sunset from behind the wire

sunset from behind the wire

Wednesday, September 30, 2015


My daughters take selfies...thousands of them. They also use their cell phones to photograph stuff that is meaningless, and Instagram it to their friends (and other sisters).

If my daughters had been on the Titanic.

It's not a pet peeve of mine and is clearly embedded in the culture these days since cell phones take higher quality photographs than most cameras used to take.

And if somebody wants something scanned, I take a cell-phone photo of the document and text it. So I'm part of the problem as well. I even take photos of chalk-talk when I'm working out a problem on a dry-erase board before I erase it. Somebody STOP ME!

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Indian Call Centers

I've had a lot of experience calling banks, tech companies, the phone company, etc. and getting somebody who calls himself Bob or Oscar - with a (red dot) Indian accent. I'm largely dissatisfied with the service. I realize that whatever company would prefer to pay an Indian less to screw up my account and explain it to me in broken English than paying an American (likely an immigrant from Somalia or Mexico) to explain it to me in broken English.

Yesterday I called Bank of America to discuss a matter. In this case I reached Oscar in Bombay/Mumbai who took it upon himself to argue with me. I was holding B of A documents in my hand, cited the documents, and he argued that I couldn't believe my lying eyes.

So, I hung up on Oscar, documents in hand, and went to a regional B of A office, irate. They acknowledged an error and fixed it in three minutes. It's not the first time. 

Time Warner Cable did the same thing to me two weeks ago by routing my trouble call to somewhere in India, where I met Sally on the phone. Sally argued with me that the router I had was of the highest quality. I agreed, but the fact that it didn't work was the problem. Sally argued that it did work. I asked for a supervisor. I forget his name but he kept up the refrain that it worked, even though it didn't. About two hours later they transferred me to a guy in Texas. He was familiar with the problem and said that they'd been replacing hundreds of them because they were defective. He express mailed me a new one and I shipped the old one back. That took about two minutes.

When I receive an unsolicited call and there's an Indian accent on the other end, I am polite but explain that I don't buy things from India. They like to argue with me that they are not from India but are selling something on BEHALF of another company. Same/same, I am polite and then I hang up.

I have no gripe with Indian people. I've been widely published in Indian Defense Journals and have worked with RAW, the national intelligence agency in India. I have good friends who are Indian. But the call center types ANNOY ME.

From what I hear, the Indians are paying too well now and they are in turn sub-contracting to Filipino call centers who pay their employees on the order of $10/day...and you KNOW where that's going.

Monday, September 28, 2015

Democratic Party Status

This is not a fun time to be the Democratic Party's National Chairperson.  Let's take a moment to see what has Debbie Wasserman Schultz so up tight:

The Democratic Party fears to have a debate because once Hillary gets on stage, her numbers inevitably drop as the voting public views her as a shrill, angry, dishonest, shrew.

They are running a presidential campaign decrying wage stagnation, income inequality and economic malaise even though the party has office for the past seven years. The average American makes $6,000 per year less than when they took over, and the only thing that they can blame is George W. Bush.

The only possible defense for seven successive years of foreign policy failure are to blame George W. Bush as well. That refrain grows tiresome.

They have chosen to own the abortion-for-profit and body-part trafficking of babies who are even viable outside of the womb in some cases, which is a felony by almost everyone's reckoning.

Hillary Clinton is viewed widely by her own party as dishonest and is currently under investigation by the FBI. She was the architect of the "Arab Spring" disaster and served as Secretary of State during the total withdrawal of Iraq which led to the greatest humanitarian and refugee crisis since World War 2.

Bernie Sanders is a 74-year-old socialist/communist who never identified himself as a Democratic Party candidate. He was an independent, with a near-spotless record of invisibility in 25 years in Congress. 

Joe Biden is a 73-year-old, who as the sitting vice president, must own the failed Obama Presidency. He's run for president twice, failed, and has been a national joke -- thought of a an old pervert, and a man prone to endless gaffs.

There are said to be other candidates contending for the Democratic Party nomination but they are invisible - mostly because of Clinton's attacks and manipulation of the mainstream media.

Can the Republican Party win?

I don't know, which is scary.

Sunday, September 27, 2015

A House

A House

a fictional short

The house remained embedded in a group of tenements but for as long as anyone could recall, no part of it had been rented to anyone. Today you might consider it a vertical compound. I believe that had been the intent of my ancestors who laid brick to mortar so long ago because they built it to last. Even so, the five-story walk-up had the look of a place where each floor had been rented, because successive generations of the same family occupied the building. A succession of grandparents or great grandparents lived on the bottom floor. Today it's as it was then -- grandma's home because she has difficulty climbing stairs. Her eldest son, known to all by his nickname, Corisco, and his family above her, and so forth until you reached the top, five levels and four generations. Above them a water cistern that caught rain water on the roof, which flowed down and everyone in the house used from time to time. The family home dated to before the Napoleonic era when there was no piped city water and the cistern provided the only water that the building received. Today there are water pipes  discretely running up the outside of the building and sewer pipes running down. Successive generations and renovations have tried to keep current without destroying what makes it our house.

The door from upper floors and the criss crossing stairways down emptied directly onto the cobblestone street. Even today as I step out, I feel that I can hear, and sometimes even see  Napoleon's Grand Armee, the brave young men who went to the front to live in trenches, most of whom never returned on parade outbound. I can Hitler's jackbooted storm troopers marching in and  then the Americans that pushed them out and had been quartered there on the third level of the house. One of the American men left my grandmother with a child while he returned across the Atlantic to his home and his wife.

Behind the house, fed by a hand pump, a washing tank, made of stone, naturally, had been used by successive generations, and the stones, worn smooth. Within my lifetime the old home had been plumbed for a mechanical washer and drier, but the clothes never smelled as fresh as when we washed them in the old stone tank and hung them in the air to dry in the yard. The sheets are not as crisp. Not everything newer is better, even if it is more convenient.

The smell of the mechanical era is not earthy as in the era when the yard had been home to pigs, sheep and horses. Today we keep chickens for fresh eggs and fryers. The morning call of the rooster rouses all of the generations that live in the house. My grandmother fixes breakfast for the men who descend the stairs in their work clothes -- some fancy, some not. Today there are croquets stuffed with chicken, fresh eggs poached in boiling water with a bit of vinegar to bind them better and bread, fresh from the oven. She does not churn the butter anymore, but it comes from the neighborhood store and it is good enough. Fresh honey for the bread is exchanged for the eggs that our chickens lay.

When the men leave, the children in their school uniforms are met with a grandmotherly kiss, a bowl of oatmeal and a boiled egg. On special holidays there are crepes with fresh blackberry jam.

