Showing posts with label Miscellaneous assholery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Miscellaneous assholery. Show all posts

Feb 17, 2016

Penny for your thoughts, but do you take MasterCard?

I've been using plastic for a while. It returns a couple-three percentage points on money I'd spend anyway. I avoid the heartbreak of possible "late fees" by automatic draft pre-payments, maintaining a credit balance just over estimated expenses. It's one way to ease -- however damned slightly -- the Yellin pain of zero per cent return on savings.

So what, Jim? 

So this. About every two weeks a charge for exactly $18.08 at a local liquor store shows up. Meaning that somewhere in Washington, a snoop knows I'm a drunk -- worse than a drunk, a cheap drunk, probably babbling from an overload of  1.5 liter jugs of Three Feathers blended whiskey  (guaranteed aged in containers for several weeks!).

It might be just what the feds need to hustle me off to jail for typing under the influence, resulting in  subversion --  antigovernment agitation with intent to mock.

And I might not even be able to prove the truth. In fact the $18.08 buys about two weeks worth of tobacco, and please don't tell Michelle or the surgeon general.


It has become feasible to  live your entire financial life electronically, to never touch a coin or a note.

(Humming) Three Coins in the Fountain..." 

Oh, hello, officer.

You're Busted. You hearts wanna be seeking happiness, swipe your cards at that there kiosk machine.

Then President Obama knows you were fooling around with a bimbo in Rome instead of negotiating that deal for a cargo of pimple cream in Sardinia like you told your wife, and if you make him mad he can tell her.


It's about the war on cash, of course, the exchange medium which permits a citizen to exercise a little of whatever privacy remains in a world gone mad with surveillance. Put a pack of Trojans and a copy of  Esquire on your card and you've given any government cop with a sympathetic judge enough to peg you as a sex maniac and, therefore,  probably hot for trafficked humans. Charge a Colt 1873  at an antique sale and get on the no-fly list.

The latest comes to us from Europe where the central bank has just snuffed the 500-Euro note because -- it says -- Bin Laden used them.  (So do, I'll bet, European Central Bank bigwigs when they are fooling around with Roman bimbos, but that's beside the point.)

Enter the United States of America and one of its leading gadabout economists, Larry Summers, the guy who almost became secretary of the treasury under Obama and is undoubtedly on the Hillary and Bernie short lists for the same job.

He wants to kill the $100 Federal Reserve Cartoon because bad guys like drug dealers  use them. And what a brilliant idea based on astute observation, there, Larry. I can't imagine Jalisco Cartello, in Tijuana to make a buy, would ever think to fill two brief cases with 50s when it becomes illegal to have one brief case with 100s.

'course, then you can outlaw 50s, then 20s, etc., then, presto! 24/7/365 Mr. Orwell's Telescreen is in your wallet.

Jan 1, 2016

Yes, George, a Happier New Year to All of Us

For my friends and enemies:  I'm afraid I must insist that you read Mr. Wills' review of the year just interred. If it is credibly reported that you don't, I shall disappear you with my magic ring, even if it gets me suspended from 4th grade.

Sep 25, 2015

Boehner and the Asses

I have no more respect for John Boehner than for any other institutional  politician. Nevertheless, he was one of the better tacticians of the breed. A stern dedication to ideology is admirable, but Boehner fully understood politics as the art of the possible.

The instant issue is giving the left wing a massive political talking point: "The Republicans shut down the government, making you miserable, just because they hate women who want to talk to Planned Parenthood and maybe undo the result of a few moments of passion."

Boehner is as "pro-life" as anyone, if that's a criterion for "good" conservatives. He just saw the results of a shutdown drama as a huge political  loss for conservative (and, to some degree, libertarian) Americans.

It took the stage-surprise of his resignation to reveal the idiotic contempt in which deliberative politics is held by some of his reluctant stable mates. For instance:

...and Rep. Tom Massie of Kentucky said the speaker "subverted our Republic.I think it was inevitable," Massie said. This is a condition of his own making right here.

Ass: Noun describing persons of mean disposition, prone to seek the limelight via personal slurs on better men than themselves. Hello, Tom.


