Everyone needs a regular routine for printing off the
latest column to read over lunch. In the interest of helping you
occupy the internet connection your boss provides, here are my
suggestions for how to use your time until the lazy writer of this darn
blog posts something.
Daily News
Of course, every day you need to read the news. I recommend
The Nose on Your Face, news so fake you'd swear it came from the Mainstream Media.
HT to Sid for the link.
Monday: Michelle Malkin
Michelle Malkin is a great conservative
bastion and very smart lady. You loved her book "Unhinged" and you can
read her columns here.
Or you can use Monday to catch up on
Dilbert.
Tuesday: Dave Barry's Column
Dave Barry is often imitated but never duplicated (and believe me, I've tried).
If you want something more political for Tuesday just go to
Jewish World Review to
read some good stuff.
Wednesday: Daryl
Cagle's Index of Political Cartoons
About half of these cartoonists are liberal
(Latin for wrong) but the art is usually good.
(Fantastic, if you're used to the quality of art on this site.)
Or you can read
George
Will's columns for someone that's both talented and intelligent.
Thursday: Ann
Coulter
Ann posts her new column every Thursday. You'll find that there are two sides to every
issue: Ann's side and the wrong side. You can also browse Ann's past columns
(saves you the price of her new book).
Friday: Charles Krauthammer
Krauthammer posts every Friday. Just a good, smart conservative columnist.
If you want someone who gets it just as right, but is easier to read, try
Thomas Sowell. He just posts at random times.
Or just follow the links above and below this section (you can't have read all my archived articles
already). If you have read all my articles (you need to get out more) go to my
I'm Not Falling For It section.
Above all, try to stay calm. Eventually I may post something
again.
This really is worth watching all the way through. It's about a woman named Irena who rescued Jewish children during the holocaust.
Looking on the Bright Side
I think I really will find the Obama years very productive for me personally.
Take last night. I walked in the house last night and the little Mrs. had the TV on. She was watching some
of that mindless celebrity tabloid trash. It was a black celebrity talking about how great he was. Some
Botox chick and a senile old guy with hairplugs was sitting behind him. I will not watch the Oscars and I wasn't
interested in this display, which was basically the same thing—some celebrity going on and on and on about how
great he was.
I headed out to the shop and got something accomplished. It was great.
Wasting Somebody's Time
You know the deal with blah-blah-blogs. I can just jot down my random thoughts as they occur to me. But that's
a waste of your time.
Or I can coalesce only the important things into carefully crafted masterful prose. But that's a waste of my time.
I'd rather waste your time.
Don't Worry!
The few seconds I watched I heard the black celebrity say "We are going to cut wasteful and useless programs!"
You could hear the frantic gasp from members of Congress before they realized he wasn't talking about them.
Goodbye, Farewell, Amen
Well, here's a random thought. America is screwed. Barack Obama was the first black president. He's also
going to be the last American president. (Don't get me wrong—I'm not saying that Bill Clinton or Jimmy
Carter were Americans. I mean, after Obama there is no more America.)
Another Random Thought
This occurred to me listening to the news about Utah changing her liquor laws.
Some people want to change Utah's liquor laws in an attempt to get us more "mainstream;" more like everyone else.
I guess they're embarrassed about how quaint we are; how provincial and unsophisticated it is that we don't center
our social life around liquor.
But who's the weirdo here?
Think about this. How bizarre is it that a society just accepts that, as part of our culture, we ingest mind
altering chemicals?
"Hey, you want to do something fun?" Sure, let's go spend money on something that makes us lose control
of ourselves in public.
Pretty freaking sophisticated.
'You ask me, that's the weird culture.
And a fond welcome . . .
I don't have that many visitors to these hallowed pages. So I'll take 'em where I can get 'em.
I'd like to bring to everyone's attention some people you might know who have pulled some of the brilliant
ideas from these very pages.
Mr. Rush Limbaugh liked my Rambo machine gun metaphor, using a variation of it to describe how the current
administration is guarding their territory and garnering power. None other than Ann Coulter has mainstreamed
my observation about Bill Clinton's syphilis. And Laura Ingraham has been kind enough to use my Hugo Chavez
comparison.
