A couple of y'all are aware of the fact that I took a hit in the Imperial Portfolio. I am trying to make up this short fall with a Black Sale of my monograph: "On the Rudiments of Elementary Bad Manners"; a necessity for those lacking in the matter. It is offered at the previously unheard of pre-certified pre-discounted discounted price of 69 bucks. (Plus taxes and S&H.) But wait! Order one and you'll get two! Give one to a needy friend. You'll also get a C-note rebate!
Since I will probably be a member of the 'Damnatio" by Evening Song, let me get this off of my chest. I am perfectly willing to return all the meager taxes you Liberarians and other neo-con job artists have ever paid on your paltry income, with compound interest at the then prevailing Treasury bond rate. I will now teach you what 'Capitalism' is. If you ever breathe the air, ching-ching, at MY rate. If you ever go to a university, hospital, ball park - ching-ching. Have a sewer line, telephone, ching-ching, at MY calling. Dare to comesticate anything that has passed the King's highway, ching-ching. Even if you cultivate the seeds that have traversed the King's highway - ching-ching. Drive your Kia, on MY roads, ching-ching. Since you have gotten all your taxes back, when you fall ill, it will be up to your spawn to care for you. Your doctor won't be able to get into a hospital on your account, unless he pays MY rates. Get the idea? I'd rather pay an illegal Mexican's truck, than have to pay yours. He is willing to pay taxes to live in AMERICA!
Please don't go to Hell, I don't want to meet up with you.
This may be my last blog due to a certain post of mine. So....
And now for some cultural reportage.
To start with, it is El Cinco de Mayo once again.
You've all heard the libelous term 'Italian Football Wedding', but you probably never had the pleasure of having attended one, since the most of you are barbarians. Herein, I shall describe one to you. But, for contrast, I shall open things with an inter-racial and inter-religious affair. My cousin's kid, an Eyetalian Roman Catholic, wedded himself off to a Jewish lass. Unfortunately, I was invited to the doings. Had to give the kids a present! The festivities took place at some ritzy North Shore Lon Giland yacht club. The opening goodies were Jewish, Chinese (natch!) and Italian. The Jewish goodies were mostly glommed before Consort and I got there, so we had to settle for the other slops. I know that you won't believe that Jewish goodies are top of the line, because of the way their regular cooking stinks (literally) to the high heavens. Probably to get God's attention. Anyway, both races mingled amicably. No brawls at all. When it came to the knot tying bit, a rabbi and a priest's time was wasted. I thought to myself, why not have a mullah and a pastor, really cement things? I also indicated to any who would listen, that since I am a defrocked priest, I would do the work, and at a small discount, since blood was involved. No one paid any attention. Somehow, I wound up behind everyone. Bride muscled her way up front. Since I couldn't hear or see what was going on, I summoned a steward and required him to fill a few beakers of Scotch and to deposit them on a balcony table. There I repaired, alone and peaceful, to watch the yachts bobble and the gulls enjoy themselves. Gulls and I do not see eye to eye on much. I hate the flying garbage cans with a passion beyond passion. Their object in life is to strafe the Imperial Chariot. There I sat, peacefully and alone, enjoying the libations and puffing away at cancer sticks. Unknowingly, (Like bloody hell!), I flipped the puff butts into the air. The gulls would swoop down and knock them back. God!, it was a pleasure to see them perform insane acrobatics whilst screeching their gizzards out. Yup! They got even with me. Never missed the target of their desires. Had a speckled burgundy chariot. Dinner was great. Anything one wanted - even pork.
Now, off to the object of this Journal. The broom's party would hit the church and assemble at the altar reeking of booze, and holding their heads, as a result of the recently terminated bachelor party. Very dirty jokes were swapped when the boys could coordinate the operations of brain and tounge. The priest, who had just adjourned the poker game at Dinty Moore's Back Room, put in a lordly appearance. The opposing Families sat across the nave from each other, taking every opportunity to glare at each other. Did I mention that this was an inter-racial marriage - Calabrese versus Barese? Iron heads against kerosene people? Don't get it? Forget it! After some extended while, the brides party shows up and marches up the nave. Oh! How beautiful! Pigs! She deserves much better. The witch can't cook. How handsome. Schmuck. (Yes, schmuck is an Eyetalian word.) Why doesn't he/she marry one of his/her own? The worst of ours, is better than the best of theirs. Even a Sicilian would be better. The priest does his thing, and the guests of honor agree to all the lies. All march down the nave to the feigned approbation of the enemies. When the happy couple get outside the church, they are pelted with rice. (I always thought that that stuff was grace.) After a short hiatus, all repair to the church hall, which is a combination basketball court/theatre. The tables are set up in an upside down 'U' fashion. Each has a bottle of Seagrams, a bottle of Teachers, and a few gallons of Gallo's Very Best. The beer is in kegs at the open end of the U. Here also repose several grosses of Italian hero sandwiches, clothed in butcher's paper, from Nickie's Gourmet Emporium. A band is stuck somewhere thereabouts. The bride and broom, along with their attendants, sit at the head table. The band strikes up a tarantella. The little boys commence doing cart wheels on the stage. The little girls start picking nits out of each other's hair. The opposing quarter backs start passing the heros. Gaspare, fried eggplant? Zi Pep, pepper and eggs? Don Cicci, meat balls? Fiatella, ham and provolone? Gina, mortadella? After a bit, the bride traipses about the tables picking up the cash (No checks, please.), in the folds of her wedding dress. Oh, none of your useless presents - we'll get our own. She dishes out candied almonds in a porcelain swan. Now, everyone goes about dancing and b. essing. Guguzio happens to espy his personal bookmaker, Irving, who has been somewhat tardy paying off. Ugly words turn into fisticuffs. Every one takes a hand in matters, settling old scores with anyone who comes into view. Even the ladies have a good hair pulling. Bras and corsets wind up on the basketball hoops. Priest retires to poker game. Irish cops are summoned. One winds up in a garbage barrel wrong side up with a zucchini sticking out of his nether part. Things don't go as planned for cops. They call for Italian back up. No Way! Cops retreat; back to fun and games. Things settle down and the canoli, sfoiliatelle, and Napoleons are passed around. Espresso with anisette. (Sorry, no eXpresso!) All good things must come to an end. So people pick themselves up as best they can, and start loading up on the remaining goodies and booze. There are some minor encore scuffles. Once safely tucked in bed, husband and wife exclaim that it was such a great affair, but.... Didn't Aunt Angelina look stupid in that outfit. The marriage won't last out the year.
Father M. stopped cold in his tracks at the altar. Nah, not in MY church! Millions of thoughts can traipse through the human mind at once. Was it a bosons pipe? The wind through an open window? A deranged Black Protestant? Nah, I have a Truce of God with Father F. at the Episky operation. The altar boys, who had just made easy work of the communion wine, were sniggering. They knew. A vicious glance from the kindly padre put an end to their hilarity. The nuns were alarmed and thus alerted. This abomination came from the area of the Fourth Station of the Cross. That was the public school kid's territory. They had no respect.
