Ever Wonder What They Think of You?

Here's your chance to find out...

If you type "Black organizations" into your computer's little Google box you'll get back a veritable cornucopia of Black organizations of all manner and stripe.  

From non-profits dedicated to uplifting some aspect of Black life here in America, to thousands of educational, professional and religious Black-oriented groups.  Doctors, lawyers, accountants, belly dancers, comedians, bus drivers, even LGBTQ+++- affiliated Black folks all grouping themselves together to increase their power, prestige and community standing.  Even Federal and state offices weigh in with all sorts of offers of assistance, whether legal, financial, political, educational or medical, but only if you're Black.  Not a single entry was noted indicating Black-affiliated groups could be anything other than a positive influence on them and their special race. 

That's what you get when you type "Black organizations" into your Google box.

What do you get when you type "White organizations" into your Google box?  I would suggest you try it.  You'll be surprised, I think.  I certainly was.  Shocked, in fact.  Thousands of entries all clamoring in unison for "White nationalists" to be hunted down and jailed.  "White supremacists" are singled out for scorn, amid scathing references to Whites as the evil afflicting America.  For that's what "White organization" means to Google;  White racists.  They list the Ku Klux Klan frequently.  All sorts of Black-hating gangs and clubs and groups are listed.  One after the other.  Every single entry was a racist rant.  And I know, 'cause I'm a professional ranter.  Every one centered around finding "White nationalist" groups, calling them out, and eliminating them from public discourse.  

It's as if an entire subculture exists here within our supposed "United" States which is dedicated solely to the betterment of that one minority population.  Only.  Are our States United anymore?  Maybe we should ask these folks.    

Thinly-veiled race hatred, underwritten by some of our largest and most important corporations.  More than 50 at last count.  Shockingly one-sided.  And racist, in my opinion.  And even the Federal Government, of course, among the most flagrant abusers.  Using your tax dollars.

That's what you get when you type "White organizations" into your little Google box.  

It seems we're all skinheads to our Silicon Valley masters now, fellow Patriots, and also to the folks we vote into office.  Ignorant, racist, misogynistic, xenophobic, gun-loving, knuckle-dragging, Black-hating slobbering fools, that's what we are to Social Media.  And we're shipping our money off to them every month by buying and using and giving a sh*t about their America-hating Social Media crap.  

Stop.  Just stop.   

The Parable of the Starlings...

For the non country folk among you, starlings are small, black, noisy, dirty and smelly little birds, which make the most godawful racket, and who gather together like pack animals and crap all over everything in sight.

Some in fact call them "flying rats."

And these unwanted invaders arrived as if by magic every September and proceeded to assault our Livingston County, Missouri Courthouse.  They would arrive as a mob of tens of thousands and pretend the Courthouse was their bedroom.  And bathroom.  They would swarm pedestrians and poop all over every car within a two-block radius.  They would stay for a month or so and then disappear, only to arrive once again the following Fall.

Now, this scenario justifiably angered the businesses around the Town Square.  In the middle of this Square was our Courthouse.  A five-story concrete building housing our County's courtrooms and bizz.  A nondescript, gray, plain and ordinary courthouse that somehow acted as a magnet to starlings.  And when customers stopped shopping, the businesses started howling.  This had been going on for years and the businesses, and the citizens, were demanding the city council do something!  Anything!  And now!

Well, fellow Patriots, the folks where I come from are smart.  And ingenious.  And able to figure out the answers to complex questions.  Like how to get rid of a pack of howling, errant, dirty, nasty starlings.  

And they did.  They voted to invite all the folks in the Chillicothe area to bring their .410 and 20 and 28-guage shotguns to the Town Square on a particular Saturday.  And bring plenty of birdshot ammo, 'cause it was time to blow those suckers right out of the sky!  And my buddy Kenney Frost, who owned the local gun store, offered to sell shotshells at a discount to help make the little soiree a success.  