Of course as Michael Savage knows, these people could have only gotten their ideas from me.
And on the topic of Random Thoughts. They are trying out a bill that discourages texting while driving.
Texting while driving is a stupid thing to do. But as a matter of practice I would recommend that you
avoid listening to one M. Savage while driving, too.
It's not safe to listen to him when he says things like "I gave him the line that would have won this
election—I gave John McCain the line "trickle up poverty" and had he used it in the debate that night he
would be president now!" The involuntary rolling of the eyes that you're going to do could cause an accident.
We're not rich like y'all
I'm sure you've heard this one. The gal who's
talking to the bank about them repossessing her car.
"We not rich like y'all. That's one thing y'all going to have to understand. But one day . . .
we will be, because we have Barack Obama!"
Seriously.
She didn't mention the make, model, or color of the car. But it should be easy to identify. It's the
one with the bumper sticker that says I am a moron and I vote.
Here's the full transcript of the message:
"Uh yes...um... Y'all come to get the car? The car is not here. The car is in the shop and one part is at
another shop. If y'all want it that bad, y'all can go pay that man to get it out and then pay the person to
get the other part out. I mean, because y'all act like y'all couldn't be patient. You knew that we was going
to get it tookin' care of. So if y'all want it that bad, y'all can go get it ya pay the man and the other man
and you -- we can we leave it as that. Cuz we not owin' that much on the car. Y'all want to trip on it
now, there... We only got, ahh -- only a thousand or two thousand on it. So you know what? God bless y'all.
Y'all can go pick up the car... So you know what? Give me a call back and I will give you the directions to
where the man at, and I will let him know that y'all going to be paying him to get it out because y'all don't
be patient! We not rich like y'all. That's one thing y'all going to have to understand. But one day --
this year! -- we will be, because we have Barack Obama!" (slams down phone)
This deal is not frightening or funny so much as it is just sad. I have long held that hope is the cruelest of
emotions.
I'm guessing that attitude is what this song is talking about (to the tune of If I had a Million Dollars):
If we had Barack Obama
If we had Barack Obama (If we had Barack Obama)
I'd buy you a house (I would buy you a house)
If we had Barack Obama (If we had Barack Obama)
I'd buy you furniture for your house
(Maybe a nice chesterfield or an ottoman)
And if we had Barack Obama (If we had Barack Obama)
Well, I'd buy back your repossessed car (A nice Reliant K-car)
If we had Barack Obama I'd buy your love
If we had Barack Obama (If we had Barack Obama)
Well, I'd buy you a fur coat (But not a real fur coat that's cruel)
If we had Barack Obama (If we had Barack Obama)
Maybe we could buy a fridge for all our food
You know, we could just go there and hang out
Like open the fridge and stuff
There would already be laid out foods for us
Like little pre-wrapped sausages and things.
They have pre-wrapped sausages but they don't have pre-wrapped bacon
Well, can you blame 'em?
Uh, yeah.
If we had Barack Obama
I’d buy your love
If we had Barack Obama, If we had Barack Obama
If we had Barack Obama, If we had Barack Obama
If we had Barack Obama
I'd be rich
But I don't do politics anymore
As you know, I've dropped my political hobby. I don't pay any attention to that stuff anymore. I haven't since
November. No, sir. No radio, no TV. I've just dropped out completely. Don't pay attention.
It's like Rush said a couple of days ago, even Air Force One just seems smaller.
That struck a chord with me because that's exactly the way I see things. The whole thing just seems like a
make-believe deal. It's like a bad actor cast in a part that's over his head. Imagine a black male Sondra Locke.
The few times I have accidentally caught a glimpse of The One in his new gig he just looks like a kid playing
dress up in Daddy's suit.
I hear the words "President" Obama" and it sounds like sarcasm. It's like calling your sister "Your highness"
because she doesn't laugh at your burps.
And you know how bad I hate sarcasm. That's why I don't call him . . . that one thing. I just call him "Obama."
But you know how I like to see the upside of things. Yep, that's me, the Optimistic Conservative. I've got to say
I'm encouraged by the progress of the press and the democrats (but I'm being redundant). Oh, how execrably they
treated President Bush. They never called him President. It was always Bush or George Bush . . . or worse.