The reason for the foregoing is summed up thus: In the late 40's and early 50's, guys signed up before being drafted. Only one of our guys got thrown out of the navy. He had a penchant for falling out of his bunk. We were suspicious of him. In reality, a draft dodger? A communist? A future president? When the guys came home on leave, we would all gather at the flag pole, real genuine pizza, pepperoni, and beer to hand. (In those days, the flag went up and down with the sun.) These guys would tell the most hilarious, truly filthy jokes for hours. During a hiatus, we young ones would wash down the bricks under foot. Nothing would dare to grow between the cracks. Someone would shinny up the flag pole and get the rope; wind it around the pole and then take a ride round the pole hanging on for dear life from the rope. There was a down side to this bit. If one dropped off too early, he crashed into the bricks or the steps. Too late, and he bashed his head on the hollow pole with a resounding Booowng. The goodies and jokes usually ran out at the same time. There was a Greek guy, Andy. He had a neck like a johnny-pump; his name used the entire alphabet - several times. Something about Constantinople. Strong like the bull! But he was such an easy going lad. He had a new 1950 black Pontiac. We all would pile into and onto it. Then it was off to Boro Park for fresh bagels. (Did you know that there are 13 bagels in a dozen?) In lieu and/or subsequent to that, it was off to Coney Island for hot dogs and sauerkraut at Nathan's. We'd buy gaggles of them. Andy would curse out the Jewish guys serving up the dogs - in Greek, and with that ever present smile. No one knew what curses the Jewish guys flang at us. Then it was back home and off to a metal door down the docks. We each took turns at the same spot and in the end sliced it open. I think that you all are personally aware of the other results of these affairs. And thus it was the Saturday before the Sunday Mass we speak of here.
To continue. As one whistle tailed off another tailed on. (So to speak.) The wax in Fr. M's ears melted. The sound of a Gatling gun then chimed in. Almost popped Fr. M's skull. Fr. M couldn't leave the altar. But the nuns were on the way. Some rowdies in the general area of this most mortal sin were seen to have their faces buried in their hands as they knelt. Were they praying? Covering up their laughing or the crime itself? When the clicker signaled sitting, it seems as if it also signaled a broadside from Yamato's 18 inchers. It echoed off the back of the pew. A general cacophony of artillery ensued. Some have claimed that Fr. M's head was now on fire. Some urchins in the vicinity of the launch zone were gagging; some had tears in their eyes; a couple had passed out. One is alleged to have gone blind. A final great WOOOOFFFF channeled itself up a scoundrel's shirt and out of his collar. All was silence as the nuns reached the kill zone and passed out.
The bishop was immediately summoned to re-sanctify the church. God, himself, was ticked off! You all do know that God lives in the Vatican; speaks Latin, (Gave up on Greek.), and has a nice bit of lasagna with the Pope after Mass?
Now we come to Confession. It was standard practice for the louts to kneel in a pew and observe who came out of which confessional and what he was up to. If he was on his knees with a Rosary in his hands and rambling about the church, this was not to be your confessor. Sometimes mistakes were made. The next Saturday one of our heroes blundered. Bless me father for I have sinned most grievously. I broke wind at Mass Sunday last. Wuuuhaht? That was your work? Fly! Flee! Escape! The kid charged out of the confessional and bashed his head on the back of the last pew. He saw rockets and many stars. But this was no time to pass out. That would have to wait for later. Much later.
It was a great Mitzvah that these doings did not take place in a crowded elevator or on an escalator.
Now some god damned WOP is at it!
"" CONGRATULAZIONI "
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Some month or so ago, the computer commenced to really ail. It would take the quarter hour to pass from hither to thither. Gaius sat at the computer for so many hours that his legs commenced to fill with water. Quack forbid computer and ordered the Presence to go horizontal. Also ordered 'water' pills. Just what I need! During a hiatus from the horizontal, I chanced upon a private message from a Roman friend, one Pertinax. I thought it only mete and just that I refurbish my beaker with a refreshment in his honour prior to replying. The first few steps were peaceful. It was when I hit the rug that things went awry. Made a perfect seven point landing. Widow's peak, hands, elbows and knees. Wrists required splints. Have a nice little dot on headquarters. How I missed wrecking the coffee table with my head, is a matter beyond my competence. It was a miracle that the beak didn't get smashed. Have a map of Australia on my rib cage and one of Cyprus on my arm.
One of our Sacred Circle made out that he could cure the computer. Out with Millennium, in with XP. No help. Another of our Circle suggested a new computer. Done! An HP something or other with a giant flat screen. Feels as if I am sitting in the first row of a movie theatre. Computer can do most anything. Flush the toilet. Open the door. Make coffee. Couldn't convince it to do computering though. Bride rang up HP for assistance. Gets Punjob Pati. They babble on for about an hour to no successful conclusion. The speakers on this machine, when fully charged, operate at a mite less than a whisper. Of a sudden, the god-Consul sees Consort put the phone to the side of the screen. Gaius go ga-ga! Manhandles air-phone and curses out Punjob Pati. She thanks me for my observations. Then it is off to Costco. These guys actually knew what they were about. Told us the speakers actually Censored and to use the old ones. They were very nice and patient. The remaining problem was the DSL modem. It seems that the one we had would not marry up with the new computer. Probably Catholic. Off to Verizon. Nice guy tells Claudia that old modem is not compatible with new computer. Go to this number and they will ship the proper one to you FREE OF ANY Gaius! CHARGE, and since your Lord and Master is a basket case, get it to you over night. Not so maintains the number. Yew don't have a Verizon modem. Yeah, what's this I am holding in my hand? Why have I been paying yew for service lo these seven years? Behold a miracle! Modem appears at Dusthaven the very next morning! Packing slip has zero charges on it! Claudia and Gaius celebrate with breakfast. But then telephone bill comes, and surprise. Gaius now doing battle with Be Nice, Cecil at Verizon. The thing about these Oh God! children is that they can ruin your credit at their pleasure. Can't do likewise to those children of perfidy. Just wait until Verizon tries to put FIOS in our building. Claudia is the duly elected prez and Gaius is her guiding hand. Will the Presence win the WAR with Ivan Sidenberg?
Anyway, as you can plainly see, Cecil is now playing with his computer. It is Cecil's fondest desire, now that all has been revealed, that My Lord of the Weeds will not take umbrage permanent for Capt. Blackaddre's tardy response.
Greetings & Salutations:
In re the new $5 bill - good for one gallon of petrol:
Soon, it will be a Ten Spot! Follow me: It costs a little less than 10 bucks to get oil out of the ground. The 'Spot' market is ~ +$110/barrel. But, I lied saying that oil comes out of the ground - it is produced by the 'Spot' market. Get it so far? It is well known that such as Exxon have no $10 oil. (As a matter of fact, they have no oil at all!) No depletion allowances, (aka nanny government tax subsidy), for that which they did not produce, but found in the ground. Still with me? Ergo, one must conclude that the problem is in the 'Spot' market. Yes? Now, if the 'players' in the 'Spot' market had to take/make delivery of oil futures, the price would tumble to ?. Or just as good, raise the margin requirements to 100%!
Still here? Good.
Let us amble together unto the Sub Prime Fraud: In days of old, when community banks existed by the gaggles, a president would have a cup of joe in the local diner with the early wandering farmers and business men. Yea!, I say unto you, he might even take toast with a member of the Great Unwashed! When called upon to make loans or mortgages, the prez could read and understand financial statements! He never packaged his loans and palmed them off to others. Putting exceptionally little trust in sleazy schiesters or lying CPA's, he corroborated the info. He required a decent down payment for mortgages and collateral for most business loans.
Now let us charge into the more recent past. Some while back, a couple of most intelligent and all knowing statistician/economists wrote up a paper in a Federal Reserve Bank (of somewhere) Review. They proved beyond any doubt whatsoever, with enough statistics and formulas to build a neutron bomb, that now that 'derivatives' had been discovered, the Circle of Risk had been closed! The No-Risk; No Profit Theory was now consigned to Hades! Humungus profits were now guaranteed. Since all the stops were pulled on regulation, and the regulators and bond raters were safely in the thrall and pockets of investment, merchant and commercial bankers, Collateralized Debt (of all sorts) Obligations could be conjured up by the most worthy investment bankers and their lackey liars (Sorry! Sorry!, I meant lawyers.). These little beauties were to be laid off on those seeking yield. Such honest men went about convincing real estate types of all greedy stripes (Yes!, even their own hungry frauds.), to convince anyone who asked for a mortgage, that he could afford one. Why that's why we have Adjustable Rate Mortgages. (In effect, borrow short; buy long.) Why LIBOR is your best friend. One day we will introduce you to HIBOR. And the masses were over joyed and completely shafted. Why some even announced that they would name their last born Libor. The prices for used toilet paper constructed shacks climbed upwards to Uranus. I am as rich as Croesus cried the polloi. Bring me credit cards!!!
