Wednesday, August 30, 2006


Does anybody give a damn about somebody else's body? Do they dread the ever mounting dead, counting into the millions now? Do they care how the dying keeps multiplying? Do they share the pain of loved ones crying? Do they relate to the fate of those who died and passed over to another place in outer space, be it heaven, be it hell. Who can tell?

The biggest waste is death by war, a deadly fate hurried along by greed and hate, by flukes of nature and mistakes by state and federal stupid legislatures, by acts of God which are not insured and acts of man that can't be cured and must be endured or by dread disease and lesser maladies that can be spread by as simple an act as an unprotected sneeze.

Death occurs when airplanes crash, when homes burn down and dreams are all reduced to ash and rubble and endless trouble when insurance firms
delay and delay even though in the end they have to pay.

The only time there'll be no rage is when people die of old age, that is, unless one relative inherits more, another less and even some who get no dough. That's when a will gets contested and all the money the dead invested winds up wasted on attorney fees and complicated legalese.

Since you can't take it with you when you go, spend the dough while you're still here. Drink a lot of high priced beer, eat at fancy restaurants, satisfy your whims and wants, give in to every urge to splurge, take a trip and tip lavishly, spend up to the bitter end so foe and friend will sigh and cry and say when you die, "There goes a real spendthrift guy. I didn't benefit a bit. But this he taught me, this I learned. Spend every cent you've ever earned. Keep in mind, don't leave a dime behind."


There's got to be something wrong with a government that keeps singing the same old sing-along song, composed by an exposed, incompetent president who can't be ejected because he's been elected/selected, and the Constitution of the land be damned.

If a candidate gets in by sin, an act of fraud, a pact with God and/or the Supreme Court, the powers that be in consort with the GOP are selling the voters short.

Why have we, the land of the politically free, never sent a president to jail or tossed him out on his tail when he failed to obey the laws just because he was a personal friend of Santa Clause?

Mayors and govs and assorted pols, even some high in the polls, considered untouchable, got in trouble and were served their just deserts behind steel bars for wheeling, dealing and stealing. But even they won out on appeal and were freed to feed their greed and steal more of what they'd stolen before, cash and stocks hidden in a safe deposit box.

Agnew quit, Nixon quit. Both got hefty pensions out of it. But the current White House twit just won't git. Dubya told a pack of lies that sentenced thousands of GIs to die so he could stay high in the polls.

When voters have had enough of his bluff and guff will he start another war? Is that just the way things are? Or this time, will King George, the would be czar, finally go too far?


I am the Master of Mediocrity, the defector from a dying democracy, the champion of hypocrisy. I break the laws legally and surpass all previous devious proponents of pie in the sky diplomacy.

I am the instigator and the perpetrator, the prevaricator who lied to send two thousand-plus just like us to die. Through dint of force, I did, of course, harm our relations with other nations and, eventually, among our own voting population.

Isn't it strange how one small war I assumed would not go far could go from boom to doom and quickly multiply the possibility of a mushroom cloud in the sky?

By falling for the lies I spread our country's deep in the red, out troops are dead and instead of marching in to win it quick, as I foolishly did predict, we're now in the thick of it and my once loyal constituency is sick of it.

In case you haven't guessed, I confess I'm the president that trickery, dishonesty and a lack of integrity won for me free rent in a great big house, a
super-jet get me to where I choose and, win or lose, I can't be fired for my incompetency. In one thousand eight, no matter how rich I be, I'll be home free with a pension no one can take away from me. And even if I go to jail, the life-long loot will pay my bail.
* * *

I wrote all this to get my guilt off my chest. I did my best to fake it through a job I knew I couldn't do. Even though I'm now ashamed, I loved the power and the fame, lying, denying and people buying what I said, walking, strutting like John Wayne, hiding the fact I'm insane without a brain, waking to sneer in the mirror and seeing the mirror sneer back at me. Now that I have said it, I'll shred it into tiny pieces and give it all to my friend, Jesus.

