Ask a simple question of your elected officials

Some things I just don’t get.

I know it has something to do with getting regular communications from the Social Security Administration checking on me to see if I am all right and ready to receive all the physical and fiscal goodness that can be laid on my old, bowed head by the federal government when I turn another page on the calendar.

Bring it on. In bushel baskets. I’ve earned the heck out of it.

I’m one of those folks that other folks under the age of 40 put in a category or two: Baby Boomer. Nursing Home Chaff. Old. You know, the words and phrases people use when you shuffle out the door at 10 a.m. after a hard night of popping pudding cups and singing “YMCA” at a karaoke marathon, mumbling about how it’s past your bedtime and you need to be “getting up with the chickens.”

Okay, so I go to bed early and like pudding and enjoy the verbal jousting of a karaoke singalong with people who are contractors, school marms, work on cars and get a paycheck for working in the medical field.

That should not give morticians the right to look at me as if I’m one step from filling one of their satin-lined boxes. And, for the record, I hate satin; bury me in burlap, except that’s not going to work either. I have already donated this dilapidated body to a medical school. I can’t think of a better way to “really” go from this world that having a bunch of young folks getting handy with my mortal leavings.

I want my ashes put in a kosher pickle jar and have it carried by a caring and slightly daffy relative to all reunions. “Couldn’t stand to leave George at home when there’s a party,” would be the general comment.

By an agreement made with the gummit back in the ‘50s, I should be getting my Social Security check starting in July. However, the gummit bumpkins bumped it back a year to keep from giving me my money when initially promised because the SS system is such a gosh-dinged mess.

That’s okay. I can wait a year. Maybe. But while I’m waiting I’m going to be raising billy-jack about how those that make, break and change the SS laws that affect working Americans excluded themselves from being under the same system as working Americans.

Every time I encounter an elected U.S. representative or senator, I’m going to ask them this question: Will you please explain to me why Congress is exempt from the Social Security system? I encourage you to do likewise.

When you ask it, back up a step. The outpouring of political palaver that flows forth will be a tsunami of excremental proportions.

If – and this IF is bigger than the federal deficit – federal officials were under the SS umbrella, there would be no problem with the benefits promised to retirees by these same officials, or others of their ilk.

Before this day is out, make a call to the elected federal official of your choice and just ask them that simple question. Then, share the responses with easttexastowns.com.

The comments shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. But it is guaranteed to raise the blood pressure of any living, breathing, caring person over the age of 50 and looking forward to retirement at some point.

Time to take your country back

Helllloooooo!

Are there any honest politicians out there?

Is there a single elected official in this country who is honest, forthright, straightforward in his or her approach to life and public service, dedicated to the common good, and tells the truth at least 90 percent of the time?

If Diogenes were to show up and shine his lantern on the American political landscape, would he find only darkness?

Virtually every day some Democan or Republicrat is baked well done in a newspaper headline or television broadcast or Internet news blog over some nefarious deed.

The GOPers blast the Demogogues for being corrupt on Tuesday and, then, after a federal investigation is launched on a Republican nest of thieving wharf rats, the Dems attack their counterparts with vigor the next day.

The entire political herd of ill-bred political animals – from Nancy “Frozen Face” Pelosi to Mitch “No Lips” McConnell, and from Harry “Scarecrow” Reid to Trent “Patent Leather Hair” Lott, act like children raised by pond scum mutants.

There’s not a thimbleful of common sense and decency in the bunch and they all put “party” over “people.” We all should be ashamed for putting up with their tomfoolery.

This country was founded on the principle of democracy, not the Playground Rules for the Psychologically Challenged. Egos and lobbyists run the country … not the people.

The people of this country – and that means you – have abdicated their responsible for ensuring the election of leaders who use common sense and common decency to decide the rules by which the people must abide. What we are electing are empty suits filled with puff egos, a desire for power, and greed.

It is our – your – fault that special interests rule this country’s agenda. You elect the natter-heads who vote along party lines rather than along lines dictated by sense and reason. You stand silently by – or blather on incessantly about how bad things are – without doing a single, dadblasted thing to change the status quo.

The first thing we – you – can do is to not re-elect a single incumbent. Not one.

