We also suspect the media will have been inundated with "hero" images ofthe National Guard, the troops and police struggling to help the "victims"of the hurricane. What you will not see, but what we witnessed, were the real heroes and sheroes of the hurricane relief effort: the working class of New Orleans.The maintenance workers who used a forklift to carry the sick and disabled. The engineers who rigged, nurtured and kept the generators running. The electricians who improvised thick extension cords stretching over blocks to share the little electricity we had in order to free cars stuck on roof top parking lots. Nurses who took over for mechanical ventilators and spent many hours on end manually forcing air into the lungs of unconscious patients to keep them alive. Doormen who rescued folks stuck in elevators. Refinery workers who broke into boat yards,"stealing" boats to rescue their neighbors clinging to their roofs in flood waters. Mechanics who helped hotwire any car that could be found to ferry people out of the city. And the food service workers who scoured the commercial kitchens, improvising communal meals for hundreds of those stranded.
Most of these workers had lost their homes and had not heard from membersof their families. Yet they stayed and provided the only infrastructure for the 20 percent of New Orleans that was not under water.
* * *
ON DAY TWO, there were approximately 500 of us left in the hotels in the French Quarter. We were a mix of foreign tourists, conference attendees like ourselves and locals who had checked into hotels for safety and shelter from Katrina. Some of us had cell phone contact with family and friends outside of NewOrleans. We were repeatedly told that all sorts of resources, including the National Guard and scores of buses, were pouring into the city. The buses and the other resources must have been invisible, because none of us had seen them.
We decided we had to save ourselves. So we pooled our money and came upwith $25,000 to have ten buses come and take us out of the city. Those who didn't have the requisite $45 each were subsidized by those who did have extra money.We waited for 48 hours for the buses, spending the last 12 hours standing outside, sharing the limited water, food and clothes we had.
We created a priority boarding area for the sick, elderly and newborn babies. We waited late into the night for the "imminent" arrival of the buses. The buses never arrived. We later learned that the minute they arrived at the city limits, they were commandeered by the military.
By Day Four, our hotels had run out of fuel and water. Sanitation was dangerously bad. As the desperation and despair increased, street crime as well as water levels began to rise. The hotels turned us out and locked their doors, telling us that "officials" had told us to report to the convention center to wait for more buses.
As we entered the center of the city, we finally encountered the National Guard. The guard members told us we wouldn't be allowed into the Superdome, as the city's primary shelter had descended into a humanitarian and health hell hole. They further told us that the city's only other shelter - the convention center - was also descending into chaos and squalor, and that the police weren't allowing anyone else in.
Quite naturally, we asked, "If we can't go to the only two shelters in the city, what was our alternative?" The guards told us that this was our problem - and no, they didn't have extra water to give to us.
This would be the start of our numerous encounters with callous and hostile "law enforcement."
* * *
WE WALKED to the police command center at Harrah's on Canal Street and were told the same thing - that we were on our own, and no, they didn't have water to give us. We now numbered several hundred.
We held a mass meeting to decide a course of action. We agreed to camp outside the police command post. We would be plainly visible to the media and constitute a highly visible embarrassment to city officials.
The police told us that we couldn't stay. Regardless, we began to settle in and set up camp. In short order, the police commander came across the street to address our group. He told us he had a solution: we should walk to the Pontchartrain Expressway and cross the greater New Orleans Bridge to the south side ofthe Mississippi, where the police had buses lined up to take us out of the city.
The crowd cheered and began to move. We called everyone back and explained to the commander that there had been lots of misinformation, so was he sure that there were buses waiting for us?
The commander turned to the crowd and stated emphatically, "I swear to you that the buses are there."
We organized ourselves, and the 200 of us set off for the bridge with great excitement and hope. As we marched past the convention center, many locals saw our determined and optimistic group, and asked where we were headed. We told them about the great news. Families immediately grabbed their few belongings, and quickly, our numbers doubled and then doubled again. Babies in strollers now joined us, as did people using crutches, elderly clasping walkers and other people in wheelchairs.
