Friday, January 30, 2009

Chaos Doesn't Respond to Control

The Power Elite Has No Idea What to Do (Nor Do They Give a Shit) to Control Chaos; Living Under the Illusion They Are Protected From Harm by Their Leisure
The human beings who control us all today--our world "leaders"--are the same ole leaders--some of them are trying to come out in new costumes, but, nope, they're the same ole players who've been shipping all us COMMON fools into the gulags of the Chaotic World since the Industrial Revolution happened back at the end of the 19th Century--their drive was then and is still today to reinstate slavery, to bring it back to life in order to repair all the damages to the world's human superstructure they've done with their cheap-labor schemes--turn slavery into just a natural labor force--being paid by a chance to stay alive as opposed to wages, the bane of the Capitalist profiteer--those who control us and are trying now to control the uncontrollable Chaos caused by their greed--their speculations--their speculations into irreplaceable natural resources for instance--ah what a paradise for the Leisure Class! Those who lived high in the trees in the jungle living now high in the concrete-risen trees of civilization, a civilization whose controls have gone haywire!--those who see unproductiveness as noble! Those who compare themselves to Lords; those who compare themselves to Gods. Our Caesars. Our potentates! Our Venetian doges! Our pharaohs! Our royal family of fops! They are not "leaders" at all, but WE the People, unfortunately, we are followers and do look to these birds as leaders.

Obama's "Come Let Us Reason Together" (Lyndon "Big Balls" Johnson's tagline in the '64 election) approach to being president has backfired big time on him right off the bat--and that's one problem with woman-trained and -prepared Obama (I can empathize with him on this, myself being raised by a triumvirate of Pioneer white women, single-mother women, too, all the men they chose being weak-assed poets, violinists, tennis bums, and race-car drivers, men on the bottle, on the prowl, or on the run) and this backfire came on Obama's very first effort to enforce his executive authority by demanding Congress universally pass his 250-billion-dollar economy jumpstarting bailout boondoggle (his New Deal) the bailout money he promised in his campaign to every man-woman-baby one of us, relief in tax burdens, giving tax rebates, retaxing the rich--he promised to reimpose the taxes on these ungodly rich sons a'bitches that The Bush Baby Fop, ungodly rich himself, passed on to his and his family's biggest nest-egg contributors--tax breaks that helped his father and his brothers and his Mammy Babs's investments (her family was filthy rich before she reeled in old Pappy Bush), and he helped out his half-brother Prince Bandar Bush and the Saudi-Arabian royal family's investments in this country and in the Carlyle Group and the Bush Family Foundation--and oh holy wailing Hell, the Hell of Virgil's Hadean Boat Tour, that included big tax reductions for filthy rich Unka Dick "Shotgun" Cheney--oil and gas rich already from investments in his carpetbagging political connection to the State of Wyoming and as a Halliburton executive, monies of which he kept receiving even while vice-president and helping to hand out billions of We the People's money to Halliburton (once known as Halliburton Well Supply and Service) and its then division, KBR (once known as Kellogg-Root-Brown Offshore Drilling) and other oil-companies-turned military and Department of Defense and Homeland Security contractors--how disgraceful is that that old son of bitch Dick(less) Cheney...but there I go getting sidetracked again.

So Obama's community service approach didn't work on the Leisure Class Repugnican House--no Repugnican crossed the aisle to vote in patriotic unity with Obama on his economy bailout adventure--which, to me, an insult to Obama himself--and he knows that. The Repugnicans are now intent on voting as a bloc, as a solid bloc, against Obama, on purpose, showing this uppity N-worder the White Man is still bossman. They're telling him that even though he is the President of the USA, he's still in their racist eyes nothing but a common N-worder. And some of these creeps faithfully believe Obama, I've recently heard a white New York Citian say this at a party, is out to destroy the White Race--like what if Obama suddenly says white men have to breed with black women or they don't get to breed at all--I jest, of course--but I suppose these fools think Obama's promoting race-mixing, turning the white (for purity) man into a Tanman, tan, the color that symbolizes all racial colors mixed together--total equality--by us all looking alike. These white scoundrels feel that Obama doesn't know his place and doesn't see that no matter who elected him, this is still a White nation under a White God, god-dammit. Fools! They are all fools! Brazen fools! Fools with great leisure on their hands--do you think being a politician is productive labor? Bullshit. It's Leisure Class ruling. They have the leisure time to rule us; we're too god-damn busy producing and consuming and going into debt to them to have time to figure out our destinies on our own, no thanks to any fucking bunch of Leisure Class million/billionaire fools who think because they're so rich and we're so poor they are NOBLE and DIVINE!

The wealthiest bastards in the world aren't giving a shit about the economic fate of the rest of us commoners. Hell no! These bastards, even though they've driven all their companies and our governments into bankruptcy (the nation of Iceland went into bankrupcy this week!), they personally don't give a shit because they haven't lost a damn thing personally, especially their decorum (remember how important decorum is to the Power Elite). How are you gonna hurt Bill Gates with his beaucoup billions of dollars in pocketed profits? You can tax his ass is one way, but hey, approach Bill Gates, say just outside his offshore bank in the Cayman Islands, and tell him you're gonna tax him--SHIT FIRE, soon old Bill and Melinda will be moving to Dubai or, Hell, moving to his own private island--fuck the rest of the poor-ass, dumbass world. Bill Gates recently cockily admitted his plan to retread the world's school systems into Windows Vista customers has failed. His "ridding the world of AIDS" has failed, too. Pfizer Pharma, ironically, has just spent 60 billion dollars buying one of its competitors, Wyeth; a lot of those billions were made off AIDS epidemics. All the while, rather than buying Wyeth, Pfizer could help rid the world of AIDS by giving AIDS drugs free (or even at cost) to areas of the world suffering AIDS epidemics--but no, no, no, no, WELFARE isn't profitable. Charity isn't profitable (except as a tax write off for the rich executives of these fuck-you companies--check out all the billions they put in their nonprofit foundations, for instance--all rich families and big corporations (which are citizens of the US under a Supreme Court ruling handed down back in J.D. Rockefeller's crookeder-than-crooked robbin' days) put their excess profits into nonprofit foundations. Slick Willie and Hillbilly Hill Clinton probably even have foundations--I know P. Diddy has one already--and he's not even forty yet. I think P. Diddy's mother even has her own foundation. Slick Willie, it's now revealed, made millions off foreign investments--and where did he get the millions to invest in foreign interests?--I mean, pretty good for this hillbilly kid from Hope, Arkansas, "a blackest land with the whitest people" place--a good ole segregated Southern time, especially back when the Slick one was cruising through N-worder town and hollering "What's that, baby, you swallow a watermelon?" at pregnant black women! "It ain't your seed!" was the expected reply, then the Yuck, yuck, yucks of the N-word-town cruising privileged white boys. "You ain't a man, Billy Jeff, 'til you've gotten you some of that black pussy, boy!" And these yuckers are under the rule of a black man now. Poor Obama. He listened to his mother who taught him people are basically good--it's the organizations they belong to that are bad.

This morning New York City's billionaire mayor, who I consider a little asshole but who some New Yorkers who know no better love, has told us commoners we're up shit creek without paddles now--but, of course, not him-- as far as his solution to New York City's being in the hole billions of dollars is to punish the citizens of New York City and those who earn their livings here, and NYC going broke happened on his watch, though like most of these rich bastards, he takes no responsibility for any of this city's wasted monies--an independent Repugnican, he calls himself, like his hero, Rudi "Mussolini" Guiliani, who also took no responsibility for his crooked time in office and some of the ruin he left behind--like Rudi has never explained what happened to the millions in his 9/11 Survivors Fund--and Rudi's still tagging around New York State, looking old and humpbackity, trying to show he's still powerful and going to run for governor, especially now that NY State has a black governor and Rudi's proud that he successfully beat out New York City's first black mayor, David "Sweatin' Heavy/Tennis First" Dinkins, when Dinkins was trying to get re-elected--Rudi then reasons, hell, our black (and handicapped) governor should be an easy take down for old Ruthless Rudi, who hates black people with a Brooklyn Italiano-Mafia-growing-up passion)--and, likewise Bloomingidiotburg, our billionaire know-it-all mayor, like Rudi, Mikey hates blacks; hell, Mikey's hate goes further, he hates all poor New York Citians, but especially poor black New Yorkers--Mikey hates all people who make less than $55,000-a-year, or families who make less than $100,000-a-year (and have no illegal immigrant South American nannies), and this privileged little too-rich bastard has given huge tax breaks to these hundreds of foreign-money-backed hotel developers who are building hotels on almost every block of Manhattan; he's handed out huge tax giveaways to corporate investment firms; he's probably squandered the city's pension fund (I'll bet you) by giving it over to Goldman-Sachs or Lehman Bros. to manage--and look at all the hi-rise office buildings going up like weeds from one end of Manhattan Island to the other, ironically some of them being built by some of the companies now claiming they're bankrupt and in need of more and more billions--and these rich assholes, especially Mayor Bloomingidiotburg, have made Manhattan an island more indefensible by the hour by jam-packing in more new buildings and jamming in more millions of people onto this once jungle island into a sardine-can metropolis--vulnerable as hell and, like I said, making Manhattan indefensible to any kind of an attack, terrorist or otherwise.

So what's the mayor's solution for us New York City stupid boobs having gotten ourselves into debt, those of us who have to do productive work for a living? The Solution: He's raising our taxes: property taxes; plus he's instigating a 5-cent tax on plastic bags used in trade, and he's raising even the already-outrageously high city sales tax.

