Monday, October 28, 2013

Indeterminate -- A Delightful Halloween Story

Yes, it's the Halloween season again, and I feel peculiarly obligated to do something about it.  Here's a little story of charm and male bonding (well, in a manner of speaking) to give you goose bumps, or maybe just an irritating itch somewhere among your private parts.  The trouble with writing fiction fit for the season these days is the sad fact that world events are more terrifying than much in the universe of storytelling.  By the way, I remind you that I'm really not any good at writing fiction in any form, so should you decide to read this and you hate it and it absolutely sucks, it's your own fault.  You've been warned.  Or is that warmed?



(Never Waste Words)

(A Delightful Halloween Story)

by Robert Barrow


Copyright 2013 (fiction) by Robert Barrow


(Any resemblance to persons living, dead or undead rises far beyond my ability to fabricate an unusual name that might actually belong to somebody.)

Brutally active winter storms should have yielded to the first idyllic hints of spring weeks ago, but the unforgiving north winds continued unappreciated mountain visits, transporting an unrelenting cascade of oppressively wet, heavy snow. 

Few understood the situation's gravity better than Dalton Fentweather, a local handyman who resembled a slightly older version of country singer Hunter Hayes, a heartthrob observation which delighted many young women of the sparsely populated rural area.  Though living alone in a small cabin in the woods, just a few yards off a logging road, he was never lonesome for female companionship -- generally acquired in a revolving door manner, with feminine faces arriving and departing with some regularity.

But romance was the last thing on Dalton Fentweather's mind during this snowbound afternoon.  Despite the raging snows, mounting more than an inch in depth per hour, when Dalton peeked out a window and looked toward the logging road he could barely make out the shape of something  -- or somebody? -- thrashing about in a snowbank. 

Of course, he hesitated before investigating.  Who wouldn't?  What if the snowy lump was an enraged bear, somehow awakened from hibernation?  Or some rabid animal? 

After a few minutes of careful thought, Dalton donned a parka, grabbed his shotgun and carefully opened the cabin door, being careful not to allow winter winds to blow in any more white than necessary.  Cautiously, he walked to the road, aware that the lump's movement had ceased.

As he approached the indefinite shape, its identity thoroughly masked by the blizzard's effects, Dalton proceeded even more slowly, until he ultimately stood just a couple of feet from it.  Extending the shotgun, he gingerly nudged the figure with its barrel for a possible response.

"Ow!" shouted a human voice, as the figure of a tall man recoiled, arose and then stood almost upright.  Dalton fell backwards in surprise, his fall broken sufficiently by the snow's depth on the ground.  The stranger spoke, timidly:, as he reached out, gesturing with his left hand toward Dalton. "Help me. . .please, help me. . .I. . ."  The man then collapsed onto a snowbank, motionless once more.

Footprints from way down the road could barely be seen as wind-driven snows obliterated every trace of their existence.


With considerable difficulty Dalton dragged the man into his cabin and lifted him onto a sofa, and the combination of height and weight provided no easy chore.  Apparently sleeping or unconscious, the man dressed only in jeans and a torn black t-shirt would offer no resistance as Dalton looked him over.  While no tattoos or other markings were evident on his arms, his wrists clearly displayed circumferential red marks -- as if they had been tied very tightly to a pole or tree, or perhaps handcuffed.  Now Dalton allowed himself a measured degree of worry and fear.

He picked up the landline phone to call the sheriff, but its connection was dead.  That wasn't unusual when the snow grew deep and winds took down poles.  Like this week's snow.

Suddenly enlightened, Dalton whipped around to turn on a lamp switch and discovered that the electricity was also out.  Same damned pole, he rightly presumed.  He needn't have bothered with his cell phone, for that was out of energy and hadn't been charged for weeks, but he tried it anyway just to impress upon himself the hopelessness of summoning help.

Great, now what do I do about you? Dalton wondered, staring at the stranger on his sofa.  Approaching the sofa, he knew he must, at least, try to determine an identity, so he took the liberty of exploring the pockets of the stranger's jeans.  To his surprise, there was no wallet, no keys, nor pocket change -- but the left front pocket revealed a short strand of a material appearing to be from a thick white polyester cord .  Again, Dalton focused his eyes upon the painful-looking red marks on his guest's wrists.  Maybe an escaped prisoner?  Maybe somebody abducted and tied him to a tree?  Did some jealous husband or boyfriend do this?  Of course Dalton Fentweather would conjure up a husband or boyfriend, for he suffered his own occasional encounters with jealous significant others who discovered his affairs with their supposedly faithful ladies.

