Baloney

Since I have a pretty good memory, I’d like to take this opportunity to point out a few things that many Obama administration folks said that everyone else forgot.

 

A quick visit to the White House website unveils a sentence, “President Obama is committed to making this the most open and participatory administration in history.”  Unfortunately, the famed historian Michael Beschloss – don’t feel bad; I never heard of him either – claims he is the smartest man to ever become President and, Obama’s IQ is so high, it is off the charts.

 

We wouldn’t really know because Obama refuses to release his college transcripts.  The rest of his record speaks for itself.

 

The Affordable Healthcare Act, aka. Obamacare, will save so much money, it will pay for itself.  Yeah, right.  Not even in its infancy, Obamacare is becoming a genuine liability for the Democrats.  Nancy Pelosi smugly said her bunch of henchmen would need “to pass the bill to find out what’s in it.”  Sens. Mitch McConnell, and Jeff Sessions, Republican turncoats, felt Senator Pelosi’s statement had merit.

 

Not only is Obamacare an albatross around the neck of America, it is a very costly albatross.  So much so, that Obama has postponed the costly penalty phase for large employers that don’t provide healthcare for its employees.  Remember this SNAFU when the mid-term elections occur for Democratic and turncoat politicians.  Since we now know “what’s in it,” we can kill Obamacare and fire arrogant Nancy Pelosi.

 

While George W. Bush served his two terms as president, we heard nothing but slander coming from the Left.  “He’s so stupid,” and “What an embarrassment to America he is,” were just two ugly, inaccurate statements used as fact against President Bush.

 

Enter Vice President Joe Biden.  Uncle Joe is best described as an imbecile in a nice suit.  It seems as though no one in late night comedy or the press can hear the words exiting Uncle Joe’s yap.  They are usually the words that would come from someone high on weed – a stoner.  Yet, this example of someone who needs medication is always placed above President Bush, Sarah Palin, and former VP Dan Quayle, who famously misspelled “potato.”

 

Cindy Sheehan, kook-at-large, relentlessly protested at the White House when George Bush was president.  She felt the need to spotlight the fact President Bush involved us in a war in Iraq.  After his term was up, she then bought land near his home in Texas to continue the protest.  Maybe this crazy dolt doesn’t know President Obama got us involved in a war in Afghanistan.  Maybe?

 

Fast and Furious, a poorly designed and executed plan to sell weapons to Mexican drug lords, and then blame this illegal action on legitimate American gun owners, needs questions answered from the top law enforcement officer, Eric Holder.  AG Holder, the hapless head of the Department of Justice, could use some personal jail time to jog his memory for contempt of Congress he exhibited during hearings on this matter.

 

And Michelle Obama, the First Lady, just mentioned that she considers the White House “a prison.”  Far be it from me to tell Mrs. Obama what to do but, I suggest if she is so uncomfortable in “the people’s house,” she rent a place in which she would be less painful.  Nigeria, perhaps.

Gustave Albin Whitehead

It seems as though we, as a people, have been lied to, again.  This is not the first time, nor will it be the last but, this is what I call a doozie.

 

Back when dinosaurs roamed the planet and I was in school, I was told that there were nine planets, to include Pluto.  It was quite a disappointment to me that all that memorization of the planets – MVEMJSUNP – and their order, was for nothing.  It goes: My Very Elegant Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas, or Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto.

 

Yes, Pluto was included but, not any longer.  Some dweeb decided that Pluto is too small to be a planet so it was removed, although it is still there and still orbiting the Sun.  The bottom line: I was lied to.

 

Enter Gustave Albin Whitehead.  Mr. Whitehead was born in 1874 in Germany, and immigrated to the United States.  It seems as though Mr. Whitehead, who died in relative obscurity in 1927, is now at the center of some controversy.

 

Upon riding my chariot to school, I learned that Wilber and Orville Wright, otherwise known as the Wright Brothers, were the first people who flew a controlled aircraft.  Their flying machine was flown off the dunes at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, some of the tallest sand dunes in the eastern United States.

 

This historical flight occurred in 1903 and was widely celebrated around the country as “a first in flight.”  I know this because the North Carolina license plate motto reads: “First in Flight.”

 

But, once again, I was lied to.  Ohio was the home to the Wright Brothers’ bicycle shop where their flying machine was built.  In fact, Ohio’s license plate motto is “Birthplace of Aviation.”  I know; I read it.

 

Although technically correct, both North Carolina and Ohio can make those claims with impunity.  Unfortunately, the long-deceased Mr. Whitehead was the subject of a newspaper article that claims he piloted his flying machine several times in 1901 and 1902.

