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Sunday, April 13, 2014

The Clothes Have No Emperor

Remember the fairy tale about the two smart aleck weavers who made a coat for the Emperor that was invisible to fools and incompetents? 
Well I was in the White House the other day and sure enough there was BO walking around in circles and scratching his chin.
“How’s it going today, sir, you seem a bit perplexed,” says I.
“Newshawk! How is it you keep getting in here? I’ve told the guards to keep you out.”
“Oh. They’ve all read my new book.”
“A new book, huh? What’s it about?”
“I refuse to answer on the grounds that doing so may result in a drone being sent to my house.”
I got a dirty look from him, then he said, “While you’re here maybe you can help me out.”
“At your service, sir, as long as you don’t ask me to endorse any of your policies.”
“Tell me something; do I appear naked to you?”
“Physically or mentally?”
“Am I wearing any clothes?”
He wasn’t, but remembering the story, I replied that of course he was. “Why do you ask?”
“Everybody else around here says I’m naked.”
“By that you mean the entire White House staff, the czars and all the other schmos, I suppose?”
“Yeah, yeah, all of them. Conservatives seem to think I’m well-dressed, though.”
“That makes sense. It looks to me that, at least physically, you’re wearing a very fine Italian-made suit. It looks very comfortable, by the way.”
“It’s very light-weight. Hard to believe I’m wearing anything at all. But I can’t understand why everyone else here the White House doesn’t see it.”
“It has to do with character.”
“Which I’m loaded with. So why are they laughing?”
“That’s a different matter, in the altogether.”
“But why do I appear naked to them and not to you?”
“Maybe its because I think the clothes have no emperor. It has to do with you thinking of yourself as the Emperor of the United States of America. Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous?”
His face lit up and he started breathing real hard. “You better watch yourself. I’m not the only one who thinks that way, you know. And we just got in a new shipment of drones.”
“Those would be the ones who see you with no clothes on, I presume.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Either I’m clothed or I’m not clothed.”
“Depends on who’s looking.”
“Yeah, exactly. Why, when I went to that fund raising dinner the other night, they all stood up and cheered. Some said it was a brazen new style I was setting. Bare to the bone, you know. Some of the chicks looked me over pretty good; come to think of it, so did some of the boys. A couple of drunk designers said they think they can sell a design like I was wearing. You should have heard those liberals scream and clap, all yelling, Hell, yeah, they’d buy one. You would have thought they finally recognized who I am.”
“Well, I don’t know. There’s a whole lot of liberals I would not want to see in the altogether. Their birthday suits looking like half-filled grocer bags”
“Well, there are always executive orders to take care of that. But do you think people will go naked just because they see me that way?”
“Of course, sir, there are so many who adore you.”
“Yes, how true. Can’t blame them, really. It must be my personality.”
“Or your skin color. Don’t gloat too much. Half the country thinks its a mental disorder – your personality, that is. So of us think you liberals are having a big hissy fit. T You’ve managed to turn the country on its head – not hard to believe the tradition of wearing clothes will be next to go. Liberals seem to favor anything indecent.”
“I don’t know what you mean. Mental disorder? Hissy fit? It’s all very normal for us.”
“Liberals have changed the entire fabric of  what made America great. It’s a country run by pussies; even so-called conservatives betray their constituents in favor of  sissy liberal policies on a regular basis. White males are routinely being replaced on television by women, although the women bring no more to the table than a man would. Laws favor the criminals. You say you’re trying to create jobs but are daily putting more regulations in the way. And this political correctness jazz is pure insanity; It doesn’t let people be themselves. All this is nutso, and half the country favors it.”
“So you think I’m nutso?”
“You’re their leader. They even like the clothes you wear, Mr. Emperor.”
“So despite what you think, mentally, that is, I really am the Emperor of the United States of America. That’s what I’m thinkin’.”
“That so!. I think, mentally, you’re bare-assed naked. I mean really!”
“Now, wait just a damn minute …”
“Relax, will ya. It’s just a fairy tale. You know all about those.”