New York Citians already have federal, state, city, and FICA taxes ripped right off the bat out of their earnings--then on our telephone bills, we once again pay Federal, state, and city taxes, fees, and charges--on top of those taxes now the Governor of New York State (he's broke, too) is putting a payroll tax on all productive workers while at the same time he's saying he can't tax the wealthy or they'll leave the state--these bastards taxing us like the buzzards they are, while at the same time jobs are dropping like flies--talk about things leaving the state--and payroll taxes, hell, soon there won't be any payrolls--but the governor will survive in his unproductive and wasteful leisure time employment so we ain't gonna worry about his ass while he's kissing white rightwing ass up in White-rightwing-ass Albany. And this son of a bitch Bloomingidiotburg is gonna rip some more money out of our paychecks, too, don't worry. New York City is losing hundreds of thousands of jobs every day of the week, so that's why I keep growling about what paychecks, you rich fools! You pompous assholes. You have the solution to the problem you created! What bullshit. Throw 'em out of office, I say.

Members of the Leisure Class [the Power Elite] are pissed with this rise in grass roots actions going on during this new Great Depression; in fact, this is a greater depression than the last one (caused by a Repugnican administration led by a millionaire pompous ass Herbert Hoover and his corrupt administration)--commoners to the Power Elite are suckers--they're not supposed to understand the abstract world of corporate crime, which includes political crimes, too.

Check out our past presidents, those of them who have wrecked our economy before--how many of them were really criminals: like Herbert Hoover; like Warren G. Harding, a true fool, though a lovable one, especially with the ladies; or Tricky Dick Nixon; or Mafia-lovin' JFK; or G.W.H. our vomitting buffoon president who is also head of the rich and powerful Bush Family Empire; or how about the voodoo economics of Ronnie "2nd-Fiddle Actor to a Chimpanzee" Reagan; or the biggest crook of them all, Little Boy Bush--come blow your Skull & Bones dick like a real rich-pampered-bisexual Yaley man--John "Ketchup" Kerry's one, too, don't forget! What a fool Kerry is. Like McCain, he's a war nutjob fool.

Note, it took the Illinois Assembly about an hour to impeach their numbskull idiot Governor Rod Blagojevich--yet G.W. Bush, the crookedest, stupidest, and most reckless never-honestly-elected "president" in history, got away with worst crimes than Bobbin' Head Rod because We the People's Congress couldn't find it in their hearts to impeach one of their own--send old nutjob Blago to prison but not a crooked little asshole like G.W. Bush--just imagine, maybe if Congress had impeached Georgie Porgie back when he was lyin' like the dog he is to us and trick-bagging us into two unwinable wars we would not be in this mess we have today--I did say MAYBE. I'll bet you, when Blaggy ran for governor he was praised, championed as a reformer, and said to be a rising star in Illinois politics (HAH), praised even by Obama, probably. Illinois idiots had no idea what a stupid-ass, pompous, vane, nutjob Governor Robbery Rod was. [What a joke Cally-forn-y-yah's governor is, too, don't forget.]

Our leisure-class (Power Elite) assholes got We the People into trouble--and now guess who they expect to bail THEM out of trouble?--WE THE PEOPLE of the USA, that's who--it is we who have to tighten our belts, not them; it is we who have to give up our government services, but not them; we have to endure always money-saving reductions in funds for educating our children but not their children or taking care of ourselves when we're (oh my Gawd) Senior Citizens--while they get only the finest in healthcare--most of them have their own private physicians--on retainers. These rich assholes still have good incomes--with bonuses. These rich assholes aren't losing their many homes and estates to any foreclosures. Their children aren't missing anything in their educations--only the best for them. Princeton University, I was reading t'other day, now costs $45,000-a-year tuition--that to me is unbelievable, but, hey, Princeton's packed if you go over there and walk around campus.

The solution to this bailout bullshit: We the People should confiscate all the corporate holdings and the private holdings of these corporate board members and pooled-wealth investment brokers and bankers, including Warren "Junk Bond" Buffett's ill-gotten, I'm sure, billions--sell the assets off at auction and take the proceeds and give them back to We the People who were screwed out of them by both the rich and the government rich; plus if you insist on bailing these jailable crooks at least loan them the money and make them responsible to We the People to pay it back or we foreclose on their asses--do that at least! We the People should confiscate this wealth and force it back into OUR economy. I'd even confiscate all the auto industry assets--nationalize it until it can reorganize and retool and bring automaking back to this country on a wide scale--bring auto design and invention back to this country--like since we do more damage than any other people to the environment, why shouldn't we be leading in efforts to create alternative fuels and alternative automobiles to use the stuff. It's not the brilliant automotive engineers and designers who've gotten our auto industry into financial ruin--no, it was management (the guys who have no idea how to build a car--the guys who accepted the SUV as a standard mode of family transportation) originally going offshore to assemble their cars--at the same time pressuring Congress to do away with tariffs and export duties and import duties--why, hell, saith the Global Auto Industry, open the borders--we wanna make Camaros in Canada and call them "Made in America" on our commercials--the American fools not remembering that Mexico and Canada are America, too. So, hey, the Mexican slave workers along the US-Mexican border assembly the cars--they can assemble several hundred cars a day--lets see, at $3.00 an hour with no bathroom breaks--12-hour workdays--$36 a day--7 days a week, that's --no vacations--no healthcare--no permanence--no unions--you can probably assembly a hundred cars for a labor cost of maybe $36,000-a-day--then you bring them free into the USA and sell them for an average of $17,000 a car--let's see, 100 cars at $17,000 each--$170,000--most of that on interest-earning credit--or lease agreement, which is like a high-interest loan really--yes, there are other expenses besides labor--but their bitching and whining has to do with what US workers cost them--$75-an-hour! as one auto CEO complained as he was begging for 80 billion dollars to bail him out of his management-caused dilemma--CEO salaries break down to tons more than $75-an-hour--and they don't have to produce anything except year-end assurances to their "shareholders"--most of whom are THEM!

God-damn we are surely DOOMED. Obama's the right man but at the wrong time and doing the wrong kind of thinking--he's trying to mix the backward thinking of the Conservatives with what is supposed to be his progressive thinking into a "Yes, We Can" movement--but you can see now he's getting frustrated--he's beginning to use that Bernie Mac-style of Chicago black humor to crack back at the cracker fools he now realizes he's surrounded himself with! You mean old Larry Summers, that conivving asshole, couldn't convince Repugnicans to vote for Obama's economic bailout since he's one of the Clintonistas who got us in this financial mess in the first place? Repugnicans first of all hate Bill Clinton. For Obama to tie himself to Clinton so closely seems the biggest mistake he made. Rather than listening to the masses of We the People who elected him, he thought he knew how to out fox these crooks, by bringing them into his healing community. What a mistake.

What do I know? I'm just a "god-damn leftwing libertarian," as one critic calls me--an idiot as my Conservative white readers call me; yet, really I'm a live-and-let-live-type dude--a me firster! A cynic. A pessimist. An historical pessimist. A nonconformist deluxe. An Atheist with a capital A. A writer with a flow of unceasing words. A man of words. A machinegun writer whose machinegun is loaded with ammunition belts containing billions of words! Some words that haven't even been invented yet!

[I am listening to one of the greatest ever jazz albums: Rashaan (before he was Rashaan) Roland KIrk's 1965 album called Rip, Rig & Panic with the invincible Jaki Byard on piano, the ultimate piano, Richard Davis on bass, and Elvin Jones on drums. It goes well with the culturally depraved politician haranging!]

First NO in Obama's Promise of Change
I was sad to hear on Amy Goodman's Democracy Now this morning that Obama's first approved military action for his administration under his command as Commander and Chief and under the advise from his warhawk Sec'y of Defense, Robert Gates, Bush the Criminal & Lying Faux President's Sec'y of Defense, was a drone-plane-delivered missile attack in the FATAH region of Pakistan--an area of Pakistan bordering on Afghanistan that our stupid vice-president, Joe "Blunder" Biden, said in his limpwristed reply when asked about this attack at a press conference yesterday that this region of Pakistan is a "No Man's Land," and area so large and ungodly isolated, anyone can attack it since Pakistan has no sovereign control over the area--this after Joe Blunder, the DuPont Senator, said he had been to the region many a time! And I'm going, whoaaaa, Joe Biden's been to the FATAH many times! The FATAH, by the bye, is a leftover territory from the days of the Brits foppish rule over Pakistan when it was a part of the Glorious Empire of Glorious England and the Glorious English Monarchy's effort to make Christians out of all those mixed-up and confused Little's considered a Tribal Territory--Peshawar is its capital--supposed populated mostly by the Taliban and Al Queda--home of Osama Bin Laden and his dialysis machine. So for Obama's first war venture, his missle-firing-drone-aircraft approved by him as Commander in Chief on the advise it was an Al Queda stronghold--so there that drone plane went on its mission, and it loosed its missiles at the said military target, then BOOM, off it went, and then OOPS, it turned what they hit and blasted to a state near smithereens wasn't an Al Queda stronghold at all but rather a civilian neighborhood--of course Obama's not commenting on this self-destructing process of objectionable preempting strikes against sovereign nations (a Commander Bush fabrication)--his continuing illegal wars on nations and peoples who've never attacked the USA--like the nation of war-tired Afghanistan, a nation that has literally never ever lived in peace--millions killed when the Soviet Union tried to take them over and take over their natural resources as their own--Afghanistan being the way oil gets down from Central Asia into Europe. So like Iraq was Bush's folly and foolish war adventure, now Afghanistan, Obama's decided, is going to be his, his downfall--and watch how fast the Repugnicans start impeachment efforts against Obama once he fails really big.

