We were once the “threat of a good example” to all fascists, communists, oppressors of every stripe. For a few hundred years America was the most effective “Domino Theory”. So successful was our adventure into a free society that oppressive dominos collapsed in almost half the nations on earth, as their people struggled to duplicate our success.
But then, as an 18th century Scottish historian suggested: You may start in bondage, which will lead to great courage, and if successful, liberty and abundance, but selfishness will eventually root, pomposity, then complacency, apathy and dependence, returning us all to bondage.
“Tuesday will be Power Plant Day, and Bridge Day, all wrapped up in one, in Iran. There will be nothing like it!!! Open the Fuckin’ Strait, you crazy bastards, or you’ll be living in Hell – JUST WATCH! Praise be to Allah.” President DONALD J. TRUMP
If you are tolerating this, what is “Fuckin” wrong with you? Can you not hear? Can you not see?
We haven’t won, we haven’t changed their leadership, their ability to fight back is not gone, as this anal discharge insists!
Has he not yet made you pay, made the world pay, for what was nothing more than his monumental pomposity.
Bombing such infrastructure violates the Geneva convention by crushing civilians, the very civilians who poured out onto the streets demanding change and were slaughtered two months ago.
Of all the incipient, childlike nonsense you supporters have made us suffer from your “Gift from God” from this little angel of a President, this one is coming home to roost at your house.
I am prejudiced: The tattooed, silicone enhanced, rug pasted, Botox faced, pierced, annoy me.
Anyone using the expressions “it’s a good read” or “take a listen,” make me cringe.
And what is it with motorcycles and cars that can’t wait their turn? Hell, they are like rap lovers completely inconsiderate of melody.
The extra cost people pay for ripped up pants, or those wearing a pair barely managing to hang off the lumps on their ass, all an irritation. And what is it with the young, putting studs in their noses, lips, tongues and parts thankfully unseen? Or old people that wear and ride around in brags; Rolex/Mercedes/Dior/Gucci or a Porsche as if they still had it all together and could handle it under full power?
And OH GOD, please give me a break from your religious demigods, sports casters and political commentators using hyperbolic nonsense to attract another sucker.
Personally, I would prefer to just be left alone with those still so absurd as to wear what a date once called “stiletto healed, please f%#k me shoes?”
Now don’t get too mad, many in my family are listed here, I dare say I have been on the list in my past, but now as an old codger, I deduct 10 IQ points for anyone on my list.
I often wonder, why hasn’t someone killed him? Lincoln, McKinley, Kennedy, all good men, trying to do good found a bullet from some lonesome malcontent.
Now we have real horror.
Is it because every Secret Service Agent, every General, every Cabinet member, every White House staffer, every family member, all with access to him are on the take, none can see, or are so cowardly they are not willing to take one for the country.
Is it because everyone close, that thinks him vile is cowardly, unwilling to sacrifice, or are non-violent peace nicks at the expense of everything America has stood for? Is it that what hundreds of thousands of husbands, wives, sons and daughters perished for, what we were once so proud, doesn’t elevate to self-sacrifice?
You might be old enough to remember Joe Isuzu back in the 80s making fun of the Federal Government, who through its Federal Trade Commission protected prey (citizens) from false advertising. They said ads on radio, television or anywhere else were “required to be truthful, not misleading.”
But Joe went ahead anyway and claimed Isuzu cars and trucks had “more seats than the Astrodome… could carry a 2,000-pound cheeseburger…. and could hold the whole state of Texas!”
I once started and organization called Vote Smart that would go to war with such dishonesty, silly or otherwise. But it turned out you can say anything and some sucker or maybe a great many suckers will buy it.
My organization started at dishonesties core, politicians. They had become servants to money and self-preservation rather than The People, politicians that would put old Joe to shame. The success of dishonesty became so grotesque that one self-glorifying, consummate maligner spread over 30,000 demonstrable lies by 2022, the year I unfortunately retired.
The organization soon diminished but at its zenith forty million people including every major media journalist used it, along with more than a few political abusers looking at truth and then struggling for the means to rape it.
I left way too early and have lived sad for it ever since.
Trump clams we have won, and the war is close to over.
OK, we lost few of what Trump once called “sucker” Americans who signed up to defend the rest of us.
