Cleopatra Rules!

There is no greater drama than Antony and Cleopatra, regardless of what the literature books tell you. The silken lines of iambic pentameter were never more lovely nor powerful than those in this throbbing barge plying the Nile. The men were never more sexually ambivalent, the women never more voluptuous than those who climbed aboard the Egyptian queen's pulsing sculls. It's not a great play, but it IS a great sexual invocation. Read it again.

Housecleaner Wanted, Bring Own Fire and Brimstone

And lo! In the East, it came to be that Sodom and Gomorrah that had been so destroyed arose in Cambridge and New Haven. There, the sins of socialism and environmentalism and elitism were practiced openly and to the exclusion of all other religions.

And spew forth their evil did they, with presidents and czars and advisors and ambassadors and secretaries and First Ladies, and they did flaunt their sinfulness wherever they went. They rent the fabric that is America and spat upon it. They defiled and corrupted all that they came in contact with.

In these once-godly lands racism was not only practiced but taught. The evil prophets Saul Alinsky, Che Guevarra, Fidel Castro, Mao Tse-tung, Vladimir Lenin, Karl Marx, Jimmy Carter were revered. All others were silenced. The righteous were silenced or forced to flee.

And God looked upon Harvard and Yale and said, These are dens of iniquity that are unholy in My sight. I will destroy them utterly. They take children and corrupt them. They turn them against their parents, against their country, and against their god. I will rain down upon them fire and brimstone and kill all who have been touched by them.

But the Angel of Mercy asked God if there were not any righteous souls at all. And God replied, You are right. There is one.

And lo, a messenger went to the Twin Loci of Evil and appeared at the Cambridge Police Department. Come with me quickly, the angel said, and do not look back, lest you be turned into a bottle of beer.

And when the angel set him down at a safe distance from the conflagration, God did unleash a storm from hell. He cut off all government insured student loans, all government grants, and all government contracts. And all their alumni were forbidden to ever serve in government service for all time.

And there was much weeping and wailing within the blackened walls of Harvard and Yale.

But much rejoicing everywhere else.

Oz Alert: The Cowardly Liar

AWOL: Our Coward in Chief.

The great Tea Party movement, the largest outpouring of the passion that is at the heart of America that I have EVER seen in my long lifetime, has moved to Washington, D.C.—and where is our—you should excuse the expression— fearless "leader"?

He has scurried like a cockroach off to a hand-picked group of sycophants in Minneapolis. He wants to avoid the heat and the light, like any other dirt-dwelling critter. Has it not become too apparent that we have elected—a coward?

The Bamster is proving time and again that he can’t take the heat of an argument, and he can’t deflect or throw a punch. He’s a strutting, preening “tough guy” who’s hoping, praying that no one challenges him. And if they do, he’ll gather his skirts and run off to safety.

He's the schoolyard bully/coward—talking tough to his supporters, afraid to face his enemies. He's the "courageous" general who shows his bravery by loudly boasting in the plush salons that are comfortably far from the conflict.

Obama is a disgraceful half-man, turning his fighting over to his minions. Like the Wicked Witch of the West, he dispatches his flying monkeys—those foul, beshitting creatures of the left. But the Wicked Witch of the West was more of a man than Obama. She had the courage to face her enemies head on. Poor little Obama hides behind his teleprompters until his enemies (he hopes) have been defeated.

Liar and coward. Barack Hussein Obama. America’s shameful moment of weakness.

You must—and WILL—go. And your flying monkeys too!

Joel Chandler Harrass

Mistuh Whitey gotta call one day ta see what was happ’in’ in Ole Cambridge Town. An he an two uddah guys gots outta dair cah.

An heauh was Ole Mistuh Jungle Bunny, wit one a his buds was usin’ a crowbah ta done breaks open dah front door a Mistuh Bunny’s house, cause dat dum perfessuh done locked hisself outts his house.

