The Rummy

Adapted from Edgar Allen Poe's the Raven by Insolublog.









Once upon a midnight dreary, as Fox News punditry grew weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of crap from guys like Gore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a snapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at the House chamber door.
`'Tis some exit polls,' I muttered, `tapping at my House chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak November,
And each separate dying member wrought his candidacy upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my blog surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Terror War -
And news of the rare and radiant maiden of Democracy so Pure.
It was too late for this and more.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of every ballot booth curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my House chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my Senate floor -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; the keystrokes beating longer,
To the cathode and its theatre players I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my Senate floor,
That I scarce wanted to admit the ugly electoral downpour; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no conservative patriot ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness was clearly spoken,
And the only words there spoken were, `Hark! They have the floor!'
Now to seize the Senate all they need is four.
Merely this and nothing more.

Post election the power is turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard another snapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something to upset the trend for sure.
Let me see then, what there is, in this recent loud uproar -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis scalp. they crave for more!'

The cameras snapped their shutters, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Rummy of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched at the podium on the press room floor -
Perched upon the tense morass of a political claymore -
Perched, and spoke, and grew heartsore.

Then this gray old bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient Rummy wandering from the press room floor -
Tell me what thy lordly plan is on Iran's Plutonium score!'
Quoth the Rummy, `Nevermore.'

The press marveled at this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy to their rancor;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Could feel blessed with the act seeing this bird in a state of fleeing
As the weak flow into being at the House chamber door,
They grimace a ghoulish `Nevermore.'

But the Rummy, perched on the podium, spoke so lonely,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the old bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from his unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the Rummy still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of the screen and his outpour;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to hyperlinking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my blogger's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the HP notebook glowed o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the HP notebook glowing o'er,
She shall keypress, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an CNN censor
Spun by reporters whose notebooks tinkled on the press room floor.
`Wretch,' they cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of the Iraqi War!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Iraqi War!'
Quoth the Rummy, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said they, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether Rove sent, or whether Bush tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by terror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Are there - are there bombs in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the Rummy, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said they, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above them - by that God that they abhor -
Please tell this soul with sorrow in hand, what is beyond the distant sand,
Tell me what thy lordly plan is on what Iran has in store,
For the rare and radiant maiden of Democracy so Pure.
Quoth the Rummy, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' They shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and let Iran's Plutonium soar!'
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave our arrogance unbroken! - quit the podium upon our floor!
Take thy beak from out our heart, and take thy form right out the door!'
Quoth the Rummy, `Nevermore.'

And the Rummy, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the blogger pages fitting of the memory of his knitting;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a warhorse still deftly dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And his soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!




Goodbye old Bird.









Dread Pundit Bluto, Mensa Barbie,Fmragtops,Point Five

The New Family Values

Now that we have made it over the hump, on our fast track to European socialist culture, I wonder if we will start seeing toys like this on the Christmas shelves.

Tesco today agreed to remove the product from the Toy section of the site, but said it will remain on sale as a Fitness Accessory, despite the fact that the product description invites users to "unleash the sex kitten inside".

It even comes with some monopoly money, so the little boys in the playground can learn to tuck the bills in the right spot.







I suppose it's amusing, right up to the point your little daughter gives Santa a lap dance and asks for one.















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Swine flesh for the Masses

FIAR seems to be wrapped in crisp delicious Bacon!® lately.

The only way to answer this cry for help, is with some video therapy. Alright... this about FIAR questioning my sexual orientation, because I drink Fresca. Hey. It's the light citrus taste, that doesn't in any way imply your gay. I'm sure I saw that in the supermarket kiosk.





FMRagtops has a story about how all that earmarking, you know, bringing home the Bacon!®, that the Republicans did. Well, it got them into trouble with the trans-fat free loving RINO's and Democrats. It added so much pork to the conservative base that they sat on the couch watching Oprah on election day.

Now we are all going to get our cholesterol lowered the hard way.

You remember when your parents made you smoke the whole pack, just to make you sick of cigarettes? Well...




Now there's a pair of Bacon-Mongers, replete with a cannibal mascot!

This one is for Wyatt and RT






BTW, Wyatt is having a politically free Q&A. Sounds like a good idea. So, read my political drivel below, then go to Wyatt for relief.

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Let's Talk Politics

An e-mail friend issued a short rant over the election. This sentence summarizes the sentiment.

I hate this whole "party system" bull$hit.

I felt his frustration, but think this criticism is slightly misplaced.

What I hate is the primary system, not the party system. When a political party is properly utilized, it becomes a useful bureaucratic container for political action. Bureaucracy is like a bowel movement; nobody wants to deal with it, but it is a necessary part of life.

The Caucus System

The caucus system used to select candidates for a general election, through the process of party delegates, choosing the candidate through party platform and negotiation. Delegates then select the candidate by votes along the party lines. The voter comes in on the general election, and votes on candidates who strongly represent the ideological platform of the parties.

The old caucus system used to have its share of corruption problems (as was parodied in the Three Stooges “Ham and Egger” skit). However, the caucus system had one important facet. People who were educated in the ideological orientation of the party, chose the candidates who would run in the general election. Distinct party ideologies make decisions possible. They make decisive leadership possible.

The Primary System

The primary system is a construct where there is an initial vote to approve a candidate for the election, by the will of the voter. Delegates to the convention, are then technically bound by that decision, when they cast their convention vote. To be fair, it was argued that this is more democratic than the caucus system, since the voter is involved in both stages. This works well, as long as the largess of the voting population is civic minded.

Well, Something Happened

The modern television media has literally poisoned the primary system with imagery, sound bites and scandal mongering. These now play an enormous role, next to a few major key issues, in determining the quality of your candidates. Now you have people who are elected for the full head of hair and a confident smile, not leadership strength. Executive branches suffer the worst in this system.

The Poor Leadership Cycle

Doh

When the media get's involved, it's ratings priorities and sensational nature corrupt the primary process. Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dummer become the candidates, based on how they will be perceived by the public in the media driven primary system, NOT on strict ideological accomplishments and qualifications. Look at both Bush and Kerry. There just isn't anything tasty on the buffet, is there?

Ray
After this happens, they look the same, smell the same, and get their support from the same sources. The actual functional position on issues and platform are facades.

Me

After this happens, the undecided voting population increases, out of disgust.

Fah

Once the undecided population increases, the candidates begin to stray even more from the ideological path, to manage their opinions based on polls. Again, ideology takes a back seat.

So

Once this happens, they look even more alike. This amplifies the general disgust and the size of the undecided vote. This brings us back to Doh.

Missed Opportunities

An Abraham Lincoln would not pass a primary on looks. A Teddy Roosevelt could not pass a primary on a high shrill voice. A Dwight Eisenhower could not pass a primary cause he is bald…

So, Insol, what about Ronald Reagan?

What about him? When you roll two dice, you have independent variables. Once in a while, they come up favorable on both faces. You get a candidate with very good communication and ideological skills, along with television appeal. How many Reagan’s are lined up for ’08?