Sunday, August 27, 2006


Many fear and many cheer and many deny and defy the prediction of the coming of the End of Days. The Mayans predict the day and year--Dec. 21 in 2011--historians and theologians are not as precise as they envision the rebirth of Christ. To some, the date and time grows near, but when Jesus might reappear is still uncertain. Disbelievers deny the prophesy as the ravings of the Religious Right.

But then, again, there are those who say nobody knows. It just might happen in the darkness of one night when a light so bright burns the eyes and turns the skies into an inferno that rivals hell. Who can tell?

Ancient writings, in translation, cause speculation as to the validity of the illustrations and ancient scrolls which predict the end of life on earth, For what it's worth, believers believe they will achieve eternal life if they accept the son of God while still living on this sod.

It's predicted those who got saved will embrace salvation, experience reincarnation and live forever at the side of the Lord. But those who defy the Word will live in a world grown deadly grim. Fire and flood, oceans of blood, cries of pain, rational men and women gone madly insane, drought and rain, a sun intense and events men of science cannot explain--these are the envisioned punishments awaiting those who spent their lives debating the predictions and convictions of the blind believers.

Who's to know who's right, who's wrong? Who's to judge the judgment or what was meant by ancient script? Were those of grace lost in space or did they land in that holy place? Was the trial and tribulation that plagued all civilization, if it indeed occurred, just a phase of nature's ways which had nothing to do with the so-called End of Days?

The world will go to its doom with an atomic boom or when there are so many people and too little room or when water and air are fouled beyond repair or when birds and bees and trees and all those and these from sea to sea are no longer anywhere. But until that happens don't despair. In a trillion trillion years we've gotta go. When it happens just remember, I told you so.


Life is filled with hacks and quacks, phony facts, packs of lies, cloudy skies, stabs in backs, heart attacks, strokes, warm Cokes, cracker snacks packed with killing fats, cancer causing calories and prescription remedies, crack and smack and six six packs.

If none of this makes you sick, high carbs might do the trick. Then there's
sugar and salt to fault and what about assault and terror you can't escape?
And sex and rape and being out of shape. How about pollution. revolution and destruction of the Constitution, famine, poisoned salmon. mad cow disease, Chinese food and solitude?

I regret, there's still more yet. Dictatorships, sinking ships, starvation, constipation, soaring prices, vices, dangerous devices. guns and planes and hurricanes, floods, mudslides and suicides, drought and gout and making out with HIV a possibility, the high cost of fuels and just damn fools.

Jivers, connivers and drunk drivers, under achievers and blind believers, burned toasts, overdone roasts, flat tires, dead wires, nasty notes, uncounted votes and leaky boats, melting chocolate bars, smelly cigars and undeclared wars.

And lists like this.


I took a trip in a brand new car, not too far but far enough to see that all this stuff about why gas has to cost a lot is just a plot to rob us of the money we've got to have to feed our families and pay for other necessities.

The oil gougers know Dubya is their man and they've got to make all they can while they can. And that as long as they shower the powers that be in the GOP with unlimited dough-rey-mee they'll be free to steal from every driver behind the wheel and that's the deal, guaranteed.

But do you know what? There are are many little iffs that can make a great big diff:

IF we defeat the crooks in command and win back the presidency that will signal a return to sanity and a rebirth of democracy.

IF we end the war in Iraq and give the country back to the inept puppet hacks we put in power there'll be a civil war and then all sides will eventually find a way to live without the meddlesome USA.

IF we bring our forces home no more GIs will die and without the senseless expense we wasted on the Dubya war we can invest in what's best, America.

IF we defend our friends in the Middle East and negotiate a lasting peace
we'll cease the death, destruction and disruption of life as it was meant to be.

IF we all realize that each person who dies by crime before their time might have contributed a worthy gift to this earth in science or the arts or a special skill that could be the salvation of our dying civilization.


Thursday, August 24, 2006


According to the latest poll, guess who's taking control of the whole damn nation and will lead to damnation of democracy and the Land of the Free. The name of the force changing the course of history is the Conservatives. Why? Because the majority fear surprise attacks from insurgents in Iraq who do not lack the will to kill and destroy the life we enjoy.

