August 31, 2012

The Somali Right

I'm getting a little miffed at people stealing my shit. Big blogs won't link me, because for every 80 talent-weights of silver I deliver there are 20 talent-weights of crazy. This makes me unacceptably "edgy." Or perhaps even misogynist or racist, heaven forfend. I do this on purpose. To say I don't take myself seriously, and you shouldn't take yourself so seriously, either. I don't care how much traffic you garner. You're a fracking blogger. This is also why you will never see an ad on this blog. If this site ever made a ducat instead of costing one it would alter my content. And I will always reserve the right to be as profane and idiotic as I choose to be. Which right now I appear to be exercising with alarming frequency, thank goodness.

Which brings me back to the piracy. It's never anything big. A blog title. A turn of phrase. A concept. Never any credit, just Napsterish grifting. There are maybe three people doing this. I won't name names. They know who they are.

If you aren't going to link me, or credit me, at least quit stealing from me. Occupy Velociworld is over, motherfuckers. The next time it occurs I am going to shame you in front of a big, wide audience. Coincidence is one thing. But it's always the same little shites.

Do not piss me off again.

Two other things: 1) I get 300 hits a day, and 80% of those are people who took a wrong exit on the Google turnpike, and no doubt needed bathing in a bleach dilution and eyewashes when the Back button didn't function quickly enough. It is a very tiny universe here. But it is mine. 2) If you're going to insist on continuing to steal my intellectual property quit hitting my site from your fucking blogroll beforehand. Your digital fingerprints are all over my unmentionables, and I'm tired of using the 55-gallon drum in the backyard to burn them. That fire drum is reserved for a cappella 4-part-harmony urban verse renderings with my colorful neighbors.

Additional post-scriptum: I must mention Gerard is a Big Dog who links me. Because he is fearless. And because he has a morbid fascination for the queer and unsettling. Hence me.

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August 29, 2012

Pop! Goes The Weasel

I'm not much of a conspiracy theorist. You've read that here before. The true conspiracies are the ones you never heard about. President McKinley was killed by an anarchist named Czolgosz, for instance. CZOLGOSZ! Do you think that guy wasn't an Imperial Commander from the planet Krypton, sent as a probe to check our resolve? Fools. You fret about birth certificates? I, for one, would like to exhume McKinley. See what manner of projectile actually slayed the man. Czolgosz, indeed.

I don't believe in the obvious conspiracies, you see. The ones they want you to hear about. I, for instance, believe JFK was assassinated by a crazed communist loner at the behest of the Mob, and Ted Kennedy had George Wallace shot in Laurel, Maryland. Just like everyone else. I'm mainstream like that.

Here's the thing, though. Rough people do rough stuff. Barack Obama is a rough guy. Not a tough guy, mind you. He wears mom jeans, rides a girl bike, and wears a bike helmet with a visor. You don't have a visor on your helmet unless you are crashing through serious underbrush dirt biking. Otherwise you're just protecting your nose from sunburn. Obama cannot throw a baseball like a guy, and he can't even sink a hoop shot. Obama Can't Jump. But he is a rough guy. He Knows People.

I'm not prepared to say what I believe he is going to pull for an October Surprise yet. You would think me daft. But hark! He doesn't play the tough guy well. He's tried it, and looks the pussy he is. Obama's strength lies in his ability to make you feel sorry for him. Wah. Wah. Wah. He's every mother's nightmare. Not the son who comes home with cuts and bruises and doesn't care to talk about them. The son who comes home with a little sliver in his finger, and need mommy to take it out and kiss his boo-boo and make it all right.

So Obama will not play the tough guy card. Syria, as I had earlier surmised, is off the table. Any foreign expedition is off the table. Obama, the guy in the mom jeans, the spastic kid who can't throw a fucking baseball, needs you to feel he is imperiled. He is in jeopardy. This creation of a sense of helplessness, this bleat for succor and need, is Obama's greatest strength. It shall be exploited.

The only other thing I'm going to say this early in the game is, if I'm Joe Biden or Eric Holder, and I value my brain pan, I'm not going to be within 2 statute miles of Barack Obama for the last 10 days of the campaign. Causes need martyrs, and omelettes need eggs. And no one on this planet, other than his kids and wife, would miss Joe Biden. That, that sea anchor that continually embarrasses our great Richelieu.