This Planned Parenthood crisis, acted out in the Center Ring, is probably the  most valuable thing that has happened to that organization in decades. It couldn't buy such attention for any sum of money. A massive slice of America now believes the issue is shutting PP down.  Not a chance.  All the pro-lifers are demanding at this point is that their abortion program should not be paid for, directly or indirectly, by taxpayers who hold a strong moral position that abortion is sinful.

The sin of the matter can be worked out among the factions -- those who long for a return to the back-alley coat hanger, those who chirp that abortion is just one more means of benign birth control,  and the more rational thinkers somewhere in between. Just leave the IRS out of it.

Aug 9, 2015


It's not easy to write seriously about this guy, especially if you think he is performing a useful role in American political discourse.

Limited but still worthwhile is Trump's  absolute rejection of the mealy-mouth sputterings of politicians willing to risk offending no one, tiny men and women terrified of riling some identifiable group. Black people. Women.  Fundie religionists. Humanists. Cat lovers. Art lovers. Gun lovers  -- probably descending downward to whatever internet group exists to mock  folks who eat hummus. None must have the tender hymen of virgin ears pierced.

He came into this campaign with the idea that millions are fed up with limp language of PC. His polling numbers tend to prove him correct.

But the poor, sad egomaniac's insight stops a world away from the notion that plain speech, blunt speech, is not the same as stupid and vile speech. For instance, he could have said of John McCain:

"From what we know this guy endured pain we can't imagine under Communist torture. For six long years he was, in fact, a military hero as most people define the term. It's too bad people confuse this with the kind of wisdom we need in a political leader, balh blah blah.

That was his point, exactly,  a valid argument on which Trump committed seppuku by expressing it as mockery, intentionally cruel sarcasm displaying a strong hint of envy.

Mexicans are rapists. 

Nonsense, of course.  But he could say,  the illegal immigrant population from Latin America includes a high proportion of thugs.  Even that will inflame passions, but it is a proposition which can be debated. It can be tested for truth. If found true it can be a base for policy. As Trump vomited it out, it is a flash-bang grenade tossed simply to make his 15 minutes last longer and longer and longer.

The coy reference to Ms. Kelly's vagina was probably the final cross-stroke in Trump's ritual suicide. Rag-on remarks have been around forever but, in my life experience, anyway, always taboo in any but the most testosterone laden gatherings, even in the years before our intellectual betters decided that that open debate should be forbidden except when framed in words which carry zero chance of offending some group or even some one.  (That's the way it is now ...trigger warning...  honest, Injun.)

A Trump with his mouth under even small control would have said something like: Ms. Kelly, I speak my mind without a lot of editing for mushy political correctness.  Maybe I go to far sometimes, but I think your question reflects a stupid approach to journalism. The campaign is about huge issues, and whether or not one candidate sometimes uses words too strong for you is not one of those issues. Grow up."  

The furor about stupid journalism and Kelly's alleged infantilism would have been almost as raucous,  but it would bear on things we need to think about, namely stupid journalism and  arrested-development teevee personalities.* It is far more important than her menstrual status.  Goodness, I'll bet the nation can avoid thinking about her cycle for months on end. If it can't, what the Hell. We might as well elect The Donald because we deserve no better.

*I do not necessarily accuse Megyn of those faults

Apr 14, 2015

A day in the life...

...and a pleasant one, kindly weather, outside work, the hint of winter pallor giving way to a less morbid skin tone.

So why the hell did I decide to spoil things by reading the news and shattering my most cherished articles of faith in my government?


The Department of Homeland security would never, ever hire airport perverts, just dedicated public servants devoted to catching sky terrorists.

The policeman is your friend and the war on drugs is noble.

Teachers and school bosses are even more noble. Unless they can make more money cheating.

Apr 2, 2015

Nothing runs like a Deere

I've been suffering from a severe case of Mind Your Own Business lately.  It is personally profitable in one way or another, but it wrecks havoc on my favorite self-image. If I neglect my duties as a scourge of thieving politicians and goofy, power-mad, government minions everywhere, why am I continuing to consume precious oxygen?

What profits me if my kitchen is cleaner, the bank account slightly less laughable, and the lawn machinery tuned and ready for The Moon When the Crabgrass Thickens? If, I mean, all that selfishness is at the expense of omitting seditious comment on official ignorance piled upon bureaucratic stupidity upon political venality?

