I recently wrote an e-mail to my Congress-critter, John Shadegg, (Reptile) AZ, regarding the bank bailout. I was absolutely livid that Congress was even considering such a grand scale theft. It amounts to $2100 for every man woman and child in the USA. When the first vote came, and the original bank bail out failed, I was ecstatic. At last, Congress had developed a spine! And MY Congressman, John Shadegg, was one of the House Republicans who helped defeat the bill. Then came Wednesday, when the Senate considered its version of the bill, passed it, and submitted it to the House. On Friday, the House voted, and this time, the "new and improved" larded up version of the bail out bill passed. Guess who voted FOR the new bill? The Honorable John Shadegg! Furious, I fired off another e-mail, and this is the response I got. I print it here for your edification.
Years ago, when I took several courses in newspaper writing in college, I learned to edit using a blue pencil. Following that tradition, my editorial comments are in blue.
Dear Mr. Farah:
Thank you for contacting me about the Wall Street rescue package proposed by the White House and Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson. I am grateful you took the time to contact me and I appreciate your concerns and your passion on the subject. I hope you'll take a moment and consider my reply.
As you know, I strongly opposed the legislation when it was first proposed and severely criticized Secretary Paulson for not giving Congress more notice and for using fear as a lobbying strategy. I hope you also know that, based on Secretary Paulson's handling of the matter, eight days after he sprung this crisis on the American people I called for his resignation. Fat lot of good that did! And, you may be aware that I led the fight against the original bill. The Arizona Republic acknowledged, "Shadegg led the resistance, as he so often does, against cutting a blank check to bail out Wall Street." I was proud of you too, you duplicitous jackal.
You may be surprised to know and may not agree, but had it not been for the intervention of Senator John McCain who stood up to (1) the White House, (2) Senate Republicans, (3) Senate Democrats, (4) House Democrats, and (5) Senator Obama, the first bill would have been dramatically worse. No, it wouldn't have because it was the SECOND bill that got passed. When Senator McCain sided with House Republicans, the bailout bill supported by Senate Democrats and the White House included funding for ACORN, the community activist group which has fraudulently registered thousands of voters, and would have allowed judges to rewrite legally binding contracts. If Senator McCain had agreed with all other parties in the White House Cabinet Room that day, it would have been over. House Republicans would have been rolled and a disastrous bill would have passed. Are you saying House Reptillians have no moral fiber except when being led by a post traumatic stress fighting, whiskey slurping adulterer? It took courage to say no to the President and the Democrats with the economy in the balance. The bill I voted against, and that failed on the House floor on Monday, was a terrible bill and I am convinced that was the right vote. So am I.
In the week leading up to the first vote, not a single Arizona businessman called me to urge support for the bill. I reached out to bankers, investment bankers, mortgage lenders, and others in Arizona. But, no bankers called me to say the rescue was necessary. You think maybe they had been blind-sided, like rest of us?
Following the first vote, I wrote an op-ed in USA Today, which is attached, or you may find at http://blogs.usatoday.com/oped/2008/09/opposing-view-t.html#more. In it, I expressed my strong objections to the bill and insisted that two changes were essential. Only two changes? Two little changes to the biggest theft in the history of the planet? And pray, tell, what were those changes? Investigation of the shennanigans of the corporate officers of these companies? Guarantees that the companies that would be bailed out would pay back every dime of the bail out plus interest? Vetting the bill to see if it passed Constitutional muster? NO! The first was a modification of the mark to market rule, which as they were applying it, required that mortgage backed securities be marked down by financial institutions to the value at the moment, usually a firesale value, even if the owners of the property were making payments. The mark to market rule requires assets to be listed at their fair market value. What other standard would you use John? Magic Bean Counting? Pull it outta your ass accounting? This rule was forcing institutions to undervalue these assets, according to the experts with whom I spoke. "Experts" who helped create the mess, and also, now have a vested interest in Congress bailing them out. Forty minutes prior to the vote I was approached by a Republican leadership aide who said they would promise to alter the mark to market rule if I voted for the bill. 40 whole minutes? To decide the fate of the free world? I said, I don't deal in future promises; make the change in writing and I will be able to vote for the bill. Way to show principled leadership, John! The second change I pushed for was an increase in the FDIC insurance limit for bank accounts, a critical step toward calming the fears millions of Americans have for their retirement savings and small businesspeople have for their operating accounts. Calming fears is important? Those fears, John, happen to be based upon facts. The fact is that due to heavy mismanagement of the economy, primarily by the Federal Reserve, the US Treasury and the Congress of the United States, our banking system is a house of cards, and now those cards are collapsing. In other words, John, those fears you are trying to calm are fully justified! You shouldn't be trying to calm them; you should be addressing the underlying cause of the fears.
As you know, both of these changes were made. And thereby, in John Shadegg's small mind, the theft of over $700 billion dollars was suddenly justified! Shortly after the first vote failed, I spoke with Securities and Exchange Commission Chairman Chris Cox. He agreed to put into place a process by which mark to market would be reformed, and the SEC issued what is called "guidance" to correct the interpretation of the rule. And, the Senate bill, which passed the House, increased the FDIC limit to $250,000. I honestly argue that I didn't change my vote; they changed their bill. HA AH HA HA HA! OH MY GOD THAT'S FUNNY! HA HA HA HA!
But there was more than these two reforms. Between the defeat on Monday and the vote on Friday, numerous Arizona business people did call me to express their support for the rescue package and their concern about the economy. One businessman said that he would not be able to make payroll the next Friday if credit remained frozen. A farmer told me that he could no longer get chemicals for the herbicide applicator he uses to spray his crops unless he paid in cash, in full, in advance. National automobile sales fell by 27% in September; in Arizona they were down 32%--salesmen and mechanics are going to lose their jobs. Losing jobs and economic contraction is part of a free economy, John. It is a necessary part of economic freedom. It is painful, yes, but it weeds out the bad performers from the good ones.
