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Friday, November 30, 2012

What is Obama?


I have a friend who maintains that Obama is a crutch. He's the guy you can lean on when walking’s too hard. Or he's maybe like one of those shopping-center handi-carts. You will so often see these things rolling around filled with fat person because they don't want cankle dragging across dirty linoleum. I can picture it now: a handicapped person shows up at Wal-Mart and he's all set to go shopping. He's got two fake legs that he can kind of get around on for a short while, but he'd really like to sit down on one of those handi-carts. Unfortunately he can't because every single one of them is already fully loaded up with fat person. Sorry about that you poor guy with no legs, but better luck next time. The Handi-Carts are supposed to be for the truly handicapped but inconsiderate walruses are just gonna do what they're gonna do.

Yeah, I can see where my friend is coming from. Just like the Handi-carts, there's probably somebody, somewhere, who really is a victim of fate. Somebody who made all the right choices but in spite of that still got dealt a really crummy hand by lady luck. Some poor guy desperately needs some help, but can't get the help he needs because cynical and lazy abusers of the system—takers—have grabbed every empty seat, have used-up every available resource. Bureaucracy is a cynical game of musical chairs and the ones who're best at it are the ones best able to quickly plop their fatness down first, because you know gravity works like for them.

No. The crutch idea doesn't quite fit the bill for Obama. He isn't the crutch or the handi-cart. He's more like the guy who notices that there aren't enough handi-carts to go around, so he's going to solve the problem. Most people when they see this problem would think to themselves, we've got to stop these fat people from abusing the system, but that's not how Obama thinks. He sees this problem and thinks to himself that there just aren't enough handi-carts to go around. Obama's the lawyer who sues Wal-Mart because they don't have enough handi-carts.

No that's not it either. The square cynical lawyer peg doesn't quite fit into the round hole that is Obama. Obama's more like a jerry-rigged patch, or maybe a cork. Yeah, it's like there's this rusty barrel filled with the kind of corruption and badness that would scare the crap out of anybody. It needs to be buried in a lead-lined hole five-hundred feet deep and filled with concrete, then forgotten for a thousand years. But, instead of dealing with the problem they decided it was simpler to slap on an Obama patch, or maybe pound in a crumbling cork to fill that noisome barrel's bung.

Or maybe the best way to characterize Obama is as a bowel obstruction. The optimal decision he could make is to get out of the way. If he'd only cooperate, and just go with the flow, he'd finally end up where things like him belong. Instead he just stands in the way, intransigently stopping up the works, and causing pain and discomfort for no good reason.

There are lots of things that can stop up the works, but the worst thing is definitely a tumor. Yeah, I think that's what Obama is. He's a swollen tumor, and building up pressure behind him is waiting a geyser filled with the kind of corruption that would gag a buzzard off a gut wagon. It's filth and blood and pain at near one-thousand psi. When this thing finally erupts, it's going to horrify us. If you're not terrified already, you will be.

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf...la.la.la.



The White population is about 223,553,265. That comprises about 72% of the total population of the United States which is 308,745,538. There are approximately 6,555,000 white families using foodstamps. As a foodstamp-using demographic, whites consume 35% of the available foodstamps totaling 18,369,000 foodstamp using families overall. Putting this in a way that's easy to visualize, imagine that there is one big food-stamp pizza to split between ten people. This pizza has twenty slices. Seven of those ten people are white. Each white person gets one slice. That's 35% of the pie. This leaves the remaining 13 slices of this big old pizza pie for the three non-whites to gorge down.

The final insult is of course that these three non-white pizza-piggies who snorked down two-thirds of the pizza didn't even chip in for it at all. If your coworkers organized a lunch like this one, I bet you'd never want to have another one. Then again, it looks like 11 out of twenty of you would agree to that deal day-after-day for the last four years and the next four years, too.

Oh yeah, and don't even get me started on what's happening with the bread-sticks and hot-wings! Where's the Big-Bad-Wolf when you really need him?

h/t Fuzzy Logic

Sources: USDA and Wikipedia

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Our Epitaph: Point of no return? What's That?


The fiscal cliff and the grand bargain are both misnomers. When you're bent over a barrel you're not exactly in much of a position for hard bargaining, and the fiscal cliff is not so much a cliff, as it is a point of no return. Furthermore the point of no return itself is an ephemeral position, difficult to define and certainly unable to be plotted on any map.

Imagine a party of explorers in olden-times venturing across an unknown land. Along the way of their great adventure they witness incredible vistas and many strange and wonderful sights. They've been following a river which has provided them sustenance and water. One fateful day after a number of days when hunters brought back no meat, and fishermen brought back no fish, and foragers found no forage, the explorers all had a big tent meeting. They argued and debated and one eloquent explorer stood forth. He had a silver tongue and his argument was that the only thing they had to fear was fear itself. He proposed a new direction and a new deal. They voted and most of the explorers voted to follow this leader in his new direction away from the river and towards a brighter tomorrow.

Things were tough at first. Hunters still weren't bringing back very much meat. Foragers were still failing to find very much forage, and the fishermen well...enough said. Storms lashed them, winter froze them, savages attacked them, but finally—at least for a while—things started looking better. It was then that they realized that a vast wasteland was before them. Confronting them was a trackless desert of searing heat and emptiness. Many of the explorers wanted to head back to the river at this point, but after sharp disagreement they voted to continue on. This desert couldn't be all that big or all that barren.

So they continued on until they found themselves where they are today. They are determined that they are going succeed in crossing this desert even though they have no idea what might be on the other side, or in fact whether there even is an other side. At some point in their journey through this hot trackless wasteland they will reach a point of no return. Now the moment when they will truly reach that point is a bone of great contention among them. Some of the explorers maintain that they have already reached it long ago when exactly half of their supplies were used up. Others maintain that that moment is still some unknown time in the future. There's no need to start scrimping on the daily quota of water and food just yet, they argue. They maintain that they could perhaps see their way to belt-tightening tomorrow or perhaps the day after that, but certainly not today. Never today! Today, they agreed is the time to eat, drink, and be merry.

Days pass in this way, and some of the explorers become increasingly concerned. They keep bringing up the inconvenient fact that scarce resources are growing steadily more scarce. When the day comes that three-fourths of their supplies are consumed, they have another big tent meeting. There is much arguing and debate about what they should do. Turning back carries with it the knowledge of failure. The pithy cliche that they tried and failed, but at least they tried, is a dead crow with a gamy flavor and a pungent odor that none of these adventurers are any too eager to taste.

The leader of the Forward faction argues that they should continue on, that a miraculous horizon will soon appear before them, a land of milk and honey with vistas of purple mountain's majesty and purple waves of grain. Or if not paradise then at least some small oasis from which they can perhaps refill empty water bladders and from this strengthened position, soldier on, forward.

The other side is heard from as well. The leader of the turn back before it’s too late faction says that this new direction away from the river was a big mistake. It is his argument that the explorers should have continued following that river from which they so misguidedly turned away from. "Back," he argues, "back to the river of plenty, to common sense and prosperity." "Yes, it's a long hard way back," he admits, "and there will be great hardship and trials getting there, but forward is a march going forward only to death."

Forward! thunders the intransigent progressive leader. His demeanor—from his perfectly creased pants to his dazzling smile—has an impressive style and a certain flair. He possesses this strange je ne sais quoi ambiance that is absolutely spell-binding to many of the explorers.

Later, everyone votes and it is a close run thing, but the die is cast and the vote is Forward. And so this motley crew of explorers will soon find out whether it is death or paradise that awaits them...forward.

I believe that these two outcomes are not mutually exclusive, but I don't generally favor going through one of them to achieve the other. Ah well, C'est la vie.

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Learning how to fight, tooth, claw, tool, and tongue


Last night, about 5:30 PM, my wife called me. She asked me if I could be home by 6:30 because she had received a free offer from USA Karate. She wanted me to take the boys for their first of a week's free lessons. I agreed, and so ended up leaving fifteen minutes early at 5:45 PM. On the way home my fifteen minutes were wasted waiting on a wreck to clear. I stopped at the grocery store and picked up the ingredients for the meatloaf I would be cooking that night—The meatloaf was a huge hit with the family. Recipe later—I stopped at a Circle-K and picked up five Powerball tickets—I got my numbers from Revelation Chapters 17 and 18. I stopped by the house and picked up the kids, and finally arrived at USA Karate right on time at 6:45 PM. Whew!

We went inside and I filled out some paperwork. No matter where you go or what you want to do, first everybody wants to see your credentials before they make you wait. Where do you live, when were you born, where do you work, phone numbers, work numbers, e-mail addresses. Paperwork and waiting in lines costs more of my time than I can afford, more than I should have to pay, more than anybody has any right to demand. Finally the kids got their class.

Alex was enthusiastic and excited. He couldn't pay attention with all the things going on around him, but he made up for it with sheer joie de vivre. Blake on the other hand paid attention just fine, as he hesitantly and halfheartedly performed the exercises demonstrated by the sensei. He was unsure, somewhat embarrassed, and almost certain that someone, somewhere, was laughing at him. At the end of the thirty-minute class they each got to break a board—not nearly as impressive as you might think—and they earned their white belts. There were smiles and clapping and high-fives all around.

