Slight Fellow

Looks like Obama's taking his cues from Putin -- they know who their enemy is.  Republicans routed, chickens without heads.  Please, boys, chose your battles?  You're not hired to take a stand.  Your hired to further the agenda.

One thing the Boboma Debacle perfectly illustrates is that it's better to have a fat president than a skinny one.

Hold on, son, the wind is picking up.  A man should be big enough for his clothes.  Doesn't this guy have a tailor?  He just keeps getting smaller, per speech -- blow out some more hot air, get smaller.  Soon he'll be shopping in the Lil' Mister department at Nordstroms. Not that he ever was big, or that he's losing size quickly.  He must have been very very full indeed though, because he surely does love to speechify.  

Yes, ad hominim.  It's my civic duty.  People who set themselves up as puppetkings of the world need to be attacked.  And since he is the leader of the Fraud World, it is only appropriate that I follow his lead.  Attack the man.  He's evil.  Grrr.

Speaking of death, I give you: America.  This is a dead parrot.  Sucked dry by a vampire.  Started probably with Social Secuity, and sunk its teeth to the bone with income tax.  Yes, I understand the chronological order is reversed.  But the universally instituted system of government supporting its citizens is antiamerican.  And it is impossible to work in this country without a government issued license, the SS#.  And the IRS has a SWAT team -- well, so does the Dept of Agriculture.  Automatic withholding -- so you don't even realize how much they're taking from you.  Yes, they.  Congressional redistricting makes office a sinecure.  Gay marriage is a fait accompli, soon to be universal.  I don't care about gay, or marriage, but for judges to drag us through the lookinglass is, well, a governmental encroachment upon conscience.   No, this is not America.  

I'm sure the government algorithms have flagged my little blog.  I'm harmless.  What else could a man without a country be?  

J

In Which I Correct Newton and Mach

Newton arrived eventually at the idea of Absolute Space, the idea that space was a thing independent of matter. It was a needful idea in order to explain why, say, a bucket full of water, suspended from a rope and set to spinning, would transfer the spin from rope to bucket to water – yet when the bucket stopped spinning in one direction (the rope having rewound itself taut to the other extreme), the water would continue its whirlpool spin even as the bucket moved in the opposite direction. Trust me, it’s a problem, answered by Newton: motion must be relative to some greater context, and by extension, to the universe itself.

Leibnitz had argued that there was no space without matter, any more than there can be no alphabet without letters – it must be occupied to exist at all; an empty set is not a set at all: a null set is a mathematical conceit, having no actual reality. The spinning bucket with its concave water befuddles this conception. Ernst Mach came along two and a half centuries later and said that spin, which is what the discussion is all about, is dependent on how much matter there is in the universe. If you spin like an ice-skater you feel your arms pulled outward – not as a function of vision or of balance, but as a centrifugal quality inherent in matter. Mach said that if there were less matter in the universe, your arms would be flung out less. If there were no other matter in the universe, a “null” set universe, your arms would not move out at all.

I’m simplifying, of course.

 Well. We know this spin is not a function of local gravity, because whether as an ice-skater on earth or as an astronaut in zero gravity, if you are set to spinning, your arms are flung out. Centrifugal force manifests universally -- or at least under all testable circumstances.  Mach’s idea would have it that an astronaut set to spinning in our universe would have more centrifugal force than a similar astronaut in a universe in which there was only a single star. Which is to say, the mass of the universe, the amount of overall (not merely local) gravity, determines the perception or manifestation of spin. I see this as wrong on the face of it -- how much mass there is in the universe should have no bearing on the result from how much energy is put into a system to make it spin. X amount of energy would manifest as X amount of centrifugal response. No? I’m no mathematician, but this reasoning seems more to do with logic. Confounded of course by the fact that we are dealing with impossibilities -- there is no universe with only one star, so how can we decide upon an equivalence of X input energies? Would Joules or ergs be absolute, or proportional, relative to another cosmos? Maybe it’s an imponderable, or maybe there’s the math for it. I don’t know. But such maths would be based on suppositions. So I believe.

Newton said that even in an empty universe of absolute space, there would be a distinction between you stationary and you spinning. Mach said there would be no difference. This is all very fine and well. Where I must interject, object & correct is here: in an empty universe containing only you, how could you start spinning in the first place? From a static state, some other agent is required to provide the acceleration force – whether a passing alien or a springboard rock or a handheld rocket gun.

The term spin never got defined up front. Putting aside all considerations of torque and angular momentum and relative motion, spin requires the input and transfer of energy. Newton wound up the rope, which spun the bucket, which got the water moving. Spin requires a relationship between, uh, entities … energy, matter, space, what you will. Since matter and energy are equivalents, we should be able to say that matter requires other matter/energy in order to start spinning. As for what the ultimate reference point of spin would be, well, gravity is a universal field, as is the virtual foam of quantum mechanics. There is no need of an empty absolute space, because there is no such thing as emptiness. Newton of course anticipated Einstein, re relativity.

Of course all these thoughts have been thought before, and questions answered.  I'm surely traveling old ground. But discovery is relative.  Delight, Dear Reader, in my joy.


J

Insane Hell Roll

It would have been around 1975 that I read Harlen Ellison’s Deathbird Stories. Is his name an anagram? (Hellion learns. Hell's neon liar.  On leaner hills.)  I’ve remembered the book all these years, as superb. Some time ago I got a copy, and I’ve been reading it again. It’s not that I’m disappointed. But I can see Ellison in the writing, I can see the writing, and it is distracting. Like a brilliant adolescent wrote it. Which worked brilliantly, when I was an adolescent. The man is in love with words. Images, impression, impact. He knows his craft. He wrote some of the best original Star Trek episodes. I don’t know what it is, what’s lacking. I can’t say there’s a monotony of tone, but it has something to do with depth. He digs only in one direction?

 Modern Family, the sitcom, is in reruns. I’d never seen it. It had been mentioned as something like Arrested Development, which is stellar. But MF is second rate. I used that term a while back in a text. I think it comes off as harsher than I mean. First rate is, oh, say, Shakespeare, and Chandler, and Arrested Development. Second rate is skilled, and professional, but not worth looking at a second time. There are after all five ratings, so second rate is a B. Pretty good. The MF writing is funny. Rigidly formulaic but I laugh a few times in each of the episodes I’ve seen. That’s rare. And I suppose I have to admit that Ed O’Neil redeems himself with this -- I hadn’t thought it possible, given MWC -- I will not even say the name. The hot Columbian wife is really gifted -- it would be so easy to get that part wrong. The fat son is pretty awful -- good for the Disney Channel, but he telegraphs and uses his hands amateurishly and isn’t smart enough to play the smart kid he’s playing. It’s distracting. The kids are just stickfigures, manufactured by the “created by” guys -- a dim-bulb slut, a wisecracking egghead, and a crazy and formless little brother -- we’ve seen them in a hundred previous iterations. The gays are not bad, but watered down for middle America -- no hint at all of sex, between them.  The parents have lots of sex.  The gays have a few pecking kisses of vanilla affection. FYI: gays like sodomy and sucking each other’s dicks. Now, the dick-sucking I can understand, although it is an idea that takes some getting used to. That’s the point though, of the MF gays. Get us used to it. But without any gay sex at all, it’s just a sell-out. Superficial. The universe is full of wormholes; until you look closely, a thing can seem first-rate.

I have discussions every now and again about writing. I’m always urging for authenticity -- how people really talk. Obviously there is art involved, we eliminate the ums and ahs, and try to be worth hearing, but fake is not funny.

George Bernard Shaw wrote a letter to Tolstoy -- the difference between their genius is demonstrated by the fact that Shaw needs to be identified the more completely -- in which he says, “To me God does not yet exist…” and he blathers on about how Evolution is trying to create such a thing. “The current theory that God already exists in perfection involves the belief that God deliberately created something lower than Himself when He might just as easily have created something equally perfect. That is a horrible belief...” Indeed. It’s also a fictitious belief. At no time has this been “the current theory.” God cannot create himself. No serious theologian of a Western faith has proposed such a thing. How could Shaw be so wrong? Because he got caught up in his own ideas and words, and because he was so used to impressing people and being complimented that he failed to develop a capacity for self-examination. It’s a form of insanity. Self confidence is better than self doubt, when it comes to producing commercial entertainments. But comedians should stick to trying to be funny.

