Tuesday, May 30, 2006


As the Enron Show goes on an on the most recent stars who soon will be behind steel bars-are Kenny Boy Lay and Jeffy Skilling who made a killing and got top billing. They stole billions, now they're broke. or so they say.

How much cash they've got stashed away saving for a rainy day is anybody's guess, It's estimated they created a $68 billion loss while they were boss of the esteemed energy giant that lost its steam.

And these two, once depicted as the smartest boys in town, now stand convicted and unless they pull some strings and do other crooked things with Dubya cheering from the wings, they'll do time for their crime with only nickels and dimes in their jeans ,but surrounded by golfing greens and tennis courts and all the sports they need to stay in shape. With all that at their beck and call, they''ll have no reason to escape,

If things run true to form, these high class cons will live in lock-free dorms away from wind and rain and storms and socialize with conguy pals and, who knows, a few congals. They'll dine on wine and divine cuisine, beer and ale, steaks and lobster tail and spicy sauce. As a special treat, Tums come with what they eat.

And sooner than you can compute. they'll be pardoned by Bush to enjoy their hidden loot, some of which they'll contribute to the GOP election/selection collection plate. Just you wait!


Enron's gone but not forgotten but two of the most rotten ever begotten, who made a killing---Skilling and Lay---ain't going no where. no way except to jail. They'll be put away until Judgment Day, those two corporate crooks who cooked the books and played the game of Claim the Loot that superseded need.

Greed was the motivating force, of course. The looters lost and now must pay the cost. So look who's going to the hoosegow now!

But you never know just how, in the end, things will go in this White House world of cat and mouse, in an ad\ministration known for its contamination of justice and truth in and out of the voting booth.

Don't forget George Bush has the Power of the Pardon up to almost the final hour of his purloined presidency. He can, with an executive OK, wipe away the guilt of the two prisoners at the bay. Skilling and Lay, and others who played and lost the same game. It makes no sense, but Dubya, the least innocent of them all, can with a stroke of his pen, set them free to steal again. But who will repeal Dubya, the real leader of the pack?



Congressman Shaft was accused of graft and a raft of other stuff. "I'll just hang tough," he said in a voice gruff and rough. "This investigation's just a minor aggravation that upsets my constipation but causes me no consternation or undue complications. When I am called to testify I might tell to a small white lie but mostly I'll just deny, deny. Defy, defy, And if they try to fry my hide i'll commit.."

"SUICIDE?" I cried.

"No, not that," he replied. "Why'd I resort to that sort of thing? No, I'd just fall flat on my back and fake an amnesia attack."

"But what is that? I don't get it."

"Forget it," Shaft laughed. "Amnesia's when you can't remember what you remember to forget. And that's what gets you off the spot when things get hot."

"Hey, that's real slick. You get sick just that quick?"

"It's the oldest trick in politics. Some consider it outrageous but they all know it's contagious and the only sure cure is a dose of pardon that grows in the Bush Rose Garden. planted in pots hidden behind the forget-me-nots."

Wednesday, May 24, 2006


The RepubliCONS, the Texas Dons, the hangerons will soon be gone and in their place, with honesty and integrity and untampered voting machines, on Post Election Day, will see things finally going the other way.

Honest votes will sink some ballot box boats hardly afloat in states that supported the hated turncoats who promoted the execution of the Constitution and would have charged Lady Liberty with prostitution.

Let every state circulate petitions to send the lackey losers on an unaccomplished fishin' mission to perdition, wishin' conditions had not forced them into submission to agree to democratic decisions.

Unlike in days of yore, Al Gore will be minding the store and Vice President Hillary Clinton will be sittin' knittin' as befittin' the former First Lady of the land. And guess who will be SEXretary of State? Why good old Bill, of course.

The rest of the cabinet will let it be known Democrats are prone to be bipartisan and fair and will declare Bush as HOG-catcher snatcher of the Long Gone State.


Bibles Burned. Preachers Spurned, Atheists Unconcerned; Where Can Mourners Turn? Grieving Men of God Agree He'll Be Reborn With His Son

By The Late Walter Cronkwrite

Special to The Heavenly Times

All hell broke loose on Earth tonight as word came down from on high that that good old guy we all called God passed away today.

