The Patriot's Corner

The Arizona Eugenics Movement and a Strange Night with Nickel Bag Joe

2009-06-04T07:04:00.005-07:00

By Jet Lacey

I had the best of intentions when I left the house. A day earlier, I was ripped to the tits when my editor found me in the bathroom of my satellite office, Garnett's Rite-Inn lounge. I said "Hey Bernie, I've been looking all over for you. Where have you been?" He began shouting about this and that; about my phone being off, that I hadn't checked in for two weeks, deadlines and going to press, et cetera. I remember making many droll and empty promises; anything to shut him up. His voice reverberated against the tile walls of the small restroom and it was jamming up my systems. I was on the verge of a full-fledged journalistic meltdown, and nobody wanted that. The last time it happened, I submitted a ten-thousand word essay on ticks, and how Pliny the Elder found them to be "the foulest and nastiest creatures that be." Those were erratic and wicked days.

I had promised to provide "blanket" coverage of the Maricopa County Sheriff's immigration sweep of Guadalupe the next day, and to my credit I almost made it there. In the desert, you have to be highly adaptable and extreme thirst can set in quickly. I was parched, and working with dipsomania blunted senses was simply out of the question. I needed to stay sharp. I pointed my car toward the first dive bar I saw, hoping to find stiff drink and real action. This time it was Sandy's lounge, a single story cinderblock edifice with the sublime charm of a storage shed or Quonset hut. There were no windows, and only two doors; one in the front for patrons, one on the side for deliveries - quintessential form-function architecture.

I was pounding 'em down and watching a baseball game on an ancient 25" Curtis Mathes console somehow affixed to the wall behind the bar. I envisioned lifting it had required an elaborate system of pulleys and levers, erected and manned by swarthy slaves. After all, Curtis Mathes TVs were "the most expensive television set in America – and darned well worth it."

A stealthy survey of the environment found me among a dozen or so bottom-feeders, torn and twisted from the spectrum of known intoxicants. One half-crazed mutant offered me a wilted fistful of Jimson weed which I politely accepted, if only for scientific purposes which are not yet clear to me. Slightly beneath it all, I could feel a presence; a dark entity that lives and thrives in these walls. Some manifestation of evil had gained a foothold and ingrained itself into the very foundation. It moved about on a cold sulfur breeze that made short-hairs stand on end.

Sandy's is one of many places where the soulless and the damned congregate to sup - to feast on each other's life-blood. Pol Pot and Idi Amin would've liked it here. It is the realm of drunks, dopers, and megalomaniacs. You could tell this was no place for amateurs. The single room had the heady, pheromonal musk of utter depravity.

There's real excitement in being where someone could be stabbed over a drink, and the other patrons would step over or around the bleeding victim, deaf to their pleas for assistance or another cocktail. It was my first time here, but I liked it. I could see its inherent charm.

For one, the bartender was a real pro. He looked like a half-dead reincarnation of Rasputin the Mad Monk. His aged skin was loose and paper thin, with extremities dark and mottled from vascular disease and abuse of the drink. Time and distilled spirits had been cruel mistresses.

He spoke very little, but when he did, it was through the pearly haze of a lit cigarette. He said he knew it was illegal to smoke indoors in public, but they could pry the Chesterfield from his "cold, dead lips" if they wanted to. I felt some freakish honor that I had met the Charlton Heston of cigarette smoking. His voice had the timbre of a broken cement mixer, and you could feel it crash into your sternum and travel via direct conduction up to the brain.

He wore dingy grey slacks and a black belt that hoisted them high on his midsection. The belt was a sad timeline of sorts. A sequence of many hand-made holes appeared to mark the reclamation of his body by the earth. On the day he left this world, I wondered if he would leave some part of his body behind or simply deteriorate into nothingness; an outline of opaque mist diffused by an arid breeze.

After an unknown time of similar introspective fantasy, I looked up and found the bar virtually empty. Where had they all gone? Had the Rapture had gone horribly awry? If I wanted to know, I'd have to ask whoever was left. To that end, chances appeared slim. The bartender and a 50-something Yaqui Indian hooker comprised the entire pool of prospective witnesses.

The 'beat up from the feet up' Yaqui floozy didn't look to be any help. Her Medusan hair stayed fixed in place as she babbled angrily about nothing and it was obvious she had recently been in a violent altercation. Someone had given her a healthy taste of the long knuckle; probably the result of a breakdown in the hooker/john negotiation process. Her left eye was swollen shut, and a vibrant palette of pale greens and yellows streaked across the purple lid like an acid-trip sunset. Blood from her nose had dried in wide streaks on her face. In a queer coincidence, the dried blood had the appearance of war paint.

I observed this fractured harridan for about 30 seconds, and I could see how effortlessly she could awaken one's long-dormant instinct for caterwauling homicide. As my ennui fulminated, I imagined doing the 'Nestea Plunge' into the vodka/soda before me.

AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!

The door opened in a crash that shattered the relative silence as three men entered Sandy's. It was a buzz-kill; the wickedest kind. Two went to the booth in the corner while the other approached the bar. One guy was talking, or rather shouting as he came in. The words that passed his lips were the rat-tat-tat-tat drone of the chemically insane.

"Wetbacks-blah-blah-blah-fucking monkeys-blah-blah-blah you fight one bean you fight the whole burrito-blah-blah-blah."

Normally, I don't pay "white is right" xenophobic speed-freaks any mind. They're everywhere, and observing their atavistic behavior is often a painful experience. It would take irrefutable scientific evidence for me to believe these invidious creeps aren't in a state of de-evolution.

I hypothesize that many consecutive generations of profane brother-sister and father-daughter couplings, with an absence of any meaningful socialization, nurturing, or education has triggered an unprecedented de-evolution of the Homo sapiens DNA. At a critical glance, one becomes keenly aware they are some manner of lesser creature; almost but not fully human. Along with the British Royals, they are the flesh and bone manifestation of why you don't play 'slap and tickle' with your own family.

Welcome to the circus side-show of the New World Order.

I've dubbed them neo-Neanderthals, the verminous scourge of trailer parks and Wal-Marts everywhere. They're randy little freaks with breeding tendencies similar to Rattus Norvegicus, or the brown rat if you're feeling sassy. They have thus far retained opposable thumbs and bipedal locomotion, but for how long cannot be said. (No part of my theory has been evaluated scientifically, but some truths lie within the narrow boundaries of the painfully obvious.)

I'm a Neo-gon journalist and amateur social scientist, not Charles-fucking-Darwin.

The one doing all the talking had an eerily familiar voice. I was sure that I'd heard it before, but it was much more rapid and animated than I recalled. It carried the heft of complete self-absorption.

Then in an instant, I knew whose it was.

"Well if it isn't Joe Arpaio, America's Toughest Sheriff" my internal monologue stated flatly.

"Right you are! Johnny, tell him what he's won!" I shot back.

They say talking to your self is a definitive sign of madness. Who knows, maybe they're right.

As I started listening to the substance of the conversation in the corner, my journalist's ears pricked up; I was on the chase. I knew the story, the real story was here, but what was it? I thought it odd that Sheriff Joe would enter such a place with so little personal protection. He's created more than a few enemies as Maricopa County's Sheriff. While the details remain sketchy at best, I've heard rumors that Arizona's Governor, Janet Napolitano stamps her hooves and begins chomping at the bit at the mere mention of his name.

I spun my bar stool around to get a good look at the cartoonish vermin soiling the lone booth. Sheriff Joe was seated with his back toward the door, and the other two race-baiting miscreants sat opposite him.

I first took notice of the kid who had gone to the bar. He looked to be some kind of gargantuan white leech in cargo shorts, a faded Toby Keith tank top, and high-top Chuck Taylor All-Stars that had been flattened; crushed under the twenty-seven atmospheres of pressure beneath his step.

Although it was a cool night inside and out, his bald head was pouring sweat; no doubt he was tweaking balls. He repeatedly wiped it out of his eyes with the front of his tank top, exposing a flabby, hirsute midsection and a massive concave umbilicus.

The other guy was much smaller, maybe 5'8" or 5'9" but built like a brick shit-house; not huge but well-defined.

This terminal creep was dressed in pleated Calvin's, a pink Polo with the collar 'popped', and hand-crafted Ferragamo loafers; probably from the hide of a rare species. He wore a TAG Heuer Carrera that glistened, even under the low-watt incandescent light. He too was pie-eyed on meth; bent like an acute angle.

'I ain't fakin' -There's a Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On."

- Jerry Lee Lewis

Sheriff Joe was dressed per his usual, of which there are two. Tonight he is dressed in the classicfrumpy/dumpy used-car salesman look. His other look is pure donut eating, straight out of the sty, oink-oink; a chambray uniform shirt with all the accoutrements of militaristic grade and status, polyester slacks, and a wide black belt. With either outfit, he wears a Smith & Wesson .38 revolver in a worn leather holster that rides high on his right hip. He's worn the same gun in the same holster since his DEA days, where he earned the epithet "Nickel Bag Joe" for the prodigious number of people he arrested for small-time possession. Whatever he wears, his hair is always the same. He sports a slicked back 'do, held in place with firm-setting pomade.

Nickel Bag Joe was spitting mad; angrier than I'd ever seen him before. As he raged, a lock of his hair became unhinged and appeared to wave at me to get my attention.

"Wow – this guy knows all the tricks." It was obvious. My inner dialogue was duly impressed.

His eyes, wild with mydriatic rage, were bulging from their sockets. Thick, white spittle rained down on the two seated across from him, but they pretended not to notice. "Do these brown-town A-holes think they know what I can and can't do in MY County? I am the e-sonofabitchin'-lected Sheriff, and I will rain hell-fire on these creepy little retards. By lunch-time tomorrow, we'll be playing 'whack-a-mole' with their goddamn heads and knocking their balls off a tee at the driving range with a six-iron. They ain't seen nothin' yet."

The other two tried to contribute their two-cents to the conversation, but had thus far been woefully unsuccessful. They glanced over at one another and shrugged their shoulders in frustration, but Sheriff Joe either failed to notice, or more likely, failed to give a rat's ass.

You don't screw with Sheriff Joe when he's 'on' as it can only prove disastrous. Joe's a tried-and-true "Neapolitan guinea" and if you cross him it's a fact you'll never forget, ever. Joe treats the MCSO like it's one of New York's five families, and he's the Don; the Boss. Really get his dander up, and you might awaken to find a horde of rabid, steroid-fed wildebeests stampeding through your house - sworn "to serve and protect", badge-wearing fiends with odious hearts and the law on their side. They'll take a diseased pleasure in putting a boot or two deep in your ass before chunking you in the back of an undercover car (possibly with Mexican plates) and hauling you off to the crowbar hotel on any number of trumped-up charges; two of which are sure to be resisting arrest and assaulting an officer.

Bear with me people, I get sidetracked.

"Hey lard-ass, you got any more of that devil's dandruff? I ain't got any with me in here, but I got plenty more in the Yukon." Sheriff Joe said as he pumped his eyebrows.

"No one's ever said Sheriff Joe had a flair for subtlety." groaned my internal monologue. "Shut the fuck up" I replied.

"Yeah, I got that O-Z from you earlier, remember Sheriff Joe?" Doughboy said with relish.

"Oh, I remember you little maggot. You still owe me for that" the Sheriff shot back. "That's seven hundred and fifty samoleans, dick-weed. You and I know it's some damn good shit, and I could've got a lot more for it. You'd better not be jerking me off, or I'll be scraping what's left of you off my boot with a stick, like I just stepped in dog shit."

"I won't forget" the kid said and cowered demurely.

"Goddammit, you're fuckin'-A you won't. I ain't your hose-bag, mattress jockey of a mama." In one quick motion, Sheriff Joe pimp-slapped Doughboy. "Damn, he's cold" I thought as Doughboy's face fell into an open-mouthed look of surprise and embarrassment. "I got another one where that came from, and a fresh batch comin' outta the oven, scumbag." Sheriff Joe showed him the back of his hand. "Well, do ya get me fatso?"

"I get you Sheriff Joe."

"Alrighty then. Look - I don't like credit, especially in this business. As far as I'm concerned you tweaking sister-diddlers are a necessary evil, a means to an end. You ain't such a bad kid, you just run with a bunch of misguided bumpkins who can't see the forest through the fuckin' trees. Get it through your head boy; "White Priders" are nothing more than greasy pimples on the sweet ass of humanity. It ain't about color; it's about getting people to do exactly what you want them to do, when and how you want them to do it."

He pointed to Pop-a-collar; "See, this guy sort of knows what it's all about. It's about getting what you want, and doing what it takes to get it."

Pop-a-collar nodded in agreement, but Sheriff Joe dismissed him, giving him the New York salute in contempt. "Vaffanculo pompinaio."* "See, it ain't just the white-trash types. You richey-rich slime-balls think you're somehow above the law. Ain't nobody above the law, do you get me asshole?" he said, again displaying the back of his hand. There was no reply. (* - Vaffanculo pompinaio: Italian for fuck you, asshole)

I sat there, stunned. Could Sheriff Joe and I possibly have anything in common other than being carbon-based life forms? Will wonders never cease?

Suddenly, the Sheriff's expression softened. "Hey, let's leave it alone for tonight. We'll go to the bathroom, get hopped-up one more time, and go screw some Mexicans; literally this time. I know a little massage place not too far from here that we've raided a few times, and they're bat-shit scared of me" Sheriff Joe said with a wide smile.

"They got 'em pretty young there, and I feel like getting nasty. This glass shit makes my pecker hard, and at seventy-five-and-change, it ain't the easiest thing to do. After we get our peepers wet, I've got a few other things planned. You boys will be pleasantly surprised."

"One more thing - those taco-eating subhumans and that See-you-next-Tuesday of a Guadalupe Mayor got me a bit riled up, but you know what? Fuck 'em, each and every one. It's time to celebrate. You boys done good and I'm gonna repay you. Ol' Sheriff Joe knows how to treat his friends right."

"Right on" the pair said in unison.

"I'm going to hurt me a bitch tonight" said Doughboy, squealing with delight. It was pretty obvious that he hadn't gotten any in a while, if ever.

"I don't see how you couldn't, even if you didn't want to" said Pop-a-collar, snidely chuckling.

"Screw you, dick" was the reply.

"Alright you two, let's go" said the Sheriff. He rocked and grunted, trying to free his pendulous abdomen from the narrow confines of the booth. He was starting to get pissed off again when he finally unwedged himself, and the three made their way to the men's room and disappeared inside.

I turned back to my beloved drink, and noticed that it was empty. The bartender, being a pro, brought me another without asking. "You know, I voted for that sonofabitch; twice already" he grumbled, shaking his head in disgust as he walked away. "I got fooled once as well" I replied. With fresh, strong drink in hand, I began processing the fantastic chain of events that had just transpired.

After a few moments, the door to Sandy's again opened with a deafening crash. When I spun around to see who or what had made such an ungodly noise this time, twenty or more protesters from the Guadalupe immigration sweep came barreling in through the door. "Jesus, this ain't good." I said aloud as I watched the angry procession enter.

The crowd, mostly young Mexican men with a few Yaquis sprinkled in for good measure, poured into Sandy's like a molested hornet's nest. They were buzzing and humming in a drunken, basest frenzy. They carried in half-drank bottles of beer and tequila, and couple of them had rope-handled machetes. Maybe one of them had an old wooden pitchfork, but I can't be sure as it all happened so fast.

Almost immediately, one of the more diminutive members of the crowd, a runty bantam rooster, staggered in, saw me, and swaggered over. With angry mob-emboldened machismo, he leaned up hard against the bar with our faces mere inches apart. "What-choo lookin' at, dickhead? Pinche gabacho*." His breath was foul; so foul that it defied description. "Whew" was all I could manage to say as hot, acrid bile sped up my esophagus, pausing at the back of my throat. (Pinche gabacho – Spanish pejorative for 'fucking white-boy.')

After thirty some-odd years of bearing witness to the painful and protracted death of the American dream, it takes more than foul breath to make me vomit, and I swallowed it down as quickly as it came up. After taking a second or two to regain my composure, I said "That's an excellent question, my friend. How about you just tell me because I can't stand the suspense; not for a second longer."

"You lookin' at an Azatlan Guerrero muthafucka; a warrior. That's what you lookin' at. Viva Mexico! Viva La Raza! Down with you gabachos and down with Sheriff Joe Arpayaso*" he shouted, pointing his blunted index finger in my face. He raised a long neck Bud Light into the air and shouted, "Ay-ya-ya-ya-yay!" (Arpayaso is Spanglish new-speak for Arpaio and payaso, which means clown)

With overt mockery and plain old disdain, I said "You've thought this through, haven't you? I mean, that's great, and I'm really impressed. What's your next move, my young friend? I suppose you want to make some example out of me, right? I get it. You want to turn me into some douche-bag guero piñata for you and your friends to beat the stuffing out of and then burn in effigy, right?" I don't think he got it, but it was a rhetorical question all the way.

