choices

Now an Obamanation, once an Ibombanation. 

From the initial presidential term of the millenium, a lot of corpses.  To all the pro-life war mongerers out there - some of those were pregnant women.  Imagine how it is for a fetus to die because its mother got blown apart.

Evil "geniuses" out, happy well meaning halfbreed in.  This is better.

thought fer the day

Immortal quote I was inspired to invent during yet another day of trying to foist my books upon unsuspecting  Park Avenue strollers:

"Mankind imagines a human intelligence no one is possessed of."

You read it here first. 

Decisions, decisions

Suppose someone identifying himself as God came before the world and said, “Sorry. I've just sold you out to a meat processor from Alpha Centauri. The contract takes effect tomorrow. Still alive after that, they get your carcass and soul. Well, that's it for now.”

What would you do?

The New Confederacy of Dunces

Selling books I talk to lots of people.  Some are  people who have bonded with the Republican Party.  Many of these seem to feel anger at the President of their country.  The oddest thing is  they often spew something about how stupid or what an idiot he is.  It should be clear how this destroys their credibility.   Of all the things they could dredge up, I always wonder why they choose  the one thing he most obviously is not.  And then I always think, if this man who was Editor of the Harvard Law Review is an idiot, then what does that make you, who surely reside somewhere below him.   Furthermore I doubt they ever said that about Obama's predecessor, who clearly was stupid, whether acting a part  or not.
 Maybe it's because they can't come up with anything specific; or  they're  dissatisfied with the race of his father.  They lack the candor to say that what really bothers them is the extreme uppity-ness of his Negroness so they just blurt out that he's an idiot, hoping that saying it makes it so.  

In a lot of ways, I think we're all just still in the second grade.

everything being relative

It must be a basic mammalian trait that we want to see our species capable of good deeds.  I was just looking at Mark Twain's account of Joan of Arc's demise and even that notorious cynic found something good in a 17 year old girl getting roasted on the spit.  It seems before the flames entirely engulfed her, a British soldier fashioned a cross for her to ride into eternity.  Twain was moved by this act.  So there it is.  By only allowing her to burn to death as opposed to burning to death without a cross, he has become a great anonymous man remembered through the ages for his thoughtfulness. 




So - has the bar risen since then or dropped? 

Turkey Downs Russian Jet

That must be some turkey.

Ain't no Blazing Saddles

I just saw The Martian (the movie).  In these days of helplessness and lack of purpose, what a welcome testimony to human resourcefulness!  Somebody took no humor, no dialog, no logic, no reality, almost no acting, almost no actors, a bag of cliches in place of a coherent plot, poorly copied scenes out of Mission to Mars and made millions on it.  Makes me proud to be an Earthling.

 And also makes me suspect some forces out there are trying to further soften up the giant dumbass we call America for the astronomical expenditures  associated with sending a man like Matt Damon to Mars so he can figure out how to grow potatoes "in his own shit."  Yep.  They sure make it look like fun spending years in a vehicle with four other people traveling through a hostile environment while your children grow up and your spouse grows old without you.  Seems like all single people would have been chosen for the job or they would have invented warp drive by then.  But weightless frolicking probably makes it worth it. We know the Commander wasn't always smiling just to show her nice astronaut teeth.

They haven't even finished screwing up this planet and already they're looking to new ones. Although that could be the finishing touch - when someone returns from there with some incomprehensible hitchiking microbe  used to surviving on nothing for eons that looks around and says, "I do believe in God."

Or - and here's a wild leap - they have no intentions of  sending anybody to Mars.  They're just building a cover story for more weapons in space.  Keep in mind who first publicly broached the idea.  He has the same first name as our first president.

For evidence of other skeptical observers, check out The Global Network Against Weapons and Nuclear Power in Space.

Send in the Clowns

The Republicans certainly took that lovely Judy Collins hit to heart. Who knew they listened to music?!?  But really, what else do they have?

The Never Ending Story

And so here we go again. They're robbing the aquifer, fricking the land, addicting the general population with cell phones now that lung cancer has gone out of style (addictions of course being the most powerful incentive to keep going to that job every day).   And hey! Looky here – the circus is back in town – under the big top - here's Bevis and Butthead times 5 running for leader of the free world. Look at that - commentators speaking in serious tones about what they say, proving that it's important. Think and talk about this. It will divert your mind from meaningful events happening around you.  And while you're at it, look at JEB!, the candidate with no last name.  He doesn't need one for identification purposes, does he, out there getting that token resistance so it doesn't seem like an anointment when he gets the nod.  What a hell of a family.  Let's try another one.  There's got to be something in that trash pile we can use.   It's a national resource  'cause there's still more where that came from.  Probably recycle 'em eventually if they run out.  Yeeehaaa.