Now we all know that lawyers can only say 'yes' in nothing less than a thousand pages. Thus, the I.B's and L's concocted these CDO's. Neither they, nor the good folk they were to palm them off on, knew what these CDO's were/are. So the banks said unto themselves, we must take advantage of these instruments that we know nothing of. After all, why should we worry? It's really only depositor/creditor money we are playing with. But, it came to pass that something was amiss (or was/is it?). All sorts of 'banks' claim that they are losing bundles. We must go to Sovereign Funds and leeches to get us out of this Serbonian mess. Why should we worry about watering our stock said the gangs at the tops of the corporate ladders. It's not our money. We used back dated options for ours. We're 'in the money' by a long shot. Anyone know what any IBOR is? Never mind.
Thence it came to ground that Bear, Siht was in a mound of poo. J.P. Morgan-Chase Malignancy in for the kill (I meant rescue.). Frankly, I am still not sure if JPM has aggregated Ursus Siht unto itself or not. Now enters the Bearded Liberarian, St. Bernanke, who, along with Mr. Greenspun knew all, but didn't call the gendarmes. Quoth St. B. to JPM: You may deposit any worthless or troubling CDO's at the RE-Discount Window. And any Primary Dealers may follow suit. Anyone know what a P.D. is? It ain't Laybach & Whachit, your friendly broker.
At last the god-Consul enters - stage right! Hold up there St. Bernanke! Why the blazes didn't you allow Bear Siht to go to the Window in the first place? Might there be much more to this? Let us investigate. Compared to the trillions of CMO's outstanding, only a paltry amount have actually gone the way of all flesh. Aha!, said Gaius. Could it be that Lord Effingham is paying a visit? One may 'buy' a tax loss, e.g., the one that exists at B/S. Or one may be created by marking down ones un-marketable inventory. One may use 'models', 'guesses', or whatever comes to mind in the case of CDO's. Now, assume that some honest folk are telling mere fibs, OK? A write down that does not come to fruition, means that the Treasury is being pilfered out of current tax revenue. Who knows, there may be another King Georgie-poo in the future. Then again, the whole Congress can be bought off to make life easier - for guess who?
Some very short while back, Gaius said to Claudia, in one of his tender moments: Why don't the CENSORED children simply return the sub-prime mortgages to their teaser rates? Like the squirrel, She shrugged. Guess what? That is exactly what the Brits are now doing for a two year period!
Did I forget to mention that Bulls and Bears make markets; pigs make a mess!
Gaius would like to find something out. If he mis-spells a word here, a little red line appears under it. Right? No suggestions appear for repair of the blunder. Now, if Gaius knew how to spell the Shame on you G.O.! word in the first instance, he would not have erred! Your turn Moon - in easy language for my ancient wits.
Done This Twenty-Fifth Day of April,
In the Year of Grace,
The Two Thousand and Eighth,
C. Octavius, Cos.
Some members of the Forum seem to have some minor problems these days. Really, nothing of any consequence compared to mine. Cogitate:
My Bride was supposed to go on a cruise in the Carib starting Thursday last, for a fortnight. She was supposed to meet a gaggle of her pals from 10uhC and mis(take)again in San Juan, P.R., on that day, to commence their carousing. Since La Donna Sophia, and Lady Farrow were otherwise occupied, I made arrangements for Lady Jane (Bury-Me-In- A-"Y"-Shaped-Coffin.) Harrington to make her appearance on Friday. It was decided to leave the Imperial Chariot in the mud gutter rather than in the car barn so that I could take the wandering Bride to the airport. Now, I have a plaque that allows me to park on the wrong side of the street. Tuesday was a cold day, so I figured that the Chariot was lonely. I went down to turn the engine over and keep the Chariot company for a while. A good looking 'meter maid' hove into view and commenced to make herself important by minutely examining the stickers on the windshield. Whilst she was thus occupied, I noticed a squirrel take a leap out of the tree behind her. The little bugger climbed up her leg and took a nip out of one of her cheeks of shame! You can't imagine the hellacious racket she made racing down to the corner. Woke napping gargoyles. Startled the ambling peasantry. The little tree rat sat there looking at me and hunched his shoulders as if to ask what happened.
Shortly, I heard the wailing of a siren and saw flashing lights. The squad car stopped behind me. Two flatfeets exited with the screaming meter maid. "Cuff him! Shoot him! He trained that squirrel to bite my personal coolie!" Little guy scampered up the tree; commenced munching on something, and took all in. The now sniggering cops asked for my side of the story. Asked them if they ever heard of a trained squirrel? Told them that it was probably a migrant Mexican dumper biting vampire squirrel. Cops cracked up (no pun intended). Meter maid made for one of their six-shooters. Failed, thank God. Told little guy acorns were in the usual place.
Ahh, but this wasn't an end to my woes. Wednesday, the weather frauds looked into their crystal balls and decided that there would be a foot's worth of snow over night. Chariot to the barn; reserve limo. Naturally, the airline canceled the flight a couple of hours before lift off. There wasn't enough snow on the ground to make a decent snowball! Push panic button; commence to worry about Lady Jane and Bride crossing paths. Bride holds on for over an hour trying to connect with a human at airline. Gaius gets on cell phone and punches a number at which one may buy a ticket. Eight minutes later, problem solved. Gaius has a couple of shots of rum. Bride will catch Friday AM rocket. Close calls, but all turned out well.
Lady Jane presently out purchasing her favorite wine.
That is a true bill of affairs as they stand to the moment.
Lord Black Adder
February is the dreariest month of the year.
Pantagathus and Perinax aren't here.
La Donna Sophia will seldom appear.
Nephele wears combat boots this time of year.
And Ursus can be a pain in the rear.
Faustus needs a good tax man.
Coldrail is locked in the porta can.
The Klingon is a frozen man.
Kosmic eats frogs out of a tin can.
And Ramses can be a pain in the can.
Moon has a corner on gold.
L W has a nasty cold.
MPC will never fold.
The G-Man is very bold.
And a swift kick to GO's butt is foretold.
GPM is lost in lovely Warwick.
DoLl eats sushi from a stick.
Viggen was robbed by a Serbian hick.
P.P. endures this motley clique.
And we'll all be blessed by his Holeyness, Pope Mal(icious)adict.
The Association of Southern Schools has decided to pursue some of the seemingly endless taxpayer dollar pipeline through Washington designating Southern slang, or y'allbonics, as a language to be taught in all Southern schools.
The following are excerpts from the Y'allbonics/English dictionary:
HEIDI - (noun) -Greeting.
HIRE YEW - Complete sentence. Remainder of greeting. Usage "Heidi, Hire yew?"
BARD - (verb) - Past tense of the infinitive "to borrow. "Usage "My brother bard my pickup truck."
JAWJUH - (noun) - The State north of Florida. Capitol is Lanner. Usage "My brother from Jawjuh bard my pickup truck."
BAMMER - (noun) - The State west of Jawjuh. Capitol is Berminhayum. Usage "A tornader jes went through Bammer an' left $20,000,000 in improvements."
