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Monday, October 20, 2014

Cosmo Limps Into His Future

     That handsome gent to your left is Cosmo, our black Lab. I wrote about him on a couple of occasions awhile back, about how he stole the cat's food and devised ways to trick us into thinking that's not what he was doing. I had decided I wouldn't write about him anymore, thinking it not a good fit for a political blog space, but I changed my mind again - maybe just once more. Besides, I'm dead sick of reading and writing about politics; I need a break Continuously writing about criminals is a very trying pastime.
     One of the reasons I decided to talk about Cosmo again is I received a couple of phone calls - one from a local woman, Susan, who enjoyed my stories about him from before and had been waiting patiently for another to come along; another from a woman, Brenda, in the Binghamton area with the same thoughts. Far be it from me not to keep the ladies happy.
     Some of you might remember that Cosmo has a bad case of bilateral hip dysplasia; not that there's a good case of it. There is also something seriously wrong with his knees. Operations to fix both of these issues are possible but probably wouldn't help and might make matters worse. We were told to expect that he could have about five or six years of normal activity before he would have any serious problems. He didn't last that long. He's only three years old and has apparently pulled a ligament in his right leg, which, we were told, wasn't likely to get any better. So Cosmo limps now, sometimes quite obviously. (It's not evident in the picture, but he is sitting down with his hind legs splayed out to the side, both appearing lifeless, but he seems not to notice and goes on his way being a big puppy seemingly unfazed by it all.) He gets around pretty well on his three other legs - which are really only two and a half. Odd thing though, he's a hunting dog and simply cannot pass up an urge to chase anything that moves - cats, squirrels (his favorite chasees), chipmunks, birds, and yes, even leaves (which are also his favorite things to bark at. As we've grown accustomed to his nutty behavior my wife and I have become quite secure in the knowledge that there will never be a leaf that sneaks up on the house. A terrorist that disguises himself as a leaf hasn't got a chance.) Coz has a bad habit of barking rather viciously at passing dogs. The sheriff's deputy who lives up the block has a huge German shepherd, and when the shepherd is walked by the house, Coz goes off like he wants to tear it apart. It's a good thing the shepherd ignores him, or he'd be in for a real butt whuppin'. We have another dog, Dani, a staffordshire terrier/ mastiff cross, and the two of them wrestle and chase around the yard a lot. But not as often as they used to. One thing I've noticed is Coz is much easier to knock off his feet. His back legs collapse when she slams him; it was always that way.
     The picture just misses depicting the devilment in this dogs eyes. He has a look of mischief and impishness that is unmistakable, especially when he wants something; and he doesn't want it sometime in the future, he wants it NOW. Your only option (that's probably an oxymoron - there is really no option involved) is to do as you're told. He lets you know exactly what he wants - you do it - and everything is honky-dory. This big PITA has more personality that most of the humans of my acquaintance.
