At What Cost

Seldom do I hold a President accountable for a campaign promise, simply because, “they promise you what it is that you want to hear, and they never fulfill the promise or provide the answer or the solution in the end.”  In other words, “a politician will say anything” in order to get elected.

Our President promised for example “to bring the troops home.”

And he now considers that policy in place and happening.  At first glance it would appear he is doing just that, but it is smoke and mirrors.  Mr. Obama is reducing the size of the army in Afghanistan down from 100,000 to 30,000.  That is not bringing them home, that is still leaving a sizable portion of them there to bolster the Afghan Army which is a joke, a rag-tag assemble of soldiers, who had some 24,000 deserters just last year.

Recently I talked to a vet who had been there, he said the country was a rat hole, a sewer, a festering pockmark on the face of humanity.  It all started under Bush as a narrow, modest war of necessity.  Most of the goals of that administration were accomplished quickly.  Then as it is with all American Wars, it was expanded.

We set out with determined measure to transform this tribal nation into a stable democracy.  Ten years later, the goal remains out of our grasp, despite the loss of 1,800 American lives and a cost of over $400 billion dollars.  Now ask yourself this question, “What would $400 billion dollars buy in the way of computers for kids, how far would it go towards a poverty program for those who are hungry?  In what way could this money have been spent better for a cause that was worthy?”  We spend all of our money building roads and bridges in countries that most people ride a donkey to town.

The democracy aspect of all this is just about as ludicrous.

Afghanistan is arguably the most primitive nation on earth with rampant malnutrition, widespread illiteracy, and a 15th century standard of living.  The government of President Hamid Karzai is totally corrupt, and is despised by the ordinary Afghans.  Their army is a shamble and certainly no match for the Taliban just next door in Pakistan.

Everything that has been accomplished in this country in the past ten years, is certainly very fragile and reversible.  If our President pushes ahead with his plan to withdraw U.S. troops by 2014, the Taliban will pour back into Afghanistan from their sanctuaries in Pakistan.  The country will once again become a terrorist haven, with disastrous consequences for the United States and for world security.

The Russians found this to be true in their brief history with the country and we are soon to find out the same end result.  After ten years of being mired in this cesspool we face the very same depressing out look.

We will in the end, give it all back.  Only one question remains.

At what cost?



Kiss Me I Think I Am Gay … I Apologize

Here we go again, another week of why I hate the world, eleven hundred twenty-three words on why can’t I have it MY way even tho’ there is a Burger King right down the street.  Another installment in the Creative Endeavors Get It Right America Series, soon to be a ABC Mini-Reality Adventure this November, check your local listings. 


What is the deal? 

Everyone in this country, seemingly overnight, is now a “Special Interest”group?

Whatever happened to the things we were taught at an early age … Do onto others … Live and Let Live … Walk a Mile in my shoes?  When did we become a nation of labelers, enablers, whiners, complainers … A nation of what is in this for me and screw everyone else?

What is all this crap about the Gay Agenda, I am personally getting a little sick of it.

If homosexuals/Lesbians/Gay … Whatever they are calling themselves this week, want to get married.  

So what?

(Here is a New Mexico Barber’s opinion on it.)

Like the bible says, “Go forth, multiply and produce good fruit.”  Well, they might move forward, but they sure aint gonna multiply or produce any fruit.  If they were allowed to marry and all that, well, it seems to me that within 50 years, there would not be a lot of them around (do the math – Think about it).

All these Special People want the same rights as everyone else?  Well hell, welcome to the club, I suppose I have another block of un-used time, maybe five minutes I can give you … What makes you feel so unloved and neglected?

Newsflash!  I want the same health care as everyone in Congress , I want the same tax breaks that are afforded to the rich, I want the same treatment and fairness in the court system that the crooks seem to get and I am denied.  Drop the Lone Ranger Syndrome, you are not the only game in town.  And believe it or not, I am not alone in my thinking.

Here is another take on it. 

There seems to be no end to it, television, news media, it is slowly slinking into every nook and cranny of our lives.  Now I read we have a judge who is refusing to marry “Straight Couples?”