Obama's stand against Palestine in favor of the Israelis (whose Army is totally dependent on the US for its money and equipment--Caterpillar bulldozers being mainstays of the Israeli Army--Caterpillar being a big military contractor in Iraq and Afghanistan, too--Caterpillar, the maker of Big Boys Toys) and now his attacks into the sovereign territory of Pakistan are showing Muslims that Obama is no friend of theirs no matter what words he said before he was elected--being elected the most important thing in his life same as it is with all politicians who are already starting to campaign again--and Obama is still saying he will not negotiate with Hamas, which, don't forget, is the democratically elected government of Palestine--blah, blah, blah--and Obama's keeping such a worthless chicken hawk asshole as Robert Gates as his Sec'y of Defense, and sending Richard Holbrook, another nasty little Clintonista asskisser, over there to negotiate now--SHIT, Obama's insulting the Muslim world, ruining any chances he overwhelmingly had to diplomatically negotiate with them like he did the day he won the election and a hope for real change was in the air all over the world!

So far--some change--some good domestic decisions so far--but NO CHANGE where change is really necessary--in the economic crisis and in this nonsensical and unwinable War on Terrorism.

Yet, I sail along on my own sea. Fuck the sea of politics. That's a hopeless sea. A sea that flows right straight down and into the blackhole of Hell.

for The Daily Growler

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

"The Art of Persistence Is to Be DEAD."

Reasonin' With Alfred North
Usually once a year I pull down my battered paperback copy of good old Alfred North Whitehead's The Function of Reason--mine's a fifth printing 1967 Beacon Press publication. It's one of those books that tag along with me wherever I go and with whom I go with or even if I go alone throughout my constantly shifting life. Some books just seem to always be in the boxes when I unpack them and again pretend to settle down. This is one of those books. I started reading Whitehead back in the days of Bertie Russell's famous-at-the-time autobiography (late 60s). Bertie had been a student of Alfred North's and they had collaborated on the amazing Principia Mathematica, published in 1919--by the bye, I used to have amorous thoughts and efforts toward a Canadian actress whose teevee role on a Canadian TV kiddie show on mathematics was "Mathematica."

Whitehead was a weird dude--his father founded one of the most successful boys schools in Merry Olde England; yet, Alfred attending another competing public school--and though Alfred was considered pampered and protected he excelled in sports as well as academics throughout his schooling--ending as a professor at Trinity College, a position he walked away from in protest against the college firing one of its professors for having an adulterous affair. Ah, Merry Olde England was so full of adulterous affairs--among the Power Elite that is, though the subservient Brit stock was just as scandalous, but the Power Elite enjoyed their love frivolities in terms of their being pure leisurely pleasure--yes, even old Alfred North and Lord Bertie Russell were of the Brit Power Elite in more than just philosophizing--I mean check out Bertie's father, Lord Russell, a man crazed by his lust for women, to the point he contracted the syphilis that eventually muddled his brain and took away his tainted life.

Well, hell, here ya go, read about weird Alfred North Whitehead--his brother was the Anglican Bishop of Madras ("There once was a maid from Madras/Who had a magnificent ass/Not rounded and pink/Like you vulgar folks think/But with long ears, 4 legs, and ate grass")--and he started off an agnostic, then married an Irish-Catholic woman who forced him to dabble in Catholicism, and from there he went on to, he says, empirically digesting his thoughts into a God of his own creation, a God based on the Platonistic idea of their being no separation of body and soul--in other words, God is us--or God is within us--therefore God is our invention. This caused a separation between him and Bertrand Russell, a Power Elite Atheist, who thought Whitehead's idea was ridiculous and silly. These two like minds never again had anything to do with each other. Alfred North spent the last years of his life (he died in 1947 at 86) in Cambridge, Mass., first lecturing at Harvard (he also lectured at Princeton in 1929, the lecture from which The Function of Reason was taken), then retiring still living in Cambridge, holding forth a salon once a week that was open to and attended by Harvard students--sessions where Whitehead would spiel away his thoughts his reasonings. I'm just fascinated by his reasoning wherever it leads me. Sorry, here read all about the man:

From Wikipedia (who knows how correct it is; Wev)

Anyway, like I started off saying, I read this little book once a year--just suddenly seeing it there dusty on one of my shelves and then picking it up and blowing the dust off of it and opening it up and then catching myself reading it again. It opens with a short preface that tells you, "Reason is the self-discipline of the originative element in history. Apart from the operations of Reason, this element is anarchic." Uncontrolled reason. You dig what he's saying. That's what I find fascinating about mathematical minds--and damn, I wonder what happened to "Mathematica" in Canada--I'll have to Google her and see--she's much older and less cuter now I'm sure--back to my fascination with mathematical minds: I find them stimulating, like I said, wherever they lead me, like Whitehead's reasoning taking in all forms of reasoning from the theological to the evolutionary--I'm pretty secure in my disbeliefs--I am a solid Atheist--that's where my functioning reasoning has led me and kept me--ironically Whitehead's reasoning even on God keeps me faithfully disbelieving. In fact, if anyone read yesterday's post, you'll know I posted the Infidel argument that Jesus Christ ("Joe the Blessed" in Greek, the language of the Christian Holy Bible, which is actually just the so-called New Testament, the Old Testament being the Torah) and his invented life is totally fraudulent and nutjobby--and then thedailygrowlerhousepianist sent me the pages--he's currently studying early Christianity and the origins of the Gospels, including the Gnostic Gospels--afterall, my man is a church music director--I'm impressed, aren't you? Like his fav American Idol, Charles Ives, my man is in the orgelloft wailing away with his anthems and doxologies--hell, he told me he's writing his own hymns now--Praise de Lawd and pass me a couple of those hot biscuits and that pork-drippings-gravy boat over here, if you would please!!!

Whitehead's premise in the first chapter of The Function of Reason declares that the function of reason is "the art of life." Whooo-boy, you see, I like that big broad statement--empirically that covers a lot of ground between when we human-monkeys evolved into being able to define ourselves and further define ourselves by turning our thinking into words and those words into language. I've been experimenting lately--and I'm even thinking of making a video of this--with using only my hands to talk. I know, sign language, blah, blah, blah, but, no, I don't mean sign language where the hands actually spell out words, I mean the hands actually talking and making sense--and no I don't mean the use of hands while actually speaking a language. NO, I mean just talking using only the hands and turning what they're saying into understandable phrase-like gestures. Like how would you teach a student physics using only your hands? I think it would be possible using only the hands and the physical objects used to do physical experiments--like teaching Einstein's E=MC-squared using only your hands--I suppose eventually I would have to incorporate a piece of chalk into my hands and then I could let my hands draw physical examples on a blackboard, though I couldn't use like the actual E=MC-squared on the board but a pictorial representation of it. But that's leaping over the paradigms of my original experiment--you see I'm beginning to reason about this--participating in the art of life--and I might amend Whitehead's "art of life" to "art of human life." Humans do reason using human calculations--like Americans reason in American English, even if you're foreign born and come here speaking only Sanskrit or Taureg, it don't matter, you soon have to reason in American English if you want to function at full reason over here--however, using the hands as your tongue overcomes that--hand phrases in hand language are compatible with whatever language your tongue speaks and your originality was formed in--or how elementary your American English is. Speak with your hands. Native Americans are experts at it. They had no written language for years--until white missionaries and Indian Bureau white guys started putting several of their tongues into a written language, but Native American languages evolved off their hand languages. I mean look how the Native American handsign for "I come in Peace" has been adopted--like raising your open-palmed hands in surrender when a hardboiled New York City cop is about to blow your brains out--"Whoaaa" you say with your hands, "Dude, look, I ain't got no weapon." Peace, brother. And check out how our young people use hand language, like their use of the old WWII V-for-Victory peace sign, which actually means Victory in War and not peace at all--or watch how they're using the old forefinger-and-little-finger up in the air alone--at the University of Texas that's the sign for "Hook 'em Horns"--the Texas mascot is the Longhorn steer whose big horns are symbolized by that hand phrase--but even NYC young people use the "hook 'em horns" symbol to mean "we got it under control"--or watch a hip-hop rapper use his hands--to push the words not at you for understanding but like hurling words as attention-getting rocks or self-advertisements at you.

You see how a dude like Whitehead starts the waters of your brain to boiling with reason?--and there was no confusion in his mind, even in dealing with something like Cardinal Newman's strange brand of Catholicism--Cardinal Newman an American by the way--or his dealing with Darwin's theory of evolution--the origin of the species and the evolutionist theory of "the survival of the fittest" that has evolved out of Darwinism. Whitehead counters with "The fallacy [of "the survival of the fittest" phrase] is the belief that fitness for survival is identical with the best exemplification of the Art of Life. In fact life itself is comparatively deficient in survival value. The art of persistence is to be dead."

Aha, so God becomes a qualifier in the art of life.

As Doodles Weaver once sang with Spike Jones's band, in their version of "The Man on the Flying Trapeze, "Holy Smoke, the Church Burned Down!" I like burning down churches with reason--or as Bob Marley sang, "I feel like bombin' a church."

Speaking of bombing churches, from thedailygrowlerhousepianist(&churchorganist) comes the JesusPuzzle: Praise ye the phony Lawd!!!

I could see that as, too. But there I go reasoning again. I had an Economics professor in college who the first day of class wrote his name on the blackboard, turned around, faced us, and then shot us the finger--I mean a big solid up-yours finger, at which time he said, "This is the universal language--this right here, anywhere in the world you go, shoot this at them and they know exactly what you mean." He was a University of Chicago economist, too, and though I didn't go to Rockefeller's University in Chicago, I sure had a lot of University of Chicago professors in my college career--I was for a while an Urban Sociology student of Dr. Byron Munson (a protege of U of Chitown's famous Dr. Philip Hauser), and you can't study Urban Sociology without reading University of Chicago sociologists like E.W. Burgess whose 1925 "Concentric Circle" theory of Urban Planning was the cat's meow in that field for many years--a Chicago idea (I suppose you could argue with me on this): the Concentric Circle theory (Burgess was a Sociologist so his theory had to do with society and classes first of all)--as opposed to the Grid System of Urban environ--as per New York City. So check out Chicago next time you're looking at a map of that truly American city--you'll see starting at the Loop it spreading out in circles upward toward Milwaukee and south toward Indiana, east toward the Mississippi River and west, well, that's Lake Michigan, a true sociological boundary that looks like the ocean when you fly out of say Midway headed toward New York City and you fly out over its wavering width! Frank Lloyd Wright, a Chicagoan, used the Concentric Circle theory in planning his planned city he called Broadmoor.