 For almost a year now I’ve had constant pain. Sometimes literally crippling. It’s not a disc, and certainly not plantar fasciitis. Not sports medicine, not a general practitioner, not a chiropractor. It’s a disease -- debilitating pain at but not in various joints. Not arthritis or the like -- tendons or bursa or something. I’ve taken excellent care of myself, my whole life, for exactly this reason. I’ve always known that if I ever got a big problem, I wouldn’t be responsible about it. It really digs deeply into my crazy place. I could very well just give up. So I’m worried about myself. I am profoundly self destructive.

It's irksome.  So many bad choices, and their accrued consequences.  I needed a wife, to ground and motive and encourage me.  Instead I read.  What a waste.


J

Pop

Camus’s Myth of Sisyphus boils down to the idea that it’s not the experience, with its inevitable suffering and apparent lack of meaning -- the futility -- but rather the fact of existence that makes it worthwhile, or, bearable. Simply being, an agent of free will, is meaning enough. The logic is flawed of course, as any philosophical paradigm must be, by the need for axioms. As with Descartes, I think therefore I am: why thinking? -- why not feeling? -- or some other arbitrary basepoint? I am, therefore I will endure.

 It isn’t a matter of whether or not I am. Clearly I exist, as Dr. Johnson so succinctly demonstrated by proving the reality of a rock by kicking it: so much for Berkeley. Demonstrable truths hardly need to be demonstrated … ah, the convolutions glib minds require for themselves. Convulsions, really.

 Sisyphus, then, eternally pushing at the rock, undone daily. It compels our attention. Futility. Meaning. Meaninglessness. The problem, as with all paradoxes, is that it starts with an incorrect axiom. Here’s my point: as much to complain about suffering, as about the fact that we live in an atmosphere of nitrogen and oxygen. Yes, we do -- now get on with life. Press your cheek and your shoulder against the rough cold or hot boulder and push, and live your life. It’s not about pushing a rock. It’s about waking up every morning alive.

 On a whim I’m reading again about cosmology and quantum mechanics -- favorite subjects, but hard to read because it gets my mind racing and it’s frustrating not having a meaningful way or reason to express myself. So I was thinking about Time’s Arrow, how it’s supposed to be a puzzlement that time runs only one way. And then I thought about how we think of time and space as separate things, as we must, but there’s a flaw in it. We think of space as three dimensions, and of time as one. We could say time was three, past and present and future, but in this there’s no real analogy with depth and breadth and height.  Time after all is really just a point, with an irrecoverable past and an unpromised future. We can conceptualize it, as a salient stone in a tumbling stream, or as the burning spark of a long fuse, or as the tip of a scalpel slicing through flesh.  Who knows where it will cut? -- but we can see the wound.

 Then I thought, that’s what space is, as well -- not really three dimensions, but just one, a point, as time’s present is a point, but which is perceived as having three axial dimensions. Then I thought that space, as a point, as our experience of time is a point, must then have two other aspects, analogues of past and future. So the mystery isn’t Time’s Arrow, but rather, what is the nature of the unperceived and unconceived aspects -- we can hardly call them dimensions -- of space. Well, perhaps we have names for them -- heaven and hell: kaballistically speaking, qliphoth and whatnot, but that analogy doesn’t really correspond.

 Then I thought about how we pay so much attention to time and to space in our lives, and rightly so, but how gravity is a third partner, and more than an equal.  I’ve always seen the need for aether -- and quantum foam, and gravity, and “dark energy” seem to address that need. But that brings us back to the idea that space is a single point, as is time. We never got out of the singularity of the big bang. The universe is a pebble in God’s pocket.

 Well. The idea of a universe is absurd on the face of it. An expanding universe? Into what is it expanding? The laws of physics do not apply to metaphysics; time and space do not exist outside the universe -- thus, time must be separated from consciousness; and the very idea of “outside” is nonsensical, if there is no space. An exploding singularity? Obviously wrong -- the correct analogy would be of an egg -- all the transformations occur within the shell -- there is no expanding -- it doesn’t explode itself into a chicken -- in the end it is a chicken, a chick, inside the shell. That’s what the universe is, a becoming, a chick even, but not yet what it will be. (And so we’ve answered that puzzle: the egg came first; there is no chicken.) But, again, this is not a new idea -- consult the book of Revelation -- wherein we read of the sky rolled back, of a new Heaven and a new Earth. Mysterious terms, like a need to think of space as just a point on a line.

 You see what I’m reduced to. I have to talk to myself.


J

* Bozorg

YT

A little more drama in the news this week, about some shopping center in some African country.  Details hardly matter.  More crap.  Islamist terrorists ... but I repeat myself ... took over a Macy's or something.  Let the moslems go, kept and killed a bunch of Westerners or whatever.  Hardly matters.  Wasn't there something like that here, the week before?  Someone with a gun?  I don't remember.  Probably.  And Obama made it political at a funeral or something.  Of course he did.  What he doesn't understand, it's not guns that kill, it's bullets.  Or do I mean gunpowder.  Well, not guns, anyway.  Insufficiently bulletproof skin kills people.

Move along.  Nothing to see here.

Just the human comedy.

But wait.  No, it seems I'm wrong.  Something unusual did indeed happen.  During that African time of evil and dull terror, one of the monsters shot a woman, English woman.  In front of the eyes of her six year old daughter, and four year old son.  Well, that's nothing unusual.  What's unusual is what followed.  The little boy stepped in front of his fallen mother and his sister, and faced the gun-toting islamist terrorist, and said, “You’re a bad man! Let us leave!”

This, in itself, makes my heart swell with pain and with love.  And the moslem islamist terrorist must have seen the child before him for a moment.  The terrorist follower of Mohammad then said to the little English boy, “Please forgive me.  We are not monsters.”  It follows that the islamist terrorist gave the child a Mars bar, and allowed the family, wounded mother too, to get away from their hostage-taking terrorist murdering moslem captors.  The moslem terrorist instructed the mother that she must convert to Islam, said by the American media to be the religion of peace.

What lessons shall we learn, from this.  Well, there seems to be no human heart so totally depraved that it cannot respond humanly to a child's purity.  I expect it hardly ever happens, that monsters act human -- it is permissible and therefore common in the moslem east to sodomize children, per the islamist Ayatollah Khomeini.  But it happened here, a faint stirring of humanity in the corrupt heart of a moslem monster.

We must be deeply thankful for such a thing.  It is so rich in meaning.

Here's a picture of the little boy, and his sister, and

the Mars bar, I think.

Yes, Mars bar.  Two, in fact.  Windfall.  One for the sister?  How thoughtful.

I wonder if they will ever be eaten.  Sell them on Ebay?  Give them to the Smithsonian, or the UN?  Probably eaten, kids being kids.  I wonder if a Mars bar has enough tensile strength to pull an islamist moslem terrorist out of the Lake of Fire in hell. The media did not report that it was two, TWO Mars bars. This is an FP exclusive!  Typical Western Anti-islam bias at work, no doubt.  Oh, I'm forgetting, how careless of me, that anonymous dead body in the center of the frame, perhaps, what, 5 feet away from the children?  My bad.  Is that blood on the little boy's shirt?  I love New York too.

The Ayatollah famously said the United States was Shaytân-e Bozorg, the Great Satan.  Israel was the Little.  Huh.  It is not Satans, big nor small, that we have to concern ourselves with. It's not guns either.  It's individual people -- nowadays, disproportionately, moslem islamist terrorists.  People, I say, because the only monsters that there are, are people.

There's a lot of talk that these islamist moslem monsters are Americans. Somali-Minnesotans,  American born, teenagers, radicalized somehow and given airfare.  Maybe they saved up, from their paper route money, or their drug-dealer money, or by selling their food stamps for under the counter cash.  Who can say.  I have to wonder if anyone who needs to think of themselves as Hyphenated-American is any kind of American at all.  Here's a new thing for you to admire from me: Constitutional-American.  You may quote me.  As contrasted to the Satan-American teens who've been acting out in African malls, shoplifting Mars bars and littering and whatnot.

