Friday, July 31, 2009

Do NOT talk to police. I repeat, do NOT ...

Here is an amazing video from a former criminal attorney on what you should not do when asked questions by the police -- even if you are innocent, even if you ARE innocent, even if you are a sweet great gramma who eats only vegetables and never ventures outside.

This attorney's presentation is a poignant example of how even the best of police can get things wrong and you can end up in jail or prison. His presentation is also a great example of how to give a rational presentation. Brilliant!

Open ass, insert thumb

The New York Times' resident elitist/liberal/statist p-p-p-p-undit, Paul Krugman, thinks you should be paying for others' health care and thinks (or did so until recently) that Canadians loooooooove their health care. Little did he know. Check out this hilarious YouTube, sent to me by friend Dan Puckett.

"I'm sorry"

If you're sick and I say "I'm sorry," and you say, "It's not your fault," be aware that I will then go buy a petry dish of swine flu spores and throw them at you!

We have a pandemic of "I'm sorry" wet-blanketers. They're the smarmy do-gooders who think they're being nice, when in fact they're not allowing you to convey your sympathy. When I say I'm sorry about anything bad happening to you, please read, "I feel bad for you and wish you the best." I'm not admitting culpability.

If you are in a car accident away from home and have a broken leg, and I say, "I'm sorry," I'm not saying that I was actually the person driving recklessly into you. If you caught your boyfriend cheating on and I say "I'm sorry," I'm not admitting that I was the one who lured him into bed. If you lost your job and I say "I'm sorry," I not admitting that I asked your boss to fire you. The real person who should be apologizing to you is Dead Eyes. THEN you can say, "I knew it was you, you sorry mother-fucker!"

So, can you PLEASE stop raining on my sympathy parade and not say "It's not your fault"? If not, you better at least wait till the swine flu vaccine comes out in October!

Arrest the bastard already, will ya?!

All right, it's finally time to weigh in on Gates-Gate -- you know, the racist-lunatic "Harvard professor" (as the media adoringly name-plates him) ingrate who lashes out at cops doing their job protecting HIM and HIS residence.

Here's where the cops screwed up. They didn't arrest the bastard when he refused to show identification upon request at a house at which an apparent burglary was in progress. The cops, who had probable cause, shouldn't have waited for the whiny curmudgeon to berate them and shout epithets at them. They should've just handcuffed the bastard and charged him with obstructing an investigation. End of fucking subject.

I was talking with neighbor Chris this morning and I asked him, "What would you do if three cops showed up at your door and said that a burglary of your residence was reported and asked for ID?" Chris said, "I'd show 'em my ID."

Well, hell yes, and I would, too, and be grateful that the cops were trying to PROTECT my property. But not the chip-on-his-shoulder, race-obsessed HARVARD PROFESSOR who has steeped himself in "blackness" studies and institutions his whole career and has fallen for the white-liberal-guilt mantra of "you're special" and deserved to be treated "specially" and who is now a HARVARD PROFESSOR who is above the law and being treated like every other American in that situation.

This special breed of liberal elitist uses the usual shouting intimidation, the usual unctuous dismissiveness, the usual ad hominem bromides to make their interlocutors "submit." Thank goodness, the cop finally had the sense to hand-cuff the criminal and let him feel the cold steel of facts and proper justice.

The reaction of the soul-less Dead Eyes (that's "Obama" to you lackeys who haven't been reading these pages) was predictable. He was friend and defender of a blatant racist preacher for 20 years and has shown that "facts" is an ugly word. To paraphrase him in this macabre scenario: "I don't know the facts yet in this case, but the police acted stupidly." Um, yes, SOMEBODY acted stupidly (and with racism) in this case, but it was the guy in handcuffs and the zombie in the Ovum Office. We've know for a good while what lies behind the dead eyes. When the facts came back to bite Dead Eyes' scrawny, elitist ass, he apologized. Right? No, he danced around with the usual bureaucratic bullshit to avoid responsibility for his actions and decided to have a Booze Buddy summit to prove to the world that he's your buddy at the bar. He's your buddy, right?