Speculation raged throughout civilization: who'll rule Heaven now that He's gone? Who'll replace His grace? Catholics hope it will be an ex-pope. The born again say, "Nope! It'll be one of our men."

"Why not a loyal lesbian?" asked a gay. "That's OK as long as she' black," a black shot back.

Said an Oriental: "Let her be Chinese, Japanese or Korean? Or any Asian, but never again a Caucasian."

Then a voice in the crowd said aloud: "I'm not a Semite but might I suggest a Jew? In the beginning when the world was new who did God turn to? A Jew. And a rabbi, too."

Sunday, May 21, 2006


I admit, I'm obsessed and depressed by the Internet. I log on to various sites every night to learn what's going on in politics about GOP and Democrat stupidity, about incompetence and senseless violence and about a lack of common sense and more than anything, what's happening in the endless horrendous war that's going on---where else?---in Iraq.

I am constantly in search of bloody truth and this is where I find it. But but what's more shocking even than the senseless deaths is what's behind it.

Oh, I know it's about oil and raw power and our leaders' determination to devour all the nations that disagree with our misconception of democracy. How can we expect them to respect our so-called land of the free, when our president arrogantly defies the laws that were designed to protect our liberty? Makes no sense to me.

I click here and I click there and everywhere I go I grow short of breath as death stares me in the face. It's every place. Of course war's the major source of fatalities, thanks to our self-destructive mentalities, but when that will end will depend on those who pretend to embrace humanity. It's inanity.

Bush, who pushed the war down our throats, now gloats that he, the "Great Decider," will decide when it is done.

How many more sons must die to meet your satisfaction, George W., Mission Accomplished Man of Action?

Where else but on the Internet can you get a front row seat to what's going on? For, besides our war to set us free of terrorists we are witness to riots. uprisings and enterprising new ways to kill quite legally. How many more must die unnecessarily before science and technology find ways to control floods, tornadoes and hurricanes? We've got the brains and dollar bills. Let's cancel wars and spend billions finding ways to end endless tragedies.

All this is a possibility. Search RESEARCH and learn what's going on out there. All it takes is bucks and brains and time to solve the greatest crime facing man.

God, I'd like to talk to you. If you've got nothing better to do, maybe you can let us have one more try before we die. If not, please tell me why.


It has been said by experts with empty heads, and leader Bush is one of those, another several thousand dead and Bush, the Devil's friend, will rise again. So what if he is at all time new lows. All Dubya has to do win the voters back is add Iran to Afghanistan and Iraq and he's got a trifecta failure attack.

Do we love incompetent failures? Yes we do! Three cheers for the Dubya wrecking crew!

Americans must love war. It's so strange but a firing range makes heroes out of dodoes who increase our woes as politicos send more GIs to die to save the hide of one who lied to get us in the fix we're in.

Hit a a bull's eye, my oh my, give that guy a booby prize!

You recall Bush was headed for a fall when he was new and everything he tried to do to was booed by a world in a peacetime mood. Then came 9/11 followed by our unprovoked Iraq attack and his popularity as the AWOL savior of freedom and democracy made this hypocrite a hit. In time he failed at this and that and he again went flat.

But now he's in the sewer again and is willing to sacrifice more GIs to win new approval before voting time. Go ahead, George. The deaths will be on your dime,

Bush has a shattered dream that he can redeem himself. The world must deem his dream a fantasy. Or the world might end in one big mushroom cloud. Pssst! Don't say that out loud. There are lots of nuts in the crowd.

Friday, May 19, 2006


As you drink your morning brew and read the local news you know what it's telling you, compelling you to do. You've looked around, you've scrounged around and haven't found a way to earn an honest pay because all the jobs have flown away to foreign shores for that's the way things are today.

Without work there's nothing you can do but steal or rob---isn't that a job of sorts? It makes work for cops and courts. It tips the scales, fills jails.

When all fails, all's bereft, there's nothing left but kill or be killed. If that must be, do it legally. Join the military. It endorses murder, mayhem. Be one of them. Be a hero. You kill them, they kill you.

The president who sent you there through influence was spared military servitude. That college dude, with grades of C and campus revelry, stayed safe and on the lam as lesser men killed and died in Viet Nam.

