As you arrive that the DL/LL Electronic Media Conference Room you see two of these 8 foot tall Cy-Lethal standing to either side of the door. They appear to have some sort of an electronic device in one hand and what appears the be a shillelagh closely resembling the famed much feared by Impish, Magical Dancing Shillelagh carried by Lethal in the other. Except these shillelagh are larger by half again than Lethal’s and appear to be of metallic composition.
The announcement board outside the conference room bears a sign reading “Leprechaun Telepresence Inside- No Midair Plane Damaging Damned Dragons Allowed!” Your names are checked against an apparently virtual guest list and one or the other robotic guard scans you briefly and reports in a harsh mechanical tone. “Non Saurian Species Confirmed. You may enter.”
Inside thing look more or less normal (remembering that this is Lethal & Impish’s place of business and that ‘normal’ is a somewhat relative term) with the exception of more of those metallic figures sporting over sized Shillelaghs placed strategically about the room and 2 more on the stage. One is at the podium, sporting glowing green eyes and the other seems to be serving Diaman Coffee and Danish.
The one at the podium takes note of you all and asks one of the others to confirm you are all here. When this is done he calls for the doors to be closed. 2 of the Metallic men leave to join the ones outside the door closing them as they go. Those of you in the back of the room can see them standing in front of the door from outside brandishing their shillelaghs across themselves in a guard position as the doors swing shut and are barred from the inside
You are addressed by to one with green eyes at the podium and immediately recognize the voice coming from it.
“Top o the Morn Folks! ‘Tis meslef your friendly neighborhood Leprechaun at your service. My sincere apologies for any inconvenience or unease you’ve experienced this morning. While ’tis true I’m back from gallivanting about the globe these past few weeks I’m not actually in the office as yet. As you can see from the opening banner Keebler Towers is the worse for my absence. Impish was supposed to go by once a week and
graze on maintain the grounds. Being a place imbued with Fairie magic the grounds tend to be very lush but become extremely overgrown if not constantly maintained. It’s going to take me the rest of the week to get on top of things here before I make it to the office.
As you know there’s been a wee bit of a dust up and bit of bother with my iLethal telepresence drones. Since all of them have apparently been disassembled, demolished or detained by a certain Blue Buffoon, as a stick puppet just to sodden well piss me off. I was forced to upgrade considerably. Allow me to re -introduce my Telepresence Mark II. I call them Cy-Lethals which is short for Cybernetic Lethals which I briefly mentioned last week but was forced to more or less gloss over so as to make a flight from which I nearly never landed but we’ll get to that in a minute.
Insomuch as Impish recent told Diaman in front of me that he doesn’t mind it so much when I shoot,throw grenades, fire missiles or rail guns at him but my Magical Dancing Shillelagh really hurts when it break dances on his skull I asked Goibniu the great Blacksmith of the Irish Gods if he could make me some larger copies for me mates here.
This way I can avoid them having them bristle with mean nasty weapons which might accidentally either intimidate some of our readers or cause collateral damage. Sorry about their appearance but the only molds I could get on short order for their exteriors were the ones from one of the first generation of Battlestar Galactica’s Cylons. Molds or Dies for forming imposing 8 foot tall robotic exoskeletons are not as yet an off the shelf item and I had to take what I could find. Still I hear they had a rather laxative effect on Impish when he he saw them marching down the hall this morning so as far as I’m concerned that’s a fine trade off for their retro-campy appearance.”
Suddenly a commotion can be heard outside in the hall. Impish seems to be demanding entrance having torn down the sign and threatening flaming consequences should ‘you chrome tin woodsmen not get the heck out of my way. I want talk to Lethal he won’t take or return any of my calls and I going to talk to him right now, Leprechaun Laughs or no Leprechaun Laughs!’
“Please excuse me a moment folks. I’m terribly sorry for the interruption. This will only take a moment, ya have me word on it.”
The glowing green eyes turn red like the other Cy-Lethals and a harsh metallic voice can be heard in chorus outside the door.
“Be gone Impish you giant mutant Garden State Gecko!. I have no wish to talk with you now and I’ll bloody well let you know if and when the mood strikes me.
I had 5 weeks of your incessant whine. I’m not interested in excuses and whiney explanations dependent upon the suspension of common sense and logic of how the midair collision with Shamrock One really wasn’t your fault, along with what ever happened to the GPS cake not being your fault either!
You bloody well damned near ta killed me and my entire flight crew, ta be sayin’ nothing of having effectively destroyed a plane I waited 5 years for the building of. Go back to work- you should have lots to do since I will not be back for another week now owing to just how well you took care o’ the flecking grounds about Keebler Towers while I was gone after ya scared away all the bloody Gnomes and Brownies with your interrogations and threats.”
