The Ferguson Riot Patrol

According to Wikipedia, the Ferguson Police Department sponsors a number of community programs.  D.A.R.E.  School Resource Officers.  Neighborhood Watch.  Community Emergency Response Team (CERT).  Even a Business Watch.

 

Having reported on a number of company donations to police community programs, I can say that most of these are typical police public relations efforts.  You could find them in just about any town or city police department.  Business Watch, I must say, is a new one.

 

But the Ferguson P.D. community program that caught my eye was their Riot Patrol.  Riot Patrol?!  Very prescient of Ferguson to form one, preparing for the future.  How did they know?  Officer Wilson had no record of transgressing any police laws.

 

Once upon a time, it appears that Ferguson, Mo., was a suburban paradise.  A look at an aerial view of the town shows wooded cul-de-sacs and quaintly-named development roads and lanes: Thomas Drive, Louisa and Roberta Avenues.  Why, there’s even Suburban Avenue.  Developers used to name some of the roads in a development after their children (i.e., Heather Lane).

 

Then you come to the two-block section of Martin Luther King Boulevard.  To the south and west, there is utter devastation.  Roads devoid of all habitation, leading nowhere.  No one lives on Scott Avenue.  You have to go a long way on Roman Court before you come across any Romans.  Hugo Street, McHenry Avenue, Granbery Avenue, Frieling Avenue.  Not a house in sight.  Oh wait.  Here’s yet another Martin Luther King Boulevard, not connected to the other one.  That explains the dearth of housing.

 

Ferguson started out life as a railroad town.  After the war, white people decided to settle there.  Between 1940 and 1950, Ferguson’s population increased by 102 percent.  Between 1950 and 1960, it grew another 91.4 percent.  Finally, between 1960 and 1970, the population grew by another 29.8 percent.

 

Then the town began suffering a decades-long decline.  By 1990, Ferguson was 73.8 percent white and 25.1 percent black.  Ferguson had met that magic 25 percent number which some statisticians who deal with populations say is the tipping point.  By 2000, white people made up 44.7 percent of the population and blacks, 52.4 percent.  By 2010, the racial make-up was 29.3 percent white and 67.4 percent black.  The median income for the city by 2010 was $37,134, with 17.6 percent of the population below the poverty line.

 

So where did the white people go?  Apparently, some of them may have moved to the brand-new suburb of Sappington, Mo., to the south of St. Louis.  Incorporated in 2000, it’s a relatively small town with a population of 7,580, 96.7 percent of whom are white with a median household income of $44,117 (meaning they’re middle class) and only 2.9 percent of the population below the poverty line.

 

But to get back to the point of Ferguson’s riot patrol, why did the town need one?  When did they receive the money for the equipment?  Why did the government grant them the money and give the approval for such a purchase?  Was it to protect the town from “outside agitators”? 

 

Or were they more worried about the “agitators” within the town’s border?  The “peaceful” protestors, their supporters claim, were not interested in violence.  Yet their signs read, “No justice, no peace.”  Now residents claim that those were outside agitators, not Ferguson residents.  Still, it begs the question:  if the residents of Ferguson are so “peaceful,” why did the town police need a Riot Patrol?

 

When the white people left, they took their taxpayer dollars with them.  Ferguson’s city council had no choice but to beg the state and federal government for money.  What exactly is Ferguson’s history regarding crime and civil unrest?  What was Martin Luther King Boulevard (the north-south road) called before the name was changed?

 

Residents have complained about the city’s purchase of militarized riot equipment.  They claim that the equipment furthered the inclination to riot.  However, the equipment was not purchased, I daresay, prior to Michael Brown’s death.  Or the ensuing riots.  The riots began precisely after the convenience store video was released (as Rush Limbaugh noted on his show today), demonstrably proving that Brown was no “gentle giant” but a 6-foot 4-inch refrigerator of a thug.

 

Apparently, the riot gear expenditure was money well-spent, unfortunately for the former suburban paradise of Ferguson, Mo. 

 

Does Sappington have a police department Riot Patrol?  Does it need one?

 

 

 

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Published in: on August 20, 2014 at 3:19 pm  Leave a Comment  

Bumrushing to Judgment

The initial eyewitness accounts of Michael Brown’s death are falling apart almost as fast as Ferguson, Mo.  Meanwhile, even Conservative pundits are still groveling to this black community, even as evidence shows the Brown was no gentle giant.  And as The Blaze noted, according to the AP Stylebook, because he was 18, he should be referred to as a “man” not a “teenager”.

First, the eyewitnesses claimed Brown and his friend were ordered off the sidewalk, as though it were 1964 in the Old South, not 2014.  Turns out, Officer Wilson ordered them onto the sidewalk because they were walking in the middle of the road, blocking traffic.

Then, the witnesses claimed that their choirboys complied peacefully.  Other witnesses say that they hurled obscene epithets at the officer.  When he got out of his car, Wilson pushed him back in and tried to take away his gun.

The police department then released the convenience store video, showing a tall, black man in his late teens shoplifting a box of cigars and then physically intimidating the store owner.  Brown’s defenders claimed that it wasn’t him; that the man in the video had a tattoo.  The tape was so grainy it was hard to tell.  Even the police inexplicably claimed that the robbery had nothing to do with the shooting incident.

The police also said that Officer Wilson knew nothing about the robbery.  He stopped Brown because he was in the middle of the road.  Unusual, isn’t it, that the police dispatch wouldn’t put out some sort of bulletin over the police band?  In fact, a witness for Wilson claims that he did get the message and saw that Brown was carrying a box of cigars, which was found on his body when the smoke cleared.

The eyewitnesses for Brown claim that he was shot at close range as he was surrendering.  But the coroner stated that he found no evidence of gun powder on Brown’s clothing that would have indicated a close-range shooting.

Then there is the autopsy drawing, which the coroner released.  One entry wound to the upraised hand, through the thumb.  One on the underside of the lower arm.  Two on the inside upper arm.  The thing is – and you can try this at home – when you raise your hands up, your elbows are exposed, somewhat sideways and outwardly someone would see the outside of your upper arms, not the inside.  N’est ces pas?

The coroner also revealed that there was evidence of marijuana in Brown’s bloodstream.

According to Wilson’s witness, as well as eyewitnesses at the scene, Brown stopped when ordered to do so by Officer Wilson, then turned around and rushed towards Wilson.  Seeing Brown charging him (rather like a bull), Wilson shot him, first (one would surmise) in the arm to try to stop him, and when the perpetrator was not disabled, he rather expertly shot him in the head.

