The Lie at the Base of Obama's Heart

If you want to know the big lie underlying Resident Obama's politics, look no further than this interview in the house organ of the Democratic National Committee, Rolling Stone.

You look at Abraham Lincoln: He very much believed in self-sufficiency and self-reliance. He embodied it — that you work hard and you make it, that your efforts should take you as far as your dreams can take you. But he also understood that there's some things we do better together. That we make investments in our infrastructure and railroads and canals and land-grant colleges and the National Academy of Sciences, because that provides us all with an opportunity to fulfill our potential, and we'll all be better off as a consequence. He also had a sense of deep, profound empathy, a sense of the intrinsic worth of every individual, which led him to his opposition to slavery and ultimately to signing the Emancipation Proclamation. That view of life — as one in which we're all connected, as opposed to all isolated and looking out only for ourselves — that's a view that has made America great and allowed us to stitch together a sense of national identity out of all these different immigrant groups who have come here in waves throughout our history.

I submit that for Obama to invoke the intrinsic worth of every individual, Lincoln, and the abolition of slavery in order to enslave every individual under socialism is obscene. But that's not the big lie.

"That view of life — as one in which we're all connected, as opposed to all isolated and looking out only for ourselves" — this is the lie at the base of Obama's heart, the false dichotomy that permits him and his Obamabots to pursue the enslavement of man to men in the name of "freedom."

The question is not whether we do things together, or are all isolated and looking out only for ourselves.

The question is whether we do things together as free, voluntarily cooperating individuals, or do things together at the point of a bureaucrat's gun.

What's more, that bureaucrat forcing us to cooperate according to his notions would in a free country be found barely competent to clean toilets. Nevertheless, he got his spot in the bureaucracy because he's a friend or donor of Obama. That's why government programs are usually boondoggles.

The question is whether we work together as free men, or as the slaves of Obama, the government, and the majority that elected those rapscallions.

Obama Snatches Defeat from the Jaws of Victory

Make my day and vote for Romney.

Why? Why should anyone care one way or the other?

"America is assured her independence, mankind's cause is won, and liberty is no longer homeless on earth." — Lafayette.

Don't let Obama undo this. Don't let him make liberty homeless on earth again. Don't let that socialist turn America into another European-style welfare state.

No honest person has anything to win from socialism.

Obama tells you he will take the money from the rich and give it to you. But the rich don't have that much money if you divide it among 300 million people. Particularly not if you first have to pay for multiple trillions of government waste.

You may think that you're not rich and that you'll get a share of the spoils.

But if your country goes down the road to socialism, if your government has bled the rich dry and killed the engine of productivity, your government will soon turn to you to confiscate your money to pay off those poorer than you.

Look at Greece. Look at Cuba. Look at North Korea.

Of course, socialism doesn't have to get that bad. Chances are that it will get stuck somewhere in the middle of the road.

Then you get a country like Germany, where you still have to pay the high taxes and comply with statist regulations, but find that your government — having killed off innovation and progress and having spent all the confiscated money on bureaucrats and wasteful projects that the free market rightly rejected as pointless — has no money to give you the freebies it promised.

And even that uneasy truce, that semi-socialism, where you pay and get nothing back, can only last if whatever productive people are left are altruistic enough to pay the high taxes to fund the waste. It seems to work, badly, in France, Germany, and Scandinavia.

It doesn't work in Greece. I doubt it will work in the US.

Look at their two respective deficits. Does it look like anybody is willing to pay for the welfare state?

Don't go there. It is not a nice place to be.

The only ones that profit from the welfare state are politicians, bureaucrats, and corrupt "businessmen." Look at Solyndra.

The needy are better off with private charity, even though that means they will have to say "please" and "thank you" when they want help, as they should, instead of demanding that the non-needy be their slaves by birthright. And no productive person has any use for a government that takes a dollar from him to give him fifty cents back.

No honest person has anything to win from the welfare state. Go for a standard to which honest men can repair.