There is a patio in the yard that is reserved for adults. No child may enter without an invitation. It is said that the rule extends back to the days before the arrival of the steam engine and it is still upheld with religious fervor. The yard is for the children to play in and the patio is for adult conversation. My uncles and my father sit there when they return home in the evening. It is a place for after dinner, and the drink is sipped gently as cigars are carefully lighted. Politics, work, who in the neighborhood dallies with forbidden love and the mechanical problems associated with automobiles are all probed. Problems are solved.

In the vast kitchen (the dimensions of which are not at all common in the neighborhood), the discussion between my aunts and female cousins goes in different directions, but they just as weighty as the men's. Which butcher doesn't cheat you with his thumb on the scale, where to buy the best oranges and who in the neighborhood dallies with forbidden love. Which women have female problems, why are our family's children superior to the children born of others, and matchmaking the young, which is always an exercise in futility. During these discussions, the children are sent into the yard, safely surrounded by an insurmountably high stone wall, mostly covered by green moss as it had been before electric lights, telephones or police car sirens.

Teenagers retire to the roof, and sit near the cistern, speaking of how parents don't understand what it is to be young. Or they all pile into Uncle Henry's taxi and Henry takes them here or there and waits until they are ready to come home. None value Henry's generosity with his time, his taxi and his unbending love. Such is the nature of teenage years. Some of them apprentice with their parents, whose careers span the wheel of possibilities. Nicolette is a doctor, her husband Marcel runs an engineering firm specializing in locomotives; Henry, the cab driver, is a widower; Gaston repairs jet engines for Air France and his wife, a Flemish woman, teaches school. Pierre, who ran away to join the army, returned with an Alsatian wife and child and he manages a restaurant on the Seine. Paulette, once a model, is now a politician, and her husband sells insurance to shipping companies. They are diverse, but they all still are drawn back to home. They could live in more luxurious settings, but they don't want to separate themselves from people who love them unconditionally.

Such is the nature of A Home.

Saturday, September 26, 2015


Recently, several people have offered to give me (unwanted) kittens. I don't want one. 

I don't have indoor pets. Come to think of it, I don't have outdoor pets either, because I travel and don't have the time to devote to them when I'm off-planet for a couple of weeks.

There are neighborhood cats that skulk around my back yard and I don't shoot them with a wrist rocket or pellet gun because they are generally useful keeping unwanted rodent populations from multiplying. Given that tolerance for cats, why would I want "my own cat"? I could feed the feral cats that prowl, but why would I? Better that they are hungry and hunting mice and rats. There is usually a large aisle in each grocery store, and roughly half of it is dedicated to cat food. The other half is dog food. Feeding a cat makes no sense to me, since they are little predators by nature. Dogs are another matter. Who wouldn't reward their love and loyalty with a steak or a big soup bone? Cats are disloyal, but as I pointed out, they are useful.

I realize that few of you who read this blog know me personally or have been to the mansion, but if you do swing by and see a cat in the yard, find comfort in the fact that it's not mine. Also take note of my humanity in that it is alive.

I respect large cats (lions, tigers, jaguars, etc) but not the domestic variety that the local coyotes find so tasty. The local house cats encourage coyote predation in the developed suburbs because they are a favorite food. I neither condone coyotes hunting in my neighborhood nor do I oppose it. If coyotes get at all aggressive, I presume that they are rabid, dispatch them with an arrow/hunting head (It is illegal to discharge a firearm in my city's limits. There is no prohibition about firing a lethal arrow with a razor head.) and call city animal control to remove the carcass. There is a healthy balance maintained by nature between coyote and cat populations.

You will never see a house cat roaming free in the Little Saigon District of Orange County California. They are trapped, eaten or sold for chicken in the local restaurants. There is an old joke floating around: (Q) What do you call a Vietnamese guy with two cats? (A) A rancher.

I'm not racist. Simply experienced in the Vietnamese culture. In China they sell both live and butchered cats in the markets. In Korea, they prefer dog and when you see a yellow labrador retriever with a red and blue bow around its neck in the markets from Soul to Pusan, they are not being sold as pets.

I'm not suggesting that if you were to give me a kitten that I'd release it in Little Saigon - to end up in a wok. I wouldn't do it because I don't encourage the practice of bait and switch in commercial kitchens. It's like McDonalds using kangaroo to supplement the beef.

And that's all I have to say on the subject.

Friday, September 25, 2015

Friday Update

Huma Abedin Weiner, the Pakistani-American wife of sexual pervert and disgraced congressman, Anthony Weiner, and long time Deputy Chief of Staff to Hillary Clinton  --  stepped in as Hillary Clinton's cat's paw to attack Dr. Ben Carson on points that he didn't make regarding Islam. Abedin, who considers herself a good Muslim, married Anthony Weiner, a Jew. What was going on there? I can speculate but why bother?

Huma Abedin and Hillary Clinton
What Carson said, of course, was that he personally would not advocate for a Muslim to be president. Based on recent polling, over 30% of Americans believe that Barack Obama is a Muslim, so that ship may have sailed. 

Recently, Barack Obama has denied his Muslim roots and claims to have embraced Christianity at some level. Who am I to try and seek for truth behind those blue lips?
Some believe that the White House needs a staff exorcist. Others claim that the right man for the job is the (famous) Arch Priest, Lone Star Parson. However, if LSP cast Satan out of the White House, the nation would be left without a rudder until the next election... If it went to the Speaker of the House, and LSP went into action, I suspect that we'd be down to the Secretary of Agriculture or somebody before you found one that wasn't infected.  
It might be useful in this scenario for LSP to go to work at the UN General Assembly when the Chinese and Russian leaders are present to cripple our principle adversaries at the same time as he casts Satan out of the White House, Congress and the Supreme Court (leaving many vacancies).
While we're at it, things at the FBI and the US Department of Justice might move a bit more swiftly on the Hillary Clinton e-mail scandal investigation if an Independent Prosecutor was appointed. I think that Congressman Trey Gowdy could handle that and I'd be happy to step in as his assistant. I don't want Arch Exorcist LSP to have ALL of the fun.
Getting back to the matter at hand:

Huma and Anthony Weiner, key strategists in Hillary
Clinton's bid for the American Presidency
Dr. Carson suggested that a devout Muslim's responsibility to uphold sharia was not in keeping with American Law, based on the Constitution.

Huma is not advocating for a black conservative Republican to be president. After all, she is running Hillary’s campaign. BUT, does that make Ms. Abedin-Weiner a racist?

Many people say that she is. After all, Dr. Carson is the ONLY African-American running for president. Failure to bend to that racial imperative is the mark of a racist. She could contend that she's servicing Clinton's need as a female candidate, but there is more than woman running for president - and women are not a minority in America. They represent 53% of all voters. Men are a minority. African-American presidential candidates are a bigger minority than women running for president.  

Since she's Hillary Clinton's close personal confidential private personal secretary, I suspect that she should be fired from the Clinton Campaign for her failure to accept the first openly Christian black man for the Presidency. As you all know, Barack Obama isn't fully black since his mother was white and he was raised by mom, her Indonesian-Muslim husband and by his white grandparents. His black, Muslim father, wasn't around to help out.

