Collaborators, Take Heed

January 3rd, 2010

As a writer, I consider those who engage in capricious and/or biased censorship to be unequivocally AGAINST me.

That includeS Owners of Message Boards.  Insofar as I cannot defend myself against heavy-handed protectionist measures perpetrated by agenda-based Board Owners, my alternatives are to SUFFER IN SILENCE or VISIT OBJECTIONS UPON CANDIDATES. 

See, I GET IT that different people have different Pet Peeves and different Cherished Rights.  I am a BIG fan of TO EACH HIS OWN and LIVE AND LET LIVE.

If you are a Bible Thumper, know that I feel about Free Speech the way you feel about Freedom of Worship.  If you are a Gun Toter, know that I feel about Free Speech the way you feel about Bearing Arms.  Know that without Free Speech, you can’t articulate YOUR Grievance or petition for its Redress.

Not to suggest that my Free Speech is MORE consequential than one dude’s religion or another dude’s rifles, but “mine” IS specially enshrined in the Constitution.  Come to think of it, so is my Right To Bear Arms.

Dot Connecting is not a popular pastime in American Politics but, trust me on this, the inalienable right to free thought and expression and our UNEQUIVOCAL right to Bear Arms are like two peas in a pod, or two pistols in a dueling pair.

I Come In Peace, To Raise Hell

January 2nd, 2010

Remember when Starbucks coffee cups were graced with “The Way I See It…” ruminations of mainly famous people?  

The way I see it, there are as many ways of seeing a thing as there are people looking.

My way of thinking isn’t for everyone.  By the same token, the thinking of the Majority isn’t for me.  I am NOT gonna spend the rest of My Life being bossed around and penalized.  I am resolved about that.  It surely does seem EXTREME for Bad Guys to kill me over over Individual Sovereignty but, if they must, they must.  Death over incarceration, if I am allowed any Choice.

Life is short and the world is big.  Insatiable and insecure quote-unquote Officials would tie us up in paperwork, lines and traffic for all the waking hours that we are not industriously earning enough to pay rapacious taxes.  THIS IS INSANITY.  I’m not playing anymore.

Remember when George Bush moronically asserted that IF YOU’RE NOT WITH US, YOU’RE AGAINST US?  That’s not my Jingo Lingo.  If you’re not with me, PERFECTLY understandable — Peace.  But if you work against me, well, then you ARE against me.  If you are not my Friend and you are not Neutral, it stands to Reason that you are my Foe.

Pussy Footers can keep right on pussy footing.  They can spend the rest of their lives at it, but not me.  I don’t know how many years I have left, but I am NOT going to spend them hamstrung by paperwork and penalties.

I reject laws-I-use-the-term-loosely that are contrived by the Governors to protect the Governors from dissent by the Governed.  I WISH Free Speech was “only” my Right.  For better or worse, it is my Responsibility — my DUTY, understand — to energetically exercise Free Speech toward the restoration of Reason to Governance of the United States. 

I reject revenue schemes that compel me unto a comparative SNAIL’S PACE, while Public Servants-I-use-the-term-even-more-loosely jet over the American heartland like modern-day Royalty.  Stipulated, OBVIOUSLY, the criminality of reckless endangerment.  HOWEVER, comma, given the brevity of Life, the Bad Faith of regulations and the ALARMING increase in police brutality, I consider myself not only Free but Prudent to drive as fast as safety permits, and to proceed through traffic lights as traffic permits.  I’ll not waste and simultaneously risk another minute of my life sitting still at a red light when there is NO opposing traffic — an engraved invitation to carjacking.  Sadly, incredibly, it would be gambling-unto-LUNACY to stop for Law Enforcement-emphasis-on-Force on a desolate stretch of highway.  I shall drive to the nearest Truck Stop and present myself to our nation’s Haulers for protection.  MEMO TO SELF: Keep tank above half-full.

If my country’s WHACKED Officials will leave me to my devices, I have a better than average chance of generating income upon which they can levy their festival of taxes.  Win-Win.  If Officials will persecute, prosecute, torment and/or hunt me — FOR LIVING THE DREAM, MY WAY — jeepers, that there constitutes workin’ AGAINST me.  