Everything used to go in circles. Though nowadays, in this world of electronic linearism, most of our circular way of thinking has been reduced to parallel-line thinking.
The Burgess concentric model was among the first attempts to investigate spatial patterns at the urban level (1925). Although the purpose of the model was to analyze social classes, it recognized that transportation and mobility were important factors behind the spatial organization of urban areas. The formal land use representation of this model is derived from commuting distance from the CBD, creating concentric circles. Each circle represents a specific socioeconomic urban landscape. This model is conceptually a direct adaptation of the Von Thunen's model to urban land use since it deals with a concentric representation.

Shoot shoot the bird to the world, and remember, the Conservatives are like Christians, they are never wrong--no matter how backwards their laissez faire reasoning.

for The Daily Growler

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Back Into the Jungle

BULLETIN: John Updike just died of lung cancer--76 years old!

We All Started in the Jungle

I'm waiting for 8:30 am when I can call my bank and find out my latest balance. I went to the bank yesterday and deposited some checks and I ask the teller, a young, stupid, and obviously confused young lady--she looked like a recent high school graduate, and, yes, she was chewing gum--chew gum, act dumb--I used to chew gum, Big Red, but that was when I was in the jungle of love back after my second divorce and I was trolling the bar scenic waters looking for my next female associate for evening or life--but I quit chewing gum in the late nineties--though I have nothing against chewing gum--given to us by one of my heroes, the Mexican bad-ass, Antonio Lopez de Santa Ana--coming to New York City from his mountaintop home to which he'd been exiled by his own government and living on Staten Island and selling his chicle (from the jungles of Mexico) idea as gum you can chew--and it is a gum--dad-gummit--selling the idea to American investors--but I've already told this story yeah several posts ago--and we are coming upon our third year of production--holy Zebra Lord, The Daily Growler is going on three, a good age, an age that upon reaching one should be pretty sure of themselves. Begin, perhaps, thinking of themselves as prophets. We live for the advice of prophets, people we think can see the future. Or people who can talk to "those in the great beyond." "When am I going to die?" is the big "preponderous" (a Casey Casem neogasm) question, as old grizzled Freud said, we all have to deal with, perhaps best in a subconscious way--forgetting it and getting on with life by repressing it, you dig?--but all the time we're living we're having to deal with the fact WE ALL ARE GOING TO DIE one way or another. Speaking of the Jungle, in Chicago, Illinois, where Obama did all his glorified community service, 1.5 people are shot to death every day of the year! In New York City, every morning on the news we get a huge splattered wall of bloody deaths, of death-on-the-highway news, of death by fire news, of death by being shot by a drunk off-duty cop news, of death via a hit-and-run drunk driver news, of death by a cab jumping the curb and running over pedestrians news, of death from Israeli missiles being fired into UN sanctuaries in Palestine news, of death from 50 stab wounds by some revengeful ex-boyfriend or husband news, of the death of children drowned by their mothers news, of death from leaping from our highest structures news, of death coming via a heart attack during a high school football practice on a hot summer day news, of death via white guys putting a chain around your black neck and then tying the chain to the back of a pickup truck and then the good ole boys get in the pick up and then Wahooo-ing it up they drag your ass to death, though first decapitating you by the cutting fierceness of that experience news, of death coming from an ex-Iraqi serviceman shooting his pregnant wife in the head and then doing the same to himself news. And then there's the deaths we never hear about much at all--like that tsunami that killed 250,000 or more people--what happened after that. Or how many people really drowned or where shot by white vigilantes after Katrina and Rita hit and ruined old New Orleans? You can freeze to death in this weather and just be a mention in a small corner of the local news--or maybe not mentioned at all. Think of the millions of people who die everyday totally unknown. Like that explosion in Mumbai, India, left human bodies blown to total bits--no way of knowing the IDs of any of those dissolved human beings. Or you can lose your ass in the financial world and wish you were dead and get so depressed over it you'll finally slit your wrists or jump out the window. When death is the only way out, only then is death appreciated. As Dylan Thomas said after they took him from the White Horse Tavern over to Saint Vincent's Hospital and were trying to bring him back to life--he told them that he prayed that death would take him--only that would give him peace--the death wish wins in the end.

And nowadays the fear of death is overwhelming us. You can tell it's on the mind of Barack Obama--he's surrounded himself with tons of cops and Secret Service and specially built ironclad Caddie limos and hundreds of black SUVs with flashing lights and squealing Nazi-type sirens. Why? Because now that he's at the controls of one of the most Power Elite powerpacks in the world, he's scared of dying, man. Dying. No man or woman wants to die--even suicides want to be rescued, as Sylvia Plath said in her poems, and which in all of her suicide attempts she left time for someone to rescue her, and she was always rescued until that last cold day in a dreary London suburb in that tacky drab unpoetic apartment when she stuck her head in the oven and nobody came to rescue her. Death won--she had challenged it, privileged little genius that she was, and Death beat her.

When my brother was facing death, I asked him one day after he was diagnosed with a rare eye cancer if he was afraid of dying and he looked me coldly in the eye--my brother was part wolf, too--and he said, "No, I look upon dying as a literary experience...oh that I could be writing when I die"--and, folks, he was, finishing two extra editions of his Sunday newspaper column and sending them by messenger to the paper, and then, laying back and dying. Not without a struggle, though, his wife told me later when she was telling me about his final hour. No, no, my brother who was not afraid of death did not die without a struggle. And that was the clue. My brother the invincible repressing death as a literary experience--didn't want to die--he struggled not to die, even though his death wish eventually caught up to him after he had beaten the eye cancer--only to be hit with brain cancer--and that was the way the Grim Reaper leapt out of the pages of his final diary and got him. And my brother was buried with a lot of pomp and circumstance in a place so distant and lonely that long after his family have disappeared from this coil, he and his place of rest will be incorporated back into the legends of that area he loved as his own world and only the books he wrote while he was alive will keep him living on and on into the immortal ethereal.

Right after my brother's death, I kept track of his books and his life on the Internet--the books were thick all over eBay and when you Googled him the first links you got to come up were bookseller.coms, like Amazon, offering his books. It's now 7 years since he died one peppy April Texas day, and now I Google him and there's not much left of him online--once 30 pages, now maybe 12--oh he still gets pages but his nemesis has taken his place under his name--you see, there's another dude with my brother's same name but for one letter, a famous basketball player, and I know it used to piss my brother off when people asked him if he were the basketball player or like one time he was invited to speak at a sports banquet and since he'd been a sports reporter and carried AP press credentials as a sportswriter he figured it was on the up and up. When he got to the venue and presented himself for the ceremony, the venue coordinator said, "You're not the basketball player, who the hell are you?" My brother sued them for his fee and WON.

My brother was a winner at obtaining money out of the blue (he got that from our father who constantly advised us to spend it now and not worry when it's gone because it was a family traditon that when you're down and seemingly totally out, some more will unexpectedly come our way--from out of nowhere--"That's the way it is with Wolves and money"). At my brother's height in terms of personal wealth, he managed to net worth himself up to around 3 million dollars--originally 6 million but he had to give his lawyers half of that--and we're talking back in the 70s before the age of billionaires and outrageously monied men like Bill Gates and Warren "Junk Bonds" Buffett. In the 70s, having 3 million dollars in investments got you a place pretty high up on the catbird's seat--why, Lyndon "Big Balls" Johnson at the time was only worth 7 million. But, one thing about us Wolf Men, money to us is not wealth--wealth is owning land and capital and having cash enough to speculate on the stock market--speculation is what drives the stock market up by the way in case you were wondering. My brother's money was eventually sucked away--first via land investments with much richer men, men so rich losing didn't hurt them much; second buying gas wells in Utah; third joining an investment club--minimum entry fee $300,000--rich men with money to burn scheming on how to bank more and more worthless paper money through stock-market speculation--paper fortunes--my ex-wife who worked exclusively for very rich men her whole life used to call them Paper Cowboys--and my brother a minor leaguer in money terms tried to play in the big leagues with these ruthless bastards and though their speculations didn't wipe him out, they reduced his worth in terms of net worth considerably. Caused him to have to sell his prize mansion and move into a smaller but still large, rambling slinky kind of Old Mexico-type casa that I loved, but he soon found it was sinking into the ground and needed thousands of dollars worth of foundation work--so my brother sold that house and had to poor-ass down to a nice big house with a swimming pool but in a middle-class neighborhood--degrading after he had once lived a street away from the Ross Perot gated mansion fortress and nextdoor to country singer Charlie Pride. He did manage to hang onto to his Lincoln Continental during that shift in neighborhoods, the one with the Cartier-signed back crystal windows--and he managed to still gain fame and a little fortune as a writer and teevee commentator and as a teacher, still rich, but not in the multimillionaire class anymore--and then, the final blow came when his cardiologist told him one fine spring day down in Texas that his treadmill work showed he had a heart problem. Not only did he have a heart problem, the doc said, but he had contracted a virus that had settled in his heart and was literally turning his heart to dust! How would you like to be told that! His only hope, the doc told him, was a heart transplant! Heart transplants are not cheap. Estimated cost for my brother getting a new "dead person's" still-ticking heart: 2 million bucks. And my brother wasn't afraid to die. The hell he wasn't. He shelled out 2 million bucks and got a new heart, a woman's heart he found out later, and that 2 million bucks got him 16 years more life--the longest-surviving heart-transplant patient in his transplant group--and the cost of keeping himself alive even with his new heart? Preponderous! Fucking preponderous. The drug that kept his body from rejecting his new heart and the 20 and thirty pills he had to take daily--stayin' alive was costing him thousands of dollars a week & month. I remember him telling me one time while we were walking around a Dallas mall--he had to walk 5 miles a morning as part of his life-saving regimen--that he had asked his doctor since he had the heart of a 30 year old would he live to be a hundred. The doctor told him, "Your heart may live to be 100 but I don't think you will." Even in extended life, we're still doomed to DIE. Dying is a part of the jungle cycle of life. You are born in the trees--then you die in the trees and fall to the jungle floor to be thrown into the rotting process that gives life to the jungle floor. The sun gives life to cover of trees; darkness prevails below--life down there based on rotting corpses--thus the legend of the Underworld! Heaven is above the forest canopy.

