About Me

Name: Charles Mudgeon
Loading...

Create Your Own Blog Find Other Townhall Blogs

Comments

Archives

Mudgeon's Colonoscopy

Shortly after being diagnosed with Crohn's disease, Mrs. Bubbles Mudgeon got to have a colonoscopy.  This was no big deal as it wasn't happening to me.

The night before the procedure, she got to take some pills or other, and she got to mix something in Gatorade.  Again, no big deal as it wasn't happening to me.  As I recall, she spent some goodly amount of time in the john.

The next day we went for the procedure.  All went accord to plan and when everything was concluded, the doctor came to get me.  When we got to where Bubbles was coming out of the drugs, the doctor spread out a bunch of pictures of Bubbles' colon.

My first thought was:  No wonder I married this old broad, that's one incredibly cute colon.  The doctor had arranged the pictures and for all the world looked like a rep from Olan Mills about to pitch me a package of wallet, 5X7 and 8X10 size pictures.

When he finished, I asked, "Who has the distribution rights for the DVD?"

Since I normally say this sort of thing with a straight face, and since surgeons of retirement age do not have a worldwide reputation for having a sense of humor, he thought I was serious.  I got a lecture about there not being a DVD and all about privacy rights of patients.  Like anyone else would recognize Bubbles' colon - even though it was incredibly cute.

Time passes and about 15 months ago, it was time for me to get a colonoscopy - something I had been putting off for years.

I met with the doctor (a much younger one) and he explained to me everything that would be happening.  He got through the pills and the Gatorade and then he got my attention.  He said that he would be blowing air up my butt so that he could see what was going on.  I could only picture myself morphing into an inflated Garfield in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

There were precise instructions as to when I should take the pills, drink the Gatorade, etc.  And at this time Bubbles was in the hospital recovering from a second operation after that incredibly cute colon ruptured.  So I had to do it alone.

I took the pills and drank the Gatorade - I had to drink five gallons of the stuff and, it should be pointed out, I don't hold five gallons.  As it turned out, that didn't make any difference.  As fast as I was putting things down my throat, they were blasting their way out the other end. When all was said and done, I was so empty that you could come over to me, put your ear to my mouth, and hear the ocean.

The procedure went well.  Well, that is if you consider being drugged in a small room clearly designed by the Marquis de Sade to be "well."  It had the 50 foot length of garden hose that, to this day, I choose not to think about, and nurses and other people off the street who were enjoying this much too much.

Calamity drove me to and from because you're in no condition to drive for several hours after a colonoscopy.  After getting me some dinner (Thank you, daughter dear.) she left me to fend for myself.  In this case she butt out.  (Get it?  Butt out?  Butt?  Fine.) 

I went to bed almost immediately.  Then it hit me.  All that air.  It was still there.  And I was very uncomfortable.

I couldn't burp it out.  And I was afraid if the other end let go, I'd fly around the room like a balloon.  Then I wondered if it was just air.  What if it was helium?  You know what happens if you breathe helium and you talk, don't you.  Well if the doctor had blown helium in me, I just didn't know what to expect.  But the way I felt it could have been the 1812 Overture.

But I survived.  Just as President Bush survived on Saturday.  And they found I had some polyps.  They weren't cancerous, yet.  So I get to play that game again in another 18 months.  And I will.

And so should you.  Plan to get a colonoscopy by the time you're 50.  That way you might actually do it by the time you're 60.  It wasn't as bad as I may have led you to believe.  And it could save your life.
Email ItEmail It | Print ItPrint It | CommentsComments (42) | TrackbacksTrackbacks (0) | Flag as offensiveFlag as Offensive

Annoying Annoyances

Since September 21, 1970, and in no particular order, here is a sampling of the tragedies, atrocities and/or scandals that have occurred:

Watergate, Nixon resignation, the Carter administration, American hostages taken by Iran, Challenger, Pearl Harbor, AIDS, killer rabbits, the October 19, 1987 stock market crash, the Hindenburg explosion, the pullout from Vietnam, Rosie O'Donnell, September 11, 2001, Iran Contra, Columbia, Hillarycare, the rise of Islamic fascism, Hurricane Katrina, the Clinton administration, Bush 41 throwing up on Japanese Prime Minister Kiichi Miyazawa, the Clinton impeachment, the 2006 elections and the Red Sox winning the World Series.