Take the job. It's steady pay 'til they put you away. Hooray for the U. S. A. Three cheers for the Red, White and Blue.


Wanna buy a spunky sperm,
That little wiggly human worm
Guaranteed, I don't mean maybe,
To produce a brand new baby?
Wanna buy a beating heart
Or some other body part?
You'll find what you're looking for
At the Dollar Donor Store.
Weekly specials, long-term loans
On second hand blood and bones.
We kid you not, we have got
A you know what that'll hit the spot.
Livers, lungs, Einstein's brain
At prices that are quite insane.
Shopping for a pair of eyes?
Any color, shape or size.
Buy from us. We guarantee.
Your money back quite cheerfully.
Just one rule you must abide.
Give living proof you have died.


If you get aches and pains from cold winter rains that bedevill the bones in your body, if your fluttery heart with a stop and a start sends a message, slow down, or sure God, He will do what gods do with damn fools like you who shun signs and seek partytime pleasures. that guy in the sky will flip off the switch which lets you enjoy earthly treasures. So slow down, you fool, or it's damn sure that you'll join those without everyday bothers. Once life was a toy for you to enjoy. Soon you'll rot in the field of your fathers.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006


Barter was a way of life between the sailors and the natives in the South Pacific during World War II. After we captured an island the natives were no longer our enemies. They were our trading partners.

On one island we occupied the natives loved canned pineapple even though the same fruit flourished in their fields. We traded canned for fresh and both sides got the better of the deal.

There was never a shortage of food on our small minesweeper. Provisions ships came into port loaded with meat, chickens, eggs, tropical chocolate and beer that tasted flat warm or cold. We couldn't tell the provision ship's crew what we wanted. They unloaded on our small ship enough food to feed the fleet. Why? The sooner they unloaded the sooner they returned empty back to their base at Pearl Harbor.

Sides of beef that wouldn't fit in our freezer were stored on deck in the blazing sun until they turned rancid and were tossed overboard. Meanwhile, we had steak three meals a day as long as the meat was safely edible.

We played a game of skill with surplus eggs. We'd toss one egg in the air and try to hit it with another egg on the way down. Five egg omelets and steak were a favorite breakfast.

No matter how much food we had, we craved fresh fish. It was plentiful in the waters around us. We had no fishing gear so we took a bucket, drilled holes in it, tied a piece of pork in the bottom and a line to the handle. The bucket was lowered over the side of the ship and small fish took the bait and dove in.

When the bucket was full, we pulled it out of the sea and dumped the fish live into boiling fat. In minutes they were crispy brown and we ate them like candy, Unseasoned, uncleaned, ungutted, they were the best fish we ever tasted.


Mother Cob was quite maternal. To her each kernel was a grandchild yet to be born, You see, she was an ear of corn torn from the mother stalk to which she was born.

Now it was her turn to earn her place in vegetable table history. Just as she grew from a kernel or two to come alive and thrive as a full blown stalk she must shed her ears as she shed her tears. knowing that each parting cob had its own job to do: release in peace piece by piece the kernels that she'd nourished at her silken breast.

And if the rain and sun and weather did its best Ma Cob, her ear now sheared of kerneled treasure would bring her so much pleasure as she scanned the land and saw thousands of her dear little ears all grown up, sweet enough to eat.

Some would wind upon a plate, some in a stew, some would opt to pop or be ground, some would be used to fertilize the ground. For many there would not by any doubt they'd wind up in a boiling pot. And there'd be those chosen to be put in a can to feed the starving in lands far away where hungry children are too weak to play as their bodies rot away One single can of corn might save their day.


Beachcomber tanned and tough, taut and tight, hard and scarred by wind and rain and years of pain, lined and undefined, beard like sheaves of wheat burned dry by the heat, eyes squint in a glint, exposed to the glow of snow, sand and sea, lips cracked, unkissed. What have they missed?

Beachcomber, Beachcomber, for what do you search?
What do you look for there in the sand?
The sea is your brothel. The sky is your church.
What longing haunts you, Beachcomber Man?

What do you demand from the hot desert sand? Why do you cry to the cloud shrouded sky? You hold in your hand a sifter and spade, tools of your trade. Are there gifts of the sea in the floating debris? Do they wait for you patiently?

