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

Apr 28, 2014

April comes like an idiot, babbling ...

It has been a tough month on the racial front. Bundy allows as how Jews are this and that. The inarticulate old guy who owns a basketball team announces blacks are that and this. Television goes bananas, and "social media" wets down its share of the spectrum.

It seems to me we're about halfway to symmetry on the bigotry front so far in this episode. If someone would hunt up a network news crew and hurl a few ignorant slurs at Hispanics and another sling some generalized abuse at us white guys, I would be content. It would be just another saga of racially fused and made-for-teevee outrage, but at least even-handed in real time and therefore -- somehow -- less objectionable. If he had known how to write Karl Popper might have expressed it as, "When everyone is is a lunatic, then no one is."

Mark Twain: "Man is a sorry piece of work."

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One ray of hope occurred in the silly mess of April. Government was again reminded that a number of Americans get irritated when it deploys platoons of slightly upgraded  mall ninjas, equipped like Seal Team Six, in case it decides to shoot down an American citizen and his family over an alleged civil infraction.

There was a little pleasure there, too, when the button-down BLM administrators noticed that some of the citizens, not necessarily limited to the certifiables among them, were in a mood to react in kind to a federal "shoot" order. It was literary pleasure. I don't think I've ever witnessed government's professional "communicators"  whip up the standard "only to preserve public safety" news releases so quickly. You admire professionalism under pressure no matter what the source.

It up to us to gently remind our brothers and sisters that a deeper motivation was to head off rude historical allusions to Ruby Ridge and the dead mother there, Waco and the dead kids there.

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H/T to Edna St.Vincent Millay for the subject line







Apr 24, 2014

The Hog Ball Lady

Joni Ernst is drawing more attention lately, but I'm told her rallies are a little funny-looking. All the guys sit with their legs crossed.

"I'm Joni Ernst and I grew up castrating hogs on an Iowa farm," she reported in the now-viral teevee spot. The conclusion is left to the viewer : Ergo Joni really needs to be a United States senator, so let's all send her some money."

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It's part of the 2014 through 2016 Iowa political circus. The ultimate purpose is to decide which president-thing-hopefuls you will be allowed to vote for if perchance the nation survives  the remaining 32 Obamanation months.

It's a dreary show, a reprise of the banal. but this time without the interest of a Ron Paul semi-libertarian presence. Joni's cutting remark may be the only noteworthy snark of the revue, and she must concede some credit to  congresscritter Bruce Braley. (Joni is in a GOP primary fight; Bruce has been slated by the White House Office of Iowa Affairs and will be the statist nominee.)

They both want to replace Tom Harkin who is retiring to his Bahamas home after 30 years of pretending to represent Iowa as water carrier for the Ted Kennedy  senate tribe. (As a frame of reference, he was elected to the senate when Pete Rose was still hitting homers for Cincinnati instead of dodging process servers; the same year Madonna was still singing on American Band Stand. And, get this, he is still Iowa's junior senator.)

Braley's handlers made the fatal mistake of letting him speak without a teleprompter, and he decided to bitch slap our senior senator, Chuck Grassley,  as an "Iowa farmer who doesn't even have a law degree."

Joni's surgical line is a direct result of Bruce's ad lib, and Braley operatives spent the next three nights foetally under their blankies, sucking thumbs and wondering if things were as bad in the private-sector job market as they were hearing.

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And there it stands as a soft April rain nurtures the fresh grass seed on the Camp Jiggleview grounds; as the Trail  (phhbbbtt)  Trial Lawyers Association rallies with massive Citizen's United cash to redeem their artless colleague; as the evil Koch Brothers lurk behind the barn, trying to decide which of the primary Republicans would be their best senatorial buy.

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All of this overlays something I need to get to before long. Libertarian forces are in disarray around here this season. They had a decent presence on the state GOP Central Committee, but it has just been recaptured by the church-basement faction.