My point: you can't avoid death. No matter how "civilized" we think we are making the jungle-- in the jungle is eternal life--the continuing cycles of life--but as we humans more and more separate ourselves from the jungle we are destroying our only real chance at immortality--that that is hidden within the Jungle--the Jungle is Nature--and human beings feel Nature is their enemy and not their mother and they hurl malevolent intent at it, threatening to pave the whole world over, brick it over, concretize it. Civilization is based on concrete--even though it has evolved out of an abstract.

I've been delightfully broke for the past seven days. I mean literally BROKE, folks. There was nine dollars left in my bank account--I went to the bank yesterday and deposited some money but when I asked how much cash I could take out, the teller, gum chewing away, told me $9. "Nine dollars!" I hollered, "That's fucking preponderous!" like Casey Casem having to come out of an uptempo tune to suddenly have to talk about the death of a god-damn puppy named Snuggles! And that's what life is--it's like coming out of a swinging, long-playing, uptempo tune and then having to face announcing your own death.

Today, I hope (I know, Admiral Stockdale said there's no such thing), a California sales negotiation pays off--I've sold one of my historical treasures to one of the big players in the historical treasure game--instant money is being transferred into my account as I type on this at 7:25 in the am, the reason I'm waiting for 8:30 when I can call my bank and see if the money is in my account or not. Knowing my bank, they'll come up with a bank rule that won't let me use the money until.... Bastards! I hate banks. It's in my family genes to hate banks and bankers. If they won't let me dig into my big bucks yet, I'll be broke another day. Wev. Being broke makes me strong. I can defy the world when I'm broke. When I've got money I'm looking for pleasures to spend it on. Like am I going to buy an HD-digital-capable teevee or fuck teevee and retreat into my own cinematic world of my own analog creations.

And what did I find out about this teevee signal changing bullshit! I knew it was a fraud. Yes, folks, the real reason we are having to switch from analog signal teevee to digital signal teevee (all those microwave and electromagnetic signal towers on the roofs of all our buildings here in New York City)--and this is amazing--I finally found this out from a PBS executive--the reason we are having to switch to digital teevee IS BECAUSE when Repugnican-Neo-Con stooge Kevin Martin, a pal of G.W. Junior-Bubba Bush-Ladin, replaced Colon's Pal's worthless son, Michael, as head of the Federal Communications Commission (whose original job was to configure radio station signals around the country--check the transmitters, you know), one of the shenanigans he got away with without We the People knowing it was he sold the majority of our analog signals to private corporations and the remaining to police departments for 20 BILLION dollars! I have never heard this mentioned in all the tons of infomercials all channels are desperately airing trying to convince We the People that we have to convert, buy a new teevee, buy into CABLE and Satellite teevee (thus doing away with free teevee)--turning it all into COMMERCIAL teevee that WE have to PAY for--or we will not get a teevee signal any more. But these silly bastards are suddenly finding problems in this transition and word is up that they are going to extend doing away with the analog signal until June. The lie now is that 85% of the American numbskulls are already digital capable--from buying new expensive wide-screen teevees--I've seen them up to 56 inches and know there are some $10,000 jobs that offer more inches than that--but 15% of Americans haven't rushed out and bought a digital-signal-receiving set or converter box yet with the industry saying these are mostly over-the-hill, stupid, senior citizens--old fogies--fuck them, let them listen to the voices in their heads.

What's so great about digital? Its the way the pixels are distributed across the screen by the signal. Analog screens pick up the pixels in lines running from the top of the screen down to the bottom of the screen--why analog pictures get wavy or lines start running up and down the screens. Digital screens come on bam with their pixels all set in place. With digital teevee, we superAmerican males, we sporting males, will be able to look up the butt cracks of the short-skirt women tennis players--or hell, sports fans, men will be watching figure skating so they can get a digital close-up of some teenage bimbo's upskirt-revealed panties and butt cracks and hopefully cameltoes. I speak for men. What women watch on teevee is just as disgusting--like Oprah. In digital you'll be able to see the huge gobs of sweat pouring out of Okra's bubbling body, especially those beads of perspiration oozing out of her droopy jowl neck.

And speaking of Okra, do you know how many fraudulent books Oprah's Book Club has promoted? Recently it was the Jewish dude who claimed he was in Buchenwald and this German babe used to throw him food and shit over the Buchenwald fence--and he used to kiss her through the fence--yeah sure! Turns out the son of a bitch wasn't even in Buchenwald; secondly, it would have been impossible for a German woman to get that close to the fences at Buchenwald! She'd a been shot by a tower guard. Turns out, too, this couple didn't know each other until they met in Brooklyn! Brooklyn, New York. A hoax! And Oprah's a hoax.

Oprah Winfrey just said she could handle the Sec'y of State job but she didn't want it. Ah, come on, Okra, share your blessings with us. Fat Cow. That's what Okra is now. My disrespect runs deep.

I am broke. Being broke is wonderful. First of all, how do you survive in New York City being broke? It's done everyday. Donald Trump, for instance, I guarantee you is currently broke. He's bankrupting his Atlantic City casinos again--he bankrupts them every ten years or so to renegotiate his loans and shit with his moneybagger backers. Trump recently sold one of his casinos to that Margaritaville no-talent idiot. By the bye, all the casinos in Atlantic City are tanking--firing left and right. 80,000 jobs were lost in New York City a couple'a days ago. CitiGroup is going bonkers. Bank of America is living off borrowed time and stolen money. Did you see what one group of Wall Street crooks did with their bailout boondoggle money? They bought a new corporate jet!

Hey, and my old pal, Pfizer, already the world's largest pharmaceutical (chemistry) company, is paying 60 billion dollars for Wyeth Pharmaceuticals! Wait a fucking minute! Where's Pfizer getting 60 billion dollars to buy Wyeth? Why aren't we investigating that? This is all paper bullshit, you understand. Pharmaceuticals, by the way, get tons of tax relief and government subsidies--and since the cost of manufacturing these custom-made drugs is cheap as hell, pennies on the dollar, these pharmas make tons and tons of profits--but drug patents only last 7 years then a drug goes generic unless the pharma has its biochemists tweak the old patented drug's mechanism of action (what makes the drug "work"), say these biochemists add a new chemical element to the chemical formula of the drug, thus the drug company can renew its patent for another 7 years based on a "NEW" formula, you see--and both Pfizer and Wyeth are losing the patents this year to some of their bestseller drugs--for Pfizer it's Lipitor and Viagra that wave the success flags, both of which patents may be running out this year--I'm trying to remember; I worked for a Pfizer ad agency just as Viagra and Lipitor came on line and it seems like that was surely over 7 years ago.

These are DRUGS we're talking about, just like cocaine and marijuana are drugs. Lipitor and Viagra are DRUGS--illegal, too, without a prescription--DEADLY, too, if you don't follow the Prescribing Information (we called 'em P-Eye's in the biz--they come in the bottles of all drugs or that druggists have in their computers and are required to give you a copy along with warnings about the bad effects of the drug) or your doctor prescribes the wrong dosage, you're dead as a doorknob--it's called OD-ing at street level--it happens to 300,000 people a year in the USA--don't believe it! OK, believe what you will.

The US Government, by the way, grows the best marijuana in the world--down in Mississippi of all places--that's where medical marijuana is supposed to come from--pharmas also make what's called Maninol out of marijuana. Also, the reason the poppy industry in Afghanistan is so successful and profitable is because pharmaceuticals buy the juice of the poppy--poppy juice becomes heroin in its powder stage and becomes morphine in its liquid stage, the painkiller of choice in most hospital pharmacies; the high-powered painkillers needed to stun the horrible pains inflicted upon our physical beings by butcher surgeons or ignorant overprescribing health-care providers--drugs especially needed to quell pain in the cancer industry, a multibillion dollar industry in this country. Do you really think the medical industry wants to find a cure for cancer! Hell no. Without cancer, how would doctors keep living the good Power Elite lives they are so traditionally used to and they so traditionally expect. Cancer butchers are sawbones who used to work out of their true professional places of business, their barbershops. They were the dentists, too. Can you imagine having to go to the dentist back in the days before some biochemist invented cocaine--which the dentists used to stuff up people's noses and put it in their ears and shit before they took their chrome-plated pliers and began EXTRACTING those rotten teeth! Novocaine, by the way, is a cocaine derivative.

So these crooked assholes in Washington, District of Corruption, sold We the People's analog signal system to private corporations--for their televised sales meetings and proposal sessions--very important for corporations to own their own broadcasting and broadband channels. You see an analog signal goes way farther than a digital signal.

The reason a small percentage of the analog signal system was sold to police departments is because, as it was explained by this PBS exec, their communication devices are so out-of-date they need analog broadbands for their communication channels.

My question is, what happened to that 20 billion dollars? Where'd it go? Did G.W. Bush buy his new Dallas mansion with it? Probably not. G.W. stole 40 trillion from us right off the bat--remember how 40 trillion just disappeared out of the so-called budget surplus Slick Willie left us; plus the Bush Family Empire made millions selling stolen Iraqi oil--how many barrels went missing during Bush Baby's reign? So he didn't need to steal a lousy 20 billion from us--so where did it go? Unka Dick's worth more than 20 billion through his Halliburton connection--yes, folks, to the Power Elite, 20 billion is chicken feed in today's trillion-dollar crooked ass world.

