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Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Neo-Con Thought Experiment

Didn't we all read about those dastardly neo-cons of the George W. Bush era? They wanted to take over the entire world and remake all the Earth's manifold cultures in their own white-bread male heterosexual capitalist image. It's almost as though they thought they were God or something!

Left-thinking proud non-white trans-sexual communist anarchists promptly went to work with a passion! They immediately dubbed—as in dumbass-dubya—these traditionalist stodgy money-grubbing fools "Neo-cons." Leftists poring studiously and reverentially over the Alinsky play book wasted no time. After the endless recounts of 2000 were finally quashed at last by the Supreme Court, the left—by left I mean every American who'd voted for Al Gore—ignoring the fact that the game was over, continued campaigning and never ceased for the entire eight-year Bush Presidency. I suppose that at the very least you have to admire their tireless obstinacy. For eight long years, the national main-stream media focused unwaveringly on any and every issue that cast conservatives and especially George W. Bush in a bad light.

For about a week after 9-11 it was as though America breifly rested in the hypnotic and deceptive eye of a class-five hurricane. All was peaceful for about one week. During that one glorious week, every American both Democrat and Republican, black, white, male, female, transgender (okay maybe not them) plastered red-white-and-blue bumper stickers on their vehicles. They put red-white-and-blue ribbons around their trees. All of America was one giant angry family intent on some serious payback.

Needless to say, this unsettling period of unprecedented patriotism seriously threw left-wingers off their stride. Nothing daunted, they rebounded with a passion, continuing to repeat ad-infinitum the same lies they'd been chanting like a demonic mantra from Satan himself. Bush Stole The Election! He's not the President! The five Neo-Con Supreme Court justices overruled the American people! It was almost as though the mainstream media had taken upon itself the guise of Gandalf the Gray confronting the monstrously evil George W Bush himself.

To this day, the entire left-wing world is united in its hatred and scorn for the horrifically evil GWB. "Blame Bush" to this day has became the ubiquitous never-failing excuse for every ill in the universe. "Why didn't you do your homework?" asks the teacher. To which you might reply: "I couldn't because when I saw how President Bush was destroying the entire world and nobody could stop him, I couldn't stop crying. I tried to do my homework but the pages kept getting wet, and my furious pencil kept ripping the paper, and at last I went outside and fell to my knees and I prayed to Darwin: 'Oh magical Darwin,' I prayed, 'Please let George W. Bush die of cancer or a heart attack or a stoke. In Darwin's name I prayed, amen.' I said, and then without doing my homework I fell into an exhausted and heartbroken sleep. And that's why I don't have my homework, because of George W. Bush."

Imagine—as John Lennon would say—imagine a world at peace. Imagine no more hunger. Imagine no more war. Imagine no more killing over religion, no more war over scarce resources, no more war over political dogma. No more war ever. I wonder if you can?

Ask yourself this one simple question: What if your neighbor was horribly abusing their wife and children? Would you still be friends? What if every day you were left wondering: Will he lose it and finally kill them tonight? Will that drunken vicious evil bastard finally beat them to death tonight? Will they be carried out of my neighbor's house in broken little pieces in the morning?

WHAT WOULD YOU DO!!!
Police and paramedics were called to Danieal’s West Philadelphia home and when they opened her bedroom door, the stench of decay hit them. Danieal, who had been dead for several hours, was on a dirty mattress surrounded by feces. Maggot-infested bedsores covered her back. She had been on the mattress for such a long time, the shape of her body was imprinted into the mattress. A grand jury report was released this week, indicting nine people and describing Danieal’s life of pain, neglect, abuse and eventual death.

The mother of a 14-year-old girl who starved to death while under city supervision will “accept responsibility” for the crime and plead guilty to third-degree murder charges, her attorney said yesterday.

Andrea Kelly, 39, will agree to serve 20 to 40 years in prison for the 2006 death of her daughter, Danieal, said lawyer Richard Quinton Hark.

The girl, who suffered from cerebral palsy, weighed just 46 pounds when she died in a sweltering apartment. Her legs looked liked bare bone and her back was full of gaping bedsores infested with maggots.
The entire world is filled up with really bad people. When governments are so poor and dysfunctional that thousands, hundred's of thousands, millions, die of malnutrition, what would you do if they were your neighbor? Would you keep taking them food even though none of it seemed to make it to the children? Would you pay their bills and watch helplessly as the violence and abuse continued unabated?

Would it really be so terrible a world if the entire world had the same laws and the same freedoms? Does it make me a bigot or a racist that I point out the vast intractable evil that continues to enslave most of the globe in spite of decades of charity? Am I really such a mean vicious evil neo-con when I say that right now, it's not working? THIS, WHAT WE'RE DOING, IT ISN'T WORKING!!! Am I crazy? Or is it the entire rest of the world?

Oh, I know, I know, I'm just drinking too much of that old Neo-con Cool-ade. It would never work would it? Famine, filth, blood and slaughter are just too enchanting, too inviting, too par for the course, to just throw away on some pipe dream or pie in the sky impossibility.

In the entire history of the world, has there ever been a country so powerful that they could really do it, if they really wanted to? The Romans couldn't do it; if not America, then who?

Monday, October 13, 2014

One More Time On Gun Control



His first point is this: "Australia in 1996 had the biggest massacre on Earth; still hasn't been beaten."
The Port Arthur massacre, of 28–29 April 1996, was a killing spree in which 35 people were killed and 23 wounded, mainly at the historic Port Arthur prison colony, a popular tourist site in south-eastern Tasmania, Australia. Martin Bryant, a 28-year-old from New Town, a suburb of Hobart, eventually was given 35 life sentences without possibility of parole. He has significant intellectual disabilities and is now imprisoned in the Wilfred Lopes Centre near Risdon Prison Complex.