Danny Caroll is the name you want to Google. I know him only second-hand, but I hear he's a very nice guy if you can get him to quit quoting Genesis 1:1 in response to any question, from farm bills to Russian expansionism to making Janet Yellan slow down the goddam printing presses.

Apr 16, 2014

God: Bought and Paid For

A nice boy from the Jewish tradition, MAIG boss Michael Bloomberg certainly loosens jaws when he lines up with the most anal of the Calvinists and Weberites; you know, the folks who deem Tesla drivers holier than poor schmucks  tooling around in rusty pickups.

Bloomberg is going to Heaven because wealth is a sign of God's favor, don't you know?

Honey, I shrunk the camel.

His Gate pass wasn't free. He bought off St. Peter with deposit of  $103 million to pretend to clean up the coal and motivate fish to fuck more frequently. He now  announces he  getting his halo out of layaway with another $50 million to ensure that only criminals are armed.

No one is making this up:

I am telling you if there is a God, when I get to heaven I’m not stopping to be interviewed. I am heading straight in. I have earned my place in heaven. It’s not even close.

So be it, and we can hope that former mayor Bloomberg enjoys an eternity in close companionship with Abner Scofield, of whom our friend Mark Twain wrote.  You'll recall, of course, that the wealthy coal dealer secured his seat near the Throne of God as a reward for sending $15 to his impoverished sister. The Recording Angel confirmed the arrangements in a personal letter to Abner:

"... (St.)Peter, weeping, said, "He shall be received with a torchlight procession when he comes"; and then all heaven boomed, and was glad you were going there. And so was hell."





Apr 12, 2014

Nothing Runs Like a Deere and Murdering Endangered Turtles



The two-tractor fleet has raised steam and stands ready to sortie at the command of Higher.

It is an annual event, a spring tuneup and oil change combined with this-and-that small rehabs and upgrades. The process brought no real trouble. Both 318s popped off quickly with a battery boost. The  mower version did choose shortly thereafter to reject its ancient battery. Down-home fixes to flush out the sulfate no longer worked. A trip to Arnold Motor Supply and $80.37 solved the problem.

The baby bulldozer -- same model with a blade instead of a  mower deck --  was more tractable and wanted only a few body bolts tightened. I was grateful enough to do a polish job on the plastic hood. That looked so nice Ms. Mower got a similar beauty treatment with Turtle Wax that has hidden in the shed since an  auction during, probably, the Clinton Administration.

Leaving only the trim mower still untouched, a $99.97 WalMart special which has run an amazing number of years for an obvious throwaway machine. It will get its share of attention, but no polish. When a guy gets fussy about pretty push mowers -- in  fact, about much "trimming" at all -- he enters the danger zone for Spandex, cross Nike trainers,  and a cute cement skunk under one of the river birches.

it all took some time, so I wasn't able to write my essay on the Bundy Ranch travesty and the federal government decision to murder the desert tortoises it has been using as an excuse to steal Mr. Bundy's cattle.  Never mind. Joel did it.


Mar 28, 2014

The Corps of REMFs Speaks Out

Congress is about to give His Ineptness a billion dollars. The president is to forward it to the Ukraine. Where the money goes from there God only knows, but a fair bet is Putin's left hand out for a hefty share, maybe the whole pie. A Makarov will occupy his right. After all, the Ukraine owes him money.

It is absolutely cynical of you to reason that (a) Russia grabbed a hunk of the Ukraine (b) putting the Ukraine further into a pickle and (c)  therefore  it is your job to pay Russia.

But what really caught my attention is

"We must target those guilty of aggression against Ukraine and stand by our allies and friends to ensure peace and security in Europe," the House Foreign Affairs Committee chairman, Rep. Ed Royce said."

Congressman Royce happens to be  a serious war hawk, sometimes called the most pro-military legislator in the U.S. House. So far, not much of a problem.

(Somebody has to finance those sweetheart deals between the nation's admirals and a Malaysian thug. Not to mention the the three-star gambler caught with fake casino chips. (Couple of generals, too, on the hook for hosing babes in their commands, I hear, but I'm Navy. Let the damned land lubbers sort out their own messes.)