Beachcomber, Beachcomber what will you find?
What is the true value of dreams cast ashore?
Who buries love words deep in your mind?
What is your lonely heart still searching for?

Beachcomber remembers a cold winter day a handful of pennies came his way. A thin golden ring, a beautiful thing. A watch thick with grime still aware of the time, Seaweed for a bed, a conch for a pillow under his head. Driftwood for a fire, an old rubber tire. a length of strong wire. Things he might need.

Beachcomber, Beachcomber will your search cease?
When it is over, what will you do?
Will discovery bring death? Will it bring peace?
Will it uncover heartaches anew?

Tuesday, May 16, 2006


You know that giving up and letting go is something you will have to do but when the time comes and you must do it getting through it will be the hardest thing you've ever done. One by one the children leave to start a life as husband, wife or just to live independently. And it becomes apparent that you, as a parent, concede the authority over kids who once looked to you to tell them what they should and shouldn't or could or couldn't do.

The removal of the approval of that sacred right of parenthood becomes the first test you must face on that lonely road to the Empty Nest.

Their moving out without a doubt leaves a lump of loneliness in the throat and heart. It is as though a part of you has died and left a void inside, an empty place you tell yourself Time will erase. But Time is the thief that caused the grief. How can Time also bring relief? Will Time take long? Will it be brief?

Time lingers on in many ways. Silence plays its little tricks. Do you hear that CD booming in his empty room? Is she all alone, chatting on the telephone? The sounds of children, running feet, 'fridge open-shut, "What's to eat?" "Ma, it's cold. Turn up the heat!" "Gotta date! Gotta go! Y'know. Y'know."

Memories of emergencies. His broken arm. No great harm. "How's it feel?"
"No big deal! It'll heal. It'll heal."

"Fever's up to a-hundred three. Still going up. Can't stand the way she looks at me." "Help me, Mommie. I 'm so hot." "What should I do? Please tell me!" "Get her to the hospital. I'll meet you in Emergency!."

How do these memories find their way into the the echo chambers of the mind? Happenings of the past won't rest. They are the memories that lay waiting in the hidden shadows of the empty nest.


When you die you give up a lot of of things. Birds that sing in the Spring, the boy who brings your Sunday Times, viewing the evening news on any channel that you choose, breaking in a new pair of shoes, a summer cruise, a bottle of booze, playing a game you win or lose.

There will be no more steaks or chocolate cakes, no coffee breaks or pains and aches or skinny dipping in the lake. No more taking a plane or train to a secret rendezvous. And what ever you useta done for fun you can no longer do.

You will lose your credit card, the money you worked so hard to save. Your family probably spent a lot for a plot six feet deep in the ground where your remains will remain while bugs and slugs and other creeps disturb you in your eternal sleep and keep you up endless nights with their nibbles and their bites. But when birds come to sit on your stone you'll know that you are not alone.

You won't hunger for younger women and a last-longer stronger libido to show you've got the go-go-go to respond to any buxom blonde who catches your eye and is willing to go beddiebie.

If death was due to HIV, even the ivy on your stone will leave you alone and the insects in the coffin next to you, busy as a bumble bee, will give you unlimited privacy.

Forget everything you've read, There's much to be said for being dead. Not all good. not all bad. So let your relatives be sad. Life, when all is said and done, is just a passing fad.

Saturday, May 13, 2006


Dubya breaks the laws, taps our phones without cause, lies, denies our Constitutional rights, He's a blight on the might of the USA. Flashing a sneer from ear to ear, he spreads a fear of endless war as more and more GIs die as he tries to get back the backing his leadership's lacking.

He hee-haws all who disagree, cites his stolen presidency as his right to rob the free of their democracy as he spreads his hypocrisy throughout the land and demands we be loyal as the price of oil escalates and tax rebates enrich the rich while the poor wind up in the sewer.

While we the people cry "Impeach!" this leach reaches out to those who doubt his urge to stay the course for better or for worse as insurgents fight, with dynamite strapped on their chest, and send our side on a one-way ride to Kingdom Come, How dumb does he think we are to continue this useless war?

