Antone Bettencourt – Chappaquiddick resident – 9:30 AM – Saturday – July 19, 1969
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You were drunk.
You ran off the road.
So damned what; you were connected to the Big Name of Big Names in the area.
You were Teflon; you managed not only to dodge the Kopechne bullet but every subsequent bullet.
Here was her car and how she died:
Better left forgotten.
Have YOU forgotten?
BZ
Apologies for the bad word in the title but I’m sure you’ll get over it; the cash, once again, bespeaks volumes.
Our B-2 stealth technology has been sold.
To China.
(Spoken in the vocal tone of Gomer Pyle:) “Surprise, surprise!”
According to the Washington Times, the technology relates to the B-2 bomber’s engine exhaust system and its ability to avoid detection by infrared sensors. The Times reports that the information was sold to Chinese officials by former defense contractor Noshir S. Gowadia, an Indian-born citizen charged with spying in a federal indictment released by prosecutors in Hawaii.
So then, the billions and billions of dollars YOU spent to enable our F-117 fighters and B-2 Spirit bombers to enable their mission(s) has been for nought?
According to the Times, court papers say Gowadia is charged with making at least six secret visits to China from 2002 through 2005, and being paid at least $110,000 by Chinese officials for highly classified defense technology supplied through January. He may have been paid as much as $2 million.
Bill Gertz wrote:
He also helped the Chinese modify a cruise missile so that it can intercept U.S. air-to-air missiles, and helped Chinese weapons designers improve testing and measurement facilities, the court papers state.
Most of the indictment, handed up Nov. 8, outlines how the engineer helped China develop a radar-evading stealth exhaust nozzle for a cruise missile engine.
Additionally, the court papers indicated that Mr. Gowadia sent e-mails to Israel, Germany, and Switzerland in 2002 and 2004 that contained data labeled “secret” and “top secret” that was related to U.S. stealth technology intended for use in the TH-98 Eurocopter and for foreign commercial aircraft.
One computer file found in Mr. Gowadia’s Maui, Hawaii, home was a file containing the radar cross-sections of U.S. B-1 and F-15 jets and the Air Force’s air-launched cruise missile, information that would be useful to countering those systems by anti-aircraft missiles or other air defense weapons.
But of course there’s more:
Mr. Gowadia worked for B-2 developer and manufacturer Northrop Aircraft Inc. from 1968 to 1989 as part of an ultrasecret special access program for the B-2, and later as a Northrop contractor involved in classified research on missiles and aircraft. He also worked at Los Alamos National Laboratory in the 1990s.
I have a few suggestions, one immediate:
Give ME access to Gowadia. All I ask for is, as Pantera sings: “Five minutes alone.”
I would solve your future problems with this traitorous fuck.
I’d gleefully volunteer to put the suppressed .22 magnum bullet into his brain pan. Give me the option and I’d give you either the two meter shot or the contact burn into his temple with powder stippling.
Give me a garrot, I’d slip the wire around his neck and pull until my muscles were oxygen-depleted.
I’ve had cancer twice, you can arrest me and try me, I couldn’t care less given access to this traitorous fuck. I might even beat it given my acting skills.
Or just put me into a sealed room with him, lock it, and go away for an hour. I’m 5’9″ and 240 pounds but, considering my mental bent, there’d be no contest. I don’t care: I’m pushing 60, he’s in his late 30’s. You could open the door to find I’d attempted to break and then succeeded in cracking every bone in his body. Every knuckle I possessed would be likewise broken but, then again, I’d heal.
Give me a pencil. Just one pencil. I’d make sure I’d already rammed it into his trachea, his temple, up under his mandible, into his left eye socket.
Give me a balpeen hammer and I’d sock it through his fucking heart. I’d watch my own nails break from my fingers as my teeth pulled tendons from his neck, my eyes closed, his warm blood pulsing over my throat and lips, slicking back my hair, running rivulets down my chest. I have a huge Bite Complex, perhaps even larger than that of Hannibal Lecter. I could see myself severing his trachea and avulsing all vertical muscles and the carotid.
Do not doubt, for a moment, that I would do this for my country, to this traitorous fuck.
BZ
My fiance and I had a small dinner for ourselves at my cabin tonight. Instead of opting for turkey we stuffed lamb and cornish game hens with garlic, basil, lemons and almonds. We rubbed them with extra light olive oil and then grilled them on the barbeque.
I had lighted candles and the house was bathed in natural light. I started a fire and the logs warmed the air. The cabin smelled of various candles, some garlic and an XM radio channel played New Age in the background. The sun declined to the west, creating shadows and then darkness. My feral cat friends came for their own Thanksgiving feast and they received fresh pieces of game hen and lamb.
My Christmas tree was already set up and festooned with lights from the day before, in preparation for this night. I’d already wrapped some packages and set them next to the tree; packages for my fiance, my father and brother. My Holiday stuffed bears were also set out, and a new wreath adorned my front gate.
I am still alive and for that I am thankful.
Be close to your family and friends, and hold them close.
BZ
The aircraft touched down at Love Field on a beautiful autumn day; skies were blue and clear, the mood was that of much anticipation. The destination was to be the Dallas Trade Mart, where a speech would be made during that luncheon. The motorcade left the airport at 11:50 am.
The vehicles had already stopped twice to greet cititzens; it was now creeping at 11 miles per hour. In a case of serendipity, Agent Rufus Youngblood happened to look up at the clock atop a building and mentally noted: 12:30.
The building? The Texas School Book Depository.
Shots were heard. The entire event lasted roughly six to eight seconds — seconds that were to not only change the world, change the United States, but ultimately to change the way its citizens viewed its government. And the Age Of Conspiracy was born.
