Bully

 We begin this story with a bit of history about the English language.  Over the course of time, the meaning of certain words evolve into something totally different than their original connotation.

 

Take the word “bully,” for example.  Bully, according to an online source, had a much different meaning when it was first used. 

 

“The word "bully" was first used in the 1530s meaning "sweetheart", applied to either sex, from the Dutch boel "lover, brother", probably diminutive of Middle High German buole "brother", of uncertain origin (compare with the German buhle "lover"). ... The verb "to bully" is first attested in 1710.”  Thanks, Wikipedia.

 

Teddy Roosevelt

Teddy Roosevelt, a U.S. president from 1901 to 1909, used the word “bully” as an adjective to mean “excellent” or “first rate.”

 

But somewhere along the way the term bully became a campaign slogan that can be evidenced by the countless web sites peppering the internet.  Virtually every one has a moral message to the masses to STOP BULLYING!

 

That same word today conjures up an image of a larger person – child or otherwise – talking down to and intimidating a smaller, defenseless person.

 

Such a picture is mentally imbedded in our sensitive, caring minds.  It almost immediately, silently calls for a cessation to any heinous act being perpetrated upon another human being.  Period.  That is called empathy.

 

Who wants to see a person being harassed, harangued, or hounded, for any reason?  Now replace the word “person” with the world “child”.

 

These “talents” have been taught and nurtured at home.  Kids see this sort of behavior directed toward family pets, siblings, and even spouses.  And if the police are called to intervene, the children often become combative towards the authorities; bullying.

 

Today’s world has morphed from a polite society into a combative journey.  Suddenly everyone is offended over anything and everything, and the rational among us have become targets of wrath just because.

 

If you don’t believe me look around your neighborhood.  It is a microcosm of our national self.  People in your neighborhood should attempt to get along as neighbors; most likely they don’t.  If they don’t, they at least should pretend to care; again, they don’t.

 

People are supposed to wear masks to prevent the spread of the COVID-19 flu virus.  If they do, they wear them wrong.  If challenged, the offenders sometimes become combative; several police officers have been killed because of these masks.

 

Airline flying waitresses regularly appear in the news because patrons don’t wear their required masks and often result in physical batteries and assaults.

 

Trash regularly blows about neighborhood yards mixing with neighbor’s dog poop.  Of course no one will pick up their own garbage.  Kids arrogantly drop candy wrappers on the street, cigarette butts dot manicured lawns, and self-entitled neighbors traipse through yards creating goat paths, as if they owned them.

 

Noisy cars and trucks blaring annoying and offensive excuses for music roar up and down the roads, much to the chagrin of residents.

 

Of course no one can yell, “STOP!” lest they be judged a racist, misogynist, bigot, fogey, or homophobe.  And no offender will apologize for disrupting your little space on this seemingly shrinking planet.

 

Lies about this planet bursting into flames by 2018 are greeted with sorrow; anyone not jumping aboard that wacky train are simply said to be “denying the science.”  Science of climate change?  An oxymoron, at best.

 

And speaking of “denying the science,” newly developed and approved flu vaccines are being politicized as racist and anti-black. According to the anointed among us, the vaccine should be given to minorities, first.

 

We’re told we should stop eating meat.  We are told the death penalty is amoral, but abortion is good.  Cigarettes are evil, smoking marijuana should be legalized.

 

Actors board private jets to fly across the Earth to accept an award from climate change committees, where they give speeches about how your SUV pollutes.

 

Politicians want to take away your right to self defense while they’re surrounded with armed security forces.

 

Beloved Coca Cola announced White people are racists, while publishing a set of guidelines on how Whities should behave.

 

False narratives exude from questionable social media sources, all contrived to repeat lies until they are thought of as the truth.  Silencing the truth is immoral, but applauded as necessary.

 

There is so much more to discuss, but I’m sure you get the idea.  These are all examples of bullying we face today. 

 

We need to return to a polite society, and until then, don’t try to bully me or my family and friends because I, and countless others, are aware of your tactics.

Giddy

I swear I sensed giddiness while watching television this past week, and a fellow named David Hogg was front and center.

David Miles Hogg is an American anti-gun activist.  At age 20, he is a survivor of the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School shooting in 2018, in Parkland, Florida.

 

A lone gunman burst into the school on February 14^th, and systematically shot 34, killing 17, in a senseless act.  That gunman was 19-years old at the time, and as of this writing, is still awaiting trial.

 

Immediately, the press gathered around the survivors and achieved their desired results: record the grief of the survivors, their parents, teachers, and politicians, for sensational news and posterity.

