Why Democrats are Faeries

If you think I'm making reference to homosexuals, you are dead wrong. No, I am referring to the perennial adolescents—those suffering from Peter Pan Syndrome, that are naturally drawn to the Democrat party. I'm sure there's a dissertation in that for someone who'd like to pursue it, but it is obvious on the surface that Democrats are all suffering from massive cases of arrested development.

The recent case of the slaughtered pig that was dumped off at a GOP office in southern California is but an incidental footnote. That these swine would resort to butchering an innocent animal for fun, is ample evidence of: lack of basic human morality, lack of genuine concern for life (other than their own worthless hairy hides), adolescent/retarded adult thought process (or lack thereof); inability to accept responsibility or accountability for their own actions, and on, and on, and on, ad nauseam.

What all of it boils down to is that we have an entire generation of people who have failed to mature mentally even while their bodies continue to decompose. Really, I'd seriously like to understand how this happens. My guess is coddling by narcissistic parents who failed to instill real world values as they were nurtured—after all, junior carried THEIR genes, and that made him SPECIAL.

Take the completely opposite effect on children of World War II—particularly those on the European front, who were forced to become adults at a tender age, and became more like miniature old people than children. For those children, I have nothing but pity and respect and hope that their later lives compensated for what occurred earlier. But for today's generations of adolescent dolts, idiots and imbeciles, I have nothing but contempt.

But, I go further. I am genuinely ashamed to admit that these people are of the same nationality; I am ashamed to admit that I am an American. This is not the country that I was born into. I am saddened beyond my ability to describe what I feel has been lost, or where this country is headed. I can't make myself go there without tears. My country is doomed.

Imbeciles in Positions of Competence

I had to do battle with another of my pet peeves today: websites that do not function correctly.

As a former instructor of web design, I am particularly annoyed by websites that do not function well, but I become absolutely apoplectic when those sites are sponsored by large corporate entities, or, one government agency or another—any of whom have sufficient resources to hire competent, talented people to run their sites properly.

Imagine, then, how frustrating it is to try to do something as simple as creating an online account with the U.S. Postal Service, on a website that has more bugs than a junkyard dog! Even after contacting the agency responsible for the website and requesting assistance, I was STILL unable to create an account.

I double-checked all of the usual culprits: Java, cookies, etc., but still NOTHING. I will say that I received an immediate and polite reply to my query, but even the advice offered contradicted what the website states.

For instance, the website states clearly that one may use one's email address as a User Id. However, the representative who responded to my query stated that the User Id could be no longer than 12 characters and could not contain any special characters.

Hello-o-o-o-o-o, U.S.P.S., you may not be aware of this, but "@" is a special character and is a required part of any email address, and further, most addresses are LONGER than 12 characters because they must necessarily contain the ISP balance of the address. For instance, @Google.com contains 10 characters leaving one a mere 2 characters for a User ID. It wouldn't take long for America's users to use up all possible 2 character User ID combinations but the fact is, many ISP address combinations are LONGER than 12 characters.

Worse, the error messages which the U.S.P.S. website spits out are erroneous, sending one in the wrong direction in the troubleshooting process with messages such as I received that my User ID (my email address) was already in use. When I received that message I assumed I had already created an account at some distant point in time that had been forgotten, so I chose the usual "I have forgotten my password" option expecting to get an email. According to the representative who contacted me, however, there is no record of an account in the system with my name or email address. Say what?

Another problem arose from the User ID selection: if one attempts to create a User ID which is already in the system, several options are presented instead. After attempting to create my own, unique, ID in 15 tries, I gave up and decided to use one of the system options, stupid though they were. But NO-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O, the system options don't work, either, and I was spit out repeatedly with "null User ID is invalid" errors. And, EACH AND EVERY TIME, I had to reinput name, address, telephone number, etc. for each User ID creation attempt!

This is but one small example of what individuals have to contend with on a daily basis all over the world because employers no longer hire for intelligence and competence, but who they can get for the cheapest $-$-$ bottom line.

