Friday, April 01, 2011

Professor Hanson: Libya, Explained...

Seriously, this man is a National Treasure. Perhaps once hyperinflation finally kicks in we could put his face on the $10,000,000 bill?

By the way, I've just re-read the Professor's Carnage and Culture. It's a classic, and still a great read 10 years later.

Thursday, March 31, 2011

New Stuff!

The Lunatic has now joined the rest of you in the 21st Century! There will undoubtedly be mass, spontaneous outbursts of joy, dancing in the streets, fireworks displays, and sunshowers of lemon drops and gumdrops, because for the very first time you can now pass on the questionable products of my diseased mindset to your friends and enemies through BlogThis!, Twitter, Facebook, and GoogleBuzz.

You'll find little icons for all of these wonders of high-tech-whizbangery atthe bottom of all posts from now on, so do me a favor and get your social-networking freak on!

All this mental retardation must be shared with the world, dammit. Now make me famous!

But it doesn't stop there, my friends, oh no! I've added some new stuff to the blogroll, too. So, take some time and sample all the new crap I've linked to:

Cracked Magazine - I used to read Cracked religiously as a child, and while the online version is infinitely more sophiticated, it's about twice as juvenile. Which means a whole lot of fun for all!

Depraved Mindset - This is one of Mr. Chap's inmates. And while whoever runs that site might be a flaming libtard who deletes posts they don't agree with, clicking on the site at least serves one vital social service:

At least you'll know what the stuck-in-the-60's segment of the political spectrum is thinking, and how it formulates it's arguments (which is usally by sticking their fingers in their ears and screaming "Neener-neener-neener!" at the top of their lungs). I don't happen to agree with the site's politics, points of view, conclusions or posting policies, but it's still well-written crap, and visually interesting in that Gothic-five-seconds-from-suicide kind of way. Still worth a visit every now and then. I'd actually love to debate the owner of that site, friendly-like, over coffee and biscotti.

Just don't post anything containing facts that can't be refuted by liberal ideology (contradiction in terms, yes, I know).

The Washington Examiner - been meaning to add this for a long time, but I keep forgetting. I've only remembered this time because Byron York was on TV the other day, and I always liked his writing over at National Review.

And the FBI Still Wastes Time Going After the Mafia?

Remember, these are the people who teach your children, run your hospitals, and defend your streets from criminals.

I'm reminded of this classic Monty Python sketch.

UPDATE: Clueless, Nose-picking Moron Gets Arrested for Making E-mail Threats toWisconsin Republican.

You DO realize that if you send a death threat with your personal e-mail address it's about the same as sending a death threat through the Post Office with your return address on the envelope? You just might as well turn yourself in, Asshole, and save everyone the trouble of the three-minute investigation, and the face pain from all the laughter.

Trump on Birth Certificates...

NBC used to be a monolith of journalism, the Gold Standard by which all other journalistic endeavors were measured. Now it is simply a collection of panty-bunched Leftards who have decided that the public needs to be protected from the truth, and which needs to cover it's own collective ass, since there was no greater Cheerleader for Barry Oh-Blah-Blah than NBC news. Even if that means dismissing out-of-hand that which so obviously blows their carefully-constructed narrative of the Greatness of The Won to smithereens.

What has NBC news in such a tizzy? Donald Trump wants to see Barack Obama's Birth Certificate, too.

I mean, even Mika Bra-bra-za-za-zinski has her titties in a knot over the whole thing, and while I used to like her, I'm now convinced after watching Morning Joe fairly religiously for the last few months that she has the sort of intellectual acuity one usually associates with a grapefruit. Her father may have once been Secretary of State (to Jimmy Carter, which makes that sort of like being the chief clown in the circus), but I'm beginning to wonder just who she had to blow to get that gig.

The whole Birther Controversy will soon blow over, in any case; Resident Odoofus won't be occupying the White House after January 20, 2013, and then I'm fairly certain the fur-breasted, bitter gun-clingers will finally get their answer to the questions that consume their every waking thought: is Obama a citizen of the United States? Is he a closet Muslim? Was his election truly valid?

I would tend to believe there are more important questions to be asked right now: like who we'll eventually choose to replace President Unmitigated-Disaster...and her husband, or How do we repair the American economy? When do we finally achieve energy independence? How many Congresscritters can we shoot (rhetorically) in the Public Square when it's all over?

Once Obama is gone, the Press, especially NBC News, will no longer have a vested interest in propping him up, and then the real investigative reporting that should have been done before they ushered Obama into office will finally be done, when he's no longer of any use to them. Having constructed the Potemkin President and presented him to the world as Savior of the Universe, the assholes at NBC, (P)MSNBC, CNN, CBS and the New York Times will recklessly proceed with indecent haste to finally tell the truth, the whole truth and nuthin' but the truth, vis-a-vis President Marriott-Suites.

If only to save whatever journalistic reputation and pretense to objectivity they might be able to salvage.

Only then will History be able to judge whether Barry from Hawaii was ever eligible, or qualified, to be President of these United States, and then the lessons learned will be carried forward. I wouldn't doubt if in the near future we start subjecting our candidates to such intense scrutiny that they will have to undergo a colonoscopy in order to allay any public speculation that Jimmy Hoffa may be buried in one of their intestines.

The real point of the whole Birther thing in the first place was to find a reason, any reason conceivable or plausible, to keep Obama from taking the Oath of Office, or failing that, of bringing him down, eventually. Unfortunately for the Birthers, Barack Obama requires absolutely no help from them in order to fuck things up royally. Of course, Birthers fail to realize that if they ever did get Obama on this birth certificate thing, it would only lead to the even sadder consequence of leaving the country in even less-capable hands: Joe Biden's.

With Hillary Clinton waiting in the wings -- cleaning her guns.

The Birthers would risk even that; they're so impatient to bring about the Rapture (or whatever the fuck it is they want) that they can't wait for 2013. To them, every second that Barry Oantichrist sits in the Oval Office brings this nation one second closer to complete and utter, cosmic, doom.

Dudes..Chill out. We already passed the "Apocalypse, Next Right" sign when Bill Clinton stood before a national audience and proudly, even brazenly, lied through his teeth.

"I didn't inhale..." He said. And everyone knew he was full of shit, but they still voted for him. Twice.

If you hadn't recognized then that the American Public was content to be lied to in the most audacious and bald-faced manner, and even seem to not only NOT give a shit, but in fact reward the liar who insulted their intelligence with a second term, then you missed your Apocalyptic Tipping Point.

Barack Obama is the man who will destroy America? Fuck, that process started already. Obama just clocked in for the Night Shift. And truthfully, it's been CONGRESS which has done far more damage than Obama, Bush or Clinton. They just happen to be the guys in charge whenever the Perpetual Fisting of America enters it's next cycle. Barack Obama isn't the one who 'ruined' America: he just came along and poured salt and lemon juice in the open wounds.