This wasn't so much a class for the kids as it was a demonstration of teaching ability, to me the parent watching, and I admit this guy could teach. When the class was over, while my two kids chattered excitedly back and forth to one-another, the sensei took me aside to discuss all the wonderful things the kids would be learning. This school wasn't just about learning to defend yourself. It was a way of life. It would teach them concentration, respect, discipline. It would tone their muscles and hone their minds. They would develop confidence and self-control. It would cost two-hundred a month...

Now wherever you are, and whatever you do, perhaps that's not much to you, put to me that's a new car. And my family needs a new car. That's new furniture. And my family needs new furniture. It's a pretty good down payment on a college education...etc. Sensei explained that normally there is a $275.00 application fee and normally the class costs $225.00 per month, but if I opted for the "quickstart" program he could waive the application fee; he could knock $25.00 off the monthly membership fee, and that's not all. He would even throw in their uniforms for free! That's like a hundred dollar value or something. I would have to act on this deal now you understand. I couldn't just take advantage of the free week's lessons and then decide.

I told the sensei-cum-salesman that I would have to talk it over with my wife first. When I got home, my wife laughed out loud. You should have heard her. "Two-hundred dollars! They must be out of their frigging minds!" The kids could see the handwriting on the wall. Happy faces turned sad. Kids are a salesman's best friend; don't you ever doubt it. My wife soothed their loss by promising to call around and look for a school with more reasonable prices.

This is how you handle a high-pressure salesman when your own kids are used as leverage against you. "I'll have to talk it over with my wife," is the answer for the salesman and "We'll shop around and try to find a better deal," will ease the let-down for the kids.

Martial arts is a philosophy, an art, a science dedicated primarily to learning how to fight. All living things fight in some fashion or another. Even plants fight. They fight for their very lives—root and branch—for water and sunlight. While a plant might fight another plant for years, an animal's fight is over in minutes, sometimes mere seconds. Animals fight for their lives—tooth and claw—for meat or a mate and the reasons for which humans fight are not really so different. But just as animals are a whole magnitude better at fighting then plants are, people are an order higher still. Yes, we fight with tooth and claw but we also fight with tongue and tool.

Who is the deadlier warrior? The man who wears a black-belt and a karate uniform or the man who wears a gun-belt and a police uniform? The black-belt is a master of tooth and claw. Mastering his discipline took years and dedication. He should be proud of himself and perhaps his journey of effort and discipline and years will help him in ways completely unrelated to self-defense. It might make him a better student, a better teacher, a better father, who knows? But one thing is clear. His art of fighting with tooth and claw can never—on even his best day—make him a match for a trained gunfighter—a master of this deadliest of tools, the gun.

Finally of the four: tooth, claw, tool, and tongue, the tongue is by far the deadliest thing of all. The greatest mass murderers in history killed millions by convincing other people that this was a great idea and the right thing to do. And so if you wish to learn to fight then learn to fight with this the most deadly weapon of all, first and foremost. The best way to learn how to fight—with words in this the most deadly arena—is by using your ears. You learn to speak, not by speaking, so much as by listening.

There is only one defense against a skilled speaker, and that is the ability to listen. You must understand that when someone is using their tongue, they're doing more than moving their tongue around. They're attempting to influence you. They want to move you, or convince you. Maybe they hope to distract you or dissuade you. They might seek to mold you and shape you. But if you're really listening, you'll hear not just their words but also their intent. Your ears are better than a bullet-proof vest when you find yourself up against a fast-talker.

Herein lies the lesson: you can't jack a jack and you can't bullshit a bullshitter. If you have a black-belt it means you can probably kick my butt, but it doesn't mean you can talk me out of $200.00 dollars a month for karate lessons. You believe that happy crappy? Don't tell me, I'll tell you. (From my most favorite book ever, The Stand.)

Sweet and Spicy Meatloaf Recipe:

Five pounds of hamburger meat
2 cups bread crumbs
3 medium-size eggs
1.5 cups of milk
2 packages onion soup mix
1 teaspoon powdered garlic
1 teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon salt
1 bottle of Frank's RedHot Sweet Chili Sauce

Mix meat, eggs, milk, soup mix, garlic, pepper, and salt thoroughly by kneading and folding in large bowl or baking pan. Bake in baking pan covered with aluminum foil at 350° for 1.5 hours. Check with meat thermometer. Meatloaf is done when it's 160° in the center of the loaf. Pour out the grease of course! Finally pour the whole bottle of Sweet Chili Sauce over the top of the meatloaf.

Monday, November 26, 2012

The fourth estate is the Whore of Babylon


The story in 2012 is the same story rewritten from 2008. Somehow in spite of his misguided mismanagement of this terrible economy, in spite of his misguided fumbling mistakes made continually in the Mid-East, in spite of his thousand brazen lies and his poorly forged and obviously fake birth certificate, in spite of his successful plot to aid and abet the murdering of innocents by arming Mexican drug cartels with assault rifles, in spite of his passive standing-by while our embassies were overrun and our ambassador was assassinated, in spite of his fawning and obsequious bowing and scraping before Saudi kings, in spite of all this and a thousand things more that would make of this one sentence an entire book, in spite of everything, Obama won re-election.

He did it with a superior strategy, tactics, and flawless planning, the same traits so strikingly absent from his performance as our President. He's a great campaigner; let there be no doubt. Unfortunately for America, campaigning is all he can do. None of his superior strategy, tactics, and planning would have saved him however, if all his manifest faults and flawed character had been properly exposed. If the press had ever just once done the job which we all foolishly assumed they would do and had investigated the manifold mysteries which still, to this day, remain unanswered, Obama's election defeat would have been historic, resounding, and miraculous.

Obama has no answers. He is completely silent on Fast & Furious, on the Benghazi embassy disaster, on the forged birth certificate, on his many ties to communists and radicals, on his fumbling—and perhaps even treasonous—mishandling of the so-called Arab Spring, to name only a few unanswered mysteries. The mainstream media also, has remained completely silent. The silence on my television was so deafening I was forced finally, to turn it off, forever.

If the mainstream media—the fourth estate—had done their job, Obama would have lost more decisively than any president ever lost any reelection race in history. And so today, I accuse. The media has taken upon themselves great power. They come into our homes. They march unhindered across battlegrounds and through halls of power alike. They demand answers from anyone and everyone be they of high or low station. They hide in shadows stalking their prey and finally pounce. Then see how proudly and triumphantly they parade their trophy before the entire world!

But with that great power comes great responsibility—a responsibility they have not met, a patriotic duty they have left unfulfilled. I accuse them, this fourth estate, this Great Whore of Babylon, these traitors, these who pursue their ideological foes alone, while completely ignoring every heinous crime of those they call comrades. They have failed in their responsibility. They have failed in their duty.

And so I call on every American, every patriot, every good citizen. I call on you to strip them of this power they use so selfishly in their own pursuits. This whore will whisper no more lies through my television set, she will darken my door nevermore! And I entreat you good citizens, you patriots, you who love God and family, and likewise hate evil and perversion and murder and above all hate these termites—this fourth estate—eating away the very foundation of our great country. I call on you to turn off that television! Turn it off and unplug it! Refuse this unwholesome bread and this evil circus, utterly and adamantly.

Ignoring evil is not sufficient, however. It must be confronted wherever it is found. So, when you see one of these media whores holding forth their microphone like it is some phallic marching baton and leading their raucous callithumpian photographic parade, I challenge you to accuse them! Don't allow this whore to babble on. Since they hypocritically refuse to expose the great mystery of who and what Obama really is, accuse them!
Revelation 17:
Then one of the seven angels who had the seven bowls came and talked with me, saying to me, “Come, I will show you the judgment of the great harlot who sits on many waters, 2 with whom the kings of the earth committed fornication, and the inhabitants of the earth were made drunk with the wine of her fornication.”

3 So he carried me away in the Spirit into the wilderness. And I saw a woman sitting on a scarlet beast which was full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns. 4 The woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet, and adorned with gold and precious stones and pearls, having in her hand a golden cup full of abominations and the filthiness of her fornication. 5 And on her forehead a name was written:

MYSTERY, BABYLON THE GREAT,
THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS
AND OF THE ABOMINATIONS
OF THE EARTH.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

My fictional account of an afternoon with Chris Matthews - Continued

Part Two

If you haven't read Part One, this next part—Part Two—won't make much sense. Click here to read Part One.


"Professor Garrett?" I interjected raising my hand.

"Yes, you have a question?" the professor responded, a look of expectation upon his face.

"Well... I just have a few questions about today's topic. In this first day of class, you've gone over the expectations, rules, and procedures for conducting an interview with a bystander, a witness, and an official, in that order. We're supposed to remain calm, stick to the facts, and ask clear and concise questions to draw out the most relevant facts from the interviewee. I get that, but when do we go over the part where we learn how to spin those facts completely around because we want the audience to receive a totally different understanding? When do we learn how to shape reality? Isn't the narrative more important than stupid rules and inconvenient facts?"

"Mr. Anderson, we don't shape reality, we report it."

I looked over at the guy to my left. "Am I in the right class? Isn't this Journo-List 101?" He nodded his head yes. "Professor," I said, "I'm on your side. I'm one of the good guys." I looked around the room and with everyone watching me I asked them: "Ok, I'm a loyal Democrat. My father was a Democrat and his father before him. What's going on here? Can we just cut through all this distrust and get to the part where we learn how to eviscerate a neocon?"