Right then, the three re-emerged from the men's room, sniffling, coughing, and pinching their noses. All eyes, save for Death-breath's, immediately fell on them. It was an early Christmas for the protesters, but for me it was the perfect time to deal with an ugly situation that could only get uglier.

Ol' Death-breath was now understandably livid with me, but I'd already had enough of his diseased-mouth bullshit. In his fury, his face flashed hot crimson, and large, tortuous veins popped out on his neck and forehead. As he inhaled deeply to give me another putrid ration of the "same old, same old", I jumped off the bar stool with surprising quickness, grabbed the back of his head, and laid into him.

I slammed my left fist into his nose with the sudden, devastating violence of a five car pileup. There was another sick churning in the pit of my stomach as I felt the little fucker's nose shatter under my knuckles, but I wasn't done, not yet.

With my right hand still gripping his hair, I shoved his head down in a quick thrust toward my rapidly ascending right knee. I might have imagined it, but I was sure I felt his brain caroming inside his cranium like a pinball against the bumpers. With that, the wind eased out of him in final submission. Now, I was done, and so was he. I gently laid him on the ground and calmly stepped away.

"Nighty-night motherfucker" I whispered.

I absolutely despise fisticuffs, but he had put me in one unholy bitch of a situation; pure fight or flight. According to Kenny Rogers," You've got to know when to hold 'em and know when to fold 'em." Too true Kenny, too true my nig.

I had an uneasy feeling that the brief altercation I had just experienced would prove to be a mere appetizer to a banquet of violence I was likely about to ingest. The table was set and the dinner bell rung. It was a meal I was not at all hungry for.

In case you were wondering, I harbor a real and visceral disdain for Nickel Bag Joe. He is my Dick Nixon, or at least as Tricky Dick was to Hunter Thompson; he's my arch-nemesis. And lo and behold, there he was - in living color, twisted on meth, and wading neck-deep in an Olympic-sized pool of shit. Welcome friends, to my waking dream.

I should have been glad, but I wasn't. If the last moments of his life went down like it was shaping up to, something much more powerful and horrible would come to life. All the makings of a hurricane-force shit storm loomed on the horizon.

He would receive an obscenely lavish hero's funeral, a huge send-off with all the weird trappings of a fetish ball or Clinton fundraiser. Every high-ranking political dung beetle from the local and national mounds would drop everything to attend. I could see them now - scurrying around, doing some old-timey politicking, and turning wherever they happened to be into an open sewer. Business as usual, as they say.

Lou Dobbs would be in the audience dressed like some upwardly-mobile Kansas City pimp. It is said that no felt hat or fur-lined cape is too rich for his 'media-titan's' wallet. Also, Lou's never been known to possess a rock-solid personal constitution, so you might catch him drinking Crown Royal straight from the bottle, chewing Oxycodones by the fistful, and sobbing inconsolably on the bosom of an underage Thai prostitute.

Rep. Barney Frank, who is said to love a good funeral, would arrive in a chiffon whirlwind, accompanied by a warren of limp-wristed page-boys, who giggle daintily and throw dried rose petals at his feet.

Sen. John McCain, himself an id of cannibalistic umbrage, would have to be restrained like Hannibal Lecter for the occasion. No matter - an event of this magnitude would be one of those rare political bonanzas where the stakes are simply too high to consider skipping. When Sen. McCain must be seen in public on one of his many "bad days", he is administered heroic amounts of sedatives, fitted with a Lucite bite guard, and dressed in a custom-tailored Armani straight-jacket; a garment given to him with much fanfare at his 70th birthday gala, hosted and paid for by Anheuser-Busch and General Dynamics.

Under directive of the President, McCain is escorted at all times by a team of four Secret Service agents and an operant conditioning expert. The team's sole purpose is to keep anyone who ventures near the Senator out of harm's way. They have been sanctioned to use any non-lethal means deemed necessary to keep the senior Senator from Arizona under control.
The agents carry a large Naugahyde duffel bag filled with various types of tranquilizer guns, Tasers, and cattle prods to achieve that end.

Because Sheriff Joe never had any real friends to speak of, a chain gang from Tent City would be forced, like unwitting grooms at a shotgun wedding, into carrying the coffin from the church to the hearse, and from the hearse to the grave.

Upon death, scum like Joe Arpaio deserve to have their corpse dipped in rat's blood and set adrift on the open sea; tossed over the edge of a garbage scow without so much as a "see you in hell." But what then? Who would be the comically villainous Joker to my rancorous, alcoholic Batman?

Adding insult to injury, he would be canonized into secular Sainthood; martyred by the same low-minded syndicate of crazies that keep voting him and others of his ilk into office.
They are spread across the map of Arizona in thick, broad brushstrokes, like coarse graffiti on a Rembrandt. However, these diseased animals exist in their highest concentrations in Arizona's "retirement communities"; communities with quaint names like Sun City, Verrado, and Pebble Creek.

It is the land of lumbago and elastic waistbands, with a liquor store or pharmacy on every corner. Outwardly these burgs appear serene, tranquil even, but don't be fooled. They are overrun by marauding platoons of over-medicated and besotted Blue-hairs, who I refer to as the 'liver spot' demographic; caustic, freakish crones who only come out in the twilight of pre-dawn, or for happy hour.

Their lives are driven by three basic motivations; an irrational fear of nearly everything, greeting each day with an unslakable thirst for the drink, and, on each election day, arriving at the polling station at the crack of dawn to proudly vote an up-and-down "straight fascism" ticket.

These Sea-bond loving wack-a-doos get their burlap granny-panties all moist and dewy over the perception that Sheriff Joe keeps them safe from "vicious and dangerous minorities." Many have been known to lapse into a catatonic state of 'the fears' over the arrival of a Hispanic substitute mailman.

These aged hate-mongers use their vote as a weapon; a demented defense mechanism against the fear of impending death. They make no bones about it either; their goal is to make the rest of us pay for each and every one of our unlived days. They are far too afraid to live, and too wicked and miserable to fuck off and die.

Yowza! That was one hell of a tangent. Let's get back to business, shall we?

Killing Sheriff Joe would almost certainly serve as the catalyst that would destroy all hope for the return of sanity to Arizona immigration law, and quite possibly the entire country. It would also ruin the lives of the 20 or so understandably furious Mexicans and Yaquis, as well as their families' lives. It had lose-lose written all over it, in every known dialect.

"Hey, Arpay-asshole, it looks like you're finding yourself in a lot of trouble here tonight, gringo." said the obvious Alpha-male of the group, violently shaking a weathered and calloused fist. The incensed group hummed and growled in agreement.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the bartender and the hooker abandoning ship in a beeline toward the front door. The bartender had a new bottle of Chivas in his left hand and two unopened packs of smokes in the right. "Smart move", I thought. In her inebriated haste to leave the premises, the Yaqui hooker tripped over Death-breath, kicking him flush in the ear. He moaned, inhaled deeply, and again fell silent. It was then, more or less, I knew he'd be ok.

Sheriff Joe started winding up again. "All right you assholes, what you are going to do is to get your dark-skinned asses out of my way and let me pass, Right Fucking Now, or I swear to God al-fucking-mighty himself that you'll pay, and I mean pay dearly. Now MOVE!" It was evident ol' Sheriff Joe had been in some tight spots before, and he knew the best defense is oftentimes a good offense.

I noticed him reaching for his service revolver, and for the second time in as many minutes, I knew it was 'do or die' time. "So let it be written, so let it be done" I muttered as I quietly stepped to the trio from a blind spot on their right side. I waylaid Pop-a-collar with a cheap-shot; an overhand left that landed flush on his cheek. Before he fell, I grabbed him, spun him around, and shoved him into the group of surprised protesters, knocking over the Alpha-male in the process. Almost instantaneously, the vicious attack began. He wailed a high-pitched shriek as they had their way with him. The sound was most unbecoming; one I would describe as the antithesis of masculine. A few seconds later I saw one of the protester's fists raised in the air, and it was clutching a handful of Pop-a-collar's hair. I must admit, I almost felt bad for the poor bastard.

Doughboy started to blubber. A biblical deluge of tears began flowing like Havasu falls down his fat face. I thought to myself, "Oh Christ, here comes the waterworks." I turned and laid my full weight into Sheriff Joe, straight-arming him in the direction of the side door. The bizarre look on his face told me he was seeing the sum total of his life flash before his eyes. Though his expression remained blank, his arms flailed wildly, trying to maintain balance as he reeled backward. With two down and one to go, I homed in on Doughboy. From behind, I kicked him in the coin-purse as if my childhood dream was to become a Rockette, and it was my turn to audition for the Christmas Spectacular. As he lurched forward in terror and agony, I put my foot on the meat of his ass and launched him headlong, weeping and gagging, into the bowels of the blood-thirsty crowd.

The scene was nothing short of fantastic. It was a hideous scrum of brown limbs and black hair accented by the primal grunts of predator and prey. In a further rush to the senses, the fetid odor of urine exploded in my nasal passageways.

With the angry mob otherwise engaged, I manhandled Sheriff Joe with the tenderness afforded a prison bitch caught 'making eyes' during a stroll in the exercise yard. I snatched the Smith & Wesson out of his right hand and dragged him out of Sandy's through the side door and into the brisk night.

I barked "Where are the goddamn keys, Joe? Give me the goddamn keys." His eyes were glazed over and he seemed to be in a different time and place, but I didn't have time for any of that shit. As we continued to walk, I reached across my body and stiffly back-handed him, much like he had done to Doughboy. "Joe, quit fiddly-fucking around and give me goddamn
keys." I growled. He fished in his pocket, dropped the keys in my hand, and returned to the catatonic daze; a mix of near-death-experience and the synaptic melt-down of an amphetamine freak-out.

After unlocking the door with the key fob, I shoved him into the back seat, face first. In the middle of doing so, I came to the vile realization that both of my hands had a firm grip on the flesh of his old, saggy ass. After he was safely inside, I jumped in the driver's seat, jammed the key in the switch, and fired up the massive power plant.

They must've had all the fun they had wanted with the other two, because the angry protesters finally figured out they had been buffaloed. The real object of their hatred, Sheriff Joe Arpayaso, had done fucked off for parts unknown. They came pouring out of both doors into the cool, dusty night, wilder than when they came in; but it was too late. Fists and bottles rained down on the black Yukon as I hit the 'lock' button and slid the gear shift lever into Drive.

"You better move it, or someone's gonna get hurt, you dumb sons-a-bitches" I bellowed, pointing my finger at the protesters. After I ran over a few of their feet, they seemed to get the message.

Once clear, I stomped on the accelerator until it was all the way to the floor. The Yukon's rear tires grabbed two huge handfuls of earth and pounced to life. As I fish-tailed out of the parking lot, I took one last look at the scene through the rear-view mirror. The mob was scattering; desperately retreating from the hell-storm of gravel and dirt I left in my wake.

At that point, relief started to set in and I began laughing uncontrollably. I couldn't believe I had escaped with my life, let alone unscathed. I rolled down the window and shouted; "Vaya con Dios muthafuckas!" and continued laughing.

After a few minutes of driving at ridiculous speeds and completely ignoring traffic signals, I realized I could use a drink. No, I needed one. As far as I knew, the Sheriff was still face-down in the back seat, and I figured I should check on him. Other than what had just occurred, the very last thing I needed right now was to be pulled over for driving erratically in the Sheriff's personal Yukon with the very possibly dead, smacked-around and drugged up seventy-five year old Sheriff lying ass-up in the back seat. Also, my prints and DNA were all over the truck and his .38, which I was still in possession of. At that moment, I was thankful it hadn't gone off.

How the hell would you even begin to explain that one? What witness would back up my story? I decided to call my good friend and lawyer, the ever-entertaining Dave Fulcher, but only after I bought some beer. I'd need it to tell him this tale.

About a half-mile farther down the road, I pulled into a 7-11, and went in. I left the car running and the AC on full-blast in the hopes of bringing him around, but I couldn't bear to look in the back seat just yet.

I bought a case of Bud Light, cracked one open, and drained the first bottle in one long pull as I tentatively approached the SUV. I tried to look in the backseat through the window, but the tint was far too dark to see anything, especially at night. I jumped back in shock as the back door opened slowly. I dropped the empty bottle, and it shattered on the pavement in front of the 7-11.

On the other side of the door was Sheriff Joe, sitting upright. He was still pie-eyed and dazed, but ok. "Holy shit" I thought "Holy fucking shit."

"You got my revolver, son?", the Sheriff said quietly. "Yeah, as a matter of fact I do" I said. I grabbed the .38 from the passenger's seat, wiped it off with my shirt, and handed it back to Sheriff Joe handle first, still wrapped in the cotton fabric. "Thanks boy" he said hoarsely "I've never had another gun on my hip my entire career. This gun means the world to me and I thought I'd lost it." "No problem" I replied. "No problem at all."

"I see you got some beers there. Could I have one, please? I'm drier than a popcorn fart" he said. I noticed that his voice was quivering, like he was about to cry. "Sure, man. Take two, they're small." I said.

He took a beer from the box, cracked it open and drank deeply. Then, he smiled wanly and said "What you did for me tonight, no one else has ever done. You reached deep and saved my sorry hide" he said, taking another long swig of beer and wiping a lone tear from his eye. "I'll never forget this; what you've done. So help me God, I'm gonna pay you back." "Please, don't worry about it Sheriff Joe." I said. "Shouldn't we go back and check on your friends, or at least call for some assistance? I'm sure it's safe now."

"No way. Screw them yahoos. They're big boys and they can fend for themselves" Sheriff Joe said. "Those two, they had broken computers, know what I mean?" he said chuckling and pointing at his head. Nickel Bag Joe finished his beer lustily. He was starting to come back to life.

Saved lines – Not currently in use………………………………………………………

He walks about with the knock-kneed shuffle of the morbidly obese.

"Its salty language that makes this country what it is; a fucking shithole."

They root of their xenophobia lies within the awareness of what they are, and more importantly, what they are not. They are the essence of the pot calling the kettle black, no pun intended of course.

The Death Knell of the American Dream: The Strange and Curious Case of 4409

2009-04-03T15:13:00.001-07:00

By Jet Lacey

Many obscure facts, figures, and statements have been left out of this report for the sake of brevity, so BEAT it kid – quit botherin' me.

I called Ernie to see if he had planned to bear witness to the chicanery due to commence in Scottsdale 'Justice' Court. Ernie said, "Fuck yeah, I am. You want me to pick you up?" I said "Sure. Drag your ass." "I'll be there in an hour and you'd better be ready, 'cause I ain't even coming to a complete stop when I pass by." After I hung up the phone, I got the feeling that Ernest Hancock was in rare form. I thought "Oh Shit." I just knew today was going to be weird; Ernie Hancock Anarcho-libertarian weird. I can't say that I was either wrong or disappointed.

Barring any unforeseen legal posturing, it was to be Shelton's, 4409 if you're feeling nasty, day in court for committing the supposed crime of videotaping two people protesting an Arizona DPS speed camera van on a public sidewalk. Not only had it cost him three thousand dollars in Attorney's fees, but he had suffered a humiliating and unnecessary arrest at the hands of an Evander Holyfield-sized Scottsdale police officer named Keith English. Rick James would have called him "Darkness."

It all began because the civilian van operator called police because he "got scared" after three protesters had "surrounded" him in his van. When the cops arrived, Officer English demanded to see Shelton's 'papers.' Shelton calmly and correctly exercised his Constitutional rights and refused the officer's request. Shelton also repeatedly asked Officer English if he was 'being detained', but there was never a reply. Without warning, after several rounds of demand and refusal, Officer English seized Shelton. Putting him in an 'arm bar', he handcuffed him and chunked him in the back of his police car without ever informing Shelton of what he was accused of. At that point, Officer English let his 'fingers do the walking' and consulted his copy of the Arizona Revised Statutes. When all was said and done, the officer dropped five misdemeanor counts, filed on two separate days, on Shelton. But it gets worse; I shit thee not.

At the police station, for again refusing to acquiesce to an illegal request, the processing officer stomped on Shelton's foot with the heel of his combat boot. Incredibly, the Scottsdale Police Department's Internal Affairs Division deemed the officer's actions as excessive use of force. As a final insult, he was escorted to the hold. That night, Shelton's virginal asshole was in constant peril because he had to spend the night bunking with an accused sexual predator named DeShay "Shay" McMillan. It was love at first sight; for one of them anyway.

