Monday, June 27, 2016

You Didn't Build It, But Will They 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?”
“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.”




Tuesday, June 21, 2016

Just Who is the D.I.C.K.S. Head?

“Hey, Dad. Where did this rash on my arm come from?” asked Dodda.
“Oh, my,” said Fadda. “It must have come from that bush over in the Rats yard.”
“Why do you say that? We have a bush just like it here in our yard.”
“Because it just can’t be our fault. That guy’s a Rat; we , on the other hand, are Dingalings. Dingalings In the Concrete Kite Society, to be completely correct.”
“D.I.C.K.S.?  I think I know about dicks, but what do you mean by a Concrete Kite Society?” asked Dodda.
“We’re a bunch of Dingalings that sit around, come up will really wacked out ideas, to help change the country, but we just can’t get our ideas to fly. Sometimes we can’t even get them off the ground.”
“Like a Concrete Kite-or a lead balloon. I get it. But back to why you think my poison oak is the fault of that Rat, as you call him.”
“It may not be him, it just can’t be us. We can’t be responsible for anything.”
“I guess I just don’t see the problem, no one is perfect …”
“Except us; we must appear to be perfect. We must appear to be the answer to all of America’s problems, explained Fadda.”
”But no one can possibly have all of the answers, dear,” said Mudda, who had just arrived. “ Especially people referred to as Dingalings by the Rats.”
“That’s why we are forced to lie so much.”
“Yeah, we’ve all noticed that. Dingalings lie about the economy, terrorists, gun control, just about everything, don’t they?” asked Dodda.
“Well, yeah, it’s that the Rats keep contradicting what we say and standing in the way of what we want to accomplish for the country. And the maddening part is they make so damned much sense.”
“And they don’t have to lie, do they? By the way, who’s the boss Dingaling, you know, the D.I.C.K.S. head?”
“Oh, there’s a mess of them around who think of themselves that way, but the real boss is a guy named BO who lives in Washington, D.C.”
“He’s the real D.I.C.K.S. head?”
“Oh, yeah, and he’s just wonderful. His big project is shoving gun control down the throats of the American people, going through the U.N., in order to take future attempts at legislation away from the U.S. Congress. It’ll be international law.”
“Sounds like a big deal.”
“Oh, it is. It is. It’s something only big D.I.C.K.S. can accomplish.”
“But won’t the Rats and maybe some the Dingalings register their disapproval at the polls in November, by withholding their votes from Dingalings,” Mudda wanted to know.
“That’s why we can’t be blamed for anything. Everything has to be the Rats’ fault. Everything.”
“Even Orlando?”
“Especially Orlando!”
But how? Rats weren’t even there!”
“But they support the 2nd Amendment. We Dingalings have to do everything we can to make sure our D.I.C.K.S. head policies don’t take the rap for the deaths of those people in Orlando, or any place else, for that matter.
“That why that bush in our yard can’t be blamed for my poison oak?”

