Category Archives: Sarcastic Angry Screed

A Modest Proposal: Don’t Elect Em, Buy Em

(They’re All for Sale, Anyway)

This ain’t politics, really. It’s economics.

Here’s a question.  Well, here’s a couple of questions.

What do you do with folks who live in places like this: places with people who jump at the chance for something to remind them of their “obligations”; who like Homeless Jesus statues in front of the churches in their rich neighborhoods to embarrass themselves and the high rollers and big spenders they live among when they come in their Caddies and Rollses and long dark Lincolns to be seen in church once or twice a year?  Homeless Jesus statues are even better than pictures of starving babies, or real bums on benches.  They never ask for money, or a meal.

These folks, they’ll feel “compunctive” for an hour or so, until they get back to the Club, The Bent Elbow  or The Green Albatross, for a few befores and a half dozen afters, and an hour or two with Big Jim Cornerstone, home from Upstate for the weekend talking over deals and the “help” they need; and maybe pushing an envelope across the table with a nod and a mention that help’s a two way street.  And, Jim nods and says, “I got your back in the Committee, Billy, my boy!” before he leaves.

Was that a stagger or a swagger on Jim going out the door to his car?

What do you do with a pol who goes on the payroll of a big deal company making drugs that have to be “regulated”, and picks up a trip or two from a company that wants to build a power line and needs to go to a nice resort in Arizona or some place to find out how the power line will impact her neighborhood back in Upper Michigan?  At $500.00 a night, plus the round trip up front with all the swells, and points.

What do you do when stuff like that happens…on both sides of the aisle?  Even in Philly, of all places; it being the home of brotherly love and all?

What do you do about an AG who finds out about all of this and then says there was nothing wrong?  Do you think the AG got a call from someone who said unprintable stuff and suddenly discovered that he’s an AG up a tree with no way down, alone in a desert with no water, in the middle of an ocean on a leaky boat without an oar?

No pol I suppose is ever going to feel bad about a thousand a month they get, regular, from XYZ MFG., you think?  They’ll never feel bad about their vote on XYZ’s plan to fast track the new factory they want to build between the VA Hospital and High School, because, well, that’ll bring 300 new jobs to town.

And, the runoff will add 300 tons of dirt a day to the Neversocruddy River.

You think a pol will ever say, you think that ANY pol has ever said, to themselves, “This ain’t really mine.  I only take it so’s I can stay in office and help the fools (oops, folks) who voted me in, and keep that jerk Bruntkowski from ruining the district and the state if he ever gets enough money to beat me.”  And then they stuff it in their pocket, or hand it to Tommy the Bag, and have another snort and light a cigar and smile and say, “Don’t worry. ”  Just like Big Jim from Upstate.

You think?

Here’s something to think about.  How about buying a few of our own?  I got an idea for a kind of Buyer’s Club.  I think this is real Poly Sci, not that other stuff that they charge you a couple of hundred “G’s” for in college, and you learn how to hold coats for real pols, and hand them stuff they never thought of sayin’ to say to the squares at the Town Meeting.

I’ll start small, someone from the School Board who’ll go for a Ham sandwich. But, he’ll be mine, and will say no to stupid stuff, of which there is a lot…like Common Core and uni-sex bathrooms…in schools all over the place.   I don’t care what he thinks.  As a matter of fact, if he’s a real pol, he don’t care what he thinks.  He may not even think at all; to want to think, or to be able to think.  I only need him to raise he hand at the right time and shut up the rest of the time.

You can’t convince me that Joe Biden thinks or even can think, or that guy from Indiana who was a Veep a couple of dozen years ago was able to think.  Reid can think?  Boehner?  Pelosi?  Gimme a break.  They’re owned, and they love it.   The difference between them and Tip O’Neill or LBJ is that they were sold, Tip and LBJ shopped themselves.

None of those pols in that Philly story think about anything except the next envelope, or the next free ride, and what stupid people like you and me who ain’t got any green to spread around have to put up with in the back of the bus, with our kids in a school with one bathroom for everyone next to a smelly factory.

So, I’m going shopping today for a pol who’ll be mine for twenty bucks.  I’ll put an add on E-bay.  We get 500,000 guys doing the same thing, and suddenly we got a “Movement”  I got a good name for it.  I’m gonna call it “Representative Democracy”  Because, what we got now ain’t.  If it ever was.

Unless of course you’re a Fortune 500 deal.

Happy Easter!