Never "President Bush."
I take great heart in seeing how they've seen the error of their ways. They've matured to the point that they're
willing to hold their sharp tongues and overlook the shortcomings of the current occupant of the office and his
senile old "give my office a call" sidekick.
It's not too early . . .
2/20/09
. . . to get excited about the Gravity Gran Prix. Only a few months away.
Think About It
2/19/09
The most powerful politician in the world is black.
The best golfer in the world is black. The best female tennis players are black. The fastest racing driver in the world
is black. The worlds best sprinter is black.
Michael Jackson must be kicking himself.
Things I've often wondered about
How come we talk different that the British (who might have said "speak differently")?
Really, think about it. We were British subjects, we had the same accent they did . . . then we kick their fannies
and declare ourselves the United States and suddenly we talk different. What was that? We'll show them and start
pronouncing our 'Rs'! I know it didn't happen overnight, but what caused the child of two British people born in
America to start saying "hat" instead of "haht"?
Something else I've wondered about . . . you've got black guys born in America whose ancestors were here a
hundred years before the white guy's were. They still have an accent. Really. You hear a black guy on the
radio—even a well-educated well-spoken black guy—and you can tell he's black. He has a black accent,
if there is such a thing.
How come their speech didn't change and the white guys' did?
And one other thing we've all wondered about: What the crap is that thing on Donald Trump's head?
A Letter From Boot Camp
I don't mean to be the clichéd parent, but you know how proud I am of my kid in the Marines. I hope you'll indulge me a
little and let me share a recent letter I received from boot camp.
Dear Ma and Pa,
I am well. Hope you are. Tell Brother Walt and Brother Elmer the Marine Corps beats working for old man Larson by a mile.
Tell them to join up quick before all of the places are filled.
I was restless at first because you got to stay in bed till nearly 6 a.m. but I am getting so I like to sleep late.
Tell Walt and Elmer all you do before breakfast is smooth your cot, and shine some things. No hogs to slop, feed to
pitch, mash to mix, wood to split, fire to lay. Practically nothing.
Men got to shave but it is not so bad, there's warm water. Breakfast is strong on trimmings like fruit juice, cereal,
eggs, bacon, etc., but kind of weak on chops, potatoes, ham, steak, fried eggplant, pie and other regular food, but
tell Walt and Elmer you can always sit by the two city boys that live on coffee. Their food, plus yours, holds you
until noon when you get fed again. It's no wonder these city boys can't walk much.
We go on 'route marches,' which the platoon sergeant says are long walks to harden us. If he thinks so, it's not my
place to tell him different. A 'route march' is about as far as to our mailbox at home. Then the city guys get sore
feet and we all ride back in trucks.
The country is nice but awful flat.
The sergeant is like a school teacher He nags a lot. The captain is like the school board. Majors and colonels just
ride around and frown. They don't bother you none.
This next will kill Walt and Elmer with laughing. I keep getting medals for shooting. I don't know why. The bulls-eye
is near as big as a chipmunk head and don't move, and it ain't shooting at you like the Higgett boys at home. All you
got to do is lie there all comfortable and hit it. You don't even load your own cartridges. They come in boxes.
Then we have what they call hand-to-hand combat training. You get to wrestle with them city boys. I have to be real
careful though, they break real easy. It ain't like fighting with that ole bull at home. I'm about the best they got
in this except for that Tug Jordan from over in Devils Lake . I only beat him once. He joined up the same time as me,
but I'm only 5'6' and 130 pounds and he's 6'8' and near 300 pounds dry.
Be sure to tell Walt and Elmer to hurry and join before other fellers get onto this setup and come stampeding in.
Your loving daughter,
Darlene
Bad Ideas
You all saw how this went down. John McCain gave a great speech during the convention, convincing us that he could
be the man to lead America. Then he fell asleep for the rest of the campaign. He did wake up for one minute to say
"I think the government ought to buy up all the bad home loans . . . " Oh, for crying out loud, John, go back to sleep!