Wilson’s aim, in fact, was pretty remarkable.  Once Brown was shot in the head, Wilson wouldn’t have needed to fire off any further shots.  He wouldn’t have needed six bullets; one would suffice.  Therefore, it would appear, Wilson was trying to avoid having to kill the suspect.

Failing that, Wilson shot Brown right through the eye.  He may have given the suspect one last warning shot over the bow, grazing his head.  Or perhaps Brown ducked to miss the bullet.  But Wilson was trained and the final bullet found its mark.

The Ferguson Police Department bent over backwards to appease this violent, vengeful community.  In a normal civilization, a person – yes, even a police officer – is innocent until proven guilty.  Evidence is withheld pending a court trial so a jury can’t be tainted.  Since the evidence has now been dispersed worldwide, it will be hard to convene an unbiased trial.

Which makes it all the easier for A.G. Holder to march in and hold a federal social justice trial, where cries of injustice and police brutality trump evidence and facts.  Where the victim’s skin color matters more than his character or his actions just prior the fatal incident.

Whatever his prior actions, it was his immediate action – assaulting and threatening a police officer (the police officer had to be treated for head wounds) – that got him killed.  That won’t satisfy the black community that claims the facts are smearing Brown’s reputation, even though the surveillance video speaks for itself about Brown’s character.

Nor does it matter.  Justice is not what they want.  They want to tear down a society they despise.  They have no regard for civilization, much less rule of law.  They want revenge on a white society that fears and is repulsed by their behavior.  The very idea that white people fear them is an offense to them (well, excuse me).  Or so they claim.  Or is just that the white people have moved themselves, their homes, children, and businesses out of harm’s way?

 Congresswoman Frederica S. Wilson (FL-24) released the following statement in wake of the death of 18-year-old Michael Brown and the violent clashes with peaceful protestors and law enforcement in Ferguson, Missouri:

“I am tired of burying young black boys.  I am tired of watching them suffer at the hands of those who fear them and despise them.

“I am tired of comforting mothers, fathers, grandparents, sisters and brothers after such unnecessary, heinous crimes of violence.

“Americans should all be mourning, as I am, as we bury yet another young black boy.”

Brown wasn’t a boy; he was an adult.  And more black “boys” die at the hands of other black boys than any other enemy.  What’s more, at least a dozen eyewitnesses have testified that he initiated and perpetrated the violence.

As the community complains about heavily-armored police putting down the riots, let us remind them that they themselves set fire to their own community, looted and burnt businesses, and bore false witness against the police officer and about Brown himself.

Our fear is justified since some black Congresswoman warned that if the residents didn’t receive the “justice” they wanted in regard to Michael Brown’s death, the burning of Ferguson would look something like a Sunday school picnic compared to the future violence that would be perpetrated.

Really?

Jesus said, “Judge not, that ye be not judged.  For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged, and with what measure ye mete [serve it out], it shall be measured to you again.  And why thou beholdest thou the mote [straw] that is thy brother’s eye, but considerest not the beam [log] that is in thine own eye?  Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, ‘Let me pull out the mote [straw]; and behold, a beam is in thine own eye.

“Thou hypocrite.  First, cast out the beam out of thine own eye, and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother’s eye.”

Matthew 7:1-5

Published in: on August 19, 2014 at 11:27 am  Leave a Comment  

St. Louis Blues, Blacks and Browns

Black activists are quite skilled at putting up smoke screens, especially in high-profile incidents like a white cop shooting a black teenager.

 

We heard many stories out of the St. Louis, Mo., suburb of Ferguson, just northwest of the city.  Ferguson is what is known as a first-ring suburb.  The white population fled decades earlier as the black population grew, along with the crime and drug rates.

 

Brown was ordered off the sidewalk!  Off, mind you, not onto the sidewalk.  Only days later, after nights of rioting and looting, in which a convenience store was ransacked and then burnt down, and other businesses, both black and white-owned were robbed, did we learn the truth:  the six foot four Michael Brown was walking in the middle of the road, blocking traffic, when the white police officer ordered him to get up on the sidewalk.

 

Then, according to the black witnesses, the white cop got out of his car and shot Brown to death, while he was kneeling with his hands up.

 

Screeeech!

 

Let’s back up a little bit.  According to other testimony, including blacks on the scene heard through someone else’s cell phone, first Brown rammed the officer back into his patrol vehicle as he was trying to get out to order Brown back on the sidewalk.  There was a struggle for his gun, with Brown evidently on top of the police officer, and the gun went off.

 

Brown got out of the vehicle and ran, along with his “companion” (we’re not allowed to say “accomplice”).  The police officer, his weapon drawn, ordered Brown to stop.  Brown stopped and turned around.  But instead of complying with the officer’s order to get down on the ground with his hands in the air, he charged the white police officer, at which time the officer fired what one presumes to be the final, and fatal, shots.

 

Missouri’s governor, a Democrat, ordered the state police to take over the investigation, the head of which was a black man.  He assured the Ferguson rioters that there would be justice so long as they stopped the violence and looting.

 

But then, in addition to the cell phone testimony, Ferguson police released the name of the officer, as ordered by the state police.  In addition, they released a video implicating Brown in a convenience store robbery.  They were quick to add that the police officer who shot Brown knew nothing of the robbery.  However, the box of cigars Brown had robbed were on his person at the time of the shooting.

 

So much for the rioters’ insistence that the robber wasn’t Brown.  In the video, Brown is seen intimidating the diminutive Indian store owner who tried to stop him.  The “Gentle Giant” indeed.  No wonder the state police took the Ferguson police off of the investigation and tried to suppress the evidence.

 

The prophetic National Review writer, Kevin D. Williams, in the August 11th edition of the magazine, wrote the feature article “Where the Sidewalk Ends.”  The article describes the decaying condition of Illinois’ cities from Chicago to East St. Louis.  East St. Louis is, Williams writes, where the sidewalk ends.

 

“East St. Louis calls to mind any number of locales – Detroit, Calcutta, Monrovia – none of which you’d want on the poster for your re-election campaign.