"Uhhhhhh. . ." muttered the stranger, apparently awakening.  Dalton stepped cautiously to his side.

"Are you . . .can you hear me?" asked Dalton.

The bearded stranger glanced about, ultimately fixing his gaze upon Dalton.  "Where. . .what is this?"

"I pulled you from the road -- you were huddled in the snow.  The storm, you know."

"The. . . storm. . ."

"Yes.  How did you -- where did you come from?  What happened to your wrists?" Dalton inquired gently.  The stranger seemed startled and sat bolt-upright on the couch.  Dalton took a timid step back, but then stepped forward and guided the mysterious man to a horizontal position once again.  He appeared remarkably weakened from some ordeal, or perhaps simply exhausted from his journey through the snowstorm.

"You. . .need to get. . . away. . .go. . .away," the stranger said, his voice almost inaudible now.  Dalton strained to hear him speak.  "You. . .you. . ."

"Who are you?  What can I do to help?"

"I. . .am. . ."  he said, his voice trailing off, but Dalton heard a part of one more word or sentence. 

"What?  Did you say rope?  Did somebody tie you with a rope?"  The stranger shook his head no and then passed out.  There was something uttered before what sounded like rope, but words seemed to break up.

Dalton retrieved a jar of tea from the refrigerator, taking care to close the door quickly in order to keep precious cold air from escaping.  The afternoon grew later and, despite the strange predicament before him, Dalton was grateful for a wood stove in the corner which kept the small cabin pleasantly warm.  Having poured a small cup of cold tea for his guest, he gently shook the man, hoping to awaken him and force down a drink.  Maybe then the man could speak more easily.  His eyelids twitched and the lids opened.

"Wha. . .oh. . .I remember. . ."

"Here, drink a little of this, it's tea," Dalton offered.  The stranger drank a bit and then swallowed more and more until the cup had emptied.  "What's your name?"

The man needed to think, but replied, "They. . . call me. . . Austin."

"Austin.  And my name is Dalton.  Now, I gotta ask you, man, where are you from and how the hell did you get this far?"

Austin seemed puzzled, and a bit embarrassed.  "I don't. . .don't. . .look. . . you got to. . . run away from me.  You aren't safe here!"  Austin was becoming rather frantic.

"What do you mean?  Are you a convict?  Did you escape from  prison?!"

"Get away, get away!"  The stranger slumped back onto the sofa, again with words drifting off as he mumbled, seeming to say  ". . .can. . .rope. . ."

"Can rope?  Are you from a rodeo?  Is that it?  Did you fall off a rodeo bus or, or a circus train or something?"  But Dalton's words went nowhere.  Austin was clearly asleep once again.  Dalton grew frustrated -- immensely curious, but frustrated.


Afternoon slowly gave way to evening's curtain, sweeping away the snowstorm as a bonus.  Unfortunately, the phone and electricity remained out of service, and there seemed no reason to anticipate any repairs -- or visitors -- until tomorrow at the earliest, for Dalton Fentweather resided in a very secluded area.  But he entertained other concerns as he rocked forward and backward in his long-deceased grandmother's favorite wooden rocking chair, creating creaking sounds as he moved.  What else would tomorrow bring?  What should he do about his unexpected guest?  When could he phone the sheriff?  Or should an ambulance be summoned when circumstances allowed a call?  Who is this guy?  Sick?  Crazy?  Dangerous?  Amnesia?  Is he faking anything?  Is his name even Austin?  Is he listening to every squeak of the rocking chair right now, only pretending to be asleep?

Suddenly, the rocking chair ceased rocking.  Dalton detected motion on the sofa where mysterious Austin slept.  Rising from the chair, Dalton walked to a small closet in the room and retrieved a battery-operated lantern.  He switched it on, bathing the one-room cabin in the cold, unpleasant glow of small fluorescent bulbs.  He threw another log in the stove, then walked over to the sofa.

"Awake?" Dalton inquired.

"Where am I?  I. . .oh. . ."  Austin's tense words seemed a little more difficult to understand, almost as if he had cotton in his mouth.  But he didn't.  Austin, as if suddenly remembering something important, directed attention to his wrists.  He held them in the air and examined the substantial red impression around each.  "Ties. . .gone. . .got away. . .my bonds did this. . ."