I am not a Subject or Object.  I am an American.  

It’s still the same old story
The fight for love and glory
A case of do or die
The fundamental things apply
As time goes by

Resolute About Resolutions

January 1st, 2010

The first entry on the first day of the first year of a new decade, like so many things, suffers from its own celebrity. Such an august occasion demands such purple prose that the optimal time for their composition could get lost in the shuffle of, well, the first day of the first year of a new decade.

Let that not be a lesson, for it is a lesson already learned.  Let it be a REMINDER that saving/waiting/procrastinating in the name of Best Possible is not even Exercise In Futility.  It is DELUSION.  Let it be a reminder to DO, first, whatever Right thing is right in front of me.  

Without fanfare — hell, without content — I slip this post in before midnight and, voila, I am on track with a resolution to WRITE EVERYDAY.  

It seems like a modest enough goal, eh?  You’d be surprised.  Someone once said to me — I feel certain she was quoting someone else but I can’t remember whom and I daren’t risk a Google Search when midnight bears down as on Cinderella’s glass slippers — that the hardest part of writing is keeping your butt in the chair.

Years and years ago, a literary agent who regularly ate at Cafe Figaro in West Hollywood when I worked as the Night Cashier, confided to me that the secrets to Writing are three: writing, writing and more writing.

Remember back in the elementary school day, when an assignment to write 300-500 words was daunting?  Whereas I typically struggle to bring a blog entry in at under a thousand words, lo and behold, I discover that waiting until the final hour of the day brings it in swiftly, and at well under 500 words.

Good to know.  Short and sweet being generally thought to be Good, less sweetness warrants more brevity.

Twelve Days of Christmas

December 25th, 2009

partridge-pear

On the first day of Christmas, my Changed Love gave to me
Lip service to democracy.

 

On the second day of Christmas, my Changed Love gave to me
Two chicken hawks
A-and lip service to democracy.

 

On the third day of Christmas, my Changed Love gave to me
Three Fre-ench whores
Two chicken hawks
A-and lip service to democracy.

 

On the fourth day of Christmas, my Changed Love gave to me
Four calling bids
Three Fre-ench whores
Two chicken hawks
A-and lip service to democracy.

 

On the fifth day of Christmas, my Changed Love gave to me
FIIIVE GOLD NESTEGGS
Fo-our calling bids
Three French whores
Two-o chicken hawks
A-and lip service to democracy.

 

On the sixth day of Christmas, my Changed Love gave to me
Six bailouts bailing
FIIIVE GOLD NESTEGGS
Fo-our calling bids
Three French whores
Two-o chicken hawks
A-and lip service to democracy.

 

On the seventh day of Christmas, my Changed Love gave to me
Seven senators scamming
Six bailouts bailing
FIIIVE GOLD NESTEGGS
Fo-our calling bids
Three French whores
Two-o chicken hawks
A-and lip service to democracy.

 

On the eighth day of Christmas, my Changed Love gave to me
Eight cartels colluding
Seven senators scamming
Six bailouts bailing
FIIIVE GOLD NESTEGGS
Fo-our calling bids
Three French whores
Two-o chicken hawks

 

On the ninth day of Christmas, my Changed Love gave to me
Nine warships warring
Eight cartels colluding
Seven senators scamming
Six bailouts bailing
FIIIVE GOLD NESTEGGS
Fo-our calling bids
Three French whores
Two-o chicken hawks

 

On the tenth day of Christmas, my Changed Love gave to me
Ten lobbyists bribing
Nine warships warring
Eight cartels colluding
Seven senators scamming
Six bailouts bailing
FIIIVE GOLD NESTEGGS
Fo-our calling bids
Three French whores
Two-o chicken hawks
A-and lip service to democracy.

 

 

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my Changed Love gave to me
Eleven lawyers lying
Ten lobbyists bribing
Nine warships warring
Eight cartels colluding
Seven senators scamming
Six bailouts bailing
FIIIVE GOLD NESTEGGS
Fo-our calling bids
Three French whores
Two-o chicken hawks
A-and lip service to democracy.