And yes, you now must chip into the effort too, every time you buy a bit of gas or anything else that depends on petroleum.
But, BUT we knocked out an 86-year-old religious fanatic at his life’s end and replaced him with a 56-year-old even more manic in his fanaticism. Not just another religious nut job, you understand, but one who just had his father, mother, wife and child blasted to bits by us.
Kim: “Great personality, he’s very funny and very smart,” says Trump of Jong after he starved and murdered a half-million of his countrymen.
Putin: “He has done a great job, a genius, very savvy,” says Trump of Vladimir after he invades our friends, and now assists Iran’s effort to kill Americans.
No matter says Trump through Karoline Leavitt, his mouthpiece, “it (Putin) clearly is not making any difference with respect to the military operations in Iran because we are completely decimating them.”
Who are your friends? It mattered in grade school when it was a worry for your parents and it’s a worry now for the entire world.
Those “Losers” his Chief of Staff recalled as his excuse for refusing to visit their graves in France or his not wanting “to be seen in the presence of military amputees because it doesn’t look good for me.”
Remember any of that? It had zero effect on his MAGA Minions, even as he and his family SUCKED billions out of the world those dead and maimed made possible.
Who would be the “suckers?” Those that gave or those that SUCK!
Young and before I met her, she signed up for a fundraising swimming contest to see who could swim the furthest and longest. She was the only girl. The lifeguard standing in the lane next to her at the beginning asked, “What are you doing in this race?”
A half-dozen hours later the sponsors sent a delegation to find her mother busy at home. They pleaded with her to come to the pool, “Please, we are all very tired and no one can get your daughter to stop.”
I taught her how to play a couple of different ball games. She stunk, just as everyone does trying to learn a new skill, but she kept at it, and at it, and at it, until she could whip me.
In Washington, D.C., after an early dinner with her brother, who was almost as big as me, we were confronted by 3 hoodlums. The one with the gun pressed it against my temple while the other two went through our pockets finding our wallets. But my wife walked on.
The thieves screamed at the “bitch” to give them her purse, but she just kept walking.
It occurred to me, as I heard the sound of the gun being cocked, that yes, the thieves were right, she should give them her purse.
“Please give them your purse!”
She did. She unslung it from her shoulder, twirled it over her head to gain some momentum and then threw it at them as hard as she could.
It bounced off one of the goons to the ground between them. Thankfully it was the gun slinger who bent over to pick it up rather than pulling the trigger.
I can still feel the enormous wave of relief I felt for that millisecond between the moment they began their sprint down an alley and I felt the breeze as my wife dashed past me in hot pursuit.
It took my every muscle twitching at top speed to catch and tackle her.
The marriage didn’t last, but I have often thought back of those long-ago days in admiration, disbelief and OH, SO THANKFUL THAT SUCH A PERSON EXISTS.
Tired from campaigning, I took a break, went home for a sandwich and clicked on the TV.
Robert Tilton
Some television preacher had his head slung down on a bible, beating it in tears and begging his viewers to send him a prayer request he would use with his special relationship with God. He could save them from whatever agony they faced, if the prayer request came in with a bit of money. The more money the more time he would be able to spend with God pleading their case.
My response instantly went apoplectic. He wasn’t just feeding on the old, the sick, and helpless, but the lonely without anywhere to turn but this son of a bitch.
I put down my sandwich and went to record my thoughts for that week’s broadcast.
But first let me ask you if you can recall this itsy-bitsy sampling of what these famous television slimes did to their millions of believers:
A. James Baker
B. The Copelands
C. Duplantis
D. John Gray
E. Robert Jeffress
F. John Hagee
G. Jimmy Swaggart
H. Bernard Law
I. Peter Popoff
J. Robert Tilton
A. Indicted on federal charges of mail and wire fraud, and conspiracy to defraud the public. Five years in prison stealing contributor funds.
B. Purchased three private jets while proclaiming children do not need a flu shot because Jesus had already “bore our sickness.”
C. God told him he needs a jet plane too.
D. Bought his wife a $200,000 Lamborghini.
E. Claims all Muslims promote pedophilia.
F. Blamed hurricane Katrina on lesbians and gays.
G. Hired prostitutes then apologized to his wife and God, with television crocodile tears, then went right out and did it again.