More important, the militaristic Mr. Royce seems to have achieved his warrior-hood at a most convenient time -- after he passed beyond combat age and found himself in power. When you get there you can be as macho as you please without that nagging fear that someone might hand you a gun and order you to sit in a hole while people shoot at you.

He was about about 22 when the Sand Box began overheating, prime age for a dedicated patriot to leap to his nation's defense. He found it more amiable to stay in California, hustle tax breaks for a living, then get elected to something.





Mar 6, 2014

Follow the ruble

In the great counting house of Moscow, the accountants are breaking out the vodka. Boss Putin's economic enhancement plan is working.

--Russia announced it would charge Ukraine more for natural gas.

--Secretary of State Kerry immediately went to Kiev with a billion dollars in hand to help the peasants pay Russia for higher priced gas. (He added a promise of "technical assistance," price tag unspecified.) So if you want to think of the Ukraine as a big pipeline for whooshing your money to Russia, I will not argue with you.

--The European Union then announced it would add $15 billion to the Ukraine kitty if the IMF also kicks in, which it will. It is useful to recall from time to time that the United States provides at least 17 per cent of  IMF money.

--President Obama is not to be outdone in personally saving Ukraine. He is moving heaven and earth to ramp up exports of  America's new natural gas. It is better, he decides, that the U.S energy bonanza be directed to the benefit of central European peasant hovels. Cold hovels in Minnesota are of less concern. For one thing, he believes, warm American homes are largely responsible for global warming and the concomitant damage to snail darters and spotted owls.

Short the greenback. Go long rubles. Get yourself a wood burner.

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--The citations are here and here and here.

Mar 2, 2014

Geopolitical grabass?

Grinning Russians in the Crimea. Smug Havana political thugs showing Russian sailors around town. It could be serious.

Or it could be like the locker-room games in 6th Period PE. Big jocks identify the chess club nerds and snap their butts with wet towels. The weakest  and most excitable get the worst of it.

The  idea is more to humiliate than to hurt.

So. Who has Putin identified as the easiest mark in his campaign to restore Russian respectability after his own nation's humiliation in our Reagan years? Could it be a ward heeler who lucked out and opened his hope-and-change reign with a world apology tour?








Feb 23, 2014

Scatter shots; Indian Country

Somebody loved those four shot-dead Paiutes up in the high desert of backwater California, 200 miles or more from the nearest Starbucks. The accused, a bully, probably also had her admirers, perhaps even as many friends as tattoos.

The universe of this chaos is small, 35 members of a federally recognized tribe in and around Alturas and Cedarville, California. Together they own a 26-acre reservation, a "rancheria" in local lingo.

Ms. Cherie Lash Rhoades was chief of the tribe until it fired her as the FBI investigated missing tribal funds, about $50,000.

Money. If it isn't sex, it is money, isn't it? Cherchez la femme or her man; that petering out, cherchez l'argent.

L'argent here is $1.1 million in one year, 2012. At its source, the figure is much higher, allowing for normal government overhead. First you -- and I mean you -- must earn it; the IRS must extract it from you; the money must be trundled from Treasury to the Department of the Interior to its Bureau of Indian Affairs and finally to whom ever handles the net tribal take --  the $1.1 million -- for 35 souls. All along the twisty route beady little eyes dart about as greedy little fingers dip and dip and dip.

Of course you just fingered your little calculator and said "wow!" That amounts to $31,428.57 per Paiute. Assuming they family-up at roughly the national all-races average, you multiply by 3-plus for something like $95,000-plus per family. They could afford a Starbucks and professional aromatherapists.

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This is not totally fair. The AP reports that about half the money goes for roads.

Or maybe it is. The little tribe also gets a few dollars from the Indian-casino industry, a federally protected activity. There's income from cheap (because untaxed) smokes. One assumes that Jerry Brown's California also contributes, assuaging its guilt for what we did en route to our Manifest Destiny.

