The "N" word: a double standard definition

How do you talk about the "N" word when you're white? If I was black I could say it a million times a day and people would just think I was stupid or insane, but since I'm white I'm not allowed to say a word that millions of black people say everyday with absolutely no negative consequences. Obviously this is a double standard, but black people excuse that double standard by claiming that they earned it. They earned it because...? Because some people they never met who shared skin color and physical characteristics were called that name a long time ago.

STOP!

Can you hear it? Can you hear the hammers hammering and the shovels digging as a legion of strawmen are erected by outraged apologists of the double standard status quo. In better days the question might be: "How dare you!?" Today that question would be asked in a ghetto patois of English laced with profanity and something else, something that used to be called jive, but is now unnamable in the same way that the "N" word is unspeakable. The race card is so over-played that liberals have built a monstrous ivory tower out of them. The shadow of that tower of race cards covers the entirety of America and in the darkness of that shadow the people suffer. They suffer and suffer, but the proud elites in their ivory tower built of jealousy and hatred and bigotry are happy with the status quo.

What is the status quo? Since the days of Jim Crow and segregation, since the days of Martin Luther King, Jr., since the days of Rosa Parks and garbage strikes in my home town of Memphis Tennessee, are things better for blacks? On a side note, I consider the term: African American to be the most asinine liberal construction since "sanitation engineer." "African American" has seven syllables! By the time you get to the end of it you're likely to have forgotten what you were talking about in the first place. Where was I? ... Right, the "N" word.

So, all sorts of double standards have been proposed by—we assume well meaning but misguided—liberals to improve the lot of the descendants of those who were terribly mistreated during slavery. Affirmative action programs were instituted. LBJ began his Sisyphean "war on poverty." These "programs" which began in mostly urban areas and which continue today in mostly urban areas have concentrated the poor—primarily black poor—into concrete jungles called ghettos. The people who live there were probably born there, they live there and have babies there, and they will probably die there.

Generation after generation, the numbers increase as more and more babies are born, live there, die there, and very few ever escape. There are all sorts of handicaps, mental ones and physical ones, but the ones hardest to see and perhaps also hardest to overcome are the emotional handicaps. Not having a father in your life is statistically proven to greatly decrease the likelihood of a positive outcome. A mother and a father are much more likely to raise a well-adjusted civilized productive citizen, while a single-parent household is much more likely to experience the opposite. The numbers vary from study to study but overall the black single-parent family rate is above 70%.

The data for Minnesota, Virginia, and Louisiana indicate that 67% of the firearm homicides (a rate of more than 14 per 100,000 people) occurred in neighborhoods with a racial composition of more than 30% African American, a per capita income of less than $25,000, and a population density greater than 640 people per square mile. The firearm homicide rate in the remaining 99% of the land area was 1.3 per 100,000 people. Predominantly African American communities that are not [low-income/high-density] and predominantly white communities that are [low-income/high-density] do not exhibit the Third World levels of firearm violence seen in predominantly African American [low-income/high-density] communities. Thus, the United States may have a culture of violence, but one that is isolated in easily identifiable communities.

Why is the "N" word so offensive when white people say it, but completely acceptable when black people say it? Yes I know racism, Jim Crow, lynchings, Ku Klux Klan, and a thousand other anecdotes. Fine...missionaries in stew-pots, plagues of frogs and seas of blood. If you go far enough back in time looking for a chip to put on your shoulder, there's always something. On The View recently, a liberal gaggle of "ladies" discussed the use of the "N" word. Skip to 2:22 for the big double-standard money shot.



Obviously there is a double standard. I think that this is true because the definition is also a double-standard. After watching the antics and the contortions of a society composed of the aggrieved, the guilt-ridden, and the rest of us who're starting to get seriously pissed-off about the whole thing, I wish to put forward both sides of this double standard definition.

Don't read any further if you're a member of either of the former groups, i.e. aggrieved or guild-ridden. I'm about to spell out the "N" word in all it's nefarious arcane and sanctimonious scariness. If you don't want to be shocked by my arrogant flaunting of a double-standard that's been in effect since before I was born. Click the back button now.

WARNING BLATANT USE OF THE "N" WORD BELOW!