You want to know who ruined America, then take at look at the people who usually escape the blame for the state of affairs they created: the professional political class, big business, lawyers, libtards, and a public so mind-bogglingly stupid that they made the choice the Press wanted them to make in the fall of 2008. The Press liked the story -- Black Man makes Good in Racist-est Country in Human History -- so who gives a shit if he's actually capable of doing the job?

By the end of next year, they'll have a whole new story to pitch to you: How Did this Douchebag Manage to Scam America into Voting for Him? The truth will eventually be told. Just keep your panties on.

I'm no fan of Barack Obama, believe me, but at this point trying to get him tossed from office on such skinny hopes reeks of the Prosecuting Attorney who went into court with a murder weapon, the suspect's fingerprints and DNA, three eyewitnesses, a confession and the whole crime captured on videotape, loses his case through incredible stupidity -- and then tries to get the accused busted on a jaywalking rap, just to save face.

Barack Obama's Birth Certificate just might turn out to be the political equivalent of The Bloody Glove.

They way I figure it, the Press will be insanely interested in finding out for you, but only after the man they've built up has finally begun his downward spiral. It's how Leftards play politics: they not only bury their dead, they rush to be the first to bury their wounded, too. In the meantime, it's not as if Barack Obama is actually in the White House, what with all the vacations, golf outings, campaign stops, set speechifying in front of hand-picked crowds with three teleprompters in tow, so why not just let the issue lie for now?

I mean, imagine how much worse it could be if he were actually trying?

The only good thing about this brouhaha is that Next Time We'll Ask. All political candidates will probably be posting their Birth Certificates on billboards from here on in.

As for the possibility of Donald Trump being a contender for President of the United States: do you honestly imagine he could do worse than any of the Professional Politicians we're likely to see run, given the recent track records and current rosters of either political party?

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

"Titty Bars Are Evil..."

It must be Blast from My Past Week. Some higher power (probably FoxNews or Microsoft, but definitely NOT God, because She doesn't exist, and if She did, She would have been far more subtle, contradictory, and incomprehensible) has decided that this particular week I should have to be inundated by a slew of unpleasant memories, solid reminders of my past failures, and thrust into a series of circumstances where some of the people who have disappointed me (or I them) the most in life should all suddenly renter my little world at the same time, and conspire to drive me absolutely insane.

It's like my life this past week has just leaped out of a Lifetime Made-for-TV movie. They (whoever the fuck 'They' are) say that things happen in threes. Part 1 was the by-chance encounter with an old girlfriend who bored me with her religious douchebaggery, and Part 2 of this unfathomable journey began late last night with a phone call from a someone I had wished, at the time, would be a girlfriend, but who had other ideas (and probably a whole lot more sense).
I have not seen nor spoken to Jenny (not her real name) for, oh, I gather, seven or eight years now. When last we met, she had just gotten married, popped out a kid, and moved in with her male-model husband (Joey Squadooch, not his real name, either) into a 4,000' square-foot suburban Art-Deco monstrosity in rural New Jersey. The romance had been whirlwind, the wedding a hastily-organized operation, and I'm beginning to think Jenny might have already been pregnant when they took their vows.

Jenny used to live in the same apartment building I did, in the unit directly above mine, and we became friends because we used to commute into Manhattan with one another, and then usually meet each other on the way home. We were the two youngest people in our building, and so this, naturally, entailed that we would hang out a lot together. In fact, there was a signal we used to have when one of us had nothing to do, and just wanted to hang out, assuming we hadn't come home together; Jenny would stamp her high-heeled boot on the hardwood floor above me three times in a certain place, or I would go out on the terrace and give a whistle. What usually followed was take-out and Sangria on the terrace, and a bunch of laughs. I made a killer Sangria in those days.

Anyways, Jenny and I never became an item, mostly because I wasn't her type. She liked the pretty boys, and although I was cute-as-all-hell when I was younger and thinner, I wasn't quite up to her standards (to give you some idea, Joey always reminded me of a young Andy Garcia. How the hell do you compete with that?). Oh, I think we might have come close a time or two to actually doing something both of us might have regretted later, but it never happened. Oh, and Joey was super rich, and stood to inherit his father's (probably Mob-connected) business, despite the fact that he was dumber than a fucking stump. If you took an x-ray of his skull, all you'd find would be a nomad camel caravan fighting through a sandstorm to make it's way up the next dune.
An original thought and a cold drink of water might have actually sent him into a coma. Now, before you start assuming that this disparaging of Joey is due to jealousy, let me set you straight; it isn't. he was actually a pretty nice guy. It's just that you instinctively knew after 30 seconds of close personal contact that his parents had mostly wasted their money on that expensive Catholic School Education, and that every D-minus was probably followed with an expensive gift to "build his confidence". Joey didn't really need to be smart, as he stood to inherit his money, and besides, they paid others to actually run the company, I'll bet.
Be that as it may, I was genuinely pleased when Jenny and Joey married. They made a nice couple, and they were obviously happy. Good people deserve to be happy, I've always thought.
It wasn't long afterwards that I fell into the real depths of my madness, which caused me to cut most ties I had to old friends, leave my hometown, and seek a peculiar sort of solitude wherein I chose who to associate with, and just how much of them I could stand, and then withdrew -- often for long periods -- when I'd had enough of them. Things were going to get progressively worse from there, but that's another story. I lost touch with Jenny and Joey, and truth to tell, it wasn't as if they went out of their way to maintain ties, either. I figured I'd never hear form either again, and that was just fine.

And then I get this phone call. Don't know how she found me (Jenny, if I recall, was some sort of telecommunications specialist before she became a mother-housewife, so that's probably how) because this number ain't listed, and it ain't even under my name. After the initial "Wow, imagine hearing from you? How are you, Sunshine?" bit was all over, the real reason for Jenny's call became all too clear.

Jenny and Joey are getting divorced. That's too bad, I say, not really meaning it, and truthfully, not really caring. She had looked me up, I think, because she needed yet one more person to vent and cry to, and having exhausted the ears and drenched the shoulders of her family, circle of friends, casual acquaintances, business associates, people she met once on a Carnival Cruise, her Congressman, Pastor, Dentist and Pool Cleaner, it was time to dig really far into the past and relate the whole sordid tale to someone who hasn't been in her life for almost a decade. Everyone must suffer Jenny's pain, and there's still one more human being on this planet who hasn't heard the whole, sordid story.

Where people get the idea that I'm the one to unload their burdens on is beyond me. Maybe I used to be good at this sort of thing, but not anymore, I don't think.

Anyways, it seems the central factor in the soon-to-occur demise of JennyJoe, LTD is a... titty bar.

Ah, area where my monolithic expertise comes into play! Now it all makes sense!
I'm not proud of this. In retrospect, it was probably one of the first and earliest indications that something was wrong with me, and that those issues needed to be faced and fixed if I was ever to become a halfway decent human being. I cannot tell you how many evenings, or how much money, I've lost inside those places, but I was young, and stupid, and an alcoholic back then. Suffice to say, eventually the whole experience just grew tiresome, boring, predictable, and lost its allure, eventually. It always does. It has to.