The Port Arthur massacre remains one of the deadliest shootings worldwide committed by a single person and remains the deadliest in the English-speaking world.
Well, the Port Arthur Massacre was a bad one there's no doubt about that. But there's another massacre that has it beat hands down:
The Oklahoma City bombing was a domestic terrorist bomb attack on the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in downtown Oklahoma City on April 19, 1995. The bombing killed 168 people and injured more than 680 others. The blast destroyed or damaged 324 buildings within a 16-block radius, destroyed or burned 86 cars, and shattered glass in 258 nearby buildings, causing at least an estimated $652 million worth of damage...

On April 17–18, 1995, McVeigh and Nichols removed their supplies from their storage unit in Herington, Kansas, where Nichols lived. They loaded their bomb supplies into a Ryder rental truck. The two then drove to Geary Lake State Park, where they nailed boards onto the floor of the truck to hold the 13 barrels in place and mixed the chemicals using plastic buckets and a bathroom scale. Each filled barrel weighed nearly 500 pounds (230 kg). McVeigh added more explosives to the driver's side of the cargo bay, which he could ignite (killing himself in the process) at close range with his Glock 21 pistol in case the primary fuses failed.] During McVeigh's trial, Lori Fortier (the wife of Michael Fortier) stated that McVeigh claimed to have arranged the barrels in order to form a shaped charge. This was achieved by tamping the aluminum side panel of the truck with bags of ammonium nitrate fertilizer to direct the blast laterally towards the building. Specifically, McVeigh arranged the barrels in the shape of a backwards J ...
In 1996 an Australian massacre caused lawmakers in that country to outlaw guns throughout the country. If people have guns, the argument goes, they might use them to massacre 35 people. Yet it was only a year earlier, when Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols used ammonium nitrate—fertilizer—to kill 168 people. Even though this deadly fertilizer is widely available for purchase in thousands upon thousands of stores, our congress somehow neglected to outlaw it after this horrific massacre! How did they miss this? In addition, barrels—used to hold the deadly fertilizer—also weren't outlawed, nor in fact were trucks—used to hold the deadly barrels. Not even nails were outlawed when clearly it was the nails put in the barrels which ended up killing most of the people. It's as though Congress is just begging for another Oklahoma City style massacre. You'd think they would have jumped all over these incredibly dangerous weapons just lying around at greenhouses, hardware stores and used car lots around the country, but no! Instead all Congress did was pass a law that would tighten security around Federal buildings.

Jim Jefferies' first argument is that the people cannot be trusted with the right to own guns, because one crazy person will abuse that right. You know, it occurs to me that I've heard a similar argument recently. It's called the Heckler's Veto. And this Heckler's Veto was recently used to ban the wearing of patriotic t-shirts in California. Yes, while people supposedly have the right to freedom of speech, in California public schools at least, wearing the American Flag or other symbols such as the American Bald-Eagle with talons clutching a bundle of arrows has been forbidden. No patriotism to be tolerated on Cinco De Mayo. One might even assume that in Australia if some nefarious chin-wagger could manage to slaughter 35 people simply using words, the government would promptly outlaw talking.



Jefferies' next argument is that guns are not useful to protect yourself with. He quickly brings up the assault rifle straw-man, and some statistics about suicides—which reminds me of a typical Piers Morgan Mythoid[1]. Here are some real statistics however: 70 to 80 million American adults own one or more guns. In 2011 nearly 40,000 Americans committed suicide, and half of them used a gun to do it. Guns are certainly the most popular method of suicide, but remember the other half? They used various methods: poison, prescription drugs, rope, razor blades, etc. Should we then outlaw these less popular suicide methods?

Dividing 20,000 by 80 million gives the gun-owning per capita suicide-by-gun rate of roughly 0.00025. That's less than one three-thousandth of one percent. Yet Jim Jefferies claims that you gun owners are "80% more likely to use that gun on yourself" than you are to use it to protect yourself.

It's always been a source of deep frustration to me that statistics of gun deaths are so readily accessible, yet gun saves are completely impossible to discover. How many people used a gun either to wound, kill, or just frighten away a would be rapist, murderer, burglar, etc.? That information just isn't there. When I was twenty-five years old, four young men armed with baseball bats accosted me in a parking lot. I pulled my Beretta out from under the seat and the bad guys promptly bugged out. Nobody was hurt. I called the police just because, but I doubt any of the information taken in the police report made it into statistics anywhere. If I'd lived in Australia however ... I wonder ... would I be writing this today, or would I be sipping soup through a straw with an imbecilic grin upon my face and a track of drool working its way down my chin?

His next argument is that if you have kids you can't have a gun which is readily accessible. You'd have to keep it in a gun safe and therefore couldn't get to it in an emergency. Luckily for gun owners, there are things called metal doors and deadbolts, and even biometric gun safes which only require a touch of the owners finger to open. Furthermore, being attacked is much more likely outside of your home. Thus the concealed carry permit and the quickly accessible gun in a hidden holster on your person. The point is simply this: anybody with a bare modicum of intelligence can safely and responsibly own a gun and have it quickly available when needed.

Jim Jefferies' final argument is that the original purpose of the 2nd Amendment is no longer valid. The purpose of the 2nd Amendment is to protect ourselves from a tyrannical government that needs to be overthrown. Jefferies argument is that the government has tanks and jets and drones. He argues that opposing that kind of firepower with hand guns or even assault rifles is absurd. As he says: You're bringing a gun to a drone fight. Allow me to repeat a statistic: THERE ARE 80 MILLION ADULT GUN OWNERS! In comparison, "As of 31 December 2013, 1,369,532 people were on active duty in the armed forces, with an additional 850,880 people in the seven reserve components." So, 80 million versus two million. And the military won't be able to use its tanks and jets, because all of the noncombatants live cheek-by-jowl with the rebels. It's called asymmetric warfare, and it becomes ever so much more effective when the military sympathizes with those they fight against, as in their own neighbors, their own family and friends.