I mean, I hate to sound redundant here but give me a break.  It is time to UN-elect another stupid “I will rule my opinion and NOT the law” judge in Texas.  We have lawmakers who are refusing to sign bills for the Girl Scouts of America because he says they “promote homosexuality?”

Open your eyes, look around.  Consider what you have learned in just a few short paragraphs in this limited space in time:

Your straight friends are not going to be able to marry, thus no new children will be legally introduced into the system and now you will have no one to fund your retirement dreams.  Which is really kind of moot issue anyway, as your electorate is busy at work right now, doing their best to water it down or just flat out abolish it as we speak.

You are not going to be able to get your hair cut any longer by gay barbers, soon you will resemble Howard Hughes in his last days on the flight back from Panama (and remember, gay people, they do finger nails too).  Being as I am follically (sp) impaired, this isn’t a big deal for me, I don’t know what the rest of you are going to do?

On top of this, we have G.I.’s reportedly burning the Quran instead of barbecuing the Taliban.  Our blessed president, prophet, overseer, or not so quite revered King, Mr. Obama, is now apologizing for offending their culture? 

Again …. So What?  Who apologizes to us when they burn our flag, when they tie our wounded soldiers body to the back of a Toyota and drag his body up and down their garbage littered streets?


Man, you are right Mr. President, this is serious, you think the price of gasoline is bad and it is a problem.  Adam & Steve cannot get married.  You will no longer be able to get a box of Pecan Sandies and a smile?  What will happen when all the Seven Eleven clerks hear of this travesty of their culture and decide to go home.  Where will I get my $6 pack of Marlboro’s — Big Gulp — or my twinkies?

Wake up America.

Stop apologizing and posturing on agenda’s that are not all that important. 

It is time to come together on a lot of this and recognize and label our main enemy.

Which seems to be everyone but us.

It is time to get ugly when you vote, send a lot of these bozo’s home, gay or straight, makes no difference, in the end, the results will always be the same.  I never thought I would live long enough to actually feel ashamed I was an American, but each day it becomes a little bit more of a reality.  More so now, than just an occasional thought.  Here is the bottom line:  United we stand … Divided we fall.  Stop apologizing to everyone else and lying to us.

Now this morning I am watching Wake Up America on CBS and all the political wanna-be-door-stops that can talk are on there telling me what it is that I need to do, in order to make all of this work.  All I have to do is turn to religion, I will soon be able to come to terms with the whole thing.

It so simple a back-alley sandal maker in Dearborn Mich. could see it.  If I convert to Islam, and my wife hacks me off, we can take care of it poste haste.  (Don’t worry Newt, we’re stoning her in the morning!)   On top of all this … The Red Cross just called me on my cellphone and asked if I could contribute towards the floods in Pakistan.  I said I’d love to, but our garden hose only reaches to the driveway.

There you go, something else all you Washington political gasbags can apologize for.

Now I am headed out to find me a non-gay-I don’t want to marry my buddy-barbershop to get my eyebrows trimmed.  I sure hope and pray I don’t get stopped and have to appear in court somewhere … I will be a goner for sure.

Mr. Obama,

you have had your fifteen minutes of fame,

now it is time for you to shut up.

(Comments section as usual is open, have at it)


“Never forget the hand that helps you up … Or the boot that shows you to the door.”


I Do Not Apologize

Get It Right America — Something Is Not Right


Show Me Your Magic

Carrie Underwood is playing on my radio this morning, “Your Sexy Eyes” and my mind is wandering.  Carrie Underwood, an Oklahoma girl by the way, is yummy.  I look upon her and I see Margo, but there will be more of that later, I digress.  Today’s offering is a little long in the tooth, but I am sure you will find it engaging or at least I hope you do.


Occasionally, in the early morning shank of the day, I will allow my mind to drift off to more favorable times in my life.  A period of my life for the most part (as I remember it) was carefree and pleasurable.  (Taking into consideration that the mind will trick you, those old days, that we perceive now, that were so good, weren’t actually all that great)

A time now long gone but fondly remembered.

Checking most of my cares and concerns at the door, I sometimes allow a part of me to run casually thru the start of my day and a good warm cup of coffee.  At times I will make a trip thru the Rockies on my old Harley, the wind in my face, and the pipes wracking off the walls of the deep cuts in the rock alongside the highway.  I will sit on a mountain pass in Wyoming and watch a UP Coal Train or Freight wind down thru the valley on its way to Nebraska.