Wednesday, April 2, 2014

What if We had BO Baseball?

Prez Takes Over as Baseball Commish




With baseball season just cranking up, my thoughts of passing a few pleasant hours watching a few games came to mind. I seldom can get myself interested in preseason games and was looking forward to opening day. While waiting for the Yankee game to come on at seven Monday evening, I watched a Red Sox’s/ Orioles game. Good game. But, alas no Yankee game at seven. Why? Why wouldn’t this bunch of honyokkers televise the opening-day game?

Oh, well, water under the bridge. The thought occurred that the gubment was almost surely responsible for this obvious screwup, but that couldn’t be since the BO Administration is not regulating baseball … yet. At least not that we know of, but you never know with this bunch. They never seem to know when they are not wanted or needed. Just butt right in and screw everything up. Isn’t BOcare a wonderful piece of legislation?

I began to wonder what baseball might look like if BO and his Schmos ever got involved, with BO as commissioner, of course. What could only expect more Bomess to deal with. It might look something like this:

“Hey!” yelped a rookie outfielder, “what’s this here BAT and BALL deduction from my paycheck?”

“The BAT part – that’s Baseball’s Assistance Tax,” explained the team’s manager. “That’s money confiscated from us to help the poor, the homeless, the hopeless, the jobless, alcoholics and dopers and the hitless, or if you don’t drive in some runs.”

“Boy, that sure leaves a small number under Net Pay,” moaned the rookie. “What’s the BALL deduction?”

“Stands for Big-Dippin’ Allocation for Liberal Largesse. The Commish thinks it’s unfair that some players are paid more than others. He redistributes the pay so every player is paid the same amount.”

“But what if I’m a better player than another guy? I deserve to be paid more. I want my millions instead of the mere thousands I’m left with. This sucks.”

“I feel your pain, man, but Commish BO has chosen to make everyone financial equals, just like he did when he Occupied the Oval Office.”

“Man, I don’t know,” groaned the disgusted rook, “how’m I s’posed to get by on only a quarter-mill a week?”

“Well, ya gotta tighten your belt. Suck it up. Hope this guys plane goes down in a crowded red-state mall. You should see what he did to the pitchers. They’ll be getting paid based on their ERA.”

“Earned Run Average? Pitchers have always been paid based on ERA.”

“Yeah, well it ain’t Earned Run Average anymore. It’s Equality Restoration Aptitude.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, for one thing, they can’t throw anymore off-speed pitches.”

“I don’t mind that, but why?”

“’Cuz some batters can’t hit them. The Commish believes it’s not fair to pitch ‘em to guys that can’t hit ‘em. There’s also a new rule that forbids pitchers to throw low, outside stuff to batters, because they’re more likely to strike out. Strikeouts are now against the rules. They say its embarrassing to hitters and may damage their self-esteem.”

“Yer puttin’ me on, right?” though he kind of liked the idea, given his recent travails.

“Sure wish I was. It gets worse. Pitchers aren’t allowed to pick guys off base anymore. Can’t victimize anybody. And surprise, surprise, there are no foul balls anymore, either. The lefties in the commissioner’s office say the term is offensive and could ultimately stigmatize the player.”

“What are they called now?”

“A shot into non-player-occupied territory.”

“So, if I hit a shot down the left field line, the announcer will say …”

“It’s not called leftfield anymore. It’s to be referred to as an “expanse of love, compassion and fairness.”

“And centerfield?”

“An area of non-ideological extremes.”

“How about right?”

“You ready for this? An area of elephantine greed and vicious bigotry lorded over by conservative, right-wing ideologues.”

“Wow, that’s some mouthful,” smiled the rookie. “Well, at least there is no affirmative action.”

“Oh, yeah, you think not, huh? How come minority guys are the only ones allowed to wear mitts and athletically supported cups? Pitchers aren’t allowed to bean women batters – they scream to NOW when it’s done. Say it’s sexist, the men are trying to get rid of them.”

“Women?” spat the rook.