The press guffawed over what a ridiculous idea that was. You've got to give them credit, they were doing their
job by holding the candidate's feet to the fire and exposing his stupid ideas.
And it was a stupid idea. It was a horrible idea. Almost makes you glad the guy lost.
Great Ideas
Another thing that makes you glad McCain lost is the masterful way Obamaham Lincoln has everything under control.
Take, for example, his
amazing plan to have the government
buy up all the bad home loans.
Oh, sure, what a brilliant idea. The press is eating it up, talking about his vision and imagination and creativity and
how that's exactly what this economy needs and who could have thought of something so amazing? They're comparing him to
FDR and Lincoln and Martin Luther King and Mother Teresa and Gandhi . . .
I don't know why I bother . . .
You know the deal. Irrational beliefs are not based on facts, so they cannot be refuted by facts.
If someone believes, for example, that race cars don't have rear brakes, showing him race cars with
rear brakes won't dissuade him from his erroneous belief.
There may be some that can't see that the press is a 13 year old girl madly in heat over the suave
high-schooler dreamboat Obama. To that person showing the facts has no effect at all.
Women Drivers-A compilation
Hey, I figured as long as I'm offending democrats I'll go ahead and offend women. If you're a democrat woman, you can be doubly offended.
I think I probably offended blacks, too, so count yourself triply blessed if you fall into that category as well.
Good News/Bad News
February 2009
The good news is: We don't have to worry any more about the slide to socialism. The bad news? We're already there.
Emperor Hussein is taking over the mortgages that his subjects can't pay and dictating the terms of the loans to make
the payments no more than 31% of the mortgagee's income. Explain to me again how he's not a socialist?
Don't ever go to bed angry
You've all heard the standard advice given during a wedding ceremony: Don't ever go to bed angry.
(Then there's Phyllis Diller's corollary: Yeah, stay up and fight!)
Well, I heard a very sensible contradiction to that argument. In a healthy relationship issues are
not resolved that quickly, because that would mean one personality is dominant.
That's how it is. Peace is a product of a dominant force. In some relationships that is the proper
balance. For example, in a Parent/Child relationship (I love you, but you are not going to school dressed
like a ho') or in a United States/Iran situation (Shut the *&^$% up or we'll nuke you).
Other times you want more equality in a relationship. The fact that Hugo Chavez wins all his elections
with a 98% margin is not a good thing. You oppose Hugo Chavez, you die. That's peace and control, but
it's not equality.
You see, equality brings dissent.
Now, Barack Obama has asked that we all forget party allegiances and come together. Aww. Ain't that sweet?
But we now have the working definition for that phraseology: Just do it my way!
With the way he's handled this "Stimulus" package he's made it clear: His version of unity means that
if you disagree with him you shut the *&%^# up. That's peace—Hugo Chavez style. But it's not equality.
And it's not American.
Whatever Obama wants, Obama gets. Period.
And why shouldn't he? He has the presidency, he has house, he has the senate. And he has the one remaining
check and balance: He has the press.
The same way the press excoriated Bush for anything he did, completely without regard to merit or ideology,
they will praise every thought and deed of their Messiah. He could nuke Cleveland and the Washington Post
would have a three page write up about what an inspired move it was.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that nuking Cleveland is a bad thing, necessarily. I'm just making the point
that the press will support any move he makes, without even considering its virtue.
Just so you know that I'm aware . . .
I know that debate is a diverging process, not a converging one. Me spouting my beliefs strengthens your
beliefs—whether you agree with me or oppose me.
So I don’t need to tell you how whacked out the press is. If you know, you'll find my take entertaining.
If you don't, you'll get pissed off. So either way I've accomplished what I want.
The whacked out press said Bush couldn't form a coherent sentence. For example, when he said "This tax is a
toll booth on the road to progress."
The press responded with "Oh, ha ha ha, that silly, stupid old George Bush. Of course, what he meant to say
was 'roadblock.' What a verbal gaffe. Tee hee hee."
No, he meant to say "toll booth." That's what those of us who didn't go to journalism school call a "metaphor."