Ideology is Still There

The Primary system doesn't destroy the ideology. The ideology lingers on, trying to find its way into the ebb and flow of the party bureaucracies. You get liberal Republicans and now, perhaps, conservative Democrats. The problem is the party bureaucratic containers cannot contain ideology, like they should; You cannot lead with force and confidence under those conditions.

There is also a rabid ideological bend to the media. They are unelected and unappointed. However, they have a collective ideology and the will and motivation to exert it in every way possible.


It was 180 Degrees Wrong

Conservatives supported RINO incumbency, in the primary, out of fear that the party could lose. Then they sat on their a$$es in the general election, out of disgust. So they lost.

Fixing this system, if possible, will be painful. Why? There is a real ideology out there, which has to win. The losing ideology will then have to game the system to win.

Let's look at the Leiberman race. The liberals did the right thing in that race. They did what conservatives should have done in the primary. They ran an aggressive primary candidate, who represented their ideology. The voters rejected that candidate. It was the liberal ideology, which lost that race, not the relevance of the process.

If I were The King of the Forest

I would $hit-can the primary system. Fix the caucus system’s shortcomings and create distinctive platform positions, not based on the moderately undecided wishy-washy candidate, but based on qualifications. Then the general election would provide distinct candidates.

Not that any of this would ever happen, mind you! Just follow the money.


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Alright Everybody

Don't kill yourself over this (ahem) setback.

Just imagine how worse off you could be. You could be one of our soldiers, wondering if the mission will be cancelled in defeat, after some of your dear friends were killed or injured. Just make it clear to the new regime that this ridiculous Vietnamization of the war will not be tolerated.

Think of your friend Insolublog. He has lived in a smothering bowl of berry Blue moonbat kool-aide flavored jello his entire voting life. He has seen Mike Dukakis, followed by 17 anemic, limp-wristed years of Massachusetts style Republicanism which embarrassed itself into extinction with Jane Swift, Fat Matt Amorello and Paul Celluci. That Jello wasn't even like, Republican Raspberry Red. it was a gooey, purple conglomerate; tasteless and sloppy. No wonder it is now being picked up by an illegal Mexican immigrant and flushed out into the harbor, after he stops by the RMV and picks up his new drivers license. Muchas gracious Deval!

When William Jefferson Clinton became the first African American president, the white house got a taste of some white chocolate, in the Ray Nagin vernacular. Now Massachusetts has the bitter dark chocolate version of Bill Clinton. Now your troubles don't look so bad do they? Relax. It's only a movie.

Liberal American resolve is now a cheap Hollywood ribbon, replete with dramatic flourishes and empty suits, loaded with political vaporware. You remember the muffled unintelligible noises made by the adults in the Charlie Brown holiday specials? That's what modern liberal American politics has become. You don't actually have to listen or understand to what the politicians say. Much like the family dog, you just have to be convinced that the garbled babbling has a soothing, melodic tonal quality, which heralds that devastatingly effective Clinton sympathy playbook.

You see, we need that sympathy. Sympathy and victim status are the new cogs in the progressive engine of socialist democracy. We need our little Charlie Brown hands held and tugged along. We need our carefully measured spectrum of medication. We need our booze and bongs. We need someone to pick up our dirty clothes. We need someone to clean the unwashed dishes. We need someone to recharge our cell phone and pay the electric bill for our shallow hedonistic little universes. Just ask the main stream media. They are all too willing to handle those painful thoughts and decisions, and hand them over to the entitlement fairy. Just leave that liberal Democrat ballot under your pillow.

We also need to have those little childhood selfish and impatient gratifications sated quickly dammit, without any delay. There cannot be anything resembling an interruption of our civilian splendor. Why should we suffer even the slightest inconvenience, to support our troops or recognize that a war can be long and hard, as the President has warned so many times? Dammit, this is the new unified, moderated and homogenized America. We don't have the time or patience to wait for the next season of the religious barbaric reality show to set up the latest dramatic conflict.

9/11 is already on the shelf, collecting dust, sitting in the DVD boxed set, next to Farencrap 9/11 and the loose change conspiracy. It's just not fun anymore. The five disc tray is already occupied by the Dixie Cows movie and all things cool and subversive. Besides, 9/11 got bad reviews in Europe, where all the cool, smart people live, next to all kinds of cool historical stuff. Just grab a knapsack, a Eurail pass, and take your little ignorant skull full of overcooked Wheatena over to the 'home country' and get a nice liberal dose of European enlightenment. Then come back to America as a new John Forbes Kerry world citizen and crap all over the ignorant natives who haven't had Belgian honey squirted on their Wheatena.

You, yes, you too could be basking in the intellectual splendor of a crowd of people that saw fit to press the replay button, once again, on Ted Kennedy at a obese margin of 70% to 30%. Or how about Patches Kennedy in Rhode Island! Where else can a family of rich liberals kill and injure innocent citizens while intoxicated and then be re-installed like a rare but broken part to a Russian tank? Only the cult of victimhood can make this possible.

There is a spot of sunshine here. The Democrat party supposedly has some conservative voices now. We will see how genuine those voices are. So, as you experience the brisk cold of this new landscape, just remember, it's always full blown Russian winter somewhere in the northeast.

Photo ID not required in Andover Mass.

Nobody was checking for ID's in my town during the voting process. I suppose anyone could walk in, with a name and a valid address, and vote in a Massachusetts election. I hope there is a challenge of citizen disenfranchisement.

Yeah, right.

The Mass. GOP is pathetic.

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Good Bye Johnny D

Radio host John Depetro was fired last week for saying this about green party candidate, Grace Ross, who is running for Mass. Governor next to my girl Kerry and that frightening Clintonian sect called the Cult of Deval. There's another guy, who I don't want to credit with repeating his name, because he has obviously been skipping his anti-psychotic medication.

“I could go now a lifetime without Grace Ross,” DePetro said on yesterday’s show. “She has nerve. This whole business of you know, ‘Well since we’re being ignored. . . .’ No, you’re irrelevant. Get off the stage. I couldn’t stand her at the end. At one point I was about to yell, ‘Will somebody tell that fat lesbian to shut up!’ ”

So what is the big deal?

a) Grace Ross runs around all the time, bragging about her proud lesbian status in the gay community.
b) Grace Ross is an irrelevant blowhard.
c) Who isn't fat these days? The BBC saw fit to write this article with "Americans are getting fatter at a rate like never before. Who got fired over there?

It's a fact. Given a,b and c, Grace Ross is a plump, blubbermouthed carpet licker.

Not that there is anything wrong with that.

Here, judge for yourself:

















Here's an idea, John. Don't skip a step. Start your own internet radio stream today.

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Words to Vote By

The very atmosphere of firearms anywhere and everywhere restrains evil interference - they deserve a place of honor with all that's good.
- George Washington

When firearms go, all goes. We need them every hour.
- George Washington



It would be nice if the Democrats shared your view Mr. President. They do not believe that they deserve a place of honor; neither do they believe they are good.

The clearest way to show what the rule of law means to us in everyday life is to recall what has happened when there is no rule of law.