MUNTS - (noun) - A calendar division. Usage "My brother from Jawjuh bard my pickup truck, and I ain't herd from him in munts."
THANK - (verb) - Cognitive process. Usage "Ah thank ah'll have a bare."
BARE - (noun) - An alcoholic beverage made of barley, hops, and yeast. Usage "Ah thank ah'll have a bare."
IGNERT - (adjective) - Not smart. See "Arkansas native." Usage "Them bammer boys sure are ignert!"
RANCH - (noun) - A tool used for tight'nin' bolts. Usage "I thank I left my ranch in the back of that pickup truck my brother from Jawjuh bard a few munts ago."
ALL - (noun) - A petroleum-based lubricant. Usage "I sure hope my brother from Jawjuh puts all in my pickup truck."
FAR - (noun) - A conflagration. Usage "If my brother from Jawjuh don't change the all in my pickup truck, that thing's gonna catch far."
TAR - (noun) - A rubber wheel. Usage "Gee, I hope that brother of mine from Jawjuh don't git a flat tar in my pickup truck."
TIRE - (noun) - A tall monument. Usage "Lord willin' and the creek don't rise, I sure do hope to see that Eiffel Tire in Paris sometime."
RETARD - (verb) - To stop working. Usage "My grampaw retard at age 65."
FAT - (noun), (verb) -- a battle or combat; to engage in battle or combat. Usage "You younguns keep fat'n, n' ah'm gonna whup y'uh."
RATS - (noun) - Entitled power or privilege. Usage "We Southerners are willin' to fat for are rats."
CHEER - (adverb) In this place. Usage "Just set that bare rat cheer."
FARN - (adjective) - Not domestic. Usage "I cuddint unnerstand a wurd he sed ... must be from some farn country."
DID - (adjective) - Not alive. Usage "He's did, Jim."
ARE - (noun) - A colorless, odorless gas Oxygen. Usage "He cain't breathe...give 'im some ARE!"
BOB WAR - (noun) - A sharp, twisted cable. Usage "Boy, stay away from that bob war fence."
JEW HERE - (noun) and (verb) contraction. Usage "Jew here that my brother from Jawjuh got a job with that bob war fence cump'ny?"
HAZE - a contraction. Usage "Is Bubba smart?" "Nah...haze ignert. He ain't thanked but a minnit'n 'is laf."
SEED - (verb) -- past tense of "to see".
VIEW - contraction (verb) and pronoun. Usage "I ain't never seed New York City ... view?"
GUBMINT - (noun) - A bureaucratic institution. Usage "Them gubmint boys shore is ignert."
I hope that I have the names right, but here goes anyway:
Once upon some good hundred plus years ago, Commodore Vanderbuilt was collecting railroads. He decided the Erie Railroad would be nice to have, so he started buying up its stock. Now, there was a chap called Jay Gould, who really owned the RR. JG thought that it would be a very good idea to print up stock certificates as fast as the good Comm. could buy them. For some unearthly reason, the Comm. got the idea that he had bought the RR a couple of times. Sent his henchmen to JG's headquarters at the Erie station in Hoboken, N.J., and behold, stacks of certificates being printed up. Matters were settled by a gunfight at the station. Personally, I don't see why the good Comm. should have become so exercised. It was a free market after all.
I would like to know if you think this type of peccadillo could happen again???
This is a little late in coming as it goes to subscribers first.
The babbling and lying is all over in Iowa! But the air-waves are still polluted with the gas heads' condescending explanations of how, when, where, and why. Look, this is how it stands:
Rev. Huckleberry vs Obama :: Faith vs Hope. No Charity whatsoever.
Headlines in November:
Obama Sweeps South Carolina, Florida, and Ohio. Wins By Landslide.
Rev. Huckleberry Takes NY. Swears Himself in as Prez.
Bloomberg Elected Veep.
Osama Invited to White House for Tea & Pita.
Bush & chinney Cuffed.
Flush Rimflour Administers Auto D' Fe to Himself.
And now, let the gouging, swearing, and lying commence in New Hampsheershire!
I propose that Ohio be renamed Ocato. Just as easy, and makes more sense. Why?, some may ask.
News stories I would have liked to have heard:
Man gets a hair cut in Albania. Wetbacks used by Bechtel to build border fence and tunnels. Ron Paul takes a regular last name - Smith. Sen._______ goes into 'The Closet' directly from the men's room. Mayhem at the Vatican - Pope converts to Islam - Dalai Lama takes over. Bush wins Pulitzer. Hitler's love child found in UK. NY to tax sex. Plush Plim-Plammer goes Liberal. Prince Charles accepts US throne - primary B/S finished forever.
Now, me buckos, take your lithium pill; put some aspirin in a handy spot, and grab hold of your chairs:
Ron Paul was the only one who made any sense yesterday in those 'debates'!!! Still amongst the 'quick'? Let me know, so that I may clean out the 'recent'.
A man never really loses his hair. It simply wanders from his pate to his eyebrows, nostrils, cheeks, and ears.
I have a question: If a Moslem man blows himself, (and a gaggle of others), to kingdom come, he gets 71 virgins. Right? Now, if a woman of the same persuasion, does likewise, what does she get?
I ask; you tell.
Today's Journal sponsored by the Baghdad Tourist Consortium. Looking for excitement? Real live blow 'em ups - none of that sissy movie stuff. Gun fights at the Green Zone Corral a daily specialty. See people blown into sausage meat. You too, may have the thrill of a life time.
Call Suicide 12345; ask for Shiskabab. No refunds.
For the New Year, GO RESOLVES to:
Stop bugging the Lost Soul, My Lady Sophia, Doll, My Lords Pantagathus & Pertinax, The G-Man, MPC, and of course, the most highly esteemed and honourable "Fair is fair, young man,....".
Start bugging Domina Nomina, Kosmo, Viggen, The Klingon, GPM, JR, Faustus, and Moonlapse.
Stop imbibing of wine, whisky, and beer - while posting to UNRV.
Stop posting in enigmas so as not to confuse great minds.
Not to use talking smilies!
For 2008, GO PREDICTS:
Maladict will be elected pope - of the Pastafarians.
Basil Fawlty and Hyacinth Bouquet will take over the management of The Ritz.
Now that Tony Blair has made the Leap, Prince Charles will convert to Catholicism, thus driving the Royal Family, and Parliament into apoplexy, to say nothing about giving the now plurality Catholiics untolled great belly guffaws!
Guy Fawkes will be declared a Saint!
My Lord Pantagathus will be found skulking around some Grecian village - plotzed.
God will stop having chin wags with georgius Secundus, Osama, and the Telereverendos.
My Lords Pertinax & Pantagathus will open 'Smoke & Beer Cafes' in San Francisco and Amsterdam.
"Fair is fair, young man,...." will be deported to Russia and/or shot for a trophy.
PP will write up the history of Pope Gaius (really!).
N.N. will make a 1:1 model of the Colosseum.
Domina Nomina will be thrown off of the dole!
Cicero, Brutus, and Cato will be declared saints - in the Cult of the Flying Pizza.
Faustus & Ursus will have their pants sued off for copyright infringement!
Caldrail will win a Certified Pre-Owned 50 year old jalopy.
GO will suffer eternal 'Damnatio' - smashed!
HAPPY NEW YEAR ALL Y'ALL!
At first, you must understand that Jacky Kelly and I were the best of friends. Common assaults on each other were a daily practice. Aside from a lot of first-aid, they were of no consequence to neither ourselves, the flatfoots nor our parents, as they all felt that it was much better and safer for us to try to kill each other than for them to do the work. It would also do some little good for our black, sin stained, damned souls.