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Businesses, Brotherhoods and Babies

It is snowing outside.  We’ll get three to six inches today if the liars at Weather Central (All Disaster, All the Time) can be believed.  So, instead of going over to the gym to get ready for the beach this summer, I am sitting here in The House With No Heat, myself rapped in buffalo skins reading stuff on the internet and occasionally saying a prayer for people who have neither homes nor buffaloes to robe them.

I’ve done what I usually do when bound up inside by the weather.  I have read.

So far this morning I’ve read that our goofermint, as someone I know refers to it, wants the new president of Egypt to say he was a jerk a couple of years ago when he told folks over there to raise their children to hate everyone not them.  So far, it looks as if no one over there in sand castle land is listening.  But, when they do hear the whispers, perhaps Mousi (no relation to our kinder, gentler Mickey) will grunt something or other.  The guy deserves at least a dope slap for what he said.  But, what  can you expect from someone who hangs around with a bunch of cruds who think strapping a dozen or so pounds of dynamite on a kid and sending them into a crowd of weekend shoppers is the Muslim Brotherhood equivalent of Little League?  Over here the Big Brothers try to teach a kid to be a good person.  Over there, you’re a kid and you get one of Mousi’s friends for a big brother, you’re sure to be taught how to be one of two things, a murderer or a “martyr”  (which is the same thing for those whackos); probably both.

Then, I happened on an article about my favorite women’s organization, Planned Parenthood.  Now the first time I heard the name, which was a long time ago I have to confess that I thought it was some kind of place, maybe like Triple A, where they give you helpful travel trips, make reservations and stuff,  sell you plastic water bottles.  You know, stuff you never thought you needed, but can’t live without now that you know it is there, and cheap.  I figured you walked into a Planned Parenthood store and got deals on bassinets, formula, diapers, stuff like that; and there were these nice ladies with shawls on and wire rimmed glasses sitting around knitting booties and little blankies ( a different kind of B&B) the place painted in shades of pink and blue.

“Divil a bit of it!” my Grand-Mother Kate Fanning Gallaher might say, her lips curling and a curse against them forming.  I found out it was another kind of place.  Scary, really.  Well, you know.  It’s the last place someone wants to be when planning their parenthood.  Planning for Un-parenthood?  That’s a horse of a different species.  They got, umm, slicers, dicers, choppers, hoovers, pills and potions and are ready for you 24/7, with, I bet Early Bird specials:  In by eight, out by ten anytime before little Janey or Junior’s  ten weeks along.  Or, something like that.  Maybe, if they get your e-mail, they send you coupons and 2 for 1 specials, and you can like ’em on Facebook.  It’s good marketing, you know.  And, if you don’t know yet, Planned Parenthood is a business, just like some of those big deal sausage factories, like Jones and those others.

And this smoothly segues into the second article I glanced at this morning, the one that explains in sordid detail just how Planned Parenthood is a business, perhaps the bloodiest business this side of an abbatoir (a fancy French word for a slaughterhouse).  Only they deal in killing kids, not cows.  Last year they set a record, the article says, and manage to kill more than 300,000 little human beings, none of whom asked for it.  In a really cool concatenation of events and circumstance those of you who read the article (have strong drink at hand…or anti-nausea meds) will learn that that number matches almost perfectly the dollar figure for their daily profit.  And, mirabile dictu, both numbers are all time universe wide records!  Imagine, most babies killed in a year and most money made per day for a year, and they occurred together!  There’s a pair that’ll beat a full house anytime.

But, it gets better, because 45% of this loot comes from you and me, the American taxpayer.  Yep, we gave the country’s busiest and biggest house of death about a million samoleans a day between June, 2010 and June 2012.

After I had finished in the bathroom and washed out my mouth, I came back here and found something different to read, a short essay on something called The Catholic Education Resource Network by a fellow named Anthony Esolen.  The essay has a very simple title.  Its title is “The Child”.

Now, in all fairness I have to say that I have been in the same room as has Anthony Esolen at least once.  I know that because I heard someone say his name and , at the same time, point to him.  But I have never met him.  I would like to, and the first thing I would do is ask for his autograph.  I know that this frosts a lot of peoples’ pumpkins out there, but the guy is a good Catholic, and a good teacher, to boot.  And what he writes and what he says, and, I have no doubt, what he teaches about is thoroughly Catholic from the first word to the last.  So, if you are the kind of person whose goat is got by the things Catholics say and believe you may want to save yourself some agida, and maybe a trip to the ER, and not read the article.