As the eyes on the one at the podium return to green it holds a a finger up in a wait for it gesture. A slightly different timber of artificial voice can be heard saying… “Your admittance has been refused. Leave at once and remain 100 feet distant from all Cy-Lethals at all times or we’ll use techno-magical force to induce your compliance. You have 10 seconds to comply, this is your only warning.”
An indignant Impish can be heard to bellow “Oh yeah? Not in my Mountain! Eat Dragon tail tin man! Ouch! What is that? An electrified shillelagh? Aww that’s cute- but it won’t save you metal man! OW! OW! OW! Giant sized Magical Metallic Electrified Dancing Shillelaghs? THAT IS SO NOT FAIR LETHAL! OW! OW! OW! STOP! I’m leaving already!” The yelps of distress fade away as Impish retreats down the hall.
As Lethal’s Telepresence takes several towels over to a head shaking Diaman who has apparently been laughing so hard as to spew coffee from her nose all over herself in a most unladylike manner he begins “Now where were we?”
Ah right! I forgot to mention that Goibniu built the magical shillelagh copies around a kinetic generator. You ever see those flashlights that never need batteries? You just shake them a minute and you have light for like 5 minutes? Yeah, now think about one of those made my a God of the Smithy working off drawings and notes by Tesla inside a metallic body that stores magic and energy! <Snicker>
Ok moving on- couple records to set straight here. Seems Impish has been Wholesale peddling what I’ll politely refer to as ‘Election Year Political Promises’ (those of you who grew up on/near a farm or animals may recognize the odor coming from those promises and know a different for what he’s been peddling) while I was gone about some of his activities.
Let’s start with his ‘injury’. I mentioned it last Wednesday and was advised of it by Friday my
Sexafairy Administrative Assistant par Excellence the previous Friday Morning as having happen the previous night. In more understandable terms, his injury occurred roughly 6 days before I made mention of it in Leprechaun Laughs due to when it happened. The midair incident with Shamrock One did not actually happen until the day before Impish’s last issue or 9 day post finger slashing. Let me illustrate with this timeline sequence:
Since in DragonLaffs # 1397 for August 9th (last Saturday) Impish report himself well on the road to healing and recovery, ain’t no bloody way either side of Hell his injury was the result of the midair collision he had caused the day before. Let me just activate this little detector here and see what it thinks about all this….
Yup pretty much what I’ve been saying all along. Oh btw the way Impish WAS right about one aspect of the affair, I too found it hard to believe he managed to hurt himself even minorly with plastic Sporks. So I had the evidence rechecked. Seems a couple of our Dooms Day Prepping Employees bought titanium sporks as part of a survival lunch kit for geeks’. Apparently they were errantly left behind unused after a lunch and whom ever was cleaning up pegged those in the bag with the plastic ones. Impish’s luck of the draw was to get the two of those back to back which in turn enabled him to just penetrate his mangy mutant Garden State Gecko hide to the point of drawing blood.
Moving right along, Ladies, Gentlemen and you Undecideds (we make no judgments here but do have a very strict truth in advertising policy with severe penalty for misrepresentation) since this opening is taking far too long I’ll let you get started and pop back in to finish updating you on the whole Impish Incidents Saga periodically throughout the issue. Right now I need to go hack back some Rhododendrons before they start a full scale revolt and see if I can get my Garden Gnomes and those brownies back. Talk to you shortly, mean time-
A recent article in the Dominion Post reported that a woman, Anne Maynard, has sued Wellington Hospital, saying that after her husband had surgery there, he lost all interest in sex.
A hospital spokesman replied:
“Mr. Maynard was admitted for cataract surgery. All we did was correct his eyesight.
A very shy guy goes into a bar and sees a beautiful woman sitting at the bar. After gathering up his courage, he finally goes over to her and asks, tentatively, “Um, would you mind if I chatted with you for a while?”
To which she responds by yelling, at the top of her lungs, “No, I won’t sleep with you tonight! We just met!” — which causes everyone in the bar to turn and stare at them in silent shock.
Naturally, the guy is hopelessly and completely embarrassed and he slinks back to his table.
After a few minutes and everyone has gone back to their own business, the woman walks over to him. She smiles at him and says, “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”
“You sure did,” the guy says. “What was that all about?”
“Well,” she says, “I’m a graduate student in psychology and I’m studying how people respond to embarrassing situations.”
To which he responds, at the top of his lungs, “There’s no way you’re worth a thousand dollars for one night!”
I might bloody well be needing a multilingual one o’ these for my first discussion with Impish when I finally let him out of the bloody dog house!
