It Is Time For The NAACP To Man Up

OBAMACRAT HILL

Whenever a dump truck left a load in or around my neighborhood, the boys played a game called King of the Hill. One of us would scramble to the top of the pile, no matter what it was, dirt, stones, coal it didn’t a difference. The rest of us then began to push the King off. If the King was very good, he maintained the title. No matter how big or tough the King was, we always managed to knock him off the hill. A single person by himself who struggled to hold his balance as he crawled up was easy for the King to knock down, but a number of us all working together could always dethrone the King. It didn’t matter who became the next King, he too was dethroned quickly.

My mind is in a whirl of confusion with all the nonsense coming at me. This week for instance, Mitt Romney had the unmitigated gall to speak to a NAACP audience as equals. Instead of praising him for doing so, they booed him. Pundits tried in vain to say Romney did it to excite his racist base. They spewed their usual racist rhetoric about the man. One thing the blacks continuously complain about is equality. Mitt Romney made the mistake of delivering the same speech to the NAACP as he does to all audiences. What the NAACP expected was the same kind of ass kissing speech delivered by John McCain four years ago. I heard some of it and I couldn’t believe my ears. Mc Cain actually fed them the Kool-Aid and they loved it. It didn’t change a single vote, but they loved to hear the sweet talk. Obama does the same thing. He goes one step further when he addresses a black audience, his dialect and demeanor becomes that of a black preacher.

So when will the blacks be satisfied? The blacks are smarter than to need tailored speeches praising their progress. They know how far the Civil Rights movement has progressed. They know that the President Lyndon Johnson’s Great Society has destroyed black families. They know that the Equal Opportunity Act has shifted opportunity away from whites. They know their schools are worse than other’s. They know that black Congressmen like Bobbie Rush, Jesse Jackson Jr, Sheila Jackson Lee, Charlie Rangel, Maxine Waters, and John Conyers Jr. are living like kings without delivering improvement to their communities. They know Congressman Conyer’s city of Detroit is a worldwide joke and a model for socialism. Yet, they cling to the notion that they must get more restitution for the sins of the fore-fathers. Blacks, except for Obama, are more American than most whites. My family has been in America for only one generation. Most blacks have been in America since the 1700’s, that is at least twelve generations. It is one hundred and forty-seven years since Lincoln freed the slaves. That is at least seven generations of family who have never been slaves, nor even knew slave relatives, but those same generations have enjoyed playing upon the guilt of whites and the Welfare State.

It is time for the NAACP to admit their equality, and to take responsibility for their outcomes. Mitt Romney treated them as equals even though they do not seem ready nor willing accept equality. It is too easy for the NAACP to blame whitey than themselves.

“O” is Truly Mortal

A friend sent this to me. It brings a little levity to this discussion. It also proves that “O” is truly mortal and can screw up like the rest of us. This small business owner obviously didn’t work with “O” to make his business a success.

Obama Campaign Office. This is the direction of his presidency.

Obama Wants to “In-source”

No words needed, we all feel the pain of illegal immigration. We pay the taxes and the gov’m’nt borrows money to keep the illegals. In the meantime, the administration works feverishly to kill capitalism, and the job market for genuine tax paying citizens. Its Cloward-Piven strategy played to the max. Overload the welfare system to bankrupt the country, and make everyone dependent on the gov’m’nt. We are watching it happen right before our eyes and we are powerless to do anything to stop it. November isn’t coming soon enough.

Obama opens the border and encourages illegal entrants to in-source, and he kills jobs for citizens with regulation and taxes.

You Didn’t Do It Alone, Big Gov’m’nt Helped

Obama tells Henry Ford to invent the car.

What ever the Conservative pundits say about Obama not getting it, they are wrong. Obama gets it. He is way smarter than the rest of us. Last week he cited his biggest mistake as not communicating his policy to “We the Sheeple.” He lied about that. He deliberately withheld the policy from the voters. Had we known, he would never have made it past the primary.

Now, he deliberately insults the small business owners by lecturing them on how they aren’t so smart, and that they didn’t become successful on their own, they needed big government to succeed. It is my opinion that they succeeded in spite of the handicap of carrying big government. I wonder how much more successful small businesses would be if there were no regulations or interference of any kind.

Bill Gates began his business at age nineteen. I have to believe he began small. What help did Obama give him to become a leviathan in the business? Steve Jobs another small business owner in the beginning did not    get government help. Even Al Gore, who invented the internet did not  get government help.

The internet came about through the Defense Department. The military needed a way to communicate in the event a war takes out cities within the USA. It was the educational system that developed it into a useful tool with their wish to  share research. So I guess one could say the government  paid for the  internet before the rest of us were able to take advantage of it.

Here are some examples of how inventors needed the government to make their dreams come true.

Orville and Wilbur Wright didn’t succeed with manned flight until the gov’m’nt built thousands of mega air terminals.