This is just a partial list and, you may have noticed, a couple of them took place retroactively.

Now, you ask, what happened on September 21, 1970?  "Monday Night Football" debuted, that's what happened. So are all these tragedies, atrocities and/or scandals since that date just a coincidence? I think not.

Here's what happened: The program came on at 9:00 on a Monday night. (That's probably how they came up with the name.) In the booth were Howard Cosell, "Dandy" Don Meredith and Keith Jackson. It was different to have three in the booth, but it was fine. They did some shtick for a while; then the game between Cleveland and the Jets started.

Whoa! Did you notice something missing in there?

No "Star Spangled Banner." No national anthem. "Monday Night Football," as far as I know, was the first televised sports program not to carry the playing of our national anthem. And I've already demonstrated the havoc wrought. I hope they are proud of themselves.

Since then, with few exceptions, all sports programs have done away with televising the playing/singing of our national anthem. Is it really that much trouble? Does it cut into the broadcast so deeply; is a little flag waving so abhorrent that it needs to be thrown out?  And what's with the "Please rise and remove your hats" bit when the playing is televised at events like the Super Bowl?  Are you telling me that Americans don't know enough to rise and remove their hats?  Really?  We've fallen that far?  Sad, isn't it?

To the best of my knowledge NASCAR is the only sport that televises the singing of the national anthem every time they have a race. Not just for championship races, not just special events, but every single race. And you know what? I wish they wouldn't.

It seems that everyone singing the national anthem since September 21 1970 has felt the need to "perform" it. They put in their own phrasing; they make up their own beat; they even change the tune when it suits them. Enough already. Sing the song as it is written or go home.

I don't recall "La Marceillaise" ever being sung to a rhumba beat. I don't remember "God Save the Queen" being "performed" as hip-hop. How about "O Canada" as a waltz? Okay, that one is close, bad example. And don't even bring up Jimi Hendrix. Laura Ingraham should ditch her "Shut Up and Sing" book in favor of one for these "performers" called "You're Singing, Shut Up."

My daughter Calamity has some influence over several functions where our national anthem is sung. If they can't sing it right, they don't get the job.

We need more with Calamity's attitude and fewer with the "Monday Night Football" attitude.

Email ItEmail It | Print ItPrint It | CommentsComments (62) | TrackbacksTrackbacks (0) | Flag as offensiveFlag as Offensive

The Wall

 It's a peaceful place in the heart of our capital with lush grass and trees and pools of water.  The song of birds is clear above the not too distant noises of traffic.

It's a peaceful place where neither the Washington Monument, obscured by the foliage, nor the Lincoln Memorial intrudes on the solitude.

On either side it begins with a single name carved into the blackness.  The names soon rise: to the knees; to the waist; to the eyes and beyond.  Tens of names become hundreds, then thousands.

Names wrap around the body and permeate the spirit.  Names, an overwhelming blur of names together murmur a solemn eloquence unmatched by any words yet spoken.

Here and there a single name catches the eye. A name unknown. But for some brief moment in time, this name is all.

The name belongs to a soldier and he is dead; killed in the context of the somber black wall; killed just before the mass of names on one side, just after the names on the other. Whether evil or ordinary or of exceptional goodness, he is no more; a friend no more, a son no more, a daddy no more, no more, no more, no more, no more.

No one recorded here survived that faraway war. But none can be forgotten. The concentrated force of names will not permit it.

They leap out, these thousands and thousands and thousands of names. From overhead. From left. From right. They assault the senses and burn into memory. And when the names recede as they began, the memory remains, though the emotions are drained.

Surely this is the perfect memorial, designed as if by the hand of God to become a part of its serene surroundings. Its power, its simple grace, consecrates the ground and also the final commitment of those whose names blend with the landscape.

Surely this memorial, above all others, pays tribute to fallen countrymen as tributes ought to be paid: Remembrance in quite dignity; acknowledgement of personal sacrifice.

And yet there are those who would defile this place; desecrate the area; detract from the profound impact of the names. They would erect statues and raise flags and otherwise interrupt the flow of tranquility over the land.

