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Inhumane Humanity
Of all the preposterous assumptions of humanity over humanity, nothing exceeds most of the criticisms made on the habits of the poor by the well-housed, well-warmed, and well-fed. --Herman Melville
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
YOU AREN'T ENTITLED TO FOOD!!!
One sentence says it all; 47% of Americans believe they are entitled to healthcare, food and housing," thereby implying that people are not entitled to healthcare, food and housing.We JUST never seem to run out of elitist puppet buffoons to listen to.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Wednesday, May 09, 2012
So! You Don’t Think Our Political System Is Broken!
GAWD!!! It’s upon
us! Election season, or more appropriately;
open season on you and I, the tax payer is once again here. With their hunting licenses in order, the
hunters are wearing their seasonal camouflage smiles, oiled, test-fired, and
locked and loaded their weapon of choice – long-range 50 caliber, fully automatic
Super-PAC’s. They have zeroed-in their
scopes on our chests and we have no defense whatsoever against the safaris headed
our way.
Thanks to the cunning skills of the hunters, they have found
the perfect weapon; they have hidden the true smell of politicians with wild
animal Super-PAC urine. We no longer can
determine where money is coming from, how much of it is coming, or more importantly,
you and I pay the bill at every step of our commercial lives.
Hunter behind blind number 1 – Mitt Romney:
Romney’s ammunition is a paltry $86,631,381.00 as of March
31 2012, but make no mistake; Romney can easily support his own campaign
without the aid of his targets, You and I.
But he really dislikes taking money from his prey -
Presidential candidate Romney stated in August 2011 that his
ability to benefit from large contributions via PACs from individual donors
helps him to equalize the influence of corporations and unions that can pool
small contributions from many employees or union members. Romney stated “My own view is; I don’t like all the
influence of money in politics, but I don’t have a solution that’s a
lot better than saying let people contribute what they will, then report it, and
let people know who gave what to whom.”
This bears repetition; “in
order to equalize the influence of corporations and unions… I don’t like all the influence of money
in politics.” What??? Isn't this a bit analogous to Bernie Madoff decrying; “I
really hate ponzi schemes, but what choices have I in order to equalize the financial
equilibrium of the planet Earth for us poor folk?”
Yah; OK Mittster, you shining beacon of anti-corporate
influence-peddling; thank you so very much for keeping an eye out for us
average Joe’s. What would we ever do
without you??
Hunter behind blind number 2 - Barack Obama:
Obama’s ammunition is a whopping $191,671,860 as of March
231, 2012. Unlike Romney, Obama is truly
dependent upon donations to run his campaign, for he has no ultra-rich family
background to draw from; he is quite literally the son of a goat herder and
could be one of us.
And if you believe that, perhaps you should run for President
of the United States; if you’re extraordinarily lucky, you’ll raise a powerful
bankroll of $163,367.00 like Randall Terry, the; now wait for the drum-roll …. anti-abortionist
Democrat? Well hell! No wonder he raised pocket change; with hunting
credentials like that I’m surprised he
didn’t shoot himself in the head on his first hunt like Ricky Pinky.
The President and 2012 candidate Obama, who stated in 2007:
"I don’t take PAC money and I
don’t take lobbyists’ money," came out with an endorsement of
super PACs via his campaign manager Jim Messina in his statement: "With so
much at stake, we can't allow for two sets of rules in this election whereby
the Republican nominee is the beneficiary of unlimited spending and Democrats unilaterally
disarm.” According to press reports, in asking his top
fundraisers to steer money to the main super PAC backing his reelection, Obama
embraced a campaign vehicle he previously denounced.
"I don’t take
PAC money and I don’t take lobbyists’ money." Now, I have to give
him credit here, it’s all a big misunderstanding; there is a difference between
PACs and Super PACs, so it was simply our fault, our lack of understanding of
his statement that’s created the woefully errant shift in perception and
besides, they weren’t “registered lobbyists” It’s all in the ears of the listender, right?
Didn’t I read somewhere in this post something about ponzi
schemes?
As of March 31, 2012, all the hunters have raised a total of
$419,359,521.00. 4.2 million
dollars! That’s almost a half Billion dollars, for campaigns and the
hunting season has just begun (officially) and already Barack Obama alone has
raised 20% of the entire 2008 campaign of ALL candidates combined.
Now, if you’re not blind, deaf, or a reclusive moonshine distiller in
my one-time neighborhood, the foothills of the Ozarks, you would already know
where the Republican hunter, Romney gets his money (but wait, there’s more), but where does an ordinary Joe like Obama
come up with enough money to outright support 12,090.5 families in the state with
the lowest per capita income of the 50 United States, Mississippi?
(You shoulda voted Obama, Mississippi. Pay
back is one bad-ass mother f ^*&$#.)
Just as he is in the details, the Devil is also hidden in the ammunition itself.
PAC – Political Action Committee, a committee (such a
wonderfully benign word; “committee”) organized for the sole
purpose of directing pooled campaign donations towards efforts, either for or
against political elections in accordance with the Federal Election Campaign Act (FECAL er uhm, FECA).
Ironically enough, this “act” was passed as part of the Taft-Hartley
Act designed to, get this; "eliminate influence-peddling by labor unions and/or
corporations," this in turn lead to a series of other acts, designed to control the volume of and
methods in which political donations are managed. In
essence, donations were limited to $5,000.00 per year by individuals and
corporate or union donations were FECALLY prohibited to contribute to the campaigns.
In a Super simplified version of events; in 2010, a few things occurred
that created life oh so much the better for the hunters, allowing PACs to morph into
“Super PACs” who could now spend what they wish, as much as they wish and for
whom they wish as long as they claimed to be independent of the campaigner. They could coordinate efforts through
inactive participants such as the media.
Wait! What? They can unofficially send each other secre codes
through the inactive participants, like
the media? (Oh yah, that works! Perhaps al Zawahiri shoulda thought of that and sent hidden codes on the front page of the New York Times to bin Laden in English).
As of February 2012, according to Center for ResponsivePolitics, 313 groups organized as Super PACs had received $98,650,993 and spent
$46,191,479. This means early in the 2012 election cycle, PACs had already
greatly exceeded total receipts of 2008. The leading Super PAC on its own
raised more money than the combined total spent by the top 9 PACS in the 2008
cycle. We're really rollin now foks.
