Monday, November 21, 2016

Is There Another Job BO Could Fail At

I apologize for my absence last week, but I haven’t been feeling well.

Besides that, I’ve been having some unwelcome thoughts about this election. Well, not so much the election itself – which I wholly approved of, but more the aftermath. What’s does the administration have in mind for the rest of BO’s reign? Good question.
I, as well as a number of other pundits who write, have been saying for sometime (at least two years in my case) that BO will not willingly walk away from the presidency. His narcissism will not permit him to acknowledge that someone else is as qualified for the office as he is. Certainly, no one is better qualified - and certainly not Donald Trump.
Ever notice that as far as the country has sunk into depression, our president has never, even once, admitted to screwing anything up. He often says things like, “There’s folks out there complaining about this or that, but there’s a whole lotta folks who I done a good job.” Of course he doesn’t bother to name any of those people, and I would not be surprised if some pretty adamant Democrats would not want to answer the question.
 To my mind, only the very silly voted for the Democrat candidate in this last election. The very silly and the stupid. I mean, let’s be serious here: Who in their right mind casts their vote for a person who is an obvious criminal and should be in a jail cell, not living at home in a mansion in Chautauqua. How can serious voters ignore all of the obvious corruption lurking in the House of Clinton? Answer: Serious voters could not, only nitwits could.
All of which begs the question as to why there are so many riots occurring around the country. Are there really so many disgruntled liberal voters, appalled by the election of Donald Trump and feel that abusing Republicans, and almost certainly, other Democrats will change the results of the election?
Of course, we all know by now that the rioters are bought and paid for by Democrats. George Soros, the crumb from Hungary, contributes millions to the cause as does Warren Buffet, the vaunted Oracle of Omaha, who sold out to liberal causes years ago. The DNC are also big contributors to the riots. The story is BO wants it to seems as though the whole country is out of control in the angst against the Trump selection, which would make it okay to declare martial law. As for as I’ve been able to tell, by what I’ve been able to read, he can set martial law, even though there’s a president-elect standing by. My guess is, an Obama dictatorship would put the kibosh on a Trump presidency, and give the incumbent free rein to plunder the country even further. Like I said, I doubt BO has any intention of walking away from power. What else would he do if he weren’t president? Is there some kind of work that he knows how to do? Is there a community organizer job available in Chicago? Is he good enough to qualify for the PGA? Or is president the only job he would fail at? 
Of course, this all may be hyperbole. There’s a good chance nothing of the kind will happen.
But 

Tuesday, November 1, 2016

Digging Up Shovel-Ready Jobs

For the second week in a row the president didn’t show up in the Ovoid Space for the state-of-the-campaign meeting. Word has it he really didn’t like most of the people there as they had no miracle ideas about how to get him a third term.

Apparently, he had no interest in solving the puzzle of the economy – no thoughts on the subject and there were more fun things to do, like fly around the country in a 747, plead for money and play round after round of golf. Those who keep track of such things report BHO by far and away holds the record for campaign pleadings and golf dates during a presidential term. He seems to have no interest in anything else – the country withered while BHO dithered, it is safe to say.

With nothing going on in the Ovoid Space, I decided to hang around Shamalot and find some newsworthy material for our area newspaper. It was just becoming evening and house lights and street lamps dotted the landscape. I sat on a bench along a walkway through a park and fell asleep.

I awoke hours later to the sound of people moving through nearby bushes. That is, they looked like people but they were somehow different. They were dressed in everyday clothes, but the clothes were torn and ragged. They reeked of a rottenish, earthy smell. The creatures walked slowly, trancelike, like there wasn’t a thought in their heads and seemed to be heading in one general direction. Curious, I followed. I was amazed at the number of zomboidal creatures moving ominously toward Shamalot. Puzzlement rumpled my brow. Then I saw the guys with shovels digging in a nearby cemetery. As with most men in the company of shovels, they spent most their time leaning on the tools and talking.