One hopes that St. Peter does not ask such a question, but just in case, I strive here for a tiny down payment on partial redemption.


Early in February I noticed my passport was expired.  I cross guarded borders only rarely  any more, but who knows, so I sent John  Kerry my $110 and a couple pages of personally identifying information. The form promised processing in four-to-six weeks. About three weeks later the check cleared. Three weeks after that I received a nice email from John saying my application had been received and that processing would take four-to-six weeks. Then, a week later, John joyfully wrote me that my "application" had been "approved," that the Department of State of the United States of America had deployed its vast resources and concluded that I am me, the same me as identified on previous passports.

And Secretary Kerry reported that it had been mailed already, on April 2 or perhaps earlier. It included a note:

"You requested delivery by regular mail. Passport Agencies use Priority Mail. This means you should receive your passport on or about 04/07/2015."

Until reading this I had no strong urge to mock the U.S. Postal Service -- or perhaps John's trust in Snail Mail.

But waidaminnut. Priority Mail is advertised as, well, priority; faster than Bill Cody's speeding pony, more rapid than a New Jersey senator's grab for a bit cash.

I think my passport is coming from New Orleans, 1,203.3 miles distant, or, with six days elapsed time as predicted by the Secretary of State, an average of barely more than 200 miles per day.

Excuse me, Gentlemen, but I think with fresh spark plugs, on-the-fly refueling, and relief drivers,  we might do about that well using my lawn tractor. If not, there is always the pony option.


Hell, I'm in no rush for the passport. Take your time John, mailman, et al.  The only big deal here is a reminder that government always, in matters from the largest to the smallest, speaks with a forked tongue.

Mar 5, 2015

'bye, Jumbo

Majestic, eh?

Forget it. Ringling Brothers Circus is pasturing the elephants in favor of Joe Bob's big truck and a batch of freaky Mongolian camel riders.

Thank the Humane Society and various PETA types for further turning America into a flaccid two-inch prick.

Feb 2, 2015

Milton Friedman and the .177 Assault Rifle

In a little town about 25 miles down the road,  this guy and two buddies walk into this other guy's yard. We don't know why.  The guy in the house steps out and shoots him in the arm. There's a call to the cops, then a trip to the emergency room. It's broad daylight, about 11 a.m.

The shooter gets charged with assault. We know nothing more of the shot guy, but "treated and released" is a good guess because "... .177 caliber air rifles" don't usually create major trauma*, although some are notorious for huge magazine capacities.

On-line court records help put little stories like this in perspective. Each man has, while still in his early 30s, earned a rap sheet filling more than a screen. It's mostly idiotic driving, but your occasional theft, burglary, and assault charges lard the records, and it is fair to suggest that both have been on quite cordial terms with ethanol products.

The shooting earns these few words of mention because I have just been idly browsing the Friedmans' "Free to Choose." Milton and his woman note a valid community interest in restricting liberty for those few persons who are not "responsible."

And isn't that a difficult line to draw?

I submit, however, that the sane folks of a community might fairly judge anyone earning two or three legitimate busts every year as irresponsible. They might also be permitted to supervise the dippydoos a little more closely such as, for instance, taking away their BB guns and using miscreant  knees as  fulcrums to turn them into  croquet hoops.

Sounds cruel.  "Oh God!! Vigilantism!" Maybe so, but if Skidmore folks had tried it much earlier in his life, Ken McCoy might have lived to a ripe old age.


*You need to be careful, though, remembering that it's all fun and games until someone puts an eye out.

Jan 21, 2015

Reefer Madness Just Down the Road

Tom and Deb got raided and went to jail. Cops claim they had pot to a felonious degree.  Local radio reports:

The Osceola County Sheriff's Office says deputies allegedly found drug paraphernalia*,  concentrated marijuana wax and marijuana plant material.

Party animals. Spiked hair. Tongue studs. The scourge of sanctified Sibley. Right?

As good citizens bent on ensuring the continued morality of all our youth, we must ignore a point or two in this case. Tom has a spotless criminal record; not even a traffic ticket in court records. Same with Deb, although she was associated with a probate action related to the death of a relative. Very suspicious.