While only 80 million people own guns, there are a lot more than 80 million guns. It's more like 300 million. Even more important than that, 320 million with knives, hammers, machetes, swords, nail guns, chainsaws, cars, trucks, and the list goes on and on. If the people in their hundreds of millions rise up against a tyrannical government, that government will be overthrown. If every American were all deprived of our guns however, that revolutionary process would claim vastly more innocent lives before it was over. Guns truly are the great equalizer, and believe it or not, when it gets down to brass tacks, a quality hunting rifle is probably a much more efficient and accurate weapon than an M-16. So yes we could, if necessary, bring about 300 million guns to that hypothetical drone fight.

[1] Mythoid — (my own creation) A statistical claim that seems genuine since it's so impressively numbery, but when you actually look into its veracity, it turns out that it's just not true. It was apparently just completely made up out of whole cloth, then passed around by left-wing kooks to the point where it's believed by them, simply because it's been quoted back and forth so often.

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Hands Up, I'm a Retard!

Notice: for those of you with mentally retarded friends or relatives, when I use the word 'retard' I'm specifically not referring to birth defects or tragic accidents. I will not apologize for my use of the word retard. It's a great word. It's really the best word to use for certain types of people. You see, some people are retarded, and some people ... well they're just retards.


So another black is killed in St. Louis and now I suppose we're in for yet more mob violence, looting, arson, shootings, etc. The new meme is a sandwich. Last time it was hands up, don't shoot. Before that it was Skittles. Now it's a sandwich:


Warning Profanity Ahead!




There's apparently a language barrier in the black community. When we think in terms of 'cause and effect', the black community thinks in terms of 'racism.' Blacks don't seem to understand that their own thoughtless or violent actions cause negative consequences; they also don't seem to understand that belonging to a group brings consequences when others in that group take thoughtless or violent actions. I'm speaking here of being an accomplice or an accomplice after the fact. For instance, being a member of a black flash mob.

Let's start with the fact that racism and cause and effect are two different things. Actually, I can't start with 'racism' directly, because the definitions of words mean different things to different people, depending on who they think they are. To most non-black people, racism means treating a particular person in an aggressive, hostile, or unfair way simply because of their race. Please notice that this definition doesn't pertain to any race in particular. Incredibly, the word racism means something completely different to an American black. To understand what the word 'racism' means to an American black, you must first understand that the word has for blacks become a gestalt for every ill. Think of it as the diametrical opposite of the word 'panacea.'

Black people in the USA have been taught from the cradle that everyone non-black hates them, and wants to keep them in the ghetto until they can finally be put back in the cotton fields, with 'massah crackin' de whip.' Now then, what I just wrote—some would argue—could itself be racist. Except for the inconvenient fact that every bit of it is absolutely true, even if not readily provable. It's like beating a child in the head routinely. That behavior may not be readily provable without a video, but you can nevertheless still extrapolate that apparent fact by raising your hand to the child and watching as he cowers and covers his head with his arms. You see, some things are just so obvious that demanding proof is itself, dishonest.

You wan't proof? I'll start with the recent death of Liberian visitor Thomas Duncan, the one who came to America after repeatedly lying about his contact with two victims of Ebola. Twitchy has the evidence and it's not pretty.




You want some more proof? How about voting demographics? How about proof that everything in the known universe is apparently racist to black people. Courtesy of The Daily Caller, this litany of mind-boggling stupidity will leave you breathless in astonishment! You could literally spend the rest of the day clicking links in there and still not see it all. It's like the Smithsonian Institute of retards who scream 'racism'.

So, to make it simple for everyone to understand what racism means to black people, all that was necessary was to just change Toddler's Rules and substitute the word "racist" for "mine."

An African American's Rules for Racism:
  1. If I say it's racist, it's racist
  2. If it's a criticism of me, it's racist
  3. If it's a criticism of any black person, it's racist
  4. If you're white, you're a racist
  5. If you're white and better than me at anything, in any way, it's racist
  6. If whites and blacks are doing something beneficial or heroic together, blacks did it
  7. If whites and blacks are doing something harmful or nefarious together, whites did it
  8. If it just looks like racism, it's racist
  9. If I think it's racist, it's racist
  10. If I say it's not racist and then later change my mind, it was always racist
  11. Once you're a racist, you will always be a racist no matter what
  12. If you're white and you disagree with this list, it's because you're a racist
So finally, back to the disconnect between cause and effect. When non-black people are caught in the act of breaking the law, they expect negative consequences. When black people are caught breaking the law, they expect racism. When non-black people don't get that job they applied for, they apply for another job. When black people don't land that job, they call the EEOC. The list is infinite. When anything bad happens to a non-black person, they look for the reason the bad thing happened. When anything bad happens to a black person, they know the reason, yep it's racism.

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

The Boy Who Cried, "Bet Me!"

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

There's this kid I once knew; he became a man, and I realize now that I never really knew him at all. Mick G. Dilatory has some kind of mental disorder. Pathological liar? Anyway, he lies all the time. The worst part of it all though, is that whether he's telling you the truth or a lie he sounds just the same. You can't tell whether he's lying by looking for telltale clues. He's already studied all that stuff. He knows all the tricks and has schooled himself ruthlessly to never, ever, give himself away. To give you an illustration of how infuriating this is, I remember one time Mick called me about nine o'clock in the morning to tell me that a plane had just crashed into the World Trade Center. I knew he was full of shit as usual and told him so, and then he said, "Holy crap another plane just hit the other tower!" At that point the story had passed far beyond the bounds of possibility and had grown absurd. So I said, "Now I know you're full of shit!" And he said "Bet me!"