The mainstream media blamed Wall Street greed for the entire mess. And, it's true that Wall Street greed played a role, but make no mistake, Congress laid the foundation for this debacle. Congress, working with Democrat administrations, enacted policies pushing easy money and "liar" and "subprime" loans on the market, forcing banks to make loans to people who could not afford them. As the hit on the economy became clearer, and because I believed the government was largely responsible for this mess, I did not feel it was defensible to do nothing and allow an Arizona auto mechanic, innocent of any wrongdoing, to lose his entire livelihood. Congress should have stayed and worked out a better bill, but that was not going to happen. The Senate was already gone and would not be returning for at least 45 days. The choice was between action and inaction: voting for a flawed bill we can hopefully fix in the future with a different Congress, or doing nothing and watching innocent people lose their jobs. Three things, John: First, you are leaving out the resposibility of the Federal Reserve whose loose money policies and artificially low interest rates were the fuel that fed this conflagration. Second, stop playing partisan politics. The Reptillians controlled the house for the vast majority of the timespan to which you are referring. They could have stopped this dog and pony show any time they wanted to. Third, I am glad that Congress's vacation is far more important than the largest theft/bail out in the history of planet Earth.
I hate the structure of the bill Paulson proposed. But you voted for it anyway. House Republicans wanted systemic reforms like a cut in the capital gains tax or the corporate rate income tax, both of which would stimulate our economy and create jobs for American workers. How about reigning in the Federal Reserve? How about reducing spending (by ending wars and corporate welfare)? How about balancing the budget and paying off the national debt? However, we were told these ideas weren't acceptable to the other parties. I believe the Paulson idea of having the government buy "troubled assets" and stock in banks move us toward socialism. I am not happy about it. Wrong. It is not socialism. It is Communism. One of the planks of the Communist Manifesto is centralization of credit in the hands of the State. Congratulations, John, you've voted for a major step towards Communism in this country.
House Republicans did force Paulson to accept our proposal for an insurance fund paid for by the Wall Street banks themselves. Forced Paulson? How is it that a mere cabinet member has any say at all in the laws of this land? Where did he get all the power? And why the fuck is Congress cow-towing to him? I voted for the final version, holding my nose, with the knowledge that I will fight for the changes, particularly the changes in Congress, which are necessary to protect our economy and ensure that the government limits its involvement in the market as much as possible and gets out as quickly as possible. HA HA HA HA! When has any government anywhere EVER limited itself?
You may not agree, but I hope now you have a better understanding of why I cast this vote and that it was my intention to do the best that I could for America and for the people here in Arizona. What I cannot understand is why you are lying to your constituents in your radio ads on KTAR that claim that you opposed the bank bailout. But I can understand why you backed the bailout. It's because you are a duplicitous jackal.
I appreciate your willingness to consider my response. Please do not hesitate to continue this dialogue and let me know your thoughts. You really do not want to know my thoughts, Mr. Shadegg. They are not very pleasant.
Sincerely, (!!)
John Shadegg
Congressman
Arizona 3rd District
U.S. House of Representatives
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Ramifications of a Bailout?
Almost everyone that I get into my taxi these days has something to say about the poor shape of the economy. They ask me if my business is down. They tell me if their business is down. I have recieved literally a dozen calls to see if I am hiring in the last two months. I am not hiring; I am quite satisfied with the size of my company now, and I need less, not more, headaches. Bringing in a new driver would just make the headaches worse. One woman called me from Sacramento California. Another guy called me from Saginaw Michigan. Both wanted to know if I was hiring and what the economy was like here in Phoenix. Now, I am no Human Resources director, but I do know that a cab driving job is not the kind of job one normally moves hearth and home to take in another state. It is rather odd.
Chief among the economic concerns is the bank bailout. No one knows what it's all about. No one knows what is going on. No one likes the bailout and no one trusts the government. In the last few weeks, of the hundreds of people I have had in the car, only one, a securities lawyer, mentioned the bail out in a positive light. And he did not seem too thrilled with the idea. He was referring to it as a necessary evil.
The amounts of money are what scares people the most I think. No once can fathom what a billion dollars is, much less make it apply to their own life. Actually, it is rather easy to figure out. There are 350 million Americans. That is a little over a third of a billion people. So, if you want to know how much is your share of these multi billion dollar give aways, simply knock off the word "billion" and multiply the remaining number by three. Thus, the $83 billion AIG bailout cost YOU $249. It also cost your wife another $249. And $249 for each one of your kids. (The good news is it also cost your worthless brother in law $249, too.) The $700 billion bank bailout cost YOU and everyone else $2100. Each. Now, I cannot fathom $700 billion, but I can fathom $2100. It's a third the price of a taxicab. I can't imagine $83 billion. but I can comprehend $249. that's the price of a rifle. (Hint hint).
Where are they getting this kind of money? No one really says. But if you look deeply enough, you can see only one of three options: They can borrow it. They can steal it (taxes). Or they can just make it the hell up out of thin air (inflation). The sale of bonds, which is what borrowing the money means, inevitably means higher interest rates (which will kill the rest of the sub-prime borrowers). Higher taxes means the Guvmint Goon Squad steals more of your cash. Inflation is... well, it's inflation. If you didn't live through the 1970s, you will find out what it's like soon enough. Either way it is disasterous for the economy as a whole.
Not to worry though. The government, in exchange for those dollars they just made up or stole or borrowed, is going to end up with ownership stake in all the major banks of the United States. Oh goody. Has anyone thought this through? If they own stock in the banks, won't they demand representation on each bank's board? If they have representation on every bank board, won't they have access to all the bank's records? Including yours and mine? "Badges? We don't need no stinkin' badges!" As board members, won't they have ability to approve and disapprove loans? Think about that for a minute. Every loan is suddenly a government loan. And forget about private equity funds, since the government has access to all the money, it can set interest rates in such a way as to put all the private funds out of business. Just exactly where is this authorized in the Constitution by the way? Or does anyone give a damn about that any more? What about defaulting on your property loan? If the government owns the mortgage company that owns the loan, then doesn't the government own the loan? Ever try to get out of paying a government loan? It doesn't work. Those are loans that are EXEMPT from bankruptcy discharge. Hey, at least we solved the mushrooming foreclosure problem!