 

And almost immediately, those clips edited down to 15-second bites were peppering the airwaves in a predictable effort to outlaw guns.  The pious among us always seem to misplace their priorities when solving what the anointed feel are viable solutions to ill-perceived problems.

 

It didn’t take much time for the first hand affected to settle on a unified solution, though, and once established, publicizing it.  This is where Hogg enters the picture.

 

Being 18-years old at the time, he has grown into what I term a “media whore.”  Media whores ardently search for a microphone or a television camera to tell their story, not unlike most politicians.

 

Hogg became an overnight sensation because he was well spoken and seemed thoughtful, and used the words the slanted media wanted to hear: gun control.

 

Every bit as dangerous as a gun, and quieter

Throughout the ensuing months, Hogg’s message turned into a focus on which guns should be controlled.  Keep in mind he is not, was not, and likely never will be a gun expert.  Rather he relies upon what the liberal media and Leftist movie industry say about the danger of guns in America.

 

And so it went.  The media of which I am speaking is the same media that contorted the “facts” about Donald Trump’s 2016 electoral win and distorted his 2020 election debacle.  They deftly lied about up being down, left being right, wet being dry, and good being evil.

 

Hogg was resurrected in time for the third anniversary of the Parkland shooting to remind America that he not only had a new life, but a new mission.  And boy was he giddy.

 

His new mission was announced as a competitor to pillow maker, Mike Lindell.  Lindell is the man who overcame personal tragedies to direct his life toward God and goodness.  Hogg, however, wants to show Lindell who’s the boss in the pillow world.  No lie.

 

Hoggs’ new mission, on the other hand, is to remind the new president Joseph Robinette Biden, that calloused former President Donald Trump did little in the way of outlawing legal tools in the form of guns.

 

With complicit, equally giddy Congressclowns already writing House Bills to control and register guns, the timing would seem suspect, if not ultimately planned.  And it was.

 

The design is simple: create a list of guns, ammunition, and parts that the Left find distasteful, and create a mandatory registration with federal prison and financial penalties to make a point of fear.  This law would instantly turn honest Americans into criminals overnight.

 

So it was with interest that I read an internet story in the New York Post dateline 2/17/2021, titled “Gunmen kill student, kidnap 27 in attack in Nigerian school”.

 

If you missed the first word of that headline, please re-read it; I’ll wait for you.

 

Yes, guns were instrumental in this form of regular mayhem in Nigeria.

 

“Gunmen” is the key to that headline, and it is important because West Africa’s Nigeria closely resembles a 356,669 square mile toilet.

 

Those kidnapped children are usually used for ransom money and sex trafficking, and occasionally returned; unfortunately they are psychologically and physically damaged at that point.

 

This is where David Hogg and the anti-gun crowd need to pay attention.  Nigeria was under British rule until 1960.  In the late 1960’s Nigeria experienced a civil war and eventually settled on both civilian governments and military dictatorships.

 

To reach internal peace and safety, guns were outlawed following the civil war.  Today, Nigeria has a robust drug trafficking trade shipping heroin and cocaine throughout the world.  It also serves as a flourishing hub for organized crime and student gangs.  Major piracy rings and bank fraud schemes reach well-beyond Nigeria’s borders into America.

 

David Hogg and his young anti-Second Amendment dream team who desire absolute peace in the United States would like nothing better than to make our country a parallel model to Nigeria, an end product of gun registration and subsequent confiscation.

 

Tell your Representative to ignore Hogg and his fatally flawed plan to rid America of important tools that guarantee safety, security, and sovereignty until Hogg studies history and geography and psychology.  He and his anti-Constitutional buddies may be less giddy.

 

Industrial Strength

While waiting to catch a glimpse of Snoop Dogg, Mylie Cyrus, Amy Schumer, Lena Dunham, or Whoopi Goldberg, arrive at the airport, I decided to check the latest news on my phone.

 

I gave up on George Lopez and Cher and Bryan Cranston, as well as Samuel L. Jackson, because I really don’t care about them.  In fact, I really don’t care about any of those phony actors and actresses who promised to leave America if Donald Trump was elected to the office of President.

 

Uh, oh.  He was.

 

And they didn’t leave.  And that’s too bad.  Fake news?  Yep.  Unfortunately, Mark Zuckerberg’s fancy algorithms didn’t catch those lies – uh – untruths, the way they deftly discovered questionable comments and postings by former President Donald J. Trump. But I digress.

 

In any case, I stumbled upon a news story that, at first blush, I thought was more fake news.

 

As old as I am, I regularly come across information, news stories, legends, and even names that continue to flabbergast me.  This one is no different and may actually move up to the top of the list in the stupid department.