Sure democracy is a concept sacred only to the rabble, who are down here hoping for some recognition of their individual worth; and to those who don't require  representation, nothing beyond the not-binding rules of a hilarious  game.  It's probably good they still feel the need to entertain us.  When that stops we better run for the hills. 

Trumpelstiltskin's Non-Ballistic Missile

In tv's latest reality show, REPUBLICAN PRESIDENTIAL DEBATES, the producers have upped the ante. No more getting voted off the island or “fired.” Lose ground in a debate and you Get Your Balls Cut Off by one of the other contestants.

So Trumpelstiltskin went on tv again. He went to a debate and said things with his balls. He also said things with his brain and his ass but  nobody could tell the difference.  They didn't know if he was a smart-ass or a lame-brain. But then Fox News said, “Trumpelstiltskin, get your balls cut off.”

So Trumpelstiltskin chose a technology executive so she would do a good job. And then everybody said, Ha,ha, Trumpelstiltskin got his balls cut off by a girl. Now he doesn't have any balls.

“Don't worry,” surgeon Fiorina assured him. “You're still bald.”

ON SALE NOW !!!

“I still say Klingons is the niggers of outer space,” Curtis Baumgartner said.

          Wayne Clewless took a slug of Pabst, then set down the can with authority and stared down the bar at Baumgartner like he was sighting him with his .22. “And I keep tellin you they ain't no niggers in space.”

          “I ain't talkin bout actual niggers. I'm sayin they is the niggers of space.”

          “And I'm sayin they ain't no niggers in space.”
        “ What he's sayin Wayne,” Buddy Burnsed stepped in, “ is ever place has its niggers. And in space it's the Klingons.”

          “But how'd they ever get in space? And how'd a bunch a niggers build a space ship? Answer me that. ”

          “Them Klingon ships do look like they's nigger-rigged, Curtis,” Buddy Burnsed said.

          “They ain't... regular... niggers,” Curtis Baumgartner explained, exasperated. “They got regular niggers on the Enterprise. You kin see the diff'rence.”

          “Okay. So you's sayin' they's space niggers.”

          “If thet's the closest you kin come to unnerstandin it, Wayne, then yeah. They's space niggers.”

          Wayne stared upward, visualizing the final frontier in the glo-in-the-dark stars glued to the ceiling.  “Well, if they's niggers in space, then why they ain't no Klan?  Answer me that.”

          Curtis almost fell off his stool.  “Wayne, you idiot – what'd you think the Fed'ration is?”

          Buddy Burnsed muttered “Jesus Christ, Wayne,” into his beer.   


from The Last Opus of Hector Berlioz ...  available on Amazon Kindle or e-mail for a real book

"Levine is laugh out loud.  He is a master of the genre."  - Midwest Book Review

an awful lot of baloney being sliced for us

just a reminder here that at the same time Orlando is planning to give its citizens processed urine to drink and shower in to protect the aquifer, Niagara's deal to take away millions of gallons each day was renewed and their allotment increased.  People who dislike being played for a fool might consider taking some meaningful action.  

enuff already

So then Trumplestiltskin came back to Earth and tried to be president again but Barak O'Bama said, “No, man. Look at you. You're a zombie.”

Then Trumpelstiltskin looked at himself and it even scared him. So he had a lot of baby black people and then called up Hilary Clinton and asked her to kill all the Irish people and Hilary Clinton said she probably would. Then Trumpelstiltskin loved Barak O'bama and sent him a giant scab off the top of his head where his beautiful spun gold used to be. Then all the Arabs started having baby Mexicans and that really made them stop and think.

the end

Rump Rant

I feel compelled to point out something to people getting excited about Donald Duck for president.  The thing about it is, the President of the United States is supposed to be our representative in the government, the rabble’s man.  Because we’re the ones who vote him in.  All the promises are made to the commoners, nobody else, all the pie in the sky is aimed at we the feeble.  So he’s got to be our advocate;  the man elected to a position of strength who keeps at bay the dogs of wealth from gobbling us up entirely. That’s what we’re hoping for.  We want someone from our team with a righteous fire in his belly to take ahold of the reigns and drive the buggy to the beach.  But the fact is, nobody from our team could possibly become president.  He may start out on our team but before he can be considered for the job, he must abdicate to the other side, heart and soul.   Nobody could be farther on the other side than a multi-billionaire. 