Ernie showed up at my house almost to the minute of an hour. I was surprised because he's pretty much 'right on time' in the figurative sense, but not always in the literal one. I opened the door to the Chevy Impala and eased into the seat. After quick hellos, Ernie began ebulliently breaking down the situation, what was going to happen, how we were going to get there, et cetera. Everyone who knows Ernie is used to his voluble ruminations and liberal use of old Negro wisdom, but the ride to the courthouse was something altogether different. Ernie was fucked up.

Trying to change the subject, I began discussing a story we were following on Ernie's website, Freedoms Phoenix that had originally broken on the Alex Jones Show. It was about a large-scale excavation project that was going on at the Arizona Veterans Memorial Cemetery. Some 'citizen journalist' named Shepard Ambellas had written an inflammatory piece, took pictures, and sent them to Alex Jones. The theme of the article asserted that the Veterans Administration was in the process of creating a mass grave on their site, blah-de, blah, blah. While I respect Alex Jones, he's not one to let a good crisis go to waste. Don't get me wrong; there's something amiss going on over there, but that's a fractured fairy tale for another day.

Finally, I asked Ernie "What the hell's wrong with you, man?" Ernie said, "My daughter's getting married on May 2^nd and I can't seem to lose any weight, so I bought some diet pills from Thailand that Powell recommended, and now I'm all wigged out." It was true. Wisely sensing an opportunity to alter my own consciousness, I said, "Hell, I'm fat; can I have a couple of those?" He produced two green and brown capsules from his breast pocket and I took them dry. Ernie said "Did you take both of those?" I said "Yeah, so what?" "Oh man, oh man. You' shouldn't have done that Jet." "Well, it's too late now isn't it?" I replied coolly. Ernie shouted at me, "You're a dumbass; you're going to be fucked up like polio here in a minute." Anyone with half of a firing neuron learns quickly that you just don't screw with Ernie when he's on a roll. I kept my mouth shut.

Since we were on the subject, Ernie decided to get on the phone and call Alex Jones directly. As the phone was ringing, he showed me list of Alex's phone numbers, which included his home number, on his Blackberry. There was no answer, so Ernie left Alex a tortuous, semi-coherent message regarding the graves and how we were following up on the story, for which I called him a crazy bastard.

In a matter of just a few minutes, those green and brown Thai diet pills started to grab hold. As the strange cocktail of herbs and chemicals dumped into my system, it felt like someone had ripped open my chest and thrown a fistful of bathtub crank into the gaping cavity. How was I going to go to court like this?

Ernie said, "Hey, you're going to write an article on this for Freedoms Phoenix aren't you?" Any expectation of an answer disappeared when he turned to look at me. He said "I told you you're a dumbass. You're all sorts of twisted." A forced "No shit" was all I could muster. I felt a distant pain creeping up my right hand, and as I looked down I realized I was clutching the door handle like my arm had died and rigor mortis had set in. In that brief moment of clarity and understanding, I also realized that my clenched buttocks had claimed a portion of the passenger seat in a vise-like grip. As we drove north on Scottsdale Rd. toward the courthouse, I said "It feels like the Sonoran Desert took a crap in my mouth. Can we stop and get something to drink?" Ernie smiled and said, "Yeah, we're a bit early but make it quick."

Ernie pulled into a 7-11 and I ran in, bought a 12 pack of Bud Light and returned to the car. Voraciously ripping open the twelver, I grabbed a beer, cracked it open and handed one to Ernie and then repeated the process for myself. I lustily finished the beer in one long drink and immediately grabbed another. The soothing tonic was just the salve my inflamed nervous system needed.

I drank five beers in the few minutes it took to reach the court house and Ernie drank three. We were both in a little better shape as we arrived at the front door, but neither one of us was in any condition to come face-to-face with 'the Man.' As we walked toward the door, we heard someone calling Ernie from a distance. It was 4409.

As he approached us, I barely recognized him. Good Lord what a mane! Looking like a cross between the Statue of Liberty and Clay Aiken, Shelton sauntered up to Ernie and me. I felt bad for Shelton because he hadn't done anything wrong, yet here he was. It was a sad day to be sure. In a free society, one who is just in their actions should rightfully expect to be vindicated, and they should never have to approach a supposed place of justice like a dog that just shit on the carpet. Trying to ease the tension, I cracked, "I don't exactly know what the charges against you are, but that 'do is most definitely a crime in progress." Shelton was nervous with good reason, and Ernie was hot-wired; because of this, my joke went over like a lead zeppelin. While it was funny to me, it was met with a wall of uncomfortable silence. You can't win 'em all.

After the comical fiasco of each of us going through the metal detector several times, we arrived outside the dais; Court Room 1. Waiting there for us was Powell Gammill, the Yin to Ernie's Yang at Freedoms Phoenix. Powell is the Zen to Ernie's chaos. In the short time I've been acquainted with them, I believe their frank differences are the key to Freedoms Phoenix's success. While Ernie and I were ready to climb the walls like agitated cockroaches, Powell was on a whole different plane altogether. Powell smelled like he had just left an Amsterdam coffee shop. His puffy, glazed over eyes had inflamed scleral vasculature like miniature road maps. "You're ripped!" I said to Powell, who replied "Well it looks like you and Ernie have been into those diet pills. They're vicious aren't they?" "Uh, yeah - brutal." Powell took the opportunity make an obvious point, "You had better get your act together pretty damn quick; the show's starting soon."

Since everyone I had come into contact with felt compelled to comment on my current condition, I excused myself and went into the men's room. When I looked into the mirror I saw the exophthalmic stare of a Coney Island freak show attraction. My pupils were maximally dilated, I was breathing heavily, and glistening rivulets of sweat lined my forehead. Not knowing what else to do, I splashed cool water on my face at least a dozen times, which seemed to help. After a few more minutes of mental preparation, I felt as ready as I was going to, so I exited the restroom to rejoin the group.

When I returned, Shelton's attorney and Ernie's friend Marc Victor had arrived for a pre-trial conference with his client. The rumors I'd heard about Marc were true; he reminded me of a Caucasian version of the Wachutu 'Tiny Warrior' in Ace Ventura II. Shi-ka-ka. Like many of Ernie's friends, Marc is an amiable person who excels at what he does for a living, which in his case is as a rabid libertarian defense attorney. I guess being a professional prick is nice work if you can get it. Me, I'm no woodsman; I can't get a hard on that often.

Moments after Marc arrived, it was time for the trial to commence. As we entered the dark and bloody ground, I quickly realized that the entire proceeding was going to be a complete sham and a clusterfuck. Normally, the prosecution struts in like some overweening coxcomb because they have the whip hand of 'the law' on their side, but that would not be the case today.

The rat-faced judge, who under different circumstances could easily be the world-wide spokesman for the Vivisectionist's union, called court into session in a beleaguered monotone. The charges that 4409 was accused of were never formally read, but they were discussed in a circular fashion according to count number, and three of the five charges were dropped under Arizona Rules of Criminal Procedure Rule 20 before oral argument commenced. The judge then showed his true allegiance, which wasn't to justice, because he actually urged the prosecution to continue with the failure to provide identification charge. We were literally dumbfounded. At that point, Marc and the prosecutor began their uncomfortable dance. Mr. Victor brought up a motion to suppress the evidence, but it was quickly rejected by the judge as having been presented "in an untimely fashion." Mr. Victor then queried the prosecutor, "Are we really going to go through with this?" The prosecutor looked at his scuffed loafers and moaned "Yes."

Mr. Victor then produced the piece of paper from the IA division that proved Shelton had been a victim of the Scottsdale police while in their custody. After briefly perusing the document, the judge stated "Enter this document into the record; Defense Exhibit A" and handed it to the court clerk.

Prosecution refused an opening statement but Mr. Victor elaborated that Mr. Shelton, on assignment for Freedoms Phoenix, was simply exercising his first amendment right to free speech in filming the protest and that he hadn't blocked the operation of the DPS camera in any manner. He also accused Officer English of false arrest for arresting Shelton solely on the grounds of refusing to furnish identification.

"Prosecution, call your first witness" ordered the judge through a pursed-lip smirk. "The prosecution calls Daniel Coon to the stand, your honor." After the Bible was produced and he was sworn in, a pasty and uncomfortable Daniel Coon took the stand. Mr. Coon was the civilian American Traffic Solutions van operator who felt "surrounded" and "threatened" by the two protesters and had called police. He reported that "Three gentlemen, two with signs and one with a camera surrounded my van to protest" and that he "felt intimidated." He also testified that he "shut down" the equipment he was there to monitor once the protesters arrived. Mr. Coon could not identify Shelton nor could he remember whether or not he had ever blocked the camera. Under cross-examination, Mr. Coon said he called police because he was alone and he had "never been in that situation before." Mr. Victor asked if anyone had been aggressive with him, and Mr. Coon stated that he had an acoustic guitar in the van with him and one of the protesters had requested that he "play us a song", but he couldn't remember who.

The prosecution then called Keith English to the stand. The swarthy Officer English, badge #40, testified that he had been a Scottsdale police officer for four and a half years. He was asked whether he saw Shelton protesting or blocking the speed camera, to which he simply replied "No." When asked why he had asked 4409 for his ID, Officer English stated that he likes to "establish a base" with those he encounters. He testified that he was used to dealing with difficult individuals and that Shelton had been "passive-aggressive" with him. When asked to elaborate on what he considered passive-aggressive behavior, Officer English stated that 4409 had been "animated with his hand gestures" and had used "a raised voice." He admitted that he had seized Shelton and arrested him under ARS 13-2412 for "Refusing to furnish identification." The statute is for failure to provide your name to an officer upon request. Mr. Victor interjected, "Sir, the Arizona Constitution does not supersede the U.S. Constitution." After a few more meaningless questions, the State had no further questions.

Mr. Victor remained seated, but during his cross-examination of Officer English, Marc was like Muhammad Ali beating the ugly out of George Forman in Zaire. He was sugar-footing; toying with his outclassed witness, floating like a butterfly so he'll surely get stung like a bee. Hell, we all knew what the whole truth was ahead of time because 4409 had video footage of the entire encounter. Therefore, we also knew that Officer English wasn't being truthful. Mr. Victor asked the officer to elaborate on his statement about 'establishing a baseline'. Officer English replied, "When I approach an individual, I ask myself, is this person a felon? Is there any issue with this person? I also do it for my own safety." To this, Mr. Victor commented to the officer that in effect he was 'establishing a baseline exception to the Constitution.'

On multiple occasions, but especially on this one, it was hard not to laugh. Mr. Victor then asked Officer English regarding the fact that, in his report, the camera was mounted on a tripod, (it wasn't) and whether or not he was afraid for his safety. He failed to take the bait however, and stated that he had not been afraid.

The prosecution then called Officer Zach Dylory to the stand. Officer Dylory offered little further information other than having witnessed Officer English's actions from a short distance. Officer Dylory had ID'd the two protestors, but then told them they were free to leave. He also testified that he had left the scene prior to Officer English. The State rested.

At that point, rather than calling any witnesses or expounding any further for Shelton's defense, Mr. Victor pointed out that the prosecution hadn't brought up one single fact that would even remotely justify convicting 4409 under City of Scottsdale, Maricopa County, Arizona State, U.S., or Sharia law for that matter. The Prosecutor, for the second time in an hour, stared at his loafers, hanging his head in embarrassment and shame. Marc told us later that the prosecutor had been forced to try the case by his superior. The judge asked the prosecutor, "Do you want me to Rule 20 these charges?" A nod noted an affirmative answer. "Are you sure? Another affirmative nod. The judge then dismissed all charges against 4409, but only after removing the damning IA report from the record.

Shelton walked out of court like a rags-to riches Horatio Alger protagonist, for he had been fully vindicated in his actions that August day. He also had the makings for a fat law suit against the City of Scottsdale for wrongful arrest and excessive use of force. The rest of us however, had extremely mixed feelings regarding the day's events.

While we were glad that Mr. Victor got the charges dropped, there was a sense of real sadness about the entire sequence of events. The fact of the matter is, 4409 knows his Constitutional rights and he exercised them appropriately. Most people, on the other hand, do not; and they rely on the honesty of government officials to ensure that their rights are upheld. Sadly, this is almost never the case. Under the same set of circumstances, what would have happened to someone else? How might the case turned out differently? I am not alone in my belief that almost everyone else in this country would have been royally fucked under the same circumstances.

When people say that the Constitution is a 'living document', it usually means that they feel entitled to interpret the Constitution to suit their own needs. However, the longest serving Supreme Court Justice, William O. Douglas said it best; "The
Constitution is not neutral. It is meant to take government off the backs of people." He also wondered, "Since when have we Americans been expected to bow submissively to authority and speak with awe and reverence to those who represent us?"

After a few minutes of conversation outside the courthouse, we all said our good-byes and then parted ways in different directions. Despite how the day started, for Ernie and me, the trip to court had been a sobering experience; no amount of Thai stimulants could lift our spirits after what we'd just witnessed. We drove back to my house, finishing the beers in relative silence. When either of us did speak, it was subdued and brief. The mood was as though we had been to the funeral of a beloved friend who had done so much for both of us, and even though our friend had died a protracted and undignified death, there was no comfort to be found.

I fear the death bell has tolled for our friend Liberty.

As Ernie dropped me off, I got out of the car and said "Thanks. See you later." As I wandered into the house in somber silence, I thought to myself, "The American Dream really is dead and gone, isn't it?"

04/03/2009

How I Joined the Freedom Movement

2009-03-16T07:05:00.002-07:00

03/15/2009

Three months, 90 days. That's how long I've been in the freedom movement. I simply can't f'ing believe it. It's been like the beginning of a true-love relationship; it's gone by so fast, yet it seems like it's been a part of me for so much longer. By the grace of the Creator I've ambled upon, by happenstance, a freedom movement that is literally weapons-grade nuclear in power.

Three months ago tonight, I said to myself, "I'm going, no matter what." It was December 15^th, 2008 - Bill of Rights day at the Wrigley Mansion. I showered, got dressed in my best clothes, kissed my wife goodbye, and pointed my car toward the Wrigley Mansion in the wet December evening. I had no idea what to expect; I was going to a place I'd never been and surrounded by people I had never met. The people I observed that night were nothing like the "radicals" the news described; these were people of all ages from all walks of life.

About two hundred people had gathered in the Garden Terrace Room of the world-famous Wrigley Mansion to celebrate the Bill of Rights; the defining portion of the most important document ever drafted. I was awestruck. Motivational speaker Dr. Lance Hurley seemed to become Patrick Henry as he passionately reenacted one of his speeches. To me, the most powerful aspect of the evening was that everyone was invited to stand in front of the crowd and have their voice heard if they so desired. No one voice was more important than the next. I have found this to be a common element throughout the freedom movement. That night I approached Ed Vallejo, organizer of the Ron Paul Campaign for Liberty Meetup group, and told him I was interested in volunteering. Ed received me warmly, gave me his cell phone number, and told me to call him any time.

In all honesty, it wasn't my very first event. On November 22^nd, I'd heard both Ed and Ernie Hancock speak at the End the Fed rally. In the short amount of time since then, I have come to deeply respect and appreciate these "dyed-in-the-wool" patriots. At the End the Fed rally, I didn't really interact with anyone, nor had I planned to. As a self-described "student of man," I only wished to go out, hold up a hand-made sign, and observe. What I observed left an indelible impression that will remain a part of me, regardless of how the remainder of my days come to pass.

Most of all, I understood that I wasn't alone. There are many like me that believe in the rights of the individual above all else. There are people that believe that freedom is bestowed upon us by the Creator and is not something to be granted or revoked by the whims of men. There are people who want nothing other than to be left alone to pursue their lives as they see fit and have no desire to inflict their wishes upon anyone else. There are people who believe in personal and fiscal responsibility, and they feel entitled to expect the same from their government. I left the rally not only inspired, but with my heart swelling.

But what to do? What to do? Knowing you're not alone in the world is all well and good, but without some concomitant action, feelings by themselves don't amount to a hill of manure. These people were doing something about our collective situation, but how do I start doing it too? What difference can I possibly make?

I had joined the Ron Paul Campaign for Liberty Meetup group in October 2008, but I hadn't participated in any way. I didn't realize it at the time, but the very first thing I did was also the smartest. As a registered libertarian and an avid supporter of Ron Paul, I figured it was a good place to start. That was how I found out about the End the Fed rally and the Bill of Rights day. I would encourage anyone interested in the freedom movement to start with a local Meetup group.

