Living Dead

Do nutty people know that they're loony?  Or do they believe that everybody else is woo-woo?  It's like that epidemic of Nigerians pawning themselves off through emails and letters as inheritors of tons of money from their dead father who was king or owner of gold and diamond mines, and they only need the help of some business-minded people who want to make millions of dollars.  Such business-minded people only have to send them a few thousand dollars to help them get the millions out of escrow.  And guess whom they target to be part of this scam?  Ye ol' gullible Americanos.

Or take, for example, the group in San Francisco that determined some years ago that those three-foot high cement blocks used to block off certain streets or some entrances to public places were not stone after all; that in truth, they were Gods -- and since then many people have been worshiping those stones.

Now we come to the end of the world -- again?  According to an interpretation of the ancient calendar of stoneage Mayan culture we all were to become dilapidated, used up, going into the Big Sleep on 12-21-12.  And guess what.

It happened!

People, we're all dead.  This is what Life after Death is about.  It's like that life we have in those dreams when we're asleep.  We have all the emotions as when we're awake:  love-hate, sorrow-happiness, anxiety-tranquility; we do all the things as when we're awake:  work-play, run-walk, protect-kill, sing, dance.  On 12-21-12 many expected some horrible, CALAMITOUS  BANG, ending our beautiful planet Earth.

Celebrate, people, we passed into the After Life with such peace and security that we're still ASLEEP and are in the After Life withou realizing it!  HALLELUJAH!  Stop bugging NASA  with those mundane questions.  Tell them that we're enjoying our NEW LIFE.  It's like being dead but still living.  M-M-M.

Opening Up

A tragedy is not an accident.  It is the result of a chain of events or factors.  A person, for example, determines to hide a mentally sick son or daughter or boyfriend or girlfriend from the public and doctors.

'This is my child, I love him.  I'm not alllowing anybody to take my child from me and put him in some hospital for the mentally ill or a house for crazy people.  All the poor thing needs is just for someone to love him, and can't anybody understand him and love him as I can because I'm his mother.  I brought him into the world.  He's mine.  I raised him and know him better'n any psychologist or psychiatrist.

'So what if he's just a little different from other kids -- and sometimes a little embarrassing for me -- I can just keep him out of the public's eye, keep him home.  I can teach him better'n some of these schools.  He'll grow out of some of these problems he seems to be having.

'Some people think that a woman can't teach a boy how to be a man, can't tell him about women the way a man can.  I'll show 'em.  It's not like a man trying to teach a girl to be a woman.  A man can't do that.  I'll teach him how to shoot a gun, like a man.

'Besides, there're these parents getting checks from the State for some child diagnosed as "disable" with mental problems, and if that child does anything wrong the courts hold the parents or guardians responsible.  I'm not getting involved in that . . . if people know he has a mental problem that'll just open him up to ridicule and make his condition worse.  I'm not opening my family up to all that . . . nobody says anything about all these nuts walking our streets and riding our buses everyday or on jobs and in our schools . . . .'

America's Fiendish "Friends"

He performed at a charity concert Sunday night, December 9, in Washington, D.C., capital of the United States.  In 2004 he, "Gangnam Style" rapper PSY, became famous for singing "Dear American," a song containing his words calling for American soldiers in Iraq to be killed.  "Kill their daughters, mothers, daughters-in-law, and fathers, kill them all slowly and painfully," he screamed angrily.

Now that tens of thousands of American soldiers lie in graves for having given their lives fighting to save South Korea from communism, and he's not starving as North Koreans; now that all the anti-American scum throughout the world have applauded him, making him famous and rich; now that he can be invited to perform in the United States -- by whom? -- and can add millions to his bankroll, he's suddenly saying that " . . . there are limits to what language is appropriate . . . ."  He didn't know this before calling for Americans to be killed?

He expresses that he is deeply sorry for how his lyrics could be interpreted in "Dear American."  How else could they be interpreted?  He blatantly, wildly bellowed for American soldiers, their mothers, their daughters, and fathers be killed slowly and painfully.  He informs us that he ". . . has learned through music, our universal language, we can all come together as a culture of humanity and I hope that you will accept my apology."  That observation about music being a universal language has been circulating in the music-world for years.  He didn't know about it before screaming for Americans to be killed?  And defiling people, then apologizing and asking to be forgiven is, today, a comon gimmick of hypocrisy.

