We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
Geez, Bird Dog. You kids these days with your newfangled Greek lyre and pan-flute noise music. I kick it old school -- Phoenecian, baby! 3400 years ago, the oldest known written melody was scratched out in cuneiform.
The text consists of: "Akkadian terms written in a Hurrianized manner and enscribed in Ugaritic Cuneiform script." (Big deal. According to our current Treasury Secretary, so are the instructions to TurboTax) You can read all about the tablet and the people that read Hurrian well enough to decipher it here. In the meantime, some robo-dweeb hep cat has tightened up his funky lyre and banged out that paean to Nikkal, the Moon Goddess:
Man-o-man, you're L7 if you didn't tap a toe to that one. Hurr Hurr Hurrian, baybee!
Democratic representative from Illinois Jan Schakowsky says you're "despicable" because you don't want to pay the government whatever the hell they want whenever the hell they want it without whimpering.
Let's compare and contrast two "community activists," shall we?
The House bill streamlines President Obama's $3.6 trillion proposal and seeks to trim the deficit to $1.2 trillion in 2010, compared to the president's figure of $1.4 trillion.
"Streamlines." I see everyone went to Creative Non-Fiction class at Community College, and emerged with only an Unintentional Humor merit badge. Whatever. I'm simultaneously amused by Republicans talking about creeping socialism. You're creeping socialists, too; you just want to spend other people's money on the things you prefer.
But this Senate/Congress/TOTUS tripartite turd isn't anything like creeping socialism. Everyone in the chattering classes is so far wrong about this thing they can't even understand that creeping socialism isn't the bad end result we should expect, it's the infomercial come-on for the plunder economy someone's really after. Socialism is the carrot, not the slippery-slope outcome stick. Forget socialism; this is feudalism redux. It's the Chicago way.
Man can live and satisfy his wants only by ceaseless labor; by the ceaseless application of his faculties to natural resources. This process is the origin of property.
But it is also true that a man may live and satisfy his wants by seizing and consuming the products of the labor of others. This process is the origin of plunder.
Now since man is naturally inclined to avoid pain — and since labor is pain in itself — it follows that men will resort to plunder whenever plunder is easier than work. History shows this quite clearly. And under these conditions, neither religion nor morality can stop it.
When, then, does plunder stop? It stops when it becomes more painful and more dangerous than labor.
It is evident, then, that the proper purpose of law is to use the power of its collective force to stop this fatal tendency to plunder instead of to work. All the measures of the law should protect property and punish plunder.
But, generally, the law is made by one man or one class of men. And since law cannot operate without the sanction and support of a dominating force, this force must be entrusted to those who make the laws.
This fact, combined with the fatal tendency that exists in the heart of man to satisfy his wants with the least possible effort, explains the almost universal perversion of the law. Thus it is easy to understand how law, instead of checking injustice, becomes the invincible weapon of injustice. It is easy to understand why the law is used by the legislator to destroy in varying degrees among the rest of the people, their personal independence by slavery, their liberty by oppression, and their property by plunder. This is done for the benefit of the person who makes the law, and in proportion to the power that he holds.
Pedro: If I win, you can be my secretary or something. Napoleon Dynamite: Sweet! Plus I could be your bodyguard, too. Or like, Secret Service Captain, or... whatever...
"Responding to the anger about bonuses paid to AIG traders, the House approved a bill Thursday that would impose a punitive 90% tax on bonuses paid by American International Group Inc and other financial companies that receive federal help. The vote was 328-93. The bill would apply to bonuses of people making more than $250,000 a year, and would apply only to payments from companies getting more than $5 billion from the federal government."
From James Madison:
"Bills of attainder, ex post facto laws, and laws impairing the obligations of contracts, are contrary to the first principles of the social compact, and to every principle of sound legislation. ... The sober people of America are weary of the fluctuating policy which has directed the public councils. They have seen with regret and indignation that sudden changes and legislative interferences, in cases affecting personal rights, become jobs in the hands of enterprising and influential speculators, and snares to the more-industrious and less-informed part of the community."
