A Hanging

For the record, in general I am against capital punishment. I think it is barbaric and diminishes man's sense of decency.

But what disgusts me even more is the sad fact that, throughout the miserable history of man, there have been so many bastards whose deeds are so reprehensible they force the rest of us to take such drastic measures. Because, in the end, no other form of punishment seems satisfactory.

We often hear that it is not for men to judge other men; that this is the prerogative of God. But in certain cases, we need to be sure. Perhaps we don't trust God's judgment in these cases. Perhaps we think that His mercy will extend to these bastards. Perhaps we think this kind of mercy is misplaced. So we take justice into our human hands and in effect we tell God we're sorry Lord, judge us harshly if you must, but these bastards need killing.

Saddam was a member of this special club. You know the litany of his crimes. Had we heard that he himself had shown the slightest mercy towards any of his adversaries, perhaps we might have felt differently. But he didn't, and so we don't. And because he was warned, not once but many times, to cease his dangerous actions - and because each and every time he gave us the finger - he pushed an American president one step too far. He believed America would not intervene because former presidents gave him every reason to believe. He caused an intervention which has the death toll of Americans about to reach 3,000.

For all these things and more, hanging is not punishment enough. But it will have to do. And perhaps it will cause a few other bastards around the world to reconsider their own actions. Because even though I am not in favor of the death penalty, in these special cases, I say kill all the evil bastards. The sooner the better.

Happy New Year, world.


The Brightest Christmas Light

He was born in a stable.
A common man
Who roused those like him.
So despised by the powerful,
They crucified him.

He never asked that it be done,
But he was crowned king
And religions were born in his name.
He never asked that it be done,
But countless wars were fought
and legions slaughtered 'neath his banner.
He never asked that it be done,
But empires and civilizations
were overturned
And a New World was consecrated in his name.

1,973 years later,
He is still being crucified.

He never asked that it be done,
But an army of soulless preachers,
Corrupt politicians,
Causes and charities
Take in his name.

What he did ask be done,
To overcome our animus
Toward one another,
We have yet been unable to do.

He never asked that it be done,
But this simple man's birth is celebrated
In one of the happiest seasons of the year.
While profiting greatly from the season,
Those who despise him
Try to strip his name from the day
As if to re-crucify him.
He is buried again
In an orgy of lights and gifts.
Those who truly love him
Shake their heads in quiet sadness.

But take solice.
In nearly two thousand years
Of despising him,
Deriding his divinity,
Discrediting his teachings,
Denying his very existance,
Mocking his followers,
Burning his written words,
Tearing down his symbols,
Profiting in his name,
Belittling him with plastic figurines,
Even beheading his followers,
No one has been able to extinguish his light.
For in him is something bigger
And stronger than all these other things,
Something brighter than all the season's lights,
A gift more precious than all those fancy wrappings.
Not everyone understands it
Or is able to feel this joy,
But those who do
Ensure his birth will be celebrated

May the true Light of Christmas be upon you.


A Christmas Story

During a long and (if I may say so) successful career as a creative director, I wrote and produced many, many tv campaigns for all kinds of corporations and products. One of the most (unintentionally) hilarious phases of commercial or film production is the "pre-pre-production" casting session. This is a meeting held after the creative idea is agreed to by agency and client, but before actual production begins. At this meeting the writer, art director, producer, account exec and other agency individuals sit at a large table with representatives of the client/corporation for whom the particular commercial is being produced. Usually, the way I did it, was to have the film director and some of his people also present at the meeting so they could add their input.

This type of meeting is usually very informal; everyone including normally stuffy types will roll up their sleeves, loosen their ties and kick off their heels, and proceed to say the stupidest things imaginable. A meeting might go something like this:

JIM (the Creative Director): "Okay folks, we're here to discuss casting for the Z-Y-X commercial. Let's begin with scene two on your storyboards, where we have a married couple driving their car to the Z-Y-X store for the big Christmas Tree sale. They decide to take their neighbors along, another couple, because they are all interested in all those the great deals on holiday decorations. Any thoughts?"

ROG (Roger, the Z-Y-X advertising director): "Y'know, I was thinkin' on the way down here..." (the thought of Rog thinking frightens the agency creatives as well as the film director) ..."We need to include more minorities in our commercials. So I was thinking we should have the neighbors be African-Americans."

PAULA (the agency account exec): "Splendid idea, Rog!"

BRUCE: (The Z-Y-X public relations director): "I don't know, Rog... I don't know how to put this delicately..." He glances over at ARN, an agency guy who happens to be black. "But it really looks bad from a PR angle to have the African-Americans, y'know... like... sitting in the back of the car..." Everybody but PAULA nods, ARN spits up his coffee.

PAULA: "Okay, okay, how about they're not African-Americans, they're Muslims. Or maybe one of them is Muslim and the other is a Latino to cover more bases."

JIM: "Jesus, Paula, what are you saying? The Muslim and the... what? ...Mexican? ...are a married couple? How in hell is the viewer supposed to digest that?"

FRED (the film director): "I hate to tell you, Paula, but the Muslims probably aren't going to be hanging Christmas decorations up on their house unless we're selling Osanta bin Clause dolls. They're Muslim for Christ's sake."

PAULA (embarrassed but angry at being mocked): "Well maybe one of them converted to, you know, whatever the Mexican is."

BRUCE: "That's ridiculous. But it's not a 'Christmas' sale anyway. It's a 'holiday' sale. So a Muslim could work, right, Fred?"

JIM: "Holiday sale! Baloney! We all agreed at the last meeting it would be a Christmas sale. Christmas! Santa, Christmas carolers, the whole nine yards."

ARN (the black guy): "Hey! Who says the couple driving the car has to be white? They could be black. The crackers could be in the back of the bus... I mean... car." Dead silence comes over the room. "Yeh, what's wrong with that?"

FRED: "Nothing, Arn. Nothing." Trying to be sarcastic, Fred adds, "Maybe the couple in back should be like Korean, or Pakistani, or even better... both."

BRUCE: "Good thinking, Fred! But let's think about this. If we made the couple in back, say, a handicapped couple... wow... we'd really be 'inclooosive.' That'd score us a lot of points with the African-American, Asian, Pakistani and the handicap markets, wouldn't it? I mean they shop at Z-Y-X, too. That's why we have all those special handicap car parking spots."

FRED (not able to believe his ears): "Maybe they shouldn't be in a car. Maybe they should be riding in a rickshaw... pulled by a white midget who is a nun... they shop at your place too don't they?"

PAULA: "Now, Fred, let's be serious. How can they be in a rick-whatever-you-call-it? Where would they put the Christmas tree they're going to buy at Z-Y-X?" Fred stares at Paula, wishing he was drunk.

JIM: "See! You said 'Christmas' tree. How can you not call it a Christmas sale when you're selling Christmas trees, Christmas decorations, Christmas gifts, Christmas cards, with people going around singing Christmas carols in the stores?"

PAULA (sniffing and turning her nose upward): "It's a holiday tree."

JIM (virtually pulling his hair out): "What holiday!? Columbus Day!?"

ARN: "Say, bro, y'all know Columbus was a homeboy?"

FRED: "Oh great. Maybe he can be driving the car then."

ARN (getting snitty): "Oh, very cute, El Directore."

ROG: "Uh-oh. I just thought of something..." Everyone glares at him, knowing whatever it is they are not going to like it. "The storyboard indicates that they get lost on the way to the store because the driver is a dumbass, right?"

PAULA: "Oh jesus, you're right..."

JIM: "What?"

ROG: "Well, c'mon, Jim... we can't have the black guy be the dumbass. Everybody knows the black person in a commercial has to be a computer wiz who solves the world's problems, right? Otherwise we'll offend our African-American customers who after a hundred and fifty years of no slavery still get offended by anything that will result in a lawsuit and free money."

JIM: "What? It's okay to offend our white customers by making them the perennial butt of the joke?"

ARN: "Damn straight, honkeys are butts." Everybody bursts out laughing.

ROG: "No biggie. We'll make the driver a dumb white guy who's wife is a lovely African-American woman. Then we've got all our bases covered."

PAULA: "Rog, that's brilliant!" Rog glows with pride. Arn makes a kissing sound directed from Paula's face to Rog's ample ass.

ARN (mutters to himself): "Ain't no lovely chocolatta 'ho gonna let a cracker drive her around in a ugly set o' wheels like the honkey got."

FRED: "Let's see if I got this straight... a dopey white guy and his black wife are driving their neighbors, a Korean-Pakistani couple - one handicapped, the other maybe a midget - to buy non-Christmas tree stuff at a Z-Y-X Holiday Sale, and they get lost on the way..."

ARN: "But the black 'ho quickly solves the problem, making her honkey hubby the not-so-insignificant butt of the joke." Everyone laughs again.

FRED: "This black woman... she's, what? Like a Rhodes Scholar? Sitting in a car with a dopey honkey, a Korean midget and a Pakistani with a club foot? Maybe one of them should be gay... you know... just to cover all the bases."

BRUCE (indignant): "Are you making fun of me, Fred, darling?"

FRED: "Huh? Are you gay or something?"

BRUCE (pointing a finger on the end of a somewhat limp wrist at FRED): "You're the kind of bigot racist who assumes anybody named Bruce is automatically gay."