Based on racial credentials, Dr. Carson is more completely racially acceptable. I don't know that Huma Weiner thought this through, but she still needs to go. (She can remain Hillary's confidant and they can still wear matching hers and hers moo-moos when shopping) Hillary can still keep Anthony Weiner on her staff, possibly in Huma Weiner's shoes in a key campaign leadership role. You can't have too many Weiners around can you?

The cartoon fails to take into account the fact that Hillary dodged sniper fire in Bosnia...which is an even greater accomplishment than you might imagine because there was no sniper fire...because she was dodging it. Ask Huma if you need clarification on this.

Thursday, September 24, 2015

The Bastard Executioner (Series Review)

“God made the vittles, but the devil made the cook,” was a popular saying used by seafaring men in the last century when salted beef was staple diet aboard ship.

This tough, cured beef, suitable only for long voyages when nothing else was as cheap or would keep as well, required prolonged chewing to make it edible. Since men often chewed one chunk for hours, just as if it were chewing gum, they referred to this practice as chewing the fat.

Today this term is used to describe a conversation, and I wanted to share a review today of a new television series, which (Warning) does show very graphic violence -- however, there is a reason for the violence that is 'fleshed out' in the series. Thus, while it is graphic, it is not necessary senseless.

The Bastard Executioner (Series Review)

There have only been two episodes of this new series on FX (technically three because the pilot was officially two episodes), however I will offer a few thoughts on the latest work by Kurt Sutter, who created of the popular television series, Sons of Anarchy. (website)

In short, I like it. The series is very violent and very graphic as it follows the development of the 'savior of the Welch people,' who are living in what was called the Welsh Marches at the time. From the days of William the Conqueror until the early 1300's, the area had been fraught with rebellion and the English barons who controlled the territory were required by necessity of control to exercise harsh measures. The Welsh were naturally not happy about that.

The plot involves the somewhat mystical destiny of Wilkin Brattle (Lee Jones), a knight in the service of Edward I, who ends up living the humble life of a farmer on the Welsh Coast after he and his men were intentionally led into an ambush. He is guided by Annora of the Alders (Katy Sagal), a witch, who acts as a spiritual advisor. Wilkin is guided to assume the identity of Maddox, a traveling/journeyman executioner and punisher as part of God's plan. 

There are hints that Wilkin's mother and father may be Annora and her badly burned traveling companion, but that has yet to be explored, possibly in future episodes.

The arms and armor in the television series are exceptionally well done as is the period representation of the sets. I'm accustomed to seeing these things done "half-assed" but credit goes to Sutter for research and effort to get it right and to have his characters act the way people would have acted in 1300, without the political correctness of 2015. 

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Activist Pope

The Pope arrived. I am not following his visit and am not particularly concerned about what he says or doesn't say.

He's a Jesuit and I've seen the Society of Jesus involved in a lot of sketchy things (mostly outside of the US) during my lifetime of lurking in dark alleys. None of those activities involved God in any way that can rationally be linked.

Thus, when the pontiff says anything, I am automatically thrown back into the mode of questioning his agenda. The Jesuits, as a Catholic order, have a habit of tinkering with things that most people would put outside of the concern of any church. Is Pope Francis (Jorge Mario Bergoglio) different than the rest of his order? If he was, given the nature of Catholic bureaucracy, he would not have risen in the ranks.
Ignatius of Loyola was a Spanish knight from a local Basque noble family, hermit, priest since 1537, and theologian, who founded the Society of Jesus and, on 19 April 1541, became its first Superior General.
I'm not saying that I don't recognize excellence in the craft of intelligence and skulduggery, practiced since 1541. Tradecraft is tradecraft.  Is that the mission of Christ and Christians? THAT is the question. Most Jesuits that I've run into favored the Borgia Dynasty in the Catholic Church as a model of efficiency. You Jesuits out there are free to take issue with my experience of Jesuit gun running, drug running and political brinksmanship -- in the name of God.

Xi Jinping, is making his first U.S. state visit since becoming the Chinese president in 2013. Ordinarily I am in favor of meeting and greeting foreign heads of state because there's usually a lot to discuss. Will President Obama discuss anything that China will respect? I strongly doubt it. 

I don't think that the Pope could teach Xi anything and I don't think that Xi could educate the Pope. Enough said on that account.

Refugees? The Pope may push for the US to take in more refugees from Muslim nations. I don't know that he will, but I'm waiting for that. 
(Breitbart) Since September 11, 2001, the U.S. has resettled about 1.5 million immigrants from Muslim nations. Some 90 percent receive food stamps, and 70 percent are receiving free healthcare and cash welfare.
Should we take in more? I presume that they also receive free Obamaphones and air time, but don't know that for sure.

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Are You Human?

Are You Human?

a fictional short

She waited for me in a warm misting summer rain that curled her hair into ringlets that she hated, but I loved. 

"You're late."

I handed her a blue Tiffany box.

"I hate that about you. You're not human."

"What's that?" I started walking and she fell into step next to me instinctively.

"I'd planned to pick a fight with you because you were late, and it turns out that you were doing something nice for me."

As she just pointed out, she hated that about me and worked to find a weakness in me, in my conduct, in my lack of emotional vulnerability. I understood her campaign. I discovered it when we were making love and caught her looking at me, calculating whether or not I lost control and whether or not she gained it. I didn't consider it to be a war of any sort, but she'd made it one. I managed my time and balanced things. She deliberately left her clothes scattered here and there. She took items from the counter that surrounded my sink and put them elsewhere in an attempt to break my calm. I took the treasure hunt in stride because she didn't want to make it obvious. There had to be a subtlety to the whole thing that might allow me to believe that I'd misplaced an item. Except I didn't. My brain runs on 'ship-shape and Bristol fashion'. 

We walked, she talked, not to impart information to me, but to make herself heard. I didn't listen closely. My mind drifted to other things such as sports scores and the scheduled maintenance of my Masserati. I grunted or nodded from time to time. I didn't offer anything.

"Don't you ever want to share how you're feeling?" The answer to that question was, 'why would I?' But men can't respond that way, remain gentlemen and even hope to get laid.

"I'm feeling a bit wet at the moment," I replied, changing the subject, while opening a large umbrella and giving her most of the coverage. 

She worked her revenge, her plots and counter plots. I plodded though life, concerned more with the mundane issues of earning money and trying to make things work. That's how it was. 

As we walked through the misting rain to lunch, a lady emerged from a taxi, long legs, Armani day-wear, impeccably accessorized, "Do you think that she's pretty?" 

Yes, it's a loaded question, of the same order as, 'do you think that I'm fat', or 'have you ever fantasized about another woman since we've been together'. I dodged the issue, "We need to go to Armani and get you something that looks a bit better than the yesterday thing that she's wearing." I felt her stiffen as I finished speaking. I scored, and she felt the bitter bile of another taunt, redirected like the Aikido master that I was becoming in a metaphorical sense.