Sober people are in short supply nowadays, ain't they?
I've been to a lot of colleges. I've seen geeks, dorks, nerds. Committed frat-icide by keg. Met gobs of the artsy fartsy stripe, too. Seen plenty of pencil pushers in their dorm room chrysalis. But in all my travels, I've never been to a grimmer hive of humorlessness than Wellesley College. I'd rather have two teeth out than go to a party at Wellesley College. But they've finally come across with one good laugh. Check out the chart. That's the self-reported rate of virginity among the denizens of Swellesley, according to their own Counterpoint magazine.
When I picture the pile of mendacity this chart represents, and then season it with the images of the LUGS gettin' it on under the watchful eyes of their Sauron, Obama, and Che posters, the desolate furtive groping interspersed with the endless acts of contrition and permission necessary to disrobe a feminist toward the center of the chart, and the beautiful frosting of a vision of the bell curve ends getting together by accident during an all night trance party, I forgive Wellesley everything. You finally came across. You're checkbox comedians after all.
I've read that a Wellesley student once reported that she switched her iPod to Bach while waiting at crosswalks, because she didn't want anyone to know she was listening to the Spice Girls if she got hit by a bus when the light changed. I bet that girl's off the charts, baby.
There's a monotonous feel to the interaction between the stock market and government these days. A government hack says something dumb, and the market tumbles. The only adult left in the room, Ben Bernanke, will appear in some forum and talk a little sense. First the market stabilizes, and then jumps. Lather, rinse, repeat. Then every once in a while, the big kahuna of them all, Studs Urkel Obama, opens his yap and everyone with even a sock full of pennies heads for the exits. It's like clockwork.
Yesterday was only one in a raft of examples of this dynamic. Bernanke appears on Sixty Minutes, the market's riding on multiple consecutive days of big gains, likely fueled solely on shellshocked investor optimism that there's enough stability to preclude their money being subject to a kind of three-card-monte oopsie the next day. The DJIA is up 200+ by midday and it looked like maybe people might start to think it's dangerous not to be in the market. Then at noon a picture of Little Timmy and President Urkel running their mouths about AIG appears on Drudge and the market gives up three percent in two hours. Little Timmy Geithner has fallen into the Treasury well, and Lassie is dead. President Urkel can't even be in over his head, because he's never even been to the pool. He literally knows nothing about being an executive. Here's some advice for the dynamic duo: AIG deals in counterparty risk. The counterparties listen to you too.
It's the executive branch, you know. He's the chief executive. And it's his first executive position. It shows. President Urkel went live yesterday, and he complained. Whined, actually. He made an impotent gesture, talking about how someone should do something about those bonuses they dole out at AIG. Or he was going to do something, except he can't. Well, he said something, I'm not quite sure what, and neither was he. The US government owns 80% of AIG, and the chief executive of the US whined like a recently promoted secretary still asked to make coffee. He could do anything he wanted. But he did what all bad executives do: He tried to leave his castle with a pitchfork and join the mob and yell at the spot he used to be standing in. It doesn't work that way.
If President Urkel knew the first thing about being an executive, he'd know that you only whine up the ladder. You never whine to your underlings. They whine to you, you whine to your boss, and so forth. There is no "up" where you are, Mr. President. You're the Decider, now, remember? You asked for the job. That's why Nixon roamed the halls and talked to the pictures of dead people. They're your only colleagues now.
Be quiet, or do something. My advice is the former, because you seem to have no clue about the latter.
I contribute things, but that's it. I'm not in charge. So I am not responsible for what is said here. I'm simply responsible for my own behavior, and to choose my friends wisely. But as my father often told me, nothing good happens in a bar after midnight; so if you choose to stay in there, whatever happens is partly your responsibility.