Instead of Americans cheering him at that concert in our capital, they should have been praying that he and his supporters burn in Hell together!

"Veni Vidi Vici"

. . . he could hear their feet pounding hard and fast behind as he ran for his life on that open field.  He knew they'd show him no mercy, knew they'd be more angry than moments before when they had their chance to take him down, but his 6 foot, 200 pound athletic body was too strong and slippery for them and they felt humiliated by his speed, wanting revenge.

"Get him . . !  Get him . . !" he heard men and women screaming,  children echoing them.  He'd been running less than ten seconds from them, but he already knew they'd never catch him.  He began feeling triumphant, as if his body was beginning to smile.  That was when to the corner of his right eye, coming like a bullet across the field, sprang this image of a man.  And he knew instantly that he couldn' outdistance him, the man was coming too hard and fast, would cut him off.  He'd have to try a sudden slow-'n'-go on the man.  He timed it, did the quick cut of speed, then accelerated, and he and that man made that historic crash.

It was 1946, the Army-Notre Dame "game of the century."  "Doc" Blanchard was at top speed, guaranteed to score a touchdown for Army, when Johnny Lujack, also at top speed, sacrificed his body, slamming head-first into "Doc" Blanchard, electrifying over 75,000 spectators packed into Yankee Stadium and thousands across the country listening to that tackle by radio.

Johnny Lujack, an All-American quarterback after playing offense and defense -- passing for touchdowns, running for touchdowns, punting, kicking fieldgoals, tackling -- for Notre Dame was already "Mr. Football," taking Notre Dame to National Championships in 1946 and 1947.  But when he tackled "Doc" Blanchard in that 1946 championship game -- which ended with neither team scoring -- he was en route to winning the Heisman Trophy and becoming the legend he is today in 2012.

Notre Dame is up again.  January 7, 2013, it'll be Notre Dame against "Roll, 'Bama" . . . gonna be rough, rough, rough for the "Fighting Irish," but "Go, Notre Dame!  Give it a 'Veni Vidi Vici' like Johnny Lujack!

Please Close The Door

"Black" Nativity.  "Black" what?  Who left the door open?
To the Jews one says, "Happy Hanukkah!"  Who knows what one says to the Chinese, Japanese, and Indians, one never hears any cultural greeting of cheer at this time of year in their language.  Maybe they brush it off.

To the Caucasians one says, "Merry Christmas!" (The Nativity being of their culture).  To the Afrikan Americans one says, "Happy Kwanzaa!" (A cultural greeting that encompasses the needs and  identity of the Afrikan Americans).

Now who are these "Black" Nativity people?  Still carbon copies, left-overs untouched by the black cultural movement of the '60s?  The Nativity is of, for, and by Caucasians satisfying a need in the pursuit of happiness in their continuing history.  Granted, we all seek happiness, and there are values and principles in the Christmas saga that are universal.  For the moment, we leave aside the religious context -- out of which flowed those melodius songs of Christmas carols nailed by Bing Crosby, Perry Como, Nat "king" Cole, Billy Eckstein, and numerous others that thrill us with cheer, love, and joy to be alive with others.  That screaming and hollering of these carols by some carbon copies -- as if being stuck by red-hot pokers -- makes one want to bellow, "Please shut the hell up!"

If you agree with this post, share it with a friend.  Help close the door before carbon copies begin calling themselves "black" Anglos.

Who Elected Obama President?

"Us, our group, we did it -- without our votes he wouldn' be --"
"Hold on, wait a cotton-picking minute, think of what you're saying --"
"We know what we're saying -- everybody knows  it and is saying it --"
"But what about the other groups that voted --"
"Our votes put him over the top --"
"Without the hundreds of thousands of votes from other groups, what would your votes have been worth?"
"We're not talking 'what if,' we're talking 'what was reality,' 'what is reality'--"
"Okay, then what if someone from your group becomes a candidate for President, you gonna vote for him?"
"Of course. He's one of us, he knows what we want, he --"
"But what if people from other groups don't vote for him, you think just your votes can elect him?"
"Well, uh, we -- see, there you go with that 'what if ' stuff again . . ."
"No, I'm talking about someone being a President of all Americans, not just President of this group or that group."
"I still say he owes us for out votes -- and he has to give us what we want or we're gonna make his Party an 'offer they can't refuse' . . ."
"Oh, so you're gonna hijack millions of Americans through their political party?  You don't vote for a man or woman because he or she is good for our country, you vote for him or her because he or she is good for your group."