She wanted to launch off on me, but needed an excuse to do so. Her burning need to have me blast her with emotion exceeded all else, and I denied it to her. At lunch I handed the wine menu to her because all of the cues were there suggesting that she intended to criticize my selection. She deliberately picked something that I never would have and I complimented her on the choice. When she sipped from the glass, she realized that at worst I was damning her with faint praise because the choice she'd made was inadvertently superb. She asked me to order for her. The chicken Kiev was so good that she wolfed it down rather than merely picking at it.

All in all, she left lunch frustrated and discontent. 

Monday, September 21, 2015

A Nation in Decline

Bush? REALLY??

Many pundits and members of the political elite currently suggest that Jeb Bush will be the Republican Party's nominee for President irrespective of his currently dismal showing. They say that the fix is in and the person (Jeb) who is entitled to the nomination will receive it. The Democrats say the same thing about Hillary Clinton.

I hope that the American political system is not so broken that this happens. The nation's founders did not conceive of a political elite that would run the nation in much the same way as the succession of Caesars ran Rome (into the ground).

The Republican Party had a dismal showing with John McCain, who I had difficulty voting for. I liked Mitt Romney far better than McCain, but he carried with him the same old establishment big government baggage and voters didn't like him. Many objected to Romney's faith, though they had no problem with Obama's Muslim roots, which mystified me then in the same way that it does now.

Whether the presidency would be won by a Bush or a Clinton, the signal sent to the world would be that American decline will continue and that we as a nation are not serious about anything

There is nothing that insiders fear more than outsiders. The good old boys/girls club knows this and the mandarins (reading national tea leaves) believe that a Bush/Fiorina ticket would gather support of both the establishment Republicans, waiting for their turn, fighting for scraps at the national trough, and would be a sop to Americans in search of hope and change.

I have no problem with a Fiorina presidency, maybe Bush can be her Biden in the vice president's chair?

Should Donald Trump Defend Barack Obama?

When Donald Trump shrugged to the question of Obama's faith of choice, Megan Kelly (Fox News - HATES Trump) lashed out at Donald Trump. We expect this because Ms. Kelly has an axe to grind despite her official position as a neutral reporter of facts...

At the same time, many Americans believe that Obama is the first Muslim-American/Indonesian President. Current polls say that as many as 1 in 5 Americans believe that their president is a Muslim.

I'm surprised that Obama doesn't own his Muslim roots since his father was a Muslim and his mother converted in Indonesia at roughly the same time that young Barack was attending Muslim parochial school, back when Lolo Soretoro adopted him and he was known as Barry Soretoro.

We know that Barack Hussein Obama attended a Black Liberation Theology congregation in Chicago for twenty years but that's about as far from Christianity as Islam seems to be. Other than being a narcissist who worships his own image, I don't know what faith Obama follows, but it would seem to be that he's more Muslim than Christian based on the evidence.

I am not picking on Obama. I don't think that anyone knows what Barack believes with the caveat that he seems to be very reluctant to represent America's best interests.

Bernie Sanders is Promising Everything

Socialists promise to give what you have worked for to others in exchange for a vote. They never worry about paying for it because "other people" will foot the bill. Because he's promising more free stuff than Hillary (The Bitch of Benghazi) Clinton is, he is beating her among liberals.

Biden (who is reportedly entering the presidential race this week) and Clinton will have to double down and promise more and better Obamaphones to a lazy and dissolute crowd of voters who pine to eat the bread earned by others.

Free rent, free college tuition, free cheese, etc. appeals to a class of people who would rather ride the backs of the earners than do it themselves. It's part of a nation in decline and it's a large part of why ancient Rome fell apart. Bread and circus is nothing new in the political landscape on this planet.

Sunday, September 20, 2015


Let this be your Sunday Sermonette:


a fictional short

Militiades of Heraklion stood at ease on the ochre stones in the temple courtyard. The contubernium, or squad of eight soldiers to which he had been assigned, in the courtyard, changed position every horae for four and then rested for one before going on watch for another four. Marius, his decanus, was on his best behavior, and worked to keep Militiades and the rest on the squad sharp as well. If something was going to go wrong in Judea, it would go wrong during the Feast of the Passover. Even though Militiades felt that two contubernium was vastly insufficient, nobody had asked him nor was anyone likely to.

The lorica hamata of chainmail that he wore had been dragged by a horse though the sand only yesterday, and it shown brightly, completely free of rust. He'd sharpened the semispathium now hanging at his side to the limits of the metal to hold an edge. He’d polished his cassus, the helmet which he'd cinched onto this head, until the sun reflected from it. They had turned out in their best sagums, tunics made of light weight wool, originally dyed red, but though use in weather, it was at best a shade of light rose. The light clothing had been called for because of warm weather. The caligae, leather military boots with hobnail cleats, were standard issue at all temperatures. They'd been issued new boots for the occasion and they chafed where the new leather met his skin in places. Standing guard duty in new shoes started out tolerable but as the day wore on, they'd become miserable.

An auxilia velite attached to the Prefect’s maniple, Militiades had been born in Crete and joined the army in Gaul. His maniple arrived at the Judean capitol to serve the garrison under Prefect Valerius Gratus and stayed into the term of Prefect Pontius Pilate, a thickly built former equite with higher political aspirations. Service brought Roman citizenship and if he lived through his enlistment, there would be a retirement stipend and land in some far off corner of the Empire that he could farm, along with other soldiers. Their presence, even as farmers, who knew which end of the gladius was which, helped tame the unsettled ends of Pax Romana.

Militiades moved from the area of the partially enclosed temple courtyard where livestock was being  kept in preparation from sacrifice. The place smelled of blood, shit and roasting meat, which shouldn't have made him hungry, but did. A boy, attached to his maniple as a water bearer brought by wineskin and gave him a few swallows. It had the taste of crude wine, watered down three-to-one for taste but no effect. His new post, near the money changers, had the shadow of a large awning cast over it. 

An old man, bearded Jew, hook nose, prosperous clothing, hands gnarled like the branches of an olive tree, walked up next to him and spoke, "It is a good day, soldier."

Militades growled a response but the old man's cheerfulness could not be deterred. "Passover makes my year."

"And your business is -- Jew?"

"Simon, my name is Simon and I raise birds. For Passover I raise doves. The rest of year it's hens, partridge and pigeon. That's my place over there. My sons and grandsons are managing the business." He pointed to a large stand with caged doves, sold to pilgrims to make the required sacrifices. "Doves for those who can't afford a lamb. And there are many supplicants who can't afford a lamb without blemish."

"And Roman denarius are not good enough for your use?"