“Hey, boss, just what the heck are we doin’ out here in the middle of the night diggin’ up bodies?” asked a particularly adept shovel holder-upper.

“Never mind, just keep diggin’,” says the boss. “You welfare guys don’t move a lot of dirt on a shovel-ready job, do ya? The public was told by our presidential type there would be shovel-ready jobs a long time ago. This is them.”

“But where do all these zomboidals come from?”

Boss BO told us to dig up some Democrat voters for the election coming up. So we’re diggin’ up voters and showing he’s created shovel-ready jobs.”

“Could I take a couple home to my kids for Halloween? They would really like to have a couple of zombies around, for when other kids come trick or treatin’. These guys could  lurk in the shadows and when the kids come along and yell Trick or Treat, they could jump out and scare the crap right out of the little rascals, you know? How about it, just a couple?”

“Yeah, all right, but just a couple. And you got to replant them after they vote. With a shovel.”

‘Yeah, all right, sure! Hey, it seems like there’s a lot more zomboidals around than we’re diggin’ up for our friend BO. Where do they all come from.”

“Democrats kept ‘em warehoused under the ground, secret-like, whence nobody kin find ‘em. They stack ‘em ten, twelve to the hole. Everybody knows they’re around; they just don’t know where to look.”

“But why are they here? What use kin half-dead humans have?”

“Look, dummy, be careful what you say ‘bout these folks. These is VIPs, every one, though they come up a bit short of looking like it.”

“VIPs? Yer kiddin’, right? C’mon, who are they – really?” said the confused, sort-of-worker.

“These here is dead VIPS. We dig ‘em up every now and then to vote for Democrats in important elections. This year BO wants to show he’s actually created shovel-ready jobs, so we’re diggin’ ‘em up so HRC can show them off to the voters We’ll herd ‘em over to the voting booths next week, so they kin cast their lot, then we’ll bury ‘em or store them till next election.”

“O-o-oh-h, I get it!”

“Pretty neat, huh?

 “Hey, don’t forget to write down the names of the people you dig up. They have to be accounted for on the voting rolls. Democrats don’t want to get caught with their pants down, you know?”

“Hey, what am I gonna do with this is one?” asked the welfare guy, looking google-eyed at a tombstone.

“Why, what’s the problem?”

“This guy has one of them mile-long Eyetalian last names. It’ll take a day to write it all down.”

“Ah. Don’t worry about it. Just skip it, go to the next one.”

“Ah, nah. I don’t want to cheat the poor guy out of his chance to vote.”



