Wednesday, October 19, 2016

Racists Are Where You Find Them

The business at the border (probably all of them by now) is typical of this administration – it is unlawful, secretive and being lied about. Why, if the border patrol was ordered to return illegals from whence they came, does the country’s population increase with each reporting of it?
This is of course tacit evidence of the Democrat fear of losing the election. Open borders mean more pinko voters. The fact they are illegal voters means nothing to Democrats. Hillary must be very nervous about now; will she have to pay back the money she took from the many world leaders who fronted her the millions for the presidential run?  I know if I was the president of, say, Egypt and had deposited a few million in the Clinton Crime Family’s Campaign Fund, and Hillary blew the election, I’d demand my money back. I mean, you know, what good is my contribution going to do me if the broad ain’t in the White House. Know what I mean? Tell ya one thing; I would not want to be in the room while the foul- tempered cow is making out return checks.
Meanwhile, illegals, poor, sick and injured alike continue to flood the country. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a heartless Republican. If an illegal is sick or injured, he should be treated before being returned. But returned he should be. The fact the administration is allowing criminals into the country is shameless.
One major problem is that illegals are foreigners, and should a responsible American object to the entry of so many people here illegally, because the illegals are brown, or something other than white, the person objecting is called racist. Let me say, that if you are involved in the illegal entry of nonresidents into the United States, you are a criminal. You have, after all, ignored and broken the law.
I have hopes that sometime very soon the word “racist” will wear thin and be deemed obsolete. That will essentially put a muzzle on the liberal mouths in constant use of it. And haven’t we all grown tired of liberal mouths? I think the word has already lost some of it’s glow.
I wanted to have a chat with BO about this illegal immigrant business and about the proper use of the word racist, so I jumped in the Fredmobile and tooled to Washington, DC, sure that El Semi Uno would be glad to see me. I was wrong.
“Oh, for cryin’ out loud. How’d you get in here?” he asked.
“Oh, that’s no problem, Mr. President. The Secret Service men who were supposed to protect you were at lunch.”
“But it’s only 10 o’clock!”
“Well for heavens sakes.!”
“Anyway, whatchu want, Newshawk?”
“I wanted to speak with you about this business of you and your schmos arranging for all of those illegals entering the country – illegally – and then sending them so quickly and secretly to places they are not expected or wanted, has the whole country upset.”
“Yeah, so? Those objecting will be labeled racists and we’ll pay them no mind.”
“But many of the places they’re being sent can’t afford them. They’re too big a burden on local resources already stressed by your no jobs policy.”
“I have no such policy.”
”Of course you do.”
“Do not!”
“Do so! Oh, I forgot, you’re incapable of telling the truth. Can’t help yourself.”
As I walked toward his desk, I noticed an architect’s drawing lying across it.
“Wow, whatcha building?”
“If you must know, it’s the new mansion I intend to build north of my home city of Chicago, when I leave the presidency."
“You’ll be dropping your pants for George Soros one more time, I take it.”
‘Yes, Good Sweet Daddy George will front the money. I’ve just signed an Executive Order creating Obama Way in Grosse Point, my new ‘hood. It’s sad that several existing properties will be dug up to make room for it; it’s so nice being president.”
“Wowee, the property is huge. It looks as though there is a lot of room around the mansion. I see your new address will be 1600 Obama Way."
At that moment my cell phone rang, and I saw it was a call from my friend Joe the Builder, close friend of Joe the Plumber (most of you remember Joe the Plumber, right?).
“Just a moment, Mr. President, I have to take this call. Hey, Joe, what’s up? Have you found a site near Lake Michigan for the new Immigation Detention Center? No, not yet? Hold on, I think I have just the place. There are empty lots all around 1600 Obama Way in Grosse Point. An ideal site …”
“HEY, HEY,” yelled the president. You can’t dump them people next door to me …”

“You’ve already dumped them on everybody else!. Why, sir! Are you a racist?”

