On Being Presidential

 

Recently newspapers have printed the diagnosis of narcissism as it applies to President Trump. Increasing numbers of psychologists have identified narcissistic characteristics in the President’s behavior. Professional mental health persons fear professional liability, ethical concerns or career damaging responses if they offer an illness label without interviewing the person. Once upon a time we did not have labels for mental illness. There was a time when one could say, if it “walks like a duck, and quakes like a duck, it’s a duck.” So let us look for a “duck, ” and we might find a raving “malignant narcissist.”

During a search, I have found the following clues to our diagnostic mystery. Our President has said:

“I could stand in the middle of 5th Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose voters.” “I take out  those ads to wake up the Government…” “Then what does all this…the yacht, the bronze tower, the casinos really mean to you? Props for the show!”  “The show is Trump and it is sold-out performances everywhere.” “I play to people’s fantasies.” “If I put my name on something you know it’s going to be good!”

“I know words, I have the best words!” “I’m rich, therefore I tell the truth.” “But my primary consultant is myself and I have a good instinct for this stuff.” “I know far more about foreign policy” than Obama. “I’m speaking with myself, number one, because I have a very good brain and I’ve said a lot of things.” “I will demand anything I can get.

“When you’re doing business, you take people to the brink of breaking them without having them break, to the maximum point their heads can handle without breaking them”. “Islamic terrorism is eating large portions of the Mideast. They’ve become rich. I’m in competition with them.” “I’m the least racist person that you have ever met…”

“Every successful person has a very large ego. Every successful person? Mother Teresa? Jesus Christ? Far greater egos than you will ever understand.” “When the students poured into Tiananmen Square, the Chinese government almost blew it. Then they were vicious, they were horrible, but they put it down with strength.”
“I will absolutely apologize if I’m ever wrong.” Please do not hold your breath.

The Lawful Traffic Violation

 

 

Location: Hillside Ave. Cresskill, N.J. Approx. 2:30 am. November night.

Cast: Town policeman,and Tom, a resident of a neighboring town.

Tom is driving toward his home when he sees in his rear view mirror the flashing lights of a police car. Tom pulls over to the side of the avenue. After several moments,the Policemen approaches the car shinning a flashlight into the face of Tom.

Policeman:  May I see your  drivers license?

Tom: Officer, did I do something wrong?

Policeman:  Your license please.

Tom: Certainly. ( he removes his wallet from his jacket pocket.  The officer moves  a step back from the door of the car,and places his right hand on his holster. Tom removes the license from the wallet and hands it to the officer.)

Policeman: ( The officer reaches out for the license, while still standing away from the car. Officer reads the information on the license). Do you know the speed limit on this street?

Tom: Yes.

Policeman: What is it, Mr. Tom Niller?

Tom: Miller, that’s Miller.

Policeman: It says Niller.

Tom: I know officer, but they made a typing error.

Policeman: Do you have another form of identification? (Miller reaches for his wallet). Forget it. Let me see your auto registration.

Tom: Well this isn’t my car. It’s my fathers car. I am just using it for several days.

Policeman. The registration please. ( Miller hands over the registration. Officer is looking at the registration.) What is the speed limit on this road, Mr. Miller?

Tom: I believe it is 25 miles per hour.

Policeman:  Do you know what speed you were driving?

Tom: About 25 miles per hour. Sometimes  I was driving slower, but mostly I was going 25 miles per hour.

Policeman:  How come?

Tom: What?

Policeman:  How come you were driving exactly 25 miles per hour?

Tom: Well it wasn’t exactly 25, but that is the speed limit, isn’t it?

Policeman:  Yes it is, but that’s not the point. Why were you driving at 25 mph.?

Tom: That’s the limit officer. I don’t understand what you want.

Policeman: Have you ever been on this road before?

Tom: Yes.

Policeman:  How fast have you driven before?

Tom: Probably the same as tonight.

Policeman:  Never 30, or 40 or maybe 55 mph?

Tom: No, I don’t speed.

Policeman:  And why did you signal a left turn?

Tom: Because I was going to turn left, sir.

Policeman:  Was there any car near you, or behind you?

Tom: I didn’t notice.

Policeman: Well, there wasn’t . I was watching you, and there wasn’t another auto in sight.

Tom: Officer, I don’t understand all the questions. What did I do wrong?

Policeman:  Maybe nothing, and maybe more than you think.

Tom: What are you talking about? Are you going to ticket  me, because if not, I want to go home.

Policeman: Relax, Mr. Miller. Do you mind stepping out of the car?

