The GOP Hears a Who?

A Suessian parable, just in time for the 1st GOP debate on Thursday:

On the 5^th of May in the Suburb of White

In the heat of the day, in the cool of the night,

He was picketing…enjoying one of the Tea Party great joys…

When Tea-Pot the elephant heard a small noise.

So Tea-Pot put down his sign.  He looked toward the sound.

“That’s funny,” thought Tea-Pot.  “There’s no one around.”

Then he heard it again!  Just a very faint, soft and quiet yelp

As if some tiny politician were calling for financial help.

“I’ll help you,” said Tea-Pot.  “But who are you?  Where?”

He looked and he looked.  He could see no one there

But a small speck of dust blowing past through the air.

“I say!” murmured Tea-Pot.  “I’ve never heard tell

Of a small speck of dust that is able to yell.

So you know what I think?...Why, I think that there must

Be someone campaigning on that small speck of dust!

Some sort of politician of small wallet size,

Too small to be seen by a GOP elephant’s eyes…

‘…some poor little pol who’s shaking with fear

That he’ll enter the race!  The liberals will jeer!

They'll laugh with derision

At their entering the race decision.

Reporters may snore; pundits may ignore.

I’ll just have to save him.  Because, after all,

A candidate’s a candidate, no matter how dull.”

“Humpf!” humpfed a voice.  T’was the sour Comb Over Hair-Do,

And the Ivanka and Don in his pouch said “Humpf!” too.

“Why those campaigns are as dull as an accounting books sin.

A real candidate on that?...Why, there never has been!”

“Believe me,” said Tea-Pot, “I tell you sincerely,

My time is quite free, and I heard him quite clearly.

I know there’s a candidate down there.  And, what’s more,

Quite likely there’s two.  Even three.  Even four.

Quite likely…

“I think you’re a fool!” laughed the sour Comb Over Hair-Do

And Ivanka and Don in his pouch said, “Me, too!”

You’re the biggest blame fool in the Suburb of White!”

And the Comb Over Hair-Dos helicopted into the cool of the night.

Through the Internet chat rooms, the news quickly spread:

“Tea-Pot talks to a dust speck!  He’s out of his head!

Just look at him walk with that speck

And Tea-Pot walked, worrying, “Oh, what the heck!”

“Should I put this speck down?...” Tea-Pot thought with alarm.

“If I do, these small candidates may come to great harm.

I can’t put them down.  And I won’t!  After all

A candidate’s a candidate no matter how dull.

Then Tea-Pot stopped walking.

One speck voice was talking!

The voice was so faint he could barely hear it.

“Speak up please,” said Tea-Pot.  He put his ear near it.

“My friend,” came a voice, “you’re a right-thinking friend.

You’ve helped all us folks on this dust speck no end.

You’ve saved us from Communism and liberal Hollywood stars.

You’ve saved Christian churches and fossil fuel cars.”

“You mean…” Tea-Pot gasped, “you have policy positions to discuss too?”

“Oh, yes,” piped the voice.  “We most certainly do…

“I know,” called the voice, “We’re too small to be seen

But I’m the RNC Man of a group that is experienced and clean.

Our following, to you, would seem terribly small

But to us, who aren’t name brands, they are wonderfully tall.

My town is called No Name-ville, for I am a No Name

And we No Names are all thankful that you came.”

And Tea-Pot called back to RNC Man of the town,

“You’re on my radar now.  Don’t worry.  I won’t let you down.”

But, just as he spoke to the RNC Man of that speck,

Three big corporate thugs climbed up Tea-Pot’s neck!

The Koch Brothers came shouting, “What rot!

This GOP elephant’s talking to No Names who are not!

There aren’t any No Names!  And they don’t have a Front Runner!

And we’re going to stop all this nonsense!  Prepare for a stunner!”

They co-opted Tea-Pot’s issues!  They carried them away

To the black-bottomed peacock named Media Today,

A mighty strong peacock, of very swift wing,

And they said, “Will you kindly get rid of this thing?”

And before the poor GOP elephant even could speak,

That Media flew off with the candidates and issues in its beak.

All that late afternoon and far into the night

That black-bottomed bird flapped its wings in fast flight,

While Tea-Pot chased after, with groans, over stones,

That tattered his image and battered his bones,

And begged, “Pleased don’t harm all my little folks, who

Have as much right to speak as you richer folks do!”