FRED: "Whoa! I'm sorry, man. Are you like...?" (FRED makes a limp hand gesture as if ringing a little [tinker] bell.)

BRUCE: "That's beside the point!" Arn makes a kissing sound at Bruce.

ROG: "Settle down, gays... I mean guys. Geez, now you got me doing it. Maybe Fred has an idea there. What if the Korean/Pakistani handicapped couple is two guys? Think of the terrific publicity! It'd be like a Target commercial."

JIM: "Everybody's gay in a Target commercial, even the straights."

PAULA: "I like the idea, Fred. But how do we know the two guys in the back of the car are gay and not just two brothers or something?"

JIM: "Korean and Pakistani brothers? Now that's rich."

ARN: "I'm no expert on gayness, but they could be tongue-kissing in the back of the car. You know, workin' their way up to a little poon-tang. If they were two lesbos I'd watch that commercial."

PAULA: "Poon- what? is that some kind of African-American Christmas food?"

FRED (laughing): "I guess you could call it that..." FRED and ARN high-five one another.

ROG: "I'm a little troubled by the name 'Holiday Sale' to be honest."

JIM: "Aha! Finally somebody agrees with me."

ROG: "No, not exactly, Jim. If you really think about it, the word 'holiday' is a contraction of 'holy day.' Since we're trying to get away from religious connotations in our advertising, shouldn't we avoid saying 'holy day'?" Fred and Jim's jaws drop. Paula's eyes go wide.

ARN: "Damn, Rog, your mind's like a steel trap. Ain't nobody gonna put one over on you, dude. So we could call it a Kwaanza Sale. Huh? Got a ring to it. Kwaaaaaan-zah!"

JIM: "Then what do we call Santa Claus? I mean he's jolly ol' Saint Nick. He's a freakin' saint! How can you have saints in your goddamned non-religious store!?"

ROG: "No need to get hostile, Jim. We don't actually call him Santa Claus at Z-Y-X, He's known as Mr. Presents. Sometimes we call him Bigg-o The Chimney Man."

JIM (resigned to another politically correct failure of a tv campaign): "Okay, a goofy white guy and his Rhodes scholar African-American wife are driving a gay Korean/Pakistani midget couple with club feet to Z-Y-X to the Kwaanza Sale to buy Christmas trees. On the way, the dumbass white guy is so distracted by the Korean/Pakistani couple getting it on in the back of his car that he misses a turn and gets lost..."

FRED: (the director holds up his two hands as if "framing" a shot in his imagination) "I'm starting to see it now... but to add more spice they could stop to pick up a hitch-hiker who happens to also be headed for the Kwaanza Sale. This way we get to introduce another type into the casting, make it a little edgier, maybe just the hint of danger."

PAULA: "Neat-o! We could make the hitcher a Jew. They shop at Z-Y-X... hell, they own Z-Y-X."

JIM: "And we know he's Jewish, how...?"

ARN: "His yamulkah... yeh, the dude's wearing a Christmas yamulkah! Maybe Rudolph with a red nose crochetted on the top. The red nose could light up and blink. Now that's hip!"

JIM: "Jesus, Arn, he's a Jew! He's not wearing any blinking lights on his freakin' beanie."

FRED: "You'd know he was a Jew if he was Hassidic... you know long beard, braids, black suit, white shirt, carrying a small Torah and rocking back and forth while he submits to God."

JIM: "He might look like an Amish guy who needs a shave..."

ARN: "Jim, Jim, check it out... this'd be an award-winning commercial if the hitchhiker was a serial killer, y'know... on his way to the Kwaanza thing to pick up a hockey mask, chain saw, maybe lift some bling."

ROG: "No serial killers, Arn, no shop-lifters. This is a family store. But I really like the idea of the Hassidic hitch-hiker... but unfortunately it's a Saturday Sale."

FRED: "So?"

ROG: "He wouldn't be permitted to ride in a car on his Sabbath... a car is an electro-mechanical device."

BRUCE: "But he could ride in a rickshaw, right...?"


86ing the '60s

This is a confession.

For forty years now, I have harbored a deep resentment bordering on hatred for the so-called '60's Generation. Oh, of course I don't mean each and every member of that bunch. But I do mean those who did their best to destroy America as I knew it, those who proved to be big public pains in the ass - and there are an awful lot of them. My confession isn't that I resent or hate them... no... no. My confession is something quite more nefarious than that.

For forty years, I have detested the endless spitting-up of their own self-serving, egotistical bile. My stomach churned at their anti-culture tunes and films. My guts clenched at each new anti-American book and tv special. It has been forty years of gagging over the government programs they pushed on the rest of us. They made America suffer in stifling silent pain as they shredded whatever might have been decent about our country. I did my share of swimming against this tidal wave... it's not my nature to be quiet in the face of obvious wrong-doing. But to raise your voice against their rantings back then automatically put you in the category of a Richard Nixon or a racist or a bigot or some sort of party-pooping cretan of some kind or another.

Now the '60's generation is getting long in the tooth. Let me make it very clear that, being born early in the year WWII erupted, I am a bit older than many, though not all, of the '60's crowd. Witnessing their demise gives me another reason to live.

You can tell it's happening because you see it in some of the current tv shows. Specials dedicated to how that generation "refuses to get old." Ha-ha-ha! You pathetic idiots. It's still all about you isn't it? I love watching you appear on talk shows now, faces aged to the point where no operation or medication yet known to man can cover the wrinkles and sags. This actually brings smiles to my own face and seems to actually keep me from getting as badly wrinkled.

Oh. You expect me to name names. No, I don't think so. The list would take pages and pages. Besides, you know who they are. They are men and women who started out as hippies, created the drug culture in America, then grew to be writers, actors, singers, entertainers, politicians, professors, stock brokers, and yes, even Supreme Court Justices.

All through the debacle called "The '60s," those of us conservatively inclined resisted their cries to "Bring it all down, baby." We simply carried on with life, pursuing our careers, raising our own families and in general doing our best to avoid becoming corrupted by the perverted habits of their secular world. As a tribute to the soft-headedness of many Americans, many of the '60's Big-Mouths had very successful and lengthy runs. Many became household names. Made fortunes. They are not without considerable talent, this group. But what do you call talent which is used in such a perverted way?

Now their runs are coming to an end. Surely you've heard the rock stars who've lost their voices. The old entertainers trying too hard to be hip, who look as terrible on-camera as off. The journalists who no longer have viable tv gigs to preach their progressive pap at us. Badly aging politicians still spouting the same bullshit they did in the '60's - so worn out they seem to be propped up in front of the cameras like dummies, reciting their puppet-master's scripts.

A few of the '60's crowd have turned from the dark side and now prance around pretending to be new paragons of virtue, preaching the yin to the yang of their previous lives.

Yeh, soon they will all be joining the ranks of already-departed '60's icons like Timothy Leary, Andy Warhol and Alan Ginsberg. I savored each and every one of these departures, and I plan to celebrate a lot more in the months and years ahead. While some will be placing flowers and Teddy Bears on their make-shift memorials, I will be doing a little jig as I check their names off my list. Sure there will be new assholes to replace the old. As Warhol himself noted, "Everyone will have fifteen minutes of fame." But each successive generation's number of minutes shrinks as media time accelerates and the world shrinks.

This may not be poetic justice or payback exactly, but for me, well... in a perverse sort of way, I'm finally getting my fifteen minutes. Not of fame, but of satisfaction.



     God made Adam and Eve out of it. But this is not about that kind of clay.
     Politicians’ feet are made of it. But that’s not what this is about.
     This is about a little soul that came out of the woods one day and captured my heart.

     At the time, my wife and I were living in the heart of Mendocino County, in Northern California. Our house was deep in the old forests of Redwoods and Doug Firs, near the old “Skunk train” line some of you might know about. There are a lot of snaggle-tooth people in the area who refuse to spend the time or money to have their cats “fixed.” As a result, these people find themselves with unwanted litters on their hands. Their solution is to drive the kittens out somewhere away from their home and drop them off at the side of some out-of-the way road. Thus, one day I heard the feeble mewing of a kitten, but couldn’t locate it.
     Next day, I was doing some work in the garden and spotted a tiny fur ball hiding under my deck. We had two grown cats of our own, Fuzz and Yeti; the starving kitten must have been drawn to their food.
     For reasons not even clear to me, the appearance of this kitten was propitious. One look into his big blue eyes and I was hooked. Now you have to understand something – I like cats but I'm no cat nut. We have adult children – our cats were not substitutes for children as they are for some. Anyway, I managed to get him to cozy up to me by offering him some vittles which he happily accepted. Eventually I was able to pick him up for inspection. He took to me right away. He was some sort of Siamese mix, didn’t much look Siamese; had nice plump features and shorter legs than you find on a Siamese. He had beautiful thick fur running from a creamy white to a warmer tan and dark grey mask and ears... and those beautiful riveting blue eyes. He reminded me of sculpting clay, so I named him Clay. Fuzz and Yeti didn’t appreciate him. They were used to being the center of attention, and let’s face it, these old pampered pusses couldn’t compete for my heart... not with this little fur ball who had come into this world unwanted, and whose earliest days consisted of being dumped out of a pick-up truck, hiding from coyotes and scrounging for food.
     Fuzz and Yeti were typically spoiled semi-indoor cats. We had built them a nice cozy house in our garage. It was plush, and heated in the cold months. They had access through a pet door, so came and went at their leisure. They had more food than they knew what to do with. They were so well fed that they lay near their food bowls and watched unperturbed as Steller Jays by day and raccoons by night came by and ate their dinner. Clay quickly learned the routine. With three squares a day, his fur grew thicker and shinier, he got stronger and lost his fears and shyness.
     Clay was playful and loved to tease the older, much larger cats. They did their best to ignore him but he often wound up jumping on top of their heads in his show of affection. The little guy strutted around like he was a big boy. I loved watching his over-sized paws as he ran circles around Fuzz and Yeti. Best of all, we’d sometimes catch him go nose-to-nose with the beautiful fawns ushered into our backyard by mama does to feed on our grass – grown thick and juicy from Northern California rains. We almost never had to mow the lawn. They kept it as perfectly trimmed as a putting green on any of Donald Trump's golf courses.