Tom: Why?. Tell me why do I have to leave my car?

Policeman: Mr. Miller, please do as I say. It’s just routine.

Tom: It’s not  routine in my town.

Policeman: There is no need to get wise.

Tom: I’m sorry, but this is really ridiculous.

Policeman: Please step out of the car.

(Tom opens the door and steps onto the roadway. The Policeman shines the flashlight on the front seat, and on the floor of the drivers side of the auto.)

Tom: May I go now officer?

Policeman: Please empty your pockets, Mr. Miller.

Tom: Why?

Policeman: Just empty your pockets, Mr. Miller.

Tom: No way am I emptying my pockets. Forget it!

Policeman: Are you refusing my request for you to empty your pockets?

Tom: You better believe it, and furthermore….

Policeman: Alright then, will you please open the trunk?

Tom: What the hell are you doing?

Policeman: I simply want you to empty your pockets, or at least open your trunk.

Tom: Well I refuse to do either, and are you giving a ticket or I’m going home.(Tom starts to re-enter his car).

Policeman: (somewhat pleading) No wait. Don’t go back into your car. I just want to be sure that you are not carrying drugs, that’s all.

Tom (Nervous): Well why didn’t you ask me. No I’m not carrying any drugs.

Policeman: How do I know that?

Tom: Because I told you. You just have to take my word for it.

Policeman: But you were driving very suspiciously, do you realize that?

Tom: I was driving at the speed limit, and I signaled at turns. What is suspicious about that.

Policeman:  It is never done on this road. No one drives under 35mph. Unless they see a police car. And as for signaling, your last turn doesn’t even require a signal, but you did anyway . How come?

Tom: I’m a very defensive driver, especially when I feel defensive. (Tom realizes that he may have made a fatal admission).

Policeman: You’re right, Mr. Miller. If I was carrying drugs I would drive very defensively, and obey all traffic rules.

Tom: But I’m not carrying any drugs.

Policeman: I know that, I was just thinking that your careful, slow driving was something I would do if I was carrying drugs – just thinking.

Tom: Officer you sound like a decent guy. All I want to do is go home.

Policeman: You will go home. I didn’t say you were under arrest did I?

Tom: Officer I am really sorry if I did something wrong. If I did please write the ticket and let me go.

Policeman: One last time. Mr. Miller are you in possession of any illegal substance or any paraphernalia?

Tom: Sir, I have no drugs or anything else.

Policeman: Is that the truth?

Tom: Yes, honestly.

Policeman: You can go, Mr. Miller. But I must tell you that you were mighty close to crossing the line.

Tom: What line?

Policeman: I don’t think I have to say more. Goodnight Mr.Miller.

(Tom gets into his car and drives slowly away. In his rear view mirror he sees the officer making a U-turn with red lights blazing, chasing a car on the avenue.)

The Drone Story

 

The U.S. Naval vessel, Bowditch, was about to recover the drone glider when a Chinese Dalang III class Chinese warship approached within 500 yards of the Bowditch, launched a small vessel and snatched the drone out of the water,

Oh where, oh where has my little Drone gone, oh where can it be? With it’s nose so round, and it’’s tail so short, oh where, oh where can it be? I think it went down, to the bottom of the sea, to see what it could see. And in it’s head, with a lite so bright, I wonder what it could see. I saw it last by a Chinese boat, going round and round, but I can’t see it anymore. It can’t seem to be found. Perhaps the men over there will know. They may have seen it go by. Who knows where it may have decided to go, but we have to give it a try. So I said:” Oh where, oh where has my little drone gone, and they said:

哦,在哪裡哦我的小無人機走了,哦在哪裡可以

Please No More

 

 

The news broadcasters of every stripe are dizzy with breaking news. Presidential news that is characterized as unique, unusual and always “shooting from the hip.” Yes,  the Donald does say one of a kind announcements, such as he can grab any “p—-y that he wants. He could walk down Fifth avenue in New York and shoot someone and no one will be disturbed. Crazy President Obama taps the Donald’s telephone. If not tapping the phone than Crazy Obama spies on  the Donald. If not spying, perhaps President Obama belittles the Donald during Obama dinners. Donald shoots from the hip, and kills all moral, and ethical standards. Would a hip replacement relieve our angst?