Because, you see, Dr. Esolen’s article starts off in an entirely Catholic way, an authentically Christian way.  It starts off in the kind of way which I know grates on folks who think Planned Parenthood, even if it is a lousy business, is a good thing; the way sewers, I suppose, are a good thing…only a child isn’t supposed to be in a sewer.  It starts in the kind of way which I know ticks off people who think that Mousi and his fellow Muslim brotherhood members, and every other person who wants kids to grow up hating, are just teaching kids the facts of life, and that’s a good thing…like suicide bombers are good things.  Only a child has a life before him.

Here are the first couple of sentences  from Dr. Esolen’s article,  “Everywhere outside of Christianity, wrote Hans Urs von Balthasar, the child is automatically the first to be sacrificed. Only for Christians is the adult the imperfect child. Everywhere else the child is the imperfect adult, and falls subject to our lust for domination.”

I Will Make You Ready

I Will Make You Ready

Read it.  And, maybe shed a tear for children all over the world, children who are  sacrificed every day to Moloch, perhaps more alive today than ever and closer to us than we think.  Which way shall we go?

Going My Way?

Julia In Dublin

And after you read it come back here and listen to the music below.  I used to play it sometimes and remember a little poem set to the opening theme that I sang to my daughter when she was a child:

When at night I go to sleep,
fourteen Angels watch over me.
Two my head are guarding,
two my feet are guiding,
two are on my right hand,
two are on my left hand,
two who warmly cover my head
and two who will guide me toward Heaven.

Much better, so, don’t you think than businesses and brotherhoods?

WHY NOT THE MOUSE NEXT TIME???

Somewhere around this time last year, as Mitt Romney was in the third year of his second run for the presidency, and the Republican field had been narrowed to the population of several states from a number just a few short of infinity I decided that it might be necessary actually to vote for someone who existed, who was a real person.  And so, I thought about voting for Mr. Romney, tall, handsome, smart and honest.

I had not voted for a human being in the last two elections; choosing instead to vote for Michael Mouse.  I had even dreamed up a slogan for the little fellow’s campaign: MY MAN IS A MOUSE!  I spoke to my friends, and may have convinced one or two of them (which would have been, possibly, more than I had of friends) to join in with me and promote MM’s run for the highest office in the land.

But, then, I listened to other voices, people whose powers of persuasion moved me to reconsider my position.  “It is silly,” they said, “you are just throwing away your vote by going into that booth and writing in the name of a cartoon character.  It is a senseless and meaningless gesture.”  I tried to argue that given the man occupying that office (who still occupies it) , and the fellow who had occupied it during the previous eight years, and the line -up of opponents/prospective candidates available, voting for someone who was a cartoon character seemed to me to make more sense than anything else.

Still..

In the end I caved, flipped a coin, sort of, and settled on Mr. America.  I guess I was thinking of that old song by the Coasters, “Along Came Jones”, and hoping he would get elected and rescue Sweet Sue (that’s us) from the gunslinger.

Little did I know that I should have stuck with Mickey.  At least I wouldn’t feel as if I had wasted a vote.  Because the word filtering out from the folks who know is that Old Mitt didn’t want the job anyway.  He tanked it.  And, we know from sad experience that the guy who has the job really doesn’t exist.  Oh, I mean he is there, all right, but he really has no idea about running a country, or doing much else than “chooming”, organizing a community (whatever in God’s name that is) or body surfing; or standing around while Ambassadors and other guys get murdered…and then not saying word one about it because the “investigation ” is still going on.  I mean his most common vote anywhere was “present”.  Well brain dead people are “present” too.  So are ghosts according to some folks.

Turns out they both stink.  If fact, they all stink, from Chicago Slim in the White House right down to the most junior jerk in the House of Representatives;  where about the only thing they represent is their own wallet, I think.

Anyway, I’m back on The Mouse’s bandwagon and there I intend to stay.  This morning I was having a cup of Joe with the Little Lady down at the local Dunkin’ Donuts.  There were a couple of old guys over in the corner jawing about the, how many, damn near 500 stupid and selfish men and women we send down to DC  to do nothing much good to or for anyone, and one of them says, “I’m 73 years old and I don’t think I am ever going to vote for another person for anything again.  I’m just going to go into the booth and scribble down a name, any name.”