     One day, I noticed all that vitality was draining out of Clay. A trip to the vet revealed he had inherited Feline Leukemia and was not going to get better. We took him home and did what we could to make him comfortable. I think Fuzz and Yeti instinctively understood. They softened toward him. One night, Clay rolled up into a ball and drew his last breath.
     I buried Clay in the shade of a canyon oak at a high spot on our property. I often visited the spot, and when we decided to move I went to say goodbye. We lived with quite a few cats over the years. Clay was not with us very long, but he is my favorite. I like to think he was an angel sent to lift my spirits at a time I needed it. His mission completed, he was called back by Whoever sent him, undoubtedly receiving a reward for a job well done.
     That was almost 15 years ago. I often think of the little guy. It was an honor knowing you, Clay.



The Fontane Sisters’ 1955 #1 hit tune, “Hearts of Stone” was about as catchy as tunes got back then. Of course, the girls were singing about love, and how a heart armored against rejection will never break. Which is certainly true. But the hearts I’m referring to here are not just hardened toward love. 

Stone cold hearts are developed over a lifetime. Those of us who have been around the block a few times have seen enough liars, cheats, con men, and BS artists of every stripe that we may become inured to the woes of others. I’ve been around that block enough times to have worn a groove into the sidewalk.

We are born with soft hearts, it’s the nature of youngsters. We like furry, feathered friends, nature, and anything as innocent as we are at that tender age. The hardening started a long, long time ago in my case, when friendly neighborhood bullies were older white kids who threatened us kids with their fists. For a dime. Then there were black kids who threatened with switchblades for fityy cent. Later yet, in Manhattan, came the panhandlers of all colors who hit on us with sad-sack stories about needing money to get across the River to their granny’s deathbed. There were poor unfortunates who “just needed a job” to get back on their feet. Then sad sack employees hanging on your neck like albatrosses. Car repairmen who couldn’t fix a glass of water. Contractors who demand up-front payment and never complete the job. Doctors who misdiagnose, make your life even more miserable and still demand full payment. Best friends and relatives who turn on you like coyotes in the dark. Business partners who do you in. Your telephone message recorder and your e-mail inbox is daily filled with missives of crooks, scam artists, cheaters, liars and every sort of bunko trickster from your own town all the way to the farthest reaches of Siberia and deepest Africa. I know each of you has your own list of heart-hardening episodes.

Is it any wonder we become cynical? How many politicians have we cheered, only to be terribly disappointed as they succeed to elected office only to make a mess of things with their feet of clay? How many presidents have we watched betray their promises and the very people who put them in office?

Should we feel guilty that we are skeptical of foreign nations who demand our aid today, after we have seen what so many corrupt leaders have done with our tax dollars? How many charities have used your hard-earned money to line the silk pockets of their over-fed leaders? How about people caught in disaster, those in government and those in our lands, who didn’t have enough sense to get out of the way of whatever was rushing toward them? I am out of sympathy for them all. My heart has become granite. I’m not proud of it. That’s just the way it is. Once hardened, even God has a difficult time softening a heart.

Going back three generations I am aware of, my family never asked for help from outside. Not for anything. Believe me, they could have used it! Like many of yours, my ancestors came to America from Europe. They came legally. There was no one here, no government “program” or department yet invented to give them a hand. They were simply processed through Ellis Island, deposited on the shore, and forced to fend for themselves at the turn of the 1900’s, when times were very tough for many in America.

My folks never received or asked for help during the Great Depression. To these generations, the very idea of welfare – indeed any kind of handout – was degrading. They had something called pride. Like many of you, I never had any kind of financial assistance to complete my schooling. It was school by day, work by night, and get through it somehow. Somehow I did.

These are just some of the more obvious experiences which turn our hearts to stone over the years. The net result is many of us are sick and tired of hearing all the whiners today. We cringe at whining millionaire entertainers who want our sympathy for how they screw up their lives. And they get it from soft-hearted devotees! We are outraged at politicians who screw up and offer pathetic excuses for one failure after another as they are defended to the end by soft-headed followers. We despise those who try to sue anybody and everybody when they themselves are at fault. Yet soft-hearted juries award them prizes. Does that driver in the car behind me expect my sympathy when he rear-ends my car, or one who runs down some innocent kid because she is busy “chatting” on her cell phone about something “really important”? Does that drunk driving his pickup on the wrong side of the road expect my sympathy when he wipes out an entire innocent family? I can’t give him something I don’t have. Cold? Welcome to America’s heartlessland.

But one tiny corner of my heart still beats soft and warm, and I reserve that little corner for the innocents of this world, most of whom are pets, my fine feathered friends, and children under the age of seven.


What Does it All Mean?

This seems to be the question every political pundit is asking and answering about last week's election results.

As far as this observer can tell, it means the American voter is... I hate to use words like stupid, empty-headed or pathetic... so I'll stick with the somewhat more polite hapless and hopeless.

If it's true, as many pundits suggest, that independent voters - "those in the center" - and true-blue conservatives were angry at the failure of Republican elected officials to do much in the last few years, why on Earth would these voters cast votes for Democrats? This is daft. If Republicans were too corrupt for these "sensitive" voters, is their memory so short they have forgotten corruption on the other side of the aisle?

If these same voters were unhappy with the Republican's lack of fiscal responsibility, do they actually believe the Democrats will do better? Have they forgotten it was a Republican Congress under Gingrich which forced Democrats to control spending?

If these same voters were unhappy with the war in Iraq, do they actually think Kerry, Murtha et al. will make things any better over there? Do they actually think our boys and girls will be coming home sooner with Pelosi steering the House?

If these same voters were unhappy with the lack of progress in controlling our borders, do they actually believe the Democrats will build that fence any faster? Will go after illegal aliens any harder? Will face down the ACLU? Will clean up the drug gangs? Any voter who believes this is beyond hopeless. He is delusional.

We are told these unhappy voters were "sending a message" to President Bush. "We are unhappy with you and your people Mr Bush, so we are making Congress change hands." Somehow this is supposed to make President Bush see the light. Quite frankly, President Bush no longer cares about this. He has been acting as a "war president" and so knows his damnable "legacy" is dependent upon success or failure in Iraq and the general Middle East. "Success" in that arena, if it is to come at all, will take ten years if not more. Two years isn't going to cut it. So President Bush will have to declare some kind of made-up victory and pull many if not most of the troops out by 2008, well before the end of his term. James Baker will help him find his way out of the morass. At least Baker is a bright man. He and his cohorts will come up with a plan to do this - probably the same plan you or I would come up with around the kitchen table - and Pelosi and her Nancy Boys will go along with it.

Now I have to ask the embarrassing question no one else is asking as far as I can tell. Why is no one contesting this election? We all know there are hundreds of thousands of Democrat votes cast by the dead, the illegal, and the otherwise ineligible. A difference in only a few thousand votes in several close and important races would have changed the results dramatically. Had the shoe been on the other foot, had the Republicans retained control of both Houses by such narrowly-won races, there would be an army of "hanging chad" counters, touch-screen weenies and paid lawyers combing over the results like a horde of locusts from now until January First in order to overturn the election. Could it be that these things are all pre-determined anyway?

In the end, yes, I think the general American voter is hopeless. He couldn't figure out that a vote against a Republican doesn't have to be a vote for a Democrat - a party no more worthy to run Congress than Republicans. Those protest votes could have been cast for write-in candidates of their own choosing, or third party candidates where available. That would have been a better way to protest. That would have been a clear and unambiguous signal to both parties that we are not very happy with either of you and we want more choices.

"Choice" we are told, is a good thing. "Competition" we are told, is a good thing. Dictatorships, we don't need to be told are a bad thing, because they only get one choice of leader - the one with the guns. But here in "free" America we get more choice of ice cream flavors, more choices of credit card companies, more choices of auto makers, breakfast cereal, cell phone plans, sports programs, shoe styles, and cable stations - things that don't really matter much - but we get just a couple of candidate choices at the polls. The choice between tweedle-dum and tweedle-dumber isn't much better than we'd get in an oligarchy - for that is essentially what we have become. Are two choices much better than one when both are in cahoots?