When he spews his views the media should treat his blather not as news but rather should be stuck on the comic page between Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck.


The plot thickens with all the mixins as the Bush dynasty does what it can to make brother Jeb heir apparent to the presidency. The interviews and the manufactured news are just beginning but it's all about Jeb winning, even if he loses to the Democratic candidate in two thousand eight.

The media has read the book and swallowed the hook line and stinker and is eager to make the blah-blah-blah governor of Flah-Flah-Flah look presidential. That is more essential to voters than brains and know how which his brother never had and he has no how.

George the First wants Number Two Son to carry on what he began as a one term loser to a better man, Billl C., who did what Dubya could never do, wipe out the nation's debt. Then came George Number Two who didn't win but won by court decree. The majority did not agree and Bush has performed miserably. Yet, he believes his legacy of incompetency will help Jeb win the presidency.

George W. would have been deep in hock if Daddy Bush hadn't picked the White House lock. And so the son who never won---won. Now it may be Jeb's turn to play the same old game where losers win no matter what the voters do.


Thursday, May 11, 2006


We defeated Saddam Husein, then turned his domain into an insane shooting gallery and with blood and bodies littering the streets and e very alley And thousands-plus of us are also dead. We gave Iraq back to a gang of hacks, some of who will opt for peace, but possibly more who will wage a civil war. So where do we go from there?

WillI Dubya's legacy be this endless war that could continue into eternity? Our intent was not just to defeat and unseat a president. That was only part of it, The heart of it was to restore peace to the Middle East. But the aftermath of what Bush had in his oily mind puts America into a long-term bind. That's typical Bush. He's failed at everything he's done, then smirks and sneers at everyone and boasts. "Ain't it all been fun! " Like father. like son.

We won but lost. At what cost to us, to millions everywhere who didn't care enough? Even those who dared to care, who were repeatedly cheated---what can we do? Is it too late? Can we afford to wait until 2008? Or another Watergate?

We. the enemy of our enemy, have one battle cry: "IMPEACH! IMPEACH!" He and his phony cronies have committed more crimes on Bush's dime than all time. They've lied, they've cheated and been defeated at every turn but never seem to learn that when the chips are down and the rent comes 'round you'd better get out of town with your tail between your legs leaving a trail of rotten eggs in your wake. For badness sake, George, give us a break!

But how can you impeach a cheap creep who breaks the laws just because he is, illegally, the sheriff, judge and jury and sings his song, "I am the president. I can do no wrong."

And do you know, folks, this ding dong's wrong. Any citizen who breaks the laws can be arrested on just cause. JUST BECAUSE!


When I try to define the difference between the mind and the brain I find it difficult to explain. Are they different but the same? Does each claim powers the other has not? One knows What, the other Why. They're a pair, each half of a whole, Together they can reach their goal. Apart, they're dead from the start.

Think of the two in computer terms, vulnerable to viruses and germs, subject to infections. Then log in to Docudoodoo/@whodovoodo. It can do for you and your rootie-tootie cutie computer what a physician can do with pills, skills and inflated bills to cure your incurable ills.

Science considers the mind the memory with megabytes and potato chips equipped to store more trivia filed alphabetically, cross referenced, condensed or expanded to respond to the MDs commands instantly.

But a glitch, like a sudden itch, can switch off the memory and cause the diagnosis locopocus known as insanity. Everything cross-referenced gets uncrossed, crossed out and lost and the cost to put it back in place can be a microsophic disgrace.

While the memory remembers and sometimes forgets what remains it is analyzed by the brain and explained by calculations and computations, connected dots and all sorts of whats and whatnots.

Lingering in the wings is a thing called the printer, that, with the aid of the fingers or electronic input can put it all in ABCs, in English, French or any other programmed lingo from bingo-bingo to zingo-zingo. And once you've got it all on paper no caper of sons-a-glitches can erase or replace it. And that's the data, et cetera, et cetera.


The big race had begun. The horses were on a run. The cheers drummed in the horses'.ears. The jockey on Winning Winnie feared his four-footed friend couldn't generate the speed it needed to satisfy the greed of those who bet their bucks on her nose in hopes she'd score to lea an upset victory.