To me—an average white person—there are black people, and then there are niggers. Black people are your colleagues. They hold the door for you when your arms are full of packages. They wait calmly in line without drawing attention to themselves. They don't have baggy jeans sagging down so you know what their underpants look like. When they speak to you, you don't have to ask them over and over to repeat themselves. Niggers grow up in the projects with mama cashing welfare checks and paying for food with an EBT card. Now I'm not against helping the needy, and lord knows there's plenty of white people getting welfare and EBT cards. The difference to me is that when I see white people paying for their food with that red-white-and-blue card, they look uneasy. They look ashamed. I think you should be ashamed to live on welfare and food-stamps. I also think that niggers aren't ashamed. Also, oddly enough, there are quite a few white-skinned niggers out there. White people despise these "wiggers" more than you can imagine.

I believe that when black people say "nigger" they are claiming or affirming racial identity. By saying nigger—or niggah—they are saying in effect: you are people of my tribe and I am one of you. We are a team and ... whitey...he ain't! "Keeping it Real." means abstaining from any acceptance of the trappings of white civilization. Studying difficult subjects in school is not keeping it real, it's acting white, or being an uncle tom. Niggahs don't have to know that shit! Niggahs don't have to know all the complicated conjugations of the verb "to be". Just skip that shit niggah! Niggahs don't use possessives. That shit mine or it ain't mine. What you goan do about it?

So, two definitions. A white's definition of "nigger" is an indictment. It means a black person who refuses to be civilized, refuses to work for a living, has a basketball team of children with no husband by her side, and speaks in a way that makes it seem as though they are retarded. A black person's definition is that of membership within a group. A member of the tribe. White people are obviously not members of the tribe, and furthermore, the disdain conveyed by the term when used by a white person—even if they don't mean it and it's not pronounced audibly—is nevertheless virtually shouted when a black person or a niggah hears—or reads—whitey using that most controversial/sacred of words.

UPDATE 4/12/2014 1:32PM

In re-reading the above I realize I left out a critical premise. This is the very epitome of cognitive dissonance in action. Black people—in their deepest heart of hearts at least—must surely realize that a massive segment of their own population are absolute failures in every sense of the word. At the same time from the moment they're born they're taught how noble and proud is their culture, and their race. All through formal schooling this myth is fostered and embedded in their psyche. They're literally brainwashed from kindergarten on into believing that their ancestors in Africa invented civilization, and culture. If math and English is hard, it's because it's white math and white English. The reason they don't perform well—you see—is because it's somebody else's fault. No matter how they fail it's always somebody else's fault. It's whitey's fault. When a white person uses the term "nigger" it literally shatters their fragile misconception of their own place in society. Blacks on welfare and food stamps each believe that this is perfectly acceptable because they've been taught that whitey owes them something, and this use of the "N" word by whitey is a renunciation of that debt. It's a throwing down of the gauntlet and so represents a verbal slap in the face. You owe me they think and when whitey says I don't owe you a thing, they're set adrift as everything they've been taught is refuted and proven a deception by this one six-letter word.

The cognitive dissonance comes into play because realistically at some level, black people understand the way that the world is supposed to work. They understand that people are supposed to work for a living. They understand that other people look down on them because of their helplessness, because of their ignorance, because of their squalor, and because they refuse...refuse! to rise up out of it. The ghetto-blacks who've lived there for generations all tell each other what they want to hear. It's not their fault they reassure each other. It's whitey's fault. Excuses are passed back and forth, recycled, reused, and replayed with race card after race card excuse. However, when a white person dares to utter the forbidden racial epithet, all of a sudden like a gust of wind topping their tower of race cards, the cognitive dissonance is unable to be maintained and comes apart, often with furious consequences.

In that moment they know they are failures or at the very least they know that more than half their population living by their millions in third world-like ghettos are complete and utter failures. Forced to look in the mirror, they don't like what they see, and so lash out violently.

Prisoner's dilemma on the road

Two members of a criminal gang are arrested and imprisoned. Each prisoner is in solitary confinement with no means of speaking to or exchanging messages with the other. The police admit they don't have enough evidence to convict the pair on the principal charge. They plan to sentence both to a year in prison on a lesser charge. Simultaneously, the police offer each prisoner a Faustian bargain. Each prisoner is given the opportunity either to betray the other, by testifying that the other committed the crime, or to cooperate with the other by remaining silent. Here's how it goes:

If A and B both betray the other, each of them serves 2 years in prison
If A betrays B but B remains silent, A will be set free and B will serve 3 years in prison (and vice versa)
If A and B both remain silent, both of them will only serve 1 year in prison (on the lesser charge)

It's implied that the prisoners will have no opportunity to reward or punish their partner other than the prison sentences they get, and that their decision won't affect their reputation in future. Because betraying a partner offers a greater reward than cooperating with them, all purely rational self-interested prisoners would betray the other, and so the only possible outcome for two purely rational prisoners is for them to betray each other. The interesting part of this result is that pursuing individual reward logically leads both of the prisoners to betray, when they would get a better reward if they both cooperated.