Monday, October 10, 2016

PC Crowd Gives Columbus Fits

      As Columbus Day, the day set aside to honor the great explorer, who is said to have discovered America but really didn’t, approached I began wondering what it would have been like for Chris and his pals when they landed in America that day in October, 1492. What kind of day was it? What sort of inhabitants greeted him? Were they happy to see Chris or upset about him and his crew being there? What if he landed there today? Since, as we all know most anything of importance can be found in the Wimodaughsian Library in Canisteo. I went there and, sure enough, found a DVD of Columbus’ historic landing.  The first scene shows the intrepid captain and his sid.ekick Amerigo debarking a ship’s dinghy and striding up the beach to parley with a welcoming committee of six rather strangely attired natives
     “Wha’choo wont here, sucka?” demanded a black resident.
     “I’m Christopher Columbus, the great explorer, and I’m sailing to the West Indies to find gold, spices and slaves for Queen Isabella. If this is the West Indies, then you must be an Indian.”
     “Oo-oo-oo,” crooned a gay blade, “a real queen! I wonder what sheth like.”
     “Naw, man, I ain’t no Inin,” said the black guy. “That there’s an Inin,” hooking a thumb at a short, chubby guy with long hair. “Only they ain’t called Inins no mo’, they called Native Americans.”
     “And what do they call you?” Chris wanted to know.
     “I’m African-American.”
     “Where’s Africa?”
     “I dunno,” shrugging. “Somewhere.”
     “Why are you all called different things?” asks Chris. “You all live here together, don’t you?” He looked over each one of the group. “So what’s he?” nodding toward the gay guy.
     “He’s gay.”
     “Is that so? Does that mean he’s a happy American?” thinking he was getting the hang of this diversity business
     “Oh, we can be made happy,” giving Chris an appraising eye but not missing the sword slung from his left hip. “But, alas, we’re not happy now,” looking dejected.
     “One wonders what it would take to make you happy,” remarked the explorer.
     “You don’t want to go there!” sneered a member of NOW.
     “Oh, shusth, you, you woman,” angry now, standing arms akimbo. “We have rights, too, you know!” stamping his foot.”
     “Wow,” marveled the environmentalist commie, “ you come across pretty strong for a guy who gets his panties from an egg.”
     “What a drag, man, what rights do you think you have? We the ones that need rights. We need reparations, man,” says the black guy.
     “And we’ll make sure you get them, too,” smirked the chick from the ACLU, “just as soon as we get all the pictures of Jesus out of the schools.”
     “And what will that accomplish?” asks the Catholic captain.
     “Ah, I don’t know,” the chick replied, shrugged her scrawny shoulders, “It’s just what we do. If we didn’t have that to do, we would have to find real jobs.”
     “You make a career of removing from schools pictures of the greatest teacher in the history of the word? What a remarkable way to spend your life,” said Chris. “And what irrelevant matters occupy your mind, my dear,” directing the question to the environmental chick
     “I was wondering, sir, how many little fish you murdered when you walked ashore a few minutes ago. And there you stand, thoughtlessly swatting at indigent bugs that land on you. It’s not their fault you’re here. A typical white bully, that’s what you are, eyes narrowed, a sneer showing a mouthful of crooked teeth appears.”