P.S. You realize heavy duty tin foil isn't twice as strong as regular tin foil. It's a completely different beast! Ten-fold power. Even Cylons can't penetrate that shit. My modest opinion.

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August 28, 2012

Anne of Cleavage

Well, we all wanted Ann Romney not to make a fool of herself, and to tee the ball up for the feral Christie. That was certainly my expectation.

And then she showed up, really showed up, and gave a speech that blew me into my seat. Most First Women, or Scrunts-In-Waiting, give a deer in the headlights speech. Think Lady Bird Johnson, or Pat Nixon, or Betty Ford.

And yet Ann Romney just put a beautiful sweet beat down on the Democratic party. What a wonderful turn of fate. She was so awesome Christie was flummoxed, following her. Jesus. It was the conservative version of MLK's speech at the mall.

Don't think so, doubters? We shall see, won't we? Having said that, I sure wish Ann had worn that bustier I mailed her. Well, that's why we have a future, ain't it?

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August 25, 2012

Big Neil

I'm going to miss Neil Armstrong. Strange that I should find personal loss in someone I never met or knew, but he was an ideal of my youth, after all. He was that greatest of creatures to a lad, the American White Knight.

I was actually a bit put off by Armstrong when he was selected to be the first human to walk the moon. My 12-year-old soul was somehow incensed. Armstrong came out of nowhere, it seemed. He wasn't a famous astronaut. And he was a fracking civilian, for crissakes. A relative rarity in the astronaut corps at the time. They generally preferred military test pilots, and guys who had murdered one-on-one at 10,000 feet. That way you don't have a Thomas Eagleton surprise on the far side of the moon.

I was an Alan Shepard man (boy) back then. I figured you go with your first string. You go with the Ice Commander. You know who was a Wally Schirra man? Wally Schirra, that's who. He lobbied from the capsules to the boardrooms to the bars for that slot. For some reason Wally Schirra thought that slot was his to lose. And it was. Lost, that is.

I believe NASA made a conscious decision to go with the civilian. It was a Play Nice gesture when we were grinding our stellar hobnailed spaceboot into the face of the out-of-their-league Soviets.

Neil Armstrong was no lightweight, however. He was a Navy veteran of Korea, after all. And he was a test pilot on the F-100 Super Sabre, the F-101 Voodoo, the F-104 Starfighter, the Bell X-1, the Bell X-5, etc. etc. Hell, he set records in the damned X-15, and shared a cockpit with Chuck Yeager. Neil was a hoss, all right. He bled the right stuff.

I got over my fit of pique the day of the moon landing, of course, especially once I realized the Ice Commander had foresworn his crew cut for some kind of fucking hippie bangs.

Do they make them like Neil Armstrong anymore? I suppose they do, but we don't give them the technological steeds to prove to themselves, and us, that we are a great and proud nation. Now we hop charter flights to Kazakhstan to bum a ride into space.

Godspeed, Neil. And teach the Baby Jesus how to fly-by-wire up there.


Oh. One other thing. I witnessed the Apollo 11 launch. Nine miles away. The Earth trembled mightily that day, and not just from that glorious Saturn V.

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August 18, 2012


Why do Democratic politicians feel they can address African-American audiences like Stepin Fetchit? What level of condescension fuels that indecency? And, more importantly, why do those African-American audiences sit there and grin like Stepin Fetchit and take it?

It is almost as if the Democrat is giving the crowd a wink and a nod that they are inferior beasts, but can't help that fact. A vote for the Democrats, however, will shower these misbegotten unfortunates with justifiable largesse. And the crowd, rather than being indignant, and outraged at being so dehumanized, sucks it up, loves it.

I never understood the argument for reparations. They're already a done deal. Reparations have been an ongoing part of our nation since 1965. When you convince a demographic that they are too fucking stupid to make it on their own, but you will give them enough table scraps to survive, why, to me that's goddam slow-motion genocide.

A junkie may not be proud of himself when you give him that next fix you made him crave, but he sure as hell isn't going to turn it down. You created that junkie, and now you own him. His dignity, his pride, and his soul.