The above isn’t intended to torture your appetites but in actuality is a photo of the reason Impish totaled Shamrock One in a nearly tragic midair collision.
See I sent Impish some pretty rude flowers and wishes which he showed you part of last week. He didn’t show you the ‘Get Dead Soon card I sent with them (likely he ate the damned thing I’m amazed he didn’t eat the flowers). See this is what Snapdragons look like when they die-
See the resemblance to skulls? Well I got to feeling bad about it. I mean I might be mad at and I might be a Commodore in the Curmudgeon Corps but I should know what the New Jersey Newt is like and that if there is a way to screw something up he’ll find it in the most comical manner possible and then exceed all expectations at it. Honestly I’m amazed that our Media Empire HQ is still standing and we’re not bankrupt since he’s been (nominally) in charge for 5 weeks now.
One of my final destinations was the Republic of San Marino which is located within the borders of Italy. I maintain a small cottage outside of Domagnano there. See I
have well HAD now, a significant interest in the Financial Institutions of San Marino, which is a major source of its commerce revenue. Why I use the past tense will become clear in a few minutes
San Marino is also know for its wine and cheese and if you know where to go has the most amazing Salumi and Italian cured meats butcher. In honor of my pending arrival the butcher (whom in part because of a certain nameless Dragons penchant for his products I spend 5 figures a year with) made a replica of my land and cottage out of Italian meats, local cheese, and bread as a gift. Feeling quite badly about it.
I promised Impish when he managed to con his way past all the checks & employee cutouts I had placed between him and my phone and I was forced to speak to him that by way of an apology I would save it and bring it home complete as it was in the cargo hold aboard Shamrock One for him but it was going to be several days before I arrived.
Well next thing I know we’re airborne trying to exit Italian airspace when a certain flying stomach nearly flies into us head on then starts head butting the rear ramp of Shamrock One demanding that we lower it so he can fly in land and devour! Some of you might remember that Shamrock One is partly based on Air Force One in that it has a lower level with a deployable rear ramp and enough room in the cargo hold for Impish to squeeze into ON THE GROUND.
It is not configured or intended for areal landing of excessively salivating and excited 5 ton Flying Stomachs with scales so granting his
request demand was in fact impossible which both the Captain and I attempted to explain to said fly giant Gut . Well after about the 5 or 6th head butt to the ramp door he buckled it causing explosive decompression which drove his head up into Shamrock One’s tail. Hydraulic failure and severe damage to the tail and airframe force us to return to Rimini Airport and declare an emergency. Ol’ Garden State Gut Gecko lost us in our emergency decent through the clouds. When he came out of them he was south of our location and saw Sam Marino Field in front of him which can barely handle a Lear Jet let alone a fully customized 787 Dreamliner. He wrongly assumed this was where we’d put down and preceded to plow through the landing pattern,land in the middle of the runway and then run amuck which searching for us and his ‘Salumi Town’.
As a result of the Hew Jersey Newts typical New Jersey behavior and manners, the International incident he caused with both Italy and San Marino (all International flights must land in Rimini first to clear customs) as well as the damage to both airports and the fact that Shamrock One was unable to lift off again and is occupying a significant amount of their limited hanger space in Rimini. I WAS DECLARED PERSONNA NON GRATA IN SAN MARINO!!!
As if THAT isn’t embarrassing and bad enough, San Marino has strict laws regarding ownership of its banks since I am now officially unwelcomed there I can’t own property there which means I cannot have a legal residence there and ergo cannot own any business interests in San Marino based Corporations OR FINANCIAL INSTITUTIONS! I have owned a significant portion of 4 different major financial institution is San Marino since before the turn of the century! Not any more! I was ‘graciously’ granted 24 hour hours to divest myself of my business interests in San Marino for inflicting an apparently insane delusional and dangerous Dragon on San Marino before my interest would be confiscated by the Republic for restitution of damages!
My accountants have been working day and night trying to access the damages and losses to Pot o’ Gold Ponzi Schemes and Investments and we as
hide the assets of reassure some of my largest clients (many of whom are literally GODLY in status) that their monies are safe and well hidden managed. THAT is the ‘slight bumping of said jet aircraft and a flying blue dragon.’ to which Impish refers.
Oh yeah, that ‘Salumi-Town’ as Impish calls it that he crashed me over? NOBODY got ANY of it as it was completely destroyed and spread all over the runway upon our landing when the landing gear failed due to our structural damage!
On top of all that he is correct in that to avoid being arrested as PNG I was forced to fly COMMERICAL out of Italy! Even flying first class I barely had room to stretch out my legs and the food was terrible! See here-
I’ve got a Driver’s license that’s older than that wine! No crystal balloon glass, no Irish linen napkins, no Belike China and the only decanting and breathing it did was into a PLASTIC solo cup!