But here, in this place, in this one special spot, to add would be to subtract. Because it is here at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, as it is now, where the true legacy of war is squarely faced.

The true legacy of war is names; names of the dead soldiers.

Oh, so many names.

(This was taken from a newspaper column I wrote on May 25, 1984.  It was Memorial Day weekend.  If I had remembered that I still had a copy of it, I would have posted it this past Memorial Day.  My eyes welled up when I wrote it; they well well up when I read it; they even well up when I think about it.  No smiles or giggles today, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.)

 

Email ItEmail It | Print ItPrint It | CommentsComments (32) | TrackbacksTrackbacks (0) | Flag as offensiveFlag as Offensive

Bucket and the Minimum Wage

 In an effort to monitor and, perhaps, outflank the school system in our area, I often schedule sessions with my 17 year old granddaughter, Bucket. I am particularly interested in what they are putting in her head regarding economics, government and philosophy.

It’s best not to tell her when I have scheduled one of these sessions or I might not ever see her again. For some reason, she likes hanging out with Grandma Bubbles, but when she sees me coming, she takes on this ghostly white complexion.

Not long ago I had a session scheduled and she happened to be chatting with Bubbles in the other room.

I called to her: “BUCKET!!!

“Yes, oh great and wise Grandfather Mudgeon dear?” I could see she was fighting the impulse to roll her eyes back in her head. But the impulse was winning.

“The federal minimum wage is going up. Is that a good idea, or a bad idea?"

Sensing a trap, Bucket hesitated. Tentatively, she answered, “It’s a good idea?” Like most kids her age, everything ends sounding like a question. She was clearly feeling her way.

“Really,” I said. “Why is that?”

“Because I get more money.” That was a statement – no question there.

Once again I gave her the speech about her becoming an endangered species. Once again the eyes rolled.

“Okay,” I said, “suppose you make a whatsit and you sell it for $5.00. And suppose Grandma Bubbles also makes a whatsit, but her whatsit comes with a woozie – and it’s a doozie of a woozie. She sells her whatsit for $7.00.

“Now, there are plenty of people who don’t care about woozies so they are more than happy to buy your whatsit for $5.00. And many people like the woozie, so are happy to pay Grandma Bubbles the extra $2.00.

So now the government comes along and says you have to sell your whatsit for $7.00 – the same price as Grandma Bubbles’ whatsit, but hers comes with a nice woozie?”

“I’m going to have whatsits up the woo-woo because everyone will buy their whatsit from Grandma Bubbles because it costs the same and has more features.”

“EXACTAMONDO, my child. And why would anyone hire an inexperienced worker, if an experienced worker costs the same?” I asked.

“So, Bucket asked, “instead of getting more money, I might be out of work altogether?” Again with the questions.

“I know you download music every week to your iPod. How much do you spend?”

This was in Bucket’s wheelhouse: “Five songs, five bucks.”

“Fine, and how would you like it if the government said you now have to pay $7.00 for the same five songs?”

“That sucks!” Bucket is getting more graphic, the older she gets. “Where do they get off telling me how much I have to pay for something?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Where do they get off telling employers how much they have to pay for employees?”

“But, oh great and wise grandfather Mudgeon dear,” Bucket always throws that in when she’s getting frustrated, “They say on the TV that you can’t feed a family of four on the old minimum wage.”

“Bucket, you’re not supposed to be able to feed a family of four on any minimum wage. That’s just a starting point. After that you should train yourself to have the skills to be worth more to an employer. The more you are worth, the more you will earn. If you can’t afford a family of four, you shouldn’t have a family of four and expect everyone else to subsidize you for your incompetence.”

“Oh.”

“And what,” I asked, “Do you call someone with a family of four making minimum wage?”

“A loser?”

“Welcome back to the family, my child.”

Email ItEmail It | Print ItPrint It | CommentsComments (63) | TrackbacksTrackbacks (0) | Flag as offensiveFlag as Offensive

I Be Talk Gooder Dan Yunz

This is a repost.  I'll have a new one up this afternoon.  Over the weekend, some insightful and incredibly perceptive visitor left a comment saying this particular post was a "brilliant observation and succinctly expressed."  Since readership has increased to almost ten every single day, it makes sense to give the extra nine people the opportunity that they missed when it was first posted.  It is my sacred duty not to deprave you further.