The 2012 figures don't include funds raised by State level
PACs nor funds raised by national level non-profit groups that pool
"soft-funds". Spending by non-profits, also called 527 organizations,
exceeded $500 million in the 2010 election cycle with the two largest
organizations being the Republican Governors Association $131,873,954 and the
Democratic Governors Association $64,708,253 Spending by the 527 organizations
for the 2012 is expected to be double and much will be derived from donors kept
hidden from voters.
Why is it that every time the government tries to control
things, they make it worse for the hunted and better for the hunters????
I think you know the answer to that one.
So! It comes down to this; if you want to
continue voting the party line, that’s your call; Republican or Democrat, that’s
what it’s about. Like rooting (but don’t use that term when supporting an
Australian sport; use “barracking” instead, or they’re likely to think you’re
inviting them to bed with you) for the home team, it’ll get you what you
want. Maybe; if you're a Super PAC Chairperson.
So as you seek sanctuary in the woods this season, remember
these two things:
1. Every
time you participate in our economy, you are donating money to a candidate; the
candidate may or may not be of your choosing, but rest assured, you are
donating SUPER time.
2. If you want to piss up a rope, don’t hope for it to come back down onto you smelling
like red fox urine, for the hunters already have that too.
Happy Season All!
And if you want to read a bit more about the hunters in order to prepare you for the season, here are a few links of interest.
Hunters of Equality
Not convincing you say?
Watch this and YOU; left, right, up, down, Democrat, Republican or otherwise
tell ME how our system isn't F'd up!
Watch live streaming video from occupylasvegas at livestream.com
Sunday, May 06, 2012
Brother Love's Show
Meet the new hyper-hawk party
“Hot
August night
And
the leaves hangin' down
And
the grass on the ground smellin' – sweet”
“Pack
up the babies and grab the old ladies
And everyone goes,
Everyone knows,
Brother Love's show
Room
gets suddenly still and when you'd almost bet
You could hear yourself sweat - he walks in…..
Move
up the road
To
the outside of town
And
the sound of that good gospel beat
Sits
a ragged tent"
We flocked to the polls in hoards of the devastated, yet starry-eyed, hope-filled
blind seeking his hands upon our heads; hearing his words so eloquently spoken,
we bathed in his charm and basked in his revelations that he was our only hope,
our link to salvation. Laying his hands upon our heads, he diverted our
thoughts, giving us the security blanket we so desperately craved; we were
charmed by the charisma of a man who was neither remotely qualified nor possessed
even the most rudimentary skills required to heal us. We handed over to Brother Love our trust, our
absolute and unyielding devotion to the cause, the cause of healing our angst
after decades of deprivation and utter hell.
“Take
my hand in yours,
Walk with me this day
In my heart I know,
I will never stray
Halle-halle-halle-halle-halle-halle-halle-halle”
There’ll be no healing folks. There’ll be no salvation, for the thunder in
his voice and lightning in his eyes is but a fiddle upon which he strummed our
troubled souls while he passed the basket around, knowing full well his show
was a sham built upon the hopes of the weary, preying upon those in dire need.
His strident, yet barren promises of healing our nation vanished
like a gossamer dream. Even as we awoke, horrified that we were still blind, he
continued his fire and brimstone brand of oration as though he was still in the tent,
playing the part of Brother Love in his vacuum of rhetoric and make-believe, for
that’s his credentials; it’s what he does best! It’s all he does!
His modus operandi rapidly became clear as he quietly
capitulated our hopes and our progressive ideals, selling them to Corporate
America’s insurance, banks, and war machine in exchange for unprecedented power
behind the pulpit within the Oval Office; the 20th Century throne.
Rather than healing, a frightening phenomenon has occurred
in this country in which the once domestic policy-minded, peace-seeking
Democratic Party has donned the war paint of the GOP; they have utterly abandoned domestic
issues while adopting the Republican ideology of war-mongering before all else.
Our government
is now finally united for the first time in many, many decades; united in the
elitist’s agenda to dismantle the Constitution of the United States and
dominate the world. We now have a single
party government; you can call them Democrats or you can call them Republicans,
but they are in fact singularly-focused, fascist bureaucrats serving the
doctrine of elite preeminence and American domestic policy is a nuisance to
this new paradigm, the albatross around the necks of those seeking
global domination.
Even the buzz-cut, ultra-conservative, gung-ho officers of TheNational Defense University have recently voiced strong concern over Brother LOve's disinterest
in and even outright disdain for his military advisors’ advice.
Almost unbelievably, the officers including
Admiral Michael Mullen, the most recent of previous Chairman of the Joint
Chiefs of Staff, empathically and unanimously state that their recommendations
to cut military spending by AT LEAST 20% and redirecting the funds towards “massive
boosts to education” will almost certainly be ignored. Yes! You read that corrctly. The highest ranking, most respected military officers in the U.S. are recommending that we cut defense spending and funnel that money into education. Unlike the Commander-in-Chief, his officers intelligently recognize that
“repairing the domestic situation in the U.S. should be THE priority and they, again unlike their Chief, realize that
"national security stems from domestic muscularity and weapons are a product of
that, not a cause of domestic strength.”
Rather than removing tyranny, we instead have furthered the
goals of the elite, creating an office within which holds power unlike anything
the world has ever before seen and with that power, it holds the pre-established
precedence, tacit approval and legal support to do anything, to anyone,
anyplace, at anytime.
“Startin'
soft and slow-ow,
Like a small earthquake
And when he lets go-o,
Half the valley shakes”
And Brother Love knows precisely where his lightning resides!
Prior to 2004, the unmanned aircraft or “drones” were but
spies in the skies aiding our illustrious war on terrorism, but during Brother Love’s salvation show, they have undergone a terrifying transformation and have amassed
“impressive” kill rates, reaching a staggering death toll ranging between 1,785
to 2,771. And, that death toll is highly
suspect in its ostensible effectiveness in killing “terrorists,” or
“insurgents.”
The Brookings Institute
estimates that in fact, for every militant killed, there are 10 civilians
killed, but they can do so without endangering American lives, so we quietly
watch in awe, the new technology of death.