The only solution to this problem is to stop buying goods and services from those organizations who put customer service LAST. In the case of the U.S. Postal Service, or ANY government agency, that is far easier to say than to actually follow through with and the only option left for us is to file complaints as high up as they can go.

I am drafting a letter of complaint to the Postmaster General at this moment.

Nutha' Day on the Planet of the Apes

I commute to work each day via public transportation—yeah, I do goofy, ecologically sound things like that—on today's commute, I was treated to several examples of basic primate behavior, aka, low land gorillas laughingly referred to as Homo sapiens.

While waiting in a transit shelter for my transfer, I watched a yellow jacket hard at work on a nest. I had observed this nest building activity a week earlier and had reported it to the transit authority and was told that "someone" would take care of the problem over the weekend.

A week had past, the nest was still there, and the pitiful yellow jacket was still working hard on the papery brown cells. As I advised the transit company, there was only one bee visible, there appeared to be no eggs in the cells as yet, so if someone would simply knock the thing down, the problem would be eliminated early and with very little excitement to anyone.

However, as it was still there, and an opportunity presented itself to report this problem to personnel who happened to be on site, once again, I related the information.

Before I knew it, there were half a dozen employees buzzing around the transit shelter discussing ways to "neutralize" the situation, from wasp spray, to buckshot. Eventually, one employee used a broom to knock the nest down and crush it; unfortunately the bee returned to his nest to observe the destruction of it. In one swoop, however, the transit personnel slapped down the bee with the broom, stomped on him with his heavy boot, and smeared his guts across the sidewalk declaring with a grin, "They don't call me The Exterminator for nothin'." Everyone climbed back on their buses and headed out.

All I had asked was that the nest be destroyed; the bee would have taken a hint and found a better place to build his nest elsewhere. What this situation emphasized, once again, is that until Homo sapiens gets it through his knuckle-head that all life forms have a place, and a RIGHT to exist unmolested, there will never be peace on this planet for he will always find some way to justify why one race is superior to another, one religion is superior to another, one tribe is superior to another, one clan is superior to another, and so one, and anything considered INFERIOR, is subject to annihilation.

At what point do these hairy beasts finally get it, do you suppose?

Later that day, in another part of the jungle, I observed another knuckle-dragging incident.

A scrawny nondescript male in his early twenties hustling down the street, crossed over to the other side (the side on which I was seated) obviously walking with purpose, in a tremendous hurry to get somewhere; behind him an obviously pregnant woman hustled to try to keep up with him about ten paces behind. The woman was so pregnant, her inverted belly button caused by her stretched stomach, was showing through a t-shirt stretched taut across her belly. She was obviously with the male though he never once turned to look at her or speak to her. She had a pained expression on her face, but said nothing, simply trying to keep up, or catch up with the male. About halfway down the block, the male then decided to cross the road back to the side on which I had first observed him, in the middle of a 4 lane highway, with no crosswalks for another block. In doing this, he did not give a glance to oncoming traffic, two lanes of which had to stop dead to allow him to pass, and the female was right behind him also in danger of being hit.

After crossing the other two lanes of traffic, they continued up the road in the same manner; I observed them cover about half a mile before they were out of sight. They were headed in the direction of the community hospital which was about a mile from where I first saw them. Surely, I thought, this clown was not "taking" the female to the hospital to deliver, but just as assuredly, the pace at which he was driving her in the heat would certainly cause her to deliver, if not have a heart attack first.

I don't care what the POS reasons were for causing this woman to haul after him in her final days of pregnancy. There is no excuse for it. I pity any woman who is so desperate that she would allow herself to be placed in a position such as this. Message to Lady: have your baby and kick this wienie to the curb; Sweetie, the world is full of nice guys and you DO NOT have to tolerate treatment like this.

On the other hand, I'd like to meet this guy in a dark alley to explain the facts of life to him, and how pregnant women should be treated.