“So
," I asked, "is a man hanged or is he hung?”

“It depends on the context.” The answer came from my granddaughter, Fantasia, who will be turning 23 on Monday and whose life, therefore, is nearly over. And while it was an answer I wasn't expecting, I had to agree it was appropriate.  I often pose such questions to my granddaughters in order to determine if I can bestow the status of “Adult” upon them. This may also explain why they avoid me.

I have a thing about the English language and its use in everyday conversation. No one will ever confuse me with Edwin Neuman or William Sapphire; I’m not a fanatic on the subject. And I do my share of making up and misusing words to get a desired effect, but I usually know the proper form (Please refer to the word "deprave" in the forward.) – and the people I’m talking to usually know the proper form and that I’m kidding. Nonetheless, I do believe a culture is reflected in its language. If the language is destroyed, the culture will follow shortly.

So I nag and I prod and I belittle and I complain - and I’m slowly but steadily losing the fight.

A college football analyst was discussing Ohio State’s recent dominance of Big Ten football. He said that because of its success the school had reached the “nadir” of its influence in the conference. I knew what he meant. I knew he had used exactly the wrong word to convey what he was attempting to say. But how many people listening didn’t know? How many people thought they had just learned a fancy new word that they would now forever use incorrectly? And how long might it take for the word to come to mean highest point rather than lowest point?

This one word will not bring down the culture, but it ain’t gonna help neither. On the trip from meaning lowest to meaning highest, at some point half the people will think it means lowest, while the other half will think it means highest. Chaos ensues.

If you don’t think this sort of transformation is possible, consider this: Till her dying day, my mother’s first thought when she heard the word “gay” was not homosexual. Ask a teen today what he thinks the book “Our Hearts Were Young and Gay” might be about. If he isn’t comfortable talking to you about it, tell him to Google it for an answer.

Within a one hour time span on a cable news channel, I heard the anchor use the following terminology: centered in the middle; a confluence of events coming together; and 6:00 am in the morning. If you don’t recognize the redundancies, it is only because they are so commonplace the ear no longer is assaulted.

Teachers in the Atlanta school system were recently ordered not to correct a student’s grammar. Whoever came up with this gem ought to be charged with a hate crime, child abuse, probably racism and possibly treason. To deny children the ability to learn proper use of the language will guarantee a permanent underclass. It secures failure for countless numbers in future generations.

Look at the title of my posting today: I Be Talk Gooder Dan Yunz. It is a combination of English, Ebonics and Newspeak influenced by Brooklyn and Pittsburgh slang. You can probably translate it into pure English, but how long will it be before each increasingly small group has its own unique form of communication? How long before a dynamic language becomes a muddle of confusion? How long will we continue to allow our school systems to abuse and neglect our children?

How long before the culture crashes and burns?

Email ItEmail It | Print ItPrint It | CommentsComments (35) | TrackbacksTrackbacks (0) | Flag as offensiveFlag as Offensive

The Perverse Joy of Calamity

 As I have stated more than once here in Townhall, I am terminally dyslexic. I twist letters when typing; I see words that aren't there; I don't see words that are there; I can't spell without a dictionary handy; I can tell left from right as political philosophies, but as directions, I am less than dependable in getting them correct; if I should see "7H," I have to think hard about which is the number and which is the letter.

When typing a new post, I see exactly what I think I typed. This, of course, has absolutely no relationship to what is actually appearing on the screen. Fortunately, as many of you know, there is a "HEY STUPID, YOU SPELLED THAT WORD INCORRECTLY" feature. This has been a valuable tool.

Being a belt-and-suspenders kind of guy, I also put the post into Microsoft Word as a double check. It has the "HEY STUPID, YOU SPELLED THAT WORD INCORRECTLY" feature as well, but it also has a "HEY STUPID, YOU SPELLED THAT CORRECTLY, BUT IS THAT REALLY THE WORD YOU WANT TO USE" feature. This has been a valuable tool, too.

In addition, I take the step of having Mrs. Bubbles Mudgeon read the post before I publish it. She seldom finds more than 15-20 additional mistakes. And yet errors often appear in one of my posts. This is because I add a word here or there without using the "HEY STUPID, YOU SPELLED THAT WORD INCORRECTLY" feature. And of course, Mrs. Bubble Mudgeon doesn't check it because I can see that it is correct.