Well I guess we should get back to the issue for the moment and this seems like a good a place as any to talk about food so…
As I am preparing this issue (the weekend before you are reading it) we are enduring heat indexes in the 105 to 107 range. Despite having a free electricity on the weekends plan with our electricity provider (whom I refuse to plug sans compensation) cooking here at the Celtic Kitchen has basically come to a total and full stop. Even grilling on the patio is a bad idea until after about 10 PM when you then run the risk of mosquitoes laden with West Nile Virus attacking any exposed sweating surface.
Besides I’m still trying to get the taste of inferior wine and mass produced in a vat cheese out of my mouth.
So instead of recipes this week we’re going to talk about some little known potential health risks with and in certain foods/packaging methods. Mean time I’m off to make a blender full of 7 fruit smoothies.
Nine Foods You Had No Idea Were Dangerous For Your Health
Butter Flavored Microwave Popcorn
There is a chemical in butter flavored microwave popcorn that could put your health in CONSIDERABLE danger. Oh no. There goes our Friday night in Jerry Maguire habit. Diacetyl, which is present in some butter flavorings, has been so harmful to factory workers, it’s even warranted it’s own disease classification – “popcorn lung.” In short, try just the salted kind.
There is a type of resin that can be present in tin cans, that contains bisphenol-A / BPA. BPA is a synthetic estrogen that can cause reproductive problems and heart disease! Put DOWN the tin opener and go pick some fresh ones instead
Rather annoyingly, studies have actually shown that artificial sweeteners can be JUST as bad for your muffin top as regular refined sugar. UGH. Aspartame can increase your blood sugar level, leading to overeating. And there have even been rumors that it causes stomach ulcers in high concentrations
We all know about dark chocolate right? Full of AMAZING goodies, like anti-oxidants. Well, don’t be fooled into thinking that white chocolate has any of these lovely qualities. It doesn’t. It is literally a weird mix of random things that taste sweet.
Pea Shoots & Sprouts
Uh oh. These little things look uber healthy, but pea shoots and sprouts have been the source of an incredible number of food recalls because they are REALLY good at carrying foodborne illnesses. WAH!
Genetic manipulations have meant that the wheat that we now use to make bread is no longer anything like the wheat that our great-grandparents would have known. The newest types of wheat can cause all sorts of inflammatory diseases and allergies.
Swordfish, who’da thunk? You’re probably not eating an abundance of swordfish as it is, but it is worth knowing that you should definitely avoid it when pregnant. Swordfish is high in heavy metals that can be harmful to children as they develop in the womb.
Corn kernels are basically little sponges for pesticides. In fact, some of them even produce their own pesticides within the actual plant. They are also of dubious nutritional value.
Food dyes – have been linked to cancer in animals, so goodness only knows what they’re doing to our insides. The craze for rainbow cakes is more dangerous than we thought!
Man: I bought every pie at Burger King to spite whining brat
Man claims to have purchased 23 pies
Published On: Aug 07 2014 10:03:26 AM CDT Updated On: Aug 07 2014 10:04:40 AM CDT
After waiting in line in front of a mother and screaming child, a man having a bad day decided to take matters into his own hands.
A Reddit user posted to a thread labeled, “offmychest” detailing the story of how he was waiting to order at a local Burger King in Montreal, Canada. As he waited, a kid in line behind him continued to whine and scream that he, “Wanted a pie,” much to the annoyance of the man and others in line.
When it was the man’s turn to order, he purchased his lunch in addition to every last pie in the store, which totaled 23 pies. He then walked out of the Burger King, stopping only to see the angered mother and child’s reaction as they were told that the restaurant had just sold out of pie.
His post read, in part:
“I take my order and walk towards the exit. Moments later I hear the woman yelling, what do you mean you don’t have any pies left, who bought them all? I turn around and see the cashier pointing me out with the woman shooting me a death glare. I stand there and pull out a pie and slowly start eating eat as I stare back at her. She starts running towards me but can’t get to me because of other lineups in the food court. I turn and slowly walk away.”
It like seems the best stuff always arrives in my inbox or shows up on a sight during an unrelated search too late for it to be included in the holiday issue it is germane to. Case in point this article which was apparently published some time the night of July 4th 2014 and is one of the clearest demonstrations of why Impish and I preach that firewater and and thing involving gunpowder/explosives is a recipe for disaster. It’s a wonder this guy didn’t burn is brains too!
Don’t Be an Ass Tonight
Note: the photos can be considered “PG-13″, but even fairly young kids can learn something important here!
This is the 4th of July — Independence Day in the USA.