Professor Garrett arched one eyebrow at me in scornful disbelief. "Come now, Mr. Anderson. If you're such a stalwart comrade in arms on the side of goodness and equality, pray tell us all how you come here today such a loyal Democrat and yet nobody knows you? When I saw your name on the roster I became suspicious so I asked around. You've never been to a CPUSA rally. You've never been spotted at an FSP meeting. Nor at For a Better World, nor at Heatwave CAF, nor Freedom Road. You haven't been seen at MIM, LRNA, or SDUSA. As far as I can tell, you don't even show up at PETA pep rallies or even Green Peace townhalls. Now given all these facts, why should we believe you are who you say you are?"

"You want to know what I think?" he continued. "I think you're nothing but a dirty conservative spy! You just thought you'd sneak in here and find out how we do it, how we shape reality. You probably think you can come in here and learn how to unshape our reality! Don't you! DON'T YOU!!!"

Professor Garrett's rage-filled face had turned a dark ugly purple. His eyes glared hugely and his lips were pulled back showing yellowed teeth in an insane rictus of outraged animal fury. He was Jack Torrance in: The Shining. He was an unhinged Hannibal Lecter. Cold fear washed through me. To be undone so quickly nearly caused a flood of hot urine to erupt from my spasming bladder. My mouth opened and closed as I struggled for something to say, anything to say.

"I am a Democrat I am! Okay, yes I lied about my family. I'm sorry. They're all like you said, horrible filthy Republicans and Bitter Clingers. For years they kept he locked in my room with nothing but a Bible and a poster of Ronald Reagan on the wall. How I learned to hate that grinning face. I never learned how to be a Democrat. They never let me go to a regular public school. I never got the chance to learn where to go and who to talk to and what I was supposed to think. But even though I've never been one of you, still I feel like I am one of you. I am a comrade you just have to believe in me. I'll prove it. I'll do anything. Please?" I begged them, the professor, the whole class. In that moment I buried away my sense of truth and right and goodness. I buried it deep in some forgotten corner of my mind. I became in that moment a true progressive liberal and I let them see that shine of pure evilness gleaming refulgently from my eyes.

"You'll have the chance to prove it," promised Professor Garrett. He handed me a card. "Show up there on Saturday for the beginning of indoctrination. If you really want to be one of us, you'll have to learn to think as we think, to believe as we believe, to see reality as we see it. The ones at this camp...they're good at what they do. They can help you if you want it. If you want to become one of us, your mind must first be shaped.

Time counts and keeps counting. The days blending into weeks and months and years, calendar pages falling away like leaves from the branches of a tree.

The struggles I overcame, the hurdles I leaped, the traps I avoided were too numerous to imagine, certainly too numerous for words to describe. Suffice it to say that finally everyone believed I was a true progressive. I believed it too. I had become one of them. This was necessary. Like a scene from some backwater place lost in time, when you get out and ask how to get from point A to point B, the kindly old man just laughs and tells you that you can't get there from here. It was just like that, trying to get a job and credentials from the Mainstream media without being a liberal. It just isn't possible unless you become heart and soul a real liberal first.

In time, I no longer thought of myself as a Christian. I no longer believed that a person was responsible for their own mistakes, or for their own triumphs. It was not me who did that, it was the nation. It was the schools, the roads, the bridges, the endemic racism and social injustice. I learned that even though I was born with evil white skin, I didn't have to stay evil.

I no longer believed that a family should consist of a married man and woman raising children by taking them to church, praying with them, helping them through tough times as they strive, learn, grow, and finally leave to go have a family of their own. Instead I grew to understand that it is the state that raises everyone. It is the state that helps people when they find themselves in difficulty. I was taught where to go, who to talk to, what lines to wait in, I was no longer a conservative spy, I had in truth become a liberal...although truth had nothing to do with it.

Now you wonder? Whose words are you reading today? Who is this person who allowed himself to become brainwashed into liberalhood and moral equivalency and the populist voicing of every demand free from responsibility, free from worry, free from needing to work for a living? I realized finally that my worries were over. I didn't have to worry about a paycheck. I didn't have to worry about rent and utilities. I had been set free from all responsibility and yes, there was a price—such a small price—I was no longer free to make my own decisions. The state would do that for me from now on. I had allowed them to enslave my mind so that I could spend my life free from having to work.

This is a terrible ending you think? I had set out to interview Chris Matthews and a chain of good-intentions had led me ineluctably out of the frying pan and straight into the grinning embrace of Satan in his fiery hell. There's just a little bit more to this story. There's some good news and some bad news. Do you remember that quote from George Orwell's 1984?
To forget, whatever it was necessary to forget, then to draw it back into memory again at the moment when it was needed, and then promptly to forget it again, and above all, to apply the same process to the process itself – that was the ultimate subtlety; consciously to induce unconsciousness, and then, once again, to become unconscious of the act of hypnosis you had just performed.
The good news is that before I ever went to that first class, before I ever even signed up for that class, I had already given full power of attorney to my parents. I'd signed away my rights because I knew that probably when I'd been fully indoctrinated and assimilated within the Democrat-University-Media Complex I would no longer be competent to make my own decisions for myself. That's right! The state thought it had taken full ownership of my mind, but I'd already sold it to my parents first. After a thorough deprogramming, I'm almost back to normal. Every now-and-then little bubbles of insanity pop out, kind of like Tourettes Syndrome: Tax the rich! My body My Choice! But all-in-all I'm mostly back to normal.

The bad news is that I'll never get that interview with Chris Matthews. He no longer exists. His body is still walking around and his mouth is still endlessly regurgitating the progressive pap of utopia and slavery to the state, but his mind has long ago atrophied into a smooth gray lump. Interviewing a cow would provide vastly more insight into life and ultimate philosophies. Sadly, I guess we will never know whether or not Chris Matthews believes in Santa Claus. But sometimes, I like to think that somewhere deep inside of Chris, somewhere in that tiny gray lump that is all that remains of his brain, his little-child-self is still playing and laughing as Santa laughs along with a jolly ho-ho-ho!

The End.

Friday, November 23, 2012

My fictional account of an afternoon with Chris Matthews

Part One:

I was standing there on E. Kirke Street in Chevy Chase Maryland, an affluent small town several miles from Washington D.C.. In front of me was the impressive home of Chris Matthews.
According to census data at Maryland-Demographics.com, 1,953 people lived in Chevy Chase Village as of 2010. Of those nearly 2,000 residents, 10 were black. That’s right — ten. As in, one-half of one percent. Ninety-three percent of its residents were white, the remaining percentage other minorities.
All I wanted was a few minutes of Chris Matthews' time, just a quick interview. I wanted to feel him out on his political ideology. What I was really hoping for however, was a "gotcha" moment. This would be some word or phrase that I could take out of context and transmogrify into a foolish-seeming gaff or even perhaps—though I only dream it—a full-blown scandal!

"Chris....Chris....Chris....do you believe in Santa Claus?" My plan was to hook him with some soft-ball questions and then hit him in the flank with a subtle booby-trap question.

Chris looked angry that I was bothering him in front of his house. He didn't seem to want to answer my questions. He had many questions of his own. "Who are you? Who do you work for? Why do you imagine you're important enough to waste my time. Don't you know who I am? I shape reality for millions upon millions of people who get their news from MSNBC. Who the hell are you?"

"Oh Mr. Matthews, you're right. You're right. I'm not worthy of standing in your glorious presence, but I was hoping that even though I'm nothing but a worm, if I groveled obsequiously enough, perhaps you would deign to grant me the magnificent boon of answering a few questions?"

Chris leaned forward pugnaciously. "First you’re gonna answer my questions, pal. Who are you?" he demanded.

But do you know, that this old One-Eyed Jack was so smart and so slick, that I thought up a lie and I thought it up quick. So I said: "Tim Anderson from Upper Sandusky; I'm a Level-Two Superuser at Huffington Post."

He looked surprised for a minute, then asked me for my Huffpo screen name. "The name I picked is kind of weird so don't judge me," I said. "My screen name is 'Monkey'."

"munki?" asked Chris.

"No, Monkey," I corrected.

He looked at me for a minute then he said: "I know munki, and you're not her."

"Do you believe in Santa Claus?" I asked, again.

"I don't know you and I'm not answering your stupid questions. If you don't get out of here I'm calling the cops," Chris Matthews threatened.

What was I to do? I see reporters camped out in front of houses all the time on the news and apparently there is some kind of constitutional right that they have to do this. So I say, "I'm a reporter. I'm allowed to bother you. This is a public street and I can stand here. 'Congress shall make no law abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press.'" I quoted at him.

"What paper do you work for? What channel are you on? What radio station? You're not a reporter; you're a nobody, and right now you're a nobody who's going to jail!" And with that, he marched back inside his house. Meanwhile I stood in the street, nervously, wondering whether I really was going to go to jail. It all hinged on the question of what a reporter really is. If a reporter is someone who relates facts of one kind or another to a group of people on a regular basis then yes, I'm a reporter. If a reporter is someone who reports news for television, radio, or a newspaper then no, I'm not. I didn't have to convince Chris Matthews of my reporter status, I had to convince the cops that were soon going to show up.