And let's chat for a moment about the scoundrels that call themselves the media. How many articles on this subject did you read that stated that the three arresting officers were white, Hispanic and black? Huh. How about NONE. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Nada. That was, um, not relevant. Turns out that the black officer is now saying that other blacks are furious at him for allegedly being an "Uncle Tom." For doing what, you might ask. For telling the TRUTH on what went down at HARVARD PROFESSOR's home.

Yep, racism is dead in this country now that we've got a mulatto in charge, right? Uhuh.

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Iran is a tyranny, so stop dancing with dictators

My letter to the Wall Street Journal (below) was printed today in response to a column stating that Iran was not technically a tyranny, which, of course, it is.

Francis Fukuyama misunderstands “kind” and “degree” in considering whether Iran is a tyranny (“Iran, Islam and the Rule of Law,” op-ed, July 28).

A free country is determined by two things: a constitution that honors individual rights, and an electoral process that honors citizens’ rights to choose who will govern strictly by that constitution. Iran has neither. It has a constitution that does not define and/or outline individual rights, and its elections have nothing to do with who actually enacts power—and are not subject to critical review by a free press or free courts. As a result, Iranian citizens are subjected to imprisonment and outright murder without habeas corpus or objective judicial review, and they “vote” in farcical elections whose results are simply ignored or fabricated by fanatics.

Mr. Fukuyama’s mincing on the kind of government in Iran is shared by the current occupant of the Oval Office, and that kind of moral cowardice is responsible for the current dancing with dictators. Iran may not be a tyranny to the degree that North Korea is, but it kills its own and exports its death squads across its borders just like all tyrannies of history have done and must do.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

9 terrific tips for women to avoid rape/murder

These tips were passed along to me by a high school friend who knows I have a daughter. It is the best advice I've ever seen -- sensible as hell.

Terrific guerrilla video on Canadian "health care"

Check it out HERE -- and then subscribe to pajamasTV afterward.

The booming voice of a generation

As most of you know, Walter Cronkite died recently at 92. I grew up watching the Old Uncle conveying news with gravity and serenity, and I witnessed firsthand at the age of 9 his rarely seen emotion at the Apollo moon landing in 1969.

Here is a magnificent tribute to Cronkite by a good friend Dan Puckett, who says all that I wanted to say on the subject.

If the page does not come up, here it is below.

For a while [after the advent of television], a certain voice continued. Booming. As though history were still a thing done by certain men in a certain place. It was embarrassing. To a person growing up in the power of demography, this voice was foolish.— “Within the Context of No Context,” George W.S. Trow, 1980Walter Cronkite died Friday. He was 92. His death was big news, because for two decades that ended almost 30 years ago, he was a popular television news anchorman. That means that for a half-hour a day, five days a week, he appeared on a broadcast network and read the news in a voice that many people found comforting.

A poll in 1972 found that he was the most trusted man in America. For about half of his time on the CBS Evening News, more people watched his news half-hour than any other news half-hour. He was said to be professional and composed. When his composure broke, the breaking of his composure was considered remarkable. Moving, even. He was professionally emotionless, but some events trump professionalism. People spoke of his emotional reaction to the assassination of the president (tears) or the first landing on the moon (excitement).

His death was big news, because people who remembered him remembered him vividly. Or maybe they didn’t remember him so much as the time when his voice — booming — went into such a large percentage of American homes. When he disparaged the war after a trip to Vietnam, everyone knew who he was, and knew what he’d said.

More than one “appreciation” of the man and his career barely mentioned him or his career, instead relating memories of the period during which he had his career. Giants then walked the land of television news, and their voices — booming — were heard from coast to coast. All television news was in three parts divided, and the names of those three parts were written with three letters each, and of the three parts (after 1970-ish, at least), the biggest and best was the part over which Cronkite reigned.But the appreciations weren’t so much for the giant that was Cronkite or even for the part that was his dominion, but for the time itself. In that, they were good, they were right, they were just. He is remembered for narrating an era, and the appreciations were, first, for the era and second, only second, for the way he narrated it. He is remembered for narrating the 1960s and ‘70s in a voice honed in the 1940s and ‘50s. He provided the narration in the voice of a newsreel narrator, updated to a postwar cadence and tone but still — booming.