It is perfectly clear to me that I suffer from a horrible affliction which, if I were to pursue the matter, would certainly result in my receiving tremendous monetary compensation for what is obviously a case of my being a victim which no doubt is covered under the Americans with Disabilities Act.

Anyway, as many of you also know the "HEY STUPID, YOU SPELLED THAT WORD INCORRECTLY" feature does not exist in the comments section of the post -you'll find the link at the bottom of every Townhall post.  And I tend to write extremely wise and profound stuff in these comments.  Most of them come out completely garbled because none of my normal checks and balances is in place.

So, my daughter Calamity has been perusing the comments section. And she is taking perverse joy in pointing out my short comings, one short at a time. The glee in her voice is downright depressing. "You spelled this incorrectly. You have a typo there. You left out a word. Your tense is wrong. You didn't have a capital letter there. You must have fat fingers. It's a good thing you don't have to make a living doing that." And on, and on, and on.

Here I am - afflicted with a life altering disease, a victim who is saving all of you tax money by not pushing for my just monetary due - being put upon, abused even, by Calamity in her quest pointing out every stinking deficiency I have. It ain't right. No sir, it ain't right at all.

I will not ask you to make a special visit to the comments section. But if you happen to be going there anyway, would you please add this line to the end of your comment: CALAMITY, BUTT OUT.

And a kind word of encouragement toward me, to let me know you understand the struggle I'm having, would be in order, too. Not to mention nice.

Email ItEmail It | Print ItPrint It | CommentsComments (75) | TrackbacksTrackbacks (0) | Flag as offensiveFlag as Offensive

It's a Free Speach Thing

 My favorite part of the U.S. Constitution is the first five words of the Bill of Rights.  In case you don't have your copy of the Constitution handy they are:  "Congress shall make no law."

If only the founders had stopped there, who knows how much better off we might be.  But noooooooo.  The lawmakers at all levels think they have to meddle in our lives to make things better for us (or possibly for themselves) and to protect us (or possibly themselves).

There are times when the thrust of a proposed law might bring about a result that I would applaud.  But to use the power of government to force others to bend to my will is not a proper function of the afore mentioned government.  I don't like it when government stifles me so I can't condone government stifling others.

The case at hand comes from Arizona.  Yes, I know Arizona doesn't fall under the "Congress shall make no law" criteria, but let's face it:  State legislative bodies are the AAA farm club for Washington.  So they need to be watched carefully, too.

A bill has been proposed in the Arizona state legislature that would stop teachers and professors from expressing their own beliefs in the classroom.  On the surface this may appear to be a good idea.  After all, many teachers and professors are proud lefties and I wouldn't be that fond of my kids being brainwashed with my tax dollars. (Source here.)

On the other hand, who is to say if a teacher is expressing a personal opinion or merely challenging a student with a different point of view.  It seems to me this would be an appropriate thing for a teacher to do, yet this proposed law would bring an aspect of he said/she said to the discussion.

I have two adult children - one of each.  In every respect, save two - their political and philosophical outlooks - they are as different as night and broccoli.  Politically they fall in the general range between Rambo and Attila the Hun.  Philosophically they tend to be right wing libertarian nuts like their parents.  And they have raised, or are raising my three granddaughters (Fantasia, Sassy and Bucket) to be the same kind of adults.

None of this happened because this family depended on schoolteachers or professors to make an unbiased presentation of different issues.

But as tempting as it is to outlaw personal views in the classroom, I keep going back to the five words at the beginning the Bill of Rights:  "Congress shall make no law."  That's the start of the paragraph.  In the middle of the paragraph it says, "abridging the freedom of speech."

I don't know about you, but I take those words seriously.  And I'm not about to endorse the use of the power of government to put a plug in someone's mouth - even if they are spouting words I personally dislike. 

You can't abandon your responsibility to teach your children your values.  Teach them yourself.  Talk to them.  Discuss the news with them.  Explain as many sides of an issue as exist, then explain why you believe the way you do.  Teach them how to defend their points of view, whether against teachers or whomever.