We need more choices at the polls. In 2008, in this great nation there must be more than two viable candidates to run for President. In order to get better choices, we must somehow find a way to break the stranglehold the two party system has on democracy. We have no choice.


Kerry's Confession

For those of you who aren't familiar with the term, "Freudian slip", or parapraxia, is a very real phenomenon. One example would be an error in speech caused by the unconscious mind. Some errors - a husband accidentally calling his wife by the name of the woman with whom he is cheating - are obvious cases of Freudian slips. In other cases, the error might appear to be trivial but shows some deeper significance on analysis.

It begins with something which you have locked in your subconscious, often because it is something you are ashamed of. If you are not careful with your words, the embarrassing idea will squirt out in conversation.

This is exactly what happened to John Kerry when he said "...You know education, if you make the most of it, you study hard, you do your homework and you make an effort to be smart, you can do well. And if you don't, you get stuck in Iraq."

Of course we understand he was TRYING to say it was George Bush who is the poor ill-educated dummy who got stuck in Iraq. Nevermind that George was by far the better scholar of the two. All that doesn't matter now. Kerry's subconscious twisted his tongue so his guilt slipped out - he accidentally said what, deep down, he actually believes. In effect this is Kerry's confession. His party is angry. He embarrassed his liberal Democrat friends because, well golly gee, this is what they secretly all believe. They look down their pseudo-aristocratic noses at the military (not to mention the police and anyone else the rest of us describe as "The Good Guys").

Kerry's past behavior belies his pathetic claim that he, as a medaled veteran himself, respects the military. Videotape recording of his testimony before Congress, after his Viet Nam experience, wherein he trashes those he served with, is extremely painful to listen to. It literally drips with his pseudo-aristocratic arrogance. The phony patrician accent, the supercilious attitude, the calculated graphic phrases. It is crystal clear that he detests the military, and yes he detests all the rest of us, "the unwashed." In his failed Presidential campaign for 2004, he goes on to claim our troops in Iraq are breaking down doors in the middle of the night to slaughter innocent women and children. Does this sound like a man who has any regard for the men and women who serve our country?

With his Freudian slip, Kerry re-focused the debate in the last week of this current Congressional campaign away from Iraqi and back to the disdain he and many in his party feel toward the military and any extention of power the US exerts. The elite liberal Democrats, the likes of Kerry, Pelosi, Murtha, Rangel et al. despise the fact that the US military - whether or not they are succeeding - is out there on a noble mission, getting attention, getting the funding, while they, the smarter-than-the-rest-of-us liberal Democrats, are sucking hind teat.

John Kerry, in my opinion, is a despicable boy, running a close second behind Ted Kennedy. Kennedy's name, position and fortune was inherited. Kerry's was carefully and scandalously manipulated. His past qualifies him to lead nobody - except perhaps a school for gigilos. He represents that class of phony wealthy politician who wants you to believe they have sympatico with the poor they supposedly represent. He and other wealthy Democrats, Pelosi being one of the wealthiest in Congress, prance about declaring Bush's tax-cuts only benefit wealthy Americans... but you can bet these wealthy Democrats are reaping the benefits and stashing it in off-shore banks to avoid paying their fair share. This is the height of hypocracy. Is it any wonder Kerry's subconscious appears to be burdened by guilt?

America intuitively knows these weasels will do anything, say anything, deal with any devil, including America's declared enemies, just to get back into leadership roles. Are the Republicans any better? In many ways they are not. But at least in terms of who embraces the idea of a traditional America and what it means, they stand heads above the many Democrats in Congress who subscribe to a progressive America. "Progressive" of course is Marxist-speak for let's have an "id par-tay!" where the elite are free to let it all hang out and anyone who criticizes their behavior is "re-educated."

If the blame-America-first, military-hating "progressive" Democrats are the kind of people you trust to run our nation and protect what remains of our culture, go ahead, give them your vote. You will get exactly what you deserve. Unfortunately, the rest of us will be stuck watching the chaos, and paying the piper.


Full-blown Liberalitis

As most of Michael Savage's listeners know, to quote the title of one of his recent Best-Sellers, "Liberalism is a Mental Disorder."

Having spent my advanced schooling years and then most of my career in a "creative" field surrounded by liberals, I can vouch for Savage's diagnosis.

But there's more. I don't mean to frighten anyone, but this mental disorder is communicable. Over the past few years, I have been studying this closely. I have witnessed this with my own two eyes. I have been shocked to see how some we used to think of as conservative contracted this debilitating mental disorder. I warn you, this is ugly.

For example, for years we thought of Clint Eastwood as Dirty Harry, didn't we? He was Dirty down to his skivvies. But he got a little older and hadn't won any major Hollywood awards, so he figured he'd change his style. Running for Mayor of Carmel was the first hint that he might have contracted the disorder. Once it got a foothold - perhaps I should say a brain-hold - it quickly progressed. Dirty Harry was turning to Sensitive Harold right before our eyes. I thought the disorder had gone into remission when he starred in and directed "Unforgiven"... a killer of a Western. But, he also did the sound track for this film - a track opening with a spectacularly "sensitive" theme and closing with one of the darkest, almost Shostakovichian programmatic opuses I can recall. I have to admit it was so perfect it gave me goose-bumps and still does upon re-viewing this great Western. Clint was a sort of good bad guy in this film, went way out of his way to be nice to the whores, the black guy (Morgan Freeman) and others. "Sensitive." But we all know where composing "sensitive" music leads... straight to patent leather pumps, and hugging other men wearing bow ties and cummerbunds. Then there was that Bridges of Madison thing. Say no more, say no more.

Anyway, along came "Million Dollar Baby" and now "Flags of Our Fathers" and Clint is screaming to Hollywood's "elite" that "Hey, I've contracted full-blown Liberalitis! I'm one of you now." Well, if it was that simple, maybe it wouldn't be a mental thing. But we men are supposed to start out liberal and end up conservative in our old age. Clint's confused. He's got it backwards. Or he's just doing it to be loved and embraced (there's that hugging thing again) by those he wants to cuddle up to. Now doing something to be embraced by people you formerly hated... well, that's just plain mental. You can note that on his medical clip-board and close the case. Like a Pop Tart left in the toaster one too many cycles, he's done.

I have been noticing the same disorder beginning to infect Bill O'Reilly. Bill has been one of my favorite, reliable go-to conservative guys for years now. But he has contracted Liberalitis. It's not full-blown yet, but all the symptoms are there. The need to be "fair" to people who are unable to root for the home team. The need to be more "sensitive" to every point of view and every religion and every sexual preference, no matter how antithetical to common sense American ideals. He feels a great need to engage in discourse with those so far left they have passed the margin and fallen off the page. But, Bill gives them a friendly platform with which to trash us conservatives and our President. Which leads me to my final example.

I'm afraid to report that President Bush has contracted full-blown Liberalitis. It has affected his hearing so the cries of those who elected him go unheard. He now has (just as his daddy had) a deep need to be accepted by the liberal "elite." He finds comfort in cozying up to the Clintons (excuse me while make a deposit in this barf bag I keep by my computer just for moments like this). Perhaps GW has figured out it is only the liberal elite who "count" as far as written history goes. Or as far as his "legacy" is concerned. The rest of us can eat cake.

He listens to all those softies surrounding him. Sadly this includes our First Lady, his dad and his mom, and many of those in his Administration. He listens to all the "sensitive" people who want to be seen as tough on terrorism but don't want to hurt or be mean to anyone. Let's not get too tough in Iraq, they tell him, we don't want to offend anyone. Let's give them more time. More time to learn how to steal and cheat from us, to pretend to be a democratic government while they pledge their allegiance to the jihadist brotherhood.

Have you heard Condi Rice-a-Roni lately? She sounds like she is mentoring a group of slow-learners on how to be "sensitivite" and polite to those who want to hack your head off. They tell us we are in a war. But this is the positively worst way to fight a war; the worst way to deal with America's southern border, and all the other problems plaguing our times.

President Bush needs a shot of anti-libiotics, he needs to immunize himself from those around him before he starts scribbling "redrum" all over the Oval Office walls. He needs to unleash our military boys so they can kill the bad guys in Iraq and get this damned debacle over with. And if he is too wobbly to do that, then he should tell the Iraqi's to get stuffed, bring the boys home, and figure out how to rationalize all that treasure, in both gold and blood, America has spent over there.

President Bush, sir... right now, at this moment in history, we need Dirty Harry not Sensitive George. Once you're out of office, you can be as sensitive as you want on your own time. But on our time, while you're still in office, if you really want to represent the majority of us out here and protect America's interests, you need to draw that gun metal black Magnum, cock the hammer, put it to the heads of Middle Eastern thugs - including the ones that pretend to be on our side - and say "Go ahead, Muqtada, make my day..."


Choose Your "No-no"

Recently revised

Those of us old enough to remember when "I Love Lucy" was in its original tv run will recall network standards dictated that Lucy and Dezi had to sleep in separate beds. In those days there were certain words considered “impolite” or “off-limits” in the family living room. They were no-no’s, uh-uh’s banned from tv by strict network censors. In fact, George Carlin did a very funny stand-up routine about the list of infamous words you couldn’t say on tv.