 

“East St. Louis, in fact, has a strangely rural feel to it, owing to the fact that the abandoned homes, vacant lots, and public spaces have been allowed to become so unkempt and overgrown that as you drive through sections of the city’s center [that] tall, verdant walls of foliage press upon your car on either side, sometimes nearly meeting canopy-like overhead, giving the urban streets the feeling of a country lane.  What really bakes your noodle is realizing that behind those Amazonian clusters of weeds and wilderness that have encroached on the asphalt are, maybe ten or twelve feet back on either side, sidewalks, or the ruins of sidewalks and, behind them, the remains of houses and other buildings, some of them long vacant, some of them burned, their husks left standing where they are – and some of them occupied.”

 

“The encroaching vegetation leaves the motorist with no option but to drive in the middle of the street.  Unfortunately, the pedestrians are left with only the same option and two women make their way slowly down the street, glaring at my oncoming car like Davy Crocket staring down a bear.  When the vegetation recedes, exposing the underlying blight, it is shocking:  Even the Planned Parenthood building is barred up and the state department of human services is surrounded by barbed wire…”

 

Williams states that East St. Louis is 98 percent African-American.  “…the only people I see doing anything like legitimate productive semi-private work are white guys in pickup trucks…who are out working on streetlights.  Half of the working-age adults in East St. Louis do not work, about half of the city’s residents receive a welfare payment of some sort, 60 percent of households earn less than $25,000 a year – and 30 percent earn less than $10,000 a year.”

 

“I take a turn down Barack Obama Avenue, which looks exactly as it should, and head out of town.”

 

Williams’ assignment was the state of Illinois, but across the Mississippi River, things aren’t much better (to reach Ferguson from East St. Louis, you would have to cross the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Bridge).  Somewhere between the Martin Luther King Boulevards and Bridges, and now the Obama Avenues and Schools, and the country club flags on the outer fringes of cities, lives the Middle Class.

 

In Missouri, it’s still a long ride along Interstate 70 from St. Louis in the east to Kansas City in the west.  In the same way, eventually Philadelphia and Pittsburgh will meet in the center as one, huge megalopolis of garbage, drugs and crime, where future developers will build more Martin Luther King Jr. and Barack Hussein Obama bridges, avenues and schools, and dedicate fewer roads, bridges and schools to George Washington, Abraham Lincoln and Ronald Reagan.

 

The vandals knew how to terrorize the feckless, ancient Romans into surrender.  Today’s thugs refuse to learn anything about civilization, especially Western, or its history, but it seems they’ve paid heed to the lessons of Attila the Hun and Genghis Khan.

 

They dare us to call them liars or thieves, even when their most recent martyr is seen brazenly robbing a convenience store and muscling its owner.  In the same, menacing way, they riot, loot and pillage for days on end and then think they can “muscle” us into some admission of white guilt.  Indeed, with a black official heading up the state police force, it’s hard not for the Ferguson Police Department to grovel.  Missouri’s governor (who’s white) must find this very gratifying.

 

The rioters insist that the white “power structure” is to blame.  Considering the condition of Ferguson and its larger neighbor across the river, just what sort of “power structure” do they think would work?  They’re already living on taxpayers’ money.  No one fears living amongst them because of some racial hatred; people flee them because they’re thugs.

 

They don’t want or need to be “protected” by the U.S. Constitution; they’re already protected by the 1965 Civil Rights Act, which deems it a crime to verbally criticize a minority race.  Therefore, they may break any “white” law with impunity.  They can rob convenience stores, shake-down business owners, reap the benefits of welfare, sell drugs, and walk down the middle of the street, causing a traffic jam and who’s to stop them?  Let the white cops shoot them and the collective urban jungle will send out the call of “police brutality” to make war on civilization.

 

‘Why do the police have to have military gear?’ our pundits ask, quivering behind their neon news desks, wearing expensive suits and dresses, drinking Perrier and making plans for dinner after the newscast.

 

Take a ride down the Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard in any major city – after dark – and you’ll find out for yourself why the police must be armed so heavily.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Published in: on August 18, 2014 at 11:43 am  Leave a Comment  

The Last Word on Robin Williams

Robin Williams’ widow, Susan Schneider, revealed yesterday that the late comedian was in the early stages of Parkinson’s Disease.

 

When the news was released, Michael Savage noted that the announcement made his suicide more understandable but still not acceptable.

 

“Friends and family can usually detect changes in the Parkinson’s patient including poor posture, loss of balance, and abnormal facial expressions,” according to the National Parkinson Foundation.

 

“During this initial phase of the disease, a patient usually experiences mild symptoms. These symptoms may inconvenience the day-to-day tasks the patient would otherwise complete with ease. Typically these symptoms will include the presence of tremors or experiencing shaking in one of the limbs.”

 

A number of contemporary celebrities have been afflicted by this disease, most notably actor Michael J. Fox, who was diagnosed with Parkinson’s at the age of 30.  Linda Ronstadt suffers from it.  Boxer Muhammed Ali had it.  Pope John Paul II had it.  The late radio disc jockey Casey Kasem had it.  He died at the age of 82 this past June, with his last month’s plagued by his mysterious disappearance.

 

Additionally, actress Katherine Hepburn had the disease.  She died of a tumor at the age of 96.  And, as I noted previously at the time of Williams’ suicide, Forties actor George Sanders had Parkinson’s, although the references to PD have mysteriously disappeared from both of their Wikipedia entries.  Sanders, finding he could no longer play piano, dragged the instrument out of his house (he didn’t throw it out the window; I had confused a piano movers’ description of disposing of an abandoned grand piano that couldn’t be moved with Sanders’ destruction of his instrument), and chopped it to pieces with an axe.

 

Sanders, like Williams, had to contend with multiple divorces.  He also drank heavily.  Unlike the affable Williams, Sanders had a notorious reputation for his acerbic wit.  He won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actor, playing the sardonic newspaper reviewer in All About Eve.  After selling his beloved home in Spain, according to Wikipedia at the behest of his then-girlfriend, although he may also have been in debt.  Shortly afterwards, he took an overdose of barbiturates in a Spanish hotel room.

 

His autobiography, Memoirs of a Professional Cad, was published in 1960 and gathered critical praise for its wit. Sanders suggested the title A Dreadful Man for his biography, which was later written by Sanders’ friend Brian Aherne and published in 1979.   According to Aherne’s biography, Sanders could not bear the notion of losing his health (he’d also suffered a minor stroke, had trouble with balance, and could be seen teetering in his last film) or needing help from someone else, and he became deeply depressed.

 

Sanders left a suicide note, which famously read:  “Dear World, I am leaving because I am bored. I feel I have lived long enough. I am leaving you with your worries in this sweet cesspool. Good luck.”  (His signature appeared under the message.)

