My heavy linguistic hand and fiery Irish temper notwithstanding, I do NOT think that I am always little-l right nor do I think that I have the optimal solution for every problem. I am not a Politician. I do not seek Public Office. I do not want to earn a living in Politics. I would say that I have untold contempt for Politicians and the Political Process, except that I am CONSTANTLY telling anyone who will listen that American Politics are a national disgrace and that American politicians are up to their eyeballs in bullshit.
[P.C. DISCLAIMER: Yes, I KNOW that every politician cannot be corrupt, but enough of them are at least looking the other way and keeping their traps shut that the whole class has to stay after school.]
The Great One has declared Swine Flu a national emergency? How very convenient. Better than convenient, actually, a Win-Win for the In Crowd. National Emergency is a hop, skip and a march from Martial Law. I don’t know about anyone else, but I am feelin’ like my Big Brother is a Bully. Thankfully, in a you-have-to-survive-it-to-appreciate-it way, I have already endured and bested a Bully Big Brother. I know how to clean their clocks.
In addition to an excuse to further crack down on a beleaguered citizenry, Swine Flu FEAR MONGERING is intended to stimulate demand for the mysterious new vaccine that Obama and his family are themselves avoiding. Yep sir, I remember reading that THREE doses of the Magic Medicine would be recommended. Cha-CHING. Cha-CHING. Cha-CHING. Puts a whole new spin on TRIPLICATE, eh? Imprudently setting aside the obvious economic arguments against artificial stimulation (some might say MANIPULATION) of the markets, a second but not secondary travesty lies in the uncreative and minimal-value-added ways in which they are going about it. Government is NOT the innovation sector.
Obama will wait in line like everyone else, is that what the Liar-in-Chief said? Since WHEN does Obama roll like Common Folk? Not since he entered that private — nay, EXCLUSIVE — high school in Hawaii. The one where he struggled for B’s, while writing poetry and shooting hoops (per Suzanne Malveaux’s biography piece on CNN), and from which he was accepted into venerable Columbia University. With low-end B’s. I’m still waiting to hear the tab for his Campaign-O-Rama Secret Service. The Great Gun Grabber, it seems, was afraid of being killed and so obtained more taxpayer-funded Secret Service earlier than any presidential candidate in our history. Is that incorrect? I’m willing to learn, as Eddie Izzard brilliantly said in I-forget-which standup routine.
The American People have cause aplenty to not believe a single word that emanates from Officialdom or Corporatedom. That is Truth, with God as my witness. Let the First Chicago I-Didn’t-Know-Anything-About-Widespread-Corruption Family get shot up with vaccines drawn from a drum of random samples. Reality TV, baby. Lead by example, for a Change.
That’s just ONE bit of Dementia Du Jour.
SEVEN AND A HALF BILLION HERE-YA-GO DOLLARS OF TAXPAYER MONEY TO PAKISTAN? The Middle Eastern countries that AREN’T being blown to kingdom come oughtta be paying US at this point. Protection money. Just like American taxpayers are FORCED to pay. How ’bout this? How ’bout we suspend ALL foreign aid while we teeter on economic ruination, and also while we figger out who our friends REALLY are? Lemme guess, it’s more complicated than I realize.
Blah blah blah, sez Congress about Whatever. Yada yada yada, sez Obama about Everything. But the proof is in the pudding. SEVERAL Wall Street Journal front-page headlines have BROADCAST that it’s Business As Usual on Wall Street . . . albeit with “more exotic” investment vehicles. Those with a penchant for Exotic Investment Vehicles might should consider RICKSHAWS.
The same people who oversaw our descent into financial mayhem are at the helm of the “Recovery.” Y’know, the Recovery that does NOT feature jobs, that does NOT feature sales and shipping, that does NOT feature Middle Class Prosperity and that does NOT feature emotional upswing. The foxes are not only still in the henhouses, they are hoarding cash AND whining about the reluctance of investors. It’s not a Credit Crisis, it’s a C-O-N-F-I-D-E-N-C-E Crisis. And rightly so. See above, re: foxes still in henhouses.
Is Stanley O’Neal, DISGRACED CEO of Merrill Lynch tied up in depositions and hearings? No, he is not. E. (for Earnest, if you can believe it) Stanley O’Neal went seamlessly from overseeing the demise of “Rock Solid Market Wise” Merrill Lynch to sitting on the Board of Directors of ALCOA Aluminum. All the while hobnobbing with The Swells in New York City. Wanker owes me some money, and Ken Lewis and I are gonna have a word about that before HE beats a premature retreat at the end of this year.
White Collar Criminals belong in federal penitentiaries, I AM capital-R Right about that. By ANY measure of relative harm, White Collar Criminals are a MUCH greater menace to society than pot smokers or gun toters. NOT Club Fed, prison CELLS. Where they can teach letters and numbers to the largest prison population on earth. The one with the unspeakably low literacy rate.
All this anti-hate and pro-gay crapola? We already HAVE laws that protect people of whatever persuasion. Gay-This-Gay-That is ‘cuz we have a bunch of Closet Queens in government. My opinion, which I am yet free to express. The anti-hate baloney is a setup to mitigate criticism of Officials — and of course, as ever, to buffer Israel. My opinion, which I am yet free to express.
Redundant Legislation = Billable Hours 4 Big Law.
I believe Big Law is Public Enemy Numero Uno. It’s Big Law what keeps Besuited Bad Guys outta prison.
I could go on and on, and quite frequently do. The further down the rabbit hole I go, the weirder it gets. I am conjuring a scene from Peggy Sue Got Married, when Peggy Sue and the bad but brilliant biker Michael Fitzsimmons go for a literal and figurative ride. He waxes on about Jack Kerouac, free spirits, rejecting convention and authority . . .
A writer’s life is his work. Jack Kerouac doesn’t have to kill a bull to have something to write about. I mean, man, he’s out there burning, feeling, grooving on life . . . I’m going to check out of this bourgeois motel, push myself from the dinner table and say, “No more Jell-o for me, mom!”
It’s like that.