Monday, December 15, 2014

Dear Diary, Dear DEAR Diary. . .


Okay, so I'm a girl 13 years of age.

No, not really, but today I'll be a teenage girl to make a point.  For this blog, I'm willing to  gender-bend, though I assure you  there are people out there already who use colorful language to describe me as less than a man and more than a dog.  But not to digress. . .

So, I'm 13 and I just returned from the mall after spending the day with several teenage female friends.  The BFF kind, you know.  It was Saturday and we passed the hours exploring the latest teen fashions and engaging in deep discussions about our favorite music and which teen idols we'd like to date and, in graphic detail, the things we might do to make their love ours "forever."  Oh, don't think for a moment that teenage girls can't carry on raunchy conversations about boys -- we can be more explicit than any boy in school (and, unlike boys with only one thing on their minds, we can actually spell explicit)!

Mom's chatting with somebody on her cell in the kitchen, but gives me a quick wave, and as I pass by my father, melted into the living room sofa in a familiar sitting position, I find him really into some football game on TV.  My arrival goes unnoticed by him, hypnotized as he is, but that's okay because I have important things to do.

I race upstairs to my room, where my faithful cat, Mr. Trichobezoar already sleeps near my pillow, his favorite spot in the house, aside from his litter box.

Reaching deeply under the mattress, I retrieve my prized possession -- the locked robin's egg-blue diary containing my deepest secrets and confessions, shocking admissions recorded in block-style writings which I'd never want my parents to see.  Never!  That's why I keep the key close to me at all times. 

Cuddling up next to Mr. Trichobezoar, who purrs with approval (though probably patiently longing for the day when his front claws return, so he can kill my parents and the vet in the dark of night for mutilating and humiliating him), I unlock my diary and turn to the next blank page, where I begin to chronicle the day's events, my words filled with teenage thoughts, fears and romantic dreams.  Once my entry is complete, I carefully lock the diary and place it back where prying eyes will be useless without the key. 

Now very sleepy, I recline on the bed next to my loving feline. I'm so glad that all my thoughts stay hidden in a $2.90 diary, rather than in the pads and computers so popular with all my BFFs, and, like they say, the pen is mightier than the. . .the. . .

THE SONY PICTURES COMPUTERS, YOU TINSELTOWN MORONS!   Hey, I ain't no 13 year old girl now!  It's me, Robert, and I want to ask you Hollywood folks a little question:  In 2014, how is it that a girl of 13 with a $2.90 diary can expect infinite worlds of more privacy than your multi-million dollar digital watchdog communities?  Worse, now that a multiplicity of Tinseltown egos have been splashed all over the world via hacked e-mails, Hollywood's "finest" anybodies who are anybodies scramble to lower themselves by "apologizing" for comments they made with no expectation of ever sincerely apologizing for.  If you folks are going to call some movie star a "whore," at least be real enough to scrap the phony sorrow and respond, "Yep, that guy, he's a real whore all right, you betcha!  I stand by my words!"  Instead, devious Hollywood movers and shakers wiggle out of their troubles like worms evading fishermen.  Maybe it's the way they were raised.

Incredibly, there's that one producer, can't think of her name, but Lady Dracula might work, and this idiot somehow believes she can retract her offensive statements about black people by offering apologies to street  brats Sharpton and Jackson?  Lady D, the only apologies these rascals understand is the color of green, 'cept choo wouldn't be likely to know that, being that the lofty space you and your husband, Lord Dracula occupy on the social scale precludes common sense. 

Yes, the core of this problem may indeed involve digital mayhem administered by and for North Korea, whose supreme dictator may not fancy the thought of being ridiculed and targeted in a movie which reality implies could be handled in no other way than to portray him as a buffoon and deservedly dispensable.  Yet, hey SONY -- you've got the money, why didn't you just use it to put out a contract to "take out" North Korea's current dangerously supreme mental defective leader for real? THAT would make a really cool movie later on, ala bin Laden's final pajama party!

One gets the impression, nevertheless, that there are winners here -- alleged Hollywood pedophiles, grateful that the entertainment media has at last found something else upon which to focus its cameras and linger, albeit momentarily.  Um, until e-mails about pedophilia favorites begin to emerge.  Maybe around Christmas? Oopsie.

Meanwhile, the SONY hacking goes on, and apparently -- for now -- not all the money in the world can repair the cocktail parties, shattered egos and phony Hollywood royalty which, until now, thought it ruled everything, including corrupt politicians and the decisions those folks mold in turn for the rest of us.  I say, suffer with it,  a'holes de Tinseltown,  ya gets what ya deserves.  Got that spyware updated yet?