"America is assured her independence, mankind's cause is won, and liberty is no longer homeless on earth."

Don't sell this for a handout you'll never get.

Lance Armstrong Backdraft

The single item in common for these is that people outside the involved communities are astounded that anyone could care enough about the issue to get in any kind of argument about it at all, much less a big argument.

I'll never, ever understand the (anti?-)concept of spectator sports. It's fine if someone does sports to stay fit or because he enjoys it.

But I'll never understand how anyone can enjoy watching sports, let alone get excited about sports or get in any kind of argument about sports, or about any athlete cheating or taking drugs to cheat. Or how anyone could call in the pigs to convene grand juries, investigate, and enforce judgments at the point of a gun.

If anyone brought a case involving any sorts of sports to me to judge, I would consider any breach of contract, cheating, or doping in sports de minimis and beneath the dignity of the court.

The only sane judgment in a case involving sports is, "Kids, be nice, go back to the playground, and don't hit each other."

If anyone wants to ruin his health to cycle faster, that's his problem. If you want a fair competition free of doping, you want something that never was and never will be.

The war on drugs failed, and so must the war on doping.

Get a life, and find something worthwhile to do with your time instead of watching sports and threatening the use of lethal force against people for cheating at an activity that's inane to begin with. If you want to push human capacity to the limit, cultivate your brain, not your brawn. 

GTA

(With apologies to Lead Belly and Credence Clearwater Revival.)

When I was a little bitty baby

My mama put Rockstar in my cradle,

Oh, the old GTA back home;

It was down in Coral Gables,

Just about a mile from Thompson's stables,

With the old GTA back home.

Oh, when Hillary's pigs come rootin'

You can't do very much shootin',

In the old GTA back home.

It was down in Coral Gables,

Just about a mile from Thompson's stables,

With the old GTA back home.

When I was a little bitty baby

My mama put Rockstar in my cradle,

Oh, the old GTA back home;

It was down in Coral Gables,

Just about a mile from Thompson's stables,

With the old GTA back home.

Oh, when Jack the jackass starts brayin'

You can't do very much slayin',

In the old GTA back home.

It was down in Coral Gables,

Just about a mile from Thompson's stables,

With the old GTA back home.

(Instrumental bridge)

When I was a little bitty baby

My mama put Rockstar in my cradle,

Oh, the old GTA back home;

It was down in Coral Gables,

Just about a mile from Thompson's stables,

With the old GTA back home,

With the old GTA back home.

Your Elephant Repellent Is Inferior, Comrade Warren

"Hey, mister, you better buy a bottle of my Elephant Repellent. If you don't buy it, the elephants will come into the neighborhood and trample you! My proof that this stuff really works is that there are no elephants around here." 

For "Elephant Repellent" substitute the word "government" and for "elephants" substitute the word "crime" or "Russians" or "poverty" or "chaos" or anything else the government claims to prevent. 

Nothing the government claims to prevent cannot be prevented in a more humane, just, and economical manner by free associations of individual people. 

In answer to Comrade Elizabeth Warren:

"There is nobody in this country who got rich on his own, nobody. You built a factory out there, good for you. But I want to be clear, you moved your goods to market on the roads the rest of us paid for."

Potholed, congested roads. I'd have gotten better and cheaper roads by paying for them through the free market.

"You hired workers the rest of us paid to educate."

You mean, those functional illiterates government-run schools turn out?

"You were safe in your factory because of police forces and fire forces that the rest of us paid for. You didn't have to worry that marauding bands would come and seize everything at your factory and hire someone to protect against this because of the work the rest of us did."

Would have gotten much better service at a much a lower price from private security guards and firefighters.

Any service the government pretends to provide can be provided cheaper, better, and more humanely by the free market.

The first complaints I'd file with my security guards would be about those marauding bands that call themselves IRS, ATF, EPA, and DEA, BTW.

You Didn't Build That — Obama Means It

If you were successful, somebody along the line gave you some help. There was a great teacher somewhere in your life. Somebody helped to create this unbelievable American system that we have that allowed you to thrive. Somebody invested in roads and bridges. If you've got a business — you didn't build that. Somebody else made that happen.

