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Thursday, September 18, 2014

The Truth About the Marketplace Fairness Act

I have done some research on the Marketplace Fairness Act, and although far from having gained expert status on the subject, it sounds like a bunch of hoopla to me. Specifically, the bill itself and much of the discussion about it miss the point: It is a blatant attempt by local governments, Washington, DC, politicians and Big Business to put small internet businesses out of business.
This act has already passed the Democrat-controlled Senate and is awaiting a vote in the House (You should remember this when you vote in November). I would hope that Conservative House Republicans would vote the thing down, but there are any number of Democrats there as well and the ever-present throng of RINOs (Republicans in Name Only) cheering on the passage of this travesty. (They would dearly love to see it happen without having to accept any responsibility).
The Marketplace Fairness Act is fair to nobody but cash-strapped states and Big Businesses, who are trying to rid themselves of small-business competition. Of course, the proponents of the MFA crow that its “leveling the playing field.” Yeah, right. You should know by now that anytime you hear the regime, the Senate, or Big Business speak of leveling anything, or fairness for that matter, in regard to anything to do with the middle class, you’re hearing B.S. in its purest form.
A small business making sales on the internet has the potential to make sales in all 50 states. How many small business owners have the resources to administer the payment of sales taxes to all 50 state tax agencies as well as the many thousands of tax jurisdictions within the states? According to Wayne Allyn Root in his new book The Murder of the Middle Class, “But it’s not just paying taxes to thousands of jurisdictions. The law being proposed opens the door to businesses being audited at any time by any one of the fifty states, or those nine thousand jurisdictions.”
No small business operator could afford the staff to do the paperwork required to comply with such “oversight.” As it stands now, if you own a business in New York, the only risk of audit is from New York. Should an internet tax be put in place the risk of audit can come from any state in which sales are made. Possibly more than one at any time.
Few, if any, small businesses could survive under those circumstances. Big businesses, however, would have no trouble at all. Big Business will be happy to see you gone. And that’s the point of the push for the internet tax. Big Business is contributing heavily to for-sale House members to assure the passage of the law, because they do not want the competition from you, the small business person. It’s true, Amazon, Walmart and Home Depot, et al, all of your favorite Big Business online sites, are conspiring to force the demise of small business. The greedy SOBs want to close you down and absorb your clientele. Once they are rid of you, they will be able to raise prices to cover the cost of compliance. No skin off their noses.
As a consumer I detest the thought of paying a sales tax to a jurisdiction in a distance state, which returns nothing to me for my money (much like the federal government which is currently not spending a dime on anything of interest to me). It’s a huge money grab by local government, intended to beef up empty coffers caused by overspending on entitlements. We here in New York are already paying quite enough to welfare. We don’t need to pay for another state’s coddling of the “idle class” as well.
How did the idea of an internet sales tax come into being, you ask? As mentioned, state and municipal governments are broke, with no place to go for cash. We middle class folks are broke and have few jobs between us, so we are not a viable source for lots of money. The governments went to Big Business, saying, Hey, here’s a great idea for us to start digging out of the hole we got ourselves into and for you guys to gut middle class businesses. But we need your help. You need to send your lobbyists to Congress with the money to buy the votes to pass the Marketplace Fairness Act. Okay? Then when the act becomes law, you’ll have to join in the lies we’ll tell, along with D.C politicians, about the “fairness” of it all. Okay?
 All of which matches up with the regime’s goal of disposing of the middle class. The theft of even more of your money will make the politicians, the regime, Big Business, state governments and municipalities all very happy. And you’ll be out of the picture, working for minimum wage for Walmart – or some other Big Business of your choice, or maybe not of your choice, but of your necessity.


Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Keep Football Talk for Football

Sunday morning I turned on the TV to watch ESPNs Countdown to Football Sunday. This I do almost every Sunday to get a handle on what’s what in the NFL. It is a time to hear football guys talk about a guy’s game. Football talk = talk about football! Not talk about domestic violence, as was done by Ray Lewis, Keyshawn Johnson et al last Sunday.
Yes, domestic violence needs to be talked about. Unfortunately, laws need to be passed to try to keep it from happening. It shouldn’t be that way. And its bothersome to hear about big, tough football guys beating up on women. Maybe they aren’t so tough after all. Just because a guy wears a gangstas do-rag and carries a pistol, as so many of them do, doesn’t make a twinkie into a badass anyway. Beating up on guys might make you a badass, but beating up on women makes you a punk.
Actually, Lewis’ spiel about the topic of the week made a lot of sense. The former Baltimore Ravens linebacker wasn’t happy about the focus of media attention on the NFL and the current spate of accusations against football players beating up family members. Ray Lewis made the point that violence against women was not an NFL problem but a “world problem.” He’s right. Of course, the hound dog media is baying loudly about it, as it does when misfortune hits any group of people not involving them.
I am somewhat surprised by the fact that so many of America’s women believe there is a war on against them. The issue of unequal pay has apparently been handled, depending on who you believe, and shows the difference is only a few pennies per hour for men and women of equal qualifications. The White House is supposed to be the biggest offender of unequal pay, but as you might expect, White House spokespeople deny it. And, as you might expect, no one believes them.
But back to big, bad athletes beating up on their lady friends. (Well, maybe “lady” is a bit of a stretch. Ladies don't dress like tramps, with their private parts on display. like so many women do these days.) There has been quite a number of athletes accused of this crime. But, wait a minute, is it a crime? Of course it is. Assaulting anyone is a crime. So why aren’t these guys being arrested for committing a crime? And why hasn’t the NFL already created its own set of punishments? The NFL should be able to discipline Sluggo when he gets violent with Nancy.
 I was glad to hear Adrian Peterson of the Minnesota Vikings was reinstated for Sunday’s game. Taking a switch to misbehaving boys is a time-honored method of keeping them in line (or trying to, anyway). I don’t know any men who say they weren’t spanked, usually by their fathers, when they misbehaved. Of course, in these politically correct times, spanking itself will soon be a criminal offense. Parents are allowed less and less authority over their own children, as government sticks its nose further into our business. Ben Franklin once opined, “Spare the rod, spoil the boy.” Most of those misbehaving boys, now men, mentioned above, say they behaved themselves (for the most part) out of fear of their fathers and the subsequent punishment. For the most part, the practice turned out some good, honest, hard-working men.
I see where the NOW crowd has sailed onto the wave of the controversy. I’m sure its only to make themselves seem relevant. None of the women of my acquaintance have any use for the organization. Just a bunch of man haters, they say. Most of the women I know love men. They don’t love what they do all of the time, but by and large, women love men. And vice versa. I love women and would never hit one. (Although there is a couple on the national scene I wouldn’t mind taking a swing at.)
To my mind, the NOW gang lost its credibility back in the nineties when they failed to comment on the abuses of women by Bill Clinton. It seemed like every couple of months another woman stepped forward to complain of the president’s “handling” of them. And the liberal NOW crowd said nothing about it. So their concerns for the mistreatment of women stopped short of implicating a liberal politician. A similar scenario was not ignored for Bob Packwood, a senator from Oregon. Packwood was forced to resign his post in 1995, due to numerous accusations of sexual abuse against women. Oh, yeah, he was a Republican senator, in case you hadn’t guessed. It was ever thus: Liberals get away with any crime they wish to commit, while Conservatives are hounded out of office. Even though the NOW gang has joined forces with most of the Western world in the condemnation of wife and girlfriend beaters, in my view, their involvement lends no credence to the arguments which will surely be forthcoming.
But back to the original point. If football guys want to sit around and chat about domestic violence on television, set them up on the Oprah show or The View and let them go at it. But the topic has no place on a Sunday morning football countdown. It should be just guys talking football talk about football. Period.




Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Magic Needed for BO's Image

I pulled the Fredmobile to the curb near the Off-White Abode and cringed when B.S (brown stuff) from the street splashed onto the sides of my environmentally brown ride. I took some pride in operating an environmentally suitable automobile; I just didn’t want it to look that way. You may remember the Fred runs on B.S., which is plentiful and free in Washington. The stuff is everywhere. Brown stuff from other liberal locales is a suitable fuel, but I found the octane lower than in the crapitol city itself. I wanted a fuel that would make my pipes rap loudly when I gunned the motor, as befits a really cool realAmerican. (No, that is not a typo.)
But that’s not why I write today.
I write to inform you of the results of a meeting I had with BHO – You-Know-Who.
I made a stealthy entrance into the Off-White Abode and, as usual, there were no Secret Service guys around. They were likely hanging out in closets (no not that kind of closet), reading my book, The Newshawk Reports, which is a big hit among those suffering from Barry Lib fatigue. For obvious reasons, they could not be seen reading my tome of politically incorrect truths in the halls of a politically correct regime (Is there anything correct about political correctness? This is pure liberal B.S. More correctly, a blatant lie on the part of a basically dishonest ideology. Nothing these people believe is correct. But do they really believe their own drivel? Hmm. Interesting point to ponder. Or are they just throwing it out there to piss off the rest of us?)
I strolled nonchalantly into the Ovoid Space, to find BHO sitting at his desk holding his head in his hands.
“Whatsa matter, Mr. President, all the crap going on in the world finally gave you a headache, huh?”
“Oh, for Allah’s sake. How did you get in here, Newshawk? And whadya mean, crap? There’s no crap in the world; at least none that I did,” sitting up straight, trying unsuccessfully to appear presidential.
“Oh, no? A near race riot in Ferguson, Missouri; thousands of people pouring across the border who have no business being here, while your schmos hide them all over the country; jihadists in Iraq are beheading American journalists Americans are concerned that ISIS is in America, and that you know about it. You’re not out from under the Bengazi business yet; there are very few people out there who believe the IRS scandal didn’t originate here in the White House, more particularly here in the Oval Office; and Obamacare, as you most certainly know, has completely destroyed a darned good healthcare system. And, again, as you certainly must know, a high percentage of Americans, including members of your own party, think you are a liar.
“Is that enough crap, or should I continue?”
“No, stop,” waving a weary hand. “Enough is enough.”
“I’ll say it is. That transparent government you were laying claim to, early in your first term, sure was a bunch of hooey, too, wasn’t it? ‘The most transparent administration in history,’ you said, and you said it many times, making you a serial liar. Wow, that was a real whopper, that one; almost as good as the one about being able to keep your own doctor, remember that? Gosh, those were the days, huh? Back when the people used to believe the crap you were telling them. That one about the new healthcare bill reducing premiums by $2,500 a year! Ha, ha. That was a classic. I gotta hand it to ya. You come up with some real doozies.”
BHO sat unhearing, staring out the window. He seemed lost in thought for several minutes. I was becoming uncomfortable with the silence, when he turned toward me and said, “What do I have to do to get people to believe me again?”
“Whatter you thinking? You want to own up to the lies you’ve told and apologize? That it?”
“Oh, hell, no. Nothing like that. But I’ve got some more B.S. to spew widely, and I want to know the likelihood of having some of it believed.”
"You have no strategy for ISIS, do you?"
"Nary a reasonable thought. But I do need a strategy for getting people to believe I've got it handled."
“So you need another lie. Here goes. Stay as far away from Jay Carney and Lois Lerner as you can get, that would help. Neither Reid nor Pelosi would be helpful to the cause. Joe Biden would be sure to screw up even your best lies, as would your basic Senate and House variety pinkos, who are not known for their forthrightness, on any subject. You ask me, it will take a magician to make you look like an honest man again.”
“A magician? One of those guys that say ‘here, pick a card,’ or pulls a rabbit out of a hat? That what you mean?”
“Yeah, but you’ll need a guy that can make an elephant disappear. Or two hippos.”
“Yeah, I get what you mean. But how do I apply it to getting people to believe me again?”
“I would try a liberal sprinkling of fairy dust. It’s appropriate, and it’s the only thing that has a chance of working.”




Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Some Pointed Chatter

Man, oh, man. Someone needs to tell our priest (again) that the longer the homily doesn’t mean the better the message. Most of us usually are tuned out after seven or eight minutes. I for one seldom retain anything after that. The man is a friend of mine and I am constantly in fear he will someday ask to discuss his homily. By the grace of God …

While I’m at it I wish to send a message to watermelon growers: I prefer watermelon with the seeds still in. Leave them there; you’ll have my undying gratitude. They’re like eating a peach with no pit. You wonder where they are.

