Blogosphereons
Can't tell you how delighted I am to be out of the hospital. The stint that goes from my intestine to my pancreatic duct had a stalactite of bile crystals causing an obstruction and for me fits of burning abdominal pain and vomiting. I called my doctor, Ramishdi Mahat Patel, Jr MD, who agreed to put me in the hospital in Jackson and have his colleague, Dr. Rahmil Singharett Turner, who is a world famous endoscopist and a classical pianist, take a look at my case. I have had pancreatic cancer for the past 14 years. A very rare slow growing type, and my doctor kept giving me "six months to live, and not a day longer," but that was back in 1996. I find I do pretty well as long as I smoke two packs of unfiltered cigarettes a day, sip a pint of Jack Daniels whiskey, and avoid all fruits and vegetables and adhere to a strictly high cholesterol and high salt laden diet. All my fried foods must be cooked in lard. I know, an enigma, a medical enigma.
Anyway, Dr. Turner scoped me and scraped the stalactite crystals off my stint and got the old juices flowing as nature intended it and says I am good to go. Praise Jesus and Allah, and that Indian God whose name I forget. Have I left anybodies God out? All I can figure about my medical curiosity is that my God has left me here for a higher calling and my work with the Urban Poverty and now the Global Poverty Law Center is more than likely my goal and until it is successful, ole Jackie Boy is back in town.
While I was under the light sedative they administer for the scope, I dreamed I was in a black pant suit and seated at a large oval mahogany table, in a large room with windows that over looked the east river. I cannot be sure where it was, but there were lots of men in suits with perfectly coiffed hair all smelling of incense and peppermint. Fashions from all around the world were represented, the burka, Mao jackets, Arab head wear, Armani clad European metrosexuals, camouflage army fatigues with Chi hats in black and burgundy, and a few unfortunates clad only in soiled loin cloths, which had never seen soap much less water. My vision was so real, they even had the flies that drink from the corners of their eyes and lips as props to emphasize their plight as the world's poor and their desperate condition.
The unfortunates who were naked from the waist up, were very thin and had horrible teeth if any at all and were holding their hands out to those of us who were more fortunate on the other side of the large table. I watched as the World's business of the day was conducted in that fancy room and was shocked when the food trays were brought out with all the fancy trimming one might imagine at such a place and the unfortunates were offered a bag of flour stamped with a large blue UN on its burlap siding.
While the beautiful people in the room ate the sounds of their gesticulations were magnified in my ears and I swore I heard the grunting sounds of hogs feeding furiously at the trough, a sound I had encountered many times at my uncle Ocie's
farm when I was a small lad. As I was taking this in, one of the stronger appearing unfortunates, stood up and shouted something which I could not hear, but he was clearly agitated and he took out a box cutter, cut the string which sealed the bag of flour and with all his might lifted the 50 lb bag and dumped its contents in the center of the floor. Then he pulled his loin cloth to the side and began to pee on the flour. The beautiful people at the table continued the feast and no one but me noticed the poor fellow pissing on the UN flour. Though his mouth moved he made no audible sounds.
He began to stamp his feet in the mixture of flour and urine and it made a yellow paste in the center of the pile of white flour.
Then I heard this peculiar statement from the unfortunate: "more suction, dis damn scope is fogging up again! Bob, give him more sedative, he is moving again!"
Then he had a gallon of petrol which he doused himself with as he stood in the center of the UN flour in the middle of that large mahogany table with hundreds of world leaders near by. He lit a match and flashed into a weird kind of third world human flambe. With the initial roar of the flames a few of the world leaders looked up, but only briefly and then went about eating and drinking and shuffling papers as if the spectacle which just played out never happened. He collapsed onto the flour and crackled and sizzled until security came in and with a couple of large fire extinguishers cooled him off. He was burned beyond belief, but would not die.
Next he got up and he climbed onto the table and tap danced three times around the table dropping pieces of burned flesh here and there as he danced. He had to be subdued by those same security personnel who had extinguished his flaming body. Still no one at the table acknowledged him or his presence. The smacking and grunts became louder, and the security guards transformed into angels and spirited the burned fellow heavenward. I followed the man with his angels up and out the ceiling and when I looked back at the table every person represented at the table had a human body with a hog's head. A very strange vision.
The world's poor are invisible and have no voice. However, God is surely listening.
As you can see I have been called to make Urban Poverty Law Center's business fighting poverty and hunger world wide. Or was it the sedative? We will see if we can make a difference. It is time for the world's leaders to make room at the trough!
Thank you for your prayers and wishes for a speedy recovery for it has helped. My work is not done and neither am I.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, PhD President,
Global Poverty Law Center/ Urban Poverty Law Center
"Pain is like money, very hard to appreciate until it is yours." Mother Maybolt 1928-2008
Monday, January 31, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Welcome its Globalization Partner!
Jack wanted me to inform you that we have partnered with our newly formed Global Poverty Law Center where we will tackle the hard issues of global poverty. We are taking our struggle global!
It will take a few weeks to get the new Global Poverty Law Center up to speed, but when Jack gets out of the hospital this week he will make it his numero uno priority.
He insisted I use the Spanish lingo to let you know we are serious about this new venture.
ola
hello
ne how ma
vasha goo
borne jurno
Susan Blunderdoss Secretary
Urban-Global Poverty Law Center
"Poverty respects no borders and has no boundaries."
"Great riches are limited, but poverty is limitless." Jack Maybolt, PhD
It will take a few weeks to get the new Global Poverty Law Center up to speed, but when Jack gets out of the hospital this week he will make it his numero uno priority.
He insisted I use the Spanish lingo to let you know we are serious about this new venture.
ola
hello
ne how ma
vasha goo
borne jurno
Susan Blunderdoss Secretary
Urban-Global Poverty Law Center
"Poverty respects no borders and has no boundaries."
"Great riches are limited, but poverty is limitless." Jack Maybolt, PhD
Saturday, January 29, 2011
UPLC Medical Advice
Jack is in the hospital with a touch of pancreatic cancer. He sends you his best.
He wants to let you know that if you hate vomiting as much as he does, drink some maalox or other antacid before throwing up. Vomiting is still vomiting but no acid burns to the throat and nasal mucosa since the maalox neutralized the stomach acid.
That tip will be 20 dollars and you should pass it along to a needy individual.
Susan Blunderdoss, Secretary
Urban Poverty Law Center
He wants to let you know that if you hate vomiting as much as he does, drink some maalox or other antacid before throwing up. Vomiting is still vomiting but no acid burns to the throat and nasal mucosa since the maalox neutralized the stomach acid.
That tip will be 20 dollars and you should pass it along to a needy individual.
Susan Blunderdoss, Secretary
Urban Poverty Law Center
Urban Poverty Law Center and Egypt
As President of America's premier Urban Poverty Law Center and think tank, a few words about Egypt seem in order. Though I have not personally been to Egypt, my ex-wife's daughter, Katharine, was there last year with her Spaniard beau, Al.
She has assured us that his last name is not Qaeda, but from the photographs we see posted on face book we are not completely off our guard. She is a beautiful child with blond hair and standing about 5 foot 7 inches tall, with a nice Cleopatra like figure. She wrote that she had throngs of Egyptian men following her and Al, many wanting to snap their photo. She will be 28 next birthday, never married and by Cedar Grove, Tennessee standards, well on the way to becoming an old maid.
First, our sentiments go out to the rioters who lost their lives fighting for a better life, and to their families. My grandmother used to admonish me whenever I had done silly and after some reflection very dangerous things, like the time I was 14 yrs old and took Bill Stones' dare to jump off the railroad bridge crossing the Forked Deer River south of Humboldt in 1967.
It was a thirty foot drop into only 14 inches of water. The fright of the fall caused me to panic and stiffen up. When I hit the bottom of the river, I jolted my lower back as my feet impacted the sandy bottom of the river, driving my legs into my pelvis into my back and the shock up my spine caused me to lose consciousness briefly. When I fell back into the cool water I was revived and found my legs paralysed from the waist down. I am thankful that I did not dive that day. I knew the depth of the water so I knew not to dive.