An Mistuh Whitey, he say, “Hey der, youn’se guys. Stop whatcha doin’ cause I tink yer doin' somepin wrong.”

An den Ole Mistuh Jungle Bunny, he say, “Who you’s callin ‘Nigguh,' Whitey?”

An Mistuh Whitey he say, “I's not callin' you nigguh, Suh, I jes wanna fine out what's goin' on heauh.”

But Ole Jungle Bunny, he scream, “Nigguh, nigguh. You’se heauh cause you tinks ah’m a nigguh, and--O, Lawd a Mercy!!-- you’s gonna beat me silly wit' dat big stick a yern, ain't ya?”

“Suh, Suh, dat ain’t so. Don’ carries on so’s. I ain’t callin’ you nuttin’. I's not gonna beats ya. I’s jess tryin’ ta figguh out wat all's goin’ on heauh.”

“Der ya’s goes agin, callin' me an dis fine man agin ‘Nigguh,’ a mighty disparagin' term. An I knows you's prob'ly tinkin’ dat dis ting heauh dat I is a holdin' is a ‘Jim Crowe' bah, ain’t ya? You's a mighty wicked racist nigguh hatuh.”

“Suh, y’all are bein’ mighty unpleasant to sum'mon who jess done risked his life ta help perteck dis heauh pro’pty.”

“Dis MINE pro’pty, stupid Whitey, and you’s abusin’ me mighty!” Ole Jungle Bunny scream.

“An,” he continues, “I wants ya ta know, I is frens wit da Pres’dent, da black boy Obama, an' he's a gonna tells you an' da whol' worl' dat you is mudduh-fuckin’ stupid, cuz he’s our’n boy.”

An' Mistuh Whitey was mighty dist'rbed ta fine out dat he wuz bein' called sumpin' he'd nevuh been called befoe: A nigguh hatuh! Why, he'd ain't nevuh done hated no blacks man, EVUH!, let alone uttered da hateful word "nigguh." But 'parently, times dey'd dun changed in d'Obama times. An Whitey hadn't dun kep' up wit da times.

“Whitey, whitey, whitey!” screamed Ole Mistuh Jungle Bunny, “I knows you'uz callin’ me a nigguh, and you’s gonna’ pay fer dis. Y’all don’ know who’s I am, duz ya? Well, lets me tell you. I am da Supreme Jungle Bunny a Harvard, where dey likes my kine, cuz dey’s so guilty. Ha ha, Mistuh Whitey, you done stepped in it dis time, din ya?”

And den da reportuhs from da mainstream media sez, “Well, Harvard can’t poss'bly be no racist place wit' a racist perfessuh,” and so dey begans t'attack Mistuh Whitey fer bein' insens'tive to Ole Mistuh Jungle Bunny, an ole Bunny he jest grinned an' grinned an' grinned.

An' den Bunny he sez, “Whitey, dis heauh nigguh goin' ta make a fortune frum dis heah shoutin' match, an dat’ll teach you’s all ta call me 'Nigguh.'”

And den Ole Mistuh Bunny he jess laff an' laff un'er his breff--"Dem stupid libr'l whities," he sez t'hisself, "dey falls fer dis ev'ry time." An he laff some more. An' he dranks some beer wit da Pres'dent.

Slip of Fools

Years ago, Solomon read a fascinating short story, the name of which eludes me, I’m sorry to say, about a happily married woman whose husband, who loves her dearly, becomes aware that she smells awful. He is totally embarrassed and ashamed by this, but he can’t escape the knowledge that his wife reeks. The wife is, of course, devastated, but soon, the husband can’t smell his wife anymore. It’s not that she no longer stinks; it is that she has absolutely no smell.

The same situation happens with the sound of her voice and the feel of her skin—they become repulsive and then—nothing. Now, the ending of the story reveals what is going on. The wife is a monster who wants to live among regular human beings but can only do so by using the monsters’ supernatural power of distorting the senses of human beings so that reagular people don’t see, hear, smell, feel, or taste what is really there.