Monday, June 13, 2016

Adults in a Crisis Situation

It seems like every time you turn around there is another emotional issue involving children. Books and magazines fill stores and libraries. Entire college curricula exist to address the woes of young people. Teen pregnancy, drug abuse, poverty, homosex, transsex, extramarital sex, no marriage sex  have become so common, they’ve melded into the social tapestry. Juvenile crime continues to be a serious problem. We can sit for hours and discuss the problems of youth at length, but truth be known, the problems of adults also need to be aired. We have our problems too (sniff).
First of all, it needs to be recognized that adults also suffer from pregnancy, drug abuse, poverty, crime and of course all manner of psychosexual crap. Yes, it’s true, adult women also become pregnant, and grownup men, for the most part, are responsible for making them that way. In fact, the pregnancy rate for older women has risen over the years. Statistics show that nearly as many married women become pregnant as unmarried ones. Alarming, yes, but unfortunately true. And in case you haven’t heard, the divorce rate for grownups approaches that of younger couples. Grownups are even known to use dope, drink booze and stay out late at night, showing the stress of a troubled culture.
All of this clearly indicates that adults are indeed in a crisis situation. Curious as to what might be done to help grownups, I consulted a post-puberty behavioral social  psychologist, Dr. Rorschach Nudnick. I asked her opinion about the problems facing today’s adults.
“The problem,” she said, “is that grownups do not feel their children understand them. Grownups crave attention from their kids, but the kids are too preoccupied with their own lives to spend time with them. Kids hang out in clich├ęs of people like them, to the exclusion of grownups. This is very damaging to the adult psyche. Grownups begin to feel unwanted, unloved and depressed. Men don’t do well at work and women are known to frequently bubble over in the beauty parlor. Parents begin hanging out with other troubled adults doing doobies, drinking spirited beverages and actually watching cable news television, especially CNN and MSNBC, havens for particularly disturbed adults.”
The doctor went on to say the dissolution of the family is inevitable. Grownups just
can’t seem to hold it together.
“Most authorities on the subject agree that kids are directly responsible for their parents destructive behavior. Grownups become disoriented and insecure without their children’s wisdom to guide them.”
Nudnick went on to say that without their children available to serve as examples of acceptable social behavior, parents simply do not know how to act in responsible fashion. Adults require a model of proper “mall” etiquette among other serious social issues. They need good examples. Children do, however, accept some of the blame, but only in a tongue-in-cheek way: “Yeah, yeah. Blah. Blah. We know all about the problems our parents are having, but the problems are theirs. We got other stuff to do.”
 To get parents back on the path of healthy self esteem kids must commit to spending more time at home with them; grownups need to know they are loved and wanted. They need consolation after a tough day at work or in the unemployment line. And kids must learn to discipline their parents when they are naughty. Children are far too lax in dealing with the behavioral tendencies of the older generation. Grownups need discipline, they need a structured environment; it is essential in showing they are loved.
“The bottom line is these two vastly diverse groups need to find some common ground,” says Nudnick.  “Perhaps adult males, besides plumbers, should begin to wear their pants real low and show that they too can be immodest. Maybe adult women could wear short tops that display fat, flabby waistlines, just as so many young women do. Adult men and women need to hang out in malls after work and on weekends.
“A huge problem which is just emerging,” Dr. Nudnick continued, “is differentiating the two groups. More and more, it is becoming increasingly difficult to define them.”
“Do you mean,” asked I, “that kids are becoming more adult and adults are becoming more teen-like.”
“You’ve got it half-right, Newshawk, “the kids are staying uninvolved and immature and the adults are becoming more uninvolved and immature. Perhaps the problem will solve itself: We will all become kids again!”

I want you to know that as your President I will work with both houses of Congress to legislate against the problems of adults. (There is no sense in troubling Washington politicians with the problems of children – what the heck, they are too young to vote!)

Monday, June 6, 2016

Some Immigrants are like Sperm

I was surfing the internet the other day, not paying any particular attention to what I was reading, when I ran into this old quote from our fair-minded president:
“It’s not surprising, then, they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren’t like them or anti-religious sentiment or anti-immigrant sentiment as a way to express their frustrations.”
That was you and me he was talking about, assuming of course you are not a knuckle-head Liberal. This piece of speech was an attempt to explain why Conservatives (for the most part) don’t like him as president. But BO and his Schmos would rather believe we’re racists than dislike him because of his liking for Alinskiisms and his bent for Communist policies. Most of the people I know don’t give a hoot what color he is. They do care about what he does and says.
He called us bitter. You’re damned right we’re bitter. We must stand by while the biggest liar in the history of presidents lies whenever he thinks its necessary to slip something past us. And the Schmos applaud him. If we said we were not bitter, we’d be liars.
Yeah, we cling to our guns because there’s no rational person in the population who thinks we may not need them at some point. Many of these so-called “clingers” have collected guns and hunted all their lives. Only because BO is in the catbirds seat is there something wrong with owning a gun. We’ve come to realize our government is not our friend. We also recognize it as a huge bully.
Religion? What this clown’s beef with our religion? He said, early on, he was a Christian. All the while he allows Muslims into the White House and lets them dictate policy. While Muslim leaders endeavor, in the courts, to make any criticism of Muslim laws illegal, BO stands by and says nothing. Slowly they are taking over. For quite sometime there has been no mention of his Christian beliefs, and our president says nothing about the encroachment of Islam. In addition to being a liar, it may be appropriate to call him a traitor as well.
Yes, antipathy is growing inside us. We Americans, realAmericans (yes, that’s spelled correctly), have seen that what this administration stands for is nothing American. We believe in Conservative ideals, for the most part – there are some dimwits who remain dim even as the dark clouds of communism hover above. Low taxes, small government, freedom to mold our own destinies, are laughed at now as being foolish and unliberal. High taxes, huge government, and new regulations everyday is the “in” thing. The more people on the dole the better – it indicates the success of the government. We realAmericans watch helplessly as we are thrown over by others who claim to share our values, and we should not be displeased? Yeah, right!
What’s this about “anti-religious sentiment?” And this is the guy leading the charge against Christianity, particularly Catholicism. He very much would like to see Shariah law in this country. BO is a Muslim; he just hasn’t gotten around to stop lying about it yet. As for me, I don’t mind sharing the country with a few followers of Islam. I just don’t want to see them take over altogether, as it seems they want to do.