I will end the
wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and withdraw American Forces.
As with ALL
his promises of anything of substance, Obama’s promised end to the wars in Iraq
and Afghanistan, Iraq remains heavily controlled by the U.S.
“NPR commentator Ted Koppel recently visited Iraq on
assignment for NBC's "Rock Center" with Brian Williams. His report
aired last night. His conclusion: The United States is not leaving. The largest
U.S. embassy in the world, two huge consulates and more than 16,000 officials
and contractors will remain behind.”
The number of drone attacks in Afghanistan has increased by
over 3000% from an average of 2.25 attacks per year to a whopping 68.5
attacks per year since Brother Love was elected.
And the drone attacks are expanding beyond the borders of Iraq and
Afghanistan; to Somalia, Yemen, Pakistan and the Philippines. Drone attacks are not just killing people “known to be terrorists,” but are
being used to kill many who are simply suspected
as being terrorists.
“In remarks on Monday,
US counter-terrorism adviser John Brennan admitted for the first time that US
drones have killed civilians. "It is exceedingly rare, but it has
happened," he said.
With his sources in
the intelligence community, Brennan no doubt has more information about the
number and identity of individuals killed than do journalists and lawyers who,
in the last year, have documented hundreds of what they call "civilian deaths".
But the discrepancy between Brennan's view and theirs is not about the facts;
it is about definitions. Brennan would call "terrorists" many of the
people whom the journalists and lawyers would say are civilians.
"Terrorists",
whom the Obama administration may go after with lethal force, are not just
people linked to the 11 September 2001 attacks, or active members of al-Qaida.
According to Brennan, most of them are already dead: "Al-Qaida has
been left with just a handful of capable leaders and operatives."
Yet there are,
according to Brennan, thousands of individuals the US can lawfully target in
drone strikes. Under the hugely expansive definition he described Monday, the
US can kill individuals across the globe. Brennan named potential targets not
just in Pakistan and Yemen, but in Somalia, Nigeria and west Africa. The Obama
"war on terror" may include groups like al-Qaida in the Islamic
Maghreb, which Brennan described as attempting to "destabilize regional
governments", and Boko Haram, a group that "appears to be aligning
itself" with al-Qaida and is "increasingly looking to attack western
interests in Nigeria". Moreover, the US can kill not just leaders and
operatives, but individuals who "possess unique operational skills that
are being leveraged in a planned attack."
Now! Can you remember the
short, almost imperceptible snippet in the news a few months ago about using
drones to “oversee the borders?”
“Once again, another
shocking story that threatens the personal privacy of US citizens has been kept
from us by our politicians and the mainstream media.
Did you know that a
bill, HR 658, the FAA Air Transportation Modernization and Safety Improvement
Act, has just passed both the House and the Senate that authorizes the use of
30,000 spy drones over America? Like the anti-Posse Comitatus NDAA legislation
that passed in November, this bill was not widely reported by the mainstream
media.
Do not feel bad for
not knowing about this, because, similar to the anti-Constitutional NDAA
legislation, they purposefully tried to hide this from the American public. The
corporate controlled mainstream media was once again complicit and was an
integral accessory in this crime against “We the People.” The corporate
mainstream media failed us all miserably once again.
Think about the
enormity of this for a second… 30-THOUSAND drones flying overhead surveilling
the US. If you divide that by 50 states, that is 600 drones per state! Most
states don’t have even have one-third of that in counties, so 600 drones, or
more per state is a bit overwhelming. And considering that some states are very
small, such as Rhode Island and Connecticut, it won’t take that many to spy on
those diminutive territories, leaving far more drones to cover the larger
states.
This is an outrage, plain
and simple. If you’re not pissed off about this, you’ve got shit for brains.
There is no good reason why we should have 24/7 surveillance of American
citizens. Of course the advocates for creating this intensified police state
will proffer that this is needed “to fight terrorism,” but let’s examine that
issue for just a moment.
We’ve only had two
successful acts of terrorism in the US, both happening well over ten years ago.
It’s not like we’re under a constant monthly or weekly barrage of terrorism, at
least not from foreign threats. We’ve been terrorized by our politicians and
our media plenty, far more than we have from foreign entities. That’s an
undeniable fact. Again, just look at the record.
We had the 9/11
attacks in 2001, and then shortly after we had the anthrax attacks. As we look
at both of those events, there is an incredible amount of evidence that points
to a false flag operation, state sponsored terrorism by rogue factions within
our own government, blamed on a foreign entity. See the NewsFocus reports on
the 9/11 attacks and the anthrax attacks.
These plots succeeded
solely because of US officials and their dereliction of duty, yet our
Constitution and “We the People’ are the ones who have been made to suffer. The
highly flawed 9/11 Commission admitted as much.
Senator Mark Dayton
excoriated the Commission panel over bald faced lies in their report that
attempted to cover up the numerous failures of protocol on that fateful day.
Our top officials failed to do their jobs on 9/11, yet no one was demoted in
rank and no one was prosecuted for their egregious ineptitude. Bush, Cheney and
Rumsfeld all failed to act appropriately, and in fact, acted suspiciously
outside the norm of their designated duties.
As far as the anthrax
attacks go, they were actually tracked to a US military facility, at Ft.
Detrick, Maryland. That’s right, the anthrax used in the attacks was made in a
US Army lab. Once that story became public, they shifted their blame from
foreign terrorists to designated patsies within the US defense structure. The
story died immediately.
So, with all of this
in mind, we have only had TWO “alleged” successful terrorist attacks in this
country in eleven years time, and both were highly suspicious events that have
been attributed to false flag attacks from rogue officials with the US
government, yet for some reason, we keep passing law after law that rescinds
our Constitution and Bill of Rights, to set up a virtual police state in the
US.
Does this honestly
make any sense to you?
For what it’s worth,
we are actually fomenting terrorism with our highly bogus, bst War On Terror.
We have formally invaded and brutally attacked three countries without
provocation, Afghanistan, Iraq and Libya, plus we’re also bombing Pakistan and
killing scores of innocent civilians there as well.