I crawled out of the water using only my arms, dragging my useless legs behind me. I collapsed on the sandy beach riverside to moan, not able to even attempt standing for over an hour. My four young comrades, none of whom had any medical training, discounted the seriousness of my debility and were prepared to leave me there, beached and unable to move. This was sufficient motivation to get me up and started on my 5 mile hike down the tracks back towards home. The first mile was very painful, but as the miles passed my debility and pain lessened and now I am fully recovered 43 yrs later.
I believe I would have been two inches taller if I had not broken my back in that stupid jump. I still went on to win the Heisman Trophy playing for USC and I starred in a few Hollywood films before I was framed for my ex-wife's murder. I wish had never jumped off that bridge. Live and learn.
Back to Egypt, I feel they are about to jump into a river without first sounding its depth. Jimmy Carter, threw the Shaw of Iran under the bus in the late 70's and we see how well that worked out for the people of Iran and neighbors. Now Jimmy Carter jr without the peanuts, the great community organizer is going to re-organize Egypt into a radical Islamic State like Iran, and we will see a world that is a much more dangerous place in which to live and do business.
Predictions, all currencies will fall v the dollar. Let's face it America is still a safe haven for investments when compared to all others. With the stronger dollar oil will fall as will the price of gold.
How sure am I of these predictions? I believe greater than 50% certain. Will this keep me from buying gold, no. I just hope the commodity price run up for farm products continues into the fall. I would use the money to help pull some of my neighbors up out of poverty. If you haven't bought a farm yet, this will be a great time to do so.
And D.B. Bell, banker extraordinaire, you lost another cow. Larry took the back hoe over and attended to the ceremony last week. Merle Davis said it was a heart attack. On the bright side, we have 8 new calves out in the pasture since new yrs day. Looks like a calf preschool with all the little ones running about! Cattle is money that you can eat.
Jack Maybolt, President
Urban Poverty Law Center
"Strike only to kill when dealing with Kings, for the king's men are ruthless, just ask Anne Boleyn."
Mother Maybolt 1922-2008
She has assured us that his last name is not Qaeda, but from the photographs we see posted on face book we are not completely off our guard. She is a beautiful child with blond hair and standing about 5 foot 7 inches tall, with a nice Cleopatra like figure. She wrote that she had throngs of Egyptian men following her and Al, many wanting to snap their photo. She will be 28 next birthday, never married and by Cedar Grove, Tennessee standards, well on the way to becoming an old maid.
First, our sentiments go out to the rioters who lost their lives fighting for a better life, and to their families. My grandmother used to admonish me whenever I had done silly and after some reflection very dangerous things, like the time I was 14 yrs old and took Bill Stones' dare to jump off the railroad bridge crossing the Forked Deer River south of Humboldt in 1967.
It was a thirty foot drop into only 14 inches of water. The fright of the fall caused me to panic and stiffen up. When I hit the bottom of the river, I jolted my lower back as my feet impacted the sandy bottom of the river, driving my legs into my pelvis into my back and the shock up my spine caused me to lose consciousness briefly. When I fell back into the cool water I was revived and found my legs paralysed from the waist down. I am thankful that I did not dive that day. I knew the depth of the water so I knew not to dive.
I crawled out of the water using only my arms, dragging my useless legs behind me. I collapsed on the sandy beach riverside to moan, not able to even attempt standing for over an hour. My four young comrades, none of whom had any medical training, discounted the seriousness of my debility and were prepared to leave me there, beached and unable to move. This was sufficient motivation to get me up and started on my 5 mile hike down the tracks back towards home. The first mile was very painful, but as the miles passed my debility and pain lessened and now I am fully recovered 43 yrs later.
I believe I would have been two inches taller if I had not broken my back in that stupid jump. I still went on to win the Heisman Trophy playing for USC and I starred in a few Hollywood films before I was framed for my ex-wife's murder. I wish had never jumped off that bridge. Live and learn.
Back to Egypt, I feel they are about to jump into a river without first sounding its depth. Jimmy Carter, threw the Shaw of Iran under the bus in the late 70's and we see how well that worked out for the people of Iran and neighbors. Now Jimmy Carter jr without the peanuts, the great community organizer is going to re-organize Egypt into a radical Islamic State like Iran, and we will see a world that is a much more dangerous place in which to live and do business.
Predictions, all currencies will fall v the dollar. Let's face it America is still a safe haven for investments when compared to all others. With the stronger dollar oil will fall as will the price of gold.
How sure am I of these predictions? I believe greater than 50% certain. Will this keep me from buying gold, no. I just hope the commodity price run up for farm products continues into the fall. I would use the money to help pull some of my neighbors up out of poverty. If you haven't bought a farm yet, this will be a great time to do so.
And D.B. Bell, banker extraordinaire, you lost another cow. Larry took the back hoe over and attended to the ceremony last week. Merle Davis said it was a heart attack. On the bright side, we have 8 new calves out in the pasture since new yrs day. Looks like a calf preschool with all the little ones running about! Cattle is money that you can eat.
Jack Maybolt, President
Urban Poverty Law Center
"Strike only to kill when dealing with Kings, for the king's men are ruthless, just ask Anne Boleyn."
Mother Maybolt 1922-2008
Friday, January 28, 2011
UPLC Adopts A Maxim
"Whenever a man preferred being fed by another man to starving in independence he ought to be shot." Mark Twain of course the autobiography volume 1.
Jackson Delano Maybolt
President Urban Poverty Law Center
Jackson Delano Maybolt
President Urban Poverty Law Center
Friday, January 21, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Left Out Of the Omnibus Bill, Again
Blogosphereoneons
My secretary, whom I refer to as Susan, as that is her name, informs me she has looked over the 2734 page congressional Omnibus bill to fund the bloated federal bureaucracy for another 10 months and is shocked, shocked I tell you, not to see our worthy cause funded yet for another year. We are not the new kids on the block. We have been here since 1988! This strings our record out to 23 years of fighting for justice for America's Urban Poor, all the while we have been poor ourselves. Talk about irony.
These ass monkeys in congress can budget for a study to determine how often college students have sex with the lights off or on for $7.3 million dollars and look at what may affect the copulant's decision to go with or without lighting. I haven't seen the dating scene in over 40 years, but I still remember the lights on if she is a lookin good, and lights off if she is a "butter-face".
Other factors include the amount of beer consumed prior to disrobing and probing and positioning of the supplicant. Lights on if you are facing the same direction, on or off if facing opposite directions. One of my pals in college was a lights on all the time guy, said every pillow has a pillow case that can be employed when roll playing as a KKK grand dame and grand trouser lizard!
Said he once dated a gorgeous gal, Helen, from Troy, Tn, a cheerleader, who was known for her keen love of fellatio, he used to quip that she was" Helen of Troy, the face that launched a thousand zips." He said she was the best traveling companion he ever had. He always drove because when she got bored she would entertain herself with her lips on his man- lizard. Said he put a hundred thousand miles on his pinto that summer they dated. I apologize the tone this missive has taken. Please accept it. I do not mean to repulse anyone, only titillate.
After all if you are reading this someone thought enough of your mother to spend a couple of minutes of quality time with her, lights on or lights off, and left you behind as a token of his appreciation. So don't go all sanctimonious on me here. If I left your father out of the above equation it was not an oversight. Another Omnibus Bill funded study determined that one in seven children is not sired by the husband in the marriage.
For this reason I decided to stop having children after six if I ever found a woman who would marry me. Mother encouraged me to date after my horrible accident, but most girls were distracted by my missing limbs and my foley catheter.
I got to first base a couple of times, but when I had to stop the romancing to remove my foley catheter, the young ladies would state "I do not think this is working out." I appreciate their honesty, I really do.
Anyway, I am sorry. I do not know how I got off on this subject, but I guess the ass-clowns in congress would rather find out about sex in college rather than fight poverty in our urban centers. Next year Susan and I are going to apply for a grant to study the sex lives of bisexual shut-ins and how the internet has impacted their level of satisfaction. I already know first, and only, hand, so to speak, how the internet has helped one heterosexual shut-in!
You do not believe any of this, do you?
Jack D. Maybolt, PhD
President Urban Poverty Law Center
"Love is what's left out of the "wet spot", and that's where babies come from."
Mother Maybolt's explanation of the "birds and the bees" to me, her second grader. 1926-2008
My secretary, whom I refer to as Susan, as that is her name, informs me she has looked over the 2734 page congressional Omnibus bill to fund the bloated federal bureaucracy for another 10 months and is shocked, shocked I tell you, not to see our worthy cause funded yet for another year. We are not the new kids on the block. We have been here since 1988! This strings our record out to 23 years of fighting for justice for America's Urban Poor, all the while we have been poor ourselves. Talk about irony.
