Why we're broke

Give your favorite U.S. Department of Justce bureaucrat a cookie, but not just any cookie. His taste has become too refined for Kraft and Keebler's.

Nothing less than than a $10 cookie will do. At least as long as you're paying. Muffins are a little higher for Holder's Horrors. They're  about $16. Coffee to wash  it all down comes to about 8 bucks a cup.

All told, Justice spent about $121 million on  posh "conferences" in 08-09. Those were Bush years, but auditors say the guys and gals are still satisfying their sweet teeth at a half-buck or so per empty calorie.

Which brings us to the Obama plan to soak millionaires. If he gets his way we first find 121 dudes earning one million per year and take it all, every penny. That will cover the  top cops' cookies and muffins, so we'll be well on our way to meaningful fiscal reform.

Please cast good thoughts into the air. A young man I love is ill, and the reasons are not clear to doctors. Exploratory surgery is planned.

Security

I finally got around to working up a redundant locking system for the camper. The tail gate  is up as far as it will go, to an angle about 30 degrees short of vertical where it makes opening the door impossible.  It secured there with a chain and padlock contraption.

(Those of you with RV experience know that their factory locks can be defeated with a powerful wish.)

It won't even slow down a pro, but it should discourage your casual miscreant looking for easy wherewithal to acquire pharmaceuticals.

As a bonus, the license plate is visible, robbing Officer Friendly of a reason to stop me because he's bored and wants to practice his consent-search spiel.

"Why, yes, officer, I do mind you just looking through my vehicle ."

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This would have gone much easier if the camper were on inch shorter or the bed one inch longer.

The Hog-Lot Vespa

Damn, but we loved these things. Never mind that old fuddies called Doodle Bug a gateway drug, leading to Whizzers* and, for gawdsakes, even to tearing around on big Harleys in leather jackets and greasy short-bill caps with impure women  grasping at your chest.**

Wish I'd been there yesterday.

The bug in the picture is an exception. Most of them looked more utilitarian, and a fair number of the ones in my village bore unmistakable marks of home craftsmanship using scrap-yard parts.

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* What? You wonder what a Whizzer is?

** Guilty, Your Honor, but I plan to start repenting quite soon.