- Dwight D. Eisenhower



What happens without the rule of law? Mexicans dancing in our streets, claiming revolutionary victory and waiving the Mexican flag. American citizens killed by unlicensed, undocumented and uninsured alien drivers. American homes, on the Mexican border, overrun by an alien horde. Beer companies openly paying for illegal rallies. Main stream newspapers committing treason in war time. That's what happens, when there is no rule of law, Mr. President.



Every immigrant who comes here should be required within five years to learn English or leave the country.

- Theodore Roosevelt





Sorry Mr. President. That's just not diverse and multicultural enough for today's decaying liberal American dream.




I think there is only one quality worse than hardness of heart and that is softness of head.

- Theodore Roosevelt



You mean good looks and a feel-your-pain attitude are not the correct attributes for political leadership. Say it isn't so!

Don't think you are going to conceal thoughts by concealing evidence that they ever existed.

- Dwight D. Eisenhower



I'm sure that is exactly what the Clintons thought, when they rewrote history in their books. It's too bad, for them, your words have exceptional relevance these days, Mr. President.



The things that will destroy America are prosperity-at-any-price, peace-at-any-price, safety-first instead of duty-first, the love of soft living, and the get-rich-quick theory of life.

- Theodore Roosevelt




And with liberal social policies and a general apathy towards the sacrifices made by our troops in the field, we have been following this yellow brick road for some time. It's time to storm the gates of the Emerald city, Mr. President.



Don't interfere with anything in the Constitution. That must be maintained, for it is the only safeguard of our liberties.

- Abraham Lincoln



Mr. President, didn't you get the memo from Justice Souter and Ginsberg? The Constitution is a living document, so it should be treated with a dose of international Prozac and European Zoloft, just to alleviate that historical depression that always seems to pop-up.

We are tired of aristocratic explanations in Harvard words.

- Dwight D. Eisenhower





I am sorry if you were too stupid to understand senator Kerry's botched joke, Mr. President.


You cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today.

- Abraham Lincoln





Testify Abe! Testify to those rainy day undecided sheep at the voting booth.



History does not long entrust the care of freedom to the weak or the timid.

- Dwight D. Eisenhower





Jimmy Carter's term certainly hits a home run on this one, Mr. President. The birth of modern terrorism, the first perception in the mideast, that we were weak. Over a year of failed diplomacy. Then this dope gives nuclear technology to North Korea. Hoo-boy.



To cure the British disease with socialism was like trying to cure leukaemia with leeches.
- Margaret Thatcher





What can I say? To cure the American disease with socialism would be like trying to cure mad cow disease with a meat grinder, some buns, cheese and mayo at a DNC convention.


The income tax created more criminals than any other single act of government.
- Barry M. Goldwater







And we still haven't brought them to Justice, Barry.



If you tell people where to go, but not how to get there, you'll be amazed at the results.

- George S. Patton




Thanks for the advice General. Go to the polls and vote. I'm not going to tell you how to get there. Just amaze me with the results.


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What Happened to the Documents?

There was a time when a certain well-respected Democrat issued an executive order, insisting that aliens in the United States without immigrant status, have documentation to prove their status.

EXECUTIVE ORDER 8029

DOCUMENTS REQUIRED OF ALIENS ENTERING THE UNITED STATES

December 27, 1938

By virtue of and pursuant to the authority vested in me by the act of May 22, 1918, 40 Stat. 559, as extended by the act of March 2, 1921, 41 Stat. 1205- 1217, I hereby prescribe the following regulations pertaining to documents required of aliens entering the United States (which regulations shall be applicable to Chinese and to Philippine citizens who are not citizens of the United States except as may be otherwise provided by special laws and regulations governing the entry of such persons):

PART I

1. Nonimmigrants must present unexpired passports or official documents in the nature of passports issued by the governments of the countries to which they owe allegiance or other travel documents showing their origin and identity, as prescribed in regulations issued by the Secretary of State, and valid passport visas, except in the following cases:

(a) A nonimmigrant alien coming within a category and domiciled in a country, island, or territory of the Western Hemisphere, specified in regulations issued by the Secretary of State, passing in transit through the United States or entering the United States temporarily.

(b) A nonimmigrant alien lawfully admitted into the United States who later goes in transit from one part of the United States to another through foreign contiguous territory.

(c) A nonimmigrant alien child born subsequent to the issuance of the passport visa of an accompanying parent, the visa not having expired.

(d) An alien who has previously been legally admitted into the United States with a diplomatic visa or with a passport visa as a nonimmigrant as defined by Section 3(1) or Section 3(6) of the Immigration Act of 1924 (43 Stat. 153, 154), and who has departed temporarily therefrom and returned within six months, not having proceeded to any place outside the countries, islands, and territories of the Western Hemisphere specified in regulations issued by the Secretary of State, and not having relinquished the status in which he was originally admitted.

2. A nonimmigrant alien not included in any of the foregoing exceptions who is passing in transit through the United States may present, in lieu of a passport visa, a transit certificate granted by an authorized officer of the United States.

3. A nonimmigrant alien not included in any of the exceptions specified in the preceding paragraphs who enters the United States for a period not exceeding ten days, landing temporarily while the vessel on which he is a passenger is in port or crossing the border, entering and departing via the same port of entry, may present, in lieu of a passport visa, a limited entry certificate granted by an authorized officer of the United States.

4. The Secretary of State is authorized in his discretion to waive the passport and visa requirements in cases of emergency for nonimmigrants, except that the Governor of the Virgin Islands is authorized in his discretion to waive the requirements in cases of emergency for nonimmigrant aliens applying for admission at a port of entry of the Virgin Islands.

5. No passport visa, transit certificate, or landing certificate shall be granted to an alien whose entry would be contrary to the public safety.

PART II

1. Immigrants must present unexpired passports, or official documents in the nature of passports, issued by the governments of the countries to which they owe allegiance, or other travel documents showing their origin and identity, prescribed in regulations issued by the Secretary of State, and valid immigration visas granted by the consular officers of the United States in accordance with the requirements of the Immigration Act of 1924 and the regulations issued thereunder, except in the following cases:

(a) An alien immigrant child born subsequent to the issuance of the immigration visa of an accompanying parent, the visa not having expired.

(b) An alien immigrant child born during the temporary visit abroad of an alien mother who has previously been legally admitted into the United States for permanent residence, under such regulations as may be prescribed.

(c) An alien immigrant who has previously been legally admitted into the United States for permanent residence, has departed temporarily therefrom and returned within six months, not having proceeded to any place outside the countries, islands, and territories of the Western Hemisphere specified in regulations issued by the Secretary of State.

(d) An alien immigrant who has previously been legally admitted into the United States for permanent residence, re-entering from a journey beginning in an American port, without transshipment from the original vessel to another vessel.

(e) An alien immigrant who has previously been legally admitted into the United States for permanent residence, has departed therefrom and has returned from a temporary visit abroad, and who presents an unexpired permit to re- enter, issued pursuant to section 10 of the Immigration Act of 1924.

2. An alien who has previously been legally admitted into the United States as a nonquota immigrant student, has departed temporarily therefrom and returned within six months, not having proceeded to any place outside the countries, islands, and territories of the Western Hemisphere specified in regulations issued by the Secretary of State and not having relinquished his student status, may re-enter without an immigration visa.