These ass monkeys in congress can budget for a study to determine how often college students have sex with the lights off or on for $7.3 million dollars and look at what may affect the copulant's decision to go with or without lighting. I haven't seen the dating scene in over 40 years, but I still remember the lights on if she is a lookin good, and lights off if she is a "butter-face".
Other factors include the amount of beer consumed prior to disrobing and probing and positioning of the supplicant. Lights on if you are facing the same direction, on or off if facing opposite directions. One of my pals in college was a lights on all the time guy, said every pillow has a pillow case that can be employed when roll playing as a KKK grand dame and grand trouser lizard!
Said he once dated a gorgeous gal, Helen, from Troy, Tn, a cheerleader, who was known for her keen love of fellatio, he used to quip that she was" Helen of Troy, the face that launched a thousand zips." He said she was the best traveling companion he ever had. He always drove because when she got bored she would entertain herself with her lips on his man- lizard. Said he put a hundred thousand miles on his pinto that summer they dated. I apologize the tone this missive has taken. Please accept it. I do not mean to repulse anyone, only titillate.
After all if you are reading this someone thought enough of your mother to spend a couple of minutes of quality time with her, lights on or lights off, and left you behind as a token of his appreciation. So don't go all sanctimonious on me here. If I left your father out of the above equation it was not an oversight. Another Omnibus Bill funded study determined that one in seven children is not sired by the husband in the marriage.
For this reason I decided to stop having children after six if I ever found a woman who would marry me. Mother encouraged me to date after my horrible accident, but most girls were distracted by my missing limbs and my foley catheter.
I got to first base a couple of times, but when I had to stop the romancing to remove my foley catheter, the young ladies would state "I do not think this is working out." I appreciate their honesty, I really do.
Anyway, I am sorry. I do not know how I got off on this subject, but I guess the ass-clowns in congress would rather find out about sex in college rather than fight poverty in our urban centers. Next year Susan and I are going to apply for a grant to study the sex lives of bisexual shut-ins and how the internet has impacted their level of satisfaction. I already know first, and only, hand, so to speak, how the internet has helped one heterosexual shut-in!
You do not believe any of this, do you?
Jack D. Maybolt, PhD
President Urban Poverty Law Center
"Love is what's left out of the "wet spot", and that's where babies come from."
Mother Maybolt's explanation of the "birds and the bees" to me, her second grader. 1926-2008
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Welcomes Hu With Advice
Blogosphereons,
As President of the Urban Poverty Law Center, Ms. Susan Blunderdoss informs me protocol requires I welcome all foreign dignitaries Hu or Hum (here I get the syntax confused) visit our great United States of America. I saw on Fox News where China's president Hu is here for a state visit. I have enclosed a copy of my greeting and advice to the President of China which I faxed to the editrixx of the Wall Street Journal. I have no doubt they will publish it in today's paper, or at least in the Online edition.
19, January 2011(Chinese Year of the Defaulters)
President Hu:
As President of the Urban Poverty Law Center I wish to welcome you, Hu, to our great nation. I hope you, Hu, enjoyed the lavish state dinner put on by our esteemed politician, President Barack Hussein Obama. I got a copy of the menu via a distant relative, Hu, works in a lower position with the presidents Secret Service detail. Champagne, caviar, fresh dates from the middle east, poppies from Afghanistan, bar-b-Que goat fresh from Pakistan, yak cream fresh from Tibet, Kobe beef from Iowa, a nice selection of fresh dog from North Korea. I hope you, Hu, enjoyed it, and the grandiosity of the event with its splendidly spectacular display of conspicuous consumption which was intended to reassure you, Hu, that the United States Government is flush with Cash!
But you, Hu, like I, know that after the last champagne toast is guzzled down by our third tier diplomats and their parasitic and quite frankly obese spouses and before the appetizers even hit their government backed colons, somebody has to pay for it all. I understand that you ,Hu, traveled to the US on a civilian 747 with China Air markings spending only 75,000 yuan.
Barack, Michelle, Mikala,and Sasha Obama spend ten times that on meals and travel on a slow day in the White House. Here is where I believe that you, Hu, and I as an American Taxpayer are not that different, but you, Hu, are not in as much trouble as we are when the default occurs. OR ARE YOU, HU?
Yes, I wrote it, the default will occur. Here is where a little math is good. I do not wish to sound racist, but I know you, Hu, are probably quite adept and comfortable with numbers and math. Here is the nut.
Estimates from the Congressional Budgetary Office place the cost of the lavish State Dinner honoring you, Hu, at about 12 million dollars not counting the flowers which were a gift from Sarah Palin. Using this past years budget numbers and assuming this years deficit will be similar, you, Hu, are on the hook for 42% of that amount as an American Creditor, whereas I, Hu, as an American taxpayer am on for only 58%.
Do you, Hu, think those smiles with the champagne toasts to you, Hu, could have been mocking you, Hu, because you, Hu, will not spend lavishly on yourself, but continue to permit these" Western Imperialistic Dogs" to live the high life as you, Hu, struggle to feed 1.5 billion Chinese people every day! What is in it for you, Hu? Why do you, Hu, continue to pay toll to the trolls in Washington, DC by buying our debt?
Are you, Hu, afraid of our military? Under this current President, who is all hat and no cattle, your fears are unfounded. Has the IRS written to you, Hu, a threatening letter like the ones it sends to thousands of its hard working US citizens every year, whose only crime was to do business and earn a profit in this once great land of ours and not be able to comply with the god damned tax code? The inmates are ruining the asylum! No that was not a typo.
I believe I know what you, Hu, fear. It is mentioned in a previous paragraph. You, Hu, fear failing to feed and provide for your billion point five charges. You, Hu, realize that the United States is the worlds bread basket and its farmers are who you, Hu, should be in direct talks with before the coming great default brought on by the great clowns who now inhabit our halls of congress.
If the Great American Farmer fails for only one growing season, people starve, people riot, governments fall, and the world will be in hurt. I suggest that you, Hu, and Barack, and the others begin to print your yuan, dollars, and euros on rice paper, and be sure to add a little chicken or beef flavoring, depending on the denomination, so when all we have left is money, just add water, heat, and stir and the money will not be a complete waste.
I, Hu, am available to negotiate an independent contract with America's farmers. We need to have in place the ability to provide seed, fuel, fertilizer and herbicides, etc and the use of the infrastructure, trucking shipping etc. I can get you a third of the crop if you, Hu, can provide the above mentioned items. Forget your military build up. It is the food man!
President Hu, contact me at my home in Cedar Grove, Tn if you, Hu, wish to begin the negotiations with America's farmers in earnest. This is what we do at America's Urban Poverty Law Center. We do what is right.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"I loathe Jo Ann Studebakker, everything she eats turns to shit, everything!" Mother Maybolt 1915-2008
As President of the Urban Poverty Law Center, Ms. Susan Blunderdoss informs me protocol requires I welcome all foreign dignitaries Hu or Hum (here I get the syntax confused) visit our great United States of America. I saw on Fox News where China's president Hu is here for a state visit. I have enclosed a copy of my greeting and advice to the President of China which I faxed to the editrixx of the Wall Street Journal. I have no doubt they will publish it in today's paper, or at least in the Online edition.
19, January 2011(Chinese Year of the Defaulters)
President Hu:
As President of the Urban Poverty Law Center I wish to welcome you, Hu, to our great nation. I hope you, Hu, enjoyed the lavish state dinner put on by our esteemed politician, President Barack Hussein Obama. I got a copy of the menu via a distant relative, Hu, works in a lower position with the presidents Secret Service detail. Champagne, caviar, fresh dates from the middle east, poppies from Afghanistan, bar-b-Que goat fresh from Pakistan, yak cream fresh from Tibet, Kobe beef from Iowa, a nice selection of fresh dog from North Korea. I hope you, Hu, enjoyed it, and the grandiosity of the event with its splendidly spectacular display of conspicuous consumption which was intended to reassure you, Hu, that the United States Government is flush with Cash!
