Spit it Out, John...

My sense of humor has been sorely stretched by the moronity of the last eight years.

Will the McCain (who repeatedly vowed that he knew the location of Osama bin Laden and could bring him to justice when he became president) make that information available even though he lost the election?

After all, how can he continue to say that he's committed his life for this country and keep a secret like that for himself?

Bah humbug.

***

Return of Blackbeard

India shot up a pirate ship. Way to go, India!

I'm beginning to link pirates with Paulson & Pals Perk and Burning Bush Bull-etins.

Pre-emptive war pretty much spread its parachute over all things piratical. It's not enough to bankrupt a country by a faulty war, there must be added threats. Such as:

The economy's in the tank if taxpayers don't fork over $700,000,000,000 to the crooks who perpetrated the fraud. Okay, so taxpayers fell for this, the perps have the bucks and the economy's still in the tank.

Where's tough love for robbers? As in: Sorry. You can't have it. Your fortune has been recalled. Go away, leave me alone. I'll hire someone else. I owe you nothing, you did a cra*ppy job. If you insist on begging, you'll stand in the corner of your cell til the cows come home.

Fear comes wrapped inside threats. In olden days, messengers were unceremoniously disposed of. Now, piracy appears to be acceptable.

We've come a long way toward protecting the criminal and robbing the blind.

***

Pomposity and Prosperity Plead Poverty

'Big Three CEO's Flew Private Jets to Plead for Public Funds' was the headline on the ABC News page.

The woman who drove her Maserati to the welfare office to collect food stamps is the first image that comes to mind.

Automobile icons, these men each traveled in his private jet to Congressional hearings where they begged taxpayer funding to get them out of debt they created. They claim to be important to the economy. Whew. A triple spin without ice.

It's my understanding that a first-class flight on a regular carrier, while a bit inconvenient for those without the coj*ones to panhandle in style, would have cost each of these tycoons in the neighborhood of $500 as opposed to the $20,000 estimated cost for this trip aboard their ego buckets.

The employees and the country lose. The icons win. I say, 'Let's take the auto companies and turn them over to intelligent single mothers/fathers or retirees who are accustomed to budgeting.' These pompous poo*ps don't deserve private planes or parachutes. Bah humbug.

No wonder we Americans (and much of the global community) have become so disenchanted with the wealthy and those who will do whatever it takes to keep themselves intact, at whatever cost to the general public.

There's no elephant in the room, Virginia, it's full of skunks. No offense to Disney's Flower.

Open Letter to Sarah Palin

Please, stay home and keep your mouth zipped. Quite frankly, if I don't see you again it will be too soon.

You spent your entire veep campaign spouting hate and stirring the cauldron of devisiveness. You spread rumors, lies and nastiness.

Watching you whine, grin, wink and lie was less than a proud moment for this female. When you throw dirt, don't cry when it comes back.

Signed:
An Independent Voter


***

Plum Pie

♠

Once not so long ago an ol' solon, chip off the burning bush, created a case before the dumbling clowns of a biggish country. His aging was sorely evident and became a largish talked about point so the wisher scurried to the frozen north to pull out a plum ~ a hot young chick who talked like a redneck and told lies same-ish as those told by the big house drunk.

In wilding speak, she professed to be for the misses of the world but she missed the mark and in due time, the chips were down and the jig was up.

Femmes murmured, 'She doesn't speak for me. I hate hockey.' 'She doesn't speak for me, I have two kids.' 'She doesn't speak for me ~ I've come too far to lose.' 'Aunt Sally fought too hard for me to vote, to be able to buy land and to kick a crooked man under the bus.' 'If she and the old dude gain the throne, witch burning days'll come again.'

Lo! The femmes saw the light, took back their country and cooked up one fine plum pie.

♠

Don't Count Your Eggs, Part 1

Long long ago, chickens laid eggs in part of the farmer’s barn. Each morning, the farmer’s wife went to the hen part, and moved the birds from their nests in order to swipe their eggs. When she had harvested enough eggs, the family went to the nearest town to sell them to folks who didn’t have chickens.

The family returned home after selling all their eggs and put this nest egg in a holder designed to look like a pig. When this chicken feed filled the pig, the farmer hacked it to pieces and the family used the money to buy cows.

The cows were sent to the barn where the farmer’s wife could find them each morning after she stole the eggs. She milked the cows for all they were worth. The family took the milk to town and sold it along with the eggs. When they came home, they again pigged their coins until there was enough chicken feed to buy a real pig or two.