And boy, was it ever!  About 60 of our fellow gunners arrived early that day, took their positions around the Courthouse and, when the Mayor fired his little starting pistol, we unleased a volley of gunfire not seen since the Battle of the Bulge.  For a solid hour we blasted away, felling Starlings by the bushel.  And every few minutes the starter would blow his whistle, the shooting would stop, and the fallen birds were collected in bushel baskets by the local Boy Scout troop.  And then the whistle would blow and WW3 would start up again.  Hundreds of townies watched at a safe distance and applauded with glee!  A real party, this.  

Damn it was loud!  And boy do I love loud!  I love the smell of gunpowder in the morning!

By the editor of the local paper's estimation, more than 2,000 starlings were erased from the Town Square that day.  And the shotgunners were then treated to a BBQ on the Square, pot luck.  As I recall the local beer emporium passed out brewskies, but only after the hardware was safely locked away.  The party went well into the evening, ending only when the cool night air got too cold.  I have a fond memory of that day, most particularly because of one glaring, dayglo, neon fact.  Ready for it?

    The Starlings Never Came Back.

Had those starlings chosen to conduct themselves in a polite, courteous and neighborly manner, like good visitors should, I'm sure we'd have had no problem with their visit.  However, their actions demanded that the punishment fit the crime.  

And it did.

With extreme prejudice.  

We never had to deal with them again.  Maybe the jungle drums beat out the message that my little small town was no longer welcoming to these flying nuisances.  Maybe it was burned into their collective DNA that day that ours was a place which fights back.  That doesn't take getting shat upon lightly...  

And maybe, just maybe, we all should try some of that creative, out-of-the-box thinking to end the crisis of crime enveloping our once-safe and law-abiding Country.  Permitted to envelope.  Apparently with intent.  By unwarranted leniency.  By mollycoddling criminals in an effort to assuage White guilt, and in the misplaced "hope" that they'll "see the light" this time, and head toward the straight and narrow.  Or something.  

"Hope" is not a strategy.

Taxifornia permits petty thieves to steal up to $950 per store, before declaring it a felony.  And that's per day!  Come back tomorrow and do it again.  And then, if by some chance a cop happens to see you and chooses to get involved (they may not, knowing it's performance art), all he can do is write a $50 ticket, with no appearance date, and no recourse for non payment.  Why don't we all just start shoplifting?  

Maybe we all soon will!  And that will be the day America dies...

I'm reminded of the ancient Arab saying:  "You let a camel get his nose under the tent, pretty soon you have a camel in your tent."

The camel's nose is under the tent.

I pray this admonition doesn't fall on deaf ears.  Like those of the mayors of the 50 largest cities in America.  Who have collectively caused this abominable, Country-destroying s**tshow.

Pass it along...

You Had To Be There...

Those much younger than me will never realize the joy, the pure excitement and visceral pleasure, occurring every year when "new car reveal" time rolled around.

That was back in the days of the 1955, '56 and '57 Chevies, and the Skyliner Fords, and the "Letter" series Chryslers, and the Plymouth and Dodge "hemis."  A time when each year brought improvements to the brand.  A time when racing was just getting started and manufacturers were choosing up sides.  A time when you were more or less known by the brand of car that you drove.  I've witnessed many knock down, drag out fights between Chevy and Ford guys, over which was better.  Really.

I was and still am a yuuuuge car guy, and have been since only a little tyke.  Just about the time the whole car revolution began.  About the time "American Grafitti" hit the big screen.  And I was brought up in a town of not-quite 10,000 people, without the Internet, or much in the way of TV.  Our knowledge came from car magazines and the wondrous stuff upon which they reported.

"Car and Driver," and "Sports Car Illustrated," and "Motor Trend" were all delivered to the local bus station each month, and we'd be there like flies on excrement to see what they'd brought.  Drag racing and USCCA racing, and NASCAR, and Le Mans, and Baja, and the Bonneville Salt Flats.  We lived through our imaginations, hoping to get out of our little towns and finally go where all the action was happening.  Like Southern California, the epicenter of the Car Revolution.

Those of you who think SUV's have always been our primary mode of transportation and that cars are innately ugly, need to learn that "back in the day," every car was completely redesigned and restyled each and every year.  