Visitation Place was a one block street, bounded on one side by a great library building, and a lot in which delinquents practiced mayhem on each other. Even the little angelic girls did not exempt themselves from this form of entertainment. On the other side, stood one end of the church, the rectory, a small graveyard, the school, and the nunnery. (For later reference, at one end of the avenue was Taffy Dick's, and on the other a small park.) No vehicle ever trespassed on this Sacred Boulevard, lest it incur the rage of the nuns. The fact that the criminal urchins would set their tire valves free, and most likely set their wrecks ablaze, did not escape their teamsters.
One day, as usual, we were all having at each other in the lot before school began. Then of a sudden, The Bells!, The Bells! Everyone froze. The Bells made an unbelievable racket. They were as big as the Liberty Bell. How those four foot nothing nuns ever swang those things is well beyond my ken. This meant that we were to gather in front of the girl's or boy's entrance to the asylum according to our preferences. Nuns and priests paraded fro and to, to no great advantage, save to put the fear of God into we innocents. Smacks were administered to the boys on general principle. The nun's habits made a provocative swishing sound. Their perfume was enticing. The next broadside meant that we were to line up in size order in the mud gutter. Wound up in fights, and never resulted in the same order twice. Do you know what a carpet gun is? Never mind. This is when Jacky let go with his gun. The missile hit the left ham of my tender coolie. The resultant was a most unbelievable oweee, and terminal harm to my pantaloons. And there was Jacky with a malignant smirk on his devil blessed Irish visage. Since we were on line, I couldn't get at him. I was left with vowing eternal vengeance against Jacky, and his entire race beyond infinity. The next salute meant for all to march into the institution. Girls on one side; boys facing them. Things and insults were hoven at each other. The Bells! The Bells! The flag; the Pledge of Allegiance; the rote prayers for the good of our feculent souls. Off to class. Boys on one side; girls on the other. What ever did those nuns think that the boys would do to the girls - at this time? We never even thought about patent leather shoes. Did you know that they were forbidden in Catholic society? Well, Sister Felicita gave us some worthless chore, and joined her brethren in a prayer meeting. The ammunition we used for our sling shots was salted chick peas. They could either be used in battle or as a snack. In the latter case, I shan't impinge upon your tender sensibilities with the resultant odiforous qualities. Well, I rose to the occasion, slang my pea shooter at Jacky's iron bound head, and let go. Nailed headquarters but good. Pea shattered into dust. Jacky let out a most hellacious feigned yell that woke the deads in the graveyard. Sister thought it best to revisit her crime lab. Caught me standing there with the evidence in hand and chortling. Gavelled the session to order; confiscated sling shot; wrote out a note, and ordered me to bring it to the nunnery. Had to walk down some steps - a positive evil omen. My stomach churned and vaulted. Pressed upon The Bells. A gorgonish looking nun appeared. Doom was at my heels. She read the note and invited me into the vestibule, and then misappeared behind the inner door. The space was about the size of a small closet. Dark, wood paneled. Yellow stained glass and dim yellow lights. Yes, this was the much dreaded entrance to hell! No place to sit, and thus one wants most to sit. Therefore, I perched my personal coolie on the floor. The inner door opened a crack, and I beheld a bald nun! Bald as a tomato! Yes!, this was hell! Would they roast me? Toast me? Fricassee me? I spent a few terror laden hours there with my heart in my gullet.
Next day, Jacky got me with an ice cream cone - down my shirt!
Thank you Jacky, I hope that you get shingles, and pass your days in agony.
In these days, it has come to pass that the infamous GO was caught out to be an exceptionally bad child of the devil. He accepts this charge with his usual Grace, Humility, and Aplomb. It has come to his attention that, amongst untold other missteps, he has trod upon the sensibilities of many. For this, he is contrite, and asks for absolution and remission for all his sins. In future, should he trespass on The Rudiments of Elementary Bad Manners, or commit any assault against the integrity of the Forum, please be so kind as to advise him publicly or privately - no matter to him**. He will respond with either an apology or an explanation. He promises all that he will attempt to be a good little vagabond in the future. This entire infamous calamity shall be recorded in the Annals of UNRV as the "The GO Affair".
** Poo! The brain cell must be in Hibernation! No, I won't have my agents burn your house down; put smilies after your name, or hold your loved ones for ransom.
As you know, Pantagathus was sent up the river to a georgia chain gang for a recent arson. It was my understanding that his sentence was commutated by prez chinny. Yet, he is absent from the Forum. His silence is deafening! Could it possibly be that His Greekness is responsible for the late flooding of his province? Has he been cuffed once again?
Recently, my everyday 'day/date' watch committed suicide, undoubtedly, as a result of a stay at the watch knackers. It was determined that I would have to part with about $150 hard stolen smackeroos to replace the morbid ticker. This all burned my sin stained soul for weeks. It was on a visit to my two best friends, (two Jack Russells) situate in the boondocks of upstate New York, that I deigned to enter upon the premises of a Walgreen. And there me beheld watches! Day/date watches cut from their usual expensive $18 bucks to $15 semoleans! You must understand that parting with money is not something that is within my province. I pondered upon the problem at great length, and determined that stealing it was the only acceptable option. Case closed - or is it still open? Works better than the old loser. As usual, one problem. When the battery goes to glory, it will cost more to replace it than the watch would have!
How could I have forgotten! When the 'date' is reset at the end of 30 day months, the 'day' comes up in Espanish. Good thing that I didn't steal it in Chinatown!
I would like to alert you to the fact that it has come to Light that a member of the Forum is a biblioklepto. Lend the member nothing - not even your ears.
"This critter should never be taken too seriously."
If you have been paying any attention to my blog, then you know that Pantagathus has been plagued by weresquirrels. He has been trying to cultivate some rare species of flora, namely, daisies, in the wilderness called a garden in those parts. Simply put: he plants and waters; the squirrels munch and water. His Greekness finally had enough. He engaged the services of Sherlock Plopodopulous, and his brother Hercule Terraproctulos. They in turn hired the famous Cherokee Indian tracker, Ashley Wilkes. Tracked the varmints to P's friend's estate, Tara, habited by the infamous Grand Redneck, Rhett Butler. Hercule's and Sherlock's investigation concluded that Rhett had been starving the little tree rats, and then siccing them onto the wilderness for lunch. Very calmly, as is his wont, P decided to exact vengeance. He unearthed his ancient Greek Fire equipment, and charged it up. Ambled over to Rhett's place, and circumnavigated it with the gooey Greek stuff. Got the jalopy in the airy-way for good measure. When the so-called garage exploded as a consequence of the ammunition Rhett kept in store for the expected Yankee invasion, it startled the grits out of our hero. A good old fashioned blaze was the result. However, P did make one blunder. He stuck around to admire his handiwork. When the fire brigade arrived, they took note that P was smoking as a result of a minor mishap while engaged in the arson. His hair was also ablaze, so they watered him down, with the well water, and summoned the local carabinere. They hauled P off to the assizes where judge Beauregarde Roy Bean gave him six months on the georgia chain gang plus restitution, in kind, to the cavalier chevalier. Doesn't get much computer time, as electricity really hasn't reached those parts to any great degree. When they do use it, it's to fry some poor Yankee driver for 'speeding'. P will be cut loose soon, but he will have to devote much of his time rebuilding Rhett's bungalow.
Done with the permission of the contra party (Praebitorae).
"Hey, My Lady:
Actually, it's not very funny to me.
