Tom Knapp @ the Knappster, protests our parasitical prince’s hypocrisy. However, Tom would have done well to make a less egalitarian assessment of Barack’s burden on his “company’s 300 million ‘investors.'” Most Americans are tax consumers. The few taxpayers will be forking-out for The Man:
“I watched the president’s speech last night. … He got in a good zinger about those CEOs and their private jets. For some reason, he decided to hold off on announcing that he’ll be giving up his personal jet — you know, the one he used last week when he flew all the way to Denver to sign a bill he could just as easily have signed on the top of Teddy Roosevelt’s old desk in the Oval Office.”
“Make no mistake here: Barack Obama is a CEO, just like the ones he’s chewing out.”
“Among the perks he gets as CEO of the US government — perks he’s evinced no intention of giving up to set the example for those he’s scolding — are a $400k annual salary, free residence in a palatial home (complete with groundskeepers, cooks, doormen, etc.), a 24/7 personal security detail, transportation to wherever he desires via limousine, helicopter or personal jet, and a “golden parachute,” which includes a pension of nearly $200k per year for life, continuation of that security detail (and the costs of any accommodations required for it to fit into his lifestyle), and his own library.”
“What do we get for the millions of dollars we annually lavish on our golden boy CEO? A definition of ‘fiscal responsibility’ that comes to a $1,600+ annual loss for each and every one of his company’s 300 million ‘investors.’ This, from the guy who assures us that he’s the one who can ‘fix’ the economy. Jee. Zuz.”
I suspect wily parties may be scamming private charities on a regular basis. I don’t have proof beyond what I observed on the one occasion. And I don’t know to what degree generalizations beyond this occasion are warranted.
In any event, what we saw turned us off donating food to our local food bank, which promises to supplement local, elderly pensioners. The latter, no doubt, will be hurt by our decision—but primarily by those who capitalize on the generosity of Americans.
We bought a boatload of non-perishable food for said food bank. Driving by to drop the stuff off, we observed a number of Hispanics (I’ll go out on a limb and venture that they are here illegally) waiting in line. I would gladly send a charitable donation to Mexico, if they returned there. As it is, they drain local medical, educational, and law enforcement services, for which I already pay.
I’m not forking over twice.
At this point, open-border libertarians will chime in with their gold standard non sequitur for belittling the burden of illegal immigration on the American taxpayer. Living at the public’s expense, they will allow, does indeed violate the rights of taxpayers. But why single out non-nationals? Is it any less of a violation of the taxpayer’s rights for native-born individuals to suck at the public teat?
To quote, “From the fact that you oppose taxpayer-funded welfare for nationals, it doesn’t follow that extending it to millions of unviable non-nationals is financially or morally negligible. (Or that it comports with the libertarian aim of curtailing government growth.) The argument is like declaring that because a bank has been robbed by one band of bandits, arresting the next is unnecessary because the damage has already been done.”
Back to the food bank queue. Another interesting specter was a worthy Asian gentleman, reasonably well-dressed, ample empty and sturdy bags in hand, who parked his relatively new vehicle, and entered the establishment to collect what I was about to drop off.
Again: No thanks.
We’d like to have a greater amount of control over our donations. So we’ve decided to bypass the iffy middle men and give the food stuff to an American family we know. They need it, will be glad to accept it, and won’t begrudge us for being the “oppressors” we are.
The plenary power of pardon granted to the president is extremely broad.
But so far no word about the possible pardon by Bush of incarcerated Border-Patrol agents, Ignacio Ramos and Jose Compean.
The president had set a precedent in the case of Ramos and Compean. For defending their country, and in the process shooting a drug smuggler in the derriere, Bush sicced his bloodhound, U.S. Attorney Johnny Sutton, on these Border Patrol Agents who, absent a pardon, will remain locked up for over a decade.
Although Bush has yet to pardon Scooter Libby, you’ll recall that he commuted his sentence. Bush had spared his fall guy, Lewis Libby, but locked up these patriotic, heroic agents—Ramos and Compean—ostensibly throwing away the key. No remorse expressed from the Creep-in-Chief in their unjust conviction.