You know how when you get up a baseball game and you’re a couple people shy of full teams so someone from the team that’s batting plays catcher?  And you know how you never really trust that guy to try his best to catch a foul ball or tag out the runner?  Well, it’s like that.  Ignoring politics makes complete sense but why in Dr. Ruth's underwear would you get excited about a billionaire representing you?   It smacks not of democracy but worship.  And it’s pathetic.   Hey, I’ll bet if all the marionettes reached up and cut their strings, the puppeteer would just fall over backwards.

Return of Trumpelstiltskin

So Trumpelstiltskin rubbed his hands together excitedly.  But just before he said what the deal would be, he noticed a talking Bush nearby.  The Bush said, “Trumpelstiltskin, you like Hilary Clinton and think she can talk to Irabians.  That sounds like you’re not conservative.   You can’t be president anymore, Trumpelstiltskin.   I’m going to impeach you.”

                Then Trumpelstiltskin said, “You can’t impeach me, you stupid Bush.  I’m dead.”

                “Oh no,” the Buish wailed, “Trumpelstiltskin is dead.  Trumpelstiltskin is dead.”

                Trumpelstiltskin just looked at it.  “Bushes are stupid,” he thought.

                Thinking distracted Trumpelstiltskin so much that he stood up and the Customs official Martian got away.   Then the Martian yelled, “Ha! Ha!  No deal for the illegal alien!”

                When Trumpelstiltskin heard that, he decided he might as well rape all the Martians as long as he was there.  But then he saw Barak O’Bama coming in an angel drawn chariot. 

                Barak O’Bama yelled, “Saints be praised,Trumpelstiltskin, you’re in my care now.  You can’t escape just by flopping around in space.  I’m everywhere.”

                So Trumpelstiltskin got in the chariot but he smelled so bad by then that Barak O’Bama kicked him back to Earth.  “Here’s your second chance, Stiltskin,” he said.

                  

More to come…

Trumpelstiltskin in Space

“Please, Barak O’Bama, let me go back to Earth and I will show with good works how much I repent of being a jerk.”

                “Trumplelstiltskin, I thought you were dumb but I didn’t know you were crazy.   I ain’t even got started on you …”

                Just then Trumpelstiltskin jumped off of heaven and into space.  Luckily the golden strands upon his head caught the attention of gravity and pulled him away.  Barak O’Bama saw this and commanded gravity to cease and desist but gravity didn’t pay him no mind.  He tried vetoing it but that didn’t work either.  So Trumpelstiltskin was laughing in space and sticking out his tongue some more at Barak O’Bama.

                Gravity isn’t real fast from so far away so Trumpelstiltskin seemed to float around for quite awhile which gave him plenty of time to contemplate the error of his ways.   Unable to find it, he returned to thoughts of satisfying his ever-growing hunger for baby Mexicans.

                Then a planet appeared beneath Trumpelstiltskin and he knew that soon he would be around good food again.  Trumpelstiltskin’s golden strands blossomed out into a parachute and he gently touched down in a red wasteland.

                “Shit,” he thought, “this must be Mars.”  Then he brightened.   “But everyone here will be an alien and taste great!”

                Then a Martian flew up to Trumpelstiltskin and said in a German accent, “Your passport please.”

                Trumpelstitskin said, “$$$K you.   I don’t need a stupid passport to come here.  I’m heaven sent.”

                Then a customs official Martian crawled over and said, ”Trumpelstiltskin, you are an illegal alien.  Stop raping everybody.”

                So then Trumplestitskin got really mad and sat on the customs official.

                The customs official said, “Let’s make a deal.”

               

to be continued...

                

Trumpelstiltskin Meets his Maker

‘Trumpelstiltskin was surprised to see Barak O’Bama in Heaven. He said, “Barak O’Bama, why do I keep having your children.   Just cut it out, Barak O’bama.”

