"What we’re experiencing now is really a ticking time bomb that they designed about 100 years ago, beginning in the progressive movement. And they thought, "you know what, if we just do this and this and this and this, over time if we do it in both the Republican and Democratic parties, we will have our socialist utopia." Well, I am drafting plans now to bring us back to an America that our founders would understand...We need to start thinking like the Chinese." -- Glenn Beck,
For a man with a college education consisting of one class he dropped out of , Mr. Beck has a lot of opinions concerning history. Mr. Beck has no professional background in Early American history. It is also apparent from the ludicrious statement he made trying to draw some comparison to China with the founding fathers that he has not studied Chinese history.
For a man who make $23 million a year I expect more than just random opinion and propaganda.
If Glenn Beck is drafting a plan to bring America back to its early foundation he must be planning to eliminate the current political party system, get rid of the current banking system, return the United States to a pre-industrial agrarian society, set up a more direct democracy on the local level, cut military spending by 95%, allow US merchants to deal with any country in a non-political fashion however they like, funnel the majority of government spending toward citizen education and limit our political involvement with Europe and Asia.
If I were to hazard a guess into the mind of a former drug and alcohol addict like Beck, I'd guess he is talking about some progressive measures that took place in the early 1900's like creating national parks, the right to create unions which allowed people to make a living wage in factories whilst keeping 10 year old children from working 16 hour days where they could easily become permanently maimed. Maybe he is thinking about he Women's sufferage movement. Since the New Deal was the closest the US has ever come to a Socialist Utiopia I am not terribly worried if this does happen. Perhaps I should share a slide show of the Great Depression with Mr. Beck. No, it would be wasted.
In my experience you get lots of opportunities for contacts and associations. We tend to call them friends but in fact there are very few people you can truly rely on in life. The trick is to find out who those friends are. My attitude toward friends is to give them my full trust and be open. If they burn me I mark them off my list and move on. I’d rather have three really good friends in life than 100 friends that I don’t know secretly have issues with me. When you do find out who your friends are you should never hold out on them. Life is about sharing your dreams, your hopes your triumphs and failures. If you can’t do that, then even if the hand of friendship is offered you will still lose. For each of us to be true to our own spirit we must be able to be ourselves and share what makes us each special.
There have been many days when I was the dungeon master for my campaign I've wanted a potion of healing for myself. Now I can get one. Check out these tasty beverages and for a limited time you can also get a free Drow assassin mini. http://www.myjones.com/code/limited.php?campaign=wizards
My name is T. Lucus. This is my first attempt at blogging. Why would anyone care to read my opinions, hosted on a free site, when there are so many erudite, worldly people with caustic opinions and agendas and the resources to make those opinions the public policy of the hoi poloi? Time will tell as he always does. Although, whether time proves to be a prophet or another anachronistic deity destined to be killed by his children remains to be seen. I hope to be a denizen of Earth long enough to see the outcome!
This evening's topic is Universal Health Care. As I lay at rest, early in the morning, I often hear on the radio or television the cries from the outraged religio-patriot, right-wing, ADHD, hypocrites, that if the United States adopts a system of Universal Health Care this society will collapse for many reasons. The first, and most important is that the very concept of Universal Health Care comes straight from Mein Kampf or the Communist Manifesto. It's far more likely that Universal Health Care will evolve into something from Huxley's Brave New World, but I somehow doubt the Sarah Palins and Glen Becks of this world have spent much time reading literature.
Imbeciles often make brilliant comments, but always in the wrong context. I heard both Palin and Beck saying that should the government pass legislation for Universal Health Care, your granny will most assuredly be forced to the death camp. Cowards die many deaths. A brave man dies but once. There was a time when suicide was the means to avoid the dishonor of a cowardly, lengthly demise. My granny would have thrust a dagger through Palin's eye socket and given Mr. Beck a tasty hemlock soda if either of those slaves even tried to look at her without thrusting themselves prone in the dirt before her. The type of Universal Health Care Palin and Beck refer to was adopted by charismatic thugs, madmen, and eugenists who dreamed of an all Caucasian ruled world destined to last about a decade or so. It seems Palin and Beck long for a return to the days when Caucasian ideologues reigned.
Altruism was never one of humanity's strong points and I suspect Beck and Palin have lesser measures of the trait than most people. If the government were able to implement a program which encompassed full health care to all citizens no matter who they are, what consequences would there be? Would there be a society of perfectly healthy beggars with pearly white teeth and the ability to procreate masses of healthy babies who would need to be supported by the government? Would humanity cease to exist without Universal Health Care? How many people care enough about their fellow man to fight for them?