It's all too stupid for words.  We're in a concentration camp.  We find a daisy in a dunghill, and find the hope to continue on for a while longer. For a moment, a monster was not a monster.  Shall we think of it as Evolution?  What about the moments that follow?  Life is not a daisy chain.  No one can say what life is.  It's too stupid for words.

Yesterday I thought I was healed.  Today I feel bad.  I have a disease.  I'll just waste my time until I die.  Then I'll see what happens next.


J

*Book of Job, Chapter Nine

YT

I’m reading Job again. Intently. There are parts where my heart quickens. Was it David who was a man after God’s own heart? David does not speak to me. It was not a king, as Saul, who afflicted Job -- it was Satan, and it was God. Seems like a bigger deal. Perhaps there was some drama in the heavenlies of which we are not informed, where David too is handed over to Satan. Well, we know God plays favorites. For all that Job was, eventually, blessed, David was chosen.

 The book isn’t easy to follow, all the arguments and poetry. It would have been written long after the events, with much license. Job’s friends, his comforters, are bores, and boring. Job is riveting. “What is man, that You should magnify him, set Your heart on him, visit him every morning and test him every moment? How long? Will You not look away from me and let me alone till I swallow my saliva? Have I sinned? What have I done to You, O Watcher of Men? Why have You set me as Your target, so that I am a burden to myself? Why then do you not pardon my transgression and take away my iniquity? For now I will lie down in the dust, and You will seek me diligently, but I will no longer be.” 

 It is enough. Too much. Job is doubled over on his knees, soundless, strings of drool undoing a lifetime of dignity. Promises that we are not given burdens greater than we can bear do not ring true. Promises that God will comfort us sound like noises from the other side of a door. There’s something inconsistent, about being both a savior and a judge. “Though I were righteous, I could not answer God. If I called and He answered me I would not believe that He was listening to my voice -- for He crushes me with a tempest and multiplies my wounds, without cause. He will not allow me to catch my breath.” Job’s children were crushed in a tempest; Job’s body was infected with wounds; of course he can’t breathe.

 There’s righteous and there’s righteous. We try, and that has to be enough. That’s the deal. We try, and fail, and get forgiven -- then through the Law, now through the Cross. Always, through blood. But there is too much evidence to the contrary, to suppose we’re not pieces on a game board. God may at any time chose to turn our lives into object lessons.

 “God destroys the blameless, and the wicked. If the scourge slays suddenly, God laughs at the plight of the innocent. The earth is given into the hands of the wicked. God covers the faces of its righteous judges. If it is not God, who else could it be?” 

 We were told right up front that God gave permission, for some untold reason, to Satan, to torment Job. If it’s not God’s doing, whose? It must be that suffering doesn’t really matter. Sure feels like hell though, don’t it? But we’re also given the answer, pretty clearly. “God is not a man, as I am, that I may answer Him and go to court together. Nor is there any Mediator between us, who may lay his hand on us both.” Mediator, Reconciler, Councilor. God without Jesus might as well be Satan. A Judge who can only condemn doesn’t need an Accuser.

 If it is not God, who else could it be? It’s a complex situation. God uses the wicked as well as the good, and both the weak and the strong. God optimizes, and everyone suffers, and evil doers have happiness perhaps as much as the righteous, right up to the end. Clearly our understanding of justice cannot be accommodating all the variables. It’s nuanced. God cannot tolerate imperfection, yet we’re counted as good enough. That’s why quantum mechanics is necessary -- because particles are waves.

 Job, blameless Job in the bitterness of his pain said true things that are not true. God laughs at our pain. But it’s not so much laughter as a chuckle with a shake of the head, as at a crying child who is overly distressed by some small thing. Small, and not small.

 The pain of life is like fetish pornography. It’s not at all interesting, unless that’s your thing. Otherwise you have to just shake your head, and chuckle, if it’s not too gross. Poor, foolish, wretched creatures. Just get on with what’s important. 


J

Microstick

If the President stands before the assembled Press and reports to them the very most important, sensitive, vital secrets, the revelation of which places the nation in dire peril, the Press has a duty,  a deepest, most sacred duty to NOT report that news.  Of course there will be traitors in the press to match the treachery of the politician.  But what does one man's betrayal have to do with another's patriotism?

We live in a culture where someone's profession is more important than his country.  Or, in the case of the Occupant, where his vanity is more important.  I cannot be bothered to inform myself of the specifics, but it seems the entire former plan to punish Assad has been leaked.  Didn't Chelsea Manning go to jail for less than this?

We cannot speak plainly.  It would be too painful to hear.  To be bloody, bold and resolute, to understand and embrace the fact that the nature of things is red in tooth and claw -- we must be both prudent and honest about reality.  The monstrous dictator?  Kill him.  If he hides behind his children, nevertheless, kill him.  If he hides behind the innocent, delay until he can be more prudently killed.  We, as moral beings, concern ourselves with the innocent.  We need not take care of the children of monsters.  That is the job of the monster.

Is what I'm saying inhuman?  It is pragmatic.  Reality and the natural order of things matter.  Life is not a zero-sum game, for all that the innocent will suffer.  Our Constitution does not allow for the corruption of blood -- but nature does: children suffer for the incompetence of their parents.  Too bad.  What we do not do is tell the monster the duration and intensity of our attack against him.

We have a most deeply incompetent Occupant of the White House.  We have a degenerating culture and the well-earned contempt of emboldened enemies.  They are energized by our decadence -- abortion and gay marriage and sexualized children (it's all  about sex, isn't it) -- and they will deserve the success of their conquest.  Success is earned, after all.  Nature is not moral, it is mechanistic; cause and effect.

The conscience of a weakling is worse than useless, as a moral guide.  It is questionable if such a thing even exists.  There currently occupies the Oval Office an occupant who feels his gravitas is magnified when he utters the phrase, "...and I mean it!"  He thinks he'll be taken more seriously, or seriously, when he chillingly warns, "...and I don't bluff!"  Generally?  Here.  Specifically, at second 21.  Brr.  One's blood runs cold.  This is a man who will, no lie, knock your mailbox over.

I have an occasional correspondence with a young former reader -- who now, it is clear, occasionally skims FP.  He has evolved over the years, and seems currently to be leaning a bit more left than right.  Never met him, don't know him, but I respect his sincerity.  It should be met with tenderness. He wondered how gay marriage affected me, that I should have such a clear and negative opinion on the subject.  I responded that the rightness of a thing does not depend on how it affects me. Because he was raised right, he understood the validity of that.

But he also observed that he'd never known anyone who talks as much as I do, about how big my dick is.  This is why I say he skims, rather than reads.  This misunderstanding, through his carelessness -- I won't say it disturbs me, not troubles, not disappoints or saddens -- it gives me an unease.

I am certain I've never explored the matter.  My actual dick is nobody's business; more importantly, I don't think dick-size is in itself funny. I think the mentality that thinks about dick-size is funny.  I know I've bragged about how much weight my dick can deadlift, and I may have mentioned my gigantic scrotum, and I've talked about my huge pubic bone.  I recall I've mentioned hardness, tumescence, semi's, and the like, but this is common to almost all men, regardless of what some are pleased to call "endowment." 

I appear to be obsessed with my abs and my blondness and all such callow vanities -- but, really, please.  You have no business not being in on the joke. I certainly over-reference my intelligence, with allusions to my high IQ.  But this is obvious, where, although I am tall, there's no necessary inference re my dick size.   Specifics, re mine?  Never.  Maybe with the adjective enormous, from the very on-the-nose parodic performance-art character, a monster of ego and delusion, that I sometimes allow to perform in these pages.  

Likewise he said I talk about how small Obama's dick is, and I'm equally sure I've never said it was small -- I said his IQ was bright average, and I suggested at a later date we'd delve into his dick-size.  My point?  Obama's dick is whatever it is, unremarkable, long and thin or fat, short and fat or thin, exotically curved, purple and piebald  -- it's a matter of indifference.