 

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my Changed Love gave to me
Twelve taxpayers paying
Eleven lawyers lying
Ten lobbyists bribing
Nine warships warring
Eight cartels colluding
Seven senators scamming
Six bailouts bailing
FIIIVE GOLD NESTEGGS
Fo-our calling bids
Three French whores
Two-o chicken hawks
A-and lip service to democraceee.

Ode To Jonathan Swift

December 10th, 2009

Nigh 300 years since your modest proposal

To generate wealth by childrens’ disposal

That a heartless Elite might yet eat hearty

Whether dining alone or trussing a party

Be they stewed or roasted, baked or broiled

Or cured in salt that they be not spoiled

Upon storing for use at special occasion

With candles and silver and libation

Yearling babes without prospect or food

Might again be served for national good.

 

Right to Lifers will surely object

The very ones who strangely forget

That carrying to term is briefest taste

Of costs that mount with steady haste

Til workers crippled by woe and want

Cramp the style of Landlords who flaunt

Their lordship o’er the ones who produce

Or would if employment they could induce

From Robber Barons whose greatest pleasure

Is wealth beyond imagination and measure.

 

I pray Better Than Thou’s and Holy Rollers

To cease the squander of elections and dollars

Betaking themselves to a choice of war fronts

To stand between pregnant women and grunts

Shall be grander service to mankind and life

Than repetitive, circular, winless strife

The peace they’d sow they could not savor

With American babies seasoned for flavor

Compel our withdrawal from the Middle East

And upon our Yearlings we’ll need not feast.

Fly The Touchy Feely Skies

November 10th, 2009

I am more afraid of Transportation Security Agency agents and American Officials than I am of terrorists — how’dya like them apples?  I would positively refuse to believe that my government could deteriorate into such a mercurial and mercenary, hard-headed and heavy-handed Operation, were I not routinely confronted with evidence that it has.

Airport Security is a farce and a spectacle.  A FARCE AND A SPECTACLE WHEREIN AMERICAN CITIZENS AND PAYING CUSTOMERS ARE TREATED LIKE CRIMINALS BY PRESUMABLY WELL-PAID, SEEMINGLY UNDER-EDUCATED AMERICAN CITIZENS EMPLOYED BY A MONSTROUSLY SIZED FEDERAL GOVERNMENT.

ARE they employed by Big Government, or is this degradation contracted out?  Who knows?  Get in line, take off your jewelry, put your valuables in this bin.  Nazi Germany?  Anyone? 

Inquiring Minds turned Pissed Public would like to know the TSA budget, please, and which companies are snagging government contracts.  Inquiring Minds turned Pissed Public would respectively suggest an AGGRESSIVE AUDIT OF THE TRANSPORTATION SECURITY AGENCY except Pissed Public no longer respects Government.  Inquiring Minds turned Pissed Public who PAY for the indignities that are administered by mirthless uniformed Americans unto paying customer Americans declare that, if Obama and Congress would like to display a semblance of sincerity about reining in our COLOSSAL DEBT and RAMPANT INEFFICIENCY, they should start with aggressive audits of Branches, Divisions, Departments, Offices and Agencies of a MONSTROUSLY SIZED AND CANCEROUS FEDERAL GOVERNMENT.

After the Fed, audit the TSA. Better yet, audit them concurrently. Walk and chew gum at the same time – it CAN be done. Hire Independent Investigators and Certified Public Accountants instead of Paper Pushers and Gladys Kravitzes.

For a Change.

Annie, Git Yer Gun

November 6th, 2009

ftp-annieoakley

 

I am a Political Newbie. Or Noobie. Or Noob.

Y’know why?

‘Cause I’ve only been immersed in this crapola for roughly three years, which is to say that I am not a member of the Elite comprised of Lifetime Political Activists. And make no mistake, Lifetime Political Activism IS an oh-so-elite Elite. Political Activism is the flip side of the coin that keeps the Moneychanger Game tilted in favor of the Effete Elite.

Barack Obama is Effete Elite.

The Sierra Club is Effete Elite.