Jus' Noise

"But how did you get all those scars on your forehead, your nose and your cheeks?"
"It's a wonder we ain't all dead."
"You can't control yourselves?"
"You identify with those Afrikans who got free rides as slaves on boats to the Americas?"
"Of course."
"Then you know that back in the bush-country we wuz taught to always make lots of noise 'cause if you suddenly turned and somebody was standing next to you and you hadn't heard 'em come up, they could be an evil spirit that had slipped up on you."
"So . . ?"
"For example, when I first got to the United States, I was always going to a hospital."
"You got some disease?"
"I jus' ain't used to people not making a lot of noise -- and other people don' make a lot of unnecessary noise like we do.  We jus' open our mouth and anythang might come out."
"Like that screaming crap they call music that they play at fast-food places?  Makes you wanna shout, 'Go off some place and die with your whining for love!'"
"I was looking up at this tall building and out of the corner of my eye I saw this guy standing beside me and looking at me as if wondering what I was looking at.  I hadn't heard him come up and I jumped through a store-front window, woke up in a hospital.  It's scary, can make you walk around with strange expressions on your face."
"So that's why so many of our people walk around looking puzzled, lost, or angry?"
"Not always . . . some peoples is jus' ugly."
"And wanting everybody to hear them talking loud over those cell-pnones."
"Jus' noise."
"Like Muslim terrorists screaming, 'Kill all Americans and Jews!' while calling themselves righteous people?"
"Jus' noise."

The Quiet Eye

That night in bed he knew of death.  It came as does a dream.  Stood him at a kitchen sink in an old gray two-room house.  An intense darkness filled the house and the streets and other houses.  He could not see any part of his body, as if only his mind were there in that blackness.  Dangerous, even being in a house in this total darkness, he thought.

He heard the door to the living room behind him creak, as if it opened an inch or two.  He tensed, holding his breath, wanted to look behind him, but was afraid of what might be there in the darkness.  The door creaked again, as if opening another inch or two.  He couldn' just stand there and allow something or somebody to grab him.  He jerked around, seeing half of his face with its eye staring at him from behind the door.  Startled and scared and at the same time he fell to the floor on his hands and knees.  How could he see such a sight or anything in that total darkness?  Why was half his face staring around the door at him?  Didn' he already know that he had eyes, arms, legs?  He used them constantly, day and night.  Never thought about them unless they hurt or something . . . THANKSGIVING!

Goofit

"You've been talking this crap for the ten years we've been in this prison . . ."
"But it's true, I'm here 'cause of what these racists done to me and my ancestors --"
"And you had nothing to do with acquiring that gun that you robbed that poor old woman with, then pulled the trigger on her, killing her, because she didn' have but three dollars and some change?"
"I had no power over that.  It was planned far back in time to happen."
"Well, what about your ancestors who sold their own people into slavery, that was planned far back in time?"
"Now wait, you need understanding.  You see, I identify with those who got off those slave boats and not with anybody else, especially those who sold us -- you see . . ."
"What about Hitler and Stalin and Mussolini and Tojo and Big Daddy Amin and all those ignorant dictators in Asia, Afrika, and Latin America down through the centuries, they couldn' help being corrupt and evil?  And what about all these Muslim terrorists screaming 'Kill the Americans and the Jews?' "
" . . . Well, uh, like I said, you need understanding . . ."
"And you're gonna tell the parole board that they need understanding?"
"Sho'nuff -- it's the truth."
"And if they deny you again?"
"It's 'cause they wrong, they's unjust . . ."
"You ever been to Goofit?"
"Naw.  Where is it?"
"Your next stop, the nut house."

MALALA

Shades of the american woman cometh to mind.  Not until twenty years into the 20th century did she win the battle to vote.  She won it after years of risking her life -- as a human and an American citizen -- protesting against being denied equal rights with male citizens.  She won it after years of being beaten bloody and stoned in her protest marches, some being burned alive in buildings set afire where she dared raise her voice not only against her mistreatment but against the institution of slavery and other injustices in society.  She won it while those "holier-than-thou" prayed against her on waking each day, prayed against her at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and prayed against her before crawling into bed at night.

Will those "holier-than-thou" enemies of Malala admit to the evil of their persecution of women or will they go on being the scum representing the ignorance of the Dark Ages by savagely cutting off women's noses, lashing women with whips, and burying them up to their necks and stoning them to death and shooting them in the head -- as they did the innocent 14-year-old Malala -- for wanting the right to be educated in the 21st century?