From time to time I will think of that girl.  There is always that one girl in every-man’s life.

For most intents and purposes, I am the hopeless romantic,  a dreamer of unprecedented scope and depth.  Sometimes a little bit socially dysfunctional.  But being blessed at an early age with an overactive imagination, has also proven to been helpful.  I am quite adept at remembering those times when everything seemed so bountiful and it was there for the taking.  The days where the fruit of life, was ripe and ready, within my reach on the first limbs of the tree.

On some mornings I can swing the pendulum of my emotions in either direction.  This morning it is romance.  Those times when your heart leaned towards issues of affection instead of conservative worry and concern for the upside down stress filled world we all live in.

Thinking of those mornings when you looked at Margo with a longing in your heart, even though you knew that she was poisoned fruit on the tree.  Margo was the girl at the operations desk, a treat I often yearned for, but often I thought clearly was out of my reach.  Margo was a prize, she was in all respects, worthy of attention.

When you looked at her and your heart seemed to stop as if for a brief moment in time or actually skipped a beat.  Which today, much later in time would be of great concern to many of us.  Remembering that period that was a little of the good and a little of the bad.  Working day in and out, to make a living and not seeing much of a rainbow at the end.

That is about the way it was.

Each day, after receiving our assignments, we would trot out the door and go about our day.  We had to walk by Margo on the way out, she would be sitting there at the operations desk, all prim and proper, looking as if she were a fresh picked hot-house flower.  On some mornings, the fragrance that was her, would permeate the room, a refreshing pleasant change of pace.

She would sit there at the operations desk, in just a plain chiffon sort of summer dress, no bra, her nipples straining against the sheer fabric. Occasionally, now and then, a loose buttoned shirt and some well worn Levi’s.  Hand picked (all by design) I am sure, to drive a man crazy or slowly out of his mind.

Looking back on it, in a way it was kind of comical in some respects.

Watching each working hand approach the desk, some nodding their head on the way out in recognition of her presence.  From time to time a few, here and there, would stop to linger and “work their magic on her” try their line, put their hook in the water.

Married or single, it made no difference, the male of the species much like a honey worker bee, would hover around her desk and she would hold court.  I often wondered if she appreciated or scorned the unwanted advances, and I guess I will never know?

So each day, she would watch, listen and observe the practice or ritual.  In a way a for the most part, losing proposition for the average working hand.  Giving it their best, their all … Only to find that all they got in the end, was a nod of her head, or a gentle sort of smile or giggle and not much more than that.

In those days, now long past, and a long way down the proverbial path, I have to admit, “I did not have much of a line for Margo.”  Just was not all that smooth, a player as the younger generation would describe it, was not to be found in my make up in any shape form or manner.  The best I could muster up as I remember was “How you doin?” and a brief smile.

Pretty lame, certainly not sexy.

On some days, I would stop and watch the testosterone circus unfold, and I would arrange my orders over at the small desk in the corner, sip on a small white styrofoam cup of coffee, stirred with a plastic spoon and loaded with way too much sugar.  And Margo would catch me, snatching a quick glance her way, checking her out and she would smile.  Those were the times when I would think about some day, maybe, just maybe, she would lean over, give me a brief peek down her loosely buttoned blouse and then gently place one a salty kiss on my lips.

(Yeah I know, kind of sad, but please remember this is MY story)

Then one day, for no apparent reason that I can now remember, I found myself standing at the order desk, end of the day, arranging my orders and fixing to turn in the paperwork and preparing to call it quits.  Quite by surprise, all of a sudden, really don’t know how it transpired or came into being, I found myself in a position to make a move.

Now please remember Dear Reader, “I don’t have a LOT of moves” maybe one or two, and they are rusty and archaic by today’s standards.

Strangely I found myself diving in, like a monkey with a football, I was clumsily working MY magic on her.  Taking in the expanse of her big green eyes and leaning over a little bit, hoping to catch her scent.  I found myself fishing in unfamiliar waters.  So mustering up a little courage from somewhere deep inside, I said, “You hungry girl?”  At the same time thinking to myself “she is way out of your league chump, she won’t give you the time of day.”