The same whacked out press lauds Barack as a brilliant speaker. This is the man who gave us:
"Look, you've got a . . . uh . . . uh . . . a kid, and he . . . an' he, and he, and he, an' he, and he, and
he . . . he goes to the uh, uh, the uh, uh emergency room . . . and he, annie . . . annie . . . annie . . .
and he gets a . . . uh . . . a breathalyzer! An' 'e . . . uh, uh, not a breathalyzer, a uh . . . an . . .
uh inhalator! So if we . . . the money we spend . . . look . . . if we . . . let's say we take ten years . . .
and . . . and . . . and . . . hold on . . . hold on. "
Speaking of Metaphors
The situation in Washington is like Rambo and the machine gun. You remember that at the end of the last movie
Rambo managed to get a hold of the machine gun mounted in the jeep. Then he could not only kill the bad guys,
but he could keep them from getting control of the machine gun.
That's where Obama is. He's in control of the machine gun, and he's going to blast anything that looks like it's
approaching his position. Imagine Rambo sitting down with the bad guys and negotiating how to share control of the
machine gun. The last thing Obama intends to do is allow Republicans to survive, much less have a say in what he does.
That's why Obama, before he even did his first presidential flush of a White House toilet, was using the Office of
the President to target Rush Limbaugh. In the Hugo Chavez/Obama world the last thing you need is someone making
people aware of what you're really doing.
Explain to me how we have a free election with the White House now in charge in re-districting? He's got the
machine gun. If you're a Republican you can give up any idea of ever having a say in how the country's run.
Might as well face it, you're addicted . . .
I have a shooting buddy who likes beer. One time we went shooting and he pulled out a can of non-alcoholic beer.
He said it didn't make sense for him to be the only one drinking.
I took a swig and wanted to puke. I asked him if real beer tasted that nasty. He said that you get used to it.
I guess, if you get a buzz out of it. But if you don't get any benefit from drinking the nasty stuff who would
drink it long enough to get used to it?
I'm guessing nobody gets addicted to non-alcoholic beer.
That's the way addictive things are. If they didn't have some allure they wouldn't be addictive. If their evil
weren't masked by something appealing, we wouldn't embrace them.
What's that? Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I was talking about Obama. He's a good-looking, smooth talking . . .
very alluring.
Don't get me wrong, I am not saying that Obama is evil. I'm saying he's super evil and beyond that he's dangerously
evil because he's so appealing.
Alley Cats and Lap Dogs
Bill Clinton was the most immoral man on the planet. I'm not just talking about his boinking anything that has
two legs. I mean he was a complete ho' in everything. He didn't give one crap about anything but himself. He'd
sell nuclear secrets to China as quick as he'd rent out the Lincoln bedroom. A complete ho' in every conceivable
situation.
But he was also a buffoon. He was a moron and he had little more credibility with demorats than he did with
Republicans. So he wasn't all that dangerous. He was just an alley cat—steals food out of trash cans and beds
down the skanks, but more of a nuisance than a menace.
Obama is slick. He subscribes to Bill Clinton's Hillarian philosophy of "Who gives a crap about the country,
what's in this for me?" But he's slick enough to pull it off.
But I don't do politics anymore . . .
Just Imagine
2/03/09
You know the deal. If I had a life I wouldn't have a blog. Anything I do I have to post, so if you don't see a post here
you can rest assured I'm hanging in some mad scientist's closet in a state of suspended animation.
Occasionally I get so bored I just make up stories about what kind of things might happen if I did have a life.
For example, I wondered what might happen in a fictitious situation where I went out to lunch with a group of make believe
people.
Frank had the tostada, with chicken, for the second time in a row, as Paula pointed out. It wasn't that Frank cared about
what John said—those times when he understood what the heck he was saying. It was just that John was the only person with
enough innocence to observe "Man, you're really putting on lots of weight! What's the deal?" If he was saying it, everyone
was noticing it.
The talk bounced back and forth between the Super Bowl and all the ways you can get safely to first base without hitting the
ball. Then it moved to television and the upcoming digital changeover.
"I'm kinda' looking forward to having no TV," Frank said. "The only shows worth watching I'll just pick up on DVD one season
late."
"Yeah, but there's nothing worth watching," David said.