Tom is 67. Deb is 58. Those are ages when time-ravaged bodies may start aching in ways that pot, in one form or another, can relieve.

Cops don't reveal many details because "Ongoing Investigation. Ongoing, I tell you!" So I may be reading the case quite badly before opining: "This one does not pass the smell test."

So far I have this image of Tom and Deb in their own home, doors shut,  hoping the internet article they read about reducing ditch weed to analgesic oil was correct.


Iowa did pass a medical marijuana law last year after a protracted legislative gong show.  If you have severe epilepsy you can get a certain kind of marijuana oil if you travel out-of-state to buy it and are successful with several other hoop jumps. That doesn't mean the cops can't haul you off to jail if they catch you trying to control pain.  It just means that you can pay your lawyer to go to court and offer your disease as an an "affirmative defense."

Speaking of pay, the last report has it that Tom and Deb are in jail, trying to scrape up a $7,000 bond so they can go home and make some nice chicken soup. (Edit to update: They're out now.)

Doesn't this make us all feel safer?


Once in a while I decide I need to report that I think using pot for kicks is stupid. I've never seen evidence that stoners are having much fun. Same with alkies.


*Including zip-lock bags and "small spoons." Makes me wonder how much trouble I'm in if I still have the one Mom saved for me, the one with the blue ribbon tied in a bow and engraved with a birth date.

Dec 19, 2014

The Pocket Pool Caper

I agree with my rulers in the federal trademark office. The brand name ComfyBalls is vulgar.

But in a saner world the federal language police would never be involved. We would all express our  attitudes by buying or refusing to buy pouched panties for vain males because of the name, price, or product merits.

In money, the bureaucratic dance is too small to move the needle on the most sensitive tax-money pissaway meter, but I still wish someone would pop for an audit. I suspect denying the Norwegians their trademark cost something like the price of a small bridge or a few month's of supply for a company of Marines.

Hmmmm. If I decided to build a money meter and called it the "Pissaway," would the feds send me nasty letters and later, if I refused to comply, nasty cops?


Please don't tell me about a "legitimate state interest" in forbidding coarse language and conduct. If you do I'll start yammering about Congressman Weiner and so forth.


I wonder if the Norwegians really designed ComfyBalls to more comfortably house a rolled-up odd sock.

Nov 6, 2014

The pollsters look silly now. Obama looks sillier than ever.  Pelosi looks silliest of all in vowing to hold onto her Boss-Democrat job because of her sterling performance in the 2014 House campaigns.

But no one will look sillier than some of our new Republican leaders if they play true to form. i.e. get elected, start scouting around for nations to "build," tune up the abortion drums, and schedule four hours per day for schmoozing mega money which -- with the right tax breaks, subsidies, and artificial  markets  -- might just become available to their next campaign fund.

Ladies and Gentlemen, you campaigned as champions of smaller government, reduced intrusion into personal lives, and a less adventurous policy of sending our kids off to get killed in far places.

Put up or shut up.

Sep 9, 2014

Shades of Checkpoint Charlie

Flash bang and smoke as Putin shows that wimp Obama that Russian leaders have the bigger balls.

We are getting used to that kind of neo-tsarist theatre, but I'm especially unhappy with his latest Speedo pose because it is upsetting folks in one of my favorite countries-I've-never-visited.

...according to several Estonian accounts, smoke grenades detonated at an Estonian customs post, and all radio and telephone signals were jammed as armed Russian men suddenly materialized and dragged away ... Eston Kohver. 

Kohver is identified as a counter-intelligence  official, but his main job seems to have been keeping an eye out for smugglers at the  Luhamaa crossing to Russia. It could therefore look like one of those small-potatoes border squabbles dreamed up by bored local poobahs, more to relieve bureaucratic tedium than anything else.

Probably, though, it is more geopolitically significant. Or at least a credible plot  line for whomever is doing Eric Ambler's work nowadays.

...Kohver's fate has now become entangled in a much bigger issue: the question of just how far Vladimir Putin's Russia is prepared to go to goad the Nato allies on its doorstep.