And low and behold, she smiled back and said, “Why?  What do you have in mind?”

This is the part we were talking about, the part where you feel your heart skip a little bit, you feel your knees weaken, all of a sudden, it is a lot hotter in the room.  The door to her world opens just a little bit, so I take the shot.  “Oh, I was just thinking.  Maybe the Steakhouse, baked potato, glass of wine, a little conversation?” which I was hoping would sound interesting and still non-threatening.

She mulls it over in her mind a little bit and then says, “No strings, just dinner and some talk?” and I nod my head and say, “Sure.”  She replies, “How about 4:30PM-5:00PM, that okay with you?”


“Sure” and we quickly iron out the details.  I beat a quick retreat to my digs, a ratty little apartment some two miles away as the crow flies,  jump in the shower, do my thing … y’know, wash the stinky parts, throw on some foo-foo water, fresh shirt and head on down to the restaurant.

Dinner was nice, nothing extraordinary or rare, just a good sumptuous meal, Rib-Eye, glass of red wine and some talk.  Afterwards, I inquire as to desert, would she like some?  Which she graciously declines.  Paying the tab and dropping the tip on the table I escort her out of the restaurant.  In the dim light of the day, sunset, I walk her to her car, squeeze her hand and say, “That was nice.  Let’s do it again.”

Opening the car door, I smile and bid her good-night.

A few weeks pass, another page on the calendar falls.  Back to work, she is there as always, I smile, she nods her head, out the door and it is time to make a living.  This goes on for a week or two, the routine of the morning, the ritual, the process with which we all have to endure, in order to make our mark in this world.

Then one afternoon, I am walking by her desk, end of the day.

She calls out my name, “Hey Don, what are you up to?” and I reply, “Paying the rent girl, paying the rent.”  She laughs and then throws her head back and allows her hair do that thing that she makes it do.  I think to myself …. “That is nice.”

Then she smiles and starts to work HER magic on ME.  “You hungry sport?” and I say, “You bet, same thing, same place, as before?”  She nods her head in agreement.  I start to walk away and I again hear the soft voice call out my name, “Hey Don?”  Slowly turning around I turn back and look at her.

She leans over the counter, her beauty and scent fill my universe, ever so slowly she checks the room, insuring that it is just the two of us, and then she says …. “This time, after dinner … if you want to … We can go somewhere private like the Ramada on the South-side and I will be your desert.”  That day, my eyes were opened a little bit and in the gentle haze I found:  “Life is often good and you don’t need a lot of moves to make it all work.”

Have a great weekend, find that special someone in your life and show them your magic.



She Was My Lady


Ahroooooooooooo, bark-bark, Aroooooooooowho

The dog got me up again last night.  You see, I live in the country, and in the country especially during the night time hours, we have different critters roaming about.  There is a large population of coyotes in our area, and they going about howling and making all kinds of noises late at night and often until the wee hours of the morning.

Ahroooooooooooo, bark-bark, Aroooooooooowho … hour after hour …. Ahroooooooooooo, bark-bark, Aroooooooooowho (Why don’t you go chase a rabbit!)Ahroooooooooooo, bark-bark, Aroooooooooowho-barkie-barkie (Well yo mama was Lassie!)

They will bay loudly at the moon and then go “Howwwwwwwie … which in coyote language means … All Dogs suck!”  And then you have on the other hand,  a similar population of non-roving dogs who respond with  ….. Ooooooooooooooooo-Ahrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrroooooooo-Howwwwwwwwwie … which in dog language means …. Coyote’s are stupid and they suck!”

Bark-bark.ARRRWHoooooooooooo ….. (why don’t you get a real job, like fetching your masters’ paper!) Ahroooooooooooo, bark-bark, Aroooooooooowho (It’s cold out here, when is it gonna be summertime?)

Hour after hour … back n forth. 

In the meantime, I walk around the house, like some kind of underworld sleep deprived zombie, bouncing off walls and mumbling incoherently about …. where is my shotgun?  Asking myself …  Why are all these people posting pictures of their cats with bread on their head?  Ahroooooooooooo, bark-bark, Aroooooooooowho (Why don’t you find a sick cow and sit underneath it) Ahroooooooooooo, bark-bark, Aroooooooooowho-barkie-barkie (You are so stupid you would eat cat food!)