The second thing we – you – can do is to tell those elected to go to Washington-on-the-Deficit and quickly put to a vote of the people the question of term limits for all elected officials … even the Supreme Court justices. It would pass 90 percent to 10 percent.

The third thing we – you – can do is to demand a reduction of federal bureaucracy by mandating a 10 percent cut in every single federal agency and commission. And let the elected officials know this is just for starters.

The fourth thing we – you – can do is to reform of the Internal Revenue Service so it eliminates loopholes for the wealthy and makes it possible to file your annual report on a 3x5-inch note card.

The fifth thing we – you – can do is … well, the list is endless.

Let’s all jump on Nos. 1 through 4 and get this country turned around quick-like.

We’re already late out of the gate, but it’s never too late for the people to take back what rightfully belongs to them – the right to be proud of the country in which we live.

Rick Perry is, well pretty … that’s it, pretty.

Texas Gov. Rick Perry is a pretty boy.

That’s it. End of story.

The Honorable Governor of Tomorrow was hanging around the edges of politics 20 years ago, flitting around Austin as a state representative, agriculture commissioner and lieutenant governor.

His college choice was Texas A&M and it was there he decided to become a professional politician; he was a Corps Yell Leader.

In other words, he hasn’t had a real job (at least none is listed on his campaign website) since 1977 when he was discharged from the Air Force.

I saw then Agri Commissioner Perry back in the early ‘90s when he was pre-running for something or other and remembered thinking at the time: “I’m straight … but he’s purty.”

He’s older now, with Grecian Formula-ed hair that is distinguished without being too New Orleans pimpish. He has great vertical laugh lines in his chiseled cheeks; his suits are subdued, his ties are conservative in color and know size.

In other words, just the kind of politician I want some gomer-upstart to kick the slobberjaws out of in Perry’s re-election run.

Sarah Palin: Pitiful phenom

All of you good-meaning folks out there who are drooling over the political aspirations and expectations of Sarah (I Walked Out on Alaska) Palin, dust your saliva glands with baby powder.

Take a deep breath and re-enter the world of reality.

Palin is an illusion, the equivalent of a biker chick running for mayor; it sounds entertaining at the time, but gets old in a hurry. Even the Republican Party is not yet desperate enough to nominate a woman for president who thinks she looks cute in black leather accented by school marm glasses.

At least Biker Chick No. 1 – Texas’ own Ann Richards – knew enough to play the black leather act as a joke.

Palin’s great at parroting cutesy one-liners written by staffers who at one time longed to be part of the writing team for “My Name is Earl.”

That show was canceled. So will “Sarah’s Pitiful Slide to Oblivion” when it hits the big stage.

If the GOPers are counting on Palin or slick-as-oiled-pond-water Mitch Romney to rescue the party in 2012, delusional thinking has replaced conservatism as the main plank in the party platform.

Getting in fisticuffs relatively easy to do

It’s easy to get in a fistfight.

Go to a meeting of the Young Democrats and loudly defend George W. Bush.

Attend a meeting of any-age GOPers and call Monica Lewinsky a skanky slut-puppy.

Go to Auntie Skinner’s in Jefferson, grab the karaoke mike and, to the strains of “Proud Mary,” start reading from the Book of Revelations.

You can go to a bonfire meeting of the KKK and hand out NAACP or ACLU tracts.

While sipping a libation at a bar, try to change the channel from ANY sporting event except soccer, men’s volleyball or a cover-from-start-to-finish marathon.

Be introduced to a redneck named Bubba Gene and tell him you noticed right off his tooth was real shiny.

Some subjects are guaranteed to get you in trouble with someone at some gathering; capital punishment, abortion and religion are three touchy subjects that come to mind.

That said, put up your dukes.

I’m not a Catholic but I have some staunch Catholican (Catholite? Catholicker?) friend who would follow the Pope anywhere but a community that was wet and too far away to drive to buy alcohol. See, that’s a joke, but some folks don’t take kindly to jokes about religion.

It’s okay to say the Branch Davidians were a cult because David Koresh was a certified whack job. It’s not okay to even be perceived to attack the Catholic Church, or any other formalized religion, for that matter.