Rahm Emanuel is Effete Elite.

The ACLU is Effete Elite.

The George Bushes are Effete Elite.

PETA is Effete Elite.

The Bill Clintons are Effete Elite.

MoveOn is Effete Elite.

Again and again, it seems advisable to simply jump into the middle of Issues without researching either “side.” Here’s why. If it’s been an Issue for a long time, neither side is right and/or neither side is doing it right . . . or it wouldn’t still be an Issue. No collective is that stupid. Even a broken clock is right twice each day.

When we were young – when we never ONCE worryied about the roof over our heads or the food on our table, never ONCE fretted over medical or dental care, never ONCE confronted unaffordable education or transportation – we WERE chastised to consume plates of food we detested because there were children starving in Biafra.

Did that ever make ANY sense to ANYONE? Even as a child, the solution was obvious to me. The cooked carrots that make me gag? Don’t make ME eat them, rather, SEND them to the starving children. How on God’s green earth could obliging me to eat food that I was known to hate do ANYTHING toward mitigating starvation in Africa? Send them the sweet potatoes and coconut, while you’re at it.

That was in the 1960’s.

It’s 2009. Children are STILL starving in Africa. CLEARLY, the people who profess to “help” are not helping, or there wouldn’t be even more children still starving in Africa. I would remind us that we DO still destroy crops and/or pay farmers NOT to plant, in order to bolster-read-that-manipulate market prices.

Which, in a round-about-you-had-to-be-there kinda way, brings me to Gun Control.

Gun Control presents an interesting variation on the Lucrative Circular Argument paradigm in at least one regard. Generally speaking, the Gun Guys are not effete. Which begs the question, what’s the problemo?

In those of the taxpayer-funded facilities that still have textbooks, “we” familiarize our young ‘uns with our Constitution in Middle School. Middle School. Teenie Boppers. This is not rocket science. In fact, I will go out on a limb and suggest that the only thing that IS rocket science is rocket science.

Our Constitution is unambiguous in ensuring our right to Bear Arms. Moreover, our founding principles unambiguously COMMAND us unto vigilant defense of same, including by force if need be. Does or does not “defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic” ring a bell?

Is anyone unclear about the foreign/domestic dichotomy?

Alrighty then, here’s the deal.

I need protection. I need weapons. My country needs protection. My countrymen need weapons. It is sad, scary, outrageous, take your pick. Until rather recently, it was unthinkable. But it is NOT complicated.

I declare my belief that among those who champion Gun Control, we not only have Traitors positioned in our midst, we have Traitors positioned in power. That there’d be whatcha call Enemies Domestic.

I’m not saying that every Anti-Gun Activist is a Terrorist. God KNOWS that Do Goodery is one of the few surpluses that America steadily runs. Ill-advised, ineffectual, inefficient Do Goodery, you bet – we have so much of it we could EXPORT it, and we do.

But I AM saying that some of those Anti-Gun Activists ARE Terrorists. In particular, the ones who are labeling dissidents as terrorists are Terrorists. I declare my conviction that we have Traitors in government.

Which is why I and FIFTY-THREE MILLION other single women need guns.  In every house, every apartment, every glovebox, every handbag.  Think, ECONOMIC STIMULUS.  Moreover, because we are inexperienced, and because threat is so nigh upon us as to have its own color scheme — that constitutes a commitment in Girl World — we need semi-automatic guns. Not NEED as in want, but as in REQUIRE. And DEMAND.

What the hay, we is Survivors, maybe we need AUTOMATIC weapons.  To level the SKILLZ playing field.  Tell me, what do the Secret Service carry?  We’ll have what THEY’RE having.

American single women are UNMISTAKABLY citizens upon whom stronger, meaner, armed predators regularly inflict assault, rape, murder and assorted carnage. If we are not entitled to sidearms, semi-automatic weapons and concealed-carry permits, then Washington High Flyers can henceforth roll without Secret Service and other extraordinary taxpayer-funded protection. The PIGS are not more equal to the other ANIMALS.