 

“Good-bye, cruel world” is such an old expression, modern sources like Wikipedia don’t even know its origin.

 

Williams did not leave a note explaining his suicide.  The Media has wagged its head at this deficiency.  You can just imagine what his answer to that complaint might have been.  “I’ve hanged myself.  What?  You need a note, too?  Please excuse Robin from life?  He couldn’t bear to end his life with his face disfigured and his family left in destitution?”

 

Katherine Hepburn and Pope John Paul II got a pass from the public because they were elderly and had lived lives of dignity in a more dignified age.  Muhammed Ali didn’t end his life and his disease was attributed to his punishing vocation.  No one really knew about Casey Kasem.  In any case, he was old.  Linda Ronstadt can no longer sing, but then a career as pop music star is an exceedingly short one.

 

But a comedian – a rubber-faced comedian at that – with a face distorted by disease.  He might have shared his other problems openly.  But disclosing that he had Parkinson’s would have brought the Media hounds running in for the kill.  What an opportunity for them.

 

Williams knew the world is cruel.  He did impressions, and although I never went to see any of his night-club acts, no doubt the impressions of real people were unflattering.  The world is most cruel to those with visible defects, particularly the overweight and the ugly.

 

Ugliness is the last prejudice, one that will never be eradicated.  Human nature dictates that there must be a scapegoat to wield superiority over.  There is no diet for homeliness, although there is surgery for big noses, weak chins, and other defects.  They haven’t found a surgery yet for lanky limbs, though.  Even if a celebrity, who can afford those surgeries, submits to them, the Media still finds out and they have a heyday over the discovery.

 

I’m one of those people to whom Nature and the World were cruel.  Yesterday, I accompanied my mother on her visit to her foot doctor.  The doctor noted how much I looked like my mother, and she cringed in anger.  I resemble Mom, yes, but she’s put together much better.  I have her eyes, but my father’s nose and ears, not hers.  Due to economic deprivation, we couldn’t afford to have my nose jobbed.  Her face is fuller, even at 90, than mine.  My face has lost volume over the years and has become more angular. My limbs are lankier, my neck longer, and my teeth – they’re also my father’s not my mothers.  Due to emotional problems, I never had them straightened.  My bad. 

 

So there it is.  The fact that I was homely never drove me to suicidal thoughts.  It was just a fact of life that I accepted, even as I was being tormented daily by my classmates.  I knew that I’d never be married or have children.  I have a number of friends who are childless and unmarried.  I avoid going out much in public where I know adolescents and adolescent-minded people congregate.  Once one of my brother’s friends suggested that it would be better if I killed myself rather than live an ugly life.  Or at the very least, go live in a convent.  Ugly people, in his opinion, had no right to live at all.

 

As I aged, the tic I’d developed in childhood did not go away as predicted but grew worse, and I also began to develop floaters in my eyes.  Floaters are a consequence of age.  Everyone gets them and there’s no cure for them, either.  Eventually, eye doctors say they’ll go away.  Mine didn’t; they multiplied and have become quite a distraction.

 

They don’t settle, as doctors claimed they would, but float right in my line of sight.  The eye also has a natural tendency to follow movement.  Much as I hate them, I’ve come to accept these little pieces of garbage obstructing my eyesight and even to study them.  Unfortunately, I make the mistake of looking at them in public which I shouldn’t do, which can give one a rather peculiar, unsettled look.  I was looking at them between numbers last night at our band concert, wondering how many more would develop.

 

Suddenly, I heard the sound of giggling.  Some women – mind that I say, women, not girls or teenagers but middle-aged women – were taking photos of me with their cell phone cameras and giggling at the result.  Again, it was my own fault for not being more careful and attentive.  Still, I marveled at the cruelty of people, particularly middle-aged women who should know better.  They were Indians, though, not European-Americans.  Perhaps their culture has no brook with insensitivity or lack of manners.

 

I’m glad they got me because it was a reminder to have a little more self-awareness and not embarrass my family, friends or the band by indulging in such behavior.  Today, I’ll renew my determination not to be ruled by the inner cobwebs of life, the signs of age and decay, and focus more on the beauty surrounding me.

 

But even looking outward, there is ugliness in humanity.  As for not being prepossessed of beauty, I remind myself that neither was Jesus Christ.  That’s something they never teach you in church:  that Jesus was not a handsome man.  He was not Robert Powell or even the man in the Shroud of Turin.  Preachers and churches are silent on the subject of the last prejudice. 

 

But the Bible isn’t.  It’s right there in Isaiah 52 and 53:

 

“Behold, my servant shall deal prudently; he shall be exalted and extolled, and be very high.  As many were astonished at thee; his visage was so marred more than any man, and his form more than the sons of men.  So shall he sprinkle many nations; the kings shall shut their mouths at him:  for that which had not been told them shall they see; and that which had not been told them shall they see; and that which they had not heard shall they consider.

 

“Who hath believed our report?  And to whom is the arm of the Lord revealed?

 

“For he shall grow up before him as a tender plant, and as a root out of a dry ground:  he hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him.”

 

The more popular notion of Jesus is picked up after those verses:

 

“He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief:  and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not.”

 

There is the comfort for the uncomely, the homely, the sick, the malformed, the crippled, the afflicted.  He was like us, after all, and had the strength to bear it without succumbing to self-pity or despair or revenge.  Instead, He taught that we should return good for evil, kindness for cruelty, forgiveness for weakness, and love for hatred.

 

“Do good to them that abuse you,” He said.

 

So, rest in peace, Robin Williams.  We thank your widow for revealing the true circumstances behind your death.  I believe God understands perfectly and will not punish Williams for falling into despair.  He knows just how cruel this world has become.  To those contemplating this same action:  Don’t give up.  The best “revenge” is to get professional help, live well, and prosper.

 

Tomorrow (or Monday):  the riots going on in St. Louis, Mo.

 

 

Published in: on August 15, 2014 at 12:55 pm  Leave a Comment  

Robin Williams’ Friends Speak Up

Robin Williams was not alone.  He had many friends in Hollywood.  Unfortunately for all of us who enjoyed his comedy (if not his politics), he isolated himself inside his head.

His friends knew something was wrong.  The anonymous actor who spoke to a London newspaper it appears was actress Carrie Fisher, who was hired to write the Tinkerbell character in the movie Hook and worked with Williams to craft the dialogue between Tinkerbell and the Peter Pan/Banning character.

