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Thought for the Day

Yeah, should have had coffee before we started that conversation.

Today’s Earworm

Might want to wear the headphones for this one.

Thought for the Day

Looking over the political headlines tonight, it appears that TASS has been authorized to report that our Fearless Leader is as hale and hearty as he ever was. Our Glorious President is working tirelessly at the people’s business, and guiding us to a bright future.

All that’s missing is a blank stare and a monotone “All Glory” to the Hypnotoad!”

So, What Next?

Like a lot of people, even some of those in his own party, I was never happy about Joe Biden being President.

I was just a tad too young to vote in 1988, but I vividly remember how big an ass he was during his failed bid for the nomination that year. Hey, if you can’t lie and steal ideas in such a way that it takes at least a little effort to catch you, you should have the grace to commit political seppeku to expatiate your guilt.

Obviously, the Senator from Delaware didn’t have that sort of fortitude, because we’re still dealing with him.

I watched as Biden showed just how big an ass he could be a few years later during the Senate hearings confirming Clarence Thomas to the Supreme Court. The good Senator’s snide insinuations, insults, and denigration of the nominee’s character should have meant that no proud American of African descent would ever vote for him, much less any American with an ounce of decency.

And yet, here we are.

While I’m just cynical enough to admit that there are vanishingly few politicians as clean as the driven snow, Joe Biden has the reek of decades worth of dishonesty, vice, and graft wafting from his personage. The fact that he has been as corrupt as he is, for as long as he has been, leads one to realize that no amount of debauchery and debasement will ever suffice to get a sitting member of the Senate ejected. That is, of course, if the Senator in question makes sure to voice the right platitudes, vote the right way, and have the right dirt on the right people.

To be honest, when Biden announced that he would not be seeking the presidency in 2016, I thought we would hear the last of him after the inauguration the following year. He’d become a footnote in some history book somewhere while the stain his career brought to our society would be papered over with the stains of the next generation of slime mold accomplishments of those who came after him.

But, in their infinite wisdom, for the 2020 election the Democrats decided to pull Biden out of cold storage, fill him to the gills with what was likely a historic level of pharmaceuticals, and pull out all the stops to install him in the White House.

Since then, we’ve been treated to a view of an old man’s decline from being a washed-up excuse for a Washington swamp dweller to a used-up shell of a human being. Part of me actually pities him as he is pushed out into the spotlight by his harridan of a wife and the usual gang of idiots to mouth some rehearsed lines, answer some pre-ordained questions, and try to get off the stage without tumbling in front of the cameras.

Yes, folks slow down as they get older. Maybe he can be productive for a few hours every day, but the presidency isn’t that kind of job. Biden has to be able to be a decisive leader at any time, day or night. He has to be able to provide direction, sometimes in a chaotic situation, without any preparation.

And he has to be able to do it today, tomorrow, and every single day from now until noon on January 20, 2025. As bad as his condition is now, he has to be able to perform for another seven months. If he should win reelection, he has to be able to do it for almost another five years.

Joe Biden, now more than ever, is not that kind of President.

Go watch a Biden interview or press conference from 2019, then watch last week’s debate. You’ll see the impact the last five years have had on the man. Regardless of what you think of Joe Biden or his politics, do you think he’s going to crawl out of that hole and be good enough to do the job until 2029?

I see several possibilities for the next few months –

1. Biden stays in office and continues his candidacy.

It would cost them, but the Democrats may go with this just to keep from admitting that they’ve been exploiting a senior citizen for half a decade. They may even see something honorable about dancing with the one they dragged to the party.

I don’t see any way that Biden could pull off a win as Trump’s polling numbers start to consistently show a lead that exceeds the margin of cheat. Assuming that Trump still draws breath on Election Day, he is likely to beat Joe Biden.

2. Biden withdraws voluntarily

If you’re waiting for Joe Biden to do the honorable thing and bow out, don’t hold your breath. He would likely have to resign from the Oval Office for ‘health reasons’ as well. It’s not out of the realm of possibility, but I would be more surprised to read about this in the news than I would if the headlines proclaimed that the Pope had registered as a Republican.