Upon the predictable public outrage at Resident Obama's confession of his commitment to collectivism and communism, he backtracked, and the leftist media attempted to whitewash him by claiming that he didn't mean "you didn't build your business," but that he meant "you didn't build roads and bridges," that "that" referred to "roads and bridges." Yet, sane people pointed out that that doesn't make sense, as "roads and bridges" are "those," not "that," and that "that" is immediately preceded by "business," so that this is the most logical referent.

But even if the resident and his socialist enablers plead grammatical illiteracy, it still doesn't make sense. If Obama meant "roads and bridges," what about the teachers and the American system? Does it make sense to single out roads and bridges while ignoring teachers and the whole American system?

Maybe Comrade Obama doesn't mind neglecting the American system, but would a leftist ever snub teachers? They pay him to roll over pork to them, after all.

Now the resident might backtrack again and claim that "that" referred to all of the above — teachers, the American system, and roads and bridges. However, that wouldn't make sense, either. For he said, "you didn't build that." You may build systems and roads and bridges, but you don't build teachers. Schools, but not teachers.

Any way you slice it, it's pretty clear what Obama deep down in his heart really wanted to say. He means it, and he wants to shout it from the highest steeples — while preserving a modicum of plausible deniability.

The Night They Drove My Business Down

This is for you, Resident O'Bama. No, you didn't build that.

Virgil McCain is the name, and I saved in the GM vein

Till Bama's bankruptcy came and tore up contracts again

In the winter of 2012, we were hungry, just barely alive

By May the tenth, Dow Jones had fell

It's a time I remember oh so well

The night they drove my business down

Exchange bells were ringing

The night they drove my business down

And the people were singing

They went, "La, la, la, we live in La-La Land"

Back then my girlfriend watched TV, when one day she called me in

"Virgil, quick, come see, there goes Edward Saverin"

Now, I don't mind choppin' wood, and I don't care if the money's no good

Ya take what ya need, and ya leave the rest

But they should never have taken the very best

The night they drove my business down

Exchange bells were ringing

The night they drove my business down

And all the people were singing

They went, "La, la, la, we live in La-La Land"

Like my father before me, I'm a workin' man

And like my brother above me, who took a rebel stand

He was just eighteen, proud and brave, but the ATF laid him in his grave

I swear by the mud below my feet

You can't raise McCain back up when he's in defeat

The night they drove my business down

Exchange bells were ringing

The night they drove my business down

And all the people were singing

They went, "Na, na, na, you didn't build that"

The night they drove my business down

All exchange bells were ringing

The night they drove my business down

And the people were singing

They went, "Na, na, na, you didn't build that"

Censorship Goes Olympic

The latest Olympic sport? Censorship, apparently.

The apes that run the London Olympics believe they can forbid you from linking to their ugly, crappy, pathetic website if you say things about them that aren't nice.

Links to the Site. You may create your own link to the Site, provided that your link is in a text-only format. You may not use any link to the Site as a method of creating an unauthorized association between an organization, business, goods, or services and London 2012, and agree that no such link shall portray us or any other official London 2012 organizations (or our or their activities, products, or services) in a false, misleading, derogatory, or otherwise objectionable manner. 

OK, here's the link:

http://www.london2012.com/

The Olympics suck, they're run by a bunch of morons, and the only morons even dumber than the rank and file Olympic cow-orkers are those that wrote the terms of abuse.

Hmm… Maybe reverse psychology, though. Why would anyone otherwise link to that crummy website or care about that boring nonsense, anyway?

HT to David McElroy.

Take the Bohemian Test!

Now I know why that hipster test didn't work out: because I'm not a hipster, but a bohemian.

The Wikipedia article describes me to a T:

Bohemianism is the practice of an unconventional lifestyle, often in the company of like-minded people, with few permanent ties, involving musical, artistic, or literary pursuits. In this context, Bohemians can be wanderers, adventurers, or vagabonds.