Instead of respecting the ban, the secular-progressive poo-poo boys in the entertainment industry pushed and pushed and finally succeeded in so marginalizing network standards that censors were, in effect, banned! As a result, words and phrases once written only on men’s room walls are puked all over tv cable shows and other “entertainment” media.

Later, stand-up comics of the merde school dragged stand-up all the way down into the cesspool. Watching some of their “comedy” routines was like watching your momma lick the doedorant cake in an old-fashioned men’s room urinal. But to no one’s shock, large segments of the tv audience couldn’t get enough. Sad commentary on America’s level of taste and sophistication.

Some winced, and still do, at the debasement of our culture. Parents found themselves blushing in their own or somebody else’s living room, watching tv with children or other sensitive people in the room, embarrassed at the sudden, unexpected language and images on the screen. On the other hand, we all laughed unabashedly at stand-up stand-up comics and sitcoms which proved bright comedians and writers don’t need Carlin’s list of “no-no” language to rise to the top of their craft.

If you publicly objected to the new age of base language which was infecting our everyday discourse, liberal types would try their best to embarrass you fuddy-duddies, going on about “...they’re just words... words can’t hurt you”... or other variations of the old “sticks and stones will break my bones, but words can never harm me” nonsense. Incredible nonsense.

The heights of hypocracy have been reached as these very same liberal language folks, the progressive “let it all hang out baby” types who blunted the censors’ pen, have come up with their own new list of “no-no’s.” They turn a deaf ear when one of their own champions of comedy gets up in front of a camera and rails on with streams of stinking epithets, often aimed at conservative, gun-toting, privileged white men. But let a well-known conservative use one of the Left’s “no-no’s” like “you people,” or maybe “faggot”... or (horror of horrors!) he might whisper “Jesus is our Savior” in a public place, and these same liberals gasp “Bigot!” “Racist!” “Homophobe!” Or worse, alert the DHS, he’s a “dangerous religious fanatic!” To copy their own language style, the politically correct folks have become totally Tom-o-phobic, heterophobic, and christophobic.

Perhaps you recall awhile ago, in a fall-down drunken state, actor-director Mel Gibson blurted out “Jews” are this-and-such: then in another incident, some sports coach in a fit of anger used a locker-room word in of all places... a locker-room! Hollywood “elites” (code for secular-progressive) spun out of control, calling for retribution, boycotting and criminal charges. Wait a minute! What happened to “words can’t harm you?” Are they allowed in Hollywood films but not in real life?

“Hateful” speech, modern weenies call it. So what if it is? Is Mankind not allowed to hate anymore? Does Mankind need to be forced to take drugs to repress perfectly natural feelings? Can Mankind repress emotions without creating neuroses? Hate is one of Mankind’s great panoply of emotions, part of our nature, like the rush of adrenalin we feel when startled or with fear, provided by nature for reasons of survival. Can we not express hate for evil? Can we not express hate for the hurting of children, or anyone or anything for that matter? Can we not hate terrorism? Can we not hate attempts to bring down, by a thousand cuts, the greatest nation the world has ever known?

Liberal “elites” are the very same hypocrites who fill our airwaves with Christian-bashing invectives, pumping low-level “entertainment” into America’s living rooms... with much of cable tv show dialog unable to sustain itself without using one of Carlin's “no-no’s” at least five times per thirty seconds. Then they get red butts over some trite comment about “macaca.” Most of us don’t even know what it means, and why should we care... it’s “just a word.” It’s so perfectly liberal, and if it weren’t so transparently hypocritical, it would be funny. What progressives are saying is, “Don’t tell us what millennia of traditional discourse dictate we can or can’t say... it’s our new secular world now, and we’ll tell you what you can or can’t say.

Not long ago, a school kid who used one of Carlin’s “no-no’s” was assured a one-way ticket to the principal’s office where his parents were summoned for mortification; and swift punishment for the poopy-mouth followed. Today, that kid can call his teacher much worse with nary an ear noticing. But let some kid utter something about God or Jesus, and his parents (more likely just one parent nowadays) are in for some mortification.

“Naughty” magazines and books, once covered in “plain brown wrappers” or hidden away in the dark corners of book stores, are now proudly displayed in plain sight in bright light. Now it’s The Bible which has been relegated to the shadows.

Exactly who in the progressive universe is sitting around deciding which words or thoughts you and I can or cannot speak or think? Does it not strike these idiots that they are now the censors? It’s just like them, isn’t it? They spend 50 years breaking down the nation’s cultural code, only to replace it with their own twisted code.

The “sophisticated” Left would have traditionalists smile and simply accept their twisted agenda without question – the new normal range of progressive mores. Traditionalists reply (insert your favorite previously-banned George Carlin “no-no” here).



I have experienced the terms of thirteen different U.S. presidents – starting with FDR. Troubling observation: each new president spends a good deal of his term attempting to right what his predecessor did wrong. The remainder of his term is spent making his own mistakes. His successor inherits the mess, and the cycle repeats.

Among other things this suggests there are few if any presidents wise enough to actually know, in the broadest sense, what in hell they are doing. When viewed dispassionately, the primary reason becomes obvious. Presidents are figureheads, enslaved by their own ideology, or that of their own close advisers, donors, and fellow travelers; hacks elected and appointed.

If a president doesn’t even have enough sense to gather the best, or at least competent, people around him, he or she is doomed to fail – a victim of consequences which hacks and journeymen have no foresight to anticipate. If ideology and political debt, rather than intelligent foresight (or at least clever chessmanship) guide a president’s decisions, these decisions are bound to produce unforeseen and unintended consequences of the worst kind, ultimately leading to failure. Most of the thirteen presidents I have seen have failed in this regard.

Of course, there are few decisions in this life which won’t lead to at least some unforeseen and unintended consequences. It’s a matter of how dire the consequences. Even smart advisers, those not ideologically driven, may fail to foresee the long-term consequences of what, at the time, at least to them, seemed like prudent decisions.

Critical decisions. Truman’s WWII-ending tactic. On the plus side, it brought WWII in the Pacific Theater to a quick end. On the other hand, it ushered in the horrors and fears of the Atomic Age. JFK’s decision as to how to handle the Cuban Missile Crisis? Reagan’s strategy in ending The Cold War? Perhaps Nixon’s opening up of relations with China seemed like a great decision at the time – but today’s China makes me think Nixon opened up a Trojan Horse.

Presidents before my time have brought about some terrible consequences. Instead of heeding Churchill’s admonition to “Love the Hun and kill the Bolshevik,” Woodrow Wilson inadvertently helped the Marxist take-over of Russia, which in turn brought the Iron Curtain thudding down on the USSR. Communist ideology spread like wildfire across the grasslands of the world, causing the deaths of tens of millions. FDR brought us his own vision, or perhaps the vision of someone close to him, of socialism; a somewhat unique American brand of welfare. Expanded dramatically by Lyndon Johnson, it changed Americans’ culture of self-reliance from what it was to what it is now; a quasi-socialist state in which a majority of voters would prefer subsidization to self-reliance, and are okay with submission to their government’s whims in return for subsistence and empty promises.

Which explains why President Bill Clinton made the kinds of popular decisions he did. And why George W. Bush made those he did, and why Barack Obama is still making the kind of decisions he is making.

But now we have this very serious situation involving Iran and nukes, which calls for decisions dictated not by a president’s ideology but by his and his advisers’ ability to foresee the full consequences of his decisions. Of course there will be some, unintended for sure, no matter which decision he makes. But as suggested earlier, it’s a matter of how dire the consequences might be. Decision “A” may work short-term, but may result in far worse consequences down the road than if the president went with plan “B.” Or “C” or “D.” For if anyone in the thrall of caliphate dreams is soulless, with the steely nerve of Harry Truman, the world may wake up one terrible morning to more Hiroshimas. One consequence of our President’s stubborn, ideological decision to essentially “do nothing” by kicking the can further down the road, leaving an even more impossible situation for his successor, may be a mushroom cloud over an American city, and a swath of radioactive death spreading across our land. Maybe across the city you live in.

Have you ever faced a bully? Let me ask you this; did “do nothing” ever work in dealing with a bully? If you haven’t, the answer is no. Bullies beg for confrontation. If you don’t want to get your ass handed to you by the bully, you must hand his ass to him. With prejudice. That bully will think twice, next time. And one unforeseen consequence may be that you actually gain his, and others’ respect.

President Obama is not likely to stop listening to whomever is advising him. He is not likely to set aside his hackneyed ideology. He is not likely to confront any of our enemies, or any of the crime and rebelliousness erupting on our own inner-city streets. His nature is to dread rejection. Bad press in England and Germany. Scorn from France. Humiliation in the eyes of UN “elites.” Anger toward him and his decisions by the muslim world. But at this point, regardless of which way he decides, he will get it all anyway. So he might as well do what needs to be done. After all, what’s the worst the rest of “the world” is going to do? Shake its trembling fingers at the U.S.? But Obama won’t do what needs to be done. He is unable. He doesn’t know how, and doesn’t have advisers who will tell him. He is on the glide path to be judged by history among the worst of our presidents; his only claim to immortality his election as America’s first black president.

If all negotiations fail to stop this nuclear weaponization, our next president, whoever he or she may be, does have a powerful military-diplomatic tool at their disposal. Plausible deniability. A terrible “accident” in the nuclear facilities of a nation warned about its efforts to become a nuclear power. Catastrophic. Messy.