     “Sorry I asked,” says Chris.
     “Hey, Captain,” yelled a mouth from the NOW crowd. “how many women do you have working on those ships out there,” pointing to the Pinta, the Nina and the Santa Maria bobbing in the bay.
     “What do you want to know for?” asked the captain, suspicious of the nag’s motives, leaning toward her, getting in her face.
     “My group is interested in knowing if women are getting paid the same as men,” spitting the last word, “and that they aren’t being sexually harassed in the kitchen.”
     “If we allowed women on board, Miss Mouth, we would sexually harass them when and where we damned well pleased. I assume women who yammer of such things are attempting to extort doubloons from the people they work for. We respond to that with a good flogging. They never cause us men any trouble after that.”
     “No women on board? What’s the matter, Captain, don’t think women can hoist them sails, coil them ropes, weigh that anchor?” sneering into his face.
     “I’ll bet therth no gay people either,” whimpered the gay Bermudan, “We can hoist and coil and weigh, too,” dabbing some snot off his/her nose and a tear from his/her eye.
     “Lady, the last woman who spoke to me like that ended up as an anchor,” Chris’ face crimson now. “I’m tired of this crap. You!” pointing to the black guy. “Get some men together, chop down some of the those trees over there and build me a cabin.”
     “Whoa, hold on there,” yipped the environmental chick. “You can’t be chopping down those trees for houses. Owls and canaries live there. Where will they go?”
     “How about a different tree? There’s a whole forest of them further down the beach.” Amerigo Vespucci chiming in for the first time”
     “Wha’chu mean, sucka, build a cabin? I ain’t buildin’ no damn cabin. No way! My gub’ment check don’t cover no manual labor.”
     “Mine edder. Me no build no damn cabin, edder,” said the Indian guy.
     “This is some bunch of crackpots, Captain,” whispers Amerigo. “We should toss ‘em all in irons, put gags on them mouthy women, chain Tinkerbell there to the bow in case we lose an anchor.”
     The environmentalist wasn’t done yet: “Whatsa matter, MisterConqueror, don’t think owls and canaries should have rights too? And trees?”
     “Trees have rights?” stammered Chris.
     “And fetuses.”
     “No they don’t!” howled the nag from NOW.
     “Do so!”
     “Do not!”
     “All animals have rights, too,” insisted the tree hugger.
     “Oh, for chrissakes,” howled Chris.
     “So do black folks.”
     “So do Innins, but not as much.”
     “So do criminals. And victims.”
     “Victims? Victims of what?”
     “We need wombs for tranthexuals. It’s not fair …”
     “Ah-ah-ah-ah, let me outta here,” howled the crazed explorer. He and Amerigo parted company with America’s native tribes and sprinted down the beach to their dinghy. “Ho, ho, gotta go!” he yelled as they pushed off and hastily rowed to sea. “Let’s head further down the coast,” suggested Chris, “maybe we can find a kinder, gentler place to discover … maybe someplace with an abortion factory … or having a mass execution … or maybe even an Occupy demonstration. All of which would be friendlier places to discover. Hurry, Amerigo!”