My heart leaped!  If two old and nearly useless guys like him and me can have the same idea, what would it look like if 30 or 40 million of us went behind the curtain and did the same thing; if no one was elected, if the country actually followed the predictions of the polls and said, “None of the above?”  For anything, even School Board President, Dogcatcher, Registrar of Probate, President?

Because, you know, none of the folks there now seem to want to do anything at all about anything, and the guy we just sent back to the Oval Office hasn’t got the faintest idea about what needs doing, except that we need more money to do it.

Actually, I take that back.  It seems that one person does have a good idea, which idea won’t see the light of day down there.  The junior Senator from New Hampshire, Kelly Ayotte says all of those dopes don’t deserve a pay raise because they haven’t done anything for it.  That’s the first bit of sensible thinking I’ve heard come out of that swamp in about 12 years.

Now, if only they would return all the rest of the money we’ve given them for the past 12 years I might reconsider my support for The Mouse.  I know all of that dough might make our fall from the cliff just a little bit softer, turn it into a kind of velvety “smoosh” rather than a granite hard “SPLAT” when we hit bottom.

One thing that can be said for The Mouse is that at least he works cheap; a couple of nibbles of cheese now and then and he’s good for a week.

Joe Blow and Sportin’ LIfe

George Weigel is a very smart fellow, a brilliant fellow I’d say, and always worth paying attention to. He always has something useful, something thoughtful to say, and his insights and observations, here at the bottom of this short “ramble on a theme by Weigel”, are both enlightening and helpful.

You see, he writes a little about Joe Biden in his article, and as I read it a thought occurred to my mind once again which had occurred before.  I have been thinking about Vice President Joe Biden, the former Senator from Delaware, the kid from Scranton who never really left tough town.  I’ve followed this Mr. Malaprop for a few years, now, and been by turns embarrassed for him and for the country, and angry.  Sometimes, back when he was a Senator, I would find myself wondering about the average IQ of the people who voted for him, who put him into office and kept him there year after embarrassing year.

I came to think of him, as he rose through the ranks of the Senate into positions of leadership, and then became a candidate for president some years ago, as a kind of thug, or perhaps merely a drunk, an out of control drunk; the kind of guy who likes a good fight after several boilermakers.  The kind of guy who starts the fight and never wins one, but nevertheless thinks he’s a hell of a tough guy.  In other words, a jerk.  Then I wondered about the people with whom he worked, his peers in Congress and in the Democratic Party, and wondered what motivated them to put up with, to “follow” this character from a bad 1940’s low budget comedy, this potato head with hair plugs?

It is a question I think I may have found the answer to, finally. For me, anyway, it seems to fit on some weird cosmic joke kind of level.  It explains how Joe (not Joseph) Biden, who is really a cartoon character right out of Loony Tunes, has been endured all of these years.  He is meant to be the Vice President in an Obama administration.  A more perfect fit could not be found in the world; in the universe.

You see, I think Joe Biden serves the same kind of role in the Obama administration that Stepin Fetchit served in the films in which he appeared way long ago, a dimwit good only for a laugh.  The fellow whose stage name was Stepin Fetchit, Lincoln Perry, was actually a pretty intelligent man who parlayed his stereotype into becoming the first black actor to be a millionaire.  But Joe Biden, who is by no means the brightest bulb on the tree, could not do that.  He has been a comic foil, and perhaps a backroom bouncer, who knows, all these years.  In a strange and shivering way his loud mouthed,  stumble bum, Ralph Cramden persona does serve a purpose, has served a purpose for all of the crooks and cronies, the boozers and bamboozlers we have had to endure down there in the SOG.  With a Joe Blow around, why even a Nancy Pelosi looks good..

Why then should he not be the perfect foil for Sportin’ Life, our current president.  The two of them would be a great vaudeville act, and I sometimes wonder if that isn’t what our government isn’t really all about. the longest running sit-com with the highest production cost of any program ever, West Wing with a laugh track.

Only I ain’t laughing.  I’m damn near tears.

Anyway, read Mr. Weigel’s brief reflection which contains the truth about Joe- Blow Biden.

http://www.nationalreview.com/articles/331893/catholic-reflections-endgame-2012-george-weigel#

Final Word On the Benghazi FUBAR

I have just been handed the final intelligence report from my agent on the ground, Ali Ibn Bibbin Ben Stein, an Israeli Arab PhD from Penn State who works for an American oil company and doubles as a triple agent of Mossad, the CIA and Walmart.  I include it below in full:

Hi,

I suppose you’re wondering what I’ve been doing since 9/11 over here.  Well, I did have a few busy days.  When all of that stuff hit the fan that night I was just finishing up a nice meal with Achmed Lagattuta (There are a lot of half breeds in Libya.  After all it was conquered by Mussolini back in the day) where I finalized a deal to open the first Walmart in Benghazi.  They won’t allow any overweight or toothless people in underwear to shop, but we can get along with that.  It’s some violation of Sharia, I think.