Henry Ford waited for the Interstate road system before he worked to invent the assembly line to make cars affordable.

Edison waited until the gov’n’nt built power stations all across America to invent the electric bulb, and the phonograph.

Alexander Graham Bell waited for the gov’m’nt to string telephone lines across America before he invented the phone.

Steven Spielberg started making films while in grammar school, but he didn’t really succeed until Obama came on the scene.

Walt Disney needed Obama to invent Mickey Mouse and then used gov’m’nt money to build Disney Land. That’s why Disney went broke six times in his life, he wasted our tax dollars all along the way.

One statistic that sticks in my dead brain is that most millionaires go bankrupt several times before they finally succeed.

Obama is the only one I know who uses gov’m’nt money to succeed with his own enterprises, and he has failed miserably.

Can you find the obvious error in the picture?

Terror Cell Plans An Attack

      Deep within the thicket behind Grumpa Joe’s Monet Vision a meeting of Wabbits from terror groups of every block discussed plans for taking out the Monet Vision. Last Spring they snuck into his yard and tasted the tulips and his prize lilies. He didn’t know what hit him. They forced him to install extensive Wabbit barrier over his lobelias, which made him work four times as hard to pull weeds. Not to mention, each time he discovered a snipped tulip bud or a clipped lily stem his blood pressure went through the roof. The group planned a new assault.

“We have to expand our numbers,” said Ali Bugbuny.

“Yes, but we must also train new recruits in the art of stem tasting,” exclaimed Sadr el Jac.

“What if we change the strategy from tasting to eating the flowers,” asked Yasir Flufytail?

“Hmmmn, not a bad idea” replied Ali.

The ideas flowed all evening. It was late into the night before the terror group finally agreed to a plan.

“It is agreed then, we will begin the campaign on the night of the full moon,” said Ali Bugbuny as he dismissed them, “be careful going home.”

The group hopped through the darkness keeping invisible as they moved through backyards. Usa-Bugbuny stayed under the front yard boxwoods. He sprinted through the open spaces between houses to the end of Brown Drive. Yasir Flufytail speed-hopped through the backyards to Charrington Drive, and Siwee el Waby dashed across the street between lights until he reached cover under a burning bush. One more sprint and I’ll be on Bramble Lane he thought. The others worked their way through the thicket westward to Ginger Lane. All of them swore to keep the plan a secret. They were to move about only under cover of darkness. Their plan would drive Grumpa Joe nuts.

“That was a most productive meeting Ali,” said Sadr el Jac.

“It is the best plan we’ve ever put together. I can’t wait to begin. I’ll see you again under the moon.”

Meanwhile, Grumpa Joe discussed world affairs and gardening over a glass of wine with his friend Al.

“Where have all the Wabbits gone,” asked Grumpa Joe?

“What do you mean, I have plenty of Wabbits in my yard,” said Al.

It is almost June, and I did not see a single Wabbit in the yard. My tulips were beautiful, and the lily’s are strong and tall.”

“I’ll send you some of my bunnies if you wish,” said Al.

“Please don’t.”

“I wonder if the coyote has been roaming through the neighborhood,” said Joe.

“That is a strong possibility Joe, they howl behind my house every night, but I still have lots of wabbits. It is late, I have to get home.” Al backed his car out of Grumpa Joe’s driveway just as Siwee el Waby made his dash across the street. The car lights swung out over him as he ducked under the Burning Bush.

Whew, that was close, he almost saw me. We have to live undercover until it is time to execute the plan. We want Grumpa Joe to believe he has beaten us.

The Wabbit world was abuzz for the remainder of the summer. Young wabbits went to school everyday, and momma wabbits raised more young ones to join them. Parents were careful to teach the youngsters not to go out while in daylight for fear of spoiling the ruse to make Grumpa Joe believe the wabbits were gone from his yard.

Ali Bugbuny recruited Aga and Bushr Bambi to join the plan. The army of invaders grew everyday. New recruits came well trained too.

“It is agreed, we will meet you and the Wabbit army in the invasion of the garden known as the Monet Vision during the full moon of July.”

“Peggy, have you noticed the big gaping hole in the yellow petunia patch?”

“No I haven’t, where?”

“Look there, between the potted geranium and the Coral Bells.”

“Oh, those plants are regenerating,” she said.

“I hope you are right, but it does bear watching.”

Grumpa Joe put the Monet Vision under surveillance. He took note of where the flowers were missing.

“These look cut off to me,” he told Peggy as he watered one night.

“It’s your imagination,” she said.

“We’ll see about that,” Joe replied.

Grumpa Joe sat on the patio sprinkling the flowers after a day of intense heat when he spotted a movement. His gaze froze on the spot. The sun had gone down and only the grey light of dusk remained. He saw a movement at the far corner of the yard. Yep, it’s a Wabbit he thought. I’ll wait to see where he goes.