     In a previous blog I described his forays concerning the surreptitious theft of the cat's food. The cat always leaves food behind after eating and Coz thinks of it as a snack. He lies crouched several feet away from the bowl, thinking we can't see his 106 pound bulk skulking in the middle of the kitchen floor. He looks like a tiger would look, whose about to pounce on a juicy lamb. When the cat leaves, Coz attacks the bowl. His problem is that the bowl is metal and the floor is hard wood, so there's telltale noise accompanying the attack. My wife hollers for him to leave the cat's dish alone. And she gets huffy about it. (Me, I could care less, but I holler - with much less enthusiasm than my wife thinks is necessary - just to be heard.).
     So Coz developed a sneaky rejoinder. At the first yell of detection he picks up the metal dish and heads out lickety-split into the family room and sets it down on the carpet. It's a much quieter way to devour the contents of a metal bowl; then to further complicate his shenanigans, he hides the bowl. He's a brat. My wife yells at him and the dog ignores her. He's already accomplished what he set out to do and made a good attempt to hide the evidence.
     After the strained ligament in his leg occurred, the veterinarian suggested we give him pain pills. It's difficult to determine if an animal is in pain or in how much pain - they don't whine like we humans do, but sometimes it's pretty obvious. My heart goes out to the big fella; I hate to see such a young, happy, beautiful creature suffer but for his part he handles his infirmity very well. The vet says he needs to lose weight - 20 lbs. - but he's not obese now - he's a big, deep-chested, powerfully built, hunting dog, and to my way of thinking, he would look absolutely emaciated after losing so much. Less weight would certainly help with his leg problems, though. We'll see how it goes.
     So we drop a couple of pain pills a day into his chow. Trouble is - and I have no answer for it - Coz hates taking pain pills. No kidding, if he sees one in the bowl, he'll eat around it. If one of us tries to get him to swallow one given by hand, he lets out a growl and turns away. He apparently hasn't yet made the connection between the little white pills and less pain. Or perhaps the pills make him feel funny. I know one of the ones I had taken in the past left me feeling strange, sickish, uneasy. Anyway, the other day I forget to put his pain medication in his chow (we have to camouflage it by mixing it in with the kibbles and string beans). I knew from experience he'd never take it from my hand, so I very cleverly (I thought) concealed one in with the leftover food in the cat's dish, thinking he'd jump right on it and take his medicine without realizing he'd been outfoxed by a superior being with thumbs and the brain power to outsmart a house pet. In his three years on the planet he's never let an opportunity to finish the cat's meal go by. Lately, he's become quite brazen; he'll grab up the dish right in front of my wife and prance (brazenly) into the family room and devour the remains. Most of the time he leaves a trail of bits behind. Once he's finished with the bowl he walks back through the kitchen snuffling up the bits, my wife yelling all the while. Anyway, I figured the ploy of slipping the medication into the cat's dish was a good one. But it didn't work. That SOB ignored that bowl for the entire day. He somehow must have sensed there was a pain pill in there, and he was gonna be dipped if he'd be suckered into taking it.
     Yeah, he's a willful brat all right, but he has his good points, too. His favorite times are just hanging out with one of us. Most of the time he'll lie on - not near, mind you, but on - our feet, so he'll be alerted when we arise to go somewhere. He wants to go, too. He loves to walk and ride in the truck.
     No one enters the house without being greeted at the door by Cosmo, no matter what time of the day or night it is. I know, a lot of dogs do this, but I think it's very cool. Often, the dog is the only one to acknowledge your arrival. It's nice to have someone greet you, when everyone else is too involved to care.