The mare, just three, had never ever won a race before. She'd not even finished, show or place, sometimes fifth or fourth, not worth enough to be in the money. But from the beginning Winning Winnie, showed promise that if she found her pace she'd win a race with lengths to spare.

She had the grace, she had the style and once in a while she'd be up there nose to nose with the pros just laps before the finishing line and then Winning Winnie would fall behind.

The horses were rounding the final bend pounding, pounding toward the end. Winnie was five, then she was four. Then she was three and showed no signs to move aside The crowd grew tense. It made no sense. "Winnie's winning!" roared the crowd out loud. "C'mon, Winnie! Pour it on! Don't stop now! " And yet, somehow she did.

* * *

(The horses in the stalls loved Winnie best of all. They had to fight to win in a race, but when it was through they knew she understood what they had to do. One day her friend, Big Buster, found out why Winning Winnie never won and he said to her: "The next race is just for you." They both knew the next would be her last, Winnie was aghast. "You'll throw the race just for me?"

"Winnie, we know why," said Bye-Bye, a real nice horsey guy. All her friends began to cry. But before Winnie could say another word, they heard the bugle call and they all trotted out to the starting line. All nodded the way horses do. They looked at Winnie. And they knew what the vet did not. How did they know? Their horse sense told them so.}

* * *

Winnie's friends all played it cool. They had to fool the judges who might view their act suspiciously. The race proceeded normally until the end was near and a bee stung Big Buster in the ear, placed there, according to plan, just before the race began.

The birds and bees loved Winnie, too. A robin redbreast built a nest in Bye-Bye's chest and at the same time the bee did its sting thing the robin's eggs cracked and the newborns, freshly hatched, needed to be fed. Then horse number three and all the others stopped to see. The judges declared Winnie winner by default, What happened was no horse's fault.

Winnie limped across the line to victory. Then it was strange, Winnie dropped dead of equine mange. It's all a fact of racetrack history. Check it out with any tout. But don't ask me.

Monday, May 08, 2006


The dead in Iraq cannot come back.
Their bodies are scattered and shattered,
blood is splattered.
They are victims
by their Iraqi enemy
in their native land,
victims whom we had saved
from enslavement Saddam Hussein,
butcher of Baghdad.
It happens
every hour of every day.
Death is just a way of life
in this never ending strife.

The suicide squads are partners
in a massive jihad
that soaks the sand
with a brothers' blood,
innocent youths,
bearded souls
in search of truth,
children just learning
how to pray and play,
mothers, wives who gave their lives
while shopping for their families.
There are so many dead,
it is said,
that an escalating body count
surmounts efforts
to find space
in morgues or mortuaries.
Bodies stacked in blazing sun
rot within hours
after they are shot,
beaten or burned
or dumped half waiting to die.

Words smuggled out about numbers,
seldom names.
Many bodies go unclaimed,
future dreams unrealized.
Scores and scores,
victims of persecution,
hands lashed behind backs,
bodies slashed and hacked,
some barely still alive,
wracked in pain. heads filled with bullet holes,
most slaughtered in tribal rivalry,
some believed murdered by GIs
or other allies
in the war of liberation.
It's estimated more civilians have been slain
by "friendly" fire
and assassination
in this war than in the entire reign
of Saddam Hussein.

How many dead?
The U. S. won't tell
the truth about this living hell.
But numbers are reported,
possibly distorted.
This much is known:
over 300,000 Iraqis
dead since liberation
and occupation
in Baghdad alone.

Many deaths
not included,
only alluded to.
Who can say?
Totals change
day by day.
Truth defies the knowing.
Fatalities keep growing.
Where is this war going?
Words cannot define the tragedy.
Nothing you can hear or see
can adequately
describe this wasted war's futility.
It is beyond mere man's ability.

* * *

One desperate Iraqi wrote: "Please let people know what is happening to my country." This is what I am trying to do. Let people know.

Perhaps this form of verse, unlike endless words of prose, drab in their recitation of cold facts and description of horrendous acts, might lack necessary impact. Presenting this in rhyme may turn some on, some off. Do you agree or disagree? My words were inspired by reasonable accounts of this tragic moment in history. I have tried to do it accurately.