Wednesday, October 5, 2016

Casting a Smart Vote

Boy, it's good to be back in the blog chair again. Both my computer and I have had a trying time, especially, the computer; in fact, I just regained the use of it today. I was about to take it out and use it for drone practice.

The people responsible for hurricane relief would do well to keep the money intended for the poor and destitute away from the Clintons.
Following the earthquake that destroyed Haiti in 2010, Bill wormed his way into the job of UN co-ordinator of relief funds and, as you'll remember, wife Hillary was secretary of state, which put her numero uno as far as distributing the money and handing out lucrative contracts. The news was full of great ideas about how Bill and Hill and their filty rich cronies planned to spend the money to lift up the Haitians and rebuild the island. Fat chance of that ever happening. The three billion dollars available to help these people was mostly all stolen by the Clintons and their Democrat pals. All kept secret, of course. Couldn't have we honest Americans knowing about it.
Can you imagine? It's bad enough taking money from wealthy or even middle class people, but these bastards stole the lifeline of the poorest of the poor. The Haitian people were left with nothing. I hope Donald Trump throws this at Hillary in their next debate. If there really are all those thousands of undecided fence sitters - the dumbest of the dumb, perhaps this tidbit will change some minds, no matter how feeble. What the hell, our side will take votes any way we can get them.
I truly wonder if this election is as close as they say it's going to be. To me, it just doesn't seem possible that half (or more) of the country will vote for a criminal, who should be under indictment for multiple crimes. Possibly treason, if those emails were recovered (and since when is a person under investigation allowed to destroy evidence? You try that and see what happens.) Accepting bribes from foreign countries must be a crime. But there's been no noise about that. I would guess that an aggressive investigation and subsequent charges arising from the Bengazi deaths could result in charges of manslaughter. But, no, nothing there. Of course, we must take into account that powers that be are as corrupt as the perpetrator. As long as Obama controls the Justice Department, HRC is safe. If Trump wins, she could be in huge trouble. I, for one, would relish seeing that she is taken to court to face charges for her criminal deeds.
You people who will vote for HRC, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING? DON'T BE A DUMB ASS! The woman has been in public service for thirty-some years and never accomplished a damned thing! Nothing!
Ask yourself: Would you rather have a do-nothing sitting in the White House or elect a man who has built a multi-billion dollar fortune through hard work and industry? Would you rather have a president who steals money and the futures from the poorest people on earth or a president who stands for what is right and good in America? "Let's Make America Great Again!" What a wonderful idea.
In a few weeks we all will decide the future of our country. Let's be smart and not throw it to the dogs.