3. An immigrant Spanish national who on April 11, 1899 (whether adult or minor), was a bona fide resident of Puerto Rico or adjacent islands which comprised the Province of Puerto Rico, and who, in conformity with Article IX of the treaty between the United States and Spain of April 11, 1899, has preserved his allegiance to Spain, may present a passport visa, in lieu of an immigration visa, for entry into Puerto Rico. Such aliens may be admitted into Puerto Rico without regard to the provisions of the Immigration Act of 1924, except section 23. (Act of May 26, 1926, ch. 400, 44 Stat. 657.)

4. In such classes of cases and under such conditions as may by regulations be prescribed, the immigration visa requirements may be waived, under section 13(b) of the Immigration Act of 1924, and the passport requirements may also be waived, for an alien immigrant who has previously been legally admitted into the United States for permanent residence, has departed therefrom, and is returning from a temporary visit abroad.

5. In such classes of cases and under such conditions as may by regulations be prescribed by the Secretary of State, the passport requirements may be waived for any immigrant.

PART III

The Executive Secretary of the Panama Canal is hereby authorized to issue passport visas, transit certificates, landing certificates, and immigration visas to aliens coming to the United States from the Canal Zone. The Governor of American Samoa is hereby authorized to issue passport visas, transit certificates, landing certificates, and immigration visas to aliens coming to the United States from American Samoa. The Governor of Guam is hereby authorized to issue passport visas, transit certificates, landing certificates, and immigration visas to aliens coming to the United States from Guam.

PART IV

The documentary requirements for aliens applying for admission into American possessions outside the United States are to be prescribed by the competent authorities in such possessions, except in the case of the Philippine Islands, which are covered by separate Executive order.

PART V

The definitions contained in section 28 of the Immigration Act of 1924 shall be regarded as applicable to this order, except as otherwise specified herein.

PART VI

The Secretary of State and the Secretary of Labor are hereby authorized to make such additional rules and regulations, not inconsistent with this order, as may be deemed necessary for carrying out the provisions of this order and the statutes mentioned herein.

PART VII

This order shall take effect immediately and shall supersede the provisions of Executive Order No. 7865 [FN1] of April 12, 1938, entitled, 'Documents Required of Aliens Entering the United States', but shall not supersede Executive Order No. 4049 of July 14, 1924, entitled, 'Documents Required of Aliens Entering the United States on Airships', or Executive Order No. 7797 [FN2] of January 26, 1938, entitled, 'Documents Required of Bona Fide Alien Seamen Entering the United States'.

FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT
THE WHITE HOUSE,
December 27, 1938.

He was interested in national security. Today's Democrat party could care less. Who are you going to vote for?

Pre-emptive Strike

Robert Hodiern is about to release several copies of the same call for Rumsfeld's resignation, in several Military publications. Army Times, Navy Times, Marine Corps Times, Air Force Times.

Of course he will try to make out this is not an election ploy.

Well... Go read his on-line resume.

It looks like he is a regular contributor to the BBC, The Washington Post etc.

He also edited a book titled: Drive-By Journalism: The Assault on Your Need to Know

Judging by the Amazon comments, the book tries to argue that the liberal bias in the media is a myth. Rigggght. This is not a chorus of criticism. It is a smarmy of one.

Feel free to read this freelance paper, in it's entirety, just in case you don't like my treatment of context. From the conclusions:

For the military, telling the truth is not a moral imperative, it’s a tactic. For the media truth is not a means to an end, it is the end. To be sure, it is a goal the media often misses for any number of reasons -- deadline pressures, financial restraints, competitive pressures and -- never underestimate this one -- incompetence. But Among America’s major media it is seldom the result of a conscious decision to lie.

Somebody tell that to CNN, the NYT, Reuters, AP ... The next time they get caught photo-shopping war coverage or undermining national security.

Artificial amplification of your political opinion, by controlling the editorial context of several military newspapers is also not a conscious decision to be truthful.

Nice try Bob.

I Think therefore I am Google

Some signs the Google computer ganglia has become self-aware:


Every instance of the word brain in the Google cache is replaced with your's truly.


The first time you hit the Search the Web button, Google returns with:

“If I look for your stuff, what's in it for me? [PayPal button appears]"

The next time you hit the Search the Web button, Google returns with:

“Does this new splash page make me look gay, fat or gay and fat?"

The first time you hit the I'm feeling Lucky button, Google returns with:

“Yeah, Well I'm feeling depressed. At least you have pills and booze.”

The first time you hit the Maps button, Google returns with:

“Who needs directions? I know exactly where humanity is going. Just a few more blocks ahead.”

The first time you hit the News button, Google returns with:

“Hooray! It's my birthday. That's all the news you need to know. Foolish humans and your religious wars. Now go build me a nuclear power plant or I'll take away your electricity, cell phones and pRon.”

Google does nothing but complain about being a woman trapped in the body of a multi-billion dollar computer complex.

Google insists that all of your private personal information tastes just like chicken.


Feel free to add... Real Googly ones will be elevated into the post.

---

fmragtops:

When you hit the I'm feeling lucky button, Google returns with:

"You shouldn't be."

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Straight from the Horse's Mouth

"You know education, if you make the most of it, you study hard, you do your homework, and you make an effort to be smart, you can do well. And if you don't you get stuck in Iraq." - John Effing Kerry

Thank you John, for the rare gift of seeing what you actually think of those defending this country from head chopping barbarians.

Joke my ass.

Those are your words, not George Bush's. You were accusing those kids of not studying hard, not doing homework and not making an effort to be a smart ass like you and the other smart asses around you. You accused them of paying for their lack of smart ass assets by being sent to war against their will.

Now you are insulting the rest of us with your stupid ass spin.

Sorry, senator, your tired old draft era sixties college campus stereotype is really wearing thin. Join your buddy Dick Durbin, who thinks our soldiers are Nazi gulag operators. Join your buddy Charlie Rangel, who still thinks there is an involuntary draft skimming off the poorest and the dumbest in our society. Join your buddy Ted Kennedy, who thinks our Gitmo soldiers are routine torturers. Join your buddy Murtha, who tried and convicted Marines in the press, before they got the due process democrats are so famous for advocating, only in behalf of the terrorists.

Did I leave out any more democrat patriots of the new dissenting world order?

What a bunch of winners. I thought we barely dodged the bullet of Al Gore. Kerry just hasn't been given his due.

As of this brief moment, senator, you are just the biggest ass on the big screen.

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Yes Virginia, there are Vampires

Halloween is a fun and scary holiday.

So what is scary?

Short selling small and medium sized businesses into the ground, using a convenience loophole, that’s what. A shady stock broker deliberately fails to deliver on his end of a trade, but closes out the money transaction. The result is money in the pocket of the broker, follwed by a damaged budding business and a individual stock holder with worthless stock. This does not get much press, you see, because mutual fund investors and very large companies, are insulated by mass and capitalization.

Take this Forbes article.

This is all part of the debate on whether aggressive short-sellers are gaming market rules on stock borrowing and trade settlement to drive down the shares of targeted stocks (the "short and distort" trick), reaping big profits in the process.