These sub-morons drive me to distraction. Yeah, lets kill all the Jews! Even the doctors who are keeping me alive! Even my neighbors! The ones I joke with, and have lunch with. And then there was my Grand Aunt, who may have been Jewish. Liberini, an orphan, who I loved as much as my Mother. Just great! We can do without all that the Jewish people have contributed to mankind. General Eisenhower and President Truman had those beastly, inhuman murder camps filmed for posterity. On that account, Gen. Eisenhower wouldn't accept Adm. Doernitz' surrender. I have a lot of whiskey in me now, so I'm not going to hold back. (Somehow, I can no longer use the word 'Jews'. It seems so deprecatory to me.)
That bastard, hitler, should have been strangled at birth. Kill people because of their religion, race, deformities or sexual proclivities? That bastard was a pervert of the worst kind. Some of my Jewish friend's parents served honorably in the German army of WWI. They were Germans and never deserved what those bastards did to them.
I am often sorry to say that I am a Christian, when I read of pogroms and ghettos. We didn't mind borrowing Jewish peoples' money though.
O! G_d, this is enough!
Try to contribute to the 'Gold' blog."
I hope it did good to throw it all out.
And of course you're right all the way, beeing a Habiruh myself I KNOW what you're talking about.(I don't use the term Jews. Even if the Habiruh are just a tinny little group)
The man's apparant stupidety and bleatnant ignorance was more the reason why I laughed about him.
From Nephele you might have heard that I happend to be a deaf mute a herritance that goes straith back to exactly those camps I have thus no love for Germans in general.
My granny was one of twins and captured in Normandy I need not tell you explecit where she was brought to....
There are good Germans ofcourse (my dad would say "Lets hang them on NEW ropes!"
If I am correct in the numbers about 12.500 Germans of Habiruh birth where decorated in W.W.1.
We must learn to forgive is a sentence often spoken at us, but the essence of being a Habiruh is to "remmember" becourse THAT'S what the word believe means in Hebrew!
It's hard to forgive if one (still!) see's the effects of what has been done in this dreadfull years by these dreadfull people.
Even I (2d generation) must fear not to give birth to a girl for she (3th) could easely inherit from me what I have!
Can I blame the young Germans of today? should I do onto them what I would not like done onto me? one would say no.
I have however understood that many young Germans still hang on and even romantisaise that piece of history often even denouncing many things to have happend.
This people we call the "forever yesterday's" there to be found in all kind off German forums and indeed in the I.R of wich I gave you a link (I thought you to be there chieff, remember?.)
You should absolutly NOT be ashamed beeing a Christian, wasn't Michael Angelo one ore Mother Theressa? not to forget my own dad no,its not the Relegion that shames (ore should) people its the thing people make of it thinking they know what God wanted or mend!
If youre heart is pure it matters nought what others do with that Religion for Adonai sees into yours and judges you for youre deeds disregarding the upinion of others.
Adonai doesn't gamble!
My Beautiful Lady:
Would you please allow me to put our two notes above into my blog? I will only use you name if you allow me. Those bastards should NEVER be forgotten! Or FORGIVEN. My Beautiful Lady, stupidity and ignorance are not to be laughed at. It should be condemned eternally.
Pleace do so ,I read the Blog and wrote a small piece to it.
Sometimes things do just take some time with me.
Those people won't be forgotten neither forgiven as we never fogave Pharao for holding us in Slavery or the Romans for bringing the Diasporra upon us.
In a Thousand years we'll still memmorate those killed by the Germans and the name of Hitler will never vanish from oure memmory.
The names of sibbelings of mine that died during my life time will never be forgotten nor the name of the one to blame the Nuhnt called Mengle!
Last year we had the satifaction off seeing my uncle robbing the Mengle family of a large part of Joseph Mengle's herritage (wich he had invested into there buisness in 1945/46)
Some,if late and far to less, iustice still can be found in this world but we have to fight for it and we can only fight the right way if we controlle oure feelings of hate and revenge how understandable they might be.
Eich ffrind chi (chi =more abt less formal than "ce" )
QUOTE(Moonlapse @ Sep 22 2007, 01:26 PM)
I doubt if a modern economy could exist without fiat money. The transaction amounts are much too great.
When the Spanish introduced New World gold to Europe, there was a great inflation!
QUOTE(Gaius Octavius @ Sep 23 2007, 12:24 PM)
QUOTE(Moonlapse @ Sep 22 2007, 01:26 PM)
I doubt if a modern economy could exist without fiat money.
You are absolutely right, and that is the THE problem. Actually, I should say modern war-driven economies.
The transaction amounts are much too great.
If a nation has a fixed currency standard and a certain amount of wealth, then all other amounts are relative to that... until you want to force a debt based monetary system in order to sped more money than is available.
When the Spanish introduced New World gold to Europe, there was a great inflation!
Of course. The supply of the actual commodity which has intrinsic value had increased. Paper money has no intrinsic value, whoever controls the supply has the ability to do what the Spanish did, but all that is involved is the allocation of credit, WITH INTEREST. The only limit they have is the point at which they have sucked out all the value that the original gold currency contained.
Moonlapse, are you advocating a commodity based monetary system?
"Bankers own the earth; take it away from them but leave them with the power to create credit, and, with a flick of the pen, they will create enough money to buy it all back again. Take this power away from them and all great fortunes like mine will disappear, and they ought to disappear, for then this world would be a happier and better world to live in. But if you want to be slaves of bankers and pay the cost of your own slavery, then let the bankers control money and control credit."
"I believe that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies. If the American people ever allow private banks to control the issue of their currency, first by inflation, then by deflation, the banks and corporations that will grow up around [the banks] will deprive the people of all property until their children wake-up homeless on the continent their fathers conquered. The issuing power should be taken from the banks and restored to the people, to whom it properly belongs."
"A great industrial nation is controlled by it's system of credit. Our system of credit is concentrated in the hands of a few men. We have come to be one of the worst ruled, one of the most completely controlled and dominated governments in the world--no longer a government of free opinion, no longer a government by conviction and vote of the majority, but a government by the opinion and duress of small groups of dominant men."
"In the absence of the gold standard, there is no way to protect savings from confiscation through inflation. ... This is the shabby secret of the welfare statists' tirades against gold. Deficit spending is simply a scheme for the confiscation of wealth. Gold stands in the way of this insidious process. It stands as a protector of property rights. If one grasps this, one has no difficulty in understanding the statists' antagonism toward the gold standard."
I would never advocate a fiat monetary system, because it will always be used for its capability to extract wealth and control. Why do you think the system was implemented right before the first World War? Why do you think the dollar is dropping against other currencies? What do you think is happening in the Middle East? We are trying to prop up the dollar with the commodity of oil, because the dollar is becoming worthless. If the dollar becomes worthless, then what happens?
M. Porcious Cato:
In his new book, Greenspan repeats his views about the overwhelming benefits of the gold standard for a stable money supply. I'll see if I can find the original quote because it's quite revealing.
I should add that a gold standard doesn't mean that people would have to actually carry out transactions in gold. All that matters is that bank notes are redeemable in gold.
I would love to see a return to the gold standard, with the control of money given back to Congress and the selection of Senators given back to the states, as prescribed in the Constitution.
Basically, repeal all the screw-ups made in 1913.
If bank notes are redeemable in gold, there is no need for a national currency.
From Greenspan's new book:
pp. 480-481: "I have always harbored a nostalgia for the gold standard's inherent price stability--a stable currency was its primary goal. But I've long since acquiesced in the fact that the gold standard does not readily accommodate the widely accepted current view of the appropriate functions of government--in particular the need for government to provide a social safety net. The propensity of Congress to create benefits for constituents without specifying the means by which they are to be funded has led to deficit spending in every fiscal year since 1970, with the exception of the surpluses of 1998 to 2001 generated by the stock market boom. The shifting of real resources required to perform such functions has imparted a bias toward inflation. In the political arena, the pressure to make low-interest-rate credit generally available and to use fiscal measures to boost employment and avoid the unpleasantness of downward adjustments in nominal wages and prices has become nearly impossible to resist. For the most part, the American people have tolerated the inflation bias as an acceptable cost of the modern welfare state. There is no support for the gold standard today, and I see no likelihood of its return. [...]