Try to think of my book, The Newshawk Reports: The Writings of a Politically Incorrect Newsbird, as a unique and wonderful Christmas present. Hard copies and an e-book available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Saturday, October 18, 2014

BHO: Our Very Own Svengali

      One day last week El Semi Uno, The Half One, (if I knew how to say “wit” in Spanish, I could make the description more appropriate) said to the nation that Ebola would not come to America. He said it. I heard him. And, still, I fully expected there to be a full-fledged epidemic on the next plane arriving from Africa. This guy lies about everything – and apparently he’s convinced himself that we believe what he says.
But we know better don’t we? How’s it go – Fool me once, shame on you; Fool me twice, shame on me; try to fool me every time you open your mouth, you need to be bound and gagged.
This business of health officials refusing to put a stop to airline traffic from West Africa to the U.S. should be telling us something. They say a ban would interfere with efforts to confront the virus, but it certainly looks like an appropriate way to protect the American public, which should be their primary concern. With a ban, at least hospitals will not be treating as many Americans. Is the refusal to ban coming from the White House? No, not yet. At least, not openly. But the conviction to ban isn’t there. Several news writers say there’s no desire for it among White House schmos.
El Semi Uno is waffling. He said, “We will not hesitate to do what is necessary in order to maximize the chances that we avoid an attack here in the United States.” (One wonders if he’s referring to ISIS or Ebola. We are surrounded by enemies, folks.) I hate to say it (no, I don’t) but I wonder if this not a falsehood intended to make us feel safe, when the opposite is true. (What is going on at the border while Americans are focused on Ebola? Nothing good, you can take that to the bank.) My guess is the ban on air travel to the United States will not happen. Press Secretary Earnest said a ban would have no useful purpose, and he usually parrots El Semi Uno. In Congress, nearly all proponents of the ban are Republicans, hardly any Democrats think it’s a good idea. I wonder why? No ban is saying one of two things: Either the president does not have our health at heart, or he is putting the country at risk of a killer epidemic for political purposes, and he wants the epidemic to happen. What other conclusion is there to be made, in such a case?
Why would he want the epidemic to happen?  Is it that he sees the defeat of the Democrat party in the elections next month? His prime requisite is the destruction of the Republican Party. He needs to do something drastic to keep things going the way he wants them to go. The lame duck session, when the Democrats are supposed to be cleaning up old business before the next batch of pols arrive, will be a time when they instead will put a choke hold on the country. It will be a time of great destruction, with BO there presiding. Lest we complain too much, perhaps greater sanctions against the taxpayers will be forthcoming by way of Martial Law. We all know BO wishes to become dictator. He can do this under the aegis of Martial Law, which gives the president complete control over everything. He can even suspend the constraints of the Constitution. Imagine that! No training necessary, he is an experienced suspender.
 Every president has had the authority to declare Martial Law in the event of a crisis. To have support for his assumption to the dictatorship, BO needs a crisis. We have to want him to rescue us from something. Remember that every time the regime has called an event a crisis, a law was passed detrimental to the citizens (remember the Stimulus, which cost taxpayers nearly a trillion dollars and created nary a job? Your president laughed himself silly over that one.). Former White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emmanuel famously quipped, “You never let a serious crisis go to waste. And what I mean by that is it’s an opportunity to do things you think you could not do before.” Declaring yourself dictator would certainly apply.
Is it possible that the President of the United States of America, the leader of the “free” world, would betray his people by inviting an Ebola epidemic into the country? I don’t want to think anyone is capable of such evil. But desperate times call for desperate measures, BO might be thinking, especially when one’s dreams of being a god are on the line. Dictator! Woweee!. Don’t laugh; I wouldn’t mind being dictator. You would see some real changes made, you can bank on that. (I know, that line has already been taken.) But my changes would all be for the better, a much different tack than that taken by most dictators, who insist on making matters worse for the people over whom they rule.
I see BO as a modern day Svengali. Svengali was a fictional character in a book written a century ago who has come to characterize evil in literature. A person referred to as a Svengali is “a person who, with evil intent, dominates, manipulates and controls another,” particularly a creative person. Who is more creative than the American people? America haters like BO, all his schmos and most Democrats resent this and want it destroyed. Svengali was also anti-Semitic. Ring any bells? What? Racism in the White House, you wonder? There most certainly is. And this coming from an administration that survives by playing the race card daily.
Now I of course could be wrong about this business of BO welcoming an Ebola epidemic into the country. But looking at the situation and the potential for a big-time crisis, and reading the admonition of Rahn Emanuel, and the likelihood of an eviction of Democrats in November, and surmising BO’s desire for dictatorship, the elements of a Svengali manipulation are certainly present.
That’s all I’m saying.
But you think what you want

A lot more of this stuff is available in my book, The Newshawk Reports: The Writings of a Politically Incorrect Newsbird, on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. They'll make incredible Christmas presents.
Please, please buy one (or two). I need the money!

Sunday, October 12, 2014

P.C. Crowd Foils Columbus' Discovery


      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 sidekick 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, Mister Conqueror, 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!”

My book, The Newshawk Reports: The Writings of a Politically Incorrect Newsbird, is available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Monday, October 6, 2014