The Power Elite will never allow We the People access to our own wealth. Money is not WEALTH. Money is a way of exchange. Paper money is only as valuable as the paper and ink and design costs and security tab costs it is printed on and printed with. The machines that print our tons and tons of daily printed paper money are more valuable in terms of wealth than the money they produce. The stock market is supposed to reflect the true worth of a company. That is now bullshit and always has been bullshit since stock markets were invented back in ancient times.

In actuality, the United States is never BROKE. Why, you ask? Because of the assets We the People own. As one thinker several years ago said, "We could sell Alaska and pass out the take and every American would suddenly be rich." Also look at all the land We the People own. And we're supposed to own the airwaves. We're supposed to own the beaches. We're supposed to own all the thousands and thousands of government buildings and the highway system--I mean, all of that is capital wealth--land, air, water--the sources of the natural economy.

How disgusting is it watching Larry Summers, that shady, lyin', crooked asshole, explaining Obama's bailout plan--no different really than the Repugnicans's bailout giveaways--all this ballyhooing from the economist dumbass who was the cause of deregulation under Slick Willie Clinton. All these dudes in the Obama camp are tied to Slick Willie. I think Obama's tied to Slick Willie's apron strings--too bad, that's his Achilles Heel: his connection to the Clintons and the traditional old-line-legal-reserve backwards thinking Dumbocratic Party machine--and that Achilles Heel may surely bring him down.

Check back in our history. We assassinate presidents! Who assassinates our presidents? Why it's always some kook--they used to be called Anarchists--now they're probably called terrorists. We assassinate potential presidents, too. We assassinate anybody who stands up and contends with the laissez faire--and that's the economics we play in this country--what the Repugnicans stand for--the politics of leisure--the leisure class running our country! If you watched that inauguration closely you could see it in plain view--how leisurely these privileged bastards go about their lives--they hate WORK! They hate WORKERS. They hate the WORKING CLASS. They truly look down their stuck-in-the-air noses at We the People. We vote to give them people power and they ignore that vote and go on with their leisurely lives. Even Obama does this. Even Michelle Obama does it. It comes with the power.

I was with my brother the day he got his first check after winning a big lawsuit against one of the largest Texas newspapers at the time. This paper was being taken over by the Los Angeles Times--back in the days when the Chandler Family ran the paper--the largest deal in communications history--95 million dollars--and the deal couldn't go through because of my brother's lawsuit. They settled with my brother. He got 10,000 shares of LA Times stock--it made my brother, unfortunately for a short time, a 10th owner of the LA Times. And I was with him the day he got his first check from the Times--for $25,000--and as he showed me the check I could tell his attitude had suddenly changed--I could feel the confidence in his voice as he was realizing how he was now a player in the world of the Power Elite--he was in the big leagues--with the horsey set--he could now send his kids to the best private schools and later all the way to Harvard, which he did eventually through his daughter--and I must say, I find that daughter, my niece, one of the most brilliant women I know--I mean she's so easy to get along with she's like ME! Just like ME! That day, I saw a surge of power suddenly realizable by my brother. And he said, "Come on, Wolfie, let's go downtown. I'll show you what being rich means." And we went into Austin and he went in the finest stores and after being offered cheap items--I guess my brother didn't look rich--I wouldn't know, he still just looked like my brother to me--and as they trotted out the cheap stuff, my brother turned on 'em and said, "Is that cheap shit all you have?" "Well, er-ah, we have more expensive...." "That's what I want, you're MOST expensive." What a day. I'll never forget how my brother changed that day. How his confidence built until he was puffed up and mighty and mean and don't mess with him 'cause now he had the pot of gold at the end of his rainbow.

Even I experienced that powerful feeling that day--you know, here was my brother playing big time in the world of the Leisure Class. My brother thought he was certainly King of the Hill that day--King of the Austin Hills for sure.

Later, one of my brother's books was optioned by Columbia Pictures--and not only did that make him richer, but it made him think of himself as a Hollywood player! One day he called me and said, "Pack your bags and get a ticket to LAX, you're joining me in Hollywood!"

That was my introduction to Hollywood. I knew L.A. enough to know I hated it, but I'd never really been into Hollywood. Remember, the last movie I went to was Lawrence of Arabia back when I first came to New York City--I saw it at the Rialto, too--so I wasn't ready for Hollywood.

Two things impressed me on that trip. First of all, because I looked like a Woodstock Generation Wavy-Gravy-looking hippy in those days, my brother sent me over to a Columbia set barbershop to get me spiffied up Hollywood style. The barber (stylist, I'm sorry) was a Jay Sebring student--Jay was killed with Sharon Tate by the Manson Family--Charlie's still with us, by the way--living well in a California prison--and this Sebring stylist had his Mexican girl wash my filthy locks, then he put me up in curlers and after about a day and a half under a dryer, he unveiled my new look, blew it out, and picked it high with his pick, and he whipped off the protective apron and wheeled the chair around so I could see myself in the mirror--and son of a bitch, I looked like a movie star. I said, "Son of a bitch, dude, you made me look like a movie star." "That's my job, pal, that's my job." He charged my brother $75--so Columbia Pictures bought me a haircut (sorry, a style).

Then later, this Columbia assistant director, a friend of my brother's, gave me some chits to use at the famous Polo Lounge in the Beverly Hills Hotel. Hot damn, the keiko-muckity-muck joint to be in those days. And I'm sittin' in the Polo Lounge drinking a Brandy Alexander--the bartender telling me all the while how he hated making Brandy Alexanders--in that case, I told him, make me a whole pitcher of them--here's some chits from Columbia Pictures. "Wow, you've got connections at Columbia. I have this screenplay I've been working on, I mean it's cooly contemporary...." Power was in my corner for that moment.

And then the second thing on that trip that impressed me happened. A big dude was standing down the bar from me--wearing a big Stetson and a Western-style business suit--though I was close enough to watch his actions and to hear him tell the bartender to call for his car and then watch as the dude threw a $1000 bill on the bar to pay his tab. I had never in my life seen a $1000 bill--and the bartender showed it to me--even let me touch it--this was before I got into coin and paper money collecting and appraisal biz--since then I've seen a $100,000 bill. Have any of you ever seen a $1000 bill?
And then, you know what happened--I looked up and a Corvette was driven right up a brick driveway that semicircles right into the bar itself--this bar having an air-wall--very common in Las Vegas I remember--as its outside wall--just a blast of air acting like a protection against the outside sunshine and beautiful weather--and this fucking Corvette was this dude's car and after he left, I asked the bartender-scriptwriter who the hell he was. "Some Texas real estate dude," he said. "It's the first time I've ever served him though I've seen him around the hotel a lot."

Hollywood! If I could, and I did. My brother's power in Hollywood was limited, though one of his best friends in life was a very successful Hollywood producer and director--and his other best friend in L.A. was bandleader Artie Shaw, though on that trip he didn't take me to meet Artie.

In Case You Had Trouble Deciding If Jesus Christ ("Joe the Blessed" in Greek) Were Real, Read This and All Your Troubles Deciding Will Vanish--The Truth Shall Make Thee Free! The Best Piece of Infidel Writing on Christianity I've Ever Read

What more can I write?

for The Daily Growler

Monday, January 26, 2009

Obama, Obama, Obama

We Need Some Hits
We never check on ourselves, we are very humble here at The Daily Growler, but occasionally we do Google ourselves (Google is an action verb, we assume; like Xerox used to be), which one of us did this morning on the early shift and we found that yes The Daily Growler comes up on the Google hit list, but not before first of all Google questions as to whether we mean "The Daily Growl" and then follows all these links to this Daily Growl. And, yes, it's a blog same as us. And we're cussing like demented sailors around the pits-of-Hell offices of The Daily Growler, and then Google has the nerve to say this Daily Growl is one of its top blogs! Holy shit, we all started screaming in typical The Daily Growler state of daily panic. And to make matters worse, not that all us Growlers are Anglophobes, but of course we know our fearless leader is the leading Anglophobe in the USA, but this blog is an England blog! Now the office is really buzzing with expletives! "What is this," Mr. Ed our editing horse asked, "a convention of sexless ninnie sailors?" "We get your point, Ed, we get your point," cried Franny & Zoe from her corner office. "Question is," said Col. Singh the Singing Sikh, "how do we distance ourselves from this bloody blog?" The ghost of Carmel Quinn, she hangs around wherever we move our offices, and now we're getting [quiet] used to her presence, shouted out, "Change your name, become ACTION: The Daily Growler, or AA for Anarchists: The Daily Growler. That'll get you hits." "How about calling it Obama's Home Page?" suggested Walter Crackpipe, our venerable old-timey reporter type--pipesmoker, you know the type. "By the way, Wally," we said, "Old Walter Cronkite is back on PBS soon--he's got a special on the changing world or something broad and rhetorical like that." "Jesus, that's all we need. How about hiring G.W. Bush as a Growler correspondent? No other blog would dare, would they?" "I can imagine it, 'A Letter From George,'" Franny & Zoe pondered.