Wednesday, October 26, 2016

In Search of the Unlikely



      It’s about that time in the election cycle when politicians of all stripes begin to look at the current administration, and to catalogue its achievements. Those on the Right, in this case, are looking for anything that can be turned into slander and accusations of malfeasance. With the current administration there is a lot of stuff that could be used in this manner, but conservatives are much too “polite” to expose the Left for what it is. (I wonder why).
In the case of the Left, there is lots of casting about for something that can be claimed as a success. Once something of significance is found, there will be lots of crowing and ballyhooing, ranting about what a great president we have in the White House. I realize looking for such illusive things can be very difficult, and, boy, if your job depended on it, now wouldn’t be a good time to sign a lease on a new Cadillac.
I was wandering around in the woods again when I ran into a man and a woman walking a along swinging a Geiger counter in front of them. They were deep in conversation, and as I drew near, I heard the woman say with a worried tone in her voice, “There’s has to be one around here some place!”
“I’m trying, dear, but there just isn’t anything to find.”
“Pardon me,” I said, “what are you looking for?”
“We thought we might be able to detect something of significance accomplished by the current administration. We’re liberals and thought it would be easy, but the more we look, the more we realize there isn’t much to detect,” the commie lib woman said. “Harold, turn the Geiger counter up to a higher sensitivity, and let’s try over there.”
Knowing their search would be fruitless and feeling a little (but not much) sorry for the lost, deluded souls, I let them go their way and continued along the Path of Right. Soon I came upon a man hiding behind a tree and peeking around it, looking toward a farm a distance away. He was wearing a cap with a propeller on top and a pair of rose-colored, owl-frame glasses with lenses as thick as bottle caps. He eyes were beady, he had buck teeth, and he drooled.
I said, “What are you doing here behind this tree?”
“S-h-h-h, quiet,” he said. “You’ll scare it off.”
“Scare what off,” asked I
“I’m a liberal …”
“I could have guessed that.”
“Yeah, well, I’m looking for an accomplishment of the current regime, er, I mean, administration. I thought I saw one over there by the barn.”
“This I gotta see. Come on, sport, I’ll go with you.”
We arrived at the barn and he says, “Do ya see anything?”
“No, but I’m not surprised. They are very rare, you know?”
“Oh, yeah? You must be one of those bigoted homophobes, who don’t like the president because he’s black.”
“No, as a matter of fact I don’t know anybody who doesn’t like the president because he’s black. The president aside, we don’t like his policies or what he stands for. And, we wouldn’t like either of those things if he were white or any other color.”
“So you don’t like any of his accomplishments?” the twit asks.
“Well, there aren’t many. That’s why you can’t find any just laying around; you have to go on safari to catch up to one. In fact, I’m amazed you thought you saw one just now.”
“Okay, smarty pants, how about his role in the assassination of Osama bin Laden? That was great!” he insists, spitting as he talks.
“Yeah, it was great. The press and the White House gave him the credit for it, but, truth be known, he damn near blew the operation by making the SEALS wait so long to shoot the guy.”
“He was great, and there’s lots of other stuff, too. Its around here someplace.” The little propeller was spinning like crazy. “Come on, let’s go across the barnyard to the house.”
We climbed through the board fence (climbing over them is too strenuous). We came upon a dried up cow pie, and I said, “Why don’t you look under there?”
He turned it over with the toe of his hiking boot and sure enough there was the Stimulus. “Ah, ha!” he exclaimed. “ I told ya. Let’s try this cow pie here,” kicking over another one. “Ah, ha. Illegal immigrants! E-e-e-e, ha!”
“Try that one over there,” I said pointing to a freshly deposited cow plop.
He kicked it, and the stuff stuck to this boot. “Yuck! A rigged election!”

“That’s what I say, and, believe me, that’s going to be a tough stink to get off your boot.”

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

Racists Are Where You Find Them

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

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

Monday, October 10, 2016

PC Crowd Gives Columbus Fits

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

Wednesday, October 5, 2016

Casting a Smart Vote

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

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

Monday, August 22, 2016

The "Smart" Way to Get an Opinion

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

Saturday, August 13, 2016

Trumpsters Cannot Be Pansies

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

Monday, August 8, 2016

A Story About a Pandering Dog Catcher

                          

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

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

Tuesday, August 2, 2016

The Theft of an Education

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

Pud sat picking his nose.

Tuesday, July 26, 2016

Evading the American Dream

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

Later, I came upon a Mexican man surveying a piece of land along the Arizona border. I asked his name to which he answered “Manual Labor.”

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

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

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

“Just because, senor.”

“Because why?

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t say?”

“I do say.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Build it and they will come, huh?”

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

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

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

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


“No, senor, and you know what else? Next year, if, God forbid, Hillary becomes president? We’ll be putting in an airport.”