Below, Joe Biden performs for the NAACP annual convention:

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August 13, 2012

The String Wart Revolutions

With the summary firings of virtually the entire general staff of Egypt's armed forces Egyptian president Mohamed Morsi has locked up power for the Muslim Brotherhood. That supposedly benevolent power-sharing, much bruited about on gossamer wings by western pundits, is so much obvious khara. We now have another Islamist state in the Near East. One that controls the Suez Canal, a 165-mile border with Israel in the Sinai, and the tenth largest armed force on the globe. Didn't see that coming when Lara Logan was being repeatedly raped in the street by mob-crazed Egyptian "enthusiasts."

Now all Israel needs is for a similar Islamist coup d'etat in Syria, where our feckless foreign policy has done nothing to influence the outcome of Baby Assad's assured demise. Facebook and Twitter and YouTube don't premise a democratic revolution anytime, or anywhere. They merely make sharing the real-time horrors of mob violence and government bloodletting a more democratically shared experience. What's been happening in the Arab world has not been a Velvet Revolution, or a Green Revolution, or an Orange Revolution, or a Cedar Revolution. It's been a series of String Wart Revolutions, the Libyan, Egyptian, and Syrian strings each more grotesque than the last.

The Suez will be the most interesting short-term issue. Transit of the canal has been notoriously corrupt since its creation, regardless of the reigning authority. Huge cash payments still move one's vessel to the front of the line. Now cash may not be enough. It is relatively easy for the United States Navy to escort tankers through the Strait of Hormuz. How does one ensure the Canal stays open and safe? The British and the French surely won't help us do it after the 1956 debacle.

But hell, what's the big deal with the most vital seaway on the planet? Everyone can just Vasco da fuckin' Gama around the Cape of Good Hope. Probably only adds 12 days transit time. Each way. And oil is cheap, right?

Of long term interest is the perfervid religiosity. The Mubarak regime fell in shockingly short order. Now the street crawlers have their blood up, and a nodding accomplice in the palace. They won't be satisfied thumping some Sudanese or Ethiopians on the noggin. They'll be wanting to thump some Jews. Now, the supposedly well-trained Egyptian army couldn't even protect itself from the street crawlers, and I doubt the street crawlers, armed with some new-found hardware, would pose much of a threat to the Israelis.

But it is a distraction, when Israel must look east. They may not wish to divert conventional resources to the Sinai when Iran is on the menu. If the Sinai gets swarmed by ten thousand hooligans they might just glassinize it. Remember the Six Day War? This would be the Two Hour War.

Most importantly, what can we do to diffuse the instability an Islamist Egypt poses? I suppose the real question is what Obama will do with the situation to further his short term political goals. And the only answer I keep coming up with is start the damned thing.

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August 10, 2012

The Passage of Power

I finally finished Robert Caro's 4th, and penultimate, volume on the life of Lyndon Baines Johnson. A quick recap here, and a more lengthy exposition once I've fully digested it.

The great problem with Caro, coming out of the blocks, is that it takes 10 years to produce a volume. So he has been at this for 45 years, 30 in print. But each volume is a treasure, to be awaited, abided.

Only I felt this volume sucked. It was virtually unreadable. Caro finally cast aside his gimlet eye, his historian's reach of arm, and so hagiographied John F. Kennedy I felt the regurgitation in my throat. It was all by way of setting the table, so to speak, for LBJ's brilliant run in the first 5 months of his presidency to pass those noble civil rights bills that JFK couldn't manage to attend to. So busy was he managing his pain. Caro neglected to mention the whores.

Worse, the writing, the lack of the historian's gimlet eye, made the tome insufferable. A small example: LBJ wanted to pass Kennedy's tax cut bill. Why? Because any civil rights bill would be locked up in committee if anything else was pending. The Southern strategy. Fair enough, and true. But Caro would have you believe every politician, on both sides of the aisle, knew a tax cut would spur growth. The liberals wanted the tax cut to spur tax revenues to spend on social programs, and the conservatives wanted to kill the tax cut because they knew it would increase revenues that would be spent on social programs.

Caro would have us believe everyone in Washington knew tax cuts led to growth and increased revenues, but conservatives wanted to block it so the extra money wouldn't be spent on Negroes.

