Why We Lust for Socialism in America.

Americans go about the pretense that we are somehow patriots and lovers of liberty. We resemble the patriots on the Concord Bridge, about as much as the late Michael Jackson and fellow musician Boy George resemble Clint Eastwood and John Wayne.

A living, breathing example - which is rampant in domestic government in that pretense of Liberty that calls itself Orange County, California - is the Homeowners' Association.

TEA PARTY INTERNATIONALE

Finding that they had insufficient Government for their comfort, the people of Orange County invented the Homeowners' Association which, by the merits of it being a private corporation, endowed it with infallibility - or so it appears from their actions.

Since this Government was broadly undefined, the people of Orange County and els where sought to imbue it with the breath of their political character. It was intended to be a common corporation which engaged in actions to beautify the common hold. Very quickly, it became a plush, exorbitantly-funded instrument of local Stalinism. Squealers hold the reins in the Homeowners' Associations across America. Protected by "confidential telephone numbers," they are eager to rat each other out, when a neighbor uses "wheat" colored paint on their house, when only "rust beige" has been approved.

The OC's and others don't seem to cop to their own identities, as for some reason they call themselves "conservatives" and vote Republican. Perhaps that should be a lesson about the character, or lack thereof, of the class of people who identify themselves as Republicans, conservatives and Americans, respectively.

Any pathetic "Tea Party Independence Rallies" which take place tomorrow in places within the little local soviets governed by Homeowners' Associations, should consider themselves up there with Joe Stalin and his Moscow "Peace and Freedom Parades." Suckers.Technorati Tags: teabagging

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Michael Jackson and Healthcare Reform, Continued.

We often complain about the swamp, but never bother to drain it.

Members of the Legal Profession have been chatting energetically about the "Mother of All Suits" regarding Jackson's death.

The comment which tugged at MY heartstrings was:

From the point of a medical malpractice suit, does it even matter? Jackson was allegedly in debt to the tune of over $300 million, though I suspect a forensic accounting may take some time.

If we were all insured by Kindly Uncle Sam, then he could pony up for the loss.

Moral of the Story:

fault (n)

1. (common) Who caused the bad thing to happen? (obsolete)
2. (legal) Whose ass can you sue for it?

e.g. Whose fault was it that I got in an accident when drunk? It's the Highway Department's fault.

Michael Jackson's Death Points Out the Need for Healthcare Reform

Michael Jackson's Death Points Out the Need for Healthcare Reform, for sure. It's only the rich and famous who get ready access to prescription drugs of abuse without any fear of the DEA or the cops trailing your car, and not all of us have a Cuban Maid like Rush Limbaugh to send down to the Denny's with a cigar-box-full of $100 to score for us.

And we need someone for the family to sue when we Fuck Up the Dose and get ourselves killed. Back in the olden days, one had to take the rap for mainlining a hot bag and dying on the can somewhere seedy. And we're scared of needles.

Americans, for sure, are going to get what they want. It's the national credo. And drug use isn't all smoking dope and listening to Jethro Tull and getting insight about reality - it's fucking reality that's driving us off the mesa screaming, and we want Delicious Downers to absorb 47x their weight in Excess Reality.

But we're too chickenshit to go down to FunkyTown to score a bag, better to pick it up in the clean, lighted drive-thru pharmacy, and cop a few of Grandma's Demerol for the cancer pain. Grandma can understand. She feels OUR pain.

On the Tragic Death of Michael Jackson

Michael Jackson is still dead, and the story mandates continuing news coverage of this fact. His original death was not personally noteworthy to bother waking the wife up for. It seems his death involves an ongoing deadness, which the media will keep us up to the minute, about.
To quote the Coroner to the Stars:

As Coroner, I must aver
I thoroughly examined him.
And he's not only merely dead,
He's really, most sincerely dead.

We await a second opinion regarding the question posed from the family, if Michael:

Is morally, ethic'ly
Spiritually, physically
Positively, absolutely
Undeniably and reliably
Dead!

This news can only be a boon to Terry Sanford, although it ruins the celebrity rating of Unnamed Argentine Girlfriend down below the talk-circuit cutoff.

Eugene Robinson wrote a brief and credible epitaph for this fellow, which I found enlightening. I have never been a follower of Mr. Jackson, nor the other members of the now-Jackson-Four, nor have I been struck Medusa-like with the projected image of a sibling's nipple.

America, though, should see the horrible countenance of the pre-dead Michael Jackson as but a mirror into our own being. Michael only wanted to become what we asked him to, Tourettes-like, without the ability to control his own expression. That hideous Roswell alien that he became is only ourselves, mirrored in his own existence.

He was broadly hated as a child-abuser; but what then are we?