Our National Anthem (the Star Spangled Banner) speaks of “the rockets’ red glare” and “bombs bursting in air” — our literal fight for independence from the British (in this particular case, during the War of 1812).
Since then, it’s our tradition that we commemorate that event with fireworks — the symbolic rockets, the red glare, the “bombs” (fireworks shells) bursting in the air. For those who actually think about what they’re seeing, it brings a good feeling.
Of course, some people (OK: men) are stupid when it comes to fireworks, and some are really, really stupid. This is the (pictorial) story of one such dumbass, who decided to launch a fireworks rocket from between his butt cheeks. May it serve as a good lesson for the kids out there.
Photo 1: It’s all smiles as our dupe drops his pants so his buddy can slide the stick of a fireworks rocket between his butt cheeks. Note (big surprise!) that alcohol is involved.
Photo 2: The buddy has used his cigarette to light the fuse. Uh oh: trouble already! The rocket has slid down and is almost touching his butt!
Photo 3: Houston, we have ignition! But the rocket hasn’t taken off — it’s shooting its flame right into his ass crack. Our moron utters the usual “Owie owie owie!”
Photo 4: Liberal doses of cool water won’t fix this: in the emergency medical biz, we call these third-degree burns. Still think this was a great idea, Sylvester?
The moral of the story: Enjoy your Independence Day. Just don’t be an ass about it.
From where I sit I think it’s a shame he didn’t try simultaneously launching from front and rear. That would have neatly clipped any worries for the rest of us about him reproducing and further sullying the gene pool in the process right in the bud!
‘Ex-wife sale’ sign draws criticism
North Dakota business removes sign after multiple complaints
A sign posted outside a contractor supply store that advertised an “Ex-wife sale” and listed “duct tape, chainsaw and shovels” as the items included in the sale was taken down after drawing controversy.
Curtis Renner, a manager at Joe Rents & Contractors Supply located in Fargo, North Dakota said he meant for the sign to be a joke, but realized that it wasn’t after receiving “a lot of phone calls,” reports the Fargo Forum.
One of those phone calls was from Christopher Johnson, executive director of the Rape and Abuse Crisis Center, who called the store to express his concern about the sign.
“It’s not a joke,” said Johnson. “It’s a pretty strong statement.”
Renner claimed that he “really didn’t think it was offensive,” but promptly removed the sign after receiving criticism. He also removed a picture of the sign from the company’s Facebook page.
“When people try to find humor in domestic violence, I think it’s our way as a society to try to overlook the violence and the pain and the injustice,” said Johnson.
Christopher Johnson, executive director of the Rape and Abuse Crisis Center is the recipient of the Inaugural Leprechaun Laughs “Whiney Azzed Moral Minority Politically Correct Police Humor Killing Liberal Jackass Censor of the Week Award”
Of the 40 plus comments on the article at the time I snipped it (yes one is mine) none of them thought there was anything in bad taste, with the exception that is of this guys whiney azzed liberal funsucking complaint.
Nope, that’s not a gratuitous Dragon picture offered to make peace with ol’ Garden State Gut Gecko. I never wanted to resort to this I figured Impish would at least be smart enough to protect himself by not pushing the Lethal on a Stick Shtick for as mad as he has me, but I guess he figures he’s got nothing left to lose and maybe if I get mad enough at him I’ll pop a vessel or have a heart attack and he can survive unscathed that way. FAT CHANCE ‘pal’, I got 10 different contingency plans to assure you get what you got coming if you’re the cause of my death like that. What he does have left to lose is what ever little dignity he’s got left.
Then again maybe the flying garden State Gut thought he’d frighten me by using me own baby picture. Since I’ve used several o’ these already his sticky fingers getting into me family photo album holds no fear for me but let’s see how he like HIS younger even less discrete than now days dragged out into the light shall we?
See, I did some checking on Impish, a long time ago when the Earth was green. Total complete background from the day he hit the mundane realm on the run from his Draconia creditors and cursed by that vengeful witch with that miniaturizing spell. Impish was so broke when he got here he couldn’t even afford a place to stay. He had no skills or ability at shills (not that he has any serious ones of either now) so he finally after many years of pillaging garbage cans and sleeping on scrap piles in junk yards had to take what ever job came he could get. Above is a picture of his first one. Admittedly the paint/makeup/Paper Mache job is so bad as to be inspired but yes that’s Impish as a marionette puppet!
After about a year of playing <snicker> Pinocchio Dragon (I’m a real dragon!), he finally saved up/swiped enough to rent a You Store It Bay for a lair, cover the floor in used cheap silver bought from antique stores estate sales and flea markets plus hire a hedge witch to attempt to break the curse. Not only was she unsuccessful, but when Impish’s check bounced she whammied him with a Supercilious Curse which actually proved to be beneficial for Impish in the long run by giving him is next career.