The Donald is truly a disturbed man. No single diagnosis will suffice, and a psychiatric label is unnecessary. The Donald is a born again Grossinger’s Hotel master of ceremonies. The Donald is the original tin man. A man who speaks, bada, bee, bada boo talk. That is street talk for Broadway Johnnies. Donald could be the ring master at the Ringling circus, but the circus has closed. The Donald could be the chief barker at the Otsego County Fair in August of 2017. The Donald is without any shame – without any sense of humility. The Donald froze at 12 years of age. How is it possible for any sane commentator to deal with the insanity that the Donald pronounces? As for the citizenry , we are overwhelmed by a national post traumatic stress disorder. We wonder if what we hear from the White House is true, fake, or produced by Russian hackers. We argue with one another and vigorously defend a position, that is rooted in confusion, and emotional longing for truth, fairness and a sense of well-being. We turn on the television, listen for minutes, and then realize that we are submerged in a morass of deceit, or self-aggrandizement. Through it all the Great Barrier Reef is disappearing, Mosel, and Aleppo are no more. Men, women and children throughout the world are starving to death. The glaciers fall into the sea, and cold water Codfish is near extinction.

 

He Went That-a-Way

 

Just last week, the aircraft carrier Vinson, and assorted support vessels made a wrong turn, or perhaps a right turn and was sailing toward the Indian Ocean and not towards North Korea as announced by the President and military staff. At least they could turn around, and threaten North Korea just one week late. Not a big deal. I can imagine a big deal. When the B-52 bombers are deployed to the Korean peninsula, and find their coordinates have them circling over Brisbane, Australia, that could be troublesome. Then if the President decides with the support of his most trusted advisors, that is, daughter Ivanka, son-in-law Jared and Nephew Harold (a poli-science student at Choate Prep. School) to drop several “Don’t Tread on Me” propaganda leaflets the Australians could mistake the event as aggressive. They are even capable of shooting down a B-52 bomber. Should that scenario occur, we could immediately apologize, and re-route the rest of the planes over Taiwan. Drop the rest of the leaflets, and then go to home base in Sri Lanka– Oh we made a mistake. “Captain I meant to say Shreveport” “Captain, not Sri Lanka, go to Louisiana -turn around, turn around immediately.” While turning the plane around the Captain notices the remains of an airplane with Malaysian markings. The Captain decides to take a closer look, and then, and then …. all signals go dead.

 

 

Out of Sight – Out of Mind

In Newton, Connecticut, five and ten year old children were shot not once, but multiple times with a .223 caliber bullet.

“When the Bushmaster .223 Caliber Assault Rifle hit human targets it tumbled forward into tissue and shattered creating large, internal woulds…Another “nice touch” was that the bullet would sometimes ricochet off bone and bounce around inside the body, shattering into tiny hard-to-remove fragments (which promoted internal bleeding) and ripping sizable hunks of internal tissue away. A human being can die a slow and horrible death from internal bleeding.” (copy from Blowback.223 by Dale Steinreich. www. lewrockwell.com/orig/steinreich6).

Dare to imagine the consequences of such an attack on the body of a child. The children were massacred, mutilated and not simply killed. Dare to stay with such images and contrast such imagery with the concerns of protecting gun ownership, second amendment rights and yes, a “well regulated Militia”.

March 22, 2013

White Rules

In the Blue and Red corner we have Latinos and Asian Americans and in the White corner we have WHITE Americans. In the opinion page of the November 20, 2014, Professor Zoltan L. Hajnal offered, “The democrats immigration problem”. Mr. Hajna’s basic theme was that President Obama’s proposed immigration changes would offer little electoral support for the Democratic party in subsequent elections.  How come? WHITE, WHITE,…. Mr. Hajnal is obsessed with the word WHITE.

The United States of America has many WHITES. The United States of America has lots of native born workers, that is WHITE workers. Mr. Hajnal suggests that due to the overwhelming numbers of WHITES in America, Democrats will gain little advantage gathering potential votes from Latinos and Asian Americans. Does that WHITE advantage bode well for Republicans?  That may be an electoral outcome, but of greater significance is that Mr. Hajnal has identified the malignancy that tortures our nation.

Mr. Hajnal, a political science professor, offers an analysis of voter dispositions, and in doing so, he highlights the constancy of the racial, and ethnic bigotry that exists as a national low-grade fever that in some unpredictable time frame erupts into febrile convulsions. WHITE used to describe a human is a clinical symptom of cultural illness.  WHITE as a description of a human is not only meaningless, but in fact ignores the actual properties of WHITE. WHITE is a color. WHITE carries every color of the spectrum. WHITE transmits all colors. WHITE is the blending of all colors. Does Hajnal’s WHITE American include all colors? Is that what he means by WHITE? It is time that we rid our descriptive vocabulary of humans as being WHITE, unless by that one means persons of all colors.