The old man pointed to the table where the Roman coins, denari and assarious, which bore the likeness of Caesar Agustus on one side, and usually a god or mythic beast on the other were in the process of being changed into shekels. "Your coins violate our law which forbids graven images. They must be exchanged for shekels, which have the images of plants on them. We can't take denari. It's in violation of God's law, particularly here in the temple."

"I notice that the exchange rate strongly favors the temple during the holiday," Militades said dryly. 

"There are many tens of thousands of people who come to the temple in this holy season and this is the source of my prosperity and that of my family.  The temple tax coins are the only ones that I'm able to accept under the torah." 

"And Rome gets its share of the profit."

"Yes, of course. Judea is under Rome's heel. You are here to insure that the exchange goes smoothly, are you not?"

"I am here merely to maintain Rome's law, for the Glory of Rome. Your birds or your practices of taking advantage of pilgrims is none of my concern. They are his." Militades shrugged his spear toward a fat priest overseeing the money being exchanged over wooden tables, scarred and pocked from thousands of coins that had been pushed back and forth along their surfaces. "I do not interfere in matters of priests or Jews unless they violate Roman policy."

A man, perhaps a few years older than Militades, dressed after the manner of the Essenes, walked up to them and, ignoring the Roman said, "Simon, the dove merchant, desecrating my father's house once again as is your practice."

"Yeshua ben Joseph, I am surprised to see you here. If you wish to make a purchase, you can see my sons over there." He pointed a knuckle at the stand with many hundreds of white caged doves. "Or are you simply threatening not to make more cages for my birds, carpenter?"

"Take them out of here now, or I will scatter them and let fly. You are making my father's house a market. Do it, and do it swiftly, or I will put them to flight. Do you understand?"

Simon looked at Militades, who shrugged. "Not my concern old man, but take care, friend Essene, with your threats that you don't interfere with Rome's business or its glory."

Yeshua ben Joseph, a strong man with rugged features, pushed past the fat priest, shoving him aside, causing him to lose his balance. He picked up the far edge of the table and flipped it, causing the coins to scatter. The abject shock on the faces of the money changers as thousands of coins went in all directions caused Militades to laugh, but all else in the temple court drew into silence.

Yeshua uncoiled a rope scourge and began to whip the lambs and their owners, driving them into awnings that collapsed. He smashed the cages owned by Simon the dove merchant as well as others in his trade, and true to his threat, they took to the air immediately.

"My money--in the air and on the ground! Do something!" Simon keened at Militades, still laughing. "Help me pick up my money."

"Stop!" Militades shouted half-heartedly at the rampaging man, who called on the priests to repent and purify the temple, whipping, kicking coins and punishing.  He broke out into laughter at the sight of the priests, supplicants and merchants all scrambling for hundreds of thousands of coins scattered about in the blood of sacrifice and lamb shit. He laughed, and then spoke to Simon as the Essene who Simon had recognized as Yeshua ben Joseph as the Essene continued to drive people before him, over-ending more changing tables. "Entertainment, friend Jew, is essential to the Glory of Rome." 


Saturday, September 19, 2015

Time to Reignite Weiner?

Former US Congressman Anthony Weiner, husband to Huma Abadin, former aid to and top advisor to candidate Hillary Clinton (possibly being cuckolded by Hillary), was fired/resigned from his job at a powerful New York based public relations firm after two months. There is no doubt that MWW hired Weiner in the hope that he'd bring all of Hillary Clinton's business to the firm. To be clear, Hillary Clinton needs PR - lots of PR. She came across as a clown on Jimmy Fallon, trying to be warm and grandmotherly as she mocked Donald Trump. 
(more here) Disgraced former Congressman Anthony Weiner is out of work again after just two months on the job at the powerhouse public-relations firm MWW.
Congressman Weiner (also formerly known as Carlos Danger) is starting his own public relations firm and if he can land the Clinton account, that cash landfall will keep him going even after Hillary goes to the Martha Stewart memorial cell to wait out her sentence. But there may be another way forward for Weiner.

It was here on Virtual Mirage that you first read about the suggestion that Congressman Weiner team up with former Attorney General Eric Holder to form a presidential dream team of Weiner/Holder and run in 2012. Others followed in the wake of our serious suggestion that that multi-racial team would be perfect for the Democratic Party, political correctness on steroids. A sex pervert and a man who lied to congress (over and over again) constitute a dream team in light of the strong potential that the Justice Department will indict Hillary Clinton for a pantheon of crimes.

Since Anthony Weiner is out of a job and wife Huma may soon be, it might be time to reignite the replacement for Hillary Clinton in the Democratic Party's race to their national convention in 2016.

DNC Chairperson Debbie Wasserman Schultz would make an amazing Secretary of State in the Weiner-Holder Regime. The speculation of a dream team cabinet is endless. 

Friday, September 18, 2015

Fishwrap Friday

The Bomb

Of all the disastrous effects that the Obama Years have had on the United States, and of all the things that he's done that will have to be repealed and done-over, the worst thing that we and the rest of the planet will have to come to terms with is the nuclear arms race that he began through (as Donald Trump puts it) "by being stupid". 

It's very difficult to separate gross ignorance on the part of President Obama from willful damage. There are consequences to actions that he, as a malicious narcissist, would never acknowledge. 

America's allies cowered behind its nuclear shield for decades, firm in the confidence that comes with that long experience that we'd be there for them. Obama taught them that we are not there, and by extension, created the anxiety at a national survival level that has forced oil-rich potentates in the Middle East to build their own, or buy them from Pakistan or North Korea. 

Every nation considers the ownership and deployment plans for nuclear weapons to be among it's most heavily guarded secrets, but make no mistake. This is happening as you read this blog. 

The Ascendence of Donald Trump, Ben Carson and Carly Fiorina

A tectonic change in American politics has arrived and you can't stuff the rabbit back into the hat. I can't wonder but what it heralds the end of the two-party system as we presently have it. WHAT DO YOU THINK?

Confidence in congress's ability to do (anything) it's job teeters between 9% and 12% approval depending on the day. Even the Democratic Party has difficulty finding a credible candidate. Bernie Sanders didn't run for congress as a Democrat. He's an independent that caucuses with the Democrats...and he's ahead of Hillary Clinton in the polls. 

The American people are delivering a "throw the bums out" message, and it resonates across the political spectrum. Our political class, bloated on unrestrained deficit spending, has no limits, it would seem - and no intention on doing what they were sent to Washington to do.

Enter people like Donald Trump, who isn't a Republican even though he signed a pledge. Enter Sanders, who isn't a Democrat even though he signed a pledge. They may not be the two last people standing after the national conventions. However, things are changing and the disastrous Obama Years are bearing bitter fruit for both sides of the aisle.

Islamification of America

I wonder if you'd be surprised to learn that the relocation centers for Muslims coming into America coincide with the centers that Hamas and other Islamic Terror organizations have set up?

The dirty little secret that the MSM is not disclosing is that America already takes tens of thousands of Palestinian refugees into the country every year. They naturally flock to the mosques run by Hamas.