We marched the two to three miles to the freeway and up the steep incline to the bridge. It now began to pour down rain, but it didn't dampen our enthusiasm.
As we approached the bridge, armed sheriffs formed a line across the foot of the bridge.
Before we were close enough to speak, they began firingtheir weapons over our heads.
This sent the crowd fleeing in various directions.
As the crowd scattered and dissipated, a few of us inched forward and managed to engage some of the sheriffs in conversation. We told them of our conversation with the police commander and the commander's assurances.
The sheriffs informed us that there were no buses waiting. The commander had lied to us to get us to move.
We questioned why we couldn't cross the bridge anyway, especially as there was little traffic on the six-lane highway. They responded that the West Bank was not going to become New Orleans, and there would be no Superdomes in their city. These were code words for: if you are poor and Black, you are not crossing the Mississippi River, and you are not getting out of NewOrleans.
* * *
OUR SMALL group retreated back down Highway 90 to seek shelter from the rain under an overpass. We debated our options and, in the end, decided to build an encampment in the middle of the Ponchartrain Expressway - on the center divide, between the O'Keefe and Tchoupitoulas exits. We reasonedthat we would be visible to everyone, we would have some security being on an elevated freeway, and we could wait and watch for the arrival of the yet-to-be-seen buses.
All day long, we saw other families, individuals and groups make the same trip up the incline in an attempt to cross the bridge, only to be turned away - some chased away with gunfire, others simply told no, others verbally berated and humiliated.
Thousands of New Orleaners were prevented and prohibited from self-evacuating the city on foot. Meanwhile, the only two city shelters sank further into squalor anddisrepair.
The only way across the bridge was by vehicle. We saw workers stealing trucks, buses, moving vans, semi-trucks and any car that could be hot wired. All were packed with people trying to escape the misery that NewOrleans had become.
Our little encampment began to blossom. Someone stole a water deliverytruck and brought it up to us. Let's hear it for looting!
A mile or so down the freeway, an Army truck lost a couple of pallets of C-rations on a tight turn. We ferried the food back to our camp in shopping carts. Now - secure with these two necessities, food and water - cooperation, community and creativity flowered.
We organized a clean-up and hung garbage bags from the rebar poles. We made beds from wood pallets and cardboard. We designated a storm drain as the bathroom, and the kids built an elaborate enclosure for privacy out of plastic, broken umbrellas and other scraps.
We even organized a food-recycling system where individuals could swap out parts of C-rations (applesauce for babies and candies for kids!). This was something we saw repeatedly in the aftermath of Katrina. When individuals had to fight to find food or water, it meant looking out for yourself.
You had to do whatever it took to find water for your kids or food for your parents. But when these basic needs were met, people beganto look out for each other, working together and constructing a community.
If the relief organizations had saturated the city with food and water in the first two or three days, the desperation, frustration and ugliness would not have set in.
Flush with the necessities, we offered food and water to passing families and individuals. Many decided to stay and join us. Our encampment grew to80 or 90 people.
From a woman with a battery-powered radio, we learned that the media was talking about us. Up in full view on the freeway, every relief and news organizations saw us on their way into the city. Officials were being asked what they were going to do about all those families living up on the freeway.
The officials responded that they were going to take care of us.
Some of us got a sinking feeling. "Taking care of us" had an ominous tone to it.
Unfortunately, our sinking feeling (along with the sinking city) was accurate.
Just as dusk set in, a sheriff showed up, jumped out of his patrol vehicle, aimed his gun at our faces and screamed, "Get off the f-ing freeway." A helicopter arrived and used the wind from its blades to blow away our flimsy structures.
As we retreated, the sheriff loaded up his truck with our food and water. Once again, at gunpoint, we were forced off the freeway.
All the law enforcement agencies appeared threatened [by us] when we congregated into groupsof 20 or more. In every congregation of "victims," they saw "mob" or"riot."
We felt safety in numbers. Our "we must stay together" attitude was impossible because the agencies would force us into small atomized groups. In the pandemonium of having our camp raided and destroyed, we scattered once again.