Monday, August 22, 2016

The "Smart" Way to Get an Opinion

A wonderful new app,, provides computer and smartphone users with a new method of collecting and sharing information. Once logged on, a user can ask virtually any question that will be sent out via social media, the answers are returned anonymously – no one knows who you are. Because of this anonymity respondents tend to be more honest.
 Pollsters pursuing truthful results favor The reason: There are no snotty agents on the other end of the line ready to scream names such as racist and bigot should you choose an answer not of their liking. Many people being polled by telephone have become leery of polls in which they are addressed by a live agent. They are often cursed and screamed at, and worst of all, the creep knows who you are. You are unsure to whom your answers may be reported. A bit of paranoia sets in.
Few people with whom I converse on a daily or weekly basis have any confidence in the national polls that show Hillary ahead of Trump. Some of these show such vast disparities as to be unbelievable - but then no one truly believes Democrats anyway. They’ve become the parody of the Big Lie. Truth seems not be an element in their vocabulary. Sad that a major political party must rely on lies to forward its agenda, but that’s where we are in our history. As we are seeing, lies and deceit lead to abuse of people.
Consequently, there appears a better way of polling results for the candidates.
Says Ric Militi, co-founder of San Diego based Crazy Raccoons , maker of the Zip question and answer app, “We’re not a poll. We’re a conversation and 100 percent anonymous. People feel comfortable answering questions without fear of being bullied or being called racist. People can express themselves safely, and you get a pure answer.”
Militi says a poll asking respondents, “News polls suggest Trump is getting crushed by Clinton. Do they reflect how you are going to vote?” Some 64 percent told Zip they would vote for Trump compared to 36 percent for Clinton. In the latest Reuters/ Ipsos poll Clinton leads Trump 42 percent to 36 percent. (But its Reuters – what else would you expect?
In California, a Zip survey gave Trump a 55 percent to 45 percent lead over Clinton. At the same time a poll generated at the Public Policy Institute of California gave Clinton a 16-point advantage over the Donald, 46 percent to 30 percent.
Douglas Rivers, a Stanford University political science wonk and chief scientist for You-Gov, which conducts online polls with such partners as CBS and the Economist (a couple of real objective pollsters there), has questions about  Zip app participants.
“Who are these people?” Doug asks in snooty fashion. “What do we know about them? We worry a lot about who we’re talking to.”
No you don’t, Doug. You worry only about their answers to your questions.
The Zip app is not only to answer political questions. The permutations are endless. For example, what’s America’s favorite car? What’s your opinion on which team will win the Super Bowl. Which two teams are favored to play in the World Series. What’s the best pickup line.  You can resolve debates, settle bets, win (or lose) an argument.
Militi insists that most media polls are just dead wrong – he might have said bias, but refrained.
“Smartphone answers are the wave of the future."