When the alignment of our antagonists see (to quote Condi Rice) this “regrettable accident,” when they see the advancing of the evil cloud caused by their own illicit experiments, when the bullies see other irradiated leaders with blistered faces and singed hair glowing in the dark, you can count on one thing... without any physical proof they will know who made it happen, and they will rethink their ways.

Undoubtedly there will be many unintended and unknowable consequences to such a decision, but they are likely to be far less harmful to America than Obama’s strategy of loudly and proudly doing nothing.


Daffy Duck

Let's get away from politics for awhile, shall we?

I don't watch a lot of tv, I haven't for many years. But recently I have had cause to see a lot of cable tv shows - those endless, endless home improvement type shows, the girls' make-overs and that sort of vomitous pap some call entertainment. I am struck by a couple of things.

First, with regard to men, it seems these cheap cable shows are overrun by homosexuals. Okay, it's a whole new genre, a whole world of employment previously unheard of. Bob Vila and Norm from "This Old House" would probably not be real comfortable letting these guys anywhere near their tools.

Well, since men are hopeless anyway, let's just go to my personal favorite; girls. And by that I mean females. I can no longer call them women. Yes, there it is, that's just the point. They may be over 18, they may be fully grown and fully employed, maybe even wealthy. But somewhere along the way, the female gender underwent a strange, almost alien change.

I still remember the graceful women of yesteryear, with their slow moves and sultry voices. What we seem to have today is an entire generation of adult little girls. Their speaking voices have moved from their throats up into their sinuses. They all - and I mean all -sound like they went to the Daffy Duck Voice Coaching School. Add to this the bizarre "modern girl speaking style" where every sentence ends with a question mark - "I came in the front door?" - "The make-up I use?" - "The guys who installed my kitchen?" It's enough to make you scream? Add to this the almost-whisper, where the amount of air they push through their voice box is just barely enough to produce a sound, so it trails off at the end of a sentence with a sound that reminds me of a death rattle.

Since I was a kid, I've been in awe of gracious, intelligent, good-looking women. It's in my blood. But today's chicks!? Today, with all their discretional income, and all that's available in fashion, almost any woman can make herself more than attractive. Downright sexy. But they seem to think attractiveness ends with fashion. It doesn't. An elegantly dressed, beautifully coiff'd, exquisitely made-up woman may be a feast for the eyes, but when she opens her mouth and that nasal Bugs Bunny "aaaya" assaults your senses, it's enough to make a man's ears hurt and his testicles shrivel like California raisins.

And what's with the gargoyle Rosie O'Donnell types!? They dress in lesbo brown jackets with collared blouses, make themselves up like mortician cosmeticians, and everything they say and do is as ugly as their faces. No doubt it's their inner ugliness, the ugliness of the mind, oozing up through their endodermis and finding its expression in their faces. I see it in Hillary Clinton for example. Here was a really beautiful young woman, bright, ambitious - but her ambition, her twisted philosophy - her inner self - finally made its way up and out and now shows on her face like a twisted witch's mask. No, don't give me that baloney about women lose their looks when they get older. That's total bull. Many mature women never lose their attractiveness, because their inner beauty shines through and makes them glow. Only immature men can't see it.

If you are old enough to remember how women were in the 1940s and 1950s, you'll know what I mean. Oh sure, for every Arlene Dahl or Kate Hepburn or Julie London or Janet Leigh there was a ditzy Lucille Ball or a Marilyn Monroe (both of whom, by the way, were real "dolls" when they were younger). By and large the girls in those years were emulating the Hepburns and Sandra Dee types. Ever since Cindy Lauper made it fashionable with "Girls just wanna have fun," and Madonna taught the sleaze factor to grammar school girls twenty years ago, we have grown a generation of lacey-edged, midriff-baring tarts with annoying voices. I dare you, just listen to average schoolgirls today. Your neighbor's kids, the kids in any mall, kids on tv, scurrying up and down the supermarket aisles with cell phones. Those Bugs Bunny voices would be considered torture by the Islamoes down in Gitmo.

If you are a mother of a young girl, don't get upset with me, ma'm. Your energy will be better spent looking at who your daughter is emulating. Paris? Jessica? Is this all we have left in America for young girls? To want to grow up to be like THEM? Ma'm, your girls need to be sent to charm school. No wonder American boys are the way they are. They'd rather get themselves a mail order mate from Tailand or Manila, or even walk on the wild side with a guaranteed-to-have-sex gay boy, than to have to put up with these girls and their whiny, nasal demands.

I don't know... maybe you know... eh, what's up doc?


Foley, Foley, Foley

Okay, what can I say?

What you are witnessing here is the complete meltdown of Congress.
Good. I for one am happy.

Representatives and Senators get away with murder, grand larceny, treason and no one makes a big deal about it. But some prancing fop gets caught with his hand in the cookie jar of a boy intern (who I am sure exhudes the same snow white innocence as Anna Nicole Smith) and the Democrats and their lap dog liberal media go off like a rocketful of Viagra. How boring these clock-work October surprises have become. Of course, being clueless as usual, the Republicans reel in horror - Oh my God, he's gay! I let him drink out of my mineral water bottle! - trying to distance themselves from Foley and the inconvenient facts. "I was too busy fixing the Katrina thing down in New Orleans." Yeh, and a nice job you did down there, too.

But keep this in mind. To know who is responsible for all this mess - or for that matter any political or financial machinations - look to who profits most from it. Aha.

But who among us is surprised? No one.
Who among us doesn't think Foley was "October Surprised?" No one.
Who among us doesn't think Foley deserves to have his well-greased butt handed to him? No one.
Who among us doesn't think this is the tip of a very very smarmy iceberg? No one.
Who among us thinks there are still "honest" and moral leaders in Washington DC? No one.
Who among us doesn't think Conress is the greediest bunch of corrupt self-infatuated shits this country has ever spawned? No one.
Who among us doesn't want them all to be tarred, feather and rode out on their fat pampered arses? No one.
Who among us doesn't want a third party to break up the monopoly this bunch of hypocrites has had on the system for as long as we can remember? Well?

If you vote for anyone in either of these two parties, you are perpetuating their game of three-card monty. The American voter is being played for a sap. If there is no alternative, then it doesn't matter which of them gets elected. They are reflections in a mirror - opposite but exactly the same. Two flavors of poison. Take your pick.

Somewhere in this big wonderful country there must a handful of good people who can lead us out of this mess. Where are you? Certainly not in politics! Please, come forward and let us see you. Your nation cries out for you. We can't take these dimwit high school class presidents and Marxist high school newspaper editors anymore. It's not funny anymore. They have gone amok and the country is plunging into a hell where government corruption is no longer measured in the tens of thousands, but in the tens of billions. Like, who will profit most from this 700-mile border fence that won't stop anybody? The fence builder? The fence material supplier. The manufacturer? Or the politician getting 15% of the cost funneled to him under the table?

It is time to clean house on both sides of the aisle.


The Home of the Brave?

I heard an interesting interview on tv recently, where-in the guest, an author and "expert" on international affairs - this was a very knowledgeable and bright man - was asked what do we do about Iran?

His answer was troubling to the interviewer and to me. Essentially, he said there are no good options. His point was that no matter what we do, we more or less play into the hands of the Iranian leaders. If we put severe sanctions on Iran, the people will suffer, the leaders won't, and it will instill even stronger hatred for the US. If we (or Israel) bomb their nuclear facilities, we will at best slow them down for a few years, make their population hate us more, and the problem will come back worse. If we bomb other targets in Iran, such as the petroleum industry, we will cause another terrible oil shortage and cause pain not only in the US but around the world. If we try to support the anti-Iranian forces within the country, it will probably take too long, get many of them killed, and not work in the end. He said there are some very smart people in our government who are working on this problem and to date have found no "good" options.

Here's one I'd recommend if I were advising the NSC. Update the stupid rule barring us from carrying out covert political assassinations. Or just circumvent it. Take out the three or four top leaders in Iran, just as Lee Harvey Oswald (or whoever it was) took out JFK. There is always plausible deniability when these things are done with enough Machiavellian deception. This is the only option that puts the ball in their court and doesn't make cannon-fooder of our troops. (It seems this is one of the few things I and Pat Robertson agree on, although he was suggesting this approach to neutralize Hugo Chavez).

What are the Iranians going to do about it? Their country will descend into political chaos where the rebels might have a chance to oust the religious fanatics. What can the remains of the current Iranian leadership do? Appoint themselves as the new fanatical leaders? Take them out too. Keep doing it until "they get it" and the Iranians get some sane leadership. Compared to the other options, assassin's bullets or poison is cheaper both in dollars as well as in lives.

If they point their finger at us, we might claim that just as the Holocaust "never happened," we do not believe these assasinations ever happened - they were just unfortunate accidents.

Is there any morality in doing this? Of course there is. The Iranian leadership has made it plain. They intend to eradicate Israel. They intend to destroy the West. They support terrorists worldwide and join an international conspiracy to overthrow America. Is not the taking of these treacherous few lives not a just cost for saving the thousands or millions they threaten? Is there any morality to spending billions more of very-needed dollars sending hundreds of thousands of our troops somewhere to face death in order to do a job a few well-trained "hit-men" can do for a fraction of the cost in treasure and lives? How can there be any question?