 

It seems a Louisiana woman intent on grooming herself discovered she was out of what the hair stylists term “product.”  Product can consist of many items for hair use and can be purchased in salons and stores nationwide.

 

Unbeknownst to me, I, too use product in the form of styling gel according to my sainted wife who knows product.  But product evidently covers a wide variety of things used to make people pretty including – well, I don’t know; you’ll just have to trust me on this one.

 

In this instance, the Louisiana woman, Tessica Brown, began to panic in order to find product for her hair.  A thorough search turned up little in the way of something to help hold her hair in place.

 

Tessica Brown's SUPER hold

Until she came across something called Gorilla Glue.  Gorilla Glue is a glue as clearly mentioned in its name.  It works very well in that I have used it in the past to adhere everything from plastic to wood.  Believe me when I tell you it holds, probably the result of the name of a tenacious grasp - gorilla-like - in a glue form, I’m guessing.

 

Gorilla Glue comes in various forms – much like product – to encompass jars, cans, tubes, and aerosol.  Brown opted for the handy spray adhesive application which produced excellent holding power.

 

The bad news is Brown evidently discovered Gorilla Glue is designed to hold, not unhold.  You may want to re-read that last sentence if you are contemplating substituting Gorilla Glue for hair gel.

 

After a month of EXTRA hold, she called the Gorilla Glue Company who offered little in the way of solutions except to offer their congratulations on achieving what they consider a genuine permanent hold, and two-thumbs up.

 

A visit to a local hospital was met with amazement at the rigidity of her weave, and how long it has remained in place.

 

Acetone was used on her hair only to find it became gooey and re-hardening after a short while, sadly burning her scalp in the process.

 

Suddenly Brown’s effort to cut corners was met with new challenges.

 

The Gorilla Glue Company tweeted: “We are very sorry to hear about the unfortunate incident that Miss Brown experienced using our Spray Adhesive on her hair. We are glad to see in her recent video that Miss Brown has received medical treatment from her local medical facility and wish her the best.”

“The company goes on to reiterate that its product ‘is not indicated for use in or on hair as it is considered permanent.’”

I suppose looking to find a positive note in this experience may be two-fold.  Firstly, Brown will no longer have to buy gel thereby saving copious amounts of money.

Secondly, looking back at history as a lesson, coloring her hair will likely not involve enamel spray paint.

Dumpster Fire 55

 On the tail end of the 2021 Super Bowl, LV, we bid farewell to all the hoopla while we examine what we just witnessed.

 

This over-hyped spectacle attempted to garner countless viewers to witness a football competition – not to be confused with soccer, the other football – within the confines of our own homes.

 

For weeks prior, guvment officials insisted this annual event was best watched in our own homes, much like Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s Eve, and Kwanzaa, absolutely avoiding other human contact to prevent the spread of the “C-word” virus. 

 

On the other hand, presidential inaugurations, riots in Seattle and Portland, and enthusiastic lootings in Minneapolis, are mask less OKs, when it comes to the C-word flu.  But I digress.

 

Seemingly countless commercials run for $5,000,000 per 30-second spot filled the already crowded TV schedule in an attempt to get viewers to change the channel to the Puppy Bowl on the Animal Planet Channel.

 

First up was an advertisement from Jeep, featuring some has-been singer named Bruce Springsteen.  This Trump-hating anti-American whined over the past 4-years about then-President Trump being a horrible man, and how he desperately wanted to leave the country until President Trump’s term was up; Springsteen didn’t because he’s not only smarmy, he’s also a liar and probably lazy and likely inebriated.

 

And so it went for hours, one America-bashing commercial after another poking fun at the consumers expected to purchase lame products.  This parade of propaganda continued until the announcers realized one of the referees was a woman.

 

Once identified as not a man, this referee was idolized because of her sex.  Period.  She had done nothing extraordinary other than be born with guvment-approved parts to instantly transform her into something of a “hero” in the sports world because she was the “first woman.”  Yeah!

 

Then as he took the field we heard litanies of praise about the youngest quarterback to play in a Super Bowl.  And he is Black.  Yeah!

 

The Kansas City Disparaging Native American Named Team, also known as “The Chiefs,” utilized a fellow identified as Patrick Mahomes to quarterback their team to a near victory.  Actually, it was nowhere near a victory for the Kansas City Disparaging Native American Named Team, but he was the youngest, Black quarterback to play in a Super Bowl.  Yeah!

 

Tom Brady, the oldest, White quarterback to play in a Super Bowl appeared to dominate the game with a squeaker of a victory, 31 – 9.  His Tampa Bay Buccaneers won, but Mahomes’ mother felt otherwise, blaming the refs for the Kansas City Disparaging Native American Named Team’s loss.  Of course.  It wasn’t because of the team’s poor performance.  But I digress, again.