H. Spent years protecting sexually abusive priests.
I. Claimed that through God he was aware of any stranger in need and could cure their illness. Exposed as a fraud when it was shown he was fed information collected about each person in a hidden earpiece.
J. Claimed he had a special relationship with God and could save you if you only sent him a prayer request with proof of your good faith – money. Exposed as fraud when 60 minutes filmed his tossing the prayer requests in the trash, minus the money sent. Robert Tilden the very guy I watched while eating my sandwich.
MY COMMENTARY THAT WEEK:
“What is the most disgusting thing you can think of?
Is it waking up to find a fat tick suckling on the tender tissues of your armpit? Would it be licking the bottom of a buss station toilet seat?
Well for me it is television preachers feeding on the sick, the disheartened, the lonely, all desperate for help and someone they can trust.”
The station called me, said they had never had so many angry callers demanding that I be gagged.
Might have been that unfortunate bus station toilet seat line that did me in.
Yes! Even a picture of their handshake delivers a message of patheticism.
Given a target, literally as BIG AS THE ALL OUTDOORS these two are so immensely impotent that history might justly list them as collaborators.
To those of you still cuddling under the sheets: We have been at war for a decade and losing ground.
What the country needs is warriors with leaders that are willing to walk the talk that made the founding principles of the United States of America the envy of the world.
A decade ago, Hilary Clinton dipped her toes and called Trump supporters “deplorables,” then retracted the obvious.
We’ve found no charismatic leader, no Kennedy or Reagen, both who would be sickened by Trump. What we have is the feckless, forever calculating, boorrrring to lead us in a war that demands an in-your-face bludgeoning of this horror.
Where are you Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt?
Rise up, whomever you are. Let’s make a fight of this!
The first time I had to raise my hand in a class had nothing to do with a teacher’s question. I actually had to raise it 30 minutes earlier than I did, but didn’t, and I would regret it for years and I am sure if childhood relevance cared any weight in adulthood, I would say that I regret it more than any other single self-inflicted event in my life.
The quiet rumbles in my lower stomach started while we were saying the Pledge of Allegiance, but the discomfort was minor, and I gave it little thought. Ten minutes later my view had changed somewhat, the early rumbles had become a bit gassy, but if I softly eased it out and looked busy and innocent, I could escape detection. Another ten minutes and I was out of gas, one leg here, move another there, putting my weight on the right butt, then on the left, gave only seconds worth of relief. Another 15 minutes and I was in serious trouble. That is when my butt said, “Raise your hand or poop right here.”
I did not raise my hand; I launched it as high as I could stretch. The teacher looked at my sudden demand for attention like one would a stranger. Not at all sure that she recognized me, confused and busy with more important matters she said, “not now.” Like stretching rubber, my arm went to unnatural heights. She took a second look, whatever sub-human quality she saw in my eyes gave me a reprieve. I told her, and announced to all that I, me, the invisible one, who saw the slightesst attention like the plague needed to go to the bathroom. She said, “Can’t you wait,” and then thought better of it, “OK go.”
I had so wanted to make it. With my first step into the hall, I knew it was now a race, but if I moved too quickly, I would not hold. Only thirty feet left, now twenty, at the ten mark it was over, out it came. Like a green horn just off the saddle, I waddled the last few feet to the boy’s room. It still would have been OK, no one was in the halls, but as I threw open the restroom door there stood Jerry Egerton, the toughest, nastiest kid on the planet.
I did not hear his hackling end even after the bathroom door closed behind him. I cleaned up pretty well and I covered up my underwear with a mountain of paper towels at the very bottom of the trash can, but the damage was done.
The humiliation should have been crushing, but as it turned out, only Jerry Egerton had been humored because everyone hated the bully as much as I did. If truth be told no one was that far removed from a poo in the pants at some point, and others simply thought, “Thank God that wasn’t me.” Within a couple of days, Jerry’s finger-pointing shoutouts of “poo boy” got old and ended. By week’s end no one remembered, no one but me, who still winces at the ancient memory of my final delicate waddling steps.
Raising your hand in class! I had actually seen other people do this. I could not understand what compelled them to jump off such a cliff, but they did. Some like Lacy Scanlon, jumped all the time. Lacy, clearly more deserving of existence than any other child I knew, knew everything. All that she did was perfect. I became convinced of this one recess when Stevie Bogard, my neighbor, best friend, and classmate came up with an extraordinary idea.