You read that right.  Instead of a basic design lasting 5 or 6 or even 10 years or more (read Tesla), we had newly-designed cars every 12 months.  And the dealerships would cover the floor-to-ceiling windows in their dealerships with brown butcher paper so we couldn't see the new models in the weeks leading up to the day of the Big Reveal!  Usually in the first or second week of September.  We would stand outside their dealerships on the sidewalk and look for any little tears in the paper so we could peek through during the days leading up to the Big Day!  We were among those who believed a car was your ticket out.  Your freedom.  Your expression of personality.  Even sex appeal!  And damn, were some of them gorgeous!  

A completely new car every year.  Front to back, stem to stern.  Because styling back then was everything!

And more horsepower.  Don't forget more horsepower...

Think about that.  The 1958, '58 and '59 Chevrolets, as an example, could not have looked more different, one from the other.  Google them if their styling doesn't come to mind.  And now, more than 60 years later, the "tri-5's" as they're now called are collectors items.  Bringing tens of thousands of $Bucks, 20 or 30 times their original sticker prices, even!  Because they were gorgeous!  And they were unique!  And we'll never see them again.  

And they were an extension of your personality.  I knew a guy in my home town who was homely as a wet mop.  He came from money so they used it to buy him a brand-new 1960 Pontiac Bonneville convertible, 389 cu. in. V-8, 303 hp., three speed "on the tree," mahogany brown with a natural tan "Mirrokide" leather interior, he became a babe magnet.  It was a thing of beauty.  And it rubbed off on him, as he shortly hooked up with a cute blonde and rode off into the sunset.

Ahhh!  Life in yesterday's America!   

Now?  Go to any dealer and you'll see a big box on the showroom floor.  Blecchh!  If you didn't know, SUV's are made from pickup trucks.  They just put on a new suit of clothes, and then charge you out the kazoo for it!  

Doubt me?  A Cadillac Escalade is a Chevy Suburban with a different body stuck on and another $40,000 on the window sticker.  

Nearly all the vehicles in showrooms are SUV's, and all the SUV's look the same.  From 50 feet away you can't tell them apart.  And that look isn't feeding the bulldog.  Nobody buys a car these days because it's beautiful or lifts their spirits.  Or quickens their pulse.  Or makes their heart beat faster.  Or makes them want to roll down all the windows and take a drive down a twisty country road on a sunny Sunday afternoon, for no other reason than to get some wind in your hair.  Unless the masses can afford a costly sports car, they're pretty much limited to massive 7,000 lb. beasts to go collect the groceries and tote the soccer team from place to place.  A huge waste of resources and money.

Yawn...

No wonder people are no longer car-centered.  No wonder many are choosing not to even get a drivers' license, preferring rather to take an Uber.  How sad.  

As a car guy, who also shot a really good game of pool, as in, reeeeeely good, I earned quite a lot of money over a ten year span right outa' high school.  Quite a lot.  And cars were relatively cheap back then.  As in, say $2,500 for a new Chevy convertible.  So I spent most of the money I won over a hot pool table on cars.  And girls, of course, and beer, and poker, but mostly cars.  Like, a new one every 6 months or so.  Because I also raced them semi-professionally.  Which means I beat the crap out of them, destroyed them, used them up, and threw them away.  So I've owned nearly every car folks now lust after at the Barrett-Jackson and Mecum auctions.  And pay enormous sums to own.  Like I did more than 50 years ago.

Actually, I've owned a total of 77 cars, up to and including my present ride.

And yes, I have nightmares over having sold the more valuable ones.  But then I remind myself I wouldn't have had anywhere to store them, or people to look after them, or the money to pay for all that while also starting a business and buying a home and raising a big, family.  Which always gets in the way of expensive hobbies.

But rationalization doesn't help.  I hate myself anyway.

I still get the shivers over a few I lost in the shuffle.  Example?  Sure.  I owned a Mossport green 1966 Corvette coupe, 427 cu. in., 425 horsepower, 4-speed with 3:70-1 posi-traction, dark green leather interior, and extremely rare off-road outside exhausts, steering, brakes and suspension.  All 4.  I think there were 24 made that way.  And only TWO in my color.  Talk about rare?  