But I digress. It took me almost two weeks to get up the nerve to call Ed, but nothing was really happening at the time because it was the week between Christmas and New Year. Sometime later in the day, after speaking with Ed, I made the firm decision to dedicate a large portion of my time to the freedom movement. I decided I was going to do it; whether it was with them, another group, or if necessary, as a quasi-Tiananmen Square Tank Man rolling solo. I had to do something other than writing caustic diatribes that nobody read and agonizing over the fast-approaching tyranny. It wasn't a healthy outlet, because it didn't do a damn thing to ease my fear and loathing. I don't believe in New Year's resolutions, so it was pure coincidence that I wrote Ed an email declaring my intentions on New Year's Day. If the truth be told, I wrote it more for myself than for anyone else.

Ed wrote me back and invited me to meet him at the January 3^rd
Arizona Breakfast Club. I called him and said thank you but my wife works nights and I don't have a car that early. Ed, barely having ever met me, offered to give me a ride which I gratefully accepted. Again, that day changed my life. The topic for the January 2009 Breakfast Club was Ernie Hancock speaking about a new Freedoms Phoenix Workshop with full printing capabilities, a video production studio, and a podcast studio that was going to be built at 7^th Avenue and Indian School in Central Phoenix. I thought to myself "Holy shit. That's less than ¼ mile from my house. This is just so meant to be. So let it be written, so let it be done." One week later, I was helping move things into the shop.

Today is the Ides of March, it's 2 ½ months later and the Freedoms Phoenix Workshop is almost complete. The rest I guess is history, as they say. Since then, I have learned so much. I have learned that the far better approach is to be positive; to be for something, as opposed to being against something if you want your message to be heard. I have learned that it is best to be loosely organized, if at all. The more structure there is in any given organization, the less efficient it becomes in both achieving its goals and in using its resources. I have learned that the essence of the freedom movement is about freeing minds, and whatever you can do to achieve that end is the right course of action. I have learned that voting in elections is a waste of time, and that each time you put up a sign somewhere, you are voting.

Already, there are many people have become a part of me and hopefully I have become a part of them. The movement is about liberty, but being about liberty is ultimately about people. There are so many that I have come to like and admire. I'd like to thank Ernie, Ed, Donna, Powell, Barry, Jeanne, Renee, John, Andrea, Jim, Drew, Shelton, Chris, Ben, Peter, Annette, Mike, Mikey D, and everyone else that has made me feel like a welcome addition to this powerful and positive movement. I am a measurably better person today than I was just three months ago. Will I be better yet in three more months? Who knows? Life is the journey, not a destination, but I do know one thing for sure…..

"If freedom's the answer, what's the question?"

The Economic Crisis and Why It’s Happening Part II

2009-03-03T11:05:00.001-07:00

The Economic Crisis and Why it's Happening Part II: Deflation, Hyper-inflation, and a Call to Action

Now that we have started down the path and we are beginning to understand what is happening and why, we will now delve into how the economic crisis will ultimately affect your everyday lives. Again, I am going to do my best to describe it in layman's terms. This will not be an easy read for many of you because denial is a powerful defense mechanism. I absolutely loathe being the bearer of bad tidings, but with rapid action I will help you to keep your freedoms intact. The essence of this article is:

In the very near future, off-the-grid self-sufficiency will undoubtedly equal freedom.

But I digress. The fact of the matter is that whether or not you subscribe to the Keynesian theory of government intervention (spending) to reinflate a faltering economy, it simply will not be sufficient to return us to prosperity. It is the same as pouring gasoline on a fire to put it out. Our government was effectually insolvent before the crisis occurred. Social Security, Medicare/Medicaid, and rampant spending by the Federal government, especially on the war in Iraq, have only hastened what was already inevitable (see central banking in part I). Unfunded mandates, government regulations that require states to act or uphold certain standards without providing sufficient money with which to do so, are also a big problem. Among these are the No Child Left Behind Act, and various and ever multiplying Homeland Security mandates.

I will say this again: The economies of the United States and the world are terminally ill and they are breathing their gasping, dying breaths. However, behemoth of this size does not die overnight.

The sooner you come to realize this, the sooner you will be able to get your house in order so that you and your families will be prepared to weather the crisis. However, let me be perfectly clear; I am in no way saying the world is coming to an end, I'm saying that the ways we have been doing things are coming to an end. We will need to be able to react appropriately in a rapidly changing and fluid environment in order to continue surviving and thriving. I recently read the text of a speech given by Dmitry Orlov in San Francisco on February 13^th entitled "Social Collapse Best Practices." In the speech, Mr. Orlov explains the vast similarities between our collapsing economy and the complete collapse of the Russian economy after the fall of communism. By glimpsing into recent Russian history, we will be better equipped to handle our near future.

Now that we've examined what has caused the crisis and why, we can now look into ways the inevitable collapse might unfold. To achieve this, we will look into various economic situations that may occur and how they would affect your daily life. We will focus on the possible emergence of deflation, hyperinflation, stagflation, the collapse in the dollar as a currency, and the emergence of a new system of banking and governance in America.

Deflation, as one might assume, is not the plague befalling tires everywhere. Deflation is the opposite of inflation. Whereas inflation is a general increase in prices and wages and a decrease in the value of the currency, deflation is a general decline in prices and wages and an increase in the value of the currency. While falling prices are a boon to individual consumers, it can signal something much more ominous in an economy. Deflation occurs when there is a decrease in the aggregate demand for goods and services, and it is often caused by a decrease in the supply of money or credit. In other words, it is when the levels of supply are greater than the demand. Deflation causes companies and businesses, because they're not selling enough of whatever they produce, to decrease production and therefore contract, leading to layoffs. An episode of deflation does not always devolve into a deflationary spiral, but when it does, it is a far more dangerous and devastating situation. A deflationary spiral is when wages and prices rapidly decrease and there is a rapid increase in the value of the currency. It is seen as a sign of a worsening recession.

It is commonly understood that we are in a deepening recession. According to Keynesian economics, the economic theory followed by the Federal Reserve and banking industry, the proper course of action is for the government to print and throw money at the problem. However, as I pointed out above, the United States is already effectively insolvent. The printing press is working overtime, and our National debt, including unfunded mandates, Social Security, and Medicare/Medicaid is equal to the world's Gross Domestic Product (GDP), or the output of the entire world for a year. That amount of the national debt is the staggering sum of 65.5 trillion dollars. The government purposefully omits certain statistics when reporting the National debt to the public.

To tie it all together:

The worth of fiat money is related to the faith and good credit of the issuing nation, but the United States is effectively insolvent.
We are in a deepening recession because there has been a continuing decrease in the aggregate demand for goods and services, and a there is a continuing decrease in prices and wages, signaling deflation.
The Federal Reserve, following Keynesian economics, is printing fiat currency at a rate never before seen.
Adding insult to injury, President Obama has proposed a 2009 budget with a further 1.7 trillion dollar deficit with no end in sight.

We are already technically insolvent with a debt load that we can never repay. And as we continue to print money at an unprecedented rate with compounded debt attached to it, someday soon (very soon) we will no longer be able to service the interest on the debt and we will then default. When we default and our credit is no longer good, investors and governments will rapidly abandon the US dollar, and our money will become increasingly worthless, which will cause prices to skyrocket. This is hyperinflation.

This is the main reason I have been encouraging people to abandon their 401k's and the stock market while they still can, because it won't matter if someone has a million shares of IBM if the dollar ends up being worthless. If their shares are in dollars, their shares will be worthless. This is part of the scam because the businesses' infrastructure will still be in place, ready to be bought up at a fraction of the company's true worth.

Another possibility to look at is Stagflation. Stagflation is when deflation and inflation occur at the same time. In stagflation, the economy deflates, but unemployment and prices continue to rise. This is also considered to be a very bad economic sign. Gerald Celente, the #1 forecaster in the world, believes that we are in for "the Greatest Depression," and has coined the term Hyper-Stagflation; a term that means the economy is pretty much cooked.

So what will happen if the dollar does collapse? The answer to that is both complicated and devastating. For one thing, if our currency collapses, many countries and their currencies will collapse along with the dollar because our economies are so intertwined. Secondly, purchasing the most basic foodstuffs and necessities, if they are even available, will be priced out of the reach of most people.

A Call to Action

What would you do to survive if the store shelves were empty? What would you do if you simply couldn't afford to buy what was available? You'd be in a really tough spot right? By taking steps to ensure you and your family have food to eat, regardless of the economic climate, can mean the difference between freedom and enslavement. If you act now, the fix is pretty easy; especially during this deflationary period when prices are low. That is why I encourage you, in fact I beg of you, to purchase as much non-perishable food as you possibly can, and to plant a garden. In the United States, 95% of the population is absolutely dependent on the availability of stocked grocery store shelves for our provisions.

If you are unable to provide for yourself, FEMA is more than ready to take you in. The US Army Northern Command (NORTHCOM) has 20,000 Iraq and Afghanistan-hardened troops that are prepared to engage the American people and numerous FEMA camps are fully constructed and ready for you should the situation get out of hand, which many (including the IMF Bank) are predicting will come to pass. The FEMA camps are like roach motels; you go in freely but you can't leave freely. FEMA has also hired 26,000 pastors as "Clergy Response Teams" to encourage their flocks to accept relinquishing your weapons, martial law, and going to the FEMA camps.

In the very near future, the responsibility for your freedom will ultimately fall on to your own lap. This is why I say that self-sufficiency will equal freedom.

I realize that I may turn some people off when I speak of the push for world government by the banking and corporate elite. But I ask you, why does it bother you? Is it because of denial? Is it because you can't imagine anyone is so evil that their aim is to create a single world government, a single world bank, and a cashless society? Is it because you cannot imagine anyone would be willing to stage false-flag terror attacks or manufacture a world economic crisis to achieve that end? Is it because you just can't seem to wrap your mind around the concept that a small but sinister group of elites, who have everything they could ever possibly want, have a sincere wish to rule the world and enslave you with surveillance, debt, and taxation, and they are on the precipice of achieving that goal? Well I suggest that you get used to the idea if you don't want to end up as someone else's property.

Again, this is not a conspiracy, it's an AGENDA. The New World Order is very nearly a reality.

The New World Order is mentioned in the news every day. They are preparing us to accept it. Now, more than ever, is the time to understand what the Declaration of Independence and Constitution really mean before it's too late. I urge you to read them again and familiarize yourself with the words and their meaning. They are the greatest documents ever written in the history of mankind. The belief that individual and the protection of their rights is the government's primary responsibility. The founding fathers believed that we are born free, that freedom was a right bestowed upon us by God and not to be bestowed or taken away by government. But, with rights come responsibility, and you are ultimately responsible to ensure that your rights are upheld. If you don't stand up demand your rights, someone is always waiting to take them away. To quote a friend of mine, Ed Vallejo;

"Rights are like muscles, if you don't exercise them they atrophy."

If I believed that the cause was already lost, I wouldn't put forth the effort; I'd make like John Galt and get out of here tuit suite. However, I believe in America and I sense that a massive groundswell is rising. Many of us don't realize what we have until it is gone or almost gone. Once it's gone, it's too late. It's not too late right now, but the hour is certainly getting late. For ourselves, for our children, and for our future generations, please step up and don't give up on liberty. By protecting yourself, you are also protecting the liberties of others. Other than life and love, liberty is the most important thing we can experience.

The Economic Crisis and Why It’s Happening

2009-02-28T10:07:00.001-07:00

By Jet Lacey

February 28, 2009

I've been doing a lot of reading on Economics lately, and frankly it bores me to tears. I am not, nor do I ever wish to become an Economist. The reason I've been reading about economics is to understand the origins of the crisis that is happening around the world right now. Something just doesn't seem right about the cause of the global banking collapse. Subprime mortgages did this? Could it be possible? I remembered I had read somewhere in passing, before this crisis ever began, that the Federal Reserve admitted that they had caused the original Great Depression, and they "wouldn't let it happen again."

When this latest crisis started to unfold, I thought "Hmmm." Something about this stinks, and chances are, if it smells like bulls**t it probably is. Alex Jones said on his radio show the other day, "It starts with investigating one lie and a whole universe opens." Man, ain't it the truth.

I will explain step-by-step and in layman's terms how the greatest robbery in the history of mankind is occurring right now. And I will show how it is you, along with everyone else in the world, who are the ones being robbed. To comprehend what is happening and why, we must break down each facet of the situation into its lowest common denominator. To achieve that, we must start at the bottom and work up from there.

I will, to the best of my ability, help you to:

Understand what money and currency is, especially fiat currency.
Understand what debt is.
Understand the basic theories of economics, emphasizing the Keynesian and Austrian School models.
Understand fractional reserve banking and other methods banks and investment houses use to make money, both literally and figuratively.
Understand Central banks, and what their purposes are.
Understand gold and silver as currency and why they are important.
Understand what derivatives are and why they are ultimately leading to the complete destruction of the World economy.
Understand who engineered the crisis are and what their ultimate goals are.

"Money is power," as they say. That is true. But money also is the most fundamental way a country says "We're a sovereign nation, and we're open for business." In the past, it was commonplace that countries kept a reserve of gold with which to back their money, but this practice has been largely abandoned. This brings us to fiat currency. Fiat currency is money that does not have any inherent or intrinsic value, but is authorized by governments as legal tender, which is defined as money that must be accepted under law. In other words, it is money that is not backed by anything of value other than the faith and good credit of the people of that nation.

Since fiat currency's value lies within the faith and good credit of the nation issuing it, what then is debt? Debt can mean numerous things but in its most literal sense it means something owed; an obligation. In terms of economics, debt much more complicated. The United States total public debt, or national debt, which is what is always referred to with regard to the economic crisis, is defined as the sum total of all existing claims against the United States.

Simply stated, how do we understand currency (the positive side of the balance sheet) and debt (the negative side), their effects on one another, their affect on the nation as a whole, and how to act when economic crises do occur? It is through the study of economics. According to Merriam-Webster, economics is a social science concerned chiefly with description and analysis of the production, distribution, and consumption of goods and services.

There are many schools of thought regarding economics, and trying to make sense of them in the most basic of terms is a frustrating endeavor at best. For simplicity's sake we will look at Keynesian and Austrian School economics with special interest paid to how each theory believes is the right way to deal with economic crisis. These belief systems are at the very forefront of the disagreements over how to deal with the crisis. By understanding the basics of these theories, you will begin to understand where many of the main "actors" involved with managing the crisis base their logic.

Keynesian economics is a macroeconomic theory developed by John Maynard Keynes. It was first described in his book The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money published in 1936. He is largely credited with creating the terminology and direction of modern macroeconomics. Keynes argued that total spending in an economy, known as aggregate demand, might be insufficient during an economic downturn, leading to unnecessarily high unemployment rates and further decreases in production. In a depression, Keynesian economics dictates that the government should stimulate the economy by reducing interest rates and investing in infrastructure. Investment by the government injects income into the economy which increases spending, which in turn creates more production and investment and so on.

The Austrian School theory was created by Carl Menger, but was popularized by Ludwig von Mises, Frederich Hayek, and Murray Rothbard. Austrians subscribe to a laissez-faire market economy. That is to say an economy that is free from government intervention, a free market. The Austrians believed in the study of the axioms (self-evident truths) of human existence. They believed, first and foremost, that humans take conscious actions toward personal goals. In other words personal choice determines the direction of the economy, and that the protection of personal property and support for individualism was absolutely necessary for economic growth.

To achieve that end, Austrians also believe in the principles of sound money. Sound money is a currency that is properly managed to avoid excessive inflation, such as a currency that adheres to the gold standard. Austrians argue that without excessive inflation, there wouldn't be any wild fluctuations in the economy, thus avoiding depressions.

Austrians strongly disagree with the Keynesian strategy of artificially reducing interest rates and manipulating the circulating money supply to create growth. Murray Rothbard, who wrote America's Great Depression in 1963, believed that the first Great Depression was caused by the Federal Reserve's expansion of the money supply, leading to an unsustainable credit-driven boom. He also felt that government intervention delayed the much needed market correction and lengthened the road to recovery. Does this sound familiar?

So, how are fluctuations in the money supply created? To contract the money supply, a Treasury or Central bank simply makes less money available as the money cycles through the system. However, in this economic crisis the increase in the money supply and the decrease of available credit are the major problems.