But you, Hu, like I, know that after the last champagne toast is guzzled down by our third tier diplomats and their parasitic and quite frankly obese spouses and before the appetizers even hit their government backed colons, somebody has to pay for it all. I understand that you ,Hu, traveled to the US on a civilian 747 with China Air markings spending only 75,000 yuan.
Barack, Michelle, Mikala,and Sasha Obama spend ten times that on meals and travel on a slow day in the White House. Here is where I believe that you, Hu, and I as an American Taxpayer are not that different, but you, Hu, are not in as much trouble as we are when the default occurs. OR ARE YOU, HU?
Yes, I wrote it, the default will occur. Here is where a little math is good. I do not wish to sound racist, but I know you, Hu, are probably quite adept and comfortable with numbers and math. Here is the nut.
Estimates from the Congressional Budgetary Office place the cost of the lavish State Dinner honoring you, Hu, at about 12 million dollars not counting the flowers which were a gift from Sarah Palin. Using this past years budget numbers and assuming this years deficit will be similar, you, Hu, are on the hook for 42% of that amount as an American Creditor, whereas I, Hu, as an American taxpayer am on for only 58%.
Do you, Hu, think those smiles with the champagne toasts to you, Hu, could have been mocking you, Hu, because you, Hu, will not spend lavishly on yourself, but continue to permit these" Western Imperialistic Dogs" to live the high life as you, Hu, struggle to feed 1.5 billion Chinese people every day! What is in it for you, Hu? Why do you, Hu, continue to pay toll to the trolls in Washington, DC by buying our debt?
Are you, Hu, afraid of our military? Under this current President, who is all hat and no cattle, your fears are unfounded. Has the IRS written to you, Hu, a threatening letter like the ones it sends to thousands of its hard working US citizens every year, whose only crime was to do business and earn a profit in this once great land of ours and not be able to comply with the god damned tax code? The inmates are ruining the asylum! No that was not a typo.
I believe I know what you, Hu, fear. It is mentioned in a previous paragraph. You, Hu, fear failing to feed and provide for your billion point five charges. You, Hu, realize that the United States is the worlds bread basket and its farmers are who you, Hu, should be in direct talks with before the coming great default brought on by the great clowns who now inhabit our halls of congress.
If the Great American Farmer fails for only one growing season, people starve, people riot, governments fall, and the world will be in hurt. I suggest that you, Hu, and Barack, and the others begin to print your yuan, dollars, and euros on rice paper, and be sure to add a little chicken or beef flavoring, depending on the denomination, so when all we have left is money, just add water, heat, and stir and the money will not be a complete waste.
I, Hu, am available to negotiate an independent contract with America's farmers. We need to have in place the ability to provide seed, fuel, fertilizer and herbicides, etc and the use of the infrastructure, trucking shipping etc. I can get you a third of the crop if you, Hu, can provide the above mentioned items. Forget your military build up. It is the food man!
President Hu, contact me at my home in Cedar Grove, Tn if you, Hu, wish to begin the negotiations with America's farmers in earnest. This is what we do at America's Urban Poverty Law Center. We do what is right.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"I loathe Jo Ann Studebakker, everything she eats turns to shit, everything!" Mother Maybolt 1915-2008
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Policy on Letters tafasob
Blogosphereons,
First let me apologize for that last posting. I think it reads like a Peggy Noonan editorial in the WSJ, back when Monica Lewinsky was kneeling before our Knight in Shining Armor in the Oval office. I will insist old Doc Porter check my testosterone levels next check up. I enjoy reading her material, but I would rather be compared to Samuel Clemens than Peggers, no offense.
I opened my father's first letter to me dated October 12, 1979.
"Letters To and From A Son of A Bitch"
Dear Jackson Jr,
I am sorry I have not contacted you before now. It is hard adapting to the carny life when all you have known for the past 25 years is a post office in "Hicksville, USA".
LouLou sends her love and wishes you a speedy recovery. I have enclosed one of her publicity photo shots and chose the one with the great white Burmese Python. I know how fond you were of reptiles when you were growing up. She signed it over her beautiful backside at my insistence so as not to shock you. Do not let your mother see the picture!
We are in Toledo, Ohio today and tomorrow we pull up stakes and head for Evanston, Indiana for a 4 day showing. I have befriended the Clowns and find the smaller ones
to be quite good company. I spent the better part of an afternoon talking to "BoBo"
and find him to be a rather interesting fellow. Very funny, but his political views are far too liberal for my liking. I chalk his liberal views up to too much youth, but if he remains a liberal after age 40, it can only be a mental illness. Time will tell. By the way if you ever entertain any little people, I mistakenly thought I had enough finger foods out as they were all little. Don't let the small size fool you. They eat like linebackers! Had to run out to the 7-Eleven and get more chips and dip.
Meeting with the clowns after the show where we are going to discuss Jimmy Carter's reluctance to use force to free the American Hostages who are held in Iran.
I think the middle east will be trouble for the west in the future. Are you reading the Mark Twain collection I sent you?
Love,
Dear Ole Dad/ S. Jackson Delano Maybolt, Sr
Jackson Delano Maybolt, Sr
general delivery
Evanston, Indiana
Dear Dad,
I am reading Mark Twain's work and find it greatly amusing. Thank you for the fine gift. I will not let mother see the pix of LouLou, but between you and me, I see why you are where you are now. I bet that is the luckiest snake in the world! It even looks like it is smiling, I know I would be! She is beautiful.
Thanks for the advice on the feeding and entertaining of little people. You never know when that kind of information could come in handy. I think someday in the future when new and marvelous technologies open up the airwaves, there might possibly be a TV reality series specifically devoted to those amongst us who are severely vertically challenged and talk with funny little voices. We will just have to wait and see about that. That sounds crazy, doesn't it?
I think Jimmy's testosterone level is way lower than Rosalynn's and we will likely have to wait until we get a president with a set of balls, really big balls, to get the hostages released. Just a gut feeling I have. I agree the middle east will be a problem for us in the future. There are a couple of stocks I think you might want to add to your portfolio. Check out Microsoft and WalMart. Buy as much as you can and hold on!
Love,
Jack, Jr/ S Jack,Jr
Jackson Delano Maybolt, jr
President Urban Poverty Law Center
Since this blog deals with my father there will be no Mother Maybolt quote so she does not spin furiously in her grave. I respect her too much to dishonor her in any way. jm
First let me apologize for that last posting. I think it reads like a Peggy Noonan editorial in the WSJ, back when Monica Lewinsky was kneeling before our Knight in Shining Armor in the Oval office. I will insist old Doc Porter check my testosterone levels next check up. I enjoy reading her material, but I would rather be compared to Samuel Clemens than Peggers, no offense.
I opened my father's first letter to me dated October 12, 1979.
"Letters To and From A Son of A Bitch"
Dear Jackson Jr,
I am sorry I have not contacted you before now. It is hard adapting to the carny life when all you have known for the past 25 years is a post office in "Hicksville, USA".
LouLou sends her love and wishes you a speedy recovery. I have enclosed one of her publicity photo shots and chose the one with the great white Burmese Python. I know how fond you were of reptiles when you were growing up. She signed it over her beautiful backside at my insistence so as not to shock you. Do not let your mother see the picture!
We are in Toledo, Ohio today and tomorrow we pull up stakes and head for Evanston, Indiana for a 4 day showing. I have befriended the Clowns and find the smaller ones
to be quite good company. I spent the better part of an afternoon talking to "BoBo"
and find him to be a rather interesting fellow. Very funny, but his political views are far too liberal for my liking. I chalk his liberal views up to too much youth, but if he remains a liberal after age 40, it can only be a mental illness. Time will tell. By the way if you ever entertain any little people, I mistakenly thought I had enough finger foods out as they were all little. Don't let the small size fool you. They eat like linebackers! Had to run out to the 7-Eleven and get more chips and dip.
Meeting with the clowns after the show where we are going to discuss Jimmy Carter's reluctance to use force to free the American Hostages who are held in Iran.
I think the middle east will be trouble for the west in the future. Are you reading the Mark Twain collection I sent you?
Love,
Dear Ole Dad/ S. Jackson Delano Maybolt, Sr
Jackson Delano Maybolt, Sr
general delivery
Evanston, Indiana
Dear Dad,
I am reading Mark Twain's work and find it greatly amusing. Thank you for the fine gift. I will not let mother see the pix of LouLou, but between you and me, I see why you are where you are now. I bet that is the luckiest snake in the world! It even looks like it is smiling, I know I would be! She is beautiful.