It was the quickest and fastest car you could buy back in 1966.  It was so scary fast that if I thought there was even a remote chance I might take a drink, I'd leave my keys at home with my Mother and grab a ride with a friend.  It would make your eyes water it was so fast.  It would drain the blood from your face.  I don't know why they put a radio in it because the 3" outside exhausts emptied just outside and behind the doors, just under my left hip.  And it sang the song we big-inch V-8 lovers love to hear.  A big, deep, rumbly, soul-stirring roar!  It was a coffin-to-be.  It had the personality of a jilted lover, crossed with a Cape buffalo who thinks you wrote him a bad check.  It was sort of like, hit the gas, and pray.  I've never been afraid of a car before or since, except for that one.   

I watched a 'Vette like mine, with only 3 of the 4 super-rare options mine sported, sell at Barrett recently for $120,000.  I paid $6,225 for mine, BTW.  

It would do 12.5's and 120 mph in the 1/4, and top uot at 155 mph at 6,200 rpm, for those who know what all that means.*

Some more?  I had a 1953 Chevy 2 door sedan; a 1958 Nash Metropolitan; a 1960 Rambler American; a 1953 Oldsmobile 88, V-8 with 3-speed on the tree (rare); a 1960 Chev Impala 283 cu. in. convertible; a 1960 Chrysler Saratoga 383 cu. in. convertible; a 1962 Chevrolet 409 cube-409 horse 4-speed Super Sport (while the Beach Boys song was on the charts); a 1963 Plymouth 383 cube, 4-sp. Sport Fury; a 1965 Oldsmobile 442 "4-speed, 4-barrel, dual exhausts;"  And the aforementioned Corvette (boo hoo!).  

And then my uncle, Uncle Sam, invited me, forcefully, to participate in our little democracy building enterprise over in Viet Nam.  

And that just gets me to the U. S. Army, Europe.  Where I bought a couple of dozen cars while there and shipped two home; a 1966 Porsche 911** and a new 1969 Volkswagen ($1,610.00).  

I won't bore you with any of the others.  Suffice it to say from the above that I'm into cars and truly lament the fact that our cars have become nothing more than a means of transportation.  An appliance.  Like an expensive toaster.  What has America become?  No more excitement!  No more visceral joy from firing up the way-oversized V-8 power plant and preparing to tear off for a canyon-carving, interstate-blasting ride. 

BTW, can you drive a car with a standard transmission?  You know, a "stick?"  One with a clutch thingie that you have to use to change gears?  No?  My advice: learn to.  And buy a car with one.  It was recently reported that 9 out of 10 folks out there don't know how to drive a car with a stick.  Could there a better deterrent to carjacking? 

Oh well, this is all my memory, not yours.  Unless you're old, and then, like mine, you wouldn't trade it for anything...

*     I had to sell my lovely, brutally fast Corvette because I was dragged kicking and screaming away from my little fiefdom and off to save your ass from communism.  And as you'll notice, I did.  You're welcome.  My father traded my Corvette as a down payment on a 120 acre farm.  But he was a real estate broker, and I couldn't hold it against him 'cause that's what real estate brokers do...

**   Lovingly restored by a German mechanic with one leg who introduced me to the Italian Formula One Team, with which I spent an exciting and enjoyable and rewarding chunk of one summer as an occasional member of their pit crew.  Visited the Hockenheim Ring, Zandvoort, Belgium, and the Spa, among others, including the 24-hours of Le Mans.  But that's another story I hope I have the opportunity to one day tell.  God willing...  

Drive, Take a Train, or Walk...

Think about it:  People make airplanes.  And people make mistakes.  Every day.  And mistakes can cause accidents.  Accidents like airplanes falling out of the sky.  And going boom!

I don't want to be a part of "boom."  

Hello, fellow Patriot!  Welcome to my ruminations.  And this morning's episode is about my gut response to reading about the airliner on its way to San Franpoopco from Honoruru the other day.  It was early in its climb out when something "untoward" happened and it plunged some 7,500 feet over a 45 second period.  During which the paying passengers underwent just a bit over a 2.0 G ride.  Yikes!  And, it came with 775 feet of the uber-chilly Pacific Ocean before finally gaining control and regaining altitude. 

Did you know the faster you go the more water acts like concrete if you smack into it? 