When Smiles Mean . . .

They had trained, practiced, and each felt prepared to send the other into a horizontal position.  They were on stage now, the center of attention.  They walk confidently to each other -- the usual four ropes marking the boundary of combat are absent in this battle.  They extend their hands -- without gloves.  They're wearing suits and ties, and they're smiling -- smiling?  When have we seen a fighter smiling as he tries to dominate his opponent with an unblinking, freezing stare?  The referee is there to assure that the fighters fight by the rules.  He or she is seated at a desk -- seated at a desk?  A referee?

Even as a crushing punch -- straight to the jaw or an unhinging blow is unleashed to the solar plexus the giver and the receiver smile -- smile?  The spectators react happily or sadly for their respective contender.  It's as if by some kinetic mix-up the impact of the blows have swerved from the giver and the receiver to the spectators.  But that's only when smiles mean mean smiles.

They'er Here

Lines of men, women, and children circled city blocks in the largest cities in European and American countries.  Frowns of awe were on their faces as they looked at her wherever they displayed her body.  "But she was in the prime of life, so lovely -- how could she just die?" was the gist of one view of death.

Now some people -- once thought to be dead -- are known by many to be thousands of years old.  And mentioning what these people are still doing  will be more proof of their age than meeting them.  We see one each time we breath or look in a mirror or think of a relative.

In the Americas, Columbus made us possible; Presidents Washingtion and Lincoln, and those who wrote the Constitution of the United States kept us -- and keep us -- going.  Thanks, guys.

Obama Et Al

The first speaker said:  "I exist . . ."
The second speaker said:  "You don't exist.  Nothing exists . . . it's all in your mind."
Another said:  "To say that 'nothing' exists is a contradiction."
The first speaker said:  "I am because I can say that I am."
The second speaker said:  "But the seconds it took you to say 'I am', you were changing, becoming seconds older, and how can you 'be' if you're constantly changing, always 'becoming' something else?  It's all in your mind.  There's no such thing as 'matter'."
Eventually a compromise was reached with:  "No matter, never mind."

Then the one classified as "Another" said:  "Then how can people say, 'I support this or that candidate, but in an instant say, 'I don't like what he said; I don't like how he came across in the speech or talk or debate.  I'm voting for the other candidate."

Then a voice seemingly out of no where thundered:  "LOOK -- REALLY LOOK! -- AT A HUMAN.  IT IS A PILE OF FLESH, BLOOD, AND BONES, FRAGIL, FICKLE, EGOTISTICAL, WHIMSICAL, AND AS MORTAL AS ANY OTHER SUBSTANCE OR MATTER.  HALLELUJAH AND GOOD LUCK!

Lacking

For lack of an honest voice in their communities, they weren't told the truth about themselves; for lack of the truth about themselves they lacked a legitimate culture; for lack of a legitimate culture, their race disappeared.

She had three different emotions going at the same time.  The first emotion had been with her from the time her mother called her hair "nappy" or "bad hair" and started straightening it, and gave her a doll with blond hair.  Every day she combed, brushed, and caressed the doll's blond hair, and at night she slept with the doll in her arms.

The second emotion had come when she began feeling insecure about herself for not having blond hair, and she began looking with envy and anger at women with blond hair.  The third emotion came when a white man was smart enough to exploit that inferiority complex she had by introducing her to some chemicals to dye her hair blond.

"Lawdy, Jesus -- thank you, Jesus!  I been praying for this day all my life -- thank you, Jesus . . !"
"Just be calm," the man told her, "you'll get used to it."  And he thought:  Although with that blond hair, you don't look like a white woman.  You look more like a clown.
"The Bible say that a woman's hair is her glory -- and I done finally got me some glory -- thank you, Lawd Jesus!"