Yes the dummy actually works for several years as an honest of God Ventriloquist’s Dummy! That case with the fold out legs he pulled the remains of my iLethal on a stick out of was actually the one he was kept in to start. I’m reliably informed that the look on Impish’s face in the photo is because his human counterpart was usually half bagged and got confused between a certain part of Impish’s anatomy he fervently wished to have remain output only and the fake hand pocket on his back.
When it was clear that there was money to be made being a dummy, but that his human counter part was not the train he could ride to gravy town, he once again got make up and a prosthetic suit along with a new human counter part (and a better joke writer too).
For a short while he had some success even appearing on Letterman and actually got a TV deal which was ultimately canceled after only 3 episodes because he even back then had a penchant for acting up and queering things for his friends-
After Impish (then aka Scorch) ruined Ronn’s shot at fame and fortune Ronn became an arms dealer specializing in WODD- Weapons of Dragon Destruction. Mean time Impish hastily used nearly all his accumulated at the expense of others hoard to get the twin curse set upon him by vengeful witches lifted and a spell placed upon him allowing him to shift into a human form.
Unfortunately Impish had not made quite enough for that human image to be one of the ‘beautify people’ and he apparently was rather impatient and annoying to this witch as well (you’d think he’d have learned his lesson by now but NOooo!) Hence his human appearance as something that might best be described as a well cleaned up semi presentable in civilized society scruffy Bridge Troll in human form. It was at that time he in fact entered the M.I.C.K.E.Y. M.O.U.S.E. Program – Mythical & Immoral Creatures Keen (on) Evading Years (of) Monstrously Obscene Usurpation (of) Success (by) Everyone Else as he now had 3 witches and Ronn plus his Draconia Creditors hot for his hide (to be tacked to their walls) and on his tail in (flamingly) hot pursuit. This is roughly about the time I became aware of the New Jersey Newt and his activities being one of the specialists freelancing for the consortium of people who ran MICKEY MOUSE.
So now you have the truth the WHOLE truth unspun, valid from all points of view regarding the subjects Impish touched on in his issue last week. Now, let’s get in a few more guffaws before I go start to cut the grass.
Well I have my Lawn Gnomes back and hard at work. All that took was a promise of a squad of Ninja Cats watching over them while they worked (Impish omitted them and their scalpel sharp claws from the list of things I use against him semi regularly to invoke compliance that he finds truly painful) but my Gruagach (what you’d call Brownies) seem to have pulled up stakes lock stock and (my) lawn trailer, replete with most of my gas powered lawn & garden gear I might add. Apparently from the note they left they aren’t coming back and consider that severance pay. Word from some of my neighbors is that there is a fight for territory brewing between the Brownies and the Illegal Hispanic Lawn Care Mafia which has a strangle hold on the lawn care business hereabouts.
Anyhow I wasn’t planning on a Parting Shot this week. Figured on easing back into the saddle after being out for so long. Fortunately long time supporter of the blog and (I’d like to think) friend Paul Bader stepped in with this…I guess you’d call it Guest Rant by Proxy.
Thanks for the help Paul and great send! I’m actually considering doing up a Coffee Mug for our store that reads along the lines of ‘Hope & Change’ Doesn’t Mean ‘Command & Control’ “ with some sort of Big Brother or Executive Order graphic!
What do you guys think? Tell you what, if we get enough interest in such a mug to make it worth my time and effort I’ll speak for myself and Impish right now. We will donate 100% of the profits to Baby June’s Medical Fund.
You guys get to show your displeasure with Obama in a cleaver custom limited time mug and Baby June and her family get a donation towards the financial help they need. If you’re in let me see the comments in the comment section because that’s how we’ll be gauging the interest level.
Mean time I have to go find some replacement fairie folk I can
exploit I MEAN offer employment and lodging to!
August 4, 2014
MR. PRESIDENT: PLEASE MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS
[though it certainly has more universal applicability beyond the current figurehead]
by Richard M. Ebeling
Dear President Obama,
For nearly six years, now, you have declared your intention and desire of being my Nanny-in-Chief. Your original campaign slogan of “Hope and Change” was really a promise of “Control and Command.” Well, Mr. President, I have a request: Mind your own business.
Let me start out with some simple questions. How do you know what is right and good for me? Have we ever met? Do you know anything about me as a real, living distinct individual? Have you the slightest idea about the goals and purposes, and hopes and dreams I’ve had about my life? What do you know about the experiences I’ve had or the knowledge I’ve accumulated over the years as the guides and tools for deciding what I consider best for my family and me?
