Monday, December 31, 2012
All that to say this...when owning a gun makes me an outlaw, I'll not worry about the breaking of any additional laws to use it in the protection of myself, or those I love, against an outlaw government coming to take it. Being a student of history, I know what happens next to those who have given up their right to protect themselves.
So when the decision to keep my gun has been made, in spite of an "executive order", made by a rogue administration to confiscate, it follows I'll no longer consider myself under the authority of the asshats that support it, and the intent will have already been established as to whether I'll use it in my defense.
In conclusion, if you've chosen to join forces with those who intend to take my gun, and the freedom it represents from me, in spite of the Constitution that declares it my inalienable right to protect myself, I'll not concern myself with pondering the distinction of whether you are still my countryman. To mix my metaphores, I'll quit and speak my own piece before you can fire me. Molen Labe
Friday, December 28, 2012
As I've stated in earlier posts, guns are extensions of our persona's...he's got some nice ones, and as you'll read in the words ahead, he's not about to give his up any faster than I will....
I told him not to keep all that savvy to himself...and he hasn't...read on.
So I'm watching the news and listening to some liberal, candy assed, big mouth, girly man go on about how I don't need my guns. About how people in general don't need guns. About how most burglars don't enter occupied homes, they typically only enter empty ones. As if our only problem in this country was petty thieves!
This kind of stupid is everywhere these days! So you morons who believe this kind of crap, take comfort in this...they most likely won't use guns to exterminate you. What they'll do is save their bullets for the thinkers. They'll save them for those of us who have the ability to reason and pose a genuine threat to their agenda. The rest of you candy asses will be pushed like sheep into the most economical demise divisible.
But dumb dumbs, put this in your pipe and smoke it....the stupid will NOT do my thinking and decision making....nor will they tell me I can't be a man and protect my family by whatever means necessary.
Everyone I personally know is maintaining their composure during this liberal shit storm in the best interest of peace....but growing increasingly agitated.
You liberal candy asses are poking at a sleeping lion....and when he wakes up, he's gonna be pissed.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
I was born in Phoenix Arizona in '59. In '64 mom and dad divorced and we moved to Oregon where mom and her new hubby bought a few dozen acres on which we raised, broke and stabled quarters horses. I learned to ride on my own and my brother and I spent hours in the hills of western Oregon on horseback, on foot, camping and packing out. Guns were a primary part of that upbringing. We learned to handle, shoot and care for those guns just like we did the horses we rode. I've never lost my love, and respect, for either.
I left home in '77 after graduating high school and moved back to Phoenix where my dad lived. After a year I realized that the city wasn't for me. I had burned some bridges and going back to Oregon wasn't in the cards, so I joined the Marines. Because of enlisting in a non-conflict era, I ended up spending four years in a boot camp environment. My job there? Amongst other things, teaching weapons culture & nomenclature. I taught recruits how to break down, service and re-assemble the M16 and the Colt .45.
I left the Marines in '85. But the Marines never left me. Nor did my love of the western way of life. During the next few years, my brother and I would spend many a day and night, moving about in the desert on more modern day "horses" if you will. Four wheel drives and motorcycles got us farther, faster. But we still wore the hats, and pistols were the tool of the day.
I had a favorite in those days. It was a Uberte .357 Magnum. Very rare, it was a single action six shooter manufactured by Italian maker Uberte who sent 600 of them to the U.S. in '28 as potential side arms for cavalry officers. They never took because the Colt .45 1911 came on the scene hard and boxed them out. But it was a fine piece. It broke my heart years later when I lost it to a break in. My point in mentioning it is that pistol spent more time warm from by body temp than my wife.
Over the years that's mostly been the case. These days it's a Springfield Armory V-10 1911 .45ACP.
I picked it up several years ago when I entered a local BLET program. I was working on a Private Investigators license and figured the law enforcement training would be a good place to start. My original intention was to get into private security investigations and threat assessment. Somewhere along the way after graduating the program and getting certification to be a police officer, but never exercising the endorsement, a Bail Bond license and fugitive recovery business got under my feet.