A Letter From George W. Bush
Dateline, Dallas, Texas, Jan. 25th, 2009
I gotta fireplace here in this mansion I got from a foreclosure deal and you betcha I'm sittin' in front of it now with a branch water and Jack and a bowl of pretzels...'Pickles, baby, would you all bring me that bottle of Jack I left on the kitchen counter, babe, there's a good chicky.' She'll be in in a minute to freshin' up my drink here. So what it's 10 o'clock in the morning; I ain't president no more--not that I ever was president--hah-hah--you all get it? Anyway, like they say in, fuck Tennessee, like I was sayin', I ain't president anymore so fuck conventionality and decorum and all that college rot, I'm back to drinkin' steady and Pickles is back to rollin' her own, hold on here. 'Pickles, honey, where the hell are you with that bottle a Jack, I'm getting down to the Polish Army state in here?' [Ex-"president" Bush sits in expectation. There is no response.] Now where the hell is Pickles? I think SMU may have put her to stuffin' envelopes over at the Alumni Association. SMU used to be a big time school. They had some of the best football teams in the country back when I was a swaddling. Damn right. Eric Dickenson. That brown motherfucker could run. Scored more points than any running back up to that time. First motherfucker to run over 2,000 yards in a season. I should have been a football coach. 'Rosita, how 'bout you, my little Latin sugar, are you about the house?' Yep, we've hired a couple'a illegal Messkins to do the shit work around this house. We've warned 'em if they steal from us or shit like that, you know get Wetback lazy on us, we'll turn 'em in to ICE--we used to call 'em Wetbacks when I was a kid and old Pappy was stayin' down in Old Mexico most of the time leaving me with Mammy Babs at home alone. Me hanging on her apron strings while she cussed my Pappy out somethin' good. 'That two-timin' son of a bitch," she used to say while she was kickin' Messkin servant butt around the Midland house. 'What you all mean, Mammy Babs, he's two-timin'?' I knew what son of a bitch meant but I'd never heard'a two-timin' before. 'You're old Pappy, my husband, is down there in Mexico whorin' it up like there's no tomorrow, the son of a bitch.' I knew my Pappy loved Neil and Jeb better'n me. I knew that, but I had Mammy Babs all to myself. She kept me tied to her apron strings and she covered for my ass when I got a little rambunctious, beings we were very rich and prominent and all and I was gonna get to go to Yale no matter my grades in Midland. I had fun growing up in Texas, though, hell, everybody knows my family are totally Connecticut Yankees of the worst kind. I always used to joke at Yale about the Bushes being Tories! I have so many reflections going through my dazed mind. The Jack Daniels helps me clear up my head so my thoughts come through cool and clean. 'Pickles! Rosita! One you all bitches bring me that bottle of Jack!' One of my old Republican asskissers here in Big D brought me some solid rock by the other day. I haven't done coke in a passel of years...damn, I believe when I was president I said since God spoke to me while I was drunk and coked up on my faulty ass that night in the White House, that's right...see how this Jack clears up my head? They didn't let me drink when I was president. Pickles threatened to leave my ass if I started hitting the Jack heavy again. So I went, what's the word, on the wagon? Is that word in itself? Anyway, I went on the god-damn wagon and Jesus it fucked up my thinking. I mean, people, I lost my charisma. I got the shakes. I'd get up to make a speech and shit my brains were dry--I couldn't think of a god-damn thing--nothing made sense to me so I just blurted it out--no reason behind anything I said or actions I took or executive orders I signed--and I signed a record number of those tricks of the trade--all because they were the dealings of a sober man. Me sober. Me sober is me a bumbling idiot. I'm used to sailin' by by the skin of my ass. But I'm used to beaucoup respect, too. I come from a god-damn top-of-the-shelf American family, dammit, a privileged family--one of the Power Elite--somethin' I learned from readin' your thegrowling wolf--but anyway, yes, god-damn right the Bush Family is an Empire. I mean my old Pappy knows every important motherfucker in the world by their first name, and that includes--and I shouldn't reveal this, but what the hell, I'm a free man now--but my old Pappy knew Osama Bin Laden, that pansy, personally. You bet, the son of a bitch had my Pappy's cell phone number and used to call him all the time. In fact, when Prince Bandar Bush, my A-rabb stepbrother, and my Old Pappy were having a power breakfast and watching 9/11 going down, Bin Laden called my Pappy and his brother...oh, you didn't know Prince Bandar and Osama were blood relatives! Stupid people. And you people are stupid as hell. Believing all that bullshit my administration was spreadin'--hot damn, it was fun while it worked, and that god-damn Paul Wolfowitz assured me he had it all figured out, the New World Order of my Pappy's invention, how to pull it off. 'Soon,' this lying commie son of a bitch said, 'you'll rule the fucking world like Napoleon or Alexander the Great.' 'I don't wanna be killed or exiled,' I protested, and that Trotsyite bastard told me, 'Saddle up your victory horse, G.W., you'll soon rule the whole fucking world. It's in the writing on the wall.' Turned out it was writing on the wall of the White House pisser. And boy howdy did I get us into a fucking mess. You know the truth, and I had documents to this effect, neither Afghanistan nor Iraq had anything to do with 9/11. I knew my Saudi family connections had been the motivators behind 9/11. But what could I do, people? My family and the Saudis were intermixed, you might say. We knew the turmoil going on in Saudi Arabia. We knew the Bin Ladens through Prince Bandar invited my Pappy to organize his troops and air force strikes on Saudi soil. Prince Bandar knew his brother Osama would be pissed about that--organizing heretical soldiers on sacred Muslim soil was an abomination of the Islamic faith. Hell fire, we knew this, so what the hell, not only did we get the fucking Bin Ladens, including Prince Bandar, out of this country muy pronto but we had to blame it on somebody else mucho quick. The CIA knew exactly where Osama was. Hell, so did the Saudis and the Dubai potentates, too--hell Osama was staying at a tiger-hunting lodge he'd leased from the Dubai potentates...I better shut my mouth on this. Save it for my memoirs. Pickles thinks she can finagle me a couple'a million on a book deal. I don't need the money, people. The Bushes as a family are rolling in the dough and the land deals and the mortgage business--remember my bros Jeb and Neil were big in the savings and loan business back in those good ole days. That fucking Charles Keating. Hell yes my family knew Charles Keating. So'd John McCain know him. How do you think that mindless idiot got into politics? OK, sure, he made a big move by divorcing his first wife and hooking up with that hooker-looking beer baron's daughter--how 'bout those go-go boots she wore during old McCain's failed campaign? I laughed like hell and told Pickles, 'McCain's such a loser; you know he's the first US presidential candidate to lose to a wooly-booger.' Mammy Babs taught me to respect Knee-grows. Shit yeah. I used to play sort of with the little pickaninny that trimmed our lawn back in Midland. Yeah, we called a spade a spade in those days; we called 'em pickaninnies and darkies and [N word], too, don't get me wrong. Them were the days you did that in Texas and nobody thought the worst of it. The White Man ruled in those days with an iron fist. Knee-grows knew their place and they kept their hat in their hands when confronted by my Mammy or my Pappy, it was 'Yassuh, Mister George Herbert Walker,' in respect of Pappy's White Power, and 'Yassuh, Miz Mammy Bush, yo ladyship' in respect of her being my old Pappy's legal wife. That kind'a respect was championed by the Bush family in those days. Well, I'm gettin' pissed now. I can't find any subservients in the house. I seem to be here by myself. Shit, I guess I gotta get up off my ass and go get that bottle of Jack myself. So long, and God bless America. Actually, people, I've gotta admit, my attitude these days of total conspicuous leisure is 'Kiss my Bush ass, America. Let's see the [N worder] follow that!' I say paraphrasing Jerry Lee Lewis when he set his piano on fire right before Chuck Berry took the stage back in the good ole days. You all see, I know my rock 'n roll. You might just could call me now 'Rock 'n Rollin' George.' I like that. Cool your heels and take a tip from me, 'several nips a day keep the blues away.' Here's to you.

George W. Bush
a special for The Daily Growler
Wow, we are jumping for joy here at The Daily Growler. Let's see them top that! A letter from Georgie Porgie. It's just good ole American, that's all it is. A letter from our worst president ever! The most ruin-causing leader the world has ever known. Including A. Hitler, you ask. More than likely after all the carnage he caused is finally totalled up. Remember like the Israelis in Gaza, we don't count Iraq or Afghanistan casualties and even when word gets out that one of our rockets killed 47 innocent civilians, including 14 schoolkids, we deny, deny, deny--and we're now doing it everyday after our missile attacks on Pakistan kill tons of civilians. We deny, deny, deny that.

How about we think Bernie Madoff deserves a Hall of Fame Award? Look at the greedy bastards he brought to their knees with his chutzpah--one trumped dude slit his wrists after realizing Bernie the Blessed Jewish Son had ruined his ass. Hell, Bernie ruined his own mother's old shrivelled ass. That's a real American to us! That's what America's all about: going for the jackpot no matter the cost a la Machiavelli.

for The Daily Growler

EXTRA: Here's Shelby Again:

This time Shelby is tackling Moby Dick, chapters 82-106.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Moby-Dick: Chapters 82-106

Chapter 82: The Honor and Glory of Whaling

Throughout this novel, Ishmael has implied that whales are immortal, Gods. Now he takes a new approach, detailing the whalers as heroes, Gods. If whalers are the Gods, then what are the whales? This chapter emphasizes the idea of whales as the hunted mortal beings. Do Gods worship the worshippers? Is whaling a battle of the Gods? Are are there no Gods at all?

Chapter 83: Jonah Historically Regarded

The validity of myths is something debated to this very day. But his chapter seems to make clear that the myths themselves are the source of wonder, and they are capable of creating miracles.
________________________________Read the whole post at:
Another EXTRA: Congrats to David Corn: he seems to have been reading The Daily Growler--We Heard Some Thorstein Veblen in His Comments This Morning on
Amy Goodman's Democracy Now--Why, Gee Whiz, David Is Now for Letting Wall Street Totally Go Under--For That We Give Him Cheers!

Here's David Corn's Blog:

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Would You Believe Another John McCain Sunday?

Toolin' the Tube
Well, the party's over for Obama. The commercial television millionaire monkeys are back to their usual backward-thinking reporting--and, yes, John "Nutjob" McCain was on Fox News this holy morning and, according to these out-of-touch self-idolizers, you'd think this jicky headed MF-er was president and not Obama. Whine, whine, whine, and still harping on Obama being so inexperienced, and is he taking too much time giving our billions of taxpayer dollars away to a bunch of Neo-Con, Milton-Friedman-following, half-a-billionaire Wall Street criminals.