“Yo Trumpelstiltskin, shutuppayou mouth when you're up here.   When you were alive, you thought I was just  El Presidente of those United States of Unamerican Activities.  That’s just the best I could do down there.  As you can see, this is my day job.  If you think I gave you some shit before, just think what I can do now.”

                Trumpelstiltskin stuck out his tongue.  “Barak O’Bama, you can’t do anything to me because I already made it here.”

                “Really, Trumpelstiltskin, is that what you think?  Maybe you’re here because I requested you.”

                So then Barak O’Bama drew a curtain.   Behind it stood Mickey Rooney with a skunk spraying him eternally.  Barak O’Bama said, “I hated The Atomic Kid.”

                Then Trumpelstiltskin started getting nervous.  

"Trumpelstiltskin, you've been an incredible jerk your whole life.  You either have to sincerely repent or pay the consequences."

Will  Trumpelstiltskin repent??  Stay tuned

More from my latest novel

“I still say Klingons is the niggers of outer space,” Curtis Baumgartner said.

          Wayne Clewless took a slug of Pabst, then set down the can with authority and stared down the bar at Baumgartner like he was sighting him with his .22. “And I keep tellin you they ain't no niggers in space.”

          “I ain't talkin bout actual niggers. I'm sayin they is the niggers of space.”

          “And I'm sayin they ain't no niggers in space.”
        “ What he's sayin Wayne,” Buddy Burnsed stepped in, “ is ever place has its niggers. And in space it's the Klingons.”

          “But how'd they ever get in space? And how'd a bunch a niggers build a space ship? Answer me that. ”

          “Them Klingon ships do look like they's nigger-rigged, Curtis,” Buddy Burnsed said.

          “They ain't... regular... niggers,” Curtis Baumgartner explained, exasperated. “They got regular niggers on the Enterprise. You kin see the diff'rence.”

          “Okay. So you's sayin' they's space niggers.”

          “If thet's the closest you kin come to unnerstandin it, Wayne, then yeah. They's space niggers.”

          Wayne stared upward, visualizing the final frontier in the glo-in-the-dark stars glued to the ceiling.  “Well, if they's niggers in space, then why they ain't no Klan?  Answer me that.”

          Curtis almost fell off his stool.  “Wayne, you idiot – what'd you think the Fed'ration is?”

          Buddy Burnsed muttered “Jesus Christ, Wayne,” into his beer.   

"Levine is laugh out loud.  He is a master of the genre."  - Midwest Book Review

The Last Opus of Hector Berlioz ...  available on Amazon Kindle or e-mail for a real book

Trumpelstiltskin for President

Everybody said, “Trumpelstiltskin will be a great president!” and “Trumpelstiltskin will save us from things!”

Then some other people said, “Wait a minute.  We want somebody else to be President.”

So Trumpelstiltskin  became President of the United States.   Hooray for Trumplestiltskin!

Trumpelstiltskin was always rubbing his hands together now.  The first thing he said was, “Mexican families can stay but I have to eat all their babies.”  President Stiltskin got so excited when he said this that he flew all across the western hemisphere like a giant balloon somebody let go of.  Finally he came down in Mexico where everybody thought he was the pin~ata from God and stuck pitchforks in him and beat him with bats. 

                So Trumpelstiltskin was dead.  When God saw him floating up to Heaven he almost blew a gasket.  “Trumpelstiltskin, why for is you coming here?” he yelled. 

                Trumpelstiltskin thought only of angel food.

to be continued...

Excerpt from my latest novel

Lawful ownership of many Taft houses was a concept  of no greater consequence than the middle name of the man in the moon.  People lived in them until they perished, were pushed out or failed to find their way home again.  Then immediately somebody else entered and controlled the space.  With neither the time nor the inclination to pine for a vacancy, Bubbah Berlioz scouted a block, identified his target and forced out a family of Jewish midgets.  He ensconced his wife there to begin their life together.   

The Last Opus of Hector Berlioz … available on Amazon Kindle or e-mail for signed first edition.  Buy one.

“Tom Levine manages to offend pretty much every segment of society in this hilarious new novel.” –Jim Finnigan

More from Trumpelstiltskin

So Barak O’Bama said, “Saints preserve us, Trumpelstiltskin, I need you to negotiate with those               Irabians before they blow  Ireland off the map.”