Speaking of the entertainment world,  you think maybe the next time somebody works hard on a production of  Peter Pan,  they might use an actual no-gender-confusion boy for the main role?  Why a performance in drag?  During my childhood encounters with the story, nowhere was Peter P. in need of being portrayed by a female character, because he is a boy, not a transsexual..  Oh yeah, I remember Mary Martin and all the other actresses, but -- why?  Why then shouldn't all stage plays of  The Sound of Music feature young men as Maria?   No need to fly there, either.

Jeb vs. Hillary in 2016?  Again, a conjured product courtesy of and kept flaming by the cursed mainstream media.  A nightmare "choice" from hell in every way.

The budget just passed by Congress  enhances enough bad things, but it pains me to offer a word of appreciation to Sen. Elizabeth Warren, who stood on the floor to condemn bankers, senators and other government officials aplenty for basically being bought and paid for by the banking monster.  The dinosaur,  Hillary Clintosaurus  may have real problems before 2016 comes around for a second look at potentials because Warren clearly impressed an enraged public.  Warren is a (sigh. . .) Democrat, with few other political attractions to rope me in.

As usual, "everybody" hates Ted Cruz, so this man absolutely must be elected president in 2016.

The CIA and torture, plus torture of the CIA by Democrats with an agenda:  Far bigger issues than my pea-brain can fathom occur, but I'm troubled by a persistent undercurrent of apparent high-level encouragement to chip away at law enforcement -- the people who keep us protected -- at all levels.  The cops on the street, the military, the CIA.  The CIA?  Wasn't there a woman who said torture for her was seeing her husband jump to his death from the World Trade Center?  Releasing the one-sided "report" was nothing less than a partisan  get even  event, and one wonders what harm awaits dedicated CIA personnel around the world.  Now, other nations want CIA operatives prosecuted for their actions, and I think our proper response is to go to the U.N. and find and waterboard delegates from these offended nations.  Yes, what a fine diplomat I would make. . .

The Sunday morning TV news shows grind along  and everybody complains about the relaxation of political campaign financing.  But nobody wants to discuss the role and immense power that TV Networks project toward viewers who, sadly, depend upon TV screens for instructions on how to conduct almost all activities of daily living.  Putting "proper" candidates before the cameras to encourage "choice" among the perpetually misinformed is a definite advantage in TV land when votes are required for a political agenda.

Have a nice Christmas to those who celebrate it,and make 2015 memorable for you.   There may be an additional blog entry or two in the meantime, or not, depending upon either the weather or my mainstream media tolerance level. 

Monday, December 8, 2014

Eating Our Own Tails, 2014




While I served in the Air Force during the Vietnam Era, going on leave was always a prickly experience all around.  To get a substantial and appreciated military discount when flying from airport to airport, service people were required to wear our uniforms during travel.  For me, uniform-clad, an immediate observation in civilian territory was a profound unfriendliness by civilians toward military people, as if we were single-handedly responsible for the Vietnam  war  conflict   war   conflict   war  situation.  No, I did not get spat upon or encounter crowds calling me "baby killer" and the like (which happened to other military personnel), but a cold human atmosphere was palpable.

I only mention this because I think I understand how good, solid law enforcement people -- at all levels -- across the U.S. must feel right now.   Yes, bad things have happened and bad things have always happened, but the usual lot of leftists, anarchists and morons are doing what they do best -- coagulating into violently protesting bacteria of all kinds, blaming every cop on the beat for every ill they can conjure.  These folks care only about their own form of justice, the variety which brings "the system" down.  Right now, they're working pretty hard at it. 

"The system" may not be perfect, but so far there hasn't been a good substitute in sight.

In New York, I think the protesters would serve themselves and the country best by focusing their rage toward the governor and legislature, for these are the folks who perpetually tax citizens nearly to oblivion and insist that police personnel pursue tax "criminals" aggressively.  As far as NY City goes, it may just become increasingly clear that electing a garden-variety socialist mayor disguised as a Democrat wasn't a good idea, either, because his speeches and actions appear deemed and doomed to foster even more trouble in the streets.

Meanwhile, everything seems to be increasingly about "white privilege" vs. black injustice and black everything else.  As a white guy, may I just say, if you're going to in-my-face black me all over the media and on the street, at least black me with somebody other than Sharpton, Jackson and all the usual race-baiting opportunists who exist only to stir their non-melting pot.  Instead, black me with people such as Lt.Col. Allen West or Dr. Ben Carson. people of talent, intellect and honor.  If you're going to black me with black hate talk radio, then black me instead with well-spoken black radio talk show hosts who actually make sense, such as Kevin Jackson, who isn't buying the tired old liberal apologist line for a second.   