“Yep. Every team’s gotta have a few in order to qualify for federal subsidy grants, which guarantees all the teams receive the same amount of money. Commish BO thinks it wouldn’t be fair for some clubs to have more money than others.”

“Hey, how come there’s no grass on the field,” asks the rookie.

“Liberals, led by Lisa Jackson of the EPA, considerate it cruel to the grass to let guys run all over it with shoes on. They claim grass screams when it’s wounded. The lunkheads also think that grass hides bugs that may be on the Endangered Species List, and we might step on them, decreasing their numbers and putting their existence in doubt.”

“How come there’s no Astroturf, then?”

They say it smothers worms … er, tubular Americans, rather. It’s also supposed to promote global warming and acid rain, and deplete the ozone layer. The schmos at the EPA say it’s thought to be responsible for the drop in population of the blue whale and a reduction in the reproduction capabilities of the sazmo spork in the Far Rockaway Upper Dingleberry Rain Forest. Very important not to disturb them, you see.”

“No grass? We might hurt ourselves,” whining a little now.

“Yeah, you might bounce around a little until we get a good rain with a nice mud puddle to play in. We have to keep in mind, though, that if the puddle gets big enough, BO’s Schmos will likely invoke the Wetlands Act, declare the stadium a wildlife refuge and not allow humans anywhere near the place.”

The game was about to begin and the first strains of the national anthem blared through the loudspearkers.

“Wait! Hold up, there!” howled the commish, sprinting down the hallway, the schmo Cass Sunstein in his wake. “You can no longer play the national anthem before baseball games. You may offend someone in the stands … or maybe, heaven forbid, on TV! Before the election!”


Well, there you go. Don’t say you weren’t warned.


If you enjoy reading The Flip Side, a tome of 96 more tongue-in-cheek articles are available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. Pull up The Newshawk Reports: The Writings of a Politically Incorrect Newsbird and make your choice.












Friday, March 28, 2014

Revising the American Dream

Being a believer in the sovereignty of American soil, I was out patrolling the Mexican-U.S. border the other day, as a volunteer. I continually experienced the sounds of scurrying legs brushing against denim and saw bushes jiggling in the absence of wind but could see nothing amiss. Chalking it all off to an overactive imagination, I plodded on, in the fervent belief I was stopping wetbacks from illegally despoiling the primacy of my beloved America.

I came upon a Mexican man surveying a piece of land along the Arizona border. I asked his name to which he answered “Manual Labor. And who are you, senor?”

“I’m Newshawk, the intrepid reporter from Canisteo.”

“Oh, si, I’ve heard of you,” a relieved smile on his face.

I then asked “What’s going on, Manual?”

“I am surveying this piece of land along the Arizona border,” he replied.

He said nothing further, so I asked, “Why are you surveying this piece of land along the Arizona border?”

“Just because, senor.”

“Because why?

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“You mean it’s a secret?” Really interested now.

“Si, senor, a secret. We are doing something we can’t let BO’s Schmos know about.”

“Wow, it’s not a secret the government is trying to keep from us, but a secret we are trying to keep from the government? Man, oh, man, how cool is this? Tell me more, amigo.”

“Well, you see I’m surveying this piece of land along the Arizona border?”

“Yes, I do, but why are you doing such a thing, out here in the middle of nowhere, along the Arizona border.?”

“And while I am surveying this piece of land, there is another man surveying a piece of land up north.”

“You don’t say?”

“I do say.”

“Is that a secret from BO’s Schmos, too?”

“Si. You see, when I’m done surveying this piece of land along the Arizona border, we are going to bring in a backhoe and dig a really big hole. Then dig a tunnel from here and go across the border underground.”

“You mean to make it easier for Mexicans to come here illegally, you’ll build an underground superhighway? But, you wouldn’t have to hide that from BO’s Schmos; they’d be all for it. Hell, they’d be down here helping you dig – bring their own shovels. Pack a lunch, make a day of it. Bring the wife and kids – show them how to break the law.”

“Oh, no, senor, eet’s nothing like that. The illegals already have tunnels of their own. BO’s Schmos say we have to leave them alone.”