Yes boys and girls, your Congress has just sold you and all of your freedoms to the banks and created a financial dictatorship. We have now gone back into the days of old King George, who could do anything he damn well pleased, because he was the king. I guess it is right what they say: If PRO is the opposite of CON, then Congress is the opposite of Progress! Back to the lead mines everyone!
Chief among the economic concerns is the bank bailout. No one knows what it's all about. No one knows what is going on. No one likes the bailout and no one trusts the government. In the last few weeks, of the hundreds of people I have had in the car, only one, a securities lawyer, mentioned the bail out in a positive light. And he did not seem too thrilled with the idea. He was referring to it as a necessary evil.
The amounts of money are what scares people the most I think. No once can fathom what a billion dollars is, much less make it apply to their own life. Actually, it is rather easy to figure out. There are 350 million Americans. That is a little over a third of a billion people. So, if you want to know how much is your share of these multi billion dollar give aways, simply knock off the word "billion" and multiply the remaining number by three. Thus, the $83 billion AIG bailout cost YOU $249. It also cost your wife another $249. And $249 for each one of your kids. (The good news is it also cost your worthless brother in law $249, too.) The $700 billion bank bailout cost YOU and everyone else $2100. Each. Now, I cannot fathom $700 billion, but I can fathom $2100. It's a third the price of a taxicab. I can't imagine $83 billion. but I can comprehend $249. that's the price of a rifle. (Hint hint).
Where are they getting this kind of money? No one really says. But if you look deeply enough, you can see only one of three options: They can borrow it. They can steal it (taxes). Or they can just make it the hell up out of thin air (inflation). The sale of bonds, which is what borrowing the money means, inevitably means higher interest rates (which will kill the rest of the sub-prime borrowers). Higher taxes means the Guvmint Goon Squad steals more of your cash. Inflation is... well, it's inflation. If you didn't live through the 1970s, you will find out what it's like soon enough. Either way it is disasterous for the economy as a whole.
Not to worry though. The government, in exchange for those dollars they just made up or stole or borrowed, is going to end up with ownership stake in all the major banks of the United States. Oh goody. Has anyone thought this through? If they own stock in the banks, won't they demand representation on each bank's board? If they have representation on every bank board, won't they have access to all the bank's records? Including yours and mine? "Badges? We don't need no stinkin' badges!" As board members, won't they have ability to approve and disapprove loans? Think about that for a minute. Every loan is suddenly a government loan. And forget about private equity funds, since the government has access to all the money, it can set interest rates in such a way as to put all the private funds out of business. Just exactly where is this authorized in the Constitution by the way? Or does anyone give a damn about that any more? What about defaulting on your property loan? If the government owns the mortgage company that owns the loan, then doesn't the government own the loan? Ever try to get out of paying a government loan? It doesn't work. Those are loans that are EXEMPT from bankruptcy discharge. Hey, at least we solved the mushrooming foreclosure problem!
Yes boys and girls, your Congress has just sold you and all of your freedoms to the banks and created a financial dictatorship. We have now gone back into the days of old King George, who could do anything he damn well pleased, because he was the king. I guess it is right what they say: If PRO is the opposite of CON, then Congress is the opposite of Progress! Back to the lead mines everyone!
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Hank and Benny's original message to Congress
Leave $1.8 trillion
In a brown paper bag
By the phone booth,
Or you’ll never see your
Economy
Again!!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
On Flag Worship
Yesterday, I was at a Residence Inn that I hang out at, waiting for walk up customers to come out, or for the front desk to call us. In order to be truly successful in Phoenix, a taxi driver has got to solicit hotels or bars. You have to give them excellent service in clean cabs, and be available when needed. It is just the way the market rules our lives. Most of the larger hotels have contracts with large taxi companies, or town car services. But there are dozens of smaller and medium sized hotels and motels that need help. Those are the ones to go after.
So I am sitting outside the Residence Inn which I have tried so hard to service these last months when Jenna, the desk clerk at the Residence Inn, comes out, and starts fiddling with the flag pole, which I am parked about five feet from. Being the nosey guy that I am, I decided to help.
The flagpole is hollow, and the ropes that run the flag up and down are hidden inside the pole itself. Access is gained by unlocking a tiny door on the side of the pole about five feet up. The maintenance guy unlocked the flagpole door for Jenna, and they looked at the mechanism for a few minutes before figuring it out.
Then the discussion began. What is the “proper” way to lower a flag to half mast? Jenna was of the opinion that you lower it all the way down, then raise it back up half way. The maintenance guy wasn’t so sure. I was of the opinion that you lower it halfway and be done with it.
“Why are you lowering the flag anyway?” I asked.
“There was a bombing in Pakistan. Someone blew up a Marriott Hotel.”
Helpfully I suggested, “Why don’t we raise a Pakistani flag to half mast then?”
Jenna just looked at me uncertain if I were joking or a raving lunatic. (It’s the latter.)
“It’s on orders from corporate.” Residence Inn is a Marriott property, so, apparently, all the Marriott hotels are lowering their flags.
When the flag came down, it was rather dirty from having been flown day and night for the last few weeks. I suggested it be laundered.
“How do we launder a flag?” asked Jenna.
“I don’t know. Can’t be too hard. It’s just a piece of cloth. There must be laundering instructions on it.”
I unclipped the flag from one of its clips, and looked at the margin, hoping to find a tag that said “colorfast, machine wash in cold” or something. I dreaded finding a “dry clean only” sticker on it since that would mean sending it out and what would corporate say?