So the entire Washington establishment was drinking from the Laffer Curve cup in 1963? Bullshit. JFK was fighting the liberals in both parties for that cut.

Caro was a young man out of college in 1963. A liberal's liberal, he still lives the life of those heady days, and drinks the warm tea of socialism. He's like an autistic savant who cannot help but piss himself even as he is extracting pi to the 24th decimal.

As I said, a quick thought on the book. There is certainly some greatness there, but not the wickedly delightful genius that gave us the first 3 volumes.

Caro even mentions Obama in a historical tract that ends in 1964, and, startlingly, mentions himself no less than 4 times in the book. The upside is I no longer have to wait in agony for his next volume. For I do not think I will care for it.

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I ordered a pair of Blockheads to go with my Gumby and Pokey shelf ouvre at work. They will hold things in abeyance, even as my Columbine High School track cinders and my splinters from the Lorraine Motel evoke a certain, well, insouciance. Also: they'll need names. I'll probably choose from my commenters.


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Obama, the Merciless

Joan asks us what we believe the near future brings in the political sphere. How read the entrails?

I don't have any exotic ideas. Nothing that stretches credulity. I do think Romney will continue to play it a little too safe. It's not that he can't throw a haymaker. He's proven that he can. It's just that it isn't in his nature, and he doesn't have the appetite for a continuous loop of Kimbo Slice in the backyard. And Obama the Perpetually Aggrieved certainly knows how to play the poor little colored boy beaten up at the bus stop.

Having said that, I think Romney will do alright. That muddling middle of the electorate, those who don't care for bloody political wars, will ultimately lean toward the guy without the brass knuckles on. People who put bicycle helmets on tough little boys built like pieces of lighter knot don't like internicine warfare.

Which brings us back to the Boo Hoo Boy. Obama has done pretty well in the polls despite the economy because of heavy spending on bilious, prevaricating hate ads. But, like his repeated date rapes of the treasury coffers, he's spending more than he's receiving in "revenues." He can't afford to keep this up, especially when nothing is truly sticking to Romney. Obama gets a short term bounce due to negative reaction to Romney, the truth comes out, Obama backslides.

No, like all Democratic presidential candidates, Obama needs an October Surprise. It won't be a daisy ad, or an election eve DUI release, either, because Romney is simply too clean. Whatever your feelings about his politics: backstory after backstory, ridiculously untrumpeted by his campaign, show a decent, caring man who helps people with no thought to his own aggrandizement. He helps save a family from a sinking boat. He corrals his employees to help search for a fellow employee's missing daughter. He lends money to a family to purchase a house he easily could have dispossessed them of.

Can one imagine Barack Obama doing anything altruistic for anyone that did not involve someone else's money, his own bantam cockstrutting, and his need to have the moment memorialized and enshrined in the public consciousness forever? I need not even address Obama ever placing himself in physical danger to assist a fellow human being.

But to the Surprise: Obama can't get anything to stick on Romney, therefore he needs an external surprise. It's wag the dog time. A financial angle is out of the question. As disastrous and embroiled as the EU situation is, they wouldn't let Obama wade into their dire straits for all the gold in Fort Knox. No, it must of necessity be a military wagging. Obama must walk the Wallenda tightrope between showing he is a tough-assed warrior (Valerie finally let me get Bin Laden) and not totally fucking up.

Obama must attack someone. Simultaneously prove his Mau Mau bloodlines and his Jimmy Doolittle bona fides. The one country on the planet Obama would most like to attack is Israel, of course. His hatred of Great Britain is merely political. His hatred of Israel is metaphysical.

But that won't play in Peoria.

And so, who? The Persians? Iran is radioactive to Obama. Nuclear site strikes would entail retaliation from Iran, boots on the ground, a real mess, politically. Scratch that. We're looking for a quick, fast slam dance a week or two before the election. Something that shows the people Obama is a fearless warrior, Ming the Merciless. And look, I'm winning! Don't throw me out of office now! I'm about to button up this existential threat!

And so Hello, Mr. Assad.