There are vampires among us. They wear suits and carry brief cases. They lobby the media, the pastor, and the simpleton. Their weapon is money. These vampires will drain humanity of its resources, taking first their money, then their freedom and finally their ability to dream. I think I shall go out for a snack. Vale!
This is not a morality play. In fact, I come from a proud line of fire-bugs, pyromaniacs, and explosives experts.Heck, what separates us from the Geico Caveman is the ability to get a good deal on car insurance…and make FIRE!My credentials as a pyro go far beyond my excellent Beavis imitation “FIRE! FIRE”!!Sorry, got a little excited there.My primordial urge to burn things goes back to 1975 when I used to light matches in a cardboard school lunch box for fun on the top bunk bed in my bedroom late at night.Not to be outdone, my brother simply lit the bed on fire.The orange glow was appealing; and briefly the warm glow was a welcome change to the normally freezing conditions in my room.Needless to say I was grounded for a month and had to cut off my right hand as punishment.My brother was treated to ice cream.I’m NOT bitter!
My point is, you don’t have to be a redneck or even live in Willis to love fire, but it helps! In the Fall everyone from Leafblower Man, to Action Man (another story) to the Society Against Environmental Waste (SAW) has a leaf fire going.The smoke creates a three-week screen which makes Willis invisible to radar and satellite probes.The Pentagon is looking into the military application of this phenomenon.
There IS something in the air in Willis that gives one an uncontrollable urge to create a massive fire or explosion.When I first moved to Willis, I decided I needed to burn some boxes in a 55 gallon drum.I added the boxes, sticks, lighter fluid, firecrackers, old used oil, and a small amount of white gas, say 2 cups full.Then, because safety is important, I stood back about six feet, filled my squirt gun with gasoline, pumped a stream of petrol at the drum full of boxes and lit a match.BOOOOOM!!!Everything went white for a moment.I remember my ears screaming in pain as the echo clap of thunder was released from the barrel.Then aftershock was unexpected.Probably a 6.2 on the Richter scale...I was thrown across the yard like Captain Kirk on the deck of the Enterprise whenever the Klingons attacked.When I looked up there was a mushroom cloud followed by a massive donut of white smoke.Sadly the concussive power of the explosion put out the fire before the boxes were burnt.It is good to know I could take down a jet if I needed to though.No, I am not starting an Al Qaeda cell even if I look like I am…Really!
However, this story isn’t about me…OH NO!My stained glass windows are wonderful to see at night.The glow from my neighbors’ fires flicker with a glow that is truly magical.One night John (see episode 3) decided to put the old couch, dining room table, pink flamingos, a hutch, a gazebo and the leftovers from a garage sale that nobody in their right mind would buy in a heap in his backyard.After pouring a gallon of gas on the couch, a small fire erupted.The blinding light from this blaze danced in reds and blues through my stained glass window alerting me to the need to close the windows of my house before I got smoke inhalation damage.When this task was done, I decided it was time to investigate.I wasn’t the only one! All of Willis had gathered outside to witness the opening of the Gates of Hell.Someone also called the fire department.My favorite portly fire rescue volunteer friend arrived first after just completing a dinner of smoky links and Budweisers.He unzipped his pants and tried to put the fire out himself but the roaring blaze quickly made him aware of his burning pubic hairs and he decided to call for backup.Thankfully the Augusta Township fire truck arrived and the massive roar of its white water canon locked into a battle with the towering inferno for control of John’s backyard.In the meantime flames were leaping the fence and the entire lawn was dancing with flames like Michael Flatley after a good night at the pub in Dublin.Honestly, I thought this incident was an anomaly. I was WRONG!!!