“No, I mean what is the proper etiquette for washing a flag?”
“I think you’re supposed to burn it, ceremonially,” said the maintenance guy.
“Don’t let it touch the ground!” said Jenna.
“I wouldn’t worry,” I said, “I don’t see any boy scouts or Marines around.”
I didn’t find a cleaning instruction label; all I found was a small tag that said “Made in China” on it. I kept my idiot comments to myself.
“Well, let’s put it back up. We’ll wash it another time.”
They started reeling the flag back up the pole. About two thirds of the way to half mast, I noticed that I had reclipped the flag to the wrong clip, and the top was hanging nicely, but the bottom was kind of bunched up and weird looking. I pointed that out to my fellows, and down we lowered the flag again. After reattaching the flag properly, back up it went. But we hadn’t figured out how to tie it off and make it stay at half mast. The maintenance guy let go of the rope, and the flag came screaming back to the ground. Jenna grabbed it just before it touched earth.
I peeked into the guts of the flagpole through the little door, and fiddled with the workings. In a minute, I had worked out how to make the flag stay in place.
“The rope runs through this little groove thing here,” I said.
“Yeah, and then this little brass thing pushes down and locks the rope,” said the maintenance guy.
Up the flag went. Two thirds of the way to the halfway point, the maintenance guy says,
“Shouldn’t we salute?”
So all three of us saluted, and the rope slid out of the maintenance guy’s hand, and the flag skittered back down the pole. Maintenance guy grabbed the rope and hauled the thing into its proper place, while Jenna and I held our right hands over our brows in a very patriotic salute. I quickly snapped the flag’s rope into place, and Jenna locked the little flag pole door.
I sincerely hope no Pakistani ghosts were watching us. Or anyone from Marriott corporate for that matter.
So I am sitting outside the Residence Inn which I have tried so hard to service these last months when Jenna, the desk clerk at the Residence Inn, comes out, and starts fiddling with the flag pole, which I am parked about five feet from. Being the nosey guy that I am, I decided to help.
The flagpole is hollow, and the ropes that run the flag up and down are hidden inside the pole itself. Access is gained by unlocking a tiny door on the side of the pole about five feet up. The maintenance guy unlocked the flagpole door for Jenna, and they looked at the mechanism for a few minutes before figuring it out.
Then the discussion began. What is the “proper” way to lower a flag to half mast? Jenna was of the opinion that you lower it all the way down, then raise it back up half way. The maintenance guy wasn’t so sure. I was of the opinion that you lower it halfway and be done with it.
“Why are you lowering the flag anyway?” I asked.
“There was a bombing in Pakistan. Someone blew up a Marriott Hotel.”
Helpfully I suggested, “Why don’t we raise a Pakistani flag to half mast then?”
Jenna just looked at me uncertain if I were joking or a raving lunatic. (It’s the latter.)
“It’s on orders from corporate.” Residence Inn is a Marriott property, so, apparently, all the Marriott hotels are lowering their flags.
When the flag came down, it was rather dirty from having been flown day and night for the last few weeks. I suggested it be laundered.
“How do we launder a flag?” asked Jenna.
“I don’t know. Can’t be too hard. It’s just a piece of cloth. There must be laundering instructions on it.”
I unclipped the flag from one of its clips, and looked at the margin, hoping to find a tag that said “colorfast, machine wash in cold” or something. I dreaded finding a “dry clean only” sticker on it since that would mean sending it out and what would corporate say?
“No, I mean what is the proper etiquette for washing a flag?”
“I think you’re supposed to burn it, ceremonially,” said the maintenance guy.
“Don’t let it touch the ground!” said Jenna.
“I wouldn’t worry,” I said, “I don’t see any boy scouts or Marines around.”
I didn’t find a cleaning instruction label; all I found was a small tag that said “Made in China” on it. I kept my idiot comments to myself.
“Well, let’s put it back up. We’ll wash it another time.”
They started reeling the flag back up the pole. About two thirds of the way to half mast, I noticed that I had reclipped the flag to the wrong clip, and the top was hanging nicely, but the bottom was kind of bunched up and weird looking. I pointed that out to my fellows, and down we lowered the flag again. After reattaching the flag properly, back up it went. But we hadn’t figured out how to tie it off and make it stay at half mast. The maintenance guy let go of the rope, and the flag came screaming back to the ground. Jenna grabbed it just before it touched earth.
I peeked into the guts of the flagpole through the little door, and fiddled with the workings. In a minute, I had worked out how to make the flag stay in place.
“The rope runs through this little groove thing here,” I said.
“Yeah, and then this little brass thing pushes down and locks the rope,” said the maintenance guy.
Up the flag went. Two thirds of the way to the halfway point, the maintenance guy says,
“Shouldn’t we salute?”
So all three of us saluted, and the rope slid out of the maintenance guy’s hand, and the flag skittered back down the pole. Maintenance guy grabbed the rope and hauled the thing into its proper place, while Jenna and I held our right hands over our brows in a very patriotic salute. I quickly snapped the flag’s rope into place, and Jenna locked the little flag pole door.
I sincerely hope no Pakistani ghosts were watching us. Or anyone from Marriott corporate for that matter.
Friday, September 19, 2008
The Wicked Witch of Western Style Banking
Remember that scene in the Wizard of Oz where Dorothy throws water on the Witch, and she screams "I'm melting! Oh what a horrible world!" Well, its happening on Wall Street and.. what do you mean "plot spoiler"? That stinking movie has been out since the last Depression these banksters caused!
Anyway after a second thought I realized that I am far too ignorant of these things to comment intelligently, so I will leave that up to the guys at www.lewrockwell.com, at www.dailyreckoning.com, and at www.globaleconomicanalysis.blogspot.com . These guys can provide solid analysis about what is going on, and advise you what to do with the pathetic lump you have left in your 401K.