Obama speaks loudly, however, and carries, publicly, a very small stick -- which he has made our business, and which is worse than embarrassing.  While Obama was hastily backing away from some "red line" people kept inconveniently talking about, he tripped himself into a whip-it-out contest with Putin.  Because O is what he is, it is America that must lose.  Obama's tiny little microstick is just a pathetic double-take point-and-laugh shame.

No.  Wait.  I'm sorry.  I'm talking about balls.


J

Red Stain

What should we do?  Be heroes?  This is The Non-Heroic Age.  What else could a war possibly be, where there are "no American boots on the ground".  Where there is no danger, there is no virtue.  It's not a good thing, in itself, to risk life and limb.  But it is necessary, for heroism.  What a bother.  Fine.  We don't need no heroes.  In the safe nannycam world currently being constructed for us, we need only consume, be silent and die.  No, wait, that's a cynical lefty observation upon 1970s Corporate America.  Needs to be amended.  Recycle, conform, and be a hypocrite.  Mankind without chests.  Bosoms only, here, please, male and female, if I may indulge in such archaic vernacular.

Let us concern ourselves with dictators and their anarchy.  Before we turn to the odd-man-out Assyrian of the Sarin gas (supplied complements of the former Saddam Hussain), might we call to mind the fact of chattel slavery, throughout Africa and the Arab world?  Where Christian women, and children, herd goats from dawn to dusk, hunger and thirst and sweat and flies, and then get to be beaten, and raped as often as the Moslim master and his favorites can manage to achieve an erection.  So what.  It's not in the news, before our eyes, occupying for the nonce our minute attention spans.  Ethnic little girl slaves raped daily in the Arab desert?  Ho hum.  A dictator used poison gas!  Now that's news!

Nations should act in their national interest.  Governments are not benevolent associations.  We've covered this ground already, in our American slippers.  So what is it to us if The Assyrian gases HIS OWN PEOPLE?  (Don't you just love how that's always emphasized?  I just don't see how that makes it worse.  Governments have the power and right to apply a police action, as much as to defend or extend their borders.  Duh.  Easy cheesy.)  The US has no pressing national interest in the internal affairs of Syria. I won't defend the statement -- I expect you to see the point.  Sadly, there is another necessity that demands our action.

The Idiot drew a line in the sand -- "Um, I'm warning you, uh, I, er, you'd better not cross th-this um line, and I uh mean it!"  And The Dicpotato crossed the line.  The Idiot said, "Er, uh, you'd better not knock uh this uh chip uh off my sh-shoulder, or else!"  And The Dicpotato knocked the chip off The Idiot's shoulder.  And The Idiot said, "Ooo, uh, now there is definitely going to be a very uh limited uh narrow uh action of some various uh sort, that I have the right to do, but only if the uh bad Republicans let me, but I will anyway, uh but not over the holiday weekend, uh."

It's not The Idiot who is a laughing stock.  It's the Presidency, and America, and the stupid stupid stupid American public.  America deserves the judgment that is coming upon it.  The cup of God's wrath is full, as proven by our abandonment of sanity, and his abandonment of us.  Whatever great archangel it was, who presided over and battled in the heavenlies for the United States, as Michael did or does for Israel, its energy and vitality is expended, now as vitiated as our own spirit.  Indignant protestations as to the remaining vigor and potential of this land to the contrary, there are spiritual laws, as there are laws of physics:  the trajectory of a missile can be calculated as far as the variables are known.  There is a hand at work, determining our direction, and the will behind it is malevolent.  

How dire.  Are you praying, for a Great Awakening? -- for a Revival? -- a rebirth and renewal and revolution and return to self control and independence and personal responsibility?  Maybe God listens, still.  We're told of his hardened heart, and of his awakened compassion.  I see it as arbitrary, so outside of our understanding it is.

Put not your faith in America.  America has a tramp stamp and a piercing in her labia.   America gave herself ducklips so she can give blowjobs to strangers and post the video anonymously on social media.  Yes.  America has made a sex tape.  You betraying bitch.

We have to act in Syria, then, not because poison gas has been used.  Poison gas is always being used, and we do nothing.  We have to act not because hundreds upon hundreds of children have been casually slain.  The math is too hard for me right now, but how many abortions are enjoyed every minute, in America?  Assad is a saint, if we look at the matter statistically, as a ratio of killed children, America:Syria.  We have to act because The Idiot said we would, and we are liars, but we must not be seen to be liars, and we are hypocrites, but we must not be seen to be hypocrites, and we are cowards, and betrayers, and just plain stupid, but we must not be seen to be so.

The counterpart of a vagina is not a penis.  The counterpart of a vagina is an empty scrotum.


J

Red Line

"...we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender, and if, which I do not for a moment believe, this island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, would carry on the struggle, until, in God's good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old." --Winston Churchill, June 4, 1940

"...uh. This kind of attack is a challenge to THE WORLD, uh ....uh, so uh I have SAID BEFORE, uh and I MEANT what I SAID, that, uh, TH-THE WORLD has an obligation to make sure that WE maintain the norm against the use of chemical weapons.  Now, I have NOT made a final decision, uh, about, uh, various actions that MIGHT be taken to HELP enforce that norm, uh, but uh as I’ve ALREADY SAID, uh I have had MY military uh ... look at a wide range of options.  ...uh in NO event are we considering uh ANY kind of military ACTION that would involve BOOTS ON THE GROUND, uh that would involve a long-term campaign, uh but we are looking at the POSSIBILITY of a LIMITED, uh NARROW uh ACT....  Uh, buh AGAIN, I REPEAT, uh we’re NOT considering ANY open-ended uh COMMITMENT, we’re NOT considering ANY boots-on-the-ground approach, uh what we will do is CONSIDER uh options that uh meet the NARROW concern around chemical weapons, uh understanding that there's NOT going to be uh a solely MILITARY solution...." --Barack Obama, August 30, 2013

-----

...until, in God's good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old.  It's not that we owe them.  To owe is an element of a contract, where there is mutual benefit and obligation.  We receive from them not even a vague hint of present or future respect or loyalty.  They understand that the purpose of a family or a State or a culture is to promote its own best self-interest.  Governments are not benevolent associations.  They exist as competitive organizations, to advance their own goals over those of some other.  Alliances and loyalties can be a good and noble part of this.  Self-sacrifice is not an element in the calculus of nations.

We do not owe them.  We owe ourselves.  What do we owe to the ingrate?  Only what we actually owe.  Gratitude is insubstantial and not a fungible commodity.  As an element of honor and integrity, it carries profound weight.  But we're talking realpolitik here.  And that's a good thing.  God may, and does, note the falling of sparrows, but he doesn't as a rule keep them from falling.  God cares, but he does not act.  He's acted already, on a Cross.  Job done.  Now it's on us.  That's religious, which is in the same category as gratitude.  Insubstantials.

But because we owe ourselves, to be faithful to our better angels and loyal to our best principals, we must be worthy of our power and might.  Because we must be honorable, we must be generous -- an impractical and costly thing, and very often fruitless and indeed foolish.  It's not that we must be foolish; it's that wisdom is far more complex than a glib mind can see, and its benefit can developed so far into the future that cause and effect cannot be discerned.

The frankly inevitable outcome of Obama's Libyan leading from behind "leadership" can be found in the massacre and murders in Libyan Benghazi.  The Incompetent-in-Chief doesn't even know what the term "shot across the bow" means.  It would be better if the ship of state had no hand at the wheel, rather than the direction our re-elected "captain" (what a joke) is taking us.  It's not that our course is random, but that we are adrift and guided not by stars but by winds, not principles but emotions.

Churchill looked to the United States for salvation, and his faith and hope were not disappointed.  That was another age, and a different New World, peopled here not by the Greatest Generation, but by the last decent generation.  What can we expect from the drug abuser who currently occupies the Oval Office?  The very minimum it will take for him to save face.  Tough talk like 'red line' re the use of Syrian chemical weapons ... well, what are words for?  Manipulating people into having a nice opinion of you?  Dictators may be cowards, may be fools, certainly are "bullies" (murdering monsters), but they are very good at recognizing empty-suit weakling lying pols, and will be excellent at noting the frequency that warnings are not acted on.  You know, Obama's foreign "policy."