Wednesday, July 20, 2016

Virgins in Need of Facial Cream

The day after a crazed jihadist killed 84 people in France, El Semi Uno, our beloved leader, addressed the U.N. with a plan to defeat global terrorism. No kidding. As usual, a day late.
After nearly eight years of feckless leadership in various matters of grave concern to us, he has come through again. Remarkable.
It’s all so simple. All we have to do, says BO, is to set new goals for sustainable development that will finally put an end to poverty (something the Democrats in this country have been promising for years.). The feckless one also opined the necessity for providing global healthcare (dare we pray for an expansion of BOcare?) and promoting a fine education for all the wee little ones (perhaps we might refer to the system in current use in the U.S.).  BO also stated the necessity of equality for all people – including women, of course. Oh, yeah, and save the planet from climate change (formerly known by its more appropriate name, global warming, of which there ain’t no such thing. Hasn’t been for nearly 20 years. IT’S A HOAX, FOLKS, AND WAS PROVEN TO BE JUST THAT! ALL THE CRAP THEY’VE TAUGHT YOUR KIDS IN SCHOOL IS PROPAGANDA. (Some of you might remember that this is the same bunch of shitheads who called for an ice age back in the 1970s.)
All of this is, of course, pure BO Bull. The message, not so cleverly camouflaged: All the world’s ills will magically vanish when we submit to one global power – one presumes he means with him as King. (I’ve never been able to convince myself that BO will simply walk away from the presidency when his term is up. More sane individuals than this president has lamented the necessity of leaving the position of the Most Powerful Man in the World. Leave on Monday; Tuesday morning you’re an average Joe. Got to be a hard egg to swallow. Serious adjustments are necessary.)
“Americans,” says our leader to the U.N., “should stop being so selfish and self-centered and surrender themselves to the common good.
“The hatred and violence of a few ultimately is no match for the love and decency of people of good will and compassion. The world needs to work with our Muslim partners to push back against hateful ideologies that twist and distort Islam, a religion of peace and compassion.”
Excuse me! This from a guy who wouldn’t know an enemy if one walked up and kissed his ring.
This from a guy whose ideal religion forces into memory Orlando, San Bernardino and the Fort Hood massacre.
Yes, one must give the prevaricator-in-chief some credit for having nice ideas but grit our teeth at the probability of ulterior motivation. To speak in platitudes of ending poverty, providing healthcare for all, promoting a workable education system for the poor of the world, and making everyone on earth equal (especially as to wealth) surely sounds like the dreams of one who “smoked a bit” in high school.
It all sounds so time-consuming and tedious – all that work, and where would the money come from (we Americans can easily surmise the remedy here, can we not?) It struck me while reading an item on WND.com that if we’re serious about ending terrorism (and I’m surprised El Semi Uno so much as recognized the existence of such people), there is a much more surefire way to do it.
According to a Koranic scholar from Canada an error of translation occurred that I am willing to bet would at least reduce the incidents of terrorism in the world, if not abolish it altogether. The scholar claims that the word used in the Koran for virgin is really the word for raisin. Some mistake, right?
Now, just imagine that you’re this big, bad jihad guy. There’s blood in your eye and you’re ready to blow something up. You do, however, lack the courage of your convictions and have few guts for confronting even unarmed adults, though you have no qualms about strapping on a bomb and climbing on a school bus. With visions of delectable virgins dancing wildly in your bean and shouting ‘Allahu Akbar’, you blow up the bus and all the children. You feel all warm and giggly as you snuggle into the arms of Allah, expecting your due – the promised 72 virgins!
But, alas, there has been a terrible mistake. Where beautiful, curvy, warm and arduous female flesh is expected, you are handed six dozen shriveled grapes.
“This is preposterous,” you howl. “I am a jihad warrior, the scourge of the world, feared by all! I blew up a whole school bus full of kids, and my 72 virgins look like dried up goat dung.
“Anybody going to tell me what’s going on?"

Let me know what you think, but I’m pretty sure we’re onto something here.