“I take it you are not in favor of illegal immigration?”

“No, senor. They should be coming over the right way, like my parents did years ago. There are many people from all countries waiting to be allowed to come here. They wait for years. Yet BO’s Schmos say it’s okay for Mexicans to break the law, and where laws are in place against coming here illegally, BO’s Schmos say they can’t enforce the law. It’s wrong, what the schmos do, senor, but, in truth, they do little that doesn’t harm the country.”

“So you are not in favor of La Raza’s stance that claims the states of the southwest were stolen from Mexico? They want them back. Even moved into an office near BO’s so they could continually hound BO to hand them over.”

“La Raza is a bunch of wild-ass radicals. They think BO will sign an executive order in their favor, when he becomes a lame duck.”

“Sounds about right. But then why are you building this tunnel? That’s a huge project. Is it a gateway to round ‘em up and herd ‘em back?” I said, smiling like I hit the nail on the head, sounding a bit like Ward Bond of the old Wagon Train days.

“The tunnel is for the Americans who are looking for jobs and can’t find them here. And Americans who want out. We fully expect a stampede. People think that with all the Mexicans in the US, there must be mucho jobs in Mexico. Unemployment in the US is much worse than is being reported. No one seriously believes the unemployment numbers reported by the state-owned media, bunch of kiss-asses that they are.”

“Build it and they will come, huh?”

“Si. And we have to keep it quiet because BO’s Schmos would never let them leave. It would make them look bad, and they would be losing people to send checks to.”

“So, you’re building a tunnel here. What’s the project up north all about?”

“It’s a parking lot, senor, for the jobseekers. They’ll park up there, We’ll shuttle them to the tunnel. We’ll put in an escalator and have a few sidewalk cafes and snack bars. There will be a side ramp to run golf carts on, for the elderly who have to return to work.”

“Wow, Manual, it sounds really nice. No cobweb infested, dank-smelling rabbit warren tunnels for the escaping Americans, huh?”

“No, senor, and you know what else? Later this year, if, God forbid, the Democrats win more elections? We’ll be putting in an airport.”

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My book, The Newshawk Reports: The Writings of a Politically Incorrect Newsbird, is available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. There is an e-book version also.