Where the innocent cry out for rescue, oh God let us be men.

What should we do, re Syria?  We should identify our own best self-interest, and act on that, with fierce resolve.  I find that I am, still, after all these years, a fool.  We must do what is right.  We must find monsters and slay them.  I wish I were smarter, more prudent, wiser.  But murderous injustice is intolerable.  We can wait forever for God to rain down fire from the sky.  If we want fire from the sky, we have to do the job ourselves.  Kill the Syrian hierarchy.  Target their palaces and their families.  Pick the winners, and back them.

There is no best outcome.  There is only being true to your nature.

J

First Horseman

At first glance it doesn't work, this being the time of the First, of Four, Horsemen.  But the first is Conquest, and we are indeed being conquered.  After all, the necessary counterpart of conquest is capitulation.  And we have capitulated.  War, Famine, and Death, in their turn.

Bradley E Manning, heroic patriot whistleblower, announced Tues that he is now Chelsey E Manning.  Whether or not the E still stands for Edward is unreported.  He is now by self-declaration a female, and per his statement wishes that "you refer to me by my new name and use the feminine pronoun (except in official mail to the confinement facility)."

Oh, when I said he was "patriotic" I must have meant to the world, rather than to such an outmoded paternalistic idea as a nation.  So I must have meant he was matriotic.  And when I said "heroic", it would have been one of those different strokes things, what's right for some may not be right for others.  And when I said whistleblower I would not have been referring to penises or oral sex.  And when he says "confinement facility", he means prison.  And when you say she, you mean he.

Wikipedia now redirects "Bradley Manning" to "Chelsey Manning".  The change was made within a few hours of the press release.  Thus,  opening sentence: "Chelsea E. Manning (born Bradley Edward Manning, 17 December 1987)..."  Was there a legal name change?  Well, hasn't Manning demonstrated that there is no need of law?

Here Chelsey is when she was a little boy.

Mmm.  Hot!  I mean, don't get me wrong, she's too young of course, but if she were an adult I'd do her in a heartbeat.

OH! Woo hoo! Happy day!!  I dig a woman with a 5 inch clitoris.

The Wikipedia article has already shifted all the HEs to SHEs.  That was fast.  SLATE knows a dame when it sees one; there, properly, Manning is Womanning.  NPR  avoids pronouns, calling Manning Manning throughout their reportage.  Very cowardly and insensitive of them.  Fascists. They should be killed.

You can change your mind, you can change your name.  You can change your underwear, for panties.  You can't change your sex.

But.  I apologize.  Especially about that clitoris thing.  I should strive to repel rather than embrace vulgarity and the delusion and wantonness around me.  I should resist rather than comply with the abandonment of all former standards of sanity.  But I am unhinged.  We have lost.  I think it's over.  Obama, in his sermons about what America is, making sure to always include in his formula, "no matter the color of our skin, or [insert verbiage] ... or who we love..."  The Wikipresident.  QED.

So, in Oklahoma, two black teens and a white boy shot a jogger in the back.  Death to tourists!

James Francis Edwards, age 15 (second from left), one of the bored boys ... teens, recently tweeted: "90% of white ppl are nasty. #HATE THEM." Another reads, "Ayeee I knocced out 5 woods since Zimmerman court!:)"  Per the Urban Dictionary, "woods" is "a  derogatory term used to portray dumb white boys."  Good to know.  I wish there were some term appropriate to portray murderous racist teens.  And thank you, Media, for making our teens so civic minded, what with their following important current event stories the way this boy must have done, re Zimmerman. "Nigga of chief keef don't drop almighty SOSA or something by #Monday I'ma put hands on every wood I see until they drop lol."  Now, I confess I don't understand the specific meaning intended here (SOSA is perhaps "cocaine that is meant to be snorted from a stripper's buttcrack.").  Just the general tone.

 Go Army.  James also tweeted: "I see death around the Coner".  Well, teens can be a bit macabre.  It's a maturity thing.  Same thing: "Some say ima be dead or in jail by the time I'm 18. But the only problem there is...#i shoot first,and I got bond money!: so sorry to burst your bubble."  A sense of destiny and invulnerability.  I was the same way.  On Aug 13 -- why that's only 3 days before his little outing with his little friends! -- James tweeted: "With my niggas when it's time to start taken life's"  I like to tweet my location too! "In Starbucks sucking a rad joe!"

 James is the one who was dancing and laughing as he was being booked.  So he's got talent and a sense of humor, too. I trust it will serve him well in his confinement facility.  It's not all fun and games, though.  He's broken the heart of Rachel Padilla, his sister (from uhnothuh mothuh?): 

Think, son ... think!  But at least his moms, Brenda M, is a happy person.

The notable and noble thing about women like this (as I have intimate cause to know) is that they balance out their having abortions with having babies ... they are fruitful and multiply!  Drugs and crime and having babies ... how well I remember her.  Brenda should have gone into the Army.  Makes a woman out of you!  

What did Fairness & Justice spokesperson The Reverend Al Sharpton opine on this issue? Quote: *crickets*

Above, among the mug shots, the man on the left -- practically anonymous thrill-kill victim Christopher Lane -- was not available for comment.

 Death is not soon enough for this world.  We just have to plod through War and Famine.  Hasten the way.


J

Epic Fail

The Discerning Reader of These Pages will have noticed that it has not yet been the policy of FP to reference the current Occupier of the White House in the lower case.  Such has been the practice with clinton, and with carter -- clinton for the disgrace he brought to the office while in power, and carter for his shoddy emeritus conduct.  Obama is too small for the office, and wrong on every issue of importance, but he is not yet a fornicator or a traitor.

Obama: a man of surpassingly minor accomplishments prior to the gifting of his current station.  Fate must always have conspired to ensure that he was the glibbest man in the small room.  Or perhaps he so engineered the situation.  In any case, out of unchallenging circumstances he constructed for himself a prodigious self-regard.  The greatest of his many many failures of judgment, values and perception -- "gay" "marriage", Obama-"Care", "Global" "Warming", etc -- is his high opinion of his own abilities.  It may be that he is as smart as he thinks he is.  Objective evidence to the contrary not withstanding.  His virtue falls short of his ambition.

It is not reasonable that I actually am as smart as I think I am.  I'm smarter than Lisa Simpson, per her published IQ (a lot smarter). But my meager life accomplishments mitigate against the Great State of California's testing of my intelligence, way back in the day when it was legal and mandatory for states to take such measurements.  You know, before we found out that it was racist to measure for differences. Now we measure only for similarities.  You know, to firmly establish equality and fairness.

This pretty interesting blog post uses what objective measurements there are to yield an IQ for Obama of not over 116.  That is perfectly respectable.  "Bright normal".  Obama is bright.  No one would argue that he is not bright.  He's bright.  That means there are likely to be realized talents, perhaps even optimized.  The careful composition of several poetical speeches, and their delivery in sonorous, yea, mellifluous tones.  I'd give him an A minus.  But as with elite marathon running, sometimes there is only one or two truly great performances in a man. Obama shot his wad in his 2004  DNC speech, and in his "Si se pueda" candidate poem. Since then, on occasion he has been bright normal.  Mostly, though, not that bright.

It's not that Icarus flew too close to the sun.  It's that Icarus did not fly at all -- it's just a made-up story, about an impossibility.  Man-sized wings made out of sticks and wax and feathers are not functionally operative in the real world.  How nice it would be, if fantasy could be made real.  But dreams aren't real.  Realistic goals and effective training create excellence.  There are natural prodigies, who excel with little real exhaustion  or development of character.  Just so are there snakes hatched with two heads.  Prodigies, that did not earn their uniqueness.  They were noticed by the gods, and bear the mark.  There is no blessing in having two heads.  Better to diligently develop the intelligence contained within one's own, single head -- the intelligence, and the character.  Rather than getting by with the dog and one-trick pony show -- glib speaking skills honed between tokes during all-night sophomore rap sessions.