I can understand that some black minorities are filled with storming rage, but they invariably direct all their energy in the wrong direction -- and the right direction is toward all the wildly liberal Democrats who built a cage around their dreams and hopes to keep them captive to socialist ideals.  If 93 percent of black murders are performed by other black people, then one would have to conclude that the main problem isn't the police -- it's the generational Democrat-concocted conditions that created the ongoing environment of poverty, hatred and mistrust anchored in one failed city government after another.

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

If Wishes Were Forces





But first, a little notation about UFOs, wildly insignificant or just plain irrelevant:   Like many of you, I, too, was entranced by the clicking sounds recorded by the European spacecraft which successfully landed on a comet after a 10-year mission and some painstaking scientific planning.  No, I'm not suggesting, as have others, that the comet is something more than a comet -- but I do, with tongue firmly in cheek, with room for movement nevertheless, think back to the old alleged Hickson-Parker UFO abduction case in Pascagoula, Mississippi.  During the course of questioning, did one or both of the men not relate that an entity(ies) seemed to make a clicking sound?  No big stuff here, just wondering whether "clicking" might be the universal language, either in some corner of the universe or within some aspect of the UFO enigma.  Seems absurd, I know, but something there just seemed to click. 

UFO Explanation Psychology 101 (hint:  it's always 101):   I'm beyond amused when  sporadically inspired members of the brain-scrambling society show up to explain UFOs and UFO abduction cases.  This time, it's Anne Skomorowsky, practitioner of psychosomatic medicine at the New York Presbyterian Hospital.  Skomorowsky, also an assistant professor of psychiatry at Columbia University, had the honor of seeing her theories about "accidental awareness" (essentially bringing old memories into issues later on) explored by Scientific American, and you, the reader, may find the article online via your favorite search engine.  I won't spend any time on the piece here, other than to note that this sort of mental broom is never very adept at sweeping away revelations surrounding witness testimony -- especially when multiple witnesses are involved in alleged abduction events.  Somewhere in the psycho-cosmos, another medical professional with a debunking bent awaits a proper time and space to come forth to write a paper and reassure us that all strange critters who abduct are merely mind over matter and the book is thus closed.  There, feel better?

What U.S. president  would have been most inclined to reveal government UFO information?  Carter?  Clinton?  Reagan?  Not even close.  Barry Goldwater is the most likely, had he been elected president.  In my opinion.  Yes, trick question here.

Just when I've come to accept that we humans as a species deserve utter and unapologetic extinction because we've mucked it all up and screwed up everything, something comes along that. . .that. . .changes nothing and convinces me I was correct in my assumptions.  To wit:

Men and women of the Year:   Police officer Darren Wilson and every member of law enforcement dedicated and striving to protect and serve.  Also -- a black witness who supported Officer Wilson's account before a grand jury, but was later allegedly found shot dead by ??? in a burning car during the street carnage.  But then there are. . .

Maniacs of the Year:   The late Michael Brown of Ferguson, Missouri, ultimately deceased by virtue of his own actions (you don't attack the cops, surely that's not brain surgeon thinking), according to the evidence, reliable witness testimony and grand jury deliberation -- a case followed by officials all the way up to the White House.  The continuing tragedy here is the government's insistence upon keeping the societal wound open as it pursues the situation under the flag of civil rights.  Dude, when a black police officer shot dead a white unarmed teenager a few weeks ago in Utah under apparently not quite air-tight circumstances, nobody burned buildings and Eric Holder did not rush to the scene with Sharpton and Jackson in tow.  So, not only do I choose Brown among the "multiple maniacs" of this outrage, but the looters and violent protesters (anarchists, arsonists, communists, outsiders and all the usual street trash) played and continue to play a significant role.  Yes, there are legitimate issues to protest, but from all indications Michael Brown was no angelic youth worthy of such attention.  Indeed, the store incident caught on video just prior to the final showdown pretty much sums up history the way historians will write it.

I also nominate Missouri Governor Jay Nixon as a maniac of the year -- he, the governor who called out the National Guard but, peculiarly, refused to put them on the streets until considerable burning and damage was done.  His own lieutenant governor, suggesting that Nixon generally remains closed off and unapproachable, wonders whether pressure from the White House and DOJ influenced the decision to stand down.