I suppose the coyotes just like rubbing it in, they get to come and go as they please, but the dogs, they are tied to their dog houses and the little kibble-N-bits dishes and water-bowls.  All dressed out in their flea and tick collars and shiny ID tags around their necks.  Dogs who sit in a pile of old rubber chew toys, with the squeakers removed, are far more secure and do not howl all that much.  It is these lousy flea-bags who lie around all day long sleeping, giving all the rest of the respectable house-dogs a bad name.

So each night, I am not all that sure, which side starts it first, the symphony of the prairie begins anew.  Around the time the local news ends, our sonata of the plains’ country begins, usually around 10:30PM or about the time non-roving country living humans go to bed.

Ahroooooooooooo, bark-bark, Aroooooooooowho … (Why don’t you go dig up a bone!) Ahroooooooooooo, bark-bark, Aroooooooooowho (Why don’t you go coon a creek!) Ahroooooooooooo, bark-bark, Aroooooooooowho-barkie-barkie (Well you would even fetch a green ribbon at a decent dog show!)

The bright-yellow Harvest moon breaks the eastern horizon, and quickly heads for the night time zenith in the sky ….

Ahroooooooooooo, bark-bark, Aroooooooooowho … (Why don’t you go chase a car!) Ahroooooooooooo, bark-bark, Aroooooooooobie-who (A much younger bark I note and it sez … What is a car?)

And my all time favorite, Ahroooooooooooo, bark-bark, Aroooooooooowho … (Why don’t you go chase the mailman!) Ahroooooooooooo, bark-bark, Aroooooooooowho (Yo are so stoooopid you cannot catch a Road Runner.)

So much for moving from the city to enjoy the peace and quiet of country living.  Now if you watched the video provided and heard the painful mornful sound, you can possibly relate to a similar experience in your life. 

Now go back up, to the video, replay it … Listen carefully to the intense mournful sound of the wolf and close your eyes and think back, see if you can realte to the sound that feeling …. move slowly backwards in time, ah, there it is, April 15th last year ….. Ahroooooooooooo, bark-bark, Aroooooooooowho

(And yes, Jon, you are right, I need to get out more)



Get It Right America … Something is Very Wrong.

While walking down the street one day a Corrupt Senator(that may be redundant) was tragically hit by a car and died.   His soul arrives in heaven and is met by St. Peter at the entrance.”Welcome to heaven,” says St.. Peter. “Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these parts, you see, so we’re not sure what to do with you.””No problem, just let me in,” says the Senator.”Well, I’d like to, but I have orders from the higher ups. What we’ll do is have you spend one day in hell and one in heaven. Then you can choose where to spend eternity.”

“Really?, I’ve made up my mind. I want to be in heaven,” says the Senator.”I’m sorry, but we have our rules.”And with that, St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell.The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course.

In the distance is a clubhouse and standing in front of it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him.

Everyone is very happy and in evening dress. They run to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people.

They played a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster, caviar and the finest champagne.Also present is the devil, who really is a very friendly guy who is having a good time dancing and telling jokes. They are all having such a good time that before the Senator realizes it, it is time to go.  Everyone gives him a hearty farewell and waves while the elevator rises.The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens in heaven where St. Peter is waiting for him, “Now it’s time to visit heaven…”So, 24 hours passed with the Senator joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They have a good time and, before he realizes it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returns.

“Well, then, you’ve spent a day in hell and another in heaven. Now choose your eternity.”

The Senator reflects for a minute, then he answers: “Well, I would never have said it before, I mean heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in hell.”  So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell…

Now the doors of the elevator open and he’s in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage.He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags as more trash falls to the ground.The devil comes over to him and puts his arm around his shoulders.”I don’t understand,” stammers the Senator. “Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and clubhouse, and we ate lobster and caviar, drank champagne, and danced and had a great time. Now there’s just a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable. What happened?”

The devil smiles at him and says, “Yesterday we were campaigning,

Today, you voted..”

 Vote wisely on  November 2, 2012