That is, Putin and his capos are getting their kicks humiliating the West in general and our president in particular  by proving they can be utter nuisances -- and dangerous to boot, sometimes -- all the way from the Ukraine, where everyone is watching, to the Baltic, where hardly anyone is*.

As the Guardian has it:

The capture has been seen as particularly provocative because it came two days after the US president, Barack Obama, visited Estonia, a trip aimed at reassuring the Baltic states of the US commitment to the security of its Nato allies in the face of Russia's role in the Ukraine crisis. It followed the announcement of the creation of a "spearhead force" – a Nato unit of 4,000 soldiers to be tasked with defending Baltic countries including Estonia.

Putin had to grin when he heard that. Four thousand NATOians to defend  Latvia, Estonia and Lithuania? "I mean, Hell, Barack,  I purge more soldiers than that every couple of weeks or so. Wanna arm wrestle?"


*Except of course for the Estonians, including a smart and pretty lady named Kristin who keeps her Face book friends updated and rates a hat tip for this report.

Jul 25, 2014

Klem Kadiddlehopper gets a new car.

And he doesn't even have to drive it when he's takin' Alice out to see the submarine races in her frilly blue gown.

My native state is pretty well known for over-reaching, but historically that has been mostly by Klem and his fellow agrarians over-reaching for green government checks.*

Lately we have expanded our ambition and decided to lead the world in high-tech endeavor, and Johnson County wants to be in the forefront. It is Iowa City, the University of Iowa, the place that gave one Barack Obama his start back in '08 and turned out 67 per cent for him in 2012.

I mean, that is one progressive cow-pasture, so in a way I endorse its lust to be home to the driverless car. Any populace that loony should be relieved of all possible adult-like responsibility.

The cheerleaders, however, overstate their case.  Here's a guy named Nolte:

We as humans overestimate our competency for safety behind the wheel,” according to Nolte. “When you compare us to these (driver-free) systems — we are going to have 360 degree vision, they’ll never get tired, they’ll never get distracted, they’ll be able to communicate with other vehicles with the infrastructure — they are vastly superior from a safety standpoint than humans ever will be.”

Okay, maybe it is more like hyperventilation than simple overstatement.

And I wonder if Johnson County will invite General Motors to plunk its miracle cars down on campus streets. If it does, I wonder if it will be before or after GM learns how to build an ignition switch that doesn't kill you.

Just, y'know, to sort of demonstrate that the company is really getting the hang of this electrical computer thing.


*I'm going to try it myself. The horseradish out back is flourishing. So I'm gonna go see the county extension agent to see how much the gummint will pay me to grow less next year.  It he says no I'll have to settle for you guys paying for my horseradish crop insurance.

Jul 18, 2014

Taking a selfie? Put your pants on.

Ed Snowden has told the Guardian that your Officer Friendlies in the NSA just love your private parts and spreading them.

All day they whiz through your emails and PMs and Facebook offerings. Mostly boring stuff like your bank account, potitical contributions, stock investments, family troubles and so forth. Sometimes, though, they find something risible.

Snowden: During the course of their work, (NSA employees) stumble across something that is completely unrelated to their work in any sort of necessary sense, for example, an intimate nude photo of someone in a sexually compromising situation. But they’re extremely attractive.

So what do they do? They turn around in their chair and show a coworker who says, ‘Hey that’s great. Send that to Bill down the way.’ Then Bill sends it to George, who sends it to Tom, and sooner or later this persons whole life has been seen by all of these other people.

The NSA denies such a thing is possible because all their thousands of snoopers are Eagle Scouts who sing in the church choir,

Jul 10, 2014

New Yahk New Yahk

"Only there," a guy is tempted to say. But who the Hell knows what might be lurking in the pointy little political hackheads of, say,  San Francisco?


The bill would require that the costumed  (street) performers be licensed and go through a background check.

I once endured a long layover at La Guardia and took a shuttle into Manhattan for a looksee.  On my way from a lengthy Montana political gig,  I wore Levis, a largish buckle on the tooled leather, a snap-button ranch shirt, and "cowboy" boots. (You learn to dress local in that racket.) If, God forbid, I should do it again, "You're busted. You have the right to remain .... The charge is imitating Walt Coogan without a license." 