This reporter’s take
is, TPTB are trying to escalate terrorism to justify their fascist takeover of
the United States. They’re literally trying to piss off foreign entities to
pick a fight. Again, they’re attempting to justify their assault on “We the
People,” to establish a police state lockdown in America. This isn’t about
fighting terrorism folks, it’s about keeping us under their heel, under a 24/7
watch.
Look at what’s
happened in just the last few months… Congress passed the NDAA Act behind our
backs, authorizing military use on US soil against American citizens. At the
same time, President Obama has enacted the SIP, the Strategic Implementation
Plan against domestic “extremism.”
If you speak out
against the government for criminal activity, or for egregiously attacking our
Constitution, you can legally be considered an extremist and a terrorist. Bad
news for you, because now you can be hauled away and imprisoned for life,
without a trial or your Habeas Corpus rights.
FEMA also has drawn up
a new Contingency of Government plan that incorporates offensive military
definitions and criteria that can be used against “We the People.” Add to this
the fact that the FBI has enacted new absurd terrorism identifiers that make us
all suspects. (Having more than seven days worth of food in your house makes
you a terrorist suspect. Please see my three-part series on the NDAA
legislation.)
What is most unusual
about the vote for the new drones over America bill (HR 658) is it was very
much a partisan vote, with Republicans being the primary supporters and
Democrats staunchly voting against it. You can see the roll-call of votes below
if you doubt this. The house vote was very close, with 223 yes votes and 196 no
votes. Sadly there were 13 reps that decided not to vote on the bill.
The real curiosity is
that the vote in the Senate was overwhelmingly in favor of the bill, with only
20 Senators voting no. Again, most of those voting no were Democrats. Still,
how does the Senate vote highly in favor of such a horrific bill, when the
House is nearly split down the middle? And once again, the partisanship
absolutely baffles me.
I’m starting to think
that maybe the research from the 2011 University College of London study is
actually correct. They proffered that people tending to be conservatives have a
much larger amygdala. Why does that matter?
According to the
study, the larger the amygdala, the more susceptible the brain is to being
scared. At face value that seems patently absurd to this reporter. Seriously,
it sounds absolutely ridiculous, but in light of the recent vote on HR 658, I’m
seriously beginning to wonder.
To be fair, there were
some Democrats involved in the passage of this bill, such as the regular
corporate shills, like Diane Feinstein, Barbara Boxer, and Carl Levin, but the
support for HR 658 is far and away one-sided. That is disturbing to see. Again,
it truly baffles this reporter, but I digress from the gist of this article.
If you think that
having 30,000 drones over America is going to make us safer, you’ve been
watching too much TV. How do these drones know who is traveling in a particular
vehicle? How do they know if a sleeper cell has suddenly become active, or if a
group has successfully infiltrated the country?
Would these drones
have stopped the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing? Would they have stopped the 9/11
attacks? Would they have stopped the anthrax attacks? The answer to all three
of these questions is a resolute NO, because US authorities were asleep at the
wheel, or complicit in all three of those events.
So how will 30,000
drones over the US keep us safe from terrorism? Maybe a better question is, how
might 30,000 drones be used to enforce a police state over American citizens.
The latter is more chilling and offers far more possibilities for TPTB. This is
quite disconcerting given the fact that during the latest census all of our
homes were GPS’d.
The bill is worth
$63.4 billion dollars, so it will be interesting to track the money on this
one. Considering that we are in such a dire economic crisis, it is interesting
that they deem it necessary to spend $63.4 BILLION dollars at this time.
Another disturbing
thought, these drones can remain airborne for up to 50 hours at a time. What
perils does this offer for air traffic safety, by adding 30-THOUSAND new
aircraft to our skies? The FAA has nine months from the bill’s signing to
submit a plan to safely allow access for the drones.
The fact that our
corporate controlled mainstream media failed to report on this, as they failed
to do with the NDAA legislation, ought to tell you that they are working with
TPTB. No other conclusion can be made. They have been complicit and willing
participants in these anti-Constitutional attacks on “We the People.”
This reporter
advocates naming them as accessories to the crimes of state, for they are sharp
enough to ferret out the real story, yet they refuse to do so.
One side note on HR
658… it also allows for GPS control and landing of aircraft. This is actually
supposed to be the major impetus for the bill, with the drones as a secondary
component. The GPS aspect is somewhat troubling because of the magnetic shifts
that have been occurring on this planet.
The geomagnetic poles
have undeniably been moving, so much so that airports have had to re-designate
runway coordinates and adjust their GPS instrumentation. I would hope that with
this in mind, they have implemented proper safeguards to account for this documented
scientific anomaly.
In conclusion, it is
very clear that a police state has descended upon America. If you doubt that,
you have not been paying attention. The agenda for the New World Order has been
furthered tremendously in the last decade since 9/11, and even more so in just
the last year. NWO advocate Senator Jay Rockefeller said the bill is “the best
news that the airline industry ever had. It will take us into a new era.”
You have to seriously
ask yourself… with only TWO incidents of actual
successful terrorist acts since 2000, why is our government moving
recklessly with such EXTREME measures to counter a threat that does not present
itself to us as on a daily, weekly, monthly, or even yearly basis?
George W. Bush
absurdly said after 9/11 that the terrorists hated us for our freedoms. It
would appear to this reporter that it is the powers that be who truly hate our
freedoms. Foreign terrorists did not take our freedoms away. Our politicians
and government officials have done that, and they did it because Americans were
too lazy to pay attention to what has been going on in their own country.
We are the most overly
entertained society the world has ever known. There is a reason for that. If
you keep watching the boob tube and continue to ignore what our elected
servants are doing to us all, pretty soon you will be watching “Amerikan Idol”
and “Goosestepping Mit Der Stars.”
What is happening in
America today is far worse than Nazi Germany. Just because you still get to
watch the idiot box and shop at Wal-Mart does not mean that you are free.
Time to wake up
America. It’s time for all good men (and women) to come to the aid of their
country, while you still have the chance to do so.”
As it turns out, Brother Love is not our salvation, but
rather a continuation of the hell he promised to resurrect us from. He has effectively united two once polar
opposits, the Democrats and the Republicans to honor one cause and one
cause only; world domination at the expense of the globe’s entire population,
save the 1% of the extraordinarily wealthy.