This reality-blocking by the monsters works on a short-term basis, but the wife finds out that keeping the illusion going all the time ceases to be possible, so that the husband’s senses have to be destroyed. So, in trying to keep the husband’s love, she becomes totally lost to him, for he cannot love that which she actually is and she can no longer sustain her illusions that she has imposed on his senses.

Now, I’ll bet you are wondering where this is going. Telling the plot of a story that doesn’t make some point is akin to recounting the story of a dream you’ve had—it’s a practice not to be endured.

Well, Solomon does have a reason for recounting this story, for last night we saw the slipping of the mask string from off President Obama’s prodigious monkey ears. One word slipped out from behind the carefully crafted and guarded illusion that is this strange non-man, and that word reverberated as none before has. The word he said was “stupidly.”

The reference was to his opinion of the behavior of a white policeman toward a black professor—even though Obama said he didn’t know any of the facts of the case! Yet, according to Obama, letting free a deeply suppressed personal truth, the white cop was stupid, racist, and clearly wrong, and the black was clearly innocent and a victim of police brutality and racial profiling.

That one word--stupidly--so powerfully revealed Obama’s racist view of whites that his handlers had to tell the American people through his spokesman Robert Gibbs that what they had heard was not what they had heard. Their contention: He did not say that.

Amazing!

Now you can see the relation between what the President did and the story. We are living with an incredibly vile monster masquerading as one of us, but he can’t keep the illusion of his otherness hidden forever. The mask will slip, and each time it will reveal something uglier and uglier, and so the American people will have to have their senses eliminated by the useful idiots of the sycophantic White House Press Corps, who are committed to maintaining the illusion at all costs—even at the cost of their own careers and reputations.

Obama does not speak for himself. There is a cabal of Jews pulling his strings (the veracity for this assertion comes from no less an authoritative expert on Obama than the Reverend (cough, cough) Jeremiah Wright!) who, literally, dictate every word that comes out of his mouth. These people dare not let the Monkey God speak for himself, for he is unable to couch the hateful ideology in words that sound soft, nonthreatening, and silkily sensible. Obama can't speak as well as the whites can, so they pen his every word. Do you wonder what Obama must feel knowing that his every thought is coming from white guys, Jewish white guys? Think he might be harboring a little . . . I don't know . . .HOSTILITY!!!???

Well, the truth of Obama’s and his fellow travelers' ideology is that it is an abomination, a stinking, rotten assault on liberty and goodness, no less an anathema that Nazism, which it so closely resembles.

But the slick words that roll across the teleprompters’ glass faces belie the speaker’s (and his handlers') true intents and views. Obama is not capable of scripting these words, just reading them. And if the teleprompter goes out, if for a moment the Bamster must speak his own words, the mask he continually must wear slips dramatically, as it did at his fiasco of a health care press conference.

And the full ugly comes out, like what would happen if Medusa adjusts her bathing cap--"Oh My God! What's tha..." Obama--the white-hating racist, the cop-hating community activist, the truth-hating communist--the REAL Obama, came rearing out with a speed and venom that made even the press corps recoil in horror. Is that a "stony" silence I hear?

“Could that really be OUR Bamster who just said that?” they had to be asking themselves. David Axelrod, the Bamster’s Edgar Bergen, must have been behind the screen slapping his vast and increasing forehead while silently screaming, “Dear God, NOOOOoooooooo!”

But there it was for all to see and hear. And the next day, unexpectedly, Democratic leaders said they were--ahem--postponing, delaying any further health care votes. Hmmmm. Do you think they recognized that perhaps their Monkey God had been too obviously, and perhaps irretrievably, revealed as the Manchurian Candidate? Were the rats suddenly taking a few strong frantic backstrokes away from what might be a sinking ship?