This immigrant business has been going on long enough.  First, somebody says let them in. Somebody else says no. Some others say they need a green card to stay here. Meanwhile, they’re coming in all the time, costing taxpayers billions of dollars a year, because liberals say we need to pay for the education of their kids and provide healthcare for their families, and there is absolutely no reason we should be doing this. (And, no, I don’t dislike Chicanos; I think they should forced to come into the country the right way. Just as my parents did. BO and the Schmos are talking about expanding the economy – more jobs for everybody – except the select few. Immigrants will keep coming – they will not pay their own way – they’re like sperm, you know, millions get in, only a few work.

Tuesday, May 31, 2016

D.C Rats Chime in on Politicians

I had planned to pen something about Memorial Day, but when I looked around I saw so much already written about it I decided to write about something a little different.  How about the underside of America, where our country might be heading? Or is it already there?
A pack of rats sitting, chewing the cheese on the Crapitol dome.

“Oh, rat, it feels just like home here, all the rats around,” said Harry Rat, grasping a piece of donor “cheese.”

“There’s so many rats of different stripes around anymore,” exclaimed Steny Ray.

“Any so many who need to be in stripes,” said Lizzy from Massachusetts.

“Yeah, all the two-leggers coming to town really expanded the population. The Crapitol is chock right full of rats, depending on how you look at it,” says Harry.

“Did you know – it was in the Rat Hole Post the other day – there are now more politicians than rats?” asked Nancy Rat “And do you know how to tell them apart?”

“Uh, uh,” says Harry waggling his head back and forth.

“There are some things a rat won’t do for money.”

“Don’t you compare me to a politician!” roared Harry. “I won’t stand for it!”

“Hey, hey, take it easy, Harry!” said High-minded Hillary, lifting a placating paw to calm him. “You have a senator for a pet, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, she’s just about completed her training program, too.”

“Oh, yeah, what are you teaching her to do?”

“I-I don’t know if I should say. It might be construed as politically incorrect. Even we must be careful these days.”

“Oh, pooh on politically incorrect. That’s for when two-legged rats are caught lying by conservatives and they need a way out of the lie. Come on, tell us. What have you been teaching your senator?” her eyes gleaming with interest.

Harry, looking shy, says, “Every time I nibble her ear before sending her to work, she brings me back a piece of pork. It’s like a sexual thing, you know? I nibble, I get a piece.”

“I had a senator for a pet once,” said another. “Worse thing I ever did.”

“What happened? I ‘ve been planned on going to the pet store and adopting one,” said Nancy.

“Don’t bother. The damned thing crapped all over the place, drooled all the time and lied through its teeth, explained the former senator owner.

“Rats can be vicious when protecting their territory,” said Nancy. “That’s another difference between rats and politicians. Politicians won’t even defend their country. I also read where there is quite a number of animal species becoming extinct, except of course politicians, environmentalists, rats and, oh yeah, cockroaches.”

“Wa-a-ait a minute, sister, don’t you dare put us rats in the same category as politicians and, especially, them damned environmentalists. You hear me?” yelled Harry Rat, waggling a finger in her face. “I won’t stand for it!” stamping his foot and glaring at Nancy Rat.

“How about cockroaches, Harry? You forgot to mention the cockroaches,” said Steny, with a teasing smile.

“Heck, I don’t mind cockroaches. It’s them damned politicians and low-life environmentalists we could all do without.”

A half dozen or so rats walked over and greeted them all. The new group was better-dressed and generally appeared more affluent than the others, a fact that did not go unnoticed.

“Hey, fellas and girly rats, what’s up?” asked Roger Rat, one of the well-to-do.

“Ok-a-ay” answered Steny. “You guys are looking mighty fine. You find a new job, Natty Ratty?” directing his question to one of the others.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, took a position with Media Matters.”

“So you joined the two-legged cockroaches, huh? And you, Barney?”


“Since when do self respecting rats join up with the likes of that bunch?”

“Bunch of what?” Juan Rat wanted to know.