This is the president, dying. This is a war, failing. This is an astronaut, landing. This is a convention, this is a recession, this is a coup, this is a scandal. And that’s the way it is.

The appreciators appreciated the comfort of the authority in his voice, the assurance that history was a thing done by certain men in a certain place — this is history, happening, and that’s the way it is. The appreciators observed that no one these days has the certitude to assure a nation that it is any way at all — or no, that’s not it, many do, too many, and they’re describing it as being this way or that way or some other way, and none of them are giants, none of them bestride America’s living rooms or conversations. None of them find a nation agreeing: Yes, that is the way it is.Without that agreement there are no giants, just cranks — surly cranks, sunny cranks, excited cranks, gloomy cranks, but just a cacophonous crank chorus of bad journalistic karaoke.

There was a time that lacked that cacophony. There was a time when the cranks were hushed because a nation agreed. There was a time when “the most trusted man in America” obtained its agreement. It was an interesting time. For many people, it was an exciting time, a time of liberation and pleasure and hope. It is a time fondly remembered, not just for the experience, but for the descriptions of the experience.

During that experience, the daily, on-the-spot, as-it-happens description of the experience came in a voice that many found comforting. And as much as the appreciators tried to appreciate the man behind the voice, or the voice itself, what they ended up appreciating was not so much a certain description of the experience, but the experience itself, and the chance to relive it.

The time, though, was more than just the emotional reactions to it. It had a content, and that content was an overturning — of power, of authority, of submission to certain mores. To overturn those things, the overturners had to undermine their ability to compel obedience. It had to undermine the agreement, because that was the only way to stop the voices that supported it with their booming.

So a time devoted to overturning was narrated by the voice born, trained and made to boom by all the things that were being overturned. Hearing the overturn described by the voice of the overturned was emotionally powerful.

The architects of the coming culture were not all young; the defenders of the fading culture were not all old. But the emotional logo of the struggle for the new culture was the son killing the father.

Listening to Cronkite describe the dawning of the new age was like listening to the father — dispassionately, objectively, professionally — describe his own murder. Listening to Cronkite describe the other events of the time was a steady reassurance that outside the struggle for the new culture, life went on: Violence in the living room didn’t stop the clocks from ticking, the dinner from cooking, the sun from shining. Life went on. Astronauts landed, the Dow rose and fell, Elvis bloated and died. Life went on.

There had never been a time like it, and it’s impossible now.

Which is something to appreciate.

Witness a stirring speech by Yaron Brook to the GOP

Yaron Brook gives the speech of his life on liberty to the GOP convention last month in Richmond, VA. Yaron is sometimes dry in his delivery, but he is getting much better and much more passionate. This speech stirred me like no other by him and by few others in American history, and it was done to the movers and shakers of the GOP. And he even blames THEM halfway through the speech (to applause). Absolutely terrific!!

Way to go Yaron, and way to go Ayn Rand Institute!!!!!

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Sweet and strange Michael Jackson -- Part One & Deux

A wonderful column by Bill Wyman was printed in today's Wall Street Journal on Michael Jackson, so I penned the following letter in response.

Bill Wyman’s column on Michael Jackson was poignant, perfect and much-needed.
To understand Mr. Jackson’s life and music, we must look at Parts One and Deux; it divides almost perfectly in half – he lived to age 50, and it was at about age 25 that he became an enigma to us and, perhaps, to himself.

I am 49 years old, so my timeline almost parallels that of Mr. Jackson’s. I remember the transcendent voice of “Got to Be There” and “Happy” that I sang along to incessantly as a child; it is a voice that comes along once in a generation, filled with benevolence, jubilation, optimism, poignancy and love. Mr. Jackson’s 1st solo album, Off the Wall, was a teenage continuation of all those wonderful adjectives. I and my girlfriend at the time must’ve danced to “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough” a hundred times.