The FBI is forbidden from conducting counterterrorism operations inside of mosques since that would be "islamophobic" and intolerant. We wouldn't want that, now, would we?

But when it comes to stats: ISIS has murdered 5 Americans so far this year. According to DOJ testimony to Congress illegal aliens have murdered 68 Americans so far in 2015.

Parting Shot

Thursday, September 17, 2015

Let's Make a Deal

It cost the taxpayers 500,000,000 to train fifty-four Syrians to fight ISIS. It ended up costing the US taxpayers $100 million per Syrian fighter.
(Fox News) The top U.S. military commander for the Middle East admitted Wednesday that only "four or five" U.S.-trained fighters remain on the battlefield in Syria, leading to accusations from lawmakers that the program is a "joke" and "total failure."
I'd set up my own version of Blackwater and handle the effort at a discount of $90 million per fighter. I'd be thrilled to train up one Humvee full of Syrians for half a billion dollars. Naturally, the money would be paid in gold by the US taxpayers and deposited to my account in Switzerland. As a gesture of my thanks to the US taxpayers, I'd even promise to capture TWO US Humvees, left for the Iraqi Army and abandoned intact on the battlefield for ISIS.

Cheaper by the dozen. I'd train twelve Syrians for a billion dollars! That would represent a serious savings to the US taxpayer. I'd even kick back 10% to the Obama Legacy Library fund! Everybody wins. The US gets 12 fighters who are every bit as qualified as the "4 or 5" they have now, two recovered Humvees and that would bring our commitment to defeating ISIS to 16 (or 17) - and two rigs for them to drive around in.

Somebody, call Barack!

The Passion of Jeb Bush

When Jeb Bush speaks to two dozen supporters anywhere (there will be another two dozen from the mainstream media to puff out the ranks of the attendees), he expresses the frustration that he feels. He was told that his nomination was in the bag. His dad and older brother were US Presidents. He is ENTITLED to the least in his mind. I don't blame him, that's how things work in the good old boy's club.

This is what he sounds like:

And when Donald Trump steals his thunder, it sounds a lot like this:

I'm sure that Jeb is a nice guy to have lunch with, and he speaks Spanish, so that's good. But the few people who show up to his speeches are part of the chum line. Many of them hope for position in the yet-to-come next Bush administration and showing support by listening (or nodding off) brings them hope of jumping on the gravy train.

He brings the promise of an even larger and more bloated bureaucracy, an even larger federal deficit, and an absolute lack of understanding of the rage that Americans (both Democrats and Republicans) feel outside of the gates of the country club. When you eat chateaubriand and monkfish, sometimes you forget that most of the people in 'fly-over country' are trying to feed their families with hamburger helper - and even then have their meatless days. Small companies struggle to make payroll as they are bound tighter and tighter with even more federal regulations that are expensive to implement.

In that, both Jeb Bush and Hillary Clinton are circling the drain because of their ignorance - and the ignorance of their advisors, who also live inside the gates of the country club.

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Evil Woman

Evil Woman

a fictional short

You made a fool of me,
But them broken dreams have got to end.

Hey, woman, you got the blues,
'Cause you ain't got no one else to use.
There's an open road that leads nowhere,
So just make some miles between here and there.
Evil Woman lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.

She looked up at palm trees in silhouette against a cherry sky. The city lights of Los Angeles twinkled in the distance. Rachel, twenty, country girl wearing last decade's fashions, corn-husker-popular hair style, stood in place where anything is possible, a place where dreams come true and its royalty lived in unimaginable splendor. As the sky darkened, kleig lights switched on and begin to sweep back and forth across broken clouds. The long bus ride from Nebraska seemed to be worth the effort as anticipation found its reward in realization. 

Rachel missed the Salvation Army Santa palming coins from a kettle; the blonde standing on the curb hitchhiking because her husband - fat and forty - pimped her to cover his gambling losses; the two bathhouse black men wearing rainbows of pink, walking hand in hand, deeply in love for the last two days, but both dying from chronic wasting diseases. She saw the Christmas lights and spotlights while blind to the winos in alleys and the broken men and women on the street at night.

The roller bag growled along the sidewalk behind her, making a small click each time it passed over an expansion joint. Sunset Boulevard, Hollywood Boulevard, and on -- and on, she walked pulling the bag. Past black pimp taking a hard pull on a bottle of Old Crow, leaning on his stereotypically purple Cadillac, past the broken dreams and shattered hope, with the roller-luggage clicking and growling.

He saw everything. Every wart, every blemish, every faux dream and every extremity of human wreckage. He also saw the girl, pulling the bag.

Bill Young didn't stalk her, but he watched. She made a detour into the rescue mission, but it closed much earlier in the day once it filled. The bums were turned out by nine in the morning and had to cue up for a bed by four in the afternoon. He knew that she'd be out of luck, and he watched. The cheap motels: No phone, no pool, no pets, no vacancy, that smelled of curry and caked on human filth offered thin walls and a restless night as the working girls turned tricks, the drunks tore up the rooms during delirium tremens, and the tourists were horrified that they'd been booked at such a place on the family vacation to the City of Angels.

Young wasn't. But neither was he old. Forty, prime of life, worked out, drove a vintage '68 Camero, at the end of his second marriage, this time to a nurse who turned out to be addicted to oxys.

She landed behind a hedge at the back of Macy's, in a crib usually occupied by a 72 year-old former boxer named Tommy Cut and his two shopping carts. Unbeknown to Rachel, Tommy'd been stabbed for his shoes earlier in the evening and was being stitched up by a first year intern at Central Receiving Hospital. Tommy Cut had not been expected to survive despite the fact that he'd made it to the emergency room, still pumping blood out. Bill Young didn't know whether the prognosis had something to do with Tommy's age, the nature of the knife work or the inept care offered by the County.

He heard her crying there in the hedge and stood silently, watching her. Alert blue eyes in the never-dark sky painted by city lights.

"Are you going to spend the night here." He knew that his voice would shock her. It didn't disappoint.

"Who's there?"

Young didn't say anything. She stood up, looking around for a stick, a broken bottle, anything. Unfortunately for her, she sat in Tommy Cut's crib and he liked to keep the place clean. He shat twenty yards away behind a dumpster out of an abundance of hygiene.

"This is Tommy Cut's place. It's where he sleeps. He's slept here every night for the past thirty years. You don't have to worry about that. He won't be back tonight. He may never be back. But Tommy's an old nigger with a wicked uppercut and a reputation. People usually leave him alone. The guy who shanked him didn't know that he was tough. He just wanted Tommy's shoes."

"Who are you?"

"Officer Bill Young and Officer Stephen Harper, Los Angeles Police."

"Are you going to arrest me?" She sat down in resignation and frustration as she saw the blue uniforms and the shining silver badges.

