Bainwarble’s Little Acre

          I recently noticed Bainwarble weeding and sprinkling around a spot in the yard. When I went to investigate, I discovered a foot-high clump of marijuana, apparently thriving on his attention. “I talk to it two or three times a day,” he said. “Sometimes I sing classic country songs to it, under my breath.”

           I’m game I decided, and rendered a few bars of “Cowboys they are ladies men alright…” but then I noticed Glassshard frowning and shaking his head. “WHAT,” I demanded!??

           “You have to stop! You’ll make it sick! It only understands Welsh! It was a gift from God, dropped by some bird, so I sing to it in God’s own language, which of course is Welsh.”

           Ducky Bumps and I were returning from Colorado days later when, as we relaxed at a rest stop, I told her about “Bainwarble’s little acre.”

           “Are you going to turn him in,” she wondered?

           “Spwffsss’ I sputtered! “You’re joking. He’ll never find a useful banker in jail! No, I’m going to help him harvest.” Just then an Edsel with a “Nixon” bumper sticker screeched to a halt nearby. The driver raced into the restroom carrying something green. In less than a second, a Highway Patrolman ran in after him, and hauled him out in handcuffs, “groceries” and all. I looked at Ducky Bumps.

           “Don’t do it, NO,” She winced! She shook her head from side to side, but I said it anyway:

“There but for the grass of God go I !”

The Business Bonus Boondoggle Act

            Our patriotic friends in the House of Representatives have turned the Jobs For America Act into the biggest business bonus boondoggle of the decade.  Here's why: Every couple of years lately, Congress has re-authorized a bonus depreciation provision  supposedly helpful in mitigating the Great Recession.  It allows businesses to accelerate depreciation on assets that would normally take years to reach zero.  This is not a cheap thrill for taxpayers, but the idea (allegedly) was to spur business expansion.

            Congress' own Congressional Research Service has told these patriots that this action does not help create business investment or jobs.  But their lofty intellects can't grasp factual information contrary to their beliefs.  When the corporate donations come rolling in, it's hard not to be a believer!  Instead, they passed several measures last year to permanently extend bonus depreciation and otherwise line business' pockets. Fortunately their attempts went nowhere in the Senate.

            So, this year our patriotic House friends tacked permanent conversion, plus a diaper-load of other expensive goodies for business, on to the Jobs For America Act.  Facts indicate the provisions will not create jobs.  Instead they will create bigger federal deficits.  But, clinging to their corporate coat-tails, our House patriots slammed it to the taxpayers again, to the tune of half a trillion dollars over the next ten years.  

            Around Here we think the Act should be called The Business Bonus Boondoggle Act, at least until the bonus depreciation and other wasteful parts go into the trash where they belong.  

Bainwarble Brings A Friend

            Wales is a long way from New York, where the Cardiff giant hoax (a trick not lost on P.T. Barnum) was perpetrated years ago.  Our Butler, 6’-11” tall Glassshard Bainwarble, hails from Cardiff the former.  We don’t always understand his ways.  He has been busily building a canvas enclosure on top of his camper in the alley.  I expected it was some kind of beer garden where he could quaff and trumpet to his heart’s content, hidden from the neighbors. 

He told us today that he wants to bring his girlfriend, Siobhan, for a visit.  She would stay on the second floor of his (now) two-story camper.  He says not to worry, she has her own health care. Siobhan, which by Gaelic linguistic magic is approximately pronounced Shivawn, used to be a steamfitter, but now assembles automobiles.  We couldn’t wait to get a look at the girlfriend of our Cardiff giant. 

Presently Siobhan arrived, but we didn’t see her for days—Bainwarble, we thought, was being shy.  Meanwhile, neighbors, lots of them, took to walking the alley.  Crowds of guys loitered in lawn chairs.  Something was up!

            Then we met her—a ginger haired Miss Ireland of a thing who looked like if she ever did any steam fitting, it was done by batting her eyelashes.  She explained that with automotive robots, it was all programming and buttons, and she was very good with buttons.

            "Bless my buttons," I told Ducky Bumps.  "Cardiff seems to be the very seat of surprises."

The Spoils of War

            Is it just me, or does it seem like war is the principal force that perpetuates whatever is being warred upon.  Take WW I, the “War to end all wars.”  It didn’t.  The treatment of the vanquished was so harsh, that combined with economic hard times, and of course bankers, it gave birth to WW II. 

            How about the War on Poverty?  We have spent $20+ trillion subsidizing Americans’ cheapskate employers, but the “market poverty” rate (calculated without government tax credits or other benefits) went from 26 or 27% in 1967 to 28.7% in 2012.  The greed of employers, the omissions and commissions of Congress, and of course bankers, have perpetuated and grown poverty.

            The War on Drugs?  Does ANYBODY really believe that is working?  The lure of fantastic profits, caused partly by the fruitful illegality of drugs, and of course bankers, has made illicit drug trafficking a growth industry.  Didn’t anybody remember Prohibition?

            World War II defeated an inhuman cadre of criminals.  Like many of America’s wars, it was necessary.  Mostly, today’s inhuman criminals (now there are more of them) have to be more circumspect.  Meanwhile breathtaking worldwide poverty, and the lunacy of empire, give them ample targets and recruits.

            The War on Terror?  Ask yourself how THAT’S going.  Terrorism, because of zealots, inhuman criminal manipulators, widespread poverty, and of course bankers, is thriving.

            Around here, we think the real spoils of war are the humane things we don’t do, to combat the causes of human suffering.  War spoils that. 

Wiley Stinks, Philosopher Chef

          Chef Stinks and I were in the kitchen sharing some sort of pate he had fashioned from goose fat, seasonings, and an unknown meat. Bainwarble burst into the room in his purple waistcoat, wearing sleeve garters and latex gloves. He was carrying a garbage bag and had a spray bottle of air freshener dangling at his pocket. He glanced at the table, screwed up his nose and grunted, “Oh! I thought I had forgotten to empty the trap behind the stove. I see the smell is coming from another culinary catastrophe, Wiley.”

           “Well, we have to do SOMETHING with the things the lady of the house shoots, Glass-shard.” Wiley always pointedly pronounces Bainwarble's first name as two separate words.

           It's a blessing and a curse, I thought, having a crippled sense of smell due to all those sinus surgeries. From the unpleasant look on Bainwarble's face, I judged that at this moment I was enjoying a blessing.

           “Some day she may accidentally shoot you,” Stinks continued. “I've been thinking if one minds the prevailing winds, you might make a good scarecrow for the garden!”

           “No need,” retorted the Welsh giant, “Since you've arrived, they all come to the kitchen window and faint dead away.” He grinned and sat down as I pointed to an empty chair. “Deal me some crackers,” he said, “and a non-lethal dose of that pate.”

           “No worries, Mate,” Wiley said in a heavy accent. He brushed the underside of his nose with his forefinger and added, “If it kills you it'll make you stronger!”