The wit-free councilman ramrodding the dress-code decree is Mickey Mouse.  No. Wait. I mean Dan Garodnick. Dan frets because. "There have been a number of troublesome incidents involving costumed figures who try to make a living by charming tourists."

And just what are these egregious acts requiring suspension of  probably a half-dozen basic human and Constitutional rights?

As AP has it,  "They include a person dressed as Super Mario who was accused of groping a woman. This criminalizes walking Gotham streets  dressed up as Joe Biden.

"And an Elmo figure pleaded guilty to disorderly conduct after unleashing an anti-Semitic tirade."

Or,  in other words, pretending  to be the Rev. Mr. Jesse (Hymietown) Jackson.

Jun 17, 2014

The federal government has learned that Marshalltown, Iowa, is full of lazy, flabby kids, a crisis of deep national concern, so:

Last fall, the Marshalltown School District ... (landed a $1. 4 million DOE grant)  to focus on getting kids active. The district purchased 4,000 pedometers with the grant money and found many students weren’t reaching a recommended goal of 9,100 steps a day.


Physical fitness in the 1950s:

Scene: The breakfast table.

Dad: Cut the grass this morning.

Jim: But I was going to hike down to Kalo with Richie and Ron. 

Dad: Cut the grass first.

So it was spoken. And done.


Free pedometers for layabout kids? ? You have to sh*tting me.

The Youth Physical Fitness plank in my 2016 presidential campaign platform.:

"Cut the grass you lazy little creeps."

May 13, 2014

A post to die by

You might as well read it; it's as good a way as any to while away your last moments on tortured Earth, a planet which is, like you, perishing from climate change.

As an added advantage, assuming a Hereafter exits and is blessed with a mass media component, you'll be better prepared to become a media critic in Heaven.

Our text comes from Radio Iowa:

"The looming impacts of climate change on the State of Iowa was the subject of a meeting in Des Moines today."*

That is the lede, the key fact the reporter and editor think you should know.  Of course we all agree with the assumptions it capsulizes:

--Climate change is happening with the unstated subtext that it is your fault and mine.

--Climate change will have an "impact," a much more serious thing than a simple "effect."

--The impact is "looming," again a word of sufficient drama to make us all fall to our knees in repentance for not driving a Volt and subsisting on dandelion greens and  stewed cottonwood bark.


The body of the piece is somewhat cute in the same sense that a kitty tangled in Aunt Priscilla's yarn is cute. The analogy breaks down, however, with the realization that little pussy is not contorting in lust for camera, microphone, and above-the-fold headline attention. She is just having fun or, perhaps, trying to  get free.

The story might not have impacted my attention in such a rilly awesome manner if it had stuck with the usual horrific predictions settled scientific facts that logically follow your earth-hating decision to use a reading light this evening. Flooded cities. Continental droughts. Displaced polar bears. Al Gore gasping for a final breath from the unburned hydrocarbons emitted by everything except, of course, his private jets.

But Iowa is not to be constrained by those banalities. I mean, Hell, even the New York Times and Jerry Brown know all about that.

Instead we found some experts with a new take on how you are about to die. Mosquitoes. Vast billions more mosquitoes, bigger, meaner, more dangerous, and loaded with virulent new poisons for which even Merck and Eli Lily have no antidote.

So take heed. Strip off your Spandex and send your power-hungry computer off to a certified recycling center. Make new clothes from sustainable resources, hemp fiber and slabs of birch bark. Gather your tribe and find a remote valley where you can live in harmony with nature on the veggies of the forest and -- absent a PETA chapter nearby -- slugs and snails and lightly boiled mosquitos.

*EDIT: I didn't even notice Radio Iowa reporting the  the "impactS  ...  was." It were not a typo by me.


May 9, 2014

Mother's Milk; The Sour Tit

By virtue of of having been an operative for national Republicans, I remain, many years later, on the special sucker lists.  If they categorize it finely, I'm in the Venn overlap as one of the superannuated has-beens who is on record as having given a little money or service to The Stupid Party since leaving Washington.

It generally doesn't bother me because my delete button works well. It is the chore of only a few seconds to whoosh off to never-never land 24 hours worth of come-ons from Viagra peddlers, conspiracy nuts,  commercial sex freaks, and the fund raising arm of the party.