Ignorance Hates Intelligence

Thousands of "holy" men -- women not allowed -- rampaged through the streets.  One man screamed at another, "Grab something . . !"
"What . . ?"
"Rocks, bottles, sticks, bricks, anything -- this is 'Throw Day!  We standing up for our rights -- we ain't got nothing, the Americans got everything, money, big cars, big factories, schools -- even their women go to school, drive cars and buses, and vote and hold political offices!  Unthinkable!  The Americans have nuclear power, big guns -- throw something, anything, burn their flag -- kill 'em, they got everything, we ain't got nothing.  They've always had everything.  We ain't never had nothing -- kill 'em, it's their fault that we ain't go nothing, let's burn down something --"
"But we ain't got nothing . . ."
"Let's burn down something of theirs -- they think they're so intelligent and that we're so ignorant, we'll show 'em how we worship our God, show 'em our holiness -- riot, burn, loot, kill all those who don't worship our God --"
"Just like our brothers in the countries around us -- holy God! this is exciting.  I don't want rocks, I want guns.  Can we get some money from the Americans to buy guns to kill the Jews?"
"They won't give us money to do that."
"Tell 'em -- swear to 'em -- that we want democracy."

Ignorant Animal Mobs

"When the loot'n starts, the shoot'n starts," stated the sheriff in a Florida city during rioting by animals -- and we're all animals -- there in the '60s.  Now, animals are burning buildings -- what can a building do to you -- snarling and growling as usual, and murdering Americans trying to help them in the Middle East.

Reminds us that just because animals wear clothes, that doesn't mean that they're civilized.  We now have dogs walking around in shoes, britches, dresses, and hats.  Next, it'll be chickens --"

"Hold on, wait -- chickens aren't animals, they're fowls --"
"But don't they have a head, brains, a body, thighs, legs, and feet?"
"Of course . . ."
"In fact, they're already wearing garments (feathers) that cover them from head to foot, showing no flesh except their eyes and sometimes their feet.  And when we look at them, we wonder, "What kind of pitiful fool is this."
"You sound as if you're talking about some specific people . . ."
"I'm talking about chickens."

WAT'LL HEE DOO

If Wat'll Hee Doo doesn't make any sense, perhaps it's because something is missing from it.  The complete expressing is Wat'll Hee Doo - Wat'll Hee Daa - Wat'll Hee Doo Daa Waa.  Now that should be perfectly clear to anyone whose brain has been put in backwards.  The expression came about during a heated discussion in a town-hall meeting between the United Wee-Wees.  They had gathered to elect a president for their country, Wee-Wee Landia.

One contingent argued that "electing a president" should be changed -- considering the millions spent by the presidential candidates -- to "buying a president."  The faction opposing that change bellowed that a non-politician, a "new blood" was needed to govern the country.

"My fellow Wee-Wees," the chairman interjected, "the spirit in me calls for a compromise.  We need to unite around a candidate who has no money -- and doesn't know how to get any -- and will allow us  to write his platform.  He must be a political KNOW-NOTHING.  Do we have a candidate present?"

One lowly Wee-Wee stood up.  His old brown suit was filthy and tattered and several sizes too large for his short, skinny, drip-dry frame and his deeply gray mountainous hair was desheveled, and he looked as if he hadn't bathed in a decade.  "My name is Wat'll Hee Doo and I'm a political KNOW-NOTHING."

"My fellow Wee-Wees, get ready to rule the world," the chairman said.  "Mr. Wat'll Hee Doo is now a Wee-Wee candidate and the spirit tells me that his platform should be THE WAT'LL HEE DOO-WAT'LL HEE DAA-WAT'LL HEE DOO DAA WAA PLAN.  Now if thousands of people supported a candidate who wanted to govern our country with a plan based on some 9s, they will surely vote for a Wee-Wee."

Biscuita and Gravy

She and he sat eating lunch, biscuits and gravy, at the table in the small kitchen of their studio apartment.  She read the newspaper as she ate.  She looked up.  "My God," she said, "this mother and father murdered their sixteen-year-old daughter . . !"
"Some people are garbage," he said.
". . . they wanted her to marry some rich guy, but she wouldn't because she was in love with some poor guy . . . they said they killed her for family honor."
"Those people with that family 'honor' buisness are like primitives who've accidently blundered into the 21st century -- the civilized world -- from the Stone Age."
"We need to do some demonstrations against them," she said.
"Have to take off from work for that," he mumbled.  "Less gravy."
"And the price of flour is going up," she said.  "Less biscuits -- and gas is going up another nickel . . ."
"Less gravy means less marriage, less flour, less biscuits, less gas -- gravy affects everything . . ."
" 'Gravy affects every --' what kinda gravy you talking about?"