Bonds did that? pondered Dalton to himself.  Who would tie up a -- who is this guy?  Dalton decided to let that revelation go without questions because Austin's anxiety already hovered near the explosive realm.

"Dude, you said something about roping, that you could rope?"  Austin appeared puzzled.

"No, I don't rope, don't know where you. . ."  Then a mental light bulb switched on in Austin's head.  "You didn't hear. . .everything I. . .said. . .you. . .missed. . .I. . .miss. . ."  Words were becoming hard for Austin to select.

"You worked with a rodeo or a circus.  I know it, I just know it!" insisted Dalton. 

"I DON'T!" shouted the bearded man, his voice reverberating throughout the cabin.  He was becoming more excited, causing his words to make less sense.  "No!  I. . .lie. . .lie. . ."

"What's a lie?  Are you lying to me?"

"Not lie. . .not a lie. . .I. . .you. . .miss and. . .rope. . .tha. . .tha. . .lie. . .the rope. . .missed word and. . .the. . .rope" said Austin, frantic in his inability to say exactly what he meant.  His eyes grew wide in the lamplight.  "Run!  Run!"  Ru. . ."  Austin collapsed again, seeming to pass out.

What the hell?  Dalton questioned out loud.  He felt his own heart pounding in his chest as the stranger's breaths grew labored and frequent.  Missed word and -- the rope?  Or did he mean miss or even miz. or -- or?  Dalton remembered a word he heard on TV now and then, not often, but enough so he remembered it.  He grabbed a dusty dictionary off a shelf.  Dalton never used a dictionary, but it had been a gift and he kept it around just so folks wouldn't think he wasn't smart.

He thumbed slowly through the book's pages, for word searches were never his thing.  Finally he came to the M section.  But how to spell the word?  With considerable effort and eye strain, Dalton at last stumbled upon what he thought the stranger might be attempting to say.  The word was misanthrope.  "Hmm," Dalton said as slumped over the dictionary, "it means somebody who dislikes other people.  Miss-an-tharope."  Dalton turned his head and looked at Austin's tall form, lying unconscious on the sofa, and then returned his attention to the dictionary.  Well, that word certainly seemed to fit him, unless he meant somebody else who doesn't like people, thought Dalton.


"GET OUT!" Austin yelled, and a dozing Dalton Fentweather fell out of the rocking chair, landing on his knees.  He stood, focusing upon Austin, who now sat straight up on the sofa, his legs planted on the floor.

"Oh. . .um, Austin -- calm down.  You're so. . ."

"You must go. . .quick. . .I. . .the headaches. . .I. . ."

"Were you telling me," Dalton began, gingerly broaching the subject, "that you're a mis. . .a misanthrope?"

Austin's dark eyes widened as, for a change, he was the one looking upon the other as possibly crazy.  "What?"

"A miss-ann-tha-rope," repeated Dalton, slowly this time.

Austin's head cocked sideways.  Then he spoke again, his words even more difficult to understand than previously.  His words seemed so jumbled and uncertain.  "Lie. . .you missed. . .lie. . .I. . .can. . .the. . .rope."

Dalton shook his head in discouragement.  "Sorry dude, I don't understand."  Austin pounded a fist on the sofa, frustrated in his lingual disability.  To make matters worse, the lamplight started to flicker, its batteries obviously failing.  Dalton glanced at a wall clock and noted the time was nearing nine o'clock.  He threw another log in the stove so at least warmth would get him through the night.  And his guest, of course.  "I have a gas range, so at least I can fix us a can of soup," Dalton explained.  Austin said nothing, and his silhouette showed him running thin fingers through his hair. 

Dalton turned his attention to a cupboard filled with soup cans.  Though the lamplight was almost extinguished, he was grateful for light from the full moon, just rising over the eastern horizon, its welcome beams shining through tree limbs outside and deep through the windows on that side of the cabin.

"Well, I don't know what you like to eat, but I can do chicken noodle or vegetables and beef, or clam chowder.  Anything there appeal to you?"  Austin remained silent, just sitting motionlessly.  Dalton focused upon a few other cans.  "If not, I have corn chowder or onion soup, or maybe beans and bacon, and I have. . .what was that you said?"  Dalton heard something in a low tone, but couldn't make out any words.  By now, he was used to that kind of response from his strange guest.  He received no reply.  "Um, okay, well we have to choose something.  I mean, you have to eat, you know.  I'm sorry about the power failure and the phone -- and, goes without saying, the food available.  Okay, let's go for something simple -- chicken noodle.  Just have to find a can opener."