Barack Obama has enjoyed a larger, cushier, costlier, taxpayer-funded Secret Service bubble since earlier in his campaign than any presidential candidate in our history. Why? Because he apprehends danger, that’s why. (And because he is a Spender Extraordinaire, but that is a separate obscenity.) I ALSO apprehend danger, and I have been here longer than Barack Obama. Got a birth certificate, and everything.

Some of us are NOT more equal than others, or some of us ARE more equal than others . Which is it?

Why are Michelle, Malia, and Sascha Obama better protected than me? Greatness by association? Let us bear that in mind, then, when it comes time to assigning Guilt. History has not been kinds to CZARS and their families. To point out the obvious, to point to HISTORY, does NOT constitute advocating violence. I don’t advocate violence. Who advocates violence? Psycopaths and Profiteers, that’s who. No sir-ree, I will NOT allow others to stir up the anger and the danger, then order me to hesh up about the naked Commanders, Congressmen and Czars that are careening around my living area.

I cry foul.

I cry discrimination of different sorts and basest order.

American government unabashedly declares the lives of its “official” members and the lives of the official’s family members to more valuable than unofficial people’s lives. Where is the normally abnormally noisy Sanctity of Life crowd? I spy cowardice and/or hypocrisy.

Remember when we were young and sibling rivalry/torture/mayhem got outta hand? Ultimately, an adult would march in and, drowing out a whiney flurry of he-did-this-she-said-that, they would bellow that they didn’t care WHO started it, THEY were finishing it. My sentiments exactly, on Gun Control.

What’ll it be? Gurlz ‘n Guns, or an ACLU-caliber, class-action lawsuit mounted by Baby Boom Women? I would remind those with a pronounced tendency to disregard facts that dispute their theories of these simple truths:

Baby Boomers = largest conceptual demographic and voting bloc ever born in America.

Sustainedly, # of women born > # of men born + # of surviving women > # of surviving men.

I’LL do the math. Naught, naught, carry the two. Baby Boom Women are single largest demographic >> Baby Boom i.e. Menopausal Women = THE voting bloc to court.

I guaran-effing-tee the Powers That Be, several of whom Be-long in prison, that tens of millions of Hot Flashes will put a whole new spin on Firefight.

I Don’t Care WHO Started It

November 5th, 2009

If you are conversant in Leave It To Beaver, I’m talkin’ to you. Wally and Beaver, natch, Ward and June, Whitey, Larry Mondello, Lumpy/Clarence…Eddie Haskell.

cleavers-copy-2

If you grew up with Etch A Sketch and Bazooka Bubble Gum and Slinky and Silly Putty and Tinker Toys and Lincoln Logs, I’m talkin’ to you.

etch-a-sketch-copy-2
Forget high-tech skate boards with bearings and bushings. If you clattered along on metal skates that were secured to your shoes with a skate key that was worn around the neck with something like pride, or if you whizzed down hills in homemade go-carts the rudimentary engineering of which entrusted stopping to improvisation rather than brakes, I’m talking to YOU. If anyone is giving a thought to opening a Fifties Diner, I invite them to consider labeling the bathrooms Hoola Hoops and Pogo Sticks.

If you are familiar with candy cigarettes and candy necklaces, S&H green stamps, the Fuller Brush Man, Barnum & Bailey’s Greatest Show on Earth, the Harlem Globetrotters, the Ice Capades, the Viet Nam war, The Draft, man taking one small step and mankind taking one giant leap on the moon, supposedly…if you remember exactly where you were when President Kennedy was shot…I’m talking to you.

jfk-funeral-copy

I’m talking to you if Saturday mornings started with cartoons. Popeye, Mickey Mouse, MIGHTY Mouse, Goofy, Bugs Bunny, Road Runner, Quickdraw McGraw, Deputy Dog, Baby Huey, Tweetie Bird, Rocky & Bullwinkle…Johnny Quest. The late morning line-up might include The Lone Ranger and My Friend Flicka…Sky King marked the end of kid-friendly programming.

Your parents may or may not have obliged you to watch the Lawrence Welk Show, but there was only one TV and you were NOT changing the channel. Gunsmoke, I Love Lucy, The Honeymooners, Lost In Space, Twilight Zone, Outer Limits, Ozzie and Harriet…Ed Sullivan.