One way to increase the money supply is to turn on the printing press. Another more insidious way is through fractional reserve banking, a practice done universally by banking establishments. In fractional reserve banking, a bank is required to have only a fraction of its deposits on hand with the percentage determined by the government. In the United States, the Federal Reserve has set the required on hand amount at 10%. For instance, if a bank receives a one million dollar deposit, only $100,000 of that amount is required to be on hand. The rest is leant out at a higher interest rate than is paid to the depositor. However, what the banks actually do is keep the $1,000,000 deposit on hand, and create $9,000,000 more to be leant out, thus increasing the money supply by nine million dollars artificially. In essence the money is counterfeited into existence. And when banks lend money to each other, as they often do, the process occurs over and over again.

Through direct printing and fractional reserve banking, money in a fiat system is literally created out of thin air.

According to Article I Section 8 of the Constitution, the borrowing of money on the credit of the United States, the coining of money and regulating the value thereof is solely the responsibility of Congress. However, on January 12, 1912, Senator Nelson Aldrich of Rhode Island submitted legislation to create the Federal Reserve System at the behest of the banking elite. To learn more about this I highly recommend The Creature from Jekyll Island by G. Edward Griffin. The Aldrich plan (The Federal Reserve Act), which legislated away that right, was passed on December 23, 1913 and signed by President Woodrow Wilson. On that day, the Federal Reserve became the Central Banking Establishment of the United States and our nation was changed forever. The Federal Reserve, contrary to popular belief, is not nor has it ever been a government institution. It is a private bank owned privately.

Since then, our currency has no longer belonged to the American people but by private banks. Is it a mere coincidence that the 16^th Amendment, which created the Federal income tax, was enacted in the same year as the Federal Reserve? Not by a long shot. Most of what is paid in Federal income taxes goes toward servicing the National debt because every dollar that is printed by the Federal Reserve comes with a percentage of compounded debt attached to it.

Central Banks state that their purpose is to alleviate fluctuations in the economy, but what really happens is that the citizens are doomed to abject slavery because of the inherent debt attached to the currency that an outside force creates and controls. Thomas Jefferson wrote in a letter to John Taylor in 1816, "And I sincerely believe, with you, that banking establishments are more dangerous than standing armies; and that the principle of spending money to be paid by posterity, under the name of funding, is but swindling futurity on a large scale." The World Bank, the International Monetary Fund, and the Bank for International Settlements act in the same fashion, but on an international level.

So, after you understand these principles, it is easy to see how gold and silver is so vitally important in all of this. It is because gold and silver are the real currencies of the world, and they have been for as long as there have been societies with individuals that traded with one other. How banking institutions and Central banks operate is largely through smoke and mirrors; they make you believe that nothing is really something. Gold and silver are irrefutable, hard currency. Regardless of the economic climate, by possessing precious metals you actually create your own freedom. You create freedom by being able to trade with others apart from the restrictions of regulatory systems or governments. In essence, with gold in your purse you automatically become your own free market.

The wisdom of trading in your paper assets for gold at this point is also a matter of simple mathematics. The Federal Reserve has doubled the money supply within the last four months or so. Therefore, if there are twice as many dollars in circulation as there were just four months ago, dollars are probably worth half as much, right? I want to clarify that the presses aren't really working overtime. What the Federal Reserve is actually doing is adding zeroes on to their computer balance sheet at will (with the debt attached to it), and they will continue to do so. They will keep doing it until the dollar is ruined as a currency, but more on that later.

President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, hailed as the 'hero' who saved us from the first Great Depression, should have been sent straight to prison, or the gallows, as a traitor to his country. On April 5, 1933 by signing Executive Order 6102, FDR was responsible for seizing the gold directly from Americans' hands by forcing them to sell it to the Federal Reserve, and accept mere paper in return. The criminality of it is stupefying. Not only did the Federal Reserve get all of the American people's gold, they simply printed the money to buy it out of thin air with compounded debt attached to it. This did not change until President Richard Nixon cancelled the Bretton Woods Agreements and fully divested the US dollar from the gold standard in 1971.

Derivatives. Remember that word. Here is where things get really messy. Derivatives are what insurance and banking institutions, like AIG and Citigroup, have used to turn the stock exchange into something more like a casino, rather than an investment and commodities exchange. In short, derivatives are what has bankrupted the world. In extremely simple terms, derivatives are contracts that seek to bet/insure when a company or fund will fail. There are many kinds of derivatives but the most destructive to the world economy have been Credit Derivatives, and the most common you will hear referred to in the news are Credit Default Swaps (CDS).

A CDS is a quasi-insurance policy that pays if the financial instrument the buyer bet against fails. However, the buyer of the CDS didn't need to own the underlying security or even be at risk for loss should it fail. To quote James Lieber's great article in the Village Voice "What Cooked the World's Economy?"- Imagine that a person is terminally ill. He or she would not be able to buy a life insurance policy with a huge death benefit. Obviously, third parties could not purchase policies on the soon-to-be-dead person's life. However, with financial instruments, especially Collateralized Debt Obligations such as bundled mortgages, this is exactly what happened.

Credit Default Swaps were meant to be insurance policies for investors, but what they actually did was destroy the world economy. Aside from the Congressional bailouts, over 9.7 Trillion dollars has been given to the banks by the Federal Reserve without Congressional input nor will they say where the money went. This is enough money to pay off 90% of all existing mortgages in the United States. Unfortunately, 9.7 Trillion is a drop in the bucket. According to the Bank of International Settlements' December 2007 quarterly review, there are 681 Trillion dollars worth of derivatives written. That is 681,000 billion dollars. No matter how much money we throw at Citigroup and AIG, we will never make them solvent institutions.

Know this: The economies of the United States and the world are terminally ill and they are breathing their gasping, dying breaths.

So you ask, how did this happen? Who allowed such a nightmare to unfold? Although Obama and all of the news outlets are saying it is because of free market economics, you can't blame free market economics because there has never been a free market. The simple fact of the matter is that there are regulations already in place but the regulatory agencies, such as the SEC, have been complicit in the scam.

What's happening is not a conspiracy; it is an agenda.

This agenda, which is the brainchild the world banking and corporate elite, is to literally crush the world's economies and currencies in order to usher in a single world government which will be run behind the scenes by them, with a single world currency and a single world bank that you will pay your taxes to directly. Also, through the Credit Default Swap scheme, it is the biggest land grab in the history of mankind. They will not only own all of the homes that have defaulted, they will own all of the other mortgages as well as billions of square feet of commercial real estate. The commercial real estate market is far more leveraged than private family homes are. In short, they have created money out of thin air, collapsed the economy, and they are receiving real assets in return. It is the biggest robbery in the history of mankind.

It is well known that our government doesn't work for "We the People;" they work for the banks, the corporations and the Military Industrial Complex.

At their handlers' behest, the government uses the classic Problem-Reaction-Solution paradigm, or Hegelian Dialectic.

Simply, Hegelian Dialectic says:

Create a problem (destroy the economy).
Generate opposition to the problem (fear, hysteria, paranoia)
Offer a solution to the problem (one world bank and one world currency).

This is what our government has been doing to us on numerous levels for years, with the War on Terror being a perfect example.

The Globalist's ultimate aim is to control every aspect of everyone's life the world over. In a cashless society, you won't be able to pay your babysitter or go to a yard sale without paying sales tax. You won't be able to be a babysitter or host a yard sale without paying income tax. They will know every single transaction everybody makes. You will be further taxed into slavery (Carbon tax, mileage tax, sales tax, income tax, etc.) more than you already are.

If they succeed in forming a world government you won't have any rights either. The protections afforded to you under the Constitution and the Bill of Rights will be a bittersweet memory. You will no longer be able to go where you wish or do as you wish. You will be under surveillance everywhere you go. You will no longer have any choices regarding your health care. You will be forced into receiving inoculations. You will eat nothing but genetically modified foods. You will no longer be able to raise your children as you see fit. You will no longer be able to own firearms for self protection. You will no longer be an American citizen; you will be a "world citizen."

All of these things are happening NOW! We must wake up and resist. If you are passive you will be an accomplice in your own enslavement and the enslavement of everyone in your family. They cannot possibly overtake all of us and we can accomplish it without violence because we are still protected by the Constitution of the United States.

I pray that I have been successful in proving that the economies of the United States and the rest of the world will ultimately collapse and why. However, I don't want anyone to feel that all hope is lost. There is still time but it is running short. Self-sufficiency and knowing your enemy will ultimately equal freedom.

Take all of your savings (IRAs, CDs, Stocks, etc.) out of the banks before it's too late, and don't worry if there's a penalty.
Buy gold and silver coins (not stock) to trade with.
Buy a Life Saver bottle.
Grow a garden with non-GMO heirloom seeds.
Store non-perishable foods.
Buy a gun, learn how to use it, and buy ammunition.
Turn off the propaganda box, the Television.
Tell everyone you know what you've learned.
Take an active role in the preservation of your freedom.

The Groundswell Has Begun

2009-02-18T19:35:00.002-07:00

February 18, 2009

In a well-insulated "free speech zone" outside Mr. Obama's appearance at Dobson High School in Mesa, AZ , citizens questioning Barack Obama's intentions for America outnumbered Obama supporters by at least 20:1. Scores of hand-made signs and banners were carried by the citizenry, some hoping to alert the President of their concerns, others simply offering their support. However, the 1000+ in attendance outside did not get as much as a glimpse of Mr. Obama. As the heavily-guarded Presidential motorcade entered school property, it was at least 150 yards from the nearest boundary of the pre-set "free speech zone."

The lack of access to the President did nothing to damper the free exchange of ideas among those in attendance. The event was not marred by violence of any sort, but discussions did get heated on numerous occasions. A small minority of Obama supporters were overheard accusing detractors of racism for not supporting the first black President, but for the most part the discussions remained issue-oriented.

Ed Vallejo, organizer of the Ron Paul "Campaign for Liberty" Meetup group in Phoenix offered the use of his bullhorn to anyone who wished to be heard among the crowd. Many people, from all walks of life and with widely divergent points of view, took advantage of the opportunity to voice their opinion above the din. It proved to be an extremely powerful exercise of the first amendment's guarantee of the right to free speech. One woman took the opportunity to lead a prayer for peace, while another tearfully pleaded for everyone "to just get along and get behind the President." Many others who wished to be heard cited various erosions of individual rights, the illegitimacy of the Federal Reserve, or the rise of the police/surveillance state as the focus of their concern. One particularly handsome and eloquent individual (ok, it was me) took the bullhorn and shouted Alex Jones' immortal rebel cry, "The answer to 1984 is 1776."

Muhammad Ali once said "A rooster crows only when it sees the light. Put him in the dark and he'll never crow. I have seen the light and I'm crowing." It would appear that many Americans are starting to feel similarly. As the title states, it is apparent that the groundswell has begun as more and more people continue to lose their jobs, their homes, their pensions, and their investments. At the same time, many are also becoming aware that their rights and liberties are being lost in the same omnipresent governmental vacuum.

Not only are many people "awakening" as it is said in activist circles, there is also the sad realization that, especially for those of retirement age, everything they have worked so hard for is evaporating into thin air for reasons beyond their control.

In her 1969 book entitled On Death and Dying, Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross identified the five stages by which people deal with grief and tragedy; denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. She also identified that these steps do not always occur in the same order. For many Americans and for people around the world, these five stages are well underway, and large numbers of people are coming to realize that a "deer in the headlights" look will only serve to get them run over. As they lose everything and watch their lives unravel before their very eyes, many also realize they will have little if anything left to lose.

After all, and as much as we try to deny it, we are animals first and human beings second. Every animal, when faced with a life-threatening danger, ultimately do one of two things when cornered: fight or flight.

So, which is it going to be?

Me, I choose to fight.

They’re Coming For Us - For We The People

2009-01-21T07:58:00.001-07:00

They're coming for us; all of us. Obama is just a puppet. This is not about politics. This is not about politics. This is not about politics.

The Right/Left or Republican/Democrat paradigm is being used to confuse and divide us.

They are all under control of the world banking establishment. This is about the looting and destruction of our nation, and the creation of a police state. In other words, enslavement; both financial and physical.

111th Congress: All of these were proposed on the very first day of the new Congress.

01/06/09 HJ Res 5 Bill to repeal the 22nd Amendment - The 22nd Amendment limits the President to 2 terms of office. Can you say
"King Obama"?

01/06/09 HR 45 Places severe gun ownership restrictions, and allows the Attorney General unchecked power to ban ANY firearm he wishes. Buy your guns now, you just might need them.

01/06/09 HR 140: To withhold certain highway funds if a State does not comply with certain requirements in issuing a driver's license or identification card, and for other purposes. This is a way to force REAL ID down the state's throats. Many states have refused to comply, citing cost and constitutionality

Supreme Court: Ruled on 1/14 that evidence gained illegally is still valid.

I urge all of you to act on your and your country's behalf before it's too late.

givemeliberty.org

8 Important Facts About the Federal Reserve

Jet Lacey’s State of the Union 2009

2009-01-05T09:25:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, I went to the Arizona Breakfast Club for the first time. It was both interesting and informative to listen to those who are educated in legal and economic matters speak about the plight of the American people at the hands of our Government. The crowd was much larger than expected and accommodations had to be made at the last minute. Many Americans seem to be awakening to the gravity of our situation in greater numbers. Even though it is very scary on some levels, I believe it is an exciting time to be an American.

I also went out on First Friday ArtWalk with people from my Ron Paul Campaign For Liberty group and gathered signatures for HR 2755 - The Federal Reserve Abolition Act.

I only write to all of you on this subject because I care about each one of you (well, most of you) and I care about our great country.

I believe that individual liberty is a right afforded to us by the Laws of Nature, or whatever Creator you believe in. I say this because the writings of Thomas Aquinas, Thomas Hobbes, and John Locke regarding Laws of Nature and the State of Nature point out that man's need to be free is an inherent trait within all of us, thus making it a part of our "nature."

There are many things that are occurring that portend the end of the United States of America as both a country and as a free society as we know it.

For the record, I always check the sources in what I read, and I urge you to as well. Anything that is linked herein has been placed there for that purpose.

Jet Lacey's State of the Union 2009

Gerald Celente Predicts Revolution, Food Riots, Tax Rebellions By 2012
A coalition of 6 Arab states are creating a (probably gold-backed) currency called the Khaleejli (Translation: Gulf in Arabic) by 2010. Every barrel of oil currently traded is traded in US dollars. This move by the Arabs will further devastate our currency, quite possibly pushing it into obsolescence. Saudis have also made a huge run on the available gold on the market, including a single transaction of 3.5 billion dollars, the largest ever.
The incessant printing of money that is backed by NOTHING is a plan by the Federal Reserve Bank (a private company) in conjunction with the Bilderburg Group, Trilateral Commission, and the Council of Foreign Relations (link about Obama and the CFR) to ruin our economy, turn the US a Third World nation to defeat our willingness and ability to fight for liberty, and create a single World Government (Kissinger on Charlie Rose 12/17/08) and a single World Bank ran behind the scenes by an oligarchy of Elites.
The Federal Reserve has, with our "money", bought up all of the mortgage backed securities from the failed or failing banks. So, homes that go into foreclosure are now owned by the Federal Reserve. It is a criminal land grab of astronomical proportions.
The uncontrolled printing of money ALWAYS leads to hyper-inflation (see Zimbabwe). This will effectively enslave us by making us unable to purchase even the simplest of staples, leading to starvation, riots, etc.
Also, as you might have seen in the news, the Governors of many states are asking for One Trillion Dollars to buy up the debts of the States. Rest assured the Federal Reserve will eagerly buy up that debt, and then they will send out their government-run debt collectors, the IRS to collect. Has anyone noticed that no one is speaking of contracting the Government out of necessity that they are only speaking of increasing taxes?
Under a Central Banking system, every dollar that is printed carries debt attached to it, and it dooms the citizens under it to slavery.
With credit drying up (or already dried), grocery stores and other essential businesses will soon be unable to stock their shelves, forcing them to close.
The Baltic Dry Index (BDI) is the rate shipping companies charge for shipping dry goods and commodities. It has plummeted over 94% because of a global collapse in demand. It is a leading economic indicator, and indicative of the severity of the crisis that is fulminating around us (see the chart at the bottom of the linked page).
Major protections for the citizens against the Federal Government have been erased or ignored in recent months. The most disturbing is the rapid advancement of a Militarized Police State. The State Militias (National Guard), which are under the direction of the States' Governors (as opposed to the President) in order to limit the power of the Federal Government, have been militarized in direct violation of the Constitution, the Posse Comitatus Act of 1878, and the Insurrection Act of 1807.