The answers to these questions and countless others like them are: You don’t know a damn thing. Yet you have proposed, implemented and enforced legislation and regulations that imply that you possess the knowledge, wisdom and, most importantly, the right to tell me how I should live, work, and act.
Your attitude and statements suggest a hubris and arrogance concerning your own superiority, along with those who work for you, that borders on a serious and dangerous elitist complex.
For someone who often refers to the dignity of the ordinary American against presumed powerful special interests, your own outlook and behavior manifests a disbelief in and contempt for the individual person as a free, responsible human being.
A Life of Hopeless Dependency on Government
In your world, Mr. President, everyone is a dependent child needing a paternalist government to take care of him or her from cradle-to-grave. Remember your “Life of Julia” story that you hailed as a model for the future world of triumphant “hope and change.” From her entry into kindergarten to her time in college, through her work life to final retirement, not one aspect of “Julia’s” life was considered possible without the “helping hand” of government to provide education, job security, financial support, and a guaranteed old age pension.
Years ago, singer Helen Reddy may have sang of independent women who could say, “Hear me roar.” But in the world you envisage every woman is presumed not able to stand on her own two feet, and to compete and succeed in a society of equal individual rights for all men and women.
No, she is clearly a “weaker sex” that cannot make it on her own without lifelong and unending safety nets and financial and regulatory supports from a government that is viewed as the “adult” who always has supervision over the eternal female adolescent.
Is this how you view your own daughters’ future, Mr. President, never free of a political Daddy that takes care of his “little girls,” because the governmental Daddy cannot imagine them growing up and being on their own?
Hubris of Presuming How I Should Live and Choose
Let’s talk about your signature legislation, ObamaCare. Set aside the embarrassing disaster that followed the initial opening of the website or the shock and the anger among millions of people who discovered the loss of their health insurance and the higher premiums they were now faced with under your “affordable” health care act.
The underlying premise behind ObamaCare is that you and those manning the bureaucracies in government know what every American needs and should have in terms of health insurance and medical care.
How do you and your “experts” know this, Mr. President? What makes you think you know enough about every one of the nearly 320 million Americans in terms of what would serve their health care needs and requirements?
The collectivist mindset that clearly guides your view of people and society reduces the entire population of the United States to a homogeneous and interchangeable mass that if not confined exactly to one size fits all, then to a rather narrow range of options from which the citizens of the nation are to be allowed and commanded to select.
Each of us, Mr. President, has our own circumstances, our own family needs and preferences, our own judgments about trades-offs between coverage, premiums and deductibles. Plus, our personal situations and evaluations about these and many other related matters change over time.
Do you sit at our dinner tables after the plates have been cleared when husbands and wives decide what they can afford, what is the best alternatives based on their estimates about what will serve their and their children’s health care requirements?
Do you not think that your attitude demonstrates a degree of hubris that you would find presumptuous if I or any other individual American were to mandate what you and your family should be allowed and coerced to have for your possible medical needs?
The Mentality of the Meddler
I don’t know your daughters or your wife or you, Mr. President. For that very reason I would not presume to tell you how to plan your family’s health care and insurance, or how to raise your children, or where to vacation, or how to spend your money, or how to manage the domestic “ups” and “downs” of any marriage between two unique individual human beings over the course of their lives together.
I would be considered a busy body, a meddler, a know-it-all, or an arrogant and irritating pest if I were to put my nose into the business of your personal and intimate affairs of everyday life. So why, Mr. President, do you presume to do just that through the rules, regulations, controls and commands that you say you are willing to us your pen and phone to impose on me?
I only ask that you show me the same respect as a free and self-responsible human being that you would expect from me if we were simply neighbors living next door to each other in any city, town or small hamlet across the United States.
The Arrogance of Presuming What I’m Worth
Finally, Mr. President, how do you know what my skills and abilities are worth to me or anyone else in terms of the salary I may earn in the marketplace? To be honest if someone had asked me whether I thought a person who had never worked in the business world, had never held any truly senior management and administrative responsibilities, and only had a few years of elected governmental office should be President of the United States and be paid $400,000 a year, I would have said, “I don’t think so,” and quiet separate from that person’s political views.
But there you are, Mr. President, sitting in the White House, holding your finger on the nuclear button, while having that pen and phone in your other hand. And with plenty of time to go golfing and flying off on Air Force One for Hawaiian vacations and fund-raising trips around the nation. Only in America! What a country!
So how do you know that the minimum wage that I should be paid is not less than $10.10 an hour? Why not $9.99 or $11.11? While we are at it, why not $20.20? The last one, after all, might match my eye vision. That seems pleasantly symmetrical.