Speak in Tongues

Yesterday the Secretary of State Kerry was citing the success of the fight against ISIS. He stated that “thousands, single digit, of ISIS were killed.” By that I assumed he meant a digit from 1 to 9. Perhaps he had a number that would precede the ‘thousands’ but did not want to say it. I guess he could have said, “a hundred, times 10, multiplied by a single digit”  or “more than one thousand, but less than ten thousand” thus staying within the single digit concept. Instead he chose to speak in tongues. And speaking of tongues – here goes!

Some words are proper nouns. We might soon be informed that a ‘Mitt’ or a ‘Jeb’ might seek the Republican nomination for President. Truth be told, and I am one committed to the truth, Mitt Romney birth name is, Willard Mitt Romney, and Jeb Bush birth name is John Ellis Jeb Bush. Our history has had four Johns are President:  John Adams, John Quincy Adams, John Tyler (a mystery ) and John Kennedy. We have never had a Willard. Is it time for a Willard? Or should we continue the lineage of Johns? Or do we dare to break with tradition and go rogue with Mitt or Jeb.

Scene at Buckingham Palace and the introduction of the new President Jeb Bush to the Queen of England.

Prime Minister: Your Majesty, it is my honor to present the President of the United States, “Jeb Bush”.

Queen: President Bush. Jeb, What a charming first name.

Jeb: Thank you your Majesty.

Queen: I have never had the pleasure of meeting a Texas cowboy.

Jeb: Oh no, mam, I am from Texas, I’m no cowboy.

Queen: Forgive me, but I remember one time viewing a film from the United States, and the sheriff was named,  Jeb.

Jeb: Well Your Highness, I assure you I never been in a movie, and my name is John Ellis Jeb Bush.

Queen: Oh, so many fine names. Is there a reason you are called Jeb?

Jeb: Well, your Holiness – excuse me  – your Highness. It is a long story, and I don’t want to bore you.

Queen: No, please. I am quite interested. Please tell me.

Jeb: Oh well. When I was just a whipper snapper…
(Queen interrupts)
Queen:  A whipper snapper? Pray tell, what is that?

Jeb:  Just a Texas expression. Nothing special. Just means pretty young – like a messin around kid.

Queen: Oh so charming. Fine, please go on.

Jeb: Well, one day I was out by our barn, and I was messin with a hog. Just trying to stick the hog with a stick. My Mom, saw me and hollered, “Jeb, stop messin with that hog!”

Queen: Oh, that messin once again. Your Mother said “Jeb”. Why would she say “Jeb”?

Jeb: Your Highness, I told you it is a long story, but I’ll cut it short. You see my mom was an expert in Civil War history. She loved the Confederacy, so do I. Well anyway one of the southern Generals was James Ewell Brown Stuart. He was real brave and charmin especially with the women. Kinda like me. General Stuart’s nickname was “Jeb”. That’s it, that the story.

Queen:  Well thank you. That wasn’t so long. I am sure you were pleased that your Mother didn’t call you “Ewell”, (Queen chuckles).

Jeb:  Yes mam. I sure am lucky she didn’t call me “Ewell.”

Queen: Well I must say that your family, especially your father President Bush, and your brother President Bush have “ done your nation real proud.” How is that for Texas talk, Mister Jeb?”

Jeb: Your Majesty, that was real fine. You’re a downright real fine Queen.

 

 

Whose on First?

Hadi al-Ameri, a leader of arab militia, said that he and his militia did not need United States help to take the city of Takrit. “We don’t trust the American –led coalition in combating ISIS. In the past, they have targeted our security forces and dropped aid to ISIS by mistake. We don’t need the American-led coalition to participate in Tikrit. Tikrit is an easy battle, we can win it ourselves. In fact he ordered about 10,000 of militia to leave the battlefield due to recent US bombings. “We have not yet decided if we will pull out or not.” I thought, “when you’re ready, just clue me in. In the meantime I just try and stay alive.”

One should not forget (if at all possible) that the Iraq’s are primarily Shia, and Iranians are primarily Sunni. The Houthi are Shiite, but they are Zaydi Shiite and they are not the same religiously as other Shiites. Actually the Houthi are closer to Sunni Moslems than other Shiites.