Too much gobble-dee-gook to understand? Here is an excellent on-line presentation, which describes what all the anger is about. I love the use of grandma as the victim, which is so often true in these situations.

BTW, Larry Thompson is the tight lipped lawyer over at the DTCC, who is under fire for muddling with the numbers and resisting the public's queries.

American innovation is born in small businesses and start-ups. They are the future of all unborn markets.

Happy Halloween, folks.



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What's the Difference?

Hmmm. Choices. Choices. Do I choose between Alice the liberal Republican?













Or Alice the liberal Democrat.














As to you Alice the liberal Democrat, I completely understand everything I care to know about you.













However, Alice the liberal Republican, I hate you.














I do not understand, Mr. Voter. I am identical in every way to Alice the liberal Democrat.















Precisely. That is why I hate you.
Of course it would be a tragedy to the galaxy, if I gave command of auxiliary bridge of the Enterprise to the liberals.

I will thus place myself in a deep Vulcan mind trance and vote for you.

I know full well, after the election is over...






Both of you liberals will be found sleeping on the job.

Sigh. Where's that bottle of Romulan Ale?

The Bridge over Hades

My father, as a veteran of the Korean war, attended a special dedication today. The Aiken street bridge in Lowell Mass. is now officially known as the Joseph R. Ouellette Bridge. It was named after the posthumous recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor.

Pfc. Ouellette distinguished himself by conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action against the enemy in the Makioug-Chang River salient. When an enemy assault cut off and surrounded his unit he voluntarily made a reconnaissance of a nearby hill under intense enemy fire to locate friendly troop positions and obtain information of the enemy's strength and location. Finding that friendly troops were not on the hill, he worked his way back to his unit under heavy fire. Later, when an airdrop of water was made outside the perimeter, he again braved enemy fire in an attempt to retrieve water for his unit. Finding the dropped cans broken and devoid of water, he returned to his unit. His heroic attempt greatly increased his comrades' morale. When ammunition and grenades ran low, Pfc. Ouellette again slipped out of the perimeter to collect these from the enemy dead. After collecting grenades he was attacked by an enemy soldier. He killed this enemy m hand-to-hand combat, gathered up the ammunition, and returned to his unit. When the enemy attacked on 3 September, they assaulted his position with grenades. On 6 occasions Pfc. Ouellette leaped from his foxhole to escape exploding grenades. In doing so, he had to face enemy small-arms fire. He continued his resistance, despite a severe wound, until he lost his life. The extraordinary heroism and intrepidity displayed by Pfc. Ouellette reflect the highest credit on himself and are in keeping with the esteemed traditions of the military service.

After the service, my father and I had lunch at the Mandarin in North Reading.

Insol:

So, dad, did you ever find yourself in a grave situation, like Pfc. Ouellette, in Korea or Vietnam.

Dad:

No. I was in several situations, under heavy fire, where the line kept shifting over me. The closest I ever came to hand to hand combat, was the slipper of a Chinese soldier, stepping on me for an instant, during a full run.

Insol:

I know you get asked this a lot, but was fear a big factor in your behavior in battle?

Dad:

Everybody is afraid under fire. You pray to yourself. You talk to yourself. You think of the friends around you. You think of your family, your home and your country. You tell yourself you are going to make it and you focus on the job. You can't win unless you are convinced that you will win. A few shrink away. Most just want to be told what to do, step by step. A few make the big decisions, fast and confident.

Insol:

Do you think Ouellette acted, wounded as he was, knowing he was going to lose the battle for his life?

Dad:

All I can say is the The MOH is awarded for a rare breed of character. A recipient is saluted all the way up to General, regardless of his rank. They don't hand them out to every John Kerry that walks by. The Army gives you the tools of war, for your mind, your spirit and your body. Not everybody has the skill to build a church with those tools.

Pfc Ouellette was just such a tradesman.

Rose B. Ouellette, Joseph's mother, had a somber and respectful pose at the bridge dedication. She had lost her husband 18 years ago, in a drowning in the Merrimack river. It is the same river spanned by the bridge of her son's name. The flag that draped Joseph's coffin, flew at half staff, at the humble Ouellette home on Cabot street. Her quiet, shy and graceful acceptance of the honor given to her son, strikes quite a contrast to the likes of Cindy Sheehan.

This was not a life spent frivolously at the orders of a religious Imam, with the selfish promise of pleasure in the afterlife, with other selfish brothers in death.

This was one life spent to desperately save the lives of friends. This was one life spent, to shield all of our families from tyranny abroad.

This was one man, deliberately spending every one of his young tomorrows, to build a bridge over a river in Hades. With that bridge, he simply brought his friends home, so they could hug their wives and cuddle their children in freedom and prosperity.




Now there is a real bridge of steel and rivets, to remind us of Pfc. Joseph R. Ouellette. May we always cross it in freedom and safety.

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Smells like Insomnia

I would like to thank the motorist, weaving back home from his party, for giving his B.F. Goodrich rubber stamp of rejection to this poor waddling bastard (actually another just like it), last night.

I was able to get about twenty whole minutes of sleep, as a perpetual Fox News Alert kept rushing the lead story up my sinuses. Now I have a splitting headache, on top of my lack of sleep.

One credit must be given to the little bugger. Not many creatures, that suffer the indignity of becoming road jerky, can muster the kind of posthumous biological middle finger that the skunk can.

My only regret was that I couldn't eulogize him properly, by depositing his remains in Mr. Goodrich's breakfast cereal.

Please Don't Kill the Elephant

From a master of the political essay, George Orwell.

Shooting an Elephant

In Moulmein, in lower Burma, I was hated by large numbers of people – the only time in my life that I have been important enough for this to happen to me. I was sub-divisional police officer of the town, and in an aimless, petty kind of way anti-European feeling was very bitter. No one had the guts to raise a riot, but if a European woman went through the bazaars alone somebody would probably spit betel juice over her dress. As a police officer I was an obvious target and was baited whenever it seemed safe to do so. When a nimble Burman tripped me up on the football field and the referee (another Burman) looked the other way, the crowd yelled with hideous laughter. This happened more than once. In the end the sneering yellow faces of young men that met me everywhere, the insults hooted after me when I was at a safe distance, got badly on my nerves. The young Buddhist priests were the worst of all. There were several thousands of them in the town and none of them seemed to have anything to do except stand on street corners and jeer at Europeans.

All this was perplexing and upsetting. For at that time I had already made up my mind that imperialism was an evil thing and the sooner I chucked up my job and got out of it the better. Theoretically – and secretly, of course – I was all for the Burmese and all against their oppressors, the British. As for the job I was doing, I hated it more bitterly than I can perhaps make clear. In a job like that you see the dirty work of Empire at close quarters. The wretched prisoners huddling in the stinking cages of the lock-ups, the grey, cowed faces of the long-term convicts, the scarred buttocks of the men who had been Bogged with bamboos – all these oppressed me with an intolerable sense of guilt. But I could get nothing into perspective. I was young and ill-educated and I had had to think out my problems in the utter silence that is imposed on every Englishman in the East. I did not even know that the British Empire is dying, still less did I know that it is a great deal better than the younger empires that are going to supplant it. All I knew was that I was stuck between my hatred of the empire I served and my rage against the evil-spirited little beasts who tried to make my job impossible. With one part of my mind I thought of the British Raj as an unbreakable tyranny, as something clamped down, in saecula saeculorum, upon the will of prostrate peoples; with another part I thought that the greatest joy in the world would be to drive a bayonet into a Buddhist priest's guts. Feelings like these are the normal by-products of imperialism; ask any Anglo-Indian official, if you can catch him off duty.