I can tell you how to survive this shit-storm when you have no money and are nothing but a working class guy. The Book of Proverbs says, "Go to the ant oh sluggard! consider her ways, and be wise!" (You know, I think that is the first time in literary history the words "Book of Proverbs" and "shit-storm" have ever been used together in a paragraph! Hurrah for firsts!)
My Proverb is "Go to the cockroach, thou bone-head! Consider her ways and survive!"
Cockroaches are difficult to kill. Just ask the ones that inhabited my kitchen for three years, non-stop. They were all over everything, and it did not matter what I did, I could not get rid of them. I tried sprays, bombs, traps. I even offered to buy them a trip to Flint Michigan, where my useless brother in law lives. What finally worked was when a pipe broke under the bathtub drain. The plumber had to cut a hole in the wall beneath the kitchen cabinet to get at the bathtub drain and repair it. Well, that's where the roaches had their little safe haven. Once that area had been exposed, the poisons made fast order of the little insect bastards. But I did learn a lot by observing the little critters.
Roaches can eat anything. They aren't choosey. You should be too. Learn to eat a thousand different cuisines because you never know when your going to end up somewhere where the only place open is a cheap dive that serves borderline Chinese food (Our chow mein is made with real chows!) More importantly is where you get your food--or ability to survive. You should have by now at least a dozen different salable skills. I am not talking about "career choices" I am talking about job skills that you can use in a pinch. Can you clean a pool and mow a lawn? You can work in landscape and yard care. Can you change oil and do basic mechanics on cars? Can you care for whiny brats, and change diapers? Can you sell anything? All these are marketable skills Hone them., Be prepared because you may have to use one or more of them to save money or to live on.
Roaches can live anywhere and are not concerned much about property values or the view. Oh no! you lost the McMansion? Well, buck up and lease a flat in the lesser part of town. I myself have lived in trailer parks and cheap ass apartments. One apartment was SO bad, the cockroaches would wake you up at night to tell you you had termites.
Roaches can dodge almost any destructive force, such as a shoe or a flyswatter because they are so damn observant. Keeep your eye out for forces that want to destroy you. This would include the IRS, the child protective services, and most importantly the cops. Remember the key phrase when dealing with ANY government official who is asking stupid questions: "I will say nothing without my lawyer present." Anything you say can and WILL be used against you--even if they have to make it up or take it out of context. The only thing they cannot use against you is silence. Keep your head shut.
Roaches have little or no loyalty. And your loyalty should be limited to close personal friends, and relatives. Under no circumstances should you be a patriot, or be "loyal to your country". Are you loyal to your city? Would you give your life to save the cultural goldmine and beacon of freedom and democracy that is Glendale, AZ? No? Then why the hell are you loyal to an even bigger boon-doggle? Patriotism will get you killed. Why? Because it clouds your mind to possible escape routes. Think of all those patriotic Russians who decided to stay and support the mother land when the Communists took over in 1917. Or those patriotic German Jews who thought they could work with the system and change it. Their corpses DID make interesting grainy black and white photographs.
Roaches breed like crazy. And you should too. Well, maybe not actually produce children, but you should cultivate excellent relations with the family. You made really need their support and skills sometime. Even your brother in law.
Roaches are really good at hiding. You should be too. Be unobtrusive. Don't stick your neck out, express radical opinions in public, or write on blogs (unless you just don't care anymore). Hide all your financial paperwork that you can. Keep your gun in a safe hiding place.
Roaches keep multiple food sources handy. Never ever keep more than you can afford to lose in a single bank account. And diversify. You should have accounts in several banks. If one of them goes tits up (and you won't know about it until it is way too late) you may not lose your money, but your access to it will certainly be delayed. Possibly by weeks.
Using these tactics, the common roach has been around since the days of the dinosaur. You can survive too! Just use the tactics of the roach! Consider her disgusting ways, and survive!
Anyway after a second thought I realized that I am far too ignorant of these things to comment intelligently, so I will leave that up to the guys at www.lewrockwell.com, at www.dailyreckoning.com, and at www.globaleconomicanalysis.blogspot.com . These guys can provide solid analysis about what is going on, and advise you what to do with the pathetic lump you have left in your 401K.
I can tell you how to survive this shit-storm when you have no money and are nothing but a working class guy. The Book of Proverbs says, "Go to the ant oh sluggard! consider her ways, and be wise!" (You know, I think that is the first time in literary history the words "Book of Proverbs" and "shit-storm" have ever been used together in a paragraph! Hurrah for firsts!)
My Proverb is "Go to the cockroach, thou bone-head! Consider her ways and survive!"
Cockroaches are difficult to kill. Just ask the ones that inhabited my kitchen for three years, non-stop. They were all over everything, and it did not matter what I did, I could not get rid of them. I tried sprays, bombs, traps. I even offered to buy them a trip to Flint Michigan, where my useless brother in law lives. What finally worked was when a pipe broke under the bathtub drain. The plumber had to cut a hole in the wall beneath the kitchen cabinet to get at the bathtub drain and repair it. Well, that's where the roaches had their little safe haven. Once that area had been exposed, the poisons made fast order of the little insect bastards. But I did learn a lot by observing the little critters.
Roaches can eat anything. They aren't choosey. You should be too. Learn to eat a thousand different cuisines because you never know when your going to end up somewhere where the only place open is a cheap dive that serves borderline Chinese food (Our chow mein is made with real chows!) More importantly is where you get your food--or ability to survive. You should have by now at least a dozen different salable skills. I am not talking about "career choices" I am talking about job skills that you can use in a pinch. Can you clean a pool and mow a lawn? You can work in landscape and yard care. Can you change oil and do basic mechanics on cars? Can you care for whiny brats, and change diapers? Can you sell anything? All these are marketable skills Hone them., Be prepared because you may have to use one or more of them to save money or to live on.