If you ask me, I say today's Western leaders - including and perhaps especially our own - are among history's worst cowards. Why in hell else would they believe "their" lives are more valuable than their military or anyone else's? Of course they are not!

We had Ahmedinijad right here in New York City last week. It wouldn't have been the best place to take him out. Better to do it in his own country and with the greatest amount of plausible deniability. But, to illustrate, one well-trained "lunatic" in the crowd or across the street in an office building could have done it. Or an unfortunate manhole explosion under his car as it passed by would have done the job. These things happen.

Taking out a few of these leaders will send a powerfully loud and clear message to the rest of the world's tinhorn tyrants (of which there are far too many anyway). The Message: Keep screwing with us and you're next.

Recently, Christopher Hitchens, a fellow I respect, waxed about the concept of pre-emptive strikes. They are good, he opined, because while they can be very destructive they can save many, many more innocent lives than the miscreant lives they take. It's an old and good argument. But if pre-emptive strikes are good, pre-emptive assassinations are even better. For example, had the Europeans had the foresight to take out Hitler and a dozen of his top people before they went on their rampage, we might have saved the lives of fifty million people who were slaughtered in the lead-up and course of WWII.

There is no way a sane person can argue that saving fifty million innocent lives is not worth the killing of a few madmen. Who needs these people? The world would be so much better off without them.

Of course the question of where do we stop comes up. I'll leave that debate for another day. For now, we have a short list that few would disagree with.

There are all kinds of reasons our government doesn't consider this elegant solution. None of their reasons are smart. They say, for example, if we do it so will they. Well, you know fellas, that's the price of leadership. You want all the glory and gain attendant to your Washington DC jobs? In these dangerous times you also have to assume some risk. It's immoral to expect our young men in the military to assume it all for you. Somebody has to show some old fashioned American courage in DC. Is there no testosterone in Washington? Isn't this "the home of the brave?" Or is bravery another politically incorrect notion?

GW or Dick Cheney or somebody... save the lives of countless innocent men, women and children. Eradicate the crazy new Hitlers. Take 'em out NOW, before it's too late. History will vindicate this action.


I Won't Give an Inch

I don't care if they call me a dinosaur, an ol' fogey, a misanthrope or codger. I ain't gonna give an inch to any self-destructive "progressive" fool.

I know the difference between right and wrong, and my beliefs are unshakeable despite 40 years of didactic, misguided lectures from Norman Lear, Jimmy Carter, Walter Cronkite, Madonna, Oprah, a bunch of 16th Century imams, and millions of other America-haters. Their heads are screwed up.

I don't need Jimmy, the peanut farmer (no insult meant to good peanut farmers everywhere), and his anti-American foreign-leader friends from Venezuela and Iran, and Walter to tell me America is always wrong. We're not. Where is Rosiland when we need her? Roz, baby, your hubby needs to be in a home. Maybe he can get his Habitat people to build him one... with padded walls. Jimmy's head is screwed up.

America is God's gift to the civilized world. It is the freest country in the world. America, at least as it was, is worth defending. It has given the world more good and more wonders than it has asked in return. American traditionalism is the world's only hope - unless your head is messed up and descending into a Marxist-Islamic world is your idea of fun. In that case you'd better get yourself fitted for turbans and burqas. I'll not be joining you, if that's okay with you.

I don't need Catholic priests (from whom I learned my sense of morality many years ago) to tell me it's God's Will to allow every law-breaker from every poor country in the world to pour unrestrained and unregulated into America just because they need more donations to their diocese. They are wrong and I am right. No amount of passionate rhetoric will make it right. It's wrong. Forgive me fathers but your heads are screwed up.

I don't need holier-than-thou native Americans and their Caucasian corporate crooks telling me it's good for America to have a casino on every corner. It's not. It's worse than having a gin mill on every corner. People who can't afford it spend even more at a casino than they did at the gin mill. My native American friends ought to find a more "spiritual" way to wealth. Their heads are screwed up. They should be soaring with their eagle totems and not pecking in the mud with turkeys.

I don't need Norman, Oprah and the ex-governor of NJ to tell me man laying with man is "A gift from God." It's not. It's an abomination. How do I know? If these people want to tell me what God says they ought to quote accurately from His Good Book. I don't need to be lectured by enabling psychologists that these people have no choice, that they are "born that way." They are not. At some point they chose to be that way. Why? I should think the answer would be obvious by now. Their heads are screwed up.

Progressives argue that we need to tolerate everyone's proclivities in this "progressive" age. By that reasoning, I'm sure they will tolerate my "need" to whack them in the head with my 34" Louisville Slugger with the lead core. But as six thousand years passage hasn't changed murder from being a capital sin, it hasn't changed man-laying-with-man into a blessing. The ancient rules for living on this planet don't change just because the unclean, who in the past were forced to live in the shadows, are now allowed to prance in the sunlight and twitter about their "God-given right" to do what "feels good."

Is this what "Endowed by their Creator" with the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness means? I'll grant everyone has the right to life and liberty. But it's the "pursuit of happiness" part that confuses us. It is unfortunately vague. The terms life and liberty are essentially unchanged by time and custom. We all know what they mean. But "happiness?" Did the Founding Fathers mean you can be a child predator if that's what makes you "happy?" Did they mean you can put drugs into unsuspecting women's drinks to make them more agreeable for your "happiness?" Did they mean you can have relations with your cat? That you can have 72 wives and abuse them all? Did they mean you can grow, sell and take drugs to your heart's content? That you can abandon your own countrymen if your business will profit more by out-sourcing the work? Or to idolize make-believe people such as actors and entertainers. To make sports take the place of the Sabbath and the old Sunday-go-to-meeting rituals? Did they mean it would be okay for men to make the pursuit of other men the central focus of their lives? To the point of wearing their STD's as a badge of honor? That the education system should be made into a breeding ground for another generation of "progressives" with their heads screwed up?

In the name of "progress," every generation spawns more people whose heads are screwed up, people who push the envelope, push the definition of the "pursuit of happiness" closer to the abyss. Closer to the Pit.

Some days seem to be worse than others. Some days we seem to be held captive to these "progressives," unable to do much but sit by, shake our heads sadly, and watch the suicide. Perhaps one day they will fall over the edge and somebody will need to re-teach the world about right and wrong and the real meaning of happiness. Meanwhile I will not give an inch.


Mad Bush Disease Discovered

When I was a little kid, I remember some adult told me if you spilled Pepsi-Cola on a painted surface, the Pepsi would eat away the paint. Imagine, this adult said, what Pepsi will do in your belly! I believed it. Why wouldn't I? An adult said it was so. I told my friends. Some of the kids wouldn't drink Pepsi-Cola after that.

Of course, that's exactly what that adult hoped would happen. He or she was just trying to scare us so we wouldn't drink so much soda pop. But I was on the fence; Pepsi was a bigger bottle than Coke and only cost a nickel. That said, the question remained; did Pepsi remove paint? One day, I was having a "soda fight" with one of my friends - you know, where you hold your thumb over the open mouth of a full bottle of soda pop, shake it up violently, and then ease off on the thumb pressure. The fizz shoots out yards and yards, soaking your friend with sticky soda syrup. Ha-ha-ha. Anyway, some of my Pepsi squirted on my faithful ol' J.C. Higgins bike. I thought, hmm... let's leave it on there and see if it really eats the paint.

Days later, the paint was intact and the Pepsi was reduced to sticky syrup that easily washed off. Another urban myth exploded.

But - and here's the drift of this message - many of the other kids couldn't be convinced otherwise. They wanted to believe it and so they just went on believing, completely disregarding the evidence.

Today, many believe that President Bush was somehow the MasterMind behind, or otherwise responsible for, 9/11. It's another symptom of the Mad Bush Disease running rampant in the world. The most noticeable symptom is a fevered hallucinatory hatred for Bush. In the hallucinations he first appears to be extremely dumb, then as the fever worsens, he becomes an evil genius. The frightening thing is that there are so MANY showing up with these symptoms. Some of your friends and family, no doubt.

God forbid, but just for illustration's sake, let's say somebody murdered your mom in your own home. Let's say all the evidence points to your neighbor, Ben. But your brothers Teddy and Howard, and sisters Nancy and Hillary prefer to blame dad because... well... he's the boss and they're not. No matter what evidence is shown to them, no matter how their theory doesn't hold up to scientific scrutiny, they are going to blame dad, and they are going to tell everybody, pronouncing it as "the truth." All these people, like my childhood friends, will make it their new religion.

Who cares, right? It's just an annoyance and doesn't mean anything. Let some people make videos and write books and appear on liberal talk shows and make a few bucks with their cockamamie theories. It won't really ever matter. But what about Ben? Ben murders mom and gets a free pass from your brothers and sisters. In fact, they will insist, Ben didn't do it... but if he HAD done it, well, he was justified. Your dad did all kinds of things that offended Ben. Poor Ben, he shouldn't go to prison and be executed. It wasn't his fault. It was dad's.