Sunday, March 23, 2014

Looking for an Honest Man

 With all of the deceit going on around us I began to wonder if there was any real honesty left in the world. Oh, sure, I know that most common, everyday stiffs like you and me are basically honest. I say basically because although you may not be up to swiping a candy bar from the grocery store, would you be honest enough to return a lost wallet to its owner intact – with all the money left in it? My guess is most wallets are returned – if they are returned at all – without the money. And if the finder were questioned about his/ her dishonesty, he/ she would think its okay to remove the greenbacks – finders keepers, that sort of thing.
Nearly everyday in the news there’s a report about someone being looked for or arrested for some criminal act – I’d say embezzlement cases were sky-rocketing. It seems as though some person in a position of trust starts stealing from the organization they work for as soon as they think they can get away with it. Some get away with it for years, some are nabbed right off the bat.
My pal Red-State Louie and I were talking about honesty one day over a six-pack. Red-State said he thought for the most part honesty was a thing of the past.
“Lookit them school kids going out of their way to cheat on tests. They don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. What’s got inter the youngsters? They think they can cheat and steal their way through their lives?”
“Yeah, well, check out their role models. Grownups they know cheat their customers in business dealings, they cheat on their taxes, merchants are more liable to steal from somebody they know rather than a stranger. They get caught, they say stuff like, ‘Nothing personal, its just business,’ as if that’s an acceptable excuse. Like doing business requires one to be a fink. Heck, more and more people are cheating on their spouses, and they think it’s okay – there’s always an excuse for that, too.”
“How many honest folks do you think are out there in the world? One, two, a couple dozen?”
“I’d say a couple of dozen would be stretching it some,” I replied.
We sat for awhile sipping Red Dog, then he says, “Newshawk, whadya say we go out and  look for a honest man? You know, like that feller over in Greece awhile aback.”
“Oh, yeah. Diogenes. He walked around with a lantern looking for an honest man.”
So Red-State and I took a jet plane to Athens, and sure enough, we found Diogenes hanging out in the old wine barrel he used for a home. Apparently, looking for a honest man didn’t pay very well.
“What kin I do fer you fellers,” the philosopher asked, picking a nit from his robe.
“We came looking for an honest man,” said I. “We heard you had some experience along those lines.”
“Yeah, yeah. I gave it a shot. Heck, I even carried a lantern so I could look in dark places, but there ain’t no more honest men in the dark than there is in the light. I did find, though, that men who were thought to be as honest as the day is long needed watching during the night.”
“I suspect you found politicians to be the most dishonest.”
“By and large. What you’re likely to find is an honest man, if you kin find one, will be respected by all parties – except political parties. Then it’s the party hacks with the most respect – because they can be counted on to vote properly. It ain’t honesty, it’s consistency.”
“Interesting point.”
Diogenes crawled from the wine barrel, and taking up his lamp and walking stick, began to walk with us.
“Have you ever prospected in Washington, D.C.?” I asked.
“Oh, boy, that place is murder, Newshawk. As soon as I came to the city limits, my lamp blew out. Couldn’t get it going again till I left town. Even then, it flickered like crazy for good long way before the flames bounced back.”
“Wuz ya ever able to find an honest man?” asked Red-State.
“There were a few folks I thought might be. But most were rascals and scoundrels, liars and thieves Worst part was there wasn’t very many who thought honesty was important.”
left in the world. Oh, sure, I know that most common, everyday stiffs like you and me are basically honest. I say basically because although you may not be up to swiping a candy bar from the grocery store, would you be honest enough to return a lost wallet to its owner intact – with all the money left in it? My guess is most wallets are returned – if they are returned at all – without the money. And if the finder were questioned about his/ her dishonesty, he/ she would think its okay to remove the greenbacks – finders keepers, that sort of thing.
Nearly everyday in the news there’s a report about someone being looked for or arrested for some criminal act – I’d say embezzlement cases were sky-rocketing. It seems as though some person in a position of trust starts stealing from the organization they work for as soon as they think they can get away with it. Some get away with it for years, some are nabbed right off the bat.
My pal Red-State Louie and I were talking about honesty one day over a six-pack. Red-State said he thought for the most part honesty was a thing of the past.
“Lookit them school kids going out of their way to cheat on tests. They don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. What’s got inter the youngsters? They think they can cheat and steal their way through their lives?”
“Yeah, well, check out their role models. Grownups they know cheat their customers in business dealings, they cheat on their taxes, merchants are more liable to steal from somebody they know rather than a stranger. They get caught, they say stuff like, ‘Nothing personal, its just business,’ as if that’s an acceptable excuse. Like doing business requires one to be a fink. Heck, more and more people are cheating on their spouses, and they think it’s okay – there’s always an excuse for that, too.”
“How many honest folks do you think are out there in the world? One, two, a couple dozen?”
“I’d say a couple of dozen would be stretching it some,” I replied.
We sat for awhile sipping Red Dog, then he says, “Newshawk, whadya say we go out and  look for a honest man? You know, like that feller over in Greece awhile aback.”
“Oh, yeah. Diogenes. He walked around with a lantern looking for an honest man.”
So Red-State and I took a jet plane to Athens, and sure enough, we found Diogenes hanging out in the old wine barrel he used for a home. Apparently, looking for a honest man didn’t pay very well.
“What kin I do fer you fellers,” the philosopher asked, picking a nit from his robe.
“We came looking for an honest man,” said I. “We heard you had some experience along those lines.”
“Yeah, yeah. I gave it a shot. Heck, I even carried a lantern so I could look in dark places, but there ain’t no more honest men in the dark than there is in the light. I did find, though, that men who were thought to be as honest as the day is long needed watching during the night.”
“I suspect you found politicians to be the most dishonest.”
“By and large. What you’re likely to find is an honest man, if you kin find one, will be respected by all parties – except political parties. Then it’s the party hacks with the most respect – because they can be counted on to vote properly. It ain’t honesty, it’s consistency.”
“Interesting point.”
Diogenes crawled from the wine barrel, and taking up his lamp and walking stick, began to walk with us.
“Have you ever prospected in Washington, D.C.?” I asked.
“Oh, boy, that place is murder, Newshawk. As soon as I came to the city limits, my lamp blew out. Couldn’t get it going again till I left town. Even then, it flickered like crazy for good long way before the flames bounced back.”
“Wuz ya ever able to find an honest man?” asked Red-State.
“There were a few folks I thought might be. But most were rascals and scoundrels, liars and thieves Worst part was there wasn’t very many who thought honesty was important.”