Women, especially married women, do not understand the attraction the Jiggle Joint holds for some men. It's a combination of all of our baser desires, a one-stop-shopping experience for the braindead. Under one roof, a man with no impulse control and more cash than brains finds everything he could want: booze, naked chicks, the anticipation of sex, but mostly, the illusion of control.That's what brings 'em in, you know; it's a place where Men exert control over a woman, and usually in a way that he would never think of doing with his Good Lady Wife or significant other. Its a simple transaction: I have money, the Dancer (misnomer) has tits, and there is no obligation. She becomes, for a short while, your trained seal. That this unnatural arrangement is all a farce goes unrealized -- the one with the real power and control in this situation is really the Whore. She's there to separate you from your wallet, and you'll be happy to let her do it. Especially when you're drunk.
Even if there is...ahem...association outside the confines of the bar, it's almost never serious. It can't be: you know what She is, and She definitely knows what you are. While this suffices so far as one-nighters (and maybe even serial one-nighters) are concerned, it can never, ever be the basis of a lasting relationship because the basic foundation upon which that is built upon -- trust, respect, truth,mutual goodwill -- doesn't exist. It's wholly a physical and mental exercise. It's really about two simple things; you get a fuck buddy when you need one, and she gets an ATM machine when she needs one.

Ladies, here's a simple truth; Men are stupid. Oh, we can design spacecraft, fly airplanes, build skyscrapers and invent a variety of labor-saving devices, but when it comes to Mr. Winkie and our wired-by-biology urge to fuck (or to at least THINK we can fuck) everything that moves, all bets are off. Most men go through a stage in life where they would willingly and eagerly slither naked on their bellies over broken glass and hot coals, with the American Flag jammed in their asses, to get to the Titty Bar. Most men will grow out of this stage by about age 25-28, or so. Some take a little longer, and some, sadly, never do. When men in their later years (say, mid-30's to early 50's) start frequenting Topless Bars, it's almost never about sex -- it's always about reestablishing some measure of control over their lives, or about reliving their Glory Days (although what's so glorious about getting pants-shitting drunk, dropping a couple of C-notes to NOT get laid, and then waking up in a puddle of your own vomit smelling like the perfume counter at K-Mart, and risking multiple STD's is beyond my capacity to remember).  
So, Joey is frequenting Titty Bars, and Jenny caught him. Or rather, Jenny caught Joey doing the nasty with some skank he met in a Titty Bar. This requires a divorce...and my advice. After all, I'm the Titty Bar Expert and I can, she assumes, tell her exactly why it happened, and then have the courtesy to sit still long enough to have my ears ravaged by her plaintive wails of "I was a good wife, wasn't I? Didn't I give him everything he wanted? What's wrong with me that he has to mess around with sluts? Titty Bars are Evil..."
Like I know what goes on in your house? I haven't talked to you in eight years. But, Jenny was a good friend, and I wouldn't mind if she re-entered my circle of friends, so I can't let her down. I tell her the truth; your husband is a dipshit. He's done what he's done for reasons that are easy to explain, but the initial urge came from somewhere that only you can figure out. Somewhere, he's lost his ability to manage some aspect of his life, probably with you, and the reaction was not to talk to you, or work out your differences, but to go to a place where he was (falsely) assured that he could reestablish control over a relationship, and pork a scifooza with no strings attached. In a convoluted way, he's reestablishing his manhood, or at least what he thinks is his manhood. The sad part is that this ain't the way to do it.
This sort of sin is unforgivable. Even I, a person lacking in anything you might consider normal human feelings, even I understand that a Line Has Been Crossed. Honestly, if I were married, even with all the shit I've done in my life behind me and knowing that I've often given into my more ridiculous impulses, even I wouldn't cheat on my wife. I figure if I had wanted to marry you, I couldn't find it inside even this iron-bound heart to actually do that.I figure that having asked for your hand in marriage, I must have really respected you at some point. There's some places even this jaded Lunatic just won't go to.

So, I told her to go get her divorce, and to make certain that her lawyer rapes him for what he's done, but never for a second believe that you did something wrong (unless, of course, you actually have!); The Boom-Boom Room is just Men being Boys being Pigs. That's not an excuse, it's just a truthful observation. We're sick, sick, sick animals who often need strong (not domineering, just strong) women to keep us on the straight-and-narrow. That is, after all, your job.

Women are right in this regard (Damn, I can't believe I actually wrote that!): Men don't communicate their feelings enough. And by that, I mean they don't talk to their bitches when they really should, and even if they do, they aren't always honest and free with their feelings. Because Men don't talk, they usually end up speaking with their actions, and as we all know, Actions Speak Louder than Words.

And are far more hurtful. Especially when your actions are played out in a public parking lot in front of your wife, and the mother of your two kids, who has had to hunt you down because you didn't come home. She's been publicly humiliated. This is the absolute worst thing you could ever do to someone.

Oh, and one final note to Men everywhere: Never, ever buy a vehicle with a GPS-tracking system that your wife can access from her iPhone. Yep, there's even an app for that.

On 'The Managerial Revolution'...

I made reference to James Burnham's The Managerial Revolution a few days ago, and got some mail from people asking me where they could find a copy, since it doesn't seem to be floating around many Public Libraries these days.

Of course, you can find all the Jacqueline Suzanne you want, but very little in the way of Political Science. Unless it's Saul Alinsky's Rules for Radicals, which I'm led to understand the library can't keep on the shelves, or Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged (can't wait for the movie!). has The Managerial Revolution -- at an unconscionable price. I personally found my copy at The Strand bookstore in Manhattan, many years ago, and I think I paid about $8 for a used copy, so try them. Otherwise, I'd keep my eyes peeled at used book sales, swap meets, etc.

For those who can't afford the ass-rape price over at, I'll summarize the book for you here as best I can.

Burnham wrote the book in about 1940 or '41, at the start of the Second World War. His basic premise was that laissez-faire capitalism was as dead as a doornail, and as proof of this dictum, he pointed to the defeat of the capitalist nations of France, and the hanging-on-by-it's-fingernails desperation of Great Britain and it's empire. Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy were going to win the war, according to Burnham, because they had abandoned the old-fashioned, outdated, unworkable system of Capitalism. The superiority of the Nazi/Fascist economic system, where industries were nationalized but their owners allowed to keep ownership -- and profit -- by the State, was evident by it's visible effects upon the battlefields of Europe.

Burnham also made the point that while Capitalism was doomed, Socialism wasn't exactly automatically going to inherit the Earth, as many Leftists had hoped (the Soviet Union, he felt, would also be defeated, or at least come to some accommodation with the Nazis in order to simply survive). What was going to replace those two systems was a mixture of both; a planned economy (on the Nazi, socialist model), geared to national aggrandizement and victory, but run by a new generation of people who weren't interested in such old-fashioned notions as mere profit, as much as they were eager to be the New Arbiters of Power within this new system.