Also a message to the people, probably Monsanto, who have Gerryrigged My Organisms to the point they’ve pissed me off. All this GMO crap has produced a tomato that 1) never gets red, but stays a sickly orange-red color and 2) is not juicy like tomatoes are supposed to be, but has the consistency of a hand grenade and 3) tastes something like tomatoes used to taste, but more like cardboard. All this so this precious fruit can be harvested and hauled to market mechanically. For crying out loud, a guy can’t even get a good tomato when he plants his own. They don’t turn red then either and all of the other complaints mentioned above still apply.

Just needed to vent; now to business.

This is the fourth time I’ve started this blog this week. With so much going on in the world, mostly involving you-know-who in one way or the other, I simply could not stay concentrated in a single issue. I figured I’d pick one today and finish it, but instead deleted them all and began anew.

My heart bleeds for those women who whine about getting razzed when entering an abortion clinic. We need more of that. After all, they are on their way to arrange the murder of an unborn child. They say it’s legal and they're entitled. Bullshit! Legal shouldn’t have anything to do with it. If a few baby’s lives might be saved by razzing these broads, then, I say, go for it.

Something that irks me, though I’m not involved at all, is this business in which the discharge of student loan debt is for all intents and purposes immune from bankruptcy proceedings. Put this right on you-know-who for his outlandish anti-jobs regulations. These kids going to school to earn a degree so they will qualify for good jobs and guess what? They learn the very government who loaned them the money has tainted the jobs market. The kids can’t make the payments, unless, of course, they are able to afford them with the welfare checks the government so readily provides.

Something says that no matter how the mess in Ferguson, Missouri, turns out in court, it will never be satisfactorily resolved for the black population. They seem to be anxious to make a lot of trouble without there being any proof a lot of trouble is called for. With no proof of Officer Wilson’s culpability, there is that idiot Al Sharpton rabble-rousing, causing trouble There has never been an event that was bettered for anyone concerned because that idiot showed up. Same with Jesse Jackson. Another damn fool. The officer needs to hope BO stays out of this one. And if the Supreme Court really wants to do something worthwhile, it needs to ban the press from showing up at any happening that involves (or may involve) race. The press can be counted on to make matters worse – every time.

I’m wondering why “the First Black President,” so named by writer Toni Morrison, didn’t show up in Ferguson with (potentially) the First Female President? There must have been a poll suggesting they not go. I doubt they made such a decision without the input of poll stuff. Naw. No way. They never made decisions on their own back in Bill’s heyday, and they didn’t turn to it now.

The election of Republican Elan Carr to the House in November would be a step in beautifying the chamber. Is there an uglier politician in all of Washington than Henry Waxman?

Why is it the national media apparently favors shielding terrorists – Hamas, ISIS, etc. – over the Israelis? Aren’t these the sick bastards chopping off the heads of journalists? If course, it’s all tied in with the journalists’ (dare I use the word to describe these putzes?) adoration of the narcissist-in-chief. If there is an army of terrorists in the U.S., we know who to put the blame on. The least they could have done is send us a warning. (If I were chosen to be president for, say, one term, the first bunch of cowardly kiss asses I would wage a war on would be national media. No group has done more to sell the country down the drain by refusing to do the work that has been entrusted to it by the American people. Too bad there are no more Walter Cronkites. The press doing kissy-kissy with the Regime is a huge betrayal. I solemnly swear that should I become president of this fair land, not a single existing liberal media outlet will survive my wrath. (I see where the Washington Post is being sold for the value of the real estate it sits on. The newspaper has, fittingly, become worthless because of decades of kissy-kissy crap with liberal politicians. I understand the Miami Herald, another liberal rag, is in the same straits. Tsk. Tsk. Wouldn’t you think that when a publisher saw his/her newspaper losing readership and then revenue, that publisher would take steps to publish what people want to read and what advertisers would invest in, and make their own leanings secondary?)

Oh, yeah, there would be no more illegal immigrants, no more crony capitalism, and I would, by executive order if necessary, erase every regulation put in force by BO’s schmos during his two terms. (That’s if we can escape another crooked BO victory at the polls in 2016. Nothing I’ve heard or read convinces me this guy is going to just walk away from the job of the most powerful man on Earth, without a fuss. His narcissism won’t permit it. I fear the possibility of the institution of martial law before that election.