Thanks for the advice on the feeding and entertaining of little people. You never know when that kind of information could come in handy. I think someday in the future when new and marvelous technologies open up the airwaves, there might possibly be a TV reality series specifically devoted to those amongst us who are severely vertically challenged and talk with funny little voices. We will just have to wait and see about that. That sounds crazy, doesn't it?
I think Jimmy's testosterone level is way lower than Rosalynn's and we will likely have to wait until we get a president with a set of balls, really big balls, to get the hostages released. Just a gut feeling I have. I agree the middle east will be a problem for us in the future. There are a couple of stocks I think you might want to add to your portfolio. Check out Microsoft and WalMart. Buy as much as you can and hold on!
Love,
Jack, Jr/ S Jack,Jr
Jackson Delano Maybolt, jr
President Urban Poverty Law Center
Since this blog deals with my father there will be no Mother Maybolt quote so she does not spin furiously in her grave. I respect her too much to dishonor her in any way. jm
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Policy on Renewal
Blogosphereons,
I was thinking about politicians and guns with the most recent horrific events in the Safeway parking lot in Tucson Arizona, and believe that nobody is safe in our culture which has become for the most part Godless and pagan. I wonder if Mr. Loughner could cite even one of the Ten Commandments? That Mr. Loughner could crazy around Tucson for the better part of 21 years and not be on the radar of local law enforcement or the mental health establishment is a sad testimonial to public servants. At least the first Wal-Mart clerk where Mr. Loughner went for his ammunition purchase that morning was suspicious enough to deny him his purchase as to him or her he seemed a bit off and spooky. He got his ammo at the next place without any problems sadly enough.
I was happy to read in the accounts of an armed Safeway patron who ran towards the shooting ready to stop the shooter if he had not already been disabled by a few brave citizens who tackled this kook and by a grandmother who snatched his second loaded clip out of his maniacal manhands, tossing it a safe distance from the tussle.
With 911 and everything that has happened since seems we the people are responsible for our own protection and people are aware that it has always been that way. I hope that each of us would run towards the shooting if events such as those occur in our lives.
As the famous quote goes by Edmund Burke: "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." From the actions of the Tucson good men and women it looks like we are in gear, rev ed up, and ready!
God bless those who were slain and injured and bring peace to their grieving families.
We've come a long way since the Columbine Massacres where the Swat Team sat outside idle for a couple of hours after the two lunatics inside had committed suicide while the teacher bled to death. Talk about running into the action. I know you could not have kept one of the mothers out of that hellhole for two hours if she felt her child was in there. Our Swat Teams need to be more maternal in their response to danger. Remembering what David Farragut said during the Civil War: "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!"
In other news, I was moving some of Mother Maybolt's personal belongings and I found a chest with some of her personal items and letters. In amongst the papers I found over 200 letters written to me by my father. The letters are all unopened and this is the first I have seen of them. These were sent to me by him and they are post marked from all over the country, where ever the carnival was at the time, and I am going to spend a few days reading them. I will share any interesting tidbits from father. I am excited about my find, but sad to think, Mother would keep these missives from me for over 25 years. I know she had my best interests at heart. She always did. I will include these out of Urban Poverty Law Center Business and alert those who have no interest in these letters by a subtitle "Letters To and From A Son of a Bitch". I plan to answer my father after each of his letters as I would have 25plus years ago.
I do not know how this will work, but nothing in life is certain and that is part of the beauty of it all.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"Throughout all the ages, a kind word spoken at just the right moment has thwarted World Wars. "President Ahmadinejad, who is your nose hair barber, you are looking really, really nice today!" Mother Maybolt, 1922-2008.
I was thinking about politicians and guns with the most recent horrific events in the Safeway parking lot in Tucson Arizona, and believe that nobody is safe in our culture which has become for the most part Godless and pagan. I wonder if Mr. Loughner could cite even one of the Ten Commandments? That Mr. Loughner could crazy around Tucson for the better part of 21 years and not be on the radar of local law enforcement or the mental health establishment is a sad testimonial to public servants. At least the first Wal-Mart clerk where Mr. Loughner went for his ammunition purchase that morning was suspicious enough to deny him his purchase as to him or her he seemed a bit off and spooky. He got his ammo at the next place without any problems sadly enough.
I was happy to read in the accounts of an armed Safeway patron who ran towards the shooting ready to stop the shooter if he had not already been disabled by a few brave citizens who tackled this kook and by a grandmother who snatched his second loaded clip out of his maniacal manhands, tossing it a safe distance from the tussle.
With 911 and everything that has happened since seems we the people are responsible for our own protection and people are aware that it has always been that way. I hope that each of us would run towards the shooting if events such as those occur in our lives.
As the famous quote goes by Edmund Burke: "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." From the actions of the Tucson good men and women it looks like we are in gear, rev ed up, and ready!
God bless those who were slain and injured and bring peace to their grieving families.
We've come a long way since the Columbine Massacres where the Swat Team sat outside idle for a couple of hours after the two lunatics inside had committed suicide while the teacher bled to death. Talk about running into the action. I know you could not have kept one of the mothers out of that hellhole for two hours if she felt her child was in there. Our Swat Teams need to be more maternal in their response to danger. Remembering what David Farragut said during the Civil War: "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!"
In other news, I was moving some of Mother Maybolt's personal belongings and I found a chest with some of her personal items and letters. In amongst the papers I found over 200 letters written to me by my father. The letters are all unopened and this is the first I have seen of them. These were sent to me by him and they are post marked from all over the country, where ever the carnival was at the time, and I am going to spend a few days reading them. I will share any interesting tidbits from father. I am excited about my find, but sad to think, Mother would keep these missives from me for over 25 years. I know she had my best interests at heart. She always did. I will include these out of Urban Poverty Law Center Business and alert those who have no interest in these letters by a subtitle "Letters To and From A Son of a Bitch". I plan to answer my father after each of his letters as I would have 25plus years ago.
I do not know how this will work, but nothing in life is certain and that is part of the beauty of it all.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"Throughout all the ages, a kind word spoken at just the right moment has thwarted World Wars. "President Ahmadinejad, who is your nose hair barber, you are looking really, really nice today!" Mother Maybolt, 1922-2008.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Late Bloomer
When I was 13, I stood on the puberty platform with all of the other boys in my grade, but somehow the train left without me on it. I remember the excitement when, at the end of eighth grade; I discovered my first two armpit hairs in my right pit. I named one Larry, and the other Mo, little did I know, Curly would be late to arrive and reluctant to live up to his name. My mom acted impressed when I showed my harbinger of masculinity and agreed to mark my height on the wall so we could track my journey into manhood. That year, puberty stormed every boys’ radar and having a cracking voice, or a better still, a deep voice made one the envy of all. Testosterone could only explain some of the behavior I observed in the boys of my grade. Although I was unaffected, my friends started complaining of swollen and tender nipples, aptly named “rock-tit.” I was perplexed that the emergence of rock-tit coincided with the growing popularity of the purple-nurple.
Of all the places in the school, the locker room was the worst. The prison-style showers were cruel because, let’s face it, I was packing a water pistol to their Super Soakers. Not only was it a place where hiding developmental shortcomings was difficult, but an unsupervised asshole is the worst sort of asshole. I’ve never wanted to hurt someone more than the unsupervised Tommy Colebrook. Whenever I had to go full-nude to change for swimming, I waited until everyone around me seemed distracted, I faced the wall and did my best to minimize my exposure time. When I was at my most vulnerable, not only did the prick shout at the top of his lungs “MICKEY SHIT HIS! MICKEY SHIT HIS PANTS!,” but he also grabbed my shoulder and spun me around to face the eyes of my peers. But their eyes were looking for shit, which is rarely found above the waist.