But far, far beyond him those Media Today gums kept flapping

And over his shoulder called back, “You quit your yapping.

I’ll broadcast the night through.  I’m a network.  I don’t mind it.

And I’ll bury this, tomorrow, where you’ll never find it!”

And at 6:56 the next news cycle he did it.

It sure was a terrible place that he hid it.

He let that small clover drop somewhere inside

Of a great patch of websites a million gigabytes wide!

‘Find THAT!” sneered the bird.  “But I think you will fail.”

And he left

With a flip

Of his black-bottomed tail.

“I’ll find it!” cried Tea-Pot.  “I’ll find it or bust!

I SHALL find my freedom on my small speck of dust!”

And website, by website, by website with care

He logged on and searched them and typed, “Are you there?”

But blog post, by blog post, by blog post he found

That the one that he sought for was just not around.

And by June poor old Tea-Pot, more dead than alive,

Had picked, searched, and googled, nine thousand and five.

Then, on through the summer, through dawn’s early light…

Till he found them at last!  On the Fox News website!

“My friends!” cried the elephant.  “Tell me!  Do tell!

Are you safe?  Are you sound?  Are you whole?  Are you well?”

From down on the speck came the voice of RNC Man:

“We really had trouble! Name recognition’s in the can.

When that black-bottomed birdie let go and we dropped,

We landed so hard that our funding dried up.

Our tea-pots are broken.  Our crowd sizes smashed.

And our policy papers all were fact checked when we crashed.

So, Tea-Pot please!” pleaded that voice of RNC Man’s,

“Will you stick by us No Names til a front runner lands?”

“Of course,” Tea-Pot answered.  “Of course I will stick.

I’ll stick by you small folks through thin and through thick.”

”Humpf!”

Humpfed a voice.

“For almost two years you’ve run wild and insisted

On chatting with viable candidate’s who’ve never existed.

Such carryings-on in our peaceable nation!

We’ve had quite enough of your bellowing sensation!

And I’m here to state,” snapped the big Comb Over Hair-Do,

“That your silly nonsensical movement is all through!”

And Ivanka and Don in his pouch said, “Me, too!!”

“With the help of the Koch Brothers and dozens

Of Koch Brothers Uncles and Koch Brothers Cousins

And Koch Brothers In-Laws, whose help I’ve hired,

You’re going to be suppressed!  You’re going to be fired!

And, as for your dust speck…hah!  That we shall cook

In a hot steaming kettle of a Fact Checking Book!”

“Expose it to scrutiny?” gasped Tea-Pot!

“Oh, that you can’t do!

It’s all full of serious candidates!

They’ll prove it to you!”

“T-Paws! Bachmanns!” Tea-Pot called.  “Mitts and Newts!

You’ve got to prove now that you not empty suits!

So call a big debate.  Get everyone out.

Make every No Name holler!  Make every No Name shout!

Make every No Name scream!  If you don’t every No Name

Will leave us to re-elect The Same!”

And, down on the dust speck, the scared little candidates laid down a dare

And quick called a big debate in the Fox News Town Square.

And the candidates cried loudly.  They cried out in fear:

“We are here!  We are here!  We are here!  We are here!”

The GOP elephant smiled:  “That was clear as a bell.

You Comb Over Hair-Dos surely heard that very well.”

“All I heard,” snapped the Comb Over Hair-Do, “was the breeze,

And the faint sound of a RINO through the far distant trees.

I heard no credible voices.  And you didn’t either.”

And Ivanka and Don in his pouch said, “Me neither.”

“Grab him!” they shouted.  “And confuse these Insanes!

Lasso their brain with ten miles of email chains!

Tie knots tight so they’ll never shake loose!

Then dunk that dumb dust speck in Media Scrutiny juice!”

Tea-Pot fought back with great vigor and vim

But the Koch Brothers gang was too many for him.

They tricked him! They lied to him! They started to haul

Tea-Pots donations!  But he managed to call

To the candidates:  “Don’t give up!  I believe in you all!

A candidate’s a candidate no matter how dull!

And you very small candidates will not have to cry

If you make yourselves heard!  So come on now, and try!”

McDaniels grabbed a Liberal.  He started to attack it.

And, all over No Name-ville, candidates whooped up a racket.

They rattled their theories!  They beat on tax rules!

They accused the voting public of just being tools!

They compared some to Hitler and other such bums,

And in the process collected unregulated money great sums!

Great gusts of loud racket rang high through the sky.