                Then Trumpelstiltskin rubbed his hands together.  When Trumpelstiltskin went to Irab, he said, “Here’s the deal.  I eat a baby Irabian every day until some woman Irabian can weave golden hair upon my head. “

                The Irabians said, “And that’s it?”

                Trumpelstiltskin rubbed his hands together again and said, “No.  There’s one more thing.”

                Then Trumpelstiltskin got a phone call and it was  Barak O’Bama.   Barak O’bama said,“How’s it goin’, Rump?”

                Trumpelstiltskin said, “What is wrong with you?”

                Then Barak O’bama went to Paraguay.

                So the Irabians asked Trumpelstiltskin what was the other thing and Trumpelstiltskin told them, “Eat my shorts.”

                Then the Irabians did that and Trumpelstiltskin was a big hero in the United States of America.  So everybody said, Trumpelstiltskin for president.  And then he ran for president.

               

                 

Unbearably Small

In a thinly disguised attempt to learn the number of Florida males with subnormal dicks, the State of Florida has begun issuing bear hunting permits.   Personally I never put any stock in the correlation some people draw between jacked-up cars, hunting, telescopes and this natural distinction.  Until  Field and Stream Magazine started inexplicably appearing in my mailbox monthly.  On perusal I noticed every issue has four solid pages of  dick enlargement ads.   Subsequent research showed this to be a revenue base common to hunting magazines. 

            So,I thought, some men compensate by reading hunting magazines.  I don’t know if they pose with this reading material to appear to have a bigger penis or if it’s the reading that supplies the desired increase.  To further complicate the matter, just reading a hunting magazine does not prove your dick is small.  Perhaps some feel inadequate in spite of their already large lower proboscis and wish to lug around a giant one.

            Of course many men hunt who own a regular dick but probably their inspiration to hunt comes from elsewhere than a magazine.  And mostly they don’t care to shoot a bear because they already own and love a. dog and they know there is precious little difference. 

            It looks like for once the government is onto something.  Their data will have some substance.  What they plan to do with it, who knows?  But if you find yourself about to buy a bear killing permit, you might want to reconsider.  Is that a list you really want to be on?      

and then...

The Hunchback of Notre Dame said the world could be a better place if everyone would be nice.  Trumpelstiltskin said he wondered if there were any baby hunchbacks around to eat.  And so then they got in a big fight with Trumpelstiltskin swinging from the bell.  Then he killed the hunchback of Notre Dame by unscrewing his nose.  The next day he went on a televised debate where somebody asked him, "What's your favorite color?"
Trumpelstiltskin said it was versmicktiddy and nobody could say that wasn't it.
Then Trumpelstiltskin walked over and peed on a talking Bush.  When he did that the Bush said, "Trumpelstiltskin, I love you."  And so then they got married but their child was a baby colored person.
So Barak O'Bama was in trouble again.
Trumpelstiltskin got mad at all the Irish people this time and rounded them up and sent them all to France.  Then he and the Bush went to Ireland where Trumpelstiltskin had another baby colored person.  Now Trumpelstiltskin was fit to be tied.  He balled up his fists, his faced turned red and he yelled "Barak O'Bama!"
And Barak O'Bama heard him

to be continued...

Dang that Trumpelstiltskin

...continued from previous blog, The Legend of Trumpelstiltskin


Trumpelstiltskin journeyed to Barak O’Bama’s house and said,  “Why does my baby look like you?”

“I’m thinkin’,” Barak O’Bama said in his thick Irish brogue, “Why do you look like my butt?”

So then Trumpelstiltskin ate Rick Perry’s daughter.

When Trumpelstiltskin belched, that was the shot heard ‘round the world.  Rick Perry’s daughter flew out and strangled John McCain.

So John McCain got strangled just because of Trumpelstiltskin.  What a Trumpelstiltskin.  Now where’s John McCain when we really need him?

 Meanwhile Trumpelstiltskin went back to Paris to let things cool off a bit.  He was talking to the Hunchback of Notre Dame one day when they both got an idea.  But they were different ideas.

Love Happens

...continued from previous stuff

“You can’t digest me, you stupid Trumpelstiltskin,” John McCain blithered like an idiot, dancing around taking pot shots at his adversary.