Roaches can live anywhere and are not concerned much about property values or the view. Oh no! you lost the McMansion? Well, buck up and lease a flat in the lesser part of town. I myself have lived in trailer parks and cheap ass apartments. One apartment was SO bad, the cockroaches would wake you up at night to tell you you had termites.
Roaches can dodge almost any destructive force, such as a shoe or a flyswatter because they are so damn observant. Keeep your eye out for forces that want to destroy you. This would include the IRS, the child protective services, and most importantly the cops. Remember the key phrase when dealing with ANY government official who is asking stupid questions: "I will say nothing without my lawyer present." Anything you say can and WILL be used against you--even if they have to make it up or take it out of context. The only thing they cannot use against you is silence. Keep your head shut.
Roaches have little or no loyalty. And your loyalty should be limited to close personal friends, and relatives. Under no circumstances should you be a patriot, or be "loyal to your country". Are you loyal to your city? Would you give your life to save the cultural goldmine and beacon of freedom and democracy that is Glendale, AZ? No? Then why the hell are you loyal to an even bigger boon-doggle? Patriotism will get you killed. Why? Because it clouds your mind to possible escape routes. Think of all those patriotic Russians who decided to stay and support the mother land when the Communists took over in 1917. Or those patriotic German Jews who thought they could work with the system and change it. Their corpses DID make interesting grainy black and white photographs.
Roaches breed like crazy. And you should too. Well, maybe not actually produce children, but you should cultivate excellent relations with the family. You made really need their support and skills sometime. Even your brother in law.
Roaches are really good at hiding. You should be too. Be unobtrusive. Don't stick your neck out, express radical opinions in public, or write on blogs (unless you just don't care anymore). Hide all your financial paperwork that you can. Keep your gun in a safe hiding place.
Roaches keep multiple food sources handy. Never ever keep more than you can afford to lose in a single bank account. And diversify. You should have accounts in several banks. If one of them goes tits up (and you won't know about it until it is way too late) you may not lose your money, but your access to it will certainly be delayed. Possibly by weeks.
Using these tactics, the common roach has been around since the days of the dinosaur. You can survive too! Just use the tactics of the roach! Consider her disgusting ways, and survive!
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Scott McClellan and His Marvelous New Book
THE LAST PRESS CONFERENCE
So Scott McClellan has come out with a new tell all book about his days as liar in chief er... press secretary for the Bush Administration. Not long ago, General Petreus testified before Congress about what was going on in Iraq, and columnist pundit and all around curmudgeon Fred Reed proposed some questions he would have liked to ask Herr General. In this same spirit, I imagine myself with press credentials, sitting in Mr. McClellan's book tour press conference. These are the questions I would ask:
More than a million Iraqis have been killed in this war, millions more have been injured, two millions have become expatirate refugees, and another two millions have been turned into internal refugees. With one press conference, you could have derailed the run up to the Iraq war, and prevented all this. Yet you chose to present half truths and falsehoods to the American people instead. Do you think anyone regrets your decision?
What childhood experiences led you to choose a career that enabled you to become a shill for an administration so dedicated to the worship of raw power?
After spending several years as White House Press Secretary, every day stabbing America in the back by telling us half truths and falsehoods, and grossly inflating both our successes in Iraq and the dangers posed by withdrawal, you have now turned around and betrayed the Administration. Does your wife trust you? Does she suspect you will betray her trust as well?
Speaking of your family, do your children talk to you? Do your parents?
When you enter a restaurant, do the respectable patrons leave when they see you?
How would you compare yourself to Joseph Goebbels, the Nazi Propaganda Minister?
When you are in a shopping mall or at an airport, and you see a young man in a wheelchair, do you feel a twinge of guilt?
You deliberately covered up your involvement in the Valerie Plame affair. What does she think of you? Does she expect an apology, and if you gave one do you think she would accept it?
Can you explain to me why you should not be in prison right now?
Since several prominent members of the Bush Administration have been indicted in Europe for war crimes, do you worry about traveling abroad?
The 1991 Gulf War only killed 91 Americans, while more that 4,000 American troops have been killed in this current war. Do you think this conclusively proves that George W. Bush's penis IS larger than his father's?
There are so many people who cannot make it out to Borders Books, because they are stuck in wheel chairs, or bed bound, or find it difficult to get around with a colostomy bag. Would you care to do a book signing at the Veteran's Administration hospital?
Have you been to Mass recently? If so, did the Holy Water burn your skin?
* * *
I called up the Alan Colmes radio show last night, which I get on my XM receiver. When I got to talk to Alan, I told him that if I had a chance to ask Scott McClellan one question, it would be that first one I proposed. Alan said that I was very angry .
Very angry? That does not begin to describe how furious I am with this administration and its duplicitous conduct, lies and murders. And Scott McClellan, Ari Fleischer, and Tony Snow are right at the top of my list of people to despise since they enabled it.
The very first documented victim of the war was a taxi driver from Jordan who was working in Bahgdad when the first wave of "Shock and Awe" began. He stopped to use a pay phone outside the Ministry of Justice, and a missile blew him to pieces. Should I be angry about that?
The book Generation Kill tells the tale of an Iraqi family whose car was shot up by Americans on patrol. It tells how an American GI pulled from the car the lifeless body of a three year old girl whose brains had been blown out by American machine gun fire. How the GI handed the tiny body to her father, and how her father wept bitterly. Should I be angry at that?
I think a better question is why aren't you very angry at that, Alan?
When I compared the Bush administration to the Hitler administration, Alan claims that I went too far; there was no comparison. He may have a point. After all, Hitler was a brilliant man. Rather, we should compare Bush to another US president--Ulysses S. Grant. Grant, a drunken sot and pathetic excuse for a man (just like W) had the US cavalry wage unrestricted warfare against the plains Indians because the tribesmen armed with sticks and rocks posed a "threat" to our way of life. Don't remember who Grant was? Well, pull a fifty dollar bill out of your pocket, and look at it. His face is there.