I did that several years before a near miss made me stop to smell some daisy's before I turned up under them. My Marine Corps, BLET and personal skills training stood me in good stead several times over those years, but I figured somewhere along the way odds would pop up against me. Though the incident I'm fixing to describe didn't have much or anything to do with my occupation at the time, the sheer odds of a bad encounter made me juke a different direction. I'm still in the private security business, though a bit more civilized now than then.
I mentioned the western side of me to explain that, from time to time, I still enjoy wearing my Charlie One Horse felt sombrero. Living in North Carolina these days, baseball caps are more the style for equestrians, but I never gained a flavor for them while wearing my boots. The kids in the neighborhood got a big kick out of the cowboy hat and took to calling me Garth shortly after we moved in.
In the summer of 2004, late on a weekend night, I was waiting for my daughter to come home from a date. She was pushing curfew and I was sitting on the front porch in a fine state of pisstivity. She eventually married the boy so I'll have to say he survived the night. They make songs about stuff like that but this was real life.
Like always I was packing. I have several handguns which I change out from time to time depending on the circumstances. That night I had been at my church with some of the men so my carry was on the lite side. I had a Bersa .380. It's kind of a Walther PPK James Bond type 9mm knockoff. Nice pistol, but inexpensive and easy to conceal. I had it in an open paddle holster on my right hip.
To keep my mind off of the ticking clock I had been whittling on a cedar staff I'd cut from the church property a few weeks prior. It was about four feet long and shaped kinda like a samurai sword. I like to hike so the staff was shaping up to be a useful tool on the trail.
Somewhere in the midst of my grumbling and the whittling, I heard a dirt bike start up just down the block. Not unusual for a bike, but an unmuzzled one at 11:45 at night was on the obnoxious order. Not only did it start up, but it continued to rev up until it was tacking out. I thought at first it was throttle stuck but it kept going on and on. Anybody with any brains would have killed the ignition if it looked like it was going to blow up.
I had hedges at the time, so I'll walked down the path to the break and peaked around the corner. Maybe two houses down to the left, in the middle of the street was an idiot with his front brake locked and the back wheel just a smokin' doing a burn-out.
Now mind you, this is 11:45 on Sunday night. I still had the staff in my hand so I walked out into the middle of the street and gave the pin-head an arm spread gesture of WTF?? He had a cloud of smoke billowing out around him and a pile of rubber six inches high behind the rear tire. Looking up at me he released the brake, popped a wheelie and started down the road in my general direction. It's a residential street and fairly narrow so with me standing in the middle there wasn't much room to go around, especially at the speed he was moving.
Sometimes common sense and I part ways. This was one of those times. I refused to back down and postured myself to use the staff as a baseball bat to knock him off as he went by. He dropped the front wheel at the last moment, veered and boogied on down the street. I stood and listened as his bike Dopplered off into the distance. After a couple of minutes I made my way back to the porch, shaking my head on the way at the stupidity of some people...not altogether meaning just him.
I had no more than sat back down when I heard the incoming Doppler of his bike again...or one sounding a lot like it. "Surely", I said to myself, "this idiot won't come back into the neighborhood again." Well, frankly, he did. He blasted through the stop-sign at the end of the street and barreled down towards my house. For the second time, sense escaped me and I met him in front of my house as he came by. I was just clearing the hedges so I pointed the staff at him as he roared by and yelled something superficially intelligent. Actually I think I un-abbreviated WTF! He blew by, went another 200 feet and brodied to a stop facing me, revving the motor.
I noticed this time that he had gathered an audience other than myself. The neighbor across the street was on his porch, and lights were coming on down both ways. I also noticed for the first time that at my neighbors three houses down on the left, a pick-up was sitting on the street with the tail gate down and a couple of kids were sitting on the back. My guess is that's where the biker genius had been when he left the first time, showing off.