And, most importantly, my presidency will signal its time we send El Semi Uno packing - with a copy of the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act stuck securely between his back pockets. Hopefully to never be seen again.
=================================================================
A copy of my book, The Newshawk Reports: The Writings of a Politically Incorrect Newsbird, is available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. 

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

A President Needs a Philosophy

I’m a president watcher. I think the most powerful man in the free world needs to be watched, some more closely than others. It’s pretty obvious why this is so.
I wasn’t always a president watcher. It began during Watergate and all the sneaky stuff that went on there. All those people being subpoenaed to testify before Congress, Bob Woodworth’s reports on Deep Throat. Nixon claiming, with his jowls quaking vigorously, “I’m not a crook!” No, but he was a liar. Anyway, after that I became interested in watching presidents. There have been some who bore a lot of watching and there were those who didn’t, but mostly there were more of the former.
      I think a president’s philosophy of governance has a lot to with how close an eye needs to be kept on them. Ronald Reagan, except for letting Ollie North get him into trouble over that Iran-Contra business, played the job pretty straight, and the only ones that worried about him were the Democrats, who were up against it with concern over how bad he was going to make them look. Ronaldus Magmus, a laissez-faire kind of guy,  famously said, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” That’s a fair-to-middlin’ philosophy. Other presidents should have tried it, but most couldn’t keep their hands off things.
      For example, John Kennedy once said, “If there ain’t too much wrong with her, give her my phone number. If you’re not sure about her, give her Bobby’s number.” I’m told it was a philosophy apropos to the Kennedy boys.
      Eisenhower had an interesting philosophy, one that may have worked well for most of the presidents. As you know, there were few pastimes Ike enjoyed more than a round of golf (just like most presidents). He said, “If it works all right, score it par; if it’s broke, leave a note on my golf bag, I’ll get back to you.” Consequently, the years of the Eisenhower presidency were really good years. Happy times.
      LBJ had a more aggressive outlook on the political landscape. LBJ said, “If he’s breathin’, ship him to Viet Nam; if he gets killed, don’t tell anybody. (There was quite a lot of combat-figure fudging during the war. Gen. William Westmoreland, commander of U.S. military forces in Viet Nam, frequently under-reported casualties at the conclusion of a battle.)
      Which brings us to Richard “Tricky Dicky” Nixon, whose exploits first coaxed me into becoming a president watcher. Watergate was the first political event that prompted my interest in watching the news in the evening. I couldn’t get enough of the corruption. It was wonderful stuff. Anyway, back to Tricky Dick’s presidential philosophy. Tricky Dick said, his declaration accompanied by his characteristic hunched-up shoulders, head shaking, I’m-really-an-honest-man look in his eyes, “Let me say this about that! I solemnly assure you that if it’s broke, this administration had no prior knowledge of it. I’M NOT A CROOK! I’M NOT A CROOK!” He wasn’t a very good liar either.