A six-lane highway narrows to a two lane highway as it approaches what Memphis residents refer to as Malfunction Junction. Sam Cooper Blvd to the west crosses I-240 and becomes I-40. (Isaac Hayes Memorial Highway) Driving home eastbound on Sam Cooper, during afternoon rush-hour is a nightmare. Along a one-mile stretch, the three east-bound lanes narrow to two, then to one. As I approach this one-mile-stretch, I notice that the cars are backed up for more than a mile in the far-left lane—which is inching along at less than a mile per hour. The reason that they're moving so slowly, is because cars from the right two lanes are driving as far as they can and then they're pushing their way into the far-left lane.

Click the picture to see more detail.

The left-lane is going really slow because of the commotion where vehicles in the far-left lane are forced to come to a complete stop because pushy and reckless middle and right-lane drivers are forcing their way into the left lane traffic in an asinine game of sideways chicken. Most of the cars in the right and the middle lane already know that this traffic situation has been going on for over a month and the DOT has announced it will continue for more than a year, as they build new exits, overpasses, and additional lanes.

Here is why I think of it as prisoner's dilemma. In order to save themselves a few minutes of time waiting in line, inconsiderate middle and right-lane drivers hold up the left-lane of traffic, causing a responsible left-lane driver who gets in line as is expected, to wait in that left-lane line for as long as thirty minutes. If everyone would get in line on the left as soon as possible—a mile before the narrows—then everyone would get through in less than ten-minutes. Unfortunately this never happens, because—as I've mentioned before—too many drivers are selfish pricks.

Three simple rules of self-defense

DETROIT (WWJ) - As a 54-year-old Roseville man clings to life in the hospital following a brutal mob beating on Detroit’s east side, many are starting to wonder if the whole thing was racially motivated.
As first reported by WWJ Newsradio 950, an 11-year-old boy suffered a broken leg on Wednesday when he was hit by a pickup truck after walking into the street near Morang and Balfour. The driver, Steven Utash, immediately got out of his truck after hitting the boy and was viciously attacked by 10 to 12 men. The beating was so brutal, Utash was rendered unconscious.

The unfortunate fact of the matter, is that sometimes there's nothing you can do. If this man—Steven Utash—has been carrying a concealed handgun, it's possible he could have frightened the lynch mob away, but he probably wouldn't have had time to draw his weapon. Consider his state of mind. He had just struck a small child with his truck. He was worried about the health of the child and probably also worried about whether he'd be charged with a crime and/or sued. A crowd gathered—as they always do when something like this happens—coalescing around Steven who was already in a compromised emotional state. When the first punch was thrown it must have come as a complete surprise. This punch was a catalyst—or possibly a prearranged signal like the starting pistol of a 100-yard dash. Then, like a school of black piranha tasting blood in the water, they all converged wanting their own bite of white flesh. If Steven had been carrying a pistol, Detroit coroners would most likely have had the task of extracting Steven's own bullets from his body.

First Rule of Self-Defense: Stay in your safe zone. If you're white and you live near a city full of racist black people, don't go there! Don't do business there. Don't spend your money there. Don't visit friends who live there either; instead mail them some cash for a U-Haul and wish them the best of luck in escaping. Thirty-five years ago when I was twelve years old, I walked quite a ways down a particular street after dark. A black woman sitting on her porch yelled to me: "White boy what you doing here? Turn round and go back where you come from. You don't want to be down here."

She was right; I didn't belong. And that was before the Democrat-Media-Complex—and race hustlers like Sharpton and Jackson—had spent another thirty-five years stoking black fury, exacerbating black rage, seeding black jealousy, and teaching black people the kind of unwavering blind hatred of whites that caused—and continue to cause—black flash-mobs. If I walked down that same street late at night tonight, I seriously doubt a kindly black woman would warn me away. You might be Bruce Lee. You might be Rambo. I don't care who you think you are; if you walk or drive into the wrong part of a city like Detroit, you're going to regret it.