I’ve said it before: Bush would wrestle a crocodile for a criminal alien. Soon into his presidency, I also pronounced George W. Bush bad to the bone.
As have I defended evangelical leader Pat Robertson in the past. But he’s clearly just a cog in the well-oiled, oleaginous, Republican Party machine. Robertson was interviewed today by CNN’s Suzanne Malveaux, who asked him about the pardons.
Robertson put his moral might behind making the case for a Scooter-Libby pardon. Now, as I’ve written, “the ‘crime’ for which Libby was convicted was also the crime for which Martha Stewart went to jail: lying to the FBI. Not for leaking the identity of former (so-called) classified CIA operative Valerie Plame. Richard Armitage did that.”
This was yet another abuse of power by crooked outlaw, US Attorney Patrick Fitzgerald.
However, given his role in taking us to war, there was some poetic justice in the conviction of Libby (not that I support such justice).
There was no justice—poetic, or other—in the conviction of Ignacio Ramos and Jose Compean.
I’m not even going to bother being legally correct and prefacing this with an “allegedly.” (Okay, I will, if I must.)
Coldplay, a crappy band of unmerry noisemakers, about whom I wrote the definitive piece, “Coldplay’s Contrapuntal Incompetence,” has allegedly ripped off Joe Satriani’s instrumental, “If I Could Fly.” (He sure soars musically.)
Although these knaves claim Frida Kahlo inspired “Viva La Vida,” it’s abundantly clear that coldcrap’s muse came not from the Marxist, Mexican artist, but, allegedly, from a good old American boy’s brilliance.
Listen (and resume reading after the clip):
This is an outrage I feel with every fiber, etc., etc. As when one reader wrote in to say a big-name radio talker was practically reading one of my WND columns on the air, claiming the words (chords) and ideas (chord progression) as his own.
As I once wrote, “The marketplace doesn’t adjudicate the quality of art or pop culture—it does no more than offer an aggregate snapshot of the trillions of subjective preferences enacted by consumers. Aguilera (Christina) probably sells more than Ashkenazy (Vladimir) ever did. Britney outdoes Borodin. For some, this will be faith-inspiring, for others deeply distressing.” (February 7, 2003)
Mediocre minds need to feed on their less-known betters. More often than not, the former have managed to climb to the top by catering to vulgar, popular tastes. (For example: The taste for blood Boobus developed facilitated not only the Iraq invasion, but careers for many a war harpy.)
They can steal with impunity from their betters, who’ll never attain the power to be able to sue.
But now the parasite has enraged the host.
Satriani’s law suit is gratifying, although I don’t expect Coldplay to lose face. They’ll be graced, rather than disgraced–much like Paris Hilton after copulating in public.
For fans of good, neoclassical, instrumental rock, I’ll ask the spouse, a formidable composer and instrumentalist himself, to say a word or two about Satriani. He agrees, though, that I’ve covered Coldplay quite adequately.
“Coldplay plays only one or two chords. When they get going, the band musters three. It’s the equivalent of ‘Baa, Baa, Black Sheep,’ maybe ‘Three Blind Mice,’ although these nursery rhymes reveal better melodic progression. Indeed, some harmony might have helped Coldplay’s caterwauling, but consonance, like counterpoint, is nowhere apparent in their ‘music.'”
“The front man also fancies himself a keyboardist. He doubles over the instrument with immense concentration, leading the listener to expect some virtuosity. The sounds that escape from beneath stiff digits are as tortured as a toddler’s hammering away on a play-play piano.”
“Slackers like Coldplay deserve cold contempt. Colorlessly they drone on, sustaining one or two pitches and exhibiting zero proficiency on any of the instruments they belabor. The bassist picks notes in a pedestrian fashion and the guitarist strums simplistically, producing a cacophony with almost no melodic momentum or variation. At the guitarist’s feet lie 10 to 15 effects pedals. But a slight echo in the monotone is the only evidence that he makes use of these sonic supports.”
“The singer openly boasts that to record one of their trills, the band needed hundreds of takes—so many that they eventually gave up. Incapable of playing such simple dirge from beginning to end, our towering talents resorted to a computer to help them piece the bits together. Audiences cheer their admission of incompetence much like they revel in the president’s unfamiliarity with the English language.”