Monday, July 11, 2016

BO and Olde Mom Hubbard

                The following is an Oldie But Goodie. A nice lady named Susan emailed to request "the                   piece about Old Mother Hubbard and Obama." I had a bit of a time finding it; it turned up in               my book, The Newshawk Reports. Susan, I must say, you have some memory.
            +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
                 I’ve decided, after long and arduous contemplation of the issue, there are good points to                 liberalism. I’m just not smart enough to figure out what they are.
     One of the problems is that liberalism is too extreme. Once something takes hold, it grows and grows and grows, ad nauseum. Take the war on poverty, for example. It started with liberals saying they really wanted to help the poor (which is an admirable goal), and, of course, blamed conservatives for poverty. However, through the centuries, it has always been mostly Christian conservatives who have lent helping hands to the less fortunate. They just weren’t as ready to steal the money from others to do it. They did it with their own money.
     One of the poorest people in history was Old Mother Hubbard. She was so poor, a poem was written about her and, now, millions flock to her skirts, a testament to the attraction of being indigent and having realAmericans pay one’s way through life. No rock star, no athlete ever had a larger assemblage of groupies than Old Mother Hubbard.
     Most everyone knows of the poetry written about her: Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard to get her poor doggie a bone. But when she got there, the cupboard was bare, and so the poor doggie got none. Now that’s a sad story, don’t you think?
     But was it really written with poor people in mind? No, it wasn’t. The poor are never in anybody’s mind. It is actually a parody on the attempt of King Henry VIII to procure a divorce from Catherine of Aragon in order to marry Anne Boleyn. (Yeah, I know you think I’m wacked, but it’s true!) Henry needed the approval of the Catholic Church to pull it off and had given the task of negotiations with the pope to Cardinal Wolsey. The cardinal, as we know, failed (otherwise there would be no Protestants) and, consequently, fell into disfavor with Henry. The failure proved a career ender for Wolsey, who was forced to relinquish his sumptuous living quarters and his mistresses, among other valued possessions. So the cardinal became poor and became Mother Hubbard in the famous attempt at poetry. The cupboard referred to the church, the doggie was King Henry, the bone a divorce. So Cardinal Wolsey went to the church to get King Henry a divorce. When he got there, there was no divorce, so Henry couldn’t have one. Make sense now?
     Of course giving our money away in welfare benefits is a corner post in the long fence of liberalism. It is one of the issues that defines the movement, like abortion. Talk of repealing Roe v. Wade will bring he who speaks thusly looks of thinly-veiled suspicion of an ADHD diagnosis.
      Years ago the poor didn’t need liberals to get by, nor would they have accepted too much of their help. Now, the welfare rats scurry in from miles around to feast upon the plump cheese of other people’s money. The few who needed help getting by have become the many who think they have a right to eat for free. Is this where the motto Live Free or Die comes from?
     Meanwhile the country is drowning in red ink. As one might expect it’s the more liberal states that are in the deepest trouble, mostly because of entitlements. I have not heard one governor, not one, of a blue state suggest cutting back on handing out welfare checks to help his or her state balance the books. I’ve wondered if this guy Obama isn’t behind it. His liberalness would not allow a reduction in welfare. Liberals want more of it, not less.  It makes them feel needed and loved and electable.
     Could there be an end to the waste in sight? Let us again wax poetic. What if the president was Mother Hubbard, the cupboard was congress and bones were money? Then: Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard to get more welfare bones. When he bent over, he found that the voters had a few bones of their own.

     That might work. Whadya think?