Saturday, August 13, 2016

Trumpsters Cannot Be Pansies

We on the Trumpster side of the election must remember whose side we’re on. We cannot go pansy on the Republican candidate because he says some stupid things sometimes. Most of these are overdone by the Democrat party and Democrat-left-leaning press, such as MSNBC and CNN, which have both lost heavily in the ratings since the Democrat Convention because they’re so heavily in the tank for liberal Democrats out to destroy our representative republic.
We need to keep in mind that history has a strange way of repeating itself. For the first six thousand or so years the predominant governmental system in the world was monarchy. A king – one non-elected guy – ran the country. Hereditary laws kept power in his family after his death. Often the next generation was much worse than the one before it. Kings (sometimes queens) had power of life and death over entire populations. What he (she) said went. Kings, emperors, tsars, in some cases princes or regents had sway over the whole shebang. If you didn’t like it and got too loud about it –started yelling and carrying placards in the streets offensive to the king, he gave the headsman a nod and you very quickly lost your head. Executions in the old times were not put off for twenty years while crimes were interminably appealed. Sometimes your head came up missing in a matter of hours. People enjoyed watching heads roll, often bringing food for picnics and whatnot, to watch your head get lopped off and tumble into a basket. Many of you youngsters may not know of this time in history; but I assure you it’s true.
Up until the time of the American Revolution England ruled America. Our Founding Fathers called for revolution to free us from the tyranny of England’s rule. We won. We became the one of the first free countries in the world. Because of the brilliantly written Constitution there were rules that bound us all to the law of the land. We had a President, not a king who could order “Off with his head!” and a Senate and a House of Representatives to protect our interests. (If you are unfamiliar with this, you need to read about it – its darned interesting material.)
Do you recognize any differences now! We have a president intent on kicking aside the Law of the Land whenever one of its precepts interferes with his interests – or Congress refuses to back him in what is obviously unconstitutional.  Members of Congress are afraid to challenge him in any legislation that the president is sure to veto. He won’t be chopping any heads off – at least not publicly, but there are reports of deaths linked to leaking by Democrat operatives that were not appreciated.
The president cannot hand down his office to a family member, but he can back a candidate who shares his ideology. Bad healthcare, higher taxes, rotten economy, much higher unemployment than being reported (actually closer to 20 percent than to the current 4.9 percent lie), backing the lie of global warming (aka climate change – all the same thing), fewer freedoms.  Not only has the president chosen to stand behind a career criminal, he has chosen to put his influence behind a woman who has already sold out America to foreign countries to the tune of several billion dollars. All of this money is intended to build the Clinton’s private fortune , while she sells influence once she is president.  She fully intends to rule like a martinet (a strict ruler), and force America ever closer to totalitarianism – defined by Encarta Dictionary as: relating to or operating a centralized government system in which a single party, without opposition, rules over political, economic, social, cultural life. Everything. This is the system of government the Founding Fathers and the American patriots fought so valiantly against so you and I would be free.  Do you see how the historical circle is closing? We’re losing our freedom, folks, and, quite frankly, we’re not doing enough to hold back the forces that will destroy us. We’re too quick to denounce are own candidate and endorse a female thug.
Donald Trump might say something that offends some people, so now they say they hate him and want to vote for Hillary. People who are so easily swayed to the most corrupt, most dishonest presidential candidate in the 240 years of our history (except the current president, of course) cannot be thinking straight. They are wishy-washy and truly have no principles of their own. It is just dead wrong to allow the Democrat Party and Democrat news media to sway your vote on flimsy evidence. Candidates speak millions of words while campaigning. Donald Trump can’t follow a script (the teleprompter), a fact I find refreshing, and when he goes off the script he sometimes says things he shouldn’t.  As the saying goes, he needs to engage brain before putting mouth into motion. Or sometimes he says things the liberals choose to interpret into something they are not, such as his comment about how second amendment people might put an end to the Hillary threat. 
Odd that I’ve always thought the objective of gun control is to deprive those second amendment adherents and the rest of Americans of the very instrument that might save them from totalitarian encroachment. (BO and Hillary to name but a few). Is this what Trump meant? I don’t know, but I don’t think so. I think he was reflecting on what would happen if second amendment types all went to cast their vote for him.  And this is the way you should think about it, too. We need to stand up for our candidates, not go storming off to vote for the corrupt imposter, all in a snit.
Remember if you will, that when it was evident Hillary was losing ground to Barack Obama in the 2008 primaries, she famously announced to the press that she would stay in the race because of the likelihood of Obama being assassinated. Of course the press should have jumped all over her statement, but because she’s a liberal Democrat nothing was said. Yet what she said was more inflammatory - Obama being black – than anything Trump has said.
Trumpsters need to grow up, just as the Republican elite in Washington need to get off their high horses and back our candidate. We the people voted Trump in as a Republican candidate through the primaries. These assholes need to stop derailing him. Whether they think he would make a good president or not is irrelevant. He’s the candidate We chose, and he therefore deserves a chance to show his mettle. Half the country didn’t think Ronald Reagan would show as a good president either.
Turned out he was pretty good at it.