Dalton fumbled through a drawer in the moonlight, finally locating the necessary instrument.  He began opening the can, though the process was slow.  But he heard a noise and stopped cold.  It was the sound of something, something like the ripping of fabric over by the sofa.  "Oh," Dalton responded, "I never thought to get you out of those wet clothes, though I didn't think they were all that wet.  But go ahead and shed 'em if you want, I'll get you a robe or something."  Dalton continued opening the can.  Again, he paused.  "What are you doing?  No, really, what?"

In the moonlight, Dalton saw his dictionary lifted into the air by a tall figure, standing, that of Austin himself.  As Austin began thumbing through pages, Dalton thought he detected considerably more hair covering his guest's face, and deep guttural sounds seemed to emanate from Austin's throat.

"This. . .this. . .lie. . .can. . .the. . " Austin ripped a page from the dictionary and propelled it toward Dalton, who picked it up from the floor.  "Now. . .read. . .read!" Austin seemed to growl in demand.  The page was from the L section.  Dalton wasn't quite sure what to look for.  "Lie. . .lie. . .lie with a why. . ."

Lie with a why?  Oh, this guy has to be nuts, thought Dalton, holding the page in the moonlight, running his finger slowly down the entries:  "Lycaenidae. . .lycaenid butterfly. . .Lycaeon. . .lycanthrope. . .ly. . .wait, lycanthrope?  Lycanthrope?  Is that the word?  Austin?"  Dalton assumed he found the right word, because Austin had ripped a little tear just above and below the word. 

Heavy breathing sounds reverberated throughout the cabin, but suddenly Dalton wasn't sure of the exact direction.  "What is that?  Wait, let me see what it means.  It says, a monster who changes from human to wolf, particularly when the moon is full.  Well, that's crazy, isn't it?  Why would you tell me. . .hey, where are you?"

As if in response, a huge, furry shape rose from a crouched position, blocking the moonlight, growling and swinging thick, canine-like upper extremities as it howled with a sound creepy and emboldened enough to wake the dead -- or even enough to wake those among the living who were usually consumed and entranced by electronic games, unaware of their physical surroundings.

Shocked, Dalton dropped the dictionary page, momentarily mesmerized by the hulking animal-like figure just feet away and slowly approaching in a menacing fashion.  He suddenly longed for his shotgun, forgotten somewhere in the darkness, and surely out of reach..  Helped by the occasional flicker of the nearly useless lamp, Dalton retrieved the can of chicken noodle soup and flung its contents at something called Austin, covering the creature with what the can's label described as home-cooked style soup to please the whole family.  In a lightning-fast follow-up, Dalton shoved the sharp-edged can into a mouth containing large, white teeth reflected in the moonlight, and instantly recalled that he paid handsomely for that soup -- but then, regaining his wits as the creature screamed in pain, he rushed to the door, flung it open, slammed it shut and ran off into the woods, leaving Austin's fundamentally transformed self  trapped in the cabin. 

The deceptively serene moonlit evening evoked a terrible chill, but Dalton didn't care as he leaped and stumbled his way through deep snowdrifts, attired only in a flannel shirt, jeans and sneakers.  The night seemed so still, aside from distant howls and the sounds of breaking glass.  Dalton's fearful and racing thoughts included, rightfully, assumptions that tomorrow would bring no trace of Austin, but one heck of a cleanup challenge at the cabin after he notified the sheriff of, frankly, his unbelievable story.

Unfortunately for Dalton, however, though he didn't notice at first, in his haste to get away, his tomorrow would never arrive, for he was running right into the path of something horrible coming his way, an unrestrained, frenzied werewolf twice as large as Austin.  As the terrifying, deeply fur-coated creature leapt, knocking Dalton Fentweather to the ground, all business as it prepared to sink its long, yellowed fangs into his chest cavity, the last things Dalton would ever see were portions of a heavy white nylon rope wrapped around the monster's front legs, dangling in the snow and ready to fall off.  It momentarily, tragically, occurred to the young man that the missing rope segments may also have confined Austin until he broke free, along with his companion, leaving those red marks on his wrists.  Indeed, the lycanthropic beasts had probably been trapped in their bonds by some unknown captor, and he, she or they who confined the two -- if only two -- likely lay dead, somewhere far away. 