Aga Bambi sat almost motionless. Only his mouth and nose moved as he chewed on some fresh grass. He couldn’t wait until total darkness as the plan called for. He had to eat something.

Aga sprinted through the Monet Vision into the wetland to the safety of his hutch. Inside the mass of twisted brambles he came face to face with Ali, Sadr, and Yasir. They sat in the darkness waiting for him. Sadr hopped to the entrance and blocked it off, Yasir moved to Aga’s side. Aga faced Ali in the center of a triangle of Wabbits. His escape route blocked, he had no choice but to face the music.

Ali put his nose up against Aga’s and began a Drill Sargent’s tirade.

“You dumb long-ear clown you ruined the plan, what were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry Ali, I was hungry and those Petunias looked so good. Besides, wasn’t that the plan?”

“The plan was to do it in the dark not broad daylight. Did they look and taste good enough to break cover?”

“I was careful, no one saw me.”

“Watch this.” Ali popped a DVD into his command computer. “These were taken this afternoon you dummy.”

The four of them watched as Aga relished a dozen soft-yellow Petunia blossoms before he moved to the deep purple ones. Aga dropped his head and eyes in guilt. The video clearly showed him violating the order.

“As punishment for disobeying an order you are banished from the Cell.”

“Where am I going,” asked Aga?

“To the land of native wildflowers where you will no longer enjoy the juicy and tender fruit of home gardens. Take him away boys.”

Sadr grabbed him by the back of the neck, and Yasir by the fluffy tail. They dragged him off to Prairie Park.

“Okay Yasir, on the count of three.”

They swung him back and forth, and on three they let go of him.  Aga went sailing through the air and landed deep in the tall grass.

Ali sat by himself in Aga’s hutch thinking for a long time. His mind raced through counter measure possibilities. After what seemed like hours an idea came to him. He finally hopped out of the hutch into the darkness of the wetland with only the fireflies lighting the night sky.

“I have to gather the cell and discuss the new plan.”

Are You Registered to Vote?

Disenfranchised citizens throughout the New Or...

We are coming up on the most important election in the history of America. As citizens we have one weapon to use and make our voice heard, our vote. In order to vote one must be registered.  The process varies from state to state, but it is relatively simple. One important thing to remember is that there are deadlines in each state for when you can do it. If you begin now, you will make it in time. Do it.

A simple statistic cited by wallbuilders.com is 14% of Americans think they are registered to vote, but they are not! That is roughly 33 million people! That is amazing. Thirty-three million votes can certainly swing an election in either direction. Use the voter lookup tool below to make sure you are registered to vote.

Am I registered?

I am pledging to get one or more  people registered. I’m starting with members of my family. Will you take the challenge or will you abdicate to one of the many new organizations that ACORN split into?

I Need a Drink

Frankfort Tavern, aka “Gracie’s”

When I was a kid back in the nineteen fifties Mom often sent me to look for Dad. It was always on a Sunday afternoon. I knew exactly where to look for him. At the end of our block just a half-dozen houses away from home was a tavern. Dad enjoyed nursing a nickel draft while watching his White Sox play ball. Taverns were a big part of neighborhood life. In my book, Jun-e-or, Reflections of Life in the Nineteen Forties and Fifties I tell a few stories about taverns.

As I grew older, I began to notice that there were taverns in every town we traveled through. My Grandfather spent a lot of  time in a small country store tavern in Michigan. Taverns were places where people went to meet other people. The need for social contact is strong especially when you work in a field by yourself and never see a soul. In my Dad’s case his need to watch a baseball game drove him to seek out a TV. In that era, taverns were ground breakers and used a TV set to draw customers. It worked.

The other day, as I walked through Frankfort, I recalled those early days. I wondered what life was like in this tiny country town of German immigrants. How many taverns did they have? For certain, there was one. It is still in business and doing well. Currently called the Frankfort Tavern, it went by the name of Gracie’s for decades. Why? Because a woman named Gracie owned and operated the place. On the same street, there are three more taverns. All three are inside a place of business. The second oldest is the Frankfort Bowl. No self-respecting bowling alley would be without a bar. The other two are in modern restaurants.

Frankfort Bowl

The number of bars grows as one leaves the historic district. Three blocks North is the Stray Bar. It is only three years old. The adventurous owner started his business just as the bottom fell out of the economy. The bar is doing well, and is my favorite. Next door to the Stray is another restaurant bar. After that the closest is a mile away in either East, West, and Northerly directions.

When I moved to Frankfort, the population was about three thousand souls and the few bars in the historical district served our needs. Today, we are sixteen thousand strong and we need more bars to soothe our stressed souls.

Smokey Barq, aka Kansas Street Grill, aka Tavern on the Green

 

Francesca’s Fortunato, aka Bier Stube

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