So Trumpelstitskin went to Paris to escape John McCain and there he fell in love with the Statue of Liberty.  “I must return to the Statue of Liberty,” he said and started swimming across the ocean.  He swam and he swam and he swam some more.  Trumpelstiltskin saw many wonderful things on his odyssey but then he saw John McCain swimming toward him.  He didn’t know what to do and then it was all over.  John McCain  got married to Trumpelstiltskin and had a Negro child.

                “This is crazy,” thought Trumpelstitskin.  “Why is our child a Negro?”

                Then Barak Obama was in big trouble.

senior citizen food

 Trumpelstiltskin could buy all the babies he could eat but then he decided he just wanted to eat John McCain, who was an old man selling pencils in front of the Jiffy Mart.  He followed John McCain home one day but he never  got there because John McCain lived all the way in Pencilvania.  So he just waited in a nearby alley the next day and got him as he walked to work.  John McCain put up a good fight and he wiggled and squiggled all the way down.

“That’s what you get for being a jerk,” Trumpelstiltskin said, licking his chops.

Then Trumpelstiltskin tried to write The Last of the Mohicans by James Cooper but he couldn’t remember who Robert Jordan was.  Right then Trumpelstitskin needed to move his bowels and sure enough, out came John McCain with his dukes up

To be continued…

The Legend Continues

Trumpelstitskin was so happy he farted a flock of partridges out his ears and got a television show.   The show was called “I Want to Eat Your Baby.”  According to the rules, non Mexican women had to bring a baby with them and weave golden strands upon his head.  If they failed, of course he processed their babies.   This proved that Trumpelstiltskin liked eating babies even better than golden strands upon his head.   But then a bald blonde woman with a North Carolina accent and the most delectable looking baby wove the golden strands.

  “No,” said Trumpelstiltskin, panicking.  “Don’t do that.  I only want your baby.”  

But the woman kept weaving golden strands and wouldn’t stop until Trumpelstiltskin’s Nielsen rating got so low that he didn’t have a tv show.

Meanwhile the woman got so focused on her job that somebody else came in and quickly ate the baby.  

“Now what?”  Trumplestitskin probably thought, though no one can know for sure.

The years wore on and Trumpelstiltskin grew more irritable.   He became a sailor and wore a sailor suit on the high seas.  Even this did not satisfy him so he came back to Spain and ate hot dogs out the wazoo.

Then his wazoo wore out and he became a rich billionaire who everybody knew about, mainly because of his name, which had “rump” in it.

to be continued ...

The Legend of Trumpelstiltskin

Once there was a big ogre named Trumpelstiltskin.  He lived in the United States and ate babies when he could get them.   The thing about this guy is he always had to get “a deal.”  And so he went far and wide seeking  deals until he became known as the Master of the Deal.   In more narrow circles he was known as The Ogre Who Eats Babies. 

                One day Trumpelstilskin had just grabbed a Mexican baby from its brightly embroidered  stroller and started chewing on its foot.  “No!” cried its mother.  “If you will spare my baby I will spin golden hair upon your head.”

                Trumplestiltskin  said, “No way.”

                The mother nodded grimly.  “Way.”

                So Trumpelstiltskin went in search of other babies to eat and see what  deals he could make for other missing parts of his body.  First he found a baby Chinaman sitting in the middle of a bucket.  Trumpelstiltskin   ate it.

                For the time satiated, he returned to the Mexican mother  to get his reward but she wasn’t there anymore.  Then he went bananas and looked for a monkey to eat and said, “God damn it.”

                “Yuk,” Trumpelstiltskin  said, spitting out the monkey’s face.

                Then Trumpelstiltskin had an idea.  He started to eat a baby F.B.I. agent.  When its father begged him not to, the ogre said, “I will not eat this baby if you will find the Mexican woman who can spin golden hair upon my head.”

                The F.B.I. agent looked puzzled.  “Which one?  There are many.”

                Then Trumpelstitskin truly went crazy.

To be continued…

                   

And Again

It’s another memorial day, a time to speak of men who “laid down their lives so we could be free,” and “made the ultimate sacrifice.”  I find this whole military pr day insulting to the folks who went to war for whatever reasons and didn’t make it back.  For starters I doubt they laid down their lives.  More likely their lives were taken away from them and not without a fight.  And certainly they didn’t do it so we could be free to play video games, become enslaved to cell phones and be unable to travel without a gps and incidentally allow our wasteful way of living to help degrade our habitat.  If they risked their lives, my guess is they had their own families and generations in mind, not the current one. 