I know that you’re really interested in finding out what really happened that night.  Here is the straight scoop.  At about 9:00PM, just as we were finishing our second orange crush, Akky’s iPhone rang.  His ring tone is a nice tune by the Libyan cutie, Moobar Goofootammy called “I love My Chickens”.  I only heard his side of the conversation, but Akky was by turns disturbed and excited by what he heard on the other end of the line.  The call took only about a minute and when he hung up Akky looked me straight in the eye and said,

“That was my good friend Vance.  Well we all call him Vance cause he liked the guy who played Vance for a couple of seasons on The Dukes of Hazzard.  He’s the only guy in Benghazi with a bushy black beard and his hair dyed blond.  The Mullah Abdullah don’t like it, but Vance can get a pick-up mounted 50 caliber machine gun and a crew of 20 or 30 bomb wearing potential martyrs into places you wouldn’t think of taking your best goat.  Mullahs, even this one, make allowances.”

I smelled something big happening and wanted to know more.  If I’d paid more attention I would have recognized the smell as a mixture of cordite and burning cars.  But there’d been a lot of that recently in town.

Akky continued, “Vance said that he’s loading up the pick-up with a few thousand rounds and picking up some of his buddies down at the gym behind the mosque where they keep all their weapons and ammo.  They got them a bunch of RPGs the US dropped off after we zotzed Ghaddafi, so we could “restore order”.  Then they’re gonna go out to the edge of town and do a little night firing.”

The fellas like to go our there and blow old cars apart, I’ve since learned.  It’s kind of like some guys I know back here go out in the woods, or down to the gun club and shoot at plunk at paint cans and beer bottles.

“You want another orange crush,” I offered, and Akky nodded.  I signaled for the waiter, a medical student at Edinburgh University studying to be a Neurologist, to bring us another two crushes.  Then Akky continued, “He laughed when I said, “Oh.”  “Nah,” he said to me, “they’re gonna go over and take out the US Consulate.   Just kidding.”

We both laughed at the thought of that.  I mean most of these guys had gone to school in the States and some even had girl friends they hoped to bring over here some day, or marry and move there.  I’d seen the iPhotos they all had taken of them with the Seals and Special Forces guys on the ground here a few weeks ago, smiling and holding up bottles of Coke, or Molotov Cocktails.

“Listen, ” Akky said, as we finished our oranges, “Lance invited me to tag along and take some vids and photos of the fun tonight.  You want to come?”  “No, ” I replied, “I think I’m gonna go back to my tent and watch some “Little House” re-runs.”

A couple of minutes later, Lance pulled up in his pickup in front of the place.  There were about fifteen guys in the back and another four or five in the cab with him.  I knew he was coming from about three blocks away because of all the noise the AK-47s were making.  As he parked, one of the guys in the back swung the 50 in our direction and took down a young palm tree.  I said to Akky, “Wow!  These guys are really juiced tonight.”  “Yeah,” he answered,” they got a few soles of really good Afghani hash in this afternoon.”

The guy who had the camel rental deal out front was hopping mad because the tree fell on one of his camels.  Lance got out of the pick-up and walked over.  He made a deal not to kill the guy and gave him a half a sole of hash for the dead camel, a young one.  “That’ll make some good soup,” he said as they tied it to the back of the pick-up.

Akky stood up, got his camera, and ran out to join Lance and the other kids at the pick-up.  “Sure you don’t want to come?” he yelled as he got in the back.  I waved him on and they took off, firing the 50, letting go a few RPGs at the houses still standing, the camel bouncing along behind the truck, swinging from left to right behind it as they swerved to avoid the wrecked cars in the street.

A few minutes later, I walked over the the guy at the camel stump and rented a ride home.

I had just gone to sleep after finishing Season 2 of “Little House” when my phone rang.  It was Akky.  “Hey, Akky,” I said “Make any more holes in the desert?”  “Desert?” He yelled in an excited voice.  “We just blew the American Consulate to hell and back and offed the Ambassador and a few guards.  They never knew what hit ’em.  Man it was Rambo In The Sand tonight!”