“Bunch of low-life critters that’ll lie, cheat and steal to get the Clinton woman and others elected. It’s pretty obvious she knows she can’t be elected on the up and up.”

“What makes you say such a thing?” asked Clementine.

“Well, for one thing, they helped get BO elected twice. He should never have been president even once. He’s a real estate agent at heart.”

“Whachu mean by that?” she asked, eyes narrow slits.

“All he needs is a For Sale sign on his back,” said Harry.

“Well, what about his war on drugs?” she asked.

“He has one? I didn’t know.”

“He says he wants to get drugs off the streets.”

“One line at a time, perhaps? Didn’t know there was any less of it on the streets, it being an election year and all. And I certainly don’t like that he was always looking to raise taxes,” states Steny. “Pretty soon he’ll be taxing everyone, even rats, for their thoughts.”

“That wouldn’t bother him,” says Harry. “He wouldn’t owe anything.”

“You think he’s dumb?” asked Clementine?

“Oh, no, not really. But you know what I heard the other day?”

“No, but I’ll bet you’re going to tell me.”

“A friend of mine, Fievel, said he was lurking about near where Boss BO and Debbie Wassermann Schultz, you know, the blonde ditz, were chatting on the Crapitol lawn. They’re standing close together, there was a slight breeze blowing. Fieval swears he heard ocean noises coming through Boss BO’s ears. Ha, ha, ha!” roared Harry, all the initial crowd joining in.

“Oh, ha, ha,” blurted Clementine sarcastically.

“Listen, Clem,” Nancy put in, “if he’s not dumb, why is it so important for Media Matters, MSNBC and all the rest to make conservatives seem dumb, so he’d appear smart? He was trying to dumb everyone down to his level.”

“Yeah, all most of us know is there’s a village somewhere in Kenya missing an idiot,” said Harry, with a toothy smile on his face.

“Look at his wonderful economic plan,” chirped Clementine

“Yep, completely fact free. A model of Boss BO wizardry.

“How about all the good things he’s done for the country. Things were really bad and he fixed them!”

“Yeah, Boss BO, the mechanic. If it ain’t broke, Boss BO will fix it until it is.”

And Hillary has promised to follow in the great man’s footsteps. Time to move to another country – but which one?

As your next President I will make it a priority of my administration to make it comfy for you to stay in America. (But I will need your money of course. After all, I am a politician –albeit a human one.)

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Are Liberals Really That Stupid?

It’s not that Liberals are stupid; it’s that they know so much that isn’t true.
I heard that phrase years ago and wrote it down. I’m not sure I remember who first said it – but I’m pretty sure it was Ronald Reagan. He said a lot of clever things, such as: Government is not the solution to our problems; government is the problem. He also said, The most terrifying words in the English language are I’m from the government and I’m here to help.
Clearly President Reagan  had a clear eye for government.
Quite different from what we’re dealing with now. This chump simply cannot see a limit to government. He reminds me of the narcissistic king of fiction who wore no clothes, in the belief that the clothes could not be seen by people unfit for office or were just stupid. Consequently, so as not to be thought unfit or dumb, everyone in the populace said they could see the king’s threads. He paraded around in his “new clothes”, and was heartily admired by all. Until some kid said, Hey, he ain’t wearing nothing! The pretense of wearing such finery was of course smashed, but the king continued strutting about in his birthday suit, as though nothing had happened.
It’s sort of like it is now, isn’t it? There’s this president strutting about (although in the $3,000 Italian silk suit), changing this law and that, and there are all of these people admiring him as he struts, while pretending they’re not stupid and unfit. It’s like, Wow! If the guy’s wearing an expensive suit, we’d have to be stupid for not admiring him. It’s like the same kid that bared the ass of the vain king, yelled, Hey, BO’s wearing a really nice suit! And everybody thinks, Wow, ain’t BO great?
The bottom line in Hans Christian Anderson’s fable is, once you weed through all the cute stuff about the bare-assed king and everyone saying they see his clothes to keep from being thought dumb and unfit, is whether the admired person, be he king or president, has achieved anything of value.
What do you think? We don’t know whether the narcissist king achieved anything good for his people. But we do know that the narcissist president has cobbled up a country that was doing pretty well at the task of provided for more than 300 million people, many of whom have no business being here – and the narcissist wants to invite in even more.
Maybe the real bottom line of all this is whether government has any value. Certainly not at the level currently in place. The least the better.