                I further doubt that sacrifice was involved, unless referring to what the government does with its citizens.  Probably very few would have gone had they known they would be killed.  So how about we cut all the crap and just say, “Here’s to all those brave people whose lives were cut short because some rich bastards wanted to get us in a war.”  We can call it “Rich Bastards Day.”

                When we figure out a way to lay going to war to rest, let’s have a Memorial Day for that.

BREAKING NEWDS !!!

The literary event of the year, dare we say decade?  is coming up faster than a  gopher guts sandwich.  That's write.  The latest signing by that luminary auther and seller of grate English wurds, the man who puts the litter in litterature, the ok in book and the cash in pocket, well, we all know who we're talking about here - for those who've been on Mars or someplace and haven't caught the buzz, has been scheduled for May 16.

  See Tom's amazingly above average new novel, see Tom sell four books at once, just see Tom.   See you there.  Where?  Where else?  Winter Park's new and terrific bookstore - Writer's Block, 124 Welbourne Ave., 12-2 and probably a bit on both sides of that.  Be there or be a writer's blockhead.

Today's Revelation

Just watching a war movie and it got me wondering what is the purpose of the Geneva Conventions, which, I see by reading them, were violated during the George Bush era by the United States and no doubt are violated by any country anytime it’s deemed expeditious to do so. 

  They can’t exist out of concern for the welfare of captured soldiers because if the “powers that be” actually cared about soldiers, they wouldn’t have wars in the first place and then enlist those with the least stake in the outcome to kill and die in them.   Clearing away that advertised purpose left the true purpose  obvious.  It’s a military recruiting tool making it a little easier to swallow going out to kill or be killed if you think at least you won’t get tortured or you’ll get kind treatment once you’re blown apart.   Kind of a warm fuzzy from the big shots.  Makes war a civilized endeavor.  Heck.  If there's rules, how bad can it be?

Accidentally exposed to "The News" tonight where I heard more about the Boston Marathon Terrorist Attack.  I'm still waiting to hear someone report on the Baghdad Terrorist Attack  that killed thousands and probably caused the one in Boston.  Oh, I just remembered.  When countries do it, it's foreign policy.  

Only Humans Think Einstein was Smart

Being Easter Sunday, it’s time for me to lay to rest the idea that manmade machines may develop artificial intelligence.    Have you ever watched Fox News?  We’re not even intelligent.  By what wild stretch of the imagination are we to imbue intelligence upon a mechanical device?   Without it ourselves, we wouldn’t recognize it if it happened.

 What wits we do display evolved as a survival tool.  Humans need a hub to delegate physical responses to sensory stimuli.  That’s our brain, our self, our consciousness.  Computers have no mechanism at their disposal such as natural selection to achieve  that.  Necessity is the mother of invention and, as programmed responses to electric input, they have no need.

Google as artificial intelligence:   Based on word association, Google is used by many people as additional brain space, like adding memory.  That doesn’t make Google conscious.  It makes us less conscious.  So perhaps one day we will have achieved parity with machines by attrition.  

As a point of interest, Niagara Bottled Water just re-upped their deal to take a half million to a million gallons a day from the aquifer near Apopka.  Yet ouc plans to send  processed waste into our homes to help the aquifer.  Is there something wrong with this picture?

Move Over Fido

In an uncharacteristic attempt at humor the Orlando Utilities Commission(the polluting one) recently reminded customers of its ongoing and heroic efforts to safeguard our environment.  Coming from the visionaries who abandoned natural gas to build the coal burning (touted as ‘state of the art’ but considered obsolete as soon as it was completed)Curtis Stanton power plant as the rest of the country turned the other way, the hilarity was not lost on me when I got this notification with my bill.   But my laughter was short lived as the purpose of the reminder was revealed:   soon we will be drinking out of each others’ toilets and paying extra for the privilege.   They’re already doing it in Pinellas County and when you take a drink there, it tastes like it.

Of course they didn’t actually write that we will be drinking each others’ processed urine and showering in it and washing our dishes and hands in it.  Nope.   According to what I read, they’re just rescuing our water supply by giving us processed sewage in our pipes.  Call me cynical but I see a connection here to the  St. Johns River Water Management District, another  arm of the development community masquerading as a conservation agency:   Their mission statement is “to find water for development.”    When water restrictions go into place during a drought, these restrictions are considered “found water”  to justify further cramming in of people.   I believe our drinking sewage will be considered a giant pool of “found water” and another  boon to the building industry.