“You what!” I exclaimed, wide awake.  “Are you guys nuts?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice calmer now.  “No one was hurt.  And besides, I just got the feed from CNN.  Some doofus in the States , the guy who made that dumb Mohammed thing we were all laughing at the other night, is taking all of the heat for the thing.  Moohmhar just got a call from his girl, Shirley, in Ohio.  She said the guy will probably go to jail.”

“No kidding,” I said.  “Yeah,” Akky went on, ” and one of the guys, when he called his brother down in Yemen, the one who’s a pirate, this guy said his brother’s thinking of gettin’ a few of his buddies to go trash a few embassies down there.”

“Well,” I said, “thanks for the call, but I gotta get some sleep.”  “Oh, O.K.,” he answered, “sorry to wake you up.  But I really called to ask a question.  You don’t think this will have any effect on the Walmart deal, or interfere with some of these guys going back to school do you?”  I thought about that for a few seconds and then answered, “Nah, why should it.  They got the guy who caused it all, didn’t they?  Anybody asks any of you about it, just tell them you were there to help.”

“Yeah, that’s what we figured to do.”  he hung up, and I went back to sleep.  A couple of days later we all got together for some camel soup and a few laughs.

See you in Panama City at Spring Break,

Al

Can Anyone Be That Stupid??? You Want The Truth?

People all over this land are interested in wondering about one thing.  Who let the dogs out?  The dogs in this little piece about getting to the bottom of things are the filthy B***ards who stormed, and are still storming, the embassies and consulates of these Untied States of America in almost every place we have one beginning on September 11, 2012,  yet another day that will Live in Infamy…for an entirely different reason.

How did it happen that we were caught with our pants down?  Hell not only down, but completely off.  How did it happen that no one knew a damn thing about what was coming?  How did it happen that in Libya, a place where we played such a big part in freeing people from a dictator, our little piece of Amurriker was attacked…not demonstrated in front of…but attacked by a well trained and coordinated group, and we knew nothing about it?

You will remember, children, that in order for peace to prevail among nations, they have been in the habit of sending representatives one to another, to live in each other’s countries and to help in the conduct of the business of life in a dignified and peaceful fashion.  The persons so sent and the places where they live and work are considered to be sovereign and are placed under the protection of the hosting nation so guarantees of safety and sovereignty may be assured.  or, something like that.

OK?  OK, then.

So, what happened just a few days ago?  Well, if one believes the current fabulous tale being spun out of the our Capitol and throughout this land of mine and yours by the minions of truth, justice and the American Way, what happened was that some small time film maker made a film out in La-La Land which was never really completed, and never shown in a theater, and never released directly to DVD and never appeared anywhere except in a terribly disjointed 18 minutes long  “trailer” on You Tube, that well known location for blockbuster film premiers and whacko attempts at God-Only-Knows-What-But-It-Certainly-Ain’t-Cinema.

Some enterprising artiste dubbed the thing in Arabic, a language spoken by a goodly percentage of the world’s murderers, and things hit the fan. So, it’s really all our fault.  Time for the sad music and another apology.  And, it all happened too quickly and too quietly for anyone to know about before hand, or believe you me steps would have been taken.  We have promised to do so in the past, haven’t we?  How many times have we promised to take steps?  Anyone?  Anyone?  Bueller?

Well it is starting to become clear that this is not, erm, the truth.  This happens to the best of my ability to figure out, about a month or so ago.  You will read in this article by a reporter named  Caroline Glick that originally appeared in an AUSTRALIAN newspaper that some Mooselimb TV station in Egypt runs the film a whole month ago.   The “film” itself is finished a whole year ago.  Nobody really does a thing for w while.  Are they waiting?   These guys who run the thing are Salami Mooselimbs, or something like that, intellectually and doctrinally the rough equivalent of the snake handlers down in West Virginny.  But, by God, they know blasphemy when they see it, and know what to do.  I am sure you can imagine the Rev. Joe-Jim Bob Haystacks from East Mudgulch organizing an attack on, oh, say the Albanian Embassy here because some Albanian said something ugly about JEEEZUZ?

Yeah, neither can I.  Yet, that’s what happened, even after we apologized for it and said, “Please don’t hate us.”  Well, that’s what they want us to believe happened.