Iin spite of proven fact, Conservatives put their faith in the Patriot act and the ability of our militancy to keep the enemy on their foreign shores away from our Wal-Mart stores, our buses, trains and planes and anything that drains our driving, thriving, conniving, surprising rising economy.

The masses aren't quite sure but they believe we're more secure if we give up our liberty and Bill of Rights. Terrorists believe they can break our back with an attack on Big Mac, super-size and pizza pies, backyard grills and diet pills, free refills, cheap thrills, dollar bills and all the fluffs and frills that make us what we are, a land of guzzling cars, Star War stars and corner bars, and candy bars, popcorn porn and scorn for the foreign born, faded jeans, smart-assed teens and the sexiest scenes you ever seen on the silver screen.

All this is what makes America great and it grates on others to admit they ain't got a bit of it.


To this couple a child was born, a male who would prevail until he became cannon fodder. Then war began and the child they raised to mankind to be good and kind and sharp of mind, unmindful of the tragedy eventually they'd have to face as members of the human race.

When he was twenty-one, a man who never touched a gun, who loved the sun and sea and all of nature's majesty, was called to arms to harm and kill a foe he didn't know or hate. The fate of the enemy was in their hands until both sides realized killing served no need except a madman's greed.

He knew he had to do what the military ordered him to--become an unclean killing machine. No longer a raw recruit, now a human robot who would point and shoot and forget the targeted mother's son he had slain. His only fear, would he be next, dead with a bullet in his head?

Would this son, loved and respected by everyone, smart in school who lived by the rule of law, saw only good and loved his god, who found it odd some did not share his love for life and liberty and found thrill in killing wantonly?

But here was he, crawling in mud and crud and spitting blood and cursing the insanity of humanity.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006


One morning I awoke at half past three which I did occasionally. Nature called me, as they say. Bleary eyed, I did what I had to do, then crept back to bed to resume my sleep as I always did before. But not even a hint of snore, not the relaxation that precedes deep sleep, not the heaven blessed rest that is prelude to quietude.. I shut my eyes. To my surprise, I could not sleep.

I had read that if I counted sheep in my head by and by shuteye would come. I'd give it a try. I started out---one, two, three, four until I'd totaled enough sheep to fill a mutton store. You'd think shuteye would welcome me. That was not to be.

I tried counting other things. Telephone rings, swinging swings, romantic flings, ding-dong-dings, My imagination only led to more frustration. Then I asked the inner me, why not imagine a symphony to serenade me and land me in slumber-land? That didn't bring the sleep I sought but, oh, the sounds it wrought! I thought I was at Carnegie Hall. I was so enthralled by what I heard I forgot to do what I needed to. I held my breath at each pause and joined in the applause.

I thought I was wide awake, but when the conductor came out to take a bow my clapping startled me out of my hypnotic spell. I opened my eyes and to my surprise I was not front row center at Carnegie Hall, I was sitting on my toilet seat keeping time to the beat of the orchestration with my squeezing, displeasing flatulent sounds of constipation.


Come along sinners, disbelievers, you believe you are believers, you doubters, want to find-outers, Intelligent Designers, Creationist insisters, evolutionist enthusiasts. Come with me on a spin to Darwinland and maybe you'll understand why the chicken came before the egg way back when the world began and there wasn't even a rooster or a hen.

But keep in mind if you find find mistakes in the claims I make take them with a gain of salt. It's not my fault. I've never kissed my therapist and I'm not a scientist. If that makes no sense I guess what I'm about to spout will make even less.

Let's begin. When the beginning began there was no man, no electric fan or garbage can or anything else that rhymes with "an." There was not a dress, no no or yes, more or less, but there was a mess caused by God who got the blame which was a shame which was odd because there was no word that rhymed with Lord or God or whatever which was odd because nobody ever read Webster's Dictionary or books on prehistoric history. But I digress, As I said there was a mess and for what it's worth, somebody somewhere named it Earth.