All around the boob tube this morning were Repugnicans harping away at Obama: he's inexperienced; he must pass this bailout of our banks and financial institutions immediately and not shilly-shally around with forward thinking things like regulations! He must not reverse our honorabull Repugnican faux president Bush's reduction of taxes for the wealthiest few in the world while he brings to the rest of the country total loss of what was once a guaranteed lifestyle, what were once the most innovative factories going, what was once a pretty open area for finding jobs, jobs that have now disappeared, or will be disappearing this year by the 100s of thousands as the crooked corporate Power Elite shifts its loser divisions onto the US taxpayers's backs while their foreign operations continue making billions--like Wal-Mart China! And Obama is resisting, and he's saying, oh holy cow no, why should we just do as you losers please! You're the mob who ruined our economy in the first place with these god-damn sorry wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, follies both of them, except to the millions who've been displaced and driven out of their homelands, or the millions who have stayed and been killed or maimed or had their families blown apart--or the millions of criminal contractors who've made ungodly fortunes off our miseries. Makes me want to holler...SHIT!!!!

And then this morning here comes this little tight petty asshole John Boehner (Boner) along with his backward thinking and Yahoo reasoning. John's from some hick state like Indiana--sorry, folks, Indiana is a hayseed state--check out David Letterman's comedy--that's high humor in Indiana--and this Boehner dude is now gonna play the Bush defender and start trying to railroad Congress now that the Repugnicans are not the majority, mattering little if anything now in terms of the American people and what the American people are demanding, and continuing to believe in their thick skulls that an N-worder in the White House is an abomination against the slaveholding-allowing Constitution and the need for near-slavery wages in the work place. Great backward thinkers, but total fools now that their goofball phony president's executive orders are being stricken from the books. Here's how John thinks from his We-the-People-paid-for Website--check it out:

Spending Your Tax Dollars Wisely

Spending Your Tax Dollars Wisely

Since being elected to Congress, I have remained committed to promoting fiscal discipline and ensuring that Congress spends your tax dollars wisely. Fiscal constraint, eliminating wasteful spending and curbing fiscal abuses are critical components of balancing the federal budget.

Unfortunately, just months into the 110th Congress we’ve seen numerous tax-hike proposals including:

• A massive $392.5 billion tax increase on middle-class families in the Fiscal Year 2008 budget;

• More than $15 billion in new energy taxes passed in July that will raise gasoline prices on consumers;

• A 115 percent to 2,200 percent increase in tobacco taxes in the State Children’s Health Insurance Program (SCHIP) expansion;

• A $7.5 billion tax increase in the Farm Bill, which threatens 5.1 million American jobs – including 1,200 in Ohio’s 8th District and another 4,000 in the surrounding counties – and investment in the U.S.;

• An unprecedented new tax on every American who have a private health insurance plan included in the SCHIP plan that will expand the program to childless adults up to age 21;

• A 5-cent per gallon increase in the federal gas tax to create a new highway infrastructure fund;

• A 50-cent per gallon increase in the federal gas tax to pay for a plan to eliminate global warming;

• Raising taxes on homeowners by ending the home-mortgage deduction;

These actions are in stark contrast to the steps taken by House Republicans over the previous years to promote fiscal discipline and ensure that Congress spends your tax dollars wisely. Among the steps we took:

Zeroing Out Unnecessary Programs. House Republicans proposed 95 program terminations, three more than the Administration has proposed, for a savings of nearly $4 billion. This effort builds on similar efforts in previous years when House Republicans successfully terminated 53 programs for a savings of $3.5 billion.

Putting the “Emergency” Back in Emergency Spending. In a victory for fiscal discipline, House Republicans insisted on rejecting billions of dollars in unnecessary and non-emergency spending for pet projects added to the emergency supplemental bill.

Line Item Veto Helps Rein in Spending. House Republicans passed the Legislative Line Item Veto Act to make Congress more accountable for the spending it proposes, help eliminate worthless pork, and protect taxpayer dollars.

A Budget Based on Fiscal Discipline. House Republicans approved a fiscally-responsible budget aimed at holding the line on spending and providing a “rainy day” fund for disaster response.

Earmark Reforms to Bring Greater Accountability to Spending. House Republicans passed earmark reforms to bring more sunshine and more accountability to help Congress determine worthy projects from worthless pork. We fought to re-instate these reforms to ensure that American tax dollars are spent wisely.

Grants Bill Promotes More Accountability. House Republicans approved legislation offered to increase accountability and transparency in the federal grant process.

Spring Cleaning” Report Highlights Committee Oversight Successes. Republican-led House committees have exercised their congressional oversight responsibility to expose – and in many cases, eliminate – billions in waste, fraud, and abuse in federal programs.

Reversing the culture in Washington that believes the solution to every problem involves more government and more spending is not easy, but I am committed to promoting steps – and encouraging my colleagues to take these steps with me – to ensure that Congress spends your tax dollars wisely.


So you see what Obama's up against, Boehner being Repugnican MINORITY leader. Boehner's statement is pure BACKWARD THINKING. The Repugnican administrations over the past eight years got us into this mess and Boehner's still bitchin' about Dumbocrats being overspenders. Yet, the G.W. "Girly Man" Bush time in office, and Boehner was there for both efforts, gladly sent this nation into ruin, the most reckless spending in the history of Congress. But there you go, that's the kind of thinking Obama, a straightforward thinker, is facing. There is no logic to backward thinking. Whatever Boehner is saying just take it and turn it around backwards, that's all, then you'll see the truth of the Repugnican assignation plans. Boehner's still around; and he's one of the ones Obama cosied up to with his across-the-aisle-I-didn't-think-Reagan-was-so-bad attitude. Repugnicans can't openly use the N-word, but they are certainly thinking it. These are ruthless characters, too. With these birds, the word assignation could easily be pronounced assassination.

Here's John "Nutjob" McCain on Fox: "You know, Chris...or Tom, or Bob, or David Brooks, or Ann Coulter, I had the solution to this Wall Street business back when Obama was prancing around--N-worders can dance--oops, did I say the N word?--oh my goodness, you know some of my best friends are Darkies, like Justice Uncle Tom Thomas, one of my best palsy-walsies." Yep, there was old John "Jawin' John" McCain, still prattling out his baby-talk solutions to all our problems, which really ain't his problems so what the hell, he needs the $320 you make appearing on these cheesy shows, I suppose.

Today's teevee is another reason to let the digital gang have it--fuck digital teevee--why a better picture of the same old sagging and pimpling up faces? Another Bush scam pulled on our asses, but Obama won't change the law on that--he's too aware of television and the role it plays in championing images. Obama's image is very important to him--and I'm sure he comes over well on digital teevee--he's like a kid in a candy store who has been told if he eats any of that candy he'll drop dead, but if he resists it, he'll be given a hero's welcome into the world of endurance and calm.

The Governor of New York picking an Upstate Conservative, gun-lovin', immigrant hatin' Dumbocrat to replace Carpetbagger Hillary in the Senate? The governor picked a blonde bimbo. God, how black guys love blonde white chicks. Hey, so she likes guns and men with guns--she's an Upstate gun-totin' all 'round Yahoo babe! Yahoo!

Another Yahoo goes to Washington to play in the District of Corruption, going for the nestegg, going for the big-time bucks, going to make that big name for themselves.

An all and all perfect day in cold New York City. Teevee just as morose as always. All the scams and shams and frauds are active like crazed ants 'round the clock. I love watching the continuous knife and sword sales that go on for hours during the low-fee hours on NYC teevee. Who the hell still buys pocket knives and phony Japanese swords? I thought it was hayseeds, but they certainly advertise continuously here in NYC, too. Even if you are in the knife and sword business, would you order your stock off teevee? Or how about Jack LaLanne? That old phony fart has an infomercial running 24/7, two of them, one where old saggin' Jack is 88 and another where they say Jack is nearly 90, both selling Jack's juicer, which really isn't Jack's juicer at all; a manufacturer's spokesperson is all he is. Jack doesn't own or manufacture these juicers--in fact, he's been through two companies already in his juicing career. Whatever happened to the Juice Man? Don't see him anymore. He's the one when he was 77 started bragging about what a young hot wife he had.

Or David Orrick. Now you talk about a guy on constant teevee! I assume if these birds spend millions upon millions a day for their advertising expenses they must be making millions upon millions! One would assume that. The same old scams are constantly thick on teevee--vacuum-cleaner and wet-mop sales; workout and exercise machine sales; a different workout routine every six months--nowadays all based on pilottes, which I never heard of until say 10 years ago--one of my favs was Billy Bangs's Boot Camp workout; a new brand of convection cooking machine every six months; or how about those charming little George-Foreman-type grills that the sweet little ole fat lady and the geeky fat nerd are constantly selling on infomercial teevee; or how about Montel Williams (fired by Fox for saying something "wrong" about our soldiers in Iraq) and a big white Yahoo selling US coins with Obama's image and the flag image, etc., transferred over one face (the obverses or the reverses) of actual coins: a George Washington dollar coin, a Kennedy half dollar, and two State quarters, the Illinois and the Hawaii--all four doctored US coins, $2.00 in actual coin worth, for $19.99; or how about these foreclosure nuts and these stock-market softwares they claim will make you millions of dollars no matter the way the market's headed--"You can make a fortune even in this headed-for-the-bottom stock market simply buy following the buy and sell markers in the software"--if it's too simple, it can't possibly work. We call it the FLIM FLAM in the South. The movie The Flim-Flam Man with old hoary George C. Scott that's the movie that explains the southern flim-flam. The constant hustle. We're all living under the constant hustle, the constant scam, the constant fraudulent claims and "guarantees."

Yes, folks, I may be teevee-less this time next month.

Yahoo, I say.

for The Sunday Daily Growler