Sunday, March 16, 2014

Checking in with BO

I don’t know about you but having a president of the United States, who’s a handful shy of having all his marbles is scary. It’s not only scary, it’s revolting that so many people were dumb enough to vote for this guy.
I have had the opportunity, and I’m not shy about it, to ask people who are dumb enough to admit they voted for the putz, why they voted the way hey did. Mostly, they don’t want to talk about it. “Well, I don’t want to get into that right now.”  When BO’s mental health is brought into the discussion, they say they’ve never heard that he was anything but sane. Discussions based on BO’s administration of the country usually end up with words to the effect, “Why don’t you mind your own business?” When I reply it certainly is my business to question the smarts and sanity of a nut job that twice voted for the man who is systematically kicking the pinnings out from under our country, I am given really ugly looks. What I think it boils down to is these stupid, half nuts people think their responsibility ends when they leave the voting booth. They show up to vote for the black guy – heaven forbid they be considered racist for doing otherwise, when actually it is they who are the racists for doing what they are doing. Anytime you choose one person over the other because of skin color, you are a racist. Period.
It seems unlikely they are paying attention to what BO and the Schmos are up to. Liberals want to legislate everything, but passing laws the old-fashioned way isn’t thought to be cool these days. BO has taken the plight of the nation on his own shoulders and frequently passes laws on his own. This is far from ethical, but it doesn’t bother anyone in Washington, be they Democrats or Republicans. No one cares to talk about the lawbreaker in the White House.
I decided it was time I paid BO another visit. As usual, he wasn’t super overjoyed with my appearance in the park, in which I found him walking around in his underwear, strumming his lips and talking to the pigeons.
“Oh, for crying out loud.  I told these Secret Service folks to be sure to keep you out of here.”
“What’s the matter, Mr. President, afraid the public will catch you in your drawers?”
“Naw. Man. Come on, now.”
“Seems like we’re always catching you with your pants down – and your mouth wide open.”
“Whadya talking about?”
“Your deportation policies. You say they can only be resolved by Congress, yet you haven’t paid a lick of attention to Congress in some time, preferring to rule the country from your bedroom – or maybe here in the park, in congress with the pigeons.”
El Semi Uno stared daggers at me, like he caught me stealing the silverware. Then I asked: “And what’s with this minimum wage law? You of all humans – some say the world’s smartest human, thought there are many more who doubt it – should know the proper way to handle wages for the masses. They really don’t need you of the elite set dictating how much money they make.”
“Uh huh? And just how am I supposed to do that?”
“You’re not supposed to do anything – that’s the point. You butt out.”
“Oh hell, that’s no fun. I can’t have something good going on without my fingerprints all over it. Besides, you really don’t think anything important happens without me doing an  executive order , do you? You can’t fix the minimum wage thing without a gubment fix.”
“Look, just put an end to undocumented Democrats coming into the country – these are the low-end workers. Without them, the laws of supply and demand figure in – remember them? Or did they not teach these at Harvard and Columbia?  These laws allow the market – remember the market? -  to set wages. Not government.”
“Good grief, Newshawk. What’s gubment good for then?”
“Not much. Nothing I can think of. Chrissakes, the part of the government that needs to be maintained, you’re eliminating.”
“Hey, look, I’m way too smart to do anything wrong. What on earth are you talking about?”
“Look around. There’s an increase in terrorism everywhere you look. Nobody trusts Vladimir Putin. Kim Jong Un has lots of people nervous – they wish he was Kim Jong Gone, know what I mean? Iran is building nuclear weapons. They all think you’re a pussy. And what do you say to do?”
He looks at me and shrugs
“What do I say to do?”
“Reduce the military. Nobody is that stupid. So, what’s really going on, BO? Whadya got up your sleeve?”