What's that? You don't HAVE fifty dollars? Gee, I wonder why? Maybe that's something else I just shouldn't be angry about.
I do have one more question for the former Press Secretary, though: "Mr. McClellan, why don't you go fuck yourself?"
So Scott McClellan has come out with a new tell all book about his days as liar in chief er... press secretary for the Bush Administration. Not long ago, General Petreus testified before Congress about what was going on in Iraq, and columnist pundit and all around curmudgeon Fred Reed proposed some questions he would have liked to ask Herr General. In this same spirit, I imagine myself with press credentials, sitting in Mr. McClellan's book tour press conference. These are the questions I would ask:
More than a million Iraqis have been killed in this war, millions more have been injured, two millions have become expatirate refugees, and another two millions have been turned into internal refugees. With one press conference, you could have derailed the run up to the Iraq war, and prevented all this. Yet you chose to present half truths and falsehoods to the American people instead. Do you think anyone regrets your decision?
What childhood experiences led you to choose a career that enabled you to become a shill for an administration so dedicated to the worship of raw power?
After spending several years as White House Press Secretary, every day stabbing America in the back by telling us half truths and falsehoods, and grossly inflating both our successes in Iraq and the dangers posed by withdrawal, you have now turned around and betrayed the Administration. Does your wife trust you? Does she suspect you will betray her trust as well?
Speaking of your family, do your children talk to you? Do your parents?
When you enter a restaurant, do the respectable patrons leave when they see you?
How would you compare yourself to Joseph Goebbels, the Nazi Propaganda Minister?
When you are in a shopping mall or at an airport, and you see a young man in a wheelchair, do you feel a twinge of guilt?
You deliberately covered up your involvement in the Valerie Plame affair. What does she think of you? Does she expect an apology, and if you gave one do you think she would accept it?
Can you explain to me why you should not be in prison right now?
Since several prominent members of the Bush Administration have been indicted in Europe for war crimes, do you worry about traveling abroad?
The 1991 Gulf War only killed 91 Americans, while more that 4,000 American troops have been killed in this current war. Do you think this conclusively proves that George W. Bush's penis IS larger than his father's?
There are so many people who cannot make it out to Borders Books, because they are stuck in wheel chairs, or bed bound, or find it difficult to get around with a colostomy bag. Would you care to do a book signing at the Veteran's Administration hospital?
Have you been to Mass recently? If so, did the Holy Water burn your skin?
* * *
I called up the Alan Colmes radio show last night, which I get on my XM receiver. When I got to talk to Alan, I told him that if I had a chance to ask Scott McClellan one question, it would be that first one I proposed. Alan said that I was very angry .
Very angry? That does not begin to describe how furious I am with this administration and its duplicitous conduct, lies and murders. And Scott McClellan, Ari Fleischer, and Tony Snow are right at the top of my list of people to despise since they enabled it.
The very first documented victim of the war was a taxi driver from Jordan who was working in Bahgdad when the first wave of "Shock and Awe" began. He stopped to use a pay phone outside the Ministry of Justice, and a missile blew him to pieces. Should I be angry about that?
The book Generation Kill tells the tale of an Iraqi family whose car was shot up by Americans on patrol. It tells how an American GI pulled from the car the lifeless body of a three year old girl whose brains had been blown out by American machine gun fire. How the GI handed the tiny body to her father, and how her father wept bitterly. Should I be angry at that?
I think a better question is why aren't you very angry at that, Alan?
When I compared the Bush administration to the Hitler administration, Alan claims that I went too far; there was no comparison. He may have a point. After all, Hitler was a brilliant man. Rather, we should compare Bush to another US president--Ulysses S. Grant. Grant, a drunken sot and pathetic excuse for a man (just like W) had the US cavalry wage unrestricted warfare against the plains Indians because the tribesmen armed with sticks and rocks posed a "threat" to our way of life. Don't remember who Grant was? Well, pull a fifty dollar bill out of your pocket, and look at it. His face is there.
What's that? You don't HAVE fifty dollars? Gee, I wonder why? Maybe that's something else I just shouldn't be angry about.
I do have one more question for the former Press Secretary, though: "Mr. McClellan, why don't you go fuck yourself?"
Sunday, May 25, 2008
We planned it all out together, Troy and I so we would not miss his flight out. Troy is my oldest biological son (as opposed to Junior, who is my oldest son, but is adopted. He started out as a foster kid of ours, along with his four brothers and sisters, but that is a different story for a different post.). He is 18 years old now, and has just finished up his first year at Northern Arizona University where he is majoring in journalism. I started out with a journalism major, too, but switched to beer research as soon as I turned 21, but that is a story for a different post. He spent the first couple of days after school ended couch surfing at our house, but had plans to visit my parents in New Hampshire over the summertime.
My brother got him a summertime job and bought his airplane tickets from his frequent flier account. Thank you brother. Anyway, Troy never told me the real reason he is going to New Hampshire for a summer. Crazy maybe? Wanted to see how his father really lived when he was young? Curiosity? I'll ask him some day.
We got to the airport about an hour early for his flight. TSA says we should arrive two hours early, but this is never necessary at Sky Harbor Even when they murder someone, TSA seems to be able to get flights out of Phoenix on time. One hour is plenty. We checked his bag, and made sure that nothing expensive was left in his checked baggage. There is a reason why some cynics have said that TSA stands for Thieves who Steal Anything. After the check, we went upstairs to hang out on the main concourse before Troy got on his flight. We looked at the airplane hanging from the ceiling. We used the automatic paging machine to page an imaginary character from a book Troy had read. And we chatted about nothing in particular as our final half hour together dwindled away to nothing. At last, it was time for good-bye, and he got in line with the handful of other people waiting to be patted down by the bored thugs at the security line. I went out and got back into the taxi.