They rattled and shook the whole land!  And the RNC Guy

Called up through the howling mad hullabaloo:

“Hey, Tea-Pot!  How’s this?  Is our message coming through?”

And Tea-Pot called back “I can hear you just fine.

But the Comb Over Hair Dos’ ears aren’t as strong quite as mine.

They don’t hear a thing!  Are you sure all your boys

Are doing their best?  Are they all making noise?

Are you sure every No Name down in No Name-ville is workin’?

Quick!  Look through your town!  Is there a Jon Huntsm’n?”

Through the town rushed RNC Man, from the east to the west.

But everyone seemed to be doing their best.

Everyone seemed to be yapping or yipping!

Everyone seemed to be beeping or bipping!

Everyone pontificated conspiracy insanity!

Everyone appear as a guest on Sean Hannity!

But it wasn’t enough, all this ruckus and roar!

He HAD to find someone to help him make more.

He raced through each building! He searched floor to floor!

And, just as he felt he was getting nowhere,

And almost about to give up in despair,

He suddenly burst through a door, and that RNC Man sans hair

Discovered one shirker!  Quite hidden away

In the Wasilla Apartments (overlooking Moscow Bay)

A very small, very small shirker named Miss Half Term

Was standing, just standing, and reading People magazine to learn

Not making a sound!  Not a tweet!  Not a mass mailin’!

And RNC Man rushed inside and he grabbed Sarah Palin!

And he climbed with the lass up the Zuckerburg Tower

“This,” cried RNC Man, “is your country’s darkest hour!

The time for all No Names who have blood that is red

To come to the aid of their country!” he said.

“We’ve got to make noise in greater amounts!

So, open your mouth, lass!  For every voice counts!”

Thus he spoke as he climbed.  When they got to the top and got slow,

The lass cleared her throat and she shouted out, “NO!”

And that No…

That one small, extra No put it over!

Finally at last!  From that speck on that clover

Their voices were heard!  They rang out clear and clean.

And the GOP elephant smiled.  “Do you see what I mean?

They’ve proved they are candidates, no matter how dull.

And their whole world was saved by the Airhead-est of All!”

“How true!  Yes, how true,” said Comb Over Hair Do.

“And, from now on, you know what I’m planning to do?

From now on, I’m going to support them with you!”

And Ivanka and Don in his pouch said,

“ME, TOO!”

From the debates in the summer.  From attack ads when it’s fall-ish,

I’m going to market them.  No matter how dull-ish!”

Royal Flush

That pesky Julian Assange, founder of WikiLeaks, is at it again.  This time, he has intercepted a personal communication between Prince William and our natural born President.  I make no value judgment on the appropriateness of Mr. Assange’s decision to release this private note, but I post the secret message for my loyal readers without reservations.  Besides, there are no surprises here:

Dear Mr. President,

I wanted to personally thank you for the public release of your long form birth certificate yesterday.  As we have previously discussed, the issue was creating a major distraction here in Great Britain, pulling journalists and paparazzi away from a matter of critical importance to the world order - my Royal Wedding.    Now the press can finally focus on meaningful, substantive ceremonial issues, such as the color choice for the Queen’s hat and the design of Kate’s elegant yet naughty undergarments.  I am thankful that these prenuptial curiosities will divert the prying English press from our island nation’s painful austerity policies, and onto our storybook love, exciting and new.  Come aboard, we’re expecting you.

 

Kate also asked that I convey her gratitude to you.  She had heard quite enough from that blowhard casino mogul, and his inane birther rantings were frankly making her a wee bit edgy before our big day.  She did not need the extra aggravation of worrying about the legitimacy of your presidency on top of stressing whether the flowers will arrive at the church on time, or whether Camilla will get too drunk at the reception.  I’ve told her that even if you were born in Kenya, the centerpieces would be beautiful and the bridesmaids’ shoes would match the dresses to perfection.  But what do I know?  As she often reminds me, I just need to stand there and smile.  She has the tough part.

 

We received the package from you and Michelle today.  Kate was very moved by your thoughtful wedding gift of Kenyan colonial period place settings.  Where did you find such lovely china?  Per your instructions, we will not display the gift at the palace without being served a legally binding court order, and the CIA courier will be renditioned to Kuwait as a precaution.  I agree with you – whoever said, ‘There is no such thing as bad publicity” never ruled a country.