Motor city madness was revving in the street, facing me while I was standing there wielding my would be samurai sword. He revved and popped the clutch bolting towards me with the front wheel off the ground again. I took up a proper Mickey Mantle posture ready to swing for the bleachers when he came by. I really don't know what would have happened had I actually hit him like that, whether he'd depart the saddle or my arms would depart the sockets, but I was ready none-the-less. At the last possible moment instead of swerving, this time he dropped the front wheel and brodied to a stop maybe three feet from me.
He was wearing one of those full face enduro type helmets so I couldn't see much of his face in the darkness. I could, however, see that he had black holes for eyes so I assumed the showing off was probably primed with something mind altering at the very least. Revving the engine one last time he killed it. I took the opportunity during the silence to ask him the $64,000 question..."Just what 'in the wild world of sports' do you think you are doing...dumbass?!!!"
He responded with just as note worthy of an answer..."What 'in the wild world of sports' business is it of yours?"
I explained I lived here, it was Sunday night, and if he was intent on killing himself in a drug induced frenzy, to kindly do it in someone Else's neighborhood. He said "fork you!" and I said "you first!" and smacked him soundly on top of his helmeted head with the cedar staff. Of course it did no physical harm, but I'm sure it rang his bell and thumped his eardrums good. His glazed eyes crossed once and he started with a "why you..." as he commenced to take his helmet off (stupid!!?), throw his leg off the bike, and grabs for a previously unseen pistol in the waste band of his britches, all at the same time.
It's at this particular moment that that strangest of all phenomena occurs for the gunfighter. All time seems to slow down to a frame by frame pace. This has happened to me before. I assume it happens to all who are entirely focused on the situation at hand, but I've no proof.
All I can tell you is that his helmet dropped onto the mirror, his right foot started lifting off the ground, his right hand reached for his waste band and I saw the gun all at the same instant. In that same instant I heard the staff clatter onto the pavement as I squinted down my pistol sites at the center of his forehead. I don't remember reaching for or drawing the weapon. It was just there.
I saw terror in his eyes and heard the "oof" of breath expel from his lungs. I then heard my neighbor across the street yell, "Don't do it Keith! He ain't worth it!" A pregnant silence followed as we held our locked gaze for what seemed an eternity. He had his hand on the butt of his pistol, but had yet to pull it from his pants. One leg was still poised in mid-air as he balanced on the one foot on the ground. I had the Bersa in a wrist locked Weaver stance and she wasn't wavering. I saw his eyes lose contact with the bore of the pistol and focus on mine....I think he saw the resolve.
I gave it another eternity or two then simply said "Sit....ride". Much to his credit, and my salvation, he sat, pulled the helmet on, kicked the bike and split all in another four or five heartbeats.
I stood in the middle of the street for a moment or two before I realized my neighbor was standing at the sidewalk and talking to me. He told me to relax that the police had been called and were on the way. I nodded once, reached down and picked up my staff and walked back to the front porch. I placed my pistol on the hand rail in plain sight and sat on my front steps waiting for the law.
Several minutes later two patrol cars pulled up. One walked across the street to the neighbor who had called, the other came to my drive and asked if I was okay. I stated that I was and pointed at the pistol several feet away on the rail. He nodded once and stood there observing me without speaking again. I thought that a bit strange but kept my peace. After a few minutes of nodding and pointing my neighbor seemed to have spun his tale to his officer. Said officer then walked the half block up to the pick-up truck to interview the other observers of the show-down.
I couldn't classify my neighbor across the street as a friend, but I wouldn't go so far as to say he was an enemy either. Our kids hung out together over the years but he'd had some unsavory domestic episodes with his wife that kind of kept us from being pals. I wasn't sure what he had told the officer, but I knew for the most part, I was in the right. Excepting walking out for the confrontation in the first place.