This thing appeared a MONTH ago?  Really? Yep, a month.  And to top it all off,  we knew something dangerous was this way coming.  We had been warned, we had been told, we’d heard it staid

Then we had time to get ready, right?  So you’d think.  Instead we went out for lunch and played a little golf, the weather being good for that.

AN IMAGINARY CONVERSATION INSERTED AS RELIEF FROM THIS TEDIOUS INTERNATIONAL TERRORIST STUFF

“Hello, Madame Secretary.  This is Ambassador Stevens.”

“Why yes, Ambassador.  I was just talking with the President and Secretary of Defense about you.  September 11 is coming up and…”

“Funny thing, that’s why I placed this call.  I’m in Geneva now, and I just got word from Under Secretary Blivot’s team at State that the Freedom Fighters in Benghazi are planning an attack on the Consulate down there.”

“Of course they are, Chris.  You don’t mind me calling you Chris, do you?  We heard all about it yesterday.  The place is going to explode.  Well, what can you expect?”

“Oh, cool.  I thought I’d get a couple of guys together and fly down to get killed, take one for the team, so to speak.  You could blame it all on that idiot out in California, apologize once again…we missed last month’s apology to Islam…and make a lot of points with the voters for our irenic response to irrational provocations from whacko film makers in California, a place we stole from the Mexicans.”

“That’s great, Chris.  Barry was just wondering if you wouldn’t mind doing something like that.  We’ve got the press all primed for that story.  That idiot Romney will do something Republican about swift (I hate that damn word.) response and forceful measures, and we can take the high road.  It should give us a really good poll bounce.”

“I’m happy to. Hillary. Say,you don’t mind me calling you Hillary, do you?”

“Nah, go ahead.  You won’t have long to do it.”

“Good.  Then this is goodbye.  Have fun.  Oh, I’ve already voted.”

“Great.  See if you can get the guys who are going to die with you to stuff a few in there for us “White Hats”, ha ha, before they get blown up, willya.”

BACK TO TEDIUM, SERIOUSLY

Now, that conversation never took place, of course.  But it certainly seems no other conversation ever took place either; like a short one saying, “Get the hell out of town, quick.”  Or, like, “Duck, because in about a minute we are gonna bomb the hell out of everything around you.”  And, that can only be due to the fact that the phone lines were down and all communication was cut off between the US and its embassies.  Or, maybe it is the fault of Congress and the Republicans who have refused to raise the debt limit and let Uncle Sugar pay his bills and keep the phone working.  Who knows.  It can’t be because they are all criminally stupid.  Can it?

As evidence that sanity reigns in Washington and throughout the government I offer the words of our Ambassador to the United nations…a place which wouldn’t exist without you and me pick up most of the bills… who is on record telling one of the suits on something called “This Week” last week that,..well, you go read it for yourself.  I can’t type it, because my attorney tells me that if I do I might become a part of a conspiracy to spread stupidity across the country, and during the past four years we have become more than sufficiently stupid to get us all killed.

Dope Dealers, Holes in the Head, Dried Liver and Emeril

So, there’s this kid named Zach standing around like 12 years olds sometimes do waiting for the dope dealers to leave the playground so he can go skateboarding or something like that.  All of a sudden things begin to TTS.  Benny “Full Ounce”, the enterprising dealer, wishes to sell at a price that Alonzo “Snort” does not wish to pay for the merchandise his nose desperately needs.  So, in order to close the deal to his advantage “Snort” decides to murder Benny and please his twitching beak.

The Snort does what any decent dope fiend with a sinus problem would do. He removes from his belt the Sig-Sauer he got from the government’s Fast and Furious Arm -A- Creep program and “pops a cap” in Benny’s general direction.  The popped cap, not able to tell the difference between a doper and a skateboarder, simply follows a straight line and lodges itself in this kid’s head who is standing in line waiting until the whistle blows and “adult swim” is over .  It lands in his brain, to be exact.  This ruins the yong Zach’s plans to go skateboarding once the playground is clear of dope dealers, guns and other assorted necessaries of modern life.  It also ruins “Snort’s” plans to give his nose a treat, but that is of no concern to us.

Within a few minutes the kid is scooped up and taken the nearest hospital where the docs look at him and the hole in his head.  They say, “We can do a lot of stuff, but we can’t take bits of metal out of little skateboarder’s brains.  Want a lube job?”  So he gets scooped over to a bigger place where the docs have bigger, emm, where the docs ain’t afraid of slicing through a brain that has a bullet in it.