Monday, July 4, 2016

The Rusting of the Red, White and Blue


                                                                                                                                                                 Today is the 240th birthday of the United States of America. I wanted to write something about that. I thought and thought and slowly a vision entered my mind.
I saw a brand-new, spiffy sedan sitting in a driveway. It was the Fifties, and the driveway sat in front of a cookie-cutter, small ranch house in the heart of America. The car was red and blue with white-wall tires, well-loved colors across the land. The Big War was over, G.I.s had returned home, after fighting to preserve freedom from those who would steal it. Everyone, well almost everyone, was happy; the future was bright; things were good. We older folks were much younger, healthier, better looking, and we had our lives before us. The car stood shining in the sunlight, proud, positive, hopeful for the future.
Then came the Sixties. There were many disruptions in the Sixties, riots, bombings, an unpopular war, drugs became the rage. This was the advent of the Age of Wackoism., the likes of Jane Fonda, Black Panthers and SDS. The Sixties were a raucous time. I enjoyed the Sixties for the wide-openness, the freedom; there seemed to be fewer inhibitions and acceptance of differences was high. Haight-Asbury was a bummer, though. Too many really bad druggies. (Sometimes I wonder if any of these putzes ever recovered.) The radicals were turning the country on its ear. The grill of the car sagged on one end as it showed its concern for the future. As the Sixties ended, it looked around, shuddered just a bit  But all seemed well, only the red, white and blue paint was starting to fade.
The Seventies brought protests against the Viet Nam War, American soldiers decried as baby killers, corruption in the White House, the resignation of a president. Young people stupidly shouted the virtues of Lenin and Mao, as if they really knew what they were shouting about. Anything other than what we had was good (exactly the liberal agenda of today). I rejected all this crap. I had read enough history to know that whatever was wrong with the country (if anything was truly wrong or we were dealing with a bunch of mongrels having a hissy fit.)  I decided to just go on about my business – got married, went to school, started a family. Watching politicians for a good chuckle became a hobby. But, silently, the car wept. Here were people using the freedoms guaranteed by the Constitution in order to destroy it. The car looked up and saw storm clouds mounting. A quick check told it things weren’t good in the land; an evil force was showing its ugly head. The upholstery was starting to tear and there was a ping in the engine.
Then the Eighties swept into history. A president entered office with the right antidote to remedy the dreadful mess left behind by the previous administration, i.e., the Misery Index. The Misery Index was a way to keep track of how bad the economy was doing: Add together interest rates and the unemployment rate = Misery Index.. Ronaldus Magmus (Reagan) lowered taxes and the economy rebounded splendidly – there were several years of 6, 7 percent growth. Jobs opened up, people went to work, paid their bills, spent money and life, again, was good. The car looked around from the driveway and felt good about the U.S.A. The principles the country was built on were working, as they always did when the politicians left things alone. The car thumbed a headlight at the Maoists and the other pinkos. The tires were nearly bare, but there was tread for the long run. Yet an ominous underbelly was becoming more evident as the Eighties wended away. Rust spots were showing and the chrome was peeling away.
When we entered the Nineties it was evident to some that the country was securely in the hands of those who would do it harm. Reagan’s successor, George H.W. Bush, raised taxes after promising for months, “Read my lips, no new taxes!” He was bounced in the next election, but his successor, Bill Clinton, strutted his way into the White House and found more ways to embarrass the office than there are provisions in the tax code. Mr. Embarrassing, nonetheless, oversaw a tremendous economic upsurge during the Nineties, which he will gladly take credit for, but happened in spite of him. Nothing, not even his huge tax increase in ’93, could put a damper on the burgeoning computer age. The glitz and glitter of the dotcom era did much to cloak the disastrous financial turmoil just ahead. Most of us did not see this coming, as we foolishly took our eyes off the rats in Washington and allowed them to lie, cheat and steal the country into a later recession. The car, now very worried, shuddered uncontrollably. The bumpers and doors were falling off now, the grill hanging dangerously near the ground. Someone had kicked out the headlights.
Enter the new century. We had a new president, and hopes were high. But anyone expecting a resurgence of the American spirit and the can-do way of life that forged a great America, would be disappointed. Nine-eleven would change our world forever.  During the next decade the country would rot from within. It became very evident the worse thieves in the country wore three-piece suits and called themselves “investment” bankers and who contrived to bury the country in debt. Most of us could only sit by and watch as the stewards of the republic destroyed our way of life. We would scratch our heads and blubber, but we have no power, except at the ballet box. The next election would show that was definitely not the answer. As the first decade of the 2000s bumped into the next, we knew we had a big problem in Washington – worse than anytime before. The car crumpled further, slowly sinking to its axles, all its tires blew, while it wondered  how far away the junkyard could be. The paint was gone now, the upholstery all done, bumpers and grill had fallen off long ago. The windshield was cracked, so its vision became blurred, the ping in the engine was a loud knock.