H.R.1585

National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2008 (Enrolled as Agreed to or Passed by Both House and Senate)

SEC. 1812. ESTABLISHMENT OF NATIONAL GUARD BUREAU AS JOINT ACTIVITY OF THE DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE.

(a) Joint Activity of the Department of Defense- Subsection (a) of section 10501 of title 10, United States Code, is amended by striking `joint bureau of the Department of the Army and the Department of the Air Force' and inserting `joint activity of the Department of Defense'.

(b) Joint Manpower Requirements-

(1) IN GENERAL- Chapter 1011 of such title is amended by adding at the end the following new section:

`Sec. 10508. National Guard Bureau: general provisions

`The manpower requirements of the National Guard Bureau as a joint activity of the Department of Defense shall be determined in accordance with regulations prescribed by the Secretary of Defense, in consultation with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.'.

By 2011, 20,000 troops will be permanently stationed in the United States, again in direct violation of Posse Comitatus. One brigade has already been stationed in Colorado Springs, CO under the authority of the Northern Command. They have recently completed Exercise Vigilant Shield 09 in cooperation with the Canadian Military.
Representatives were threatened by Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson with "Martial Law" if they did not agree to the 700 Billion dollar bailout.

International Monetary Fund and The U.S. Army War College are anticipating economic unrest and riots in the United States.
Big Brother is encroaching on us EVERYWHERE. ( link, link, Scary link for those of you who have retired, or have a 401K).
The Federal Government is attacking and destroying almost all of the protections afforded to us by the Bill of Rights, mostly by way of the PATRIOT act and Judicial review. The last one to fall is the 2^nd Amendment's protection for the right for individual citizens to bear arms. However, they continue insidiously attacking the 2^nd Amendment at every level as well.
There are pushes in many states (Vermont, New Hampshire, Montana, Texas among others) to secede from the Union for the failure of the Federal government to live up to its responsibilities outlined in the Constitution.

All hope is not lost, not by a long shot, and I believe in America and Americans. We were all taught that with rights come responsibilities, and to quote a friend, Ed Vallejo, who is a real American patriot; Rights are like muscles - If you don't use them they atrophy.

Cash in your dwindling IRAs and buy gold or silver before it's too late. Don't let the bankers use ANY of your money.
Stock up on non-perishable food and grow a garden.
Buy guns and ammunition for the protection of you and your families.
Take action at your municipal level

"Let me control a peoples currency and I care not who makes their laws."

Meyer Nathaniel Rothschild in a speech to a gathering of world bankers February 12, 1912. The following year, the USA subscribed to the 'services' of the newly incorporated Federal Reserve, headed by Mr. Rothschild.

"Naturally the common people don't want war: Neither in Russia, nor in England, nor for that matter in Germany. That is understood. But, after all, it is the leaders of the country who determine the policy and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along, whether it is a democracy, or a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the peacemakers for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in any country."

Hermann Goering, President of the Reichstag, Nazi Party, and Luftwaffe Commander in Chief

Declaring War on the "War on ______": The Government's Never-ending, Multi-front Wars ( Part 2 of 2)

2008-09-16T07:28:00.009-07:00

The War on Global Warming:

Humanity has proven beyond any shadow of a doubt that, overall, we are cock-a-roaches; scurrying, omnivorous, rampant breeders who shit where we lie.

There, I said it.

There are many who may be angry over this assertion, yet I stand firm; ladies and gentlemen, sometimes the truth hurts. Human beings have evolved into the worst plague Terra has ever known, and the Good Mother would be much healthier without us. Come what may, this wondrous biosphere will be here much, much longer than we will. Our time on earth has been a fleck of fly dirt in the fluid and churning sands of time.

Like the essence of life itself, the Earth is hard-wired for self-preservation. When the time comes that the sum of our existence has affected the earth’s homeostatic functions to the point that her compensatory measures are no longer effective, she will no doubt wipe the slate clean, erasing the stain of humanity.

With that said, we should do what we can; individually, realistically, and scientifically, as opposed to politically. The government’s declaration of “war” on mankind’s poisoning of the environment, is as ridiculous a concept as the population control protocol in Logan’s Run. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t surprise me either. We are both too smart and too dumb for our own good.

The fact of the matter is, our numbers are simply too great, and there is a finite amount of resources.

Largely because of organized religion, the original purveyors of fear-based mind-fuckery - entities that consistently laugh in the face of science and lackadaisically cast reason to the wind, we have lapsed into a dangerously unhealthy denial of our animal beginnings. This denial, a refusal to understand and acknowledge our animalistic traits and instincts is among the worst things we can do.

As Americans, we’ve had the very temporary luxury of being high-minded on the subject, as we have been the “land of plenty.” As a species, we have done great things; we have tamed our surroundings to our own ends and we continue to soar ever higher, but Daedalus was right. If you fly too high Icarus, too close to the sun, you’re bound to get burned and fall back to earth.

The government’s “Declaration of War” on global warming is an insult; to both Mother Earth and to us. Only common sense can save us, but it is a resource humans possess an ever diminishing supply of. By shying away from instinctual behavior, we have turned our backs on the very essence of common sense.

The War in Iraq:

It began with one of the most painful and sad days in American history; September 11, 2001. 19 mostly Saudi hijackers/terrorists planned for years to fly 4 different planes, loaded with fuel and passengers, into 4 different important American buildings. 3 out of the 4 were successful. Only one mission was unsuccessful, as a direct result of the bravery of the passengers on United Airlines flight 93.

From here on out is when it gets more than a little sketchy. Personally, I don’t believe that it was an inside job, but the media and general public are quick to dismiss 9/11 conspiracy theorists as complete whack-jobs. However, they do make one valuable point: This “war” is not, nor has it ever been about the eradication of terrorism. It is about 3 things; oil, oil, and oil. Furthermore, it is an obvious conflict of interest for the Executive branch to invade two different sovereign nations and threaten a third, especially since the White House is currently occupied by two “oil men.”

While this war is about oil, there are other entities with their hands deep in our collective cookie jar that stand to profit immensely from never-ending conflict; namely the Federal Reserve and the Military Industrial Complex. War is the very best thing that can possibly happen for either of these businesses.

In times of war, the Federal Reserve prints ungodly amounts of money to finance the endeavor. Every dollar, since the Federal Reserve Bank's inception in 1913, has been printed by them, and then loaned back to us at interest. The more dollars the Federal Reserve prints, the more money they make. It’s painfully obvious why the Military Industrial Complex benefits from perpetual conflict.

To tie it all together, there are two “oil men” in the White House. Then, the biggest act of terrorism ever to occur on these shores is perpetrated by 19 men from an area of the world that possesses the largest known reserves of oil remaining on the planet. As oil men, they desperately need whatever oil they can get their hands on because in-ground oil reserves are diminishing worldwide.

So, they get together with their corporate allies that would also greatly benefit from an extended conflict, and begin planning their attack. For the American people’s digestion, they cook up a scheme with both real and bogus “intelligence” from the CIA and other secret government agencies that says that there are numerous Al-Qaeda training camps in Afghanistan, and that Saddam Hussein has “Weapons of Mass-Destruction” in Iraq . It’s mostly cock and bull story from day one, and they know it. The fact is, is that they don’t much care for the Taliban, Saddam Hussein tried to have George Bush Sr. whacked during the first Gulf War, and Afghanistan and Iraq lie directly on the eastern and western borders of Iran respectively. Coincidence? I think not. Should they later decide to invade Iran, they could do so from two separate adjoining nations. They are also acutely aware that if they invade and control these three nations, they would control the entire Persian Gulf along with their allies the Saudis, as well as control a huge percentage of the known oil left in the world.

Is there any lower act of complete and utter selfishness than for the President of the United States to use one of the nation’s biggest tragedies for the benefit of himself and his friends?

Maybe there is one:

Our President, his V.P., and Congress have used one of our nation’s biggest tragedies to continue on their path towards complete tyranny; they take, and take, and take some more from their citizens, while giving back little to nothing in return. They have amplified and exploited our fears and they have used them against us. They have taken our rights away. They have ruined our economy. They have increased surveillance on their citizens in every imaginable way. They have turned on immigrants who were once welcomed in. They have incarcerated millions upon millions of people.

These “wars” are ideally indicative of the steep decline in freedom and liberty occurring within the United States, and the irony of creating a Cabinet-level “czar” to lead these new departments isn’t lost on me either. The word czar is derived from Caesar, or Emperor. Czars, Caesars, and Emperors were autocratic, sovereign rulers. Our system of government, a republic, is the opposite of that. It is a government without a monarch, and in which the people have a voice. The word republic originates from the Latin term Res publica, which means “public thing”, or “public matter.”

We must declare war on “The War on _______”, because they are wars that have been declared on us.

Declaring War on "The War on_______": The Government's Never-ending, Multi-front Wars (Part 1 of 2)

2008-09-09T07:11:00.008-07:00

The War on Drugs, The War on Terror, The War on Illegal Immigration, The War on Global Warming, The War on Iraq, The War on Iran, The War on Science, The War on the Middle Class, and the list goes on.

It makes me sick to my stomach to think about putting my thoughts on this issue down on paper. Writing about any topic requires a deep delving into, and critical thinking about, the chosen subject. Merely pondering this topic has caused me to lapse into hyperventilating, fist pounding convulsions. Luckily, no one was hurt. A perfect example; after I sat down and wrote the title to this piece, I had to walk away from it for a couple of days.

Oscar Wilde said, “I have said to you to speak the truth is a painful thing. To be forced to tell lies is much worse.”

The War on Drugs:

In the history of our great nation, no other government movement has led to the erosion of our basic civil rights more than the War on Drugs has.

As of 2006, there are 299,398,484 people living in the United States. In that year, there were 1,889,810 drug arrests, with 829,627 of them being for marijuana.

In 1990, there were 248,709,873 people living in the United States, and there were 580,900 drug arrests with 401,982 of them being for marijuana.

In 16 years time, there has been a 320% increase in the amount of arrests with a 16% increase in the population.

Think of it in these terms: In 2006, 1 out of every 150 people in the entire United States was arrested for drugs, and the number of arrests continues to grow each and every year. Nearly a million people were arrested for marijuana alone. All this adds up to 830,000 people per year, most of whom are hard-working Americans, who face going to prison, losing their jobs, losing their homes, etc., over what many believe to be an issue of personal choice.

Mind you, these are totals for one calendar year. Each and every year, another 830,000 suffer the same fate (again, that number rises each year), and that’s not mentioning the one million-plus arrests for other drugs. (Cited: Drug War Facts and the US Census Bureau)

Between the years of 1995 and 2006, 19,522,546 people were arrested on drug charges.

Nineteen and a half MILLION people were arrested for drugs in an 11 year period, and the majority of those arrests were for simple possession.

To achieve that end, Police and Federal Agents plan and enact military-style raids on their fellow Americans every single day. They use all the latest technology; assault rifles, infrared and night vision, flash bombs, body armor, etc. And, as they’ve proven time and time again, these trigger-happy stormtroopers will use each and every one of those technologies to their fullest capabilities, up to and including taking your life.

After all, it’s a lot of work arresting an average of 5177.5 people every single day, so you’ve got to let off steam somehow. It really is a war out there, and the government will be the first one to tell you. It’s wasn’t the media, or people of the United States who coined the term “War on Drugs”, it was the government itself.

09/18/2008 Update:

FBI records on drug arrests for the year 2007 were released on 09/15, and the data shows that a record 872,000 people were arrested for marijuana, with 90%, or 775,000, being for simple possession. It also showed that 75% of those arrested were under the age of 30. Appearing on the Dr. Drew radio program on 09/16, Paul Armentano, Senior policy analyst for NORML stated:

"We now have an entire generation that's becoming disenfranchised, that's believing that its civic leaders and police are not their protectors and are actually their oppressors, and if you look at the data, they are."

The War on Terror:

Department of Homeland Security
245 Murray Lane, SW
Washington, DC 20528

Secretary Chertoff,

My name is Jet Lacey, and I am an American citizen.

It’s said the treatment for some ailments is far worse than the disease itself. This analogy entirely sums up my feelings about the Department of Homeland Security, and the “War on Terror.” I am infinitely more afraid of you, agents of my own government, than I am, or have ever been of Al-Qaeda. You have done more damage to this country, and to the individual rights of its citizens than Al-Qaeda ever could.

You have taken the Constitution; a document expressly written to prevent the type of oppression being propagated by your department, and you have used it as your doormat. Former Supreme Court justice William Douglas says it best:

“The Constitution is not neutral. It was designed to take the government off the backs of people.”

Through the PATRIOT Act, you have removed or suspended many “inalienable rights” that are the life's blood of any honest-to-goodness free society.

You’ve created “gag orders”, effectively negating the 1st Amendment’s guarantee of free speech.

You conduct innumerable acts of warrantless surveillance on American citizens, in direct violation of the 4th Amendment.

You have suspended constitutionally guaranteed Writs of Habeas Corpus on multitudes of “enemy combatants”, and tortured them in direct violation of numerous compacts and treaties, although no “war” has ever been declared by Congress. This is a direct violation of Article One, Section 9 of the Constitution.

You secretly search the homes and businesses of American citizens without ever notifying the owner or occupant. Again, it is a direct violation of the 4th Amendment to the Constitution.

You have expanded the definition of terrorism to include various domestic issues in order to increase your power.

They say sex sells, but nothing sells better than fear. Why do you think religion is so popular? The Department of Homeland Security, and the PATRIOT Act are examples of what the Founding Fathers believed to be absolutely intolerable acts of a government against its people, and thus they risked everything and rose up against such tyranny.

It has been well and often quoted, but there are ideas that are stated so plainly and truthfully that paraphrasing would only serve to cheapen them.

“Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.” - Benjamin Franklin, (Historical Review of Pennsylvania 1759).

It is among my firmest beliefs that this is what has befallen America and her people. We have allowed hand-wringing, sneering, drunk-with-power 'leaders' like you, to sell us your tale of fear, and 'We the People' have bought it hook, line, and sinker.

By drafting and enacting the PATRIOT Act, what you have done to the United States and her people is tantamount to High treason. If the world was a fair place, you Mr. Chertoff, Tom Ridge, all Congressmen who voted for passage of the Act, its revisions, and its extension (including Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, and John McCain), and the current President and Vice President of the United States would be incarcerated without bail, charged, fairly and publicly tried in a Federal Court of Law, and if convicted be imprisoned or put to death in accordance with Article III, Section 3 of the Constitution of the United States of America. Contrary to what you obviously believe, there is no higher law in the land.

Mr. Chertoff, I am a peace-loving man devoted to the return of individual liberties in this country. Sir, I’d like to say it would give me the greatest of pleasures to see the day come to pass where you paid for the crimes you’ve committed against America. I’d like be able to say that I’d revel as you were strapped down and had your life taken away from you with the push of a syringe, or that I'd giggle with delight if your head began smoking like Ethel Rosenberg’s as you 'Ride the Lightning' for the harm you've done to this country.........but I’m not like you.

With Utmost Sincerity,

Jet Lacey

The War on Illegal Immigration:

While some of the other “wars on____” currently being waged by our government may be of higher importance to our ability to continue as a free nation, the War on Illegal Immigration is the topic that is most dear to my heart. All of the other wars are portrayed as serving a higher cause or purpose; freedom of course, but that’s an uncomfortable laugh we’ll share on another day. However, the War on Illegal Immigration is a war that directly singles out one group of people, namely Mexicans.

Yes, I know that technically, illegal aliens are here, well, illegally. I get it. What I don’t get is, after they’ve been welcomed in with open arms for so long, why are they considered, all of the sudden, to be this big societal pestilence. The act of being here illegally isn’t even a crime; it’s a civil infraction. For many, many years, illegal immigrants have been allowed to open bank accounts and have driving privileges, and they’ve been allowed to purchase homes and cars on credit, just like “regular” Americans. They’ve even, until recently, been eligible for welfare and food stamps. What they weren’t able to do is what the government would prefer none of us be able to do; vote, or reap any Social Security benefits we’ve sown throughout our working years.

I’ll tell you why they’ve been welcomed with open arms; for their cheap, voiceless labor. Mexicans, both citizens and ‘illegals’, are no small part of the very backbone of this nation. They get a lot of bad press because of the drug trade (see above), but overall, Mexicans are some of the finest people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. They have a rich culture, steeped in tradition, and they are a religious and family-oriented people. The most important word in the Spanish language is trabajo, which simply means work. I’ve also found that whatever respect you give most Mexicans, you get back double in return. What bothers me most is that many people who are dead-set against illegal immigrants don’t even have regular contact with Mexican people.