"Well, we're all in agreeance with that," Ron said.
"But Karen and I do like The Office," David said, to everyone's astonishment. Frank wondered if everyone else found it
hilarious or disquieting that their strait-laced boss engaged in that sort of silliness.
"And I get all my news over the internet," David continued.
"I finally just quit watching the news," Frank said. "Every night it was just somebody else got murdered in West Valley City."
Chris laughed. "Yeah, they do seem to get more than their share of crime, don't they?"
"But I have a theory," Frank said with a twinkle in his eye.
Ron was paying attention.
"West Valley is a paradise. It's the best place in the world to live. Sure. But all the media folks live there, see?
So to keep people from flocking to their paradise, they report all this bogus crime."
Paula chuckled, more out of courtesy than amusement. "So that's it?"
"That's it. That's the only explanation for the amount of crime that gets reported from that place. There's no way any
place on the planet could have as much crime as they report from that place.
"You know, there's only one thing wrong with that theory," Ron said, pointing his fork for emphasis.
"Oh?" Frank said. "Only one thing?" Clearly Frank was dealing with someone who knew his way around conspiracies.
"How come you still hear about crime from other places?"
Frank had no answer for Ron. He almost wondered if there might be some chance that West Valley wasn't the paradise home
of every single co-conspiring newscaster in the state. Hmm.
On the way back to the plant the talk returned to the Super Bowl and Larry Fitzgerald's spectacular touchdown run.
Frank thought it was funny that Fitzgerald was watching himself and his defenders on the monitor above the end zone.
"I wonder if that one second delay messed him up any?" Frank said.
"What, do they put that in just in case somebody swears?" Paula asked.
"Or for a wardrobe malfunction?" Travis wondered.
Frank laughed. "No, it's just the latency in the system. So when he's on the 10 yard line the monitor shows him on
the 15. Just system latency, like when Nixon was trying to talk to the astronauts on the moon and they had that
six-second communications delay."
"Well, assuming they were on the moon," Chris said.
"Yeah," Frank laughed, "I mean if we really went to the moon."
Ron, in the front passenger's seat, turned around and said "Yeah, but the first time they forgot to put in the delay."
Frank chuckled silently at Chris's cleverness in baiting Ron. The rest of the trip back Ron regaled the group with
tales about how the ESA had taken pictures of the moon and hadn't found the base of the LEM.
That night Frank took a look at the story about the pictures on
ESA's web site.
AMIE obtained the image on 5 February 2006 from a distance of 1764 kilometres from the surface, with a ground
resolution of 159 metres per pixel. The imaged area is centred at a longitude of 23.9º East close to the Moon
equator, at 1.7º latitude.
Well, there's your proof, he thought. If you can't find a two meter craft with a resolution of 159 meters/pixel,
it certainly isn't there.
Scaling
This little fictitious story with fabricated characters just illustrates a point about conspiracy whackos. It's what
I call "The Small View Effect." See, the whackos are familiar with photography. They know that when they take a picture
of Aunt Lulu on their 6 megapixel camera they can tell who she is even though she's standing 13 yards away talking to
cousin Randolph by the potato salad bowl at the picnic table. They understand about lenses and photography.
So they know that if a lunar lander two meters across really was on the moon, you could see it through a telescope.
Never mind that the moon is 248,000 miles away. Just get a stronger lens.
Even orbiting the moon you can't see it. Imagine spotting a motor home 1764 kilometers away, no matter how powerful
your scope is.
The small view effect. That's what it is. They are incapable of extrapolating their day-to-day experience to the scale
of what they're talking about. "Hey, I know a guy who lost a finger from a fireworks accident. How much explosive would
it take to bring down the twin towers?"
Answer: tons and tons.
A few years ago a scout wandered off from his group in the High Uintahs and was never seen again. Hundreds, if not
thousands of searchers combed the area and never found him. To understand how that could be you would have to see the
boulder field he got lost in. Imagining a child lost in the bushes in a city park isn't going to do it for you.
A couple of years ago I went with the scouts on a ski trip to Lake Powell. You know how this works. You drop the boats
off at the ramp and then you drive around and meet the boats at the camp site.