Reduced to a small group of eight people, in the dark, we sought refuge in an abandoned school bus, under the freeway on CiloStreet. We were hiding from possible criminal elements, but equally and definitely, we were hiding from the police and sheriffs with their martial law, curfew and shoot-to-kill policies.
The next day, our group of eight walked most of the day, made contact with the New Orleans Fire Department and were eventually airlifted out by an urban search-and-rescue team.
We were dropped off near the airport and managed to catch a ride with theNational Guard. The two young guardsmen apologized for the limited response of the Louisiana guards. They explained that a large section of their unit was in Iraq and that meant they were short handed and were unable to complete all the tasks they were assigned.
* * *
WE ARRIVED at the airport on the day a massive airlift had begun. The airport had become another Superdome.
We eight were caught in a press of humanity as flights were delayed for several hours while George Bush landed briefly at the airport for a photo op.
After being evacuated on aCoast Guard cargo plane, we arrived in San Antonio, Texas.
There, the humiliation and dehumanization of the official relief effort continued. We were placed on buses and driven to a large field where we were forced to sit for hours and hours. Some of the buses didn't have air conditioners.
In the dark, hundreds of us were forced to share two filthy overflowing porta-potties. Those who managed to make it out with any possessions (often a few belongings in tattered plastic bags) were subjected to two different dog-sniffing searches.
Most of us had not eaten all day because our C-rations had been confiscated at the airport - because the rations set off the metal detectors. Yet no food had been provided to the men, women, children, elderly and disabled, as we sat for hours waiting to be "medically screened" to make sure we weren't carrying any communicable diseases.
This official treatment was in sharp contrast to the warm, heart felt reception given to us by ordinary Texans. We saw one airline worker give her shoes to someone who was barefoot. Strangers on the street offered us money and toiletries with words of welcome.
Throughout, the official relief effort was callous, inept and racist.There was more suffering than need be.
Lives were lost that did not need to be lost.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
An Email about Katrina, and my answer
--- "JOE M." wrote:
>
> Deni
>
> I would have sent this on Mind Candy but we are
> supposed to stay apolitical
>
> and I’m done joining blogs.
>
> STOP BLAMING THE VICTIMS!
>
> There is enough blame to go around but how and where
> were these victims to go?
>
> The average income of these people is 8000.00 a year
> Yes not a typo $8000.00 a year
>
> A lot of them were old and in failing health. They
> don’t have cars and depend on public transportation.
>
> Were Busses sent through these neighbor hoods? No!
> Were they told where to go and how they would be
> fed? No!
>
> You should be ashamed of yourself!
>
> Does Bush deserve all the blame? No! But to stay on
> vacation for days after the storm hit and sit on his
> ass and do nothing! He sure deserves a lot of the
> blame and I hope those thousands of dead haunt him
> for the rest of his life!
>
> Joe
Ashamed of myself? For pointing out that if you are not prepared for what mother nature sends at you, you die?
Come on Joe, if you are in the woods and Mother Nature sends you a hungry cougar, who's fault is it if you did not take a gun, or a spear, or a bow and arrow?
See, Mother Nature has more power than the government does.
Now as for blaming the people that died? If people do not take care of themselves, then THEY are responsible for what happens to them. If a person is enough of an idiot to build a house on a cliff that is crumbling, it is no ones fault but theirs if the cliff crumbles, and kills them and ruins their house.
That is why I have said that the storms crossing Florida are different than New Orleans. They KNEW in New Orleans that they were below sea level. They KNEW that the levees were old. They KNEW that the Corps of Engineers had said the levees would only hold up under a category THREE storm.
They KNEW Joe, but they did not leave. They trusted in government, and the government is a slow, bulky, expensive, non responsive monolith. If they are that unable to protect themselves, then Mother Nature removes them. That is called cleansing the Gene pool. Mother Nature does it in the wilds every day, all day. Wolves take down the slowest game. The strongest Bull Elk is the only one fucking the cows. Etc, etc, etc.
