The Republican I’m For

     I’m for the one who knows the cost of war includes taking care of ALL the veterans that war will wound, and will see that without fail or hassle, they ALL get all the care they need. Forever. The one who wants a significantly higher national minimum wage and will say so and fight to make it so. Who demands equal pay for women. That courageous Republican who will lead the campaign to restore Glass-Steagall and break up the too-big-to-fail demons in our midst. The one who will get Congress to set medical marijuana standards for the whole country so veterans and other patients with a medical need can travel safely anywhere with their medicine.

      I’m for that stellar Republican who hates big government (and small government) messing with women’s reproductive rights. Who hates big government providing welfare…for wealthy individuals and corporations. The one who hates our national debt…enough to slam shut the doors of all those off shore tax havens. The adult who says flying two or three executives hundreds of miles in the company jet so they can play golf at exclusive links, burdens paying customers and should not be a deductible business expense. The one who insists laws be passed to exclude excessive executive compensation from company deductibility.

      I’m for the Republican who will lead the reform of America’s justice system, and who will prevent government (and corporate America) from filling its coffers by preying on the poor. The heroic Republican who will conserve the vision of our founders and restore the separation of Church and State in our one nation under God.

      For s/he is the one who will provide much needed oxygen to the American Dream.

The Trickle Down Standard

            According to some politicians, America’s gouging of corporations is taxing our country into third-rate producer status.  However, America’s corporate tax is providing the smallest portion of our tax revenue in history.  Should we blame foreign tax havens?  Seems like I read recently that Wal Mart had billions of dollars of income in Luxembourg, a place where they have NO stores.  And don’t forget all the companies whose home offices are now in tax paradises instead of here where the money comes from.  Corporations are reportedly just drowning in taxes and regulations.  And some politicians say, with great sincerity, that the fix is to reduce those taxes and restore the American Dream.

            Meanwhile, every stadium, arena, performance venue, and other public facility supported by taxpayers, but bearing a corporate name or logo, is unmistakable evidence that we are not taxing corporations enough.  They have enough to give huge (tax deductible) civic gifts, but not enough money to make things or create jobs.  Sort of puts the lie to the spin masters who want to restore America to the days of the trickle-down standard.  By the way, with our current egregious income inequality in America, how’s that trickle-down concept working for you?  Theoretically, it should be much easier now for you to make ends meet and build a solid middle-class future for yourself and your family.  Is that working?   

            Around here, we think it takes incredible cheek to pump such nonsense into air we are already struggling to keep clean.

The Memphis Spa For Important Dogs

            I finally had to do something about our dog, Lothar.  He is a giant—a cross between a Great Dane and a Mastiff that we lovingly shorten to Great Mass—about 174 pounds.  He should have come with a saddle.  Lothar’s problem is that he lays around all day eating biscuits and watching soaps on TV (He also likes the Humane Society bit on the noon news). 

          It doesn’t help that he loves everybody, including the mail carrier.  He’s even nice to Jehova’s Witnesses when they dare to join him on our porch.  And one time, when a burglar decided to turn himself in, the police apprehended him sitting by our front door, cheerfully scratching our docile drooling dog behind the ears.  Lothar chases nothing!

          Well, something had to be done.  Lothar’s muscle tone was deteriorating.  I would have exercised him myself, but a human can’t walk Lothar unless he or she is on a horse or a motorcycle, neither of which are luxuries I favor.  And I am much too big to ride Lothar.

          So off we went, a comic 21^st Century version of Turner And Hooch, to visit Chez Pup™, The Spa For Important Dogs™.  Six weeks and $6000 later, Lothar came home fit as a timber wolf.  My only concern is his new habit of curling his lip in an Elvis-like smile that even frightens our house plants.  So I’m buying better biscuits, but every time I give him some, I could swear he tries to say, “Thank-you-very-much!”   

Bainwarble’s Three-bread Walk

           Bainwarble always keeps a folding wire grocery cart in his Yugo for those odd carrying chores that crop up on road outings. It’s handy for getting supplies for our chef, but its purpose is unlimited. Two hundred pounds of sugar for his alley winery. A chainsaw for a camper remodeling project. (The chainsaw now hangs inside the privy in case he ever has trouble getting the door open.) Road kill…

           He came dragging the cart in one day, loaded with the flaming red pot off the top of his Yugo, the spare tire, the passenger seat, and a dead skunk with the grimacing coyote still attached. “I need some tomato juice,” he mumbled.

           “Get that out of here,” screamed Ducky Bumps! “What have you been doing?” We followed Glassshard to the terrace. A nice breeze made continuing the conversation possible.

           “What is the past tense of Yugo,” the exhausted butler asked?

           “You went,” I offered brightly.

           “Yugo went,” he said, collapsing into a lawn chair.