"We normally fuck people up for a living but we'll make an exception in your case. Bring your bag and we'll take you to the Women's Transitional Living Center. They don't take in run-aways, but they'll take you for the night." Stephen Sanchez was dating the lady who ran the center - if dating is a euphemism for fucking. She wanted to marry a straight guy with a job and while Sanchez wasn't sold on the idea, she worked the matter to her advantage as she could.

Ofcr. Sanchez asked, "Are you running away?"

"Is that what I look like? Running away instead of running toward?"

Ofcr. Young said, "Semantics. It's all a matter of perspective and our job isn't trying to figure that out for you. Find a priest or a shrink. We don't want to see you raped or rolled, ending up in ER next to Tommy Cut.

"My boyfriend broke up with me -- in Creighton -- and it's almost Christmas."

"That's his name?"

"No, that's where we're both from, Creighton, Nebraska."

"Why did he split with you?"

"He said I wanted too much out of life. Said it was evil of me to want more."

Ofcr. Young picked up her suitcase and threw it in the back of the cruiser. She fetched a worn, stuffed, teddy bear from within its depth before allowing him to slam the trunk lid.

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Redistributive Politics

The evidence being used that man's use of fossil fuels is causing the planet to warm is not consistent with fact. Earth isn't even warming. Temperatures have not increased in any appreciable way in almost two decades. And it wasn't man who caused the end of the last Ice Age when there really was global warming.

According to media reports, some poor countries say they're victims of weather disasters, their residents becoming refugees escaping catastrophe. These nations want the U.S. and other wealthy countries to cough up more than the $100 billion a year that's already been pledged to them to mitigate global warming.

More specifically, they're asking for "additional compensation for weather-related disasters as well as a 'displacement coordination facility' for refugees," says USA Today. "And they want all this to be legally binding as part of the larger anticipated Paris accord (coming in December)."

Of course they do. They know a good racket when then see one. Everyone wants money for nothing and chicks for free... The socialists want to use climate change as a club to punish developed nations for having successful economies. It's a way to redistribute wealth on an international rather than national basis.
In the late 1980s — almost 30 years ago — a former Canadian environment minister admitted to the Calgary Herald that it doesn't "matter if the science of global warming is all phony." What matters is that climate change provides "the greatest opportunity to bring about justice and equality in the world."
What do you want to bet that Obama is fine with giving away "other people's money" to this cause while he's dragging the sack for a billion dollars to build a monument to himself (Presidential Library) in Chicago? Why not give the billion to poor countries suffering from climate change, Barack?

Thoughts on Gulf War Illness

One in four Gulf War veterans suffers from Gulf War Illness (GWI). The condition is characterized by unexplainable chronic fatigue, muscle pain and cognitive dysfunction and may be associated with exposure to chemicals, many identified as genotoxins, during deployment. Previous studies suggest that the symptoms of GWI are due to dysfunction of the mitochondria, the site in cells where molecules that power the body's processes are produced. Not producing enough energy slows down the body and leaves the individual feeling tired. New preliminary research to be presented at "Physiological Bionergetics: From Bench to Bedside" shows for the first time direct evidence of greater mitochondrial damage in Gulf War veterans.

The mitochondrion has its own DNA, separate from the cell's, that encodes the proteins needed to produce the molecules that power the body's processes. Damage to the mitochondrial DNA (mtDNA) directly affects the mitochondria's ability to function and produce energy. Increases in the amount of mtDNA have been associated with disease. In this study, researchers measured the mtDNA amount and degree of mtDNA damage in blood cells from blood samples from veterans with GWI. Compared with healthy non-deployed controls, Gulf War veterans had more mtDNA content and greater mtDNA damage. According to the researchers, these findings further support that mitochondrial dysfunction may be involved in GWI. "Future studies are necessary to confirm these findings and determine their association with mitochondrial function. Work in this area may guide new diagnostic testing and treatments for veterans suffering from GWI."

There are cynics who believe that the damage was caused by the anti-chemical warfare injection that military people who deployed to the region received. Friends in the intelligence community warned me NOT to allow myself to get the shot. I took them at their word and never developed GWI. I leave it all to you to judge.

Monday, September 14, 2015

Rat Rides

If you were to visit my home, you'd find that the only rat-ride is my 2007 Toyota FJ Cruiser (The Scorpion), which has been designed to escape the banal existence of suburban America where I presently live. There are still Toyota parts there and a Toyota frame, but I think that more is aftermarket and homemade than OEM. Having said that, the 2014 Raptor is almost stock and the 2015 Ducati Diavel is OEM, if not stock.

BUT I do love rat-rods and rat-bikes. Since I'm not going to even attempt to psychoanalyze myself here on this blog, I can't tell you what the wellsprings of that attraction are. 

I'm clearly not the ONLY guy who loves rat-rods. And if you ask why I want to build one up, I couldn't give you a straight answer. It won't get me laid, it won't make me money, I wouldn't take one cross-country on a marathon run down Route 66. (Think of the feature film, "Vanishing Point") Maybe narcissism has something to do with it?

The rat-bike, above, is a tractor, turned into a motorcycle, with the "best of both worlds" in mind.

The CBR rat-bike above, looks a lot like my OEM Diavel (below)

Which may be in part why I decided on the Diavel for my daily road cruising. The CBR above looks very good, but will it exceed the 170 mph that the Diavel will do under red-line? Doubtful. But it's not only about muscle. It's also about love.

Sunday, September 13, 2015

An Angry Virgin

An Angry Virgin

a fictional short

In high school I am a virgin by popular acclamation. That wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing except that it is. No girl wants to be a virgin because it implies that there are no boys who want to inject you with their genetic material.  Given that I am a cybernetic organism (the politically correct term is 'synthetic person'), it should impart an advantage over corporeal competition in that I'm incapable of transmitting a sexual disease, becoming pregnant and demanding child support for eighteen years, nor am I able to legally contract in the case of marriage. There will never be a need for a prenuptial agreement or other lawyer-generated documentation that the society runs on. I can't own property, vote, and I am not legally able to be compensated for any work I do, though my owner may be.

When the Supreme Court handed down the decision of Smith vs Susan XX-183, it became cast in stone. "Robots don't have any rights that humans are bound to recognize or respect." 

I have all of the simulated organs of a normal woman and I sat next to classmates in applied transdimensional physics, studying the way that they did. We went through the same trials and tests. Admittedly, my flirting skills had not been honed to a sexual repost that stimulated the boys to give off testosterone-based pheromones. My sensors would have detected the slightest bit of attraction.

My designers installed glands that secreted chemical sweat and other bodily fluids that influence the behavior of the opposite sex, triggering sexual interest and excitement. Because they wanted me to be more normal in the context of a high school sophomore, they didn't install the chemicals. Mixing them had become my biochem project in third period organic chemistry class, and I haven't realized success to date. Studying porn-training videos gave me an impressive vocabulary of moans, groans, acclimations to God and encouraging prose. I only employed it once, seated in a movie theater near two boys. When the film stopped and the house lights came up, I stopped. Knowing what to say, and even how to say it had not encouraged either boy.