This mess was just a lot of smoke and fire, ice and maybe bugs like roaches and lice and tiny mice but no dinosaurs or carnivores or baseball scores. There was a lot of swirling slop that would be named protozoa long before Noah built his ark or the world turned dark or God destroyed what He created and that word led to "creator," then "creation," which rhymes with "constipation," which started all this consternation over whether the Creator got the credit for creating Earth or that anal irritation.

For may a millenniums everything was hunky-dorey because everybody believed the story, that the Creator created it all and that led to Creationism which became the wisdom of the times. Then came Darwin from some foreign town who turned everything around who said Evolution did it all and he started a revolution which robbed God of his fame. But all the same, even Evolution is a game proponents and opponents of theory, science and the Bible play. But who cares, anyway? It does appear we all got here and we'll all stay, at least temporarily.

Saturday, August 19, 2006

TINKLE, TINKLE: Update on Rip VanWinkle

Tinkle, tinkle, poor Rip VanWinkle, creator of the Supreme Stream, he was so sad and blue. At the age of one ought two he could no longer do what he ought to do. You know, no doubt, what I'm talking about.

Rip loved this chick of ninteysix who still could make it and didn't fake it, loved to shake it, snake it, earthquake it. You know what I mean. And her lover Rip could drip but just could not make the scene.

It seems that after his long sleep he couldn't keep it in another minute and so he poured in a rush and an historic gush filled the valley down below with his overdue overflow. But what's so sad, he now had a worn out blad and it meant he was impotent. Tired of being an apologist, he went to a urologist to get the Viagra Cure which he was sure would restore the power that he had before his long, long sleep that led to his finest hour.

Dr. Joseph Schlonk----a good old Joe---said, "I know what you're going through at one ought two. I am only one ought four and I can't do it anymore. But take this pill and I'm sure you will be able to fill the bill and give a thrill to Lover Lil until she succums."

"That doesn't happen often," Doc Joe replied. "But if it does, have no regret. I bet you will go down in history as the greatest lover that ever be. And Lil will spread the word in heaven's all night Seven Eleven that when you come---pardon the pun---all the angels will forsake their harps and pluck, pluck, pluck."


The cat found out that it could think and thought about the rat it caught and as he got set to take a bite the rat cried out in frantic fright, "Please, Mister Cat, don't eat me! Just think, if you were me and I were you, what would I do? I'd wonder, do you have a family that would grieve if you should leave your wife and kids to satisfy my appetite? I, as a cat, would be much touched by that plea to me from you, as a rat, and I would agree, I'm not that hungry, anyway.

"And I would open up my jaws just because you If you I ate I would create great sorrow when your family awoke tomorrow and you were not there. Cats should care about their rats bill of fare. It's unfair of we cats to sate our greed just to feed our need. And so I beg, please spare me, Mister Cat."

The cat considered what the rat had said, the sincerity with which it pled, and did consent to set the rodent free. And as he let his prey get away it said to him, "Have a nice day."

The cat went home, his conscience clear, smiling from ear to ear, and checked his dish. He'd granted the rat its wish and felt an inner pride. He satisfied his appetite with a drink of milk, a bite of cheese, a bit of meat, some delicious delicacies his mistress dropped intp his plate. He felt great as he ate. His gourmet meal made him feel quite satisfied. Each bite was sheer delight. He was in the mood for people food. And that cat never ate another rat.


ONE DAY my late wife and I wandered down a country lane, not talking, just listening to birds and cows and wondering would it rain. Breathing in the new-mown hay on this very special day that soon would pass away.

WE WERE walking down a New York street, wondering where to eat in this town of gourmet fare. Suddenly the air was filled with hot dogs on a grille. We stood still and breathed in the aroma and my wife said with a grin: "I'll settle for a banquet on a bun." We had so much fun. I wiped some mustard off her nose. She spilled soda on my clothes. I bought her a long-stemmed rose.

OUR FIRST kiss. I remember this. It happened unexpectedly, I saw her cross against the light. I saw a car loom out of the night. I pulled her free. She looked at me tearfully. I held her close and kissed her eyes. That moment I knew I'd fund my prize. I can' t forget those youthful tears after all those wedded years.