Second Rule of Self-Defense: if you're going to fight back, fight like an animal. Most people just curl into a ball and take the beating, praying that the mob will be merciful and only put them into intensive care. If you fight back you have to win or they will certainly kill you. Therefore if you fight back, win that battle and all future battles as well.

The people behind Ender grabbed at him, to hold him.

Ender did not feel like laughing, but he laughed. “You mean it takes this many of you to fight one Third?”

“We’re people, not Thirds, turd face. You’re about as strong as a fart!”

But they let go of him. And as soon as they did, Ender kicked out high and hard, catching Stilson square in the breastbone. He dropped. It took Ender by surprise he hadn’t thought to put Stilson on the ground with one kick. It didn’t occur to him that Stilson didn’t take a fight like this seriously, that he wasn’t prepared for a truly desperate blow.

For a moment, the others backed away and Stilson lay motionless. They were all wondering if he was dead. Ender, however, was trying to figure out a way to forestall vengeance. To keep them from taking him in a pack tomorrow. I have to win this now, and for all time, or I’ll fight it every day and it will get worse and worse. Ender knew the unspoken rules of manly warfare, even though he was only six. It was forbidden to strike the opponent who lay helpless on the ground; only an animal would do that.

So Ender walked to Stilson’s supine body and kicked him again, viciously, in the ribs. Stilson groaned and rolled away from him. Ender walked around him and kicked him again, in the crotch. Stilson could not make a sound; he only doubled up and tears streamed out of his eyes.

Ender's Game is a great young-adult novel—loved by forty-seven-year-olds as well—that explores the concept of total victory. If a pack of animals surrounds you and you rip the pack-leader's throat out in your teeth, the pack will disperse. Remember that they attack in packs because they are cowards in their hearts. Their numbers make them brave, but the kind of genuine savagery displayed by a wild-carnivore fighting for his life will break their morale, and they will disperse in fear.

Third Rule of Self-Defense: discretion is the better part of valor. If you can run away ... RUN! Yes Rambo I'm talking to you. George Zimmerman's life was destroyed even though he was acting purely in self-defense. He went looking for trouble, but trouble was already looking for him. At the point where he found himself on the concrete with a broken nose and his assailant raining an MMA-style ground-and-pound down on him, it was already too late for Rule Number 3. He was left with a choice between intensive care or death, and the life-destroying option that he chose. Don't be George Zimmerman!

Life isn't fair. As my parents always used to remind me, "fair is where you go when you're looking for cotton candy." Is it fair that in a free country we can't walk or drive down a city street without fear of being attacked by a vicious mob? Is it fair that if we fight back we're the ones who will probably go to jail and not our attackers? Is it fair that the Democrat-Media-Complex will create a false-narrative, interview the most deceitful witnesses, ignore and refuse to report any extenuating circumstances or exculpatory evidence?

We don't live in the same country our parents grew up in. America has traveled far down a dark road and if there is a kindly voice in the dark advising her to turn around, she can't hear it. There's a storm coming. His storm! It's time to hunker down in a safe place and wait it out.

Living in a mental Porta-Potty

Every experience that we live through changes us. Sometimes it's major like a near death accident, an earthquake, tornado, hurricane, flood, mugging, rape, et cetera, but usually our daily experiences change us very little. However, keep in mind that many little changes in a particular direction can move us quite a long way.

Why are we the way we are? Why do we believe what we do? Do you have a bad temper? Do you find yourself angry or jealous at the success of some particular person? Are you romantically attracted to a certain type of human ideal and are you conversely, repelled by normal aberrations from that ideal? When you find yourself in an antagonistic situation, do you try to deescalate the tension or do you exacerbate it?

Our genetic predisposition is certainly a major component defining who we are, but experiences during our lives further refine and define us just as much as our genetic pattern. For example, even a champion bloodline could nevertheless result in a horse that never crosses the finish line first, because of mistakes in training. Our genes and our experiences define us. If you were raised from infanthood by a pack of wolves instead of a human family you would be ... well you'd be pretty messed up. Meanwhile a wolf pup raised by a human family would probably end up as a loveable and gentle family pet.

Everything we experience leaves a mark on our psyche. So why do we allow the constant mind-pollution of popular entertainment to continually scar us emotionally? You wouldn't want to live in a public restroom, even with free rent, bed and a television set. The smells and noises coming from the stalls would change you—would warp you! The experience would make you bitter and angry ... here comes another drunk with diarrhea. Why me?