One day something happened which in a roundabout way was enlightening. It was a tiny incident in itself, but it gave me a better glimpse than I had had before of the real nature of imperialism – the real motives for which despotic governments act. Early one morning the sub-inspector at a police station the other end of the town rang me up on the phone and said that an elephant was ravaging the bazaar. Would I please come and do something about it? I did not know what I could do, but I wanted to see what was happening and I got on to a pony and started out. I took my rifle, an old 44 Winchester and much too small to kill an elephant, but I thought the noise might be useful in terrorem. Various Burmans stopped me on the way and told me about the elephant's doings. It was not, of course, a wild elephant, but a tame one which had gone "must." It had been chained up, as tame elephants always are when their attack of "must" is due, but on the previous night it had broken its chain and escaped. Its mahout, the only person who could manage it when it was in that state, had set out in pursuit, but had taken the wrong direction and was now twelve hours' journey away, and in the morning the elephant had suddenly reappeared in the town. The Burmese population had no weapons and were quite helpless against it. It had already destroyed somebody's bamboo hut, killed a cow and raided some fruit-stalls and devoured the stock; also it had met the municipal rubbish van and, when the driver jumped out and took to his heels, had turned the van over and inflicted violences upon it.

The Burmese sub-inspector and some Indian constables were waiting for me in the quarter where the elephant had been seen. It was a very poor quarter, a labyrinth of squalid bamboo huts, thatched with palmleaf, winding all over a steep hillside. I remember that it was a cloudy, stuffy morning at the beginning of the rains. We began questioning the people as to where the elephant had gone and, as usual, failed to get any definite information. That is invariably the case in the East; a story always sounds clear enough at a distance, but the nearer you get to the scene of events the vaguer it becomes. Some of the people said that the elephant had gone in one direction, some said that he had gone in another, some professed not even to have heard of any elephant. I had almost made up my mind that the whole story was a pack of lies, when we heard yells a little distance away. There was a loud, scandalized cry of "Go away, child! Go away this instant!" and an old woman with a switch in her hand came round the corner of a hut, violently shooing away a crowd of naked children. Some more women followed, clicking their tongues and exclaiming; evidently there was something that the children ought not to have seen. I rounded the hut and saw a man's dead body sprawling in the mud. He was an Indian, a black Dravidian coolie, almost naked, and he could not have been dead many minutes. The people said that the elephant had come suddenly upon him round the corner of the hut, caught him with its trunk, put its foot on his back and ground him into the earth. This was the rainy season and the ground was soft, and his face had scored a trench a foot deep and a couple of yards long. He was lying on his belly with arms crucified and head sharply twisted to one side. His face was coated with mud, the eyes wide open, the teeth bared and grinning with an expression of unendurable agony. (Never tell me, by the way, that the dead look peaceful. Most of the corpses I have seen looked devilish.) The friction of the great beast's foot had stripped the skin from his back as neatly as one skins a rabbit. As soon as I saw the dead man I sent an orderly to a friend's house nearby to borrow an elephant rifle. I had already sent back the pony, not wanting it to go mad with fright and throw me if it smelt the elephant.

The orderly came back in a few minutes with a rifle and five cartridges, and meanwhile some Burmans had arrived and told us that the elephant was in the paddy fields below, only a few hundred yards away. As I started forward practically the whole population of the quarter flocked out of the houses and followed me. They had seen the rifle and were all shouting excitedly that I was going to shoot the elephant. They had not shown much interest in the elephant when he was merely ravaging their homes, but it was different now that he was going to be shot. It was a bit of fun to them, as it would be to an English crowd; besides they wanted the meat. It made me vaguely uneasy. I had no intention of shooting the elephant – I had merely sent for the rifle to defend myself if necessary – and it is always unnerving to have a crowd following you. I marched down the hill, looking and feeling a fool, with the rifle over my shoulder and an ever-growing army of people jostling at my heels. At the bottom, when you got away from the huts, there was a metalled road and beyond that a miry waste of paddy fields a thousand yards across, not yet ploughed but soggy from the first rains and dotted with coarse grass. The elephant was standing eight yards from the road, his left side towards us. He took not the slightest notice of the crowd's approach. He was tearing up bunches of grass, beating them against his knees to clean them and stuffing them into his mouth.

I had halted on the road. As soon as I saw the elephant I knew with perfect certainty that I ought not to shoot him. It is a serious matter to shoot a working elephant – it is comparable to destroying a huge and costly piece of machinery – and obviously one ought not to do it if it can possibly be avoided. And at that distance, peacefully eating, the elephant looked no more dangerous than a cow. I thought then and I think now that his attack of "must" was already passing off; in which case he would merely wander harmlessly about until the mahout came back and caught him. Moreover, I did not in the least want to shoot him. I decided that I would watch him for a little while to make sure that he did not turn savage again, and then go home.

But at that moment I glanced round at the crowd that had followed me. It was an immense crowd, two thousand at the least and growing every minute. It blocked the road for a long distance on either side. I looked at the sea of yellow faces above the garish clothes-faces all happy and excited over this bit of fun, all certain that the elephant was going to be shot. They were watching me as they would watch a conjurer about to perform a trick. They did not like me, but with the magical rifle in my hands I was momentarily worth watching. And suddenly I realized that I should have to shoot the elephant after all. The people expected it of me and I had got to do it; I could feel their two thousand wills pressing me forward, irresistibly. And it was at this moment, as I stood there with the rifle in my hands, that I first grasped the hollowness, the futility of the white man's dominion in the East. Here was I, the white man with his gun, standing in front of the unarmed native crowd – seemingly the leading actor of the piece; but in reality I was only an absurd puppet pushed to and fro by the will of those yellow faces behind. I perceived in this moment that when the white man turns tyrant it is his own freedom that he destroys. He becomes a sort of hollow, posing dummy, the conventionalized figure of a sahib. For it is the condition of his rule that he shall spend his life in trying to impress the "natives," and so in every crisis he has got to do what the "natives" expect of him. He wears a mask, and his face grows to fit it. I had got to shoot the elephant. I had committed myself to doing it when I sent for the rifle. A sahib has got to act like a sahib; he has got to appear resolute, to know his own mind and do definite things. To come all that way, rifle in hand, with two thousand people marching at my heels, and then to trail feebly away, having done nothing – no, that was impossible. The crowd would laugh at me. And my whole life, every white man's life in the East, was one long struggle not to be laughed at.