My theory is Obama has been backchanneling with Putin. Getting the Russians to prop up Assad long past his expiration date. Now, the Russians always love to foment discord in the Middle East. It drives up the price of Russian oil exports. But this is a perfect storm. Putin agrees to keep Li'l Bashar in the fight all the way until a week or two before the election. Then Putin abandons him, walks away, and Assad is destroyed in an Obamakreig.

Why would Putin agree to this? Missile defense. Obama has already inadvertently let slip he's willing to cave on this. Also: another price spike in Russian oil exports, and a clueless dupe in the White House for four more years. WIN-WIN-WIN for Putin. Even if Obama loses it's still WIN-WIN for Putin. I'd play that hand.

For Obama: Four More Years. He doesn't care about the congressional elections. He plans to remake the nation with the stroke of the executive pen. Again and again and again. And he doesn't care about the rest of the world. Otherwise his own brother wouldn't be living on $57 a year, and his ontie holed up in a hovel.

Then again, this scenario involves a lot of work from a notoriously lazy man. It would not surprise me if the Obama campaign simply kept floating the idea that Romney is a blood-sucking vampire on the body politic. Or a zombie. I can't produce any dead bodies because he ate them! It is all so simple, really. For a Lightworker.

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August 9, 2012

The Original Occupier


I mostly ignored the Occupy Wall Street phenomenon. I've seen enough ill-planned street hucksterism to last two lifetimes. Mostly deranged soapbox preachers. And I am normally loathe to speak ill of the dead, which the Occupiers are. At least to me. But as a distasteful coda I would like to remark upon the progenitor of their ilk, their pyschological godfather: the late John Brown.

Brown's final deeds were certainly not unexpected. He was right in the thick of some quite nasty stuff in Bleeding Kansas, and elsewhere. And like today's slackers disguised as revolutionaries, Brown believed the ends justified the means. It does not matter how noble your cause might be, or how noble you perceive it to be. If you Occupy a federal armory, you will be caught, tried, and hanged like a dog.

Personally, I consider Brown to be a man with a severe personality disorder, perhaps psychotic, who considered himself an avenging angel of God against the ignoble horrors of chattel slavery. And in that thought, perhaps I do him a disservice to equate him with the Occupiers. As far as I know he never raped anyone in one of his makeshift hidey-holes. Nor did he defecate upon a police interceptor, or sheriff's mule.

Nonetheless, and again, if you Occupy a federal armory, you will be caught, tried, and hanged like a dog. It's really too bad the hipsters never attempted an Occupy Fort Knox. Or Occupy Tiananmen Square. Or Red Square. Then we would surely all be singing in unison.

Here you go. A classic song, brought to you by the unrepentant Stalinist Pete Seeger. One of those moments where you realize if this guy is on my side, I need to be on the other one.

P.S. Who was it who captured Brown at Harpers Ferry? Oh, yeah. Bobby Lee. Colonel, United States Army. Dude was everywhere.

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August 8, 2012


I'm not sure who's going to win in November, but I do know Joe Soptic is a fucking lying shill, and a despicable bag of shit. For what it's worth, I'm glad his wife died of cancer. For she would surely be ashamed of his disgusting actions now.

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August 6, 2012

The Martian Curiosities

Well. $2.5 billion from the public fisc (that would be you) to land yet another probe on the Red Planet. Which will crawl spasmodically around, taking soil samples, seeking microbial fossils, and ancient evidence of water. To what purpose, I ask?

Apollo 11 only cost $1.75 billion in 2012 dollars, and we let two guys stomp around, plant flags, and take more photographs than a Japanese at Disneyland that year, while a third guy orbited the Moon as the official Loneliest Man in the Universe. Now we are excited when we replicate something we've been doing since 1976. And doing well for 20 years.

Sure, most Mars probes crash and burn. Usually the Russians'. But how many times can we spend that kind of money to take humble samples of the same barren, bleak terrain?

We all know the main reason this boondoggle cost so much is the ridiculous Rube Goldberg parachuting contraption. Where is Occam when you need him? I honestly believe part of the reason for the contraption was the media frenzy engendered by the "7 minutes of terror" meme, that was pimped 24/7. NASA created its own terror for ratings, and subsequent funding.