The summer between 8th and 9th grade passed and still my height remained unchanged. I didn’t quite weigh 103 pounds, but my dad suggested I go out for the wrestling team because it might help me socially. I had always believed that a unitard was both the stupidest sounding and stupidest looking sport’s outfit in existence. This all changed when my coach had me put on the school's only extra-small singlet. They expected me to do something manly while wearing that? It only took one wrestling match for me to learn that this sport wasn’t for me. I recall facing this dwarf-looking guy who was shorter than me, but had arms like a lumberjack while the ref briefed us on the rules. In less than a minute he achondro-plastered me. At one point, my neck was twisted like the Exorcist girl in such a way that my face was jammed directly in his crotch. I count myself fortunate that he didn’t get too excited about beating up a little guy like me, because if he had, I was liable to lose an eye. I quit that afternoon.
My stint in the drama club was equally short-lived following our production of Grease. I know that I’m no Danny Zucko, but I hit my breaking point when I was asked to not only sing the girls’ part during the “tell me more” song, but I was criticized for moving my mouth too much while I did it.
I’m sixteen now and things are starting to improve. When my personal hygiene is especially bad, I get acne, which I think is a good sign. I’m still tiny but I’m starting to accept my lot in life. I went to my first party recently and tried to smooth talk my first girl. I think that she could’ve used a nicer tone of voice when she asked me where the Dateline camera crew was. I told her that if her brain were half the size of her tits, she’d know that “To Catch A Predator” used hidden cameras. She laughed and tussled my hair. It was less than ideal, but I also think that was a good sign. I still find myself wishing that puberty would pay me a visit, but most of the time I’m in no hurry. What can I say? I guess that I’m just a late-bloomer.
Of all the places in the school, the locker room was the worst. The prison-style showers were cruel because, let’s face it, I was packing a water pistol to their Super Soakers. Not only was it a place where hiding developmental shortcomings was difficult, but an unsupervised asshole is the worst sort of asshole. I’ve never wanted to hurt someone more than the unsupervised Tommy Colebrook. Whenever I had to go full-nude to change for swimming, I waited until everyone around me seemed distracted, I faced the wall and did my best to minimize my exposure time. When I was at my most vulnerable, not only did the prick shout at the top of his lungs “MICKEY SHIT HIS! MICKEY SHIT HIS PANTS!,” but he also grabbed my shoulder and spun me around to face the eyes of my peers. But their eyes were looking for shit, which is rarely found above the waist.
The summer between 8th and 9th grade passed and still my height remained unchanged. I didn’t quite weigh 103 pounds, but my dad suggested I go out for the wrestling team because it might help me socially. I had always believed that a unitard was both the stupidest sounding and stupidest looking sport’s outfit in existence. This all changed when my coach had me put on the school's only extra-small singlet. They expected me to do something manly while wearing that? It only took one wrestling match for me to learn that this sport wasn’t for me. I recall facing this dwarf-looking guy who was shorter than me, but had arms like a lumberjack while the ref briefed us on the rules. In less than a minute he achondro-plastered me. At one point, my neck was twisted like the Exorcist girl in such a way that my face was jammed directly in his crotch. I count myself fortunate that he didn’t get too excited about beating up a little guy like me, because if he had, I was liable to lose an eye. I quit that afternoon.
My stint in the drama club was equally short-lived following our production of Grease. I know that I’m no Danny Zucko, but I hit my breaking point when I was asked to not only sing the girls’ part during the “tell me more” song, but I was criticized for moving my mouth too much while I did it.
I’m sixteen now and things are starting to improve. When my personal hygiene is especially bad, I get acne, which I think is a good sign. I’m still tiny but I’m starting to accept my lot in life. I went to my first party recently and tried to smooth talk my first girl. I think that she could’ve used a nicer tone of voice when she asked me where the Dateline camera crew was. I told her that if her brain were half the size of her tits, she’d know that “To Catch A Predator” used hidden cameras. She laughed and tussled my hair. It was less than ideal, but I also think that was a good sign. I still find myself wishing that puberty would pay me a visit, but most of the time I’m in no hurry. What can I say? I guess that I’m just a late-bloomer.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Death of My Father, 25 yrs Ago
Blogasphereons,
I have taken some time off from fighting poverty with both my right hand and my left foot to read
Mark Twain's autobiography. It is delightful and a fine look into the life and mind of America's most gifted writer.
I received his complete works compiled in 1906 as a birthday gift from my father, Jackson Delano Maybolt,Sr. He left my
mother for a carnival stripper when I was 19, just after I was injured so grievously by the manure spreader. I read all the volumes from my hospital bed and was hooked on Twain. It was the last gift and the last time I ever heard from father so the books have a special meaning for me. Twain's autobiography has caused me to reflect. Hence the following:
I am ashamed to admit my father was stabbed in the heart and killed by the bearded lady when he caught his stripper girlfriend and the aforementioned bearded one cheating on him while the midget clown troupe was watching the hot action hidden in a trunk in the corner of the bearded lady's dressing room. Seems the bearded lady liked an audience no matter the task and the midget clown troupe, through prior agreement, was a willing audience. Little did they know they were in for the spectacle of a lifetime that fateful day.
The midget clown testified that father mistook the bearded lady for a fellow, what with the facial hair and all and attacked her by throwing the trunk which contained the three midgets at her head. She was able to duck, but the midgets, beings as they were in the trunk were along for the ride so to speak...when the trunk slammed into the wall and fell to the floor, all three midget clowns staggered out of that trunk just in time to see the bearded lady grab the sword swallower's prop which was in the corner. They watched as she pointed the sword at father who was rushing in to attack his sweetheart's bearded paramour. The sword pierced my father's chest bisecting his heart. He staggered back and fell against the wall.
My father, who was well known for his love of the dramatic arts, never let an opportunity for public oratory pass. Even when mortally wounded, he took this most unfortunate, yet appropriate time for his last words. I have copied them as reported in the court documents compiled from the testimony of Bobo, the midget clown, whose statements got the bearded lady acquitted of murder in my father's death.
"Hark, I am greatly injured by this object which you have so carelessly passed into my chest. Is it not enough that you have broken my heart with your actions here with my sweet, sweet Loulou the Louisiana Voodoo Stripping Queen." ( This was my father's girlfriend's stage handle, she used snakes and skeletons as props, and though I never saw her in action, one of my
friends slipped into one of her shows and said she needed the props since her "ass was smokin hot, but her tits were weak".
Recall this was at a time before fine titties could be bought for $5,000 from any plastic surgeon.) I digress, back to my father's last words.
At this point, Bobo testifies that the effect of the sword in my father chest was taking command of the situation, and the look on my father's face went from shock to cold acceptance of his fate. Father continues, his words now sprayed out with frothing
bright red blood, which added dramatic effect according to Bobo.
"Oh, woe is to me that I gave up a loving family and a rural postmaster's position with full federal benefits and 16 federal and state holidays off a year to satisfy my wicked carnal desires with this tramp from the swamps of humanity!"
By now all the occupants of the small dressing room are crowded into the corner furthest away from my dying father because as Bobo put it, the blood spatter from my dad's last words was "wickedly profuse and looking like a red mist. The day was saved when the smallest midget clown, CoaCoa, whose specialty was honking a funny sounding air horn instead of talking, found an umbrella and opened it to protect all of them from that bloody spray.
Via Bobo, even with the life draining out of father, he bravely continues his speech:
"Tell my family that my last thoughts were of them. Beg......." At this time Bobo said my father's eyes got really big and he was unable to continue until a forced cough cleared a large blood clot from father's throat which flew under the umbrella at great speed and struck the bearded lady where it immediately began to slowly slide down the curly rivulets of her beard, inching its way towards a horrified CoaCoa. At this time CoaCoa let out a blast from his horn and promptly threw up on Bobo's hilariously large clown shoes. This was apparently too much for little CoaCoa. Father's last words continued:
"Beg, nay pray them to forgive me for I am just a man, a man who was unable to resist temptation... the temptation of a wicked temptress........."
Another clot, this one taking longer to clear than the previous which allowed the bearded lady to protect the huddled mass of carnival humanity by redirecting the umbrella downward and towards father who has slumped in the opposite corner. Then the cough with the clot that struck the umbrella with force enough to unnerve those in attendance. My father continues:
"who used me for her carnal pleasures over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over..... and then over again, and threw my life away, nay cast my love away for what, a fat white man with a beard!"
According to Bobo, there was not a dry eye in the trailer. When my father's speech was concluded, they all went over to shake his hand and to congratulate him, but it was too late. He was gone. CoaCoa held his air horn next to father's ear and let out a short blast to make sure he was really gone. No reaction, my father was dead and was now required to follow the custom of not moving or talking or doing anything that might disturb the others. 1.