3. Biden is removed from office and the candidacy

This one is tricky. Maybe the President passes away peacefully in his sleep, as people with his years and condition are known to do. I don’t wish death on President Biden, but it is well within the realm of possibility that Kamala Harris becomes President, and the Democrats have a clear lane to putting a new name on the ballot.

More likely, I think, would be for Mrs. Harris and the Cabinet to remove Mr. Biden from office through the 25th Amendment to the Constitution. I’m sure some way to word their declaration could be found that deflects charges that they’ve covered up for the President’s decline for years, and Joe Biden is put out to pasture. Maybe they’ll even give Mrs. Biden some of what they’ve been dosing the President with so that she’ll go quietly too.

As the clock ticks down to the convention and the election, I see Mr. Biden being removed from office as more and more likely.

But if Biden isn’t on the ballot, what happens with the election?

First, I think, the Democrats would sigh in relief and nominate someone else. Perhaps it would be an orderly, carefully orchestrated process, done in a spirit of collegiality and willingness to forego personal ambition for the good of the nation. However, I don’t think the disparate wings of the party will go for that.

In normal times, Kamala Harris would be the presumptive substitute for her boss. If Biden dies or is removed from office, she becomes President and can use what little success the Biden administration has had as reasons for her own election. She’d certainly get at least some portion of the African American vote, as well as support from those who would reflexively vote for any female just so they could say they did. Perhaps she could get a few piercings, color her hair, and declare herself an ambisexual, left-handed, countercultural foxself to appeal to younger voters who would otherwise listen to ugly rumors of her incompetence.

California governor Gavin Newsom is also a possibility as a replacement. He has executive experience, looks relatively good on camera when ordering dinner at a fancy restaurant, and can safely declare that he accelerated the decline of California into the failed state that he wants to transform the entire country into. He could hold the Golden State up as a shining example of the future under a Newsom dynasty.

There are other non-player candidates that could be put on stage to wave for the cameras and parrot whatever pablum the poobahs of the proletariat want them to. Governor Whitmer of Michigan comes to mind for this role. Hillary Clinton could be reanimated, but she was past her prime in 2016. The intervening eight years have not been good to her. Outside of their core supporters, however, I don’t see much enthusiasm for them or anyone like them. It’s just too late in the election season to (re)introduce someone and get momentum moving.

I don’t think any of these folks could beat Trump.

To me, the wild card is Michelle Obama. Now, she’s never done a day of public service that I know of, she’s never been elected to anything, and she has no history of leadership in the private sector. She’s known for being the wife of a former president, and not much else.

But she has that Obama name, and she has her husband to campaign for her. Love him or hate him, Barack Obama gives an excellent stump speech. The moment she announces a candidacy, you will hear his voice on every news station and political YouTube channel. The DNC and the progressive side of the Democrat party would line up behind her, and the full might of the information and entertainment industries would sing her praises to the masses.

Mrs. Obama would probably have both the black and woman vote, reversing the inroads that Trump has made with those groups. She could point to her husband’s legacy and promise a return to that, gaining her the nostalgia-for-mediocrity vote. Without even the scant political resume her husband had when he ran in 2008, she would be the perfect blank slate upon which voters could project whatever they wanted. Whether or not she would be the perfect marionette for the people who have been pulling Biden’s strings would remain to be seen.

In the face of that, could Trump win? That, I can’t predict. It would be at least as hard a fight as 2016, and I believe even he was surprised he won then.

No matter what, we are moving through uncharted political territory. These are the sort of days that get written about in history books, and I’ve read enough history to know that most folks who live through such times don’t enjoy them.

Buckle up, brothers and sisters. This is going to be a bumpy ride.

Story Idea

Got this while enjoying breakfast at one of my favorite places on earth today, and wanted to get it down before I lost it. Let me know what y’all think:


“Here you go,” the waitress said sweetly.  She set a large plate, almost overflowing with eggs, biscuits, and chorizo gravy, in front of me. 

I looked up in surprise.  I had been engrossed in reading a news site and hadn’t heard her approach. 

“And let me fill that up for y’all,” she drawled.  The sweet sound of coffee flowing into my mug momentarily broke through the background noise.