Clubs, Machetes, and Spears

Watching the long, low spread of color becoming crimson just above the distant tree tops and hold back the night as they sat in the porch-swing that evening in the small southern town, the grandmother asked her grandson, "Whata you wanna be when you grow up?"
"A policeman," he said.
"A policeman has to think fast.  Can  you think fast?"
"Sho'," the boy said.
"How old are you now?"
"Nine."
"Ever been in any fights?"
"Sho' -- but I whupped 'em."
"Okay, let's say you a policeman and you and some mo' police are facing a lot of men who're armed with bricks, clubs, machetes, and spears -- and maybe some guns you can't see.  And these men are looking wild-eyed and crazy, screaming and hollering and jumping all around threatening y'all like a bunch of illiterate primitives -- what do you do?"
"I'd shoot 'em."
"But millions of people all over the world will cry crocodile tears and accuse you and the other policemen of shooting innocent, unarmed men."
"But they was armed and --"
"And the people will say that those men were poor and helpless and had come to protest in peace . . ."
"Then why did they come with them clubs, and machetes and spears, grandma?"

Profiling Police

Ughmo and Igmo were big men, muscular, with shaved heads.  And they wore their britches questionably lower than their butts.  Ughmo was saying, "Yeah, well people say, 'Why y'all against the police'?"
"Yeah, and they say, 'Y'all don't want black people talking to the police,' " Igmo pointed out.
"Yeah," Ughmo continued, "and they say, 'Then when y'all get robbed or stabbed or shot --' "
"Which is quite regular," Igmo interrupted.  "They then say, 'Then y'all holler for the police --' "
"And they say," Ughmo interrupted.  " 'Then, y'all on all the TV stations belly-aching that the police don't get there fast enough because y'all blacks . . .' "
"And, Ughmo, they say we always resisting arrest . . ."
"Jes lak we s'pose to stand there when a police is coming to us wit a gun and a club on and let him peacefully arrest us -- 'specially after we only done a lil' sump'um wrong --"
"But, Ughmo you 'fessin' that sometime we might do a lil' sump'um wrong?"
"Naw, um jes saying that we might sometime do a lil' sump'um not altogether right -- let's say a lil' sump'um unsociable."
"Then, put'n it that way shows jes how fair-minded wit the truth we is as a people --"
"Now you git'n to the grits in it, Amo -- I almost called you Amos."
"Well, Ughmo, I have to admit we was beginning to sound a lil' lak that Amos 'n Andy Show."
" 'Cept we speak mo' better English than them."
"And, Ughmo, if the police as' us to pull our britches up we s'pose to keep on hollering --"
"Police brutality!"

Brother Bubba

"Let's go," Bubba said"
"Where?"
"Downtown," he said.
"For what?"
"So white folks will notice us."
"What . . !  How we gonna steal sump'um if we want people looking at us . . ?"
"They try to pretend we don't exist -- that's why I wear my britches low, showing my behind --"
"You profiling yourself, Bubba."
"But that'll show'em um hin'r . . ."
"That's like business people retailing a product, like going in a fast-food place and they playing that music of some brother or sister screaming and whining for somebody to love 'em -- I have to get the hell outta there quick, fast, and in a hurry.  You wanna be like that music?"
"Whatever um is, um is what um is."
"No wonder other people are noted for their business community, their unique language, food, and customs; we wanna be noticed for how we wear our britches, profiling ourselves."

Departmentalism Or Schizolaw?

"Now let me get this straight," he said.  He and the lawyer stood in front of the courthouse.  "If he talked about how he hated black or white or red or yellow or brown people and went out and off'd one, he can't be charged as a racist?"
"Not in criminal court -- that's for criminal cases."
"But ain't  he a racist --"
"If he's charged as a racist he has to stand trial in a civil-rights court --"
" -- and ain't he the same person no matter what court he's tried in?"
"In a sense, yes, but the law is specific, you have to be tried in a civil-rights court if you're charged with a racist killing.  You see, you violated his civil rights when you killed him --"
"But ain't dead dead?  You violated all somebody's rights -- civil and uncivil -- when you killed 'em -- you can't be a lil' dead, you dead or you ain't dead."
"That's true, but we have to be organized, be specific in a democracy -- it's called departmentalism --"
"m-m-m . . ."
"What do you mean 'm-m-m'?"
"I mean I'm gonna start carrying a piece and if one'er these criminal cases comes toward me out here I'm gonna hold civil-rights court right here in the street.  It's called The Ol' Wild West."

Candidate Romney Said . . .