      I can’t say whether Gerald Ford had a philosophy. If so, I don’t know what it would have been.
Jimmy Carter did though. Jimmy did a lot of foolish meddling, which nearly put the country under. Some of you will remember the Misery Index, an economic indicator arrived at by adding the unemployment rate to the inflation rate. When Carter left office in 1981, the M.I. was just under 20, the highest of any post-WWII president This is, of course, where it stood when Ronald Reagan took over. When he left in 1989, the M.I. stood at just less than ten. Under Carter, inflation was high, unemployment was high, taxes were high, gasoline was scarce – and expensive. Everything the man touched was bad for the rest of us. His philosophy? “If it ain’t broke, tax it. I need the money. If it is broke, tax it. I need the money. Hell, just send the money! I got to get back to the peanut farm where I belong.”
      George 41 may not have had a philosophy when he first went to the White House, but I’ll wager he came up with one before he left. Remember, “Read my lips, no new taxes?” Then he raised our taxes. And was voted out of office in the next election. I would bet that whatever words were used to voice George 41’s philosophy, it had something in it about not lying about raising taxes. Wouldn’t you think?
Then there was Slick Willy Clinton – and he’s still hanging around out there, hoping his gal pal can con her way into the White House. Willy’s philosophy is predictable: “Remember the mantra, y’all, ‘I did not have sex with that woman.’” And,  “It depends on what “is” is.” The philosophy? It is what it is. But what is it? He better hope the next female thing he plays “is” with doesn’t turn him in.
      W was under fire about his insistence there were weapons of mass destruction in Iraq or Syria or some other place. Liberals have always claimed there were no WMDs; W simply needed a reason to go to Iraq to nail Saddam Hussein, they claimed. I’ll go to my grave believing I heard a news report in the early days of Desert Storm that stated American troops found the WMDs in Syria. I heard the report only once, never again. I hadn’t had anything to drink that evening either, and I know what I heard. Somebody was lying about there not being any such weapons. W’s philosophy? Never believe anything you hear, especially if its reported on NBC, CBS, ABC, CNN or MSNBC. Period.
      And then there’s BO. First, allow me a digression:
      For several years I worked for Combined Life Insurance Company, a door-to-door sales company. Its founder was W. Clement Stone. You may have heard of him.The story was he borrowed $100 from his mother in 1919 and started the insurance company. They sold accident insurance; the premium was a dollar eve3ry six months. He died several years ago a multimillionaire. Stone was the creator of the approach, presentation and closing techniques that are still being taught to new agents by many direct sales companies today. What works works. One of the many axioms attributed to him was, Do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do. It sounds pretty basic, maybe a little corny, but it’s a sound principle to incorporate into your way of doing things. If more people put it into practice there would be a lot less dishonesty in the world.
      BO could borrow something from Stone to form his own philosophy. It might go something like: “The right thing? – I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”