The album “Thriller” was a mixture of that serene youthful spirit with something ominous, sullied and strange: “the kid is not my son” and the horrid graphics and theme of “Thriller.” Then came the Third World garb, the Glove, the defacement, the lurid crotch-grabbing, the godhead persona and the constant world of Neverland.

As I have done with Elvis, Lennon and many others, I will listen only to the early years and glory in those wonderful, electric, ingenious spirits (Part One) – and I will ignore the rest (Part Deux).

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

The Misandronistas (that's "men-haters" to you liberals)

Perhaps, dear reader, you've wondered where I wandered for the last week. I have not been lonely as a cloud. I've been busy as hell with my two businesses, and I lingered for a bit in "ballsy" uterinity. That is, I participated for 48 hours or so in a "free-thinking" unschoolers list (yet another one dominated by the fear-and-loathing dominatrix) that fashions itself a sort of crude 18th century Paris salon with the token simpering and paternally soothing eunuch (in this case appropriately named after one of the four alleged Gospel writers).

These women, as they seem to call themselves, are not the usual run-of-the-mill relativists with the modern cowardly distaste for absolutism -- especially male absolutism. I must admit one benefit from having taken the 2-day jaunt (outside of chuckling at forced humor, of course): It finally got me around to characterizing one particularly onerous segment of the modern female population -- the Misandronistas.

The, ahem, ladies act like bad men and hate confident men. They are fastidious about ensuring that they remain a "top" because they cannot trust themselves on bottom (where they belong) or trust men to be a good top. They are replete with the gutter-savvy riposte and the same over-the-top cliched innuendo that makes some male gatherings as distasteful as shit on your front porch. They have become the worst of the worst men. They seem utterly unconscious of the depredations of repeated sexual allusion. To be among them is to be in a middle-school boy's bathroom with the disheveled bullies and the posers and their lurid "witticisms." They are the alter ego of Sally Field: "I hate you, I really hate you."

Feminism has always been a whiny hatred of men (start your own business and shut the fuck up), but this special breed of feminism makes it an art form. Not that most men don't deserve revulsion and contempt; they are generally bricks with penises. But the Misandronistas adore their cynicism, acquire chutzpah in group-think and revel in reviling. They are the mob with stones that sobs and pleads when brought individually before justice. In individual confrontation they are the silent and obsequious judge who later lashes out "boldly" to conspirators. They agonize over the proper response to a request to attend the funeral of a family member they despise (for those liberals secretly reading this blog, the proper response is "I won't be going. End of subject." If you get pressured more, the proper response is, "Shut the fuck up and go away.") They pretend to be independent but then become delirious with distemper over what others will think of them if they act a certain way or do/don't do a certain thing.

The Misandronistas are not as boring as women of the 40s and 50s in America, but they lack the honest wit and love of men that the individualist women of the 20s and 30s had, such as Katherine Hepburn and Mae West and Greta Garbo. Those women knew how to "handle" men while enjoying being "handled." Those women knew themselves and, therefore, feared not servitude in bond.

Our modern relativistic age has castrated weak-willed men (that is to say, almost all men), turning them into brutes or cowards (the latter of which is a closet misogynist who is often attracted to the "ballsy" lists to confirm his feminine bona fides). In this masculine void has stepped in the "ballsy" unattractive woman, who doesn't understand that Parisian-salon equality does not translate to the bedroom and a few other places. The modern woman is hoist by her own ballsy petard. She seems to unconsciously hope for the "ballsy" man, but when he comes along, his candor is maligned as pedestrian, his strong judgment is portrayed as oppressive, his absolutism is ridiculed as "youthful." She has blinded herself to reality, her own inner desires, and real men. A real man would, after all, find her cynicism transparent and curmudgeonly -- and soon discard the kitty litter.

The only solution for these women (and the modern woebegone male) is to study Ayn Rand's works, integrate them, gain self-esteem from efficacy, and demand the best of themselves and the men they meet. But the gutter snipe won't have anything to do with Rand's absolute realism. The snipe preens about subjectivity and refuses to do the hard, necessary work to understand reality, the nature of the human rational mind, the nature of objective morality and the nature of liberty among rational beings. Hard work that. Much rather just veg, speculate, simper, moan, languish and harass.