The kindly Monkey God suddenly had shown himself to have an ugly appetite for hatred and evil. The stench of rotten teeth and putrefying entrails burst forth and filled the room and could not be disguised.

Humpty Dumpty fooled us all,
By looking stern and standing tall,
And speaking words not his at all.

But Humpty Dumpty squeezed his heart,
And stinkingly, like long-held fart,
Out “Stupidly” he hurled. Not smart.

Obama and his peeps should know that people can’t be made to fall in love twice with the same person. And you cannot forgive those whom you do not love. That slip of the mask is going to cost him, well, I hope, everything.

Beggars Beware

Charity invariably ends up reinforcing the axiom, “No good deed will go unpunished.”

Charity is doing for others what they should have done for themselves but were too lazy to do so.

Charity is false compassion. Real compassion helps people in need; charity (false compassion) helps people stay in need. Poverty is not a shame—it’s a disgrace. Any man who allows his children to wallow in the indignities of poverty is no man at all. He is a selfish boy with an itch and sperm.

Anyone who gives money to help people who cannot/will not control their lives is contributing to continuing the pain that is caused by this lack of control. True charity means taking the children away from the poor and doing something useful and productive with them. Then, take the people who produced the child and failed to take adequate care of him/her and confine them to hard labor, deprivation, and torment.

Human beings who are starving are a disgrace to reason. There is only one thing that separates us from the lower orders and that is reason. Therefore, human beings who fail to uphold their mandate to be noble need to be disposed of.

They are an affront to all that our Creator meant for us, and our Creator would surely applaud our use of reason to rid the world of those who were a pollution.

Make no mistake—the poor are pollution of the worst kind, unless they are made poor by powers of the reasonable. If the playing field is reasonably level, then poverty is a choice, not an imposition nor an inevitability.

Having less than another is not poverty. Having less than is needed IS poverty. If opportunities abound for one to have enough of what is needed for survival, then poverty is to be punished, not pitied.

Ridding the world of those who refuse to work hard enough and smart enough to keep them and their offspring out of poverty, is incumbent upon those of us who do what is necessary to prevent this slip into the slime.

Reason comes with a price; poverty comes with an excuse.

Quite frankly, the way things are going now must be ended. The poor are not paying the price that their poverty exacts upon society. They, not the rich, should be taxed and beaten into economic oblivion. The poor are a blot upon the Creator’s creation.

If arrogance results from achievement, and that arrogance results in a willful, deliberate state of inflexible social position, then of course reason is to be held in contempt. But, make not mistake, it is the individual who should be held in contempt, not reason itself.

The possession of reason does not preclude the desire for arrogant dominance. As a matter of fact, reason allows us to see that dominance without merit is possible, if force (be it physical or legal) is brought to bear.

Those were the French aristocrats who were summarily executed by the very Age of Reason they propagated. The ironies of the French Revolution are such that the arrogant of our own age should be wary of surviving on and trading on their own arrogance.

Enforced poverty is a condition that excuses violence to overthrow the “haves.” But poverty that exists in a social milieu that allows ascensions and declines by merit is just willful negligence and dereliction by the parties involved.

The poor, in that situation, sould be punished for being poor. Charity merely rewards them for being losers.

So let us not let our reason and our judgment be clouded by our emotions. The truly inferior should be treated with disdain, when the inferior are blessed with reason. This is why animals must be protected by those of us with reason. But we should spit on those with reason who refuse to use it.

Animals, in that regard, are morally superior to human beings who choose to be losers. Human beings who are poor should be eliminated from the human scene, not fed and nourished and allowed to continue.

Compassion must be limited to those who are truly helpless or are truly inferior. I’ve no time for false charity that encourages the able-bodied and able-minded among us.

Important Note: When I say "eliminated" and such, I am NOT advocating killing those people. However, I do not have a problem with rounding them up and restricting their freedoms.

Lord Jesus, I Am Comin' Home at Last! And with Big Bucks in My Pocket!