No one has heard from him since.
It pains me even now though the anesthetic of time passed has lessened it somewhat. I still tear up and get that fullness in my throat when I think about him, because he was my father and he loved me and I loved him.
Mark Twain's daughter, Suzy, often asked her father the meaning of life. "What is it all for?" 1. That a man, a fine church going family man, postmaster for 25 yrs with only 5 yrs to go til fully vested in a generous federal pension system could or would throw it away on what? What is it all for, Sam and Suzy Clemens?
We may never know the answer to that query which has confounded mankind since first he became aware.
I hope this does not cause any of you who risked reading this any discomfort, but I had to get it off my chest as it is the 25th, yes, the silver anniversary of my father's last words. God bless you all and your little children.
Jackson Delano Maybolt President Urban Poverty Law Center
orphaned since 2008 yet not hopeless
"Let's not talk about your father, he's dead."
Mother Maybolt 1922-2008
1. Mark Twain Autobiography
I have received many requests to comment on what ever became of the principles in the above story.
The bearded lady shaved her beard off and is now known as Rosie ODonnell and is believed by some to be an actress and political commentator.
Loulou the Louisiana Voodoo Stripping Queen went on to write the "Vagina Monologues".
The Midget Clowns all gave up the carnival life and one of the clowns, Bobo, changed his name to Jon Stewart and hosts a successful political satire show on Comedy Central.
CoaCoa, the Midget Clown, now works as the horn operator at the Sports Emporium in Salt Lake City, Utah.
The third Midget Clown was never seen or heard from after that infamous day. jm
I have taken some time off from fighting poverty with both my right hand and my left foot to read
Mark Twain's autobiography. It is delightful and a fine look into the life and mind of America's most gifted writer.
I received his complete works compiled in 1906 as a birthday gift from my father, Jackson Delano Maybolt,Sr. He left my
mother for a carnival stripper when I was 19, just after I was injured so grievously by the manure spreader. I read all the volumes from my hospital bed and was hooked on Twain. It was the last gift and the last time I ever heard from father so the books have a special meaning for me. Twain's autobiography has caused me to reflect. Hence the following:
I am ashamed to admit my father was stabbed in the heart and killed by the bearded lady when he caught his stripper girlfriend and the aforementioned bearded one cheating on him while the midget clown troupe was watching the hot action hidden in a trunk in the corner of the bearded lady's dressing room. Seems the bearded lady liked an audience no matter the task and the midget clown troupe, through prior agreement, was a willing audience. Little did they know they were in for the spectacle of a lifetime that fateful day.
The midget clown testified that father mistook the bearded lady for a fellow, what with the facial hair and all and attacked her by throwing the trunk which contained the three midgets at her head. She was able to duck, but the midgets, beings as they were in the trunk were along for the ride so to speak...when the trunk slammed into the wall and fell to the floor, all three midget clowns staggered out of that trunk just in time to see the bearded lady grab the sword swallower's prop which was in the corner. They watched as she pointed the sword at father who was rushing in to attack his sweetheart's bearded paramour. The sword pierced my father's chest bisecting his heart. He staggered back and fell against the wall.
My father, who was well known for his love of the dramatic arts, never let an opportunity for public oratory pass. Even when mortally wounded, he took this most unfortunate, yet appropriate time for his last words. I have copied them as reported in the court documents compiled from the testimony of Bobo, the midget clown, whose statements got the bearded lady acquitted of murder in my father's death.
"Hark, I am greatly injured by this object which you have so carelessly passed into my chest. Is it not enough that you have broken my heart with your actions here with my sweet, sweet Loulou the Louisiana Voodoo Stripping Queen." ( This was my father's girlfriend's stage handle, she used snakes and skeletons as props, and though I never saw her in action, one of my
friends slipped into one of her shows and said she needed the props since her "ass was smokin hot, but her tits were weak".
Recall this was at a time before fine titties could be bought for $5,000 from any plastic surgeon.) I digress, back to my father's last words.
At this point, Bobo testifies that the effect of the sword in my father chest was taking command of the situation, and the look on my father's face went from shock to cold acceptance of his fate. Father continues, his words now sprayed out with frothing
bright red blood, which added dramatic effect according to Bobo.
"Oh, woe is to me that I gave up a loving family and a rural postmaster's position with full federal benefits and 16 federal and state holidays off a year to satisfy my wicked carnal desires with this tramp from the swamps of humanity!"
By now all the occupants of the small dressing room are crowded into the corner furthest away from my dying father because as Bobo put it, the blood spatter from my dad's last words was "wickedly profuse and looking like a red mist. The day was saved when the smallest midget clown, CoaCoa, whose specialty was honking a funny sounding air horn instead of talking, found an umbrella and opened it to protect all of them from that bloody spray.
Via Bobo, even with the life draining out of father, he bravely continues his speech:
"Tell my family that my last thoughts were of them. Beg......." At this time Bobo said my father's eyes got really big and he was unable to continue until a forced cough cleared a large blood clot from father's throat which flew under the umbrella at great speed and struck the bearded lady where it immediately began to slowly slide down the curly rivulets of her beard, inching its way towards a horrified CoaCoa. At this time CoaCoa let out a blast from his horn and promptly threw up on Bobo's hilariously large clown shoes. This was apparently too much for little CoaCoa. Father's last words continued:
"Beg, nay pray them to forgive me for I am just a man, a man who was unable to resist temptation... the temptation of a wicked temptress........."
Another clot, this one taking longer to clear than the previous which allowed the bearded lady to protect the huddled mass of carnival humanity by redirecting the umbrella downward and towards father who has slumped in the opposite corner. Then the cough with the clot that struck the umbrella with force enough to unnerve those in attendance. My father continues:
"who used me for her carnal pleasures over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over..... and then over again, and threw my life away, nay cast my love away for what, a fat white man with a beard!"
According to Bobo, there was not a dry eye in the trailer. When my father's speech was concluded, they all went over to shake his hand and to congratulate him, but it was too late. He was gone. CoaCoa held his air horn next to father's ear and let out a short blast to make sure he was really gone. No reaction, my father was dead and was now required to follow the custom of not moving or talking or doing anything that might disturb the others. 1.
No one has heard from him since.
It pains me even now though the anesthetic of time passed has lessened it somewhat. I still tear up and get that fullness in my throat when I think about him, because he was my father and he loved me and I loved him.
Mark Twain's daughter, Suzy, often asked her father the meaning of life. "What is it all for?" 1. That a man, a fine church going family man, postmaster for 25 yrs with only 5 yrs to go til fully vested in a generous federal pension system could or would throw it away on what? What is it all for, Sam and Suzy Clemens?
We may never know the answer to that query which has confounded mankind since first he became aware.
I hope this does not cause any of you who risked reading this any discomfort, but I had to get it off my chest as it is the 25th, yes, the silver anniversary of my father's last words. God bless you all and your little children.
Jackson Delano Maybolt President Urban Poverty Law Center
orphaned since 2008 yet not hopeless
"Let's not talk about your father, he's dead."
Mother Maybolt 1922-2008
1. Mark Twain Autobiography
I have received many requests to comment on what ever became of the principles in the above story.
The bearded lady shaved her beard off and is now known as Rosie ODonnell and is believed by some to be an actress and political commentator.
Loulou the Louisiana Voodoo Stripping Queen went on to write the "Vagina Monologues".
The Midget Clowns all gave up the carnival life and one of the clowns, Bobo, changed his name to Jon Stewart and hosts a successful political satire show on Comedy Central.
CoaCoa, the Midget Clown, now works as the horn operator at the Sports Emporium in Salt Lake City, Utah.
The third Midget Clown was never seen or heard from after that infamous day. jm
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Policy On Lighting
I know the readers have been clamoring for the policy of UPLC on fluorescent lighting.
Most of you are aware fluorescent lights require mercury to ionize the gas in the bulb or tube to produce light. The mercury is great until it gets out of the bulb and onto your floor. Then it can vaporize and enter your lungs and blood stream and make its way to your brain where it will turn your 100 watt bulb into a 60 watt bulb. The biochemistry and the neurochemistry are way to complex for a publicly read treatise, but believe me, I have it on good authority, mercury in the brain is bad.