Part 2

Don't Count Your Eggs, Part 2

This continued for many years and the people were happy and well fed. Then the sages in the big white house, devised a plan whereby the farmer could make more money if he didn’t generate so many chickens, milk and pigs. Soon after that, the farmer signed a piece of paper that promised him more money than he had ever seen just for not producing these farming things.

For a long time, this way of life continued. People were happy and didn’t notice that a lot of people were starving.

And then, a strange thing came to pass. Childless people began to buy eggs removed right from the farmer’s wife who didn’t need them. The farmer didn’t know how many eggs his wife was selling so she quit putting all her chicken feed in the pig pot and began to set some aside from herelf.

In time, there were so many people hatched from uncounted eggs that the wise people who paid the farmer for not having eggs changed their mind and farming once again became a good thing.

Oh, say, I see...

Today is the first of the remaining days of the War With Many Names.

Each day, while looking at the photographs of the children killed, I apologize for the cowboy-in-chief and his posse who are more concerned with their coffers and corruption than the outcome of this grossly mismanaged invasion of a soverign nation.

I apologize to those dead children for a lazy nation fully distracted by steroid abuse, celebrity malfunctions, dog fights, saving wolves and stone throwing.

Each day I watch the legislators in action to see their actual words and at night I watch the news distort what was said.

I watch as the same cowboy and posse aim for Iran, while our borders remain open and our nation fills with cells and hatred.

I've watched the growth of the second recession since the current reign began.

I hope there's time to save what remains of our United States.

Softshoe Mission Accomplished

Once upon a not so long ago, a megalomaniac convinced himself he was king and did softshoe tappings (like the stall hoppin' gop from hidey-ho) on the stage to giggle up the news ferretlesses while waiting for a lateshow pretend-bloomer.

Lo, the ferretless later mused in cutesy fashion about how the tapper jived onstage as if he were the happiest king alive and still knew not that his robes had gone on without him.

One newly homeless shrew shouted, 'Harken, joes. He's a carrier of the double recession gene and monetile dysfunction. Always pulls out early. Today, he was jivin' up his fave tune of Mission Accomplished.'

And, behold, it came to pass that this crooked bumpkin spore did erect his own rapture by looting carts of early green while chucking the regular joes' assets down with the dow.

Played by Words

War on Terror is calculated to inspire fear and trust in our failing government. It's a drummed up hoofbeat to keep the minions under their beds.

Homeland Security sounds like a proper government function until you delve below the hype and see that it, too, is a worthless and calculated phrase. Nice job, bunkie.

We have no intention of staying in Iraq is sharply defied by building an expensive and self-sustaining George's Palace, as the disgruntled Iraqi's named it, as well as several other bases inside that unfortunate country.

They will destroy our peace and prosperity says the dubya in reference to the other party. This is an affront to thinking people everywhere. Peace? What about the war? Prosperity? The number of citizens who live below the poverty level has been steadily increasing since 2000 and is reaching Homeless security.

We've been keeping you safe is an oft-heard phrase issued from that house of white but the truth is that safe has been an accident and not the act of that house.

Cut and run are words intended to indicate turning tail and losing. This phrase is hauntingly familiar and bears close relationship to stay the course. Both phrases rest on the inability to say 'we did it wrong and we're gonna lasso this ghost to the ground, even if it kills us.' Shades of Carroll.

Family values is a phrase that indicates good stuff but turns out to be the line with which a few crooks tie the silent majority to the dirty wheel.

It takes little time to look up these phrases and find out what's being done in our name.

The Case of Disappearing Beer

Long ago, an avuncular figure adopted a stolen country. Sam claimed to care for allbodies' interests in return for full allegiance. Time lapsed and Sam largened with hot air while the regular joes were sucked too small.

Lo, avuncular Sam gained confusion and unsureness and fell into the trap of protecting themselves against themselves like a Robin Hood gone wild. In due time, the uncle epiphanied and morphed to UncleNanny who sought to save the world from itself.

So, in case a joe smoked and a fire occurred in that silly joe's area it looked to UncleNanny that the smoking stick caused the problem. Not the joe, but the smoking stick itself. (see Self Extinguishing Smoking Sticks)

In time, joes who beered were opposed by those who didn't as the great divider took hold in the let's-see-if-this-works land. It came to pass that UncleNanny declared beer would heretofore drink itself.

Then UncleNanny got to trafficking in roads. If a joe ran off a road UncleNanny decreed that the road be up-sized to stop that joe from running off at the mouth of a curve. Moron that later.

And so it was that UncleNanny slew the world by case and conundrum.