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Nobel Prize Losing Luster

Sorry about the delay. Haven't been feeling so hot.

By the way, both Amazon and Barnes and Noble have lowered the price of the book. If you haven't already, have a look.

 On the cover of the March 17 issue of The Weekly Standard is a picture of the president holding the certificate and medallion for the Nobel Peace Prize, which for some reason no one has been able to fathom he was awarded in 2009, a month after his equally baffling inauguration. The tagline reads “Give it back!” I’ll say a hearty amen to that. The president is, as you might expect wearing a smug smile, leaving no doubt this narcissistic fool thinks he is deserving of the award.
At one time the Nobel Prize was a widely respected benchmark of excellence in a variety of fields of endeavor: physics, chemistry, history, peace, medicine, economics, literature, stuff like that. Brilliant minds in many such endeavors were so awarded: Albert Einstein, Nelson Mandela, Martin Luther King, Mother Theresa, to name a few. And there is no doubt these people deserved to be recognized for their contributions to mankind.
But what did Yasser Arafat, one of the world’s most brutal terrorists, do to deserve such an award? As an example of a reason Arafat was entirely undeserving: back in the 1980s and 1990s the Saudi family was offering $25,000 to the families of suicide bombers. Arafat intercepted the money for his own coffers, amassing a $10 million dollar bank account. The families of the bombers got nothing.
The reasons for some of the endowments was a bit vague: For instance, in 1983 William Golding took the prize in Literature for “his novels which, with the perspicuity of realistic narrative art and the diversity and universality of myth illuminate the human condition in the world of today.” Far be it from me to be able to tell what all that is about, but he apparently did something of importance. Or at least somebody thought so.
There are many examples of people, indeed the majority of the winners, who accomplished something significant. Heck, look at the European Union which grab the honor in 2012. How could the world possibly get by for another week without this bunch of hacks, which has driven the continent deeper and deeper into socialism (Oh, I forget who was choosing the winners – sorry).
But that’s only one poor example of an unworthy winner. Henry Kissinger was granted the coveted award in 1973. President Nixon’s secretary of state accepted his due “with humility,” although U.S. forces were still carpet bombing the people of Cambodia when Kissinger callously accepted the award. Kissinger was a co-winner with North Vietnamese leader Le Duc Tho, who was gracious enough to refuse the Nobel prize because peace had not been restored in South Viet Nam. Kissinger had also been accused of war crimes, for the administration’s part in supporting South American dictators.
Ever hear of Cordell Hull? He was honored by the not-so-bright awarders in Norway for his role in creating the United Nations. (Now, there’s a criterion for you!) However, the reason Hull was such a poor choice for a humanitarian award stemmed from an incident that occurred in 1939 when he was FDR’s secretary of state. It seems the president was amenable to a ship carrying 950 Jewish refugees docking in America. But Hull and other liberals from the American south objected and informed the president they would withdraw their support, should the ship be allowed to dock. You can guess what happened. Roosevelt put the kibosh on the landing and ship’s passengers were returned from whence they came (Many ended up in concentration camps). This doesn’t say much for either the liberals who bellyached or the president who should have had a decent set of balls.
We could go through the list of Nobel winners and kick around those who we think are worthy and who are not. As stated, most of them had something to offer humanity. I might argue with Al “the Tree Stump” Gore going halfsies with IPCC bunch for the 2007 Peace Prize. This is the bunch that was foisting the BIG LIE about how man-made global warming is destroying the planet. The award was given for “their efforts to build up and disseminate greater knowledge about man-made climate change, and to lay the foundations for the measures that are needed to counteract such change.” I wonder how those morons in Oslo felt when man-made climate change was revealed to be BS. You got to hand to the global warming wackos though, they haven’t given up on the BIG LIE.
And then we come back to BO, of all people. I have more credentials for collecting a Nobel Prize than this guy. If there was a Reverse Nobel, I could understand his nomination. That would be doing everything backwards. Like talking about job creation and watching the (real)unemployment rate go up. Like saying you have this really great healthcare plan and “if you want to keep your coverage, you can keep it.” But, oh yeah, you got to pass it before you know what’s in it.
Seriously, folks, when the likes of Hull, Kissinger, Arafat, Gore and Obama are given what used to be a prestigious award, you have to wonder – hasn’t the Nobel Prize lost some of its luster. Again, the socialist mind-set is replacing common sense. It’s part and partial to the BIG LIE that is liberalism.
Are you starting to get it?