But it's never too late to get real ...

Tuesday, July 07, 2009

Time to couch health-care issue in morality

I sent the following letter to the editors at the Wall Stree Journal today after seeing yet another editorial by them on the utilitarian necessity of no public health insurance.

The Journal has thus far been brilliant and befuddling in its columns and editorials on the public health-care issue.

It has been brilliant in its utilitarian explanations of how any government intervention will be economically disastrous. But it has been befuddling in its ubiquitous silence on the morality issue – wherein lies the only true long-term defense of private health insurance – or any private business activity.

The short term on health insurance is lost to the confiscators, as the Journal hints at in its July 9 editorial. Government interference is a fait accompli. So now is the time to place the debate squarely where it morally belongs: individual rights. Humans in America have the right to run their own lives unequivocally, which includes health-care workers, health insurers and patients. There is no right to health care or health insurance any more than there is a right to car care or car insurance – or strawberries, for that matter.

If we Americans are to win our rights to our lives, we (including the Journal) must immediately begin couching the health-insurance debate (and all similar debates) in the words of Ayn Rand. We can begin with her comments on rights:

“A ‘right’ is a moral principal defining and sanctioning a man’s freedom of action in a social context. There is only one fundamental right … a right to a man’s own life. … It means freedom from physical compulsion, coercion or interference by other men.”

Yes, there is that favorite Obama administration word: coercion. Let’s begin stamping it out now. Our children will surely thank us.

At least people are reading my blog -- even Crazies

I Googled my name and words related to my recent column on the eradication of "public schooling" and got a few tasty morsels, including this one: Blog Walk in Brain.

Hey, the worst thing than people talking bad about you is nobody noticing you, eh?

And on the topic of crazies, it recently was recommended to me to become a member of an unschooling group by "free thinkers." After one week of reading their posts on "syncretism" and other such mystical nonsense, I can only assume that "free" is referring to "free from rationality."

Man, are there ANY sane people out there? Hello?! Hello?! Some of these people make even Dead Eyes seem sane. ... Uh, OK, I get carried away sometimes.

Saturday, July 04, 2009

Dead Eyes backs the wrong coup d'etat

I wrote the following letter to the WSJ concerning two recent coups and how Obama Dead Eyes responded to each.

If you wish to gauge where our current president stands on freedom, look no further than his actions regarding coups.

When the Iranian clergy performed a coup d’etat after their recent charade (election), President Obama said he didn’t want to “interfere,” fearing how his words would be portrayed. But when the Honduras military ousted their president, President Obama (and most of the rest of the world’s leaders) issued ultimatums.

The Iranian clergy appear to have stolen the presidency and negated the will of the citizens. The Honduran military appear to have ousted a man who wished to undermine the Honduran Constitution. The jury is still out on the latter, but what is clear is that the Neville Chamberlains of the modern world (liberals, including our president) wither before fascist charades (Iran) and prance around in unctuous pride when Chavez-worshipping dictators are “illegally” removed from office.

One can only wonder what President Obama would’ve said (or not said) when America’s Founders performed their coup d’etat.

Wednesday, July 01, 2009

Lowly and wretched Wal-Mart makes deal with Devil

Newspapers across America reported today that Wal-Mart has formerly backed Dead Eyes' demand that businesses across the country carry health insurance for their employees -- which would considerably raise the costs of business and therefore the costs of products for all of us, not to mention immorally intrude on a business's right to govern its own company. I wrote the following letter to the editor at the Wall Street Journal on the subject.

So Wal-Mart wants to make a deal with the devil on the immoral mandated health-insurance coverage by employers?

OK, from this second forward, I refuse to buy my daughter’s clothes or anything else at Wal-Mart. I am also driving in a few minutes to turn in my Business Plus card at Sam’s Club, where I purchased supplies for my small business.

After that, I’ll be emailing the 50+ businesses I work directly with to attempt to persuade them to do the same with any excrement that makes deals with fascists.