"Bet me!" has always been Mick's bluff. No matter how ridiculous his story, when challenged he will always cry, "Bet me!" If he's telling the truth he will offer some figure between twenty to perhaps as much as a hundred bucks for the wager. And he will do the exact same thing if he's lying. In all the years I've known him he's lied constantly and he's never paid off a single bet, ever! Mick would often say that the bet didn't count because we never shook on the bet or even more often he'll turn the bet completely around and claim the exact opposite of his lie was actually what he was betting on and that it is I who in fact owes him the money.

In the boy who cries "wolf" stories, the distrust everyone has for the liar always backfires on the liar when he finds himself in real trouble and really does need help. The moral of the story is always: once you've lost the trust of those who know and care about you, you can probably never get it back. So don't lie! Mick didn't care. In his own mind he's partitioned truth and reality and just like in the book 1984 by George Orwell, Mick has mastered the ability to Doublethink.
The power of holding two contradictory beliefs in one's mind simultaneously, and accepting both of them... To tell deliberate lies while genuinely believing in them, to forget any fact that has become inconvenient, and then, when it becomes necessary again, to draw it back from oblivion for just as long as it is needed, to deny the existence of objective reality and all the while to take account of the reality which one denies – all this is indispensably necessary. Even in using the word doublethink it is necessary to exercise doublethink. For by using the word one admits that one is tampering with reality; by a fresh act of doublethink one erases this knowledge; and so on indefinitely, with the lie always one leap ahead of the truth
It all happened one year ago, today. Mick had placed a couple of folded sheets of paper on my desk. On the back it said: "Jack, Please read and suggest improvements, thanks, Mick." On the first page at the top, he'd typed the words: "A short, short story by Mick G. Dilatory." The story was about this ex-Marine who was shot in Afghanistan and paralyzed from the waist down. It was powerfully written, gritty and fascinating. It was also tragic enough to bring tears to my eyes. I realized at once that Mickey boy hadn't written this story. As usual, for no reason at all, little Mickey had decided to spin out another lie. So, I decided that this time I was really going to get him good! This time he would finally learn his lesson!

If only I could take it all back now. I'm sorry. I have to take a break for a minute. I can't see the screen.





Okay, what happened was that the short story Mick told me he had written, was actually written by an ex-Marine named Michael, and Michael really was paralyzed from the waist down. It had been a true story, a heartbreaking tragic and true story. It was a story not just about Michael, but also about the men he served with and their reactions to Michael's horrible injury as he was medevac'd out.

I found all this out by Googling a few sample phrases. What do you know, right there on Reddit was the almost word for word text of the story, along with a video made by the author attesting to its veracity with pictures and even the bullet. Mick the dirty rotten liar wasn't just a liar, he had stolen the valor and the true words of a genuine Purple Heart wearing United States Marine, and trivialized them by claiming he'd written a short story. What a scumbag! I thought. So I contacted Michael through Reddit and together Michael and I conspired to bring the wolf to Mick's door.

Now, the rest of this story isn't so much about Mick, although he's the victim in the end, it's more about dropping a snowball from the top of a mountain and expecting anything but real tragedy to happen. This snowball was tossed by calling Michael. Well, let's just stay it snowballed.

Ex-Marine Michael was a member of a wounded warrior association, so he contacted them through their proprietary message board. He soon got a phone call. Sgt. Thomas Vincent offered to put a real scare into our little liar-liar-pants-on-fire. "Tommy," as he styles himself, caught a C-130 Hercules jumpseat out of Quantico, and arrived in Memphis Tennessee just a day later. I met him at the airport and together we plotted little Mickey's big lesson in humility.

The day before Tommy's arrival, Mick had called me to ask if I'd read his story. I told him I'd been swamped and hadn't had a chance yet. As I dropped Tommy off at a local steakhouse I phoned Mick to let him know that I'd read his story and I invited him out to lunch to talk about it. I could tell right away that Mick was really thrown off by my behavior. The script wasn't going as he'd no doubt rehearsed. I was supposed to have read it right away; instead, I had ignored it for a full day. I was supposed to have immediately Googled it to quickly discover that someone else had written it. Then I was supposed to have immediately called him to accuse him of his low-down dirty-rotten lying ways. Then Mick would have said, "Bet Me!" However, instead of accusing him of plagiarism I had offered to buy him lunch. Let's just say his hinky-meter was in the red.

I was waiting inside when Mick arrived. Tommy was in an adjacent booth dressed in civilian clothing, sitting within listening distance. After the waitress took Mick's order and mine, I started round-about trying to get Mick to start talking about his story, but he was being cagey. "What story?" he asked. I didn't bother addressing that asinine question and instead engaged him in shop talk and trivia. After we got our steaks and began eating, I casually offered an aside about his short story. In the original version of the story, ex-Marine Michael had either mistakenly—or perhaps intentionally—misspelled the word carotid by referring to his "corroded artery." in Mick's plagiarized version he had corrected that, so I said, "You misspelled carotid. You wrote corroded when you meant to write carotid."

"I don't know what you're talking about," says Mick. He can't help it; lying is as natural to him as breathing.

"Then why are we here?" I asked.