Easter is coming up, and with it, another loud and boisterous family gathering where relatives and friends get together to eat and talk. The women will be gossiping quietly in little groups of three and four, while the men—ten to fifteen—will all be where the big television is portraying the obligatory playoffs of the NFL, the NBA, or perhaps Major League Baseball. For Thanksgiving we'll watch football. For Christmas and Easter it will be basketball, and on Independence Day it will be baseball.

I, on the other hand, will be in neither a small huddle of women pondering the latest on-going Nancy Grace missing person case, nor perched on the last available corner of a cushion in the den, held spellbound by the mind-numbing intricacies of overpaid athletes risking their lives—or at the very least their livelihoods—in a contest of both skill and chance. I an completely uninterested in runs batted in, errors, rushing yards, passing yards, offensive rebounds and personal fouls.

My kind of entertainment is fictional. Imaginary characters experiencing unimaginable difficulties and surviving through will power, a whole lot of luck, and maybe a little magic. One of my favorite writers—George R.R. Martin—has become phenomenally successful and his book series—A Song of Fire and Ice—has been serialized on television using the name of the first book: Game of Thrones. While the television version has it's appeal, I'm a little put off by the in-your-face sexual escapades of all the characters. These constant pornographic goings-on might be implied or suggested in the novels but on TV they've made it downright raunchy, and usually quite disturbing. It's like a cut of juicy steak served in a dirty ashtray. I wouldn't say it's ruined, but Game of Thrones has a whole new flavor that I find a little off-putting.

There is another kind of entertainment that constantly plays in the background of our lives. Music is playing in stores, during television shows, with jingles in advertising, in movies, at baseball games, et cetera. The funny thing about music is that it can manipulate people emotionally without them even being consciously aware of it happening. The simplest and most obvious example is the jarring hair-raising discordant music playing before the cat leaps out of the closet in a horror flick.

My favorite music is melodic and peaceful. I don't like the bass driven rhythmic monotone rhyming of hip-hop. I also don't like the pointless guitar solos, pointless auto-tuner mangled lyrics, and endlessly repeated refrains of pop music.

I focus on advertising as I would on the tricks of an adversary. Play your jingle, and chant your asinine corporate slogan and I will fight back with a chant of my own. No, I wouldn't want to be an Oscar Meyer wiener, but I have an idea what you guys can do with one.

One of the most dangerous things people do everyday, is ride around in a one or two ton hunk of plastic and steel—with ten to twenty gallons of incredibly flammable accelerant on board—traveling at speeds that would terrorize a cheetah. This doesn't sound too smart when you think about it. Society doesn't want you impaired or distracted while piloting these incredibly dangerous machines. No driving under the influence of alcohol or drugs and no talking on the phone or texting while driving.

Presumably, if government could ever enact the desired legislation, eating a two-handed triple cheeseburger or a bowl of soup while driving would be similarly verboten. Therefore it's with some confusion that I wonder why the car radio is not under similar scrutiny. I've often heard cars coming before they were visible. How can someone experiencing that kind of distraction be considered unimpaired?

While my own experience is merely an anecdote and certainly not proof of anything, I can tell you with absolute conviction that the background music playing in my car affects my driving style. With rock or country music playing I find that I'm a more aggressive impatient driver. Furthermore, an endless stream of radio commercials makes me tense and uncertain. My solution is Vangelis Radio when I'm driving and a great book when I'm relaxing. Society is more deranged, violent, perverted, jealous, angry and sad than ever before and it's no wonder, since we've all been living inside a main-stream-media created mental Porta-Potty for most of our lives.

Global warming is a threat because...What if?

When you read the scare stories about global warming, they're mostly about flooding. Taken in toto, they're about violently active storm systems, droughts, diminished crop returns, and flooding. But mostly flooding. Surprisingly, the IPCC mentions every scary scenario imaginable concerning the catastrophic threat of rising levels of CO₂ in the atmosphere, but they left one horrifically terrifying threat completely unmentioned.

If AGW—Anthropogenic Global Warming—really is really real, folks we're in—or possibly might really perhaps be in—serious trouble. Now I realize that no actual or factual evidence exists—at this time—which in any way tends to even imply that this threat of rising global temperatures is actually real, but what if? If you don't take this threat seriously because no actual and measurable increase in global temperatures has been recorded for nearly two decades, then I say: What if?