I have nothing against space exploration. In fact, I absolutely love it. I've been wearing fake NASA helmets and crashing my head into trees since I was 5. Still do upon occasion. I have Gus Grissom mounted on a crucifix in my bedroom. But these Mars probes are weak tea. We'll find nothing. Perhaps evidence life might have existed there once. What kind of life? The shoulders in Pasadena shrug in ignorance.

For two and a half billion dollars I want intrepid souls with unstable rockets under their asses, flying into the unknown. I want a man to say "That's one small step for man, and one curiously parasitic beetle crawling underneath my fingernail." I want to see brave men in hyperbaric quarantine while we observe mutations.

Seven minutes of terror, my ass. This is what happens when you transfer your values from Mission Control to the Jet Propulsion Laboratory. When Texas and Florida ride bitch in the back seat: California values. The only terror felt in NASA in the last 24 hours was the terror incumbent in losing one's federal funding because of screwball, grandstanding stunts. These idiots will be sending little robots to Mars for 100 years if we let them. Their ideas boast grand vision, but they are in reality the most myopic of internal disciplines. In fact, I'll wager there are three times as many geologists on this team as biologists. Rockhounds, too lazy to search for oil. Well, at least the Grand Canyon didn't call you a dweeb. So you have that.

Fuck this. Let's put some boys in space. I'd rather go back to the moon in 5 years than wait 40 for a puppy sent to Mars. At least you can smack the piss out of a golf ball there.

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August 4, 2012

Red Alert

Or PSA, depending on how your stem winds. My good friend Marci is apparently now a "Cam Girl." This means that you can find her here, and live chat with her while she removes her clothing.

I had no idea such a thing existed. Well, I did, but not with anyone I know. What a marvelous, modern world we live in.

The ground rules are: Saturdays, 5PM Pacific time. You may tip the hostess/performer. Additional rule: if you aren't polite I will seek you out and remove your heart with a Gerber Gator.

Only 4 and a half hours until showtime. I must get in touch with Skippy.

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Pronounced Tomato

That nuthouse I mentioned before is in Bolivar, Tennessee. Only they don't pronounce it "BOH-lee-VAR", like the famous South American patriot. They pronounce it "Bolliver." To each their own.

Likewise, there is a county not far from me called Taliaferro. Only they pronounce it "Tolliver." Why? Because shut your pie hole, that's why.

Tolliver Taliaferro County is the least populated county in the state. It only has 1,700 residents. Mostly rural folk. The little Bellsouth Tower where I worked in Jacksonville had about 3,000 people, I guess. So that gives you an idea of the paucity of citizens in Taliaferro.

Which got me to thinking. If I were to hijack (or, reluctantly, purchase) an Anheiser-Busch truck, why, I could probably bribe 51% of the citizens of that county with six-packs, and be sheriff in no time. Or mayor, or chairman of the county commission. Whoever holds the most power. I like to think it's the guy wearing the gun.

Such reforms I could make as an absolute ruler! And on a modest scale. With only 1,700 people it would be easy to see what worked, and what didn't. A tweak here, a nudge there, I'd be like Thor. Or Andy Taylor with an assault weapon.

I believe the U-6 unemployment rate in Taliaferro is about 20%. I'd have to get those people back to work. As a populist, and a sometime agrarian in the Fugitives model, I believe the best thing for Taliaferro would be to bring back sharecropping. Working with the land is noble work, as any hippie on a commune will tell you. They will also tell you that redistribution of the fruits of their labor is a noble thing, too. Down with that. After my 40% take they could divvie up the rest as they see fit.

To truly bring sharecropping into the 21st century we'd have to be organic, of course. No pesticides, no chemicals. So if a worker can't make it to the port-a-potty and shits on the watermellions, well, we'll just call that batch "artisanal."

I think this is a worthy, shovel-ready endeavor. I'm going to put the "dig" back in dignity. And like that old horse in Animal Farm, don't bother me with your bitching. Pull your load. We're going to put Tolliver on the map. And fetch Sheriff VMan a lemonade. This pondering has made me mighty thirsty.

P.S. If I ever actually heard someone call a tomato a "to-mah-to" I would surely slap the pretension right off their face. Then put them to work cleaning them watermellions.