This New Generations were to be called The Managers. Their ranks were to consist of the politicians, scientists, technical specialists, inventors, lawyers, media types, and so forth, who were willing to put their talents to work for the empowerment of the State in return for special privileges; the opportunity to manipulate the levers of power for their own benefit. These were the men and women who would remake society according to their tastes, and being privileged employees of the State, they were to also acquire the ability to direct resources as they saw fit (usually, in their own direction).

The Managers, in the new, Managerial State, would find their way into positions from which they could influence business and government according to their efforts, while remaining invisible.

A similar idea was once also promulgated by the Italian Communist, Antonio Gramsci, who postulated that if given a choice between full-blown Communism and Capitalist Democracy, the greater mass of the people would choose Capitalist Democracy almost every time. Therefore, the Communist was always assured of defeat in fair electoral politics. So, instead of engaging in electoral politics, the True Believer Commie would instead make an effort to insinuate himself into the institutions of the State -- into the educational system, the judiciary, the legal profession, law enforcement, labor unions, and so forth -- and work within the bureaucracies to promulgate his stupidity. Much like the Managerial Class would do.

In any case, Burnham turned out to be wrong in a major way: the Soviet Union, Great Britain and the United States defeated Hitler and Mussolini, and it was the American Capitalist System that had become the Arsenal of Democracy that built the guns, ships, planes, grew the food, pumped the oil, and shipped it all over the oceans to every battlefield where it was needed, and wherever it could be brought to bear against the enemy.

In fact, I think it was 1944 -- when Germany was staring certain defeat in the face -- when Burnham changed his original thesis in another book, The Machiavellians, in which he basically said "forget what I said's obvious that Hitler and Mussolini had the right idea, but were just the wrong guys to lead this new Managerial Revolution, but the idea will survive. Democracy, it turned out, was far more amenable to Managerialism after all than Dictatorship was... just you wait..."

And we waited.

You now live in a world which is managed by selfish little toads to the nth degree. Products are produced with built-in obsolescence as a major consideration, and with full knowledge that newer-and-better technologies and products are available now but deliberately held back by Big Business. Government advocates on behalf of this industry or that, sends trade missions to foreign countries on their behalf, and negotiates Free Trade Agreements which allow favored industries to relocate the more expensive aspects of their operations overseas (where wages are lower and regulation non-existent). Where it would be inconvenient to move operations, the government then allows masses of illegal immigrants to pass into the country unmolested, or issues H1-B visas to effectively do the same thing. The Middle Class is deliberately destroyed so as to make them dependant upon government.

There is no longer anything that can be described as a Free Market, anymore. Markets are now manipulated by a hybrid of Business Interests and Government Regulations. Government now picks winners and losers in industry. Businesses are started overnight with government subsidies, and then quickly die when the subsidy money dries up without having produced a single thing except profits for it's executives. Banks are allowed to defy economic logic and extend their reach into stock markets, mortgage markets and insurance industry, and then are bailed out by legislators and Presidents who have been bought and sold by corporate money when they become Too-Big-To-Fail -- and no one notices that it was the lawmakers (manipulated by the Managerial Class) who allowed them to get that way by issuing this or that waiver, or failing to perform the basic oversight duties its empowered to conduct.

And when the inevitable happens -- disaster looms -- then government simply demands more restrictive and intrusive powers to ensure that 'this never happens again!' Restrictive and intrusive powers put into the hands guessed it: the Managerial Class (i.e. the bureaucracy).

How do you think GE has managed to avoid paying any taxes whatsoever, get Jeffrey Immelt (perhaps the worst CEO in America today) on the President's Economic Advisory Board, and then stand to profit enormously because of its involvement in Green Energy, Electric Hybrid Vehicles, High-Speed Rail and Nuclear Power projects? Not to mention having it's finance arm, GE Capital (the largest such finance company in the world) bailed out by American taxpayers? The Oil and Coal industries are being slowly strangled in the name of environMENTALism -- another branch of Managerialism; this one says we can control the weather with lovely thoughts and strangling Western Economies -- from which GE will profit handsomely, and gladly return some of that tax-free profit into Obama's and the democratic party's coffers.

General Motors and the UAW have also been the recipients of government largess, and they will, we're assured, in the very near future be building automobiles powered by GE products. Those automobiles will be  protected against foreign competition by the government (remember all those Potemkin Toyota Hearings last year? Oh, btw, it turns out that Toyotas don't have accelerator problems...only stupid drivers). The Defense Industry has it's hooks into every Congresscritter who's ever lived, so that Congress can fund 400 F-22's when the Air Force only wants 300, sell tanker aircraft the military doesn't even want, build tanks which are overkill for the current battlefields were on, fund jet engine programs that no one wants, and spend money to ensure that every soldier has every high-tech geegaw, regardless of it's actual battlefield utility?

NASA only exists to ensure that thousands of highly-trained specialists actually have jobs. In return, we get to watch them shoot golf carts to other planets we could never live on, chase asteroids, build an International Space Station for which we bear the burden of cost, and look for exoplanets in other galaxies we can't reach for millenia, if ever. There is currently no replacement due for the Space Shuttle for another decade, and not too much of a domestic, commercial Space Industry in this country: Do you believe the government is simply going to allow all that talent and experience to either wither away, or worse, head overseas? NASA engineers and technicians will, mark my words, be able to write their own checks.

You get your news and entertainment from corporate conglomerates that are cheerleaders for this-or-that political point of view, and they don't even try to hide their biases anymore. The executives of the major networks exert their influence on behalf of the political parties. Hollywood makes films attacking this or that political standpoint, or cultural tradition. News anchors have absolutely incredible power to shape public opinion. Newspaper editors, too. All contribute to political parties and candidates, and then actively seek to aid the very politicians they've bought, or raised to prominence. Editorial content is carefully vetted, crafted, infused with orthodoxy, to ensure that only one point of view is presented, and that any other point of view is discredited.

Washington, D.C. (and every state capitol, also) is absolutely lousy with lobbyists, lawyers, think tanks, special interest groups, etc. These people actually write legislation in cahoots with lawmakers, carving out special breaks, tax credits, waivers, relaxation of regulations, legal immunities, for themselves or their clients, and then ensure that a steady stream of cash flows into campaign coffers, or that lucrative job offers for 'retired' politicians are available when needed, in return.

The healthcare industry is about to be handed over to the Federal Unions. The private insurance industry is about to be squeezed out of the medical insurance racket by legal means, economic factors, and state-run insurance exchanges, all brought into being by ObamaCare. That new system will be run by the bureaucrats who made Medicare such a rousing success. The ultimate goal is to de-privatize as much of the healthcare system as possible, and then leave the business of deciding who lives and dies in the hands of a nameless, faceless, unelected mish-mash of bureaucracies, approval boards, Death Panels, government accounting boards, lawyers, and so forth.

President Odingbat, in order to better run all these new government bureaucracies that he's created and dole out the giveaways to politically-favored people and entities, has appointed something like 35 'Czars' who are unelected, unanswerable to the people or Congress, and as we have seen, have little or no regard for the law. They seem to act capriciously, and pick-and-choose who wins and who loses according to their personal preferences, or according to political orientation/affiliation.