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Guilt is justified to one degree or another, but as time passes it should moderate.*  We White Eyes murdered our last Redskins in job-lot quantities more than 124 years ago, on the banks of Wounded Knee Creek. We killed about 150, many or most with Hotchkiss guns, a weapon notorious for non-discrimination among braves, little old grandmas, and babes-in-arms.

But over that five or six generations, amends have been made, or attempted, however misguided and inept.  The results are mixed, at best, and on average probably well illustrated by the grief among the 31 surviving Paiutes of  Alturas, a grief rooted in the outcome of condeming a race to permanent wardship.

I wonder what would happen if we decided to end it over next two generations with what once was fashionably called "tough love."

"Here is the school. It's free. It is your gateway to the pride of self-sufficiency. Don't fuck it up."

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Humility requires a qualification of everything above. Maybe the killer was just crazy as Hell and would have run amok in any society in which she found herself.

And finally, it might be suggested that she would have created less tragedy had she been confronted with counterforce the second she displayed one of her two pistols.  Unfortunately it happened in California where practical counterforce is reckoned to be calling the cleanup service, available through 911.


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*If not, I am personally entitled to vast sums from Her Majesty's exchequer in recompense for my family's Annaly estates, stolen at gunpoint by English thugs  c. 1400-1700.


Feb 21, 2014

Ted Nugent

Good bye.

You have done for the Second Amendment what Jimmy Swaggert did for television preachers.

Feb 19, 2014

Bullets in schools, the eeeeek level explained

Eeeek Level One.  Sammy might actually get away with this one because lead-headed teachers and administrators are probably unaware of the very useful "bullet" pencil.


















Eeeek LevelTwo. This one will cause a lockdown and local editorials praising Superintendent  Z. T. Limply for taking no chances. After all.  if it saves just one life...







Eeeeeek Level Three:   If you feel like amusing yourself with a full SWAT, active-shooter routine, complete with horrified mothers on MSNBC  (and even more horrified interviewers), you could slip one of these into some rotten kid's back pack.











Feb 16, 2014

Stone zoned

The advisers to the governors of Smugleye-on-Lake have delivered  to said governors their plan for village governance. It is the brand new zoning code, the previous zoning code having been deemed insufficiently intrusive on Smugleyeites' assumed right to peaceable and reasonable uses of their property.

A full reading shatters my emotions. For all these years I believed i lived in a "house," or a "home." Alas, under the new regime I have been resettled to a "nonconformity." Now, I don't mind being a nonconformity, but being ordered to live in one is quite another matter.

Magnanimously, the governors will permit me to continue living in my nonconformity, and even to maintain it within narrow limits. I'm sure that is contingent on my continued good behavior, such as  promising never, ever, to complain or, especially,  to make fun of these fine public servants in any public forum.

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For those interested, an update to the parasite/citizen ratio here in my village reveals 16 elected or appointed policy makers and three enforcers/technicians. this does not count cops and firemen and lawyers whose services we outsource. Nor does it count the various outside advisers we hire to advise our own advisers on on cool new laws. But lets just call it the 19, which amounts to one village regulator per 18 citizens.

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As a matter of general interest and perspective, the new SOL land-use law governing a village of 341 souls, covers 101 pages. Densely.

The Securities Exchange Act of 1934, governing many trillions of dollars of commercial activity, contains 93 pages.


Feb 6, 2014

I'm going home to Mother and I am taking the teevee!

Sanborn is an inoffensive little country town about 45 miles down the road. Folks get along. The economy is pretty good.  Hardly enough crime to shake a stick at, and the wives have pretty much stopped bringing shredded carrots in lime Jello to the church-basement potlucks.

It's just the kind of target bigger government looks for.  We'll teach those Neanderthal bastards!

Sanborn has a three-member public utilities board. All three were men. One's term expired, and a woman applied. So did the incumbent. The town council re-appointed him, making her mad and generating a complaint to Higher.

Iowa has a law vaguely requiring "gender balance" on city boards and commissions. Who ever got the Sanborn beef  lateraled it to our state ombudswoman.