Reparations—that bugaboo that raises its rambunctious head every few years. Political perceptions of blacks by themselves and by non-blacks wax and wane in favor of and against this chimera as the zeitgeist dictates--sometimes it looks like the morally expedient thing to do, then it morphs into something morally repugnant, and soon it is seen as a thing that is morally unconscionable in either the affirmative or the negative, and in a tight election race, it is a thing that is morally incumbent.

Reparations for slavery are filaments of political exhalations that ebb and flow and blow in the wind like wispy grasses. Yet regardless of how these winds blow, reparations are a monster for those who would fight them, for those who would defend them, and for those who would ride them.

Now, as any student of monster literature knows (and monsters have been the mother's milk of literature since before writing appeared), monsters are not easily dispatched and are certainly not put out of commission by being fed and coddled.

Like all frightful monsters, this one must be dealt with in a once-and-for-all manner, or, as any reader of literature and/or watcher of monster movies can readily attest, the villagers will never have peace.

Thus it is with reparations. So Solomon is here neither to condemn nor to embrace reparations but rather to provide a means for everyone to escape the talons of the beast. For ever.

Granting monetary reparations for slavery to people who never were themselves slaves does seem bizarre and unwarranted. Paying monetary reparations does no good to assuage whatever guilt a situation contains if the money is given to people who experienced no wrong. All this would do is to enflame greed on the part of receivers and resentment on the part of payers, who did no wrong either.

Will we all agree that there are no people living who were slaves or who were slave owners? Good. Then all aggrieved parties and all guilty parties have gone to a state where our reparations will neither hurt nor assuage.

My family did not own slaves and were actually against the peculiar institution, so my paying makes no sense, but if I were forced to pay, what's to prevent future generations of blacks to keep coming back to the trough that is my family's income time and again? If I paid current black people, none of whom I have wronged and none of whom were ever wronged personally, the monster, in short, would still exist. Why should blacks at the beginning of the 21st Century be entitled to money when those who came before weren’t and those who come after won’t? Makes no sense. If this whitey pays, then why shouldn't my children, and their children, etc. pay constantly too?

No, one-time payments will never do. Repeated payments will never do. Unless…

Yes, there must be a condition that ends everything. And here it is: Every black American who can prove that his ancestors were slaves in America before 1865 is entitled to one reparation payment—with condition. The payment would be $100,000; the threefold condition is that he or she will board a plane, with a one-way ticket, for Africa; that his/her American citizenship be irrevocably surrendered; and that he or she be forbidden to return--ever--to American soil.

Any black who refuses to accept this condition forfeits the chance to ever get reparations ever again for himself or any of his descendants. Future generations who are resentful that they are still living in America because some ancestor chose not to take the deal are out of luck. I guess they are cursed to be Americans for the rest of their lives, or at least without any financial incentive to give up that onerous burden.

Every black American living as of a particular date (to be determined) who can prove that his ancestors were indeed enslaved will have a one-week window to make the final decision. Those eighteen and older will decide for themselves. Those under eighteen, alas, must abide by their fathers’ decision. If no father can be found for a black child (most unlikely, of course), then the default position will be that the child would want to get the money and go back to Africa and will be sent to Africa with a US check for 100k, making his/her adoption extremely likely.

So there it is, a take-it-or-leave-it deal that compensates all aggrieved black parties if they so choose and that will be a stake in the heart of the Reparations Monster for all time for those who must pay. Everyone should be, if not jubilantly happy, somewhat mollified. Slave descendants can start a new and, one hopes, prosperous life in the continent from which their ancestors were ripped, and slave descendants who choose to stay will be announcing that they are committed to being Americans without any grievance against white people that must be remunerated. Harmony will prevail in all corners of the world! Praise Jesus!

Except, Solomon suspects, there will probably be those who take the deal and find out that there are worse places than America in which to live. Oh, how full of rue are those who choose to sell themselves for transient indulgence.

The story of Africa, I believe.