     

On a more private note, your choice of former President Bill Clinton as Special Envoy to my bachelor party was unexpected, but very well received by all the blokes in attendance.  That guy can make things happen!  Who knew that a plastic raincoat, an automatic umbrella, some Silly Putty, and a quart of liquid soap could create so much merriment!  Harry in particular picked up some valuable connections that I am certain he will plug into in the near future.  I don’t remember much from the evening, but I do recall Tony Blair making tasteless “Your High-ness” jokes after eating too many hash-laced crumpets.  I have a vague recollection of him challenging Vlad Putin to a Sumo-style wrestling match.  I am sure that he had a difficult time explaining all that dried raspberry Jell-O in his hair to his lovely wife.  Please export Bill across the pond any time.  He is welcome in my man castle.

Vice President Biden, however, was not on the guest list, and his unannounced arrival and participation in the festivities was borderline criminal.  I can tell you several members of the “entertainment” had to be coerced to drop charges, as the allegations might have caused great embarrassment to your administration.  His boorish behavior made Charlie Sheen look like an Oxford lad studying for his finals by comparison.  I have forwarded a bill for the hotel room damages, which are quite extensive.   I am told that the staff has yet to rid an awful barnyard smell out of the draperies.  It is not my place to say so, but you might reconsider Ms. Hillary for a 2012 running mate.  At least she won’t show up for a state dinner covered in body glitter.  Feel free to remind the Delaware Diva that what is acceptable behavior in Scranton, PA is not acceptable in Paris, London, or even Liverpool, for that matter, regardless of what he thinks.

On to more pleasant business: 

    

Now that you can legally obtain a U.S. Passport, you may change your mind and choose to join us at the Royal  Wedding.  You would be most welcome.  A seat has opened up at to our token Muslim table.  We kicked out the Syrian ambassador, so we now have room for one.  I apologize for the table assignment, but I can assure you that it is close to the bar and well across the room from the DJ booth.  I can also promise you that Quadaffi (or Kaddafi, Gaddafhi, or Qaddaffi – we guessed at the proper spelling for the invitation envelope) will not be there to create any awkward moments for you.  According to his spokesperson, he is hunkered down with another pressing engagement.  I think it is safe to assume that if he gets bombed this weekend, it won’t be from the complimentary champagne during our cocktail hour!  LOL.

Once again, thank you for shifting the 24 hour news cycle back to me and my fiancée, where it rightly belongs.  We look forward to basking in the overexposure for a change, at least until Mr. Trump decides to tease his next TV program with mysterious conspiracy theories about your education, upbringing, employment history, travel, friends, associates, smoking habits, or dangerous musical preferences.  On a side note, Kate and I were always confident that you were born in Hawaii.  I was less certain that Hawaii was a state.

Cheerio!

Will

P.S. – Please forward Tiger Woods’ private cell number.  I could use his advice on my “swing” technique, if you know what I mean.  Many thanks.

P.P.S. - My offer still stands – we’ll take Hawaii in exchange for the Falkland Islands and a territory to be named later.  Think about it.

A Friendly Game of Hide and Seek

"Transparency" has become the watch word of the year.  Everyone wants it from someone else, yet everyone is simultaneously arguing that shining the bright light of transparency on their activities violates their privacy and security.  The battle lines are drawn. 

The NFL Players Association (excuse me, ‘trade association’) wants transparency from the owners so that the owner's claims of poverty can be verified.  The owners refuse to open their books, and negotiations have morphed into dueling court petitions. 

Julian Assange and his band of hacktivists have made it their cause to create transparency by force, outing governments and individuals via WikiLeaks.  In the Internet Age of democratization, they say, let the people decide what represents national security need and what does not.  Never mind that secrecy has both a dark and bright side.  Hopefully, we won’t learn which is which too late, after a guarded secret is divulged that allows bad actors to harm the innocent. 

 The TSA has a vested interest in transparency in the name of national security, but their version of transparency could be awkward for any gentlemen traveling by air after a quick dip in a cold pool.

Mark Zuckerburg is a multi-billionaire based on his strategy of granting marketing companies transparency to our personal preferences and interests, while simultaneously allowing no transparency to his privacy settings matrix.  Transparency and privacy are luxuries that the poor cannot afford.  If you’ve got a few million (billion) in the bank, these are valuable commodities to be protected.