Clearly, he is a man in the academic sense, only—he has male genitalia, and may have even fathered the child in this woman's belly, but that is as close to manhood as he can reach on his tiptoes. He fails in every other regard and should be kicked out of the club for his shortcomings.

On days like today, I am pleased that I am an orphaned alien NOT of Homo sapiens nor from the Planet of the Apes.

Oh, and hairy, knuckle-dragging twenty-something: if yo mama had not already been brain dead, she would have used birth control and this post would have had no reason to exist.

Politically Incorrect

Remember the kid who used to plug his ears with his fingers while loudly singing "The Star Spangled Banner," so that he couldn't hear what was being said? The contemporary name for this same behavior is called Politically Correct. We used to laugh at the kid on the playground who pulled this stunt; today, we are expected to kowtow to the PC bullies who extol it.

This behavior trait lies alongside the same gene that renders victims vulnerable to The Emperor With No Clothes condition and the Ostrich With His Head in the Sand syndrome. These disorders primarily afflict Sheeple, (people who ludicrously behave like sheep), which accounts for probably eighty percent of every population at any given time.

It's one of those "chicken or egg," arguments. Did people devolve into this behavior because of environmental conditions—lead in the water, radioactivity in the atmosphere—or is it a genetic deficiency only curable by proper blood testing prior to breeding.

Whatever the cause, the result is always the same: a substantial percentage of any given population is afraid to tell the truth. Rarely do these fears involve fear for life or physical safety which is what makes the condition so absurd. There is nothing more ludicrous than a member of Homo sapiens afraid to stand up on his hind legs to utter truth without regard to what other Sheeple have to say about it.

To the contrary, that person in a hundred willing to state the obvious will be persecuted by Sheeple mobs because his courage makes them look as impotent and silly as they are in actuality.

I'm for funding a new research project to locate the gene for Politically Correct, and to find a method to modify it genetically. We need MORE truth in our culture—not less—regardless of who or what is embarrassed by those truths.

The next genetic project should be to help those who are reality-challenged to develop thicker hides (or a spine) so that truth can become more palatable to them. I would suggest that a large pool of subjects from which to draw for these experiments would be the Yahoo! News comments editors.

Lovely Miami—OR—Pigs on Wheels

I happened upon a pornographic website while surfing randomly one bored afternoon, that is published out of Miami, Florida. I won't say the name of the website because I don't want to give them publicity they do not deserve.

Basically, a couple of males with a video camera drive around in a 30 year old van (looks like something out of a condemned inner city housing project), to pick up ordinary young women, promising to simply "interview" them; in the end, of course, it is no such thing and they always end by somehow convincing these "ordinary" women to take off their clothes for money, to give oral sex or copulate with some guy, then, using one pretext or another, "trick" them into stepping out of their dog-haired van and then speed off leaving them in the lurch, and without the money promised to them.

The truth is, none of these "ordinary" women are ordinary, everyday women, at all; they are—you guessed it—Miami hookers paid to act out a farce. Face it, what "ordinary" woman do you know who would get into a housing project van with any stranger? Worse, the guys driving the van are a pair of cretin-like greaseballs who look and sound like 8th grade dropouts who denigrate not only the women they photograph, but each other—a real-time example of how low self-esteem festers and self-perpetuates.

The website allows free viewing of a few seconds of out-takes from some of these videos as an inducement to plunk down your hard earned cash for something more serious—like an annual subscription.

I would like to say here, that there is NOTHING remotely erotic or seductive about the sexual acts exploited therein. To begin with, these are "actresses" (more about that later) performing their roles as scripted. Everything about the videos is seedy and tasteless and reveals more about the producers of the website than it does about sex acts. In fact, I was more interested in banter between the employees before and after sets, than anything that took place during the sex acts. The employees rip each other's looks, sexual prowess, intelligence, and even—believe it—for being stupid enough to work for THEM! Stupid, indeed.