Not surprisingly, the cops weren't willing to accept my reporter status and they moved me along. They were polite, but they left me little doubt that if I didn't leave immediately I would be arrested. My poorly thought out mission to interview Chris Matthews would require a little more planning. First I would need to gain credentials. Apparently, unless you are officially presented with a valid certificate of authentic membership within the Brotherhood Of Official Reporters [BOOR] you are not in fact a genuine reporter and therefore have none of the "press" privileges that allow you to annoy anyone you want, anytime you want, for as long as you want, by camping out in front of their house.

As I was to later discover, the path to membership in BOOR was fraught with obstacles and great peril. I contacted newspapers, radio stations, and television stations galore. They all told me that they only hired people with at least a bachelor's degree in journalism, and even if I had one of those, they still weren't hiring. The answer seemed simple: unless you're already a reporter you can't be a reporter. I thought to myself: is this interview with Chris Matthews really worth going through all of this?

But then I thought about our nation's illustrious history. I thought about my forefathers and their heroism, their valor, their absolute refusal to accept second class citizenship. Nation Hale's last words before he was executed by the British were that he regretted that he had but one life to lose for his country. Patrick Henry declared: "Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!" Finally, I thought about the words of Thomas Paine: "These are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman."

How could I, when witnessing the on-going and deliberate destruction of my beloved country, shrink from this modest hardship? Yes, a college degree would cost many thousands of dollars more than its value. Yes, if I would succeed, I must lie and lie with every breath, parroting the liberal party line. I must live it and breathe it in and exhale it out. Envy would be my calling card, deserving that which I'd never earned would become my argument, and red-eyed fury would become my only rebuttal. To earn this journalism degree I must become a liberal, but to become a liberal I must learn to believe that the ends justify the means, while neither forgetting that I never desired those ends, nor would those means ever be justified. Obviously, the first step necessary before filling out that college application was going to have to be a re-read of the classic by George Orwell—1984.
To know and not to know, to be conscious of complete truthfulness while telling carefully constructed lies, to hold simultaneously two opinions which cancelled out, knowing them to be contradictory and believing in both of them, to use logic against logic, to repudiate morality while laying claim to it, to believe that democracy was impossible and that the Party was the guardian of democracy, to forget, whatever it was necessary to forget, then to draw it back into memory again at the moment when it was needed, and then promptly to forget it again, and above all, to apply the same process to the process itself – that was the ultimate subtlety; consciously to induce unconsciousness, and then, once again, to become unconscious of the act of hypnosis you had just performed. Even to understand the word 'doublethink' involved the use of doublethink.
To be continued...

Yes I know. Don't you hate that? I wouldn't do it, but this post is already too long. So tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, ladies and gents. Same bat time, same bat channel...Click here for the rest of the story.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Why Keynesian Economics is Pure Hogwash


Some economic theories—specifically those of Edward Keynes—say that government spending during economic downturns is good for the economy. In theory, this increase in the amount of money floating around in circulation in the hands of the people will cause them to spend this money on things. Other people will take this same money they just earned and spend it on other things, and this in turn will somehow spur the economy. Well, I'd say that this theory is just pure hogwash!

An epiphany struck me as I did my yearly Ebenezer Scrooge impression. In the entire world, who is it that best knows how my own money can be used most efficiently? Who best knows what I want, what I need, how much I owe, my hopes, my dreams, my fears, my likes, my dislikes, my fantasies, my follies, my foibles and on and on and on? The answer is of course, me!

Christmas is an example of inefficient Keynesian economic theory in action, and it's destructive. Some people save money all year, while others live paycheck to paycheck. Some people buy Christmas gifts with credit cards, while others use Christmas bonuses, or cash gifts from parents. Some people even pawn things like their car, their gun, or even their guitar. All so that they can buy other people things that those people may or may not want, may or may not need, may or may not even use. The end result of Christmas is broken junk filling up landfills. It's junk that never should have been made, never should have been bought, never should have been sold, never should have been given as a gift, and as a result, it finally winds up where all such inefficient things wind up: in a landfill. It may collect dust on a shelf or in a garage for a few years first, but it was junk the moment someone taped wrapping paper around it. Look around you at all the junk in your home and tell me that I'm lying!

Consider the school lunchroom as another example of this inefficiency in action: For a price—sometimes paid for by the parent, other times by the state—every child receives the same lunch. Some kids like some of the things on the tray, others like other things. When the bell rings signaling that lunch is over, consider how much wasted food has been dumped in the trash.

These things seem so obvious yet apparently nobody—certainly no one in our government—gives them the slightest consideration. I guess they're too busy deciding what's best for me to have time to think about silly things like the fact that nobody knows what's best for me better than I do.

So let's stop and think about stimulus spending. This is pure Keynesian economic theory put into action. Obama has spent four years trying this and it hasn't worked. We'd like him to stop but like a jackass with the bit in his teeth, it's going to take a two-by-four to the skull to get his attention.

Conservatives like to argue that Keynesian economics isn't proven, that it doesn't work, but I've never once heard a single person give a logical reason why it doesn't work. I intend to address that conspicuous logical anomaly today. I'm no genius. I'm no Ph.D. I have absolutely no credentials to back me up. Heck, I don't even have a job with the Fed. Keeping all this in mind, please, I welcome your comments; I welcome your arguments; teach me if you feel I'm wrong or give me a high-five if you think I'm right.

Here's why Keynesian economics is total hogwash: because there's no such thing as a free lunch. I know that sounds too trite, but wait, there's more. When a government tries to create a free lunch it attempts this in one of three ways: it dilutes its currency, it borrows money, or it increases tax rates. My argument is that these methods are all essentially the same thing: a nation basically selling itself in tiny pieces.

If you consider the intrinsic value of a nation you factor in annual tax receipts, yearly expenses, and debt. Just like with any complicated asset whether that be a house or a car or a business or even a corporation you can't just ignore one part of this complex equation and expect to correctly compute net worth. If you take out a second mortgage on your home, you have to understand that you now have more cash in your hand and less title to your home. This is simple math.

If your nation increases the number of dollars in circulation by simply printing more of them, then each dollar is worth less. In QE1, QE2 and now QE3 America sold—and is still selling—little pieces of the dollar, and every person who owns one is the poorer for it. Every dollar they print is a tiny piece of America sold away.

If your nation borrows money, it obviously has to pay that money back one day. That debt will come due and a nation's credit-worthiness is the single most important factor under consideration when computing the value of its currency. Either your country's money can be trusted or it can't. When a nation borrows money it is pawning away a piece of America that it promises it will one day buy back.

If your nation raises tax rates, then as a direct result people deliberately attempt to make less money to avoid these higher rates. Or they leave the country. Or they stop working. Or they find tax shelters. Or they give to charity. Your country tried to increase government earnings by raising taxes, but what they've done is sold away a piece of their tax base to retirement, to foreign countries, to tax shelters, to charities. They've sold away tiny pieces of America, and these pieces can never be recovered.

Every business person who makes a business decision takes all that I've just talked about into consideration whether he thinks about it in the same way or not. If you want to know why all that stimulus money absolutely and catastrophically failed, it's because captains of industry aren't in the positions they are because they're dumbass morons who just fell off some cabbage truck. Before they invest in an American city with American workers and an American clientele, they first have to believe that America is the very best choice. We've absolutely and catastrophically failed to prove that argument to them—going on four years now.

The blackest Friday of all, in these our darkest hours


They call the day after Thanksgiving, Black Friday. It's supposed to be the biggest shopping day of the year. You'll see just about every retailer in the nation advertising sales, slashing prices, offering doorbusters, and of course playing non-stop Christmas music. What you won't see will be empty parking spaces. Before you ever walk through those doors you're already going to be irritated. Merry Christmas? I don't think so.

Every year you'll also see people like me, railing against the hypercommercialism of this the most holy of holidays. It's not supposed to be this way, and I think we all know it. What happens though? Even though we know it’s morally wrong we justify it as somehow good for the economy. So rampant greed—symbolized by a tree and a jolly fat guy with a big sack full of loot—has replaced the Christian symbols of Jesus born in a manger, the Christmas Star, and the Three Wise Men. Please take note of the fact that the very first gifts given on Christmas were for Jesus and He alone in all the world. These gifts were given in those first days to glorify Jesus. What will be the purpose of your gifts in these last days?
2 And he cried mightily with a strong voice, saying, Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen, and is become the habitation of devils, and the hold of every foul spirit, and a cage of every unclean and hateful bird.
3 For all nations have drunk of the wine of the wrath of her fornication, and the kings of the earth have committed fornication with her, and the merchants of the earth are waxed rich through the abundance of her delicacies.
The Bald Eagle is our national symbol. What better symbol of our unparalleled power across the world, our unimaginable freedom, and our farsighted and sagacious Constitutional rights, than the majestic Bald Eagle? Well this choice was decided by men far wiser than you or I. We once looked upon this symbol of our American spirit with unabashed pride. Until we poisoned it. Until we caged it. Until we fed it on nothing but slime and offal. Until we clipped its wings and bound it tightly with a million yards of red-tape. Until we papered its cage with money not worth the paper it's printed on. This prophecy of Revelation has never been clearer. We are the fallen Babylon. We are the home of every foul spirit and our national symbol and our nation itself has never been in a sadder and more hateful state than we find it today.