The kids down the street were a different story. Their daddy was an old school redneck who's pappy was in the KKK and had run moonshine in years past. He ran street drags himself and we'd had words over the years about late night big blocks tacking out. I knew the kids (16yrs old or so) smoked some dope and were a general nuisance in the neighborhood, but not all bad. What they might tell the officers was completely unknown.
So I waited.
At one point, in a rather excitedly loud voice I heard one of the kids say.."he went for his pistol but Garth said Shoom!! and did a quick draw on him like I never seen".
The two officers then converged at the end of my driveway and talked for a couple of moments before the interviewer asked if he could approach the porch. I nodded at him, and he came on up.
My expectations at this point, having had run ins with the law a time or two over the years, was that they'd confiscate my weapon, take me into custody and I'd be explaining the aforementioned tale to a judge.
Instead he approached me at the bottom step and asked if I was okay. I repeated that I was and waited for his spiel. He looked down at his notes, looked at the pistol on the rail, and said this...
"So let me get this straight....kid was making an ass of himself at midnight on a Sunday, you come out to see what's going on, the kid tries to run you down with his bike, you jump, he comes around again and you smack him with a broom stick. He stops, tries to pull a pistol but you have one of your own, out draw him, get the drop, and he rides away...that sound about right?"
I said "Yep". He looks me in the eye, and says "Okay, you have a good night, sir" Spins around, approaches his partner, says "nothing here" and they leave.
My daughter and her beau pull up just as they are saddling up. She asks me what's going on, I told her I just called off the search patrol out looking for her. The look she gives me is priceless.....
Friday, November 9, 2012
Take heed of this though, that's not the worst of it. Because our government knows these "theories" to actually be true, and now that "flexibility" has been achieved, they no longer have to deny them. So the stories will "out", and like water seeking it's own level, they will flow into the ears of the duplicitous masses who voted for it and they, only too late, will realize the fate they have delivered us into and they will cower in terror.
Then, not only will we that know how to work, fight, and survive, have to feed them, clothe them, and see to their health, we'll have to step around them as they stand dumbfounded, less than useless in the middle of the street as we go about the business of fighting to regain what they have given away in their lazy, self centered greed.
We called them zombies during the electoral campaign for mindlessly following the scripted rhetoric dished out to them by a bought and paid for media. Now they truly will be the walking dead. Because in a generation, when the taxed can no longer pay, and the government feed trough is thus barren, their starving masses will line the turgid streets begging for the morsel that just won't be there.
The greatest irony however, is this. That same media that kept them in the dark about the criminally negligent and incompetent actions of this puppet government they voted in place, has kept from them this devastatingly simple fact as well, the government doesn't care anymore for the liberal left, than it does for the middle or the right. So while the government will have to expend millions of stockpiled 9mm pistol rounds in attempting to exterminate those of us who will resist them and fight the coming war, all they have to do is stand back and watch the lapdogs that voted them into office starve because they're now second, third and sometimes fourth generation sheep dependant on the government for everything they have, or need. All the tyrannical dictator has to do at this point is cut off the spigot.
What will then ensue is a political, social storm like those seen preceding WWll. Citizens of the inner cities will be screaming for agencies like FEMA to come bail them out. What they don't know is that, as you can plainly see by their efforts during Sandy, FEMA isn't really tasked with storm support, of any kind. What it has actually been put into place for is to manage this useless chattel in camps until they can be disposed of via the thousands of cattle cars lining railroad track spurs throughout the deep mid west.
The most obvious plan is for the warrior elite to die on the battlefield, the serf born peasants to die of starvation and disease, and for the cream of the socialist crop to reap the spoils of war. In less than a generation the United States will be stripped of power and turned into one vast government farm. Like Detroit, the inner cities will spoil and decay until they too are turned into farmland or house the people that do survive who will be used as labor on the vast farms implemented to "distribute" resources to the rest of the starving world. Socialism will be complete.