My expectation is that Obama labored over his several speeches, in their composition and delivery.  It need not be so, that he sold his soul for them.  Maybe he earned them.  Even a socialist must have some small grasp of the concept of earning what you attain.  But the presidency of the United States should not have been purchased for so cheap a price.  Something about a mess of pottage.

Obama's great failing -- aside from how poorly he has served the best interests of America -- is that he judged himself sufficient to the job.  At some point the possibility arose, to run, and after some thought -- for what man is so trifling that he would not at least pause -- Obama said, Yes, I am the man for this job.  I'm the best man in the field.  No one could do this job better than I.  To so underestimate the task, and overestimate his abilities -- well, you kids nowadays use the word "epic" a fair bit.  Here we have it.  Epic fail.

Were my arrogance altered in such a way as to make me crave a literal spotlight, and I conceived the idea that I had great leadership skills, and party apparatchiks observed my excellence and manipulated the media to present me as a golden boy ... well, even under such a circumstance I might very well demur, knowing myself as I do.  I am amazing, but I'm not up to the presidency.  Under those same circumstances, Obama thrust himself forward.  Fail, re self-evaluation.  Sadly, history will be the judge.  If only Obama had adequately judged himself.  He would have remained a perfectly sufficient Chicago ward politician, sidelining as an associate professor and part-time community organizer.  He would have made some sociology grad student a very nice obscure subject for a research paper -- "An Analysis of 'Present' Voting Patterns in the 2002-2003 Illinois State Assymbly".  Grad student, Pass.  Obama, Epic fail.

Next time, estimates about the size of Obama's dick.


J

More Terror

One of the countless reasons everyone admires me so much is that I never have to compromise, because I am so obviously and always right.  If there were every any doubt about this fact, I might have to explain my conclusions to someone, because they were initially incapable of apprehending the inevitable virtue of my clarity.  Since I am the most patient man in the world, of necessity, I would and do not mind or resent such intellectual incompetence, for all that it technically wastes my most-valuable-of-all time.

Anyone else who never has to compromise would be an extremist.  They must get their own way, impose it, by violence if need be, and regardless of cost or the damage it does to others. Compromise is the opposite of fanaticism and extremism.  Thus, the Obaministration, which rephrases "islamist terrorism" as "violent extremism."  This observation, from Krauthammer.  "The word 'extremism' is meaningless. People don’t devote themselves to being extreme. Extremism has no content."

Obama most recently asserts that he will not compromise on the upcoming next-in-line fiscal crisis.  Cuz, like, planning a budget that doesn't always spend disproportionately more is, like, undemocratic.  So, no compromising, like some not-American car company motto.  Dictators do not compromise.  Anyone involved in politics must.  Why must it be, that I and I alone am the only person who has ever pointed this fact out?

Well.  I've said it before.  Admitted it.  Observed, discovered it.  I hold a grudge.  This has come as a big surprise to me.  I had not been aware of that quality in my character.  But I am a hard man, reaping where I did not sow.  It seems that the pattern is, screw me once, well, you may not have meant it.  Do it again and it's malice.  So with the plumber, who turned the neighbor's water off, and mine as well, without warning.  For a couple of days.  Hmm.  Well, you'd think a professional would have noticed that the lines were connected, but never mind.  Then the next week he did it again -- said the water would be off for three hours, and left it off all weekend. I'm easy, I'm polite and accommodating, the first time. The second time, it is an assault on my human worth. He had the phone number, but it didn't occur to him to make the call.  And now again, today, he's effing around with the neighbor's issue and interfering here for incomprehensible and inadequate reasons.  I am immobilized with disgust.  I know it's not reasonable of me.  Roll with the punches.  But I spent my childhood being the victim of scum.  Apparently I don't like it.  I have a spiritual disorder.

The heel pain must be a spur.  I have a podiatrist appointment -- finally got to it.  I've been massaging it etc, to no real effect, and that's supposed to be the fix.  Why doesn't anything ever get better?

I just told a child to run with scissors.

Well, it seems my animadversion of the use of "garnish", as of wages, has been misapplied -- it is not an illiterate usage, in place of "garnishee."  It rings clangorously in my ears, garnish used this way, calling up images of parsley, but it is not only correct but can lay strong claim to being preferred.  Go figure.  It appears that I, even I must very slightly moderate an opinion once in a very great while.  I have betrayed myself.


J

Zoom

The Idiot swept by in his motorcade yesterday, to do Leno.  Someone I know got a knock on her door, and a looming giant instructed her to take her trash cans in off the street.  Secret Service -- or, in this case, considering at whose pleasure he serves, SS.  The woman twittered some joke to her significant other, denigratory of the Kenyan, and I told her she was now on a Homeland Security list.

I'm sure that the NSA or Homeland Security or some other Agency  or all of them and certainly the IRS have computer algorithms searching out  phone and web and text disloyalty against Zero, and one of the flagged phrases must be "The Idiot."

In his declamation to Camp Pendleton Marines yesterday, The Idiot joked that "The United States is never going to retreat from the world.  We don't get terrorized."  What?  Huh?  You say he wasn't joking?  Oh.  Well ... um, well, I hardly know what to say then.  We don't get terrorized, cuz 9-11 never happened.  It was a bad acid trip, dude.  Gnarly.  It was not Al Qaeda, but an incredible simulation.  CGI.  Hollywood Lefties did it to show how stupid Bush was.  And now that you mention it I'm sure that I never did see Americans fleeing in terror from the billowing dust clouds sweeping down the canyoned boulevards of NYC.   This, although it will go unnoticed, was an even more inept verbal formulation than Doubleyou's "Bring it on." Bring it on means "try it again".  We don't get terrorized means "do even worse".

Obama's patriotism extends so far that he takes the bother to say "The United States" rather than just "America."  Such dignity and reverence.

 I mean, look at the size of that flag!

Of course, it's the wrong flag.

Ah, that's better.  The Ol' Zeros and Strips.


J

Sty

I come, belatedly, to Charles Krauthammer's simple and eloquent words.  Belatedly, of course.  My destiny has outpaced me, and I am left floundering.  Simple and eloquent, of course.  More frequently than not, they are paired.  Complexity can be eloquent, and simplicity can be coarse.  But: "The Father of Waters again rolls unvexed to the sea."

Krauthammer is always simple, clear, direct, the most logical of the opinion-writers.  For Zimmerman, justice? -- punishment?  "All we have is the human kind whose only standard in a civilized society is this: A jury has spoken."

You will know by now my opinion.  There is no justice.  Punishment, certainly.  Redress, occasionally ... perhaps half the time?  Injustice, well, always.  Because there is no justice.  That's logic.  I no longer consider myself wise -- it was a long fall with a hard landing.  But I suppose that wisdom is finding, crafting, extracting somehow a sense of joy even in such a world as this.  The most and best that we can expect from life is embedded, like a beetle in amber, within the judgment of others.  The jury continues to speak, dictating our circumstances -- wisdom abides in the choosing of our response.

So Obama got himself reelected.  Some French philosopher said, "Every nation has the government it deserves."  Sounds pretty smart.  And it's right, mostly.  Tweak it a little and it is right: Every nation deserves the government it affirms.  The Cambodians did not deserve the Khmer Rouge.  People don't deserve that.  Nations, perhaps, do.  Why was Cambodia so Third World, that such a thing could happen?  Why did they not have their own wise leader or traditions to establish strong and sane institutions?  Ach.  There it is.  Justice, and no justice.  Failure brings disproportionate punishment.

As for Obamerica, I now think of it not as the Prodigal Son, who left the dignity of his father's household to be a wastrel and then live with pigs.  I think of America as the pigs.  The pig returneth to its vomit.  Perhaps once the Lord was our Shepherd.  Now we have a swineherd.