How is that for an opening statement. You and I might smile, or perhaps even sneer at the relationships and attitudes cited above, but to those Arabs the differences are matters of life and death, although not always. It so happens that lately, Sunni and Shiite fighters are engaging the ISIS and other bad guys in Yemen, Iraq and probably other places that are yet to be discovered.

An Iraqi leader  (the name is irrelevant) suggested that fighters should refrain from flying Shiite religious banners, suggesting that better efforts should be made to involve Sunnis in the fight. The American representatives suggested that they wanted to work with Iraqi forces they had helped train and insisted on “deconflicting” with the Iranian-backed militias so they would not bomb them be mistake. Fortunately, the Shiite militias have generally been on the east side of the Tigris River, so it should be possible to avoid any errors. “Errors” as in collateral damage, and “oh shit, no way”, and the inevitable “whatever.”

The American representative that generated the “deconflicting” term has since received offers from Webster’s Collegiate publishing house. Actually we all prefer, composing as against decomposing, generation as against degeneration, and certainly flowering as against deflowering.

 

So What’s New?

I’ll tell you what’s new. The shoulder carry cam recorder. The renewed, and advanced police dash board camera. The enhanced sound technology in each camera. And most importantly is the requirement that all active, on patrol police officers must be wearing their camera (turned to on). Dash board cameras must be activated.

What else is new? Videos of police car chases, horrendous car crashes, traffic stops, police wrestling offenders, offenders running down highways and into the woods, 3 or more police officers attempting to subdue an offender, several officers standing around watching the tussle, and so on. At times the video is accompanied by a sound track of grunts, heavy breathing, police demanding cooperation, victim gasping for breath, cries of innocence, etc.

In sum the television audience can now view a real ‘crime’ scene while enjoying a Subway sandwich, or washing the dishes. Cameras have always been able to capture the beauty of cherry blossoms in D.C. Now we can have a live second feature of death and dying in D.C.

What is my point? My focus is not the new, but the old. Old, as in biblically old. Old as in the dna of mankind. Bigotry, and racism! Racism trumps all technology. Racism trumps all verbal expressions of brotherhood, good-will, compassion, empathy, etc. Now that we see it, hear it, and before it didn’t exist? Now we are witnesses to the event, or almost witnesses to the event. Maybe we missed the scene prior to the captured event. Maybe the camera was off, and then on, or on and then off. Maybe the video was accidentally erased, or blurry. Maybe the voice heard was not who we think it was, or maybe, just maybe everything about the data is messed up.

Once again, my point is that technology is not a cure for the overriding existence of systemic racism in our nation. Racism that generates ignorance, ill-will, fear and all too often gun shots.

TO TORTURE OR NOT TO TORTURE- THAT IS THE QUESTION

The following conversation between the President, Vice President and the Secretary of Defense was revealed by appeal to the Freedom of Information Act.

President: I appreciate you coming in on Sunday. I know that you both had plans, so thanks.

Vice President: Mr. President, it’s no problem.

Sec. of Defense: Right.

Vice President: Mr. President, why are we here?

Sec. of Defense: Say, do we have any coffee?

President: Sure. Over by the bar. There’s instant, and some Coffee Mate.

Sec. of Defense: Right.

Vice President: So, what’s up?

President: I need your input on our Interrogation procedures. I’m supposed to decide on what to do, but it’s a procedure that I’m not familiar with.

Vice President: No problem. Say Rumsfeld, why don’t you give a brief run-down on our Interrogation procedures.

Sec. of Defense: Sure., but I think we should be careful what we say.

Vice President: Why? It’s just us.

President: The VP is right. What we say here stays here.

Sec. of Defense: Yeh, I know that, but you never know who is bugging this room.

President: What the hell are you talking about? This is my office. I know if bugging is happening or not.

Sec. of Defense: Sir, you, yourself have ordered that all conversations in this office be recorded.

President: I know that. I’m the decider.  I have the right to erase any conversations that I want to.

Sec. of Defense: I know Sir. But before you get to erase, the content may be snuck out. It’s a possibility. I just want to be careful, that’s all.

Vice President: Mr. President, maybe he’s right.

President: Okay. Let’s get going.

Sec. of Defense: Well when we counsel with a terrorist, I mean client, we have many interview techniques. I’ll start with the easiest.

President: Great. Sounds real interesting.

Sec. of Defense:  Well, we start by getting some basic information.

Vice President: Like what?

Sec. of Defense: Name, address, race, religion, education.  Date and place of birth. Things like that.

President: Sounds good. Clients can’t mind that too much.

Sec. of Defense: Sometimes it’s a problem.

Vice President: Why?