That's the plan anyhow. It won't work though. And it won't work because God won't let it. America is a two hundred and fifty year experiment in democracy and freedom, that while sorely tested on occasion, is peopled by citizens who've learned a few things in those years. Today she has strayed away from her God, and is now paying the price for it. But look at this. The people who strayed are the weakest for it. And though we'll have to fight tooth and nail to get it back, those that caused the slide into hell will be the first to suffer and parish.
In Biblical history, God allowed the tribe of Israel to wander in the wilderness for forty years in order to weed out the hard hearted and faithless, those dependant on Pharaoh. It wasn't until a generation died and those left lost that dependency, only then gaining the realization that Pharaoh couldn't and wouldn't save them, that they turned their eyes and hearts back to God.
He may do no less for America.
A last thought. You may read the heart of this epitaph and have thought to yourself while reading it, that I am a hard hearted, cynical soul. Devoid of any grace or charity, and certainly not Christ like in my delivery. That's okay, I can accept that. I'll even turn the other cheek to the contempt you may feel towards me for writing it. But in the end know this. Sometimes tough love is the only love you're gonna get. If we as a people had expressed some tough love to our friends, family and associates over the years behind us, we might not be in the fix we're in for the years ahead. Patrick Swayze said in his "Road House" character.."There's a time to be nice, and then there's a time to not be nice". Now would be the later... and it's time to look to your own.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
My wife and I will have those of my kids in the area come together at my daughters house, which will hold us all, as mine won't any longer.
There we will gather to grieve for this great nation for a while. And then we will get down to business.
I have a smart bunch, they are all well versed and even tempered. Though my daughter and I probably share more of the same temperament, and are likely the most effected by this situation, we all share a love for this country rivaled by few.
My two youngest sons, 18 and 21, had both considered joining the military. I had hopes they would become Marines, and follow in my footsteps, but it wasn't so important which branch they decided on, as that they were satisfied with the decision. However after watching our direction this last couple of years, I cautioned them on joining until after we saw what was going to happen with this election. And, now much to my relief, I'm glad we waited. I'd not want them to have this charlatan as their CIC. I served under Reagan, and couldn't have been prouder, but I hold no regard, and less respect, for the empty chair. They can better serve our country by my side.
We're going to meet this Sunday night, in one of our homes instead of in public, so we can speak freely about what we now know we need to do, and where none will have to place our back to an untrustworthy public.
We'll come up with a serious plan in the event the switch gets flipped, and I'll get a bit more intense about doing some training on repelling the wolves who will eventually be coming to the door.
My wife, my daughter and the boys will schedule to have concealed carry training and we'll plan on all brushing up on their marksmanship. It's that serious.
We'll game plan about what we can do economically to ride out the storm, and what we can do realistically to fight back against those who pay-rolled this heist. Namely our friendly media groups. We'll figure out which products are acceptable to buy, which aren't, and what we'll do to recreate and where.
We'll put together a plan to shield the babies against the worst of what might occur, and how we can best protect them from the future that is sure to come.
Once we've done all that, we'll gather around the table, hold each other's hands, and pray that God brings a revival to this troubled land. For it is surely broken, and only He can fix it. There are only two things I'm sure of....God has a plan, and I haven't the foggiest idea what it is.
So we'll pray, and we'll wait, and we'll listen for some direction from Him. In the meantime, there are some things that common sense tells us that can be done. Those we'll do.
I have a raging heart right now, not only for the wrong that has been done by a faltering and feckless leadership, but also for the apathy and self centering's of the people of this country who brought that on.
We have become a nation of takers without thought of the source, or the resources that we destroy in the process. I did what I thought was enough over the last year by engaging, mostly through social networking, but also by face to face conversations, with people about what I thought was the right thing to do. I fought with my eldest son about accepting the tainted silver offered. It appears that few, including him, listened to what was being said.
Whether they believe it or not, like gravity ensuring the apple hits the ground, a price will be paid for this election. A pity those of us who fought so hard to prevent it will still pay the price for those who encouraged it, but pay we will.
There will be little time in the future for whining about what has come to be, so we must get our grieving over soon, and move ahead.