Until Stevie’s brilliance burst forth, we had been resigned to recess games involving spitting, making fart sounds, or just about anything we could do in the dirt. His idea would require courage, athleticism, cunning and some exhilarating aspect we were not quite old enough to grasp but was very exciting none the less.
He called his game “The Panties Report.”
Understand that this was the 50s and schoolgirls still wore flouncy dresses. The basic idea was to chase each other around, one at a time and at the key moment push or trip whoever’s turn it was and have them roll under some unsuspecting girl. With that you were able to return to the group with the “Panties Report.” The reports were almost always of white panties, color was a rarity, but on one fabulously triumphant occasion I excitedly reported back, “purple polka dots!!” It was so rare as to be unbelieved by my classmates. I was immediately tackled and piled on by every giggling boy in the group. In the dirt and spitting out dust I looked out from under the pile of classmates and across the field, there was Lacy. She was standing with her friends in a crisp clean yellow dress with a satin bow around the waist. All of them were quietly ignoring us and playing a game of hopscotch. As I looked at her from the grit and grime, I knew, as I have known ever since, that Lacy Scanlon and all her kind were of a different, more advanced sort.
Conservatives once inclined to sustain existing views, conditions, and institutions, were skeptical of change, marked as cautious, moderate even miserly. Dare I say good sense!
Republicanism, once an honored synonyms for conservatism, has vanished or hides in the dark as it’s new standard bearer, spends and spends: their money, their environment, the institutions and the international free trade friendships they held the standard for since the mid-19th Century.
History repeats itself the moment numbers of new-born overwhelm those of old-born.
Over the millennia, laborious efforts have been made by the old to transfer what they have learned by experience to the newborn. First tales and legends, then writing and printing pushed what had been learned through intimacy with events forward into the wall of inexperience and innocence.
In the ancient world what knowledge could squeeze forward was reserved for boys from wealthy families (think Plato, Aristotle and Socrates). But in our modern era of people’s government, knowledge amongst the self-governing masses became compulsory.
Public education, first given legs by Thomas Mann in the early 1800s, took off in every state eventually requiring subjects like science, history and the classics.
Once, long ago, so important became the need of an educated self-governing people’s awareness of the past, that attendance in public education became a requirement. Heavy fines, confiscation of welfare benefits, even removal of a child from parents became standard penalties for truancy in virgining democracies.
Today the decline in math and reading skills over the past decade has been well documented. Less understood is the effect of the over half century decline and now total loss in public civics education. What was once seen as the purpose of public education, building responsible citizens, is no longer a part of public education.
What that means is that our newborns have been rendered impudent, unfamiliar with such basics as our American Revolution or the Civil War. The fundamental operations of our government like the separation of powers, the Bill of Rights, World War II and the reasons our elders built them and fought for them now live only in the twilight that remains from those aging and once exposed to history.
What is now known by tens of millions of new Americans is only what they have experienced, what is their normal and today’s normal has no relationship to the lessons from our past.
Mom, widowed and worried, couldn’t afford it, but there I stood in front of the greatest present I ever received or ever would receive.
A week earlier in a hardware store, while she was purchasing a screwdriver, I stood transfixed over the most beautiful sight a 13-year-old boy in 1962 could behold: A shiny red and white go-cart, sale price: $125.
Everything about it sparkled and said lightning fast, out of reach, and beyond hope.
But there it was on my 14th birthday. Not sure why Mom did it and in likely remorse, went through the rules: NEVER ON THE STREET, NEVER ALONE, NEVER ON THE STREET, NEVER AFTER DARK, NEVER ON THE STREET, DID YOU HEAR ME? “NEVER ON THE STREET!”
I was taking it for a spin around our circular driveway when my best friend, Stevie Bogard showed up asking if he could give it a go. When he was done doing a couple of laps he got out and said we should have races.
“Huh?”
“My big brother just welded together pieces of a rusty bed frame with our old washing machine’s engine,” he told me.
Glancing down at my sleek beauty, I said, “Sure maybe I could tow you around.”
Ya! You guessed it, a day later, on the forbidden street we lined them up, my beauty against a nasty, rusty, pile of ear-splitting, homemade junk.