It had been a mostly downward run since the Big War, and America’s car was barely running. It had been falling apart for a quite some time. But it had weathered the storm the best it could – then this last bunch ripped off the hubcaps.
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AS YOUR PRESIDENT I WILL RESURRECT OLD RED, WHITE AND BLUE AND MAKE AMERICANS PROUD AGAIN. i DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU, BUT I DON'T FEEL PROUD UNDER THE NARCISSIST-IN-CHIEF. QUITE THE CONTRARY.

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?”
“It.”
“Why do you want to build an it?”
”So they will come.”
“Who are they?”
“Ones that come when you build it.”
The faceless creature shrugged and began filling out a form.
“How much is this going to cost me?” I asked.
“For liberal builders of its, the fee is a dollar. Since I know you to be a conservative, the charge is a million bucks.”
“What if I were building a church?”
“Two million.”
“What if the ones who are coming are illegal aliens?”
“No charge.”
“Oh, I see. Interesting.”
So I went home and began building it. When I had completed half of it, a fat chick wearing a hard hat drove onto my lawn in a chartreuse backhoe.
“What do you think you’re doing, mister,” she yelled. “I order you to stop what you think you’re doing, right now, and back away!”
“Building it,” shrugging in a way that asks what else I thought I might be doing.
“You can’t build it there.”
“How come. It’s my property.”
“Not really. But you’re interfering with a migratory path for gay-bo fly-by-nights swishing through on the way to the Swap Spit and Shit joint on the next block.”
“They’re not the ones who’ll be coming, I hope.”
“There’s no way of knowing; they have a way of showing up where they’re not invited.”
“So what am I going to do with this half of it?”
“Tear it down and move it over six inches.”
“Oh, my.”
“By the way, that’s American pine you’re using. Exchange it for Himalayan mulberry, and you’ll be good to go.”
“I thought Himalayan mulberry was endangered.”
“Only until you make a suitable contribution to the democrats.”
“I see.”
After months of toil, I finished it and was standing, hammer and saw in hand, admiring my work. A tear of pride emerged from my eye and slipped down my cheek as I thought back over the difficult months it took to finish it. Government inspections, government regulations, insanely high prices for materials caused by suppliers having to deal with Chinese ripoff artists, this fee, that fee, and all the hoopla that goes with building it. I stood massaging my aching muscles and blistered hands, when El Semi Uno arrived in an 18-car motorcade and walked over, a satisfied smirk on his face.
“So, Newshawk, you’ve finished it, have you?”
”I have. Its quite a thing I‘ve built, isn’t it?”
“Whadya mean? You didn’t build it.”
“Oh yeah, who did then?”
“Government, of course.”
“I didn’t see government up there hammerin’ nails and sawin’ boards.”
A person in a government uniform walked up and dropped a letter in my mailbox. I picked it out and looked at it. Sure enough, it was a letter from the government – my property tax bill.
“There you go,” said El Semi Uno, “our bill for building it.”

REMEMBER WHEN EL SEMI UNO SAID TO THE NATION’S BUSINESS OWNERS THAT “THEY DIDN’T BUILD IT” (THEIR OWN BUSINESSES)? I CAN PROMISE YOU THAT AS YOUR PRESIDENT I WILL NEVER SAY SUCH A THING TO YOUR FACE. AFTER ALL, THERE MAY COME A TIME WHEN THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT WILL NEED TO MOVE IN WITH YOU.

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I HAVEN’T HIT YOU GUYS UP IN AWHILE, BUT YOU’VE FOUND YOU HAVE A LIKING FOR THIS STYLE OF WRITING, THERE IS A BOOK AVAILABLE ON AMAZON AND BARNES AND NOBLE CALLED “THE NEWSHAWK REPORTS: THE WRITING OF A POLITICALLY INCORRECT NEWSBIRD.” HAVE A LOOK, MAYBE GET A COPY; LET ME KNOW YOUR OPINION AT FVOSS70@LIVE.COM.

The Flip Side