She told the newspaper that he came to see her show, Wishing Drinking, about her own battles with alcoholism and mental illness.  During the show, she has her audience take a test on bi-polar disorder.  Williams went along with the test – and tested positive.

Fisher said that she could see something was wrong, that he wasn’t himself.  Another friend said that the twinkle had gone out of his eye after undergoing open heart surgery in 2009.  He also dreaded having to film the sequel to Mrs. Doubtfire.  He told someone making films brought out his inner demons.

Certainly, Mrs. Doubtfire would have caused him some anguish since the movie is about a divorced man trying to regain custody of his kids.  Dead Poets Society was about a teacher in a private boys’ school (Williams attended a private school) who inspires his students to stretch themselves.  As an indirect result, one of the students commits suicide.  In Hook, he portrays an adult attorney who neglects his children – possibly using the role to indict his own father.

Rush Limbaugh has said that we shouldn’t speculate; that no one can know what was going on in his mind.  Glenn Beck, who’s been there personally and been a witness to two family suicides, says professional help is the only way for someone that far-gone.  Michael Savage, a San Francisco area resident and broadcaster, says that it was an act of aggression – or possibly passive-aggression – and that Williams didn’t stop to think how his action would affect his family, particularly his children.

Limbaugh and Savage say that the Marin County Coroner was right to publicly disclose the details of Williams’ suicide.  In fact, Savage says that the coroner was legally required to do so.  Beck, on the other hand, objected and blamed the Media.  Limbaugh says that suicides aren’t encouraged by the details but by the sympathy that the high-profile suicides bring.  Savage says that Williams’ suicide shouldn’t be romanticized.

From up here in the cheap seats, on the other side of the radio and television, it looks as though what happened was Williams got up one morning, looked in the mirror at this aging guy, and said, “Who the heck are you?!”  Where was that young, athletic guy with the twinkling eye and the lightning-quick sense of humor?  Where now are thy gambols and thy wit?

“Alas, poor Yorick!  I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.  He hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorr’d in my imagination it is!  My gorge rises at it.  Here hung those lips that I have kiss’d I know not how oft.  Where be your gibes now?  Your gambols, your songs, your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar?  Not one now, to mock your own grinning?”   Hamlet, Wm. Shakespeare

In short, he couldn’t face his own mortality.  Or the debts he’d incurred through divorce and probably his cocaine habit.  Or having to return to work he no longer had the stamina to perform, given his heart condition.  Stripped of his clown’s paint, he was just another human being, like everyone else.  He apparently couldn’t live with that – and committed one of the worst crimes against humanity, save murder or genocide – he took his own life.

When Williams admitted to Carrie Fisher that he’d tested positive on her bi-polar test, he denied that it meant anything, that that wasn’t him.  Pundits like Limbaugh say no one can know what’s going on in someone’s head.  But this guy had friends who wouldn’t let them help him.  A clown admitting that he was sad?  No more than the wealthy father in Dead Poets Society could admit that his son didn’t want to follow in his footsteps and that, in fact, he wanted to be an actor, a mark of disgrace to wealthy families in those days.  JFK Jr., impossibly handsome, wanted to be an actor, but his mother, Jackie, said absolutely not.  Would he be alive today if he’d been living in Hollywood, making movies and taking a commercial flight to Boston and then going by car to Martha’s Vineyard?

The details of suicide are horrible, something no one wants to know particularly.  No one seemed bothered by the details of young Phoebe Prince’s suicide, hanging herself with a scarf from a rod in the family closet.  The father of a young man who’d been on our band hanged himself from a tree in their backyard.  My godfather, recently widowed, was deprived custody of his four children by his in-laws after his wife’s death.  He was saved only by my parents’ concern about his state of mind when he visited them, giving the new parents advice on dealing with their infant son (my older brother).  At my mother’s urging, my father went up to his apartment, where he found the windows closed and all the gas jets and the oven turned on.

My father brought him back down to their apartment, where they convinced him to hire a lawyer to fight the custody ruling.  He regained custody of his children and lived to enjoy a fairly good old age (he outlived my father) and a number of grandchildren, including the beauteous A.

I (still) think the Marin County Coroner’s office should have issued a press release rather than hold a press conference on the precise details of Williams’ suicide.  Holding a public press conference on such a sensitive issue is like playing an outdoor concert without first rehearsing the music.  Once you play that wrong, dissonant note, you can’t reach into the air and take it back.  Such words are better left to print and the reader’s discretion. 

The Media does what it does.  You can’t expect them to be responsible. They should be, but that’s wishful thinking.  No one should really be taking the Coroner’s Office for doing their job.  Any Media outlet could have taken that same written report and read it out loud over the air, with the same result.  But it would have been on their heads, not the Coroner’s Office.

Anger is a natural reaction to Williams’ act of suicide.  Plenty of people all over the world experience varying degrees of depression for various reasons – financial difficulties, divorce, illness (mental and otherwise), a sense of worthlessness or failure.  The suicide prevention expert on Michael Savage’s radio program yesterday had it right, though:

“Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.”

Published in: on August 14, 2014 at 11:48 am  Leave a Comment  

Robin Williams’ Death: Too Much Information

Within 24 hours, the manner of Robin Williams’ death went from too little information (for a public figure) to too much information.

 

The first report simply stated (to paraphrase):  “Death by asphyxiation.”  Well what was that supposed to mean?  Was he strangled?  Smothered to death?  Did he smother himself to death?  Did he put his head in a gas oven?  Those are all causes of asphyxiation.  Normally, people don’t associate asphyxiation with hanging; they think when a person hangs themselves that their neck breaks.  Which isn’t the case.  They strangle.

 

A day later, the coroner comes out with a painstakingly detailed account of how the popular comic died.  In fact, the spokesperson gave far more details than we needed or was good for public consumption, considering all the severely depressed people pondering this very act.

 

He hung himself inside the house.  Thank you very much.  That’s all we needed to know.  The fact that he was not in the same bedroom as his wife is a rather interesting, if salacious, fact that could answer part of the question of why he did it.  According to the reports, there were a number of factors involved beginning with his manic-depression and his drug-use, a waning period in his career, financial problems, and probably long-standing issues with his father, a senior executive at Ford who, almost without question given his high-ranking position in the company, was something of an absent father.