Your Public Schools and Universities are chock full of people pretending to be educators, but their real job is to indoctrinate; to prepare future generations of people for the day when every aspect of their lives will be controlled for them, where their decisions will be made for them. We turn out college graduates who can't add. We promote elementary school children who can't read. Textbooks are devoid of facts, and full of pie-in-the-sky garbage disguised as scholarship. The price of a college education continues to climb, ensuring that only the 'right'people  -- i.e. rich liberals who can afford it, or who have been exempted from the more onerous and oppressive dictates of government -- will be able to get one. And where will they work? Not private industry -- which will soon be destroyed -- but for the government. The schools impose "Speech Codes" ostensibly for the protection of people's sensibilities, but mostly because no dissent against the coming Managerial Revolution can be voiced, or even tolerated.

Wall Street, once a bastion of Conservative Capitalists, is more and more coming to be dominated by the Rich Liberal. Wall Street poured more campaign cash into Barack Obama's coffers than they ever did any republican, in the last election cycle. In return, ex-Obama administration appointees find themselves with highly-paid sinecures when they leave Public Service, and the Firms find themselves with a ready supply of people who have the ears of those in power, or in a position to re-write this or that reg, squash this or that investigation. And to be fair, it was going on long before Obama came down the pike; How many Clinton Administration officials found themselves on the board of directors of Citigroup, JP Morgan., AIG, and others?

How much influence do NOW, the NAACP, United Nations, Council on Foreign Relations, EncironMENTAL groups, a thousand think tanks, study groups, blue-ribbon panels, immigrant spokesdouches, Advocacy Groups of a Thousand Stripes visibly exert upon American Policy? How often do we see the same people leave -- and then re-enter -- 'government service' on a regular basis?

Burnham predicted this would happen; a collusion between business, government, and politically-favored-and-funded groups in which one hand washes the other; but instead of just the old-fashioned notions of plain old graft and bribery, all this coziness has an identifiable, and yet not-too-easy-to-discern, goal; the Management of the American Public by people and groups who will stand to benefit the most from the re-ordering of society when the fruits of capitalism are 'spread around' in the proper fashion. And by the proper people.

Of course, such a thing will eventually destroy the very capitalism that it depends upon to fund it, but that was the goal all along. Once there's no more money and the ensuing crisis such an event will create finally arrives, government (i.e. the Managers) will simply grant itself  "Emergency Powers" to re-order society as it sees fit. The decisions on who gets what, if anything, will be made by the same Managerial Class (bureacrats, 'experts', and so forth) that probably engineered the crisis in the first place. Socialism will arrive -- if not in name but surely in effect -- without there ever having been a vote in favor of it, without a violent revolution, and without anyone ever identifying it as 'Socialism' at all.

NOTE: This post has been edited for spelling, and punctuation, and a few additional notes have been added since the original publication.

Welcome Readers...

Been a lot of you coming here for the last four months or so, so I'd like to take this opportunity to say hello, and thanks for stopping by...and mind your own business.

Of course, you're all here to read the same four-months-old post, and judging from the e-mail that it still continues to generate, it would seem that you're all shocked...shocked...that someone would say such horrible things about his own mother without having a clue as to our family dynamic,or history. A few have expressed concern for her safety, and some, mostly you Asian twits -- who have come here from that Lady in Singapore's blog which linked to the original post, which will get no traffic from me -- want to know what the fuck is wrong with me that I show such blatant disrespect for my own mother. This would never happen in Singapore/China/Japan/Korea, et. al.

Well, this here is America, not the Orient (I don't care if that term is Eurocentric, I'm fucking using it).

Here's the news: My mother is still alive, despite being the biggest pain in the ass since that (in-)famous Englishman (who's name I cannot be bothered to look up) was executed at the Tower of London by having a red-hot iron poker rammed up his Poop Chute. She is well, and no, I haven't beaten her to a bloody pulp...yet...and -- probably -- never will. So you can stop saying novenas for her safety. She is not liable to meet her untimely demise at the hands of an ungrateful son.

That post is what we refer to in the trade as SATIRE. It's actually not very far from the truth, but still satire all the same. Your generation (and just which generation is that, anyway? How many of you went to school with King Tut, John The Baptist or Atilla the Hun? Show of hands?) has the unfortunate habit of believing everything you read without engaging your (rapidly-fading) critical thinking skills. You figure that if it wasn't completely, literally true then no one would bother to write it down.

What I really enjoy -- other than the indignation of old folks who have little time left on this Earth but choose to spend their last, waking breaths questioning my sanity -- is the palpable fear that's contained in those e-mails. Now, when I say this, I don't mean that I actually get off in some sexually-perverted way on your fear, just that it's interesting to note just how frightened many of you are at the thought of your children completely abandoning you just as you begin to enter your Terminal Incontinent Stage, and think I've just given then a How-To-Manual on how to treat a sick parent,or a Permission Note to mistreat you.

Apparently, this is a common worry amongst the Lived-Longer-Than-They-Ever-Deserved-To-and- Collected-More-In-Social-Security-Than-They-Ever-Paid-Into-It demographic. Yeah, I know: you're entitled. You fought Hitler.

If I have to explain it again:

1. My mother is not, and never was, circling the bowl. She only had a knee replacement and is/was in no immediate danger of dying, unless she took a header down a flight of stairs. However, she was never left alone, and had no intention of ever approaching a staircase in her condition.

2. She pissed me off with her incessant whining, so I blogged about it. Then again, she's been pissing me off with her constant and ungrateful whining for 44 years now, so I can't imagine why I waited so long. Even at that, I was here, taking care of her. People who have no class, empathy, or sense of obligation don't do things like that. Like my sister who only lives eight blocks away and couldn't be bothered to do more than make a daily phone call, and my brother who might as well be on the side of a milk carton. More people have seen Bigfoot than have seen my brother in the last three years. Got anything to say about those ungrateful and disrespectful children? Didn't think so: they don't blog, after all.

You should read all the e-mail I got from 'kindred spirits' (i.e. other children taking care of sick parents) that ran the gamut from 'I hear ya! These old folks suck!' to 'Do you think I should ask the doctor to give Dad a Hot-shot and just be done with it?' Now you tell me, just how bad was my post, or my actions on my mother's behalf? Compared to some of those lunatics, I'm a friggin' saint.

If this fear preys on your mind in your final days, instead of worrying about me and my mother, you should start worrying about what kind of monster you've raised, or perhaps start making amends for having been a rotten parent before it's too late.

By the way, my mother will eventually die so poor she won't even be able to pay attention, let alone her bills in years to come. So I certainly didn't do it to get a bigger piece of the inheritance, as some of you have suggested.

3. She received the absolute best of care that I could provide. I fed her, washed her, changed her dressings, administered her medications, saw to her comfort and otherwise fufilled every whim, wish and need, no matter how fucking stupid, time-consuming, retarded, unnecessary, or annoying. I've done the research: in at least seven states, the kind of crap she pulled would have been grounds for justifiable homicide. I paid for all the Visiting nurses she needed, and have paid for physical therapy twice a week for the last two months.