My Three Sons, Mannix, Petticoat Junction, Beverly Hillbillies, Green Acres, Laugh In, Star Trek, The Partridge Family, The Brady Bunch…Johnny Carson. Hee Haw, for those who hail from Redneck.

Annual physicals, school uniforms, family vacations, teeth cleanings, college educations, food on the table, roof over the head, bills in good standing — Lower Middle Class, Middle Class, Upper Middle Class — born in the 1950’s in these United States, My People, I AM TALKING TO YOU.

When I type in all capitals, that’s the tipoff that I’m shouting — it comes from John Irving’s “A Prayer For Owen Meany”. Familiarity with that book would be helpful as a frame of reference.

I believe that we are called upon to act. I believe that responsibility for the Crisis falls largely to us. I believe that this, now, is our defining moment. What’s it all about, Alfie? Is that all there is? An amazing confluence of events is here before us, the demands of which might establish the purpose of an entire lifetime, if we will but bravely take up the challenge.

I come from a family of seven, a not uncommon size amongst Baby Boomers. When an assembly of young ‘uns reached a certain decibel of chaos — whether at your house or another’s, at school or on the street — it, it was TYPICAL for an adult to march in and put an end to it. The predictable chorus of who did what would be dispatched with the imperious announcement, “I DON’T CARE WHO STARTED IT, I’M FINISHING IT.”

That’d be whatcha call Moral Authority.

America used to have international Moral Authority. By BEING American, WE used to have international cache. GONE. All of it. How does one People squander so much so quickly? Today, America can only effectuate behavior by armed or economic force.

The Federal Government used to have domestic Moral Authority. GONE. All of it. How does arguably the most brilliant system of government ever devised devolve so quickly into a political cesspool better known for scandal than statesmanship? Today, the Federal Government can only effectuate behavior by armed or economic force.

Even as America is under threat from big-talkin’ bullies, America IS a big-talkin’ bully.

America is a big-talkin’ bully because there are Bad Guys in strategic positions who are freewheeling with impunity — all bets are off as to means, methods and morals — and we are LETTING them get away with it. We are afraid, and I don’t blame us. These be ruthless sons-of-bitches. But PLEASE tell me that we do not mean to simply LET them get away with it. For a historical reference, that would be like Wild West townspeople simply accepting that Bad Guys will be Bad Guys and that they will, from time to time, ride through town and shoot the place up before, during or after robbing the bank. Never fighting back. Never hiring an effective sheriff. Just letting Bad Guys do their thing . . . while praying for a brighter future, natch.

I mean to confront my generation. Are we or are we not going to do something about Bad Guys running this country AND MANY PEOPLE right into the ground? Typing disapproval year after year does not constitute Resistance. Are we determined to right this floundering ship of state, or are we content to say ‘I told you so’ when it runs aground?

I have never had to personally deliver the news that So-and-So is dead. Notifying next of kin must be a dreadful job. But I have several times delivered the hard news that someone IS an alcoholic and that they wil NEVER be able to drink normally. It never goes down well. I have twice delivered the hard news that an oldster cannot drive anymore — that doesn’t go down well, either.

Here’s the hard news. Complacency is complicity.

Don’t Fuck With My Truck

November 3rd, 2009

Recently, my brainiac brother-in-law with the Ph.D. in Environmental Engineering remained after quite an investment of time unable to figger out how a piece that clearly belonged ON a coffeemaker actually attached TO the coffeemaker, so that said coffemaker would again make coffee.  A mysterious piece of white plastic on the counter next to a coffeemaker that suddenly won’t make coffee, when it is the same color and finish as the plastic ON the coffeemaker, dispenses with the mystery of WHAT and brings the mystery of HOW into relief.

Opinions R Us.

Hey! Maybe it attaches UNDER this piece, so when that the carafe slides in and presses THIS piece, it presses down on THAT piece  like this.

The proof is in the pudding, eh?