This use of the word bohemian first appeared in the English language in the 19th century to describe the nontraditional lifestyles of marginalized and impoverished artists, writers, journalists, musicians, and actors in major European cities. Bohemians were associated with unorthodox or anti-establishment political or social viewpoints, which were often expressed through free love, frugality and — in some cases — voluntary poverty. A wealthy and privileged, even aristocratic, bohemian circle is sometimes referred to as the haut bohème ("high bohemians").

The term Bohemianism emerged in France in the early 19th century when artists and creators began to concentrate in the lower-rent, lower-class gypsy neighborhoods. Bohémien was a common term for the Romani people of France, who had reached Western Europe via Bohemia.

And you? Are you a bohemian?

Take Alex' 100% Accurate Bohemian Test!

Kevin Traynor Amazon UK Book Deal

Save on Kevin Traynor books with this hot new Amazon UK deal!

There are now much cheaper dead tree editions of Torch in the Night (£5.99 instead of £10.33), Phantom Train (£6.99 instead of £10.98), and Mysterious Boat (£7.99 instead of £12.91) available at Amazon UK, just like they are available at Amazon in the US. These editions are being rolled out across local Amazon websites in Continental Europe, too.

The new versions are identical to the old ones, except for minor changes to sizes of author picture and text on the back covers.

Happy reading!

Buffett Rule Is Immoral

(HT to Mark Nitikman.) 

Investor T.J. Rodgers explains why the so-called Buffett rule (minimum tax on "the rich") is immoral. 

Buffett rule = a bigger buffet for the government. 

Buffett rule = less investment in productive enterprises. 

Buffett rule = a buffet for the government to spend on "shovel-ready projects" and "cash for clunkers." 

No Buffett rule — starve the beast! 

Kevin Traynor on Shelfari

Torch in the Night, Phantom Train, Mysterious Boat, and Debacle are now featured on Shelfari, which has lists and descriptions of characters, organizations, and locations, tables of contents, and many more in-depth book details and facts and makes them available on the Shelfari website and as Book Extras on Kindle readers.

BTW, you don't need a Kindle reader to read Kindle e-books. You can download free reader software from Amazon and read Kindle e-books on your computer or smart phone. It's available for Windows, Mac, iPad, iPhone, BlackBerry, Android, and Windows Phone 7. Or you use the Kindle Cloud Reader to read Kindle e-books in your web browser. Plus, if you've got a laptop or a smart phone, you can even take it with you, like a Kindle reader.

Thus you can profit from the low prices of Kevin Traynor e-books and the free Book Extras without spending money on a Kindle reader. Nifty, huh?

The Ultimate Obama Meme

Everything you always wanted to know about Obama and much more in a huge 4 x 4 matrix.

Gunpowder Tea, Chapter One, Part Three

Begin with the beginning.

When Traynor was about to detour through that flower-filled strait between the low rises of the British Empire Building and La Maison Française, he stopped short and stepped over to the balustrade above the Sunken Plaza in front of the GE Building, his favorite spot in Midtown Manhattan. His gaze swept across the sunshades of the cafe in the plaza below, to the golden figure of Prometheus soaring above Mount Olympus and the zodiac, bathed in the waters of the fountains and the shine of the spotlights, holding high the sample of fire he had stolen from the gods. "Prometheus, teacher in every art, brought the fire that hath proved to mortals a means to mighty ends," stated the inscription on the granite wall behind the statue. Faced with the skyscrapers around him, Traynor could not but agree.

Another drink? After what had just happened, maybe not tonight. If he got kicked out of his other favorite hangout as well, he might start to feel drinks jinxed. He started to hum again.

Mine eyes have seen the number of the coming of the lord:
It is trampling out the vintage years whose heads are less than scored;
It hath loosed the fateful lightning of its terrible swift sword:
This truth is marching on.