4. I warn everyone who comes here that they're liable to be offended. I don't care if I offend people because, believe me, no one gives a shit if they offend me. Those of you still following the New York Times link were warned by the author of that post that you would probably be offended. You are owed no apologies, and since most of you asking for one (why?) will soon be dead, anyway. Good luck getting one.

5. The absolute LAST thing I need is to be lectured to by complete strangers. Especially ones who apparently don't understand what they read, or who rub hemorrhoid cream into their hair because they had 'A Senior Moment' only three minutes earlier, and then get on the computer.

6. I DO NOT HATE THE ELDERLY. Only the whiny old bastards who won't help save their country the cash and finally let slip this mortal coil, already. In fact, I only wish every goddamned day that my grandparents were still here, because they were the only people who ever gave me any guidance, or who talked any horse sense. My mother, incidentally, will only be 65 this August, so technically, she's not elderly at all. She just behaves as if she is.

7. Yes, I use a lot of foul language. Like you never have in the 3,000 or so years you've walked the Earth? Just deal.

Other than that, I'm happy to see you. Enjoy your (unfortunately brief) stay.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

She May Only Be 8, But What a Rack!

Abercrombie&Fitch develops push-up bikini top for pre-teens.

I think Mr. Steyn has said all that need be said here. Except this:

Abercrombie&Fitch is gay. Anyone who wears A&F is probably gay, or at least a dipshit metrosexual who one day hopes to finally make a definitive decision about whether he's truly gay, or rather prefers the ambiguity of being steadfastly androgynous. I would implore anyone who owns A&F stock to dump it, post haste, because it's no longer all about providing high-quality clothing (says who? You might put that shit on a Ken Doll, or maybe your poodle!) at exorbitant prices, and all about sexualizing children, because nowadays, pushing the envelope of common decency is how one promotes one's business, and gets all the favorable 'buzz' in the fashion world.

What's next? Jock Strap bathing suits for the Obese? Stirrup Pants for Double-Amputees? Dress slacks with an easy-entry, velcro-attached drop panel in the seat for that business-casual work environment? Split-crotch boating outfits? A line of Infant's clothes with built-in the ass?

It's bad enough there's pedophiles running around loose (because shooting them is considered bad, for some strange reason) now someone thinks it's a good idea to dress little girls up like hookers? Don't get me started on the parents who would actually consider buying their little girl something like this...

Publick Skools Am Gud...

New York City "overestimates" High School graduation rate.

Apparently, the people who run New York City schools can't count, which explains why no one else around here can, either.

Or, more likely, it's politicians playing games with numbers in order to claim to have done shit that they haven't, so they can protect their phoney-baloney jobs. I'll bet there's money involved for every high schooler at stake for every student the City can state has graduated, and then that money went right into the pockets of principals and teacher's union reps and the politicians that feed them.

Here's something that surprised me:

"The faulty labeling, which resulted from improper or incomplete documentation that a student had enrolled in a school outside NYC’s public school system, put the city’s graduation rate at 65.5 percent that year instead of a more accurate 63 percent."

It wouldn't surprise me to find that 63% is no closer to the truth than 65.5% was. In fact, I'd wager there are probably twice as many dropouts as the City says there are, and no one actually knows how many kids transferred or entered another school elsewhere...nor gives a shit.

City Officials are apparently too busy feeling schoolkids up to check their true educational status.

By the way, New York City -- by itself --spent $12 billion on 'education' last year. Good to see we're getting such wonderful results for the money.

He and O.J. Can Go Find the Real Killers, Now...

Tillikum the Killer Whale (I'm told by reliable sources that 'Tilikum' is Eskimo for 'Blonds are crunchy, and taste good with ketchup") has been released from Killer Whale Prison, and judged to be 'safe', so that he can be returned to SeaWorld where, suitably reformed (we hope), he shall sin no more and not (literally) bite the hand...and/or torso... that feeds him.

How one judges a Killer Whale "reformed" is beyond me. Presumably, you can just ask him, or perhaps there's some kind of test requiring a Number Two Pencil?

Its an ANIMAL. A creature of the sea. It doesn't think like we do, and there's all sorts of practical barriers to accurately judging it's state of mind, or of predicting its behavior. You can't talk to it to ask "Hey, what's your problem, Asshole?", and get a response that makes any sense to you.
This statement is a clear indication that rabid animal lovers are probably a threat to polite society,and should be machine-gunned, en masse, before they get us all killed:
""Participating in shows is just a portion of Tilikum's day, but we feel it is an important component of his physical, social and mental enrichment," Kelly Flaherty Clark, SeaWorld Orlando's animal training curator, said in a statement."

This whale has killed three times. If it were a Pit Bull, it would have been destroyed, already. If it were a deranged loner who shot a democratic Congressdouche, there'd be calls for "Killer Whale Control" and the abolition of the Tea Party. On the long list of "Absolutely, Positively Biggest Dumbfuck Ideas of All Time" that I could compile, I think returning a three-time-killer Killer Whale to an enclosed tank with human handlers would come in at Numero Fucking Uno.

There's people starving in Japan, you know.

This Guy Knows His Shit...

Staten Island man defecates on his girlfriend's door, then sets it on fire.

Was I the only one NOT shocked to discover that this cretin's street name is "Illuminati'?


If this man had smeared a mud monkey upon the front door of a democratic Congresswoman, the airwaves would be burning up about the fecocentric slant of our overheated political rhetoric, which encourages violence against pregnant women. Five minutes later, the Feminazis would chime in, and tell you that had His Main Squeeze simply had unfettered access to a free abortion, he wouldn't have smeared shit on the front door. The Safety Nazis will then get their two cents in, and decide that society is too dangerous to let people handle butane lighters, and then they'll demand that elevators be reduced in size so as to preclude the possibility of anyone stripping in them.

This brain surgeon was arrested by the police and placed in a cell, where he promptly shit again. In another eight or nine months when this guy finally goes to trial (because it takes that long for the District Attorney to sharpen his crayon to fill in the proper forms), his Public Defender will enter an insanity plea on his client's behalf, and our crack (-smoking) Judicial Lions will sentence the accused to about 30 days in a halfway house, because God forbid we label him a lunatic and stick him in a state hospital. That's damaging to his self-esteem, and costs money, you know.

Never mind the other potential charges (which the D.A. hasn't actually charged him with, you'll note): four or five counts of attempted murder, arson, creating an unsanitary condition, and being a complete asswipe (which isn't a crime, hence Sen. Chucky Schumer, but it should be), this man needs the sort of serious psychiatric attention that one simply can't get at a NY state institution because we have instead used the money the Loony Bin used to get to ensure that transgenedered illegal immigrants can get free falsies at state expense, and because Sanitation Workers need to be able to retire at 31 with a million-dollar pension, and free medical. Besides, Geraldo Rivera made sure the words "Mental Institution" are on par with what you can't say about certain minority groups here in New York, the asshole, so that Institutionalism is no longer the preferred manner of dealing with the batshit-insane.