Christmas is not supposed to be about implementing another sisyphean round of Keynesian economic stimulus policy. If your argument is that it's okay because it's good for the economy then you lack a basic understanding of capitalism. This argument is flawed at its heart. Artificially increasing demand during a particular season of the year by using social pressure and hypercommercialism is in actuality very bad for the economy in the long term. This boom and bust cycle every year increases market volatility, which in turn heightens investor fears, which in turn causes further market volatility, which in turn causes far greater and far more damaging boom and bust cycles.

If you spend Black Friday pushing your way through some crowd, angrily searching for material things, then I don't imagine that you were properly thankful on the day before it, for the incredible gifts that you've already been given.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

American government's fatal flaw: unacknowledged self-interest


Suppose you were the judge of a case where the defendant was married to your daughter, would you recuse yourself? Suppose you were on a local zoning board, and your brother who owns residential property near a commercial area wants to rezone his property so he can build a convenience store. Would you abstain from the vote, or at least acknowledge the conflict of interest? What if you knew or strongly suspected that your public sector colleague was accepting bribes from a variety of shady operators? Would you blow the whistle even though it would threaten your lucrative position and life-time sinecure? I ask these questions because they strike at the heart of the fatal flaw in our system of government. That fatal flaw is unacknowledged self-interest.

Why do those who seek power in government, do so? If you ask them, they will give you some asinine fairy-tale about how they just want to serve their fellow man. Really? You just want to serve? That's why you held out your tin-cup, begging for campaign donations and that's why you spent thousands, or tens of thousands, or millions? Because you just want to make life better for all of us? It wasn't for you; it was for us?

The politician interrupts the lives of many people in his pursuit of power. Whether it's television, or radio, or yard-signs, or door-to-door campaigners, people are employed by the campaign or they campaign for free, all to beg for money to help this one person become the designated servant he so desires to be. Private citizens are nagged, bothered, cajoled, and frightened into taking out their checkbooks and donating money that they could have spent on themselves or saved for the kids' college or for a rainy day. Looking back on an election campaign, especially the 2012 Presidential campaign is much like looking back on the trail of destruction left in the wake of a disastrous tornado. Instead of buildings being ripped apart however, it's families and lives. Perhaps I overstate the case. If so, it's not by much. Remember that regardless of what politicians may claim, at the very root of their pursuit of power you will find the dark seed of self-interest.

The way the private sector operates is a little bit like that but with one major difference. If you ask the CEO of KFC—Parent Corporation: Yum! Brands—David Novak, why he wanted to be the Chief Executive Officer of a major corporation do you think he'd say it's because he just wants to make our lives better? He sought power for the same reason Romney did, self-interest. The difference is that Romney wants us to believe he only did it for us.

On the Republican side, the rise to power ends finally with a highly paid position as a lobbyist. The lobbyist is a former congressman who is now a paid executive and he represents his corporation. He's given the corporate credit-card and told to go buy some congressional votes from his former colleagues. It's a nice gig I suppose for those who've got it, underhanded and dirty as hell though it is. To you lobbyists, I've got news for you in case you didn't know: if you're buying votes, you're paying for them with Satan's money.

The Democrats also are part of a corrupt system where votes are bought and sold. Theirs is an even more corrupt system if you can imagine it. In addition to the corrupt lobbying system, Democrats are even further purchasable by the Public sector union industry. These unions offer campaign cash as well as "volunteer" campaign workers to help get the politician elected. Once he is, they'll support him every election cycle for as long as he keeps voting for higher pay and more lavish benefits for public sector union workers. When I say lavish benefits I'm talking about absolutely free health-care, eye-care, and dental benefits. I'm talking about free or nearly free retirement pension plans. I'm talking about twenty-five days a year in paid vacation time. I'm talking about ten paid holidays. I'm talking about free day-cares, rent and mortgage assistance, travel allowances, etc. The list of things they'll think of to give public sector union members grows faster than Pinocchio's nose.

The government isn't just a tick on the body politic, it's now more like a vampire gashing our throats and guzzling unto the last drops of our blood. So finally here's what's going to happen to us all: As America fades and dies, the politicians, the lobbyists, the unions, the public sector workers, they're going to squeeze us and roll us up like you would a nearly empty tube of toothpaste.

There is only one way to save this country: first we must publicly acknowledge that the votes of politicians are bought and sold, routinely. Then we must pass laws that make this out-right bribery a crime. Finally, both the buyers and the sellers on both sides of the vote-trade must be put into prison for their crimes.

Saturday, November 17, 2012

On growing the seed of faith

At first when I was young, I believed in God. I believed that God the father sent Jesus his son to save all mankind from eternal damnation. I cried as I was led to salvation. I asked Jesus to intercede on my behalf. I asked him to care for me, teach me, and to write my name into the Book of Life.
Revelation 20:15 — And whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire.
Never before, and never after, was my faith so great. But then I started listening to teachers in that place where that old snake the devil, who drips his poison into the river of knowledge we so thirst for, has built his stronghold. My faith was discouraged; I guess that's the best way of putting it. It was a process that can only be described as diabolical.

It all started with Santa Claus. The world—parents, teachers, television shows, everyone I met—went all out encouraging my faith in Santa Claus, then when I absolutely believed the legend, they yanked the rug out from under me with a big old grin. It was all in fun they proclaimed. They told me lies they explained, so that they could enjoy watching me, enjoy believing them. I don't know how it first happened that everyone decided to teach kids about Santa Claus, but I know the result for me. A nugget of cynicism was embedded deeply in the center of my heart. Yes, that was the very first slap in the face of my innocence. It was the kind of slap that has my ears ringing to this very day. The way the world makes fools of young children by tricking them into believing in Santa Claus is a terrible idea. Parents need to explain the meaning of make-believe before practicing make-believe.

At church I learned about God and Jesus, and at school they taught me about history and evolution. These subjects are not mutually incompatible, but let's just say they're not exactly peanut butter and jelly either. The only truth I finally came to accept is that nobody knows the truth. What else can a rational person believe? There is no absolute proof either way, and a rational and logical person who is forced to witness ideologues on both sides of this debate stand forth with these intransigent proclamations of what is and is not true, is left finally with the only theory that makes any sense: People are crazy! Thus was the seed of this, my great cynicism, watered and fertilized with both truth and lies and I neither knowing nor caring which was which.

Another seed besides cynicism was planted in my heart during those innocent days of my youth. That seed is faith. It was never watered. It was never fertilized. It has waited there all these long years, for this moment, for these days, and for these times. I witness for you today that I am changing. A few weeks ago could never have seen the person I was, writing the words you read this day. So today I have questions for you who read these words: Does faith in God make me weak or strong? Do my hopes and fears, my laughter and tears, make you ashamed for me, or for yourself?

I don't know how or why, but a few days ago I decided to ask God for faith. I witness that every day that prayer is answered. I still don't know the truth. I still don't even really know who I am. I do know I'm no longer the person who I was. These are days that will test us. Every day is a test, every moment. I am weak but prayer strengthens me. If you find yourself now, still reading these words then I believe that somewhere within you is that seed of faith. If you pray for its growth it will grow.

Words are funny things. They mean different things to different people. I don't stand here today and intransigently proclaim every word in the Bible is true, but what I do believe is that the truth is found within it, if you seek it, if you pray for it. There's not much time left. Across the land there is war and rumors of war. Iran will have nuclear weapons very soon. A powerful leader of this the most powerful country in the history of time, could stand athwart the tracks of destiny and say to the servants of Satan who lead Iran towards Armageddon: Hold! You shall not go another step! Alas, the free people of this nation—lacking faith—chose wrongly. Now it is, that the dark prophecy of Revelation looms over us all.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

I have a riddle for you.


Most religions recognize the duality of man. We have a right and a left side. We see the world from two different perspectives simultaneously. These dual images are miraculously blended together within our own mind and this gives us an incredible perception of depth. For every man there is a woman. In every life we experience both pleasure and pain. We are both good at times and at other times evil. We are both selfish and generous. We love and we hate. Finally, there is our faith. We believe in God and so we also believe that there is his arch-enemy, the Devil. We who believe in God—and are proud to profess that belief—are ironically ashamed to profess our equally existing belief in Satan. If you believe in God then you must by simple logic believe in the Devil. Satan exists and he exerts his influence in this world just as God does.

Look around you at this nation that was once great. We who believe in God suffered a grievous defeat just a few days ago when Obama was reelected. Our chances as a surviving nation are now much slimmer. Look around you and you will see millions out of work. Look around you and you will see half the country living at the expense of the other half. This is wealth redistribution on a massively destructive scale and it would have been unthinkable a scant hundred years ago. How have we so quickly, fallen so far? If you believe good people can be influenced by the Son of God, can you not also believe that evil people can similarly be influenced by the Son of Satan?

I'm going to paint you a picture of a thousand words. I'm forced to leave one critical part of the canvas blank. That's one of the rules. I don't know why the rules are this way, I just know that you either follow these strange rules or you deeply regret it. I will tell you that the part of the picture that I'm not allowed to paint will lead you inevitably to the answer to my riddle.

Picture a parlor. You see two comfortable chairs and between them a small table. On this table rests a game board. This board represents our world. It's a flat kind of thing to represent our world but never mind that; it's merely a representation. The pieces on this board are also merely representations.