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Build It and They Will Tax It

I was out one day hammering nails and sawing boards with no particular project in mind, when a soft voice whispered, “Build it and they will come.”
Build what? The voice did not say and when I asked, there was no answer. Then I asked who will come. Still no response.
Deciding I was being treated to a figment, I went on with my doing-nothing-in-particular project. Hammerin’ and sawin’. Hammerin’ and sawin’. Soon the voice returned: “Build it and they will come,” it said.
“Build what?” But there was no answer.
“Who will come?” No answer. I was flummoxed.
Yet I was curious.
I knew that to build something, a government permit was required. So I went to the court house.
“Whaddya need?” growled a faceless bureaucrat.
“I need a permit so I can build it,” says I.
“Build what?”
“It.”
“Why do you want to build an it?”
”So they will come.”
“Who are they?”
“Ones that come when you build it.”
The faceless creature shrugged and began filling out a form.
“How much is this going to cost me?” I asked.
“For liberal builders of its, the fee is a dollar. Since I know you to be a conservative, the charge is a million bucks.”
“What if I were building a church?”
“Two million.”
“What if the ones who are coming are illegal aliens?”
“No charge.”
“Oh, I see. Interesting.”
So I went home and began building it. When I had completed half of it, a fat chick wearing a hard hat drove onto my lawn in a chartreuse backhoe.
“What do you think you’re doing, mister,” she yelled. “I order you to stop what you think you’re doing, right now, and back away!”
“Building it,” shrugging in a way that asks what else I thought I might be doing.
“You can’t build it there.”
“How come. It’s my property.”
“Not really. But you’re interfering with a migratory path for gay-bo fly-by-nights swishing through on the way to the Swap Spit and Shit joint on the next block.”
“They’re not the ones who’ll be coming, I hope.”
“There’s no way of knowing; they have a way of showing up where they’re not invited.”
“So what am I going to do with this half of it?”
“Tear it down and move it over six inches.”
“Oh, my.”
“By the way, that’s American pine you’re using. Exchange it for Himalayan mulberry, and you’ll be good to go.”
“I thought Himalayan mulberry was endangered.”
“Only until you make a suitable contribution to the democrats.”
“I see.”
After months of toil, I finished it and was standing, hammer and saw in hand, admiring my work. A tear of pride emerged from my eye and slipped down my cheek as I thought back over the difficult months it took to finish it. Government inspections, government regulations, insanely high prices for materials caused by suppliers having to deal with Chinese ripoff artists, this fee, that fee, and all the hoopla that goes with building it. I stood massaging my aching muscles and blistered hands, when El Semi Uno arrived in an 18-car motorcade and walked over, a satisfied smirk on his face.
“So, Newshawk, you’ve finished it, have you?”
”I have. Its quite a thing I‘ve built, isn’t it?”
“Whadya mean? You didn’t build it.”
“Oh yeah, who did then?”
“Government, of course.”
“I didn’t see government up there hammerin’ nails and sawin’ boards.”
A person in a government uniform walked up and dropped a letter in my mailbox. I picked it out and looked at it. Sure enough, it was a letter from the government – my property tax bill.
“There you go,” said El Semi Uno, “our bill for building it.”