 

My father died at home, of natural causes, in a rather embarrassing place.  We didn’t discuss it with anyone and no one asked us.  It was painful enough for my brothers, who found him after breaking down a door.  That’s not the way we wanted to remember him.  We preferred to remember him as the tall, strapping, handsome man who, a family friend told us, turned all the female heads at his wedding.   The man tall enough to pick up my brothers and let them touch the ceiling.  The strong man who was able to swim out against a rip tide and save his 3 year-old daughter’s life. 

 

That’s what Robin Williams’ widow was talking about.

 

Some of us did not care for Robin Williams’ politics or his more political movies.  But for those of us who are true movie fans, that doesn’t mean we didn’t love him as a performer or didn’t appreciate his amazing talent for improv and comedy.  He was amazing, incredibly funny, and by all accounts a sensitive, generous man.  If we were to boycott all the communist-sympathizing actors in Hollywood, we would never see another movie again or listen to another record.

 

Depression has many levels.  There’s the everyday level of depression, or sadness, that everyone feels from time to time.  Then, as Glenn Beck observed yesterday, there’s clinical depression, where the body begins to manifest the symptoms of out-of-control mood swings.  At that point, the patient can no longer just wake up and say, “Well, I’ve had enough of this.  I’m going to shut the door on what’s bothering me and enjoy this day.”  Physically, they’re unable to do it.  That’s when they need to seek professional help.

 

In severe cases, patients can exhibit symptoms of schizophrenia, hallucinations, fatigue, and suicidal thoughts.  A friend’s wife suffered from bi-polar disorder.  This was at the time when psychiatrists were first beginning to recognize it as an illness.  Her husband, in frustration, was going to have her committed.  She’d go on spending sprees.  She’d tell people (including me) that she was an FBI or CIA agent.  I told him before he did that that he should find a psychiatrist who could prescribe her these new medications.

 

He did and they did help her.  However, the meds also had side effects and she often went off her medications, which made her condition worse.  Bi-polars don’t just go off the meds because they suddenly feel like themselves.  They go off because they don’t like the side effects, including lethargy, memory problems, motor-physical difficulties, and slurring of speech. 

 

Researchers have come out recently with new medications that avoid those side effects and actually do bring the patients to a more normal state.  That’s when patients run into the problem of going off the meds because they suddenly feel better and figure they don’t need them.  They have to be hospitalized or they’d harm themselves.

 

Yes, patients that severely affected to do need to be taken to a “safe place” so they don’t harm themselves.  And no, no one can be talked out of wanting to take their own life in that state of mind.  They need professional help, certainly.  Although, sometimes even professional help doesn’t work.  The therapists give up and settle for keeping the patients basically sedated, the families give up, and eventually, the patients give up.  It doesn’t happen often.  But it does happen.

 

Fox News featured a psychiatrist on the day Robin Williams died.  He said that Williams was trying to avoid the pain, dodging it through comedy and drugs.  He said he would have sat down with Williams and make him face that pain and feel it.  I think that’s what he said.

 

If I’d been his patient, those words would have still been hanging in the air as the door slammed behind me and I got into my car.  Sadism is no cure for depression.  That’s the general theory that psychiatry has adopted.  That people need to face their pain and relive it over and over again, spending their lives alternately weeping on a therapist’s couch and living in a drugged state, hardly different from Williams’ cocaine and alcohol habit.  My friend calls it “self-medicating.”

 

At least, that’s what I’m hearing.  Maybe that’s the best that modern psychiatry can offer.  That beats killing yourself, whether hanging yourself in a closet or from a tree, or overdosing on sleeping pills, or any of the other various methods of permanent escape. At least you’ll be alive, which is better than being dead, although suicides obviously don’t see it that way.

 

Or you can leave the baggage in lost and found and continue on your journey.  But that’s an unrealistic option for treating depression as severe as Williams faced.  As Glenn Beck observed, they’re tired.  “They’re just tired of fighting it,” he says.

 

The thing is, you can’t change the past.  Williams couldn’t change the family lifestyle he led as a child of an affluent father and socialite mother.  My mother’s parents were a poor woman’s version, though economically inverted, and so were my friends’ parents, and his paternal grandparents.  That’s probably why Robin Williams always chose movies extolling the importance of family.  Even One Stop Photo was a film (albeit a dark one) about family.

 

You can’t change the past and that’s what (I suspect and actually know personally) causes the spiral downward.  Nothing you can do, short of inventing a time machine and climbing into it, can change the past.  People seek out psychiatry, often successfully, to find an authority figure who will tell them everything will be okay.  The patient does need to go into the past so the doctor knows what the heck the problem is.  Unfortunately, it can also start the recording going and going and never really stopping.

 

At some point (in my strictly laywoman’s opinion), you need to shut the door and put a lock on it.

 

If any of us could go back in time, three days past now, what would we say to Robin Williams to convince him not to do this thing?  His friends knew something was wrong, but he’d only answer them with a joke and tell them he was okay.  Even to the casual observer at the distance of a television screen could see in his appearances that all was not well. 

 

His smile was wearing out.

 

So what would we say?  That most movie stars experience slumps?  That he may find a new avenue for his talents?  What would his mentor, Jonathon Winters, say?  That we’re all getting old and no one expects him, at age 63, to stand on his head on a chair?  Don’t look back?  That it’s just like Vivien Leigh said in Gone with the Wind, that if you keep looking back that it tears at you and tears at you until you can do nothing but look back?  That poorer men than he have been financially wiped out by divorce(s) and still managed to come back?  William Shatner found himself living in a trailer after his divorce?  That there’s more to life than mansions, ranches, and fancy cars?  That even George Clooney and Gene Hackman do commercials?  That it wasn’t really cool that the likes of John Belushi died young, in their prime and at the height of their careers of drug overdoses?

 

I don’t think we should romanticize the deaths of celebrities like John Belushi or Whitney, to cite a more recent example.  Their deaths were tragic.  But no matter how genuinely depressed Williams was, these people were taking drugs because it was cool and fashionable.  And because some dealer got them hooked and took them for a lot of money.  Their addictions just became so bad that enough was just not enough and they took too much and died.

 

In a film recap, Fox News aired an episode of Mork and Mindy, where Mork eulogizes the great talents who had left us too young.  Most of the people he cited died of overdoses or actually committed suicide.  However, he noted John Lennon, who at the time of the show was the most recent loss.  John Lennon didn’t commit suicide, and although he did drugs, he didn’t OD; he was murdered.  There’s a difference.