"You said you were going to buy me lunch. I'm here for lunch. Why are you here?" replied Mick suavely and insouciantly with an infuriating little smirk on his face. So I gave him back some of his own medicine. "No, you said you were going to buy me lunch!" I told him. It really gives Mick a thrill when somebody lies back at him. A genuine grin appeared on Mick's face as he shot back at me, "well, since you offered to buy I didn't bring any money." And I said: "But since it was actually you who offered to pay for lunch I didn't bring any money, either."

It was at this point when Sgt. Vincent intruded. He stood up and stepped over to our table and then sat down next to Mick, kind of pushing him over in the seat. "Who's this?" Mick asked me?

"This is Sgt. Vincent. He's a good friend of a wounded vet, name of Michael."

"Nice to meet you. Now get out of my seat Sgt. Vincent," ordered Mick in a snide and disdainful voice.

It was at this point that Tommy let Mickey have it, but good! In full Marine drill-sergeant style, he dressed Mickey up and dressed him down. The entire time this 50 decibel rant was going on, Mick kept his smug supercilious grin plastered on his face. Once Sgt. Vincent finally wound down, that old liar Mickey had succeeded in convincing himself—using Doublethink—that it was in fact he who'd been wronged. Here I'd offered to buy lunch for him, and instead of paying for his steak, I'd ambushed him with some lunatic straight out of Full Metal Jacket. The fury at this grievous injustice enveloped Mickey's face and he roared back, "I don't know what you're talking about!"

At this point, Mick pulled the lapel of his jacket aside and displayed his heretofore concealed semi-automatic pistol. "I don't know who you are, but if you want trouble you're sitting next to it. NOW GET OUT OF MY SEAT!" He roared.

Have you ever heard that old conundrum about the irresistible force meeting the immovable object? Well it was exactly like that. Sgt. Vincent got up from the seat, threw a twenty on his own table and turned back to Mick. "I'll be seeing you again, real soon, but you, well ... let's just say that you'll never see me again."

Mickey has a special van that brings him to the office now. He can still work from his desk but he doesn't need his executive bathroom key anymore. As for Sgt. Thomas Vincent? Well it turns out he's got an iron clad alibi. At the moment of the shooting, he was with his wife eating dinner at the Globe and Laurel restaurant about a mile from MCB Quantico.

Monday, September 22, 2014

Handicapped parking, white privilege, and fatal stupidity



h/t RedState

Being handicapped is difficult. I'm not handicapped, but I've seen the struggle my father goes through getting in and out of tight places where his motorized wheel chair won't fit. I understand how difficult it can be. Just getting into the bathroom can be an exhausting event. People who're handicapped need handicapped accessible parking near ramps and sidewalks. Then of course, there are the walruses and the perfectly ambulatory elderly. These are the ones who have that blue-tag-thingy hanging from their rearview mirror. They can get out of their car and walk far enough into the store to ride one of the store's motorized shopping carts. With an American population that is literally growing increasingly more obese it seems as though every other car on the road has one of these bright blue things hanging from their mirror.
More than a third of U.S. adults earning less than $15,000 a year are obese, while only a quarter of those earning more than $50,000 annually carry that distinction. And there's even a generational divide: Baby boomers (adults aged 45 to 64 years old) are more likely to be obese than any other age group.

What might be most disconcerting, however, is how quickly and completely the obesity epidemic has overtaken the country. In 1990, not a single U.S. state had an obesity rate above 15 percent, but by 2000, only two, Arizona and Colorado, had obesity rates below 15 percent, and by 2010, not a single state had an obesity rate below 20 percent. Even last year, adult obesity increased significantly in six states — Alaska, Delaware, Idaho, New Jersey, Tennessee and Wyoming.

The problem is such that nationally, obesity has leveled off at just over 35 percent, which has earned the United States the unenviable distinction as the world's most obese major country.
Work with me here... could it possibly be that all these doctors with their blue hanging mirror decorations and all the malls, grocery stores, and Wal-Marts with their square acres of handicapped parking spots at the front of every parking lane, and their fleets of "mobility scooters" make it that much easier for every walrus to just sit on his or her fat ass and ride around everywhere they go? The way things are now, the only exercise these walruses are ever going to get is the short walk from the couch to the refrigerator.

What is white privilege, does it exist, should you be concerned, angry, defensive, or perhaps smug?

To fully understand white privilege requires that you not only be black, but that you also grow up in a black neighborhood. I'm sorry Hispanics and Asians, you are just not capable of fully understanding this term. Moreover, all you rich blacks who grew up in affluent neighborhoods, you also can never fully understand the full scope of this terrible concept known as "white privilege." Finally, for white people like me ... well, we're so incapable of understanding what white privilege means, that most of you probably don't even believe it even exists! Oh sure, we can hear a black person recite the definition, but it is simply meaningless to us. It's absurd, even ludicrous to our lily white ears. I gather that it's something about how white people have it so great and black people have it so bad and the reason for this basic truth of life is that it's all the white people's fault, because of slavery or something. That's about as much as I could fathom.

Now, it's possible that you think my flippant dismissal of this entire concept is misguided or even typical of a white person—typical because I'm a benefactor of white privilege of course. Therefore in the interests of attempting to soothe your racially offended butt-hurt feelings, I'm going to go further into this concept than the surface appearance which—by the way—looks to me like "African-Americans" believe that white people owe them a living.

To black people, White Privilege means that whites benefit from an unseen and unremarked upon advantage in our dealings with others as we go about through our lives. When we walk into a nice restaurant they have a table ready for us. When we apply for a loan we get it. When we apply for college we're accepted. When we apply for a job we're hired, and at a much higher pay rate than the few minorities that occasionally slip through—due to a clerical error no doubt. You see, black people's eyes see us as clueless pink fools just wandering about and airily dismissing those of the darker persuasion. We never give African-Americans and their hell-on-Earth lives a second thought. We're white and we just assume that everyone is treated like we are, like royalty. If you're white, now is the time to stop and imagine what life would be like if it hadn't been handed to you on a silver platter and with a silver spoon for your soft pink hands to hold.