On the way out of the airport, a strange feeling of loss came over me. I texted him that I missed him already, and it was true. Even when he left for college last summer, I didn't feel this way. There was that sort of empty feeling in the pit of my stomach, and a sense of certain finality, that at long last this kid's childhood was over, and he was no longer a kid. I get the sense that when he comes back, he will still be my son, but different in a grown up sort of way.
I glanced at the Ford's dashboard, and reality intruded on me. The little yellow "low fuel" light had come on. Unless I got gas quickly, I would end up walking. So, I exited the airport on the east side. The gas stations are a little closer there, and, as anyone can tell from my gut, I am allergic to exercise. The first gas station's price was too high. $3.85 per gallon is a bit steep. Yes, I know that is low compared to other areas of the country, but around here you can still get it for $3.67 if you look hard. The next gas station was a bit cheaper, so I nosed the cab into the station. there were no cars at the pumps, and I quickly noticed why. The station was out of gas completely. As I headed out to a third station, I began to wonder if this were a stupid manager's mistake, or a harbinger of things to come.
Anyone with a lick of sense knows that the real reason gasoline is so high is threefold: Increased demand from developing countries, the "war premium" of higher oil prices caused by the idiocy going on in the Middle East. But primarily the drop in the value of the dollar, again, due to the war and the profligate spending of this administration. I wondered if things would get worse in the Middle East, and if the rocket scientists in DC would need a draft to pull off their world improvement plans.
Let us hope not. But if they do, let it be known that my sons will not be playing along. I will not let my child join the armed forces of the United States government, and will do anything possible to keep the blood soaked hands of George Bush and company off of my son's life.
You see, one of my regular customers is a Viet Nam vet who was exposed to agent orange. After years of denials for treatment, the government is finally giving him the medical care he needs. But his body is a wreck. And getting decent service from the VA is like pulling teeth.
And my closest personal friend in the whole wide world now sleeps with thousands of other victims of government, veterans all, in the Phoenix Memorial Park. While I lived with my best friend Skip, he was plagued by nightmares, and would wake up four times a week screaming. He tried everything, but nothing would make the demons leave.
Then there are the folks I have picked up from time to time at the VA hospital. Men without legs, men without eyes, men without arms, men without minds.
Sorry George. I had a hard enough time seeing my son off into adulthood. I will not tolerate seeing him being dragged into veteranhood. My son is not coming back from a useless foreign war with half a body or half a mind. My son will never experience the thousand yard stare or the terrors of PTSD.
My son will never be a Memorial Day memory.
My brother got him a summertime job and bought his airplane tickets from his frequent flier account. Thank you brother. Anyway, Troy never told me the real reason he is going to New Hampshire for a summer. Crazy maybe? Wanted to see how his father really lived when he was young? Curiosity? I'll ask him some day.
We got to the airport about an hour early for his flight. TSA says we should arrive two hours early, but this is never necessary at Sky Harbor Even when they murder someone, TSA seems to be able to get flights out of Phoenix on time. One hour is plenty. We checked his bag, and made sure that nothing expensive was left in his checked baggage. There is a reason why some cynics have said that TSA stands for Thieves who Steal Anything. After the check, we went upstairs to hang out on the main concourse before Troy got on his flight. We looked at the airplane hanging from the ceiling. We used the automatic paging machine to page an imaginary character from a book Troy had read. And we chatted about nothing in particular as our final half hour together dwindled away to nothing. At last, it was time for good-bye, and he got in line with the handful of other people waiting to be patted down by the bored thugs at the security line. I went out and got back into the taxi.
On the way out of the airport, a strange feeling of loss came over me. I texted him that I missed him already, and it was true. Even when he left for college last summer, I didn't feel this way. There was that sort of empty feeling in the pit of my stomach, and a sense of certain finality, that at long last this kid's childhood was over, and he was no longer a kid. I get the sense that when he comes back, he will still be my son, but different in a grown up sort of way.
I glanced at the Ford's dashboard, and reality intruded on me. The little yellow "low fuel" light had come on. Unless I got gas quickly, I would end up walking. So, I exited the airport on the east side. The gas stations are a little closer there, and, as anyone can tell from my gut, I am allergic to exercise. The first gas station's price was too high. $3.85 per gallon is a bit steep. Yes, I know that is low compared to other areas of the country, but around here you can still get it for $3.67 if you look hard. The next gas station was a bit cheaper, so I nosed the cab into the station. there were no cars at the pumps, and I quickly noticed why. The station was out of gas completely. As I headed out to a third station, I began to wonder if this were a stupid manager's mistake, or a harbinger of things to come.
Anyone with a lick of sense knows that the real reason gasoline is so high is threefold: Increased demand from developing countries, the "war premium" of higher oil prices caused by the idiocy going on in the Middle East. But primarily the drop in the value of the dollar, again, due to the war and the profligate spending of this administration. I wondered if things would get worse in the Middle East, and if the rocket scientists in DC would need a draft to pull off their world improvement plans.
Let us hope not. But if they do, let it be known that my sons will not be playing along. I will not let my child join the armed forces of the United States government, and will do anything possible to keep the blood soaked hands of George Bush and company off of my son's life.
You see, one of my regular customers is a Viet Nam vet who was exposed to agent orange. After years of denials for treatment, the government is finally giving him the medical care he needs. But his body is a wreck. And getting decent service from the VA is like pulling teeth.
And my closest personal friend in the whole wide world now sleeps with thousands of other victims of government, veterans all, in the Phoenix Memorial Park. While I lived with my best friend Skip, he was plagued by nightmares, and would wake up four times a week screaming. He tried everything, but nothing would make the demons leave.
Then there are the folks I have picked up from time to time at the VA hospital. Men without legs, men without eyes, men without arms, men without minds.
Sorry George. I had a hard enough time seeing my son off into adulthood. I will not tolerate seeing him being dragged into veteranhood. My son is not coming back from a useless foreign war with half a body or half a mind. My son will never experience the thousand yard stare or the terrors of PTSD.
My son will never be a Memorial Day memory.
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