Sunday, August 10, 2014

BO, the Wagon-Circling Master

I was chugging along in the Fredmobile, you remember my green car that runs on B.S., the brown stuff that runs freely in the streets of America, but is knee deep in Shamalot, the nation’s crapitol. Freddie fairly purrs in Shamalot. It was eventide and I’d pulled to the side of the road to fill my tank with free crap. In the distance the crapitol stood in its dingy glory but what really caught my eye was the spectacle of a wagon train – nay, not a train as in a long straight line, but more like a blob - oozing over the land..
What appeared to be a sign stood circled in Commie Red lighting in the faraway. I turned my high-powered bi-noks to better see the thing, “S.S.C.S.” stood out for all in the near-distance to see. Some other words printed down low in small letters were illegible at this time. I wondered what that stood for, so I set my cap to enter the depths of B.S. in Shamalot In the distance I saw the president, surprisingly – usually after verbally issuing a ukase he disappears (golf, fund-raiser, boy toy, wherever he was the night of the Bengazi attack, who knows?) - in a wagon seat at the head of the oozing migration.
As I approached an odd thing happened. The wagons drew up in a circle. I remembered wagon trains (notblobs) in the 19th century often pulled into a circle for protection from Indians, outlaws, any outside invader. But why were these wagons circling? It was a mystery worthy of investigation; I, Newshawk, was up to the task.
As I passed through Shamalot suburbia and its many campfires, I heard the word “Bengazi” mentioned in nearly all conversations. I hailed a fellow and asked about the wagons.
“We’re pissed about Bengazi and think the president and his gang of mugs are trying to cover up what really happened.”
“Good Heavens, you actually believe El Semi Uno and his Schmos are being less than ingenuous with the American public? You could be arrested for treason,” says I, my tongue working hard against my cheek.
“Yeah,” the guy says, “and that ain’t all.”
He stood with his hands in his jeans pockets, a beer belly screaming for release over a huge rodeo buckle with the inscription, “Bare Back is More Fun” took a draught on a Miller Lite in a can, and continued. “Whenever we come close to the truth, the freakin’ Democraps circle the wagons. Hell, we cain’t git in yonder,” jerking his head toward the circle, “to ask questions about the truth. They don’t want no part of the truth.”
Later on, the blob re-formed and moved on, apparently unfazed by the ado caused by truth seekers. However, before I could fire up the Fredmobile and continue my search for Semi Uno, the blob moved into another circle.
“What the samhill …” yelped the gregarious camper, reaching for his cell phone. He asked the person at the other end what the samhill was going on. Then said, “Oh!” and hung up.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“What’s up is the government has been caught spying on American citizens. They’ve electronically tapped into our phones, iphones, computers, everything. They say its sanctioned by the Patriot Act. The bugging of the devices of all Americans is not covered in the law, nor will it be found in the Constitution, but Obama would ignore it anyway.  The regime is being exposed as a police state. Boy, if the news media weren’t such a bunch of pansy-asses , the fun they could have  continuing the exposure, instead of  trying to justify government wrong-doing. You’d think the media would grow weary of backing the regime’s every illegal activity and write the truth about the most corrupt administration and the most worthless president in history. What are they? Afraid to write Pulitzer prize winning stories about corruption at the highest levels?”
“I believe that to be the case, yes.”
Soon, the wagons unraveled and continued snailing along toward the S.S.C.S. sign in the distance, looming ever closer as Democraps continued to stonewall and wheedle their way out of dutch. The wagons were heavily laden with those escaping a pending holocaust, all in a hurry to get out of town, the way made slow by the amount of brown stuff in the streets. BO, the Wagon Master in Chief – word was he turned down the job of just Wagon Master as not being regal enough – tried in vain to move along more quickly, but the heavy conveyances merely groaned from the weight of liberals too prissy to walk in the mess of their own making.
Before long, El Semi Uno called for the wagons to again form a circle. I heard a passerby mention something about the IRS and the FBI colluding in a plot to deny  Conservatives free speech rights. What in the hell do these arrogant SOBs think they are doing, I thought out loud. “Our public servants at work,” observed one man. “Time to be rid of the IRS altogether and clean out whatever FBI paper pushers went along with this,” said another.
After things cooled down a bit, the Democraps managing to hide damaging evidence and lie about everything else, the blob moved slowly on. It had just got started when Semi Uno waved the wagons into yet another circle in order to protect the Democraps responsible for denying veterans their right to health care. This was a really shameful dereliction of duty, yet no one was fired, or fined or laid off. Indeed, there seems to be no comeuppance for any of these rats. Only bluster from BO.
     But this time the wagons stayed put. Word got around Uno and some schmos decided to lay low. Seems every time they made up a law or ruled that something illegal was legal because they said so, they were getting caught. Elections were coming up and prospects were looking grim. But why should bureaucrats care? There were unions to protect their jobs. But they would sit and wait it out to help their pinko buddies; it was ironic that they chose to sit in the middle of the stink they themselves had created. But where else could they go?
     In the distance, some lights illuminating the sign – the ultimate goal of liberals - were flickering, many of the bulbs had burned out. One could just make out the name of the place printed below the big S.S.C.S letters. The words said: Stultifying Swamp of Crap Socialism. Welcome! P.S Wear your waders – this is Obama Country!
     But don’t rush into buying waders, just yet. The odds are good we won’t end up in the swamp very soon.


Sunday, August 3, 2014

Leeches Heading for the Promised Land

                  