On one side of this flat board you see a King and you see a Queen—Jesus and the Virgin Mary. There are Bishops and there are Knights. Off to one side of the board are two block shaped buildings. They represented many things to many people. To me they represented the works of mankind. They are twin towers that contained man's laws, languages, customs, and creations. Before they were lost these two towers once held this entire flat representation of Earth between them from one side of the Earth all the way around to the other side. The remaining pieces are pawns. It is this side that made the very first move of the game.

The other side of this board looks completely different. There is a blank space where you would expect to find the king. You must merely assume that the king is there on that spot, because this king cannot be depicted by a game piece or token. That would threaten idolatry! Instead of a Queen there is a pawn. There are no women on this side of the game board. To the player on this side, women are less than pawns and thus have no place in the game. Other than the faceless king, this entire side of the board is completely filled with pawns ... a vast army of pawns to be sacrificed one after the next. If you guess the name of the king then you'll learn the name of The Enemy.

Sitting in one chair of the parlor—if you were righteous enough to ever raise your eyes even high enough to gaze on his feet—you would see your creator. In the other chair slouches the malevolent enemy of God. His arm pulls back. His move has just been made. He is the great deceiver. His followers preach sermons of lies, envy, greed, and sloth and they are pulling this—the greatest country that civilization has ever known—apart at the seams. You call this evil nemesis by a variety of names but remember that his name is a lie. There are some coincidences that are just too magnificent for words. His name is a lie.

If you've been paying attention to this game, you'll have seen some craftily evil moves by The Enemy. When his lies were successful in causing the Supreme Court—the once-upon-a-time ultimate arbiter of justice—to banish the Word of God from the curriculum taught to our children, his unholy army of pawns began to swell hugely! If you listen, you might be able to hear the Dark One's unholy glee and mirthful laughter at the success of his lies. His lies have caused a permanent ghetto of dependents unable to understand that somehow in spite of all their victories they are still slaves. This time the chains that enslave them are around their minds. This time the crack of the whip is the television turning on.

Half of the country has traded freedom for bread and circuses—food stamps and television. It's enough to make me weep. Schools are no longer places where the ignorant are taught, they're instead where we send the helpless for indoctrination training into a system of dependency on the state for every need. America didn't just wind up in the shambles that it is by accident. It's very intentional and quite diabolical, and by the way—Everything is going like clockwork.

One final thought for you who are beginning to feel the hopelessness of an impossible position: God isn't just playing the game. He made the game. He made the rules. He made all the pieces. He even made the slouching liar sitting in the other chair. If you think he's going to lose, then you haven't looked deeply enough. God made the very first move and he'll make the very last one, too.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

What is the difference between a Democrat and a Republican?


The Canadian Gold Maple Leaf is the official bullion gold coin of Canada, and is produced by the Royal Canadian Mint. The brainchild of Walter Ott, it is one of the purest gold regular-issue coins in the world with a gold content of .9999 millesimal fineness (24 carats), with some special issues .99999 fine. That is, it contains virtually no base metals at all—only gold, from mines in Canada.
What is one hour of your life worth? They're spent so lavishly in our youth. One after another is spent with no thought at all to the cost. Later as we become adults they're sold cheaply at first—a few dollars an hour—later in life they're usually worth more. Yet when we become old, how we do hoard those few that are left! What would a man lying on his deathbed pay for a few more of those wasted hours misspent in his youth?

After forty-five years I've come to a greater understanding of value and worth. Right now on November 12, 2012 at 9:35 AM CST the price of gold is $1734.60 per ounce. If a minimum wage earning worker wanted to buy an ounce of gold it would require as much as 253.60 hours of his life to acquire the necessary money. That's assuming he claimed exemption from Federal income tax and also assuming he earned no overtime pay. What does the young worker get for six and a half weeks of labor?

I neglected to include sales tax and the obligatory dealer mark-ups in that six and a half weeks of labor estimate. The young worker will spend at least another week working for the dealer's profit and the state's taxes if not more. Such a tiny thing to hold so much value, don't you think? Why is it valuable? Is it valuable because it's rare? Lots of rare things aren't valuable. Many things are absolutely unique and yet have little or no value. I've got a finger-painting made by a particular three-year-old. No more three-year-old paintings will ever be forthcoming from my son, who's now eleven, so it's positively unique, and what's more it shows more originality and talent than some of the pricier paintings at the Louvre, but the only value this painting has is a sentimental one. Gold's greatest virtue is that it doesn't tarnish, but then again there are lots of things that don't tarnish yet are not valuable. It seems as though gold is only valuable because everybody wants it and yet there's not that much of it available. If you found yourself washed up on a desolate island with a pocket full of gold coins you would nevertheless still be one dirt-poor SOB.

Most Americans are aware that our currency is being systematically devalued. Many probably aren't aware that it doesn't have to be that way. Many probably aren't aware that since Obama took office this systematic devaluation has been kicked into high-gear. I don't value gold at all. I don't understand why others do. You can't build with it. It has absolutely no nutritional value. It doesn't even do any tricks. So I ask, what good is it? The deserted island example is my value touchstone. If I was all alone in the world, what good would gold do me?

The United States has completely abandoned the gold standard. It did this piece meal at various points and the final complete move to a 'fiat' tender was accomplished by President Nixon on August 15, 1971. If you can imagine, in those days $35.00 would buy you an ounce of gold. The price of gold since Nixon fully abandoned the gold standard has risen by 5000% Or another way of looking at it is that the value of the dollar since then has decreased by 5000%. Now to be fair, the actual value of gold prior to 1971 had been kept artificially low:
From 1940 to 1957 the US Treasury’s gold reserves remained relatively constant but by 1958 they started falling. Within three years, by 1960, Treasury gold reserves had declined as much as twenty two percent. Just as the increase in gold reserves from 1935 to 1940 indicated that gold was overvalued and the dollar was undervalued, the decline in reserves after 1957 indicated that the dollar was now overvalued, and gold was undervalued.

It was becoming more and more difficult for the European and American Reserve Banks to maintain the gold price at $35 an ounce. In 1961 the situation was severe enough that the United States, Britain, West Germany, France, Switzerland, Italy, Belgium, the Netherlands and Luxemburg all agreed to sell gold into the market to try and prevent the price from exceeding $35 an ounce; and so the London Gold Pool was created.

The French, who were smart enough to realize that the London Gold Pool was a losing proposition, eventually started selling francs for dollars and sent the dollars back to the United States in exchange for gold.

By 1968, when the London Gold Pool croaked, US gold reserves had declined more than fifty two percent from their 1957 levels. In 1971 US gold reserves were 9,070 tonnes, only seventy-two tonnes more than they had been in 1935. It was clear that thirty-five dollars were no longer worth an ounce of gold.
I've already mentioned that a troy ounce of gold is worth $1734.00. The United States owes 16 trillion. So how many metric tonnes of gold would the USA have to pile up to pay off our national debt? 16 trillion divided by the price of gold per ounce ($1734.00) divided by 14.58333333 (the number of troy ounces in one pound) divided by 2204.62 (pounds in a metric tonne) = 287164.58 tonnes of gold.
A total of 165,000 tonnes of gold have been mined in human history, as of 2009. This is roughly equivalent to 5.3 billion troy ounces or, in terms of volume, about 8500 m3, or a cube 20.4 m on a side. The world consumption of new gold produced is about 50% in jewelry, 40% in investments, and 10% in industry.
Obviously if the USA was forced to account for this 16 trillion dollars in debt today and pay it back in gold we couldn't do it. That much gold doesn't exist. It may never exist. The United States gross domestic product is about 15 trillion annually. We've got a little over one trillion dollars in circulation, with a hundred trillion or more in assets held by the public and private sectors combined. If the world were still on a gold standard and if we assumed that the value of all assets on Earth are worth roughly ten times that of the USA or one quadrillion dollars, then the price of gold today would be nearly $100,000 an ounce. The demand for gold to back the amount of currency necessary to provide a liquid market for a quadrillion's worth of assets would cause the price of gold to skyrocket north of $100,000 an ounce.

Worth is always such a relative thing, though. What is water worth to a dying man stranded in the desert? There are things that always have some value: food, drink, and shelter. Nothing else holds any value when one of these three is sorely lacking. Each of them represents something that's not at first completely obvious. These three things [food, drink, shelter] represent time worked, whether that is building, hunting, foraging, fishing, farming, herding, gathering, chopping, carrying, sewing, shaping, carving, and on and on. Containers are required to hold the food and drink. Wood is required to heat the shelter and cook the food. Plates, cups, tables, jars, bins, are needed to hold the food and cook it in and serve it on. All these assets have some intrinsic value that varies depending on a variety of factors. All represent time worked.

On the other hand, the value of those things considered much more valuable than mundane necessities seems to be determined by opinion alone. To me it appears that random chance alone is the primary determining factor. Gold is one such example. The lucky miner finds gold after digging for only an hour. The unlucky miner digs for a lifetime and finds nothing. Gold represents then not so much hard work as it does good luck. Musicians in a band might play nightclubs for a lifetime and be quite talented and hardworking yet they merely get by night-by-night eking out a bare living. Meanwhile a new boy-band playing its first set ever is discovered and a Justin Beiber walks onto the world stage. Luck? What else? Musicians, actors, writers, and athletes all provide some form of entertainment value to an audience, and without exception each of these fields requires innate talent, hard work, and a great deal of luck to achieve that lucky pinnacle where the top performers in their respective fields reap the kind of wealth the rest of us merely dream of. So now talent, hard work, and luck abide, these three; but the greatest of these is luck.