We know that the average inflation rate under the gold and earlier commodity standards was essentially zero. At the height of the gold standard between 1870 and 1913, just prior to World War I, the cost of living in the United States, as calculated by the Federal Reserve Bank of New York, rose by a scant 0.2 percent per annum on average. From 1939 to 1989, the year of the fall of the Berlin Wall and before the onset of the post-cold war wage-price disinflation, the CPI rose nine-fold, or 4.5 percent per year. The reflects the fact that there is no inherent anchor in a fiat money regime. What constitutes its "normal" inflation rate is a function solely of a country's culture and history. In the United States, modest amounts of inflation are politically tolerated, but inflation rates close to double digits create a political storm. Indeed, Richard Nixon felt the political need to impose wage and price controls in 1971 even though the inflation rate was below 5 percent. Thus, while political considerations mean that the gold standard can be ruled out as a way to suppress a forthcoming rise in inflationary pressures, ironically, politics driven by an irate populace just might accomplish the same purpose."
What follows is a very scary scenario regarding the combination of the collapse of social security and currently high inflation, requiring a rise in the interest rate in the double digits and a "return of populist, anti-Fed rhetoric, which was lain dormant since 1991."
Greenspan's book is definitely worth a read.
How would a gold standard work? Assume that a bank has 100 ounces of gold (capital and depositor's gold). How would it go about making loans (and protect itself against 'runs')? Would it be a gyro bank?
QUOTE(Gaius Octavius @ Oct 1 2007, 06:44 AM)
How would a gold standard work? Assume that a bank has 100 ounces of gold (capital and depositor's gold). How would it go about making loans (and protect itself against 'runs')? Would it be a gyro bank?
Typically, banks made loans and conducted business via bank notes that were redeemable in gold, which were kept in deposit. This is really no different from the fiat currency that we all expect banks to disburse on demand. Then, as now, there was a short-term risk of runs on the banks, which banks dealt with then, as now, by borrowing from other banks. Of course, the cost of a panic isn't trivial, but the benefits of stable currency are well worth it.
Is there any limit to this expansion? Do you think that one could conduct Wall Street's business today and how?
Once there were Gold Certificates issued by the Treasury or Fed (no longer remember) prior to the great Depression. They were in circulation. Didn't stop the Great Deflation.
The Federal Reserve used (?) to balance check clearance balances with special Gold Certificates. Oddly enough, those districts losing Certificates would find themselves in economic trouble.
QUOTE(Gaius Octavius @ Oct 1 2007, 11:58 AM)
Is there any limit to this expansion? Do you think that one could conduct Wall Street's business today and how?
Absolutely there is a limit to the expansion of gold and thus to the expansion of prices. If we were to go back to the gold standard (at $733 = 1 gold dollar), there would certainly have to be a change in denomination, but there's no reason that one couldn't trade any number (or denominations) of proxies for gold reserves.
Once there were Gold Certificates issued by the Treasury or Fed (no longer remember) prior to the great Depression. They were in circulation. Didn't stop the Great Deflation.
The gold standard doesn't protect against every deflationary pressure known to man. Obviously, if the sum total of goods triples overnight, the gold value of each of those goods will decline.
Gaius, here's some related reading on the Depression from a gold standard perspective, if you are curious:
There's a link to a full PDF text beneath the title.
I was sitting cross legged in front of the radio. My elbows on my knees and my chin perched on my palms. I was listening to the Lone Ranger. I was galloping on Silver and plugging owlhoots. My reverie was rudely interrupted when I heard the two most odious words in the English language - Thamiss and school - all in the same sentence! Thamiss has plagued me all my life. Somehow it comes natural to humans. I think that it is the first word my grand-niece ever uttered. It follows me like a curse. It has always meant that I was in big trouble.
I made enquiry of my loved ones as to the meaning of this evil omen. Thamiss, you're going to kindergarten. Oh, yeah!, when did this come about? Did you consult me? Do I get a vote? Yes, Thamiss, you are going to Catholic school. What? Have you lost all sense of propriety? Those nuns feed little tykes to the devil. This is not for me. Look, you keep saying to me that I'll never amount to anything but the guy who rinses off the dishes - not even the dish washer. So what's the point of school? I know everything I need to know for a life of crime. Leave things as they are and stop interrupting my programs. The Green Hornet is next.
A few days later I went to sleep dreaming of a glorious day to come. Came morning, the evil word Thamiss was shouted. Get up; take a shower. Why, was I working in the mines? Go away. I need my rest. I'm only a kid. Get out of bed or the hand of doom strikes. Performed the required ablutions and then was confronted with the silliest set of clothing I ever saw. Knickers! Long socks! Eton collar! Tie! Jacket! White shirt! Brown and white saddle shoes! Do we have a visitor? Is this garb for my brother? Am I going to kindergarten or Yale? It's for you Thamiss. You're kidding. I'll never live this down. I'll be a laughing stock. How can I steal comics from Epstein? The cops will nail me 1,2,3. Thaaaamissss, get moving. This is a conspiracy. You know that this stuff is coming back shredded. Then you are going to practice karate on me.
Now, I am decked out in his silly uniform; my Mother has a firm grasp on my hand and we are off to hell. Ma, there's a bug, I'm going to step on it. That's what you think. Look, a nickel. I can use it. Tomorrow. Can I play on the monkey bars one last time? You can, but you may not! Rats!
We had a small park to walk through before we hit hell. One minor point before we continue. I had wild flaxen hair, surrounding a cowlick, that always looked as if it had exploded. This made it easy for adults to grab a hand full and yank my head around. This was not a secret to my Mother. She experimented as we ambled. Got to hell and was duly enrolled by Mother Superior and ceremoniously introduced at the dungeon. The girls were situate at the window. Oh!, so cute. Ribbons and bows in their hair. Played so nice with the blocks. The little monsters. To my right were my buddies. To my left some kids that we didn't know. Each gang glowered at the other. Experience taught that this did not bode well for any concerned. I gave my Mother a head start and then bolted. I beat her home by a long shot. But there was no one to play with. Only some cocooned urchins who could only dribble. Mother soon put in an appearance. I'll leave the rest to your informed imagination. After a good night's recuperation, the previous days exercise was repeated - with a pork pie hat! This time I sat with my pals. As usual, the girls were cackling. The two gangs sat in absolute silence, glowering at each other, mayhem bent. Sister took a hike. A few moments passed and the gangs were at each others throats. Collars flying. Shirts shredded. Jackets torn to rags. Who was strangling who with the ties. Somebody was trying to rip my knickers off while I was biting some guy's nose. Of a sudden, silence commenced to reign. Mother Superior had put in a cameo appearance. All four feet nothing of a woman dressed in black with starched head dress and bib. She wielded a short pointer. The boys were ordered to line up and to put their palms up. She worked that pointer like a woman possessed! Ouch! Ouch! Owww! Our hands were of no assistance for some good time. Our names were collected for further proceedings in the near future.
Ah, the joy of ones first school days.
Put me down! Let me go!, you wild, weird, wicked woemens! Stop petting me! I'm not a doggie! Quit kissing me! You're embarrassing me. My pals are laughing at me.
This is how that scene came about. During WWII, the traffic on our street was like an unending snake. Men had to get to the docks. The cross street had practically no traffic. In the event of a crash, the men simply got out of their jalopies and punched each other out. Case closed. Some politico decided that a traffic light would be to some advantage. It would also take away our entertainment.