 

If you’re still reading and keeping score, Mr. Whitehead actually beat the Wilbur and Orville by two years.  This means that Connecticut, where Mr. Whitehead’s flight took place, wants to be known as “The Bestest First Flight Before North Carolina or That Other Place.”

 

Too bad Mr. Whitehead’s witnesses didn’t take any photos. 

 

Lucky for all of us, I have a new acronym to remember this controversy.  It goes like this:

WWABIFBTWBAIC.  Whitehead Was Actually Bestest In Flight Before The Wright Brothers, And In Connecticut.  Simple, isn’t it?

 

Being lied to is actually fun.

I’m Behind the Rope

Today I celebrate two milestones: I have officially been on a diet for 50 years, and my New Year’s resolution to lose weight has been over for six-months, now.

 

Although I am a spitting image of Tom Selleck, I would really like to weigh less than Tom.

Each year begins with one of those pesky resolutions that are touted by svelte TV newscasters.  Prancing about with tights and a headband, they egg their audience on about devising a resolution of some sort.  It usually involves quitting smoking or losing copious amount of weight, though.  Their personal goals are to lose an astounding 5.8 grams.  My goal is to rid myself of the equivalence of a Steinway piano.

Feeling especially guilty because I feel as though they are talking directly to me, I usually turn the television off and retreat to the kitchen for a snack.  But then, I eventually get that culpable feeling back and make a concerted effort to actually shed some pounds.

Being cold and damp in early January, I found a need to exercise indoors.  Chasing Smokey the Cat around the house with a broom doesn’t necessarily qualify as genuine exercise so, I purchased a stationary bicycle.

As a Lorenzo Jones-type of inventor, it wasn’t long before I found myself re-purposing this motionless mode of transportation into something more practical – a multifaceted hanger for my exercise clothes.

Realizing that exercise was not enough, I turned to eating ‘lite’ foods.  After some time, I began eating less lite.  Alas, disappointing results were realized.  This means I actually gained three-pounds.

But, as time passed, ads began showing their ugly little heads in print, on radio, and via billboards.  “Lose weight with ease.  Get that swimsuit body now!” proclaimed the media hoopla.

Yes, it would soon be time for all us fat guys to wish we could doff our shirts to expose our pasty-white chests to the sun.  Sadly, this activity is subject to incarceration in 18 states and all of Canada.

Close scrutiny to these advertisements made me realize that I was going about this all wrong.  It seems as though there are pills available to “melt pounds away.”  At only $19.95 per bottle, I can take these miracle pills that allow me to eat bacon-wrapped doughnuts and lose weight while doing so.

The good news is that I also found a magic powder of some sort that can be sprinkled on ice cream and other health foods, and make my extra ‘baggage’ disappear.  Pictures of women, who were every bit as large as both me and Tom, fill the ads showing remarkable results of their diligence in dispensing this scientific dust to their meals.

All this hoopla gives me motivation and hope that I will someday be able to hide behind a piece of rope.

Just in case, I had bags of potato chips and dip on-hand, in the likely event these products worked so well that I found myself starving to death while eating.

The bottom line is, this business with the New Year’s resolutions is traditionally a lost cause for many people, making me feel somewhat better about my failed efforts.  Yet, there’s always next year to try again. 

Nonetheless, this 50^th anniversary of dieting is going to find me celebrating with an extraordinary meal consisting of a leaf-lettuce salad with a vinaigrette lite dressing, and a glass of lo-cal water.  For dessert, I’ll watch the Food Network for an hour.

BOOM!

This past year I failed to receive a calendar from my local Chinese restaurant because economic times are bad and those “perks” are the first things to go.  But, I was counting on the media to help me along, and they did not disappoint.

 

 

In the week leading up to Independence Day – the Fourth of July, for all you socialists – local television news is peppered with stories about the danger of fireworks.

 

 

Fireworks have long-been a symbol of July 4^th celebrations and represent “the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air,” mentioned in the Star Spangled Banner.

 

 

When I was a little kid, the neighborhood juvenile delinquents magically came up with firecrackers and Roman candles, often set off in a public-style display.

 

 

I don’t ever remember anyone getting hurt during those displays and looked forward to the next one with anxiousness.

 

 

But those local TV scare stories are all the same.  Take an old flannel shirt and pair of britches, stuff them with newspapers, and top them with a watermelon.  An M-80, an eighth stick of dynamite, is taped to the watermelon “head,” then ignited.

 

 

BOOM!  And shards of melon are spewed about, evidently trying to drive home the point of how dangerous taping an M-80 to produce is.