I have sharp Internet elbows. I say outrageous things for effect from time to time. When you try to use humorous turns of phrase, it's easy to piss people off. In general, the Internet could easily be renamed: A Pigpen for Pissed off People anyway. If I woke up tomorrow and everybody's URL began with PPP instead of WWW I'd be down with that. I still say we should call a "call a spade a spade."
But some people like to find offense where it isn't because they've got nothing else but outrage. They're willing to manufacture outrage to suit their crabby worthless worldview. If someone didn't care for my politics, they might take issue with the expression "call a spade a spade," for instance. They're hoping that they could wield a sort of moral Kryptonite they could use to say that any particular argument is settled, because you're obviously not even of sufficient moral stature to dispute with. Political Correctness is the attempt to end discourse by introducing extraneous moral elements that, in general, are imaginary.
But what of the flip side? What of people who claim that their right to express themselves is being impinged by PC, when in reality, no such extraneous elements are being introduced to the equation?
This image, among others, was inserted in the comments here at Maggie's, to mock the people in it. But not in just a humdrum way. They were used as a sort of intellectual club to try to beat the political opponents of the person that used the picture. It was an exponential, not just an arithmetical, extension to the insult.
The person that offered it has nothing of any merit to say about anything. If they told me the sun was rising in the East today, I'd check. If they did have anything of merit to say, they wouldn't have to resort to using a picture like that to complain about being enjoined from fantasizing about the murder of their political opponents.
I must be immune to the charms of the urge to mock the mentally disabled. Because I don't see it. I see two people, in every way my equal in the eyes of the creator, looking directly into the camera -- unashamed, friendly, outgoing, sunny, and smiling. They are useful to other people. They are --get this-- happy. Contrast their demeanor with the crabby, xenophobic, greedy, unfriendly, spiteful, whining, paranoid, and anti-intellectual outlook of the person that placed it here, and the cowardly context of the original sentiment expressed.
Yes, indeed, the photo depicts people who aren't "smart enough" to drink their own urine and eat Spam in their bunker while telling people on the Internet they're praying for an apocalypse that never comes so you can say "I told you so."
I'll take a planet filled with people like the picture, please.
You know, people often ask me why I write for Maggie's Farm. That's a poser, as we say on the Farm.
Truth be told, the proprietor of this sorry place, Bird Dog, promised me hookers and blow if I joined the Maggie's team. So I attended the Christmas party expecting great things. It didn't work out exactly as I had planned.
At this point, it's just plain stubbornness keeping me around. On a farm, sometimes being stubborn is all you got.
Some say P.J.O'Rourke is the new Mark Twain; but of course I'm the new Mark Twain so that can't be. He is the new Mencken, at least, or as fierce as Bierce, surely. I can't tell if he's lazy or smart --I imagine it's both-- because he almost never writes anything. He certainly never writes anything not worth reading.
Somebody at the Weekly Standard and the Defense Department got the bright idea to send him out on the carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt, and he didn't go up the gangplank to get on, either. If this doesn't explain John McCain to you, you're beyond explaining, and should just pull the lever for the empty suit or the empty pantsuit right now and get it over with.
Some say John McCain's character was formed in a North Vietnamese prison. I say those people should take a gander at what John chose to do--voluntarily. Being a carrier pilot requires aptitude, intelligence, skill, knowledge, discernment, and courage of a kind rarely found anywhere but in a poem of Homer's or a half gallon of Dewar's. I look from John McCain to what the opposition has to offer. There's Ms. Smarty-Pantsuit, the Bosnia-Under-Sniper-Fire poster gal, former prominent Washington hostess, and now the JV senator from the state that brought you Eliot Spitzer and Bear Stearns. And there's the happy-talk boy wonder, the plaster Balthazar in the Cook County political crèche, whose policy pronouncements sound like a walk through Greenwich Village in 1968: "Change, man? Got any spare change? Change?"