 

In any case, the mindless dolts only watching to espy the next commercial ad were treated to more inane examples of who in America needs psychotropic drugs.  Until half-time, that is.

 

Fade-in from black, and the world witnessed some white-clad character hovering above a dark backdrop, descending into the stadium.  The crowd went wild when the main performer, who no one seemed to be able to identify, hopped around the makeshift stage, apparently lip-syncing into a prop microphone.

 

He yodeled a half-dozen musical numbers – all of which sounded alike – with more and more clearly racist themes being exhibited.

 

I still don't know who this musical star is

Behind him was a wall of all Black stringed musicians, while jumping around on the field were what appeared to be hundreds of red sport coat-clad Black men wearing gasmask-looking facial coverings.

 

None of it made sense then, and no one can describe the meanings of all that, now.  It seems as though segregation is alive and well within the Super Bowl-approved show.

 

It seemed odd that a clear display of racial and sexual inclusiveness were absent, while Jeep hopefully succeeded in alienating American patriots by using a Marxist-loving singer to piously deliver narration for inclusiveness, Springsteen now wants in a country he helped divide.

 

I’m not sure who thought this dumpster fire of a display was a good idea, but I hope the Super Bowl LVI committee rethinks next year’s public exhibit with more societal richness.

Just Give Up

 The world, in general, America, in particular, consists of people who have marginal survival skills.

 

When I mention survival skills I don’t necessarily mean plying South American or African jungles with a machete in the hopes of finding potential food before that same potential food finds them as potential food.

 

No, I mean basic skills of a civilized society that includes modern day hunters and gatherers.  In those basic skills I include finding a parking lot space, acquiring a shopping cart without a crippled wheel, and being able to locate toilet paper on the meagerly stocked shelves.

 

Serious periodic introspection gives me a sense of superiority compared to my fellow shoppers, at least the ones who found that elusive parking space.

 

In any case, some shopping does not necessarily require finding a parking space or even the store itself.  That should be seen as a bonus to those with shopping challenges.

 

There’s something new called “the internet,” which allows one to visit most of their favorite stores without leaving their COVID-19-free homes, or removing those nasty curlers from their hair.

 

Normally, that would be the end of the story, but because I have ample time today, you get even more words.  Yea!

 

Over the past few months Americans who have a television have been overdosed with ads about buying supplemental health insurance.  This insurance is in addition to Medicare, a brilliant Ponzi scheme that closely rivals the Social Security System.

 

It seems as though congressional shysters created this boneheaded structure to create a sense of privilege and urgency to make a decision to buy additional coverage.

 

Over the past six-plus decades of my life, I made sure I was covered by health insurance, most of which followed me into my retirement years.  Some new plans and additional riders were necessary to ensure my coverage was thorough enough for my twilight years.

 

All this extra coverage costs money, though, money that comes out of my pocket. But I had planned on most of these financial outlays in life, something for which I budgeted before my austere segment of existence.

 

However, over these past few weeks I have begun to think I am pretty much alone in the planning department and possess survival skills that are rare beyond comprehension.

 

As mentioned earlier, I have seen countless commercials for supplemental health insurance.  Without fail, every other ad is for this insurance.  But that’s not the fingernails-on-a-blackboard irritation that’s been driving me crazy.

 

What’s taking me on that short trip to crazy is a fellow named Joe Namath.

 

Joe Namath was a quarterback for the University of Alabama, aka.: Crimson Tide, in the 1960’s.  He got a job as quarterback for the New York Jets, where he paved his road to fame in the 1969 Super Bowl III.  Namath’s Jets were 18-point underdogs, but won.  And the rest is history.

 

One would think Joe Namath would have saved his pennies over the years.  He appeared in dozens of television and stage shows, and even had a short-lived show of his own.  He’s in his middle 70’s, and reportedly has a net worth of $18,000,000.

 

All this leads me to the question: why does an old guy, a has-been, with millions of dollars, have to slobber on TV for health insurance companies?

 

He might be more palatable if he didn’t speak with an annoying half-Southern accent which is only augmented with his ill-fitting dentures.  But I digress.

 

It’s about time Joe avoided the mass media and sat in the sun room and stuck to making wallets.  On the other hand, that may have been Joe doing seemingly endless laps in the Walmart parking lot in search of a parking spot adjacent to the door.

 

Likewise, Tom Selleck, television star of the 1970’s and ‘80’s, is easily spotted hawking reverse mortgages.  This is another example of idols of yore refusing to take their places in a rocking chair or recliner, in lieu of irritating the balance of America with their sales spiels.