I didn't eat this week.  A juice fast, kale and chard and dandelion leaf and suchlike.  Blech.  Five days.  Does not seem to have helped.  But I will persevere.  I don't have any extra weight to lose, so I don't want to lose weight.  Haven't been this, um, lean since distant days when I was in deep grief.  Meantime there are bad days, and days that are not quite so bad.  What's that you say?  I should go to the doctor?  But ... I don't know any doctors.  And, uh, I don't want to be spending my very limited resources on inevitable expensive tests that are inevitably unhelpful.  For example, I still do not have AIDS or syphilis or chlamydia, etc.  Not helpful information.  I knew that already.  And, um, I am mentally and spiritually ill, and there's something in me that wants to degrade and destroy myself, and embraces constant pain as a deserved punishment.

Out of such contradictions were the worlds created.

July 3 my son was born.  August 3 I asked my wife to marry me.  September 3 I became Christian.  October 3 I got my divorce decree.  November 3 my son was conceived.  We strive to find order in chaos, and purpose in what is random.  We impose it.  (Pardon my sententiousness.  It's what I do.  But I can't resist: "We impose it.")  Like God imposes life upon ourselves, impresses it into the clay of our nature.  Impressive, such an imposition.

Thank you.  Thank you very much.


J

Gravitas

I realize that my grasping grabbing groping thrusting tweaking kneading squeezing rubbing honking poking prodding probing of countless subordinate and supplicant succulent submissive women can be viewed by some as somewhat inappropriate, and I am taking a two week vacation slash hiatus from my mayoral duties of San Diego to correct this character issue and lifetime behavior of over fifty years, after which I will return to continue my Progressive Democrat agenda of socially aware policies which focus on gay and reproductive rights. I am indispensable.  I have no plans to resign.  Fuck you very much.

It is true that after the last time I came before you regarding this issue -- and by "came" I do not mean the expulsion of sexual or generative fluid from my prostate and testes along my urethra via the convulsive spasming of my bulbospungiosus muscle enervated by the pundental nerve (Wikipedia video of the ejaculatory event HERE (and this video does not, I repeat does NOT represent me, my own digitized history on the web, to the best of my recollection)) -- I resigned from my Congressional seat -- and by "seat" I do not mean my well-defined glute muscles which through diligent bodybuilding donkey-kick exercises in the gym I have enlarged so that the posterior of my tighty whities, or GRAY or blue, depending on my mood (even red sometimes) demonstrates a hot hot sexy bulgy curve that internet chicks totally dig -- due to my poor judgment that I exercised by being responsible for indulging in embarrassingly for my constituents but most of all my wife and family -- and by "embarrassingly" I do not mean to raise any image of my "bare" "ass", which I did not reveal in my many sexts to the not-more-than-a-dozen women after I had already resigned -- and by "raise" I do not mean to call to mind any existing or known digital image of my semi-erect penis which I took at my office desk with my trousers down at my ankles.  I have no plans to withdraw from the mayoral race of the City of New York because I am indispensable -- and by "withdraw" I do not mean pulling my undoubtedly manscaped penis, whether erect, semi-erect or flaccid, from any possible vagina I might have happened to find myself in, for which I take full responsibility, although how could that happen, just by sexting.  Fuck you very much.


J

Devil's Island

Man I'm good.  You should admire me more.  I was looking for something  from years ago, thinking perhaps it was in FP -- searched "panthers" when it was actually "jaguars" -- and stumbled upon this.  What treasures here lie neglected.  It is a tragedy.  This, then, from May of '09.  You will of course enjoy it.

-----

Gitmo.

I could stop there, but insight isn't the only important thing. How do we deal with blood enemies? Understand their childhoods? Well, no. That's not how we deal with them. That's a small part of understanding them, but more important than understanding is what we do about the problem. If the answer is four, I don't care if I get to it by adding one and three, or two and two, or 3.27 and 0.73 -- just get to it. We're not talking about art, here, but about reality. We deal with blood enemies by stopping them. How they are stopped is an incidental.

Gitmo is exile. It's banishment, of someone who is not fit to live among civilized people. An island in the midst of the Lake of Fire is beyond the pale, for some reason. Perhaps a few moments too many passed when summary execution would stand up to the definition of summary. Exigent evidence grew stale, and bureaucracy took over. So be it. Some other, more terrene island will have to do. Gitmo, then.

Obama has come to understand this fact. The lad is teachable? So Charles Krauthammer would have it. "Observers of all political stripes are stunned by how much of the Bush national security agenda is being adopted by this new Democratic government. Victor Davis Hanson ... offers a partial list: 'The Patriot Act, wiretaps, e-mail intercepts, military tribunals, Predator drone attacks, Iraq (i.e. slowing the withdrawal), Afghanistan (i.e. the surge) -- and now Guantanamo.' [Liberal Jack Goldsmith] adds: rendition -- turning over terrorists seized abroad to foreign countries; state secrets -- claiming them in court to quash legal proceedings on rendition and other erstwhile barbarisms; and the denial of habeas corpus..."

Obama's latest flip-flop -- always a good thing for him to do on any of his core issues, if he has core issues -- has to do with the newly recognized efficacy of military commissions and tribunals, "accompanied by the usual Obama three-step: (a) excoriate the Bush policy, (b) ostentatiously unveil cosmetic changes, (c) adopt the Bush policy." Again, it doesn't matter how we get to the right answer. Just get there.

Elsewhere Krauthammer says Obama has a firstclass intellect and a firstclass temperament, and perhaps a thirdclass character. Close paraphrase. K is paraphrasing something said of FDR: great temperament, intellect, not so much. For my part, I remain unconvinced as to Obama's intellect. I think an impressive intellect requires an ability not only to manipulate words into pleasant or portentous-sounding sentence fragments, but to express correct ideas clearly. It's not only about communication, but uncommunicated brilliance might as well be silence. Verbal fireworks is fine around cracker barrels or crowds of adoring fans, but it's glib.

Character shapes intellect. It has to do with the discipline to pursue truth, even if we want to disagree with the conclusion. Character agrees that two plus two equals four, to paraphrase George Orwell. We shouldn't be convinced only after the fact -- after, say, our bridge falls down because someone thought 4 was 390,059,503. Why, there's not even a four anywhere in that number! And, why, it's a prime!  How wrong can you be?  It's like on purpose.

We should weigh evidence according to past experience rather than theory. That's the problem with Obama. It's not just that it's all about theory. It's that his experience is limited.

He's not used to being challenged. Because he has used his firstclass intellect to overawe second-raters, his wrong theories have never been corrected. He was a lawyer, but he wasn't a litigator. See? There was never anyone else in the room to argue him down. That's necessary, for bright guys with theories. That's me, too. The difference between Obama and myself, aside from this little presidency thing, is that my ideas are shaped by evidence. And I suppose I've been shown do be wrong often enough for me to hold onto opinions loosely. There's another difference. My ideas are not my character. Obama's character is all in his ideas.

I was kidding though about being wrong -- have you ever known me to be wrong? I just needed to say that to make a rhetorical point.

How do we decide what's right? WWJD. Jesus talks about turning the other cheek, and about ocean bottoms and millstones tied around necks. Jesus talks about Hell. You don't get an infinite number of chances to be wrong. You get the duration of your lifetime. Then you get your eternity. So how do we deal with terrorists? In a harsh and civilized way. Effectively, and according to rules.

Gitmo? Please. Even Obama's Democrats won't close it now. Embarrassing for them? They are shameless, so embarrassment doesn't apply. They pick the strangest things to be passionate about. Obartionism. Anti-defense. Carbon. Gay and terrorist rights. Um, banana slugs? Whatever. Odd things. But the opposite of defense is not offense; the opposite of defense is defeat. Gitmo is not an offense. There is a Devils Island because there are devils.


J

HOT

Man. I hadn't seen the dude before.

  I know, seems unlikely, but we all

hate America in our own way.

So anyways, this hot Johar boy is HOT!  Hello, nurse!  He's my new Justin Beeber! The innocent bad boy.  Wake up, sleepy head.  Yum yum!  I would do him til his teeth bled!  I'm gonna see if my public defender can get me transferred to his facility.  This is a MUCH sexier picture that he took of himself

than

this.  Not a sexy selfie at all -- I don't even know why it's on the internet.  All blurry and cluttered with those ugly burly men.  Yuck.   He's the only one not wearing shades.  That's a statement.  Sassy!