Some people say John McCain isn't conservative enough. But there's more to conservatism than low taxes, Jesus, and waterboarding at Gitmo. Conservatism is also a matter of honor, duty, valor, patriotism, self-discipline, responsibility, good order, respect for our national institutions, reverence for the traditions of civilization, and adherence to the political honesty upon which all principles of democracy are based. Given what screw-ups we humans are in these respects, conservatism is also a matter of sense of humor. Heard any good quips lately from Hillary or Barack?
Environmentalism, so called, is essentially an urban religion. Like Lenin organizing agriculture from an office, environmentalists have a bizarre worldview based on never really knowing much about the subject at hand. Most environmentalists got all they ever learned about the real world from Bambi.
There are many conservators of nature. The only people I ever met who understand anything about nature are hunters and farmers. I never met an academic whose opinion about the natural world was worth a fig.
A person that has killed another beast in the wild, and eats it, has smelled the very musk on the beast, and felt the last shivers of its life ebb away. A hunter knows a lot about a deer you don't. And they didn't do anything that wasn't going to happen to that creature anyway. There are no nursing homes in the forest, and eventually every beast loses a step on the manifold forces arrayed against it. Some sooner than later, as we will see.
A goldfish would eat you if it could get you in his mouth. That's all you need know about Nature. Go out in it, and have something real to do with it. Life and death; or a test of will, anyway. You can never respect it if you don't know about it. And remember it's still as cruel and remorseless as God made it in the first place.
Our friend Gerard Van der Leun tried his hand at a little musical comedy today: Did You Ever Have To Make Up Your Mind?, by the Lovin' Superdelegates. A fine effort of course, as are all things American Digest. But of course, we can't help thinking he's mining a shaft with precious little ore in it. Dick Van Dyke and Julie Andrews is the mother lode, my brother!
SuperClintObamaDelegateFightIsAtrocious! Howard Dean is whining: Hey! infighting's gonna croak us If he says AARGH! loud enough He hopes the flock will focus SuperClintObamaDelegateFightIsAtrocious!
When Obama starts to speak Assembled throngs go mad Rodham gives his nose a tweak Points out his pastor's rad Then old Barry learned a word That saved his aching nose SuperClintObamaDelegateFightIsAtrocious!
Conversely under sniper fire There's no need for dismay For losing votes in Florida for caucusing last May Just claim those superdelegates If they can make parole SuperClintObamaDelegateFightIsAtrocious!
From today's 
I've been to a lot of colleges. I've seen geeks, dorks, nerds. Committed frat-icide by keg. Met gobs of the artsy fartsy stripe, too. Seen plenty of pencil pushers in their dorm room chrysalis. But in all my travels, I've never been to a grimmer hive of humorlessness than Wellesley College. I'd rather have two teeth out than go to a party at Wellesley College. But they've finally come across with one good laugh. Check out the chart. That's the self-reported rate of virginity among the denizens of Swellesley, according to their own Counterpoint magazine. 
There's a monotonous feel to the interaction between the stock market and government these days. A government hack says something dumb, and the market tumbles. The only adult left in the room, Ben Bernanke, will appear in some forum and talk a little sense. First the market stabilizes, and then jumps. Lather, rinse, repeat. Then every once in a while, the big kahuna of them all, Studs Urkel Obama, opens his yap and everyone with even a sock full of pennies heads for the exits. It's like clockwork. 
This image, among others, was inserted in the comments here at Maggie's, to mock the people in it. But not in just a humdrum way. They were used as a sort of intellectual club to try to beat the political opponents of the person that used the picture. It was an exponential, not just an arithmetical, extension to the insult. 
Some say P.J.O'Rourke is the new Mark Twain; but of course I'm the new Mark Twain so that can't be. He is the new Mencken, at least, or as fierce as Bierce, surely. I can't tell if he's lazy or smart --I imagine it's both-- because he almost never writes anything. He certainly never writes anything not worth reading. 