Let that all sink in.  You pays your money for a ticket on the Greyhound bus of today's sky, fully expecting to have a relative peaceful, relatively unremarkable journey and relatively smooth landing.  A trip devoid of drama.  Of all that sturm and drang associated with today's transportation sector.  At least that's what you hope.  

And what do you get?  A thrill ride and a near-death experience!  At no extra charge!  Although there may be one or two humans among the more than 7.7 Billion on the planet who might enjoy this experience, count me among those would say...No, No, NO!

I used to travel on business, lemme' say here going in.  By airplane.  From early in 1973 until 1987 I averaged a plane a day.  As in, a separate flight on each of the six days a week.  As in, a separate flight number to somewhere or other, not just a continuing flight with a bunch of takeoffs and landings.  As in, more than 1,000,000 miles in the air during that period.  Much more. 

I don't know how may more, although I have a certificate for 1 Million Miles from now defunct TWA (Teeny Weeny Airlines, heh, heh).  From where I caught flights to nearly everywhere.  Almost every day.

And during that period I can attest that planes were     a) almost always new; b) half filled with businessfolk just like moi; c) manned by ex-Viet Nam war fighter pilots; and d) womaned by stewardesses of the youngest and beautiful-est kind.  And yes, they called themselves stewardesses back then.  Proudly.   

And were those skies friendly?  Yes, yes they were.  Sometimes Very Friendly.  I can personally attest...

As I mentioned, the guy on either side of you was likely wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase.  That's because flying commercial was unregulated by our Gubmint back then, and expensive.  I recall paying $405 of my company's money for a roundtrip from LAX to NYC on dozens of occasions.  And that was 50 years ago.  Just imagine what $405 means in today's inflated dollars.

It's $3,369.03, if you're interested.

So I figure I've taken more than 3,000 flights.  To 49 states.  And 37 countries.  I even took 5 separate flights during one 24-hour period, during which I also taught an 8-hour class to PharmD's on theoretical sorbent dialysis science at the University of Ontario at Sudbury (another story).  

And although I've never had a crash, there have been a few close calls.  Even a fully foamed landing at St. Louis' Lindberg Field with fire trucks the media and all, due to a stuck brake on one of the landing gear.  It resulted in a fire, which they quickly put out.  No big deal, but it WAS an emergency landing, and it enables me to play the victim.  I don't get to do that too much, being White and all, so I'm happy to put it forth...

But even though no messy crashes, or even a near miss, my butthole was as tight as Old Dick's hatband for every single minute of every single flight.  That's because I'm deathly afraid of heights.  As in acrophobic.  So afraid of heights I wish I wasn't so tall.  Deathly.  I would have been a happy little dwarf.  So flying, even though necessitated by my work, was like torture.  But they paid me so much I couldn't say no.  So I didn't.  I just decided to bend over and kiss my ass goodbye each time the plane took off.  Fortunately I got through it.  But I recommend you don't even try...

Think about it.  There are more than 25,000 airplanes in the air over the United States right now!  And usually, almost always in fact, they manage to get where they're going without a bunch of noisy crashes with twisted metal and piles of rubble.  They're stacked 1,000 ft. apart in height, and 1 mile apart in width.  But that doesn't mean they couldn't get together on occasion.  And the experience outlined above indicates they could.

And they sometimes do.  Recall the crash between two fully-loaded 747's on the tiny island of Tenerife a few years back?  There were well-trained pilots in both planes.  And well-trained folks manning (womaning?) the tower that day.  But 524 people died.  And one of those planes was still on the ground.

And there have been 4, FOUR near misses in the past two weeks!  That's not a good sign!

So the next time you feel like hurtling across the crowded skies at 500 mph in an aluminum tube, manufactured by the lowest bidder, packed to the the gills, every seat taken, operated by an increasingly less qualified group of folk selected according to their race, sexual preference and gender identity, and screwed together by a bunch of pissed off union members, who might not have tightened that screw, you might want to think again.  Paying your hard-earned money to get felt up by a bunch of 400 lb. sexually-repressed TSA gang members.  With bad breath.  You take your shoes off to get abused while illegal aliens just walk across our borders, get free cell phones and a hotel room on Times Square.  