 

Because I excel at offering free, usually unwanted advice, I’d like to take this opportunity to provide some more to both Joe and Tom: Just give up.

 

I’m just saying.

More Wacky Ideas

 Often, I recall all those promises passed along to us through international expositions, magazines, movies, and black and white television shows.  Most of those information transfer methods passed along great expectations that seemed outlandish then, and after a half-century, outlandish now.

 

I specifically recall space-age kitchens with dispensers spitting out pharmaceutical-style capsules which were supposed to help us ingest the appropriate amount of vitamins and minerals, as well as carbohydrates, cholesterol, and calories.

 

My memory serves me well when I recall automobiles being transformed into personal airplanes by attaching overhead wings, powered by an engine in the rear.  Promises included being able to avoid traffic jams thereby permitting expedited methods to travel to and from work.

 

Then there were those special, secret carburetors for cars that would make driving nearly free.  According to the stories, some guy in Indiana invented a carburetor that could digest plain old tap water.  Yep.  Plain old tap water used for fuel, thereby eliminating the need for gas stations, which would help the world.  Of course, the gas at that time cost thirty-three cents per gallon.

 

There were trains that would travel from Washington, D.C. to New York City at speeds approaching 150 MPH!  That trip would be complete in about 60-minutes rather than the normal 3½-hours.

 

Of course along the way there many speed bumps that popped up.  And most of those speed bumps were discovered to be nothing short of lies and/or pipe dreams that proved these wonderful inventions and paths to idyllic to be products of overactive imaginations.

 

Space-age kitchens were a big bust inasmuch as food manufacturers seemed too busy reinventing frozen pizzas to move forward to change the way we eat.

 

Those flying cars also flew out of Popular Science magazines just as quickly as they were printed therein.  Imagine all those people who can’t get out of the left highway lane clogging up the skies.  Crashes and mayhem would likely resemble Bloody April Air Battle of Arras in WWI, hardly the much desired expeditious trip to the office one would hope for.

 

And that magic carburetor that promised to put the House of Saud out of business was another tale.  It was said General Motors bought it so that they didn’t have to retool their vehicles.  Another story had a similar bent with Esso – now Exxon Mobil – purchasing the blueprints and patent rights.  Sure.

 

Lastly, those 150 MPH trains we were promised would up being another fabrication from everyone in cahoots with the railroad, the funding government officials, and local government types who felt they could easily snooker taxpayers for another means of ineffective interstate travel.

 

But along the way, a new cottage industry popped up and quickly spread to our dilapidated schools systems nationwide.  It was the ecological movement that has since evolved into the Green Movement.

 

That movement, not unlike the previously hyped promises, offered hope for a crisis created by the “solution.”  In other words, the tail wagging the dog.

 

The ecological movement identified weaknesses in life such as too much wasted paper, over-flowing landfills, as well as land and water pollution. 

 

Of course they found hot-button topics which no one in the world could balk at identifying as serious and genuine goals for which to strive.  Unfortunately, the do-good politicians who hold the checkbooks to taxpayer monies quickly realized that those checks translated into future votes, and thereby political career longevity.

 

One of the lies that bother me the most is the wasted paper crisis.  Although I seem to be perfect, I have a big fault.  That fault is paper.  Keeping paper, sorting paper, and finding important papers, are the banes in my life, and things at which I don’t excel.  The biggest flaw is that pesky “finding important papers” thing I mentioned.

 

It seems as though I never need run-of-the-mill receipts, lame brochures, or “important” phone numbers.  Rather, it is the documentation I need for my taxes and such.  The rest of that paperwork, to me, is extraneous trash that winds-up in the critical landfills.

 

But speaking of extraneous, here’s a quick, informal survey: Who in your immediate vicinity is unaware driving your car using gasoline is connected to “climate change?”

 

“Climate change” is the catchy phrase that the Green Movement uses to sting the masses into life-altering legislation, such as solar-powered airplanes and electric vehicles.  It doesn’t matter those electric vehicles need to be recharged with coal and gas plants.  Alas.

 

The good news is Cambridge, Massachusetts, has the insight to help the world one city at a time.  Sure, it will begin with them.

 

One more sticker will help the planet

These critical thinkers feel the need to require each and every gas pump be emblazoned with yellow stickers that will dutifully notify you that filling up your vehicle with gas will cause climate change.

 

Imagine the number of discarded cars and trucks at service stations in Cambridge that will be abandoned by responsible drivers who would rather walk than drive their vehicles back home, all to save the environment.

 

More useless paper from greedy politicians.