Sec. of Defense: Many clients don’t speak English.

Vice President: But we have translators, don’t we?

Sec. of Defense: Well some, but not as many as we need.

President: I don’t understand. What’s the problem?

Sec. of Defense: Well we used to have a lot more translators, but many of them were American, but also Arab-American, and American Moslems..

President: So?

Sec. of Defense: Trust, sir. It’s a matter of trust.

President: Oh. Gotcha.

Vice President: Weren’t any trustworthy?

Sec. of Defense: Maybe, but then some were also Gay.

Vice President: Cut it out. Who cares, as long as they could translate.

Sec. of Defense: But sir, they were outspoken Gays. I had no choice but to dismiss them from the service. That’s the rule. You know, don’t ask, don’t show, don’t tell, and don’t touch. (giggle).

President: Whatever! Can you proceed anyway?

Sec. of Defense: We do out best Sir.

Vice President: What do you do?

Sec. of Defense: We draw pictures and sometimes the clients act as translators for other clients.

President: Sounds creative – real interesting.

Vice President: Can you trust one client with another?

Sec. of Defense: It’s a chance we have to take. Besides, who cares about name, address, religion or any of that stuff. That first interview is just to act friendly. Build a relationship. The facts are really unimportant.

President: I can see that. You’re right. Who cares how old they are. They’ll be dead soon (giggle).

Vice President: Sir, please be careful.

President: So what happens next?

Sec. of Defense: Then we take them to the Therapy room.

Vice President: What do you mean Therapy room? What the hell is that?

President: Relax, Dick.

Sec. of Defense: Yeh, relax. Therapy, as in personality change.

President: Gotcha.

Vice President: Sounds great, but any Water Boarding?

Sec. of Defense: You mean dunking, don’t you?

Vice President: No, I mean Water Boarding!

Sec. of Defense: Listen, Dick, we do not torture.

President: That’s right!

Vice President: Than what the hell is Dunking?

Sec. of Defense: Like Dunking at Halloween. You know for apples.

Vice President: Are you kidding. Dunking for apples?

Sec. of Defense: And sometimes when the client bites into an apple, there is a surprise.

President: Surprise. I like that. What surprise?

Sec. of Defense: Well it’s like a Gillette surprise.

Vice President: Do all apples have the Gillette surprise?

Sec. of Defense: You got it.

President: What do the clients do?  – Do they say anything?

Sec. of Defense: Some say Ouch!

President: Do they give any information?

Sec. of Defense: Some do, and others just keep eating the apple.

Vice President: And then what?

Sec. of Defense: Well what do you think happens? Come on Dick. Did you ever try and eat a Gillette?

Vice President: Sorry, but you then don’t have any information.

Sec. of Defense: Right, but we’ve got dozens of other clients, and some confess immediately. Intensive therapy is only a last resort. Some clients are so soft-hearted and foolish that they will admit everything, true or false. Others handle Therapy easily. Some clients are so stubborn, that all Intensive Therapy techniques fail.

President: What do you do then?

Sec. of Defense: Well, since all the clients are guilty, or they wouldn’t be with us, we just do the best we can.

Vice President: What do you mean?

Sec. of Defense: I’m glad you asked. This is the most interesting part of the Therapy system. You see, I have hired several T.V. writers from shows like CSI, and Law and Order. When needed they can piece together a solid story for a client. Then all we need is a signature. An X will do.

President: But what about the needed intelligence? We need the information.

Sec. of Defense: Look, Mr. President, relax. We are winning on the ground, right.

President: Right?

Vice President: And we have had no repeat of 911, right?

President: Right.

Sec. of Defense: So considering that we hardly speak their language, and we don’t torture I think that we are doing pretty damn good without any intelligence.

President: You may be right. Who the hell needs intelligence. Look fellows I’ve got to fix some fencing at the ranch. Keep up the good work.

 

 

THE ULTIMATE SOLUTION

The Federal tax code allows for unique deductions for persons who are married. There are also special tax deductions if one has children. The Congress of the United States agreed that it was necessary to allow for taxation allowance for such special familial circumstances.

Well, here goes. Please finish reading before you damn the concept. Finish reading and find it in your heart to agree with everything that I have suggested.

The Federal government should introduce tax deductions and other fiscal benefits to all persons who willingly intermarry. The intermarriages that qualify will be racial, and religious and across sexual proclivities.  The rational for such a legislative decision is the likelihood that only by the bond offered by marriage will we finally lessen the chokehold that bigotry holds our nation.