He has passed his basket and taken the precious, hard-earned dreams of the world and handed them over to the very demons of the future, the ruling elite class of the planet Earth.
He has passed his basket and taken the precious, hard-earned dreams of the world and handed them over to the very demons of the future, the ruling elite class of the planet Earth.
No! We have NOT
replaced the authoritarian regime of the Bush Dynasty we have, perhaps
unwittingly so, promoted the office of President of the United States to
Benefactor of the Elite and Assassin of the not so. And we must be very, very worried, not just those “suspicious persons,” but ALL of us, for
our very civil liberties and perhaps our very safety.
How long will it be before those drones are firing on
“suspected terrorists” within U.S. cities, or Canada, England, Australia, New Zealand, Japan, etc.... killing far
more than 10 civilians for every “suspect” (these countries are
much more densely populated than are Iraq and Afghanistan), all at the whim of a now
horrifically powerful RepubliCrat???
Be sure to pay your taxes, say your prayers and never, ever look up, for that just may be construed as very suspicious activity. Brother Love is watching,
he’s a conman, a pathological liar and he’s packing some damned serious power and heat.
Everyone
goes
Everyone
knows
Brother
Love's show
Amen
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
SEX IN DAVEY JONES' LOCKER: or IS MY SUSHI STILL ALIVE?
A full moon casts its pale blue light upon the surface of the water, painting a perfect self portrait on the near black surface of the water during slack tide in the harbor as I stare in contemplation, well perhaps even deeper thought than mere contemplation, more like deep meditation, so relaxing it’s almost painful to move when the time is right.
The fish aren’t hungry, it’s one of those nights offering this fisherman hours of quiet introspection interrupted only by the occasional seagull squawking in the distance, even my fishing buddy is quiet; highly unusual for the bear-sized man with a booming voice. Even his nickname is fittingly “Bear.” The only activity I’ve seen tonight is reeling in the line to see if the ever-present, yet invisible thieves of the ocean have absconded with my bait, again. Reel it in, rebate the hook and drop it back into the water only to repeat several minutes later. Clever little shits, those denizens of the deep. I’ll not be convinced for a moment that the “lesser” creatures of this world have no reasoning power and I know of no other fisherman who will ever accept that theory either.
11:00 PM; still no activity.
“Hey Bear! Watchya say we give it up for the night, finish off the beer and head home? The in-coming tide must’ve fed them too well tonight.”
“Yep, let’s crank’em up and give it up, we’ve got a big day on the boat Friday anyway. Maybe we’ll make up for it then.”
I begin hauling in my line, it feels heavier than an empty line, but the line is dead weight so it’s certainly not a fish, probably some seabed trash or kelp, hell probably both, it weighs maybe five pounds, it isn’t kelp alone, that’s for sure. I reel it towards me from our perch on the bridge twenty feet or so from the water’s surface. It’s taking a couple minutes to get the clump of “stuff” from the bottom of the channel to the bridge where I can cut the line and toss the kelp back into the water or the trash into the back of the pickup. A quick gulp to finish off the can of beer and I resume reeling in the line.
The end of the line has arrived, but it’s too dark to see any details of the mass hanging off the end, a pretty sizable blob of seaweed alright.
Teeth are meant for far more than simply chewing; like Bubba’s shrimp recipes in Forrest Gump, the list of uses for a fisherman’s incisors can be endless and are often used for cutting fishing line rather than taking the time to locate the cutters stored somewhere deep in the tackle box, besides tackle boxes in the dark can be a painful place for bare fingers. The dark, shapeless “clump” of seaweed is two feet from my face so I grab the line, pull it towards me to sever the line with my pearly whites, planning to let the entire mess fall back into the water below and head for home. As I pull the line towards my face, suddenly the seaweed comes to life and I see dark fingers reaching out for me in a flash, it happens so rapidly in fact that I have no time to make any assessment as to what it is and it is but a fraction of an inch from grabbing my face.
Startling the hell out of me, I jump several feet in reverse and scream out “FUCKING HELL! I look at Bear and scream; “GODDAM!! DID YOU SEE THAT SHIT?” My fishing pole is lying on the ground with the tip hanging over bridge’s rail, the clump of stuff now hanging in the air over the water from edge of the bridge.
All I can hear in reply is Bear’s roaring laughter. Even in the pale light of the moon, I can see that he’s literally crying he’s laughing so hard. And I really can’t blame him as he was watching something few fishermen ever get to see – a five pound octopus attacking a man’s head in self defense.
That wasn’t enough excitement so we went fishing again a few days later, the day after Thanksgiving, taking a boat fishermen euphemistically refer to as a “cattle boat”,” a boat that takes large groups of fishermen out to fish in the open sea. The boat is scheduled to take us to a reef about half way between Davey’s Locker in Newport Beach Harbor to Catalina Island. It is a year of a hellish El Nino that wreaks havoc on the coastal areas of Southern California and for many miles inland. Landslides, flooding and several very large piers with restaurants and other businesses on them are swept off of their pilings and into the ocean. It is the wettest, most destructive storm season I had encountered the entire twenty years I lived in California.
The boat normally leaves around midnight in order to get to the reef by early morning. We board the 65 foot steel-hull boat about 10:00 PM. from the waiting room in Davey’s Locker, the boat owner. I recall seeing one girl in her early twenties in the crowd as we board. A female fishing on a cattle boat is certainly not unheard of, but not terribly common either, so it kind of causes one to pause for a brief second. I suppose it could be analogous to seeing a cat running in a pack of wild dogs.
It’s raining so hard that the water in the harbor, less than four feet away from where I’m standing next to the boat’s gunnel is not visible.
As we normally do, Bear and I go to the galley have a couple beers and play cards with some of the other fishermen. In retrospect, I now wonder what in hell we thought we were going to do when we arrived at the fishing point.
We feel the customary lurch as the boat leaves its moorings and heads out to sea. The weather is so bad it’s even a bit rough in the harbor, but when we pass the breakwater hell is unleashed by Poseidon himself. That huge, steel-hulled boat is tossed around like a toy in a pool full of rambunctious children. Bear and I sit in the galley, holding onto the sides of the chairs and the table, glancing at one another to see if there’s fear in one or the other’s eyes as the boat encounters massive wave after massive wave.