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It's Not You, It's Me

Strange happenings on this site of late. I can't upload pictures, I'm now forced to moderate my own comments, and I just found a fuckload of unpublished comments.

I haven't been paying much attention to VWorld lately, so if your comment or trackback didn't get published it wasn't me. I have no filters on this thing. Even Skippy gets to comment.

I'll attempt to be more active, and publish whatever gets caught in the Brassiere of Doom Movable Type has apparently corraled me with.

It's not you. It's me. Or, more correctly, it's the inscrutable Them.

Posted by Velociman at 1:25 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

August 3, 2012

In The Boudoir With The Man

I've never understood the fuss about gay marriage, civil unions, traditional marriage. Probably because I've never understood The State's infatuation with an individual's sexual proclivities. Well, actually, that's a lie. Take a legislator, a pimp for hire, a person devoid of any internal mechanism for true self-actualization, and plop him in a chamber for hours on end, listening to the narcotic dronings of his colleagues. Of course his mind will wander to sex. And more importantly, how he can insinuate some control over others' sexual lives. Because control is all a politician has. And sexual control is the bestus control anyone can have. As my closet of horrors will attest.

There is certainly a lot to be said for the 3,000 years of public policy that surrounds marriage as we know it, and the idea of one man, one woman. It stabilized society, prevented murders, nurtured furtherance of society through conforming childbirth. It also protected the innocent from the real injury of bigamy, and helped institutionalize the proper administration of trusts and estates. It also allowed the state to at least attempt to control the spread of venereal and genetic diseases.

Pretty much every civilization has always respected one man-one woman for the stability it brings to society. Hottentots, Yanomami, Inuits, traditional marriage has been the stabilizer bar that keeps the vehicle of society from running into the ditch.

We, of course, don't need these safeguards now. Our childbearing demographics already show a civilization in decline across the Western World. Gay marriage won't affect that one way or the other.

The simple fact is, at least in America, the federal government abdicated its role as Lord Protector of marriage when Lyndon Johnson foisted the Great Society welfare regime upon us. No longer was illegitimacy scorned, it was rewarded. In fact, marriage, and even cohabitation, was punished by the government. Ruinous lifestyles were monetarily rewarded. One might say "unintended consequences, and what a shame." I say if those outcomes were a surprise to you, then you are a fucking retard.

LBJ and his Democratic Congress drove a great sharp stake into the heart of traditional marriage in 1965. It is what it is, now. I would suggest we enjoy the diversity, but Section 8 rowhouse after rowhouse of multigenerational mutt-breeding with no father figures isn't really diverse, is it?

All this is by way of saying government shouldn't be in the marriage business in the first place. They fuck up everything they touch. Here's a thought: what if all relationships were strictly contractual? As far as I can tell, two people can already contractually obligate and donate to each other as they see fit anyhow, without regard to government sanction. Ever hear of a will and testament? An insurance beneficiary?

Actually, the only thing a private contract cannot bequeath, as far as I can tell, are survivor benefits. Social Security survivor benefits. And that won't matter in a few years anyway, as that corrupted system is on more life support than a found drowned baby at the beach. And let's face it: survivor benefits are an ancient concept, based on mother staying home to mind the chirren while daddy got his head whacked off by a cherry picker working a highway gang. Casting the government out of the marriage racket will merely reaffirm our belief the bitch should have been pulling her own weight in salary in the first place.

Verily, the government killed marriage 45 years ago, now they must get out of the way. You want 4 wives? 5 husbands? Have at it. Just don't expect me to feel your pain when it all goes awry. Gay? Do you have any idea how repulsive the concept of peering into your bedroom is to me? Do you have any idea how little I care about the deployment of your genitals? Only you are fixated on that. Not me.

The usual caveats apply, of course. As my father The Senator might have said, kids and animals ain't got a mind of their own, boy. Of course he probably would have used terms like In Compost I find Mentos, or something. Anything else goes. Once a society, a civilization, abandons their moral perimeters, resistance is futile.

There really was a time in every civilization when adherence to one man-one woman was vitally important. It was how people functioned without killing each other, and provided a nurturing environment for the offspring.

Now it takes a village to flashmob a bath house, and I could care less.

Posted by Velociman at 11:28 PM | Comments (30) | TrackBack