What if the computer models are wrong because they're wrong? Follow me here ... what if the computer-model programmers all have some kind of bug in their programs? you see? The global warming science could be 100% on-target but because the modeling applications are filled with mistakes and flaws, they generate all these flawed models. If the IPCC were to emulate a particularly brilliant Harvard-educated president, they'd start by going back to the proverbial chalk board and hire themselves the top computer experts in the industry. That way they could figure out why none of these climate models are representative of actual environmental conditions.

This is simple logic folks! Furthermore, what if stepping on a crack really did break your mother's back? Now hold on there. I'm not saying it happens every time, but what if? What if the act of stepping on cracks in sidewalks posed a genuine life-threatening risk which could be avoided if people would simply abstain from tromping carelessly on the dangerous interstice found between two concrete slabs? I didn't just make this stuff up you know. This is a very real theory, and while it doesn't have the traction of global warming, there are a lot of people working on this theory all over the world. It's the theory of Similarity and Contagion, and you can pretend that it's just voodoo or hocus-pocus but I bet you won't be laughing when you wake up inside a coffin buried six-feet under!

None of the preceding even matters however, because the most dangerous threat of man-caused climate change lies in the possibility of a catastrophic release of perhaps the most dangerous chemical ever before encountered. I'm not going to lie to you, this lethal chemical compound has killed more people than atomic bombs, volcanic eruptions, and earthquakes combined.

What is Dihydrogen Monoxide?

Dihydrogen Monoxide (DHMO) is a colorless and odorless chemical compound, also referred to by some as Dihydrogen Oxide, Hydrogen Hydroxide, Hydronium Hydroxide, or simply Hydric acid. Its basis is the highly reactive hydroxyl radical, a species shown to mutate DNA, denature proteins, disrupt cell membranes, and chemically alter critical neurotransmitters. The atomic components of DHMO are found in a number of caustic, explosive and poisonous compounds such as Sulfuric Acid, Nitroglycerine and Ethyl Alcohol.
For more detailed information, including precautions, disposal procedures and storage requirements, refer to one of the Material Safety Data Sheets (MSDS) available for DHMO:

• Kemp Compliance & Safety MSDS for DHMO
• Chem-Safe, Inc. MSDS for Dihydrogen Monoxide
• Applied Petrochemical Research MSDS for Hydric Acid
• Original DHMO.org Material Safety Data Sheet (MSDS) for Dihydrogen Monoxide

What do they really want?

What do they want, these Democrats? I'm not talking about your garden variety run-of-the-mill low-information Democrat, the kind who still believes O.J. was framed. I know what that kind wants. They just want to keep sucking at Uncle Sam's milky nipple. I want to know about the goal of the ones who either make the rules, or provide the payola to the rule-makers. We can't read minds so let's try examining the mystery of what they really want by looking at what they do.

Democrats want more abortions. That's really their biggest plank. If they could have an assembly-line for disposing of unwanted fetuses—well, we can't really call it assembly, perhaps a disassembly-line?—they'd be ecstatic. If they thought they could get away with it they'd have community organizers knocking on doors for unwanted fetuses, like some macabre medieval corpse-wagon carting away black-plague victims. Bring out your fetuses! Clang ... Bring out your fetuses! Clang... Democrats also want more people to be gay. The main stream media has been coordinating this astro-turf slow-clap for homosexuality for going on more than a decade now. And, apparently, even the people who hated the show have been forced to stand up and clappity-clap along for fear of being thought old-fashioned or uncultured. This is classic foolish-emperor-wearing-no-clothing social pressure, and here we are today. States are falling—madly—for homosexuals as though they might be a line of fifty dominoes toppling one-by-one. Hurrah they're married. Why they're absolutely no different than anybody else ...

Now they'll have an easier time adopting and raising adorable little homosexual children. They can travel along—at the government's expense—with their military spouse if he's stationed overseas. They'll also benefit from their spouse's social-security if one of them happens to die from AIDS or whatever other kind of obscure and deadly disease one can contract from exposing one's fragile and sensitive urinary tract to the monstrous bacterial menagerie found inside a human-being's rectum.