 

Yes, we will miss the merry antics of Robin Williams.  If only he could have stayed young in his mind.  I came across this excerpt yesterday from a book called Jesus Calling, by Sarah Young, which is a daily (dated) guide of inspirational thoughts:

“August 13

 Learn to enjoy life more.  Relax, remembering that I am ‘God with you.’  I crafted you with enormous capacity to know Me and enjoy My Presence.  When My people wear sour faces and walk through their lives with resigned rigidity, I am displeased.  When you walk through a day with childlike delight, savoring every blessing, you proclaim your trust in Me, your ever-present Shepherd.  The more you focus on My presence with you, the more fully you can enjoy life.  Glorify Me through your pleasure in Me.  Thus you proclaim My Presence to the watching world.”

 

Published in: on August 13, 2014 at 10:46 am  Leave a Comment  

Prince of Clowns

Robin Williams had me at “Nanoo-nanoo!”  I remember his appearance on the episode of Happy Days where Mork tried to kidnap Ritchie Cunningham.  Williams, who died yesterday at the age of 63 – an apparent suicide – was hilarious and I said to my brothers I hoped they kept this guy on because he was a riot.

 

Then came Mork and Mindy.  He was incredible, totally manic.  Why so many of our generation’s comics commit suicide?  Or overdose on drugs?  Of course, his suicide isn’t without precedent.  Forties actor George Sanders, when he learned he could no longer play the piano, chopped up the piano, threw the pieces out the window, then killed himself.

 

And therein lay his problem.  I can’t say I cared much for his politics.  Or his blue humor.  My mother and I walked out of Moscow on the Hudson.  If we were looking for Mork from Ork, he certainly wasn’t there.

 

Williams openly discussed his alcohol and drug addiction, particularly to cocaine.  Upon the death of John Belushi in 1982 and with the impending birth of his first child, he quit cold turkey.  For 20 years, he stayed clean.  But eventually, the demons caught up with him and in 2006, he went back into rehab.

 

Williams was best known for his manic comedy.  However, he wanted to show his serious side as well, which he did most memorably in Dead Poets Society (1989), Good Morning Vietnam (1987), and the lesser-known Jakob the Liar (1999).

 

Then of course there were his classic comedy and children’s film turns:  Mrs. Doubtfire (1993), Hook (1991), Aladdin – as the Genie (1992), and Patch Adams (1998).  Patch Adams was panned by the critics, who apparently were looking for something blue from Williams.  There was also Jumanji (1995), a rather dark, and sometimes frightening, but very interesting children’s tale.

 

Like many actors who won acclaim for more positive roles, Williams either thought he was missing something or he was looking for something.  Only he looked for it in the wrong places.  He won great acclaim for his darker movies – he’d been hoping to play Heather Ledger’s role as The Joker in The Dark Knight Returns.  He didn’t get it and Ledger became so depressed by the dark, evil character he was playing that he took prescription drugs (and probably street drugs) to compensate.  Consequently, Ledger died much too young.

 

Williams won the 1997 Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor for his role in Good Will Hunting, a film I didn’t care for in the least.  Williams was rather too obvious in displaying his politics, dressing up like Fidel Castro or Che Guevara, or whoever he was supposed to be.  That’s Hollywood for you, always missing the boat, although the Academy’s choice of Denzel Washington in Glory was understandable.

 

Williams began following a darker path both professionally and personally.  Just as One Day Photo (about a photo developer who becomes obsessed with a family he has photographed over the years) was being released in 2002, Williams fell off the wagon.  A number of apparently unmemorable films which no one talks about much (and I never saw) followed.  He starred in a short-lived television series, The Crazy Ones.

 

No one could blame him if the later Williams, entering into his sixties, could no longer summon up the manic energy he possessed in his twenties.  Who can?  As he went too far down in the other direction from his comic mania, so did the depression side of his manic-depression, or bi-polar disorder.

 

He said that taking cocaine had the opposite effect it had on other people; that it calmed his down from his “normal” manic state.  Pat Gray, on Glenn Beck’s radio program this morning confirmed that Williams was, in fact, bi-polar and like all bi-polars had a bad habit of going off his medications.

 

The medications do the job of keeping the patient from going off the deep end, one way or the other.  The trouble is it leaves them on too placid a road.  They don’t experience any ups or downs at all.  Those ups and downs are a normal part of life.  However, bi-polars are chemically changed both by their conditions and their medications; there is no balance without the meds.

 

Bi-polars are often very creative people.  Without that ability to go beyond the limits, always keeping to the cautious road, we would not have great inventions, great art and music, great poetry and stories, great actors and comedians.  Even great presidents, like Abraham Lincoln.

 

There are people out there right now who have plunged so deep into that dark hole that they can no longer see the light.  They keep it to themselves because, frankly, most people would shun them rather than help them if they knew.  “You’re too needy,” is more likely what normal friends will tell them than “What can I do to help you?”  They fear being drawn into the darkness themselves.  The depressed person is expected to just pull themselves up by their bootstraps.  Or get professional help (which at best can only mask the symptoms or regulate them with medications).

 

According to his bio, Williams was extremely overweight as a child and his busy mother often left him in the care of the housemaid.  He consoled himself in his loneliness by creating characters in his head and had them talk to each other with different voices, a characteristic that would later lead him to fame and fortune.

 

Other people aren’t of much use.  Doctors will only prescribe you meds.  Well, that’s better than hanging yourself or jumping off a bridge.  Take the meds, by all means.  But if you need someone to talk to, talk to God.  He’s listening and you can trust him (although you should beware because it is a party line, so to speak, and someone else may try to impersonate the Creator of the Universe and tell you the wrong things).

 

The best source for God’s word is The Bible.  If you really take the time to read it, and not just rely on someone else’s word for it, you’ll find the answers you need to get through.

 

“Tomorrow will be a better day.”  That’s what my mother always told me when the kids at school were tormenting me.  I had a more defiant attitude than most depressed kids, which I learned from my mother.  I kept hope that there was a world beyond the confines of the prison schoolyard.  One day I would escape and find better people, if not in one place then another.

 

I learned to shun anything negative.  No horror movies.  No psycho “thrillers” (which was why I wouldn’t watch One Day Photo or The Dark Knight).  No negative people, either.  That is, no people who made me feel bad about myself.  Jobs were a problem, of course, because it’s not that easy to just get up and leave, so sometimes I found myself in those dark holes.  At one job, the boss and the co-workers were so horrible that I was certain I’d fallen into hell.  Eventually, though, we parted company and I went on to a job that I loved.  It was just a matter of getting through it.