Dalton attempted to scream, but before he could produce more than just a gurgle, the full moon above was briefly traversed by a spray, a bloom really, of reddish mist, accompanied only by the sounds of teeth crunching through ribs, and distant wolfish howls.

-- THE END --

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Pregnant Pause President

Computer glitch?  How about an entire Administration built upon a glitch supported by lies?  Okay, I've reached the point -- if the American people don't seriously consider running and electing Ted Cruz and Mike Lee for prez and VP with just a touch of Rand Paul, then we're finished as anything but a disconnected socialist society of worthless tech-savvy boobs  from coast to coast.  My advice for the wide-eyed youth currently in love with being digitally zucked by Zuckerberg, playing endless video games and bathing in other computer-spawned charms:  Wake up and experience reality before reality experiences you into disaster.

Oh, how appropriate, that televised "glitch" speech by President Obama.  First, above all, he wasn't speaking to the nation simply because he felt obligated to calm American fears over signing up online for "Obamacare."  No, he was there because he's in trouble, his extremist ideas are in jeopardy and there's little to do but continue throwing fairy dust at Americans starting to catch on -- even if just a little -- to the coarse identity of the fabric of which the emperor's new clothes are spun.  In the end, he sounded like any common door-to-door salesman, hard-pressed to impress anybody with his New And Improved Acme Fart Slicer.  Nobody who thinks twice wants a sample of that.

Best of all?  The poor woman standing behind him, pregnant and ready to faint where she stood, only to be "rescued" by the president -- the perfect symbol of an ideologue's pregnant intentions, teetering and in danger of collapse.  But no matter, the cursed ACA thing is law now.  Maybe a good old class action lawsuit will materialize when we least expect it and take the monster out? 

It all comes down to powerful people who aren't about to sacrifice the goodies with which they have blessed themselves.  They do whatever it takes, and regarding Obamacare -- you just know this creature was written page by devious page, years ago, just waiting to pop out of its deceptively handsome shell.

And still, small business owners and employees of all kinds of businesses throughout the country come forward with outrageous reports of unexpected health insurance cancellations, dramatic cost increases and outrageous accelerations in co-pay rates -- all as a consequence of the Affordable Care Act monster. 

I may be just an old guy who refuses to embrace Facebook and kiss up to Our Bright Digital Future, but my opinion will always be that the digital revolution is more likely to destroy than save us.  There likely will be something else down the road, but it won't be remotely digital.  It can't be.   Now, as far as Obamacare is concerned, isn't that just the greatest thing since sliced farts. . .?

Saturday, October 19, 2013

Cheering on the 400 Million Dollar (and Counting) Baby

The 400 million dollar computerized Obamacare sign-up disaster is reprehensible enough, but popping up like willow trees of discontent all over the country are honest, hard-working folks whose health insurance is either being canceled or their rates and co-pays are shooting sky-high.  But not to worry -- 16,000 freshly jackbooted IRS agents will be ready to "assist" Americans in complying with everything that logic, fairness and the Constitution warn should be avoided like pipe bombs.  All of this, even as both Great Britain and now Canada report serious problems with the "single payer" (government) concept  -- which is where we're eventually headed by design.  And because Obama is superb at, and apparently intent upon dragging Third World or Any World  ideology in to fundamentally transform America, we may look forward to similar nausea.

Meanwhile, ABC-TV's Diane Sawyer and the rest of the worthless network TV junk-journalism crowd spent Friday evening figuratively shaking their heads in disbelief over the "glitch" affecting sign-up for the Affordable Care Act.  It seems they could barely contain themselves as they remained awe-stricken, perhaps because they couldn't blame this one on the Tea Party.

Particularly because of the major media and members of the celebrity community who take every opportunity to blame the Republicans for everything, consistently giving their buddies the Democrats a pass, the polls have taken a dip for the GOP -- not that the president or Congress in general are doing that well.  One hopes the public remembers that President Obama refused to negotiate in any way with the House as the days dragged on -- even though it was his obligation to do so.  He and his are likely too busy formulating and writing regulations behind closed doors to handcuff the American spirit.

But who's getting the lion's share of blame, per media efforts?  Ted Cruz and Mike Lee, of course -- and they just happen to be probably two of the most decent and honest members of Congress.  They were elected to defeat Obamacare and, say what you will, they did, with fervor, the utmost to satisfy what their constituents elected them to do.  In fact, so dedicated and proper are these and a few other Tea Party gentlemen that their own vile Republican associates condemn them. 