I became a Marine at 20, I still am today, I have never renounced my oath to this country. I've spent a lifetime instilling in my family that sense of pride and patriotism...so they need no prodding now.
We will pray, we will plan, we will protect....and we will persevere. So help us God.
Friday, October 26, 2012
I've read enough literature about war, tactics, diplomacy and the way our foreign services work to know that the real time information available to our leaders is so much greater than what we realize that there was just no way this could be blamed on any of the talking points offered. The fog of war, delayed messages, lack of information...all of that was a load of garbage my common sense just couldn't get wrapped around.
So over the next few days and weeks, what came trickling out can be (at least to those who don't have their head inserted rectally) pieced together into a fraud and cover-up of epic proportions.
It has been said that the truth will always out. Like water, it will seek it's own level. Truth can only be hidden from the light for the duration that the lie hiding it can be supported. In this case, a little over a month.
Mr. Obama, and his admin (and I say that would include the main stream media) have purported to hide this catastrophe from the American public for the sake of his re-election bid. The actual reason(s) he did what he did will trickle out with this latest flow of information just as sure as the water seeks its level. For the moment we are left with more questions than answers. But this we know without any possible shadow of a doubt. The man lied to this nation on live television for weeks. Not only did he lie, but those who support him, from his personal assistants to the media responsible for publicizing any news about him correctly, lied to sustain his story.
I could speculate on any number of reasons why he chose to do what he did, but as a Marine, what he did is sufficient enough to scratch him forever from the category of human being.
The men who died were warriors. They knew the risk in their profession. But they also depended on a system of intelligence and technology to support them. They asked for help, and were rejected. Not just once, but three times. In the end, they did what most American fighting men do when a REMF tells them to leave compatriots to die, they disobeyed orders and went anyway. In this case, it cost them their lives. But these are men who have more at stake than their lives in what they do. They have honor.
With all the technology associated with the greatest nation on the face of the earth at his disposal, he chose to watch as a group of men, not just for the cause of this nation, but for their very lives as well, fought to the last breath. And all that while both, he and they, knew there were things that could be done to prevent it. They died praying that in the next minute, the mortar they were targeting would blow up. That a Spectre would blast over-head raining death on their foes, that a platoon of Marines would support their own heroic fight. But those prayers died on their lips. Our POTUS, and his cronies, watched that happen. They watched as the breath of warriors was extinguished before their very eyes, and did nothing.
You must picture Barack Obama sitting in the situation room with his closest intelligence and military aides, watching the real time stream of what was happening, considering that sending in the cavalry would stain his record of supposedly decimating al Queda, and deciding it wasn't worth the lives being lost. People looking to him for a yes or no, with reference to aide getting launched. In the end, he just said no, and went to bed. After all, he had busy stuff going on the next day.
Now, maybe that isn't the scenario that played out. Maybe he had a truly justified reason for letting those men die while he watched. Whether he did, or didn't, does not excuse the lies he told the parents while standing over the coffins of the dead. Nor does it excuse the horrible fabrication of the video scenario being pushed on the American people.
If Barack Obama wants to stump his re-election on trust, he just blew any chance of that happening. And if for some remote reason, he is re-elected in spite of his performance on Benghazi, this nation will truly be plummeted into an abys of tyranny. I won't leave her, or abandon her, but I will do all in my power to resist until the water again seeks it's level.
As for Barack Hussein Obama, hell holds a special place for evil, conniving cowards.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Good morning, brothers and sisters; it's always a delight to see the pews crowded on Sunday morning and so eager to get into God's Word. Turn with me in your Bibles, if you will, to the 47th chapter of Genesis. We'll begin our reading at verse 13, and go through verse 27.
Brother Ray, would you stand and read that great passage for us? ... (reading) .... Thank you for that fine reading, Brother Ray. So we see that economic hard times fell upon Egypt , and the people turned to the government of Pharaoh to deal with this for them. And Pharaoh nationalized the grain harvest, and placed the grain in great storehouses that he had built. So the people brought their money to Pharaoh, like a great tax increase, and gave it all to him willingly in return for grain. And this went on until their money ran out, and they were hungry again.