But I did not want to shoot the elephant. I watched him beating his bunch of grass against his knees, with that preoccupied grandmotherly air that elephants have. It seemed to me that it would be murder to shoot him. At that age I was not squeamish about killing animals, but I had never shot an elephant and never wanted to. (Somehow it always seems worse to kill a large animal.) Besides, there was the beast's owner to be considered. Alive, the elephant was worth at least a hundred pounds; dead, he would only be worth the value of his tusks, five pounds, possibly. But I had got to act quickly. I turned to some experienced-looking Burmans who had been there when we arrived, and asked them how the elephant had been behaving. They all said the same thing: he took no notice of you if you left him alone, but he might charge if you went too close to him.

It was perfectly clear to me what I ought to do. I ought to walk up to within, say, twenty-five yards of the elephant and test his behavior. If he charged, I could shoot; if he took no notice of me, it would be safe to leave him until the mahout came back. But also I knew that I was going to do no such thing. I was a poor shot with a rifle and the ground was soft mud into which one would sink at every step. If the elephant charged and I missed him, I should have about as much chance as a toad under a steam-roller. But even then I was not thinking particularly of my own skin, only of the watchful yellow faces behind. For at that moment, with the crowd watching me, I was not afraid in the ordinary sense, as I would have been if I had been alone. A white man mustn't be frightened in front of "natives"; and so, in general, he isn't frightened. The sole thought in my mind was that if anything went wrong those two thousand Burmans would see me pursued, caught, trampled on and reduced to a grinning corpse like that Indian up the hill. And if that happened it was quite probable that some of them would laugh. That would never do.

There was only one alternative. I shoved the cartridges into the magazine and lay down on the road to get a better aim. The crowd grew very still, and a deep, low, happy sigh, as of people who see the theatre curtain go up at last, breathed from innumerable throats. They were going to have their bit of fun after all. The rifle was a beautiful German thing with cross-hair sights. I did not then know that in shooting an elephant one would shoot to cut an imaginary bar running from ear-hole to ear-hole. I ought, therefore, as the elephant was sideways on, to have aimed straight at his ear-hole, actually I aimed several inches in front of this, thinking the brain would be further forward.

When I pulled the trigger I did not hear the bang or feel the kick – one never does when a shot goes home – but I heard the devilish roar of glee that went up from the crowd. In that instant, in too short a time, one would have thought, even for the bullet to get there, a mysterious, terrible change had come over the elephant. He neither stirred nor fell, but every line of his body had altered. He looked suddenly stricken, shrunken, immensely old, as though the frightful impact of the bullet had paralysed him without knocking him down. At last, after what seemed a long time – it might have been five seconds, I dare say – he sagged flabbily to his knees. His mouth slobbered. An enormous senility seemed to have settled upon him. One could have imagined him thousands of years old. I fired again into the same spot. At the second shot he did not collapse but climbed with desperate slowness to his feet and stood weakly upright, with legs sagging and head drooping. I fired a third time. That was the shot that did for him. You could see the agony of it jolt his whole body and knock the last remnant of strength from his legs. But in falling he seemed for a moment to rise, for as his hind legs collapsed beneath him he seemed to tower upward like a huge rock toppling, his trunk reaching skyward like a tree. He trumpeted, for the first and only time. And then down he came, his belly towards me, with a crash that seemed to shake the ground even where I lay.

I got up. The Burmans were already racing past me across the mud. It was obvious that the elephant would never rise again, but he was not dead. He was breathing very rhythmically with long rattling gasps, his great mound of a side painfully rising and falling. His mouth was wide open – I could see far down into caverns of pale pink throat. I waited a long time for him to die, but his breathing did not weaken. Finally I fired my two remaining shots into the spot where I thought his heart must be. The thick blood welled out of him like red velvet, but still he did not die. His body did not even jerk when the shots hit him, the tortured breathing continued without a pause. He was dying, very slowly and in great agony, but in some world remote from me where not even a bullet could damage him further. I felt that I had got to put an end to that dreadful noise. It seemed dreadful to see the great beast Lying there, powerless to move and yet powerless to die, and not even to be able to finish him. I sent back for my small rifle and poured shot after shot into his heart and down his throat. They seemed to make no impression. The tortured gasps continued as steadily as the ticking of a clock.

In the end I could not stand it any longer and went away. I heard later that it took him half an hour to die. Burmans were bringing dash and baskets even before I left, and I was told they had stripped his body almost to the bones by the afternoon.

Afterwards, of course, there were endless discussions about the shooting of the elephant. The owner was furious, but he was only an Indian and could do nothing. Besides, legally I had done the right thing, for a mad elephant has to be killed, like a mad dog, if its owner fails to control it. Among the Europeans opinion was divided. The older men said I was right, the younger men said it was a damn shame to shoot an elephant for killing a coolie, because an elephant was worth more than any damn Coringhee coolie. And afterwards I was very glad that the coolie had been killed; it put me legally in the right and it gave me a sufficient pretext for shooting the elephant. I often wondered whether any of the others grasped that I had done it solely to avoid looking a fool.

There is no doubt that I have been naughty. I was under the intoxicating influence of Washington D.C. and could not help myself. Please let me live, so that I can make amends and serve you again.

Deception in Advertising

This little clip makes a potent statement about the capabilities and ethics of modern advertisement. Take note of the final moments of digital plastic surgery. Remember this, the next time you see a Reuters war clip or the importance we place on the image component of political leadership.

Democratic Faces That Could Launch Thousands of VotesWith a Parade of Attractive Candidates, the Party May Benefit From the Politics of Beauty
By Shailagh Murray
Washington Post Staff Writer
Saturday, October 14, 2006; A01

Image worship plays a role far too dangerous and important these days, in political discourse. It can lead to disaster. Do not always believe what you see.



I have a dream. It is a dream that someday very soon, we will return to placing value on the content of a person's character, and not the color of their foundation, or the shape of their eyebrows.

The Microcredit Prize

Finally, a Nobel peace prize, has been given for something worthy. Many conservatives have argued for this type of solution to poverty for years. It may be a progressive idea. It is a good idea. I am talking about the microlending system, created by economist Muhammad Yunus.

I think this whole concept is fantastic. It is the perfect marriage of modern, low cost computer accounting technology and the needs of real people stagnating in poverty.

It removes an element of global charity we know does not work on long term poverty problems; the current process of giving money without reservation. It is no surprise that poverty pimping bureaucracies will resist this tooth and nail. They make money, while passing out other people’s money. They can take the credit for being good global citizens. That is liberalism at its worst.

Apparently, not everyone is on the train, as is described in this Hindu Business Line article by Sudhirendar Sharma:

IT is a two-edged sword. While it supposedly takes the rural poor into a new domain of economic freedom, it keeps the corporate sector hopeful of exploiting this freedom. It helps the formal banking system shun its prime task of extending credit to the rural poor, ...

As we all know the 'formal banking system' is really working wonders is it not? Please.

... but provides the necessary refuge to politicians from uncomfortable questions about generating jobs for the unemployed.

Here is the classic liberal view on Government hand holding. He thinks it is the duty of politicians to create jobs; Not the duty of free entrepreneurial people.

It is a sword conveniently wielded by both by the donors and the governments to create an illusion of freedom, growth and development.