           “I think that tree stump over there would be better for you,” I said, “You’d be more comfortable on that stump.” Ducky Bumps just shook her head.

           “Where’s the Yugo,” she asked?

           “I tipped it into the ditch when the cart was full,” he muttered. “It’s about 11 miles west of town.” Ducky Bumps disappeared inside and returned, handing me three loaves of white bread. I held my breath and took them to Bainwarble.

           “At 3 calories a foot, that’s about three loaves of bread,” she said. “Will you be changing jobs???”

Bainwarble and the FBI

           Bainwarble, exhibiting well-known Welsh prudence, agreed to stop carrying his gun during his Neighborhood Stop and Frisk (N.S.A.F.) sorties. Still, the fun continued: one night we got a call from the FBI office downtown about Glassshard obstructing a federal investigation.

           It seems he had encountered a stranger lurking by the fence at the Marijuana Growers Association Gardens. He immediately suspected a criminal undertaking to steal product from the local economy. He collared the hapless evil-doer, and by the probing 1600-lumen light of his N.S.A.F. crime buster flashlight, found a belligerent federal gumshoe.

           “Kill that light and identify yourself,” the stranger scream-whispered, “I’m FBI !”

           “I don’t care if you’re Facebook, Twitter or Google Maps,” retorted Bainwarble! “What are you doing?!!”

           Hence, Glassshard’s arrest and another 3:00 AM phone call. Ducky Bumps and I looked up from our graphic novels, and she reached for the phone, frowning. When she hung up, she strapped on her Gloc and said, “Come on, we’re going to get our butler!”

We screeched to a halt outside the Federal Building, doused the off-road lights, and stomped down the hall to the FBI office. Ducky Bumps didn’t knock—we walked right in. The startled staff looked at her hip and someone yelled, “Gun!”

           “Relax geniuses,” she said, “I left it in the truck. You can’t bring guns into this building!”

           “Oh, it’s you!” exclaimed Senior Agent Congers. “I guess we can skip the formalities with your butler.” It always amazes me how nobody wants to get Ducky Bumps pissed off.

Unions Are Not The Problem

          For you Gen-Xers, Y-ers, Millennials, and all the rest of us Americans, hard working and hard pressed, here’s a news flash. Unions are not the problem. The “Agitators-with-the-answers” would like you to think so, but it’s just a trick.

           Here’s what unions do. They use the influence created by people who may act in unison, to motivate employers to pay a living wage and provide a safe work environment and benefits. They do it by banding together people with a common cause. They negotiate. Sometimes they walk out. Sometimes they merely inform.

Meanwhile, people have spent lots of YOUR money on campaigns to convince you that unions are your enemy. It’s a lie. Negotiated union benefits also help non-union workers, and supervisors get better wages and treatment. And all those wages multiply as they spread through our communities and strengthen our economy. They buy coffee and shoes and cars and houses and services from people like you.

Is there really someone out there who is so slick or so fat with cash that he or she can buy off or fast-talk away your grasp on reality? Make you think prosperity only comes if all the money goes to wealthy “job creators?” Do you really want less money available to create the demand that keeps you employed? That’s right, it’s demand that creates jobs.

           Around here, we know when unions get money for working people, everybody benefits—it bubbles up. When it goes to corporations and capitalists, it trickles not.

Hoss Studd on The Senators’ Letter

          “I always enjoy visitin’ with ya, R.R. Mighty good coffee too, ‘n I ain’t just bayin’ in the moonlight.” Hoss took another gulp.

           “Hoss, now that you’re here, you know there’s a big controversy over that open letter those 47 Senators sent to Iran. Why do you think they wanted to embarrass Obama so badly?”

           “You got to feed that brain o’ yours better, podner. Obama’s ego was jes’ collateral damage. They don’t care, at least in this deal, about makin’ him look stupid. This deal was about oil!”

           “No, I’m talking about the letter saying Obama’s promises would be cancelled and worthless.”

           “So’m I. Seems those Senators wanted to scuttle the negotiations, and yes they’re talking about nuclear enrichment and all, but you’re forgettin’ something. If the negotiations succeed, the sanctions get lifted. And that means another one, or one and a half million gallons of Iranian oil get put into an already overloaded market. And the price takes a nosedive into the outhouse.

           “Wow! I never thought of that!”

           “Well think about it, R.R. The folks who own those Senators jes’ don’t want that to happen. It would do a little climate change on their profits. Make fracking too expensive too. Besides, what choice did they have? Them Senators, and their backers, decided years ago to stomp all over Obama’s cook fire. You’ve been watchin’ ain’t ya?”

           “Well, he’s been under a pretty consistent storm of attack,” I offered.

           “Genuine non-stop no-hidey-hole swirlin’ bear scat storm, podner. Genuine!”