Getting By in a World of Crap

I’m really concerned for the sanity of the regime, after seeing in the news the supplies sent to our Syrian allies were “inadvertently” dropped into ISIS territory. That is  reassuring. Is this a bungle or a plot. One thing I have come to suspect about BO and his Schmos is they usually do what they plan to do, no matter how it looks to the rest of us. They are not only immune to prosecution, they are immune to adverse public opinion.
Remember, for years we blamed the disintegration of the country on BO and Schmo mistakes; we said they didn’t know what they were doing – they were inexperienced and totally dumb. Truth was, they were following their plan of Cloward and Piven - destruction from within, all along – to perfection, in fact. These people aren’t nearly as stupid as we thought they were. And unless House Republicans and (hopefully) a newly installed Republican Senate can reverse the damage the Schmos have wreaked, our gooses may be cooked (or is it our geese may be cooked?) It’s taking a lot for granted there are a sufficient number of true Conservatives with balls enough to help us. It’s pretty much up to them; there’ little we can do to help ourselves and that’s maddening. Our only remaining rejoinder is the polls next month. Be sure to get your butts out to vote – for a Republican. If you plan to vote in another Democrat, please take note of the mess they’ve caused and stay home. The country does not need you.
I had questions for BO, so I called the Off-White Abode to see if he was around. I was told he was putting golf balls in the Ovoid Space, so I fueled the Fredmobile with Brown Stuff – B.S., which lay several inches deep in the streets of Shamalot, and drove over to see him. I, of course, had no trouble navigating the hallways (in fact, I’d seen the regular Secret Service hall monitor hand-in-hand with an intern, heading toward the door to the Rose Garden) and walked right into the Ovoid Space as he dropped a club into his golf bag.
“Newshawk, holy mackerel, man, how do you keep getting in here? I done told the guards to watch out for you, and when you showed up, to throw you out.”
“Wellll, you know what they’re saying nowadays – jobs are scarcer than hen’s teeth and good help is hard to find – especially in the ranks of your SS. Both issues you have first hand knowledge of.”
“Yeah, but …”
“Ever wonder if the Secret Service crew that protects you is doing its job. Why is it called “secret”, by the way? Everybody knows about it. And is it staffed by guys who are really ready to take a bullet for you?”
“Well, er, I am El Uno, The One (and only, I might add) …”
“It’s absurd. I wouldn’t take a bullet for you. I mean, why should I? The country would be better off without you.”
“Actually, I feel pretty safe, even if there was no Secret Service. With me gone, good ole Joe would be president, and nobody wants Joe to be president.”
“Is that why you chose him as your running mate?”
He gave me a knowing look and shrugged. I got the point. I do wonder, though, why we never see the two of them together.
“I see you’re back on your global warming kick ..”
“It’s a very important issue … and we need the money carbon-footprint taxes will bring.”
“It’s crap and you know it! There’s no such thing as global warming, anymore; the warming stopped 17 years ago. You know, instead of lying about global warming, you should be more concerned with the global swarming of homicidal terrorists. You all but invite them into the country, and at the same time, you want to go after our guns. What the hell do you think you are doing, sir!”
He did not deign to react to my tirade, but said, “So impeach me.”
“Great idea.”
“But there’s still good ole Joe to deal with,” he said smiling and waggling that “you shouldn’t do that” finger back and forth.
He thought a minute, then continued, “Besides, with all the problems I’ve got – Afghanistan, Iran, Syria, Iraq, Israel,” counting them off on his fingers, “Ukraine and Putin, all that stuff at the border, and how to steal the next election, impeachment doesn’t sound so bad.”
“More time for golf, huh? Anyway, by the time they’d get around to actually removing you, Hillary will be office. Geez, I wonder if impeachments are transferable.”
“Doubtful. But if it is, make sure Joe isn’t her vice president.”
“I hear ya. Well, I guess I’ll be moseying,” getting up to leave.
“See ya.”
“Yeah, oh, hey, by the way, I saw the cartoon about the watermelon toothpaste.”
“Sad business, that. What did you think, or should I ask?”
“I think it’s crying shame a white guy can’t say “watermelon” without a gang of shithead liberals, black and white,  calling him racist. They would probably have tried to lynch the cartoonist if he’d referred to the toothpaste as “spare rib” brown, I suppose.”
“Absolutely, that’s what political correctness is all about.”
“What a bunch of crap.”

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Is the Regime Selling Us Out?