With each wave, the boat shudders like an earthquake as it climbs up the mountain to the crest only to shoot to the bottom of the trough like a high-speed rollercoaster gone off its tracks. I’m certain the propeller leaves the water as it crests the wave as the ship literally rattles like marbles in a tin can. After the second or third wave, the boat hits the trough so hard, all the latches intended to keep kitchen tools; plates, bowls, pans, KNIVES, spoons, glasses, etc. in the cabinets break and the contents begin flying around the galley like missiles, canister bombs and steel Frisbees.
We hear the boat’s captain on the speakers; “attention all passengers! To avoid injury, please go below to the bunks. Please go below to the bunks! All deck hands to the bridge.”
“Now that’s a good idea” I think to myself and by the look in Bear’s eyes, he’s in full agreement. But an idea and the execution of an idea can be miles apart at times. MILES.
Traversing a very narrow passageway, down very steep steps into a large dark room filled with bunks while the boat is jostling around like a car tumbling down a hillside sounds pretty damned difficult you say? DIFFICULT? Hell it’s damned near impossible!
Had it not been so worrisome, it would surely have been hilarious to watch. Everyone is slamming their heads on the bulkhead, against the walls and against other heads. We’re falling down the steps, running onto each other and each and every one of us are swearing like truckers, I swear I can even hear the voice of the loan female in the swearing fest.
After poking one in the eye, waking some others and receiving the resulting choice words from those who’d been in the bunks while Bear and I were in the galley, I finally feel my way to one of the top bunks, climb in, cover up and hold on for one hell of a ride.
The damned lights finally come on (one 60 watt bulb at each end of the big room full of double bunks) and when they do, I realize that my face is but a foot or so from the top of the room. Claustrophobic as hell, I begin hyperventilating and sweating like mad in a room where the temperature was probably around 35-40 degrees F. Hoping to alleviate the crushing feeling of having something that close to my face, I reach up and touch the clammy, hard, steel surface and it suddenly occurs to me that this scow of a boat may be my casket, buried under hundreds of feet of water, but even that didn’t bother me as much as the closeness of the surface.
Hoping to stop the panic, I turn sideways and pull the blanket over my head with just enough of an opening to breathe freely and for my eyes to see across the room. I can feel my heart rate slow as I scan the dimly lit room where there are three rows of bunks, one on each side and one down the middle.
Directly across the very narrow aisle (I could have easily reached out and touched the bunk adjacent to mine) I see movement under the blankets, it catches my attention and takes my mind off of the looming steel above my head. The occupants (yes, plural) of the bunk stop moving, they must have sensed my gaze and the lone female peaks out from under the blanket for a few seconds, unknowingly staring right at me. She resumes her activity after satisfying her concern that “no one was watching.” I can’t believe my eyes; they’re having sex! One girl among what was likely 40 or 45 men and she’s having sex right in the middle of them all! WHILE THE BOAT IS DAMNED NEAR SINKING!
What a surreal night. What a strange damned sight!
After about 4 hours of trying to get to the reef, the captain announces that he’s turning around because, get this, “it is too rough.” He calmly says “Davey’s Locker,” (the company that owns the fleet of fishing boats) will provide all with rain checks so we could come back when the when the weather isn’t so bad.”
My first thoughts are of the irony in the name "Davey’s Locker" and our impending doom. I wonder if we’ll even make it back.
It takes us 45 minutes to return to the harbor from the point it took us 4 hours to get to. We learn later that we had encountered not 1,not 2, but 3 water spouts (tornadoes over the ocean) during our joyride.
When the hoard of faces, devoid of blood and pale white, leave the boat and walk into the waiting room to receive our rain checks, I glance to the side and sure as hell, the girl who was having sex with her bunkmate is standing right next to me. I avoid looking at her for very long, fearing she’d sense that it was I who was across from her, below deck in the bunks.
We cash in our rain checks two weeks later, using the same boat to the same destination, calm seas though. That was a night I’ve never forgotten and likely never will.
The fish aren’t hungry, it’s one of those nights offering this fisherman hours of quiet introspection interrupted only by the occasional seagull squawking in the distance, even my fishing buddy is quiet; highly unusual for the bear-sized man with a booming voice. Even his nickname is fittingly “Bear.” The only activity I’ve seen tonight is reeling in the line to see if the ever-present, yet invisible thieves of the ocean have absconded with my bait, again. Reel it in, rebate the hook and drop it back into the water only to repeat several minutes later. Clever little shits, those denizens of the deep. I’ll not be convinced for a moment that the “lesser” creatures of this world have no reasoning power and I know of no other fisherman who will ever accept that theory either.
11:00 PM; still no activity.
“Hey Bear! Watchya say we give it up for the night, finish off the beer and head home? The in-coming tide must’ve fed them too well tonight.”
“Yep, let’s crank’em up and give it up, we’ve got a big day on the boat Friday anyway. Maybe we’ll make up for it then.”
I begin hauling in my line, it feels heavier than an empty line, but the line is dead weight so it’s certainly not a fish, probably some seabed trash or kelp, hell probably both, it weighs maybe five pounds, it isn’t kelp alone, that’s for sure. I reel it towards me from our perch on the bridge twenty feet or so from the water’s surface. It’s taking a couple minutes to get the clump of “stuff” from the bottom of the channel to the bridge where I can cut the line and toss the kelp back into the water or the trash into the back of the pickup. A quick gulp to finish off the can of beer and I resume reeling in the line.
The end of the line has arrived, but it’s too dark to see any details of the mass hanging off the end, a pretty sizable blob of seaweed alright.
Teeth are meant for far more than simply chewing; like Bubba’s shrimp recipes in Forrest Gump, the list of uses for a fisherman’s incisors can be endless and are often used for cutting fishing line rather than taking the time to locate the cutters stored somewhere deep in the tackle box, besides tackle boxes in the dark can be a painful place for bare fingers. The dark, shapeless “clump” of seaweed is two feet from my face so I grab the line, pull it towards me to sever the line with my pearly whites, planning to let the entire mess fall back into the water below and head for home. As I pull the line towards my face, suddenly the seaweed comes to life and I see dark fingers reaching out for me in a flash, it happens so rapidly in fact that I have no time to make any assessment as to what it is and it is but a fraction of an inch from grabbing my face.