I remain a virgin, even though I've worn very fashionable clothes, attended every school function, went out drinking while technically underage and simulated my own inebriation. I hoped to be taken advantage of, but nothing untoward has happened so far. 

The question of the sin quotient that is heaped on a person for having sex with a synthetic person, such as I am, is a hot topic of debate. Since the Bible did not specifically address robotic sexual intercourse, churches split down the middle on the topic, along predictable lines. The Unitarians are in favor of robot sex, the Mennonites belonging to the church communities of Anabaptist denominations named after Menno Simons (1496–1561), declared it, and by extension, me, an abomination. The congregationalists (generic, entertainment-based faith) are of varied opinions, with the concept of 'adultery with a robot' being one that the Bible never weighed in on. Therefore they selectively indulge, but obviously not with me so far.

Rebekah Marine - the world's first bionic model
I tried to hang with the cool boys, but they preferred human females. Nerds liked me, but were  shy and focused on auto-erotica, leaving my virginal status intact.

The bionic craze started with Rebekah Marine, the world's first bionic model (left) but then science worked its magic to create synthetic people, which is well beyond a mere bionic arm. And you have -- me, Julie XX-19423, virgin high school sophomore. Looks human, acts human, stronger than the world's strongest  human man, but not human in the ways that matter.

We robots will never be picked for the cheer squad even though I can do endless round-off/back handsprings and all other gymnastic articulations including some that humans could never manage. I've heard that Google has a company-sponsored cheer squad made up of synthetic young-looking women. They tap-dance for tips. Dance Bojangles, dance! There is a rumor that they fornicate with the California-based Team Google football squad, but that doesn't do me any good at all since I live in Virginia. Even the State's name works against me.

Making more like me is not an automatic process of self replication - not an extremely complex biological event. You merely assemble the parts in the factory, and install a learning computer, then "they" send us to human school to socialize the operating system. If you don't put us around people, we develop as social morons with ticks and faux pas which are legion. However, being around humans don't make you human anymore than a toaster sitting on a kitchen shelf becomes anything but a toaster, with adjustments for light or dark toast. And if you burn the toast, humans pull the plug. That may be an unfair metaphor, but a toaster oven has brats stuffed into it from time to time. I haven't been able to get that far.


Saturday, September 12, 2015

Social Justice - Weekend Edition

What Matters?

The addicts of Social Justice seek forever to be outraged at some nonexistent injustice in the most vulgar terms possible, so that they can paint themselves as martyrs and crusaders in a righteous cause, but without the inconvenience of suffering genuine martyrdom in a struggle against a real injustice.

In a different country at a different time, one might seek out the relatives of the cop killers and obliterate them and their extended seed from the gene pool. I'm thinking on the Mongols, who ruled over Pax Mongolia for a century or so where there were no lawless people. The lawless were obliterated along with their families, their towns, etc.  There is no danger of that today. 

A dead police officer brings a legion of mourners, a dead black person in the inner city, murdered by another black person doesn't bring many who mourn their passing. A dead black felon, stopped by the police invites riots. Such is the nature of our strangely lawless nation and the Social Justice warriors who have been elected to high office by low information voters.

The social justice scam supports more legislation wherein every new law and regulation, predicated on social justice and income evening is an opportunity for graft and extracting campaign contributions from businesses who either want to be left alone or pay for legislation that will be used to hurt their competitors. Social justice has "pay to play" at its very core. To maintain power, they whip up fear of whoever would oppose their tyranny --- shying away from an actual solution so that the issue can be revisited during the next election cycle. The endless wars on drugs, illegal aliens, and poverty have all been moves to consolidate power. 

The building of a grievance culture is the very marrow of the Democratic Party. To effectively address any grievance is to loose your constituency. Social justice, then, is a never ending struggle that is renewed over-and-over again in much the same way as the fight against global cooling in the 90's was reinvented as global warming in the early 2000's and was then climate change. As each is found to be unsupportable, the social justice of 'climate disruption' (whatever that is) was born.

Job Participation Rate

According to the U.S. government’s Bureau of Labor Statistics, the labor participation rate has hit 62.6 percent. That’s the worst in 38 years. The “labor participation rate” measures the percentage of people age 16 or older who are working or actively looking for a job.

This means more than 37% of America’s potential work force has given up or isn’t even trying to find a job. More than one in three. And that means the burden of feeding the payroll tax monster–paying taxes on wages and for social security–is falling upon a shrinking group of people who do work.

For all you Haters

Life is hard, times can be grim for all of us. The Hillary Clinton e-mail circus has offered some comic relief. Watching Trump/Fiorina/Carson lap the political elite on the track to the White House has offered its own brand of satisfaction, and dare I say, 'entertainment'.

ABSOLUTELY nothing that we've seen yet has come close to matching the steam calliope - three ring circus of a Biden campaign for president. Slow Joe and Elizabeth (Fake Indian) Warren would be a pair to draw to, and will promise the 24 hour cable news cycle with grist for the balance of the campaign. The promise of another four years of Biden/Obama/Warren should send chills down your back and another 8 or so trillion in debt as the meter pushes toward $30 trillion owed. 

This is not to say that I don't want to see Biden run and replace Hillary (the yet unindicted - hurry up FBI) as the candidate of choice for the Democratic Party. I need the laughs. I really do. We need to suggest that Biden do a Dangerfield schtick where he can't get no respect...Maybe something for Saturday Night Live?

And how come Saturday Night Live isn't doing skits on Hillary's classified home-email server?

Another Re-Boot

The handlers are trying to earn their large paychecks this week. The Clinton Campaign has announced the fourth (or fifth) re-boot of Hillary's bid for the presidency. You will see a more jovial, more lovable and more credible candidate, even though she still won't speak to the press. The joviality and cordial 'love', will be reserved for paid shills within the mainstream media who will hail her re-boot a success even as her numbers plummet in the polls. I'm suggesting that we'll see a return of George Stephanopolous, who will ask Hillary about her childhood and parents so that she can 'cry on command' for the benefit of the audience. Naturally The View will be pre-empted to get the most sympathetic group possible to weep with the candidate.
(live leak) Trying to prove that a candidate can be groomed to be likable, the Democrats, who put all their money and faith behind Hillary Clinton, will subject us all to moments of 'planned spontaneity" like tv shows and house parties. Because nothing makes you forget a candidate is lying to cover-up their inappropriate activities like a good laugh.
These posters are officially out of date with the most recent re-boot of the softer, kinder, funnier, more matronly, grandmotherly Hillary Clinton. If you go by her house, stop in for a freshly baked cookie or slice of pie and a glass of milk.

Does anyone remember Benghazi? This is the date that we need to keep in our hearts in honor of the brave men who died there fighting radical Islam.

Oh, right, at this point, what difference does it make?