Apparently a few reams of correspondence ensued, ending with her sheaf of "recommendations for corrective actions." The council promised to keep them on file and maybe get back to her. It seems the legislators (a) passed the law in order   to mollify gender-balance voters and (b) failed to prescribe any punishment  for violations in order to comfort male chauvinist pigs.

And this made her stomp her official ombudsfoot:

"According to a letter Ombudsman (sic) Ruth Cooperrider sent to the Sanborn mayor and city council members this week, the town did not take any of her suggested corrective actions. She expressed frustration, but said this would be her final communication."

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Please stop throwing china at me. Gender balance is a good idea. And foot-stomping is not solely a female trait; see a rerun of any Obama press conference after congress declined to give him exactly what he wanted.

It doesn't make a Hell of a lot of difference whether an official chair is warmed by bureaucratic butt sheathed in silken step-ins or a hairy one sporting camo boxers. If the job is administrative all that's required is a competent administrator. If it is policy-making, it needs only a human with a sense of sane policy-making.

For instance, I fear nothing from Janet Yellen that I wouldn't have feared from Larry Summers. Toilet seat up or toilet seat down makes no never mind to the actual issue of how much funny money to print up so His Ineptness and the congress can keep right on buying your vote.




Feb 1, 2014

I'll go quietly officer

The drone from the Drug Enforcement Administration hovers outside my window.  It records my crime and transfers the evidence to a national drug-criminal database. With luck I can cop a plea.

The Ivory Tower is deciding that free-range coffee is an addictive drug. It demands discipline and suggests that everything ought to be labeled as to caffeine content.  Alert the FDA and, of course, copy the DEA.

Juliano (the expert)  says that in order to avoid any potentially serious withdrawal symptoms, people should limit their daily caffeine consumption to 400mg, two to three 8-ounce cups of coffee.

Can a law be far away?

A couple of things here:

--The "study" is 40 years late.  The noted academician James Michener reported the facts in 1974  in his doorstop Centennial. Most of you will recall his case study of the high-plains farm wife who went bugdoozy when the coffee ran out one wild and isolated winter.

--Personally, I could never befriend anyone who drinks from or serves in an 8-ounce cup.  Wimps and wusses have their place in the world,  but if I'm in a sewing mood and want a thimble, I won't ask you to fill it with Folgers first.

Oh, and before I pour my third (big) cup of the morning and take my leave, a suggestion. Call your broker. Dump Starbucks.










Jan 31, 2014

Cold Comfort

Some things are perfectly predictable. This weekend I'll be at the Estherville loophole. I will try to improve my collection. I will see a blue-steel candidate and, after due discourse with the owner, will make what I believe a realistic offer. He will respond: "I got more than that in it," as though that was (a) necessarily true and (b) my problem rather than his. As I say, completely predictable.

Just as are the scrambling apes we hire to represent us. The headline news in the  Midwest is still propane. It is either unobtainable or priced out of reach of poor people,and even some not so poor. ($4.99 per gallon  locally at last report.)

Our politicians are of course very concerned. They feel the pain as they lounge about the overheated Taj Mahals where they meet to dicker with your money. They flood the air waves and strain newsprint budgets with promises to "do something."

It's a tossup between my northern neighbor, Minnesota, and my home state about which looks more cynically ridiculous.

Minnesota state government is responding to the home-heat crisis with a hotline.

"Minnesota Hotline. How may I help you Sir or Madam?"

"Hello. Dis is Ole and it is 'bout 14 below and our tank it is empty and Lena and me are cold."

"We understand, Please press 13 to be connected with the the Minnesota Department of Interior Environmental Comfort."

"You tink dey help us?"

(Under breath: Beats the Hell out of Me.)  "I am sure you will find, Sir, that they understand your concern. Good bye."

We have a sort of hot line too, but our Des Moines politicians also want to throw a little money at Jack Frost, one million dollars. They are telling the media and hoping for praise -- the kind that can be turned into votes come November.