The way BO and his Schmos are handling, or more correctly, mishandling, recent issues with the nation’s security does not make me feel very safe. If I didn’t know better, and I wonder if I do or perhaps I’m favoring the brighter side, I’d think the man who had sworn to defend the Constitution and protect America might be on the wrong side.
Look at the issues that point that way. The border is wide open – anybody can sneak into the country, not only the wetbacks but camel jockeys as well. One thing to keep in mind; there is no one sneaking in who is doing us any favors. I understand there are at least a million ragheads in the Midwest preparing for jihad. This Lone Wolf thing, in which imams are training both muslims and converts from other nations the art (or science) of converting others and cutting the heads off those refusing to become muslim. That guy who beheaded the woman in Oklahoma last week was a convert.
 As you know, I’m a big supporter of the Constitution, but I’ve come to think it’s time our politicians stopped sitting on their hands and passed a law that forbade, under penalty of long, very long, prison sentences the calling for the deaths of Americans who turn down the opportunity to become muslim. How can the calling for murder of innocents be accounted for the freedom of speech. If you can’t yell “fire” in a crowded theatre, you should not be condoning the beheaded of Christians. These imam assholes brazenly throw our own laws in our faces (the First Amendment, in this case.) while trying to convert our Christian country into a branch of Islam. I’m not so sure our president is against this practice, although there is one jihadist I’ve seen on the web who states “we’re coming for Obama.” One side of me says that’s crapola; the other side says, Hey, Obama is gay and there was a imam visiting mosques around the country calling for death to the homos. (Have you seen the film on utube that claims, using the science of biometrics as evidence, that Michelle is a transsexual? Wouldn’t that beat all – a queer president brings his punk lover to the White House? Boy, would I like to know what Michelle’s got inside her knickers.
Just this week we hear that the supplies we sent to Iraq that were intended for delivery to moderate Syrians ended up airdropped to ISIS. Accident, they say. I’m not sure I believe that. Yes, our government is peopled with incompetents, no doubt about it, but can’t this crowd do anything right?
BO was on 60 Minutes Sunday night with his favorite ass-kisser Steve Croft, swearing up and down the intelligence community had not informed the regime of the happenings in the Midle East. That all of this happening now, is all news to them. Turns out – SURPRISE! – BO was lying again. The CIA, NSA et al say the administration has been in the loop for past four years on all relevant activities in Middle East. Apparently, the intelligence community keeps records. Then, of course, there is the article that reports the president frequently skips out on security briefings. Doesn’t sound like he takes his job very seriously – he can be found on the golf course at about any time. The scenario, taken in total, is scary.
I am reminded of the insightful final book of the Chronicles of Narnia, “The Last Battle.The book describes how the good-hearted but naïve citizens of Narnia throw away their civilization – losing both their lives and their cherished world – by falling for a ruse foisted upon them by a few cunning and ruthless characters. When you read it, you know what’s going to happen, and you wonder why the people didn’t see it coming. The unscrupulous lied and cheated then lied some more and, in the end, the lights in “the city on the hill” grow dark.
We all know the emperor wears no clothes – most of us can see the truth of what’s happening to America – it’s right there in front of us, what’s not to see? But political correctness has us all shaking in our shoes. Most are afraid to criticize a black president who lies to us nearly everyday – whenever he says anything, its usually found to be untrue. But we dare not be too critical – we’ll be labeled racist, judgmental, bigoted. Maybe it’s time our leaders stood up and took those shots, for the good of the country.

In the history of the world, a world ruled by wars and savagery, despots and corruption, the shining light of a free country shown for a bit longer than two hundred years. Since America’s founding there have been those scheming to destroy it. Rats like Woodrow Wilson, Frankin D. Roosevelt, Lyndon Johnson, Jimmy Carter, Bill Clinton, and the worst of all, Obama, have all taken a shot at kicking the foundation stones out from under the American Experiment. The greed and corruption of small-minded antagonists have cracked the façade of America the Beautiful. How much longer can she last? I’d say it was up to us and how we vote in the elections next month. We know the Democrats will be out to steal the election, just as they did in 2012. Keep your eyes open at the polls – anything that looks fishy, probably is. Report what you see to the proper authorities.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