" . . . culture makes all the differnce. . . ." Bravo for him and shame on Palestinian leaders immediatly whimpering, " . . . It's a racist statement. . . ."  Oh, really?  Now we know why Palestinians aren't using their brains to live in peace with Israel and create jobs and a higher standard of living for themselves; it has nothing to do with stagnating in a cultural rut that keeps them too busy trying to figure out how to throw rocks and shoot rockets into Israel to kill Jews whose culture promotes education, building, creating jobs, and progress.  'How dare anyone imply that Palestinian culture isn't perfect!'

Now we know why carbon-copies have been sitting in classrooms with Caucasians for decades but always remain less educated than Caucasians; don't create any jobs, don't do any building, and consider themselves to be progressing by dying their hair blonde -- and looking like clowns; being perennially less educated than Caucasians has nothing to do with stagnating in a worthless rut called black culture that keeps so-called black leaders hustling "racism."  'How dare anyone imply that our black culture ain't perfect!'

Now we know why millions of Mexicans keep fleeing Mexico to get to the United States for jobs; it has nothing to do with a culture that can't create jobs for them in Mexico; it's because of "racism" against them there.  'How dare anyone imply that our Mexican culture isn't perfect!'

Wonder if the cultures in Haiti, Jamaica, Somalia -- and the rest of Afrika and Asia -- producing tons of refugees for the United States and Europe to house, feed, clothe, and cure of diseases -- are perfect or do some of their customs in the 21st century still remind us of the Dark Ages?  With new information constantly coming to us on all subjects, politics, economics, religion, morality, immorality, etc. shouldn't all cultures be continually updated?

Olympic Tragedy In London

Millions around the world sat comfortably in their homes or clubs or bars and watched it happen.  Thousands at the stadium stood cheering, smiling, and shaking their fists with the joy of triumph as healthy young athletes marched in full of life and joy and hope. 

There had been whispers -- even warnings -- that it would happen.

Mothers and fathers so proud of their sons and daughters, and boyfriends and girlfriends of their sweethearts, marching by joyfully in the dazzling uniforms of their country.  Then the unthinkable occurred.  One's mind was deluged with it.  It reminded one of World War II when Jews were being murdered by those evil dogs Hitler and his Nazis; yet, there were so-called civilized, religious people who would not allow ships filled with Jews -- trying to escape that Holocaust-Hell -- to dock at their ports.

At the Olympics in London, once again "civilized," religious people would not allow one minute of silence to show respect and honor for the Jewish athletes who were cold-bloodily murdered before the entire world by evil Muslim terrorists at the Olympics in Munich in 1972.

Hopefully, the joy of the hypocrites, cowardly, crummy, creeps of the IOC, for Peace and Love and Brotherhood and Sisterhood watching the Olympics in London has been forever tainted.  Let History Record It.

Betwixt Between

"Tafadhali, repeat ony in whispers."

"Why are blacks Christians or Muslims? --the people who enslaved them and tried to dehumanize them?" the white man asked the black man sitting next to him at the bar.  They were both drinking beer.
"I don't know any blacks who are Christians or Muslims," the black man said.
"They're all over the place, screwing up their faces and singing gospels or kneeling on prayer rugs."
"I consider Christianity to be a religion of Europeans -- whites -- it's totally white-oriented."
"And Islam?"
"It's an Arab religion. Muslims take Arab identities.  Arabs don't identify as blacks.  But let me ask you a couple of questions.  Did blacks ever enslave blacks or sell blacks to Muslims and Christians?"
"Today, in parts of Afrika, they're still selling each other to Arab Muslims."
"Why?"
"Why?  For money."
"No.  They do it because their culture makes them stronger than those they capture and sell."
"I can't argue with that.  Next question."
"What's your religion -- Christianity or Islam?"
"I wouldn't be a Christian or Muslim on my death bed -- they've been slaughtering each other for centuries."
"And what would you replace Christianity or Islam with in those billions of Christians and Muslims to help them hold their savagery somewhat in check?"
"Well, uh . . . m-m-m . . . uh . . . I see what you mean."

Culture Snack

"Tafadhali, repeat only in whispers."

One speaks of his/her "culture," points to what it has achieved in education.  Are its people on the list of the most highly educated or -- in the 21st century -- trailing the most highly educated?  Are its people noted for winning Nobel Prizes in medicine, in science, in technology or any field that requires the use of the brain or does the culture emphasize running and jumping?