 A party of leeches woke one morning after a long slimy crawl through the night. It was best to travel at night, the Leader said, lest someone catch onto what they were up to and squish ‘em.
     Many didn’t know it yet, but this was the Era of the Leech, and leeches had become a Protected Class. There were more leeches now than there had ever been. Unleeches could be hunted down and excessively taxed if they were caught harming or threatening the well-being of a leech, still one couldn’t be too careful. All that was usually left as evidence of a leech-smooshing were partial boot prints in the middle of a bloodsucker’s back, not much for the Blues to go on. And there was leech-babble going around that some Blues weren’t really all that motivated to hunt down leech smooshers. Leeches simply couldn’t understand this and screamed bloody-mouthed murder about the injustice of it all and that they had rights like everyone else. But the Blues shrug and say they’re doing the best they can with the resources they have. Like everyone else, they didn’t have enough of everything to do anything right. That was their excuse when questioned about the unsolved cases of smooshings.
     This morning, the leeches were looking to set up camp to try and suck up some resources of their own. Normally, resources were there for the asking, or rather the screaming and wailing and gnashing of gums. It was really surprising how many leeches didn’t have teeth. Oh, sure, some of them had a few, one or two in the front and lots of wide open spaces between (what you might call the wild west approach to perfect dentition). Toothless leeches would frequently howl about how they needed more resources to have their teeth fixed, but something always happened to the money and left the poor leeches gummin’ it. At the same time, the piles of empty beer cans and potato chip bags continued to grow.
     Many had new slime-wheelers to carry their fat selves around. This at a time when many Unleeches were having a tough time paying for their four-wheelers made the idea of leech-smooshing popular amongst Unleeches, who were tired of seeing their created resources disappear into the maw of ingratitude and outright laziness. Most Unleeches didn’t know that Welfare is an acronym for We Entitle Leeches For Audacious Resource Extinction. (But don’t tell them; they’ll only get madder). Welfare is a bad word in the real world of Unleeches. The word is often spat instead of said.
     “So where to from here, Fearless Leader?” asked one leech, stretching and yawning itself awake. This leech was a particularly fat one, and ugly, even as leeches go. It was obvious he or she (sometimes it was hard to tell with leeches) had been leeching for a long time and was good at it. “Doesn’t seem to be much going on around here; I don’t see any resources to scarf up and, man, I’m really crazy about resources. I think I’ll call my resource annihilator in congress and have him bring us some on a platter.”
     Fearless Leader smiled and said, “Oh, don’t worry, something will come around. It always does. The Polit Leeches will look out for us, make sure there are resources to scarf up. They’ll do anything to get our vote.”
     “Heck, I don’t vote. And I don’t know a leech that does.”
     “Leechenally speaking, I don’t think it matters as long as they can get the votes of the Sissy Fallah Class,” explained Fearless Leader.
     “Huh?” asked the Fat Cat Leech, “I don’t get it?”
     “Don’t ask. You aren’t bright enough to understand the politics. All you need to realize is it’s better than working, ain’t it?”
     “Oh, hell, yeah,” says Lazy Ass Leech, who had just slimed over, leaving a wide gooey trail behind. This left Fat Cat Leech laying there with his/her mouth hanging open. He/ she said, “Well, yeah, duh, it’s hard to suck up resources when you’re working. As least that’s what I’ve heard. I have no first hand knowledge of work, of course. My position as a resource consumer is due to a legacy from my parents. And I plan to hand it down to my kids also. The legacy must continue.”
     Fearless Leader, deciding it was time to begin the search for a good spot from which to absorb resources, reaches in his backpack and pulls out a pair of short-sighted field glasses. He/ she looks all around for a good spot, finally announcing he/ she’s found something.
     “Down there, about a half a day’s crawl, looks to be a really good place to dig in. There’s a couple of white mountains that will be perfect. But first, let’s settle in right here for breakfast. Man. I really need my life’s blood in the morning.”
     The pack of leeches dine on packaged L-Rations sent by Health and Human Services as emergency rations, then pulling on their backpacks and picking up their suitcases, they head for the Promised Land as described by Fearless Leader.
     Before long, they were met by a violent downpour which seemed to last forever, then the poor things endured nearly being mauled by a terrible spate of rubbing, which removed the water and bubbly stuff from their path, almost taking them with it.
     “Whew–e-e,” exclaimed Fat Cat Leech, “Man, what a leech don’t have to go through to get to the Promised Land.”
     “Yeah, I’m too stupid and lazy for all this traveling. We need to get with the Polit Class and arrange to have the resources delivered, you know, like pizza and wings,” says Lazy Ass Leech.
     “The resources are supposed to be really good around here,” Fearless Leader said.
     “Where are we, anyway? Somehow those mountains look familiar, like I’ve seen them before, but they seem bigger than usual. And more yummy,” says a salivating Fat Cat.
     “We’re in a place called New York, the Promised Land for resourse vanquishers. It’ll be worth the trip, believe me.”
     “Y-e-e-s, I heard of yummy New York. The blood sucking is supposed to be really good here. But what’s with the white mountains; what’s with them.”
     Fearless Leader smiles as he/ she says, “We’re going to be leeches on the ass of a New York taxpayer, and believe me, it’s one big sweet ass.” There appeared a huge saliva-dripping smile on Fearless Leader’s face. “Welcome to the Promised Land.”