The president's speech following a temporary agreement on the debt ceiling revealed the same old spiteful, arrogant image he carries everywhere, with or without teleprompter infusion.  Aside from his childish comments intended to chide, but not actually name, the Tea Party (his party calls them "extremists" -- hah, they should talk) and blaming Republicans for not somehow corralling them to keep them out of the way, I was particularly amused by his comments berating radio talk shows and bloggers -- hey, that's me!

Now, in today's world of, primarily, leftists who don't give a damn about the military, may I suggest that, as a blogger who also happens to be a military veteran, my right to blog and opine  about Obama's incompetence or deceit (I waver over which is which and which is when) is worth its weight in gold against a former community organizer who got lucky in the world of politics with a little help from his leftist friends?  Oh yes, I say this even as various Dems very much wish to legislate something defining Just Who Is A Journalist And If Not Who Do You Think You Are?  All of this because the "blue dog" Democrats are nearly extinct and the radicals have commandeered the flight.  History indicates that, in the end, there are always prisons waiting to confine thugs like these.

By the way:  Tea Party folks DO have brains.  Yes, a Yale University professor had to nearly swallow his tongue when his research flew in the face of expectations and he discovered that Tea Party members seem to have an excellent understanding of scientific principles.  I assume this study also supports a theory that the only science the Democratic National Committee's public relations people understand is that sh** floats in campaign handouts.

Beware the immigration demons.  Watch for progressive political thugs on both sides of the aisle to rush to "reform" perfectly good but unenforced immigration legislation.  Radio talk show host (you know, one of the variety Mr. Obama seems not to appreciate) Michael Savage, broadcasting from the San Francisco area last week, recounted a scene (see news reports) where illegal folks were blocking a deportation bus filled with border-jumpers from returning criminal aliens to Mexico -- and nobody was arrested by the police. 

Again I ask -- why aren't Governor Brown and other alleged public servants who took a constitutional oath to protect THIS country arrested, tried and imprisoned?  Sanctuary cities are ideal locations for new prisons on all levels for activities either bordering on or encompassing treason.

Speaking of San Francisco, oh yeah,  I'll bet there were people chomping at the bit to see the rescue worker who accidentally ran over and killed a Chinese girl (covered with foam and invisible to rescuers) at a plane crash site convicted, fined and jailed for decades.  Fortunately, authorities found no lawbreaker here, and it was absurd that this case even received a review.

And then there's the Los Angeles Times, and, hmm, that's in California, too.  In a stroke of pure genius, their editors decided not to publish any more letters from deniers of global warming.  Wow, how open minds have changed!   This might be reason No. 274 why newspapers are failing all over the country.  This is one frightening development for anything left of journalism and open public opinion  -- making, logically, those bloggers and radio talk shows (those of a conservative bent only, I'm sure) condemned by President Obama all the more important for daily attention by those who wish to stay truly informed.

I should add that I have no interest in the political beliefs of those whose Web sites I list in the Links sections.  I host those links because they might be of interest to my readers.  The UFO-related sites are reliable, and beyond that I urge readers of any political persuasion to check The Drudge Report frequently.  Matt Drudge's ever-evolving news links might just change the political leopard's spots for those who give him a chance.

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Scraping Bottom

Everything was said and done for me when Obama's minions closed down the World War II and Vietnam veterans memorials -- yet allowed, encouraged and praised an assembly of illegal criminal border-jumping illegitimates on the National Mall.  With several Democrat members of Congress in the mix, of course.   If ever a reason existed to defeat the Obama bunch at the polls, this was it.  How much different could it be to have a flock of communists running the country, rather than progressive terrorists who don't give a hoot about what American citizens think or want?  These intellectual frauds dictate the stuff of which dictators are made. 

Then two more military generals were fired, or is that "removed."  For what?  Poker chip scandals and for acting. . . how?  I think this president has even less respect for the military and veterans than I suspected.  His "fundamental transformation" of the country is the very nightmare, the two-ton elephant in the room that goes unnoticed because a nation prefers to ignore it.  My political party, right or wrong, do or die.  All or nothing.

One hopes that the country's young people soon come to the stark realization that they are the ones stuck with a quickly growing bill lovingly known as Obamacare.  Some polls are said to suggest their continuing love affair with this president, but as the expenses roll in over the next several years, and people discover that the Affordable Care Act is a personally costly venture, the name Obama may be destined to become a new epithet, a curse word for the generations.