I have a neighbor whose garage is on my property line named Darrell.Darrell is married to his sister…I mean his wife is named Sissy. Whew!One day I was minding my own business, washing dishes when I heard a sound like the death throes of a 72 Opel in a station wagon demolition derby just after getting back-ended.It was Darrell’s riding lawnmower.This beauty should have been retired to the lawn mower bone yard back in 1981 but was saved by some hippie motorcycle gang who needed the muffler for something.When properly started this demonic machine is capable of more decibels than the Bee Gees after sucking helium for an hour. Anyway on this day, Sissy yelled at Darrell to go get gasoline for the demonic device that I will here after call Moloch the Deathbringer for no other reason than it is an accurate description.Darrell for some reason that will only be apparent to him and his “Fun” decided to drag a burning log off of the ever-burning fire pit he built and toss it into the bed of dry spruce needles under his spruce tree before leaving to get gas.Meanwhile, Sissy jumped on Moloch with her newborn baby under her arm and proceeded to mow the grass.Ever so slowly as Sissy and Moloch made laps around the yard, the flames from the smoldering log began to grow like unwanted guests at a free keg party. After the 2nd pass the flames from this spruce fire were knee-high level.Sissy gave the fire an intense deer-in-the-headlights glare and Moloch belched its approval.On the 3rd pass the flames were spreading across the yard and making an eager smacking sound and the spruce needles were rapidly consumed.Sissy ignored this, Moloch fanned the flames with his mufflerless exhaust, and I dropped the dish washing task and made a mad rush for the water hose.On the 4th pass as I cranked the facet for the garden hose to full, Sissy and Moloch did their best to ignore the flames climbing the spruce tree and spreading into my yard.“BLEEECKKKABAMMMM!”, Moloch belched.“HISSSSSSSSSSSSS” the flames protested as I began my battle to control this inferno.That massive mound of fire-rescue volunteer Southern Baptist tormentor I know and love so well would have been jealous at my fire-fighting skills.After ten minutes and four more passes by Sissy, baby and Moloch the flames were under control.Moloch the Deathbringer came to a death-rattling stop at this point and Sissy proclaimed, “Thanks Dean, I was wondering if I should do something about that little fire”. “Anytime” was all I could manage to utter.
You know those feel good nature stories where you can almost hear the bluebirds singing in the background, while two bunnies look at you from their deep, dark brown eyes, wiggling their noses cutely under the loving protection of a grand old Oak tree…this is NOT that story!I found out early on while living in Willis that rednecks hate trees.I’m not talking the usual stuff you’ve come to expect like peeing on a tree or wrapping it in Christmas bulbs twelve months a year…NO!Rednecks REALLY hate trees.Now, although I am a tree hugger, I must admit I can understand removing a tree diseased with herpes, or removing a giant tree that someone cleverly planted next to the foundation or waterline when young and supple never realizing that it gets 8 feet in diameter.I can also understand removing a spouse for the same reasons.What I don’t understand is putting up with a tree for years and then suddenly saying to yourself, “Hay, who put dat der tree in mah yerd? Dammit it’s got to go!”
Now Bubba (whose real name is Steve, but I am trying to protect him from Greenpeace) started out on the wrong foot with trees when he first moved in.Bubba bought the house from Leaf-blower man (another story) about four years ago and moved his mate and brood of twelve into a charming single-wide trailer style home in his monster truck named Danica.You see Bubba couldn’t get Danica into the drive way because this charming 75 year old sugar maple tree was near the edge of his drive and he would have to lower Danica’s suspension by at least three feet if he were going to keep the tree.That just wouldn’t fly.The next morning Bubba and the entire brood planted 27 sticks of TNT they got on sale at a fireworks stand on the Ohio-Kentucky border for $3.75 a stick under the base of the tree.I am still trying to get the wood splinters from the explosion out of my eye.Anyway his tree problem seemed to be over.BUT, that tree had a sibling.The sibling was another sugar maple beauty with a full complement of sturdy limbs and lush green leaves.
At first Bubba and the brood tried to co-exist.They hung rubber tires from it and used it as a deer blind in the fall…don’t ask!Then, slowly at first, they began cutting off limbs.The first to go was the limb with the rubber tire swing.It was great fun at first watching Bubba’s brood tried to swing from the tire on the ground.I think it was three months before they learned that it had to be attached to the tree to get any lift.I thought after a while they had decided to let the tree live.On July 4th while most Willis residents were trying to blast their fingers off and make their ears bleed with illegal M-80 firecrackers, this brave bunch of rednecks decided to kill the tree D-E-D—ded!Sure as Bubba loves 6-packs of Old Milwaukee; he came out with the biggest chainsaw I’ve ever seen in my life.This turbo-charged, 12 cylinder, bored out special had twin Holly carburetors and a cherry bomb muffler.Thank goodness it had a key starter because I can’t imagine the amount of torque needed to pull-start that bad boy! I think Danica is jealous of it.Six hours later, the only thing left was the shattered skeleton-trunk of that once majestic Maple, 136 empty cans of Old Milwaukee, and a Captain Morgan fire that could be seen from outer space.Which bring me to my next Episode: Rednecks LOVE Fire!