My life-long love affair with the Mexican people started in 1977, when at the wide-eyed and wondrous age of 8, my Mom, sisters, and I moved to Phoenix, AZ. When school began that August at Orangewood Elementary I was in the 3rd grade, and it was then that I took Spanish for the 1st time. Though I’ve nary a swarthy drop of blood coursing through my veins, I often joke that I’m 100% Irish, and 50% Mexican.

I digress. The ultimate issue for me here is compromise. The US government seems to have lost this ability in our recent history. I’m more than ok with taking whatever measures are deemed necessary to discourage illegal immigration into this country. I’d rather they didn’t build a wall along the Mexican border, not because of illegal immigration, but because I’d like for my own way out the door to be kept open, should things get worse. The most realistic and humanistic way to handle this issue would be to first secure the border, and give those who are already here a fast-track to become an American citizen. Also, the fees and costs associated with U.S. citizenship are extremely prohibitive for many, and I believe they should be decreased.

Earning citizenship isn’t about what you can pay; it’s about a pledge of loyalty and a promise to be a positive member of the society. However, with rights comes responsibility, and proving that the immigrant has learned basic conversational English should be a firm requirement before citizenship is granted.

Mexicans are a diligent and adaptable people; I think they’re up for the challenge.

High Times at the GOP Convention

2008-09-04T06:28:00.012-07:00

Yawn! Oh, hi there. I guess I kinda just dozed off there for a minute. Whew....The last thing I remember, I was watching one dusty old bullshit artist after another flap their gums at the GOP Convention, live from St. Paul, Minnesota.

The air inside is electric, but not in a good way. I can only describe it as a "turn the other way and run" kind of way. Short hairs stand on napes of necks, and there seems to be a faint, hot mist emanating from the convention floor. The overall scene is of a Dali-esque mirage. To ease the tension, large Ziploc bags of freshly picked Psilocybin and Mason jars of 180-proof corn liquor, both from Texas Senator Kay Bailey Hutchinson's personal stash, were hurriedly flown in and distributed to the restless mob by Republican party officials.

Smart move; it's been proven that a fairly large percentage of people experience a long-lasting increase in emotional well-being after taking mushrooms. On a more serious note, the white lightning was Manna from Heaven to the 40 or so delegates who had been seen lying in the aisles, curled up in the fetal position. They appeared to be in the bone-aching throes of opiate withdrawal, or in fulminant alcoholic DT's. Rush Limbaugh, you know what I’m talking about.

Others are seen scratching at themselves or blindly clawing at the air, as though they are fending off some manner of invisible, winged beast. Hundreds have been afflicted with Bell's palsy, and many more have open, weeping sores dotting their torsos. Calamine lotion is selling outside the convention for 350 dollars a bottle, and millions of flies have abandoned area landfills and have descended upon the XCel Energy Center in search of an easy meal.

The flies sense it and so do I; these are physical manifestations of abject horror. The Republicans know they've done fucked things up with the American people. At this point, they’re also acutely aware they had a pretty good thing going too.

Throughout this process, I've noticed quite a few things about Presidential conventions and those who serve as delegates. Those who believe in Satan as a living entity, as opposed to a metaphoric allusion to our darkest instincts, refer to the devil as "The King of Liars." After a few nights of watching our divided masses worship these golden calves, I'm not convinced that Satan could hold a candle to these pros.

I can't say who flat-out, bald-faced lied the most, but it chaps my ass just thinking about it. It's obvious these conventions are a farcical parade of lies, and a lesson in the piquant nuances of political ass-kissery. After listening to members of both parties for numerous nights in a row, I now know what it feels like to be a smoking-hot girl sitting alone in a busy nightclub. Everybody knows that fellas gonna step to her and say and do anything it takes to get her in the sack. Why? So they can fuck her. The only difference between the parties is the line of “game” they roll up with.

The delegates themselves are the side-show to their candidate's "Three-Ring Circus." On the convention floor, thanks to the unflinching eye of C-Span, I witnessed numerous acts of prostitution, two possible homicides, and open IV drug use.

A major problem occurred at the convention when it was realized that there weren’t nearly enough delegates in attendance. Party organizers were in a ‘head-in-hands’ panic after roughly half of the seated delegates up and left the convention, never to return. They went across the river to Minneapolis in search of real reform, to Rep. Ron Paul's opposing convention, the "Rally for the Republic."

Organizers had to think of something, tuit suite. It is rumored that John McCain called in some favors and had every homeless Veteran they could find, from parks and bus stops across the Midwest, bussed in to sit for the convention. They also sent out volunteers to scour local asylums, halfway houses, and inpatient psychiatric units for suitable female "constituents.”

Homeless Vets are a sad lot; they are the shells of former people who quit trying after being used up and spit out. They are the human waste of our disposable society. To politicians, with the possible exception of McCain himself, they are what they have always been; expendable, be they light infantry or convention seat fillers. They are our country’s ‘Untouchables”; paid in pimento loaf and cheap booze, and merely tolerated until their services are no longer needed. After the convention, they will be immediately and summarily returned to their former glory behind the nearest dumpster, without so much as a "Thanks, now go fuck yourself."

Above it all, presiding front and center is the unholy Puta Madre, Cindy McCain. I have lived in Phoenix, AZ for a long time, and I have seen Mrs. McCain in public on a few occasions. For me, anything closer than TV is too close for my comfort.

I don't care what anyone says, I am pretty sure she's not human.

Normally, the sparsely thin strands of her ancient, flaxen hair are secured in the severe pony tail of richey-rich bitches everywhere. It carries the pungent odor of moist loam or old books, and sours the very air around her. Flying insects that venture too close to Mrs. McCain instantly cease metabolic activity and freefall to earth.

Tortuous, cord-like veins rhythmically pulse as they traverse the width and breadth of her considerable ovoid melon, which reflects light in the same spectrum as Gold Medal flour. Her eyelashes are said to be coated in neurotoxic venom, and can be accurately fired a distance of 5 or 6 feet. Mrs. McCain’s thin-lipped smile conceals hypodermic canines that can tear through any flesh, including the densest bone. Her soulless eyes are the color of an azure sea set aflame.

Cindy McCain is in her glory, for this is her time. She has been lying patiently in wait since 1136 B.C. for this day to arrive. The Prophecies have spoken.

I can see why people sell their souls; mine's a fucking burden to be sure. It must be great to feel no sense of care or concern for your fellow man and only worry about yourself. It must be powerfully liberating to be able to go after what you really want without giving a second thought to how you got there, what villages you've plundered, or how many lives you've destroyed along the way. Imagine, just for a second, being able to lie, cheat, and steal without the slightest pang of guilt or remorse. I know, I know, it sounds great; but I can't seem to rid myself of it, not even for a fleeting moment.

In summation, there are dark forces that mean us harm that surround us from all directions. The best advice is to lay low and keep your head down until you find some manner of cover. And then, at the opportune time, jump up and come out swinging. That time is coming, sooner than you might think.

Don't worry, I'll let you know.

The Denver Donkey Show: Hee-Haw, Hee Haw - The March for Fleece 2008. Night 4 of the DNC part II

2008-08-29T22:58:00.009-07:00

On the 45^th anniversary of “I Have a Dream”, Barack Obama delivered a similarly moving and beautiful speech to the standing room only INVESCO field audience, the American people, and the more than 38 million around TV viewers around the world. It’s sad really, that unlike Dr. King’s speech, Barack Obama’s promise of a better tomorrow for the American people carried all the heft of a popcorn fart and the heart-felt honesty of “You look great in that dress. I was telling my Mama just the other day that I thought that style of dress probably wasn't designed with Homo sapiens in mind. But, I see you in it and I’m like, DAMN girl, you be lookin' fine!”

Dr. King said:

"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

Truer words were never spoken. Recognize.

As well as:

"I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood."

Well, they’re still working on that one. Rome wasn’t built in a day, you know.

Regardless of my ever-embittered, volcanic ranting, this was a historic night. And, as viciously and regularly as I attack my fellow Americans and our government, the events of last night restored in me a sliver of hope that the American system of government still fundamentally works. A black man has earned the Democratic Party’s nomination for President of the United States of America. I say earned because he successfully fended off The Baddest Bitch, and quite possibly the sickest all-around fuck on the face of the planet, in a heroic display of will that continues to befuddle me.

Respect.

As alluded to earlier, the speech was nothing more than a “Rah-Rah-Rah” pep rally for the American dream. There were no Chicken Soup for the American Soul remedies. And, the remedies that Senator Obama did allude to left me with gnawing, rolling agita. How the hell are we gonna pay for all this utopian sunshine and rainbows? There is no way that any of this could be anything more than utter fantasy, like Intelligent Design, or abstinence-based Sex ed programs. I’ve read numerous Penthouse Forum letters that were more believable.

There was one aspect of the Democrats' powerful night that was particularly telling; hundreds upon hundreds of Democratic delegates on the floor of INVESCO Field were waving signs that merely said "Change", so many in fact, that I can now attest to what an organized street beggar's convention would look like. The ocean of signs somehow cheapened the speech, as if the front of a 7-11, or a freeway off-ramp would be a more fitting venue. Even though I was at home, I put my wallet in my front pocket, just to be safe.

When, oh when, oh when, will they learn; ass, gas, or grass, NOBODY rides for free.

However, I am a grown man and I can admit certain things: As much as I bitch like some whiny old see-you-next-Tuesday, I firmly believe that if you can motivate a nation’s people to action, you can literally move mountains.

My brother Andy (his Blog) will state to anyone who will listen to him, that he believes differently. Andy proudly contends that he is, “Ayn Rand-loving to the point of necrophilia”, and a “me first and fuck you, card carrying Neo-con.” He believes that Karl Rove is to politics what Allen Iverson is to himself; the Answer. My fellow Americans, I love him very, very much, and I work tirelessly to temper his vigor for ultra-conservative issues. The truth be told, I often wonder if his conservative fervor is a defense mechanism; for hidden under the surface of his super-intelligent psyche, and unbeknown to the rest of us, he has a Rep. James Traficant-sized skeleton in his closet. Only time will tell.

I’m on to you MackNair. You can run but you can’t hide.

In closing, I don’t really have anything else to report. My intention for this final segment was for it to be as entertaining and devoid of substance as Senator Obama’s speech.

To my wonderful and appreciated readers (both of you), if you think that I was tough on the Demmycrats, wait ‘til Monday. The GOP Convention from St. Paul, MN is the place. I have a feeling that its going to be a sadly farcical event, more than worthy of my rancorous verbal wrath.

I will also be heavily reporting on Ron Paul's "ugly step-sister" convention, "The Rally for the Republic", in Minneapolis. If you were wondering if I'm just some angry, scoliotic curmudgeon who lives below a freeway overpass and uses the public library's computer as an excuse to come in from the elements, and that I couldn't possibly write anything with a positive slant, just wait.

Just you wait.

Until then, assalamu alaikum,

Jet

The Denver Donkey Show: Hope Sweet Hope and Sweet, Sweet Lies. The DNC Night 4.

2008-08-28T23:34:00.004-07:00

I was watching the 4^th and final night of the 2008 Democratic National Convention. As I turned on the television, Stevie Wonder and his band were performing a jazzy little number. Stevie was blessedly terse this night. There is a joke from Eddie Murphy Delirious in which Eddie relates the fact that he’s become friends with Stevie. “You gotta cut Steve off, because if he get a roll on, he’ll talk your ear off. Shut the fuck up Steve, man. If you want to impress me, drive the motherfucking car!” Some jokes are funny because they’re funny, and some jokes are funny because they’re true. Stevie Wonder talks like Sperm whales dive, one big breath and both of them are all set for at least two hours.

I started out watching the Democratic Party’s personal “fluffer” that is CNN. “Good evening, I’m Wolf Blitzer, here with my colleague, closeted homosexual Anderson Cooper, and this is CNN. This hour’s segment of the Democratic National Convention from Denver, CO is brought to you by Bleu Cheese flavored Man-gina brand personal lubricant and “toss-your-salad” dressing.

I can’t believe I had forgotten the fact that a few of the MSNBC pundits were close to throwing on-air blows. Without a second thought, I would buy a Pay-Per-View of that spectacle; I picture a bunch of sissy-assed windbags, blindly slapping in each other’s general direction with weakly flailing arms and manicured nails. Their faces seem to be imploding, and they turn their heads away from the action like Regan McNeil in The Exorcist. “Your mother sucks cocks in Hell, you faithless slime.” Yeah Chris Mathews and Keith Olbermann, I’m talking to you, ya panty waists.

This is so much fun.

I sat there, half-assed listening to speaker after speaker and pundit after pundit, say the same goddamn thing about change and how Barack Obama will bring to us this life-giving panacea, and that John McCain, snake oil salesman extraordinaire, will continue selling the same patented nostrum of the Bush administration, and just how downright unacceptable that is for everyone. Blah-de-f’ing-blah.

The irony is not lost on me that words once spoken by Vladimir Lenin seemed to sum it up best; “A lie told often enough becomes the truth.”

This is how I see it; both parties fuck you in the ass, it’s academic. This incarnation of the Democrats have about them the appearance of common courtesy; they promise to at least rub your back while they jack hammer your dirt road. The Republicans however, try to divert your attention away from the fact that they’re making sweet, sweet love to your backside by activating your fight-or-flight reflex, so much so that sensory overload reduces the uncomfortable sensation to tolerable levels. It’s quintessential gate control theory.

After a couple of much needed Bud Lights with Lime, I came to my senses and switched the channel to PBS. I commented to my wife that Jim Lehrer has the eyes of a Great White; black, cold, and beautiful. Beth said, “And creepy. They make me want to give him a piece of cheese.” I politely disagreed with my wife’s mouse reference, as she knows little to nothing about either Lamniformes or Rodentia.

I believe, despite his advanced age, that Mr. Lehrer would be a political force on the national stage if he dusted off his wallet and sprung for a rug wasn’t the ‘Jackie’ from Men’s Wigs by John Renau. Deep, knowing eyes and an eighty-five dollar cranial beaver pelt go together like Fundamental Christianity and reason. Oil and water bitches, oil and water.

On with the show. Without further ado, may I introduce to you the next President of the United States of America - directly after the obligatory heart string-tugging video montage.

Barack Obama took the stage like a smooth, slow moving Category 2 hurricane; he seemed to be literally blowing away the 80-plus thousand people in attendance. To me and my cynic’s eye (which I’m told translates to Asshole), the spectacle reminded me of those cool Billy Dee Williams Colt .45 commercials from the 80’s. Everybody knows that Malt Liquor goes down smooth, but there’s always a bitter aftertaste.

Stepped in the park I was drunk as hell
Three bitches already said, "Eric your breath smells!"
40 ounce in hand, that's what I got
"Yo man you see Eazy hurlin' in the parking lot?"

8-ball by NWA

Tomorrow, gentle readers, my assessment of the Barack Obama nomination acceptance speech.

Same Gonzo time, same Gonzo channel......

The Denver Donkey Show; Apathy sets in/Bud Lights no help. Night 3 of the DNC.

2008-08-27T21:13:00.000-07:00

I am sitting here, having drunk numerous Bud Light/Clamato red beers, trying in vain to come to grips with what I have just witnessed. I promised myself that I wouldn’t be as caustic tonight as I have been, but the search for real truth can never be railroaded by flimsy, drunken promises; like telling yourself that you’ll be nicer to people, or the vows of marriage.

Frankly, I’m bored with it already. I can only watch people I loathe for so long, especially since many of them have been at the very top of my “God Do I Fucking Hate You” list for such a long time. After a while, watching them makes me seriously begin to question my own sanity. I rationalize it by saying that I need to know the truth. The truth is, you are going to find damn little truth at a political convention. If the contest is previously decided, conventions are nothing more than political stroke-jobs; a rite of ascension for the Whore of Babylon.

Jesus, I can’t even write I’m so turned off. The words usually flood my mind to capacity, and the trick is to keep the best ones and put them on the page. Tonight, the words are nowhere to be found. They must be dragged, syllable by syllable, from the overworked language centers of my fatigued and beleaguered brain, and I seemed to have run fresh out of catecholamines to fuel my rage.

“The King is dead. Long live the King!”

Good night,

Jet

The Denver Donkey Show and Tonight’s Star; The One, The Only, Sen. Hill-a-ME Clinton (DNC Night 2)

2008-08-27T06:42:00.002-07:00

Where to begin; I’m sitting there, minding my own Goddamn business, and watching the Democratic National Convention, live from Denver. It’s moments like these in life’s rich pageant that call to memory some of the times in your life that you’ve felt so very alone. It’s like; “WOW. There’s a shitload of people in this country who see the world through completely different eyes than I do. I mean for real.”