(exerpted from an anonymous e-mail)
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Well, early Saturday morning we learned that Congressman Paul Ryan, Republican from Wisconsin, is to be Mitt Romney's pick for the next Vice President of The United States.
What are we to think of this selection? He's not a graduate of Columbia University. He's not a graduate of Harvard. He wasn't selected as the President of the Harvard Law Review. He didn't get a special free quota scholarship ride to any prestigious university and, instead, had to work his way through Miami University of Ohio. For God's sake the man drove the Oscar Mayer Wiener Truck one summer and waited tables another!
One morning when Paul Ryan was sixteen years old he went in to wake his father up and found him dead of a heart attack. He didn't write two books about that experience. Instead, he assumed the role of adult at an early age, never having the luxury to pursue youthful drug use and the art of socialist revolution.
Instead, Paul Ryan and his mother took his grandmother, suffering fromAlzheimer’s, into the household and served as the primary care provider for his grandma. His grandma wasn't the Vice President of the Bank of Hawaii so she could offer nothing in return, except the element of "need".
Once Paul Ryan got his BA in Economics from Miami University of Ohio he was hired as a staff economist in Wisconsin Senator Kastin's office. The job must have not paid well because young Ryan moonlighted as a waiter and fitness trainer. No one offered him a "token honor" position at the University of Chicago and a $200,000 dollar a year salary.
When a still young Paul Ryan returned to Wisconsin to run for Congress he didn't demonize his opponent and dig up dirt to shovel against him. He waited until the standing Congressman vacated the office before seeking the office. In Janesville, Wisconsin they don't have a big political machine to promote you, to criminalize your opponent; instead Paul Ryan had to go door to door and sit at kitchen tables and listen to his future constituents.
After getting elected to Congress Paul Ryan didn't triumphantly march into Washington, buy himself a Georgetown townhouse and proceed over to K Street to rub elbows with lobbyists. He bunked in his Congressional office and used the house gym for showers and a fresh change of clothes.
Paul Ryan then married and took his bride back to Janesville. He lives on the same street he lived on as a kid and shares the neighborhood with eight other members of the Ryan clan. He hunts with the local Janesville hunt club and attends PTA meetings and other civic functions.
For those who can't make those public functions, Paul Ryan bought an old bread truck, converted it into a "mobile constituent office" and drives around to meet with those who need his help and attention.
No, I don't know if we can vote for a guy like this. He doesn't have a regal pedigree; he's Irish for God's sake! No one awarded him a Nobel Peace Prize two months after getting elected. No one threw flowers or got "chills down their leg" as a he took his seat in Congress.
What is most despicable about Paul Ryan is that he has had the nerve to write the House Budget for three years in a row. He's is brazen and heartless in advocating in that budget for a $5 trillion dollar reduction in federal spending over the next ten years! The House passed his budget three years in a row and three years in a row the Democratically controlled Senate has let it die in the upper house, without ever proposing a budget of their own. What is wrong with this guy? If Congress were to cut $5 trillion dollars from the budget where would the President get the money to give $500 million dollars to a bankrupt Solyndra? Or $200 million dollars for bankrupt Energy 1? Or $11 billion dollars to illegal aliens filing INIT, non-resident tax returns to claim $11 billion big ones in child tax credits, even for their children living in Mexico?
I don't know. Paul Ryan seems heartless to me. He keeps wanting to cut government waste, he keeps wanting to put a halt to those big GSA conventions in Vegas and, worse, he keeps trying to make people look at that $16.7 trillion dollar deficit! The guy's no fun at all!
Who wants a numbers cruncher? Who wants someone spoiling the party by showing folks the bill? Nothing will spoil a party quicker than sending the host the bill before the party's over
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Friday, July 13, 2012
… from my friend, retired school teacher, principal, and administrator….