The Discovery of Modern America

With America as we know it being fundamentally screwed over, I was curious as to the true history of the country. One cannot be sure the schools are teaching true history, but rather revisionist tall tales written by liberals, for the purpose of making us all look bad. When something is described as being rotten, there appears a desire to either repair the damage or outright destroy it. Many in our country have chosen the latter. There is only one place in the Western Hemisphere to research such a topic. I went to the Wimodaughsian Library to ask librarian Heidi Robertson what was available. Sure enough, she produced the Modern History of America on microfiche. Our discovery went something like this (leaving room for artistic license, of course).
A ship (that’s right, just one) tossed anchor in the bay. Two black men, the apparent leaders of the expedition, appeared on deck. Each took telescopes from inside their jackets and, peering all around, surveyed the land they had discovered.
“Indeed, it is a beautiful land, is it not, Captain Botulism?”
Captain Botulism, never one to jump to conclusions or offer undue praise (but made plenty of unadvised decisions), said nothing. He continued to peer about as if looking for something in particular. Finally, he uttered, “There, yon,” pointed into the distance. “See that village with all the people moving about? Those people are all busy doing things. Bustling about, doing this and that. They are WORKING, Captain Doctor! That’s annoying to me.”
“Yes, I see that. Some people are makers of things, or growers of crops. They sell the fruits of their labor to others to make money with which they will buy from others what they need. Others own stores in which things can be purchased. Yet others work for people who are working doing something else. It’s a beautiful system.”
“Bah, humbug,” snorted Captain Botulism (I was as surprised as you must be to learn that Ebenezer Scrooge was not the first person to utter the phrase, “Bah, humbug.” Indeed it was the words of a black socialist when he first glimpsed the beauty of America). “Have you overlooked the man in the stocks having squishy tomatos and rotten eggs thrown at him? That’s unjust.”
“Obviously, he’s being punished for having done something wrong.”
“Did he have an attorney present? Was he allowed to appeal the conviction?”
“Probably not.”
“Ha, you see, I knew there was something wrong with the set up here. I wonder what the man did to deserve being put in the stocks.”
“It says here in the tour guide one of the most common reasons is that he did not pay his bills. Maybe that was it.”
“Ah ha, so he’s a poor man. Probably all those other people in the town have more money than he does, so they persecute the man. Have wealthy persons ever been put into such a contraption?”
“I would think that if a wealthy person committed a crime punishable by spending time in the stocks, then he would. The Constitution calls for equality in the law.”
“The Constitution is a rag that needs to be ignored. I’ll bet the judge who sentenced that man to stocks didn’t read the Constitution first.”
“I still stay there is fairness in our laws. No matter how much money a man has, if he breaks the law, he will be punished – most of the time.”
“Humbug! Never happen. Beside, what would be wrong with spreading the wealth around a little bit?” making sweeping, circular motions with his arm. “Making sure everyone has a little piece of the pie.”
“That’s crazy talk, Botulism,” replied the Doctor. “People need to keep what they earn. This inspires more production of goods. Confiscating it to give to someone else is theft.”
“That’s crap. It inspires equality of wealth. There are always more of the poor.”
“But in this atmosphere everyone has the opportunity to attain something more,” opined the Doctor.
“Bah, humbug. That opportunity needs to be controlled.”
The two men had left the ship, and were strolling side-by-side through the town. They came up on a female business owner arguing with what appeared to be a tax collector.
“I’m not paying for an increase in taxes. The town was taking enough, I can’t afford no more.”
“But, ma’am, everyone has to pay their fair share.”
“I’ve paid my fair share already. Besides, the lord mayor promised the boardwalk on my street would be fixed immediately after the tax increase legislation was passed. That was months ago. Lyin’ damn politicians. And to think, lying is legal for those assholes.”
“But, ma’am, I’m just doing my job,” the tax agent whined.
The exchange had Captain Botulism hugely excited. He was bouncing up and down, shaking his fists, “Tell her you’ll take her business until she pays,” he growled, spittle of the rabid sort dripping from the corners of his mouth. “Then threaten to confiscate her house, then her horse and buggy. Go on, do it!” he screeched in a clearly audible whisper.
Suddenly, Captain Botulism’s attention was drawn to a pregnant young woman walking along talking to another pregnant young woman. He stood staring at them, for once he was speechless, until he said. “Good grief, woman, hasn’t anyone spoken to you about birth control?”
“What?” replied one horrified woman. “Birth control? What is this “birth control,” I ‘ve never heard of such a thing.”
“You can get rid of those unsightly bumps by attending a good birth control clinic. It’s called being “Pro-Choice.” It’s a woman’ prerogative – to have control over what happens to her body.”
“What nonsense is this? My body is currently being used by God for the purpose of creating another human being. Birth control? I intend to control the birth of my child to the best of my ability, then to raise my child to be honest and God-fearing, a productive member of society. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” And with chin high, she strode away from Botulism, one of the few American women who made the right Choice.
The two men hung around the town for a while, talking with merchants and people on the street. Captain Doctor was very pleased with the culture extant in the town. Townsfolk were busy, most were at least fairly prosperous, and most appeared happy.
“They don’t deserve their happiness,” growled Botulism. “They didn’t build any of this, somebody else did, and they have no right to it. None of the necessary institutions of government are present. No NSA, no IRS buildings, no camera surveillance, no abortion clinics, no massive government sprawl. It’s a waste; it truly is a waste. All the potential here for government overreach and political corruption, Chicago style. THERE’S NONE OF THAT HERE, DOCTOR! AND I CAN’T STAND IT.” The poor man stood quivering with rage and resentment. After some time he cooled down and asked Doctor Ben Carson, “So what are you going to do?”
“I think I’ll hang around, see if I can be a help in causing the ideals here to grow. It’s a beautiful place with beautiful ideas, and I want be a part of it. And you, Captain BO?”
“Yeah, I’m gonna hang around too,” Captain BO said, an evil, faraway look in his eyes as he gazed off across the land. “Just long enough to destroy your beautiful land. Nobody deserves to live in such a beautiful place. I’ll lay it to waste and leave it smoldering, and laugh all the way back to wherever it was that I came from.”