Only by the intermarriage of Black and White, Christian and Jew, Gay and Transsexuals, can we hope to progress beyond the destructive obedience to the mindsets of superiority, and ignorance. In time, but sooner than later, subsequent generations of children born of such marriages will be free of the hate that now pervades our nation.

Well – what do you think???

THE MASKED MEN

Why the mask? ISIS insurgents wear masks. Iraq police wear masks. Swat team members wear masks. African Boko Uram killers wear masks, Zorro is masked, and then we have had the Man in the Iron Mask. The news is so full of masked men carrying guns, that it is not easy to tell the good guys from the bad. Do all the bad guys sit in Toyotas, and Jeeps, and the good guys have tanks, or armored vehicles.

After the Civil War and during reconstruction the KKK wore masks, and some do to this very day. Syrian rebels wear masks, and it seems that some Syrian government soldiers wear masks. The Sleepy Hollow madman didn’t bother with a mask; he just took off his head. Killing or being killed does not require a mask.  US soldiers during all our wars wore no masks (except a gas mask), nor did the Japanese troops, and none were worn by the German soldiers.

Why now all the masks?  Were the masks meant to frighten people? The man manning the guillotine wore a mask, as did the musclemen who chopped off heads. Men who were to be executed by hanging or a firing squad were offered a mask. Was that to protect the victim or the executioners? What is the big deal about masking persons who are participating in killing, gruesome and other inhuman activity?

I recently had a conversation with a psychiatrist, and I asked him his opinion as to why these men (perhaps some women) wear masks. The physician suggested that the mask was worn because the wearers were ashamed – they were embarrassed. He offered a common hand movement of covering one’s face with a hand when we believe we have done something wrong, and we are ashamed.

I thought his comment was silly, but then I thought there might be some sense to the doctor’s explanation. If the masked man was dismayed about his action, and if under the mask, the true identity of the person was revealed what would we see. Would we then see that the mask hid the butcher, baker and candlestick maker of the local community? Perhaps the masked man was a preacher, banker, or unemployed rock star. Would the unmasked marauder be your father, brother or at worst a predatory scout leader?

We all admired the one masked man of our youth – the LONE RANGER. He always did good deeds, so why the mask. Perhaps just to frighten bad guys. We did not mind his wearing of a mask (not larger than cool sun glasses), and his credibility was enhanced in that his buddy was TONTO – a good spirited, non-savage Indian.

I just realized that absent a physical mask, we are all masked every day of our lives. The face we present may be a true representation of who we are at the moment, or just a mask that hides our pain, worries, fears and desires. When asked”how is it going?” Our response is typically, “o.k.” But are we “o.k.” You look okay, despite the morning’s news that you have terminal cancer. There are times when a mask protects the wearer and the viewer. There are times when who we are, what we feel and think are best kept behind a mask.

THE FIRST POST-PARTUM DEPRESSION

Cold, not just a typical winter night. Bitter cold, gale wind without pause, and snow so thick that only memory led Joseph to the pub. The fireplace was ablaze, and the warmth brought immediate relief to Joseph’s shivering body. The regulars were at the bar. Seated at one end was Rachel and her brother Issac. Samuel, the local butcher, and his wife Muriel were busy talking to Moshe the bartender. Joseph sat on a stool just alongside Samuel, and with his head in his thawing hands, Joseph was gently sobbing.

Moshe: Joseph are you alright?
(no response from Joseph – just muffled sobs)

Moshe: Joseph, Joseph what is the wrong? Why are you crying?

Joseph: (barely audible) He is not mine.

Moshe: What? What did you say?

Joseph: He is not mine.

Rachel: Say Joseph can we buy you a drink?
(no response from Joseph)

Issac: Joseph, what’s up?

Moshe: Joseph, please- please tell me what is the matter?

Joseph: My son….
(Moshe interrupts)

Moshe: A son. Joseph you have a son!

Issac: A son – did you say a son – you have a son.
(all gather around Joseph)

Muriel: Mazel tov, Joseph. Mazel tov.

Samuel: That is great. Wow, wonderful, wonderful.

Joseph: (shouting) He is not mine.

Moshe: What are you talking about? How is Mary?

Muriel: And the baby, how is the baby?

Joseph: (Plaintively) Please leave me be. My son is not mine – he is not mine!

Moshe: Joseph, you are not making any sense. Mary has given birth to a son. What are you talking about?

Joseph: Mary says that my son is not mine. Do you all hear me? My son is not mine.
(Joseph gets up from the stool and heads toward the door)

Samuel: (grabs Joseph). Stop. Joseph you are not going anywhere. Please tell us what has happened.