Monday, August 8, 2016

A Story About a Pandering Dog Catcher


This summer I made the acquaintance of a very large dog. By the time I met Brutus, my wife and he had been best of friends for some time. My wife, whose name is Mary, used to visit the neglected St Bernard  two usually three times a day, and, lord, you should have seem them together. Let me explain.
Brutus occupies a dog house at a fairly busy intersection outside Canisteo on Route 36; his plight is well known. Apparently, many caring passersby reported the conditions under which this tragic creature is forced to live. However, the dog control officer, a character named Hadsell, who is known to hold little regard for his charges and does the minimum he can get away with for them, insists that all that’s necessary for keeping a pet is to supply food and water (apparently amounts are not specified). Such fundamentals as grooming, socialization, walking, petting, playing fetch are apparently not necessary in providing a wholesome environment for one’s dog, which is after all, a sociable creature. And, besides, Hadsell would say, the owner is a friend of mine - leave the poor man alone.
Brutus’ plight is that he is chained out in the hot sun day after day. From all reports, no one in the owner’s family pays the slightest attention to him. My wife first met the big galumping creature during her rounds for Meals on Wheels. Mary loves people and she loves animals, particularly horses and dogs. She carries treats in her car for every dog on her route, and seeing this big dog all alone every day inspired her to stop and say “hello”. Brutus, of course, was pleased as punch to have somebody pay attention to him. My wife offered treats and Brutus was pleased as punch to take them from her.
During her visits she noticed that Brutus’ food and water dishes were always empty, regardless of the time of day she stopped by. Often in the afternoon, during the hottest part of the day – and they’ve all been at least ninety degrees this summer - there was no water. She began carrying quart bottles of water with her; she said he often drank the whole thing and wanted more. And she began carrying much larger snacks – she discovered rather quickly Brutus had a liking for pizza – and, of course, pork chops! Before long, he would hear her car coming from a half-mile away and emerge from wherever he could find shade, to greet her. Brutus would bound about playfully, roll on his back, long spindly legs waving in the air, and lay contentedly while he was combed.
Keep in mind, my wife was not sneaking around to visit Brutus. She had asked the owner’s permission to spend time with him and to bring snacks and water. He said he didn’t mind. What the heck, she was doing his job! She could not tolerate the animal’s plight and was doing all she could to see him through. She’d often go to him, just to be with him, pet and comb him. It’s seldom one sees a happier dog – and my wife is always happiest when she’s helping someone – human or creature. Those of you who know her know what I’m talking about.
How sad it is that she’s been barred from visiting her new friend. It happened this way.
Apparently, of the many people who would stop and talk to Brutus and pet him (he’d become a bit of a tragic celebrity), one was a little girl who stomped on his tail. He bit her – don’t blame him; I’d have bitten the little cretin, too. There was no broken skin, no serious injury. However, the kid’s parents were not going to let their little darling be responsible for her actions, so the incident was reported: Brutus was locked up in the local “shelter”, under quarantine, and the cretin got to go home. He was “sentenced” to ten days, ostensibly for observation (but with no broken skin, there can be no disease, so what’s the point?) Mary and I, upon hearing of his incarceration, went to visit the inmate. A locked door barred entry, so we looked in a window. Believe me, it was not a place fit for life. The place stunk, the fan was off and it was the usual ninety degrees-plus day. Poor Brutus, obviously sick, lay in a large puddle of diarrhea. He recognized my wife’s voice and rose on long, wobbly legs to greet her. There was barely room enough for the big fellow to turn around in the cage. With his coat matted down with feces, his malnourishment was even more obvious. I swear there was a haunted look in his eyes. My wife and I agreed he was better off chained to his dog house out on the crossroads.
We discovered, to our edification, that the dog control officer (in this case, an obvious euphemism for dog catcher) had complete authority as to the plight of dogs in the shelter. That meant that the putz Hadsell had the say-so over Brutus. My wife talked to Hadsell several times, each time mentioning she wanted to buy the dog from the present owner, in order to provide him with a good home. Her request was turned down, and in our opinion, was never passed on to the owner. She called the owner with the same request but was turned down.
If the putz Hadsell had been conscientious about doing his job, instead of pandering to his friend, Brutus would have been examined by the local veterinarian for malnutrition and general body condition, inasmuch as he was always chained to his doghouse and, seemingly, never exercised. (Young dogs – Brutus is about three years - according to vet guidelines need 30 to 60 minutes of exercise each day.) Brutus’ exercise comes from walking from sun to shade several times a day, while chained. (Brutus is never off the chain.)The local vet says he has to be requested by You-Know-Who to do an exam. That request never came, likely because the results would not have produced a favorable outcome for You-Know- Who’s buddy or You-Know-Who.
Meanwhile, after his sentence was up, Brutus had his day in court, in absentia, of course. Sadly, due to the machinations of the inept Hadsell, Brutus was returned to the intersection to spend his days in ninety-some-degree sun, likely with little or no water and little if any food. Meanwhile the property has been posted. (Word has it there is a place under some trees a distance from the house where Brutus could be kept, but it's a bit of a walk. God forbid! He likely would never be fed or watered, in such a case. Otherwise, one would think, he should have been moved there months ago.)
The town justice ordered that Mary could not visit him anymore (apparently the putz said she was interfering where she had no business). Mary asked the town supervisor – the putz’s boss – if she could become a volunteer to the shelter (we live less than a mile away and I think she would have actually considered it an honor to be of help to these creatures, many homeless), but the decision was up to Hadsell and he said he didn’t need any help – what he needs is replacing. We have it on good authority that the only time he does anything worthwhile is when he’s under the gun.
People of Canisteo: If you love your pet and the hapless creature ends up in the Canisteo Animal Shelter, get it out of there yesterday - lest it stay under the authority of a man with no job (dog catcher is not a full-time position – or it better not be), lives in a trash trailer, and sells brown eggs for a living.

 My wife says she’s thinking of asking for the position at the time such appointments are made (January). Every dog and dog owner in the village should welcome such a candidate.