Remember, just a couple of entries ago I, ol' Robert, suggested that violent demonstrators should be shot dead.  Do that two or three times and, like magic, things tend to calm down, at least in the short term.  Any human insect willing to illegally wield firearms dangerously among a mob or willing without a second thought to set buildings ablaze, thus putting numerous lives in danger, deserves nothing less than a spot-on execution if warnings and threats of arrest have no effect.  Unfortunately, with Ferguson law enforcement personnel busy beyond their dreams and the deplorable Gov. Nixon's National Guard nowhere in sight, the worst happened.  So pardon the irrational advice of this blogging old crank. . .but, as it turns out, I was right.  The violent do not negotiate in love and kisses.  If you want law and order, one has to enforce law and order.  Maybe next time.  Who the hell wants to be a cop anymore, to serve a nation populated too often by brainless twits, terrorists or uneducated youth unconcerned with any truth except what they themselves concoct?

Oh . . .and my final maniacs of the year include President Obama and Attorney General Holder, the highest-level government race-baiters I've ever seen.  Even some Democrats have started to run from this White House bunch as if from a piping hot bowl of Ebola bisque.  Now the Obama bunch wants to re-educate and subdue the nation's police AND add cameras to cops ala a big brother society?  I’ll say one thing:  Put a camera on every law enforcement officer in the country and truth-benders like Sharpton may well have to retire because the camera tends not to lie.  Bonus – thugs, dangerous street activists and thieves who think arming the cops with cameras is a good thing will be the first to go down once their faces and actions become plastered forever throughout the world of law enforcement.  Unfortunately, the rest of us will endure the same fate simply by ambulating.

If minority street protesters used more than two percent of their brainpower, they might additionally understand that Obama's embrace of illegal millions will screw them and their kids over for job opportunities for years to come.  Now,  there's  something worth taking to the streets.

Officer Wilson resigns from his job  and I hope and trust there are forces out there who will not only give him (and his wife) a better job in law enforcement, but will see that he's kept "in the money" as he moves on to another opportunity.  Wilson and the shop owner on video were the true victims in this situation, and shame on the stupidity of multitudes across the nation who remain on the wrong side of history here.  Yes,  'twas certainly a duck that quacked like a duck in Ferguson.

Klaatu Obama Without Gort:   The crazed  global warming   greenhouse gas    climate change alarmists are at it again, and as mentioned previously, whenever Obama speaks about questionable evidence  he sounds increasingly like spacecraft side-chat Klaatu from  The Day the Earth Stood Still, just before leaving Earth to travel amongst the stars with his faithful (make that faithless) and presumably cyber sexual partner (ouch -- doesn't that hurt?) robot,  Gore  Gort.  Too bad, the 1951 original was a great movie -- but wouldn't be with Obama in the title role (nor Leonardo DiCaprio, we hasten to add).  I profoundly "get it" about environmental destruction and species degradation here on Earth, but the one-track mind climate change crowd which portends to educate us about climate influences related to our own activities drives me up a wall of CO2.  May climate change geeks, formerly known as global warming geniuses, receive nicely wrapped bags of cattle flatulence for Christmas.  Methanomics  will be costly no matter how one, um, cuts it.

If Syrian government hackers are the latest to gain access to our deepest government files, what does this say about a future manned mission to Mars, when the computer guidance system is taken over just before landing?  I suspect flowery old plans for the peaceful exploration of space will end up about as peaceful as the "religion of peace" here on Earth.

And speaking of religion, it's intensely sad and angering that Nepal's people again prepare to engage in a ritual of brutally sacrificing animals such as goats and cattle as a gift to their god.  This will take a toll on somewhere around a half million animals, and we are yet reminded that animals usually come out looking far more intelligent than the rest of us as they suffer our never-ending fantasies and cruelty.

Country & Western Goes Yet Even More Gay:   Many of us harbor some impressions about who might be gay in C&W land, though I'm not generally a listener of the format.  However, my curiosity was a tad piqued a few days ago when singer Ty Herndon announced he was gay -- followed quickly by a similar declaration from singer Billy Gilman, who reportedly felt inspired to come way, way out after Ty H. let it all, so to speak, hang out.  Thought I, wha's up with that?  With Gilman, did it work like this. . .?

"Got to get that new album out. . .what can I do. . .I'm older and don't have that cute kid face to put on the cover anymore. . .and, oh, the telethon -- Jerry Lewis isn't hosting anymore, so I don't sing there and I'm not doing the co-host gig. . .maybe I can. . .wait, what's this?  Ty. . .oh. . .that's it, that's it. . .HEY WORLD!  I'm gay, too!  Lookee here!  I'm Billy Gilman and I'm gay, too!  Fancy that!  I'm coming out and SO IS MY NEW ALBUM, real soon.  HEY!  Lookatme, look. . .at. . .me!  I'M GAY LIKE TY!!  HEY, OVER HERE!  LOOK!"

(Disclaimer:  The fictional self-conversation by Billy Gilman depicted above probably did not happen in real life, but maybe it did.  It should have, because I like this version, my version.)