And they're queueing up in line after line, shoes in hand, awaiting your permission to board their smelly, dirty, hot-lapped conveyances.  Staffed by pissed off, overworked and underpaid sky waiters.  Who signed up for "see the world," and are now seeing humanity's underbelly.  Daily.  And the guy in the seat next to you likely to be an aging hippie with a comfort chicken on his lap.

BTW, if you have to fly, I have the perfect response to your nosy seatmate who might ask what you do for a living.  Just trying to start a convo when you're trying to catch some zzzz's.  Just tell them, "I'm a retired shepherd."  Worked for me every time.

So drive, take a train, hitchhike or walk.  They don't crash often, but when they do, we're talking bruises here, not rivers of blood.  And remember, you can't fall down...from down.

A Delicate and Precarious Balance...

You may perhaps be unaware that my formal training is in psychology, with an emphasis in the study and treatment of abnormal and criminal behavior.  In fact, I was intending to become a criminologist and profiler but that little unpleasantness in Vietnam a few decades back jumped up and got in the way.  

But from my training I know that just about 3% of the population is likely to suffer from, and project, deviant and antisocial behavior.  That means they cause problems.  Sometimes big problems...  

These folks can be dangerous to themselves or others.  Enough so that some of that 3% should be confined to protect the general public.  As in, warehoused for public safety.  

And we know that about 3% of our populace is historically likely to offend, and therefore just about 3% of our population are police and sheriff's deputies and U.S. marshals and courthouses and district attorneys and prisons and prison guards.  

Just about 3% of our population.   

Most on the Right are calling for a dramatic increase in the number of our law enforcement personnel, BTW, and almost always has.  Whilst those on the Left have been loudly calling for a dramatic reduction in all these categories and almost always has.  Some Lefties even call for eliminating the police altogether, somehow deducing that those likely to offend will then see the error of their ways and take to the straight and narrow, holding hands and strolling peacefully into the sunset.

Say wha...?  

So some 880,000 law enforcement personnel are employed in America trying to "protect and serve."  While an unknown number of law breakers are trying their best to make sure they don't.  And that number does not include private security guards, whose job is only to observe and report.  To the cops.  There are more than 200,000 of them, however, carrying their flashlights and their walkie-talkies, which can't hurt in terms of overall law enforcement. 

And oh by the way, we have some 1,566,000 incarcerated in our prisons and jails Nationwide.*  Of these, 120,000 are in Federal prisons and 285,000 are in jails.  151,000 are in juvenile homes and facilities.  186,000 are in immigration detention.  And 86,000 are in American Indian reservation jails.  Note that this number represents almost 6% of our population.  But then again, we've put bars between them and us. 

Through the decades we've maintained this delicate and precarious balance.  About 3% watching the 97%, hopefully available to "protect and serve" should the circumstance warrant.  But what would happen if, say, those on the Left began to demonize the police and demand that they be defunded.  

Or even eliminated!  

And what if their clarion call to eliminate the police was answered by Leftists on city councils in most all of our Big Blue cities.  Those owned and operated by Democrats.  For generations, in some cases.  Like Chicago, and NYC, and Portland, and Seattle, and Baltimore, and Philadelphia.  To the extent they chose not to prosecute criminals for their crimes.  What if they continued to let them offend, time after time,  believing somehow that to do so would be racist or sexist, or maybe harmful to the environment.  

And what if that significant defunding of police simultaneously resulted in, 1) cops leaving those cities in droves, escaping to the suburbs where they'd earn more and be both safer and more appreciated; and 2), a dramatic increase in all sorts of crime because there was no cops around to prevent them from doing so, or catching them if they did.  Cause and effect.

Duh!

But there's no "what if's," in this scenario, fellow Patriots.  Because it has actually happened.  Most of those Big Blue cities harassed and abused and blamed and defunded their police, and watched them bolt for the exits.  They either retired or quit outright.  New Yawk City is down 456 cops from full staffing levels.  Chicago is down more than 500.  Portland is down 246.  And these cities pay their cops boatloads of money!  And in Every Single Case  their crime rates have skyrocketed!  Up an overall 40%, at least!  Chicago's murder rate was an all-time high of 902 last year.  With a...ready for it?...08% clearance rate.  That means, they found the killer(s).  Or, in Chicago's case, 92% of the time they didn't...