The problem is never with the religion – except in the case of voodoo and those crazees that think that blowing up folks for no reason except they can will get them into heaven with a Buick-load of virgins as a reward for seeking martyrdom.

(For the record, in those cases, martyrdom should be “martydumb.”)

But for all intents and purposes the current edition of the Roman Catholic Church and its leader Pope Benedict are handling the latest church crisis as if they were guilty of something.

Pope Benedict, accused by victims' lawyers of being ultimately responsible for an alleged cover-up of sexual abuse of children by priests, is under attack. His reputation is being questioned because, according to the Vatican, he has not fully explained his role in the alleged cover-up and cannot be called to testify at any trial because he has immunity as a head of state.

Just like Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker and Jimmy Swaggart and others didn’t get it, methinks the Catholic Church has missed the point. The point is not whether or not the pope should testify but whether or not the church committed an egregious sin in not reporting the abuse of more than 200 boys in the U.S. in the ‘50s, ‘60s and ‘70s, and countless other boys in European countries.

The point is: The Catholic Church – nor any church or religion -- should not put itself in a position of placing the welfare of the Head Pulpit Thumper above the integrity of the church.

That’s what the Catholic Church appears to be doing.

It’s a busted-nose strategy and you can bet one thin wafer at communion against a steak dinner that parishioners who are tired of being lied to, and the media, which is tired of being blamed for the foibles and lies of others, will come out swinging.

The Catholic Church already has a black eye for past scandals. What are they shooting for now? A sound beating?

Where have all the heroes gone?

The United States is in a world of hurt.

Just take a look at the headlines: Record deficit piled on top of record deficit. piled on the back of taxpayers – the ancients and those future ones still learning to pull up their diapers.

We’re fighting two wars we can’t win; chances are there’s an army general or three looking at future war sites in case there’s ever a scenario in which we can extricate ourselves from Afghanistan and Iraq.

God knows this country can’t properly function without a good war or two to keep our minds off other problems.

Shoot, about that next war: Iran is handy and that Amenijarhead needs a good butt-stomping!

We bail out banks that are too big to fail and carmakers who give too much money to elected officials to be allowed to go belly-up. The home of free enterprise has evolved into the home of the free lunch money.

After 9/11 we added a bloated level of bureaucracy that checks our shoes for bombs and thinks its part of their job to frisk a little old lady named Gladys because a similar name appeared on some risk-list somehow.

Wear a doctor’s ordered back brace and try and go through airport security and you risk a real chance of a two-saddle-wide security guard playing hide-the-finger in orifices high and low.

We elect mealy-mouthed word-weasels with the backbone of melted Jello to represent us in Congress and sit back and adore their protestations about anything in which we think we don’t believe but are not sure because we don’t listen because we might miss the newest episode of the stupid, pouty Kardashians or Survivors in Watts if we stopped long enough to have a single, uncommercialzed thought.

Look in the mirror. That’s what a lemming looks like. If you vote to re-elect a single politician – ever -- that contributed to the Hellmess in which this country finds itself, you deserve what you get.

If you believe a single word that comes out of the mouth of any politician already in office and trying to stay in office, shame on you. If you believe a single word that comes out of the mouth of any politician trying to replace an incumbent politician, shame on you again.

Politicians, with few exceptions, will do whatever it takes to get elected and stay elected.

Wait up. Vote them all out and start over. That, and only that, will send a message that we are tried of monkey business as usual.

This announcement didn’t cost you a durn thing…except the time to read it.

Gummit is like a road kill possum

It’s not because the income tax deadline is approaching that I say this:
The federal gummit is one stupid road kill possum.

Gummit, by the very nature of the beast, is not an effective organization; it is like a mama cat with eight teats and 12 kittens. Good freakin’ luck doing what it is you need to do.

The gummit tax code is a gazillion-page document that was written by wonks and wordjerks in a language somewhere between Jingoism and Malaprops. The Internal Revenue Service rulebook is bigger than that of New York City has as many foreign elements in it. The U.S. Postal Service can’t figure out how to make a profit.

Not only that, but gummit members of Congress exempt themselves from laws they don’t like (participation in Social Security, for example) and pass out tax dollars like it belongs to them.