They would really prefer that you stop reaching for your $3 Chinese calculator, especially if you remember that Iowa already provides heating help for about 95,000 homes (under LIHEAP). Because then you might discover that their massive show  of compassion amounts to to ten and a half-bucks per home, or enough propane to heat your average house for maybe four hours.

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There's no intent here to belittle the problem, and I'm on record as offering the comfort of the Camp Jiggleview  fire to anyone who won't steal the silver. I  doubt  if I could get any of the legislthings to tell me if they've offered to open their home.



Jan 26, 2014

If you see something, say something

I fear I am a bad citizen. A man up the lake committed a crime which I have failed to report.

In clear violation of the Smugleye-On-Lake Zoning Code,  without seeking official sanction, he maliciously slew, dismembered, and burned a tree whose greatest diameter was greater than six inches.  (My eyeball estimate was about 6 1/4 inches, maybe even 6 5/16.)

The removal of trees, six inches (6”) or larger in diameter, may not be removed within thirty-five feet (35’) of the ordinary high water mark unless such tree is dead, diseased, or has significant storm damage. Such removal shall not be accomplished until application for a tree removal permit is filed with the city and approved by the Zoning Administrator and the Chairman of the Board of Adjustment. If either officer fails to approve the application, the application is denied. An application may appeal to the Board of Adjustment from the denial of a tree removal permit. There is a fee for a tree removal permit. Removal of trees six inches or larger, for visual reasons, is not allowed. Absent special and unusual circumstances, the approval of a tree removal permit shall include a condition requiring the planting and maintenance of a replacement tree.

The culprit confessed to me and arrogantly pointed out the grisly stump. His excuse was laughable; it was (a) ugly, and (b)  barred access to his dock. It was also a stunted Chinese elm, and if you ask me that makes him guilty of a racially motivated hate crime, too. Nevertheless I could not summon the will to call 911.

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Ere he shall lose an eye for such a trifle... For doing deeds of nature! I'm ashamed. The law is such an ass.   George Chapman, England,1654, Revenge for Honour:








Jan 14, 2014

Out Out, Damned Nips

Nothing good can come of this. Our brothers of the Rising Sun buying Jim Beam? If I know those guys, and I think I do, they won't even sugar coat this barbaric act of imperialism with a decent geisha house in Clermont, Kentucky.

Please don't think me racist, at least not in this case. After all, I did not protest the Jap purchase of Pebble Beach 24 years ago. What's a goddam golf course between allies, anyway? (I was, however, vaguely pleased when Clint Eastwood bought it back for us.)

But Jim Beam Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey -- American since 1795 --  under the thumb of the guys who make Suntory whiskey, a liquid some people actually drink but which achieves its highest and best purpose as a surface cleaner and disinfectant? Sacrilege. Un-American. Yet another reason to rise up in revolt against the Obama foreign trade policy. Gives me a pain in the sakirilliac.

We can't overpraise Jim Beam, here. It's a justifiable few cents a shot cheaper than Jack  and Turkey and Makers but still a pleasant-enough flavoring for Coke, RC, and Dr. Pepper.  And it's American. Middle American. Blue collar tattoo Levis and Harley American. To arms! God knows what will happen to it when Osaka gets around to experimenting with additives of rice squeezings.

We must stop selling them scrap metal and embargo all shipments of...

Oh Hell. Shut up, Jim. You're too late. The deal is done. It all  Akadamac now.





Jan 12, 2014

Love your bean counters

They run around in nice suits and polished shoes, but it is rewarding to think of them as  noble Transylvanian peasants. They tolerate a certain degree of evil, but when blood suckers cross the line, it is torches and pitch forks in the night.

I refer to auditors, and I all but worship them. You see, they try to keep the vampires in check and preserve that portion of my life blood not legally available for theft by the politicians and their familiars in the bureaucracy.

The latest instance from these parts has some officials down in southeast Iowa scurrying to come up with proposals for prison reform -- nice buffet meals, thick mattresses, etc. They might actually get it done, being as they are employees of the Department of Corrections, our state jailer.