Startling the hell out of me, I jump several feet in reverse and scream out “FUCKING HELL! I look at Bear and scream; “GODDAM!! DID YOU SEE THAT SHIT?” My fishing pole is lying on the ground with the tip hanging over bridge’s rail, the clump of stuff now hanging in the air over the water from edge of the bridge.
All I can hear in reply is Bear’s roaring laughter. Even in the pale light of the moon, I can see that he’s literally crying he’s laughing so hard. And I really can’t blame him as he was watching something few fishermen ever get to see – a five pound octopus attacking a man’s head in self defense.
That wasn’t enough excitement so we went fishing again a few days later, the day after Thanksgiving, taking a boat fishermen euphemistically refer to as a “cattle boat”,” a boat that takes large groups of fishermen out to fish in the open sea. The boat is scheduled to take us to a reef about half way between Davey’s Locker in Newport Beach Harbor to Catalina Island. It is a year of a hellish El Nino that wreaks havoc on the coastal areas of Southern California and for many miles inland. Landslides, flooding and several very large piers with restaurants and other businesses on them are swept off of their pilings and into the ocean. It is the wettest, most destructive storm season I had encountered the entire twenty years I lived in California.
The boat normally leaves around midnight in order to get to the reef by early morning. We board the 65 foot steel-hull boat about 10:00 PM. from the waiting room in Davey’s Locker, the boat owner. I recall seeing one girl in her early twenties in the crowd as we board. A female fishing on a cattle boat is certainly not unheard of, but not terribly common either, so it kind of causes one to pause for a brief second. I suppose it could be analogous to seeing a cat running in a pack of wild dogs.
It’s raining so hard that the water in the harbor, less than four feet away from where I’m standing next to the boat’s gunnel is not visible.
As we normally do, Bear and I go to the galley have a couple beers and play cards with some of the other fishermen. In retrospect, I now wonder what in hell we thought we were going to do when we arrived at the fishing point.
We feel the customary lurch as the boat leaves its moorings and heads out to sea. The weather is so bad it’s even a bit rough in the harbor, but when we pass the breakwater hell is unleashed by Poseidon himself. That huge, steel-hulled boat is tossed around like a toy in a pool full of rambunctious children. Bear and I sit in the galley, holding onto the sides of the chairs and the table, glancing at one another to see if there’s fear in one or the other’s eyes as the boat encounters massive wave after massive wave.
With each wave, the boat shudders like an earthquake as it climbs up the mountain to the crest only to shoot to the bottom of the trough like a high-speed rollercoaster gone off its tracks. I’m certain the propeller leaves the water as it crests the wave as the ship literally rattles like marbles in a tin can. After the second or third wave, the boat hits the trough so hard, all the latches intended to keep kitchen tools; plates, bowls, pans, KNIVES, spoons, glasses, etc. in the cabinets break and the contents begin flying around the galley like missiles, canister bombs and steel Frisbees.
We hear the boat’s captain on the speakers; “attention all passengers! To avoid injury, please go below to the bunks. Please go below to the bunks! All deck hands to the bridge.”
“Now that’s a good idea” I think to myself and by the look in Bear’s eyes, he’s in full agreement. But an idea and the execution of an idea can be miles apart at times. MILES.
Traversing a very narrow passageway, down very steep steps into a large dark room filled with bunks while the boat is jostling around like a car tumbling down a hillside sounds pretty damned difficult you say? DIFFICULT? Hell it’s damned near impossible!
Had it not been so worrisome, it would surely have been hilarious to watch. Everyone is slamming their heads on the bulkhead, against the walls and against other heads. We’re falling down the steps, running onto each other and each and every one of us are swearing like truckers, I swear I can even hear the voice of the loan female in the swearing fest.
After poking one in the eye, waking some others and receiving the resulting choice words from those who’d been in the bunks while Bear and I were in the galley, I finally feel my way to one of the top bunks, climb in, cover up and hold on for one hell of a ride.
The damned lights finally come on (one 60 watt bulb at each end of the big room full of double bunks) and when they do, I realize that my face is but a foot or so from the top of the room. Claustrophobic as hell, I begin hyperventilating and sweating like mad in a room where the temperature was probably around 35-40 degrees F. Hoping to alleviate the crushing feeling of having something that close to my face, I reach up and touch the clammy, hard, steel surface and it suddenly occurs to me that this scow of a boat may be my casket, buried under hundreds of feet of water, but even that didn’t bother me as much as the closeness of the surface.
Hoping to stop the panic, I turn sideways and pull the blanket over my head with just enough of an opening to breathe freely and for my eyes to see across the room. I can feel my heart rate slow as I scan the dimly lit room where there are three rows of bunks, one on each side and one down the middle.
Directly across the very narrow aisle (I could have easily reached out and touched the bunk adjacent to mine) I see movement under the blankets, it catches my attention and takes my mind off of the looming steel above my head. The occupants (yes, plural) of the bunk stop moving, they must have sensed my gaze and the lone female peaks out from under the blanket for a few seconds, unknowingly staring right at me. She resumes her activity after satisfying her concern that “no one was watching.” I can’t believe my eyes; they’re having sex! One girl among what was likely 40 or 45 men and she’s having sex right in the middle of them all! WHILE THE BOAT IS DAMNED NEAR SINKING!
What a surreal night. What a strange damned sight!
After about 4 hours of trying to get to the reef, the captain announces that he’s turning around because, get this, “it is too rough.” He calmly says “Davey’s Locker,” (the company that owns the fleet of fishing boats) will provide all with rain checks so we could come back when the when the weather isn’t so bad.”
My first thoughts are of the irony in the name "Davey’s Locker" and our impending doom. I wonder if we’ll even make it back.
It takes us 45 minutes to return to the harbor from the point it took us 4 hours to get to. We learn later that we had encountered not 1,not 2, but 3 water spouts (tornadoes over the ocean) during our joyride.
When the hoard of faces, devoid of blood and pale white, leave the boat and walk into the waiting room to receive our rain checks, I glance to the side and sure as hell, the girl who was having sex with her bunkmate is standing right next to me. I avoid looking at her for very long, fearing she’d sense that it was I who was across from her, below deck in the bunks.