My brainiac brother-in-law muttered under his breath that I have “the engineering sense of Lucy Ricardo.”  Under his breath, like that’s an insult.  On the contrary, I take that as high praise.

I propose to set off into the wild blue yonder on January 1st.  New Year + New Leaf + New Life = Gypsy Journalism.

As ever, it takes money to make money.

Probably a bunch of y’all are rummaging around for the envelope and stamp necessary to the procedure of sending me ONE DOLLAR, and I surely do appreciate that.  Having relinquished myself to Homelessness on the 1st of May, I have TOTAL empathy for how hard it can be to find Stuff.  Stuff that I am TRYING to leave behind, but that has the tenacious stick-to-it-ive-ness of gum on my shoe.  

Bright Ideas do not buy RV’s or gas or equipment or food unless Bright Ideas are SOLD.  Since trucks and truckers are integral to Life On The Road, and since I’m singin’ for my supper, I got to thinkin’ that maybe I could write a SONG for Truckers and that maybe some Good Samaritan Slash Good Ol’ Boy country music kinda guy might BUY it.  Outright. Maybe only ‘cuz he feels sorry for me, but maybe nonetheless.  These are not my proudest moments.  But neither are they my country’s proudest moments, and I didn’t start it.  When in Rome, y’know what I’m sayin’?

Anyhoo, the working title is DON’T FUCK WITH MY TRUCK.  Think of a TRUCK as a man’s OTHER castle.  The little (*)’s indicate my awareness that some manner of hootenanny mumbo jumbo goes there, but far be it from my urban self to presume to know what it is.

DON’T FUCK WITH MY TRUCK

Flyin’ down the highway in the early morning dark

Us, the sun and Son of God work hard to make a buck

The Sun and Son are steady but Man could use some luck

All your Stuff, it comes through us, (*).  WE DRIVE TRUCK.

 

While they argue ‘round and round in little circle jerks

Raise funds and Par-taay, give themselves all the perks

While the gas creeps up and the shipping drops down

And the Independent is stripped of his crown

While men loose castles and city turns ghost town

And telling the Truth gits you an Official Frown

No rain, no snow, no sleet, hail or Heil

Stops us from clocking mile after mile

We keep eyes on poor roads, worse drivers and the puck

We’re the backbone of Consumerism, (*). WE DRIVE TRUCK.

 

Flyin’ down the highway in the early morning dark

Us, the sun and Son of God work hard to make a buck

The Sun and Son are steady but Man could use some luck

All your Stuff, it comes through us, (*)  WE DRIVE TRUCK.

 

While we lost our big rigs one by one

Go bankrupt or go to work for The Man

While you lose your houses ten by ten

Suck it up and go to work for The Man

While the jobs dry up and the storefronts close

And bankers are bailed, not punched in the nose

The goods that arrive at Mother Hubbard’s Cupboard

Arrive by pedal to metal and with coffee on dashboard

While we cower before Servants who forbid us to say FUCK

What game we still got goes by us, (*).  WE DRIVE TRUCK.

 

Flyin’ down the highway in the early morning dark

Us, the sun and Son of God work hard to make a buck

The Sun and Son are steady but Man could use some luck

All your Stuff, it comes through us, (*)  WE DRIVE TRUCK.

 

I agree, now that I see red, it needs some work.  Still, I think it’s got potential.  Like me.

 

My Fellow Americans

October 28th, 2009

My Fellow Americans, meet the Declaration of Independence by which you exist as sovereign and free people:

 

“When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bonds which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. That whenever any form of government becomes destructive to these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shown that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such government, and to provide new guards for their future security. –Such has been the patient sufferance of these colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former systems of government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute tyranny over these states…”

 

My Fellow Americans, appreciating that you are daily inundated with bullshit, permit me to highlight an excerpt of an excerpt, that we may absorb it like an ever-effective sound byte.  It’s still kinda long as a slogan for a self-absorbed, attention-deficit population.  Maybe that’s the problem.  Maybe WE BE FREE would resonate better.

But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such government, and to provide new guards for their future security.

Make no mistake, the object is Money = Power.  Money to get power, power to protect money. — House of Medici

The Medicis oughtta know.