Now, finally, after hundreds of words I've come full circle, back to a fundamental understanding of why people are the way they are and why they do what they do and vote the way that they vote. Most people believe their hours are worth far more than what they get for them. The envious Democrats are those who—without a doubt—consider the wealthy merely lucky. Stop and think about it...There but for the curse of misfortune go I. The rich were lucky. They didn't earn that. It was handed to them on a silver platter or perhaps on a roll of the dice. Is it any wonder that those who benefited so greatly from luck and those without any luck at all, have banded together against those who are geniuses at making a product that people want to buy, or astutely analyzing an inefficient market to buy what's too cheap and sell what's too dear?

In a words of one sentence, Democrats are the few winners and the many losers who spend their lives worshipping at the altar of fortune in the great casino of life, while the Republicans are the ones who simply save their money and buy shares of that casino.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

What next? In a word: Defiance!

Never surrender to evil. Easy words to speak after losing a battle, harder to follow; hardest of all is to truly keep faith with this ideal. It often is just so easy to give up. To go ahead and give in, to follow the herd as they line up for their turn at the trough. Who among us hasn't upon occasion mentioned that: if you can’t beat ‘em, you might as well join ‘em? If we didn't speak it, still we thought it. I’m reminded of a singularly exceptional moment in an otherwise ordinary film. The movie is called Freejack. It’s your typical Hollywood movie full of rich one-percenters busy killing Gaia and in their spare time exploiting the poor—as usual.

The protagonist is staring down into a poisonous harbor full of the worst sewage and toxic waste mankind can imagine yet is still capable of dumping into the ocean. Alex Furlong is sitting on the edge of this precipice and he’s thinking of ending his life or perhaps just giving up and turning himself in. A poor old homeless guy—rag-tag, filthy and out hunting rats for dinner—stops for a chat:
Alex Furlong: "Man, if it's come down to this. What's the point?"

Eagle Man: "He Riddles me. The ancient riddle: 'What's the point?' Have you ever seen an eagle flying back to his home with dinner for the Mrs. and all the little eagle babies. And he's flying against the wind and he's flying in the rain and he's flying through bullets and all kinds of hell, and then right at that moment when he's about to get back to his nest, he says, 'What the f--k, it's a drag being an eagle,' and right then two little x'es comes across his eyes just like in the old fashion cartoons. And he goes plunging down, and down and down and BAM!. He's just a splatter of feathers and then we don't have the national bird of America no more. Did you ever see that?"

Alex Furlong: "No."

Eagle Man: "Me Neither. Eagle's got too much self-respect. How's yours?"
Ordinary men are born. They strut their ordinary hour on the stage, and then they are gone. In the course of things this is the usual fate of us all, and there's nothing shameful or wrong in it. Upon occasion however, at some point in an otherwise ordinary life, some are called upon to achieve the truly extraordinary, the exceptional, the magical and majestic. Winston Churchill was such a seminal figure. A leader called upon to defend a nation—indeed the entire world—against a monster. In these days England was still a great force to be reckoned with. Great Britain was still an empire and its power was felt in all corners of the world. The Prime Minister of Great Britain was in this day and age the closest thing the world had to the power that now rests in the hands of our own President of the United States.

Imagine—if you can—how Winston Churchill felt on the day when he gave his famous "We Shall Fight on the Beaches" address to Parliament? The full text of the speech is linked and is definitely worth reading. Winston Churchill was discussing the disaster of Dunkirk, a major battle lost and this loss caused by the treacherous surrender of the Belgian king to Hitler. This treacherous Belgian king first tried to keep Belgium out of the conflict by claiming neutrality. Later when it became clear Belgium would merely be another notch in Hitler's belt, the king asked for help from the Alliance—which was offered. The Belgian king shortly thereafter surrendered, leaving hundreds of thousands of Alliance troops heavily outnumbered and stranded far from help in Dunkirk France. This betrayal is an object lesson which we can all take to heart. There are evil men whose numbers are legion, and seeking momentary advantage they would betray everyone and everything we hold dear. This lesson is encapsulated within the fable of the scorpion and the frog.

In so many cases the old adage: No Good Deed Goes Unpunished is proven the wisest of proverbs. I realize it sounds like nothing but the rankest of cynicism. Consider however a person's nature before going the mile with him, much less the extra mile. There are hundreds of millions if not billions who labor under the misconception that Jesus was a hopeless pacifist. How often have you heard someone offer the smarmy advice to just turn the other cheek when you've been wronged? I bet you don't know what that means. I'd bet you a handful of ever-more-worthless dollar bills that you don't know what "turn the other cheek," really means. If you think it means that when you've been wronged you should forgive the person instead of retaliating, then you're one of the great majority who lacks a clear exegesis of Matthew 5:39:
But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.
In that land where Jesus walked in those days, they had little of clean water and none of toilet paper. The amount of hygiene possible was limited solely to the right hand while the left-hand was used to wipe after defecation, and then I assume rubbed in sand or whatever was nearby. This fact is both obvious and necessary of understanding to fully comprehend what Jesus meant. No one in this age ever hit others with their left hand. For sanitary reasons it just was not done. One more fact is necessary for full understanding. The backhand was a treatment reserved solely for slaves. By turning the other cheek Jesus was saying in a nonverbal clearly understandable way: I'm not your slave. To hit me again you'll have to backhand me and we both know I'm not your slave.

The point of all this, what ties it all together is that compromise and deals with evil men are the same thing as surrender. If you offer Satan an inch he's going to take a mile, and then an extra mile, and then he's going to take you, too. In the days and weeks to come you're going to hear a lot about compromise. I'd bet that as the date of the so-called "financial cliff" approaches, it's going to be 24/7 mainstream media talking heads with "compromise" tripping lightly from deceitful treacherous lips. Just give in. You've got to go along to get along.

No, no, a thousand times no! No surrender! No compromise, not with the devil. We won't be your slaves! If you want to be evil then do it all by yourselves because righteous people, family leaders, conservatives who believe in God and who know right from wrong without explanation, can recognize evil when confronted by it. And we see it here! You want to raise taxes on small business? Good luck. You'll do it without our help. You want to kill the coal industry? You want to choke-off domestic oil production? You want to kill business with cap-and-trade? You want to take away our guns? Our Bibles? Well, we may have been slapped with the mightily painful sting of Election 2012, but today we turn our cheek and proclaim: We are not your slaves! We will not be your slaves. No surrender, no compromise! Do your worst you Democrats. We defy you!

Thursday, November 8, 2012

The great experiment has failed. What now?

"Only a virtuous people are capable of freedom. As nations become more corrupt and vicious, they have more need of masters."—Benjamin Franklin
The great experiment of unlimited democracy has failed. If you doubt me, then I defy you to look at the economic picture, the situation in the mideast, the unfathomable burden of 16 trillion dollars of debt, rampant ignorance, intransigent public sector unions, cities going bankrupt with whole states soon to follow, proliferating nuclear arms around the world and especially ominous in iran, Israel abandoned, constitutional freedoms overruled by executive fiat, and then tell how we can turn this around with someone like Obama for a President!

We've been printing lots of money these last four years. If this continues—and it will—you can expect the price of everything: milk, bread, meat, gasoline to continue to go up, up and up. Conservatives voted, and we lost. The pied-piper is leading us down the primrose path to our final destination. At the journey's end we will find insolvency and bankruptcy.

Here are five hyperinflation case studies presented in 12 slides. The causes and consequences of each episode are detailed on the sidebar to the right of each slide. Mark well how they happened, because when you do, you won't be able to avoid noticing the shocking similarities between these cases and our own situation, today.

When a country descends finally into clinical hyperinflation what you see happen in every case is massive privation and suffering in the private sector, misguided attempts to fix prices, repeated adjustments of the currency, and finally civil war and the end of a regime.

Conservatives just lost the final battle for the virtuous control of our democracy and thus the war is over. The Koolade drinking donkey has got the bit in its teeth and it's making a mad dash for the cliff edge.

Our republic was planned and designed around the idea that it would be of and for a virtuous people, a society of patriotic caretakers of this fragile democracy. Over time, more and more of the virtuous in our society have retired and finally died without being replaced. The virtuous became fewer and fewer, generation after generation. The reduction in their numbers greatly accelerated when the unprincipled succeeded in banning religion from the classroom. It accelerated again when medicine provided infanticide as the cure for an unplanned pregnancy. It accelerated again when homosexuality became the state religion of Hollywood. Now those without principle outnumber those who possess principles, morals, character, and a work ethic.

Today the indolent slothful unprincipled majority have now succeeded in wielding their sovereign franchise to force we the minority who work and create, to be their slaves forever more. From Starship Troopers—by Robert Heinlein—here are some insightful quotes:
To vote is to wield authority; it is the supreme authority from which all other authority derives ... the franchise [the vote] is force, naked and raw, the Power of the Rods and the Ax. Whether it is exerted by ten men or by ten billion, political authority is force.