We cash in our rain checks two weeks later, using the same boat to the same destination, calm seas though. That was a night I’ve never forgotten and likely never will.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Stand Your Ground Doesn't Mean Shoot To Kill
As
it always does after a particularly bothersome incident, the gun debate is once
again being debated with fevered pitch in the U.S. and just as prevalently as
the debate, many people across the country become severely confused when the
concept of gun control is broached, somehow correlating it with ending gun
ownership completely, thereby prompting ad nauseum repetition of the moronic, audacious
and half-witted attempt at bravado made popular by our friends at the NRA; “I'll
give you my gun when you pry it from my cold, dead hands!”
Let
me say first of all, to dissuade any instantaneous preconception that I am, a
gun antagonist or a gun nut; I am neither.
I own several guns and have done so for 52 years now, since I was
presented with my first - my grandfather’s Remington Model 34 .22 ca
bolt-action rifle at the age of 8 years old.
I love to shoot guns (I deplore killing anything with them other than
tin cans and glass bottles, however).
Owning
guns and shooting them is very enjoyable for me, perhaps somewhat akin to
standing next to an idling locomotive, but those guns are locked in a gun safe,
to which only I have the combination, when not in use at the range or in the
desert and while in transport they’re locked in the tool box in the back of my
pickup for, just as those locomotives, they DEMAND a very high degree of
respect. Learning to shoot well is
indeed an art, but it is also a massive responsibility. I do not, nor will I
ever carry a weapon in a public arena and this is precisely why:
On
July 10, 2010 a man with whom I was acquainted entered a Costco in a suburban
area of Las Vegas, Nevada known as Summerlin, a mildly upscale master-planned
community of upper-middle income residents.
The man, Erik Scott, was a sales representative for a company (Boston
Scientific) which produces high-end medical devices including the implantable pacemakers
and defibrillators he sold. He and I met
regularly to coordinate acquisition of those devices for implant into patients
within the hospital system for which I was responsible.
He
was a congenial, intelligent young man and was certainly not an ordinary slouch
of a guy; a West Point Graduate with a master’s degree from Duke who had served
as an M1A1 Tank Platoon Leader in the U.S. Army. Erik was in Costco to purchase items for a
trip of some kind that involved a backpack such as hiking or camping; it’s
unclear to me which.
While
in Costco, he began opening a package of items to see if those items would fit
into his pack and predictably, this behavior caught the attention of some
Costco employees, some of which were concerned and some of which were not, even
trying to assist him; different accounts from different perspectives, as
always.
Erik
paid for the products he had opened along with other items he and his
girlfriend purchased and exited the store.
For those of you who have exited a Costco store, you know what kind of
crowd is typically coming and going; estimates are that there were at least 20 to
30 people in and around the immediate area of the entry/exit where he
encountered several Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Officers screaming different and
by most accounts, contradicting commands.
It
seems that during the process of checking the items for proper fit, one of the “concerned”
Costco employees noticed Erik’s weapon and, from all accounts I’ve read, either
panicked or simply became agitated when he told Erik that he was not allowed to
carry weapons, to which Erik simply replied “I have a permit to do so.” The employee reported to his supervisors that
“there was a very suspicious man with a gun ripping open packages in the store.” The store began to quietly evacuate the
customers and employees, all unbeknownst to Erik.
As
Erik exited the store, commands ranging from “get on the ground” to “drop your
weapon” were thrown at him from the PD officers awaiting him and apparently, he
attempted to do what he heard and began to remove the weapon from where he had
it concealed and in the process of doing so was shot seven times, killing him.
His
profession was not such that it was required, of this much I am certain, but Erik
was carrying, not one, but two concealed weapons, a Kimber .45 caliber
semi-automatic and yet another .380 semi-automatic in his pocket and his
blood-soaked concealed weapons permit was stark and ironic testament that he
was legally entitled to do so.
If
one reads the various accounts of the incident, here, here, here and here, it’s
vividly apparent that confusion was thick in the air, not only with the Costco
employee and the LVMPD, but within Erik as well. There are questions that will NEVER be
answered such as; why did the Costco employee find it necessary to pursue the
actions he took? Why were the LVMPD
officers issuing conflicting directions? And in my mind, the most important
questions; why was he carrying not one, but two concealed weapons? Why did he feel the need, especially in the
community in which he lived? He was also
taking fairly high doses of morphine, for what I don’t know, but; why was
anyone who was taking such a powerful drug allowed to carry concealed weapons
to begin with?
So
many questions; so few answers, but here is one answer I can be absolutely
certain of without even a preceding question; there is absolutely no doubt had Erik
not been carrying a gun, he would still be alive today.
There
were coroner’s inquests, civil suits, internal investigations by the PD, yet
not one time did anyone wonder why the man was carrying two weapons, for there
was no need to ask; HE HAD A PERMIT!
Well
what a very impressive privilege; an utterly unnecessary privilege for which he
paid with his life on that day!
I
do not believe that the PD acted in error, nor the Costco employee and to some
degree, even Erik was not to blame. But
the lax laws in this country are most definitely erroneous and need review and
overhaul NOW. No matter how you want to
view it, whether you’re pro or con on this issue, guns on the streets equals
bodies in the morgue.
“The
right to have and bear arms” is an irrefutable right in this country according
to the Constitution of the United States, but that “right to bear” them needs
to be tempered drastically. As with all governing
instruments, the Constitution needs to be constantly reexamined to fit the
needs of the society it’s intended to govern (amendments). The Constitution was developed when guns
were both necessary for survival and when the U.S. had just ended the American
Revolution, so the right to bear arms carried far different ramifications then
than it does now.
We’ve
all seen the statistics related to the issue and as with ALL statistics, they
can show what the originator wants them to show, but here’s one that simply cannot
be manipulated and that is, guns will and do result in a violent scenario,
either purposely or accidentally and a death such as the one above or Trayvon’s
or any other of the thousands upon thousands who are killed due to foolish, irresponsible
laws and/or gun owners can be neither ignored nor manipulated.
Victims
are dead either way and guns have no business in a public arena where
misunderstanding is going to be present; always, 100% of the time.
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