If you trust in government, then when Mother Nature has her little temper fit, YOU WILL DIE.
NOW . . . . I am not BLAMING them as in saying they SHOULD have died, I am holding them responsible for not taking responsibility for their own lives.
If they had, they would be alive. This was NOT an ACCIDENT. This was coming for decades. They were BORN knowing this would happen. Yet they did nothing to be ready. So they died, or lost their house and stuff. That is life . . . . . and the reason many people die. I wish it had not happened to them. But Mother Nature does not care about that.
Be warned.
>
> Deni
>
> I would have sent this on Mind Candy but we are
> supposed to stay apolitical
>
> and I’m done joining blogs.
>
> STOP BLAMING THE VICTIMS!
>
> There is enough blame to go around but how and where
> were these victims to go?
>
> The average income of these people is 8000.00 a year
> Yes not a typo $8000.00 a year
>
> A lot of them were old and in failing health. They
> don’t have cars and depend on public transportation.
>
> Were Busses sent through these neighbor hoods? No!
> Were they told where to go and how they would be
> fed? No!
>
> You should be ashamed of yourself!
>
> Does Bush deserve all the blame? No! But to stay on
> vacation for days after the storm hit and sit on his
> ass and do nothing! He sure deserves a lot of the
> blame and I hope those thousands of dead haunt him
> for the rest of his life!
>
> Joe
Ashamed of myself? For pointing out that if you are not prepared for what mother nature sends at you, you die?
Come on Joe, if you are in the woods and Mother Nature sends you a hungry cougar, who's fault is it if you did not take a gun, or a spear, or a bow and arrow?
See, Mother Nature has more power than the government does.
Now as for blaming the people that died? If people do not take care of themselves, then THEY are responsible for what happens to them. If a person is enough of an idiot to build a house on a cliff that is crumbling, it is no ones fault but theirs if the cliff crumbles, and kills them and ruins their house.
That is why I have said that the storms crossing Florida are different than New Orleans. They KNEW in New Orleans that they were below sea level. They KNEW that the levees were old. They KNEW that the Corps of Engineers had said the levees would only hold up under a category THREE storm.
They KNEW Joe, but they did not leave. They trusted in government, and the government is a slow, bulky, expensive, non responsive monolith. If they are that unable to protect themselves, then Mother Nature removes them. That is called cleansing the Gene pool. Mother Nature does it in the wilds every day, all day. Wolves take down the slowest game. The strongest Bull Elk is the only one fucking the cows. Etc, etc, etc.
If you trust in government, then when Mother Nature has her little temper fit, YOU WILL DIE.
NOW . . . . I am not BLAMING them as in saying they SHOULD have died, I am holding them responsible for not taking responsibility for their own lives.
If they had, they would be alive. This was NOT an ACCIDENT. This was coming for decades. They were BORN knowing this would happen. Yet they did nothing to be ready. So they died, or lost their house and stuff. That is life . . . . . and the reason many people die. I wish it had not happened to them. But Mother Nature does not care about that.
Be warned.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
The truth about Hurricane Katrina, and how she pisses me off
I was watching sixty minutes tonight (9/4/05) and man did I get pissed off! It isn't bad enough that some "important" idiot blames a US president for a hurricane. That just shows how STUPID the man saying it really is, even if he IS a rich Kennedy!
OK. Let’s look at what happened, the WHOLE thing, not just the poor people that are dead. All right?
1.) Not one person in New Orleans was there because they were being forced to live there. This is America, we CHOOSE where to live. And we are actually free to MOVE anytime we choose to.
2) New Orleans has been below the level of the ocean for decades. Has ANY one done anything about it? NO! Not one politician, not one resident has ever taken it upon themselves to say with determination "WHOA! Let’s think this through! Let’s not keep building BELOW sea level. WE could have a hurricane and all die!"