They do it!  They take out the bullet and put the kid in a bed with a lot of tubes in and out of him, and things that go zip when they move and bop when they stop.  Mom comes by and the docs tell her in a Hollywood scene that “It doesn’t look good.” At all.   For Zach. You may shed a tear here.  You see, these words in a hospital in Texas are not good words to hear from a doc when your son is lying in bed with a hole in his head.

Look over there!  That’s disaster looming on the horizon like a tornado cloud on a hot afternoon.

Because , you see, in Texas they have this law which allows a doc to say something like, “OK, I’m calling this game on account of darkness.” and order everyone off the field.  They call the law the “Futile Treatment Law”, and no matter what you might say about your son, and his hope to be a skateboarding champ or something, the doc’s word is, well it’s law.  Of course to do this thing, the doc has to meet with the hospital’s ethics committee and get them to OK the deal.  But, he has to wait ten days for things to settle, and stuff like that.

Oh, and in case you didn’t know, an ethics committee is that thing that a lot of hospitals have.  They consider stuff like the hole in Zach’s head and measure and weigh all of the probabilities and permutations.  How much is it costing?  Do they have insurance? What does the insurance cover?  How long will he be here?  Will it interfere with my golf vacation to Palm Springs?  Anybody got seats for tonight’s game with the Yankees?  He’s a kid, so he’s probably got a lot of healthy organs we can market.  Serious stuff like that.

But, in this case here with the little skateboarder the doc, he waits only a week and one morning when mom comes in to visit her comatose son, she finds out the doc has already decided time is up.  The little guy is off food and water.  Mom says, “What, are you kidding me?”  Everyone looks stupid and says, “It’s a FUTILE CASE.  Doctor’s orders.”  They tell her the Ethics Committee said so, and the doctor followed through.  Then I guess they leave her to say goodbye, or something; leave her alone with Zach slowly becoming a skinny dessicated raisin with a hole in the head.

Well, not really. I mean, that part about the Ethics Committee meeting and all. The doctor did it on his own.  There wasn’t any Ethics Committee Meeting; no place where the doc could go and say, “I got this kid downstairs lying like a lump in the bed hooked up to everything that’s got a plug, and it just ain’t doing him any good that I can see.”  “How much do those things cost us, Belva?”  This is a question from the Chief of Medical Ethics at the hospital.  “More than your salary, Dr. Hardheart.”  “Geez!  That much, huh.  Hey, Doc, turn out the lights on this kid.  We need the money for that new wing we’re gonna build.  Anybody got tickets for the game tonight?”  That’s the way it goes.  Only this time they don’t even do that.

The kid’s good for a heart, liver, a couple of kidneys and who knows what all.  What he’s got to sell could take care of a couple of brand new hospital rooms I bet.  So, you do the math.  Some folks are thinking that’s what drove the doc to his desperate move.  Not me.

But then,  Mom sees that her son’s now breathing on his own, even if he is a little bit weaker for no food and a little bit dried out. (Don’t you hate real life?  So messy.)  She beefs about this, the story gets out and the doc starts treating the kid like a human being again instead of a spare parts department.

And there the matter rests, a kind of standoff.  But, not for long.  Because the Ethics Committee has raised up, and seen what needs to be done.  They’re gonna meet, by God, and Zach is agenda item number one.  Then, Zach’s gonna be plugless, and foodless and waterless.  On his way to raisin.  After the committee meets, Zach’z Mom’s got ten days to find a place to put him, ( besides the family plot I suppose ), or it’s curtains like they used to say in the talkies.

Now, here’s what I’m noodling about in all of this.  Zach’s probably a healthy kid, only 12 years old and stuff.  So, he’s probably got a fine set of organs, liver, heart, eyeballs.  I’m not including his brain, that’s already shot. If they start starving and all, what’s gonna happen to that stuff?  What good’s a re-hydrated starved liver to anyone? Except maybe for trail mix, you know.  And then this idea occurred to my mind.

Ethics Committees should have a chef on them, a resident Emeril, to advise on when to take all of that stuff out and make sure it’s usable when and if, or at least edible.  You know, do it early before it starts to go prunish on you.  In the case of a mis-calculation, it can always be put back.

I’ll betcha a sandwich that somewhere in the half billion pages of Obamacare there’s a paragraph on the Emerilization of medical care.  A sandwich, or a nice calves liver and onions meal.  I’m wondering, now, how many little veals we can save with this idea.