Billy Chaterleaux, had a promising career as a line worker at Proctor and Gamble in Jackson. He made pringles and had to make sure the potato slurry was the correct consistency as it was poured into those molds. He had worked without err for over 13 years when tragedy struck. He was in the den watching Bill O'Reily on Fox News when his wife, Millicent, came into the room brandishing a curly fluorescent light, where she removed the old fashion incandescent bulb and screwed the new light into the lamp on the table beside Billy's chair.
Things went well except Billy had to buy 2.25 powered reading glasses since the softer fluorescent light made reading harder for him than the old fashion 75 watt bulb. Then the mercury hit the floor when Billy accidentally toppled the lamp when he struck at a common house fly who was busy practicing touch and go landings on his gloriously bald head. Billy was not sure why the fly was so keen on his noggin, but he pondered if the better view up there might have something to do with it.1
Anyway, when the bulb broke it sent over 1,000 micrograms of elemental mercury into the living space. The fly wisely exited the room immediately and made its way to the litter box where it made a flawless six point landing on a fresh pile. The limited view, though not nearly as breathtaking as the lookout afforded by old Billy's head, was more than compensated by the cuisine and the aromatics the fly encountered in his new local. Jackpot!
Flies are queer little creatures.
Billy picked up the broken glass and got the vacuum out and vacuumed up the mercury dust, but in doing so, he contaminated the entire house. Millicent called the EPA and they came in and closed the house off. Billy and Millicent moved in with her parents while the EPA determines if the house will have to be demolished and placed in baggies and shipped off to Nevada where the spent nuclear fuel rods are stored, or if just tearing out the carpeting,the walls and replacing the insulation, the sheet rock, and flooring will be good enough to reduce the mercury contamination in the home to 0.00000376 nanograms, the maximum allowed in occupied homes. Understand now that an average can of Starkist tuna has 0.00000384 nanograms of mercury.
Billy asked Ned Bunsenburner, the West Tennessee EPA representative, how a can of Tuna could have fully 0.00000008 nanograms more than his home and be safe? To which Ned replied,
"Safe, hell the tuna in that can is dead and it comes under the jurisdiction of the Food and Drug Administration and they have totally different standards than the EPA. We here at the EPA feel they are too lax in their allowances. But we can't allow you back into your home until our quality standards are met. We are just looking out for your health. If you and Mrs Chaterleaux become retarded because of the mercury you would be a great burden on the tax payers and potentially add to the deficit. Good God man, did you ever consider what it could do to the debt ceiling?"
Billy understood about the deficit as well as the debt ceiling.
Three months after the Chaterleaux home was gutted they are still living with Millecent's mother. The EPA has long since retreated back to its offices in Memphis. Billy got kicked in the head by one of his mother-in-laws alpacas. When he came out of his coma he was worse off than if the mercury had had its way with his brain. He is still on at Proctor and Gamble but in a less demanding capacity which is more consistent with his "new skills level" as his physical and medical rehab worker puts it.
Six months have passed since the lamp crashed to the floor, the Chaterleauxs are not back in their home. They are expecting a final ruling from the EPA anytime now, but the decision has been kicked up to a higher level at the regional offices in St. Louis, Mo.
They tried to sue the company that makes the bulbs, but congress granted them immunity. Now I hear the Chaterleaux's are driving to Washington DC with 2 dozen fluorescent bulbs in the car. She plans to protest by throwing all the bulbs from the gallery at congress while it is in session. Should work better than a filibuster.
After a toxic clean up break in the House, perhaps congress will repeal the law against the incandescent bulb and outlaw the toxic ones. Naw, that would be too much to hope for.
There are fools and there are damn fools. We the people are the fools and congress is filled with damn fools.
Godspeed, Lady Chaterleaux!
Jack Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"Heat a gold coin to 2000 degrees and you still have gold. Heat a hundred dollar bill to 2000 degrees and all you have left is carbon. There is no paper money in hell." Mother Maybolt 1923-2008
1. Mark Twain from his autobiography, days in Florence.
Most of you are aware fluorescent lights require mercury to ionize the gas in the bulb or tube to produce light. The mercury is great until it gets out of the bulb and onto your floor. Then it can vaporize and enter your lungs and blood stream and make its way to your brain where it will turn your 100 watt bulb into a 60 watt bulb. The biochemistry and the neurochemistry are way to complex for a publicly read treatise, but believe me, I have it on good authority, mercury in the brain is bad.
Billy Chaterleaux, had a promising career as a line worker at Proctor and Gamble in Jackson. He made pringles and had to make sure the potato slurry was the correct consistency as it was poured into those molds. He had worked without err for over 13 years when tragedy struck. He was in the den watching Bill O'Reily on Fox News when his wife, Millicent, came into the room brandishing a curly fluorescent light, where she removed the old fashion incandescent bulb and screwed the new light into the lamp on the table beside Billy's chair.
Things went well except Billy had to buy 2.25 powered reading glasses since the softer fluorescent light made reading harder for him than the old fashion 75 watt bulb. Then the mercury hit the floor when Billy accidentally toppled the lamp when he struck at a common house fly who was busy practicing touch and go landings on his gloriously bald head. Billy was not sure why the fly was so keen on his noggin, but he pondered if the better view up there might have something to do with it.1
Anyway, when the bulb broke it sent over 1,000 micrograms of elemental mercury into the living space. The fly wisely exited the room immediately and made its way to the litter box where it made a flawless six point landing on a fresh pile. The limited view, though not nearly as breathtaking as the lookout afforded by old Billy's head, was more than compensated by the cuisine and the aromatics the fly encountered in his new local. Jackpot!
Flies are queer little creatures.
Billy picked up the broken glass and got the vacuum out and vacuumed up the mercury dust, but in doing so, he contaminated the entire house. Millicent called the EPA and they came in and closed the house off. Billy and Millicent moved in with her parents while the EPA determines if the house will have to be demolished and placed in baggies and shipped off to Nevada where the spent nuclear fuel rods are stored, or if just tearing out the carpeting,the walls and replacing the insulation, the sheet rock, and flooring will be good enough to reduce the mercury contamination in the home to 0.00000376 nanograms, the maximum allowed in occupied homes. Understand now that an average can of Starkist tuna has 0.00000384 nanograms of mercury.
Billy asked Ned Bunsenburner, the West Tennessee EPA representative, how a can of Tuna could have fully 0.00000008 nanograms more than his home and be safe? To which Ned replied,
"Safe, hell the tuna in that can is dead and it comes under the jurisdiction of the Food and Drug Administration and they have totally different standards than the EPA. We here at the EPA feel they are too lax in their allowances. But we can't allow you back into your home until our quality standards are met. We are just looking out for your health. If you and Mrs Chaterleaux become retarded because of the mercury you would be a great burden on the tax payers and potentially add to the deficit. Good God man, did you ever consider what it could do to the debt ceiling?"
Billy understood about the deficit as well as the debt ceiling.
Three months after the Chaterleaux home was gutted they are still living with Millecent's mother. The EPA has long since retreated back to its offices in Memphis. Billy got kicked in the head by one of his mother-in-laws alpacas. When he came out of his coma he was worse off than if the mercury had had its way with his brain. He is still on at Proctor and Gamble but in a less demanding capacity which is more consistent with his "new skills level" as his physical and medical rehab worker puts it.
Six months have passed since the lamp crashed to the floor, the Chaterleauxs are not back in their home. They are expecting a final ruling from the EPA anytime now, but the decision has been kicked up to a higher level at the regional offices in St. Louis, Mo.
They tried to sue the company that makes the bulbs, but congress granted them immunity. Now I hear the Chaterleaux's are driving to Washington DC with 2 dozen fluorescent bulbs in the car. She plans to protest by throwing all the bulbs from the gallery at congress while it is in session. Should work better than a filibuster.
After a toxic clean up break in the House, perhaps congress will repeal the law against the incandescent bulb and outlaw the toxic ones. Naw, that would be too much to hope for.
There are fools and there are damn fools. We the people are the fools and congress is filled with damn fools.
Godspeed, Lady Chaterleaux!
Jack Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"Heat a gold coin to 2000 degrees and you still have gold. Heat a hundred dollar bill to 2000 degrees and all you have left is carbon. There is no paper money in hell." Mother Maybolt 1923-2008
1. Mark Twain from his autobiography, days in Florence.
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