IT HAPPENED in the early spring. A little thing began to grow. What could it be? She looked at me tearfully. The way she did those years ago. "I know," she said. Now she is dead. I have my own tears to shed.

SO MANY memories. Children. A girl for her. a boy for me. Two we loved lovingly. Anticipations. Expectations. Graduations. Vacations. Not all went right, not all went wrong. Through it all our love grew strong. It's not gone. It all lives on. In my memory.


Corporate crime is a dangerous game to play. Even if you get away or serve only minimum time for your crime, does it really pay? The fame, the shame, the devastation of the family name, can the future ever be the same?

Once a convicted thief, will you and yours suffer grief beyond belief? What is the expense in dollars and cents, in the consequents of unanticipated events that haunt your years, augment your fears, brand your children's reputations, affect their expectations, place in doubt their true intentions? Even with your remorse and full confessions, what chance have they for professions untainted by family indiscretions?

I often wonder as I read of men who plunder, steal the thunder of those under their control, seize ideas and take the credit, will they one day regret it? Will they suffer shame if they built their name and fame on the backs of those they denied the pride of creation and self realization. Thievery of any other kind cannot compare with the theft of creations and inspirations of the inspired mind.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006


Technically Man is born. Not all Males become real Men. I'll make it clear if I can: A Male becomes a Man when he is grown and known for performing like a real man should.

A Man, by definition, is not a male with hairy chest, muscled arms and natura. A Real Man achieves with brain and brawn, he does not boast on and on about his prowess and his success nor does he profess that his manliness causes women to sigh "Yes!" to his well practiced professional caress. He gives and responds to tenderness and does not try to second guess a woman's weaknesses.

A true Man does not refuse to change his mind when he finds a better way to deal with day by day adversity. He does not ignore the views of those who disagree with his once rigidly held philosophy. He is not mentally blind. He keeps an open mind and invites deep-thinkers in. He does not embrace danger but will face adversity when it becomes a threat and lets tormentors rule the meek and weak. He will not turn the other cheek when insults assault the truths that he holds dear.

A real Man can cry when there is reason why. He does not lie knowingly, but admits when he was wrong and went along with views so strong that he did not weigh their worth intelligently and logically.

I have listed some of the qualities which make a male a Man, I have not insisted I am always right. I stand ready to fight when something is worth fighting for. But I will never fight just to settle a score when I know there are wiser ways to compromise.

What is your measure of a Man?


God goofed when He gave the firefly
A tail so bright and glowing,
It always shines where it has been
Instead of where it's going.


To be or not to be? Shakespeare asked the question. Would he accept the answer? Would he regret saying it and resent others conveying what they thought he meant? Will endeared himself to Thesaurus and a chorus of those who chose to use his phrase to create an itty-bitty witty ditty or a very literary commentary?

It has been said Latin's dead. If that's so, did Will kill it? Was his amazing way of phrasing so unique that those who seek a way to speak would take a week to understand it? Those who yammer in perfect grammar stammer when they try to hammer out an explanation . If you know it don't show it or you'll blow it.

Cliche is the way to go, Just let the Bard's words spill it out. Be dumb, be dense, Make no sense. Just vent and you may be our next president.


You are entitled to your belief. If it provides relief in our troubled, befuddled war, so be it. This is just the way you are. You might be right, I might be wrong. But I must go along with me. This is how I happen to be. I must write what I think right or I would not be able to sleep at night. You must abide by what you decide is true. You must be You.

This piece I must write to shed some light between the true believers and me. I present my views respectively. I do admit at times I envy those whose faith is blind and find peace of mind I will never know, This world troubles me so, I fear where it will go if things go on and on the way they're going, showing scant regard for human life, finding joy in others' strife, and what I find most odd, both sides killing in the name of God. Where is His might to fight and smite the growing blight that embraces wrong and erases right?

Yes, I still pray but not in the traditional way. I shut my eyes and improvise a message to someone more wise than I could ever hope to be and trust that the He will hear what I will say in my head when I pray: "Please bless those who oppress me and help them find a better way by far than war to resolve the differences where we and the enemy disagree. "

It's as simple as that. Know where you're at. Be honest and at peace with your heart. It's the place to start. Good will replace evil eventually. Trust in the Powers That Be.