It would be easy to let the government do our jobs for us.  That's what the other side does.  That's why they are the other side.

Email ItEmail It | Print ItPrint It | CommentsComments (46) | TrackbacksTrackbacks (0) | Flag as offensiveFlag as Offensive

Abortion, Rationality and Public Policy

I know better than this.  I'm smarter than this.  I have better judgment than this.  But it's hot; my brain is parboiled; and I'm going to do it anyway.

I'm going to discuss abortion.  But only the public policy aspects of abortion.  I'm going to exclude the theological aspects, the moral aspects and the emotional aspects.  Yes, I know that's like excluding the strike zone and foul lines from a discussion about the rules of baseball, but I'm going to give it a go.

It is not my intention to change anyone's mind.  I couldn't do that even if I wanted to, which I don't.  I want to take a rational look at abortion from a public policy standpoint.  If you don't think you can do that without bringing theology, morallity or emotion along, please stop reading now.  Thanks for stopping by.  I hope you come again.  But don't cause either one of us any grief by subjecting yourself to what's coming.

Still here, I see.  Okay, one last chance before we start.  Here goes.

We are not going to talk about when life begins.  You have your beliefs and whatever they are, it's fine with me.  We are going to talk about when a life becomes a U.S. citizen.

It is a perfectly valid function of government to protect its citizens from violence or the threat of violence.  The question is, at what point is a life to be considered a U.S. citizen who is qualified to receive all the benefits and protection of citizenship?  Don't answer too quickly.

Possible answers range between pre-conception and 30 years old.  For instance, if 30 years old is the cutoff, we could have avoided embarrassments such as Paris Hilton, Britney Spears and Lindsey Lohan.  And if it had been the law for the last several decades, we could have bypassed Danny Glover, Bill Maher and Alec Baldwin.  Clearly, the discussion should at least go up to 30 years old.  Possibly 40.

But abortion is usually talked about in pre-birth terms.  Here's where things get tricky.  At some point we must decide when or if a fetus becomes a U.S. citizen.  At that point, all protection afforded any citizen must be afforded to the fetus or baby.  If the fetus is killed after this designated time, the perpetrators must be charged with murder and the penalties need to be the same as if a ten-year-old were murdered in a premeditated way.

That means the mother.  That means the doctor.  That means anyone who helped facilitate the crime.  There can be no wiggle room for "self-defense."  If you condone that, you are saying that one citizen's life is more valuable than that of another citizen.  If you go that route, please go sit over there with Dr. Mengele.

And let's don't be weaseling about rape or incest.  If it's a U.S. citizen, it's a U.S. citizen.  Who the father is has no bearing on whether or not a U.S. citizen is protected from violence.

The choice from a theological, moral or emotional point of view is simple.  You believe what you believe and that is that.  It becomes less simple when you consider all of the public policy ramifications.

What is the "right" answer?  It's whatever the U.S. Congress says it is.  Feel free to pressure your congressmen and senators based on whatever theological, moral or emotional perspectives you may have.  But we need an answer.  We need the fuzziness to be gone.

We need to know, once and forever, when life as a U.S. citizen begins.
Email ItEmail It | Print ItPrint It | CommentsComments (32) | TrackbacksTrackbacks (0) | Flag as offensiveFlag as Offensive

Atlas Shrugged and Ratatouille

I make it a habit to do two things every 10 to 20 years.  I reread Atlas Shrugged and I go to a moving picture show.  This week it was time for the movies.

The last movie I saw in an actual movie theater, prior to this week, was Who Framed Roger Rabbit; before that it was Smokey and the Bandit; before that Guess Who's Coming to Dinner.  I like to go once in a while just to remind myself exactly why I don't like going to the movies.

When Mrs. Bubbles Mudgeon and I arrived at the movie building place, I was surprised to see how many other people had chosen that same day to remind themselves why they don't like the movies.  The place was crawling with humans.  Ick.

Placing myself in a darkened room with about 1000 other representatives of my species falls somewhere between troubling and traumatic.  I live in a "blue" state (sorry, it happens).  So I intentionally put myself in a room where over 500 people came from families who voted for John Kerry.  Roughly 350 of them actually describe themselves as Democrats.  It's enough to make the hair on your eye balls stand up.