Texas Governor John Connally was hit in the wrist, shoulder and leg. President Kennedy’s wounds would be disputed from then until now. What is incontrovertible is that he officially died at Parkland Hospital four miles from Dealey Plaza.
CBS reporter Walter Cronkite, with much emotion, removed his glasses and said:
From Dallas, Texas, a flash, apparently official. President Kennedy died at 1:00 pm central standard time, two o’clock eastern standard time, some thirty-eight minutes ago.”
And a nation sat transfixed and stunned. 
Initially, certain frames of the Zapruder Film were never shown — such as the above frame where the bullet strikes President Kennedy’s head. Agent Clint Hill rushed to the presidential Lincoln and pushed Jacqueline Kennedy back into the rear seat, after she had climbed out of the back seat in an attempt to retrieve parts of her husband’s skull which had been sprayed behind. She said to Agent Hill: “I have a piece of his brain in my hand.”
Was this a conspiracy and who was involved? Who profited? Who benefited politically, and who benefited fiscally? Did Johnson benefit and was he involved? Were the Cubans involved? Was our government involved? Was the CIA involved? Was Organized Crime involved?
Why was it that it appeared everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong? What happened to Kennedy’s brain? What happened to his coffin? Why was Lee Harvey Oswald assassinated? What is it that Gerald Ford actually knows? What does Arlen Specter actually know?
It is still remarkably disturbing to people (like myself) who lived during those times that one person or a cabal of individuals could assassinate our President on our own soil, and that so much could go wrong in the ensuing investigation — and that we still hold no suspects.
President Kennedy died that day, as did the national feeling of a “New Frontier.”
Who was responsible?
Why do we not know conclusively?
And why are records, 43 years after the event, still sealed?
BZ
As far as Hezbollah, Syria and Iran are concerned, blood is in the water and ladles of chum are being hurled overboard from the Global Bucket O’ Chum.
Animals, primarily predators, can inherently sense fear in their fellow animals and many humans as well. Sharks, for example, know when to strike via their ampullae of Lorenzini, dark pores in the skin that are capable of detecting minute electro-magnetic fields, temperature variations and the weakness of any given item of prey. Their primeval ganglion, formed millions of years ago, are nothing if but efficient.
Islamists in the Middle East are nothing more than the most base of animals. Make no mistake: animals. But very cunning animals, using our history, our thoughts, our media, our very political climate against us.
And our political climate has most definitely changed.
In the past two days the following events have occurred in the Middle East:
Pierre Gemayel, Lebanon’s Industry Minister and son of a former President, was shot dead yesterday in his car in a Beirut suburb. It was the first assassination of a leading anti-Syrian figure in almost a year.
But please realize: not one attempted assassination, but two; one was unsuccessful:
Three hours before Mr Gemayel’s murder, gunmen opened fire at the offices of Michel Pharaon, the Minister of State for Parliamentary Affairs. No one was hurt.
At first blush: good for him, but of little consequence — until one realizes:
Under the Lebanese Constitution, a government can continue functioning unless one third of the Cabinet resigns or is incapacitated. The resignations and Mr Gemayel’s murder mean that if another minister is removed the Government will fall.
Resignations, you ask? What is this? Read:
The shooting came a week after six pro-Syrian ministers resigned from the 24-seat Government, plunging the country into turmoil.
This is nothing more than an overt attempted coup of Lebanon by Hezbollah, on behalf of Syria — controlled overtly and covertly by Iran. And Ahmadinnerjacket. Syria and, by logical extension, Hezbollah acts and dances only but upon the behest of Mockmood Ahmadinnerjacket.
Several of the 52 Americans who were held hostage in the US embassy in the months after the revolution say they are certain Mr Ahmadinejad was among those who captured them.
Hugh Hewitt wrote an incredibly nascent sentence today when he printed on his blog:
If Iran/Syria/Hezbollah are misjudging the impact of the elections on President Bush’s ability to conduct the war, the time to communicate such a message is right now, not a week, or a month, or sixth months from now.
Also of GREAT import is this factoid from Yoni Tidi, an Israeli of dual citizenship:
Syrian President Invited to Visit Tehran
00:55 Nov 22, ’06 / 1 Kislev 5767(IsraelNN.com) Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad has issued an invitation to Syrian President Bashar al-Assad to visit Tehran for talks together with Iraqi President Jalal Talabani, according to the Reuters news service.
Al-Assad was invited to join the summit scheduled for the coming weekend between Iraq and Iran. The meeting is expected to focus on how to end Iraqi violence and prevent a civil war.
And so why do you suppose that might be — considering the past two days’ events?
Hizbullah Announces $300-million in Support From Iran
02:20 Nov 22, ’06 / 1 Kislev 5767(IsraelNN.com) The Hizbullah terrorist organization announced Tuesday night it has received $300-million in funding from Iran “for the purpose of rebuilding” its infrastructure.
Senior terror leader Naim Kassam told reporters the organization has received funding from other Arab nations a well, but declined to specify which ones, in a report published Tuesday in the London-based newspaper “A-Sharak Al-Awast.”
Kassam added, “Everyone in Lebanon receives money from other countries, but the question is what the conditions are. Hizbullah’s decisions are not influenced by economic support from Iran.”
Look not at each event in and of itself, but step back and take in the perspective in the form for which it was meant to be viewed:
There is chum in the water, dear readers.
And, in the United States, I wonder who helped move the buckets on deck? I would submit: both sides of the aisle.
And is this the match strike to ignite the entire Middle East?
BZ