At present we don’t need to drink sewage so why should we in the future?  Well, after all that “found water” gets factored in, there will be a lot more people living here.   I think I prefer the old way of “finding water.”

In this way are the standards lowered that we have tried to expect of life.   Much of the “third world” will have drinking water superior to ours.  At least the people there won’t be sipping from their neighbors’ kidneys.

   

And once, when the mighty Gorkin came rolling down the plane and all the albatross mothers of invention took to the hills, things settled down.  And why not?  De camptown lady sing dis song.  Da do.  Da do.  Holy smokes.  Dat's all folks.  Da doo doo run.  A yabadabadooda day.

The New Poll Tax

The first of several episodes occurred at a Barnes and Noble  signing.  A man fondled my novel , professed love for Florida books and appeared sure to buy one.  Then he asked me did I vote for Obama.  When I admitted I had, he set down the book and walked away.   When I told him that was pretty  fascist of him, he turned and said, “I just don’t want to expose myself to your writing.”

                There you have it: self imposed, willful ignorance  from a belief system too fragile to withstand some words from an unvetted source.   He’s an addict enjoying so much the drug of narrow-mindedness that he won’t risk coming near the cure.  But the pattern has been established.  Every so often someone feigns intention of  buying a book  from me before asking my politics (only “conservatives” do this).   I have  a theory to explain the behavior, though I grant myself the luxury of not exposing myself to Rush Limbaugh’s radio show long enough to find out if it’s correct (three minutes is my limit).  The regularity and similarity of these events lead me to believe he is exhorting his minions to go out and negatively reinforce “liberals.” 

Last weekend’s  was a stealth attack.  The woman acted like she probably was a wild and crazy “liberal” and assured me she was a buyer, just couldn’t decide which book to get.  She even went and got money from her husband.    Then she made her move, slyly inquiring about the characters in Paradise Interrupted.  “Liberal?” she asked.   I said that really wasn’t a factor either way.  “How about the source then?” she said coquettishly.

                “Me?” I said.  “I like to think of myself as a liberal person.”

                “So,” she said.  “You like to think of yourself as liberal.”

                “Yeah.”

                Suddenly she becomes a hideous fiend, snakes pop out the top of her head, she slams down the book and screams, “Ahaah!  I’m conservative!!!  I can’t support you.”

                The fact is, she got it all wrong.  I wasn’t asking her to support me.  I already support me.  I was just out there selling my damn books.  It’s simple – either you buy  one or you don’t.  I expect  some of each.  These people don’t seem to get that.  I wonder if they pursue the same line at the grocery store check-out.

                 “Before I pay for those carrots, did you vote for Obama?”

                “Who’s Obama?”

                I wonder what they do then.

                I started to respond to the charge but she rudely waved me off as she stalked away, triumph in her bosom, a blow struck for the Dittohead way of life, maybe only the first of many that day; me devastated, punished by my politics, the one to blame for this lost sale which probably would signal my financial ruin, ruing my foolhardy attitude and determined to spend the rest of my  life as the only kind of American who deserves to live, a conservative.    

                Wow!  I never could have guessed that bulk wasn’t Limbaugh’s only claim to greatness.  Since becoming conservative, I have flourished.   Nobody wastes my time pretending to buy  a book and I worship Rush Limbaugh for giving me what to think, thereby freeing up my mind for more important things.  And I appreciate Republican politicians for the pitiful, mentally mangled, out-of touch with life, uncool people they appear to be, and the struggles they must have endured to bring into prominence those characteristics.  And I think I ‘m actually learning to disdain OBama because, well, he just really isn’t white enough, is he?

On Top of Old Smokey

Here's an insight into human learning a woman shared with me at the New Smyrna Tom Levine Fest this past weekend.   She said she's been sucked into reading books on Kindle rather than actually reading a book.  I was trying to talk her back from the dark side and into buying one or more of my books. She said somebody gave her a book to read recently and, just for a blast from the past, she determined to read it.  She found it difficult though, because, and this should be a warning to everyone  about the profound effect these cute little digital things can have on the nervous system, she couldn't turn the pages.  Her finger just kept pressing down.  Cue the spooky music.
On a happy note, she did by a book from me for physical therapy.

And Another Thing

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