The GOP and House Speaker John Boehner campaigned aggressively for more transparency into the sausage making process of designing and passing legislation.  "Bring in the C-SPAN cameras!" they thundered from the stump.  Boehner recently refused C-SPAN's request for cameras in the well of the House Chamber, citing the fact that the House already has their own cameras.  Apparently, running these cameras is a job that only a government employee can do.  This is one area where privatization is not on the table. 

The Bush administration made a mockery of transparency for 8 years, hiding shamelessly behind ‘national security’, ‘executive privilege’ and other such canards to protect them from scrutiny.  Remember the secret energy task force led by Cheney?  Cheney famously argued that his office wasn’t subject to the laws of the land, since the Vice-President’s office was neither part of the legislative or executive branches of government.  This was all in the name of avoiding transparency, his alleged patriotic duty.

Ah, but there are two sides to this coin, aren’t there?  When does secrecy become substituted for an executive’s ability to hear unfiltered opinions?  Once meeting attendees with the Vice President know that their brainstorming session will be transcribed and posted on Huffington Post, the free exchange of ideas ends.  Creativity stops.  Innovation ceases.  America loses.  Not good.

Finally, the greatest irony of all: President Obama received an award last week for promoting transparency within government, and in a twist worthy of a headline in The Onion, the award ceremony was private, closed to the media.  Everything in moderation, I guess, when it comes to transparency.

This is the battle of our generation, and the concepts of privacy and transparency are getting muddled in the public tweets that represent 21^st century discourse.  Here’s what I believe:  Institutions should have transparency; individuals should have privacy.  Individuals can voluntarily give up their privacy right(s) (i.e. posting their information on a blog site); individual members should demand transparency of the institutions of which they have an ownership stake (i.e. taxpayer’s ownership of government). 

The vexing question remains, when does privacy end and the public interest begin?  That line is unclear and amorphous, changing shape as the question becomes more personal.  The answer to that question often rests with your political opinion of the particular issue under discussion, and that leads to inevitable cries of hypocrisy from the opposition.  We generally lean towards privacy when we are asked for transparency; we leans towards transparency when the other side is too private.  No one is more private and secretive than a thief, of course.   

I believe that there is no universal absolute answer to questions of limiting privacy and transparency when searching for safety and accountability.  I think I will go along with Judge Potter Stewart, who famously defined pornography with the statement, “I know it when I see it.”  For me, the same is true of the invisible line between my rights and your responsibilities.  I know it when I see it.

Peek-a-boo. 

Hold My Hand

Like many of you, we have family visiting for the Easter weekend.  The arrival of family means many things – time for cousins to play together, an excuse to clean the house, a tourist visit to DC.  It also means bedroom assignment and occupant consolidation time.  Lucy gives up her princess suite for her aunt and uncle and bunks in on the inflatable mattress in Mom and Dad’s room.  Oh joy. 

Lucy is very excited about the short road trip around the corner to our room, but we are not quite as filled with the same level of excitement.  Trepidation sounds closer to the feeling.  When she is away from her familiar surroundings of Selena Gomez posters and the unlimited children’s library on her bookshelves, she tends to awaken a wee bit earlier than usual.  When she wakes up pre-dawn, she is anxious to share that news, much to our dismay.  I guess it is worth it for family, isn’t it?  Easter comes but once a year.

Lucy moves in all of the comforts of home onto the floor at the foot of our bed.  The most favored stuffed animals of the week are invited to sleep with her.  The special pillows, the special blankies, the special bedtime reading materials, the special anything that she can carry – it all arrives and occupies open floor space.  We initially object about the volume of toys and companions, but we don’t put up much of a fight.  She wants to feel safe and secure, and the lovies she sleeps with accomplish that delicate task every day. 

But all the blankets, pillows and stuffed friends are not enough.  Before bed last night, after Uncle Mike did the guest appearance as nighttime book reader, I went in to kiss her good night.  Lucy kindly asked that I lay on the bed above her, and hold her had while she fell asleep.  Apparently, Mommy (the sucker) did this yesterday.  I wanted to be the strong one, and teach her a valuable lesson in independent living and self-reliance.  I caved.

Yes, she used that voice, the voice that I hope each of you has had the opportunity to hear at least once in your lifetime.  The irresistible voice of childhood innocence, with a hint of uncertainty behind it that only you could relieve with your calm touch or soothing words.  I lay on the bed above her and held her hand, and it was nice.

