Minnesota vice

Marko has a pretty definitive report on Moorhead, Minnesota, cops trying to rob a sore-footed waitress struggling to feed her five kids.

You'll recall the lady was given $12,000 by a mysterious customer who called it a tip and refused her effort to return it. She reported it to the cops who took her money and told her she could have it back in three months if no one claimed it. Three months passed and it  suddenly became "drug" money which they would keep in their cop-toy fund. They offered her a $1,000 bribe to shut up, roll over, and play dead. She hired a lawyer instead, and the cops had an epiphany. Maybe it wasn't drug money after all, even though it drew sniffy interest from their Constitutional consultant Fido.  They returned her  money to her.

Which is probably the end of the story. But it should not be.

Somewhere in the Moorhead police bureaucracy is at least one command-level cop who decided he could get away with robbing this woman and gave it his best shot.  The criminal offense that leaps to mind is attempted grand larceny, though I suppose it's a bad idea to hold our breath until we see Officer Swindly indicted.

Thirty More Seconds Over Tokyo

Navy pilots in the age of Mach-Incredible to train on B-25s, Billy Mitchells.

And raising the old USS Hornet should not be beyond our 21st Century technological skills.

In a just world this would be a component of the US/Japanese dialog about the balance-of-payments situation.  It may do little,  but it can't hurt.

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And if anyone dares call this wasteful government spending, I will hurt him with my petty officer cutlass.

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(h/t to my man in the military-industrial complex.)

The pregnant virgins of Arizona

It  would no longer take a man, men. We are to be redundant. Pregnancy would occur when the Arizona legislature says it does.

(The bill to round pi to 3 remains stuck in committee.)

I am she

An honest libertarian writer serves best when moved by hatred, despair, and bile.  His highest moral function in a statist society is to scream at  the looters, Attila and The Witch Doctor. His every essay should be a simple, logical, variation on the theme of "supercalaphuckyoustatistscuzuareobnoxious."

Any day when he fails to verbally horsewhip a pewling collectivist tyrant is a wasted day.

But this one is just not feeling it.  For reasons he can not fathom life has lately been a series of warm fuzzies. Nothing moves him to take up arms and unfurl the black and yellow flag. Maybe too many spoons full of sugar have deballed him, created a literary diabetic.

He hasn't noted that Zimmermann is probably an idiot but not a racist murderer -- nor its corollary, that Sharpton rates an eternity in that hottest Hell reserved for  the most fraudulent journalists. He has savaged neither Obama nor Romney. He has failed to document recent justifications for rebuilding the Tyburn gallows to honor the Weimarites Bernanke and Geithner.

He can only hope that the sense of mission will return. Perhaps soon. Perhaps this weeks struggles with the income tax forms will stoke the fires of rage. They usually do.

Meanwhile:

'Ave you ever seen  The grass so green? Or a bluer sky?

Screw you, Bert. This crap has got to stop.