And thank you Rolling Stone, for giving us all these sexy boys

all so very, very talented and hairless ... 

and of course sexy men too

... along with the ugly bad ones of course.

 

If it weren't for the media, I wouldn't know what to think.

J

Double Jeopardy

Here's how you know you're dealing with cultists: they use words in abnormal ways, recoding the meaning.  Thus, gay marriage.  It's not a broadening or adapting or evolution of the word.  It's a perversion.  "Ministry of Truth" stuff.  Room 101, as I recall -- 1984.  The PC police will punish you until you agree.  You'll be fired, or prosecuted, or boycotted, or picketed ... whatever.  Freedom of thought is the freedom to agree with them.  There is no free marketplace of ideas, because that smacks of capitalism, which is far too paternalistic and masculine, ie, bad -- the one intolerability.

Thus with Zimmerman.  I of course did not follow the trial.  Justice is an impossibility.   Either the innocent are wrongly prosecuted, or an innocent victim has been harmed and no process can undo that harm.  This is pristine logic, idealistic, and therefore impracticable.  The reality is we have to go through the motions.  My read, fairly uninformed, is that Zimmerman was out looking to protect the neighborhood, Trayvon was out for skittles.  Walking in the rain in a hoodie.  Up against the houses, maybe, for some sort of protection against rain? -- because he was a 16 year old kid and curious enough to want to look into folks' windows?  Not my particular thing when I was that age.  But I did worse.  That is a crazy stupid age to be.  I'm very lucky I got out of it healthy.

I expect that Trayvon  id hide in bushes and jump out, etc.  Hide and cower, run away, or confront.  All three are fair options.  Nothing wrong with any of them.  Given a tough boy who posts images of himself with guns, seems obvious what he'd do.  Maybe I'm wrong.  What seems very much less likely is that George was a mad dog killer out coon hunting.  Which is exactly what our current "protesters" adamantly assert, so much so that they need to set fires and break windows.  It's like when your team wins, or loses, a game.  What's a brother gonna do? Well some of them riot.  It's enough to turn a mild-mannered white man into a racist, nearly.

I know a nice middle-aged straight-married black couple, and tonight I asked them why they weren't out rioting.  Kidding.

The Incompetent in the White House inserted himself into this case, like a penis into a vagina or anus, by saying if he had a son it would look like Trayvon    Gratuitous, arrogant and unstatesmanlike.  Obama acted stupidly.  Now his Justice Department -- "Ministry of Justice" -- is making noise about attacking Zimmerman on a civil rights beef.  Honestly, so much for double jeopardy.  Isn't that in the Constitution?  -- like, um, Right Number Five? I mean, we were explicitly expressly granted by the State ten rights. Ten that we were allowed to have, by the government.  Now it's less than that?  I am shocked.   I guess it all depends upon what the meaning of is is, or in this case, the meaning of offense: no person shall "be subject for the same offense to be twice put in jeopardy..."  Offense here must not mean an actual action. It means the particular label a politician or bureaucrat happened to decide to use, and at any later time the same action may be differently described and any suitably arbitrary action taken against the "perp" -- the disapproved person.

Sounds like a recoding to me.  Some cult member must be making the decisions.

So, marriage, no longer between male-female, as even polygamy has it, but between any two adults.  But why two only?  And why not siblings or parent-child, etc.  My mind cannot contend with the permutations.  In our current Looking-Glass world, the Humpty-Dumpty Principle of Lexicography is enforced.  Words mean whatever we wish them to mean.  Narcissism reflected back upon itself, as an infinite regress ad absurdum.

I heard, again as before, a man on the radio, with a black dialect if not himself black, who spent a few moments explaining that he was about to say something, and than rolled out the prematurely hoary trope that it was impossible for any non-White to be racist.  Well statements like that, for all their predictability through familiarity, still thrust a searing dagger of ice through my mind.  How do you correct a cultist of his heretical redefinitions?  Jesus is the spirit brother of Lucifer, or an Ascended Master, or a wise Essene, or a magician, or an alien from Venus.  Anything but who he said he was.  I AM.  You cannot correct insanity.  At best, you heal it, somehow.

Thus, "racism" is no longer a meaningful word.  When dealing with a liberal, or a black person (same thing, 95% of the time (Democrat Party affiliation (that's a solid A grade! (And what about those poor Uncle Tom wannabe-white non-authentic blacks in the 5%? -- that's, like, not even showing up to class!)))), I hereby resolve to use in any hypothetical discussion not the word racism, but colorism.  It is impossible to define our terms, if the same phonetic sound is used by different parties to mean opposite things.  It's not a double meaning, it's double talk.  Actual racism means judging people by their race rather than their individual conduct.  Liberal racism means being white and having an opinion at odds with liberals.

I hadn't quite realized before, that we were dealing with, literally, a cult.  It's the perversion of language, and therefore meaning, and therefore thought, that finally makes it click.  Thank you, conventional and sincere but enslaved-to-illogic black man on the radio, for clarifying the matter for me.


J

Great Men

Of course you don’t know any great men. Mostly it’s nice men that we know, and then we get sloppy with the language. Or honest men, or even, rarely, honorable men. But great? Please. We invest the magnitude of our emotion into our judgment. Emotion is only part of judgment; objectivity must have its place as well.

 I say this because I just heard someone say that his father was a great man. He is to be forgiven. It’s one of those relative things, heh, where imprecision of diction is as honest a way of communicating as any. Like saying your wife is the most beautiful woman in the world. Well, yes -- she is. Opinion is not fact, and it can change as a function of self-protection in an instant, and honestly. Sample A tastes better, yes, it is my firm opinion that sample B tastes better. Why not exploit this convenient malleability to conform to real world needs.

 My father, my father is biglongway to one side of the continuum of judgments about fathers. Not violent, but violently emotional. Not bad, but as selfish as duty would allow him to be. Thank God for duty -- what family would survive without it. What, love is supposed to hold things together? What a religious idea you have. In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth -- and in the beginning was the Word, and that was the love that held the world together. Then there was sin, and the world fell apart, or started to and continues to this day, via entropy, and what of love then? Love, in the form I expect of the presiding Holy Spirit, fled the universe, and enters only here and there, or lays like a film upon a pond, as surface tension, but penetrates only as a perturbation. Only duty holds the universe together, until that great day in the by and by.

 Selfish I say, in his narscissism. Is it proper for sons to judge their fathers? No it isn’t. The Commandment about honoring your parents comes with a blessing -- memory suggests it’s the only one that does. So it seems that honoring and being honest are in conflict. But no, it’s more of a gravity/aerodynamics thing, two laws, not in conflict, no opposed, simply applying in different conditions. My father could be trusted to be critical, judgmental, harsh and blind -- betraying, frankly -- and then he’d forget about it, and wonder why people acted hurt, and judge them for that. Sexually profligate, as a function of his egotism. Imagine how sneaky you have to be, to be sexually betraying. No baby, I’m not cheating on you, I love you baby, I love you. To utter it soils the soul.  Sex isn’t dirty, it’s the lying that makes it so. Lie with dogs, wake up with crabs.

 My mother is also a sneaky liar, completely untrustworthy, but her compulsion is not ego driven but from weakness, her own, aimed at protecting weak things through sneakiness rather than confrontation. She basically stole all of her husband’s particular savings and gave it away to my brother’s family.  Toward the end, in his near dementia,he’d have some vague awarenesss of what was going on and get all upset and want to drive somewhere and confront someone, and I couldn’t lie to him but I had no details and he was too vague about the problem for me to be honest and there was no where to drive him to, so ask me about futility and I’ll have a few words to say. Where's all my money?  It soils my soul.

Now I’m the one who will be picking up the slack, the shortfall, the lack of savings and the profligate toilet-flush waste, taking care of her financial needs as best I can until she dies, if she dies first. I expect no inheritance, so it’s a balancing act between saving for my own old age and making sure she currently has enough spare cash to pay the phone bill and to buy chew toys for her many untrained dogs, etc.

It is my son’s birthday today. He is a great man.


J