Traynor just had to do something special before the summer and the millennium were over. Sure, the bean counters claimed the old millennium had another year's worth of blood in it, but someone who believed that the change from 2000 to 2001 would be more special than that from 1999 to 2000, someone who would not see the obvious, could not be trusted. Who cares if there was a year 0?

Anyway, whatever he did, whenever he did it, maybe he should not do it in the city, state, or even country where he tentatively intended to read law to one day help make it a little less asinine. If his rap sheet grew much longer, even his parents would not be able to protect him from getting disbarred before he ever got barred, uh, admitted to the bar. Five Flag Theory… He needed a place to play, a place where it would not matter if he ended up being a wanted man, uh, juvenile delinquent, in short, a place where he would never go again.

At the ass end of the Channel Gardens, Traynor turned north onto Fifth Avenue, his back to the Gothic pile of St. Patrick's Cathedral, and his head up at Atlas heroically propping up a hollow world below the International Building. One street crossing and one avenue crossing later, he (Traynor, not Atlas, although Traynor sure had an ego big enough for both) arrived at the bronze-colored box of Olympic Tower, now a black silhouette dotted with diamonds of light. His dad's duplex condo was on the upper floors. When Traynor entered the library off the living room on the upper level of the duplex, the red light of the answering machine on the desk was flashing. He pressed the appropriate button.

It was a message from his girlfriend. "Hi, you still recognize my voice? I'll be back soon, and then you can take me to that… Yadda, yadda, yadda."

That did not exactly make him a happy camper, as she was only a placeholder girlfriend. At first he had thought she looked all right and had a pleasant enough personality. However, it had not taken him long to decide that she was dull, unintelligent, a mees-tick, a dinner whore, jealous, and worst of all, not blond enough. Ah, hair the color of… He lost his train of thought.

She sounded like she expected him to pop the question, and failing that, would pop it herself. Would he go steady with her? Would he commit to an exclusive relationship? Well, he'd rather be committed.

Blech.

Did he look that stupid?

Traynor went over to the huge globe in a corner to play Atlas: He made the globe spin, closed his eyes, and stabbed it with his index finger, stopping it. He had stabbed some hole in the wall called Sidi Ifni, Morocco. Yet he let on he hit Casablanca. Sounded more romantic. Why not see Casablanca in color? Plus, Casablanca reminded him of his mom's latest entry in her series featuring Isabella, the white slave of Timbuktu. Let's pay Isabella a visit and see about those more or less oriental delights. He sat down at the computer to help put some travel agents out of work (as the looters would put it), or speed the transition to a new economy with better jobs for all (as the sane people put it).

Down in his room, a packing Traynor also packed the .45 Colt 1911 automatic pistol his dad had given him for his birthday some months before. Officially, the gun was still the property of his dad. Traynor senior had the connections to get any firearms license he wanted from City Hall. He was literally and semi-officially above the law. Hell, he could probably have gotten a license to drag a howitzer down Fifth Avenue, with the mayor and the police commissioner blocking traffic for him.

His son was not content to muddle through by gaming the system. He would do something about it. Either the system would change, or it would be overthrown. Traynor junior believed that all people should be equal before the law, and that you should not have to have connections to have the law recognize your rights. Those stupid laws better be changed pretty damn quick. However, he was not stupid enough to obey them while they were still in force, particularly not if obeying could get him killed. Change the law if possible — bend or ignore it if necessary. And he sure did not believe in sucking up to its custodians. The law was an ass. Fuck the law. He would be the most lawless lawyer in legal history.

He hid his Colt, some spare magazines, and some boxes of cartridges in cutouts in the foam padding between the inner and outer shells of his suitcase. Better safe than sorry. The checked baggage would not be screened. Chances that Casablanca customs would find these items were near nil. And if they found them, it would be a welcome opportunity for them to demand a small baksheesh. Or maybe not so small.

Traynor went up into the kitchen to leave a note mesmerized to the refrigerator for his mom and dad to find when they got back from a book tour and some sort of mercenary mission, respectively.