“Thanks!” I said, trying not to reach for the coffee too quickly.  It had been a long night, and today was going to be even longer.

She gave me a dimpled smile, then continued her circuit around the room.  Her shoulder-length hair, the color of ripe wheat, swung with the rhythm of her steps as she went from one table to another.

I unfolded my silverware from their napkin cocoon, placed the napkin on my lap like my mama taught me, and dug in.  I was in Chattanooga for an executive protection job, but I had a couple of hours before my principal would be out of bed and off to his mid-morning brunch and first meeting.  I’d taken the opportunity to walk a few blocks from the convention center we were staying at to grab a bite to eat at a coffee house a friend had recommended.

So, in the early morning Tennessee humidity, I was ensconced in an eclectic place dubbed ‘The Frothy Monkey’, enjoying a twist on southern breakfast, and loading up on caffeine for the day.  I needed the coffee to kickstart my morning , and I would need the calories for what was likely to be a long day on my feet.

My principal was an author who had gained quite a following over the years, and he was attending a convention to meet old friends and fans.  Unfortunately, gaining fame had also gained him a host of, well, let’s just call them detractors.  He was unashamed of his positions on a lot of issues, and wasn’t afraid to express them publicly.  What should have gained him only scorn and disinterest from those who disagreed could now gain him confrontation and maybe even violence from those who equated words they found distasteful with, well, violence.

His publishers, and his wife, had decided that he needed some discreet oversight while he attended talks with other authors and readers, met with publishers, and just enjoyed the company of his tribe.  No specific threats had been received, so far, but they felt that it was better to spend a little money to be prepared for someone to do something stupid than to deal with the aftermath of stupid upgrading to insane.

After meeting the man, I had to wonder why he needed my services.  I’m not called the Boogieman for nothing, but this guy towered over me in both height and bulk.  His handshake, warm as it was, engulfed my hand when we had met the day before.  He didn’t do that big-man “break the joints in the fingers” handshake, but I’m pretty sure that was due to a conscious choice, not due to a lack of ability.  An ox would look at this guy and realize that it needed to up its game at the gym.

Any thought that I was being hired because I was good with a gun was thrown out when I did some research on the guy.  The man was a stone cold gunslinger when he wanted to be, and I had no illusions that I could keep up with him if it things went from jaw-jaw to stab-stab or bang-bang. 

No, my job was to discreetly stay somewhat close to him, watch for anyone who looked to be considering committing public idiocy, and to intercede before things escalated.  He had an assistant to get him from one place to another at the convention, but I was to stay in the background with the rest of the big guys wearing Hawaiian shirts until things started getting out of hand.

But, that was for later.  For now, I needed to fuel up.  I poured a few dashes of hot sauce on breakfast and dug in.  As early as it was, the place was relatively busy, and the background conversations and piped-in hits of the ‘80’s made for a wall of white noise between me and the rest of the world. 

Since my nose was no longer buried in my phone, I noticed when an older lady came into the restaurant.  She was quite a bit older than the rest of the crowd enjoying their breakfast and morning pick-me-up, but it was how she was dressed that really caught my eye.  In my jeans and tee shirt, I was on the upper end of the fashion scale for the room.  Most of my fellow caffeine aficionados were dressed for comfort, not style.  Shorts and tee shirts as small as the law allowed made up most of the feminine attire, while the men ranged from baggy tee shirts to loose tank tops. 

This lady, on the other hand, was dressed in a cream colored women’s business dress that would have been the height of fashion when my grandmother was a child.   Sensible pumps, matching the dress, of course, clicked on the tiled floor as she walked to the counter, a clutch purse beaded with what looked like pearls swaying against her hip.  To finish her ensemble, she wore a classic veiled hat, complete with a small flower tucked into the band, atop a head of silver-white hair.

Honestly, if I hadn’t known better, I would have said that she was a ghost of Chattanooga past come back to shame the rest of us for our lack of style. 

Before I realized I was staring, she caught me looking and gave me a small smile.  I smiled back with a nod, then turned my attention back to my plate.  Friendly curiosity is one thing.  A strange man wearing a Metallica shirt eyeballing you as you order coffee is another. 