Friday, August 11, 2006


I awoke one night, I got a bite, right where you might expect. In the vicinity of my former virginity and in the spot where I was scratching, my girlfriend thought I had something catching.

Yes, I found the critter on my mattress. I sprayed with Raid and the bugger made a fast retreat on a dozen tiny little feet. It sped out of my bed. One more squirt and it dropped dead.

On Night Two, what did I do? To play it safe I slept on the couch and sure enough at two past two---OUCH! OUCH! OUCH! As you'd expect that insect had cousins by the dozens. They met for their convention in a section of me I am embarrassed to mention.

The bugs were lodged in my rear posterior. I was determined to rout them out. I inserted a tape in my tush with a recording of a speech by Bush. The strategy didn't chase the bugs away. Instead I heard a mighty hip-hooray. They wanted Bush, the bug, to stay.

Now that I knew where they hibernated I was determined they be exterminated. I went to the famous terminator, a former bug impersonator, Dr. Arnold Schwartzenegger. He refused to help my cause because he was their friend and would be a bugger to the end.

I tried this and I tried that. Ointments were a disappointment. Preparation H ended in frustration. I found Ex-Lax lacking. Prunes fresh, or turned into juice, were of no use.

I was not to be denied. Every thing I tried to evict them from my inside failed. Then I went on a diet of Boston beans. After a month of constipation, while on the pot in a mood of frustration, there was a blast and the bedbugs ran gasping from the bean scene. As they rushed, I flushed and flushed.

To my delight, I slept that night without a bite.


All hail King Bush, the Imperial Serial Killer. Thousands dead. Blood runs red. But it must be said in defense of this all-time slime of crime, he doesn't actually shoot the gun that slays them more than one by one. He's gets a whole damn lot in one shot and that's not an exaggeration for a nut who rules a great big nation.

You see, he doesn't actually kill directly. But he plots the spot and sets the time and is the necessary accessory to the crime. The GIs kill on his command while he turns his back on Iraq and makes believe he's in control of the former Hussein hiding hole.

Dubya has no shame and takes no blame as GIs aim at those he claims are our enemy. But he enjoys the fame for what is done. All GIs who die at his command, by gun or bomb, CD ROM or dot com or some other way are credited to Bush who likes to play God while he is actually the buddy of the fuddy-duddy devil. And that's on the level.

Have you ever seen how he can laugh when a GI's body is cut in half or blown to bits after an Iraqi enemy on the other side commits suicide and boom, boom, bang, bang hot dang another dead adds to Dubya's score. As an accomplice he's accomplished what he had in mind: don't leave a single living GI behind.

Well, the hell of Dubya's illegal war goes on and on and as each deal is done Bush, the serial killer, says:

"Ain't I havin' heaps o' fun foolin' 'round! But they can't prove I did it direct since, I suspect, my fingerprints can't be found on the dead on the ground or on the guns that mowed 'em down. That's OK. I know I done the deal and how proud I am of me! I'm a genyewine hero.

"So pin a medal on my chest when you lay me down to rest next to Hitler, Ho Chi Min, Stalin and all us guys in the killin' line. We're all kin under the skin and know how to make a war begin. We won't win but we'll have fun as long as it lasts. Ain't war a blast!"


When you stop to think about it, if you fought in a war and you killed willingly, protected by the legality of "I'll you before you kill me," it still was murder in the first degree.

You went soaring through the clear blue sky, dropping bombs and watching decent people die. You asked why you were up there destroying what took men blood and sweat and years to build and then were killed. Your attack and their defense made no sense, no matter how justified the homicide.

You lived, they died and loved ones cried bitter tears that would flow for years. Their ache, asleep, awake, when they remembered Jim or someone just like him who saw a bomb bearing down seconds before it hit. Just time to cry, "Oh shit!" That was it!