 
 

In the unlikely event this second-hand-store scarecrow is supposed to represent a human being, it is equally unlikely that someone would duct tape an eighth stick of dynamite to their cranium.  They get what they deserve if they do, according to Charles Darwin.

 
 

Some folks may recall those things called ‘snakes.’  They are small, black pellets formed from compressed charcoal that are lighted and expand to awe five-year olds, grandmothers, and anyone with a 57 IQ.  It seems as though snakes are legal in most places possibly because they are so lame.

 

 

Still, I’m not quite certain why backyard fireworks are illegal everywhere I live.  The big news here is that sparklers – those little silvery sticks coated with magnesium, titanium, and an oxidizer, whose temperatures reach roughly 2000°F, are making a comeback in some jurisdictions.

 

 

At the same time, places such as South Carolina and Florida have more fireworks stores than tattoo parlors.  One particular shop in South Carolina sells just what I need for my backyard display, and I frequent it often.  Particularly great are those aerial bombs that produce spiders, mums, and tinsel-like showers.  In other words, the good stuff.

 

 

While we’re talking about South Carolina and Florida, let’s ask ourselves why aerial bombs are legal there, but not on the Eastern Shore.  Perhaps Eastern Shore politicians think their constituents are too stupid to safely light a fuse, but smart enough to vote for them for re-election.

 

 

Let’s prove these sycophants wrong.  Let us use fireworks at our own risk.  Politicians: If you don’t like that idea, find a new job.  Next year, bring on the good stuff!

Buy American!?!

For years now, we have been hearing about how we – as Americans – should be buying products made in America.

Way back when, the United States was involved in a war on two fronts – one in Europe, the other in Asia.  The European front was fought against Germany and Italy, while the Asian war was directed toward Japan.  I feel this need be said because kids do not learn about such things in school.  Apparently there is no time between the sex education and anti-bullying classes.  But, I digress.

Without getting into a history lesson on World War II, the Germans, Italians, and Japanese eventually surrendered.

It wasn’t long, though, before the factories destroyed by Allied bombing were rebuilt with efficient, modern technology.  These factories began producing such things as Mercedes-Benz and Volkswagen vehicles which were summarily exported to America for consumption by the Americans who just finished fighting a bloody war there.

And, Americans did buy these cars by the boat-load.  VW Beetles were scarfed-up because they were reliable and inexpensive.  More than 21,000,000 were manufactured during their production run from 1938 until 2003.  Mercedes-Benz sales were targeted toward the well-heeled crowd of the world.

Toyota, Honda, and Datsun are just three of the Japanese auto manufacturers that wanted U.S. suckers to buy products from a country that arbitrarily bombed a Navy base for no apparent reason other than starting a conflict.

Japanese cars, trucks, and motorcycles are commonplace on American roads for the same reason German cars are here: people don’t care that by buying these products they are subsidizing societies that killed thousands of people.

America proudly stood behind anti-apartheid measures in South Africa, in the 1980’s.  We boycotted South African goods – including gold – instituted trade embargoes, and suspended many diplomatic privileges with that nation, although we didn’t ‘have a dog in that fight.’  Being urged not to support such a nation that exerts distasteful legislation upon its citizens is supposed to groom our sensibilities.

But, here we are pushing Americans to buy costly union-made goods merely because they are domestically produced.  We are treated like pariahs because we tend to buy less expensive foreign-made goods such as tools, clothing, and electronics.  Why?

So we purchase Chevrolet vehicles to join that “Buy American” campaign.  Unfortunately, many of GM’s cars and SUVs are made in Canada and Mexico.  When did those countries become part of the United States?  And, how does that help Americans?

General Electric’s light bulb manufacturing operations have been transferred to China.  I suppose that is another way to aid the domestic American worker.

Besides, American-affiliated unions that have infiltrated U.S. labor forces, have caused the costs – and subsequently the prices – to dramatically increase, thereby creating an economic conundrum about which product best suits the needs and wants of the consumer.  Reasons as this one are why moving jobs and operations overseas make sense.

It is sad to report that in 2012, $3,300,000 worth of American flags were imported from China.

Size Matters

If you didn’t read the title of this masterpiece, please go back and read it; I’ll wait.

 

This is for all those people – especially men – who don’t believe those words.  Yes, women know those words to be true but, those who are ladies don’t offer such advice, in public.

 

In essence, I’m talking about men with their rubber products.

 

It seems as though Crusty had to learn the hard way with some accompanying embarrassment.  Alas, here’s the story.

 

With an ardent desire to drown some worms with his neighbors, Crusty proudly offered his pontoon boat up for the task.  As per usual, neither Crusty nor his pontoon boat was ready to stray anywhere near the water.