Did this piece enhance or detract from the serious severity of this war? Please share your thoughts with me and bloggers everywhere.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006


It's about time for Republicans and Democrats to get together and weather the storm that's brewing and in the ensuing months and years could pose great harm to our democracy, could cause grief beyond belief for all regardless of party affiliation or political indoctrination.

Many see a threat to our liberty if our president is allowed to freely alter the course of history, deny Congress and the courts their rights to monitor actions that could trigger reactions that have not yet but could pose a threat to our and future generations.

Our Founding Fathers were wise to devise laws and regulations that assured equality to the entire citizenry. They never anticipated a president who would with word weaseling trickery abrogate the rights millions gave their lives to protect. It's time we take these matter seriously instead of bickering endlessly.

Do we want to preserve our mutually won democracy or fall victim to hypocrisy and mockery of the minority who don't understand or give a damn what their lies can lead us to before they're through. I appeal to all who feel as I do to face what this nation's going through.

The time is overdue for all who value liberty. equality and quality of life to oppose those on either side who seek to divide and decide who will wield and who must yield abrogated power in what could be our final or our finest hour.


The end is near, it may be already here, but have no fear, the Sneer will steer you through another year of rising crises and mounting prices to pay for the oil, the spoils of war.

We attacked and sacked Iraq, then gave it back and will soon, perhaps by June, send more GIs to die in Iran without a plan in or out or knowing what it's all about. An A-Bomb here, an A-Bomb there and it will all be over over there.

Then, with who ever is still alive, there will be a war with North Korea. Did you ever see a world like this, war hopping shopping for new places to show our faces and aim our bombs to blast our enemy to kingdom's come, then decide to go along for the ride?

The End of Days. The latest craze, the final phase soon will be if we don't change our ways. We are headed, in this never ending war, hell bent for heaven or purgatory if we don't, instead, share in the glory of a world at peace and no more worry.

End of story.


George Bush, among other things, says "String along with me, forget your grief and trust in me, your Commander in Thief and Future KIng."


The man who boasts he got his Harvard degree with grades of C should make you see he's far from the brain he claims to be. How can he be the authority on the Constitution when he oh so wisely denies there's such a thing as evolution, thinks stem cell research is anti church, birth control violates body and soul and gold should be our only goal.

He engaged in thievery to achieve his unbelievable rise to fame on his daddy's name and oil wealth and rules by stealth and arrogance and dances to the tune of a leaky balloon.

I doubt I can say anything bad about Bush that hasn't been said before. But I will try. I won't call him a goon or a babbling baboon or a lunatic loon who howls at the fool full moon. But I will say this about that buffoon. We can't be rid of him too soon.


He was rough and tough and it was said he had the hide of a buffalo. He could outshoot the toughest galoot who ever pulled a gun. He would duel any fool who broke the rule of the wooly west. Bullets bounced off his chest. And he'd always win out in a shootout with one bullet in his gun.

"All I need is just one shot to put the hombre down," said Buffalo Skin, as he was known all over this old town. B. S., his name for short, had some sort of trickery that always brought him victory.

As the shootout began he'd eye his opposition, then take a strange position. ˙His gun would stay holstered at his side. He'd throw out his chest and hold it tight and wave as if to say, "C'mon, galoot, shoot away!" And he'd stand there tight and taut as shot after shot bounced off his chest like rubber balls off thick brick walls.

B. S. would count the shots up to six. Now his enemy was in a iix with an empty gun as B. S. with utmost care aimed and shot his lone bullet STRAIGHT UP IN THE AIR. It wounded a flying eagle passing by who fell to earth and clawed the other guy, gouged out his eye, ate his nose, pecked his toes. tore off his clothes and nibbled on his chest and all the rest of him he desired.

Then coyotes came in, ripped off his skin and ate what was inside his hide. Vultures waited patiently, then ate all that was left except the bones which turned to dust in the sun. And B. S. won another one.

How'd he do it? He won't tell. But late that night in the bright moonlight a giant turtle climbed out of his shirt and with nicks and bullet holes in his shell he snuggled up to B. S. and they slept together for quite a spell.