Those two planks, pro-abortion and pro-homosexuality—i.e. pro-death—point to the possibility that Democrats desperately desire to keep the population of the United States from increasing. Unfortunately however, they also want more Mexicans and Central-Americans to illegally immigrate here—presumably for their votes?—so this desire conflicts strongly with the population control theory. My, this is a puzzler!?!

Alright, so we know Democrats definitely want more trees. If you watch what they do when it comes to licensing and permits for using private land, as well as all their endless and mindless recycling efforts, the only conclusion anybody could reach is more trees. Less paper, less furniture, fewer houses, fewer people, more trees.

!!! WARNING VULGAR LANGUAGE IN THE VIDEO BELOW !!!

But wasn't it the most successful Democrat of all time—Franklin Delano Roosevelt—who oversaw all those tree-destroying projects? Hoover Dam alone cost us trees in their millions!

Between 1931 and early 1936, when the [engineering and dam construction consortium] turned [Hoover Dam] over to the government, more than 15,000 people had worked on it. When President Franklin Roosevelt officially dedicated it on September 30, 1935, he put a new take on a phrase coined nearly 2,000 years before, when he said, “I came, I saw, I was conquered.”

Franklin Delano Roosevelt—the man who single-handedly advanced the cause of socialism in this country more than any president before or since—was also responsible for the Manhattan Project. Yes, dear readers, it was FDR himself who made the Atomic Bomb possible, and in so doing pushed us far along the path to the tree-killing holocaust of a nuclear winter.

Democrats want higher taxes. Higher income taxes, capital gains taxes, payroll taxes, property taxes, sales taxes, municipal fees and fines and assorted odds-and-ends taxes. To a Democrat, taxes are a win-win. They get richer and someone else gets poorer. It's almost like being able to climb right on top of somebody else's back and ride them around like a beast of burden—a donkey perhaps? They like taking money and they like spending it on something, anything. The Democrats who make the rules are like a six-year-old in a toy-store with a fistful of hundred-dollar bills. They love spending money even more than confiscating money. Seventeen trillion dollars of debt points out how willing they are to forego confiscating money as long as they can keep spending money.

I'm really getting close on this one...really close. They want fewer people and more trees. They like taking money from the rich and using some of it to make more people dependent on government handouts ... they would spend all the money in the world if they had it and borrow it to spend if they didn't ... what does it all mean?

Democrats hate Christianity and find ways to infuriate believers whenever and wherever they can. They love cult religions and religious cults—except far-right Christian cults in conservative states like Texas. They love Islam...not practicing Islam, just the thrill they get from watching suicide-bombing Dishdasha-wearing Muslims walk unmolested past infuriated Christians who are getting frisked and molested by a team of gropey grabby TSA agents. Democrats don't want Christianity in schools. They don't want Christian prayer in schools. They don't want Christian symbols, paraphernalia, books, pamphlets, or student garb depicting any of the above on school grounds. But a Burqa, a prayer rug, and a Koran are dandy.

This just keeps getting stranger and stranger! Democrats want fewer infants born here, but more illegal immigrants to come here. They love trees, but also love dams, roads, and bridges so that more developers can purchase further out-of-the-way wooded glens and then clear-cut the whole thing for a subdivision. They think rich people are too rich and want to take away all their extra money, but at the same time they themselves absolutely love spending money and are themselves fabulously wealthy, for the most part. They hate Christians but love Muslims.

Democrats are a study in contradictions! The only thing all these differing goals have in common is control. Democrats love controlling what other people do. They hate freedoms like the freedom to own a gun, or pray in school, or to refuse to bake a wedding-cake for a gay couple, and they love their own power to force other people to part with money, to part with land, to bend others to their will, or even bankrupt them!

Power, that's what Democrats want, pure naked power. Power to force the unwilling and favors to lure the weak-willed. Democrats desire both the carrot and the stick of government power so that they can climb upon our backs and ride us like the donkeys they think we are.

When does patriotism trump citizenship?

I think we're there.

Everyday the world becomes a bit more surreal. It's like we're living in Alice's Wonderland and statements like: "Sentence first — verdict afterwards," don't even cause a raised eyebrow anymore. At this point a litany of the abuses America has suffered at the hands of the Obama administration is customary, however let's just take them as read. After enough years filled with bruises, black-eyes, and bloody gashed lips, a battered wife finally just stops keeping score, don't you think?