State Auditor Mary Mosiman has ferreted out close to $800,000 in "improper expenditures " in one of those godawful "public-private partnerships." The actual bite is higher because some documents went missing before Mary's militia knocked on the door. How much higher we don't know, but I always apply a rule of thumb:  Double reported theft to approach the actual total.

The honey dipping apparently began when some mid-level DOC nabobs decided to create, or foster, a not-for-profit 501c3  to help it administer its community corrections programs. My God how the money rolled in, from the state, the feds, and other sources. The state guys and their private-sector pals set up a cozy  interlocking directorate and started an energetic game of catch. Bundles of money flew around the offices, no one worrying overmuch about who had the surest fielder's glove.

Sure enough, after about four years their budget started showing unexplained shortfalls. They could hide them for a while (Toss the money faster, Homer!) and succeeded in getting a c. $600,000 special appropriation from the legislature. That raised some eyebrows. Then, get this, one of the local boss men quickly went back to Des Moines for another $800,000.  (Once I heard of a guy who left his driver's license on the counter of a Stop 'n' Rob that he stopped and robbed.)

To much even for Des Moines, the highest levels called Mary and said sic 'em.

Having sicced, Mary was good enough to turn the file  (pdf)  over to the attorney general's office.  It would be nice if he does his job as well as she seems to do hers.

In fact, if I ever run across her, I think I'll give her a nice hug if she'll let me.









  
















Dec 19, 2013

Annoying Seasonal Lies

"Every kiss begins with a Kay."

Bullshit. A kiss begins with her sudden realization that he can build serviceable shelves.




Dec 15, 2013

My Underpants

Getting ready to go visiting, I changed into fresh clothes a few minutes ago. It's cold, so I decided on long johns and grabbed the set on top, a high-tech, micro-fibered, odor-destroying, item. Probably thirty or forty bucks worth of  redneck lingerie which came my way, unnoticed,  in an inventory buyout.

They're camo.

Camoflage underwear?

A guy can only assume someone has identified a niche market of perv hunters who like to flash Bambi before they shoot her mommy.



Dec 4, 2013

A little educashun Muzak if you please, Maestro

Randi Weingarten is not all that's wrong with the United States, but if you happen to be looking for a poster girl for the fubarity of our schools,  she might be on your short list.

Randi is president of the American Federation of Teachers. She appeared on C-Span today to explain away why her 1.5 million union educators can't educate kids. As you might expect, it's because they don't get paid enough and don't get enough respect.

There's nothing unusual about that sort of nonsense from AFT or the other teacher unions.  The striking thing is this woman's analytical and rhetorical approach. In essence, she rilly rilly rilly cares, and her wise and sincere concerns are products of her autobiography.

A reporter asked a how schools might reduce bullying. Ms. Randi responded that she is gay and that makes her an extra-caring expert on bullying.

Another reporter asked about the impact of city bankruptcies on teacher pensions.  She revealed that her father was an engineer and didn't get a very good pension.

Near the end, a crusty old guy tried to cut through the crap with a question about "zero tolerance" for most everything public school drones find politically incorrect. (Jack gives Jill a little hug at the bottom of the hill and is expelled for sexual harassment.)  Ms. Randi explains she understands the issue because she can remember being a high school teacher. And because "...I sometimes close my eyes and think." ( About half right there, Ms. Randi, if you ask me.)

It's all accompanied by great body language of engaged emotion. Her head blurs from the motion. Her  neck stretchs and retracts beneath a visage well-practiced in broad, dramatic segues from smiley to frowny to amazement to just plain querulousness.

I blame public eduction for that, too. I'm all but certain her high school speech teacher told her class that the key element in exposition is enthusiasm (!).  "Say it like you mean it, kids, and everything else will fall into place." Yeah. everything except a useful contribution to an important discussion.

I repeat. This woman leads the American Federation of Teachers. It's as though we still have the student on one end of the log but sent Horace Mann off to sell insurance and replaced him with Phyllis Diller.