The Night Roger W Gardner Got In My Pants

Roger was an older cat, with a rich life - serving Great Satan manning long watches on Early Warning Systems from back in Cold War time, art history professor, artiste' and generally a fully crunk, super savvy cat with a strong sense of history. His writing style was totally formidable and he never suffered fools gladly.

Way back in the day - Iraq was a mess - and despite seeing off two family members to pre Surge the place, "Defeat!", "Retreat!" and "Repeat!" seemed like the defeatist war cry dejour.

It was deceitfully depressing - and seemed, historically speaking - weirdly unAmerican.

Trekking about loose and unattended on the big bad web, yours truly magically collided with the one and only Roger W Gardner.


Roger had just pubbed a piece about Kasserine Pass. Essentially, even before Pearl Harbor, Great Satan kinda sat up and took notice of Deutschland's rowdy, racy Panzer Korps. And She began to bling R&D, industrial might and assembly line prowess to meet and exceed the armored spear that Germany used to blitz her enemies into defeat or drive them to the brink.

And the debut place d'armes was Kasserine Pass. And it was a disaster, a real catastrophe (unlike the fakebelieve ones today). Great Satan's own dear sons literally shot to pieces along with the best gear Detroit deployed in North Africa.

Yet less than 3 years later, American armored divisions liberated the most people, captured the most turf, killed and captured the most enemies while suffering the least casualities in the shortest amount of time ever in history.

Roger's target was that American free inquiry, willpower and firepower could be stymied now and then - but never defeated.

Another of Roger's amazing bits, hot and online at the time was the definative deconstruction of Imperial Mohammedist Sayid Qutbah - "Those Greeley Girls."


Finding both pieces online at a friends house - killing time before blitzing a party posse to the mall's cineplex - it was only a couple clicks to print both articles.


Hopping into the SUV, the five of us picked party Roddy - the guylinered rocker boi down the street. Moi earnestly reading the printed bits cashiered from Roger in the back seat. Jamming the jams loud, we ran straight into a roadblock conducted by the Highway Patrol.

Sitting behind Roddy (not his real name), engrossed in reading Roger, it was a bit of a surprise to receive an over the shoulder airborne drop of the dreaded cannabis sativa.

Whiskey Foxtrot Tango?

"Just hide it. Just hide it - I dont have any pockets"

Well, great - I don't either!

So, as the patrol cat came up to the drivers window, moi stashed the stash - folded up in Roger's writings into britches so tight - they could have painted on.
Flashing the best smile money can buy and sweetly answering all the questions - the HP flagged us on through - even though their k9 partners were giving us the old evil eye.


As the dirty yellow waves of panic subsided, and the cineplex in sight, the sharp pain of a secreted stash became prominent and unless some type of semi nude gymnastics were carried out - it was nigh impossible to retrieve.



Thus began a long correspondance with Roger. He took interest in a goofy kid with audacious ideas and offered killer guidance, advice and a sounding board.
We often shot sparks off of each other - particularly to the concept that Mohammedism is /is not compatible with democracy and we both had to research and tighten up our debates.


Roger insisted that GrEaT sAtAn"S gIrLfRiEnD go online and NOT to mimic every other blog out there but follow Dr Wolftgang Ischinger's caveat that it is "funny, smart and tolerable in small doses."

And it all started the night Roger W Gardner got in my pants!