Should the end be greeted with an obscenity? Is that all there is to say about a life that's blown away? It seems apt that a life wrapped in hopes and dreams is worth much more. But this is war and that's what wars are for. Four letter words say it better. There is no more.

Monday, August 07, 2006


It happened years ago that an old man named Rip took a trip to Sleepy Land where he doze and was in repose for twenty years. It appears Old Man VanWinkle got drunk on booze and lay down on a hill to snooze. When he awoke his beard was two feet long and his clothes were tattered which didn't matter because he was the slob of the Town of Handymedown..

Rip fell asleep and awoke on Christmas Day with a headache that could choke a horse. Of course, after all those years in a somnolent state first he had to urinate. He was consumed by thirst but his bladder was about to burst so the urge to pee came first.

On that cold day in December, a day the town will long remember, he began. First a drop, start and stop, then a dribble and a drip and old Rip waited for the anticipated flow. You should know, when it began, no man alive could survive the rush, the flush, the endless stream, that poured and poured into the valley of the town.

Flood filled the lowland ground and a surging stream knocked down every tree and house, drowned every mouse, boats of every size capsized. People who survived climbed the church steeple and prayed for the flood to subside. God complied and it did and as the flood slowly receded townsfolk needed to know how it began. Then they spotted Rip up on a hill and watched until he dripped dry.

With a sigh of relief he addressed the distressed in a speech quite brief:
"When you gotta go you gotta go."


The obscene price of gasoline is the highest we have ever seen. Even the slightest jump at the pump dumps millions more green into the hands of the oil barons who will carry on this gauging game as long as the demand for fuel is strong.

Shortage is not the reason why the price is high and will grow higher. It's the knowing that the buyer will buy because he needs his car, his tractor or his truck on the go to earn the dough to feed and house the family. So he or she is squeezed in a vice and must pay the price. The scapegoat of note is always war and that's the biggest lie by far.

Let's clear up this confusion. It's the collusion between the Arabs who have the crude and the oil foilers who create the mood and spread the myth that they can't deal with the Egypt gyppers who set the rules that fuel the scams that justify the price that we, the fools, are forced to pay for the gallons we must buy.

Under normal circumstances, price controls are not the answer. But when a nation's faced with the cancer of an industry gone amok, we must get the flaws out of the laws and find a system that works. And when the powers that be shirk their responsibility the time to change is overdue.

The oil industry can get away with this chicanery as long as the Gouging Oil Partners (also known as the GOP) are calling the shots. They know and fear if this becomes the Democrats' year and it foretells the Republican fate in zero eight, they'd better make it while they can, before the fit hits the shan.


All creatures large and creatures small, those with two legs or four or none at all, are born with hearts and other parts like minds and brains and veins through which blood must flow to keep the system on the go. The more they clot with plaque, the less chance you've got for coming back from a heart attack or stroke that could leave you dead and broke. And that's no joke.

When you add up all the doctor bills, the price of pills and refills, the shots and lots of therapy, it's rare Medicare or Medicaid, aided by health and other kinds of insurance will reimburse you for the expenses that must be paid.

If all the medications, unexpected complications and unintended consequences add up to more expenses than you've bargained for you'd better head for the coffin store and opt for dead instead of spending all that bread for the jazz and jive it takes to keep your insides alive.

In the end no matter what the doctors do, how they scam and pamper you, when they're through there's nothing more you can do but pay your keep and creep, then fall asleep, into the six-foot deep heap of earth that's been awaiting you since your birth.

Friday, August 04, 2006


Of all animals in creation, none have a better reputation for increasing the population with a flare for copulation than Peter Rabbit. Does he ever take time out for a vacation? Or is cohabitation his avocation, occupation and preoccupation?

God gave all animals juice to reproduce so they have no excuse if they fail to seduce the female of their species who otherwise would stay in the kitchen baking pies to surprise their mate when he gets home late from a date with a horny hare, The bonnie bunny must submit and permit her counterpart to perform his art and is in the mood to start a brood.

Lambs have kids, katydids think it cricket to make it in the thicket, hens have chicks and ducks do what ducks do to make more ducks. And animals carry on from dusk till dawn to spawn future furry or feathery families.