When did you start running? My dad used to chase me around the house with a beer bottle.I must have been three.
Do you remember your first race? Yes, I was three and I did not get caught. My brother however suffered a massive head wound from the beer bottle.
So you grew up running with your siblings? I had a brother but he suffered severe head trauma and ran for governor of Alaska but lost to Sarah Palin.
Sounds like your skills were more suited to basketball? Sorry, white men can’t jump.Our basketball tournaments were more like football games with a concrete courtyard.
And running was your first athletic activity, even before basketball? My first athletic activity was fishing.Then I learned how to dodge beer bottles.Running was a natural extension of those activities.
Was there ever a period when you didn't run? Once, I had a bunion but that never stopped me.Dodging my dad’s tirades teaches one to ignore pain.
If you go a day or a week without running, what do you learn about yourself? You know I play badminton too…
Did you raise that issue, and put the ultimatum down that you needed to run? Actually running while playing badminton is a great way to stay fit.
Tell me about a memorable run during the campaign that really stands out. Once I ran across the living room to put my foot through the television set when Brit Hume states that McCain had picked Sarah Palin to be VP.
I don't remember news reports about it. Sarah Palin shouldn’t be on the news.If you are talking about me attacking the television it only made local Willis news.
So the Secret Service guys kept silent? The Secret Service isn’t the only group watching me closely.Nobody is to know.
Tell me about running in Alaska. First you put one foot in front of the other.Then you start at a trot.Before you know it you are jogging.I run to show off that I can go even faster.Running in Alaska is the same as running elsewhere but you have to defrost your gonads first if you are still wearing shorts.
What was your coldest run? I was walking through the swamp outside near Newport, Michigan and fell through the ice.The wind was 30 mph so I had to run top speed all the way home to keep my blue jeans from freezing stiff on my legs.That was pretty cold.
How do you prepare for a run when it's that cold? You can’t prepare for something like that but I will let you in on a secret.After a 5th of J.D. you forget your can’t feel your gonads anymore.You also forget how to run.
Even still you try to get in a run every day, even in Fairbanks? Hell, I’d run anywhere they have a box of chocolates and lots of varieties of shrimp.
Do you ever run on a treadmill? I do not run on a treadmill.I do not like them Dan the man.I do not like them in the fall.I do not like them at the mall.Frankly I despise them in every way.NEXT QUESTION!
Any shoe preference? How did you find out about my shoe fetish?Cute Gucci pumps with lots of lace or maybe some Thom McCann buckle shoes in brown leather.
Ever been attacked by an animal out in the wilds of Alaska? I was attacked by a Caribou once while peeing but now if I go to Alaska I make sure I have my rocket launcher and an Apache helicopter.
Do you wear jingle bells or is that just a tourist thing? WTF?
What kind of scenery do you like running by there in Michigan?
I like scenery that doesn’t have a lot of road kill in it.
You pretty much prefer to run alone?
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I was busy scraping off twelve layers of wallpaper in a 2nd floor bedroom.As my mind numbed to the scent of Dif and the jarring of my scrapper as it struck a groove in the horse-hair plasterwork I became aware for the first time of my neighbor to the East of my property.Actually I became aware of the SWAT team that had staked out a tight perimeter in my flower garden with water cannons and Hummers.The rhythmic whip of Apache helicopters eliminated any chance of surprise the SWAT team had hoped to achieve.There he was…a little goblin of teenage fury with a Mohawk hairdo and nose ring frantically beating the outside of his 2nd floor room with an aluminum baseball bat.“Bite me!” was all that he said before disappearing back into his cave.Over the din of SWAT megaphones you could hear the shrill scream of an industrial drill and see the smoke and massive woodchips flying out from this little Gollum’s alcove.SWAT had seen enough.Like a scene out of an old Godzilla movie they launched a barrage of devastating missiles into the little troll’s abode and in microseconds had the beast tethered and subdued in one of their Hummers.I found out later the little ogre had carved REDRUM in huge letter on his bedroom wall and had time to paint the inscription in bloody red paint before succumbing to the SWAT team tear gas.
This routine took place every Tuesday and Thursday with SWAT occasionally taking a night off for GLOW bowling nights when the Army reservists agreed to cover for them.The rest of the week, little Grendel...his real name was Edmund James, stole cigarettes from the local party store or shot out my stained glass and garage windows with his simulation M-16 pellet rifle.Not that I had any rest on other days.