Tuesday, August 2, 2016

The Theft of an Education

My pal Red State Louie and I were indulging in adult beverages at a patio table at the Golden Gulp and Glug Cocktail Joint in Washington, D.C. We were quietly discussing the political conventions, as were many around us. Politics was in the air!
We were marveling at how easily Slick Willie spun the lie of the rapture shared with Hillary during the years of their marriage. (Has there ever been a more dysfunctional marriage – I mean really?) Suddenly, down the street come our barely bearable buddy Pud Politico, a real honest-to-gosh liberal hack. Pud wore a jokers-style hat and vest, checkerboard pants that he thought were the coolest thing around.  He was strumming his lips as he rode in on a skate board, mumbling “Hillary’s Great, Hillary’s Great.” He kicked the board up into his hand and dismounted, a stupid grin stretching his features into a “Gotcha” look. He tucked the board under his arm and flopped down in a chair at our table.
“That Hillary’s great, ain’t she?” he asked no one particular. “Wow, what a woman, huh, Newshawk?”
“Are we talking about the same person, Pud?”
“Yeah, the next president, you know the one.”
“Yep, the one who looks and speaks like she wakes up with a screaming headache every morning.”
“She’ll be a great president. Did you hear her speech? Man, oh, man, all the stuff she says she’s gonna fix. Hillary wants to make life better for everybody.”
“Pud,” said Red State Louie, “it was the same stuff the Democrats have been promising in every election for at least the past 50 years. More jobs, lower taxes, better healthcare, fix the education system, national security. Yadda, yadda. But there’s been no change.”
“Yep. Yep, that’s right. Democrats are good at promising …” Pud’s eyes were bugging out now as his excitement grew.
“And doing nothing. Liberals have been promising black people a leg up for years – but have never delivered.”
“Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah!,” sputtered Pud. “Why do they keep voting for Democrats then, huh?” This last in the same childish manner of a fourth-grader. We were surprised he didn’t stick his tongue out at us.
“I dunno. It’s obvious the libs have no plans to help blacks – or anyone else, for that matter. If they were they could have made huge changes for the better in the past eight years. Instead, they’ve made everything – and I mean everything – much worse,” I said.
“Yep,” drawled Red State, “healthcare’s a disaster. The economy, no matter how many times they lie about how good it is, is in the tank, and our education system went from being among the best in the world to pretty durn bad.”
“Mister, oh, mister,” called a young woman sitting at the next table over. “Aren’t you the Newshawk?”
“Would you mind answering a question for me.”
“If I can.”
“In Mrs. Clinton’s speech she spoke briefly about an incident that happened in Philadelphia many years ago. It sounded very important, but I don’t remember hearing about in school. It started with an R, I believe.”
“An important historical event that started with an R?”
“How about the Renaissance?” suggested Red State.
“No, that wasn’t it,” replied the girl.
“Thur was a French explorer named sumthing-or-other Radisson who trapped fur in Canada at one time,” mused Pud. “They named a string of hotels after him – big ones, too,” wiping his nose on his sleeve.
“How about retarded,” I suggested, nodding toward Politico.
“Reconstruction, perhaps,” said Red State.
“Or redistribution. We’ve seen quite a bit if that lately.”
“No, it had a V in it. Rev, something, I think.”
“Oh,” says Red State perking up. “You mean the Revolution. The American Revolution.”
“The what?”  asked the girl, her faced wrinkled in an ’I don’t know what you’re taking about’ way.
“The American Revolution was a war fought here in the United States. Americans were fighting England for their independence and ultimately their – and our – freedom.”
“We had to fight for our freedom?” she asked, taken aback by the idea. “Wow. That’s cool. That makes it so much more precious than just having it. But my dad says we’re losing our freedom.”
“Freedom. Fiddlesticks. Now you’re gonna blame liberals for losing our freedom. Ain’t ya?”
“Just what do you think political correctness is all about,” I asked.
“PC is cool, man. Gives you control over people.”
The girl, looking sad, asked, “Why didn’t I learn about the American Revolution in school?”
“The education establishment, owned and operated by democrats, elected to deprive grade school and high school students an awareness of their heritage. It’s much easier to turn young minds against their country when they have no knowledge of it or pride in it,” I explained.
“To bad you and others your age couldn’t sue government agencies involved in stealing your education, but they would never allow it.”
The sad young woman looked around as if lost, then asked, “What can I do?”
Red State and I thought for a minute, then shrugged.

Pud sat picking his nose.

The Flip Side