Folks:

Gone traveling. Will be back soon enough. (Don't hold your breath.)

Love and stuff,

Kevin

Traynor had a deal with his parents. They would not try to parent him as long he would not try to educate them. Savages said, "It takes a village to raise a child." The Traynor clan knew it takes no one. Only in a dysfunctional family, Traynor was sure, can you grow up to be a decent person.

Gunpowder Tea, Chapter One, Part Two

Begin with the beginning.



Nursing his Bostonian blue law blues, a cross Traynor crossed the cavernous elevator lobby and took one of the spacious express elevator cars down. Under his breath, he kept whistling "The Battle Hymn of the Republic."

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the school
I have tortured every teacher — I have broken every rule
Us boys are playing poker and the girls are shooting pool
The school is burning down!

Glory, glory, hallelujah
Teacher hit me with a ruler
Offed Miss Pettigrew with a mousegun .32
And that old bat don't teach no more!

He left the cathedral-like tower lobby and marched through the subterranean mall to the subway station.

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the school
I have tortured every teacher — I have broken every rule
I have shot the secretary and I hung the principal
The school is burning down!

Glory, glory, hallelujah
Teacher hit me with a ruler
Met her at the gate with a loaded .38
And the teacher don't teach no more!

The 1 train roared into the station; the doors parted. "This is a Bronx-bound 1 local train. The next stop is Chambers Street."

Traynor boarded the enemy vessel and stared down the passengers. The doors clicked shut, steel squealed on steel once more, and the train rumbled into the tunnel.

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the school
I have tortured every teacher — I have broken every rule
I have bound and gagged the principal and tossed him in the pool
The school is burning down!

Glory, glory, hallelujah
Teacher hit me with a ruler
Shot him out the door with a Magnum .44
And the teacher don't teach no more!

"This is a Bronx-bound 1 local train. The next stop is Franklin Street."

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the school
I have tortured every teacher — I have broken every rule
I slowly killed the principal at a quarter after two
The school is burning down!

Glory, glory, hallelujah
Teacher hit me with a ruler
Took his fucking life with my old Colt .45
And the teacher don't teach no more!

"This is a Bronx-bound 1 local train. The next stop is Canal Street."

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the school
I have tortured every teacher — I have broken every rule
I have barbecued the principal, destroyed the PTA
The school is burning down!

Glory, glory, hallelujah
Teacher hit me with a ruler
Shot her up to heaven with an AK-47
And the teacher don't teach no more!

"This is a Bronx-bound 1 local train. The next stop is Houston Street."

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the school
I have tortured every teacher — I have broken every rule
I have sliced the English teachers and have drowned them in their blood
The school is burning down!

Glory, glory, hallelujah
Teacher hit me with a ruler
Shot him in the bean with my favorite M-16
And the teacher don't teach no more!

"This is a Bronx-bound 1 local train. The next stop is Christopher Street – Sheridan Square."

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the school
I have tortured every teacher — I have broken every rule
I am killing all the teachers — I am breaking all the rules
The school is burning down!

Glory, glory, hallelujah
Teacher hit me with a ruler
Met her at the bank with a cool main battle tank
And the teacher don't teach no more!

"This is a Bronx-bound 1 local train. The next stop is Fourteenth Street."

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the school
I have tortured every teacher — I have broken every rule
I have broken every piece of chalk as well as every rule
My truth is marching on!

Glory, glory, hallelujah
Teacher hit me with a ruler
Blasted him real mean with a nuclear submarine
And there ain't no teacher no more!

Unlike his truth, Traynor stopped marching around the subway car. Boy, he sure needed a vacation. He got off at Fiftieth Street and Broadway, turned east, and walked crosstown through Rockefeller Center. The dark canyon between the big boxes that were the Exxon and Time-Life Buildings lay deserted. He felt a bit naked without a gun. Even between the setback-riddled limestone slab of the GE Building and Radio City Music Hall the tourist count was low. Like moths, the few passersby were drawn to the bright floodlights of the Channel Gardens.

Read on…