Forget about shooting them in self-defense. Mayor Bloomdouche will get his panties in a knot, and the cops will charge you with all sorts of Terrorist Activities. Because if there's any real terorrists in New York, it's those people who insist on exercising their Second Amendment Rights. And even if you used the very gun you bought from the ATF here from Mexico with you, that's not an excuse.

On day 31, having been released on an out-patient basis to save money, The Turdbomber (as I call him) will be right back at his paramour's door, only this time determined to do the job properly. Because she's probably no smarter than he -- after all, she's having his child, and I'm certain this isn't the first episode she's witnessed -- and is probably dependant upon State Housing Assistance, to judge from the neighborhood (I know it well), she'll still be there, and all the restraining orders in the world not avail to keep her, and her children, safe from this genius.

Mark my words: a year from now, the headline will read "Insane Douchebag Smears Feces on Baby-Mama's Door, Burns Down Her Building, 24 Feared Dead. Judge says "Ooops!""

Forget the frickin' trial, it's a mere formality. Lock this lunatic right the fuck up and throw away the key.

Excuse My Posts..HTML Issues...

For some reason, my posts today are all off kilter, and paragraph breaks are missing. Something to do with my template, which is weird because I haven't changed it. Please bear with us while Jonesy the HTML Elf here at Lunatic Central tries to figure this one out.

Update: Jonesy has earned his stale bread crusts and slimy water this month. He's done such a good job, that his regularly-scheduled weekly beating will be suspended. It appears that Blogger now uses a new format editor, and doofus that I am, I didn't know about it. Problem resolved.

The Words That Make Me Want to Puke...

...or go on a shooting spree. Take your pick.

Sunday, I had a date. Nothing much, just meeting an old girlfriend for coffee and desert, to catch up on things and maybe spend a few hours doing something other than playing Empire Earth (yes, I still play that game. It's still fucking awesome). Earlier in the week I had been nearly done in by an (I assume) illegal alien in a Ford who apparently hasn't learned that Rojo significa detener, pendejo! , who nearly snuffed Your's Truly, but only managed to cause me to fall and sprain my ankle badly. We'll be seeing an orthopaedist this week (like I can afford that?) to find out if I'm going to be crippled for life. 

Anywhoo, the radiologist who took my x-rays turned out to be an old girlfriend of mine, Debbie (not her real name). Debbie and I were an item for about....oh, a whole two months..back in the day. The reasons why it ended:
1. Debbie was a drug addict. A functioning drug addict. Who required a steady supply of manufactured drama in order to justify every trip to the medicine cabinet so as to avoid the shame of realizing that she was an addict. As far as she was concerned, if we'd argued about whether the sky was blue or not, this was just enough conflict to justify the eternal My-Life-Sucks-I-need-to-forget- about-it-where's-my-percocet? cycle. Naturally, she would usually start that argument for no reason that I could ever discern, and then tell me to get lost, apparently so I that wouldn't see her taking drugs.
2. I'm not exactly certain that I was a prince among men in those days, either. I think I was still drinking, though not as much as I had been previously -- I may have begun sobering up by that time -- and I'm sure that emotionally I wasn't exactly at my best. I remember being wary of Debbie, and not really trusting her as far as I could throw her. I was pretty much convinced that whatever happened in that relationship, she would almost definitely break my heart (story of my life), so I broke hers, pre-emptively.
But hey, the sex was awesome. And Debbie was a terrific cook. She could turn a dead snake, a thorn bush, and a desert boot into a gourmet meal. But, I digress...
So, there we are, Sunday night, tiramizu and coffee. Debbie looks better than I ever remember her looking. She looks healthy. She was always very pretty, but often sick. She's put on some weight, yes, but then again, she is 45 now (I think. I never really did know how old she was to begin with). She apparently cannot wait to hear my life story, which freaks me the fuck out a little bit. She's become a little intense (as opposed to when she was supremely intense, and not always in a good way), I think you'd call it enthusiasm rather than the manic energy that she used to have, and she smiles a whole lot more. Back then, Debbie only smiled if genuinely amused, and rarely emitted more than a stunted chuckle. Now, you can't stop her from doing both.

 It is both a pleasant change, and an indication that something is wrong with this woman. No one who isn't taking something is this happy. Is she still high? It's unnatural. Then again, I'm a cynic and a compulsive worrier, and probably reading far too much into this whole thing.
She's totally immersed in my words, and truth to tell, I'm not even sure what the fuck I'm talking about half the time. It's small talk, mostly, until she asks direct and pointed questions. Because I'm an asshole, she gets direct and pointed answers. She maintains eye contract the entire time, interrupting only to ask a polite question or inject an insight or two. I'm not telling her everything, because that's a sure-fire way to blow any chance of getting laid. That's on page one of the Manual, you see. Have to hold the worst of the bad stuff back, dammit, while still being relatively truthful. Not that I really have anything to hide, anymore.
But there's something...unusual...going on here. I've seen that look, experienced this all-too-cheerful ebullience before...where was it...? My radar is on. If I quickly turn the subject from me to her, I'm sure she'll say something that'll give me a clue. Why is this person so completely different from the one I used to know?

And just as sure as your Muslim next-door neighbor eventually being implicated in a bomb plot, I heard those words that I knew must enter the conversation at some point, and then I knew why Debbie wasn't Debbie anymore.

"Well, first I want you to know that I have accepted Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Savior...." Where's the fucking door? I'm about to get killed by an avalanche of bullshit and I need to flee right fucking now.

But no. I would like to think that I've mellowed a little bit in my old age, and have finally learned not to judge too quickly, but after enduring two solid hours of Jesus-this-and-Jesus-that, I've come to the conclusion that first-impressions, no matter how fleeting or facile, are probably still the best arbiter of When to Stay and When to Go.

It turns out that I knew the particulars of her story before she even told them; after we parted ways, Debbie took up with a someone we both knew...from a bar we used to frequent...who's only saving graces were that he was an Adonis...and a small-time drug dealer. Otherwise, he was a loser with the intelligence of an ox, and he probably smelled like one, too. They dated for a bit, and then married, with predictable results. When he was finally arrested, and she was being looked at by the cops as an accessory to his stupidity, she'd finally come to that rock-bottom moment that all addicts must have.

You can't avoid that rock-bottom moment. It's set out at the end of your path for you the moment you begin your descent into stupidity. The lucky ones survive the rock-bottom moment and the unfortunate ones don't. The really lucky ones are those around the moron who happen to avoid being taken down with them.