So that you will understand, there are two more items to reveal. We were good little ragamuffins. We were always helpful. One day we relieved a parky of the odious duty of caring for a basketball. We hid it in the bushes, as bringing it home would have resulted in some searching questions and the attendant thrashing. In those days, Mothers used to take their precious cares out for an airing in the morning. They would take to the benches and commence babbling.
And so it was the day after our good deed. We suddenly discovered the basketball in the bushes and proclaimed to all that it was an act of God. Naturally, we commenced to play with it. Kicking it at each other seemed like a good idea. One of the guys sent the ball flying over my head and into the mudgutter. Not at all concerned about the 'snake', I went charging after it. There came about a screeching of brakes; the fetid burning of rubber; and the noisy locking of bumpers. These drivers became highly agitated. They exited their piles and started to jump up and down on the bumpers to disengage their buggies. They also were intent on providing some entertainment. Then they saw me. The entertainment was off. Some of the ugliest words - in all sorts of languages. I was appalled! Suggested that they go to confession. And also flipped them a Neapolitan salute. (No, not the bird - much too vulgar. This is an open palm flung into the air.) They understood and were besides themselves. They charged. By now the Mothers were alerted and alarmed. One of theirs in peril! They in turn counter charged. The behemoths were not about to tackle a gaggle of nasty woemens. They retreated.
Then the scene first related came about. When it was ascertained that no damage had been done, the fun began."How many times have I told you not to run into the street?" (I don't know - I didn't count.) "Wait till your Father gets you." (I'd rather face him than you.) Like a school of fish, all the Mothers had at me at once. Hair pulling, kicks, punches. They finally wore themselves out and let me go. Needless to say I was somewhat groggy. My buddies were in hysterics.
Oh, well, tomorrow will bring another adventure and a trip into the world of communal thrashing. Hope it's not me this time.
Burial Notice - Mc Inerney
Sent: Mon 9/17/07 5:58 PM
To: All Mac's Friends
At 1:00 PM on Thursday, 11 October 2007 Lieutenant Colonel Bernard Michael Mc Inerney will be buried at Arlington National Cemetery, Arlington, Virginia. It will be a Graveside Cremate Service. Full honors will be observed (band, escort, caisson, body bearers, firing party.) One body bearer will carry his first wife
These Bible thumping neo-con job artist turkeys really need a lot of hard work on their heads. Help me! One may destroy human embryos but not use them for stem cell research?
When told that God is not mentioned in the Constitution, a block headed retard replied: "Wrongo! The date, Anno Domini!"
You might remember the 'Mac' of an earlier Journal who was commander of the failed raid on the Coast Guard bank.
Mac was graduated from school as a 2nd Lieutenant in the U.S. Army. He became a reconnaissance pilot and was sent off to Viet Nam. I was supposed to follow as a combat engineer, but lucked out.
The following is a letter Capt. Mac [b.] sent to me in 1963.
"13 Jan. 63
Greetings from a hospital bed in worn torn Viet Nam. Nope. No bullet holes. No V.D., no rare tropical disease, but chicken pox!! Yep - 17 KIAs last month, 42 WIAs, 5 MIAs & I come down with chicken pox. Kind of embarassing but nonetheless restful. Also gives me a chance to catch up on my mail. This is the first time that I've had two days off in a row since coming to Viet Nam. It's also the first time I've been able to go to sleep at night and know I'll sleep safely. Son, if you own any stocks having anything to do with property in Viet Nam, sell them. I don't think the commies will honor your stock receipts. I'm not saying that we are losing the war; (that would be sedition), I 'm just saying that we're winning it slower than the other side. The Viet Cong (V.C.) are going to be tough to beat.
When I first came to V.N. I was stationed with Special Forces at a town called Pleiku in the central highlands. At that time the V.C. would shoot at me with home made rifles or even throw rocks but we've made improvements since then. Now they use 40 mm so we're certainly developing and civilizing a portion of the country anyhow. It's my humble opinion and I certainly can't prove it but I believe Special Forces are the only bastards fighting this war. In earnest that is.
Anyhow, I got orders to leave beautiful Pleiku and go to a coastal town (Tuy Hoa) where I managed to unpack one morning, flew 5 1/2 hours for MAAG there and then received orders the same night to move down here to the Delta. For one reason or another, the powers to be saw fit to move the 9th Rep. of V.N. (ARNV) Div.to a town called Saolea[?] and I was to command an L-19 section in support of them. The nearest airfield being at Vinh Long, that is where my trusty section abodes, consisting of 3 L-19's, each equipped with one crew chief and one pilot, one radio operator, and myself.
Military red tape being what it is, I find I belong to the 73rd Aviation Co. at Nha Trang, under the operational control of the Delta Avn Bn at Can Tho; attached to the 114th Air Mobile Co. at Vinh Long; in Direct Support of the American Advisors with the 9th, but I live MAAG Tm 52, who are advisors to the civil guard and Special Defense Corps of the Vinh Long Province Chief (a political appointee) with rank of Lt/Col. This gives you an idea of how the war is being won.
Anyhow, the mighty 9th[ARVN] has been bloodied several times in the Delta and the papers say they are winning battles. So who am I to disagree, never getting closer than 200 feet to the battle lines.. Generally speaking, the ARVN ground pounder is a gutty little hell bent for leather scrapper who can whip his weight in wildcats, but he appears leaderless. In almost every operation I've witnessed, the V.C. are contacted, the ARVN (whether superior or not) call for artillery and fall back and wait until enough units come up to surround the V.C. But this may take anywhere from 6 hrs to 3 days. And always, always, there is a hole left for the V.C. to escape. It's damn frustrating to call the American advisor. Let me give you a dialogue:
Me> 9 Bonus throw charlie, this is Advance Guard 86, over.
Ground> 86, this is Charlie, go.
Me> 86 here, approximately 76 V.C. leaving tree line and moving south along the beach toward the swamp. Request fire from LCVP's (boats) offshore, over.
Gd> Roger 86, this is Charlie, eh, how do you know they're V.C. over.
Me> 86 here. Because they're running away from you, and shooting at me over.
Gd> Roger 86, request you make a low pass for confirmation, over.
Me> 86- Stand by...Charlie, I got low enough to hear them shooting, made four of them duck. They're dressed in black and shooting at me. Request Arty or Naval fire, over.
Gd> Eh 86 - Are you sure they're not our advance party, over.
Me> Charlie, 86 here. Would your advance party shoot at me, over.
Gd> (after some delay) Roger 86, stand by to have your observer adjust Arty, over. (I roger)
Me> (Time passes) Charlie, 86 - They're almost in the swamp, better get them while we can. (No answer)
Me> (Much time has passed) Charlie, 86 - the lead elements are in the swamp, over.
Gd> Roger 86, stand by, we've called for an air strike that'll be here in 4 hours, out.
All this time I've been circling perhaps 2 VC companies which were supposed to be surrounded and was just about out of gas. Imagine it - almost 4 hours over the enemy and didn't get a single round near them. Oh, well, maybe the VC will give up.
I've just reread this and there's a lot in here that could hang me, so don't spread it around.
Just once, I wish I could be flying over an American unit so that when fired upon, I could get hits on target within five minutes. It would make me feel so good.
Well this is getting long winded so I'd better ring off. Pardon the writing but it "taint" up to snuff lying in bed with a fever. Be sure to give my warmest regards to your parents and don't be afraid to write, I'll answer it.
I used to laugh when I read this letter, now I am crying like a baby.
Lt. Col. Mac, USA, passed to Glory on 30 April 2007 at about 2 PM, MDST of bone cancer. Dormit in Pace. We'll knock back a couple of shots together - soon.