Monday, May 01, 2006


What in the world is happening to this world of which we are all a part of when a man like Bush can cut out the heart of our beloved land of the no longer free and arrogantly turn the presidency into a license to kill and steal with zeal and do what he will while Congress and the bureaucracy, the dumbest of the dumb, just suck their thumb and shrug and say they still have faith in the good old U. S. A.

He has the gaul to do all the things he does to destroy the Constitution and every institution and offers only one solution as a substitution for the mess we're in. Don't declare a war, that's old hat. Just start a war. That's smart. Don't mind the dead, not them or us, Just make sure you're not on the bus where a suicider is the rider sitting next to you. We'll become embroiled in a battle royal in pursuit of power and oil. That's our reason for being there. Fight fair and square if you dare. Whether it's Iraq, Iran or North Korea, it will be a lot of fun counting up the dead when we have won.

That's part of the plan of the Power Man, the Hero of the Hour Man, but to start a fight and show your might the only way to do it right is be a greater dictator than the enemy and by killing them and we we'll all be free. Three cheers for democracy!


We don't have a democracy. We have an hypocrisy ruled by a drip who thinks he's head of a dictatorship. The evidence is overwhelming. Event after event makes it more evident this Republican should be canned and his party should and would do it if it could. But what good would that do?. We'd be stuck with Shotgun Cheney and some other drone, a clone owned by the corporations, the real power of our once great nation.

The most recent news demonstrates the way Dubya and his henchmen choose to use the powers of the presidency to rob the institution, corrupt the Constitution and nullify each law and resolution and do it oh so legally. All with a nod from GWB who thinks he was chosen by God to safeguard our lives and liberty.

I resort to the latest report on how Dubya asserted his authority to disobey or ignore more than seven hundred federal laws just because he thinks they conflict with his interpretation of the Constitution which has served our nation since its formation way back when. This dense president of limited intelligence who makes no sense and represents a fragment of the voting population, who never served his nation in war, goes far beyond his ability to tell America what it can and cannot do. All by his interpretation of the constitutionality of the rules and regulations. Dubya wants everybody to know he's running the show.

On a whim, if the laws don't appeal to him, he'll just ignore them. He may or may not enforce them. He's the boss, of course, and has the power or will seize it because that's the way he sees it. If you know something's wrong just go along. Don't play the game of show and tell. Blow the whistle, YOU may wind up in a cell, This is really scary: He, not Congress, will control the military. And he's the guy who went AWOL when our GIs were getting hell in Viet Nam . Hot Damn!

There's so much more he has done and will do that will live long after me and you. Read about it. It's big news. Cruise the internet, Check the papers, television. Weigh the facts. Go to the polls, Make your decision.


Believers believe without question. Any suggestion that faith is not enough is met with rough rejection of God Almighty. To say that He might be wrong on occasion is regarded as an evasion of the truth as told in the Old Testament, in the Torah and Koran and the holy writ that can be traced to early man before civilization even began.

Masses regarded God in many ways. Some prayed to Sun gods that controlled the seasons of their lives. Others worshiped for various reasons but the underlying belief in what they could not comprehend brought relief from every day stress and strain on the brain.

"Don't try to explain my faith to me," the True Believers said. "I will be right, you will be wrong on Judgment Day."

"What's the date of Judgment Day?" the skeptic wanted to know. "Will it be a legal holiday? Will we have more time to shop and play? If I have to work on Judgment Day must my employer pay me overtime?"

"You don't get a dime extra pay on Judgment Day On that l day you go to your Church, your Synagogue or Mosque and pray."

"To who? For what? How much will it cost? Will inflation raise the amount of my donation? Will it reduce my income tax? The fact is, I'm not sure I can pay. And, anyway, I think I gave at the office. Does that count? Will that affect the amount? I'll have to discuss this with my accountant. He's a CPA and can advise me how to pay it through my IRA and, in the process, give less to the IRS."

"You don't understand," said the man of faith. "Judgment Day is not the same as Christmas or Thanksgiving or other seasons when there's reasons to be giving. You don't have to pay, you just go and pray."

"If I put two bucks in the collection plate will It get me a cheaper rate if and when I meet St. Pete at the Golden Gate?"

That night when the non-believer went to bed he prayed: "Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray to God, my dough to keep. If I die before I spend it I'll lend it out at ten percent."