As for the movie itself, Ratatouille, I'll give you the same review I gave Bubbles when she asked:  I thought it would never end.

Seven or eight hours into the flick, about half way through, the point was made that "Ratatouille" sounds like "rat patootie."  At least that's what I think was said.  The cheap so-and-sos didn't give me a remote, so I couldn't rewind and check to make sure.  But it pretty much sums up the movie:  There is no reason to give a rat's patootie about it.  Ratatouille is, it seems to me, nothing more than multiculturalism propaganda subtly aimed at everyone, not just children.

My aversion to motion pictures started in the late 1940s.  The entertainment industry tricked me - a mere child who hadn't even reached double digits in age.  Scandalous.

There was a movie out that I really wanted to see.  It was a sports comedy about a guy who invented some stuff you could slather on a baseball and the ball became allergic to wood.  If you were pitching to a batter, he couldn't possibly hit the ball because the ball would avoid the bat.  I'm sure you can see why a nine-year-old would want to see this movie.  It was called It Happens Every Spring.

So I was nine, right?  You can't expect me to be 100% on things like movie titles. right?  So when a friend of mine and I went to see a movie one Saturday, we had a choice between a western and what I thought was this baseball movie.  So I talked him into going to see the baseball movie, right?  Only the slimy motion picture industry tricked me by putting up another movie with almost exactly the same name, right?  It was In the Good Old Summertime.  It starred Judy Garland.  Judy Garland.

Oh, the treachery.  I hope the elite, liberal Hollywood establishment is proud of itself for conning a nine-year-old into talking his friend into giving up a western in favor of a Judy Garland movie.  Have they no decency?

That was almost 60 years ago.  It isn't that I carry a grudge or anything, but I'm not going to support an industry that would do such as that to a kid.  No sir, I'll withhold my money and bring them to their knees.

So, how have they been doing?

Really?

No wonder Atlas shrugged.
Email ItEmail It | Print ItPrint It | CommentsComments (30) | TrackbacksTrackbacks (0) | Flag as offensiveFlag as Offensive

Giving Junk Science a Bad Name

According to a recent study, babies learn to lie when they are as young as six months old.  (Source here.)  What a load of decomposing organic waste material!

Elevating studies such as this one to the level of junk science does a disservice to junk science.  Any rational, thoughtful person can surely see through what is obviously a pathetic attempt to gain publicity at the expense of our youngest and most vulnerable citizens.  Someone must speak up for them.

Charles Mudgeon at your service.

With the degree of corruption driven deception at the local, state, federal and global levels of government, is it the least bit plausible that politicians hesitated until they were six months old before embarking on their lying ways?  Please.

Do you think Hill and Billery wasted six months to hone their prevaricating skills?  Ridiculous.  One does not achieve world-class status piddling away valuable cunning time.

Where will the future Nancys and Harrys and Stenys and Teddys come from if kids are allowed to fritter away the first six months of their lives being model citizens?  No Lying - No Peace.  That's what I say.

Even though I believe it is remote in this case, and as I have proven on many occasions, I may possibly be wrong about this report.  We may actually be falling behind the lying sweepstakes.  Wouldn't it be horrible if the rest of the world surpassed us in the fine art of equivocating?  I mean, we're already drifting toward the bottom in math and science, so lying is the one area where we must keep pace in order to survive as a super-power.

Clearly a government program is needed:  The "No Liar Left Behind" act.  George and Teddy can work together in a bi-partisan way to insure the plan passes.  Another massive government bureaucracy is just the ticket.  And, if I may humbly suggest, it can be staffed entirely by illegal aliens - after all, they do have a leg up on the lying thingy.

I'm certain, if we only pour enough money into the program, we will soon be able to teach babies younger than six months to lie.  The ultimate goal, of course, is to be able to teach a fetus to lie.

If, when they run those tests to determine the sex of a fetus, we can get the fetus to deliver an incorrect answer, out future will be secured.  The lying gap will be closed forever.  The circle will be closed.

As we all know, there is plenty of lying taking place between the gleam in the eye and the creation of a fetus.

Email ItEmail It | Print ItPrint It | CommentsComments (6) | TrackbacksTrackbacks (0) | Flag as offensiveFlag as Offensive
« Previous1Next »