Then, reality sets in and you remember (how could you forget, you handsome devil) that you are always right and all those complete assholes on that convention floor have got it all wrong. WAAAAAYY wrong.

They are unwittingly there, for all the world and most importantly me, to laugh at and to demean. HELL YEAH! Think about it; you’ve got to be a pretty dim bulb with nary a sense of humor not to take full advantage of a prime opportunity to laugh at the Democrats’ expense. Fox News even had actor Chris Burke, who was born with Downs Syndrome, and portrayed lead character 'Corky' on the TV series “Life Goes On," live in their Washington studios to poke fun at the convention goers. Mr. Burke, 43, appeared to be drunk at the time.

Orgiastic doesn’t begin to describe the convention floor freak show. For Christ’s sake, with mine own eyes I saw a delegate from the convention’s home state of Colorado in a Jack Link’s Beef Jerky Sasquatch costume, with a studded-leather codpiece, and God help me if I’m lying, bejeweled nipple rings. I could go on for hours.

It all makes sense now......

With a revolving door of freaks and megalomaniacs who spoke before her, Hillary Clinton was introduced to the stage by her, VERY fit by the way, daughter Chelsea. I hadn’t seen Chelsea in quite a while, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that she had somehow grown into the heavy jaw and equine dentition of her youth. For whatever reason, I hadn’t thought that possible. To be honest, I was expecting another Amy Carter. What a battle axe.

Senator Clinton entered stage left, initially flanked by her guru, an Al Bin Ali Bedouin mystic. Little is known about him other than he smells of camel’s urine and Febreze. She walked with a quick, straight-armed, straight-legged staccato, accessorized by her trademark wild-eyed grin, like a martyred poster child for the clinically insane. She held the look of someone who is currently experiencing the unique discomfort of having a relapsing, crack smoking Robert Downey Jr. wedged in their descending colon.

She took the stage in a day-glo, “power orange” pant suit. With a pasty white skeletal head, and her “you see that ass Mami got” rear end, from afar she looked like a delicious piece of candy corn. At first I thought she was going to do something fresh and bold, like a jazzy dance number, maybe as one last ditch effort to turn the delegate tide in her favor. I sat eagerly waiting, hoping for other candy costumes to follow her on stage, but none of it came; no mini Snickers, no Zagnuts, no Circus Peanuts, nothing. I must say that I was temporarily saddened. Then she opened her mouth and my pain melted away.

She started off slowly, with the usual mendacious rhetoric. But, anytime Hillary Clinton takes the podium, it is common knowledge that there’s going to be some vaingloriously comedic “doozies” that come flying out of her mouth. It is a fact that has been woven into the very fabric of presidential campaign folklore. She just can’t fucking help herself, much to the delight of my maliciously sarcastic dark side.

As she spoke, they kept panning back to Bill Clinton for his reaction. President Clinton looked like W.C. Fields in the depths of an alcoholic fugue. His cartoonish, bulbous nose has turned a deep shade of red, and there is a visible road map of tiny surface capillaries from continual abuse of the drink. His face was flush, and his eyes were like a crime scene; bloodshot and devoid of life. President Clinton is a known mouth breather, and as he exhaled, those around him were forced to turn away in revulsion from the overbearing stench of Maker’s Mark and simple chronic halitosis. It has been widely reported on fringe internet news sites that he “sharted” when Hillary said “No Way, No How, No McCain.”

Notable Quotes:

The media outlets had quoted Sen. Clinton calling for Democrats to “take back the country we love,” but I will go to my grave believing that I heard her urge them, begging them no less, to “take back the Cunt that you love.”

Speaking to America, “You have made me laugh, you have made me cry.” Well Hillary, now you know how I’ve felt all these years, but for me, there’s been a heavier emphasis on the crying.

“Barack Obama is MY candidate, and he must be President of the United States of America.” – This is typical Hillary Clinton egoism. Me, me, me, my, my, my, I, I, I.

Other than that, it was a pretty boring, non-committal speech. The whole thing seemed kind of forced, except when she was talking about herself of course. There was nothing earth-shattering to report, but as stated earlier, the people watching was par excellence.

Semper Vigilo,

Jet

There's a Heaviness....

2008-08-22T05:03:00.004-07:00

There’s real heaviness, like we’re living in a pressure cooker. Many of us live day-to-day with the faint but ever-present sense that impending doom is approaching on some all-too-near horizon. An unknown, unseen entity has a tetanic grip on our short hairs with no intention of letting go, or a phantom goat has got us by the balls and is grinding on them like a rusty tin can.

Where’s Dick Nixon when we need someone to kick around. No, scratch that. We’re getting the type of lubricant-free ass-fisting that ol’ Tricky Dick wouldn’t have had the wherewithal to envision. He was rabid dog-mean, but not creative. These are real pros, Jack.

In this world, there are three types of bad people. They are, in ascending order:

a.) Grade-A douchebags.

b.) The Richard M. Nixons of the world.

c.) The corporate and banking elite. Cold-blooded, pseudo-reptilian predators who hide dry, scaly exoskeletons beneath tailored suits. They require extensive reconstructive surgery and five-hundred dollar haircuts to not be recognized as something “other than human.” They lustfully devour live rodents and arthropods behind the one-way windows of their private limos, and mass-gather at each equinox in an uncharted guano-stained cave near Falls Church, Virginia. The darkness in the cave is so complete, it calls to mind the 9th plague of Egypt. They meet primarily to impart their wishes on high ranking federal officials, their paid subordinates who accept their orders in breathless horror.

All politicians, Republican or Democrat, that are referred to as “Washington power brokers” are nothing more than sadly allegoric “hand-up-the-ass” puppets. They have sold their souls, and sold us out, to be the human face of a very inhumane plan. It is a plan they will never have any say-so in, or enjoy a modicum of control over. The basic outline of the plan was set into motion before many of them were born.

In a bold attempt to beat them at their own game, I have recently bribed the clerk of a U.S. Senator to attach a pork-barrel expenditure on one of the Senator’s many pending appropriation bills. With the earmarked funds, I will train STD infected chimpanzees to appear at political functions as mild-mannered organ grinders. I will train the chimps to jump atop whomever I gesture toward and vigorously skull-fuck them. The orifice chosen will be at the sole discretion of the ape. I will teach them various strategies, but that is another story entirely.

Obviously, the mouth itself will the most frequently violated orifice. When politicians make public appearances, they are usually ranting in a mendacious, long-winded double-speak. In the unlikely event that the mouth is closed at the moment of attack, the chimps will be trained to violate the auditory and nasal canals with equal adeptness and fervor.

If you've ever seen them in action, chimpanzees are randy little freaks with an insatiable, basest lust. When afforded the opportunity to mate, chimps like it hard and fast, like Sen. Larry Craig’s asshole during his “usual Saturday” Amyl Nitrate and Rye-fueled glory hole rendezvous.

The captains of industry and elite bankers are the Caligulas, Torquemadas, and Idi Amins of our times, but worse. Their ultimate goal is to control and profit from nearly every aspect of everyone’s life the world over.

Yes folks, we’ve got ‘the fears’; the worst case scenario has come to fruition. As a nation, we’ve just crested the mountain and its all downhill from here. The United States of America is the dissipating remains of a “shooting star” society. The greatest and most powerful nation in the earth’s history is experiencing the onset of violent and spasmodic death throes, and our nation as we’ve known it will soon be nothing more than a bittersweet memory. The extended forecast is calling for a category 5 shit storm, so grab your umbrellas. It’s the soberest kind of bad trip.

We are no longer a nation of the People, for the People, by the People; that is a forgone conclusion. Having been sold out by our own government, we are merely the indentured servants of a new generation of Robber-barons who are paid from our income taxes for the “privilege” of printing and controlling our money, and through various subsidies that are given to huge corporations. We pay them, directly out of our paychecks, the vast sums of money they are using to take direct control over our nation. Actually, it’s ingenious; the ultimate pyramid scheme.

I have not read, nor heard anyone else say this, so I will. The United States is in the midst of a Great interregnum: that is to say our government and society has changed forever, and we are currently without either a well-defined leadership or a well-defined system of governance. The current leadership is simply making and changing the rules as they go along. We are no longer a Republic of Free states, nor does the remotest resemblance to the free society created by the Constitution continue to exist. At this point, we are unsure of what this new World Order will entail, or what manner of entity will assume control. If you ask me, the plan is for the creation of a multi-national banking corporatocracy; dominatrii in Armani suits instead of assless chaps and a Schirmmutze.

I know that there are many out there who will try to discredit me by as some hyper-paranoid, conspiracy theory wack-job. However, nothing could be farther from the truth. It’s these types of malignant, dismissive, and reactionary judgments which lie at the very heart of what’s the matter with this country. To those of you who would gleefully relate such hate-mongering discourse without benefit of forethought or investigation, I would like to point out that referring to you as mere scum would be a high complement. You are what remains after the bottom of the barrel has been scraped.

Furthermore, I would like to see every one of you cowardly, hate-mongering bumble-fucks dressed up like Buster Brown or Little Bo Peep, and have a large swirly lollipop thrust into your hand. It would rival the joy I experienced on my wedding day to then see you summarily thrown, begging and screaming, to a group of hair-shirted, sadistically insatiable sexual predators to be used as they saw fit.

Fuck you and the rainscalded, lordotic horse you rode in on.

How the mind doth wander. Deep in our collective hearts, we know that we have a powerful and dangerous parasite that must be excised, but we are too confused and afraid to take the appropriate action. The sucking sound as the élan vital is siphoned out of us can no longer be ignored. The beast on our back has grown fat from many years of undisturbed feeding, but it always wants more. Its thirst remains unslakable. It’s been at our jugular, dining on our very blood since the dawn of the industrial revolution. Until now, we’ve had plenty to feed us both, but that is no longer the case. The challenges we face to remove this parasite are both serious and complicated, and to say a lot is at stake is an understatement of inestimable proportions.

Like many parasites, the host’s attention is diverted away with some manner of anesthetic. In this case, they have brilliantly purchased and consolidated most forms of media. They then used the oldest and dirtiest tricks in the book to entice us, confound us, and cause us to second guess our instincts. It has worked in spades. The mass media, our lifeline to the world, actively breeds an insidious, crippling fear and a hostile contempt and distrust for our fellow man. On a daily basis, we are subjected to the same concepts that are used to artistic perfection in the Las Vegas casinos; distraction, over-stimulation, and disorientation. In fact, casinos are the proving grounds to develop new and imaginative methods for control, both over our minds and our wallets. They are also used as the proving grounds for the newest electronic surveillance technologies. Is it mere coincidence that mega-corporations own all of the casinos? No sirree. They dazzle us with brilliance and baffle us with bullshit from every direction, like Muhammad Ali in his prime. Right jab, left cross, right hook and you just got knocked the fuck out. Take your lumps, leave your wallet, and get the hell on home.

Again, I digress. With any parasite/host relationship, there is a point when the homeostatic functions of the host can no longer be maintained. In the case of the United States, we are starting to get weak and sickly and the parasite knows that the death of its host is an imminent reality. The only viable option for this metaphoric beast to continue growing and surviving is to make the entire world its host, in the form of one world government and one World Bank. However, the good news is that parasites are not typically fatal unless the host allows it to continue consuming until all its resources have been exhausted. In other words, a parasite cannot survive and thrive if the host does not continue to feed it.

While it is true that more can be accomplished by a single and unified effort, human beings are obviously neither ants nor bees, species that have thrived for eons as a result of total selflessness and dedication to their collective group. After untold eons, ants and bees remain ants and bees and have not appreciably evolved for their communal efforts.

The beauty of being a human is our understanding of the self as both an individual and as a member of a larger group, and the benefits and responsibilities inherent in both roles. It is a wonderful duplicity. Actually, we need both roles to thrive. Self-awareness and self-determination, when combined with the concept of safety in numbers is what has allowed us to evolve. It is the cornerstone, or essence, of what it means to be human. I believe humbly, that we are the best kind of “freak of nature.”

We began as lowly, omnivorous scavengers waiting in line for our turn at the carcass. Mankind has never been the fastest or the biggest species, but through fierce determination, working in relative unison, and rewarding ideas that better the group, we have become the greatest and most dominant species the world as ever known.

With the tiniest bit of rational contemplation, isn’t it almost impossible not to see that our similarities run much, much deeper than our differences? We’re all Homo sapiens, right? How different can we possibly be? Genetically, we’re 98% the same as the aforementioned chimpanzees. To tie the genetics and politics of it all together, Aesop and Patrick Henry were right; united we stand, divided we fall. It has always been that way for mankind. Nature, in her infinite wisdom, has a way of keeping the traits that are most important for the continuation of a species.

Big business and the government have made us believe we don’t need and we shouldn’t trust one another. Again, nothing could be farther from the truth. We need one other now more than ever, because it’s obvious the few with the lions’ share of wealth are nowhere near satisfied with what they have accrued. They have thrown down the gauntlet and made it abundantly clear; they will not stop until they own everything and everybody; lock, stock, and barrel. If we don’t gather en masse and form a unified front, as well as rely on and look out for one another, we are sure to fail. And if we fail, the rest of the “free world” will fall with us. We are at the precipice of the abyss, and stand to lose everything we’ve ever known about living in a free society.

Through complacency and misplaced trust, we have handed over our empire to a small group of people who have chosen to exploit us, to feed their insatiable lust for power. We entrusted them to do right by us because they had proven to have the foresight and wherewithal to make big things happen. Their ability to think grand scales has created our nation’s infrastructure, cost effective manufacturing, and mass communication, among many others. These mavericks were and are the best America has to offer. “Captains of Industry” have been at the very forefront of our nation’s explosion of growth and development. It’s sad that these individuals, who have in one sense done so much for America, have completely lost sight of the ideals so eloquently defined by the Declaration of Independence, Constitution, and Bill of Rights. These documents created the type of environment that actively assisted those with the biggest dreams and motivation, so long as their ideas and efforts contributed to the betterment of the nation as a whole.

At the onset, our newly liberated country would have gladly crowned George Washington king without hesitation, but that is not what he wanted. He wanted something that no individual can ever possess, something infinitely more powerful. The collective vision of the Founding Fathers was for everyone to be their own king and rule their own lives as they saw fit, so long as the individual’s decisions did not interfere with the rights or kingdom of another. They also wanted a nation whose citizen’s lives were, in a real sense, liberated from the fear of intrusion by the government, an entity they considered to be a necessary evil.

A deliberate decision has been made not to address topics such as slavery, suffrage, religion, or the cause of any other subgroup. It’s not that these causes aren’t serious or lack importance, but discussions of this nature only serve to divide us. We must relearn to focus on our similarities as human beings and as Americans. We need to switch into a real and visceral survival mode. It is a foregone conclusion that different groups at different times have been treated beyond horribly, but at this point everyone is as ‘ass over the barrel’ as the next.

The powers that be are not solely to blame for our predicament. Since the time that our founding fathers gave us this greatest of gifts, we have become a deeply self-righteous and arrogant people. We have also developed a deep sense of narcissistic entitlement, as though the world somehow owes us something for being American. There is a reason for the term “Ugly American.” Our forefathers prided themselves on the descriptive insults given to them by the British as a form of backhanded complement. Sadly, that is no longer the case. We are no longer the “good guys” of the world riding into town to save the day, wearing a 10-gallon hat atop a hale, white equine.

We have used the world as our playground and our toilet, and we have done whatever we wished wherever we wanted to on a global scale. We have forced countless sovereign nations to do our bidding, all the while exploiting their precious resources in the bastardized name of freedom and democracy. In other words, bald-faced lies. We have created permanent military settlements in many nations to protect whatever it is we are harvesting, or to have a jumping-off point for further conquest. Individually, we may not have participated in any of it, but these activities have been the cornerstone of our country’s foreign policy for quite some time. As Americans, the responsibility for actions taken by our government falls firmly in our laps.

The death rattle of the American dream is upon us. The vultures are circling and their shadows are looming large against the uneasy backdrop of wasted plains and flooded waterways. Vultures are coarse and ugly, but their flight is not. They coast in the updraft on elegant wingspans, patiently waiting for their chance to feast on the bloated carcass below. It's said that Rome wasn’t built in a day, but oftentimes it feels like we’re being destroyed in one.

Only an unwavering, firm stance from the masses can right this ship. This is a call to arms, but not the type of arms that kill people. A unified voice is one of the most powerful yet least used weapons on earth. We need to empty into the streets and use our collective voice to demand the return of liberty and reason in this country. The time is now and the stage has been set. Please, let’s do it before it’s too late.