 

The boat was up on cinder blocks because he needed to paint the pontoons.  Getting the boat back onto the trailer would be a normally easy job, by backing the trailer under the boat and lowering it on the trailer.

 

Involving jacking the boat up high enough to clear the trailer, once situated below the boat, the jack is lowered and the blocks are removed.  The pontoons hang over the sides of the trailer – next to the tires – with the deck of the boat resting on the trailer for support.  Pretty simple, actually.

 

It was one of the two pesky tires that decided to burst when the boat loaded.  Wouldn’t you know that aged, cracked sidewalls present an omen toward the longevity of the ride.

 

With one tire out of commission, it was time to re-raise the boat off the trailer and fetch a new tire.

 

As will all millionaires, Crusty made his by being, well, frugal.  He would rather buy used underwear than spend $2.50 for a new pair.

 

A trip to the tire shop helped him locate a tire that was a bit larger than the old one, but also a bit cheaper than the correct size.

 

The tire goes back on the trailer, the trailer is backed beneath the boat, the boat is jacked up – again – and the cinder blocks are removed, once more.  Success!

 

It is only a three block drive to the marina’s boat launching ramp but, far enough for the ending of this adventure.

 

In an attempt to impress his fishing chums, he piled them all into the boat for a short jaunt to the water.  With the harbor in sight, a din of hollering emerged from the gallery of Crusty fans which Crusty took as a positive thing.

 

Because that new tire was a bit too large, it managed to create a trail of smoke by rubbing against one of the pontoons.  Those were not cheers of success; rather they were shouts for the fire department and a cry for Crusty to stop driving.

 

Not to worry, as the hole worn into the pontoon could be patched with some magic Crusty elixir and duct tape.  Unfortunately, that fishing trip was cancelled and everyone escaped with their lives.

 

There you have it: size matters.

Graduation Options

It’s graduation time for both high school and college students.  This magical time of year occurs when various awkward scenarios converge to create the “perfect storm.”
 

High school seniors, who realized back in ninth grade that they had no desire to attend college, are anxious to enter the workforce to earn money for dream fulfillment.  These youngsters likely were less-than-stellar students who had to work hard for everything they got, or they were lazy laggards who blamed society for every misstep in their lives.  In any case, they are now attempting to enter society as an employee with 12-years of training.

 

On the other hand, some of those laggards will enter the world of academe to simply delay the inevitable task of searching for a job.  They will likely sponge off society – if not mom and dad – during their quests to discover additional avenues to sloth-like behavior in later life.

 

Those high schoolers that go directly to work, rather than college, deserve lots of credit for realizing they do not have the skills or desires to slog through another few years of school.  Such responsible attitudes easily eliminate the painful courses of life to which we refer as ‘knowing your limitations.’

 

There is little common sense in spending countless thousands of dollars on a college education to prove to others that you are not cut out to be a corporate executive, or merely possess an advanced degree in order to repair wheel barrows.

 

Likewise, many educated people who studied hard to attain those MA’s, MBA’s, and PhD’s, are more comfortable in higher-learning institutions than dirtying their hands.  And, they are often delighted paying those less-educated folks $90/hour and up for an opportunity to repair their toilets or mow their lawns.

 

These well-educated people usually live in metropolitan hubs and often look down on those with a lesser scholastic background.  Think of their student loan debt as a badge of knowledge and intelligence; they do.  Initially, they went to college to more easily find a job and earn more money once one was located.  In reality, much of their earnings are being used to repay their student loans. Ergo, their education is supposed to be their currency.

 

But, a third group exists that defies logic for much of society.  This group consists of laggards who are unable to work with their hands in a trade and are equally unable to find a job only because they never applied for one.  They enjoy going to school.  We refer to this group as ‘professional students.’

 

Our family had a professional student who may still be in school after 34 years.  He studied mechanical engineering, English, computer programming, history, and sciences, and may actually be in a position to get a job serving French fries under the golden arches.

 

Let’s not forget those 5^th-year seniors who are on the cusp of acquiring an NFL contract.  It seems a bit odd to me when the college basketball team enters the court to a screaming fan group from AARP.

 

That perfect storm combines a little bit of knowledge with attitude, and a smidgen of hormones and an overdose of bravado.  This concoction will point the direction for the life course compasses these young know-it-alls have.

 

The bottom line is kids will gravitate toward what they enjoy and with what they are comfortable.  Some will teens will leave high school to work at Jiffy Lube, some will enter college; some will spend four years in college, others will never graduate.  Some kids will follow their buddies into the military; a few will end up in prison.

 

In any case, congratulations to the Class of ’13!