 

“Hold my hand.”  I recognized in that moment that a sense of security is critical to child, and that knowing we were in the same house was not enough.  Being in our room at the foot of the bed was not enough.  Hearing our voices in the kitchen while she fell asleep was not enough.  Sometimes, the guardians have to be there, in the flesh.

Isn’t it like this for all of us?  I thought of the brightly colored Easter eggs in the kitchen, beautifully decorated, with their fragile shells.  It is good to remember that at times we are like those eggs.  Everything looks great on the outside, but we require delicate handling.  We are inherently breakable, even when we’re older. 

“Hold my hand.”  She should not have needed that extra reassurance.  Common sense should have told her that she was safe.  But she needed more, and I think we forget that we all need extra reassurance, even when common sense says it should not be required.

Let’s remember that this Easter and beyond.

An Age Old Problem

One of my brothers is ten years older than me.  When he achieved 50 (I was going to say “turned” 50, but I associate something “turning” with going rotten, like an peeled banana left on the countertop all day in the sun), I was 10 days shy of 40.  My sister-in-law threw a neighborhood party in his honor.  After his celebratory golden anniversary birthday party, I recognized the main difference between a 40^th birthday party and a 50^th birthday party – about 3 hours.

You see, my brother’s party was over by 10 PM.  It was a Saturday night, but all the guests had eaten their last pretzel, sipped their last merlot, and punctuated the evening with a stretch and a yawn.  “Thanks, but since we’ll be up every hour on the hour to pee, and we can’t sleep past 5 AM anymore, we’d better get going.  Had a lovely evening.”

The post-party debrief consisted of recounting all of the physical calamities being endured by the various party guests.  Guest #1 has a biopsy scheduled for next month.  Guest #2 blew out his knee playing touch football in the backyard.  Guest #3 wasn’t drinking, since it messes with his heart meds.  For me, this was a glimpse into the future – my future.  The future would be defined by the health (or lack of health) of those around me, as well as my own.  This was a simple reporting of the ailments and illnesses in the room.  The constant complaining about the personal aches and pains associated with aging would be delayed until the 70^th birthday party, I presumed.

That night, the 10 years between 40 and 50 seemed simultaneously far away and yet destined to be upon me in the blink of an eye.  At the time, I could not imagine leaving a party by 10 PM, and yet I did not feel that I was that different from the other party guests, albeit with darker, more luxurious hair in its original color.  They seemed like peers.  Their kids were older, but we shared common interests, and enough common experiences to make casual conversations comfortable.  That said, I was unmistakably younger, and that glorious factoid was unspoken yet understood by all.  I was at the stage in my life when “prostate” still meant “against a strong central government”, and not that I had a ‘growing’ problem. 

 

That is changing.

The party that I attended 9+ years ago will be held in my honor in 11 more months, and I feel exactly the same way I did in 2002, except for a few minor differences:

My hands hurt, pretty much all the time to one degree or another.  Clenching my fists is uncomfortable.  I find it hard to hold the guitar pick between my thumb and forefinger.  I make conscious dietary choices instead of eating anything within arm’s length.  I can’t read the newspaper without my glasses.  My right big toe no longer fully flexes, and my feet have never completely recovered from the marathon run of 2001.  My teeth are extremely sensitive to hot and cold, and my shoulders are permanently damaged from playing hockey.  I no longer have any idea what goes through the head of a teenager.  If I skip my morning shower, even I am offended by the odor. 

 

I might be like that peeled banana on the counter top, rotting in the hot sun. 

 

I’m not sure if 50 is creeping up on me, or I am racing towards it, but I am NOT complaining at this point.  That will come in 20 more years.  At least I have being ornery without guilt to look forward to…that, and some great parking spots.

Party on.

“God Help Us…Everyone!”

With all due acknowledgment of my ‘liberal’ use of the original words of C. Dickens.  The proposals to eliminate the US child labor laws cited below are sadly not fiction, however:

Letter to the Editor of the Maine Sentinel

Dear Sirs:
First, my workforce asks for Christmas off – the entire day, mind you – and now I hear that there are opponents to the elimination of child labor law protections.  I can sit alone and silent no longer as the rights of job creators are infringed upon once again.

I write today to support Gov. Paul LePage’s proposed roll back of child labor laws in the state of Maine.  The proposal under consideration would allow employers to pay workers under 20 well below the minimum wage for their first 180 days on the job. The bills would also change labor laws to allow minors to work later at night, more hours per week, and eliminates "the maximum number of hours a minor 16 years of age or older can work on a school day and allows anyone under the age of 16 to labor for up to four hours on a school day during hours when classes are not in session."