A narcissistic power-mad dictator is running amok and trampling America's Constitution—like the proverbial bull in a china shop. Worse however, is the fact that Obama is even further enabled in his diabolical machinations by our sycophantic main-stream media with its full-court propaganda press. These facts would seem to be enough to give any American pause, to wonder whether he or she had inadvertently stumbled down into some otherworldly rabbit hole.

Imagine a blind man in his home. He knows where everything is. Each thing is in its proper place and he depends on that. His life would become nearly impossible if he couldn't depend on it. What would he do—what would you do—if in your comparative helplessness, some joker came along and moved all your furniture around? Not once but day after day? And not just your furniture, but the doors? And not just that, but changed the locks, and what was kept in the refrigerator, and the clothing hung up in the closet?

That's how I feel today. I can't depend on anything. Everything I was taught in school, at home by my parents, and all those moral lessons instilled in countless children's television programs and books, are all apparently obsolete, no longer in force, or never were true in the first place. America has come unmoored from its harbor of sanity and it's floating away into an ocean filled with chaos. Worse however is the lamentably sad fact that it's Captain Barack Hussein Obama, drunk with power, who's standing at the helm.

Everyday we hear incredible stories. Stories that should make us pause and start to wonder...is this still America? Police dress in black armor instead of blue button-down. They shoot first and never ask questions later. Every federal agency from A to Z from the Agriculture Department to the Weather Service has put in its own requisition order for M-16s and half-tracks.

Do you get the feeling that everything seemingly is spinning out of control? All is not lost yet. There's reason for optimism, still. In both Connecticut and New York the people are pushing back and civil disobedience reigns supreme. What will the statist politicos do when their arbitrary decrees are thrown back into their faces? They'll do what Captain Edward John Smith Obama would do, "Full Speed Ahead!" They know what they know and no evidence on Earth could ever convince them of their folly.

Meet Jordan Wiser, a high school senior you might call an overachiever. Enrolled in an Ohio vocational-technical school, Wiser was taking Firefighter 2 and EMT courses to bolster his dream of future public service. “Last year, I completed the law enforcement course,” the 18-year-old told The Huffington Post. “I received several certifications, including the National Terror Defense certification from FEMA, the Terror Recognition certification and (certification as an) Emergency Vehicle Operator.”

Wiser also joined the Army, enrolling the Future Soldiers program, and was scheduled to ship out in August. After his planned military service, he figured he’d embark on a career as a police officer or firefighter.

Long sad story short, school officials searched his car and found that he had a small folding pocketknife inside his EMT kit—for cutting seat-belts—and rules are rules don't you know? He's been charged with a felony, expelled from his school, dropped from Army enlistment roles, and if convicted—as seems likely—will never be an EMT, firefighter, police officer, or soldier. He will likely have a difficult time landing a job at KFC as well.

A good citizen follows the rules, even rules he doesn't happen to agree with or think necessary. A patriot—an ever harder to find endangered species of American—will break some of those rules, if he believes those rules are evil. Dear readers, I submit to you that today this country is teetering on the edge. We're standing, not on a slippery slope—we've slid long past slippery slopes—but at the crumbling edge of an abyss. Worse however, is the fact that Captain Ahab Smith Obama and his band of merry gunslingers are malevolently pushing us over.

When we fall, it won't be death we face. At least with death at last comes peace. No, what America will face is decades if not centuries of grinding poverty, as we struggle back to a place where the ground doesn't shift under our feet, so that one day our descendants will have a place where they can stand. After all, when Rome fell—the closest parallel that can be drawn from history to modern day America—it only took about three-hundred years or so before the Dark Ages finally became history.

*** UPDATE 03/20/2014 4:49 PM CST ***

Last Thursday at Bayside Middle School [in Virginia Beach, Virginia], sixth grader Adrionna Harris came to the aid of a classmate who was cutting his arm. She faces expulsion for taking a razor from the student, throwing it away and convincing him what he was doing wasn’t right. She thought she was doing the right thing, so on Friday she told the school administration what happened. The way school officials responded led to this question: was the school’s zero tolerance policy taken too far?

Here’s what this has to do with zero tolerance lunacy: by taking away the razor before the troubled kid could cut himself, Adrionna put herself in possession of a weapon, even though she threw it away immediately. Punishment was swift and severe:

Instead of getting praise from the school administration, Adrionna got a 10 day suspension with recommendation for expulsion. The interesting thing — the only reason Adrionna got suspended was because she admitted what happened. The alleged weapon was thrown away, and it was her word alone that led to her suspension.