 

That’s where making music helped me through.  I had a series of jobs I hated.  The people were miserable, abusive taskmasters who took their power a little too seriously.  Playing in the band – and watching movies – were my escape from that plight.  I refused to be drawn into the snare of drugs and drinking.  In fact, I was and am quite convinced that alcohol is what helps makes these people so dreadful.

 

Glenn Beck was right when he said that depressed people just get tired of fighting it.  He should know; he’s suffered from depression all his life and has battled drug and alcohol abuse.  Creative people are especially susceptible to it because they’re expected to conform, to toe the line, to lead a normal, productive life, not take chances on a crazy dream.

 

Comedienne Lucille Ball once wrote that comedy is a gift to others but that it’s also requires a sacrifice, allowing people to laugh at you.  Laughter is a release from tension and anxiety.  I used to make people laugh at work.  That was mainly why most of my bosses didn’t like me.  That was why my last job at the insurance company was such a perfect match.  I enjoyed making people laugh even as supervisors were cracking the whip to make those people perform and produce more.

 

Thank you for the gift, Robin Williams.

 

Nanoo-nanoo!

 

 

 

Published in: on August 12, 2014 at 11:45 am  Leave a Comment  

Obama Needs Help

Obama was on the campaign trail, again, yesterday in Kansas City, taunting the Republicans who want to impeach him.

Now, it’s actually no secret that we believe he deserves to be impeached. “Impeach Obama” stickers have papered bumper stickers since he was elected. While those early bumper stickers may have been premature, in the six years he’s been in office, he’s given us pretty good reason for wanting to impeach him.

Nevertheless, he knows that with the pot-head crowd on his side, he has nothing to fear, even if Congress has every legal reason to bring charges of impeachment against him. Republican legislators, beginning with John Boehner, have been frantically denying the charge that they want to impeach him and media pundits have been tearing their hair out in a panic.

Calls for impeachment will only create sympathy for him, energize his base, and cost Conservatives the upcoming midterm elections. So Obama can flout the Constitution with impunity, stick his tongue out at Congress and Conservatives and yuk it up with his base (which is actually dwindling).

Politico.com reported, “They have announced that they’re going to sue me for taking executive actions to help people. So they’re mad because I’m doing my job,” Obama told a crowd at an event in Kansas on Wednesday. He also reminded them who is funding the lawsuit.

“We could do so much more if Congress would just come on and help out a little bit,” Obama said. “Stop being mad all the time. Stop just hating all the time. Let’s get some work done together.”

“And by the way, you know who is paying for this suit they are going to file? You!”

By the way, you know who is paying for all the illegal aliens he’s invited across the border? You are. We are. The taxpayers. But if you really want to spare the taxpayers the expense of impeaching you, Obama, why don’t you resign gracefully, the way your predecessor, Richard M. Nixon, did forty years ago this month? August 9th is less than two weeks away.

By the way, did you know that the United States already has sent $391.8 million dollars in aid to Guatemala and $624 million to Honduras? Mexico received $958.2 million dollars in U.S. foreign aid. That’s almost $2 billion in foreign aid, compliments of the U.S. taxpayer. Yet Obama still insists that they need our “help”. Not to mention the billions Americans spend on illegal drugs from South America.

Yes, Kansas Citians. You Obama Cheerleaders at his Kansas City rally, who undoubtedly purchase the drug-dealers’ wares. That’s your money – or more likely, our tax-payer money “transformed” into welfare money – that has gone to support the drug dealers who want to use the abandoned little kids as drug mules.

Pardon me if my violin sounds a little scratchy. Don’t you just hate the truth?

Yet the Republican House refuses to help him. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Poor Obama. Just trying to be a nice guy and Conservatives want to see him impeached for violating the Constitution and exceeding his presidential powers. Why anyone would think he was a traitor, trying to destroy the United States of America, the way Conservatives talk. You’d think, the way Conservatives portray it, that those poor children are really drug-dealing teenagers and adults thinly disguised as teenagers.

Anyone would think he was inviting their parents to come into the United States and giving them amnesty so they would vote Democrat forever (the way LBJ promised that the Blacks would back in the 1960s) and America would become a one-party, Communist system. You’d think he was trying to undermine the U.S. economy, bankrupt the country, drive the middle class into poverty.

Redistribute the wealth, which is one of the 10 planks of Communism. It’s right there, in The Communist Manifesto, by Karl Marx. Obama isn’t quoting Karl Marx.

Oh wait. He did say that. That’s what he told Joe the Plumber when he was on the real campaign trail. But with thousands of young people doped up, they’d never know the difference. Heck, they agree with me. Pot makes everything okay. Violating the Constitution. Robbing the middle class. Granting amnesty to drug-dealer. Legalizing pot and gay marriage.

The Conservatives just hate that. That’s what makes ‘em haters. And for that (and a few other technical issues) they want to impeach him. Imagine that.

Political realities dictate that it would, in fact, be political suicide to try to impeach him. Right now. There’s nothing new about the sentiment. The doped-up voters just couldn’t read the bumper stickers through their pot-blurred eyes all these years. But it’s an election year and the Democrats need all the help they can get.

Normally, Obama would be considered a lame-duck president. He’s said himself – “Heck, I’ll be gone in two years. What are they getting so fired up about?”

We’re not. Obama’s the one who violated the Constitution. He’s the one who’s stoked up the flame of impeachment which has smoldered impotently since he was elected. He’s the one who’s flagrantly exceeded his powers. He also knows the House of Representatives is powerless to do anything about his numerous breaches of faith. When you have an ignorant, brainwashed, puerile mob supporting you, you can do anything.

Obama is the hater. He hates white people (read his biography, Dreams of My Father. He says so in his own words, with a little help from Bill Ayers). He hates Capitalism. He hates suburbia. He hates the Rich (not counting his wealthy, elite Democrat donors). He hates the Middle Class. He hates the military. He certainly hates the Tea Parties. He hates Israel. He hates the United Kingdom, our former allies. He hates individualism. He hates the free markets. He hates freedom of speech. He hates freedom of religion. He hates freedom.

Obama hates America. And that’s about as hateful as you can get.

No, Mr. Barrack Hussein Obama. We’re not going to “help” you destroy our own country. Thank you very kindly for the invitation, but no thank you. But we’ll gladly help you pack your bags.

Published in: on August 1, 2014 at 6:47 am  Leave a Comment