The perpetrators of this website advertise themselves as three men with a collective IQ of 103. Though I am sure this statement was made to be funny, because they clearly believe themselves to be slick, the truth hits closer to the mark than their two IQ points comprehend. Every once in awhile, the camera man is caught in a reflection from the side view mirror or elsewhere; he is a white male with a sloping forehead and low hairline—a greaseball who is a prehistoric throwback to man's neanderthal beginnings.

One must ask oneself how an individual becomes the "dregs of society." I mean, did GreaseBall #1 watch Mama shagging johns on the kitchen table for quarters while Daddy pimped on street corners for more? Parents in the academic sense, only, clearly. Who WAS mommy and daddy, after all, Joey and Mary Jo Buttafuoco?

The women who are exploited on these videos, are the ones I truly pity. They are examples of the depths to which self-loathing can afflict one's life and, again, I must ask myself, what road lead to this end?

Prostitutes, today, do not refer to themselves as such. Nowadays, they call themselves "models," or "actresses." I once knew an executive of a very important Chicago concern who needed women in his life and had no qualm about marrying. For whatever reason, however, he could not keep them for more than a few years before they were ready to move on, and already had 7 marriages under his belt by the time I knew him. He was a gentleman and not the type to pick up prostitutes, but I roared with laughter when told that his latest girlfriend was a woman he had met at the bar of a large, fancy hotel downtown, who was "an actress." In the end, of course, it turned out she was nothing more than a hooker, and not the type of woman he wanted to bring home to meet Mama.

In several episodes males, puportedly boyfriends of the females "tricked" into this scenario, reveal to the camera that coercion into joining this video taping session was "payback" for something the female previously did to them. Any male who would sink this low, is a man in name only—if they do, in fact, possess male genitalia, they may, more accurately, be called males but certainly NOT men! It takes more than a tail between one's legs to qualify for the title of "man"—otherwise, even dogs and rats qualify by definition. Come on, Ladies, the world is FULL of NICE men—gentlemen, even—take the time to look around and ditch the dirt bags, kick 'em to the curb. You CAN do better!

To all of the beautiful young women out there, I have this message for you: there are many more satisfying and useful things you can do with your lives without degrading and defiling yourself for the amusement of low-lifes with flea-sized brain cases. All you have to do is look around and ask; if assistance is needed, it's there for those who want it. Don't allow yourselves to be sucked into building mansions of manure for Dung Beetles.

If I were a parent or grandparent of a young teenager, these videos would terrify me. I would REFUSE to allow any child under my guardianship to enter Miami, Florida without a 24-hour guard around them. NOT a very good public relations piece, Miami. Really!

One final thought. The only "real," unscripted portions of these videos are of innocent passersby pursuing their lives while the GreaseBall triplets cruise the Miami streets. These are probably the most entertaining moments on these videos where you are permitted (God knows why they do not edit them out) to see what real life, ordinary, women really think of GreaseBalls-in-a-Housing-Project-Van; most turn on their heels and race off, or, responding to questions like, "Would you like to get in the van?" retort with epithets like, "Not with YOU, Creep," or, as in one case, when a very assertive young woman simply flipped them the bird. THAT is what true, ordinary, Miami citizens think of dirt bags in vans, Sir.

When Trailer Trash Get Their 15 Minutes

It was at the tender age of eleven that I learned my first lesson about cynicism and insincerity. Votes were cast by my elementary school classmates for who would be King and Queen of the Valentine's Day pageant that year. I was horrified to learn after votes were counted, that two of the most pathetic classmates had been elected for the position; not for the usual reasons that persons are elected to such posts: beauty, personality, popularity, etc., but for pure meanness. It was to be a joke that the two school jesters—kids that most students would not bother to speak to in the lunch room—would be sitting on the podium as the King and Queen of jokedom. The joke, of course, being kept amongst the classmates, themselves.

It was a "Carrie" moment, though Carrie, as a story and film, was still a twinkle in some writer's eye. My classmates were, in fact "the spoilers."