And FYI, our national murder rate had been on a downward trajectory for more than 25 years, while the number of firearms in our society was simultaneously doubling.  Cause and effect?Draw your own conclusions.  But now our Nation's murder rate has increased dramatically over the past two years.  Up more than 24%!  Cause and effect?

Will they ever get this back in balance?  The percentage of evil-doers not doing, and those sworn to stop them, stopping them?  Will prospective criminals ever fear the cops and a conservative society's backlash once again and simply NOT DO THE CRIME?  They sure as Hell don't now.  And they won't, until or unless the leadership of those city councils that shat upon their cops are voted out and replaced with those who are tough-on-crime.  

Lost Angeles' city council is telling its citizens to dress down, to not wear expensive watches, or carry expensive handbags, or drive expensive cars.  They even advise taking an Uber so as avoid becoming a carjacking statistic.  All while their dwindling number of stores are locking up the toothpaste and the laundry soap.  I'd like to ask, wouldn't it be better to "flood the zone" with cops and stop Bad Guys from committing crimes in the first place?  

Or is that just old fashioned me?

Remember, to a professional thief, risking getting caught is a part of doing business.  They weigh the risks and then decide whether or not to proceed.  They calculate and then decide.  If they judge the risk as too great, they won't do the crime.  Simple.     

Will we ever again restore that delicate and precarious balance?  I'm thinking that, just like alcoholics and drug addicts, those Big Blue city councils and legislatures will have to hit bottom before they'll decide to crawl their way back up.  Before they shed their failed Leftist ideologies and begin to make wise decisions.  I just hope there are still citizens left in those towns and states when they finally come to their senses.**  They may all be living in Vegas or Texas or Sunny Florida by then... 

*    You know I do my research, right?

**   560,000 Californians have left for greener pastures since 2021.  And almost all the pastures are greener... 

Pssst!

    CONFIDENTIAL!      CONFIDENTIAL! 

Now, this is just between you and me, okay?  

I think I have it on good authority as to why we don't have any information yet about all those "UFO's" O'Biden's Air Force has shooting down all willy nilly during the past week or so.

I have a cousin in D.C. who knows a guy who dates a secretary in the Defense Department, who's supposed to work in some sort of intelligence operation there.  And she let me in on the real reason she thinks the  Mumbler-in-Chief hasn't told us why, for the very first time in NORAD's 60-year history, we've shot stuff out of our sky.  Multiple times.  With expensive rockets.  Verrrry expensive rockets.  

Whether Chinese, or some other military, scientific or commercial application, it's because they just do not know!  Even after spending some $887,000,000,000 (that's $Billion!) on our defense budget, we can't figure out what our F-16's just shot out of the sky!  Wouldn't it have been a good idea to KNOW what you were shooting at before you shot at it?  

Or is that just old fashioned me?

And the reason for that is they all went down over water.  The one over Alaska went down over watery ice.  Or icy water, whatever.  The one Canada's dictator asked us to use one of our $400,000 Sidewinder missiles to blow out of his socialist sky went down over their open waters.  And the third one took a dive into our Lake Huron.  Has this O'Biden guy got an aversion to bringing down his targets over terra firma?  Where they'd be easy to scoop up? 

Plus, of course, the original Chinese balloon the size of three football fields, with a payload the size of O'Biden's ego that went down off the coast of South Carolina, after having taken a leisurely tour of all of our most sensitive intercontinental missile bases along the way.  Can't forget that one, now can we?

I guess their check cashed.  (Ahem.)

So all the payloads of these "objects" are sitting at the bottom of some watery grave somewhere, awaiting our Navy divers to go down there and scoop them up.  

Exceeeppppttt... 

What my cousin told me on the Q.T. is that...

...all our Navy divers have been kicked out because they wouldn't get vaccinated!  

So there's nobody to send.  Can't swear to it, but that's the G-2.  The word on the street.  I'm guessing we'll have to wait for them to train some new ones who've undergone the needle.  And all the current equity, diversity and ya da, ya da training, too, I'm guessing...