So we dropped the boats off at the ramp. Then we headed off to meet them around the point. This wasn't my first rodeo.
You launch the boats, you load them at the dock, you drive around the point and meet up with them on the beach.
But it was my first rodeo at Lake Powell. We drove up the highway for ten minutes. Then we drove down a dirt road for
another ten minutes. Then we parked on a ridge tried to communicate with the boats by cell phone and radio to find out
which of the dozens of inlets they were in and which of the dozens of criss-crossing dirt roads we had to follow to get
there. If you haven't been to Lake Powell you can't imagine why someone couldn't just drive around the bend and meet the
boats at the beach.
A couple of days later we decided to explore some canyons up the lake. We ran the boats at full throttle for nearly two
hours to get to the canyons we were looking for. Again, if you haven't seen it you can't imagine the scale and complexity.
So there it is. That's the most common error made by conspiracy theorists. They simply fail to grasp the scale of what
they're dealing with because it's outside of their day-to-day experience.
But I don't do politics
Otherwise I wouldn't be able to leave this topic without a dig at Obama and his clueless supporters.
If I did know a guy like the Ron character in the story I wouldn't try to dissuade him from his whacked out
beliefs. It's an exercise in futility. If someone believes something irrational (like moon landing hoaxes or the
infallibility of Obama) rational facts have no effect.
The more irrational the belief the less the facts matter.
(I Think This is an Old Post)
But I don't care enough to check
They say that when God closes a door he opens a window.
That recently happened to me. As I swore off politics and resolved to keep my posts on the topic to less than 6 printed
pages per day, I wondered what I was going to do with all my grumpiness and hard-to-get-along-withivity.
The answer came in the form of a question from my wife. I was minding my own business when she asked that question every
husband dreads to hear from his dearly beloved: "Honey, have you ever heard of building seven?"
I walked into the living room and to my horror saw displayed (on the very same screen that I watch NASCAR on) a 9/11
conspiracy whack job propaganda dealie flopper. I guess I never made clear to my wife that we don't watch NCWJPDFs in
our home, and suggested we not pollute the pixels on my NASCAR screen with that and she said that yeah, but it was . . .
and I said, yeah, I know. Steven Jones. She said yeah, but he was . . . and I said, yeah, I know. A BYU professor.
We took the DVD back to her friend who asked me what I thought and I told her it was a crock. She was disappointed that
I hadn't watched it, so I took it back and watched it.
Then I decided I didn't have to shut down my web site after all. All of the wackiness and 9/11 conspiracies are more than
adequately debunked on the internet already, but nobody ever learned anything new from my blathering about politics, either.
So what you're going to hear is just my lame thoughts and take on the matter. The goal here is to be so boring that I
drive away every visitor. Then I don't have to be so careful and modulated in all the views I have ('cause you know how
hard I try to be non-confrontational and inoffensive).
And since the tactics the nutjobs use are the same ones employed by the demorats and the media it's an easy transition for me.
Super Bowl Report
2/02/09
I'm reading Uncommon, by Tony Dungy. I have great respect for that guy. I've always liked the Steelers (even though
I have to keep my allegiance to Green Bay the same way I do to Christmas, because it's tied to my childhood). I like
the Steelers philosophy that Dungy talks about in his book. But during the pre-game they mentioned that Obama was supporting
the Steelers 'cause the Roony family donated to his campaign.
So I was rooting for the Cardinals.
(Look, NBC, here's some free advice—you want me to tune in four hours before the kickoff show starts? Don't run
commentators that make me puke. What's that? Why yes, I did happen to notice Keith Olbammerman commenting—too bad it just
happened to coincide with the exact moment I accidentally turned off the TV then lost the remote until kickoff.)
Oh yeah and Dear NFL: When a quarterback is throwing the ball and it hits the ground, that's an incomplete pass, not a
fumble. Thanks. Bye.
Obligatory Daily Obama Bashing
Here's the deal. Obama is a putz. Hey, I don't make the news, I just report it. He's a putz. Back in November he said that
once he took the "reins of power" from Bush the tough times would be over. I know, I know. What an arrogant, prickolistic
thing to say. Again, I didn't say it. He did.