I am quite pleased that these efforts are gaining traction, thanks to my like-thinking Republican cohorts.  There is a pending bill in Missouri to gut child labor protections, and a sitting U.S. Senator, Utah's Mike Lee (R), has argued that federal child-labor laws violate the Constitution and shouldn't even exist.  This kind of logic is long overdue, and I stand with these modern thinkers.  Before he passed, Marley told me to vote Republican, and he was always a man of good business.

No more lazy underage rabble listening to that incessant noise they call music.  My dear children under the age of 16, that is why they call it work – it is hard, unpleasant, and painful when done properly, regularly, and with minimal or no compensation.  Some may say that this adjustment to the laws will undermine wages for all workers, particularly older workers who will be unable to compete with those younger workers who could be paid less.  Some may say this is another attempt to create a permanent underclass in America and speed out descent into a Third World nation status.   To them I say, “Adam Smith will take care of everything, ye of little faith!”  More?  You want some more???  Everyone knows you can’t have any pudding until you eat your meat!

I can't afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the establishments (of charity) - they cost enough: and those who are badly off must go there.  If they would rather die, they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.  The market must be allowed to work unfettered, and anything less is humbug, in my humble opinion.

 

Shall I ever understand this world? There is nothing on which it is so hard as poverty, and yet, there is nothing it condemns with such severity as the pursuit of wealth.

Good day, sir.

Ebenezer S. (name withheld)

PS - If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with ‘protect child labor laws’ on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!  Bah!

Doubting Donald

Reputed billionaire TV personality, Donald Trump, has ignited his own presidential ambitions by throwing fuel onto the ridiculous birther controversy, spouting off on every media outlet that can find him about his “team of investigators” and their secret findings.  I wish him luck, although I think this casino mogul has rolled snake eyes this time.  Sometimes when there’s smoke, there’s a guy creating some smoke.

You might be surprised to learn that this is not the first time that The Donald has stirred up birther controversy in his career.  Trump in fact has a long and sordid history of questioning the legitimacy of birth credentials.

January 20, 1996 – Donald Trump refuses to attend George Burns’ 100^th birthday celebration until he produces his birth certificate from 1896. 

In an interview with the now-defunct George magazine, Trump said, “This guy’s been smoking and drinking for decades, and he’s still alive?  I find that curious, don’t you?  Now he is parlaying his ‘alleged’ advanced age into a cash cow, lining his own pockets.  No one would laugh at his jokes if he were 95, and he knows it.  Let’s see if he’s a charlatan or a comedian.  Show me the records, unless you’re a liar.”

September 4, 1988 – Donald Trump refuses to accept that the turtles of the Galapagos Islands can be up to 170 years old without some proof. 

In an interview with the Hair Cuttery in-salon magazine, Coif, Trump was quoted, “A bunch of liberal scientists come out with this self-serving pronouncement about old turtles, and the public eats it up without proof.  It’s a tourist scam, I tell you.  I say they should cut one of those giant turtles in half to count the rings.  Once my independent team of investigators has counted the rings inside, we will finally know the truth.  In fact, let’s get Geraldo and televise it.”

July 4, 1976 – Donald Trump questions how George Washington could be the Father of Our Country without a proper DNA test. 

During an interview for the 1976 Miss Universe event program, SpouseMatch, Trump said, “First of all, he wasn’t even in Philadelphia in 1776.  I have yet to see a shred of evidence that he ever had relations a territory, providence or colony.  Besides, it is scientifically impossible to conceive a new country during a colonial period.  The cycle has to be right.”

April 4, 33 A.D.  – The origins of his doubting ways:

John 20:24-31 (New International Version, ©2011), Jesus Appears to Trump

 ²⁴ Now Trump (also known as The Donald^[a]), one of the Twelve, was not with the disciples when Jesus came. ²⁵ So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord!” 

   But he said to them, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.”

 ²⁶ A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Trump was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” ²⁷ Then he said to Trump, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.”

 ²⁸ Trump said to him, “Pretty impressive, Jesus, but I will still need to witness your actual re-birth certificate.”

Editor’s Note:  Be sure to tune into The Celebrity Apprentice this Sunday evening, and help prove that Trump is a genius – there is no such thing as bad publicity when profit is your motive.