Now remember, keep this on the Q.T.  Wouldn't want anybody thinking our Gubmint is being run by a bunch of overeducated, underexperienced, incompetent, bumbling, gang-that-couldn't-shoot-strait as*holes, now would we?

(BTW, if anyone out there is missing their Hobby Lobby $12.00 balloon, the Defense Department would like you to call 212-DUM BASS at your earliest convenience.  And if you're a vaccinated deep sea diver, call the U.S. NAVY at 1-800 WHOOOPS.)

Selective Outrage?

There's a bunch of controversy swirling around concerning the NFL's decision to permit the "Black National Anthem" to play prior to the Super Bowl this past Sunday.

Prior to the regular, normal, accepted, National Anthem-For-All, that's been played for 100 years.  Before every sporting event.  As if they, the Black folk, have a separate country to which they should owe allegiance.  A country within a Country, so to speak.  Or at least some think so.  

Think about that...

So I got to thinking about it and doing a bit of research.  And what that research tells me is that the NFL has become the Black football league.  It's their sport.  We just have some players playing in it, and a sh*tload of White people watching it.  113 million they say.  Sort of like the ancient Romans watching the Christians getting fed to the lions (and occasionally the ones from Detroit).  

71% of the players in the NFL are Black.  Only 25% are White.  4% are termed "other."  I think most of that "other" are Samoan, but that's just me.  11% of the coaches are Black.  40% of the referees are Black.  And 78% of the hot dog stand tenders are Black.  

Just kidding about that last one.

Remember when it was thought Blacks weren't smart enough to play top-tier quarterback?  Back in the '80's and 90's?  Well, they are now.  And they're making bank, to the tune of 32% of all quarterbacks!  Or three times the percentage of Black people in America.  In the interests of equity, shouldn't the NFL demand that we have far fewer Black quarterbacks and many, many more White ones?  Wouldn't that be racial justice?  

In the interest of equity, diversity, conclusion, extraction, inclusion, contraction, extrusion, dissemination and fairness?  Or whatever?

I mean, the halftime show featured a pregnant Black babe in an ill-fitting red jump suit, surrounded by about three hundred Black people dressed in white like the Pillsbury doughboy.  All leaping and jumping around, all willy nilly like.  She's a singer, I'm told, and she bumped and ground and grabbed her crotch while balancing precariously 60 feet in the air.  A pregnant Black babe screaming loudly while wearing a red tent and grabbing her coochie.  Fine, if it winds your watch.  Me?  Not so much...

And once again, all of the entourage was Black.  Everyone but the two announcers locked up in the broadcast booth, way up there in the nosebleed section were Black?  While we po' White folks paid our money and watched.  Tens of millions of us.    

BTW, $7 Million Bucks for a 30-second ad?  I watched all of them and I only saw one or two worth $7 Mil.  A few were worth $2 Mil, perhaps, and a few others weren't worth $500 bucks.  And where were the beer ads?  Where were the Budweiser Clydesdales?  And those cute dalmatians.  That's why most of us watched the game anyway!  What were they thinking?

And another thing while I'm ranting (and dayumm, I sure do love to rant!).  We were told there were two Black quarterbacks for the first time in the History of the World!  No, sorry, only one Black one, and one half-Black/half-White one.  When will these mixed-race folks begin to embrace their Whiteness like they embrace their Blackness?  Or should we consider the fact they won't a giant middle finger to all of us po' White folks out here in TV Land?  While we dutifully lay out our cash for tickets and merch and all the other NFL trappings.  Hmmmm?

But the thing that chaps my ass most of all is when social media erupted because wannabe AZ Guv Kari Lake failed to stand for the "Black National Anthem" at the Super Bowl.  You'll recall, I trust, it was demanded of us all that we instantly approve and warmly embrace their decision to kneel at the playing of our mutual National Anthem awhile back?  The one we fought and died to enshrine as the One American Anthem?  Could it be selective outrage?  

Me thinks also they don't think we have a memory.  Enough of a memory to remember that they're a bunch of self-righteous, condescending hypocrites.

So there.

That went well, now didn't it?  Glad we had this chance to talk.  I feel much so better.  How about you?