Rachel: Yes. We are so thrilled for you and Mary.  We don’t understand what you are saying.

Joseph: Mary tells me, not once, but over and over again that my son is not from me – he is not mine.

Moshe: What happened? Why this crazy talk. You are not making any sense.

Joseph: And there are men in the stable, and camels. Big smelly camels, and three men with funny costumes, and weeds or plants that stink. The camels are stomping on our things. I cannot understand what the men are sayings. And Mary greets them as if they were our family. She is acting like they are kings – some kind of royalty.

Samuel: Did they talk to you? Did they introduce themselves?

Muriel: Is Mary save with them? Should we all go to the stable? I am worried for Mary and the baby.

Joseph: Mary says that I could go and not worry cause she was expecting the men. They came from far away, and followed a star to the stable.

Rachel: The more you talk, the crazier it sounds.

Moshe: Joseph I want you to sit down, and let’s go over all that occurred tonight. We are your friends, and we will help you, Mary and your son.

Joseph: Moshe. You do not understand. The boy is not my son. Can’t you understand?

Rachel: Look Joseph. Mary is your wife, right. Mary was pregnant, right. Mary gave birth this night, right.

Muriel: You hear Rachel. Is she correct?

Samuel: Joseph there is no need to talk anymore. We are going to the stable and find out what is happening.

Joseph: We can’t go back. Mary says she is fine. Not just fine, but perfect. She told me to go, and not to worry.  She told me that tonight is the most special night for all mankind. She told me that she loves me.

Isaac: Okay, so what is the problem?

Joseph: Isaac what is the problem? Are you serious? How would you feel if your wife told you that your first child – your son was not yours. How would you feel?

Moshe: Joseph, my lovely dear friend Joseph. I feel so bad allowing you to suffer so much. At times my memory fails me. My dear Joseph you have nothing to fear or worry about.

Joseph: (stunned) What are you saying Moshe? What do you mean I have nothing to worry about?

Moshe: Everybody listen up. Our dearest Mary is just depressed. Simply depressed. She means no harm. She is just suffering a POST PARTUM DEPRESSION!

With that pronouncement, all gather together and hoist Joseph on the shoulders of Isaac and Samuel and they joyfully head to the stable.

WRONG SIDE OF THE BED

Many years ago, the wrong side of the bed was clearly marked by the presence of a “pot de chambre,” that is a chamber pot. Upon awakening during the night, a careless move to the floor on the “wrong side” of the bed resulted in disaster. With the passage of time and the introduction of in-house plumbing, the chamber pot has been transformed into a planter, or flea market novelty.

The pot may be gone, but the expression “wrong side of the bed” has endured as an explanation for annoying personal behaviors. Getting up on the “wrong side of the bed” is now considered to be the cause of grouchiness, moodiness, depression, lethargy and a host of other regrettable feelings and behaviors, not the least of which is “feeling lousy.”

Perhaps there is a “right side” of the bed, which if located and used will ensure vigor, good will, affection and sex. The physical structure of most beds offer few cues as to the right or wrong side, let alone the good or the bad side.  Beds with a headboard, and/or a wall behind the bed offer just three possible “right” sides. One might eliminate the foot of the bed as an escape route, and thereby enhance your chances of choosing the “right side” by 33 percent.

The prospect of having just two choices to select the “right” side might be too risky. One might move the bed to the center of the room and then have four sides to choose from, or at least three sides with a rotating `foot.’ For the avid gambler, a circular bed would offer a limitless search for the “right” side.

It’s possible that the number of bed sides and their locations will not solve the demand for a splendid morning personality. We must hit the floor on the “right side” and the design of beds offers no help.

The presence of a bedmate insures a forced choice of the “right side.” In a bed with a head board, foot and partner, the “right side” is most likely your own side. Whether such a choice ensures a personality change is a much more complex issue, and never under your direct control. Furthermore, the sleeper is never concerned about the side of the bed to get up on. Sleepers just get up after a nights sleep. They could, if asked, describe their mood. It is the observer, that is, spouse, friend or `other body’ who feels compelled to identify a cause for the sleeper’s mood.

“Boy, I see that you got up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

With that pronouncement, the sleeper quickly surveys the bedside looking for the infamous “pot de chambre”. Not finding any, the newly awakened must assume total responsibility for the mood in the bedroom or immediately leap to the other side of the bed with the hope that there lies the “right side”, and acceptance.