Dad, being a good dad, is worried for his family's safety because Ben is still living nextdoor and has invited dozens of his creepy friends to live in the house with him. Dad notices how they are watching your family furtively and leaving threatening notes in your mailbox. So dad installs a home alarm system, bars the windows and puts dead bolts on the doors. But your stupid brothers and sisters resist everything dad does to protect the family. They insist on going to sleep with unlocked doors, open windows, and if dad wants to turn that alarm on at night, he first needs to get an approval from Uncle Max, the lawyer in Poughkeepsie who hates alarms. Dad, they constantly whine, we want to live in a completely open house where everybody is welcome regardless of their race, religion or suitcase nukes.

Sooner or later, when Ben and his friends get the chance, they will once again sneak into your home and kill you and as many of your family as they can. If any of your brothers or sisters survive, they will say "See!?" and blame dad again. Even if he is among the casualties.

Mad Bush Disease is driving many to the brink of insanity. It seems to be especially rampant in the Hollywood area where no amount of reason seems to relieve the disease which is easily transmitted from person to person by casual innuendo such as "Say, did I tell you I heard about a video of Nancy Pelosi up there in the mountains of eastern Afghanistan handing a big fat Congressional-size bag of gold to bin Laden, thanking him for his good work, and letting him know she will be doing her best to unlock the doors at night?"


The Dead Hearts of Politicians

Truth be told, I have never felt a compelling interest in politics. I am like most Americans in that regard. We are interested in results, not machinations.

We don’t expect our elected officials to be rocket scientists. If they were, they’d be doing something more useful. We expect little more from DC politicians than that they fix what needs fixing, protect the nation’s interests, and at least be loyal to America. In return, most turn a blind eye or shake their heads in frustration at the almost inevitable corruption of electees in their own Party – you know – those who steal as much as they can get away with, hit on young Washington DC interns, and speechify on tv on the 4th of July while the rest of us eat hot dogs, and burp heartily at the blathering pols, causing everyone around the tv to laugh – that sort of thing.

Unfortunately today’s brand of politician seems less interested in opportunities for good results but very interested in opportunities for good corruption. Think about it; you only hear about it when they get caught. Feeble apologies. Why else would someone spend millions and millions of dollars, giving passionate stump speeches in places they’ve never even heard of, to get elected to a job that pays so much less? If elected, the passion suddenly turns to their own economic interests. Worse, many don’t even seem to be loyal to our nation.

Progressive liberals may ask What do you mean “your America?”

It’s the land and culture I grew up in. I was raised and schooled during what I believe were the best years this nation ever experienced – the 1940s-1950s – a time when we happily pledged our allegiance to Old Glory; and to the nation for which it stands. This was before “Under God” was inserted into The Pledge. I don’t personally care if they leave that in or take it out. It’s not the operative phrase in The Pledge.

“I pledge allegiance to...the nation...”

That’s what’s important.

To our politicians I say don’t give us claptrap about following The Constitution. The Constitution is the foundation for our nation’s laws, but there is nothing there that demands their loyalty to the “idea” of an America in which we – including most of our politicians – grew up. How can someone who grew up in a country where farmers rise at dawn to feed a world, a country with rodeos, Boy Scout troops, National Parks, stock car racing, grand baseball stadiums, sandy beaches with sailboats, fishermen and surfers, a culture that spawned Elvis, Lucy, Mickey Mantle, Mickey Mouse and the Beachboys, the likes of Neil Armstrong, George Patton and Joe DiMaggio; a culture that built the Golden Gate Bridge, the Empire State Building and carved the faces on Mount Rushmore – how could somebody who grew up among all this go to Washington and suddenly put the welfare of a foreign nation before his own? Become virtual spokesperson for some adversarial nation or value system? How can anyone who is honored by his own countrymen with election to the highest offices turn his or her back on all that he or she held dear as a child? Somewhere along the way, they somehow seem to have lost their soul. Explain that.

There is only one explanation. The heart of a politician beats to a different drummer. He has no soul. Under the guise of “protecting The Constitution” he will sell out all that makes America unique among the countries of this planet. Only a mentally-disturbed politician could argue for NOT protecting our borders during a time he claims “We are facing an enemy who wants to kill us.” Only a mentally-disturbed politician could give away our military secrets to our adversaries. Or our jobs. Or our very sovereignty.

We have heard Michael Savage describe (very aptly I might add) that liberalism is a mental disorder. But if the Democrat Party, taken over by leftist liberals is a sanitarium for the mentally disordered, what is the Republican Party? I do not see this bunch of Brooks Brothers happy-boys protecting our America any more than the grubby Democrats. If the Democrats can rightly be charged with shoveling trillions of our tax dollars into the bottomless pit of social engineering, the Republicans are pouring similar amounts into the bottomless pockets of the business school club of CEOs. Big oil CEOs. War-supply CEOs. Big Pharma CEOs. Wall Street CEOs, and on and on. How does this protect my America? Just the opposite is true.

America produces fewer and fewer things at home. Our politicians shed crocodile tears. We are just borrowing, playing with and printing money that is worth less and less each year. Like a family deeply in debt, a nation deeply in debt is vulnerable. Especially when its creditors are not its friends. Eventually, the family will be forced to pawn its heritage just to stay afloat. It sucks up to anyone with cash, no matter how unseemly. It takes in boarders whose backgrounds and motives are unknown. Most disgusting are the family members who try to convince the others to leave the doors open so strangers can come in and cause the havoc.

As a child, I once lived in just such a house in just such a neighborhood. I will never forget the fear, palpable as it was in my family and in that house and neighborhood. But whereas my family had enough drive and smarts to climb into the middle class, eventually moving to a better neighborhood, those options seem impossibly limited in a nation. Rats sense when a ship is in trouble and begin scurrying off along the mooring lines. Here in our ship of state the bilge is rapidly filling with brackish water, but we are at sea and there is nowhere to escape. It is up to us rats to save our ship.

If nothing else, I would urge every decent law-biding citizen to go out and buy a legal gun. If you already own one, buy another. This is the home of Colt and Springfield and Winchester. Even if you never unpack your new gun – a sudden surge of weapon sales to average Americans will send a very hard metal signal to our politicians and officials; their constituants are frustrated to a boiling point and no longer trust them to protect America or Americans. And our enemies, including those already among us, all of whom follow our media so closely? It should give them some pause.

Or maybe you would rather go down with the ship?


The Divine Fire

So what are we to do with Iran?

We can't just attack their nuclear facilities. The cunning snakes who lead that land have planted them right among the populace of the country. If we do any kind of bombing, many innocent men, women and children will be killed and many more will be maimed. George Bush will rank right up there with Hitler, Stalin and Khan. As hawkish as I am, I do not want to see that.

So I will once again turn to "diplomacy by other means."

I understand one of the weapons we have been developing at Area 51, or China Lake or Groom Lake or some other damnable deep dark place is a high-intensity particle beam generator. Cool!

So here's the plan. Iranian President Ahmedanutjob is so infatuated with his nuclear program that he visits the facility regularly, sometimes accompanied by the Supreme Leader, the Ayatolla. Ever notice the news video they love to broadcast on Al Jezera where some poor nuclear scientist shows his latest experiment and a giant hot flame shoots out, nearly searing everyone's beards and turbans? That's the key.

Next time Ahmedanutjob and the Supremes visit this location, our particle beam gun will be poised high overhead on a military satellite. There will be a spy on the Iran science team (there's always a spy on the science team... ask Robert Oppenheimer). The spy will have planted a tiny camera in the lab. The camera image will be broadcast up to our satellite which will co-ordinate with the particle gun.

When the poor scientist sap opens the lab equipment to show Ahmedanutjob the Divine Fire, at the very instant the flame shoots up, the particle beam gun will fire a powerful burst of undetectible neutrinos - or fermions or bosons or tachyons or whatever they're cooking up these days - at the lab. The ultra-high-energy beam will pass right through the thick lab walls and strike the lab equipment, interacting with the nuclear fuel there-in which will instantly reach critical mass. The entire lab contents and all its occupants will be dissolved in a bright flash of radiation which will be contained inside the thick lab walls, thereby saving the lives of all who are outside the walls.

By some miraculous coincidence, all of Iran's fanatical religious leaders will be struck down that same day by a Divine Fire. The God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob will be blamed for all this because everyone knows George Bush isn't clever enough to come up with an idea like this.

After the usual number of days of denial, Al Jezera will broadcast the news to the world: Iran's leading party has been dissolved... literally... in an unfortunate accident which also set back Iran's nuclear program by at least ten years. The cause of the accident will appear to be a miscalculation by Iran's nuclear physicists. Unfortunately these men cannot be punished properly because they have gone on to claim their 72 mansions with 72 rooms with 72 virgins in each room.

Condi Rice will again address the UN General Assembly. She will declare Iranian's President and Supreme leader are martyrs. There will be a moment of silence. The Israeli ambassador will pump his arm in silent joy. Iran's remaining governing body will declare new elections to be held as soon as possible.

With the help of our CIA (which is looking for a way to redeem itself) the Iranian people will be emboldened to elect non-religious-fanatic leaders - they'll want leaders like ours, leaders whose only fanaticism is motivated by good old-fashioned personal greed. Thus we just might have a few years of peace in this world. Until China starts acting up.

I'll be working on a solution for that one next.