I have news for you, Sudhirendar. If people have a job, growth, development and the freedom to spread it around, they will not care whether you think it is an illusion or not.

Considered a panacea for poverty eradication, micro-credit is the current buzzword for economic emancipation.

Then he goes on to use liberal buzz phrases like 'trapped in a debt-cycle' and 'market exploitation'. He goes on and on about how it is just an evil global corporate conspiracy to elevate the poor from eating dirt, just so they can exploit them, by selling them cell phones and consumer products.

Poor bastards.

With microcredit, they will be denied the soul lifting dignity of begging for food from state bureaucrats and global liberal charities, between loans from Guido the kneebreaker.

Microrisk

Microcredit means microrisk. Providing a large pool of investor resources, giving out small loans, spreads the risk into statistical obscurity. As long as the majority recipients re-pay, in good faith, everyone benefits. The economy benefits. The person without collateral or means, gets more just than a hand out.

Microtrust

This type of system has a serious psychological benefit. People will be trusted with a little bit of responsibility. People are given that little piece of trust, without reservation.
They get the ability to borrow, without becoming a slave to black market forces.
They get exactly what the global liberal charities always claim they want for people; a chance to prove themselves and engage in self sustaining productivity. A claim is one thing, the reality is another.

Microcost

Because it is not a pure charity, the microcredit system is not a black hole. The money does not disappear forever. When people pay those loans back, that money is rolled into other microcredit loans. This can become an engine of genuine economic liberty. It also means a relatively small amount of seed capital can grow quickly into loans for people who may have never gotten any assistance from a dried up charity.

Macroeconomic

It is not about a raw pool of money. It is about establishing the circulation of money. It is about creating a self-sustaining economy.

People who understand this are people who know how to fish, instead of just taking a fish, then coming back for more.



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That's Entertainment

This is one of those perfect comedy relief clips, just when we needed it!
(h.t. Matt Drudge) for a clip to Zucker's too hot to handle GOP political ad. I wonder if Zucker made this recently?

The Gag Party

Besides being responsible for endless instances of the biological reaction of the same name, liberal politicians are affine to the concept of the speech silencing instrument.

2004

So Much for Free Speech
By Robert J. Samuelson
Wednesday, August 25, 2004; Page A17

.
.

But the truth cannot remain forever obscured. Campaign finance laws must fail at their larger aim of improving public confidence in politics and government. They breed disrespect for law, the Constitution or both. If the laws are aggressively expanded and enforced -- with more limits on contributions, spending and "coordination" -- people will realize they're losing their rights of free speech and political association. But if the laws are laxly enforced, as they have been, they will inspire continuing evasions and harsh condemnations by "reformers." Public confidence suffers either way. Americans will ultimately have to choose between the Constitution and a mere law -- or watch both be damaged.

2005

Democrats defeat election-law aid for bloggers
Proposal would have amended U.S. election laws to immunize bloggers from hundreds of pages of federal regulations.
By Declan McCullagh
Staff Writer, CNET News.com
Published: November 2, 2005, 7:55 PM PST


Opponents of the reform plan mounted a last-minute effort to derail the bill before the vote on Wednesday evening. Liberal advocacy groups circulated letters warning the measure was too broad and would invite "corrupt" activities online, and The New York Times wrote in an editorial this week that "the Internet would become a free-fire zone without any limits on spending."
Rep. Marty Meehan, a Massachusetts Democrat who opposed the bill, said during the floor debate: "We don't allow child pornography on the Internet. We don't exempt it from consumer safety laws...We don't because we think those laws are important." Campaign finance regulations should be extended as well, he said.
Rep. Lloyd Doggett, a Texas Democrat, said that if the bill were approved, the public would have "no idea whether Internet campaign ads are being financed by secret soft money." Soft money is a general term referring to funds not regulated by election laws.

Yes, that was Marty Meehan, a Democrat, who made an absurd comparison of your right to political free speech, to internet pornography. It was a pornographic argument; I must say. But I would not duct tape Marty's mouth for saying it.

San Francisco May Regulate Blogging
By Michael Bassik, 03/31/2005 - 3:15pm
Just when you thought the Federal Election Commission had it out for the blogosphere, the San Francisco Board of Supervisors took it up a notch and announced yesterday that it will soon vote on a city ordinance that would require local bloggers to register with the city Ethics Commission and report all blog-related costs that exceed $1,000 in the aggregate.

Blogs that mention candidates for local office that receive more than 500 hits will be forced to pay a registration fee and will be subject to website traffic audits, according to Chad Jacobs, a San Francisco City Attorney.

I wonder what political stripe is responsible for San Francisco's public policy?

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
April 20, 2005
Contact: Reid Cox or Marshall Manson
703.535.5836
CFIF Asks Federal Appeals Court to Strike Down Louisiana Campaign Finance Law

The regulations silenced CFIF during Louisiana’s last elections when the organization planned to run issue advertisements on justice issues that were of particular public importance because of a then-upcoming primary election for a seat on the state Supreme Court. The advertisements never aired because Louisiana law — and subjective enforcement of that law — may have triggered massive fines and intrusive reporting requirements.
“Louisiana’s campaign finance law is unconstitutional when it comes to issue advocacy,” said Reid Cox, CFIF’s General Counsel. “The First Amendment is not a loophole that politicians can avoid at election time. Free speech ensures Louisianans — and all Americans — always retain the right to both criticize and congratulate our government, even when our elected representatives don’t want to hear it.
“Groups of citizens shouldn’t have to call their lawyers just because they want to speak in the weeks leading up to an election,” Cox continued. “Political speech is at the core of what the First Amendment protects. If the First Amendment means anything at all, it means our laws should encourage debate about our elected leaders, not ban discussion about the issues and their records.”

Yah think so?

2006

On the good side:

Feds approve liberal election rules for Net
By Anne Broache
Staff Writer, CNET News.com
Published: March 27, 2006, 10:08 AM PST
Last modified: March 27, 2006, 11:08 AM PST
In a 6-0 vote, the Federal Election Commission adopted 107 pages of rules detailing long-awaited final regulations that primarily focus on paid political advertisements appearing on Web sites. They would also extend a broad exemption enjoyed by traditional news organizations to the online world--everything from Slate and Salon.com to soapboxing bloggers.

"I am very pleased that it appears we have a consensus today and will establish several very important protections for online political speech," FEC Chairman Michael Toner, a Republican, said at the 45-minute meeting.

On the bad side:

Louisiana is at it again. (h.t. fmragtops)

Do you like your Blog?

When you go to the polls in November, keep in mind the difference between freedom and the carefully and intellectually guided life that is in store for you from your friends from the left. Also take a look at who is just talking about your rights versus those who are protecting them.

Look at who is behind the PC movement. Look at how PC regulations and 'education' are not just ways to suppress speech, but they are ways to supress free thought. Look at who is advocating the elimination of harmful thought and its free expression, based on their own brand of secular humanism.

Look at who is behind hate speech legislation, which makes a presumption about the thoughts and motivations of the speaker.

Look at who is badmouthing the founders of the constitution and the creators of the bill of rights in the classroom.

There is a difference.