And don’t get me started on the Census Bureau!

I sorta understand why it’s important to know statistical thingies like number of people in a household. But when the bureaucrats start thinking it’s important to know how much money a citizen makes or how many bathrooms are in a residence or how many mushroom and spinach pizzas a family consumes in a year, it’s time to draw the line.

If you are alive, you have already received information about the upcoming census. You’ve seen ads on TV or in a newspaper or have received a warning in the mail.

This is where I go sidewonkers with the IRS: I received an official mailed notification from the Census Bureau that I would soon be receiving a census form; the form came five days later. Two days after that I received a note from the Census Bureau to remind me that I was supposed to have already received a form and urged me to mail it back.

The form I had received was the short form and is absolutely no fun at all. I filled it in for the family and got it in the mail the same day I received it. Whoa! What a thrill.

What I really wanted to receive was the long form, which I understand, they don’t send out anymore. That is a certified downer.

I (or it could have been a close friend) received the long form in 2000. According to the information I (or a close friend) sent back, my house had six bathrooms and 11 exits to the home’s exterior.

To make sure the Census Bureau didn’t make a mistake and leave me off the receive-long-form list, I went to the gummit website: http://2010.census.gov/2010census/

I thought I wanted to peruse the site in English, but just to be sure, I clicked on the “select a language” icon. It was tough deciding between plain on American English and Shqip/Armenian, Cebuano, Dinka, Haitian Creole, Gujarati, llocano, Tamil or Urdu.

Being an adventurous soul, I clicked Dinka. Couldn’t read a single word. A couple of words looked like in order to pronounce them you had to make a popping noise by sticking your tongue in one nostril and flipping it downward.

I’m not ridiculing the census in general, because I understand the need for having factual data in regard to doling out federal dollars.

What I am ridiculing is the eighth-grade way the gummit attempts to do a post-graduate exercise.

For example, why are the forms not available online? The gummit has an answer, for sure, but whatever it is, it’s not a good one. Look at the money an online survey would save; look at the savings in manpower alone.

It’s a mess, as is most things mandated by the gummit of the people, by the people and for the people.

Wonder what the Census Bureau will do when they get a form mailed back … in Dinka?

Oh, forgot, it’s the gummit. They probably have a legion of Dinkaites waiting to translate the durn thing.

After all, it’s not their money they’re spending.

Parent. Child.

The love a parent has for a child is, sometimes, mirrored by the love a child, all grown up now, has for the parent.

I am fortunate to have four children, all of whom love me in their own special way. I tried hard – and sometimes succeeded – in letting them all know that a father’s love should be freely given and, above all, never ending.

It is said that a person’s legacy can best be defined by his or her children. That’s too simple, really. Children, although imprints in many respects of past generations, should always be thought of as individuals, not automaton clones of their parents.

Honestly, I have not always been the best father I could possibly be. I was first a father at 22, and was too immature to fully understand the importance of parenting. A strong, compulsive work ethic drove me as a young man to strive to be the best at my chosen profession, to the detriment to ever being a candidate for a Father of the Year award.

Despite the protestations of both older children, who always have positive things to say about those growing-up years (for all of us), I know I could have been less selfish and provided a more positive fatherly image that what I did. I can use the excuse of trying to make my mark in the world of community journalism as a reason for my lackadaisical attitude toward parenting, but it’s a flim-flam, self-serving excuse, at best.

I am blessed that 20 years later, two bright, wonderful children allowed me to become their father by choice and by law. Being a blended family is never easy; minor obstacles can become insurmountable emotional mountains.

How am I so blessed? Within the last 24 hours all four children, in telephone calls and text messages, have said the world’s most powerful words to me: Love you!

They don’t know how that simple expression of affection touches my heart and brings tears to my eyes. Or, maybe they do. They are all bright beyond belief; they’re perceptive and honest and don’t profess love without meaning it with all their heart.

I know I am not alone in having children that love me unconditionally and are not afraid of showing it.

Right now, in some niche of this big, old world, there is a child who is making sure his or her parent know the true meaning of love; that child is giving unconditional love to a parent that taught them that trait throughout their lives.

Like me, that parent is blessed. And, like me, that parent is appreciative of being loved by those we love.