I still remember thinking to myself that neither of the two elected individuals were so backward that they could not see, immediately, what had happened, that they had been elected purely out of spiteful meanness and had become the butt of a cruel joke. Now, it is true, that humans rarely see themselves as others do. However vain either of the individuals were, however, neither was so ignorant of their place in the pecking order that some small voice inside should not have expressed some concern. If they did question the legitimacy of their election, they gave no indication of it. To all intents they were happy to fulfill their obligations as King and Queen, and make entries into their diaries later.

I mention this story as a preface to something I heard in the news today; the story about this 19 year old kid, Colton Harris-Moore who recently stole an airplane and crash landed it in the Bahamas. Apparently, he has a long history of misbehavior going back to the age of eight or even younger. Basically, he is an anti-social, sociopathic miscreant whose crimes include everything from petty theft and burglary to felonies.

According to the news stories, he was raised in a trailer in the back woods of Washington State by a single mother; the biological father having fled and the step-father left after having enough of the kid by the time he was six years old. You could almost feel sorry for the kid. Operative word: almost.

I feel sorry that the kid comes from trailer-trash, raised in a state that is, itself, basically total white-trash, but none of this excuses his increasingly anti-social behavior. The kid has a record as long as his arm and at 6' 5" that's impressive. They call him the barefoot bandit because he frequently removes his shoes when the cops are in hot pursuit (well, you know those hillbillies, can't get used to those crazy things folks call shoes). Frankly, his crimes were such that had he been tried as an adult, he never would have been sent to a half-way house in the first place, and had he not been sent there, would never have had the opportunity to escape and spend the next several years vagabonding and thieving from one location to another. His crimes have escalated from simple burglary, to theft of motorboats, automobiles and airplanes which are left abandoned or crashed wherever he decides to relocate his thieving spree. There is no mystery about his ability to elude Washington State police for so long, as there are two factors in his favor: heavy underbrush and a police force reminiscent of the Keystone Cops.

The worst, however, are the comments made by the white-trash who styles herself his mother, Pam Kohler, making statements so outrageous, you almost have to believe she is not firing on all four cylinders, that these are the blatherings of some pathetic half-wit. I've seen no photos of the woman but, let me guess: tatoos, piercings and underwear on the outside, right? In that sense, alone, I pity the kid. I imagine that had I been raised by some illiterate white-trash slut in a trailer in the woods, I would probably feel rather angry and anti-social myself. How would you like to have a mother who, when advised that her son had stolen a single engine plane, comments, “I hope to hell he stole those airplanes—I would be so proud.” I mean it's so ludicrous to be almost unbelievable. Ma Barker dressed in a clown suit!

A question that should have been asked many times before now, is why the child was not removed from that environment before he turned into what he has become. According to the record, numerous calls were made to child protective services as the kid appeared to be running wild and even living in the woods unparented at the age of 8.

What appalls me is not just that we have yet another anti-social individual committing crimes against society but in the state of Washington, where he has continued his two-year crime spree unabated, he has become a local legend. I understand T-shirts are sold lauding him, and even songs have been written about him. Now that his crime spree has gone international, it appears he is being turned into something of a national hero amongst the more mentally deficient of our population.

Again, the spoilers are having their day. THEY can't be King or Queen of the universe, so they will promote a pathetic excuse for a human being into that role. They will encourage this fool and reap vicarious enjoyment as he goes down in flames—after all THEY are not the ones who, ultimately, will be toted off to jail in handcuffs while the rest of the world snigger up their shirt sleeves. In the end, those who now aid and abet him, will abandon him easily when he no longer offers any entertainment value; once he is locked down and out of sight, they will return to filling their empty craniums with hour upon hour of "reality" shows.

Meanwhile his mother has set up a website ostensibly to collect donations for "legal fees" (who knows maybe it really covers her liquor and meth tab) but the fact is that no amount of money will keep this kid's hide from hard time; he is wanted in numerous states and now the Feds have a claim on him. (They have, in fact, offered a bounty on him.) Nevertheless, the story is that his mother has already hired a prominent shyster attorney who has defended several other notable Washington State drug addict losers. I hope he's truly enjoying his moment in the limelight because it is soon going to end, and it will be a very dark day in the far distant future before he ever has an opportunity to steal a peep at freedom again.