As your next president, let me say this about that. Hide your guns and buy lots of ammunition. As soon as you see a bigger, uglier government looming on the horizon, start shooting and don’t stop until the “king” is running around bare-assed! If you’re Liberal, you will of course be obligated to think the king has his ass covered. If you’re Conservative, you are of course smarter and you know better.

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Liberalism a Mental Defect

As you all know I, for quite some time now, have postulated the likelihood that there is something seriously amiss in the liberal Democrat brain. Something just ain’t right. As a presidential candidate I figure I owe Conservative voters some sort of rationale for the craziness we’ve been putting up with from liberals for the past several years.

 I saw an article on the internet a while back suggesting some people’s brains can shrink for various reasons, usually stress. I considered this at some length, integrated it into the postulation cited above, and came to the conclusion the phenomenon almost certainly had other causes in addition to stress. There was simply too much of it around to be the result of a single issue. After a bit of research on my own, I, of course, solved the mystery.

“Doctor, Doctor! Look at this. Is that my liver there on the MRI?” howled Hillary.

“No, of course not, Hillary. You don’t drink so much anymore. Remember?”

“Then what is that thing that looks like a shriveled prune?”

“This is a brain scan, madam, and that is your brain.”

“Oh, my. It looks like my brain’s been scandalized, doesn’t it?  Why is it so much smaller than the last time I had a brain scan? It seems so much dinkier and so awfully … shrivelly! Am I ill?”

“Yes, yes, I’m afraid you are, but not the way you think. Your brain is crappy looking because you’re a Democrat – a liberal Democrat.”

“Oh, yes, that’s true,” hand over mouth, “and it’s affected my brain?”

“Oh, yes. You see, it makes you think funny.”

Horrified, Hillary asked, “I think funny?”

“Oh my gosh, yes. I’m sure you have experienced asinine thoughts about things. Strange, eerie, scary-as-hell thoughts; like you’ll think something is true even though there is more than enough evidence to show the opposite is true.”

“Such as?”

“Such as all the crap you’re talking about how woman are mistreated, and the truth is the problems caused by transgendered people are trumping (oops, sorry) feminist’s issues, and you’re saying nothing about it. You don’t seem to want to talk about people with penises who shouldn’t have them.”

“Oh, yes, I see what you mean, Doctor. The whole mess is so coo-coo, isn’t it?”

“Yes, coo-coo is a good name for it. Nitwitish as a loon is also appropriate for your condition. And no, I don’t believe any of you are well. Liberal Democratism is hugely serious and is not curable. Sorry, Hillary, you’ll always be a twit.”

“Doctor,” said a frightened Hillary,” how did we get this way, all the loonies and I? And Harry and Steny and Barbara? Ad infinitum.”

“Neurologists would say it’s due to an atrophied hippocamelotomus. A shriveled brain part. Very serious. And in your case, I’m afraid it’s bilateral.


“Yes, and ubiquitous. The more virulent strains very often occur in the stressful environment of a heated political campaign. Democrats get energetic trying to convince people of things they know aren’t true. It’s very stressful. Brains wither, Democrats get whacked out even more. And people continue to vote for them even when more sensible alternatives are readily available. So the disease is spreading. A colleague says he’s seen symptoms in moderates and people insisting on calling themselves independents, all across the country.”

“They say it’s stress that causes our brains to wrinkle up?”

“Yes, and prevarication. There are hypersteroidoscopical compounds called crapocorticals responsible for atrophy of hippocamelotomi in brains of rodents and apes – we’re convinced the same thing happens in liberal Democrats. Stressing the crapocorticals releases an urge for mindless behavior in people of this ilk. They develop an irrepressible desire to control those around them and make up stories about their motives. They become uncommonly sneaky and revert to smoke-filled back rooms to pass laws no one knows about. The worst of these rodents are unelected bureaucrats who pace legislative halls at night thinking up ways to curtail the freedoms of others, but not themselves. All the while, their brains are shrinking in the airless vacuum of pointy heads.”

“Yes, yes, I believe I saw several of those at the last Democrat caucus. Oh, my heavens, Doctor, I hadn’t noticed before, but the room was full of them! Many of them had brown stuff dripped from their ears.”

“Excessive brain crud,” replies the doctor. “Comes from a rapid decomposition and the development of expanding gases in the sponge-like brain mass. The condition gets really messy. You should use Q-tips to sop it up, or it gets stuck under the fingernails. Very unsightly.”

Hillary thinks for some time, then asks, “There’s no cure?”

“No, sorry. No manufacturer can be found who has come up with a way, or the will, to shove 

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