Sunday, September 21, 2014

Flocks of "Birds" head to D.C.

I was out hiking in the countryside the other day when I spotted a guy crouching behind a fallen log, peering intently at something in the distance. While I watched, without taking his eyes off the distant thing, he reached into his book bag and withdrew a pair of extra heavy-duty binoculars. I too peered into the distance, eyes squinted to the utmost, but couldn’t see a thing. Bending low, so as not to be seen by whatever was out there, I slipped in next to the guy.
“Whadya see out there?” I whispered, my searching brow crinkled.
“I’m not sure. Something … I think,” he whispered back.
“What did you think you saw?”
“Eh, I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t anything.”
“But you must have seen something. Had you seen anything like it before?”
“Well, yeah, it had a familiar look to it. Not only did I think I’d seen one before, I think I used to have one.”
“No kidding? That’s really interesting.”
“But it disappeared so fast I wasn’t sure I even saw it. I know there aren’t many of them around, and I’m pretty sure I saw a couple of other guys out with binoculars earlier, obviously looking for something. I didn’t know what it was they were looking for – maybe the same things I thought I saw.”
“But it was familiar? Not something new?”
He thought about that then said, “No, but it seems that if I actually saw a real one, I might not believe my eyes. I’ve got this goose-bumpy feeling there used to be a lot of these things around, but, alas, they are now gone - extinct,” he said sadly.
“You mean like an endangered species. Here today, gone the next?”
He looked at me kind of weird.
“Could be. Hey, you’re the guy they call Newshawk, aren’t you? Wow, pleased to meet you – I think!”
I said I was and opined, “This is sort of like bird watching, you know it? You think you see a particular bird, but you don’t. Sometimes it’s there but flits away. Makes you look like a horse’s patoot.”
“If you say so. Wow! Did you see that?” pointing into the distance. “It looked as though a whole bunch of those things popped up from behind that bush over there and just flat out disappeared.”
“Like a flock of birds?”
“Maybe. But you know this time they looked more like … dare I said it? … jobs,” he said sheepishly.
“Now, wait a minute. Maybe you haven’t seen a job for so long, you just imagined you saw one.”
“You think?”
Without warning, a thing popped out from behind a tree, hung momentarily then “popped” away, like a cartoon balloon exploding when an idea blows up.
“That t’weren’t no bird, Mr. Newshawk,” the guy sputtered. “That was definitely a whatcha call … job!” obviously shaken by being so close to one.
“You know, I’ll bet that was BO’s phantom job counsel messing with your head.”
“Job counsel? What job counsel? You’re yanking my chain, right?”
“Nope. Believe it or not there was once such a thing. It was a fleeting thing, it appeared to be here, but it really wasn’t. Ephemeral it was, as most good things are in modern day America.”
“You mean it was a lie.”
“Well stated, my man. Couldn’t have said it better myself. Jobs are just words anymore. You still foolish enough to be looking for a job?”
“Yeah. Dumb, huh?”
“Only if you think the president is going to help you find one. I think what you’re seeing out there, flitting and poof! going away, is BO flipping you off. Teasing you.”
“Yeah, huh? Well what do you think he’ll think about this bird,” making the appropriate gesture.
“I’m sure there are flocks of those birds headed his way every day.”


By the way, should you crave more of The Flip Side, go to Amazon or Barnes and Noble and kindly purchase my book, The Newshawk Reports: The Writings of a Politically Incorrect Newsbird. It's a good read, well written, if I do say so myself, and you're sure to enjoy it.