And if a person heard a basketball being bounced on a sidewalk at midnight or on a city bus or in a restaurant or in a public bathroom would that person automatically assume that someone from a particular "culture" was bouncing that basketball?

Has any literature or music created by the writers and musicians of that "culture" equaled the great literature and great music of men and women of other cultures?  Are the people of that "culture" depending on food, clothing, shelter, and jobs from people of other cultures because their "culture" has not produced any grocery stores and restaurants, building materials or businesses?

Are the people of that "culture" so intellectually meek that they can't tolerate self-criticism, and -- because of this -- are destined to not improve but to disappear?

Cultures do not come from some voice in the clouds; they're created by men and women.  If the "culture" of a particular group isn't producing the needs of its people, then those people's "leaders" are at fault.

Strangling

He sat in the cornerof the room and saw the man, but could not explain it; it was only a sensation.  The man painted the ceiling and walls of the room black.  The man then bent down and began painting the floor of the room black.

From the corner, he saw that, too, but did not know that he saw, and could not say that he saw; knowing and explaining were beyond him.

Eventually, the man had painted the entire room black, except for the small space where the blackness cornered them.  They had no room to move without seeing or stepping in the black stuff.  The kid was three months old and did not know what he did not know.

Only some years later when his father told him of that experience -- to later pass it on one day to his kid -- did he realize that he had rolled and lolled the first years of his life in all that so-called blackness -- as if other colors did not exist.

YOoooh, BUBBA-CULTURE

"That doesn't bother you?" "What?" he asked, bouncing a basketball on the crowded sidewalk downtown, waiting for the traffic light to change. "Being surrounded by millions of people speaking a language that you don't understand?" "Long as I don't know what they saying, it don't bother me." "They might be standing next to you and talking about taking your head off." For a moment he looked a little dumber, as if he didn't know what to say. Then, still bouncing the basketball, he mumbled: "It ain't in my black culture -- English is my language." Maybe if some Spanish were written on a basketball he could bounce some of it into his brain. Yeah, what brain. English was his language . . . millions of CARBON-COPIES said that out of their slavepen mentalities. Could never have entered their meek mind -- whether they call English, Spanish, French, or Portuguese "their" language -- that they were living their one life on this magnetic ball revolving in space as cheap imitations of the English, Spanish, French, or Portuguese, and parroting, "We's all equal." Can't conceive of speaking an Afrikan language in their so-called "black culture." Just as they came out of the slavepens is how they've remained, stagnating in culture-ritis. Still the white man's burden after over a hundred years.

Minorities Contradic'

In the comin' of the minorities, intentionally or jes "open sesame" to mother nature, "None Flew Over The Coo-Coo Mess" or "It Was Nice Knowing You U.S.A.", is forecast for America's future. But both prognostications evidence a glaring contradiction that we look at and talk to day and night. From the moment the Spaniards set foot in the countries we now call Latin America some Indians there started harping "Adios, Indian identity, bienvenido whitening process." When the English brought Afrikan slaves into what is now the U.S.A. some slaves looked at the slavemasters' hair and skin and declared, "Us hab to change, git gud hair, git lookin' purty," resulting in red-hot iron combs and chemicals to straighten the hair of blacks throughout the world and tint it blond or hide it under white women's wigs, and bleaching creams to whiten their skin. Many "black" (carbon-copy)entertainers were -- and are -- famous for the transformation. It's as if these minorities have "hoof and mouth disease." Their mouths are yapping about their power as the new majority while their brains and feet are hoofing it to disappear in whiteness.

Impoot'n Racism

Impoot'n racism only to whites has been a methodical, merciless exercise for centuries. Now some smart alecky rascal has impooted a lil' racism to all of us. He has intimated that if a person is a part of a family that has two people of diferent races in a relationship that person can not be a racist because has a mixed-race background. Take Hispanics, for example. Hispanics identify with Spaniards, and Spaniards are of the Caucasian race, white. But when have we heard "white" Spaniard as we hear "white" Hispanic? Obviously, when we hear "white" Hispanic we note that certain Hispanics are being distinguished from Hispanics of other colors. So with what race are these Hispanics of other colors being identified? When we prefer the identity of one race over any other race we have impooted a lilbitty racism to ourself, which is a way of discriminating, and discriminating is only being civilized, otherwise we'd as soon associate with one whom we impoot to defecating in the street as to one who used a bathroom.