But, again, given the context of the state in which this all began, Dogpatch—Washington State—the white trash capital of the planet—a monument to hillbillies and trailer trash, of Ma and Pa kettle—poster boy and girl of all hickdom—it still manages to have a kind of twisted logic. Think stupid, lazy white people, and it all begins to fall into place. Those people clearly have no sense of shame; I blush for them. Some of my closest friends are from this state but are not the bumpkins I have described; they are, however, a minority and the other type alluded to above, comprise the vast majority of the population.

I despair for civilization when the basest members of society are turned into pop icons for a few moments of cheap, idle amusement, and the fact that the average citizen of a certain age is little more than a vacuous cartoon. I'm not sure that it is reversible, rather, I believe that, periodically, humanity must first be plunged into a dark sterile void before struggling back into the light of rational thought.

The "I" Word

Several incidents which have occurred recently have made me ask myself what events, exactly, have transpired in the world—since my birth—that could alter values 180╝ from those considered acceptable as recently as, say, 40 years ago.

Seemingly, we are in an entirely different age; it’s the ME generation on steroids—it’s “sex, drugs, and rock and roll,” and the “I-Wanna-Maka-Million-Club” rolled into one.

Some words appear to have dropped out of the lexicon entirely. Words like, “conscientious,” “principles,” “integrity,” have all but disappeared and have been replaced by words like “bottom line,” “profit margin,” “resentment,” and “passive-aggressive.”

We live in an entire world of people—rich and poor alike—looking out for their own “bottom line.” It’s the Me-Myself-and-I culture of corporate bandits looking for every opportunity to stick it to consumers; consumers revenging themselves on corporations (sometimes passively) by “sticking it,” indiscriminately, to the next guy in the hope that “the next guy” is one of those corporate robber barons.

Thus, we have fast food hamburger flippers contaminating food stuffs, service people tampering with products they have been hired to repair, and on and on. They all resent the rich guy while, ironically, dreaming of becoming the rich guy. Yet nobody wants to do what the honest rich guy did to get there—work hard, educate themselves, etc. They want the material goods the rich guy has without the labor to acquire it and if they can’t have that, then they will settle for sabotaging “the rich guy” by whatever means are available to them.

In the olden days, say forty or so years ago, the average individual still had scruples (a dirty word, the “S” word) and even if they were screwed by corporate heads, they still had integrity, and would not tarnish that integrity by revenging themselves upon innocent victims. Further, this is no longer true only of the urban rat-race; television, films, and mass media have brought the “rat-race” to the tiniest, most remote villages on planet earth so that now, everyone wants they’re “share of the pie,” or, rather, what they BELIEVE to be their share.

The idea that life is not fair has become a foreign one, perhaps because socialist ideals have convinced humanity that, where one profits all should profit, and conversely, where one suffers all should suffer alike. It is not fashionable, even, to suggest that one make one’s own way in life. Whatever became of the “self-made man,” or the idea of pulling oneself up by one’s bootstraps—ideas that engendered pride in accomplishment.

Thus, low-paid employees revenge themselves on their corporate sponsors by theft of either material goods, or of time on the clock, or by directing their resentment against their employer’s clientele. The idea that if one is not happy at one’s place of employment, one quits and finds a new job, has been replaced with the idea that jobs are birthrights or entitlements which contain no strings, no clauses, and no responsibilities; an individual merely shows up every day and, at the end of the week, collects a pay check. Similarly, the word “earn” is slowly being dropped from our vocabularies from lack of usage.

What all of this boils down to is that somewhere along the line, we have lost our integrity, and worse, the very concept has become another dirty word, the “I” word. The connotation of integrity carries with it the notion of responsibility, the “R” word, another word which is slowly being removed from the language by its lack of usage.