To permit irresponsible authority is to sow disaster; to hold a man responsible for anything he does not control is to behave with blind idiocy. The unlimited democracies were unstable because their citizens were not responsible for the fashion in which they exerted their sovereign authority ... No attempt was made to determine whether a voter was socially responsible to the extent of his literally unlimited authority. If he voted the impossible, the disastrous possible happened instead—and responsibility was then forced on him willy-nilly and destroyed both him and his foundationless temple.
It is no use trying to teach the unprincipled the error of their ways. They are the very portrait of feigned outrage and eyes full of laughter. They won't hear your argument. They won't understand it. They won't believe it. Finally, they will refuse to accept the consequences of not heeding it. Listen! You kill a vampire by exposing it to the light of day and driving a stake through its evil heart. There is no compromise possible when you're dealing with evil. It's you or it's them. So, with that, here are some starting principles. None of them will harm you and many of them will help you. Most importantly, every one of them will give you a little more power over your own life and that of your family and take it away from the Vampire in Chief.
  • Reduce your reliance on money to the fullest extent possible. If you want a good or service, find out if trades in kind are possible. In the fullest example of this idea in action, I envision non-profit farming cooperatives owned by shareholders who receive fresh meat, eggs, milk, and produce as a benefit of ownership. If wrapped in the mantle of some politically correct title like: Institute for Sustainable Agriculture in our Local Community—ISALC—This start-up non-profit could qualify for all kinds of government grants. Please take note: I'm no longer trying to save our corrupt regime. I'm the kindly hospice attendant patiently waiting to see this regime to its inevitable end. In the process I'd like to avoid starvation myself, so my plan is to kill two birds with this shiny politically-correct-looking stone.
  • Secure a long-term source of food and water. A cellar full of canned food is a vital necessity. Having your own well is highly preferable to depending on city water, but sterile water in sealed containers would do in a pinch.
  • Secure your home from invasion. Steel doors and bars on the windows. Exercise your second amendment rights and buy a gun, or two, or more! Don't forget ammo. If you have kids you'll need a foolproof method of containment like a gun-safe otherwise you may well regret it. If you like dogs, consider getting a useful one. German Shepherds and Rottweilers are the police dogs of choice for a reason. If you have the wherewithal you might consider constructing a safe room. By the way, central to the idea of a secure home is living in a secure neighborhood. If you live in a high-crime area get out now. In a severe economic downturn these places become death traps. Finally, don't advertise. You don't need a flashy car. You don't need a swimming pool. You don't need all those trappings of somebody trying to keep up with the joneses. Stop it. Think nuclear winter, think armageddon, think Zimbabwe. Think long and hard before you buy something just for entertainment. Think!
  • Preserve yourself and your family by being hyper-alert, always. Get healthy. You can't afford to be fat and slow. Take a self-defense course. Learn how to shoot your weapon. Get a concealed carry permit. Become a black-belt. We still have a few years yet, so you'll have time to enjoy that new-found feeling of confidence...but remember, don't get cocky.
  • This next idea is not fully fleshed out but it's not some kind of stupid computer bit-coin idea, either. The dollar is dead to me. Soon it will be dead to everyone else, too. We need to discover or create a viable alternative. My idea is a unit of money which represents a set unit of professional work performed over time. Professional meaning: medical professional, electrician, et cetera, in some highly trained profession. They could call this new unit of currency a joule or perhaps an acronym related to the name of their consortium, group, or organization. Obviously it would take a sizable group of workers, business owners, professionals, farmers, and others who would meet and hammer out the many details. Products and services could be priced in this new currency based on dollar values agreed upon in the initial meeting. I'm not sure about the legal issues here, so if you're in the know, please leave a comment.
  • Become energy independent. This is almost impossible but the more you can accomplish towards these ends the better off you're going to be. An underground cellar would keep food fresh longer than a refrigerator with no electricity. If you want a gasoline powered generator that's fine but remember you may not be able to get gasoline and furthermore remember those things are loud and draw attention you may not desire in a dystopian America.
  • Learn to fish, hunt, and forage. If people don't know it's food there's more for you. In times of great famine the government contracts and takes for itself all available food sources. They take over farms they search homes and cellars. Self-sufficiency means being able to successfully live off the land for an extended period of time.
  • Kids are naive. You need to know what they're learning and perhaps more important what they're saying and who they're saying it to. All your plans could come to naught if your kid starts blabbing to some kind of local gestapo—to include teachers, and coaches, and any government worker.
  • Money in the bank, IRA portfolios, 401Ks, stocks, bonds, investments of whatever kind, may have value today, but you can't assume they will tomorrow. In a country with hyperinflating currency, the farmer is rich while the banker starves to death.
The beast in his long-drawn-out dying will be more savage than ever before. He will lash out alike at both friend and foe. Keep your plans to yourself as much as possible because people you think you can trust will betray you in the best of times. Imagine how much more likely that is when times are tough. Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. —God keep you, and speed you on your way

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

The United States Of America, Inc.


What is a Democrat? I'll tell you what he is. He's a seven-year-old unleashed at the mall with your wallet. You tell him before he goes in what you expect him to buy with your money and then you come back later to see how he did. I'll tell you what he did. That seven-year-old did better than just spend all your money. He not only spent all the money in the wallet, he also maxed out all your credit cards. Then he applied for credit in every store at the mall after which he maxed out every credit line every store extended. He's got a whole lot of stuff! He gave most of the stuff away. Some he threw away because it wasn't what he thought he was buying. Some of it was stolen and some just went bad.

Okay, so obviously we can't take the credit card away from the seven-year-old. We tried that and all the other shoppers at the mall voted no. It turns out that they like the seven-year-old. He gives them free stuff—stuff that he paid for on credit—credit you'll have to make good on one of these days. So the seven-year-old gets to keep the credit card, and he gets to stay at the mall. Hey everyone! They're having a party in the food court. Orange Julius for everyone! You're paying for it. You might as well go have one.

I spent some time listening to Bill Whittle's plan—the pay for everything twice plan. I love Bill Whittle; I think that usually he makes a lot of sense. I love most of his ideas. I love his private enterprise space program. But they're already doing it. It's called Space-x. Okay Bill is adamantly advocating strict adherence to the law. He counsels everyone to absolutely obey every law, pay those taxes. Don't engage in civil disobedience. Do what you're told and don't stick your neck out. Here's the video:

Please understand I look up to Bill Whittle. He's good people and he makes sense 99% of the time. He's that kind sensible conservative that people feel comfortable and safe with. Me? I'm a hothead and there's no doubt about it. Governor Romney is also a kind and sensible conservative. Risk averse is the term I believe you used, Bill? Risk averse. Romney never once really attacked. He nipped here and there. He feinted once or twice, but he never once really went for the jugular. I was waiting for it. I was waiting for the grown man in the room to school the child about Benghazi, to scold the child about Fast & Furious. But like Bill Whittle said, there's no sense spending time talking about might-have-beens and crying over spilled milk.

Mr. Whittle, your plan doesn't solve the problem. You're feeding steak to the wolves at the door while tossing scraps to the wife and kids. Sorry Bill I call 'em like I see 'em. I'm not risk averse. You hate these guys as much as I do, these barbarians, these thugs, these small virtueless totalitarian Hitler Mini-Me's. Your plan Mr. Whittle—and please correct me if I'm wrong—is to voluntarily submit to these vampires and offer up your daily liter of blood. Meanwhile you suggest we eat lots of Flintstones chewables and drink plenty of water? Sorry for the sarcasm but your plan isn't a battle plan it's a surrender plan. Every sensible American should be doing everything he can to cut expenses and also income to the bone. Barter whenever and wherever you can. Heckle a reporter. Turn your mailbox around backwards. Put out the Not Welcome mat. Cut the heads off your roses and sharpen the thorns!

Every failed business endeavor has one of two problems: a product nobody wants or a product nobody can afford. The first problem is insurmountable. Maybe there's a better product out there. Maybe it no longer serves any purpose because of changing technology—I'm looking at you United States Postal Service. They either start doing something completely different or that is that. The second problem can be overcome if management finds a way to offer the product more cheaply. Off-shoring and bankruptcy are often possible options in this case. Union agreements and pension plans are back on the table in a Chapter 11 bankruptcy. The USA has a product few people want and fewer can afford. Except of course for the people who get it for free.

For the first time in my life I'm really starting to doubt that we're going to make it as a country. I don't really know if some kind of chapter 11 restructuring is even possible but something savage and drastic is called for. No half-assed half-baked jerry-rigged plaster-of-paris patch is going to keep this old clunker rolling. We need a complete engine rebuild and nothing less.

Maybe bankruptcy by itself isn't enough. If not, what options are available? How about taking the USA public? She's good for a couple trillion a year. I think we do best by first taking her into bankruptcy and renegotiating all those entitlements first. Social security, Medicare, Medicaid as well as a host of government pensions can all be renegotiated. What has to be has to be. Finally, we light the candle on this cake by doing an initial public offering. Simple math will define the opening price and the stockholders will ultimately make all the decisions via a board of directors. The USA doesn't need a President; it needs a CEO. This is private enterprise taken to its ultimate pinnacle, and if we do it right it could be a really big deal.

You probably think it could never happen. You may say the American people would never agree to something like that, and today you'd certainly be correct. But what about tomorrow? Do we limp along for year after year, relying on the ever diminishing generosity of a world heartily sick to death of hearing about our troubles? Or do we grab this bull by the horns? Full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes? Are we gonna dance or do think we should just loiter around the punch bowl until they turn out the lights?