Yet, we live in the Here and Now, and we wonder, will young folks otherwise engaged in electronic entertainment pursuits and lies taught in universities eventually comprehend that the Tea Party attempted to save them from a bureaucratic health care nightmare?  Will faithful GOP members embrace the Tea Party instead of its hoary and moldy elite of  far too many years?

Meanwhile, somebody out there really is getting free health care right now:  The terrorist just brought to New York from Libya.  Bringing this cockroach to the USA was incredibly stupid enough on the part of this consistently dumb-ass Administration, but it turns out he has hepatitis (hepatitis-C, according to early reports) and you can bet he's receiving the best health care a radical Islamic insect can get anywhere from coast to coast.  Seems that a little interrogation  followed by a lead bullet cocktail and a deep ocean swim would effect a suitable cure for this mass killer.

Halloween passes by in a few days and I've written a story appropriate for the season.  As always, it's free for the looking, so that relieves me of any need to endure critical comments.  By the way, it's copyrighted, so be sure to invite all your director and producer friends to stop by and read the thing so's they can offer me giant money and gain permission to adapt it into a TV or motion picture production.  Yeah, oh, and remember to get them drunk first, too.  We'll post it in a few days, and the title is "Indeterminate."

Friday, October 11, 2013

Astronaut Scott Carpenter 1925-2013

I wanted to write some little thing about Carpenter's brief UFO comments, as mentioned in the old book, We Seven, but as is so often the case, I was unable to locate my paperback copy.  You can read more about that from other Web sources, but I only wished to make the point that, indeed, here was another astronaut who looked upon UFOs as something real -- and probably influenced in no small way by reports he heard about when speaking with military pilots.  When We Seven was originally published so long ago, Carpenter's UFO reference perked up many in the UFO research community. 

Monday, October 7, 2013

RB's RB Awards for October 7, 2013

Life apparently handed me a quirky twist of fate, because my initials are also those of the term, rat bastard.  I prefer not to make routine use of words bordering upon the profane, but since fate seems to have awarded me the usage of r and b -- and I suppose I'll have to claim rhythm & blues for myself at some other time -- I want to take full advantage of the term by offering my own awards this week.  Thus, this week my Robert Barrow's Rat Bastard Awards go to:

1.  The Obama Administration.  Surprised?  Of course not.  The president who repeatedly professes a willingness to negotiate with Congress lies because he won’t and often says he won’t.    Who decided up front to shut down the Word War II memorial in D.C. and various parks?  Obama.  Who punished military academies by shutting down travel to the Naval Academy to watch the Air Force vs. Navy?  Obama.  Who (tried to) put a stop on allowing military folks overseas to watch football from Armed Forces TV?  Who prohibited military clergy from ministering to military members during the shutdown?  Obama.  Who did everything possible to close down, especially and specifically, things that would hurt Americans – and children -- and make them suffer, though not closing down his own golf course?  Obama.  As one park ranger was heard to say, they were told to make things as miserable as possible for visitors.  Enough said.  A rat bastard Administration if ever I saw one, constructed and maintained on lies.

Last week, I phoned a congressional office in Washington, D.C. and spoke with a staffer.  After explaining why I thought the hell-and-damnation stuff firmly belongs in Democrat laps regarding the shutdown, I mentioned my outrage at the WW II memorial being barricaded.  He interrupted me by reminding me that yes, but the barricade had been taken away "so that World War II veterans could visit the site under their First Amendment rights."  At that point I replied yes, I knew the barriers were down -- and also that I heard on one news program after another that the vets were able to see the memorial under First Amendment rights. 

Given that, I said, if First Amendment rights belong not only to veterans, but to every American, how come everybody can't visit the memorial now?  The stunned congressional staffer responded that this was a good question and nobody had asked it before.  Well, said I, maybe it would be a good question to ask his boss, the congressman.

So -- if I'm nobody's political genius, but can ask a question that stumps a congressional government staffer. . .how much trouble are we in?

2.  The President and Harry Reid.  I've rarely heard such a succession of snotty speeches from government officials.  Obama's talk-down-to-you lectures are just rude and hateful, and Reid's are simply rude and stupid.  They and their supporters are obviously in such a snit over the fact that few Americans want "Obamacare" that they'll do anything to get their way.  The president is obligated to negotiate, and campaigned on negotiating, but won't negotiate with anybody except foreign folks who may not be acting in our best interests.  Rat bastards occupy the White House.