To white people, success is a simple formula that has absolutely nothing to do with race. It all starts once a child is born. Both mom and dad interact daily with the child teaching baby to talk, reading to baby, loving and cuddling. Once the child is old enough to start kindergarten, parents demand ever increasing levels of commitment and effort from their children. If all goes as planned the young adult graduates from high school with good grades and the opportunity to attend college. The effort and commitment continue and once college is successfully completed, these upwardly mobile young men and women are set to obtain high-paying jobs. Once they're set with a good job they start thinking about marriage and family. That's the American dream, not just for whites but for everyone, except black people of course. I guess that's why black people think we're so clueless, because we don't understand why black people can't follow the simple plan I've just described.

Two theories account for the disparity in outcome between blacks and practically every other race: the first theory—the politically correct theory—is called "white privilege," which was just discussed. The second theory for the disparity of outcome is described in many different ways and so most people probably assume there are many theories, but in fact they all boil down to one root cause. This singular cause accounts for the miserable existences of most African Americans. It can be explained in simple terms thusly: It's their own damn fault!

I don't want to go full-on politically incorrect—aka raaaacist—and suggest that dad wasn't there for the black kids, but I will. Why wasn't daddy there? Maybe it's because of no fault divorce. Maybe it's because of child-support. Maybe it's because of foodstamps and welfare checks. Regardless of the reason, it's a fact that in black households, dad was AWOL, missing in action, or dead. He wasn't there because he didn't have to be there. He wasn't there because Uncle Sam in his infinite wisdom passed a whole bunch of laws that made his presence not only financially unnecessary, but also downright financially inconvenient.

Who voted for all these family destroying laws? It was the Democrats. Who voted for all these family destroying Democrats? It was every single black person who voted. There's your chain of cause and effect right there. Black people for the past sixty years have gone to the polls and almost unanimously have cast their vote to live on welfare, to eat on foodstamps, to live in section 8 housing, to receive substandard educations, to be killed in drive-by shootings to be mugged by drug addicts, to live each and every day in fear in their terrible neighborhoods. Black people voted and as they say elections have consequences.

In conclusion, there's a horrific twin similarity between people choosing to be handicapped and people voting for Democrats. In both cases they think their lives will be made easier. As they grow more hugely grotesque, as they remain uneducated and poor, as they go through the day wondering why their lives are so difficult in spite of government promises and prime parking it never occurs to them that they are the architects of their own hell on Earth.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Ebola and Islam the perfect storm?

I'm not a Muslim, I don't have any Muslim friends, and I'm not terribly interested in the religion except as it relates to the existence of evil in the world, so for the following discussion, I'm relying on internet look-ups and perhaps imperfect knowledge. Based on what I've learned, it seems that living the life of a Muslim means a lot of washing! Muslims have a call to prayer five times every day, but before they can pray they must be clean. The following verse is from the Qur'an, Surah 5:
O ye who believe! when ye prepare for prayer, wash your faces, and your hands (and arms) to the elbows; Rub your heads (with water); and (wash) your feet to the ankles. If ye are in a state of ceremonial impurity, bathe your whole body. But if ye are ill, or on a journey, or one of you cometh from offices of nature, or ye have been in contact with women, and ye find no water, then take for yourselves clean sand or earth, and rub therewith your faces and hands, Allah doth not wish to place you in a difficulty, but to make you clean, and to complete his favor to you, that ye may be grateful.
So right off the bat Muslims are already used to a much higher level of ritualistic cleanliness that goes hand in hand with the similar steps necessary to prevent Ebola infections.
Giving tips on how to reduce the chances of contracting the virus, especially in schools, a senior nurse at a primary health center at Ketu, Lagos, who declined having her name in print, urged parents and school teachers to teach the students to properly wash their hands as often as possible, avoid putting their hands in their mouths and to as much as possible, avoid shaking or having body contact with people. 
“Since the virus grows on body openings like eyes and mouth among others, and is passed through body fluids, it is important for people, especially children and their teachers, to adopt the seven steps of hand washing and wash their hands regularly since the children are prone to putting their hands into their mouths or rubbing their eyes. 
“It is not just enough to wash your hands with soap but to learn the seven steps of hand washing which allow you to thoroughly scrub your hands. Hand sanitizers can come in handy, especially when one doesn't have access to water. Though these are not the full solution but could go a long way in saving lives.”
Ebola is spread by bodily fluids like saliva, sweat, urine, blood, vomit, feces and ejaculates. Unlike colds flues and other airborn viruses, you are unlikely to catch Ebola unless there is touching, and/or close physical contact with an infected person. As a matter of etiquette Muslims only touch others with their right hand. They use their left hand to do unsanitary things, like cough into, sneeze into, wipe with, pick their nose with, etc. Their right hand is used to eat with, touch the Qur'an, and so on. Logically, if you are ritualistically conditioned to never rub your eyes, pick your nose, touch your naughty bits with your right hand and you only touch people with the right hand then you are very much less likely to spread Ebola to others.

Furthermore, Muslim women are kept in seclusion, and when they are allowed to venture outside in the accompaniment of a male member of the family, they're always covered from head to toe in thick protective clothing, so they are very much less likely to come into contact with Ebola victims. Therefore, logically, only the Muslim men are likely to infect others and even then only with their right hands, and don't forget they've already washed that hand several times today.

Finally, no sane human being would use a highly contagious disease as a weapon, for fear that the virus they intentionally spread would come back around and infect their own population along with the enemy. Notice I used the word "sane"?