 It is only when I bother to read the stuff that I get disgusted enough to react, usually thusly:

"Look, you guys, if I want my intelligence insulted, I have dozens of local friends, relatives,  and acquaintances I can turn to."

The feeling can be generated by a mere partial reading of the gimme letters, such as today's under the subject line: "Today is Election Day:" -- a patent piece of nonsense followed by, "From this day forward, every day is election day." Spare me.

Then come a few paragraphs of GOP virtues (vastly overstated) and Democrat vices (mostly true, or approximately so). Then the kicker, and you're undoubtedly way ahead of me here:

But the truth is we can’t win without your contribution today. Contribute $14 today to secure historic victories in 2014.

They want fourteen bucks for A.D. twenty-fourteen.

"Get it? Huh? Doyah get it?" 

"Oh yeah. I see.  That's a rilly cool way to write it. At least as clever as Obama's demand for a $10.10 federal minimum wage because 'It's easy to remember'."


After substantial salaries and bonuses to the GOP functionaries, particularly those in the fundraising arm, the proceeds will be used to tune up the no'bortion trumpets, fire grape shot from the parapets at lavender-themed weddings; maybe even restore the draft to liberate Sevastopol and bring the sweet light of reason to Nigerian Boko Harams  -- you know, the ones stealing and peddling virgins at twelve bucks per because America doesn't care enough to send them money.

In other words, to buy dull votes for guys like Rick Santorum who are the flip sides of, for instance, Nancy Pelosi and Justice Wisina Latina.

Never mind the problems that could, and may well, kill us.

--Let's start with the unannounced domestic assault on every dime you've managed to save -- the planned c. 2 per cent  annual devaluation.

--Also the notion that it's completely our fault that Islamist thugs kidnap school girls and decapitate reporters and other undesirables.

--And that a federal SWAT team is a perfectly reasonable reaction to some screwball rancher who won't pay his grazing fees. And so on.

Send me a hustle note addressing things like that and I will, without fail, send you your fourteen bucks, probably more.


Ancient loyalties and current observations compel me to note that the Democrats are worse. Meanwhile, I entertain myself with the probably futile dream that libertarians  may one day get at least a "C-" in Politics 101.

May 7, 2014

Global weirding

It's all my fault, of course.

Until yesterday morning I considered my carbon foot print acceptable, but a whim led to catastrophe. You see, that ten-inch willow at the edge of my miniforest was hanging precariously over the lane,  so I thoughtlessly transformed it from a graceful Gore carbon sequesterer and oxygen factory into firewood.

(The intent was good, based on humanitarian concerns. Who knows when it might have come crashing down on a van load of my usual visitors -- nuns, orphans,  girl pole vaulters in uniform. Alas, my judgement about The Greater Good has never been adequate, so the slaying of the willow was just another paver on the road to Hell.)

Not 24 hours later my teevee weather advisers report the results -- an unseasonable spot of 90-degree global warming a hundred miles west-southwest of that poor, murdered willow and a massive winter storm in nearby cowboy country, a mere day's drive straight west.

As soon at this confession hits the wires I will strip, flagellate myself with a cat-o-nine, roll in the nettles, and otherwise make manifest my shame.


I am doubly at fault because of the immediate social and political environment. My Great Leader just yesterday, just as I was slinging the Stihl,  took time to again explain to me the error of my ways*; my selfish insistance on a warm home, a couple-three thousand calories daily, enough scurrying electrons to power my computer for purposes of anti-government agitation, and even the occasional few dozen carbonized miles in a fossil-powered vehicle.

I suppose I could make a down payment on redemption by planting a new tree. The trouble with that is the deer, who would eat it. We have a rule that Bambi   belongs to the people as a whole,even though the environmental havoc he  wrecks is the personal and inviolable concern of the private citizen. This last point once confused me, so I asked the leaders of our Department of Natural Resources about it. They responded with a crystal clear statement: "Shut up and do what we say."


*He's not too hot at moral persuasion of Putin, but by God he's Hell on wheels when it becomes time to make callous arseholes like you and me feel guilty.