The Church 'saved' her. Now, I've known quite a few lowlifes in my time, and it never ceases to amaze me how many of them have found their way into some religious douchebaggery as a means of salvaging their lives. I'm of two minds on this phenomenon; the first is that finding Jesus is easier than a 12-step program, and cheaper than a psychiatrist, and also requires the least amount of thought or effort. All you need to do is believe, in effect, surrendering your ability to think and learn for the comfort (possibly false comfort) that Life is something which is outside of your ability to control; rather than continue to fight, rationally, for mastery of your own out-of-your-hands-anyway Life, why not just give up now, and put your trust in something Invisible and All-powerful that loves you so much that He/She/It apparently was not even willing to make any effort whatsoever to keep you from smoking crack, drinking yourself into oblivion, or attempting to kill yourself? Yep, makes perfect sense to me; God only helps when you decide that blind and unquestioning obedience to Him/Her/It is the only option left open to you. Now if that ain't Love, then just what the fuck is? I think I saw that on a Hallmark Card, once.

But then again, it seems to work for many folks. I must admit that I gave it a try once or twice, and then finally figured out why it works:

People who would take to drinking, shooting heroin, destroying their careers, bodies and families, people who would take the lowest road to Perdition that you can imagine, are preternaturally stupid and cowardly. If they had any brains or innate courage, they probably wouldn't have gotten to that low point in the first place.

I took an informal count of all the Born Again Christians I know, approximately 30 of them, and discovered what I thought I would: before they were washed in the Blood, they were probably the most despicable people you'd ever hope to meet. A good number were people who were simply 'lost'; they never seemed to fit in anywhere, and had no sense of 'belonging'. Most had unhappy childhoods and family lives, and whatever crap they had gotten into was both a means of escape and an entryway into some kind of camaraderie.with others. Whatever. I know I drank because I was a miserable bastard who was under the mistaken impression that Life Owed Him Everything and it Was All Fucking Unfair, so who am I, really, to criticize?

So, there she was, arrested, her child taken from her because she was an addict married to a dimwit who made his living pushing poison and outside the law. She was released after a day or two, and then went right home to clean out that medicine cabinet. No more percocets, no more halcyon, the stash of pot the cops never found went right down the toilet. She filed for divorce, she started Narcotics Anonymous, she wanted her daughter back, and then she wanted some measure of normalcy. She finally passed that radiology certification exam that she had studied for like 10 years to take, and had failed twice before.
She got the kid, she got the house, and Dimwit died in the can, lucky her.

She still prays for him, though.

The rest of the evening went something like this:

Boy, you're not the same person I remember. Do you think I've changed much?

Yes, I would say you're a completely different person now. I rather like it.

Weird, you know?

Well, we all have to grow up at some point, right? We hope to, anyway. Neither one of us was really mature, or ready for some kind of commitment, back then.

That is sooooo right. You know, that reminds me of St. Paul's Epistle to the Ephesians where....


You tired?

Excuse me! I don't know what's come over me. I'm not really tired but somehow can't stop yawning. So, you think the Yankees will win 100 games this year?

The conversation, such as it was, repeated this most-annoying cycle; she would throw out an inanity, try to correlate it with whatever verse of Scripture that inanity 'reminded her of', and then I'd quickly try to change the subject. Despite my best efforts, I still got an earful of Jonah, Moses, Thomas Aquinas, and Pope Benedict.

Roman Catholicism hasn't changed much since I gave it up. I can see why: it doesn't need to. The world is still full of assholes who will swallow it all whole.

And then she told me I that was "a good listener...a lot more patient than you used to be...I've really enjoyed seeing you again. Would you like to do this again? Maybe I'll cook something...?"

She just couldn't stay out late on a Saturday night, she tells me, because she is expected to be at Church bright and early, cleaning and polishing the place within an inch of it fucking life before services. It calmed her, she said, gave her a feeling of peace and purpose.

Good for you.

I told her that I'll be busy for the next couple of weeks, and want to get off these miserable crutches, but that I will call her soon. As if.

Then again, her boobs seem to have gotten bigger, so who knows? Maybe if you can steer her away from the Beast of Revelations it might be possible to talk about the Beast With Two Backs?
Yes, I'm terrible. Spare me the e-mail, please, ladies?

From the "Psychiatry is Bullshit" Files...

Yesterday, as is my wont, I was watching television, when there happened to be a little program on the Learning Channel entitled Searching for Sanity. The premise of the show was that 10 strangers, five with diagnosed mental disorders, could be forced to live together for a week or something, given a bunch of onerous tasks to be completed as a team, all the while under the observation of a team of "psychiatric experts" who are kept in the dark about all the stranger's mental conditions.

The challenge was for the Psych Team to be able to pick out the head cases based on their activities and reactions. The Pshrinks were being tested to see if they could accurately distinguish the Moon-Howlers from the 'Normal' folks, and if they could make a diagnosis which was in line with the disorders on view. In addition, they were also being tested to see if they could distinguish between characteristics which are more accurately described as personality traits as opposed to full-blown mental diseases. And guess what happened?  
The Pshrinks -- a Psychiatric Nurse, a Renown Psychiatrist, and a Professor of Psychiatry --were wrong about 60% of the time. They managed to tag members of the 'Control Group' as mentally ill when they weren't, and missed some of the insanity of the Rubber Room Brigade entirely.

All that clinical training, all that education, all that experience, and they had the same results you would expect as if they had simply guessed at Who's the Loony, or had a chicken peck at the Dingbats completely at random. Might as well have been blindfolded for the entire week. Before I completely destroy the Mental Health Profession for such dismal results, we need to take two things into consideration:

1. The test took place in England, where the Socialized Medical system has probably resulted in doctors who really don't give a shit. They're basically better-paid factory workers or trash collectors, who can't be sued for malpractice, and who have operated for years under a mess of government guidelines that are probably both contradictory and convoluted, and so there's bound to be some apathy, some bad work habits, and a lot of complacency within them.
2. Some of the Mental Patients had been undergoing therapy for many years, or were on medications which masked their symptoms during the test. But the results were astounding, and reinforced, in my mind, something I've been saying for a very long time: Modern Psychology is complete and utter bullshit, very often practiced by individuals who only initially took psychiatry up in school so as to discover what was wrong with themselves.

After a near-decade on the couch myself, I've come to the conclusion that a Psychiatrist is merely someone who is often in a position to offer you some common-sense advice, but refrains from doing so because they like the $400, 45-minute hour too much. Only with a prescription pad. They substitute whatever cancer is eating away at your brain --Mommy didn't love me, the Little Green Men live under my bed, the World is out to Get Me -- with the super-addictive drugs of sympathy and empathy. That they're faking both doesn't occur to you. That sympathy and empathy is what keeps you coming back, like the heroin addict to the Spike, and allows Dr. Douche to get the leather and wood interior in the new Beemer this year. 
And speaking of prescription pads, the Mental-Diseases-are-the-result-of-chemical-imbalances- in-the-brain school of psychiatry probably does more harm than good, dispensing a variety of meds that:

1. No one knows exactly how or why they work, and sometimes, even if they will.
2. Probably have no long-lasting therapeutic value.
3. Can be addictive.
4. Produce other health risks when used for extended periods of time.

Because giving you some drugs is a lot easier than having to listen to your bullshit, and then having to offer you some decent advice. Besides, it's covered by insurance, ain't it?