Imagine my surprise when I heard those pumps click a couple more times, then saw the lady sit down at the table across from me.  I looked up in shock, my fork hovering an inch from my mouth.

“Oh, darlin’,” the lady said quietly, “Sorry for startling you.”  She set a steaming mug of something on the table, then lay her purse next to it.

I quickly swallowed the mouthful of egg, cleared my throat, and replied, “Sorry, ma’am, but do I know you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie.” Her smile widened to show pearl-white teeth.  “My name is Louisa Maier, but all my friends call me Lou.”

“Hello, Miss Louisa. Have we met?”

“Oh, no, but your grandma told me I would find you here.”

The hair on the back of my neck went up.  Both of my grandmothers had been dead for quite some time.  Grandma Taylor had passed away before I was born.  All I knew of her were pictures in my mother’s albums and stories about her adventures in the Army Air Corps during the war.  Grandma Shelby had gone to her eternal reward while I was out of the country on a job about a year before Deb and I got married. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I think you’ve got the wrong guy.  My grandmothers are….”

“Martin Shelby, correct?”  Her dark eyes twinkled.

“Uh, yes, ma’am.”

“Elma May told me that I would meet you here.  That is your grandmother, correct?”

My eyebrows shot up at that.  “Uh, yes, that was her name, yes, but…”

“But she died several years ago, and you think you have a crazy woman sitting across from you.”

“Well, not crazy, but I’m definitely confused.”

“She said you’d say that.  She also said that the ‘gentleman’ you met that time you were doing gardening for her didn’t even try to make a claim on her soul when she ran into him at the Pearly Gates.”

She suppressed a giggle at the look on my face.  “You really aren’t very good at poker, are you?”

I closed my mouth and sat back.  “So, my dead grandmother sent you here to see me?”

“Oh, no, darling, nothing like that.” She picked up her mug and took a sip.  I saw that her lipstick left a slight mark on the porcelain when she set it back down. “I asked around for someone to help me, and she was the first one to reply.”

“So, you’re talking to my Grandma Shelby?”

“Well, yes, you could say that.  I can sometimes get in touch with those who’ve moved on, and she definitely has a presence when she wants to.”

I nodded.  ‘Presence’ was one way to describe my grandmother’s way of living.  Apparently, that remained the same in the afterlife.

Yeah, I know, it sounds crazy that a complete stranger had me believing her when she said she communed with the dead, but that’s not even in the top ten weird things I’ve run into.  When you’re a private detective that specializes in working with things that go bump in the night, you either get used to what others would characterize as crazy, or you change livelihoods right quick.

“All right, Miss Louisa, what can I do for you?”

Thought for the Day

Why’d you get out?

Before I begin, please give this a quick listen:

I served for just over 9 years.

I spent about 2 years of that in training of some sort or another.

So, the ‘useful’ part of my service lasted around 7 years.

Not counting field problems, where I was sent with my own unit to do get better at my job and to train others, I spent about half of that seven years deployed, attached, or on temporary duty, usually by myself. “Individual augmentee” was used to describe me on five continents.

Every time CNN would broadcast video of someone having a rough time in some third world country, the folks around me would start a pool on who would go and how long they’d be gone. By the time I left the Army, I hated the sight of Christiane Amanpour.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I got to go places, meet people, and do things that I never would have imagined, much less dreamed of, because of these times. Heck, once or twice I even volunteered to go.

But the one thing I can say is that all of that time away from home and family made little to no impact on the situations we were trying to help. Peacekeeping missions only lead to peace, for some definitions of peace, for a little while. Countries we were trying to forge ties to after decades of animosity still hate our guts. People are still manufacturing drugs and smuggling them into the United States. Let’s not even start about the number of people who cross our borders unmolested.

But, hey, it was the Clinton administration, and a foreign policy and military lacking a defined, cohesive mission had to find something to do with its soldiers, so off I schlepped to one shithole after another.

In the end, the birth of my daughter and the warning that I was about to spend most of the next two years away from home gave me the push I was looking for to get out and start over as a civilian.