The fact is that what anyone is worth in terms of services they might render to others in the market is dependent upon a whole variety of combined circumstances about which you and others in the government know absolutely nothing.
Each person’s background, education, personal and workplace experience and skills have certain distinct qualities and characteristics different from many others in the type of complex and diverse modern society in which we all live.
At the same time, what particular skills, knowledge and abilities possible employers are looking for from employees in the context of the products or services they offer and sell to consumers, given the potentially every-changing demands those buyers demonstrate in an on-going competitive market, should make it very clear that it is absurd for you or anyone else to sit in your governmental offices in Washington, D.C. and dictate what people may be worth in terms of an hourly wage.
Have you ever given any thought to the fact that your minimum wage policy might price some low or unskilled workers out of the market, because you’ve legally priced them above what many possible employers may think that are actually worth? Have you taken the time to reflect that you might be preventing someone from ever getting that entry-level job that may pay little at first, but over time provides them with the on-the-job experience that can make them more valuable to that or some other employer in the future?
Only Paying What You Think Something is Worth
Before you had government employees to serve you hand-and-foot in the White House, there was a time, Mr. President, when you, no doubt, went food shopping, or bought a car, or purchased a pair of shoes, or spent money on an anniversary gift for your wife.
You had a certain income that constrained what you could buy and how much of the various things you would have liked to have. In other words, there was a time when you were closer to being, well, like the rest of us.
Did you ever pay more for anything than you thought it was worth? Did you not sometimes hesitate or decide not to buy something or not of the quality or in quantity you might have desired, because to do so would have left you with too little money left over out of your limited budget to purchase something you considered to be more important to you or your family?
If you think back and remember such a time, then why do you think it is any different for the rest of us now? Say that a person may not be paid less than $10.10 per hour, and anyone that a prospective employer or customer does not consider to be worth this amount will not be hired.
Plundering for Political Power
Sitting in the White House, such a minimum wage may make you feel good, that you’ve imposed a salary floor that you consider “fair,” “socially just,” or every person’s entitlement “right.” But that will not help the poor individual left without a job, prevented from getting his foot on the bottom rung of the ladder of lifetime employment opportunity, and now dependent on the redistributive largess of paternalistic government.
But perhaps that is what you want. If others in society will not give people what you think they should pay them, then you’ll just tax the rest of us to pay for this unfortunate person’s welfare safety-net programs. And, besides, the government-supported unemployed and unemployable will feel so grateful to those who care for and feed them at other’s expense that they will show their appreciation by keeping those who think and act like you in political office.
Plunder some so you can pander to others to maintain the political power you cannot imagine your life without.
Individual Freedom Instead of Collectivist Control
Mr. President, this is not the America that the Founding Fathers of our country wanted for themselves, for their children, or the future generations for which they signed a Declaration of Independence or constructed a Constitution that was meant to restrain government and leave each individual free to be a self-governing human being responsible for his own life, and respectful of the equal freedom and rights of every other unique person in society.
I have a simple but profoundly important request, Mr. President: Mind your own business and leave me and everyone else alone. I don’t want you managing and controlling my life.
Do I always make the right choices and decisions? No, I do not. Just ask my wife!
But I do not want to be controlled by a political collective possessing coercive power to tell me what I may do or not do, or with whom I may associate and on what terms. I am not your slave, I am not your government ward, I am not some helpless or hopeless “Julia” who needs you to serve as my lifelong Nanny.
I declare that I am a thinking, reasoning human being. I am a free person with inalienable rights to my life, liberty and honestly acquired property. I insist upon my right to live for myself, guided by my own purposes and goals, and free to interact and exchange peacefully and voluntarily with all others, with the only essential moral principle behind my conduct toward them being that I respect their life and liberty just as I insist that they recognize and respect mine.
You, of all modern presidents, should be most sensitive to the dangers and immorality of making some men masters over others who are to be coerced and commanded as slaves.
The master-slave relationship is equally unethical and perverse whether the master is a private person owning other human beings on a plantation, or a “democratically elected” set of masters who use the power and force of the government to make some others obey their commands under the threat or use of political violence.
Mr. President, I ask you to mind your own business, and I promise not to put my nose into your life, in turn. If not, at least admit the truth that you arrogantly believe that you should be the head master on the political plantation that your vision of “hope and change” has really always been about.
No N.J. Newt, you don’t get to sniff dat either. After you crashed the plane (she was aboard and excited to meet the ‘famous’ Infamous Dragon- I kept correcting her but she kept insisting it was Infamous. Little did I know she was right) she decided you weren’t smart enough to find her ass it it was wiggling right in front of your nose with a tattoo that read ‘Kiss Dis Dipshit’