Monday and Saturday was Tim’s night to misbehave.Tim was one of Edmund James’ potential fathers.Tim owns a 1971 supercharged Nova.This machine blended primer gray and lime green to a level of artistic brilliance not seen in any other backwater village.On Tim’s nights the scream of the Nova’s supercharged engine was drown out by his Duke Boys imitation howl as he arrived.Apparently Tim has issues.“You Bitch!!!” he yelled as he made donuts in Edmund James’ yard.He launched a 40 oz Coors Lite can about ten feet as the local constable showed up.Generally he got into the Sheriff’s car without incident.One night Tim was feeling particularly festive.When the signature howl and scream of the engine approached that night I noticed immediately something was different.Tim had cut a hole through the hood scoop and flames were shooting out of the handcrafted engine pipes.Austin 3:16 was painted in black spray paint on the roof of the car.A set of tractor tires had been rigged to a special frame under the car that can only be described as an ingenious blend of home engineering and chutzpah.The words to the Johnny Cash song came to mind: I got it one piece at a time, and it didn’t cost me a dime…SUDDENLY Tim launches about twenty M80 firecrackers he’s tied together.Actually, he launched his 40 oz Coors Lite can.The M80’s fell in his lap when he dropped his cigarette onto his chest.The explosion sent a Nova/Tractor tire onto my front porch.Tim launched himself out the window of the Nova seconds before the explosion…apparently he had just filled up his 5 gallon gas can for his lawn mower and that is where the cigarette landed after it rolled off his chest.The Constable showed up just in time to cuff Tim and the meatball shaped volunteer fire man was so amazed by the spectacle he didn’t even take the time to utter profanities at me or spit on my flowers.
I woke up the next morning having resolved my difficulties with the local cultists, looked out the window and discovered 42 cars parked on my lawn and one parked on my Spirea bush.I was hot!I mean I was hopping mad!I wasn’t going to be pushed around like this just because I was the new person on the block.I’d give THE Pastor and the meatball-shaped, Fire Rescue volunteer fellow a piece of my Armenian-Welch-English-Dutch-French attitude and show them I am not to be trifled with! I stomped outside, steam flowing from my nostrils and ears to give them what for AND…wandered aimlessly around by their cars giving the cars a dirty stare.It was then that I met Sally.At first I thought one of the church cars had a talking alarm system that had gone off when I gave it the evil eye, but the voice actually belonged to a neighbor.“Don’t take that shit from them,” She said.Her name was Sally and she was married to John.She was crouched down planting fresh Hosta plants while smoking a Marlboro cigarette. Her eyes smoldered the color of her smoke when she spoke again, “Every weekend they come in here from all over and trample everything, parking in everyone’s yard and then leave middle fingers blazing”.“I threatened to call the cops but it doesn’t faze them”.“ I noticed THE Pastor was over”.“He’s been to my place a dozen times and I told him he can go to HELL along with his entire flock”! “My advice to you is to not take their crap!We have a right to live here in peace”!“I’m Sally, my husband is John, WE will get along just fine”! I thanked her for her advice and so inspired began to devise the rousing speech I would use to reduce THE Pastor and his meaty minion to tears and contrite pleas for forgiveness,
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he(or she or whatever) to-day that sheds his(or her) blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition: And gentlemen in Willis now a-bed Shall think themselves accursed they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks…
“Hey Jackass!!! Get away from my truck!” said the rotund Fire Rescue volunteer.“You sir, are an ass,” I said with quivering fury.“WHAT!!!!” he blasted (EDITED FOR THE KIDS).Six minutes of verbal terrorism and a mouth full of road gravel later, I watched his truck pull away in a cloud of dust.That’s it! Revenge is a dish best served cold, and it is very cold in Willis!These are the times that try men’s souls and I was willing to take the part as the devil’s soldier and roust these worshippers of Southern Baptist mothers right out of Paradise and I knew just how I was going to do it!I looked at the gaping canyons left by the truck tires and immediately thought in the most violent imagery…flowers!!!Even a cold-hearted Southern Baptist must fear something; I bet they are afraid of violas! So I planted and planted for 40 days and 40 nights I planted flax, poppies, butterfly bushes, coreopsis, daisies, black-eyed susans.I planted and I dug and I weeded and I put up a tiny little garden fence.A line of neighbors gathered.Someone thought about starting up a local paper to marvel over the feats I accomplished.Soon a new Garden of Eden had formed where previously only the knobby tracks of a 12 ton fire engine red pickup truck had been and finally I had thwarted my foes and could begin work on my venerable estate.
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