Significant results of stem cell research is the hottest issue of the day. But the payoff is at least a decade or more away All the breakthroughs in science didn't happen overnight. They took time and patience, often trial and error for the problem to be solved. Was it worth waiting after all? Ask the patients now cured who endured the pain and uncertainty while scientists worked endlessly to unlock the secrecy of a medical mystery,

Like every labratory story, the stem cell saga will one day become another step along the way to a world free of disease. To those who say, "It won't help me, I'll never live to see a pain free day. I'll be dead before they know how to cure what I endure," to this I will reply:

"It's probably true, but you might see things in a different light if you realize what's achieved today, tomorrow or in years to come, will help someone who thought the same as you and, lo and behold, a beakthrough changed their life because of you."

Perhaps you volunteered to take experimental medications to see if they could enhance and advance knowledge of your dsease. Your contribution toward the solution should please and comfort you.

Perhaps your heir or someone you care about contracts a dread disease like yours and is reassured he may be cured if trials underway point to effective medications. That will cause a celebration because you and others shared participation in long-range studies that made recovery not just probable but possible.

You will thrill in knowing this will be so for someone who suffered just like you and yearned to have their dream come true.


Throughout recorded history scientists have probed the mystery of the human body, of disease and myriad maladies, of why some endure and respond to cures and others die without a discernible reason why.

Exactly why does each body react one way or another between sister and brother of the same father and mother? What makes them different as night and day in looks and talent and personality? Some short, some tall, some fat, some thin, all with varied shades of skin that significantly set each apart in the same family?

Are intelligence, common sense and temperaments qualities that maturate genetically or are they shaped by susceptibility to events influenced by environment and experiences that abound? Do you let setbacks confound you or do they help you grow profoundly?

All in one family are born of identical genes but what this means is beyond understanding except by those who explore and know more about such lore than we of ordinary ability. And so the mystery of life goes on and will still be unanswered long after we and all our genetically controlled family are gone,

Tuesday, August 01, 2006


It's happened many times before, it's happening now, it's sure to happen again and again. When Israel and its Arab enemies go to war anti-Semites, like termites, crawl out of the woodwork and accuse the Jews of anything that will light the fuse of explosive hate that lies in wait, ready to spread their pent up bigotry.

There is the ever-present fear democracy could fall viciim to this hypocrisy. Those who love liberty and equality recall the once powerful Nazi Germany that created the hated Holocaust.

Major media concentrated on alleged atrocities and resultant deaths created by the Jewish state whose planes bombed housing where innocent victims were led, many who soon would be dead, killed instead of the terrorists also hiding there What the news neglected to report, Hezbollah used women and children as a shield, hoping Israelis would yield to spare the innocent.

This recalled earlier uprisings when Arabs placed the young in the line of fire with bricks and stones and riflemen hid behind the youths. Israelis had to repel the young to confront the armed who threatened harm to Jewish forces. What is worse in this assault, the innocent in harm's way were killed and buried in bombing debris, sacrificed to shield enemy forces from Israeli planes.

Past incidents are documented by TV news-clips of the day that showed Arab youths throwing rocks at Israeli soldiers and running away. This has long been their M. O.: Sacrifice the innocent to create hate in the hearts of the ignorant and uninformed who will buy the lie that all Israelis want to do is kill and watch the helpless die.

The same thing goes on in Lebanon when Israelis bombed a shelter they knew terrorists and innocents are equally vulnerable to violence. What else can the Israelis do? The enemy is the Israeli's prey. They put the innocents intentionally in harm's way.

The shame and blame belongs to the Hezbollah who ignored the accord of the Geneva Convention that states civilians may not be used to shield the military. They did. Their soldiers hid behind the skirts of mothers with kids. They were guilty, not the Israeli.

But the news media didn't play it that way. From reports I read, it was never said that Hezbollah broke the law. Only graphic accounts of the attack. No mention of the missing facts. Why did they portray Israelis as the bad guys? What ever happened to objectivity? Journalism's not what it once was. Only this will always be: war is the ultimate tragedy.