3.  Governor Jerry Brown.  His decision to allow illegal criminal rat bastard aliens in California to have driver's licenses, topped off with his proclamation that this is "just the beginning," qualifies the governor as a true violator of American constitutional principles and a generally all-around genuine rat bastard.  When will these renegade government officials and romancers of "sanctuary cities," all of whom have taken an oath to defend the Constitution, go to trial and see considerable fines and prison time?  The only remedy on the horizon may be the Tea Party, growing in popularity and not nearly as "extreme" as White House rat bastards, scurrying in fear, would have us think.

4.  The Mainstream Media.  I'm thinking particularly of ABC, NBC and its cable affiliates, and CBS, and don't forget PBS, but they're hardly alone.  I used to dismiss those who claimed the network news departments and large city newspapers were in the bag for the Democrats -- until I started paying close attention.  Desert vultures would die of thirst waiting for kind words or stories complimentary to Republicans, Independents, Libertarians or anything that isn't Democrat.  In the bag?  You bet.  Probably the biggest rat bastards in the nation.  As major newspapers and commercial TV networks continue to suck and die all over the country because of the outrageously political partisan lies and kisses they keep feeding to a public which may indeed slowly be catching on, we only hope political rat bastards keep their hands off the Internet -- where at least some truth yet lies.

5.  New York City Democrats.  Heck, they've always been rat bastards, but they have a mayoral candidate who is truly  a communist and actually wants to rule beyond mere communism.  This guy wants even higher taxes on wealthy New Yorkers and his goals are sure to push many more businesses out of the city.  If you entertain plans to move to NY City because it's "exciting" or "fascinating" or something, may we suggest that you go elsewhere (Hell might be nice)?    The state itself is a bullet train wreck, and since the Democrat candidate almost seems assured (per the polls) to be elected by a majority of NYC morons who crave both socialism and nails in the coffins which used to be their lives of economic and entrepreneurial freedom, they're likely gonna get what they want.  Between rat bastards and characteristically giant NY City rats, I wonder how they can tell one from the other. 

6.  The Perpetrators of Gun-Free Zones.  We already know that most of those with firearm evil on their minds purposely seek out gun-free zones because the risk to their lives and intent is negligible.  However, there's word out there that, of all mass shootings since the 1950s, all but two occurred in gun-free areas.  If true, this is shocking and makes advocates for gun-free zones even bigger rat bastards (and negligent homicide proponents?) than they already are.  I'm no NRA member, but even I realize that this country was born at the end of a gun, and it can only perish with the absence of guns..

7.  The United Nations.  Since I was a kid I've heard how the UN is the world's greatest hope.  Anybody notice the world lately?  The UN is much too costly at our end and populated by rat bastards who look upon the United States as nothing more than a conglomerate of fools passing out taxpayer money.  If they really want to be useful, have each delegate take a million or so of our illegal immigrants back to their home countries, and don't forget the extremist Islam crowd.

8.  School Boards.  Some of these folks, not the students (and in many cases, probably not the teachers who have to enforce this absurdity), need to be taken to the woodshed.  For one thing, shame on them if they didn't lift a finger to fight Common Core, an idiotic "education" and testing system obviously  developed and instituted by both academic and government rat bastards.  Further, any school board members who think it's just fine to punish a child playing cops-and-robbers or making a "finger gun" -- or making something vaguely resembling a gun out of a breakfast pastry -- need to be removed at once.  From coast to coast, my oh my, what an established effort grinds forth to make kids fear and hate firearms.  Rather than teaching kids to respect such weapons, the concerted drive among progressive rat bastards infesting the public school system is to shame, punish and remove any thoughts that firearms can be one's best friend.  My suggestion:  Of course, the best thing would be for outraged parents to get together and sue the school boards so they'll, we hope, get an expensive message.  Otherwise, whenever these little punishment incidents regarding play or art over non-existent weapons pop up, parents at the involved school should consider banding together to encourage all their children to repeat the "offense" in unison on a particular day and time -- and make sure to have press coverage standing by at the school so the shame factor can be properly directed to educational rat bastards who seem more concerned with punishing than educating.
9.  Me.   No specific reason, I simply wanted to award myself an RB before somebody else nominates me.