For the reasons given above, it seems almost inevitable that in the coming days Ebola will be used as a weapon of terror by fanatical Islamic jihadists  to attack either Israel or the United States. Muslim daily rituals, seclusion of women, polite Muslim etiquette, and fervent maniacal belief in their own righteous invulnerability almost guarantees this ineluctable future event.

When you read the obligatory paragraphs of pablum meant to ease your mind and allay your every concern, remember that they don't bother including malevolent intent in their "Don't Worry" essay .

Saturday, September 6, 2014

One-Eyed Jack Top 20 sci-fi and fantasy authors and the best of their books

Page-Turners
Did you ever buy a book with wonderful, almost reverential, reviews, and then sit down full of expectation, anticipation and just sheer joy, but then when you actually began reading the book, nothing much seems to be happening? Pages go by. More pages go by. Oh hurrah they're throwing a big party. Everyone's having a great time. Uh-oh, somebody's messing with the fireworks. Ha-Ha-Ha stupid Pippin and Took! And more pages go by. AND NOTHING IS HAPPENING! This is supposed to be the best fantasy of all time? Seriously? Who has time to read one-hundred pages of nothing much happens? Two-hundred pages ... I've probably read more books than anybody you know. But I couldn't—I won't!—read this. Because after 3000 pages I expect something a little more earth-shaking than finally managing to throw the shiny MacGuffin into a volcano. I've read most of the books written by the authors listed below, and they wouldn't be listed below if I had ever once furiously hurled one of their most vaunted and acclaimed novels into my fireplace.


Prolific
What I want most from my favorite authors are books. You're a writer; so write! My top 20 list includes both sci-fi and fantasy authors, although they frequently cross-over from fantasy to sci-fi and vice versa. Every member of my top 20 list has a fairly lengthy bibliography.

Convenient
As Stephen King would say, the world has moved on. Libraries and book stores are next in line for the economic chopping block. It wasn't that long ago that people went to places called Blockbuster or Hollywood Video. It wasn't that long ago that people rode on wooden contraptions pulled by horses or mules. All the authors listed below have many titles available electronically. Lie in your bed, or sit on your couch and simply click a few links and presto! You'll be reading a great book.