Well today the headline at Drudge was "Obama says economic recovery will take years." What a putz.
I throw up just a little bit in my mouth to say this, but Hillary was right. This guy is just dangerously inexperienced
for this job.
But I don't do politics anymore.
Fiction Writing Workshop
So let's do some thought experiments instead. Let's do some association. You know the way we play this game. We take
something we do know and we extrapolate it to some creative fiction.
Everyone who's not sitting in a rubber room right now knows there's one reason Obama is president: It's because he is
black.
Being black doesn't disqualify you from being president. It hasn't since the 1860s. But if you have the intelligence to
read these words, you understand that
the logic only goes one direction. "Being black
does not disqualify you from being president" does not equal "Being black qualifies you to be president."
I heard a lunatic on Michael Medved today. He was railing on Medved for not recognizing all of Obama's accomplishments as
president. Seriously.
Of course, Medved responded with the correct answer: What accomplishments? The man's only been in office ten days!
On to the Workshop
Which segues nicely into our creative writing association topic: crazy people.
Let's say geniuses are crazy. It may or may not be true that all geniuses are crazy, but for the sake of this logic lesson
let's stipulate that all geniuses are crazy.
Even if that is true it does not follow that everyone who is crazy is therefore a genius.
What we're going to do today is list some parallels between the Obama selection and our fictitious crazy co-worker we're
writing about.
Reverse Logic
Let's start with the reverse logic fallacy. Blacks can be president; Obama's black; Obama has to be president. Corollary:
Geniuses are quirky; The fictitious co-worker is quirky; The fictitious co-worker has to be a genius.
See how that works?
Masking of Issues
Let's take it a little further. You have the masking of issues. If you don't support Obama, you're a racist. Same thing
with the unethical co-worker. If you take exception to his faulty science you are just too petty to look past his personality
issues. Brilliant, huh? It's the carte blanche thing we talked about. Complete immunity.
Remember how we talked about the irrational lovefest that creates that? Facts don't matter. Record doesn't matter. It's a
belief on a religious level that doesn't depend on facts.
The interesting thing is that the fictitious slimy co-worker gets special treatment precisely because of his bad work
ethic.
Let's say he refuses to follow any of the rules the rest of the employees have to live by. He is not capable of coming to
work on time. He is constantly taking vacation. He says the most ridiculous things at the worst times. He does not complete
his assignments.
When the boss looks closely at the guy's unprofessional work habit he decides that only conclusion makes sense.
The guy must be a genius!
Making Strengths out of Weaknesses
Geniuses require different handling than ordinary peons. You can't force them to work regular hours. You can't expect them to
meet deadlines like the mediocre masses of worker bees. You have to baby them with bonuses. It's just the way you have to
handle geniuses. People who meet deadlines and come to work and don't cause problems don't get that kind of special treatment
because they are not contributing. They can't contribute. They aren't geniuses, you see.
(Hey, maybe our fictitious guy really is a genius. Who's the fool if you're working twice as hard for half as much?)
We get that from the Obama Selection as well. See, what the press tried to paint as Obama's vulnerability ("If he isn't
elected it proves America is a racist country") was his greatest strength.
Our Hero!
Can you stand a couple more? Let's keep going with this:. The economy's in the toilet. That's a good thing for Obama. That's
a good thing because you can't have a hero without a crisis.
So, back to the workplace. If you do your work on time and have systems in place to keep things running, you don't have crises.
You can't be a hero.
The guy who creates high drama is the hero. So in our little fiction writing exercise we might have the guy come up with a
solution to a high-pressure part that broke. The boss is so grateful that he forgets that the part broke in the first place
is because of the same guy's poor design and lazy print checking. Or when the assignments get delivered on time, there's no
drama. Dashing in late blaming it on everyone else has much more drama and elevates you more in the boss's eyes.
I Didn't Do it
Which brings us to our final association (thank goodness) for today. The blame game. Every failure of Obama's is George
Bush's fault. Maybe you could work that same 'blame someone else' tendency into your fictitious workplace character somehow.
This concludes our fiction writing clinic for the day. No charge.