3) NOW they HAVE a hurricane. Not a little one, but a category FIVE hurricane. That means your car can be blown over and shuffled around like a child’s toy. That means the wind can pick up a truck trailer and blow it across town. They had two days notice that the storm was coming their way. Did they leave town KNOWING THAT "TOWN" WAS BELOW SEA LEVEL?
NO!!!!!!!!! They hunkered down in their ramshackle houses, and their upscale expensive houses, their buildings that had been built in a community that believes building codes are something to be ignored, or bribed around, not complied with. It is common knowledge that a few bucks buys a pass when the building inspector comes around to "inspect" in New Orleans.
4) And these people that have used no logic at all in making the choices that could have saved their lives, believe that the levies were made without the inspectors being paid off! Somehow THAT part of construction in New Orleans was done right, no corners were cut building them, right? And the levees were strong and properly designed, properly constructed, and properly maintained! Right? Yeah right!
I have a bridge I want to sell to these people!
Do I feel compassion for them, with their problems and deaths and pain and suffering? OF COURSE I DO.
But that is what pissed me off when I was watching sixty minutes. The incredibly callus and smug 60 minutes guy, is intimating that the government was slow getting to New Orleans, and that it was the federal governments fault that people died.
HELLO! You people down there just had one the most destructive forces in the world strike your corrupt city. . . . . . AFTER being warned for two days. Too few people left. The levees, under the control of the local government failed. But that was the federal government’s fault? Right?
It is currently so fashionable to blame everything on someone else, and to NEVER take responsibility for our own actions.
So do I feel sorry for t hem? YEAH! But is it someone else’s fault that they died? I think not.
Now WE all get to pay to put a city back where it should not have been built in the first place, rebuilt as the inspectors get paid off and sub-standard levees are again rebuilt and repaired due to the same corrupt situation.
OK. Let’s look at what happened, the WHOLE thing, not just the poor people that are dead. All right?
1.) Not one person in New Orleans was there because they were being forced to live there. This is America, we CHOOSE where to live. And we are actually free to MOVE anytime we choose to.
2) New Orleans has been below the level of the ocean for decades. Has ANY one done anything about it? NO! Not one politician, not one resident has ever taken it upon themselves to say with determination "WHOA! Let’s think this through! Let’s not keep building BELOW sea level. WE could have a hurricane and all die!"
3) NOW they HAVE a hurricane. Not a little one, but a category FIVE hurricane. That means your car can be blown over and shuffled around like a child’s toy. That means the wind can pick up a truck trailer and blow it across town. They had two days notice that the storm was coming their way. Did they leave town KNOWING THAT "TOWN" WAS BELOW SEA LEVEL?
NO!!!!!!!!! They hunkered down in their ramshackle houses, and their upscale expensive houses, their buildings that had been built in a community that believes building codes are something to be ignored, or bribed around, not complied with. It is common knowledge that a few bucks buys a pass when the building inspector comes around to "inspect" in New Orleans.
4) And these people that have used no logic at all in making the choices that could have saved their lives, believe that the levies were made without the inspectors being paid off! Somehow THAT part of construction in New Orleans was done right, no corners were cut building them, right? And the levees were strong and properly designed, properly constructed, and properly maintained! Right? Yeah right!
I have a bridge I want to sell to these people!
Do I feel compassion for them, with their problems and deaths and pain and suffering? OF COURSE I DO.
But that is what pissed me off when I was watching sixty minutes. The incredibly callus and smug 60 minutes guy, is intimating that the government was slow getting to New Orleans, and that it was the federal governments fault that people died.
HELLO! You people down there just had one the most destructive forces in the world strike your corrupt city. . . . . . AFTER being warned for two days. Too few people left. The levees, under the control of the local government failed. But that was the federal government’s fault? Right?
It is currently so fashionable to blame everything on someone else, and to NEVER take responsibility for our own actions.
So do I feel sorry for t hem? YEAH! But is it someone else’s fault that they died? I think not.
Now WE all get to pay to put a city back where it should not have been built in the first place, rebuilt as the inspectors get paid off and sub-standard levees are again rebuilt and repaired due to the same corrupt situation.
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