  1. Brandon Sanderson — I first started reading Sanderson's books because he took over the Wheel of Time saga when Robert Jordan passed away before concluding his epic saga that I had been reading for more than twenty years. Sanderson did a masterful job in finishing it and tying up all the literally thousands of loose ends. The Wheel of Time is the greatest epic fantasy saga of all time. I can't praise it highly enough. Every page has something exciting happening. Sanderson's contribution to the Wheel of Time was so impressive that I started reading his other books...all of them. I haven't yet read a book by Brandon Sanderson that wasn't thrilling. Sanderson's best work in my opinion is the Stormlight Archive 01 - The Way of Kings and the Stormlight Archive 02 - Words of Radiance is equally wonderful. You can pick anything written by Brandon Sanderson and you won't be disappointed.
  2. Robert Jordan — He wrote the Wheel of Time series. From the very first page of the very first book The Eye of the World, you'll be hooked. You won't be able to put it down. I read and reread the entire series every time Jordan came out with the next sequel. Eleven books read and re-read over and over and they never got old! Robert Jordan would have been number one on my list if he'd lived long enough to complete his masterpiece. 
  3. Orson Scott Card — His book Ender's Game is widely considered to be the best science fiction book ever written. I particularly enjoyed his Ender's Shadow series featuring a lesser known character named at first simply Bean—and later known as Julian Delphiki, Jr. Recently Orson Scott Card has begun collaborating with another author—Aaron Johnston—on a series called The Formic Wars, of which three thrilling books have been written. Trust me, you'll want to read them.
  4. Terry Goodkind — The Sword of Truth series is epic fantasy that thrills from page one to ... a lot of pages later. There are currently 13 books written and I've loved them all. I particularly enjoyed book six titled: Faith of the Fallen. In it he explores a fantasy world where collectivism is the regime and degradation, starvation, and misery are the rule.
  5. George R.R. Martin — This author is at the top of every popular list. His Song of Ice and Fire series aka Game of Thrones is widely acclaimed. I have enjoyed every book—although I haven't been enjoying waiting and waiting for book six. He's got another series that is not nearly so popular as Ice and Fire, but in my opinion incredibly entertaining. It's called Wildcards. and if you liked comic-book superheroes and super-villains as a kid, you'll love this series as an adult.
  6. Lawrence Watt-Evans — His Ethshar series has always been one of my favorites. Each book is set in the same fantasy land called Ethshar, but features entirely new characters and plots. You never know where he'll go next. My favorite is called Spell of the Black Dagger, but they're all wonderful, whimsical, and escapist fantasy of the first order. 
  7. Gordon R. Dickson — He's a prolific writer who's particularly good at interweaving philosophy and fiction. My favorite work by Dickson is his Childe Cycle series and particularly book one: Dorsai! I also got a kick out of The Right To Arm Bears but for a completely personal reason that those who know me will understand and those who don't ... won't.
  8. L.E. Modesitt — Although best known for his Recluce series (Yes, that's how it's spelled.) my favorite series by L.E. Modesitt is the Forever Hero trilogy. It shouldn't be missed by anyone who considers himself a science fiction aficionado. He's written a lot of books from the Recluce series, and the Imager trilogy, to the Corean Chronicles and the Spellsong cycle. 
  9. Larry Niven & Jerry Pournelle — They've each written at lot of great science fiction, but together they wrote two books that have fascinated and horrified me by equal turns. Their books feature helpful aliens we call "Moties" and if they seem lovable and friendly, well, you just need to step back and take another look. The first book The Mote in God's Eye, begins with a strange alien ship that sails into our solar system propelled by a a laser that is based light years away in a vast dust cloud, or nebula. It's a really great book, and an excellent answer to the question: in Darwin's world, what if mankind isn't the fittest?
  10. Raymond E. FeistThe Magicians Apprentice simply shouldn't be missed. It's at the top of many fantasy favorite lists with good reason. Feist doesn't waste any time boring you with pointless prose as plots and counterplots split, and re-split again and again until it seems as though a hundred different balls are being juggled at once. Then Feist takes all these separate threads—the characters and their different exigencies—and culminates the story by reweaving the tangled mess into an incredible and masterful conclusion.
  11. Piers Anthony — His Xanth series is fun and fast paced. You'll groan and groan again as puns abound. My favorite series by Piers Anthony is called the Apprentice Adept Series. It's a whimsical look at a land split into science-fiction on one side and fantasy on the other.  I also really enjoyed his much much darker series entitled: Bio of a Space Tyrant. Not for faint of heart or subject to nausea, Anthony describes a future in space that resembles a time not too long ago on the high seas when pirates and evil men ruled with cannon and sword, and rape and plunder were the order of the day.
  12. Alan Dean FosterFlinx and his mighty mini-drag Pip are just too much fun. You'll also love the fantasy realm of Foster's Spellsinger series. Foster has a lengthy bibliography and if you enjoyed Star Wars, guess what? 
  13. J.V. Jones — although this writer doesn't have the impressively lengthy bibliography that the other authors on this list have, her Sword of Shadows series is so incredibly good that there was no way I would leave her off. I've been waiting and waiting for her next, because much like George R.R. Martin when she finally delivers the next in the series, I know I won't be disappointed. 
  14. R.A. Salvatore — Have you read the Dark Elf trilogy? WTF! Get it now! Salvatore writes in elegant prose and succeeds in describing evil in such glittering perfection and yet with such monstrous thoroughness that you will be held spellbound. Imagine one good person born in hell, raised by demons. Trained to fight by a devil. That person is Drizzt Do'Urden.
  15. Dave Duncan — The first books I read by this author were from the Seventh Sword series. It was a fascinating juxtaposition of swords and gods on the one hand and the inevitable intrusion of science on the other. Later I read his four book A Man of His Word series and I can tell you that this was some incredibly suspenseful storytelling! Don't miss the next four in the same universe entitled: A Handful of Men.
  16. Steve PerryThe Man Who Never Missed, the first book in the Matador series, is the kind of book that changes you.  The person I was when I began reading that book, wasn't the same person by the end. It's not just thought provoking; it's not just entertaining. Most of us believe we're powerless. We are one vote among hundreds of millions—ultimately and statistically insignificant. The universe by Steve Perry introduces insignificant people who refuse to be ignored. All that aside the Matador series is tremendously entertaining.
  17. Frank HerbertDune a book read by millions and millions. It's considered one of the best in science fiction and with good reason. The plot is rich and interwoven with a metaphysical idée fixe called Melange. The books themselves will pull you out of yourself. You'll forget for a time who you are and find yourself transported into a malevolent world of betrayal where seemingly Darwin's survival of the fittest has run amok.
  18. Steven King — The word "prolific," is completely incapable of conveying the massive library this author has compiled. King is a workhorse and the plow he tills the soil with is a typewriter. (probably a keyboard these days) Have you read The Stand? Some might argue that it's not sci-fi because there are no spaceships or light-sabers. Some might argue that it's not fantasy because they're no elves, wizards or dragons. To me it's a crossover. The Stand is a combination of contemporary humanity combined with a disease—think Ebola—the end of the world, and finally the epic showdown between God and Satan, good vs. evil. All that in just one book. (King has written so many books that I don't think even he knows how many there are.) You have to read the seven book Dark Tower series, Firestarter, The Mist... King's ability to weave a story out of just about anything is uncanny, and often horrifically disturbing.
  19. Julian May — I first started reading her with a book called: The Many Colored Land. This book is a cross between science and fantasy. Bored twenty-first century would-be explorers could take a one-way trip back in time to the Pliocene epoch, to a particular river valley doomed to be swallowed by massive volcanic eruptions. A dead end in the distant past with a window of opportunity was available for the daring few to escape their endless ennui. No time paradoxes are possible because nothing and no life form will be able to survive the coming apocalypse. Imagine their surprise to discover they were not alone!
  20. Steve Miller & Sharon Lee — I don't enjoy romance novels. With that said, if the writers are talented and their subject is fascinating, I can be persuaded to take part. Forget that the Liaden novels are inherently romance novels. The plots are so sophisticated, thrilling, and enjoyable that the romance takes a back seat. Don't worry; there's no heaving bosoms or explicit sexual descriptions. The stories center around a world called Liaden where cut-throat entrepreneurs wheel-and-deal and those who can't cut the mustard often have their throats ... well ... you get the idea.

This list is incomplete. There are many other authors who deserve to be here. In truth if I was fair-minded enough, and stubborn enough I'd list my top one-hundred. Unfortunately there's just so much time in the day and just so much energy I have left. 

I'll finish with this thought: Song writers can fool all of the people some of the time with three minutes of violent grating noise. Painters can fool some of the people all of the time with shit in a can or piss in a jar. But when you sit down with a book, you're endeavoring to spend many hours seeking understanding of the writer's vision. We who read are not fools. We're not reading to enhance our own popularity. We read because we truly enjoy being entertained. If you write boring long-winded meandering chapters that begin nowhere and end nowhere, then the only people you'll fool are the people who claim they love Tolkien. 

P.S. Didja-ya ever notice that LOTR fans are always watching soap operas, reality shows, and Broadway musicals?