Was my time in as hard, dangerous, and gut-wrenching as what the rest of the military had between 9/11 and the fall of Afghanistan? Not even close. What those folks did was amazing, and I will never take away from that. The fact that I could not pass a physical to reenlist in 2002 will always be one of the things in life that I regret.

I guess my point is that if we are to continue to push our military to go, come back, go, come back, then go again, we have to provide them with the support they need and missions that matter. Otherwise, all we are doing is spending blood and treasure to make it look like we’re doing something.

Our nation, especially the people who protect it, deserve better.

Once lost, can never be regained

The term “Full faith and credit” is part of a clause to the United States Constitution that obligates all states to recognize and support the decisions and licenses of all other states.

In a way, it’s also the only thing holding up the willingness of the American people to recognize and support the actions of those we choose to lead our nation.

Any time someone from the government says that something must be done, they must be prepared to show their work in a way that everyone can understand. “Trust me” is never good enough when we are asked to, voluntarily or not, give up rights and change our lives.

Government officials must also be prepared for transparency when questioned about motives, reasoning, and benefits. “Cui bono?” must always be answered fully and truthfully.

Over the course of the Covid-19 pandemic, government disrupted the way the people of our nation lived:

  • Closing of schools and businesses
    • How many years will it take for our children to recover from the loss of two years worth of meaningful eduction? Emailed worksheets and virtual learning are no substitute for time spent with a teacher.
    • How many small businesses shut down in early 2020 and never returned.? How many families lost investments, income, and their dreams when the government forced them to close their doors?
  • Imposition of isolation, both in public and in homes
    • Children, denied the interaction with their peers crucial to their development, were kept at home with only caregivers, siblings, and screens for company. Even the joy of a day at the park, the zoo, the beach, or even short walks through their neighborhoods were denied on pain of arrest for their parents.
    • People in the last moments of their life, whether they suffered from Covid-19 or from the myriad other things that bring us to the end of our mortal coil, died in isolation. These unfortunate souls were denied even the last touch of their family or anointing of their body by clergy.

At the core of all this was the direction provided by the public health apparatus of the state, principally the ex-cathedra dictates of the National Institutes of Health and the Centers for Disease Control. With little to no explanation as to why such measures were necessary in so broad a stroke, government officials turned our nation and our way of life on its head and demanded obedience.

Now, due to testimony to Congress, we learn that even the so-called experts had no evidence to support such things such as mandatory masking, social distancing, and other measures taken during the epidemic. You were directed to mask your children and isolate them so that they would not spread the disease to elderly teachers and grandchildren. You were forced to mask yourself and keep six feet away because of some idea that a cough or sneeze could force virus upon those around you.

Common sense measures such as “If you don’t feel well, stay home.” or “The elderly or those with other health problems should take extra measures to protect themselves, but everyone else should continue with their lives.” were replaced with “14 days to flatten the curve. I mean, make that 3 months. Well, maybe until Christmas, but don’t you have anyone over for Thanksgiving. And stay out off the beach, because fresh air and sunshine might kill your children!”

Our nation and the world in general were turned upside down by a group of people who didn’t want to admit that they were making it all up as they went along.

The most frustrating part of this, to me, is that there is no way to right the ship. We cannot turn back the clock. We cannot give two years of education back to our children. The millions of people who had their livelihoods stolen from them can never be made whole. Most of all, there is no way this side of the grave for us to comfort the souls of our loved ones who perished, alone and unattended.

Government only works when the governed trust the government. Every time that trust is abused, it diminishes on a scale equal to or greater than the impact of the abuse. Once lost, that trust will not easily be restored, and only at a great cost of time and treasure.

The actions of elements of both the Trump and Biden administrations over the Covid-19 pandemic eroded public trust to a huge extent. We will be dealing with the ramifications of those actions for decades, but the most impactful will be the loss of trust between our people and our servants in the government.

Thought for the Day

Mama, mama, don’t you cry

Your little boy ain’t gonna die

We’re off to war, and I must go

And when I’ll return I do not know.

She stands alone with tears in her eyes

As she hears the soldier’s lies.

She says “My son, I’ve heard it before.

The day your daddy marched off to war.”

Today’s Earworm